#also this is my reminder that the queue is almost empty!

[dailybakudekusong]

my favorite place by all time low

Today's Daily BakuDeku Song Is: Favorite Place - All Time Low

So, can we close the space between us now? It's the distance we don't need (Hey) Yeah, you're everything I love about The things I hate in me (Hey) So come on, come on, come over now and Fix me with your grace 'Cause I'm not too far and you're my favorite place

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER ONE: Night Shift

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt has to accompany Foggy to the ER in the middle of the night because he dislocated his shoulder. In need for some peace and quiet, Matt wanders the halls of Metro General and instead finds you crying in one of the abandoned hallways. A conversation ensues.

Warnings for this chapter: Slight angst, mention of injury.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: My brain gets the strangest ideas for fics and then I have to write them or else I will go crazy. This is how this baby was born. Keep in mind, I’m not a doctor. I simply watch a lot of medical dramas and I like to research medical terms for the fun of it. Heed the warnings for the entire series (see Series Masterlist) but also chapter-specific warnings that apply, as seen above. I hope you enjoy!

Read Chapter 1: Night Shift here on AO3

Ever since he can remember, Matt has hated hospitals. The antiseptic scent that lingers in the air, the sterile white walls that seem to close in around him—it all brings back memories of days spent in agony, tied to an uncomfortable bed, and seeing nothing but an endless void of black.

He can only tune out so much. The stench, the sirens, and the overlapping voices in an emergency room—they could easily kill him. 

Hospitals remind him of what he lost. He lost his vision, he lost his father and in the process, he lost his innocence. Matt lost everything, and even though he is well aware that it isn’t the hospital’s fault that he decided to save a man or that his father made a deal with the devil and got himself killed, he still hates the same empty walls that made him feel so small to begin with.

Matt doesn’t want to be a liability, he doesn’t want to be the reason the people he loves get hurt, and yet it continues to happen time and time again.

Maybe he’s cursed. It’s the only explanation for how things are going for him now. Maybe God has a grudge and finally decided to exercise his right to make his life a living hell. There is an infinite number of possibilities, but none of them make sense. 

He’s the anti-hero of his own story and that of everyone else who has ever dared to let him into their lives. He’s his own worst enemy, his personal saboteur. His unwavering pride has a tendency to get in the way of his happiness, which often leads to more bad than good, but admitting that would leave him vulnerable and exposed—and he can’t let himself get hurt again. 

It’s better to push the people he loves away before he can hurt them and force them to walk out on him the same way everyone else in his life has walked out on him ever since he can remember. At least in his twisted mind, that’s true. 

He never thought he would find himself in Metro General again, not since Claire came into his life. Claire, the caring nurse who saved him when he was on death’s door and continued doing so until she realized that falling for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its own set of risks. 

Foggy dislocated his shoulder. 

It’s almost laughable. Out of everyone, he chose Matt to come to the hospital with him. Not Karen, Matt. He had the choice between the most empathetic person either of them have ever met, and Matt, someone so far out of touch with his own feelings, living in denial has become the standard for him. Foggy chose the latter, for whatever reason he doesn’t even seem to know himself. It just felt like the most natural thing to do, he told Matt when he asked his best friend, “Why me?”

He should feel honored that he trusts him that much, but being trapped in the sterile four walls of the hospital he only connects bad memories to while Foggy is stuck in the queue for an X-ray feels more like torture than an honorable act. 

The loud, demanding voices of the nurses, the painful groans and soft cries coming from the patients in the waiting area of the emergency room a few doors down, and the obnoxious beeping of the machines lining the walls in every room are like a swarm of bees in Matt’s inner ear. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get them out. He’s allergic to them.

The room smells of disinfectant, blood, and other bodily fluids. He tries to focus on his cologne and the scentless laundry detergent he has grown so accustomed to over the years, but the balm only lasts for a few seconds before the wound reopens and his senses are flooded.

Matt keeps rhythmically tapping his fingers on his thigh. How much longer he can sit on this uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology area and wait for Foggy to return, he doesn’t know. It won’t be long now until he loses his mind. He is about to drown in his own misery.

He feels the desperate urge to land his fist in the wall next to him. He wants to scream, cry, maybe even both—this night is not going well. He hasn’t had a good night in weeks. Tonight though, he’s stuck in the hospital rather than outside, doing something against the injustice he is forced to listen to every day.

The hits he took the previous night were pretty severe, and his ribs still hurt. The numb ache that tears through him whenever he moves is a temporary relief from the pain induced by the noise around him. Whatever bits of sanity he tries holding onto eventually slip through his fingers. 

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He gets up, his head tilting toward Foggy’s elevated heartbeat. He’s still in line. Fifth, probably.

Matt taps his cane against the floor, making his way down the hallway. He’s not quite sure where he’s going or where he will land, he just knows that he needs to get out of there as fast as possible.

Rounding the hundredth corner of the evening, the sound of clattering metal trays and medical supplies disappears behind layers of drywall and automatic doors. Matt takes a moment, and he realizes that right here—right where he is now—he can finally breathe again.

The sound travels more easily. The air wafting through the vents and over the cotton sheets on a row of empty beds is the only sound that meets his ears. They’re lined against one side of the wall. The rooms are empty, the doors locked. It seems as if in a moment of desperation, he found his way to one of the abandoned parts of the hospital. 

A lack of funding caused Metro General to cut their losses. It certainly wasn’t an easy decision, but with capitalism on the rise, public hospitals are barely holding on.

Even though the truth is depressing, Matt still can’t believe his luck when he realizes how quiet it is. That may be a selfish thought, but he can't help it. The world is always so loud and uncomfortable. Finding someplace quiet after torturing himself in the waiting room for hours feels like heaven on earth on such a busy night.

The fog dulling his senses finally dissipates. He takes a deep breath. The air is cleaner here. No disinfectant, only the faint scent of plastic and dust; he wouldn't have thought it possible that he would ever consider that combination a blessing.

That’s when he hears it—a slightly elevated heartbeat followed by a series of muffled sobs. He got so caught up in the fact that he finally found what he was looking for amidst the chaos that he forgot to fan out his hearing.

Despite what he originally believed, he isn’t alone.

The air smells of the salty essence of human tears. Matt stops dead in his tracks, not sure whether to continue his journey or to turn around and return to the uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology department.

“This nervous breakdown space is occupied,” your soft voice bounces off the high walls. It’s thick with exhaustion. Pain. Loss. He almost recoils at the all-too-familiar feeling it elicits in him.

Matt keeps his cane hugged tight to his chest, his knuckles whitening with how hard he is gripping the base. “Oh, I...I’m sorry,” he says, careful to keep his voice light. “I didn’t catch you there.”

You’re essentially a stranger to him. A troubled one, at that. You must have your share of problems or you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be crying your eyes out. He doesn’t want to intrude, but he also can’t turn around. Not now, not anymore. You’ve already noticed him.

You sniffle, your hands wiping against the soft skin of your reddened cheeks. For a moment, your heartbeat picks up in speed before returning to its normal rhythm. “It’s alright,” you assure him.

Matt picks up on the faintest hint of disinfectant and the scent of antibacterial soap on you now, maybe a little blood, and definitely antiseptic laundry detergent—you’re wearing medical scrubs.

Your shampoo smells of vanilla and some herbal element he can’t quite identify just yet. Your perfume isn’t expensive, just enough to last through a long shift and filter the sweat that is seeping out of your pores. It’s not unpleasant. You smell like someone who’s been working hard and far past your limits, too.

“Do you need something?” you ask him. 

He pauses for a moment, rethinking his answer. His lips purse. He’s not sure how to answer that without completely giving himself away.

Your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Oh, just…some peace and quiet,” Matt says, finally finding his voice again. It sounds a bit more nervous than he would like to admit.

The chuckle you exhale is one of surprise and possibly even a bit of genuine amusement. “Yeah,” you sniffle, “I know that feeling.”

“Well, I’ll, uh, leave you to it. Sorry again.”

“No. Don’t.”

Matt stops in his tracks when the words pass your lips. 

You pat the space beside you. Your perfume becomes a little clearer. It’s so natural, so… you. He could get high off of it. Or maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation catching up to him. 

“This is the only quiet corner in this hospital,” you tell him. “Trust me. Underfunding has its perks for introverts. Rest in peace to about thirty internal medicine beds, but lucky me.”

Your chuckle echoes bitterly off the walls. You use humor to cope, apparently, but you’ve run out of strength to pretend.

His cane begins to gently pave the way as he makes his way forward. “Do you mind?” Matt nods toward the bed you’re sitting on. 

You pat the mattress again with a shake of your head. “Not at all.”

Gentle seems to be the one word that is consistent with everything you do. He can’t get this picture he has painted of you based on the sound of your voice out of his head. Maybe you’re an angel and he has officially gone insane, or maybe there are just a lot more good people left in this world than he originally thought. 

Matt folds his cane and skillfully sits down on the edge of the mattress. You smell even better up close. Your heartbeat reminds him of a beautiful symphony, no longer as erratic as when he first picked up on your presence. 

“I’m Matthew, by the way,” he says.

He can hear a sudden uptick in your heartbeat. He may have just imagined it. You suck in a sharp breath, and he’s sure he didn’t imagine that, but then you lift your hand to take his.

“Olivia,” you say. 

Matt listens closely. You have no reason to lie about your name. Your heartbeat may be faster, but it isn’t a lie. You just seem a lot more nervous and unsure than before. It doesn’t quite make sense why you would be unsure about your own name.

“Nice to meet you, Olivia.” His lips curl into a soft smile.

You smile back, he can hear it, but it lacks an essence of truth. You’re trying hard to seem like you’re okay. It’s not your fault that his senses are sensitive to all changes in the human body, even in that of a stranger he just met.

You’ve been crying, so of course, you wouldn’t be alright. The question is, why? 

“I take it you’re not part of the staff,” you say into the silence.  

“No.” Matt chuckles. “I, uh, have a friend with a dislocated shoulder,” he says.

“Ah! Let me guess, his doctor in the ER reduced the dislocation but insisted on doing an X-ray just in case, so now you have to wait because radiology has a hold-up longer than the Nile?”

A laugh rumbles through his chest. “Yeah, that… that’s pretty accurate.”

“It’s always like this,” you say. “A dislocated shoulder doesn’t have priority. We have bigger fish to fry.”

“You work here?” he dares to ask. 

You pull at the bottom of your scrub top. “Guilty as charged. Trauma surgery. I’ve been an attending here for a little over two years now.”

“Oh, wow! That’s…that’s incredible.”

Matt has encountered his fair share of doctors in the past, but no one has ever been quite like you. You’re unique. Mysterious. An enigma. You have piqued his curiosity, to say the least, and your profession only adds to the pile of interesting things he can ponder about.

You smile at him again, but it’s still not a genuine one. “Thanks,” you drag the last syllable out, the air deflating your lungs.

He swallows. “Or it isn’t. I didn’t mean to–”

“No, that’s not… some days just aren’t that rewarding,” you say. “That’s all.”

“And today has been one of those days?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Your eyes roam over him once again.

He reaches for his hair, running his hand through it. He ruffles the brown strands until they’re covering his left temple. Matt’s not sure if you saw; there is a high chance that you did, but he can't anticipate your behavior. Not yet. 

You let out a longer breath. “Not a fan of hospitals, I take it?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “It gets… loud,” he says. 

“Sensitivity to sound.” You nod. “Noted.”

He hears the fabric of your scrubs brushing against your skin and the cotton sheets on the bed. You cross your legs, opening yourself up to him just slightly, and he wonders if you really are comfortable around him or if you’re just being kind. 

“Probably to smell as well? Feeling? Taste?” There is a soft smile laced in your voice. This time, it’s real. 

Matt chuckles. You hit the nail right on the head. You’re simply not aware of how sensitive he is to these things. “Pretty sensitive, yeah,” he says. 

That about sums it up. You nod, but you don’t push him any further. 

“Well,” you say, “The ER is pretty disgusting. And loud. And to be forced to wait in front of radiology is probably a scenario they offer as a torture device in one of the seven circles of hell.”

He can’t help himself, “It’s nine, actually.”

“Sorry?”

“Nine circles,” Matt clarifies, his lips twitching in a faint grin. “Dante’s Inferno. A good Catholic boy’s guilty pleasure.”

You let out a genuine laugh this time, and it warms his senses. It’s a rare sound in a place filled with so much pain. He can almost hear the weight from your shoulders hit the floor. The tension in the air seems to ease, if only for a moment. You allow to let yourself go. 

Your grin turns into a smirk. “Catholic, huh?” you retort. 

“Since the day I was born,” he says. “Are you religious?”

That seems to steal your breath away. You have no words. For a full minute, silence settles in between the two of you. It’s almost uncomfortable, and Matt fears he must have crossed a line. He just doesn’t know how to apologize for something he is truly curious about. 

The topic of God and religion seems to hit a nerve when it’s not used in a humorous context. There are many reasons why that could be. He spends every day battling his own religious trauma and the demons that he feels he’s harboring deep inside, but he still holds on tight to his faith. If he doesn’t have an excuse—if he doesn’t have anything to hold onto other than what broken self-respect he has left—where would he be?

You finally clear your throat after what feels like an eternity. “No,” it’s a simple answer. “I don’t believe that there is a God.”

Your mouth stays open. You want to say something else, but your lips close within seconds after the thought has passed by you, and you swallow it. He wonders what he could have learned about you if you had allowed yourself to say what you were truly thinking when the words first left your mouth. You’re holding back, and it is audible. It might even be visible. Your cheeks are running hot. 

Matt nods. He doesn’t question you. Your beliefs are yours. Most of the time, he doesn’t even believe that there is a God himself. 

“It’s hard to keep the faith in this world, especially when you work so hard every day trying to save people’s lives. When you are forced to see what the system does to those who can’t defend themselves over and over again, but you can’t do anything about it. Or when you see what people do to each other. I mean, the cruelty of human beings is unmatched, and it makes you wonder if God is just a sadist, or if maybe he isn’t even real because a gracious God wouldn’t let innocent children die,” you cut yourself off in an instant, and he tilts his head toward you in surprise. 

Your breath shudders. “I… I’ve seen too much bad to believe that there is an all-merciful God,” you say. “So I simply don’t.”

You try to meet his eyes, but all you see is your reflection in the red of his rounded glasses. Your heart breaks a little, he can hear it. Your shoulders slump. You’re defeated.

He isn’t sure how to react to that. How to help. How to be a decent human being. Matt just doesn’t have the answers you need, and it makes him question his own faith for a minute. Not that he has ever not questioned it; his relationship with God is as complicated as it gets.

You catch yourself after a moment of staring into the void of his glasses. “But… that’s my opinion. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Matt says.

You were smiling, and now you’re not anymore. He doesn’t like that. He liked it more when you were more open with him. Your legs have moved back to your chest, your arms clinging to them. You’ve retreated. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. The edge in your voice breaks his heart. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I get it. Injustice…it’s a parasite. I’ve encountered my fair share of good people who deserved better than what they got. You try and you fail over and over again because the world isn't fair. I’d be the last person to judge you for not sharing my beliefs.” He breaks off in a chuckle. “I'm not that kind of guy.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. “What is that you do again?” You didn’t ask that question before.

“I’m a lawyer,” he states. “Defense attorney.”

“Wow,” you let out a soft puff of air, “And you chose to go to Metro General instead of jumping on the big money train to the Upper East Side?” 

Although your tone is joking, Matt can tell that there is an ounce of truth in your words.  

He hides his laugh behind a cough. He’s not sure if he’s surprised or if he actually finds that assumption hilarious. Maybe a bit of both.

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I have never even been in the same station as the big money train.”

“Oh?”

“No. We, my partner and I, do pro-bono work. We don't get paid for our services. Well, other than baked goods and overdue bills in the mail, of course.”

You chuckle. “That’s a relief. Not so much for your bank account, but ethically.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for assuming. That was prejudiced of me,” you say. “I’m not trying to judge you. I’m sorry. Rich or not, it’s none of my business.”

Matt shrugs. “It's okay. Lawyers and doctors are the two professions so many think make millions of Dollars a year, and while that may be the case for a few, a lot of us just… don’t,” he says.

“Amen! If I had a drink, I’d toast to that.”

“Yeah, well, an intoxicated doctor would not fare well in the legal sense.”

“You think that would end my career?”

“I can’t even give you good legal advice other than, don’t.”

Your giggle turns into a laugh. “Thank you for the advice, counselor.”

He joins in. “Anytime.” 

For a moment, only the two of you exist. Matt adjusts his position, but he doesn’t take his bruised ribs into account. His wince is barely audible, yet you notice it in an instant. And when his hair slips, you can see the gash on his forehead. The one he tried to stitch up himself but probably did an awful job at concealing. 

Your eyes narrow in concern. “What happened to you?” your voice barely breeches the sound barrier. 

“Oh, nothing,” he tries to shrug it off. “Just an accident.”

“An accident?”

“I am blind, you know. I tripped, hit my head. It happens.”

“Hm.” Much to his surprise, you don’t press him further. Instead, you gently reach out to brush the sweaty strand of hair from his face that he used to cover up the aftermath of his latest endeavor. 

Now that he thinks about it, his ribs really do hurt. He’s sure nothing is broken, but they are severely bruised. Even he can feel the blood pooling under the skin. 

You bite your lip, not wanting to pry. The urge is obvious to him, but only to him. You’re good at your job. You focus on the task at hand. That is probably why you became a doctor in the first place; to help people, not to pry. 

But Matt Murdock doesn’t need help. 

“It’s fine,” he assures you. 

You nod. “I believe you.”

You don’t. You’re lying. He appreciates the effort though. You try your best at making him feel comfortable and welcome. Asking questions would only drive him away; you wouldn’t be able to satiate your pathological need to help. It’s who you are.

“Whoever patched this up did a terrible job,” you say, “and I don’t want to know who did it because if you tell me it was you, I will lose my mind, so, I choose to believe you for the sake of my own sanity.”

His lips part in a soft laugh. “Yeah, you don't wanna know,” he says.

“Can I fix it?"

He opens his mouth to decline, “You don’t have to, I–”

“Please.” 

There is no arguing with you, it seems.

Your footsteps echo in the empty hallway. One of the drawers in the cart across from the bed slides open at your touch. Matt can hear the distinct crinkle of packaging and the clanking of metal. When you return to his side, your steps are a little heavier. 

“I’m going to clean the wound and then apply a butterfly bandage to help the skin grow back together,” you explain. “The cut isn't that deep, but you must’ve hit your head pretty hard when you fell. I can’t force you to get a head CT, so… If you experience any nausea or neurological deficits in the next few days, you should come back to run some tests. But—and that is not my expert medical opinion because I don’t have the tests to back it up—I think it should be fine to heal on its own.”

“Any other advice, Doc?” he jokes. 

“Well, I can’t give the same good news about your bruised ribs.” You only have to place your hand on his side and his lips come to press tightly together. “I’m guessing third and fourth,” you say. “If one of them is fractured, it makes you run at risk for internal bleeding, but to see the extent of your injuries, we’d have to get an MRI. That is not my call to make. I can’t force you to get your battle scars checked out, I can just advise you to think about it. Really think about it.”

Matt sighs. His laughter has long died. “I know.”

He doesn’t want to repeat himself. He’s fine. He has to pretend that he’s fine because he doesn’t have time for doctors or questions. Neither you nor the law can protect him from the damage that the truth would do. 

You’re disappointed, but you swallow your pride. With delicate precision, you start cleaning the wound on his forehead, the cotton swab dabbing at the dried blood. He winces at the sting of antiseptic, a subtle twitch in response to the pain.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

Matt manages a half-smile. “It’s alright. I’ve had worse.”

That doesn’t make you feel better, but you accept it. You’ve learned to respect your patients’ wishes, even if that means swallowing a lie. 

As you work, your fingers graze over his skin with a careful tenderness. It’s a stark contrast to the harshness of the world he navigates outside—a double-edged sword. If he doesn’t go out there, more people die or get hurt. He would sustain the same injuries over and over again and almost die rather than pretend that evil isn’t lurking right outside his window every night. And there is a bigger storm brewing in the distance, one he isn’t fully prepared for. 

Yet.

You finish cleaning the wound and proceed to carefully apply a fresh bandage. Matt can feel the cool adhesive against his skin. Your touch is soothing, almost comforting, and he allows himself to relax.

“There,” you announce softly. “All patched up.”

Matt lifts his hand to touch the bandage, a habit he developed over the years to reassure himself that someone cared enough to tend to his wounds. “Thank you,” he answers. 

“No biggie.” You shrug with a tiny smile, and that makes him smile, too. It shows him that while you are displeased with his lack of respect for himself and his health, you aren’t mad at him. You just care.

The shrill beeping of your pager tears a headache through his skull.

You curse under your breath. “I’m so sorry,” you say as you skim over the text that has been sent to you. “The, uh—the ER needs me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he quickly responds. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go. Save a life!”

You’re reluctant at first, but then your lips curl into a broader, more genuine smile, and in the heat of the moment, you grab his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Matthew,” you say. “Take care of yourself.” 

Your footsteps retreat and your heartbeat gets fainter as you walk down the hallway. He’s speechless. He doesn’t even remember how to say goodbye. 

“Oh, and do me a favor?” You stop momentarily just to ask him, “Get those ribs checked out?”

His mouth opens and closes like that of a fish on dry land. “Sure,” he says. 

“Thank you,” these are your last words to him before you take off running. 

Both of you know though that once he is out of Metro General and on his way home, he won’t come back. Not for himself, at least. And it is something you have to accept as much as he has to accept the fact that you are long gone, off to save a life in the very four walls that seemed so scary to him all alone only fifteen minutes ago.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @littlehappyperson @danzer8705

[pinkcannibal]

in honor of it being christmas/new years time, do you have any headcanons on how reader and marilyn would celebrate? would marilyn buy lots of gifts, would they spend the break time in an empty nevermore castle? would they snuggle by a fire and watch christmas movies together? would marilyn bring reader to come watch the fireworks on new year’s eve? please share your thoughts !!

oh my GODDDD oh i have thoughts all right!!! this is pure fluff like zero smut. other than the idea of marilyn tying up reader w christmas lights but we cant get into that.....

anyways i always headcanon it that because of reader's tumultuous and strained/abusive relationship with her parents, she always spends christmas break at nevermore and lives in her dorm for the duration of it

(pre relationship, marilyn was the one to suggest this, very tenderly and coercively kind of guiding reader into deciding that. both bc it would be in her best interest, and also so marilyn could be closer to her. it definitely sounded something like: "well, honey, i think it would be best if you stayed at nevermore over the holidays, don't you?" which reader agreed to immediately, not even knowing it was an option and not even realising this is exactly what marilyn wanted.)

reader always sneaks to marilyn's dorm when she can, and on the week before christmas can be a little careless with it bc most, if not all, students have decided to go home. reader hasnt ever gotten like, the most authentic christmas experience or ever felt very close to it, but that changes the second marilyn decides so <33

marilyn goes extreme sugar mommy mode, 90% of the gifts under their tree are for reader and eeeeverytime she walks past it, reader blushes and almost drops at the reminder of how doting and extremely dominant marilyn is being abt the holiday.

genuinely this woman comes home almost every day with a new bag of shopping and readers like "nooo mari please tell me thats not more gifts" which usually is answered with marilyn blushing and fixing her glasses all "i promise this one is small, sweet girl" (it isnt)

pre relationship they both accidentally walk under a mistletoe and have theee most awkward but endearing encounter :')))

marilyn was on her way to her class to do semester work preparation while reader was on her way to breakfast. queue them bumping into each other with reader blushing and stammering and apologising profusely, and marilyn just calms her with an easy smile and hand on her bicep all: "oh gosh, i didnt see you there! sorry, honey, these halls can be awfully confusing..." which led to marilyn fixing her glasses and glancing up, breathing out with a chuckle. "oh! mistletoe! how quaint." and reader swearssss her heart is in her throat when marilyn squeezes her bicep in parting, a little too tender and intentional to just be friendly.

