#at least now she has better pajamas than whatever she had before

[crystallizsch]

okay so i loved @viperbunnies' purple heart sweater here and i wanted to draw it again but with more of yuusha's own style (while still somewhat matching jamil’s);; hope you don’t mind me sorta changing it up 😭🙏 i got inspired--

[macfrog]

the jellyfish | one shot

today marks one year since i posted the fic i’m proudest of, san angelo. i loved this joel and this girl so much that even after i posted their story, i couldn’t shake them. i wrote a little extra for my own heart, never intending to share — but now feels as good a time as any. enjoy.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: they just drift, jellyfish. they go wherever the current takes ‘em. i think you and i were a little like that. i think the universe delivered me straight to you. warnings: story is inserted into canon, so all the expected major character deaths. star-crossed lovers who transcend universes to be together and all that good shit. word count: 5k

psst. you might wanna read this post before you jump into this fic. x

She comes through on the heels of a sunbeam.

You don’t know how long it’s been. Ten seconds or ten minutes or ten days, maybe – but she’s still a kid with rosy cheeks and plaid pajama pants, so you figure it can’t have been long.

No, it can’t have been long at all.

“Sarah?”

You push through the ghostly glow of a thousand other people. It’s iridescent chaos, wherever this place is. A flurry of panicked strangers – their forms hazy and only half-here.

They sweep from your path like silk. The screaming is deafening. Some are on their knees, sobbing into the nothingness. Others are searching every face, calling names you don’t recognize, crying out to a god or a universe you know is no longer listening.

All you know is this is it. Whatever you had, whatever you knew – it’s over now. All that’s left is here. Some kind of dreamscape, an astral plane.

If you didn’t know better, you’d call it heaven.

She looks just like the photographs he’d shown you. First day of school, he said – and he grinned wider than you’d been able to make him the entire night. Shoot, this one’s a little blurry, but – you see that trophy in her hand? Fifth-grade science fair. Smartest kid in her class.

“Sarah,” again.

She turns.

Her eyes meet yours, crystal blue and streaming. And as if she, too, knows your favorite superhero and the way you like your mac and cheese – she holds her arms out.

You pull her in, feeling her little hands lock around your waist. Your cheek falls to the crown of her head. She smells like bitter iron. It makes your teeth hurt.

She’s crying. Wetting the front of your shirt, pushing her face so hard into your tummy that she can barely even breathe.

“What happened?” you ask, cupping the back of her head.

Her hair is linen soft, fair and cropped at the top of her neck. Sweet like bubblegum pink shampoo, she smells just like strawberries.

“Tell me, honey – what happened?”

The smallest voice you’ve ever heard. She speaks between thick sniffles. “I don’t –” gasp, “– I don’t know.”

You kneel in front of her, cupping her cheeks. Your thumbs catch her tears as they come. “Where’s your dad?”

“I don’t know,” she sobs, and wraps herself around you again.

She asks who you are on the third day.

By now, you’re wandering around hand in hand. Things have settled, the pale fog has cleared. Your world is one of bursting greens and rolling blues; flowers which lift with the sun and sprawling hills which cushion her fall at the end of each day.

Gently, one by one, the others disappeared. Into the night, into the sun – into their own little corners of this world. You and Sarah are the only two left, settled in a snug valley populated by wildflowers and families of deer.

It’s better this way. It’s calmer. You can listen to the sway of the long grass, can pluck out the different types of bird just from their song.

You hush Sarah to sleep every night. You’ve managed to quieten her crying, had done by the second sunset. She has no reason to trust you, but she does – and you figure you owe it to him to watch over her, anyway.

At least until he gets here.

“I knew your daddy once,” you tell her, taking in the dusky pink sky. The sun is lowering. She’ll grow tired soon. He wouldn’t want her up past her bedtime. “We met a long time ago.”

“Did he like you?” she asks, earnestly – but you pause.

It rises from your chest like painful little bubbles, each one shattering more violently than the last. Tears spring along your waterline. You swallow the tremble in your voice.

“I hope so,” you whisper. “I liked him very much.”

She hums to herself, walking on. Her arms wrap tighter around the firewood she’s holding. “I bet he liked you just as much,” she says. “You musta been pretty special.”

It lingers for a moment. The beauty and the pain of it; the flood of violet that designs a fresh bruise. The memory swirls around you in the breeze.

In the next life.

Promise.

Sarah strolls off in the evening light. The clouds tint her hair a peachy rose. She’s already out of your reach.

The blood jumps in your veins. You gather your skirt and hurry back to her side, masking your nerves with a smile. “Well, I feel it,” you nudge her, “being in your company.”

She giggles for the first time since you found each other. This sweet little melody. It blends in with the birdsong.

The kid goes everywhere on your back.