(unbeknownst to reader, marilyn, of course, planted it)

reader loves how marilyn puts peppermint from her garden on the terrace in their hot chocolate <33 always making sure theres a sprinkle of it in her girls mug when they snuggle to watch movies <33

#realtome marilyn has those dorky christmas sweaters w like, cats or dogs on them. reader begs her to wear them with her one time, even when marilyn scrunches up her nose in distaste and tilts her head all: "baby, they're just dumb secret santa gifts i got from college almost 15 years ago, are you sure you want to-" but reader just silences her with a kiss bc she NEEDS to see marilyn in a christmas cat sweater more than air.

(marilyn relents embarrassingly quickly with a groan when reader just straddles her lap and nuzzles her cheek, begging softly with a whine. "please mommy? i'll be so, so good for you. y'can do anything you want to me, i promise.")

[shimmerbeasts]

What makes all of this worse, is that I actually have been considering how I have been handling my blog so far. Something I noticed, is that unlike most of my roleplaying partners, I end up with a catastrophic amount of drafts. Like we are often talking in the high twenties or even early thirties in number. I have to be honest with myself: This is not sustainable for a roleplayer in the long run. I always get burned out and have my creativity zapped or feel like I need to "catch up".

I should not feel like I need to catch up on my drafts. This is supposed to be a hobby. Especially because now I have other hobbies, which share the space with Tumblr rp, specifically art and just playing League. Plus I still wanna fight against my trauma, concerning long fiction. I wanna be able to heal. I wanna be able to write again. I still want to be an author, but I have to overcome this hurdle an irl person threw in my way because of how they treated me.

Because of this, I have considered a few things for the new year. One thing would be to drastically limit the amounts of drafts I should have at all times. I am considering numbers like between 14 and perhaps 15 or 16. Definitely never go beyond twenty again. Twenty drafts would be the hard limit so to speak. Approximately two weeks' worth of drafts should be doable.

The same goes for my ask box. I have been massively neglecting it and this resulted in twenty+ asks, some months old collecting dust in my inbox. I should be able to do those easier if I do not have to worry about almost twenty-seven drafts or something. I also have to remind myself that not every ask answer has to be turned into a thread, which was another reason my drafts skyrocketed so hard.

The thing is: I had considered implementing this idea after New Years. But now with that sudden jump in draft count (Fuck You, Tumblr!), I am honestly extremely tempted to just go screw it and essentially nuke everything and start from scratch. Definitely emptying out my entire inbox and maybe even the drafts and queue as well.

At the same time, I am also aware I am really angry right now and that with a lot of people, I poured a lot of energy into my threads. So right now, I am a bit at an impasse. I am aware I cannot continue like this but I also am not sure what best to do and how.

[izzyizumi]

{Blog Info} The Beginning Spoiler Tags

Anyway, reminder I'll be using: #The Beginning Spoilers (when re-blogging) #TheBeginningSpoilers or #The Beginning Spoiler (Sometimes also when making an original post) Previous spoiler tags used include #Kizuna Spoilers #Tri Spoilers #Bokura no Mirai Spoilers #Our Future Spoilers #Kyousei Spoilers {Tri Pt. 5}, #Soushitsu Spoilers {Pt. 4}; #Kokuhaku Spoilers {Pt. 3}, #Ketsui Spoilers {Pt. 2}, and I don't always tag Saikai anymore (reminder this has always been an overall spoiler-free blog for older series, especially everything pre DigiAdv 2020, Ghost Game and Survive) but if it's concerning big plot points and meta, #Saikai Spoilers may also be used. #DigiAdv 2020 Spoilers is still being used for more spoilery DigiAdv 2020 meta and discussion, but also may not always be used depending if I can fit in tags or not (as the tag limit is 30 tags).

Questions about my blogs' upcoming experience with anything related to The Beginning under the 'read more'.

Which version are you seeing? It depends if I can even make it to the showing, but I'm NOT seeing the U.S. dub version tomorrow, and instead would be seeing the sub on the 9th IF AND ONLY IF it actually works out reminder I am Disabled and sometimes get chronic pain flareups, so we'll see what happens on the day of.

Are you planning to review it? Probably not. I'm not the type to make full-on reviews... If anything I will likely just reblog related stuff, and even that may not happen for a couple weeks still, as I have to build the blog queue back up. I almost have half a mind by now to refund my ticket{s} me and someone bought but its already the day before and I'm not sure I can. At the least my theater here might be pretty empty, so we'll see. It's not necessarily that I don't want to see it on a personal level (I very much do), but I'm going to be honest about my overall opinion once it's out.

Can I ask you your opinion on something {to do with the series}? As long as you understand I am not open to full-on "debating" about it (OR the typical timeline debates; or U.S. dub-vs-sub semantics) and as long as my opinion can be generally respected, catch me when my Ask box is open. Asks here should generally be kept specific to this fan base and this fan base only. {Also, more specifically, Adventure{s}-related franchise as a whole. Yes, I know 'Adventures' is not an official title and I do not need to be told that, it's for tags organization and clarifications' sake when I talk about the whole franchise.} (Just clearing this up now in case, since I'm not sure what the state of things is going to look like after tomorrow.)

[junkratsloverat]

love notes

*mark voice* ...hi. it's me. i'm not dead!

apparently my queue ran dry a while back and i didn't notice lol. but i'm still around, trying to be more active when i can c:

and! today's my birthday! so i wrote a rhys thing. he's been bouncing around in my head a lot lately, and i kinda needed a pick-me-up, so here he is :D ♥

length: 5366 characters ; 1000 words

warnings: none, pure fluff! ♡

Hannah rubbed her eyes and stretched. Feeling the empty bed next to her wasn’t that out of the ordinary, especially if he had somewhere he needed to be, but… this was different. She sat up to reach for her glasses, which were.. also gone. Nothing else on her nightstand had been touched, but in the spot where her glasses usually were lay a small pink sticky note.

Good morning, baby! I know it’s hard to see where this is going, but trust me, it’ll be worth it~

There were hearts drawn along the sides, with two small stick figures holding hands at the bottom. There was a second one underneath, which seemed like it’d been written a bit faster, and with a lot less art this time.

The next note’s in the bathroom. Couldn’t come up with a cute hint. :/

Hannah giggled, carrying both notes with her to their shared bathroom. Another doodle-covered note had been stuck to the light switch — You light up my life, angel.

There were two outfits picked out for her, the super comfy pajamas Rhys got for Christmas a few years ago were folded on the sink, and a more formal number had been hung up nearby. Two more notes were stuck to mirror:

Get ready and pick what kind of day we’ll have. We can stay in and be cozy, or go out and do whatever you want~

Hannah was almost too eager to go for the pj’s and comfy day in, she nearly missed the second note. It was up higher, closer to Rhys’s eye-level. I wish you could see yourself like I do, written in larger letters at the top, with a bunch of adjectives across the bottom. Soft (but strong). Funny. Kind. Beautiful…

Hannah bit her cheek, trying to hold back the wave of emotion rolling over her. She couldn’t cry on her birthday — not this early, at least.

As her morning routine continued, she kept finding more notes; most were hints about what to do next, but a handful of them were positive reminders. The same kind she used to leave for him back on Helios, when she’d been too shy to tell him how she felt.

The last one was stuck to one of their wedding pictures in the living room. Most of them had been formally taken, but this was one of the few candid ones Rhys had hung up. At the last second, Hannah had decided to smear his face with cake instead of feeding it to him, and Lor had gotten a picture of the second Rhys realized what happened. He had frozen in place, still holding his empty fork, staring at her. Hannah had her hand in front of her mouth to try and hide her laugh, her palm covered in frosting making it impossible to deny her guilt.

Thank you for 7 years of surprises. Hopefully you’ll like yours, too. Happy birthday, baby! All my love, Rhys

She giggled as she took the last note down. “Is the surprise my glasses?”

Looking around the living room, nothing looked out of place.. just a lot fuzzier than normal.

A small thud from the kitchen made her jump. As she got closer and the room became less blurry, she could make out breakfast made for two with her glasses sitting nearby, and a slightly distraught Rhys knelt down behind the island.

“C’mon, just… stay in the box,” he whispered. “Riiiiight.. there!”

Hannah snuck up behind him and tapped his shoulder, making him jump and quickly turn around. He was wearing the matching pajamas with an Atlas apron on top. There were small patches of flower in a few places, almost matching the one on his cheek. “Did you have to scare me like that? Geez..”

“S-sorry! Sorry, I just.. I was gonna thank you for these.” She held up the stack of sticky notes, and tiptoed to kiss his cheek. “You know I’m keeping all of them, right?”

He grinned, picking up her glasses and easing them onto her face. “You liked those?”

“’Course I do — they’re from you.” She smiled, nuzzling against his hand as he cupped her face. “So.. who were you talking to?”

“Your present! Well, one of your presents. But it’s the biggest one!” The box behind him seemed to move in protest, one corner now peeking out from behind him. “And, uh, apparently the most eager..”

“Maybe we should open it first, then?”

“Mmmh.. close your eyes first. It doesn’t really have a top, and I don’t want you peeking, so…”

Hannah nodded, closing her eyes and holding out her arms. “This ok?”

Rhys kissed her forehead. “Perfect. Just hold still.. and be careful.”

The box weighed more than she’d thought, but she didn’t flinch. Hesitantly, she opened one eye, then the other. A small white bundle of fluff stared up at her, its head slightly tilted, but it seemed to be smiling.

“Wh.. did you-”

“Woof!” The puppy decided to answer for itself, and hopped up to lick her cheek.

Hannah giggled, setting the box down and picking up the puppy itself. It looked like a cloud, except for the Atlas-red bow around its neck. “Hey, buddy. Where’d you come from, huh?”

“I promised I’d get you another one when you were ready, remember?” Rhys kissed the top of her head, one hand tracing small shapes across her back. “…aaaand I couldn’t say no to that face. She’s just so cute! Aren’t you?” He giggled, gently scratching behind the puppy’s ears. “Yes you are~”

Hannah nuzzled against the puppy’s fur, shedding a few of the tears that had been threatening to fall all morning. “Thank you, Rhys.” She smiled up at him, trying to wipe them away with the back of her hand. “Like I’ve barely been awake for an hour, and this is already one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had.”

Rhys grinned, pulling her in for a kiss. “And it’s just getting started~”

[sometimesanalice]

Jordannn! Now I know you don't like fuss, but I am absolutely going to fuss for a moment. [enter fuss]

I've told you before and I'll tell you again that getting your reblog of Oh Christmas Tree (look I even linked The One!) like properly sent me in a full thrilled tizzy! I was too shy to really try and engage with anyone outside of reblogging fics and leaving comments, but I always admired the way you took the time to leave people such thoughtful and supportive comments and I remember thinking "oh I hope she sees this and likes it". And I nearly chucked my phone when I got the notification and read it! I thought I was one and done, but having someone whose work I loved reading telling me they enjoyed my own first attempt at writing for fun really encouraged me to try it again and see if I still had something worth writing! (the piano fic came next and then was shelved for Like I Can, but I was excited to learn I had more words and stories in me! so thank you for that!)

Your support on my very first fic and on every fic ever since has meant the world to me! And I'm so happy I get to call you a friend (on tumblr and off!) [end fuss]

now back to your previously scheduled program and pink trees for you:

Plus, you know that you can get Bradley to put it up for you- even though he hates the feeling of glitter on his hands- if you offer to make him an Old Fashioned in exchange. - this is such a cute detail! every time i’ve read this part i’ve always smiled- I just love a cheeky girl who knows how to get her way and a hunky aviator boyfriend who would do anything for her (with or without the bribe) including getting the herpes of the crafting world all over his big hands.

But because it was one of the many ways he showed you just how important you were to him, just how much he paid attention to you. // It was something you had only ever mentioned once in passing, but that’s who Bradley Bradshaw is. The type of man who goes above and beyond for the people he loves. - i reread the first part the other day and got butterflies again 🤭🤭 he was so sweet and thoughtful! like she said, she mentioned it once and he remembered!-- like there's a difference between listening and remembering! And that man is a REMEMBERER. He's soaking up all those details and making a mental rolodex. I think because he's lost so many important people in his life, that when he recognizes that someone matters to him, he wants to memorize and hold onto everything.

You would gladly never have a real tree again as long as it meant that Bradley got to be yours forever. - get the fuck OUTTE of here!!!-- miss ma'am would give up her pine tree scented candles too if that's what it takes!

And of course, there was also a copy of the house key dangling on a pretty pink velvet ribbon. - this part was for me wasn’t it 😉- HAPPY ACCIDENT BUT CLEARLY MEANT TO BE! (the way I SQUEALEDDDDD when I saw that pink tree you doodled on the package!) But also, like just a reminder of how similar we are! (that was some luxe ribbon! and I'm obsessed with it! omg should I use it to tie the bronco to my tree??? could you imagineeeeeee)

On the mantle of that fireplace were ivory knit stockings embroidered with your name and his - POTTERY BARN OR?!!?-- only the best for these festive babes! bradley even got to pick the embroidery font!

The two of you have been together for almost a year and a half, but the way Bradley kisses you still sets off butterflies in your stomach and makes your heart flutter. - well it’s also giving me them and i wanna scream?? and when she describes the kisses??? ‘there you are’ kisses was my fave-- them? as in Them Them?! ahhhh! But I'm still swooning over her different categories. She memorizes them the way that bradley memorizes the little things about her 💖

You’d even signed up early to try and get a spot in the queue and it still had kicked you out with empty hands. - LOVE this little detail! and that even 1000s of miles away, bradley still took care of things and had nat get them!-- he's such a man written by a woman (literally) BUT WE LOVE HIM FOR IT, lololol! I bet that their last Christmas was still on his mind and he was looking at all the local announcements and Travel San Diego accounts for inspiration on what to do this year. The man also had a PLAN.

You make a little squeal in delight as you throw your arms around his neck to hug him and he laughs. It’s the best sound in the world to you. - STOP!!!! i know she could feel the rumbles of laughter in his chest when she was hugging him- SO BIG SO BROAD SO WARM SO RUMBLY

In the Spring, he had built you a bunch of raised garden beds in the backyard for you to grow whatever you wanted. - LEAVE! NOW! this is so tender! but also i love how you take us through the year with the seasons!-- I was really excited to share a peek at what their year looked like together! like they're my holiday couple but I wanted to show them outside of Christmas (or their first halloween, lol). But also, this is vvvvvv much my most indulgent fic series (where's my garden beds built by a handsome man???) 👩🏻‍🌾

“You seemed to enjoy that Leprechaun Run you did with Jake and I saw that there was an Ugly Sweater Fun Run today and I signed us up, we have to be there in an hour.” “Bradley, you didn’t,” you say with a gasp, sitting up like you’ve been struck by lightning. - PLSSSSSSS this would also send my heart racing (derogatory)-- THIS IS NOT THE WAKE UP SHE LIKES TO HAVE. there's no running in december, only eggnog and peppermint flavoring and treats. He was almost a single man for Christmas, lol (but really if he had been serious she would have been like "well you better call Jake to make sure he's there on time to run with you, lol)

…to check out some of the decorated boats docked for the Parade of Lights. - i’m so impressed by all the research that went into this!-- you and I are research girlies!

They’d greeting him with that head nod that only men seem to exchange, like you got roped into this too, huh?, but what they didn’t know was that being there had been his idea. - absolute NERDDDDDDD i love him “mr raised beds i think my girlfriend smell like sunshine!”-- he is so smittennnnnnn! my girl likes flowers, we're going to play with flowers. and you KNOW he was so smug when he saw some of those other arrangements from the other men. the 1%!

By the end of class, he knows his ears are pink because of how much you’re showering him with praise and gushing over his arrangement. - PRAISE KINK???-- he's got the praise kink, she's got the competency kink, it's a match made in heaven!!

You slip your hand in his with a grin, “Virtue and Moir better watch out.” - don’t…don’t drag me back down that rabbit hole again-- just file it under: things I will never get over. THE CHOKEHOLD THEY HAD/HAVE ON ME (but also lets talk about the moulin rouge routine!)

And if you faked a couple wobbles so that he’d put his arm around you, it was worth the sacrifice of trying to look graceful. - it’s only weaponized incompetence if they other person doesn’t want to do it-- and we know how much this man is the physical touch as a love language type. he can't help himself if he's handsy. so he definitely doesn't mind in the least! plays into his hero complex too, haha

Your wrist had been killing you and you hated being the reason that Rooster’s leg hand been bouncing anxiously next to you in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. - 🥺🥺-- directors cut: so this part is still a bit heavier than I wanted it to be, but I had written a whole bit where the parents of the jerk of a kid (who was definitely causing mayhem on PURPOSE) comes over to apologize (while their kid is still terrorizing others on the ice mind you) and she's like tryign to mollify the situation and bradley just is all tense and tight jawed. but it wasn't the vibe, but just know he was biting his tongue. so even though as it is it's not quite the fluffy whoopsie daisy i'd imagined, i do like how it reflects the first fic? like he's upset he "ruined christmas" and here she's just as upset she "ruined" their perfect day.

You’d gone with a white and pink stripped candy cane inspired look to match the tree, Bradley. - i can hear her saying this (also smart aleck 1000% would too)- it's the theme! it's the vibe! also when they watch the 2000 Grinch movie she points out the candy cane girls like she's one of them now.

(another director's cut: in the hubbub I think he totally forgot that Nat and Jake had set up the other two trees. like he was more concerned about her than his proposal plans. the other daggers stopped blowing up his phone around the time they arrived to the ice rink, not wanting to bother him knowing what he was planning to do when they got home afterwards. So as he's getting her up the stairs (she even notes that the glow seems brighter) he realizes that the trees are there and all lit up. His shoes are definitely still on when he "stubs" his toe after he drops some choice language, lol. And then he's like trying to hustle her up as quick as he can because he's not proposing while she's coming down off the twilight juice and there's no goo explanation for why theres now 3(!) pink trees in their living room. But I need to go back in and edit it to clear that up a bit, lol)

He’s already looking on his phone for other options, sitting on the bathroom floor next to you as you soak in the tub, when he feels your fingers thread through his hair and he leans into your touch. - oh my god this is DARLING!!!! 🤭🤭 i love this image so much and then she plays with his hair!!! and he plays with hers!!! it’s such a sweet mirror from part 1-- so when I was drafting I knew I wanted it to be a dual POV again like the first one, but I couldn't figure out what was needed to fill in his part for this last bit, but I loved the idea of it mirroring the first part. Of him sitting next to her, while she soaks (he's still the one getting his pretty hair pet, but they both like it, haha). Like they can't ease the pain or fix the past, but they can just BE with each other, and it's lovely and soft and domestic and 🥰

“But the instructor was so sweet, Roos. I told her that the dahlias were your mom’s favorites and then she went to the back and got me a bunch.” - i love how thoughtful and intentional both of them are with each other? they’re both definitely an acts of service couple and it’s sweet to see the parallels-- I think what I loved most about this was that in the moment while they were there, she didn't take the credit for making it happen? like she wanted them because she knew they'd matter to him, and that was enough? She didn't need the praise or thanks, she just wanted something nice for him. but then her loose lips let it slip and he puts it together himself?? and we love a girls supporting girls moment!

And there standing in front of them is Bradley, barefoot in his favorite sweatpants in your cozy living room of the home he’s made with you looking like a daydream. - OF THE HOME HE’S MADE WITH YOU!!!! get OUTTE this is so lovely! he is so lovely!!! and the fact that he’s barefoot actually is so sweet and soft!!!-- i want to live in this moment! (idk what it is about men barefoot padding around the house, but like IT GETS TO ME. like it's so oddly domestic to me?? idk how to explain it but it does something to my brainnnn)

You can almost see his heart that he is wearing on his sleeve. His pretty honey brown eyes are tracing over every inch of your face, almost like he is trying to commit every microcosm of your expression to memory. - STOP THIS!!!!! HE IS SO PRETTY AND SWEET AND EARNEST!!! HE WANTS TO SHARE AND LIFE WITH HER!! SHE MAKES HIM HAPPY WITH HER BIG HEART!!!-- did i tear up writing that proposal, yes. i admit it without shame. (now i have to go reread it, brb. anddddd i'm back) and you KNOW just the face he is wearing (it's a mix of good student bradley and final scene bradley)

You know the matching pair of diamond earrings that Bradley had gotten for you as your Christmas gift are shining just as bright. - oh HELLL yes-- HE IS SO CHEEKY FOR IT!! when he teases her about it he hadn't gotten them yet, he did it for the bit! but also because he already had the big diamond, he didn't need a payment plan or anything!

The marquise diamond had belonged to his mom, but he had had it reset in gold with a halo of diamonds around it for you. He’d even bought a pink velvet box to put it in for the occasion. - oh he’s PERFECT!!! that’s so coquette too i’m obsessed-- he likes a theme too! he knows the pantone color of the year!

also here it is:

Anywayyyssssssss, 💖💖💖💖💖💖 you!

Make You Mine This Season

Summary: It’s your second Christmas with Bradley and the holidays are always better with him by your side. After the perfect day out, you come home with a new accessory- just not the one you were hoping for.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: so much fluff and some allusions to smut and a cast that looks like a candy cane.

(Author’s Note: set in the Oh, Christmas Tree universe, can be read on its own)

You can’t fight the smile on your face as you watch Bradley studiously stare at the Christmas tree with a delicate glass icicle ornament dangling from his long finger.

“I think it need to go a little to the left, Roos,” you say, watching the way the little golden thread attached to it gleams from the many strands of white lights he had spun around it earlier in the afternoon.

The contrast between your handsome Naval aviator boyfriend and the very large, very fluffy pink Christmas tree he had bought for you would never not thoroughly charm you. 

“Here?” he asks, moving the dainty icicle to the left per your suggestion.

“Maybe just a bit up?”

Bradley moves it and holds it up to a spot near the little glass Hawaiian shirt ornament you’d gotten for him. He was so amused by it that he’d given it what he called a place of honor on the tree.

“Hmm, no. I think back to the right and down a smidge.”

He turns and shoots you a smirk over his broad shoulder, “Ok, now you’re just messing with me.” 

And then he hangs it on the tree with a flourish.

You laugh when he steps back and gives a dramatic sweep of the hand that would put Vanna White to shame.

Ever the showman.

He had been so excited when he’d found the ornaments in the storage locker he’d kept in Virginia earlier in the summer when the two of you had taken a quick trip to there to pack up the remaining things he’d left behind and bring them home.