Closer than your own shadow, hanging from your arm, watching everything you do with a filial affection. Becoming someone’s person wasn’t exactly something you meant to do, but then – neither was meeting her dad in a dive bar.

You’ve been dealt worse hands.

You braid her hair while you sit in the valley. Knots of gold threaded with daisies and dandelions. She names the deer and nods hello to each of them. She stands on your toes and walks backwards, squeals when you trip over one another and tumble across the bed of grass.

It’s not hard to see why he loved her so much. This little dove of a girl. Soft around the edges, a springtime sweetness to her like cherry blossom or fresh snowdrops. Something you want to cradle, tend to with careful hands and shield from the rest of the world.

She wraps her arms like twigs around your shoulders. She chatters in your ear about soccer and movies; asks to hear your favorite everything so she can compare it to hers.

She talks about him every day. Talks about him the same way he’d talked about her: laughter splitting her words, each one rounded by the toothy grin on her face.

When she sleeps, her head in your lap, your fingers sifting through her hair – you look for him. You try to find him.

It’s a gift and a curse that you always do.

Boston, at least at first. Gruesome and unforgiving. Dingy streets and dirty deals; a woman with a mind as sharp as her tongue. He trusts her. He feels safe around her. She relieves some of the ache in his chest and that relieves some of the ache in yours.

You walk in stride with them at night. You watch him break bone and break his own heart, over and over. He looks nothing like he did in San Angelo. His brother can’t look him in the eye anymore.

He’s an open wound. Agony from the inside out. A heart split like the skin over his knuckles.

You follow him back to his apartment and try to whisper words through the dark. Can you feel me? I’m here. I’m right here.

He only ever rolls over and scoops the bare pillow, wrapping his huge arm around it. He’s lonely, drowning in it, though he’d never admit it. He’d never admit any of it: he’s not hurting, he’s not grieving. He doesn’t remember her smile or the weight of her on his back.

That’s the thing. He remembers all of it. He can’t shake her from his shoulders. He can’t stop answering when he hears echoes of her voice. Crying only seems to pain him all the more, the burn of salt on his skin.

You curl up behind him, hoping he might feel your heartbeat through worlds. Hoping he might feel your arms around him and know, somehow, that he’s carrying his kid, too.

Sarah asks in the morning why your eyes are so red.

“No reason,” you reply, tucking a forget-me-not behind her ear. “Let’s go pick some apples.”

She slings herself over your back, an empty string bag dangling from her wrist. She kicks her legs as you wander from shade to shade, dodging the blazing sunlight.

Sarah’s no idiot. She’s her father’s daughter. She can feel the effort in every step, sense the burden heavy on your shoulders. She jokes that your shadows look like some kind of giant cockroach wearing a summer dress, and it makes you laugh.

In the orchard, she climbs up onto your shoulders. She reaches above, clawing for the shiniest ones. Deep reds with freckles just like hers.

“Be careful,” you mutter, feeling her rock with the branches to pick the best fruit. Your grip tightens around her ankles.

The fear sets like a pebble, heavy in your stomach. The same fear that sinks anytime she leaves your reach, the same fear that plummets when she’s shoulder-deep in the river and you think the current might sweep her off at any moment.

She’s not your kid. She’s not. But she’s his – and he was as much yours as anyone.

The sun flashes between the leaves, becoming too hot to stay out much longer. You must be in the thick of summer by now. It’s scorching.

“Sarah,” you plead, squinting up at her swaying silhouette. “Please be careful.”

“You got it,” she calls, voice strained. She plucks and plucks, a satisfied sigh with each apple she rolls into the bag.

Back home, you stand by the sink. The cool shade of the cottage, fruit bobbing in the water. Sarah wants to slice some of them, sit outside and watch the bees pollinate the flowers.

You flick your blade up, fishing the biggest apple. As you line the silver against the swollen skin, you feel her eyes on you.

“You okay, honey?”

She smiles. Her eyes flit to the blade in your hands, the droplet of juice dribbling between your knuckles. “Can I do it?”

“Chop the –?”

Sarah nods.

You look back down at your hands, hesitating. The blade winks back. Heat begins to creep up your spine. “I…I guess.”

She swaps positions, spreading her fingers over the fruit. Her small hands curve around the handle of the knife. The sight of it makes your stomach turn.

“Like this?” She positions it between her first and middle fingers.

You wince, laying your hands on her wrist. “Yeah,” you gulp, “but just be –”

“– careful?” she says, smirking. “Daddy lets me help him with the cookin’ all the time.”

Yeah, you think, that’s ‘cause Daddy can’t do it by himself.

The knife plunges down with a wet crunch. The halves roll apart. The air punches from your lungs.

Sarah looks up, bright eyes twinkling.

With a sickly anxiety, you realize she wants to do it again.

“Good job,” you say, voice wobbly, fists balling on the counter. Your nails dig into your palms. “Now, uh – now half ‘em again, and make sure you cut the seeds out. You eat the seeds, an apple tree grows in your belly.”

She snorts. “I know that ain’t true.”

The dragonflies hover politely near the river, metallic wings fluttering.

You lay a blanket down in the shade of a willow, fringed from the rest of the valley by its drooping curtain of leaves. You suckle on the shards of fruit, lips lined with a sticky sweet.

Sarah picks the best apples. You know this by now.

She sucks her fingers clean, staring at the sparkling river as it trickles by. You’ve been here longer than you could guess – longer than you care to – but still, she asks, “What if you’re lying?”

You dig between your teeth for apple skin. “Huh?”

“You said you knew my dad,” she says, turning back. She rubs one eye with her knuckle. “What if that’s not true?”

“Then I’d be pretty damn good at bluffing.”

She snickers. “I believe you,” she says, “I always did. There has to be some reason you found me.”

You sit back, leaning on the heels of your palms. Your chest swells with emotion, the lonely pain of waking up to an empty bed and an empty apartment.

“You like soccer,” you tell her. “You play for the…the Defenders, right? Number fourteen. You won your fifth-grade science fair with a project on jellyfish.”

Sarah looks down at the grass, cheeks lifting. She picks a daisy and twirls it between two fingers. “You remembered all that?”

“Like I said,” you sigh, “I liked your dad a lot.”

You keep looking for him every night.

He’s been out of Boston for a while, and you’re glad of it. He found himself a shadow of his own right before he left – a little girl with freckles and a light like sunshine.

Just like yours.

She’s spunky, she has heart, and she can kick ass. Every second word is a curse, feels like. She tells stupid jokes and she pulls on all the right threads. She’s unwinding him, and you’re sure neither one of them knows it yet.

She’s saving him.

You took to her the day they met. He took a little more convincing. You knew he’d come around eventually, and you spent weeks waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It didn’t happen so suddenly. Day by day, hour by hour, he mellowed. His bark quietened, the blaze in his chest tamed. Soon, he let her close enough to warm her hands.

And he was aglow all over again. He looked the way he had two decades before.

It must be years now – the way he’s grayed and she’s sprouted. You can’t keep up with the passing of seasons, the way their conversations change. Change and change and wither away.

And – just as you’ve adopted all the other scars and bruises and fractures in his soul – their distance hurts you just as much as it hurts him. It feels hollow, like his bones are protecting nothing. Ghostly. Barren.

The worst of his pain comes during a blizzard.

It’s a fucking mess, the entire thing. You can’t hear anything over the kid’s screaming. Faces keep bleeding in and out of view; grunts and gasps and terrible, terrible groans.

He’s on the floor – that’s what drew you in. He’s on the floor, broken in two. A mammoth captured in a snowstorm, slain in the basement of a mansion.

You wait for him to notice you. He’s come close before – scuffles in backstreets, on horseback with a puncture in his stomach – but he’s never looked at you before.

You stumble around the edge of the room, stifling your screaming as the girl’s arms lift again. The bite of metal is nauseating. The blood is spattered up the windows behind him.

A shell of himself – this man who once held you, whispered sweet nothings and silly jokes in your ear. Who held his palm open and let you trace over it, score secrets into the skin forever.

He’s done some shit, sure – but hasn’t everyone?

She brings the club down on his skull. His body bends in on itself, breaks in a way you never knew it could. He’s past able to make any sound. The size of him gives one final shudder, and just then –

He looks.

He looks you square in the eye.

Joel?

He blinks. A wet gurgle leaks from his lips.

Joel, can you –? Shit, can you see me right now?

It’s dribbling from his chin like tar. Thick and black. It runs quicker when his lips try to move.

You can, can’t you? You can see me.

His brother and kid are out cold. You step between them, whispering apologies as you pass, and kneel at Joel’s side.

I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay, baby, you’re okay.

Your eyes screw shut. He’s in your bed, his shitty Motorola in one hand and your fingers in the other. He smiles. He smiles and he laughs and he kisses you again.

God, Joel, you sob, I love you. I love you so much. Tell me what to do. I don’t know what to fucking do here.

Please. I need you to get up. Can you get up for me?

Can you – can you move? Can you hear me?

Joel?

Sarah brings you tea and sets it down on the table.

She sits beside you, tucking her knees right under her chin. She warns about the flies, says you’ll be drinking bug soup if you don’t get to it quick.

You force your lips into a smile and thank her, ruffling her sun-bleached hair. One tiny sip – only to please her – and your head rolls back, face skyward.

“Are you feeling better?” she asks, laying a hand over yours.

When she finally managed to wake you, you were both crying. She said your scream almost deafened her. She thought something terrible had happened, until she lit the lamp and saw you clutching your bedsheets, sobbing into the cotton in your sleep.