The sleeves on the flannel plaid shirt he is wearing are rolled up highlighting his forearms and that snug fitting tank and the ridges of his abs on full display. You’d taken the liberties to sneak in a few glances as he’d bent over to grab ornaments out of the large plastic storage container you keep them in.

It’s an easy choice to abandon the silvery glittery Fa-la-la-la garland that you had been working on hanging on that tricky bit of wall space beneath the stairs to come stand next to him by the tree.

Plus, you know that you can get Bradley to put it up for you- even though he hates the feeling of glitter on his hands- if you offer to make him an Old Fashioned in exchange.

He drapes his arm over your shoulders and drops a kiss to the top of your head as you wrap your arms around his waist, the two of you taking a moment to admire the pretty twinkling tree in front of you with Bob Hope crooning softly on the background.

You love this tree.

And not because it is the most wonderfully ostentatious thing you’ve ever seen. Or because he’d surprised you with it when he asked you to move in with him the year before. But because it was one of the many ways he showed you just how important you were to him, just how much he paid attention to you.

Bradley kept asking what you wanted for Christmas this year, but you’d been avoiding giving him an answer.

Because he was the only thing on your list this year.

You would gladly never have a real tree again as long as it meant that Bradley got to be yours forever.

His allergy to pine trees had taken both of you by surprise last year. Before that chaotic afternoon last December, he had never had a real tree before, but it didn’t take long until his normally sunkissed skin has been covered in angry red hives.

And that gorgeous seven-foot Noble Fir that you had selected from the Christmas tree lot had quickly become Jake’s gorgeous seven-foot Noble Fir.

But you’ll never forget that magical moment when you had walked into his cozy living room to see that candy colored confection of a tree for the first time and how proud Bradley had been to be the one to make your dreams of a pink tree Christmas come true.

It was something you had only ever mentioned once in passing, but that’s who Bradley Bradshaw is. The type of man who goes above and beyond for the people he loves.

Last year, the two of you had just picked up a couple boxes of basic multicolored bobbles to hang on the tree. But this year, your pretty pink tree has some new decorations that you’d collected along the way since then.

The sparkling frosty mug was something he’d found at the airport on the way back from when you’d taken him home to meet your parents for the first time. To no one’s surprise, they’d loved him. He’d had a lot of fun at the breweries you’d taken him to and you liked getting to see a tipsy and pink cheeked Bradley Bradshaw.

There was a blue miniature model toy Bronco with a bottle-brush Christmas tree hanging out the back was one you’d recently found at a Christmas market you went to with Nat and Bob the previous weekend. You’ve never handed over your credit card for something so quickly before in your life.

There was even a shiny shamrock that Jake had picked up to commemorate your first- and last- Leprechaun Run.

It was a promise you were coerced into making in exchange for Jake’s help and the use of his truck to move your things into Bradley’s place the weekend after you happily agreed to live in with him. You were planning on waiting until after the beginning of the New Year, but Rooster wouldn’t hear of it. You were able to hold off for a few days, but he’d made some rather compelling points with his mouth that had swayed your mind pretty quickly.

That New Year’s Eve, he’d kissed you properly and thoroughly surrounded by a dozen half-unpacked brown cardboard boxes.

You thought Hangman would have forgotten about it, but it turns out the only person that had forgot was a you, because you’d nearly spit out your beer mid-sip when he’d slapped down the race bib in front of you at the Hard Deck one evening in March.

It was just as terrible as you’d imagined it would be and worse. Not even the four-leaf clover bobble headband you’d worn had cheered you up even the slightest.

The term fun run was an oxymoron and you were willing to die on that a hill.

And of course, there was also a copy of the house key dangling on a pretty pink velvet ribbon. The one he’d originally given you was a permanent fixture on your key ring.

“So what’s the verdict, sweetheart? How did I do? Is it fluffed enough?” he asks, pulling back to look down at you.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” you say grinning up at him.

You’ve loved his homey Craftsman since the first time you’d stepped inside it with all of its warm wooden paneling around the entryways and ceiling beams. The hand tiled fireplace was mostly for aesthetics rather than functionality. You’d filled it with a display of tall pillar candles, but there’d been a couple of occasions where the two of you had stacked it with wood picked up from the grocery store and had the sounds of its crackles and pops serving as the soundtrack to your cozy night in.

You loved it even more now that your books were mixed in with his on the bookshelf. On top of his upright piano there were framed pictures of you and him and of all your friends and family. On the mantle of that fireplace were ivory knit stockings embroidered with your name and his.

This was your home now too, pink Christmas tree and all.

“The best thing, huh?” he says, amused.

“Maybe second best,” you muse, sliding your hand into the back pocket of his snug jeans, “Those Danny Zuko shorts you wore last Halloween still live rent free in my head.”

“I’ve still got those short-shorts, you just say the word and I’ll go put them on for you anytime.”

You snort a laugh and pull him down for a kiss.

The two of you have been together for almost a year and a half, but the way Bradley kisses you still sets off butterflies in your stomach and makes your heart flutter.

Soft kisses. Passionate kisses. Hello kisses. See you soon- never goodbye- kisses. Just because kisses. There you are kisses. Never stop kissing me kisses. All of them turn you upside down just like a snow globe.

He pulls away first, looking to the tree again contemplatively, “You know, the more I look at this the I feel like something is missing.”

You skim over the tree with its warm glow from the many strands of lights, the sparkling ornaments, the glinting icicles, and the delicate bejeweled snowflake tree topper. Short of tying on a few bows for the fun of it, there’s nothing more you think this tree needs.

“I might have tucked a little something in the piano bench,” Rooster says with a nod towards his well-loved upright, “Why don’t you take a look.”

You try and fail to ignore the swoop in your stomach as you walk up to the bench. You already know that you want to be his forever and the two of you are on the same page about it, but you don’t want to get your hopes up. You’re trying to be practical, realistic.

But the heart wants what the heart wants, and your heart wants him.

The seat creaks open as you lift the lid open with a not-so-steady hand, and sitting inside a small box filled with iridescent filler are the prettiest pair of ceramic ice skates you’ve ever seen. You lift the dainty ornament from the box to see that they dangle from a couple ribbons that have been tied together in a lovely bow at the top. They even have a little white fluff lining the rims of boot.

It was one of the things you missed most about home, your town had a little outdoor rink that was set up every year. You weren’t the greatest skater and it had been a few years since you’d laced up a pair of boots, but it had always been one of your favorite traditions growing up.

“Oh Bradley, they’re so lovely,” you say with a dreamy sigh, “I love it, thank you!”

You admire them for another moment taking in all their little details before hanging them up on the pink tree near his little Hawaiian shirt ornament in a place of honor on the tree.

“I have another surprise for you,” he says with a grin, looking very proud of himself.

“Oh? When did you become such a man of mystery?” you tease.

“Gotta keep my girl on her toes,” Rooster winks, sliding a finger through your belt loop to pull you closer before wrapping his arms around you. “You know how Hotel del Coronado has that ice-skating rink set up now?”

Of course you did.

The tickets went on sale a little over seven weeks ago and time slots had sold out in five minutes. You’d even signed up early to try and get a spot in the queue and it still had kicked you out with empty hands.

“Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, looking up at him skeptically.

Bradley has been on a training detachment at the time, so there was no way Mr. One Percent could have gotten them when you couldn’t. There’s just no way.

You must say that part out loud or think it loud enough for him to hear you because that gorgeous smile of his gets devastatingly self-satisfied.

“I sure did, sweetheart-”

You jump up and cut him off with a kiss, he is quick to get his hands underneath you for support while your legs wrap around him.

“Oh my god, Bradley, how?” you ask excitedly between peppering kiss across his nose and cheeks.

“Ok, I can’t take full credit. I had some help,” he admits, clearly happy with your reaction, “Nat has, and I quote, ‘fast fingers’.”

You make a little squeal in delight as you throw your arms around his neck to hug him and he laughs. It’s the best sound in the world to you.

“What do you say, want to make a day of it? I might have a few things in mind for our San Diego Christmas. We’re a couple weeks early, but I’m feeling festive.”

You get too distracted by his smiling mouth to give him your answer then and there, but you remember to officially accept later that night in bed after your heart finally stops racing.

Convincing you to move in with him might be the best thing Bradley’s ever done.

Those cool Winter nights last year had tasted like bourbon and were spent wrapped up together on the couch and under the covers.

Your first big fight had been over whose Super Bowl team was going to win. There had been a lot of trash talk that night, but eventually a peace had been brokered. And really, no one was a loser when it came to orgasms.

In the Spring, he had built you a bunch of raised garden beds in the backyard for you to grow whatever you wanted. He’d learned that he had a bit of a green thumb when it came to zucchinis, a fact that irked you to no end because you could never get them to produce anything. He didn’t know sunshine had a scent until he could smell it on your skin with your hands covered in dirt and a smile on your facec.

And he was not surprised to learn that he was also very much a fan of your sundress collection.

The golden Summer days were spent at the beach and taking road trips to nowhere in the Bronco then the long way home. Rooster burned more often than he cared to admit, but you started keeping a container of aloe in the fridge for him. He’d never say no to have your soft hands on his body, your touch more soothing than the cooling gel could ever be.

That Fall he’d finally been able to go home with you for Thanksgiving. He’d met your family earlier in the year, but you’d been so proud to show him off at the official family gathering as you’d sipped on your cranberry mimosa. And after a year of planning, the two of you had finally been able to enact your Stealthy Soufflé Scheme.

He had been determined to get his girl that closely guarded recipe no matter what.

Your Aunt Christine had been putty in his hands with all of his yes, ma’ams and no, ma’ams and charming smiles and All-American golden boy aviator thing. You’d primed him on what things she was interested in and he had fully leaned into it, sweet talk and all. It didn’t hurt that she had been a big fan of the expensive bottles Syrah the two of you had brought with you.

You and your mom had been thrilled when he’d presented you with the handwritten copy of the coveted recipe. He had been happy to do it, but he didn’t mind the way you showed him your thanks later that night in your childhood bedroom.

He was the first boyfriend you’d ever had in there, and if he has his way, he’d also be the last.

Victory- and that not-so-secret-anymore corn soufflé recipe- never tasted so good. 

The two of you had had a great first Christmas together last year, excluding the slight hiccup with the whole hives thing. And he knows he’s a bit of a perfectionist, but he wants to make this one even better.

He had let you sleep in as long as he could, but he was excited for all the festive things he had arranged for today.

“C’mon, sleepy girl. We’ve got plans,” he says, skimming a few soft kisses along your shoulder.

“Do those plans involve coffee?” you mumble sleepily into your pillow.

He chuckles and brushes back a few of the hairs that are stuck against your forehead, “Of course, it’ll be the first stop after.”

You peek up at him from under your silk eye mask, he’s always liked a slightly fussy girl. You’d even got him one for his deployments to help him sleep better on the carrier.

“After what, Roos,” you ask skeptically.

“You seemed to enjoy that Leprechaun Run you did with Jake and I saw that there was an Ugly Sweater Fun Run today and I signed us up, we have to be there in an hour.”

“Bradley, you didn’t,” you say with a gasp, sitting up like you’ve been struck by lightning.

You look so alarmed, clutching the top sheet to your chest, that he can’t help but throw his head back and laugh.

“No, I didn’t. I promise,” he says, trying to pull you into his chest.

You shove lightly at his shoulder, “That was so rude of you, Bradley Peter Bradshaw.”

“Not the government name,” he smirks, leaning down to trail a couple kisses along your neck. He likes the way you always shiver when his mustache grazes that ticklish spot under your ear.

“Oh my god, I swear I just had a war flashback to that second mile when Jake tried to make me keep up with him,” you huff, leaning your head to the side to let him continue apologizing with his mouth, “You’re so lucky I’m even talking to you right now.”

“I am very lucky to have such a pretty, smart, and forgiving girlfriend. One who appreciates over the top Christmas decorations and brunch with themed cocktails.”

That piques your interest and you seem much more awake now for someone who usually needs at least two cups of coffee before becoming a fully functional human being, “Themed cocktails, you say?”

“Mhmm, they even have a Ho-Ho-Hot and Spicy Bloody Merry, spelled m-e-r-r-y,” he says with a smile, running a finger down the bridge of your nose. “But to get one, we have to get out of this bed and into the shower.”

“Sounds like it would be more efficient if we took one together, huh?” you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Plus I’m all about preserving the planet’s natural resources.”

The two of you were a little late getting out of the house, having worked up an appetite, but still manage to make it in time for the reservations he had made.

The restaurant had been swathed in miles of frosted evergreen garlands with so many oversized ornaments dangling and ribbons woven throughout that he wasn’t sure how it hadn’t come crashing down off the ceiling. Not an inch of it was left undecorated, it was all stands of lights and shiny wreaths and giant cellophane covered candies.

Brunch had been complete with a couple of those Bloody Merry’s he’d heard about from Coyote, as well as an order of Santa pancakes topped with a hat of strawberries tossed with orange zest infused syrup.

The Christmas radio station was playing all of your favorites and you were singing along as he zipped along the highway to the next stop.

The Ocean Beach Christmas tree was beloved for being San Diego’s unofficial response to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Bob had told him he’d stumbled upon it on accident one day last year when he had been exploring his new city and learned about the tree’s forty-year history and had enthusiastically recommended that Rooster added it to his festive agenda.

Bradley loved the way your face lit up at the sight of it. The top of the massive tree was leaning to the right and looked straight out of Whoville the way it decorated with all kinds of blow up pool toys. There were beach balls galore, traditional ones and ones that looked like disco balls, a few parrots, and even one shaped like an electric guitar.

“Oh my god, look!” He looks up from the text message he was replying to and follows the line of your arm to where your finger is directing his gaze, “Another bird defying the laws of physics.”

And there tucked away up in the tree next to a blow-up globe is an inflatable rooster.

On the way back into town, two of you stopped by Mission Bay to grab some more coffee and walk around the marina to check out some of the decorated boats docked for the Parade of Lights. He’d heard about it from Penny, who had even participated in the event herself a few years ago.

You’d both agreed the one that had turned the tall mast of the sailing boat into a glowing Christmas tree was the clear winner.

The next stop was something Bradley knew you’d be really excited about.

He’d found out about the Christmas centerpiece floral arrangement class from Nat who had a crush on the florist who ran the little shop.

The class was filled with mostly women, but there were a couple other men scattered around. They’d greeting him with that head nod that only men seem to exchange, like you got roped into this too, huh?, but what they didn’t know was that being there had been his idea.

Rooster was slipping his phone back into his pocket when you returned back to your little round table with an arm full of various flowers and different greens, with not a pine frond in sight. He’d even called in advance to make sure that there wouldn’t be any involved, just in case.

You were divvying up the things that you’d gathered from the long farmhouse tables in the front between the two of you when his phone pings again.

“Rooster, is everything ok? I feel like your phone is going off a ton this afternoon,” you asked, putting down the white berry looking things to look at him, a little crease there between your eyebrows.

“Yeah, of course,” he’d said, rubbing the back of his neck, “Fanboy decided to invite chaos into the group chat by asking if a hot dog was a sandwich or not. It’s getting pretty contentious.”

You give him a look but go back to dividing the pile in front of you, moving on from the berry things to some small roses.

“Also, for the record, a hot dog is definitely a category of its own. You don’t call a hamburger a sandwich,” you’d replied, not missing a beat.

“You won’t hear me arguing with that logic.”

“Good. Because facts are facts, Bradley.”

He pulled out his phone again to give it one last quick skim before turning the volume down, before noticing what flowers you’d just set in front of him, “Hey, are those dahlias?”

You hold up a stem with a large deep burgundy flower for him, giving it a spin between your fingers, “They are! It’s a little late in the season for them, so I’m surprised to see them here. Aren’t they pretty?”

“Those were my mom’s favorites,” he’d said fondly, remembering a backyard from decades ago that was lined with around the edges with the flowers.

“Were they? Well, I’m glad I grabbed them then,” you said with a soft smile, before handing him a few more to work with.

By the end of class, he knows his ears are pink because of how much you’re showering him with praise and gushing over his arrangement. He’d even gotten a few supportive thumbs ups from some of the other people in class.

“Seriously, Bradley. It’s so lovely! I mean, look at those pinecones you tucked in it. I can’t wait to put it on the dining table!”

You wanted to swing by Mav and Penny’s place to drop yours off for them, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he managed to convince you that it could wait until tomorrow.

He couldn’t wait for the next part of your day together.

Bradley jogs around the front of the Bronco to open your door for you after he parks at the Hotel del Coronado. He gives you his hand to help you down from the car, instead you reach and pull his face to yours.

The kiss is like spun sugar, airy and sweet. He could taste the lingering peppermint from your latte earlier.

“What was that for,” he murmurs against you lips.

“I just really love you,” you sigh, nudging his nose with yours, “Today has been so perfect. I feel like I’m in one of my Christmas movies, except I know you’re not going to ask me to leave my job in the big city to help you run your grandmother’s failing bakery to only get paid in gingerbread and Christmas spirit.”

“Lucky for you, my grandma could barely make toast, so you’re spared from such a fate. You wouldn’t need that little Mini Cooper of yours in a town that only has one stoplight.”

You press a quick kiss to his cheek, “Well thank goodness for small miracles.”

“We’ve still got one more thing on the list. You ready for this?” Bradley asks, holding his hand out.

You slip your hand in his with a grin, “Virtue and Moir better watch out.”

You can’t say you’ve ever expected to see an ice rink set up with a display of white sand and sparkling blue ocean behind it. But it was easily one of the most magical things you’ve ever seen.

The sunset has painted the skies a beautiful display of cool blues, soft pinks, and dusky purples. The palm trees lining the rink have been done up in strands of white lights that crisscross over it above your heads. The mixture of happy laughter, Christmas songs piped over the sound system, and waves crashing served as the soundtrack to the moment.

And you’re trying desperately not to fall and make a fool of yourself.

It was more than a little humbling stepping onto the rink after having not had a pair of ice skates on for more than a decade. It had been awhile since your family had indulged in this particular tradition, but you figured it would be like riding a bike.

It’s almost laughable now how wrong you were.

“How are you so good at this?” you jokingly accuse as you wobble on your skates, yet again. Luckily, Bradley’s sturdy grasp on your hand keeps you from falling.

He laughs, “I thought you said you did this all the time growing up?”

“I did! I just never said I was good at it.” A kid whizzes past you- a little too close, a little too fast- and Bradley shoots a disgruntled look at his swiftly retreating figure. “You come from a snow state, it’s in your blood. You automatically have the advantage.”

“Are you thinking of the other V-state? Vermont?” he teases, easily gliding around you swapping spots so that you’re closer to the edge of the rink rather than the middle.

“It snows in Virginia, I googled it.”

“I mean, yeah, but not a ton,” he says, “But it wasn’t like I was hitting up the indoor rinks either.”

“So you’re telling me you’re just a natural?” You roll your eyes affectionately at him.

He winks at you, “You said it not me, sweetheart.”

You’d nearly melted on the sight when Rooster had knelt down in front of you and looked up at you with such a boyishly charming smile as he’d tied the laces of your rented ice skates.

It took a moment to get your hummingbird heart back under control after that.

After a few more laps around, you’re starting to feel like you’re falling into the rhythm of it. You’re still keeping an eye out for people and the older kid who had earned himself more than one glare from people trying to enjoy their time on the rink as he erratically bobbed and wove his way through them. But your strides are getting longer and the shifting motion from side to side is getting smoother. You could almost claim to be gliding.

You’d forgotten how much fun it was, but then again, Bradley always made everything better and brighter.

Your cheeks ache in the best way from how much smiling you’ve been doing today.

And if you faked a couple wobbles so that he’d put his arm around you, it was worth the sacrifice of trying to look graceful. He’s already seen you at your best and at your worst, so you didn’t think your lack of skill standing on a quarter of an inch of metal was going to scare him away.

Rooster is a few feet ahead of you showing off some of his fancy footwork and maybe if you hadn’t been so distracted by his smile you would have heard the aggressive woosh of the kid’s skates as he sped up behind you.

It had only been a matter of time.

He collides with you but keeps his balance and propels himself forward, not slowing his pace in the slightest before taking off again. Your feet slip out for beneath you and before you know it you’re extending your right arm down to try and break your fall.

You meet the ice hard.

You feel pop.

A rush of warmth.

And then throbbing.

The next five hours pass in a twinkling blur of heavy guilt and aching pain.

Bradley had gone through so much effort planning such a perfect day for you and you feel terrible about how it ended.

The wait at the hospital had been miserable. The lights were too glaring and the noises too loud. The garish green and red garland draped on the desk seemed to mock you as you’d gone through the motions of getting checked in.

Your wrist had been killing you and you hated being the reason that Rooster’s leg hand been bouncing anxiously next to you in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. He’d tried to hide it, but you’d seen that deep furrow between his brows. You’d almost cried when he started stroking the back your pain-free hand with this thumb. It wasn’t until they’d brought you back for X-rays and had given you a light dose of painkillers that the world had shifted back into the dreamy soft focus it had been like earlier in the day with Bradley when he’d taken you on all those perfect dates.

You didn’t know if he had planned anything else, all you knew is that everything had unraveled so quickly.

It’s an odd feeling like you could float away at any moment. The painkillers made you feel buoyant and light, yet you can feel the weight on your shoulders just the way you feel the weight of the cast on your wrist.

Even now as the candy-colored lights that he’d put up along the front of the house bounce off of his still perfect curls, he’s wearing the softest of smiles for you as he works to open the front door. His dreamy brown eyes are reflecting nothing back at you other than warmth and affection and care.

Your wonderful, loving, perfect boyfriend. Your perfect Bradley.

You know it’s not entirely the drugs fault the way you’re struck by just how pretty he is. You’ve always thought so, but here and now you’re simply mesmerized by him under the glow of the Christmas lights.

“I don’t think I’ve been called pretty before, sweetheart. But thank you,” Bradley says with a little amused chuckle.

“Well you are. And your hair. Bradley, it’s not fair.” The words are tumbling out of your loose lips.

“My hair isn’t fair?” he asks with a tilt of his head, holding open the front door for you.

“No, it’s not! You just wash it and it dries like that?” He takes your purse from you and sets it on the entry table before helping to ease off the heavier sweater jacket you were wearing from your shoulders. “I don’t think you get it. You’re pretty, but you’re so handsome too.”

He squats down in front of you and smiles up at you before helping to slip off your shoes, “I’ll take handsome too if it’s on the table, sounds like a nice combo.”

“Please, you sound like Jake now,” you giggle.

“Oh no, we can’t have that now can we,” he grins, “But at least I’m pretty and handsome, hopefully that’ll cushion the blow.”

And you just love him.

You love him for the way he loves you and takes care of you and tries to make you laugh when he knows you’re feeling down. You reach up to pull his face to yours when you are distracted by the thick cast on your arm.

“This wasn’t the accessory I was hoping for for Christmas,” you say with a sigh.

The panic that electrifies your body is immediate as your spine goes ramrod straight. Oh no oh no oh no oh no. You can almost see the words swirl and twirl around him, and you know there’s no way you can snatch them back from the way they hang in the air.

“Ohmygod. Oh my god, I didn’t mean to say that.” You’re so flustered now, so embarrassed. “Please pretend you didn’t hear that.”

But Bradley is looking at you with his eyes crinkled around the corners and his lips pressed together like he is trying to hold back a laugh with the way his cheeks are pulling up.

“Oh, did you want a pair of earrings?” he teases, cupping your face in his hand.

“Bradley,” you whine.

“C’mere, baby,” he laughs and pulls you into his chest. You wrap your arms around him and wonder briefly if he can feel the hard plaster of your cast pressed against his back. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, “You know you never did tell me what you wanted for Christmas.”

“Don’t need anything,” you murmur into the warmth of him.

He’s already all you’ve ever wanted.

As you make your way up the stairs, glow from your pretty pink tree seems brighter than usual. Normally, you’d take one last peek back at it before going to bed, but you’re still a bit wobbly on your feet. It’ll still be there waiting for you in the morning.

“Oh shit,” you hear him mutter from behind you.

“What’s wrong, Roos?”

“Ah- just stubbed my toe. C’mon, let’s get you upstairs.” The heavy tread of his footsteps is close behind you, you can almost feel the warmth of him at your back.

At you back. By your side. He’s the only person you’ll ever need.

They’d given you some of the strong stuff and he could tell that you were still floating in that sweet spot before all the gravity settles back into your bones.

The distal radius fracture in your right wrist meant that you’d be in the cast for the next six weeks. You’d gone with a white and pink stripped candy cane inspired look to match the tree, Bradley. While he wishes it wasn’t there in the first place, he thought the pattern you’d chosen was cute.

He’d quickly and quietly kicked off his shoes before he’d followed you into the bedroom. Hoping that you wouldn’t notice them, he’d take a disinfecting wipe to the floor and stairs tomorrow.

For as well as Rooster knew you, he felt a little out of his element because he knew you were hurting but he wasn’t sure what would make you feel better in that moment. When he offered to draw you a bath he’d instantly known it was the right choice by the look on your face.

So he’d made you one with all of your favorite products. The mound of bubbles he was able to achieve was truly impressive, if he did say so himself. He even dimmed the lights and lit a few candles for you.

Bradley had carefully wrapped up your cast in plastic wrap and secured the top with a rubber band. And the dejected pout on your face when you looked at it and called it an “unattractive arm condom” had nearly sent him over edge.

He’s already looking on his phone for other options, sitting on the bathroom floor next to you as you soak in the tub, when he feels your fingers thread through his hair and he leans into your touch.

“I really am jealous of your hair, you know. I’m sure there were a few of the girls at that floral class who were too.”

Your head is leaning back against the lip of the tub as you gaze at him, your hair wet from him washing it for you. He’d noticed the moment you realized how difficult it would be for you to do it yourself for the foreseeable future. But you brought out the optimistic side of him and he’d already come up with a solution, “I guess we’ll have to take more showers together then, so I can wash your hair for you. Plus, it’ll be good for the environment”. You’d laughed, and he was happy to see some of the light returning back into your eyes.

“I don’t know why when yours is so pretty,” he says, reaching out and lightly tugging on a lock of your hair.

“Did I tell you one of them asked me if you had a brother? She was honestly so put out when I said that you didn’t that I’m pretty sure she took the last of the dahlias out of spite when she saw me reaching for them. They didn’t even match her arrangement,” you say rolling your eyes, adjusting the way your plastic wrapped candy cane cast rested against the other side of the tub. “Like sorry not sorry, I’m not going to give you my boyfriend.”

“Was it the woman in the striped sweater?”

“Yes! It was her!”

Bradley had notice her checking him out a little too closely for a man who was clearly there another woman and happily taken.

“She had crazy eyes, I wouldn’t have wanted you to give me to her anyways.”

You snicker at that, “She did have crazy eyes.”

He makes a mental note to remember to grab the arrangements from out of the back of the Bronco before he goes to bed. He didn’t want anything to happen to them, but that could until after you were tucked in bed and asleep.

“But the instructor was so sweet, Roos. I told her that the dahlias were your mom’s favorites and then she went to the back and got me a bunch. She didn’t put them on the table or anything for anyone else, just handed them over to me for us to use. It was a real girls supporting girls moment, we bonded.”

He’s struck by the fact that you’d already known about his mom’s favorite flower. That you had let him think it was happenstance when really you had grabbed them because you’d known it would mean something to him. That you wanted to make it special for him when he was trying to make it a special day for you.

He didn’t think it was possible to love you any more than he already did, but you were so good at making him fall in love with you over and over again.

“That was really nice of her, sweetheart,” he says, his throat a little thick.

“It really was. And better yet she’s single and likes women,” you say with a grin, “I got her number to get coffee, but I might see if I can play matchmaker between her and Nat. She looks like Nat’s type.”

“This was our instructor? You got all of that out of her in a few minutes of conversation?” he asks, impressed.

You give him a cheeky shrug of your shoulder, “Yeah, I’m efficient. She owns the shop too. I think I’m going to order something for Penny and Mav from her closer to Christmas.”

“You know what, I think you’re right, she does seem very much like Nat’s type,” Bradley smiles to himself, Phoenix is going to be very excited when he tells her about this.

“’m always right,” you hum.

“You sure are, sweetheart,” he says fondly.

He watches as your eyelids start to get heavy and helps you to get out of the tub, wrapping you up in the biggest, fluffiest towel he can find and sits you on the bed as he goes into the closet to find something cozy for you to wear.

“What do you want me to grab you, baby?”

“Your shirt,” you call out sleepily.

He peeks his head around the opening, “Sweetheart, you’re not going to want hospital germs in bed.”

“No, not that one,” you say, scrunching your nose, “Your henley. The soft navy one with the little white flecks. ‘s my favorite.”

You look so tired, he doesn’t like the slump of your shoulders. He knows that feeling all too well and he hates that you feel so bad about something that you had no control over. It had been such a good day up until the end. But even so, you’re the only person he wants to go through the highs and lows with.

He strips down and puts both his clothes and yours into the hamper before grabbing the shirt for you. “Arms up,” he says gently, he pulls the sleeve wide to fit over your cast before threading it down your arms and over your head.

Rooster pulls back the covers for you to crawl into bed. He climbs in after you, cradling you against him as he reaches over for the remote to turn on your favorite Christmas movie channel for you to fall asleep too.

Your cast rests heavy on his chest.

The heroine just won the cookie cook-off and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you murmur quietly into the dark room, “This is the second year in a row, Bradley, I really think we should consider skipping Christmas next year. For both of our sake’s.”

“We’ve got too much Christmas spirit for a little pine tree allergy or fractured wrist to keep us down,” he tips your head up so that you’re looking at him, “Give it time, it’ll turn around. I promise, sweetheart.”

He seals that vow with a sweet kiss against your lips and a few minutes later he feels as your breaths even out and you fall asleep tucked against him.

You wake up the next morning feeling more than a little groggy and cotton-headed as everything from yesterday comes rushing back to you.

As does the aching in your right wrist.

You reach out for Rooster, but his side of the bed is already cold. He’s always been an early riser and once he’s awake he doesn’t know how to sit still. You wouldn’t have minded cuddling with him for a little bit, but knowing him he has probably already brewed a pot of coffee for you.

When you finally crack open your eyes, you see that he’s left out a bottle of the prescription strength ibuprofen the doctor had sent home with you on your nightstand and a note written in his slanted script reminding you to take one. Your sweetest boy.

You attempt to splash some cold water on your face with one hand, willing it to depuff your face a little bit and then try to fix up your hair so that you look and feel less bedraggled. It is one thing if Bradley is the one responsible for it, but that wasn’t the case this morning.

Before heading downstairs, you decide on a whim to change out of his shirt and into the cozy cream-colored fuzzy lounge set you’d bought on sale the other week. It takes three times longer to get dressed than it usually did, but getting yourself at least a little more put together made you feel a bit more in control. You knew the extra effort wasn’t necessary, but you felt cute and it was making you feel a little bit better about everything.

The pink and white cast was a bit of a choice looking at it in the morning light filtering through the airy curtains, but you thought you pulled it off well. It was cheerful and fun. And you weren’t going to let it affect you or your Christmas plans with your perfect boyfriend.

There is still some residual guilt you’re trying to shake off, you know it was a fluke of fate, but you’re already thinking about ways to make it up to him all the same.

You gingerly make your way down the stairs making a mental note to look up what other festive things were happening this weekend and call out to Rooster, “Please tell me there’s coffee.”

The raspy laugh that reaches your ears makes you smile for the first time that morning, “I’ve got one ready for you in the living room, sweetheart. It’s ready when you are.”

The painkillers, the coffee. The man is a saint and looks like a god. And he’s all yours.

You take those final few steps a bit faster, ready for the strong dark roast that only he seems to be able to make to just right and to thank him for taking such good care of you.

You lose all words when you walk into the living room.

It’s like you’ve walked into a dreamy pink forest straight out of a fairytale.

Your beloved very large, very fluffy, pink tree covered with all of your memories collected from the past year and Bradley’s mom’s sparkling vintage glass icicles is surrounded by two other very large, very fluffy, pink Christmas trees.

The newest additions to the living room glow with the hundreds of twinkling white lights. It’s ethereal and whimsical the way the light bounces and dapples on the walls and floors.

And there standing in front of them is Bradley, barefoot in his favorite sweatpants in your cozy living room of the home he’s made with you looking like a daydream.

You don’t think it’s the prescription strength pain medication kicking in that makes you feel like you’re floating as you walk towards him. You know it’s all him.

Bradley says your name with such adoration, such love that you swear you feel your heart reshape in your chest with his name on it.

“I envisioned this a bit differently in my mind, but the way I see it, we’re just starting the ‘in sickness and in health’ part a bit early,” he says, taking your right hand and dropping a kiss to your cast. Your eyes well up at the tender gesture.

And then you stop breathing when he sinks down onto one knee in front of you.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. I love your big heart and the way you’re so kind and generous to everyone you meet. I love the way you can light up a room with your smile. The best parts of my days are when I am with you. You’re the only person I want to wake up to, the only person I want to fall asleep with in my arms, and the only person who I want a forever with.” He reaches out and takes your shaky hand in his warm one, “Last year, you let me give you more than a drawer and it has been the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are the best damn thing that has ever happened to me. This year, will you let me give you my last name too and marry me?”

You can almost see his heart that he is wearing on his sleeve. His pretty honey brown eyes are tracing over every inch of your face, almost like he is trying to commit every microcosm of your expression to memory.

You had imagined this moment so many times. It was the movie you’d put on in your mind on those nights when sleep felt just out for reach. And like a snowflake, no two dreams had been the same.

But nothing you’d imagined could have ever topped the reality of this moment here and now.

Because there was nothing was better than being surrounded by three pink fluffy trees and looking forward to getting to spend a lifetime with Bradley Bradshaw.

“Well it’s convenient I fractured the right one,” you say with a watery laugh as a few happy tears escape from your eyes.

“I guess that is a lucky break,” he grins.

“Literally.”

You didn’t think it was possible to smile this wide. That you could be this happy.

“You still haven’t given me an answer yet, sweetheart,” he says, slightly squeezing your good hand.

“Haven’t I though?” you tease. There’s no what he doesn’t know what your answer is, not with the way you’re beaming.

“C’mon, let me hear you say it.”

You don’t make him wait for long.

“Yes, Bradley, yes I will marry you. It’ll always be a yes with you.”

You barely get to finish your sentence before he is shooting to his feet, pulling you into his arms and kissing you.

Your Bradley. Your fiancé.

On Christmas morning, after all the presents are unwrapped, you find yourself sitting under your perfectly pink tree surrounded by scraps of ribbons and bits of shiny wrapping paper.

Even your striped pink and white cast looked particularly festive under the gleam of the trees.

Rooster is in the kitchen making another pot of coffee for the two of you to share. You can hear him singing along to one of the vintage crooner Christmas albums you had gotten him.

You’ll be hosting Mav, Penny, and Amelia for dinner tonight. You let yourself enjoy this quiet of the mid-morning before things get chaotic. The two of you had dressed the oval oak dining table yesterday afternoon. The centerpiece you’d ordered from Nat’s now New Year’s Eve date was stunning, there were even a few white dahlias tucked into the arrangement. Thankfully, with no pine needles in sight.

The tall pillar candles had been moved off to the side and a real fire was popping in the hearth of the tiled fireplace. And the sun streaming through the bay windows is bouncing off that sparkly silver garland that you’d gotten Bradley to hang up for you in a way that makes the shiny wooden floors look like they’ve been scattered with specks of confetti.

The swirling, sparkling, shimmering dots on the ceiling, however, were from your own ring as you move and tilt your hand admiring the way the sun illuminates it. You know the matching pair of diamond earrings that Bradley had gotten for you as you Christmas gift are shining just as bright.

He still blushes whenever anyone teases him about forgetting to pull out the engagement ring he had got for you before he’d proposed. But you wouldn’t have changed anything about that moment for the world.

The marquise diamond had belonged to his mom, but he had had it reset in gold with a halo of diamonds around it for you. He’d even bought a pink velvet box to put it in for the occasion. It was easily the prettiest thing you’d ever seen and your heart still fluttered every time you saw it on your finger.

The two new trees are still only dressed with the many strands of lights that they’d arrived with. You learned that Bradley had enlisted Jake and Natasha to help him out with that particular surprise that day a couple weeks ago when he’d taken you on what you affectionately refer to as the 12 Dates of a Christmas Proposal.

Your favorite pink tree, the one he had gotten for you last year- the one you’re sitting under now- was also in possession of a new accessory. A shiny new pink ring pop ornament Bradley had gotten to commemorate the occasion of you saying yes and was hanging in a place of honor on the tree right between the little Hawaiian shirt ornament and the dainty, dangling ice skates.

Saying yes was the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

Yes to forever. Yes to him.

This season and every season.

You couldn’t wait to see what new ornaments would fill those trees by next year.

And the one after that.

And the one after that.

And the next one after that.

Happy Holiday's! It's been almost a year since I've posted my very first story on here. I'm so thankful that a zoom kaboom plane movie has introduced me to so many wonderful people! Thank you for reading my stories and for all the support I've received over this last year! It has meant the world to me!

This story is set in the Oh, Christmas Tree universe. If you missed the fic that started it all, you can read it here!

Many thanks to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for so, so many reasons. I hope you enjoy this, this one's for you!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[once-in-a-blue-moon-rising]

I posted 1,619 times in 2022

That's 773 more posts than 2021!

73 posts created (5%)

1,546 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@themirokai

@poeticallydead

@managerie76

@icatee

@turquoiseorchid

I tagged 1,547 of my posts in 2022

Only 4% of my posts had no tags

#art - 320 posts

#sherlock - 233 posts

#mystrade - 188 posts

#mycroft holmes - 186 posts

#greg lestrade - 183 posts

#it me - 134 posts

#ofmd - 125 posts

#fanfiction - 104 posts

#text posts - 62 posts

#the sandman - 58 posts

Longest Tag: 130 characters

#they also sent me an email blaming ofgem as if they didn’t make the extremely conscious choice to take advantage of the higher cap

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

COVID day four downsides: can't sleep, too much coughing, stuff smells weird COVID day four upsides: got up and re-read Middlegame, The Empty House AND Experiments with Tequila before 8am

22 notes - Posted March 19, 2022

#4

a slightly rough mystrade manip that I made for the mystrade discord but which I think (I think) I want to share with tumblr too

34 notes - Posted October 19, 2022

#3

absolutely obsessed with The Queue, it's like following the NORAD santa tracker on Christmas Eve

37 notes - Posted September 15, 2022

#2

For Valentine's Day, a tiny preview from the first chapter of Fire Dancing with Snow. This is a first draft, so it may not appear like this when I post it on AO3, but I think you deserve a little bit of fluffy established mystrade goodness today. Works standalone even if you've not read my previous work. Set just after Greg meets John for the first time; Mycroft's POV. G-rated (though the full fic won't be). ‘Gregory?’ he said.

‘Hi’, Greg said. Mycroft was pleased, even in his distracted state, to hear him somewhat calmer than the last time they spoke. ‘Something odd just happened. Figured you might be able to enlighten me.’

‘John Watson?’

‘Dr Watson, yeah, didn’t get a first name. Just strolled onto a crime scene with Sherlock, never seen him before in my life.’

Mycroft hummed non-committedly down the line, thinking. He heard Greg shift his weight, and the clattering of officers on the stairs nearby.

‘Should I take it you’re planning to scare the pants off him and I don’t need to worry?’

That comment broke Mycroft’s reverie, and he choked out a laugh, surprised.

‘One could put it like that, I suppose.’

‘Good’, Greg said.

He paused, and there was something about the silence that stopped Mycroft from cutting in and ending the call with a promise to catch up later. It wasn’t a deduction so much as a feeling: that Greg was contemplating him, a glint in his eye, tongue poking out between his teeth.

‘Not literally though’, he added, and Mycroft smiled broadly, his heart thudding fondly in his chest. ‘Rumour has it the last bloke you tried to scare away from your brother still can’t keep them on around you, and he –’

Mycroft, utterly unable to stop himself, giggled.

‘Gregory, you are at work –’

‘– he really doesn’t want to share.’

Colour flared in Mycroft’s cheeks, and warmth flooded his chest.

‘You may tell him he has nothing to worry about’, Mycroft said, voice low and soft, the impending arrival of John Watson forgotten.

‘I will.’

The exchange hung in the air between them: warm and promising.

‘Although’, Mycroft said, unable to resist the opportunity to tease, his stomach squeezing pleasantly at Greg’s bark of laughter. ‘It’s presumptuous, don’t you think, to assume you’re the last person I tried to intimidate away from Sherlock?’

‘Presumptuous and correct?’

‘Yes.’

Greg chuckled. Mycroft heard him descending the stairs now; clearly, he was needed elsewhere.

‘I’d like to see you later’, Mycroft offered, the sounds of Greg’s work reminding him of the reality of his. ‘If you’re free.’

‘Me too’, Greg said, stopping again, presumably to find somewhere more private to say goodbye, because when he next spoke, his voice was quieter than before. ‘And I’d be more than happy if no pants were involved whatsoever.’

Mycroft almost snorted.

‘Stop talking about pants’, he said.

‘See ya soon’, Greg said, the grin visible from his voice, and then the line went dead.

57 notes - Posted February 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Ok, so I've seen lots of headcanons about Mycroft being distressed about the Queen's death and Greg comforting him (and, honestly, cute) ... but as an anti-monarchy Brit who loves projecting onto Mycroft, let me offer an alternative:

We know Mycroft referred to an unspecified royal as a 'very old friend', the implication being it's probably the Queen, but we also hear Mycroft at various points decrying any kind of intimate relationship on the grounds that everyone else is, comparatively, goldfish (although it's clear he adores Sherlock, and he and Greg are also clearly made for each other, I do think it makes sense for his character that they really are anomalies).

SO, let's interpret that comment as the fact that the Queen is, for him, a long-standing ally - not entirely deplorable, but mainly just useful to have on side because, ya know, she's the Queen.

And so when she does die, the cause of Mycroft's monumental headache is not grief, but the fact that he has to beat off journalists until the palace is ready to announce it, plus contribute to the logistics of the funeral, the coronation, deal with anger of those who think it's fucking outrageous that so much money is being spent on the whole rigamorale and not, idk, homeless people... AND now he has to speak to Charles. Who he really, really doesn't like.

And so when Greg turns up unexpectedly with coffee at Mycroft's office - and bear in mind this is a coincidence; the announcement's not been made to the public yet - he looks at Mycroft's face and he just knows, immediately.

'Oh my god', he says, plonking the coffee on the desk, and looking up at Mycroft. 'It's happened, hasn't it?'

'No', Mycroft says stiffly. Then: 'Stop smiling.'

But the thing is, Greg has never been super fond of the royal family, always a bit anti-establishment, even though he ended up in the police... and he can't. He breaks out into a full grin, and then he starts giggling... and Mycroft has never been able to hold himself together when Greg starts laughing.

And suddenly, the worst afternoon of all time is bearable, and they're giggling away together in Mycroft's office, trying not to laugh too loudly with the whole floor conversing in respectful whispers outside the door.

'Do you want me to lose this position?' Mycroft hisses, when he can catch his breath. He pauses. 'Although, it might be preferable to - '

'Charlie?'

Mycroft hums then, trying to retain some shred of... propriety, perhaps, not that Greg needs that from him.

'You're a horrible influence', he declares instead, and he lets Greg kiss him, and smooth his hair back, his laughter finally stuttering to a halt.

'I know', Greg says, and he steps back. 'Give me a text if you need anything else, yeah?'

75 notes - Posted September 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[onewithnomightypowers]

Old Habits

pairing: Tom Holland x fem!reader

summary: Old habits come back when you meet an ex lover after a long time. Conversations feel like you never stopped talking to them. Sometimes you have to see them one last time to say goodbye like you mean it but most of the time it doesn’t go as planned.

warning: drinking

words: 2.1k

a/n: could be read as part 2 of last kiss but is a stand alone. got a bit poetic at the end. hope you guys like it. and as always, love reading your opinions/reactions. also asks are open. (gif not mine)

masterlist 

'@tomholland2013 posted a story'

'@tomholland2013 posted a story'

 She picked up her phone to open Instagram. Yes, Y/N still had notifications on for his account even after they were broken up for months. Classic Tom. 

 He posted two of the same picture on his story. No one understood how that would happen almost every time, not even the people working at Instagram to whom they contacted about the glitch.

 Tom had his hair slicked back, standing in a white t-shirt next to Harry, his brother, giving a million-dollar smile. They were holding a clapperboard together. There was text on the picture too, 'day 1 let's go!!' She smiled to herself. Just because they weren't together doesn't mean that she wasn't allowed to feel happy for his achievements. Even though she wishes to know all these big things from Tom himself she is, unfortunately, left here, watching a small part of his life flash in front of her for less than thirty seconds.

 "Are you listening?" Hope, Y/N's date said.

 "Yeah, I'm sorry. You were saying?" Y/N placed the phone back where it was resting, next to the cold wine bottle.

 "You seem distant," they said.

 When she 'met' Hope (she only really met them 30 minutes ago), Y/N wasn't looking for love, just sex, and that is what online dating specializes in. She hoped Hope knew what they were signing up for, sexual intimacy and nothing else.

 "It doesn't matter does, does it? We both know what we are here for. Why not just cut the chase," Y/N replied.

--

It was early in the morning, the sun had yet to shine in its full glory. Y/N could only think of the first time she stayed over at Tom's old apartment but then she turned her head only to find Hope's naked body next to her. Her heartbeat accelerated with the realization that he was not hers anymore. Being in a foreign environment didn't help her growing anxiety, twisting and turning her intestines.

 It's been four months, her feelings for Tom refuse to quit on her because she knows she could never quit on them, on him, even if he has. He probably has already found someone else in Canada, she thought. She didn't want him anymore but she still needed him, one last time just to teach her stupid heart how to say goodbye.

 Y/N wore her clothes and picked up her shoes, going on a trail to find Hope's door to get out before they wake up. Climbing down the stairs, she took out her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.

 '5 new messages from Sam' 7 hours ago

Sam: hey

Sam: ik it's late

Sam: I am going for a run tmr morning @6

Sam: do you wanna come?