You squeeze her fingers. “Yes,” you lie. “I’m sorry I scared you. It was just a bad dream.”

“I used to have those sometimes,” she says, sniffing. She rubs her nose with the back of her hand. “Not since I came here.”

“You know what it is?” You turn to look at her, one eye closed in the sunlight. “I ate cheese before bed. Cheese gives you funny dreams.”

Her head tips back with a giggle. “No, it doesn’t. That’s so silly.”

You lift your eyebrows. “I blame the cheese, Sarah Miller.”

She nudges the mug an inch closer, and you take another sip.

It’s good – the tea. She knows exactly how long to brew it for, exactly how much sugar you like. It’s as if she counts the granules by hand – and, if you know Sarah, you wouldn’t put it past her.

You balance the warm mug on your breastbone. “Wanna help me hang the sheets up?”

She nods. Always eager to help, eager to do everything and anything. She disappears back into the cottage and you listen for the sloshing of water, the wet slap of the sheets being flung into a basket.

Nothing has come of it. Your dream. No knock at the door, no calls of either of your names echoing through the valley. After you convinced Sarah to go back to sleep, you stood outside and listened to the wind for forty-five minutes.

He is not here.

It’s the first time you’ve ever wondered where here really is, anyway. For this long, it’s been yours and Sarah’s. A secret kingdom in some dusty shelf in the universe; pixies and sunshine and splitting apples by the river.

You don’t want any of it, if he’s not here.

You’ll pack a bag, pull Sarah over your back. Find somewhere else. Somewhere with room for him, too. She needs her dad, and you need your – well.

Sarah meets you by the clothesline. She drops the basket with a sigh, then twirls around the pole as you untangle the sheets. She spirals until she’s sat on the grass, legs crossed, passing you clothespins as you work.

“I was thinking we could stay up late tonight,” you say, slotting a pin over the sheet. Forcing a casual air through your voice, trying to keep it steady. “Watch the sky for a little while, maybe hunt for shooting stars.”

You’re only trying to wring out the hours you’ll be without him. You don’t want to spend the night staring at the ceiling, slowly forgetting what he looks like.

Sarah says nothing. She knows you’re full of it. She leans forward and picks a ladybug from your skirt, rotates her hand to count its spots.

The sheets lift in the breeze, billowing and twisting around one another. The clouds turn over – rolling from perfectly white to an afternoon blush. The world is preparing to turn in already.

And that’s when she says it.

“Daddy?”

Your back is turned. You’re sipping at your tea. “What, honey?”

She pulls herself up and steps forward. She walks through the sheets, ducking her head to miss their brilliant flashes. Staring straight ahead at something you can’t see yet.

“Dad…”

In one swipe of the linen, she’s gone.

With a gasp, she sprints off downhill. She screams as she goes, footsteps thundering through the valley.

“Sarah!” you yelp, swatting the laundry out of the way. It swirls around your arms, waving across your vision in a white smirk. “Sarah, come back –”

The fabric spills over your arm when you lift it. Your heart stops short in your throat.

He’s knelt in the grass, arms wide open. Same jeans, same wintery boots. He flicks his fingers and his little girl collides with him, her tiny body crashing into his.

They roll back into the soft grass and for a few seconds, they disappear. But as quickly as your heart stops, it starts again. He rises from the flora, Sarah in his arms.

He nuzzles his face into her shoulder. He’s sobbing, you can hear it from way up here. Sobbing, then roaring with laughter, then gasping for air – though he won’t pull away from his little girl long enough to breathe.

They have the same laugh. The exact same. It echoes between them, this delighted string of sound. That hearty, giddy laugh.

She stands straight, still holding tightly onto him. Like she’s scared if she lets go, she’ll lose him again. Planted between his knees, fixing threads of silver hair from his eyes. Talking to him, yapping and giggling, her head bobbing all over the place.

He talks straight back – bass voice even deeper than you remember. The only words you can make out are baby girl. He can’t stop stroking her hair, can’t stop bursting into euphoric laughter.

After a minute, he stands. One hand locked in hers, arms swinging. He scopes the valley, murmuring something to his daughter while shaking his head in disbelief.

She points everything out to him. The hills and their peaks. The spot where the sun rises and the spot where it sets. The willow by the riverside, the knolls where the rabbits burrow. And then – she spins around and points to you.

Your hands knot at your stomach.

Shielding his eyes with his arm, he looks up and spots you. He pauses for a few seconds, just stares and stares. He doesn’t move until Sarah tugs on his wrist.

She drags him the whole way back to the cottage. “It’s…it’s…” she pants, squirming with joy as she hauls both of them uphill. She takes your outstretched hand and shakes it. “It’s my dad!”

“Sure is,” you whisper. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to think. It hurts to be so close to him and still nowhere near enough.