Sam: will go to the new coffee house near my house after that

 Y/N texted him back

Y/N: I'll meet you at the coffee place

Sam: come fast. already here

--

Sam and Y/N were standing in the queue to place their orders. “You look especially shitty today,” Sam said, running his right hand through his sweaty hair.

“I haven’t been home yet,” Y/N reasoned her appearance.

 His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. The person in front of them left the queue, they moved towards the counter. “One hazelnut latte, double shot with skimmed milk,” Y/N gave her order.

 “And you?” the cashier’s question directed to Sam.

 “I’ll have a matcha latte with oat milk”

 Sam turned to Y/N, “Harrison got me on matcha, and now I can’t go back to coffee”

 They paid their dues and moved over to the barista counter to collect their order.

 “So, what were you doing last night?” Sam inquired.

 “I was on a date, it isn't a big deal though. Just had some needs to take care of”

 “Oh, was it any good?”

 “It was fine. I was distracted the whole time. Saw Tom’s story about halfway into the bottle of merlot. Couldn’t stop thinking about him”

 “Seems…sad. But you know Tom is coming back for the Christmas weekend, I think. He might attend Harrison’s Christmas eve party”

 “One hazelnut latte and one matcha latte,” someone behind the counter screamed.

 “That’s us,” Sam raised his voice.

--

Harrison had a bucket inside his house, under a sign that said 'drop your tracking devices here' with an arrow pointing to the bucket. Y/N dropped her phone on a pile of roughly fourteen others. Debating whether to see Tom's face was something she wanted or not made her late and not very fashionably.

 The house was decorated with empty liquor bottles along with red and green streamers from one wall to another. Everyone was drunk in their best dress. There were no signs of Tom yet. Y/N took a deep breath, walking towards the kitchen to get herself some liquid courage to help her socialize.

 The kitchen was rather scarcely populated. Empty glasses were lined up next to the sink. Are they clean or used? Bending down, Y/N opened the refrigerator to see if Harrison had any chilled wine. No luck. "Hey," a familiar voice was heard.

 She looked up at the familiar stranger.

 "Hey Tom," she smiled. The refrigerator light falling on Y/N made her blush visible.

She grabbed a half-cut lemon placed in the egg tray.

 “How have you been?" Tom asked leaning back on the kitchen counter, observing her movements.

 Y/N walked towards the sink to grab herself a crystal glass hoping for it to be clean. "Just busy with work these days"

 "I heard you got a job at Condé Nast, is that true?" he took a sip from his beer.

 "Well, you heard right. You are looking at their new senior brand manager for digital", she said proudly.

 Tom hugged her from the side she was holding a knife to cut the lemon for her gin and tonic. "That's great darling! You always wanted to work there"

 Darling. The butterflies in her stomach were fluttering like the first time she met Tom.

 "I saw your story the other day. You started filming your script, right?" she dropped the lemon in the glass.  

 "Yup, it was a long time coming," he grabbed the knife she was using and washed it without even knowing. He was so used to Y/N never washing utensils after using them and, he would always have to clean up after her.

 "Congrats on that babe!" The word 'babe' just slipped out of practice.

 Y/N grabbed a Bombay Sapphire standing still on the marble slab. The blue of the bottle shinning even in the dim-lit room.

 "I missed you," Y/N made eye contact, screwing the cap back on. A long, silent pause.

 I miss you too, so very much

 She cleared her throat, "so, how long are you staying?"

 "Going back Monday morning"

 She opened a can of tonic water.

 "Are you seeing someone?" Tom asked.

 "Wouldn't you wanna know" a smirk on her face grew. "I've been out on few dates, nothing serious. What about you?"

 "Met this girl online, dated for a bit but, she wanted something I couldn't give to her"

 Y/N scoffed, "did she have a foot fetish or something?"

 "No, Y/N. She wanted love, not my feet" they both laughed.

 "On that topic..." Tom calmed himself, "...I was listening to this song a few weeks ago and, there was this line, 'the smell of your hair reminds me of her feet' and it made me think of you"

 "I reckon," she took a sip of her gin and tonic.

 "No, seriously, I really related to that line. No matter how many people I hook up with, it will be hard to find the type of intimacy I shared with you. I still relate to it"

 "I hate going on walks alone and having faceless dreams," Y/N blurted, lacking a proper reaction.

 "You're still the face of all my fantasies," Tom confessed.

 None of them knew what to say next. Anything they thought of saying now included walking over the blurry line of exes to lovers.

 "You look pretty"

 "Classic me, had a glow up after getting my heartbroken"

 "You always looked this pretty. You are beautiful," Tom assured her. The 'heartbroken part did not sit well with him. He already felt guilty for taking a job across the pond which was a great opportunity for him to grow but was only possible by severing his ties with Y/N.  

 --

It had just started snowing on Boxing Day. Tom was alone in his cold home, boiling a pot of ramen noodles. He took out his phone and snapped a picture of the burning stove with the pot on top.

Tom: *attached photo*

Tom: I come back after months and my family leaves me alone with no food

Y/N: you should add a poached egg

Tom: Thanks. I shall.

Tom: I think I made too much ramen for me

Tom: do you wanna come over and share?

 Her indecision was visible by the coming and going of the gray dots. Then finally, Tom could tame his anxiety by her simple reply.

 Y/N: sure.

--

There was a loud knock on the door. Tom put two bowls of hot ramen on the dining table and went to open the door. Behind the door, Y/N was standing with her hands inside her brown checker coat. There was dust of snow sitting on her shoulders. Her braided hair was made by the most anxious hands in town.

 The door opened and, Tom’s hands flew to take Y/N in his arms. They hugged like little kids hug their parents after being away from each other, for them, an eternity. It did feel like an eternity to them too but, they hadn’t forgotten each other’s touch.

 “I parked my car at the church, couldn’t find any spot here ‘cause of the snow," she pulled out.

 “The snow seems to be gaining momentum.”

 Y/N hummed in agreement. She took off her coat and hung it in the Holland’s coat closet.

 “Come on, the ramen is getting cold,” she followed tom into the kitchen.

 They sat adjacent on the wooden table in comfortable silence. Tom used chopsticks and, Y/N used a fork. Only the occasional noodles falling in the broth were heard, along with the gushing of wind.

 “It’s really spicy for me,” Tom said.

 “Yeah, I can see your ears turning red.”

She still remembers 

 Y/N raised her hand to cover her mouth while yawning.

 “Since you made the food, I’ll do the dishes,” she got up, grabbed their bowls, and walked over to the sink.

 Wearing the gloves, she turned to Tom, “it was quite tasty”.

 Tom gave her a smile.

 She spread the soap on the dishes and turned the tap on. Tom pushed his chair back to get up.

 “Have you made any friends at your new job,” he jumped and sat on the counter next to Y/N.

 “Yeah, sort of. Kyara works there too so, I have just made her friends my friends,” she washed his chopsticks.

 “That’s good. Have you talked to Emily after the wedding? She told me they are planning on adopting.”

 “They invited me over for dinner when they got the approval from the agency. Kyara made this amazing Hyderabadi biryani, it was her mum’s recipe so, it was obviously better than the restaurant”

 “God! You and your love for Indian food”

 Y/N removed her gloves, “I should go. Thanks for the ramen, by the way”

 “Are you sure you can go out in this weather?”

 “Yeah I think," she started walking out of the kitchen.

 Tom grabbed her hand. “Stay”, his voice was like cotton.

 Y/N turned and made contact with his pleading eyes. She moved closer to him. “Please”, he said. They both were inching in to lock their desperate lips.

--

Y/N did not notice when she had fallen asleep talking to Tom. Their naked bodies were covered by the white comforter. Her eyes slowly opened to a boy with brown eyes and messy hair looking at her.

 “I like it when you sleep. I love watching you sleep”

 She chuckled. “That’s a bit creepy, don’t you think?” She had a sleepy voice.

 “You look so serene, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I could stare at you for eons”

 “But love, I'm only here till the snow settles,” she caressed his cheeks.

“Then the cold shall frost our limbs," he leaned in to kiss her.

tags: @elios-timotea​

[redsolon]

This is a really good question @sugarysenya! So for one, my writing style here tries to be as pithy and direct as possible, to make sure things stick. Sometimes that means using a term people know so they can quickly get what I'm talking about. But that post you link is actually a good example of why I've been moving away from the term "discipline." (Outside of this blog I've never once spoken the word, and almost never written it.)

The things I write are based on things I've actually said. I found myself saying all the time: "I always have to remind people: [...]." Eventually I collected these repeated sayings into a document for myself so I could edit them down to the pithiest form and reference them later. When I made this account to eventually highlight any theoretical works I publish, I decided to queue up all those aphorisms so it wouldn't be empty all the time. They're also things I stand by, even if they frequently require more detail than I give to fully grasp them. But I still add to them when I have to have the same talk over and over. This is an example of it.

There are many concepts in communist theory which are nuanced and subtle (this is dialectical materialism we're talking about here). People know the terms, but they don't always fully grasp the subtleties of the idea, which leads to them being misled by the bluntness (and sometimes inaccuracy) of the names themselves. "Discipline," "democratic centralism," and "the party line" are the three that I see abused a lot--in history, but also in recent situations I've had to deal with.

"Discipline" gets misused against anything that annoys people in the party. It's become clear to me that people don't actually understand why that term came about, or why the concept matters. It becomes an idealist slogan implying some inflexible and perfect concept of political organization, where everything is decided immediately and perfectly, and everyone does it immediately and with maximal effort, without any questioning or discussion. In combination, the trifecta--discipline, democratic centralism, and the party line--become the shield for every bureaucratic centralist hack and would-be cult leader.

There's growing consensus across communists in the US that party-building is our primary task at this moment (but not just in the US). The subjective contradiction is the primary contradiction. To actually succeed at this, we have to look back at the many failures of communist parties to get off the ground, or those who became reactionary tools of imperialism (like the Khmer Rouge). The anarchist answer is insufficient; it's more critique than solution, which is typical. Only communists will solve this problem, but we must first recognize it and begin working on it. This is my main task right now, both in my writings and in my party work.

So for one, I think if people are going to abuse the term "discipline," then we should just stop using the term altogether. I proposed alternatives which force people to actually think about what they're saying, and if it makes sense. "Discipline" is vague enough sounding that people use it to justify eliminating systems that force everyone to slow down their work and be thoughtful. If you conceive of "discipline" as just taking action, taking the fight to the enemy, etc., that makes a kind of sense. But if you replace "discipline" with "professionalism" it immediately sounds silly. Doing work with less thought and deliberation only makes it more amateurish. Discipline isn't the absence of bureaucracy, nor is it your willingness to endure busywork.

Depending on which country you're in, the political situation won't force all your work underground. A legalist situation is different from an illegalist situation, which is different from a revolutionary situation, which is different from a post-revolutionary situation. The internal dynamics of the party--its practices, culture, and structures--must change in conformity with this dialectic between the party and the objective conditions.

"Discipline" in the most absolute sense is a byproduct of an illegalist and revolutionary situation, and not necessary for all work done. Likely there will be a combination of above ground and underground work. Dialectics is about understanding the nuances, interrelationships, and changes in all these factors, and responding to them consciously. But people rip the idea of "discipline" out of the context in which the Bolsheviks were organizing, and apply it sloppily to whatever situation's at hand. (If you want a sense of what the Bolshevik-Menshevik split was like on the ground, Ronald Suny's biography on pre-revolutionary Stalin is excellent.)

Many communists even conceptualize the distinction between themselves and anarchists as one of vague "discipline." If you reframe this in terms of professionalism, dedication, organizational effectiveness, and unity of action, suddenly you can't feel superior by default. Clearly some parties do better in some of these than others, and some anarchists excel compared to some communists. Even bourgeois and social-democratic parties have their own discipline, expecting certain conduct from members. "Discipline" isn't unique to us, and it shouldn't be the defining feature of a Leninist party. (It really goes off the rails when people start trying to apply concepts of communist party organization to how the party interacts with the people. That's one of the ways you get commandism and revisionism.)

I could go into further detail about what these mean tangibly (and I will in the future). The point is to avoid lazy slogans which promote self-importance without leading the way to good political work. The essence of "discipline" is correct, but the term is far too often misused, and I do think the term conjures a set of images and feelings in people which leads them astray if they aren't already theoretically rigorous. In party after party, "discipline" becomes the banner under which demcent is devolved into bourgeois corporate hierarchy.

And now you can see why my posts are so short and rely on existing terms whenever I can! If I really tried to explain things without them, this is what you'd get every time.

No concept is more abused by communists than "discipline." Remove it from your vocabulary, and replace it with "professionalism," "dedication," and "unity."

[wdwmarveldisney]

🥺👉👈 Could I maybe request a doctor who x reader with a younger, more innocent teenage reader? And the doctor gets protective over them, especially when they could be in danger. Any doctor could fit. (sorry if this is not enough information I'm new to making requests)

Let them go

Eleventh Doctor x platonic!teen!reader

Summary: When the Doctor takes you to your favourite musical, things once again don’t end well.

Masterlist

A/N: Ok so I loved this request and thank you so much. You are so sweet. Don’t worry about how information there is, I just hope that you like it. I may have mixed a little Newsies in here because, well I love it and I honestly think about how I would a hundred percent ask to go there if I was travelling with the Doctor.

Not my GIF

Shaking violently when travelling seemed to be the only flaw of the TARDIS and even then, it was only because the Doctor was a terrible pilot. He had tried to convince you otherwise but you'd met River on more than one occasion and she had actual evidence for her argument so excuse you if you sided with her. But that didn't mean that you hated it; every time it happened, you'd grin real big because it was just yet another reminder of the chaos that came with the Doctor. You had a usual place by the controls, one where you were often moved from during flight to avoid you being in the way. Most of the time you ended up in one of the seats, watching his every move in hopes of learning what any of it meant. River had promised to teach you when you were older, said you could leave the Doctor in the 1920s where he apparently thrived and she'd teach you how to the drive the TARDIS.

Right now however, you were here in 2017 New York, at your request. You had asked to see the recording of Newsies after a small (ok so maybe the exact opposite of small) obsession with the musical over the years. You were surprised when all the Doctor had to do was make a call and suddenly you were right at the front with the opportunity to go backstage afterwards too. The inner fangirl was hard to control as the two of you headed to the doors and you managed to stumble slightly but he had caught you before you could fall into the wooden doors. Pouting as he laughed, you tugged his bow tie hard making him stop with a frown and a hand going to readjust it. He scanned your attire with an amused smile which resulted in a flick to the head from you. "Ow, I didn't say anything!"

You walked out the TARDIS, breathing in the smell of hotdogs and petrol before facing him with a small frown, "You were thinking it. I can wear a Newsies shirt if I want to wear a Newsies shirt," he put his hands up in surrender as he walked out too and then quickly turned to lock the doors. You tugged at the shirt in question as you glanced round the empty alley, waiting for him. It was a few seconds before you felt an arm fall into your shoulders and quickly you began to walk to the streets with big smiles on your faces. In the small time you had come to know the Doctor, he had become like family. You had been quite sheltered growing up, never seen much trouble but that's kinda expected from a small town family. When you started travelling with the TimeLord, you saw a lot of bad stuff, things you had never even thought possible and so naturally, he was protective. He was like an older brother, maybe a dad ish vibe.

Your steps were in time with his as you approached the theatre, huffing at how long the queue to get in was. Finally in line, you tapped your foot patiently and suddenly, the question had slipped from your lips without much thought, "How did you get good tickets?" He paused, reaching up to fiddle with his bow tie nervously before straightening out his tweed jacket. He avoided eye contact and instead stared at the bright lights surrounding you guys, "Well, um, I helped write it. Historical facts and stuff," you watched him shrug with terribly faked nonchalance. Jaw dropping, your eyes went comically wide as you stuttered out, "You- They- What?" Unbelievable. Of course he knew about your obsession with the musical and failed to mention his involvement with writing it.

It was a couple hours later and you were waiting by the Doctor's side as the theatre cleared out. He had spent the whole musical jittery and chatty, clearly not good with just sitting there and watching. Several times someone had complained and you had had to talk with him about it. He was a literal child at times. But despite the fact he had muttered about his hate for Twitter after the girl next to you guys tweeted a picture of herself and her friend there, you enjoyed yourself. The musical was just as great as the first time you watched the recording, if not better. And now, you couldn't stop bouncing in excitement. You were actually going backstage, and you were going to meet the cast of a musical you have obsessed over for years.

But of course, with the Doctor, things never happened that easily.

The TimeLord had pulled out his sonic screwdriver to fiddle with while you waited and frowned at the noise it made. You caught his muttering and huffed, already knowing that look on his face. Concern, anger and a touch of excitement. "Don't say it," his eyes slowly left the device in his hands as he raised an eyebrow at your words. Someone was just leaving the backstage area but neither of you noticed as you sighed, "Why does something always have to happen? One good, non-alien day is all I ask. Is that even possible with you?" He grinned goofily at you with a breathy chuckle before raising the screwdriver in the air and scanning your surroundings. You jumped at the tap on your shoulder, facing the crew member with fists raised like that would do something. "Oh,"

"I was sent to get you. What's he doing?" You glanced to the Doctor, who now stood on one of the seats and you shrugged, arms crossing over his chest. Looking between both men, eventually you answered, "I find it best not to ask until he gets that look on his face," the guy frowned as he watched the Doctor jump from the seat and run up an aisle and look through one of the doors. As the two of you watched him lock the door with the screwdriver, the crew guy asked, "What look?" Going to respond, you stopped yourself once seeing the dark look of his face. The one that ensured mortal danger and most likely ended with the two of you saving the world. Again.

"That look," the guy watched you point to the alien as he made his way over to you by jumping over one of the seats. His arm landed on your shoulders as he huffed slightly from all the running round, "Right okay then, possible shapeshifter, very dangerous and kills for the hell of it. Also, amazing dancers and have a tendency to be really funny. Ready?" As he spoke, he looked the guy up and down in a calculating way as if he was possible suspect. You ignored the shock and fear on the guy's face in front of you and instead tilted your head in debate, "I mean, yeah sure," with a laugh, he clapped his hands together and approached the crew member. He too ignored the expression or he just didn't notice with how quickly his mind was now working. He smiled, hands clasped in front of him as he did another look over the guy before speaking, "Ok, we're ready to go. Should probably check out backstage first," he looked to you and you nodded in agreement. "Well," he paused as he placed his hands on the guy's shoulder, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Panicky look still clearly painted on his features, his voice shook as he managed, "Carl,"

"Well Carl, lead the way," gripping the clipboard in his hands tighter, Carl turned around and began to walk up the stairs and backstage with the two of you following. You stared at your feet as you walked, pout on your lips as you thought, "So, when you say very dangerous...?" The Doctor paused before backtrack king to you and placing his hands on your shoulders whilst ducking his head down to meet your eyes. He had such certainty and determination that you knew he wasn't lying when he said, "Nothing bad will happen to you, I promise," a chuckle left your lips as you punched his shoulder, smile lighting up your face as he remained unbelievably serious, "Well duh. I've got my own hero. And you know I'd haunt the hell out of you," he shook his head, smile fighting it's way to his face as the two of you began to walk behind the curtain.

-

So apparently the Doctor isn't great with promises or at least, that's what you gather when the two of you were walking down a deserted corridor and something had grabbed you from behind. The last hour had been the two of you searching in the dark, trusting no one since this alien shapeshifted. Two crew members were found dead and another missing so the Doctor insisted on going to find her and well, naturally you followed without question. And now you had a claw to your throat as you whimpered at how hard the alien was pulling your hair. This made the Doctor turn, eyes darkening when he saw you struggling and crying quietly to yourself. "Let them go," it was practically a whisper but it echoed in the hall, making the creature laugh. "Why would I do that?" The voice was deep and distorted and almost robotic, "They'll be so much fun," the last word was spat, venom in the voice making whimper again. You shook violently and the Doctor met your terrified eyes with his remorseless ones. "Why are you here? Order the Shadow Proclamation states Earth is a Level five planet. Do you know what they'd do to you?" He took a few taunting steps forward, head almost bowed in anger.

A small scream left your lips as the claw made a small cut in your throat and the Doctor seemed to tense. Rolling out his shoulders, the TimeLord uncharacteristically smirked as his fingers toyed with the screwdriver in his hands and he laughed almost hollowly, "I know about your people. I have fought your people time again and again and again. And do you want to know what I remember?" There was a pause in his words, only audible thing being your small cries, "You really don't like high frequencies," he raised an eyebrow as he pressed a button and the alien began to freak. His hands slammed over his ears and he stumbled back, essentially freeing you. You managed to make your way to a worried and panicking Doctor before the two of you rushed down the hall and inside a changing room. You fell back against the door as the whir of the screwdriver and the click of the lock and the huffs of your breaths filled the room.

Suddenly the small device was stuck in your face, scanning you up and down before you smacked it away. He gave you a pointed look before carrying on, no doubt scanning for any other type of harm. He was in protective mode which wasn't uncommon but could get annoying when he wouldn't stop checking up on you. With a frustrated expression, you snatched the screwdriver from his hands and shook your head when your eyes met, “I’m fine,” you made sure to emphasise the last word and the Doctor mimicked you under his breath like a three year old. Scoffing, you pointed the screwdriver at him in warning but he just simply took it back with a small huff.

And then there was a bang at the door and the two of you were reminded of the danger you were facing this time round.

[cafeacademia]

Guardian | Chapter One

Draco Malfoy x Muggleborn!Reader Soulmate AU

Chapter Summary: As you navigate your fifth year at Hogwarts, you reflect on the things that have led you this far and you begin to wonder if your complicated friendship with Draco holds more meaning than you originally anticipated.

Warnings: A little bit of angst, some friendly teasing, mentions of Umbridge’s punishments, description of harm to a student, comfort, fluff.

Word count: Approx 4000 (oopsies)

Masterlist

A/N: Hi loves, here’s the first full part of the series! Please check out the Prologue if you’re new to the series, it gives some general setting up for the story and explains how this soulmate AU works. Enjoy! 💖

Flashbacks are separated using *** and use of the soulmate book is highlighted in italics

Previous Part | Next part

(Gif is my own)

Sitting in the library, Neville was not far from the desk you were sat at as he scoured the shelves for a copy of a book about rare magical properties in plants while you were trying to work on your final Potions essay for the term. “This feels impossible.” You yawned, slouching over your four parchment rolls of completed essay. All you really had to do now was make a conclusion, but your brain was wandering after a few hours of working on your homework and it just wasn’t happening. “That’s incredible.” Neville whispered to himself and you couldn’t help but breathe out a short laugh, looking over your shoulder to see that he was fully engrossed in the book he had pulled off the shelf.

Putting your quill down, you looked down at your hand, eyes trailing over the little bandage wrap you wore over the mark left from the detention you had served the previous evening with Umbridge. It was still sore and it felt very tender, but you tried your best to keep it hidden under the bandage and the sleeve of your school jumper. Slowly, your mind wandered towards what Draco might be up to. You hadn’t spoken to him in months since you had started in your fifth year and you’d had less of desire to do so now that he was in the Inquisitorial Squad. And your thoughts paced back to your fourth year when you had started to share a bit of a friendship with him.