Joel mirrors your expression, loose with shock. He reaches the yard and sighs. His shoulders rise and fall with the effort of his breath, sweat lining his brow.

He’s older. Of course he is, it’s been twenty-five years. Salt and pepper, just like your dreams. More wrinkles, more scars – though, in the sunlight, he looks just like the man you knew. Those same embers of light in his eyes, smirk unconcealable even behind his thicker beard.

He looks the exact same. He never changed a day.

“She said she knew you from long ago, Dad,” says Sarah, beaming up at him. She won’t let go of either of your hands, a little chain link between this world and the last. She blinks back and forth between you.

“Yeah, baby girl,” he finally says, and you hear that familiar sandpaper rasp, smoothed over by a lacquer drawl. “We knew each other pretty well.”

The girl squints in the sun. “She taught me how to make tea. You want some tea?”

He finally drops your gaze. He looks down to Sarah and smiles tenderly. “I would love some tea.”

She squeezes your hand, then turns on her heel and skips back to the house.

Joel watches as she disappears into the kitchen, then turns his attention back to you.

His hairline is rusted with dry blood, eyes still a little bleary. His blood-soaked jacket is gone – and, if you know him half as well as you think you do, you know he rid himself of it sometime before his daughter noticed him.

He hooks a thumb through his belt loop and smiles, perplexed. He drags a heel through the terrain, stones scuffing under his boot. He lifts a finger and points in your direction.

“Mind’s still a little hazy,” he says. “Have we met?”

It floods through your body. That same twenty-something-year-old feeling. A kiddish glee, a teenage flush. You bite right into it.

“I was wondering the same thing. You look familiar. Did you do something with your hair?”

His head tips. He runs his hand through the flicks of hair by his neck. “That oughta be it. I grew it out,” he drags his fingers down his jaw, “Grew out my beard, too.”

“Mm. Yeah, I see that. Looks good.”

Your voice is breaking. It’d be embarrassing if you were paying attention to it.

His arms cross. “You look good. You look beautiful.”

Another little hm. Then –

“If you don’t touch me right now, I’m going to scream.”

And he jumps.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you suddenly and heavily against his chest. He’s so solid and yet so soft; so weathered and still the safest thing you’ve ever known. He feels just like he did all those years ago.

“Joel,” you sob into his shirt, and he kisses your head.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers into your hair, sniffling. He kisses down your neck and across your shoulder.

“Hi,” you weep. You pull back, cradled in his arms, blinking through your tears.

His cheeks are glistening, eyes streaming all over again. He laughs with you, shaking his head. “Jesus,” he chuckles, “look at us.”

You nuzzle into his palm, closing your eyes. “I missed you so much,” you whisper.

“Oh, darlin’,” Joel strokes your cheek, “I missed you, too. I thought about you every day. Every –”

“– damn day,” you echo. “Me, too.”

“I wish I’d gone back for you,” he admits. “I should’ve found you, I –”

“Hey,” you lift his jaw and press your forehead to his, “You found me. I’m right here, see? Feel me? You ain’t gotta worry anymore. You found us.”

He pulls you into the same bear hug again. He squeezes tight and breathes in your hair.

“This is where you’ve been?” he asks, still drinking in the expanse of the valley.

“Yep,” you mumble into his chest.

He kisses your forehead. “And you looked after my little girl?”

“She looked after me, too.”

He laughs, tears slipping though his beard into your hair. “How? I mean – how?”

“She just – appeared. Right in front of me. Like it was meant to be.”

“That night?”

You nod, welling up. “I was already gone, Joel.”

He turns away for a second, pain twisting across his face. He holds you protectively. “Baby,” his voice breaks, “I’m so sorry.”

You press your fingers to his lips.

It needn’t matter now. None of it. Not here, where the sun drowns the valley each morning and the flowers dance in the breeze. Not here, where you and Sarah played handclaps and you taught her how to make daisy chains.

Not here – where the universe finally gave him back to you.

“It happened,” you shrug, “Look where I wound up.”

He nods, but you know it’s a bruise. You know it matters to him. Matters more than any of the rest of it. You can feel his heart throbbing in his chest.

“The next life,” Joel whispers. “Is this the one I get to keep you in?”

You smile. “Yup.”

He hums, playing with your hands. His head drops and he takes a deep, painful breath.

“There are some things you should know about,” he says – and for the first time, it’s like he’s uncomfortable. “Things that probably got a lot to do with why I’m here.”

“I already know,” you say. “I was with you the whole time.”

“You were?”

Your eyes close. “Mhm.”

“Shit,” Joel winces, “I never wanted you to see –”

“Shh.”

You take his hand and open his palm. It feels like velvet against your lips; as warm as the day you met. You kiss each mount, each plain of skin. When you pull away, you run your fingers over the same lines you read all that time ago.