***

“You’re fraternizing with the enemy, you are.” Ron scoffed. “I am not.” You frowned at him. “Oi, shove off would you? I know you don’t like the little git, but he seems to like our girl, isn’t that right George?” Fred asked, looking over your head to his twin who was standing on the other side of you. “That’s right Fred, maybe he’s got a crush on you.” He chuckled, nudging you in the side. “Ah, young love.” Fred sighed, garnering a multitude of reactions between Ron sounding utterly disgusted to Ginny’s amused laughter. “Draco is just being friendly.” You rolled your eyes. “Oh Draco is it now? Not Malfoy anymore eh?” Fred teased.

“He’s such a git, Malfoy’s not worth your time anyway, he’s probably just using you or something.” Ron argued and for once, Hermione gave Ron an agreeing nod. “Besides, since when is Malfoy nice to anyone?” Hermione asked, Fred and George giving each other a look, they were a little more accepting than the others, but with the question raised even the twins wondered if there wasn’t another motivation there.

Sighing, you leaned back against the wall of the quad and glanced over at Neville, who had just been quietly listening to the conversation without saying a word, but the look on his face told you that he felt the same as the rest of your friends. The problem was, while you really, truly valued their opinion and you understood that they were trying to look out for you, albeit with a little tough love on Ron’s end, you knew there was something there between you and Draco but you just couldn’t seem to find the words to describe it.

Was it friendship? Was it some kind of connection deeper than that? Whatever it was, Draco seemed to become a different person around you. He was more genuine, more open, more himself and oddly, you were starting to feel like he really valued your attention and your opinion.

“You shouldn’t be giving him the satisfaction.” Ron went on, Harry now wandering over to join the group and you heaved out a sigh because you knew as soon as he joined in, the two of them would be going on about how much of ‘bloody git’ Draco was. “Give who the satisfaction?” Harry asked. “Malfoy.” Ron replied in a disgruntled tone. “Fine,” You gritted out. “Then I won’t give either of you the satisfaction, Ronald.” You suddenly burst out, everyone looking at you as if you had grown a second head from your sudden outburst. “What’s that ‘sposed to mean?” He asked, a little bewildered.

But as the days passed, your friends started to realise what you had meant by that statement. Your little chats with Draco seemed to have halted entirely, and you didn’t speak a word about your budding friendship with the Slytherin. It was as if you had completely forgotten it had ever happened and your friends were starting to wonder if you were sneaking off to talk to him without any prying eyes, but of course there was no way they could prove it.

You valued their concern, you appreciated it in fact, but stupid or not you couldn’t deny that you felt a pull towards Draco. So you removed all indication that there was any interaction with Draco at all and it became quickly apparent to you, that maybe it was safer to just have a friendship with Draco in secret, especially as you weren’t too fond of the attention that being around the Slytherin Prince brought you.

You couldn’t deny, the secret meetings with Draco felt a little wrong, purely because you knew you’d get an absolute earful from Ron if he ever found out. But you still loved spending time with Draco, because out of everyone you had ever spent time with, Draco seemed to really value your company, be it quiet or more talkative. He seemed to understand when there were days that you just didn’t want to say a lot or you were more shy than usual and he understood that it was okay to enjoy silent company, but he also enjoyed it when you had energetic days and you wanted to chat about whatever came to mind.

***

“Are you listening?” Neville asked, leaning over your chair. “Hm?” You suddenly looked up at him, a little bit startled from being pulled away from your thoughts. “If we don’t hurry up, we’re going to be late for Defence Against the Dark Arts.” Neville warned and you pulled a face of worry before you hurried to pack away your things.

“Thank Merlin.” Neville mumbled as you both practically ran up the stairs to your classroom, seeing that there was a line of students waiting outside of the room, telling you that either you were just on time or Umbridge was late, though you thought the latter to be unlikely when she liked to go on about punctuality so often.

As you joined the line, Draco Malfoy made his way up the stairs, stopping when he reached you and pushed his way into the queue, though he was careful not to push you. And while Neville was busy catching up with Susan Bones who was standing on the other side of him, Draco leaned in and whispered to you.

“Meet me after class?” He asked. “Promise no funny business, just you and me.” He murmured and you tentatively glanced up at him. “This isn’t about you know what, is it?” You asked quietly. Draco knew what you were referring to. He knew you would be worried that he might try and pry some information out of you about the DA. Checking from side to side with a quick look, he held up his hand in front of you and pointed his ring finger at you. “I promise, it’s just like our old chats.” He whispered, glancing down to see you smiling, realising he was attempting a pinky promise. “Alright, but you’re using the wrong finger.” You had to refrain from giggling and instead, you shyly hid your smile as best as you could. Hesitantly you raised your hand, almost too shy to even touch him, but you pulled his little finger free and linked it with your own. “Sorry, I always forget which finger it is, muggle promises are strange.” Draco mumbled.

It wasn’t long before Umbridge finally poked her head out of the classroom and invited everyone in.

Draco sighed as he slouched down in his chair with his arms crossed in the drier than normal Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Umbridge was particularly boring to listen to as she droned on about a test you’d all be taking soon.

Instead, his focus was trained on the notebook that peeked out of the top of his bag that sat under his desk. He wished he could pick the book up and leaf through the pages, idly reading your handwriting, take in your thoughts and feelings and remind himself of days before now. Sometimes Draco wished that he could outright approach you and tell you that it was him, that he was your soulmate, but really that would be quite a bad move.

Draco wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to actually tell you, perhaps there was something that would prevent him from doing so or some sort of consequence and he was especially wary of this since his fourth year at Hogwarts when Pansy Parkinson had involved herself.

***

“What is that tatty old thing anyway? And why do you always brandish it about like a... a trophy or something?” She had asked with a judgemental edge to her tone, stealing it right out of Draco’s lap. The boy had nearly thrown himself across the common room at her as she hurried off with it. “I bet it’s a diary.” She giggled to herself. “Yeah, or he keeps secrets in there.” Crabbe added as he joined her. “That’s what a diary is, you dolt.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Draco stormed towards the pair of them, his heart racing with fear as he watched Pansy teasingly open the cover of the book. However, much to Pansy’s surprise and even more so to Draco’s, there wasn’t a single word, not a single drop of ink, no markings, nothing. The book was completely empty. “You really carry around an empty book?” Pansy questioned, sceptical with her upper lip curled in disappointment. “What did you expect, my heartfelt feelings?” Draco scoffed, his tone cold and sarcastic as he snatched the book back from her, trying not to appear too hurt that his book had been handled roughly. “I’m to keep it safe. Father sent it to me.” Draco lied through his teeth, but thankfully, his lies were hard to detect, even for someone who knew Draco’s tactics to uphold his image and Pansy just pulled an expression that told him that she thought it was weird.

***

But now, as he sat in class, Draco could still see the small dent in the leather cover that Pansy had caused when she’d roughly stolen it from his grasp. He was still angry about it even a year later, perhaps it was irrational to be so annoyed about damage to a book, but this was special and he remembered how very upset he had felt that someone other than him had held the book. It was precious, vulnerable and he treasured it.

But it wasn’t just the book that he treasured. No, what he considered to be more important, more precious and something truly wonderful in every aspect was you. Which was why he had started to slowly distance himself from you. But as Draco looked up to see you sitting a few rows ahead of him in the middle of the classroom, the thing that reminded him of why he wanted to see you peeked out from under your jumper sleeve. Your hand was bandaged and Draco was quite angry with himself, because the night before when you had unknowingly written to him in your book and told him that a teacher had hurt you during detention, Draco had immediately known what it meant and he was livid.

“Attention, mister Malfoy.” Umbridge practically shrieked across the classroom, slamming her hand down onto the front desk, disturbing the Friday afternoon gloom and making everyone in the room jump at her sudden raised voice before she gave him a forced smile. Draco lazily sat up in his seat, eyes flitting to you every time Umbridge turned away to write or point at something on the blackboard as his mind wandered throughout the rest of the lesson.

When the class finally came to an end and Professor Umbridge excused you all to enjoy the rest of your Friday evening, Draco left the classroom and leaned against the wall outside until the very last person left the room.

Draco gave you a subtle smile before he very quickly peeked around the doorframe to see that Umbridge was climbing the stairs to her office before he turned to look at you and give you a proper smile. “I’m so sorry it’s been months, it’s bloody difficult with her around, it’s like she’s everywhere.” Draco sighed, rolling his eyes as he pushed away from the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I understand, everyone is on high alert at the moment.” You replied in a quiet tone, almost too afraid to speak up as Draco began to walk you down the stairs, having avoided the eyes of all of your classmates and hopefully any spying caretakers too.

You were anxious to be spending time with Draco after all of this time. Especially as now he was part of the Inquisitorial Squad and part of you was afraid that your friends had been right last year. What if he did try to use you? But Draco had not yet betrayed your trust and you firmly believed in giving him the benefit of the doubt, you just hoped you weren’t doing it at your own expense.

“Come, we can talk in here.” Draco stepped into a hidden little alcove that was behind a statue at the side of the staircase. It was unlikely anyone would stop long enough to be able to hear you both talking and no one could see you hidden around the corner either.

“Was she hard on you yesterday?” Draco whispered his eyes softening as he watched you give him a little nod. “Yeah, a little.” You replied. “How did you know?” You queried, shyly looking up at him. “Pansy told me she caught you and Neville yesterday.” He explained and you just gave him a little nod. It wasn’t an outright lie, Pansy had told him she’d caught some students, but she never said who, it was only until you confided in your soulmate that it had happened that he knew you must have been in the group that Parkinson had caught. He watched as you slowly lifted your hand and pulled up your jumper sleeve to show him the bandage.

“Can I see?” Draco asked softly, gently taking your hand into both of his, holding you so softly like he was afraid he could hurt you with just his tender touch. You nodded, Draco leaning down to catch the way your eyes seemed to be filled with shame and you glanced at him, only for a second with a watery gaze.

Slowly and as carefully as he could, Draco unwrapped your bandage, reading the words that had been carved into your hand. “Oh love, I’m sorry, I should have been there to stop it from happening.” Draco sounded like he was scolding himself as he apologised, the emotions reaching his eyes as they swam deep in worry.

“It’s alright, I knew I’d end up in detention with her eventually.” You sighed, watching as Draco gently held your hand in his. He couldn’t lie and say it didn’t make his stomach turn horribly. It sickened him to no end and part of the reason he had joined the Inquisitorial Squad in the first place was with the hopes that he might be able to protect you better from that position. Not that he would let on to that, though.

“Does it hurt still?” He asked. “It still stings a bit and it’s sore.” You told him, your eyes saddened as you looked down at the writing you had tried so hard to conceal all day, not just because you were ashamed of what Umbridge had done, but because you simply could not bear to look at it. Would it always be there? You wondered if it would serve as a constant reminder and you hoped that with time that it would fade, but you couldn’t help the worry that sat deep in your stomach that the mark would remain long after healing and you hoped at the very least, that it would not make your stomach turn every time you looked at it.

“I’m so sorry.” Draco sighed, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, his eyes looking up to meet yours as you let a shy, watery smile take over. You hoped not to cry, but Umbridge and her punishment was still very fresh in your mind and you felt a horrible chill roll through you whenever you thought of it. Merlin only knew how you had managed to make it through your lesson with her without it affecting you terribly.

“I’m so sorry I haven’t been here, but I’m here now.” Draco whispered it so quietly as he pulled you against his side. He hated that he couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again. Draco hated that he couldn’t stop Umbridge from hurting you and part of him hated himself for how weak he was for you. Did you find it strange that he was so apologetic? That he was almost loving towards you? But the worry seemed to slip from his mind when he felt you lean against him. It was moments like this that made Draco question himself. He questioned if he should continue to create distance between you, or if keeping you close was easier to keep you safe. And he questioned things like if he should find a way to help you realise that he was your soulmate like he had worked out two years ago. But he was afraid. Draco was starting to feel like that was beginning to be all too common for him to feel these days as things became more intense. The pressure from his father to do increasingly worse things that simply did not align with Draco’s morals was enough to twist his mind and now with working under Umbridge, he hoped it did not skew his true alignment and morality. It was this that he was fighting so hard to keep, because it was the one thing he could control when everyone else was insistent on pushing him into the directions they wanted him to go in.

What you didn’t know though, was that your friendship, his connection with you was more than just that to Draco. When he was around you, he didn’t feel like he had to cling on to who he was and put a mask on. He could just be himself and it relieved some of the tension and the fear.

But the question begged itself again. Am I too close to her?

“You know, Draco.” You broke the silence, the Slytherin humming in response, prompting you to continue. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for years.” You told him. And while it was somewhat true, you had known him since you both had started Hogwarts, you never really knew him until recently. Without even knowing what lay deeper in your connection to Draco, you could feel something there, you felt drawn to him.

That’s because you have, he thought. “I know what you mean. I’ve felt the same too.” Draco replied with a soft smile, only he really did know what you meant, more than you did and he wished he could tell you.

“We should go.” Draco spoke, almost in a regretful tone as he carefully and gently bandaged your hand back up. He hated that he had so little time with you, but he was thankful at least, that you were not against spending time with him. Stepping forwards, Draco checked the stairwell. “There’s no one around.” He reassured you. “See you soon.” Draco smiled sweetly at you. “I hope so.” You nodded, mirroring his smile before you stepped out of the alcove and made your way down the stairs quickly, Draco waiting several minutes before leaving, just in case.

The end of term was on it’s final stretch with one last exam to sit the following Monday for Defence Against the Dark Arts. But as the weekend came, you decided to spend at least some of it with the person you’d not been able to see nearly all year.

“Can I ask you something?” You broke the silence, Draco glancing over at you from his spot on the grass. You were both sat down by the lake, hidden by a bit of overgrown foliage and rocks. It was a part near the shore of the lake that not many people went to and it was perfect for spending a private moment with someone. “What is it?” He asked as he reached up to push his hair to the side.

“You’ll think it’s ridiculous.” You sighed, fiddling with the book that sat closed in your lap. “Nothing you say is ever ridiculous.” Draco said, looking over at you with a sweet smile and you felt yourself warm at his words. “Well in that case,” You paused, looking out over the horizon of the lake. “Do you believe in soulmates?” You posed the question as if you were terrified he’d tell you it was utter rubbish, but when you heard him give you a little hum as he thought about it, Draco leaned over a little, resting his hand on your arm to get your attention.

Meeting his gaze, his blue eyes softened when he saw how nervous you looked and he wondered if someone had told you that it was all an old wives tale.

You seemed to become more shy under his touch and Draco smiled to himself, feeling that it was sweet that you seemed to get so flustered whenever he touched you, even though it had very rarely happened.

“I do, I believe in soulmates.” He reassured you. Draco wanted, with every fibre of his being to show you his book, to tell you everything. But he didn’t. “Did someone tell you it was...” He trailed off. “Stupid? Yeah.” You huffed out. “Do you think there’s someone out there for us?” You asked, relaxing a little as Draco leaned down to gently grip your hand.

“I know there is.” Draco smiled softly.

Sometimes I wonder if I already know you, you wrote. Perhaps we do know each other, but we won’t know until we reach the end of this book, he wrote only moments later. The trundle of the train rolling over the tracks began to lull you into a sleepy state as you sat in a mostly empty carriage on the Hogwarts Express. It was the end of term and while too much had really happened for you to fully compartmentalize and process it all yet, you took solace in knowing that you could figuratively lean on your soulmate for comfort.

You told him everything you felt, almost like a journal and in turn he did the same. He detailed his thoughts, his feelings and he came to you when his day had been too much, but neither of you were too specific. You wished you knew who he was so that you could give him physical comfort, so you could both lean on each other and you wished for this even more so now that you started to wonder if you already knew him.

I promise I’ll write to you as often as I can. You scribbled it down into the book. But there came no answer. And days after you had arrived in London and returned home for the holidays, there was still no response.

If only Draco could tell you what had happened. If only he could write to you and explain it all from beginning to end. But he had no idea if he could, because his only way of communicating with you was no longer in his possession.

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[aghoulishtale]

To See Him Again

Simon Lewis x Reader // The Mortal Instruments 

I finally finished reading the last tmi book and was inspired to write this. If you’ve not read it and don’t want to know what happens don’t read this. If you’ve not read it and don’t plan to I think I’ve given enough that it’ll still make sense. I hope.

Word Count: 1.3k  Warnings: none 

[gif]

It had been over a month since you last saw Simon, when that demon had returned you all to this dimension in exchange for his immortality and memories, and you missed him. Though you knew he was okay, knew that he no longer remembered you, and knew that it would be possibly the most painful thing in the world to have him look at you and have no idea who you are, you couldn’t help yourself from seeking him out. You sat in the corner of Java Jones, your coffee sitting full and cold on the table in front of you as you watched people come and go, waiting to see if the familiar face would be one of them. You weren’t sure whether you actually even wanted him to enter, leaving it up to fate to decide whether you meant to see him. 

You had been sitting there for nearly two hours and the barista was starting to get suspicious of you, so you gave in and decided to leave. You weren’t even sure if he still went there anymore, it had just seemed like the most likely place you could naturally run into him. Deflated, you picked up a fresh coffee to go and left the shop, rounding the corner to head back towards the subway. You scanned the faces of passersby with the hope that maybe one of them would be the one you wanted to see and your pulse jumped as you eyes passed over a gangly boy pushing dark hair back off his face, a pair of glasses sliding down his nose. You halted to a stop as he walked past you and swiftly turned to follow him, but as you made to move towards him he looked back, and you were disappointed to see that it wasn’t Simon. Stopping in the middle of the street in New York, it was lucky that no one had run into you yet, but as you once again switched the direction you were walking your luck ran out. The paper cup squished between you and the person you crashed into, sending coffee down the front of both of your coats, and it was lucky you were wearing so many layers preventing the hot liquid from touching your skin. 

“I’m so sorry.” // “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” You both exclaimed at the same time. You looked up, blinking in surprise as you were met with a pair of moss green eyes behind square frames. 

“Simon!” You accidentally said aloud. His brow creased with confusion as he studied your face, looking for a clue as to how you might know each other. 

“You know me?” He asked and your heart sunk. Of course you knew him. You knew him better than anyone else. It was exactly what you had predicted would happen, you shouldn’t have been so surprised, but as the last bit of hope that none of it was true faded, you felt the weight that had been pushing on you the last four weeks get heavier. You had to quickly look away from him, fighting back the tears. You swallowed before you spoke again, hoping he wouldn’t hear the disappointment and heartbreak in your voice. 

“We went to middle school together.” You told him. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t really the whole truth either. 

“We did? I would’ve thought I’d recognise you.” You held back a chuckle as you saw the realisation of what he’d implied cross his face. “Because I’m usually really good with faces, not because yours is so special. Not that it’s a bad face, it’s a really good face, you’re really beautiful. Ah, I’m going to stop talking, sorry.” He winced, his face flushed red, reminding you that he was once again a Mundane, no longer a vampire. You didn’t hold back the laugh this time, the shy smile he gave you causing your heart to constrict as you realised exactly how much you missed him. He bit his lip, his eyes trained on the sign in the shop window next to you and you could tell was considering something. “Can I buy you a coffee, to replace that one?” He suddenly asked. You looked down at the brown stain across the front of your coat and the now empty paper cup in your hand, debating whether it was a good idea to go with him. Wasn’t this what you had wanted, to see him and spend time with him? Or maybe it would be too much. You had the confirmation you needed, he definitely didn’t remember you, there was no need to torture youself further. 

“Okay, sure.” You decided. He broke out into a grin and you walked together back to the coffee shop. The barista was visibly surprised to see you walk in again, giving you a knowing look as she noticed that you weren’t alone this time and you thought, you have no idea how complicated this actually is. Simon asked for your order, something that he’d not had to do for years, and joined the queue, leaving you to sit in the seat that had been your go to for years. It felt strange to be there now, after everything that happened, without Clary and with a Simon who saw you as a stranger. You glanced over to him, his head quickly turning back to the counter. He had been watching you, and what you wouldn’t give to know what he was thinking. 

When he had come back over and taken a seat, neither of you knew what to say. You couldn’t ask any of the questions that you really wanted to. Eventually the conversation got going and for a little while things felt normal again, though you had to ignore the stabs of pain you felt when he told you a story that you should’ve been a part of as though you were never there, or when he asked you a question that he should’ve known the answer to. You nodded along as he told you about his family and friends, pretending like you didn’t already know it all. Though it hurt, it was worth the pain to just be around him again and listen to his voice, and you could tell that, unlike the entire time he was a vampire, he was genuinely happy. 

“We actually have a small gig on Friday, you should come, if you want.” He said when the conversation had turned to his band. “And when I say small gig, I mean tiny. Like maybe ten people max. It’s hard to get a following when you constantly change your name I guess. Right now we’re Rodents in Residence but we’re due a change soon and I’m thinking The Mortal Instruments could be cool.” You nearly choked when you heard him say it. 

“The what?” You asked, disbelieving that he had actually said. Surely you must’ve imagined it. 

“The Mortal Instruments.” He repeated. “I heard it somewhere, can’t remember where, but I like it.” This was it, this was the sign you needed to prove that those memories were still in there. There was still hope that this could all be reversed, you had to tell Magnus. “So, will you come?” He looked at you with hope, like any normal teenage boy asking someone out, unaware of the magnitude of what he had just said. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’ll be there.” 

“Great. I’ll see you Friday then.” 

“Yeah, see you then.” He was smiling as he got up and left, leaving you in a state of shock. In your haste to go tell someone, anyone, what you had just learned, you almost didn’t notice the band flyer he’d left on the table for you, his number scrawled on the bottom. You didn’t need it, his number already saved into your phone and engraved into your memory, but you took the flyer anyway, carefully folding it and sliding it into your pocket as you got up and left, ready to start planning how to get your boyfriend back for real.

Taglist: @bisexualnathanyoung @misskittysmagicportal @nightingale-rose @forenschik @love-is-dirty-baby @slutforrobbiebro @super-unpredictable98 @firstpersonnarrator 

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 144

After much demand, Kink Night at the Undine has arrived. This chapter is really fun, was informative to write, but if you need to skip it, you won’t miss out on the overall story. So, trigger warnings on this chapter for:

- Bondage (mentions of)

- Pegging (possible mention of?)

- Impact play (discussed, both done wrongly and demonstrated correctly)

- Topping and bottoming

To be clear: These are all mentioned from the perspective of a non-participant, non-voyeur. I would probably overall rate this chapter appropriate for 14 years and older, but your mileage may vary. However, kink in general can be very healthy if done correctly, and this chapter was double beta-read, not only by @baelpenrose but also by @charlylimph-blog for accuracy of the scene.  This actually prevented a PROFOUND mistake from making it to queueing, so I am super grateful for their help.

Once I was released from medical after an unnecessarily long lecture from Noah, I found I had a message waiting from Charly with a date and time to meet at the Undine.  Right below that was a message from Sebastian with a uniform-slash-dresscode of sorts.

Aw nuggets. I had forgotten what night it was. 