“See? Still the same,” you reassure him, smiling. “You’re still my Joel.”

“Your Joel,” he teases. He tightens around you again, nuzzling your nose with his own. “That who I am, huh?”

“Uhuh,” you giggle, squirming when he tickles your waist.

His lips find yours in a crash of a kiss – a hungry, messy thing. His hands on your jaw, yours in his hair. Vanilla and pine, the scent of home you’ve been searching for ever since that very first night.

You tug gently and Joel groans into your mouth, his tongue rolling against yours. He tastes like beer and second-hand smoke, like the pinch of lime and the sting of love. He tastes like you, like twenty years too long apart.

He tastes like forever still to come.

The wind picks up and swirls around you both. The sun washes over your skin. The sheets snap back and forth, drumming over the kettle’s whistle inside.

“C’mon,” you whisper, leading him to the door. “Your daughter makes the best tea in the world.”

“Hey,” he says, reeling you back in against his body. He smooths your skin with his thumb. The same honey glow in his eyes, the same hidden magic.

“I love you,” he says. “I loved you the minute I saw you at that bar. Loved you no matter how many miles or worlds were between us. It’s the one thing that never changed.”

You smile, bringing his hand to your lips.

“It’s over now, Joel. You can come home.”

[rafeysbafey]

✮ 9. bed sharing — ethan landry MDNI

summary. sharing a bed with ethan turns into something more

warnings. dick!ethan (he gets better ^o^), enemies to lovers type beat, smut, language, riding

word count. 1.1k

a/n. def got carried away, so i think i rushed at the end oops lol. also this is going to be put on my regular masterlist as well as my kinktober list because it’s so damn long lmao

“what do you mean i have to share a room with ethan?!” you asked, completely flabbergasted at this sudden information.

anika and mindy had only booked three rooms when the group decided to go on a trip together. sam and tara sharing the second room while you and ethan share the other.

chad was sick the day before everyone was supposed to leave so mindy just decided to cram you and ethan together.

“im sorry, babe,” she said, frown on her face as she tried spewing out ideas to make it better.

“he’s going to hate this,” you pointed out, looking past her to see where he was, “he’s going to hate me.”

“well, more than he already does,” you added under your breath.

you and ethan had a…rocky relationship, to put it nicely.

he absolutely hated you. with the mean side comments and the not so subtle shoves he would give you when in passing.

it hurt because you actually liked ethan, when joining the group you actually found him cute.

you would see the way he conversed with others, the nerdy, kind ethan he would be in front of the group.

but with you it was different, for whatever godforsaken reason.

“ethan’s not going to hate you,” anika chimed in, giving you a look filled with pity as you sighed in annoyance.

“ethan’s not going to hate who?” a voice asked from around the corner, the devil himself making his way round before stopping a few feet away from you guys.

his eyes immediately fell on you, a sour look taking over his face as he narrowed his brows at you.

not being able to hold his gaze, you looked at the ground with a huff.

“there was a mix up apparently,” you mumbled, looking at your feet as you forced out the next words.

“we’re sharing a room.”

his mouth went agap and a certain glint flashed in his eyes, but you weren’t aware since you were looking down.

“no way, id rather rip my hair out one by one than share a room with her.”

“first off, fuck you,” you spat, your head shooting up as you glared at him, “second, i told you,” you turned towards the girls.

“guys give it one night! then we’ll figure something out. right now it’s late,” mindy sighed, giving attention to how late it had already gotten.

“sam and tara already went up, let’s go.”

the room was small and…cozy, to put it nicely.

and to make things worse, there was only one bed.

“im taking the bed,” ethan announced, tossing his suitcase on the mattress before kicking off his shoes.

“where am i supposed to sleep?!” you asked, watching as he narrowed his eyes toward you with a chuckle.

“on the floor? outside? i couldn’t care less.”

“dick,” you muttered.

“what did you say, brat?”

“just forget it,” you scoffed, shoving past him and heading into the bathroom.

after brushing your teeth and taking off your makeup, you changed into your pajamas and left the bathroom.

the lights were already off, the soft glow from the moon outside shining through the room.

you could see ethan sprawled out on the bed, resting comfortably on the cushioned mattress.

walking over to him, you shoved his side, almost pushing him off as he sat up abruptly.

“what?” he hissed, shooting you a dirty look as you rolled your eyes.

“at least give me a pillow.”

“so fucking needy,” he mumbled before grabbing an extra one and tossing it towards you.

you didn't know how long you were awake for, tossing and turning, your body aching from the roughness of the floor.

"god, could you stop being so loud?" ethan's sudden voice boomed through the silence.

"says the one who has the bed," you spat back.

before you could process what was happening next, you felt two strong arms snake around your waist and hoisting you up on the bed.

"there," he mumbled, "now stop complaining."

it was a tight fit, the bed was so small it was probably a twin.

you could feel your back pressed against ethan's chest, his hands uncomfortably resting by his sides because if not there, they would have to rest on your hips.

"y'know how angry you make me?" he suddenly whispered, voice so quiet you almost missed it.

"what?" you asked, afraid of what he'd say next.

"how angry you make me," he repeats before adding, "how stuck up you act and think you're better than everyone else."

you furrowed your brows together as you forced yourself to flip over, eyes squinting in the dark to try and read his expression.

"how do i act stuck up? i've done nothing to you," you defend, confusion laced in your voice.

"that's the point. you've never given me a chance."

flabbergasted, you scoff in annoyance, "because you're so mean to me!"

it was silent for a second, the air thick and quiet as ethan tried mustering up words.

"so if i wasn't—wasn't mean, i would have a chance?"

"a chance with me? ethan what are you talking about," you were genuinely confused.

ethan was always mean to you, making remarks about what you wore or how you did your hair, shoving past you when needing to get something, and most importantly sending jabs about how 'ugly' you were.

"i'm in love with you, god damnit."

before you could ask why, why he was in love with you if his actions and words spoke different, you felt his lips clash into yours.

you didn’t know how to react, being completely off guard as he quickly pulled away.

“fuck- im sorry, i-i should have asked i-”

you didn’t let him finish as you leaned back in, kissing him this time gently as he melted into your touch.

you rolled on top of him, straddling his waist as you intertwined your hands together, squeezing ever so slightly.

“you’re so hot,” ethan rasped out, one hand leaving yours to cup your waist as you slowly started to move against him, grinding down on his hardening cock.

“fuck, y/n.”

“want me to ride you?” you asked, innocence laced in your voice as you batted your eyelashes down at him, the moonlight hitting your face perfectly.

ethan could have came in his pants right there, the boy quickly nodding as you lifted yourself up to pull down his sweatpants, his boxers following after.

his cock slapped against his lower abdomen as he let out a sigh of relief, his tip an angry red as you stared in astonishment.

he was big.

“so pretty,” you mumbled, leaning down to kiss his tip as he hissed ever so slightly at the feeling, your pillowy lips sending vibrations through his body.

you quickly took off your pj shorts before doing the same with your underwear, tossing them somewhere random in the room without a care.

leaning down to connect your lips with his, you allowed yourself to sink onto his length, a small cry falling from your mouth as you squeezed your eyes shut.

‘fuck this hurts.’ you thought to yourself, the feeling of ethan’s hand cupping the side of your face causing a warm feeling to go down your spine.

“doing so good f’me,” he whispered, his thumb stroking your cheek softly as you leaned into his touch.

after what felt like forever, you started to move, the both of you sighing in relief at the friction you two were making.

“just like that, fuck-“ he groaned, head falling back against the pillow as he held both sides of your hips with his hands, helping you bounce on top of him.

“so good, eth” you cried, “so so good.”

you felt your legs tremble as you tried your best to be consistent, ethan noticing as he took hold of the small of your back and leaned you into him.

you rested against his chest, hand wrapped around his torso as he started fucking up into you, small moans leaving your mouth.

“you’re so pretty, you sound so pretty,” he groaned, his hand still on the small of your back as the other cupped the back of your head, “so so pretty. all for me.”

“all for you,” you rambled, nodding in agreement as you felt the familiar pit in your stomach form.

“bout to cum, please let me cum,” you begged, snuggling your face deeper into his neck as he cooed you softly.

“don’t need to beg, baby.”

with that, you let yourself release on him, your body stiffening before falling back into him, jolts traveling through your thighs.

ethan followed quickly after, groaning lowly in your ear as he held your hips still, allowing him to dump himself in your used hole.

“so perfect, fuck,” he moaned before letting out a sigh, his hand now stroking the back of your head.

using all the strength you had left, you pushed yourself up to face him, a tired look on your face as you gave him a small smile.

“still hate me?” you mumbled, slightly teasing him but not really. you did believe he hated you, maybe not right at this moment, but things could be different in the morning.

“never hated you,” he whispered, frown on his lips as he pushed the lose strands of hair away from your face.

“im a jerk,” he added.

“a cute jerk,” you giggled softly, causing him to smile just a little—knowing you weren’t being as serious as he thought you would.

“but really, it hurts when you treat me the way you do.”

“i know, and im sorry for everything,” he said, pure sadness in his voice as he leaned into you, forehead meeting yours.

“i think i love you.”

“id hope so,” you snorted, pecking his lips softly before adding, “i mean your dick is in me.”

“can’t you be serious?” he joked.