There wasn’t time to grab clothes from my quarters, but my office was on the way to the bar, so I stopped by to change.  Socks and shoes were a bit of a challenge, since I generally didn’t wear either, so I had to find a vendor to help me fill in the gaps.  Granted, shoes weren’t specified in Sebastian’s list.  However, there was exactly a zero percent chance that I was going to lend a hand at a kink party while barefoot. Just… no. Nope. Not happening.

I wiped my palms nervously against my slacks when I arrived, not sure exactly what to expect.  Charly and I had talked about it, but none of that knowledge wanted to make its presence known at the moment, apparently.  Instead, my mind kept drifting to what in the actual hell she had roped Arthur into doing.  The door opened entirely too soon to reveal a smiling Charly, who grabbed my arm and dragged me behind her to the small group already gathered.

All of my nerves were forced from my body by the sputtering laughter I fell victim to when I saw Arthur - I still had no idea what he would be doing, but he looked like someone took a post-apocalyptic movie hero and hit a button labelled ‘make him a villain’ a few too many times.  The leather jacket and motorcycle pants were fairly innocuous, since I knew he actually owned both and neither were terribly uncommon on the Ark.  Same thing held for the boots - they were just practical in the After and several people held on to that preference with a death grip.

“Cloak’s a nice touch,” I snorted, trying desperately to ignore the campier bits of his outfit.

I was dangerously close to losing it when he scowled and adjusted the laurel crown - I mean, really? - resting on his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have cut my hair this morning,” he muttered. “Damned thing won’t sit right anymore.”

Charly clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, one more run through of what everyone will be doing!”

Sebastian nodded seriously and flicked a towel over his shoulder before handing me an apron. “Sophia has kindly agreed to prep the snacks, while I serve and clean behind people. She’ll clear any dishes in between batches, and one or the other of us will do a lap of the floor every fifteen minutes to ensure everyone is hydrated and there’s no need for medical attention.” He winked at the relief on my face.

Cooking, clearing plates, and momming people into staying hydrated. I could do that.

Arthur brushed off his pauldrons, only forcing me to confront the fact that they were shaped like skulls again, before straightening with aplomb. “I will be Dungeon Master, keeping an eye on everything from there,” he pointed to a scaffold that had been put into place over the bartop, “And intervening as needed if things get out of hand.” Without so much as a twitch of question from me, he explained. “Charly and Coffey can’t be everywhere at once, so I get to perch on high, look ridiculous, and play bouncer if Coffey can’t get there first.”

“Yep,” Charly nodded seriously. For all that she normally seemed built out of chaos and energy, this was Boss Lady Charly. “Let’s keep it safe, sane, and consensual across the board. Speaking of!” She pulled two badges from seemingly nowhere. “Soph, Bash, these are for you.” I took one and immediately grinned when I read it. Staff Only - I Do Not Consent. “If either of you want to play, go for it, but otherwise, probably wear those.  Sexy librarian and millionaire CEO are tropes that exist, so ya know - no confusion for anyone.  Any questions, concerns, cries for help?” When we all shook our heads, she clapped again. “Okay, off you go! Thanks everyone.”

Sebastian tilted his head toward the kitchen and I followed, wiping my hands on my legs again. “Thank you for agreeing to help with snacks.  I know Charly already told you, but I am not the greatest at finger foods that don’t make a mess or won’t be too heavy.”

I hummed for a second before making a few suggestions. “Macaroni and cheese bites, they’re about this big.” I made a circle about an inch and a half across with my fingers. “Just pop and go. Pigs in blankets, the kind with cocktail sausages… meatballs, but probably with lamb instead of beef.  Dumplings.” I shrugged. “Charly swears people actually bring food to these, so once that stuff starts coming in, it would just be portioning it and sending it back out.  We shouldn’t have too much actual cooking to do.”

He nodded and started grabbing ingredients. “So that leaves drinks, plates, and utensils.” When I reached for a rack of glasses, he stopped me. “No.  If one of us drops anything that can break, people can get injured.  I’ve been stocking up on fiber-based plates, forks, and spoons.  Drinks are going to be in those corn-starch gel pouches.”

“Dude,” I groaned. “Those things get so gummy.”

“Straws are real and do exist.”

“Besides, I can already tell someone is going to find alternative uses for those,” Arthur called from behind us. I swear, I could hear him smirking. “You can’t put humans, sex, and flavored liquid in the same room and not expect that.”

I shook my head with a smile, but he had a point. Once we shooed him away, work on the snacks went pretty quick.  Judging by the sounds coming from the main room, it was a good thing, too - furniture being dragged, then Arthur’s voice ringing out to welcome everyone.  Soon, Sebastian was swinging out of the kitchen door with the first trays, and true to Charly’s word, he came back carrying a plate of neatly stacked fudge, followed by Arthur carrying a covered container.

“Scratch the meatballs, someone brought an actual mountain of sausage balls,” Arthur grunted as he slammed the container on a flat surface before retreating.

“Not even a joke?” I mused.

“Must be slipping,” Sebastian grinned. “I mean, he said ‘balls’ twice…”

“Low hanging fruit!” a voice called from the main room.  It must have seemed entirely out of context to the crowd, but Sebastian and I were laughing as we started plating so he could carry more food out to the spots Charly had designated.

A timer went off, so I took the mac and cheese bites out of the oven, snagged a tray of drink-blobs, shoved a fistful of straws into my apron and took off to do my lap of the event.  There were already people taking a break, reaching gratefully for hydration.  Several times, someone would reach for one and pour it in a partner’s  mouth, and on one occasion, a woman offered it up like a gift to a bound man, both biting into it and drinking greedily.

I almost stepped on someone before I realized there was an actual pile of people on the floor. I diverted my eyes quickly from what I thought was an all-out orgy before my brain registered that I wasn’t hearing sex noises - just whispers.  Snapping my eyes back up, it took a moment to figure out that I had nearly stepped on the largest cuddle pile I had seen since my apartment on Insert Winter Holiday.  Crouching, I balanced what was left of the drink blobs on one hand while holding out the straws with another.  In no time at all, the tray was empty and I was heading back for more.

This time, food on one hand, drinks on the other, I exited the kitchen to see Charly wrapping up her rope-bondage safety lecture before starting to demonstrate different knots on a volunteer, with Charly in the role of the top for this scenario. Watching her calmly contort and restrain another human being while calmly explaining the psychology behind it was… kind of terrifying.  I had to constantly remind myself that this person volunteered and that Charly was experienced on both ends of the rope.  

One more sweep of the room landed me with only a dozen or so drinks left on top of a pile of empty trays.  I backed into the kitchen to sanitize and re-load the trays, only to hear Sebastian swearing. “Who the hell brought chili!?”

“Apparently someone thought it was a good idea,” I shrugged, baffled. I mean, it didn’t seem like a good idea to me, but this wasn’t exactly my area of expertise.  “Maybe we put it in bowls, set up a little station in one of the break areas, with toppings? Let people help themselves?”

“Bondage potlucks and chili…” He shook his head. “Trying to remind myself that I’ve seen weirder things, but…”

“I can promise you, they are having fun. And they’re hydrated!” I shook my mostly empty platter of blobs at him.

Sebastian went out to retrieve more food from the people who brought it, and I kept rolling sausages in dough.  “More fudge!” he crowed. “I snagged a piece of the first batch, and it was amazing.”

“You clearly do not see the irony,” I muttered where he couldn’t hear me. “Oh, heavens, no chili! But fudge… fudge is fine…”

The next time I was able to break free and take my designated lap, a slight bit more chaos had descended as everyone had gotten more comfortable.  Several of the more experienced were examining and complimenting each other on their knots and arrangements of their subs. Ivan and Jokul were doing…. Something… that involved Ivan in a gorgeous evening gown and Jokul with a gag in his mouth.  I was almost done with my circuit when a thud reverberated behind me and a black cloak whipped by.

“For the love of…” Arthur growled. I thought he was going to dribble the cowering man he was glaring at like a basketball, but instead he brandished a marker and made two quick X’s on a bare pair of buttocks. “Here and here. Only here and here.” With an irritated flourish, he wrote NOT HERE across the small of the attached back. “This will give someone kidney damage.  Specifically you if I catch you doing it again.” Ducking around to the face of the person he had just used as a whiteboard, he shook his finger. “And I’m not even going to apologize, because you have a safeword and you need to use it. First, last, and only warning, you two. If that hit had been any more than a nervous first tap, you wouldn’t even be getting that.”  Without a word, he snagged the cane sitting on the table nearby and took it with him. “They aren’t getting anywhere near the cane, fucking idiots. Gotta talk to Charly about those two…” he muttered as he blew back past me, so angry he didn’t even acknowledge that I was standing there.

I almost dropped the stack of empty platters when the Imperial March started playing while Arthur stomped back into his position over the bar. “Attention, Deviants!  Courtesy of some poor practices I’ve seen, I would like to invite Sir Coffey and his pet fae Charly to give us a tutorial on safe and proper impact play!”  Applause started as he beckoned them forward, Sebastian theatrically adjusting the lights to center in front of the stage.

I ducked back into the kitchen as Coffey’s voice rang out over the crowd, explaining yet again safewords and consent before launching into what toys were used how and where.  A little public humiliation never hurt anyone, I joked with myself. At least not for some of the people out there.

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[todourouki]

Misery Business | K. Bakugou

a one shot

✰ SUMMARY the one where you didn’t mean to take the hothead away from his girlfriend, but you did anyway. It was nothing personal, you just knew that Bakugou Katsuki deserved way better than what he was settling for.

PAIRING Taken/Pro-Hero!Bakugou & Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT 4.6K

WARNINGS explicit language, mentions of cheating, cheating lol, suggestive language, angst, and some fluff at the end bc I cannot end my fics in a bad way I am weak sorry!

You were not a home wrecker.

At least, you wouldn’t say that to your own face.

You knew that the crush you had on Bakugou was wrong. You know that no matter how it is that you put it, or however strong your feelings are, or even however long you’ve even had feelings— liking a guy in a relationship was a huge no-no.

You weren’t the kind of girl to go around liking a girl’s boyfriend, though. It’s not like your feelings magically appeared out of thin air and now you’re stuck falling inlove with a guy that finds solitude in someone else— no, you aren’t like that.

Your feelings for Bakugou are much more complex, to say the least.

It all started in high school, when just the mere thought of the boy brought butterflies to your stomach with how strong and courageous he was. From his attractive face, to his blunt and explosive personality, you always found yourself admiring him when given the chance.

All of that went to shit when he decided to finally give one of the girls that were always fawning over him a chance during the beginning of your third year attending Yuuei Academy.

It was like you had gotten punched in the face, and now it feels like you’re just purposely getting stabbing in the heart every time you did as much as look at them.

That definitely explains why you’re sulking at your table during a school dance with a scowl on your face so you don’t have to see the happy couple waltz around the cafeteria floor.

All the top Pro-Heroes were assigned to attend the dance as academy alumni in order to ensure the safety of the students (as well as make sure students even decided to show up). You, being one of the top five heroes, were ordered to show up with no complaints.

The song currently playing finally changed from a low-tempo song to a much higher one, and with that, you decided to make that your imaginary queue to take a walk around the school’s building before returning to the large decorated area.

Your heel-clad feet dragged you all the way across the gymnasium, sending kids smiles if they were in your way and simply telling them that you were “getting some fresh air before the real fun starts.”

The doors slammed shut, and the solitude of the hallways engulfed in dark hues reflected against your strained eyes in a way that made you have to physically restrain your hand from harshly rubbing at it in order to make sure your make up stood intact.

The halls reminded you of a younger you (and by younger, you mean two years. you’re only 20 and already have the mind of some old hag) that used to run through these halls with a mini little green skirt and an imagination you wish you could still understand.

They also reminded you of the blond boy inside. Especially the room you stood in front of right now.

Almost as if it was second nature, your body made its way to Class 1-A: the place where it all began, the place where you met your closest friends, and the place where you fell inlove.

Opening the door, the lights turned on to reveal a classroom almost identical to the one you walked into every day four years ago. The desks were positioned the same, the posters remained in the same spot, and even the words on the chalkboard seemed oddly familiar.

The room reeked of new paint and textbook papers, and the only thing you really wanted to smell was the designer perfume clinging helplessly to your body so the odors of a high school class don’t even think twice about sticking to you.

Your body walked towards your old desk, Seat 12, the dress you wore clinging to your body as you pulled the chair out and nostalgically sat down. You were a first year all over again, and the thought made you laugh.

You looked embarrassing your first year— as embarrassing as someone who looks like you now can get. From the hideously overheated hair, to the emo phase you still seemed to sort of be stuck in, the world seemed too easy no matter what bullshit was going on the minute you sat down at that desk.

That explained how you felt now— no matter how much your heart yearned to be in the hands of Bakugou, the minute the cold sturdiness of the chair touched your warm body, all of that disappeared. For once, nothing in the world mattered. More precisely, Bakugou didn’t matter.

“Tch, I knew you’d be in here.” Annnddd there goes that.

Your eyes widened, now staring at a smirking blond wearing a black and white tux instead of the chalkboard you once zoned out on.

His arms were crossed against his muscular chest, and the muscles outlined the button up shirt in a way that should just be downright illegal. His face was gleaming with mischief, slowly walking his way over to the empty desk directly next to yours, taking a seat, and positioning his body in a lazy manner with his legs propped up against the table. Just like before.

“You know, this brings back a lot of shitty memories.” He grunted, stretching his arms behind his head and lolling his head to face you.

You nodded in response, glancing your head up to look at the lights in a way to move the gears in your brain to say something. Literally the same thing you used to do during Midnight’s long, tedious classes.

“Yea, a bunch of ones I’d much rather forget.” You said, looking over at him and watching as his eyes stared directly at the window you always found him staring out of when he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone in class.

“Always hearing your annoying ass mumble and suck your teeth used to really piss me off.” His words were masked with seriousness, trying to hide the playful smirk on his lips you identified much too quickly. With that, a scoff left your lips and you crossed your arms.

“Nobody said anything about the pencil you insisted on tapping for hours straight.” Your jab back made him chuckle, looking back at you with vermillion eyes that made you lose all sense of feelings.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you always forgot what it was like to look at anything before you looked into his eyes. That’s how scary it was— how intimidating it was to be under his presence. His eyes captured you, holding you hostage and probably never letting you go.

“At least we didn’t sit next to each other during our third year,” he began, placing a hand loosely around his tie as he continued to look at you in your eyes, “I don’t think I would have ever focused with the humming you did to the same damn song every day.”

“Yeah, instead of me though, you ended up sitting with your future wife.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID.

It was like word vomit, the snarky tone slipping through your lips as if it was trying its hardest to come off in a jokingly manner, only ending up appearing as sarcastic as possible. It was like the words fell from your tongue quicker than you could punch your own esophagus.

Bakugou stood quiet for a moment, staring at you and knitting his eyebrows together as if deep in thought. Your eyes ended up leading you back to the words Relief Fund written messily against the green chalkboard to save your embarrassment.

You didn’t see the frown itching across Bakugou’s lips.

“We aren’t married, ya know. I don’t know why people decided to start that rumor.” He said, a sigh passing by his lips to quiet his tone as if he was scared his girlfriend was around to hear it.

“Might as well marry her. You’re not really the kind of guy that dates just to date.” Your words struck hesitantly in the room in a timid yet informative voice, and Bakugou watched the board as well so that you were both avoiding each other’s gaze.

“Yeah well I’m not sure, marriage is a big deal.” Bakugou was muttering, and the tone of his voice made you crane your neck over to where he was seated as you stood quiet.

What were you, someone who was basically inlove with him, supposed to say that?

You both stood in silence for a few seconds, the words in your throat itching to escape as the remnants of memories you both had both in class and just together in general filled your vision.

“I always hated this seat because I knew it meant that I would always be the person you would argue with.” You began, closing your eyes and releasing a strained scoff from your glossed lips.

You didn’t know what you were doing, or what you were talking about, but as the moon danced across the pale boy’s face and the music in the cafeteria continued to gently ring through the halls, the only thing you were thinking about doing was speaking more than you ever have.

“Morning after morning, I grew used to your loud voice and extremely hostile—” “HAH? I was NOT—”

You sent him a glare, immediately cutting him off and proceeding your weird speech that just couldn’t let anything go.

“Anyways, morning after morning, I ended up looking forward to the words you decided to call me and yell at me about for the day. It’s like, if it didn’t happen,” your arms moved in an animated way, catching Katsuki’s full attention as he looked on to your rant, “I felt like my day wasn’t really an actual day, ya know?

The one thing you loved appreciated most about Bakugou was his ability to listen. And when you say listen, you mean just listen. His ears were perked up in your direction, shoes turned towards you and eyes watching your movements like a hawk.

“And then—” you gulped, pausing for a second in order to think your words though. It was always now or never to you, the drama giving you a sense of hope against a man like that.

It’s either I bring it up now, or I never get to speak my peace, and I refuse to be one of those people showing up to the wedding yelling ‘I oppose.’

“And then it was here that I realized I was the biggest idiot alive by feeling the way I felt about this one person.” You said, eyes glaring at the wall in front of you blankly as you cowered behind the whisps of your lashes.

Bakugou said nothing, but from the corner of you eye, you could see him staring at the side of your face with an expression you had never really see on him.

“I spent years pining after some dumbass that didn’t even see the genuine interest I had in him.” Your words were like alcohol, and Bakugou was too busy drinking them all in to fully acknowledge what you were talking about.

“I watched him give in to this one girl though,” a lightbulb when off in the boy’s head and for once, he felt like the idiot in the room, “a girl that doesn’t even care for him.”

“Y/N..” Bakugou growled, almost as if he was threatening you and warning you to tread on light waters.

If there was one thing he ever respected about you though, it was that you were never scared of him.

Your eyes snapped towards him, a scowl on your face as you began to feel anger bubbling up in your stomach from the way he tried to shut you up. You were finally speaking your peace and he’s too much of a coward to let you finish?

“You know, I thought the first red flag of her trying to change his attitude was enough. I thought that maybe, just maybe, after her telling him that being number one hero wasn’t really tangible, he’d have some common fucking sense and see what everyone else sees.” Your words were like venom, your eyes not leaving his as you huffed in your seat.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Bakugou’s voice was low and angry, laced with anger as he stared at you just as intensely as you stared at him. Your expression never faltered, and instead, you turned your entire body around in the chair to fully face him with arms across your chest.

“I know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about,” you taunted, your anger only rising in value, “and so the fuck do you, Bakugou.”

“You know she doesn’t give a fuck about you and you know very fucking well she’s only with you because you’re Bakugou Katsuki!”

His name slipping off your tongue brought shivers to his spine as he sat up in his seat and glared at you with the tip of his ears painting themselves a light red hue.

He was angry— not necessarily at you, but at the fact that he was getting called out for something like this. He was getting called out for finally being with a girl and was getting shit for it from someone he saw as a best friend.

“You don’t know shit— you don’t even fucking know her.” His voice began to get louder, the bass in his voice causing your heart to vibrate as you shocked both you and him by slamming a hand against the desk in frustration.

“For God’s sake, Katsuki open your fucking eyes!” You only used his first name when your emotions were high, and that made the man’s hands shake in anger as he watched your outburst.

“She forgot your anniversary! She doesn’t make you your favorite food— fuck she doesn’t even kiss you unless there’s a shitty camera around!” You stood up, stomping your feet and watching as he stood up quickly after you and scowled over at your angry face.

“She doesn’t care enough to remember shit that you don’t like which is why you always end up at stupid shit like this and she doesn’t even care to meet your friends!” Your voice was now loud, the music of the cafeteria being long forgotten as you huffed over at him and slammed a finger into his chest at every syllable you spoke.

“You want to know what I think about her, Bakugou? Bestfriend to bestfriend?” The words bestfriend seethed through your lips like venom as your finger dug itself into the middle of his pecks. He said nothing, waiting for you to continue as his hands balled into fists along his sides.

“I think that you’re such a fucking pussy, you can’t fathom being with someone who doesn’t worship the ground you walk on the way she does.” You growled, narrowing your eyes at his angry expression as you took a step closer to him threateningly.

“I think you hate the fact that I’m right— the fact that she blatantly uses you and doesn’t give a fuck about you, and you hate the fact that I know you so well enough to know that—”

Before the last few letters of the words could slip through your lips, a warm hand slammed against your fingers and snatched it into his grasp as he began to huff in anger. The caramel smell only increased, and you could sense his quirk begin to flare the abnormal heat in his hands up every second.

“You don’t know shit,” he growled, his voice raising as he began to yell at you in your face, “you don’t know shit about me!”

“Are you shitting me?!” You exclaimed, grabbing at the hand that grasped yours with a grip so tight Bakugou had to glance at it quickly before reverting his eyes back to yours.

“I’ve known every little fucking thing about you since we were fifteen!” You yelled, tears threatening to spill down your eyes as the anger inside you finally erupted in a way you couldn’t control.

“Nobody asked you to be so invested in my fucking life anyway!” He retaliated, his voice booming through the room as you stared at him incredulously.

“I was so fucking invested in you because I’m fucking inlove with you, you idiot!”

Your voice silenced the room, the grip he had on your hand tightening as he stared at you with shocked eyes yet the same familiar scowl you were used to. Your expression never faltered the way his eyes did when he heard you, though. You stood your ground.

“It’s so annoying seeing the guy you are inlove with be so unhappy in a relationship because he feels as if he has no one else.” Your voice began to quiet down, a tear slipping down your eye as Bakugou watched you with a slightly softened face.

The hand gripping yours loosened a bit, still gripping it to his chest as he wrapped all his fingers around your bracelet covered wrist.

“It’s so annoying watching you try to force someone else to fall inlove with you, when I’ve been inlove with you for free for years. It hurts watching you try to force yourself to be inlove with a girl you know you don’t want to be with. It just fucking hurts Bakugou, so fucking bad.”

There was a crack in your voice that Bakugou knew all too well from the restless nights you’d spend together, and it didn’t take much for him to engulf your frame into a tight hug as he rested his head against yours. You dived into his chest, the familiar warmth wrapping around you in a way that made a few more tears slip from your eyes. You didn’t make a noise, but he knew that you were hurting.

Neither of you said anything, only holding each other until you removed yourself from him and wiped the tears off your face before he could see the evident streams marking your cheeks. He stared at you silently, as if he was contemplating something.

With timid eyes, he watched you fix the straps of your dress to find something to play with under his gaze. The silence was deafening, and was an unusual characteristic for the boy who always had something to say.

“You know she hates me, that’s why you never bring her around me.” You said, a tone of blankness carrying your voice through the room as your tears dried up and was replaced by the anger haunting your heart once again.

“No she doesn’t, she just feels like we’re too close.” Bakugou retorted, sighing and taking a seat on the chair he once occupied. You followed suit, leaning against the back of your own seat as you faced his body.

“Back in high school, I never told you this, but her and I argued in the bathroom once.” You informed, dryly chuckling as you watched his face contort with confusion.

“I told her that her pretty little face and fucked up manipulation wasn’t going to keep you around in the long run.” You stood quiet after letting him know, gulping some saliva down as you averted your gaze from his body to your painted nails. “Guess I was wrong.”

Bakugou didn’t know what to do. There were many things the man was capable of: he could destroy any villain in his way, was braver than any other fucking half assed hero out there, was smart as fuck, and could manage a relationship as well as being a top pro-hero because that’s just who he was.

What he couldn’t do, though, was fully digest the situation in front of him.

He bit his lip, running a hand across his face in frustration and staring meekly at your face. You couldn’t help but admire his frame as you did before. He was strong, well-built, smelled good, had great posture— there was nothing wrong with him. It was almost surreal.

“We’ve been dating for like two years.” Bakugou’s low voice broke the silence as he stared deep into your now glazed over eyes. You didn’t break the contact, hands rested against each side of the seat as you watched him speak.

“I’ve been dating her for two years and yet...” His words were lost, almost sounding as if he was hesitating the very same way you were earlier. You said nothing though, knowing he would stop expressing himself if you had opened your mouth.

“And yet I can’t help but imagine she was someone else.”

It was like every word he said was the last glass of water, and you drank it up against your skin in a way that brought goosebumps to his. You furrowed your eyebrows, silently signaling for him to continue.

“I never told you this,” he mocked your voice, his scowl still resting against his soft face, “but there was a time where I thought about what it would be like if we were a shitty thing.”

Everyone always assumed Bakugou and you would end up together. Whether it be from watching you both pin are each other relentlessly, to watching you fawn over him, and from just watching your interactions with one another— it almost seemed destined for you two to work out. Keyword: almost.

“Shitty Hair and Dunce-Face tell me all the fucking time that I’m an idiot for choosing this girl over you.” He scoffed, and you couldn’t help but feel your stomach tingle at the use of the name ‘this girl’ for his own girlfriend. “It’s not like I wanted to, you were always my first option.”

You stood quiet. The last sentence was lower than the others and sounded way more vulnerable. You couldn’t help but gape at him, repeating it in your brain as if they was the last words you’d ever hear again. You were always my first option.

Maybe it was the buzz you felt from the energy within the room, maybe you were drunk on adrenaline, or maybe you were just being a fucking dumbass, but the way your feet moved you from your seat to the desk he was sitting at was something you just couldn’t stop in time.

Bakugou hasn’t said anything beyond what he just finished as he watched you gently push his body away and hop up onto the desk. Your body was now inches away from his as you watched him shyly. You were always so obnoxiously close to him, so why is it that his stomach was throwing fireballs at his insides now?

“You deserve better, Katsu..” You lowly began, fiddling with the rings on your fingers as you glanced over at his body through your dark eyelashes. “Does she take care of you?”

Your words hit him in the chest and he couldn’t find it within himself to look away from you. He wasn’t sure what it was, or how you were doing it, but he was entranced by your every word and it was scaring the shit out of him. He found himself shaking his head, eyes never leaving yours as the scowl in his face began to soften.

“You’re a strong man, Katsu,” the way his nickname slipped from your lips nearly made him melt, the unfamiliar feelings he was so used to suppressing caused his head to jumble around and process your words, “you need someone who takes care of you the right way.”

You watched him, a hand lifting towards his head and running itself through his soft yet spikey hair. Bakugou always claimed he hated it when you played with his hair since that was something he thought no one was close enough to be able to touch, but he always seemed to lean into you unknowingly.

His chair scooted closer to the table, your legs now in between his lazily opened ones and his body aching to go closer into your touch.

“What are you suggesting?” His dark voice questioned, eyes staring at you as the once softened expression transformed into another of a slowly rising mischievous smirk. You were sure you were breathing earlier, but now? Not so much.

“Are you suggesting that I need someone else to take care of me?” His words hit you hard, your body facing whiplash from all the sudden changes of emotion.

You looked down shyly, trying to find the confidence you once had that was now lost in the gush of your flustered moment, yet Bakugou’s calloused, warm hand then reached up to your chin to perk it up to face his now standing body.

“Are you saying that you should be the one taking care of me?” He asked, staring at your eyes with more intensity than you were fully even prepared for. Your eyes dug into his as the feeling of his hands on your chin caused your brain to short circuit for a moment.

“You said it yourself, I’m a strong man.” You could feel the confidence drip from his words as you bit your left cheek to keep from whimpering at the intensity laced within the empty classroom. “I need someone to take care of me the right way, and I don’t think this girl is doing it Y/N.”

The use of your name caused you to tug your bottom lip between your teeth and blush behind his words. You didn’t miss the way his eyes quickly zipped from your eyes to your mouth, and back to your eyes once again. His body was now towering over your seated one, looking down at you as if you were the only person in the world at this moment.

Bakugou was out of it, to say the least. Usually he felt as if he had control over situations like this, but even with towering over your frame and his hand gripping your chin, he felt as if you were in complete control of the situation. He knew that his current girlfriend was probably coming to look for him, and he knew that everything was inevitable and he was simply just prolonging it.

That didn’t stop him from sliding his hand across your neck to grip the back of it and pull your face in towards him.

A kiss was the last thing you were expecting, and you would have gasped if his lips weren’t putting you in such a trance. It was like everything had stopped, time stopped, the dance stopped, everything was just on a hiatus.

His tongue danced against yours in a way that made you whimper lowly into his touch. His hands explored your body, rubbing against you in exasperated motions as you reciprocated by rubbing your hands across his chest, shoulders, and waist. It was like you were both doing the last thing you’d do before the world came to an end.

His lips moved feverishly across your own as tilted your head upwards to get a more comfortable position. A warm yet equally rough hand snaked it’s way back onto your neck and gripped your throat with such possession, you felt a tingle reach your lower half.

The intensity of the make out was one that put every other sound to shame as the room was filled with nothing but the small whimpers coming from either of you and the sound of your lips smacking against his. It was like a dream, and Bakugou couldn’t control himself any longer as he groaned into your touch.

It wasn’t until a gasp broke the seductive silence within the room, as well as pushed the two of you apart only to see his girlfriend staring at the two of you with wide eyes and a fizzy drink in both of her hands., that you realized something.

Shit just got really fucking complicated.

—

back to masterlist

I wanna have an angsty kiss moment with bakugou

>:( damnit anyways yeah like, reblog, comment, follow! thanks for reading! don’t forget to send some requests in <3

- heilly

[ambientstars]

Praise - part 3 (Whittaker!master x reader)

Gif credit: unknown

Warnings: angst, alcohol, eventually nsfw (tied up, blindfolded, praise kink, waxplay), but mostly a bunch of softness you’re welcome

Note: SURPRISE!! I didn’t plan on making a third part to this, but literally one person asked and that all it took for me to write it. This will be the final part because I don’t think I can take it any further. Kind of a longer one this time (2k more than usual) because ya girl tried to put some more storyline into it. Anyway, enjoy my loves!

———

“How do I look?”

You stood facing the mirror, smoothing out your outfit and taking in your reflection.

“You could be wearing a paper bag and I’d still eat you up,” The Master stood behind you, hands on your waist, her fingers digging into you almost painfully. “But I must say you look delicious in this.”

You frowned, confused. “I’m not a snack, you know?”

She laughed, moving hair from your shoulder and placed a wet kiss on the side of your neck. “No, darling, you are the whole meal.”

You turned, amusement clear on your face. “Are you hungry or something? Do you want to go and get some space food instead?”

The Master snorted, stepping away from you and picking up her jacket. “Let’s just go.”

Today was the anniversary of your renewed relationship with The Master. It marked one year of being by her side, of calling her yours and of being the happiest you’d ever been in your life.

And boy, what a year it had been. It started off just like it had before, full of passion, heated desire for one another and spending most days close to each other, taking every opportunity to touch, kiss and caress the other every chance they got.

Except this time, it didn’t fizzle out, it didn’t turn sour and it didn’t become toxic. Your relationship became stronger every day, your trust for each other grew to new heights and you considered it to be healthier than it ever was before.

Tonight you were going out to celebrate, to the club you reunited with The Master at. She had said it would be a nice full circle moment and you had to agree, for if you hadn’t gone there in the first place, you wouldn’t have seen her again and began a new journey with her.

——

The club was just as packed as it always was, each area full of aliens of all kinds, the line to get in twisting around the building.

The Master walked right up to the entrance of the club, ignoring the queue entirely. You hurried along with your hand in hers, trying to keep up with her quick pace despite her high heels.

The bouncer at the door nodded at the timelord in recognition and opened the door without a single word, allowing you both in immediately.

Sometimes it slipped your mind that you see a different side of The Master, others viewing her as dangerous and evil, not to be messed with and granting her whatever it is that she demanded for the sake of their lives.

She led you straight to the bar, pushing past the crowds and stopping at the VIP spot of the bar where orders were taken first before anyone else waiting. She ordered your favourite drink without you having to tell her and it made your stomach flutter that she actually did listen and learn about what makes you click and your favourite things.

The drinks were on the house just like they always were. The Master never paid for anything, ever and it was a hard press to even think of a time you’d seen her with real money in her possession.

“What’s got you so tense, darling?” The Master slipped a hand around your waist and pulled you in close, which admittedly did help to relieve the odd tension in your shoulders. “Relax, enjoy yourself. There’s no danger here. Not with me around.”

You didn’t need to look at her face to know a self satisfacted smirk was painted right across it. “Something just feels off.”

She took the glass from your hand and released her gentle hold on you, effectively removing the protected feeling it gave you. “Why don’t you go and dance for a while? Burn off some of that tension.”

You finally looked at her, your cheeks heating up just at the sight of her under the colourful lights. “I don’t know… I’m not really feeling it.”

Placing your glass on top of the bar, she held your chin between her finger and thumb, and brought her face inches from yourself. “I’m not asking. I want to watch you dance. Now be a good girl and give me a show.”

After a quick peck on the lips, she moved away from you and seated herself at an empty table with a perfect view of the dance floor.

You did as you were told, making your way over to the dance floor and taking a deep breath, trying to push away the bad feeling in your stomach and allowing yourself to enjoy the music playing loudly throughout the building.

You performed as best as you could for The Master, your eyes closed, your hips swaying and your hands roaming your body like you were exploring it for the first time. Eventually your muscles relaxed and you could let yourself move freely with the music, a soft smile gracing your face towards the end of the song.

The sinking feeling in your stomach returned, however, when you opened your eyes expecting to see The Master watching you with a proud look and instead catching the eye of The Doctor who stood only a few meters away from you.

He was with someone, a redhead woman, who stood closely by his side, smiling up at him.

She was beautiful, from what you could tell at this distance with flashing lights in your eyes, her frame petite and clothing that seemed more casual than your own, almost like she didn’t expect to be brought here and instead dressed for a different kind of outing - which didn’t seem entirely impossible given The Doctor’s habit of landing in wrong places at the wrong time more often than not.

You held his gaze for what felt like an eternity, your face no doubt mirroring his own expression of shock, confusion and hurt.

You hadn’t seen or spoken to The Doctor since you left him a year ago, abandoning him yet again without saying goodbye. You often wondered how he was, hoping you’d bump into him one day if only to know that he was still alive and well, your guilt eating you up inside, but now that it was happening, it felt like a metaphorical house of emotion was crushing you, not at all feeling the way you thought it would when you eventually saw him again.

In your stupor you hadn’t noticed The Master come to stand beside you, also looking in The Doctor’s direction, but eyeing up his new companion instead. “See? I told you that you’d be replaced in no time.”

The Master loved a good I told you so moment and this one hurt, like salt in a wound. She was right, of course she was. She knew from the very beginning that your spot would be filled by someone else almost as if you never existed and deep down you knew it too, but a small part of you hoped that it wouldn’t be so soon, that you meant more to him than just someone occupying an empty space in his life and replacing you as soon as you left.

You broke the eye contact with the timelord you once viewed as your best friend and turned to walk in the direction of the restroom. The Master was hot on your heels, throwing an unreadable look towards The Doctor as she also turned.

You fought back tears as you reached the door, flinging it open and pushing past everyone inside to get to the sink, ignoring the grumbles and annoyed comments thrown your way for the intrusion. You leaned against the basin, breathing deeply to try and keep the sobs at bay, your throat tightening.

From beside you, you heard The Master tell everyone inside to leave and give you both some privacy or else face the consequences. Of course they all listened immediately and hurried out until it was just you and her left in the room.

“What’s all this for?” She came to stand beside you, leaning back against the sink next to the one you occupied. “You’re actually sad? Need I remind you, you left him?”

You sniffled and shook your head, willing yourself to calm down. Again, The Master was right. You had been the one to leave him, not the other way around. You had no right to be so upset to see him with someone else when you came here with your own someone - someone he’d been at war with since post childhood, someone he thought would kill you in cold blood, someone who was the last person he wanted to see you run away with.

“I just didn’t think he’d find someone else so quickly.” You released a shaky breath and quickly wiped away a stray tear that had managed to escape. “Just hurts to know I’m so replaceable, that’s all.”

The Master laughed lightly from beside you despite you not having told a joke, her body twisting to face you. She turned you also, holding your shoulders in her hands and forcing you to face her.

“Darling, look at me.”

You did as you were told once again, bringing your watery eyes up to meet hers, the hazel colouring of them appearing darker under the dim and almost useless lighting of the small room.

“First things first, you are not replaceable. And secondly, the man is an idiot.” She rolled her eyes, genuine disbelief on her face. “He brought someone new into his life so fast because he didn’t know what he had standing right in front of him. He doesn’t define your worth, no matter how you felt for him.”

“And you do?”

She smiled softly, moving a hand to rest on the side of your face to gently stroke your pink cheek. “No, my love. Only you do, no one else.”

A warmth came over you, a deep and genuine love for The Master filling your chest. It wasn’t lost on you that during your year together, she had become softer, kinder and more loving. It seemed as if she was a different person from who she was in your first attempt at this relationship, more willing to show vulnerability and voicing her feelings out loud.

Although this was only ever shown to you. To everyone else she was still the heartless monster who killed for fun, none of them understanding how she managed to find someone to love her despite her evil ways. You had to admit that you understood their point of view, but to you, she wasn’t those things.

The door suddenly swung open and in walked the redhead who had taken your spot in The Doctor’s life. She smiled politely and grabbed some tissue from the stall furthest away from you, using it to blot away a wet patch on her tshirt.

“My friend is such an idiot sometimes,” she began talking as if you’d known each other forever. Or at all.

At that The Master made a face at you that said see? He really is.

“Spilt his drink down me while he was distracted by something. Not sure what he was looking at or what he was drinking, but it will come out, right? Do alien drinks stain? I guess I could— I’m sorry, have I interrupted something?”

You hadn’t noticed that by now both you and The Master were staring at the girl with unwelcome looks, your eyes having since dried up and The Masters hand that had fallen to your arm tightening.

“Your friend, what’s his name?”

The redhead gave a look of confusion towards The Master, but remained polite. “The Doctor. Maybe you know him? He’s quite well known.”

Your lover sniggered, stepping away from you and moving towards the other woman. “Indeed.”

You prayed silently that she would be nice, it wasn’t your replacement’s fault you were in this situation. She seemed nice enough and knowing The Doctor as well as you did, he probably hadn’t even told her you existed, that you held her place before her, that he had just been left alone without so much as a word about it.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

The Master’s tone seemed genuine, kind even. You didn’t understand what her motive was, but you sent out yet another prayer that it wasn’t sinister given that your last prayer was seemingly heard and granted.

It took very little time to convince the other woman to allow The Master to buy her a drink, the excuse of let me make up for his mistake passed by your ears and you knew that although it was said directly to the redhead, it was also meant for you.

Your hand stayed firmly planted in The Master’s, a new drink held in your other. You sipped on it slowly, feeling tired at the wide range of emotions you had experienced in such a short amount of time and hearing The Master make small talk with the other woman who also had a new drink in hand.

From the corner of your eye you saw The Doctor standing on his own, just like he had been the first time he’d been left on the dance floor all that time ago, bewildered at what he was seeing.

It suddenly clicked in your mind what The Master was doing, why she had invited the redhead for a drink at the bar. She wanted The Doctor to see that she had yet again taken his friend from him, allowing him to see that they would rather spend time with her than with him and sending out a message that no matter how many times he replaced his companions, she would be there each time to steal them away and give them something better.

The Master was smart and carefully calculated, her plan working perfectly, The Doctor’s fists bunched up and his brows knitting together into a displeased frown.

The redhead eventually felt bad for leaving ‘her friend’ behind and said her goodbyes, making her way back over to the man who still looked lost and angered.

As you sipped on the neon green liquid in the glass you held, you turned your attention back to The Master. She was already looking at you, a brow raised as she waited for you to say something.

“That was painful.”

“I know,” she moved a strand of hair away from your face and behind your ear. “But I had to send a message. No one hurts my girl.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, a surge of emotions yet again came crashing down on you like a tsunami. Tears brimmed your eyes once more and had The Master not pulled you in for a loving kiss, your bottom lip would’ve begun to wobble.

“My good girl.” She kissed you over and over again, placing her drink on the bar so that she could wrap her arms around your waist and pull you onto her lap, making you straddle her on the bar stool that miraculously took your combined weight without a problem.

You continued to make out in front of everyone, your arms around her neck and her hands grabbing at your body in a desperate need to feel more of you. It wasn’t long before you unconsciously began to wiggle in her lap, grinding down on her thighs in search of a little friction.

“Take me home.”

The Master smiled against your lips, opening her eyes to search yours for confirmation that you actually meant what you said.

But of course you did. You wanted nothing more than to be in the comfort of your own home in the TARDIS and to spend the rest of the night in a blissfully heightened state with your lover on your anniversary.

——

“Bath?”

Stepping into the TARDIS, you shrugged off The Master’s jacket that she had placed over your shoulders to keep away the chill on the short walk from the club to the timeship that she had disguised as a house not even a few minutes away, insisting that it was too cold for you not to wear it because humans feel temperature differently to timelords and you’d freeze to death if you didn’t.

You hummed happily at the thought of soaking yourself in hot soapy water. “I’d love that.”

You both made your way to the bathroom and you began to strip down as The Master ran the water into the tub, joining you in removing her clothes once she had added the bubbles to the running water.

She reached out for you and held you in her arms, both of you naked and falling into a quiet moment where no words had to be spoken to know what each other were thinking and feeling.

Once the bathtub had filled up with enough water, you both slipped in, moaning in unison at the muscle relaxing temperature. You spent a while washing each other and unwinding in each other’s embrace, The Master’s hand slowly rubbing circles between your legs until you shook and came undone for the first time that night.

When the water began to turn cold, you stepped out and dried off, carefully rubbing each other down with soft fluffy towels until you were dry enough to make your way to the bedroom without creating a trail of water droplets behind you, the air drying you off completely by the time you got there.

You laid on the bed patiently, ready and waiting for The Master to join you.

She pulled a pretty patterned tie from the drawer and smiled at you when she came to meet you at the bed, your submissiveness never failing to bring her happiness.

She leaned down to kiss you softly, crawling on top of you in the process. “Arms up, love.”

You obeyed without question, lifting your arms above your head.The Master tied them up, looping the tie between the bars of the bed frame so that you couldn’t bring your arms back down.

“Is this okay?” She brought her kisses down to your neck, wet and warm, and torturously slow.

You moaned out a yes, your stomach twitching at her touch that was moving lower, your toes curling in anticipation.

She kissed down your body, making sure to hit all the sensitive spots that only she knew about, her hands skimming down the curves of your waist towards your legs.

She lifted a leg and rested it on her shoulder as she brought her head between them. She kissed lazily down from the inside of your knee to where you desperately needed her between your thighs, your hips raising on their own accord.

“I’m sorry tonight didn’t go as planned, but I’m going to make it up to you, darling.” The Master used a finger to slide into your wet heat, her tongue quickly following, earning a strangled moan in response. “I promise.”

It was rare for The Master to apologise for anything even for something that was her own fault, so for her to apologise for something out of her control was new territory for the both of you.

You wanted to tell her not to be so silly, not to apologise for something that wasn’t her fault, but whimpers and gasps filled your throat, not allowing any words to be spoken.

You also wanted to hold onto her, your hand tangled in her hair, keeping her where she was and encouraging her to keep going, but with your hands tied to the bed, the best you could do was tug desperately on the fabric restricting them and pray that it will eventually break and set your arms free.

The white hot coil in the pit of your stomach began to wind up tighter and tighter, and you knew that with The Master’s mouth working you so expertly to the edge, it wouldn’t be long at all before you fell apart.

And you were right, crying out at the blinding pleasure, setting a new record for yourself at how fast you had tipped over the edge.

The Master sat up and reached over to untie your hands, slipping the tie from between the bars and allowing your arms to flop down either side of you.

“Can you keep going?”

You nodded breathlessly, your eyes falling closed in an attempt to concentrate on bringing your breathing back to a normal rhythm.

“Keep your eyes closed.” The soft tie was placed over your eyes and tied behind your head after she had encouraged you to lift it up for a moment. “Good girl. Now tell if it gets too much and I’ll stop, alright?”

“Alright.” Your voice came as a whisper, raw and forced.

The sound of sparking hit your ears and your head turned in its direction, unable to make out what it was just by the sound of it.

The Master laughed softly, her arm smoothing over your arm reassuringly after seeing your reaction. “Relax, I just lit a candle.”

You took a deep breath and allowed your body to fall limp into the mattress beneath you, revelling in the feeling of The Master’s slow kisses that she was now placing along your stomach.

“Another deep breath, love.”

You drew in another and as soon as your lungs were filled with air, a sharp searing heat hit your sternum, right where The Master had placed a kiss seconds before.

You released the breath quickly with a whimper, your mouth agape in shock. “What was that?”

“Wax.” The Master spoke nonchalantly. “Want me to stop?”

You thought it over for a moment. Did you want her to stop? This was certainly new and sure you’d spoken about it previously, but you hadn’t been expecting it and no, you decided, you didn’t want her to stop.

This was akin to spanking, pain at first that fizzled into pleasure. The heat of the melted wax that was poured onto your skin lasted mere seconds before cooling into something warm and tingly, setting your nerves on edge and bringing a heightened sense of gratification.

“No, keep going.”

You knew that she was smiling, pleased with your willingness to experiment and the trust you had in her to keep going and not bring you any unnecessary pain.

And keep going she did, dripping hot wax across your body, watching how you reacted to the heat in more sensitive areas compared to the more desensitised parts of your body that saw the light of day more often.

Each time the wax settled onto your skin, it hurt less and less, stinging pleasantly and morphing into a heavenly warmth. The Master kept up the practice of kissing right where she planned to pour, giving you a heads up every time, something you were grateful for.

With your sense of sight taken away from you, your other senses intensified, making each touch, each whisper of encouragement all the more rewarding.

The Master eventually stopped despite your moans and begging for more, supposedly because the candle had burned down and run out of wax, but she continued to show you attention in other ways.

She remained close, her hands roaming your body lovingly, worshipping you with her kisses and her words. She allowed you to rut against her thigh, leaving a wet spot on her skin as she sucked on your neck below your ear, your arms encircled her shoulders and keeping her in place so that you didn’t lose your rhythm against her if she moved.

“So good for me, darling,” her whispered words in your ear felt like a song from an angel, supporting you on your journey to otherworldly bliss. “My good girl.”

After a little while longer and a few more orgasms, you were completely spent, your body aching deliciously, your eyes feeling heavy after a long evening.

The Master held you close as you drifted off to sleep, tracing sloppy figures of eight onto your exposed back and breathing in the subtle scent of lavender from the soap she had washed you with.

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