“fine, i love you too.”

kinktober tag list 🏷️ @angelofcigs @courtneykindasleepy @sickyrat @thelomlisrafecameron @cupcakebrisblog @sickofitall31 @liliawritesss @ho3forfakeguys @highjadelolxo @jackchampionsbbg @jdswifee @olivia091108 @tv3verett @ch9mpi0n @20braced22 @unlikelykidwizard @thefriendlygeist @alltoomay @julesmendoza890 @mazzystarwhor3 @simpleyjaz @colsongunkelly @chvpion-jack @heheyhey @spectr3inl0ve @rafescokenostril @eventualoptimism @starkeysheart @nowitsmissing @pedrisgatorade @everythingjjmaybank @yourfavnatsblog

users with a line through them can’t be tagged

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Ride them when they hit

Written for the Get Lucky bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompt: Cock Block

Rated: E

Tags: omegaverse; A!Steve; O!Eddie; Established relationship; Mates; Steddie dads; Sexually explicit content; Breeding kink; mpreg (mentioned)

Notes: Set in the same universe as Whatever you want it to be

Eddie stirs awake as Steve climbs back into bed, instinctively scooting closer to seek his warmth. The alarm clock on the bedside table tells him that it's just after two in the morning. 

“Lizzie again?” he mutters, burrowing his nose in the crook of Steve’s neck to inhale his pine-and-moss scent. Steve grunts in reply, pulling the blanket over both of them. 

“I don't get how you can just sleep through her crying. Aren't you supposed to have some sort of omegan instinct that wakes you at the first sign of distress?” 

Eddie jawns heartily. 

“Yeah, except she's not in distress, big boy. She just doesn't have any concept of day and night yet. She can't tell if it's sleep time or playtime.” 

Steve huffs, a warm tickle of air against Eddie’s scalp where his nose has burrowed into his hair. 

“I wonder where she gets that from. Last time I checked, it was close to midnight and you were still in the kitchen with that stupid guitar.”

Eddie squawks in mock-indignation. 

“Well, excuse me for feeling inspired.” He knows that Steve isn't really mad. After all, he was the one who suggested he get back into music, the one who pushed him into taking gigs when Eddie was still hesitant. “I haven't had a creative high like this since before Liz was born, and you gotta ride them when they hit.” 

Steve grumbles something into his hair - something that sounds suspiciously like rather have you ride something else. Eddie snorts and kisses his neck, rolling on top of him. 

“Aw. Is someone jealous?” 

“Someone's goddamn tired,” Steve mumbles into the ensuing kiss - a slow, lazy dance of lips and tongues. His hands travel up to cup Eddie’s ass under the covers. “My mate is riding creative highs all night long, and that little bundle of joy of ours can't stay asleep for more than two hours on end.” 

Eddie laughs against his mouth, soft and fond.

“Tired after one kid already?” he hums, rolling his hips and grinning when he feels Steve’s cock stir through both of their pajama pants. “I thought you wanted at least six?” 

Steve swears under his breath. The sharp, earthy spike in his scent is all the warning Eddie gets before the room flips and he finds himself pinned into the mattress, Steve's tongue licking past his lips, Steve’s hand fumbling for the waistband of his boxers. 

“When's your next heat?” he rumbles, nose searching the scent gland at the crook of Eddie’s neck and shoulder, teeth grazing the mating bite. The feeling is enough to make Eddie keen, high and needy. “You're due for one soon, right?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, lifting his hips so that Steve can pull the pants over his hips, moaning when his fingers dip into the slick, warm heat between his thighs. He's been getting better and better at telling when his heats are gonna hit, now that the pregnancy hormones are wearing off and he's no longer trying to repress them. “Any day, really.” 

Steve growls against his pulse, cock pressing hard and insistent into the soft flesh of his thighs, scent growing darker, wilder, deeper. His ruts have started coming closer and closer to Eddie’s heats, and it's only a matter of time now until they'll sync. 

“Good,” he rumbles, slipping his fingers deeper and curling them just so, smiling against the mating bite when Eddie gasps. “Gonna fuck you all the way through it. Gonna put my knot in you and keep you there for days. Gonna breed you until you're round and plump with my pups. Gonna-” 

Eddie never finds out what else exactly he's gonna do, because a high-pitched wail picks up from next door, and Steve’s forehead thunks into the pillow next to his head. Eddie suppresses a pitiful little whine as he rolls off him and pulls out his fingers. 

“Looks like your daughter has other plans.” 

Steve huffs. 

“Sure, when it's ass o'clock in the morning, she's my daughter,” he grumbles, but he still flaps the blanket aside and swings his legs over the edge of the mattress. Eddie wraps a hand around his wrist to stop him.

“I can go, if you wanna. You shouldn’t always have to-”

“Nah, I got it.” Steve gently pushes him back into the pillows. “You stay here.” 

He nips at Eddie’s neck as he says it, and Eddie’s content hum turns into a surprised gasp. 

“You're not planning on trying for round two, are you? Not that I wouldn't be very much on board with that, but Lizzie seems to be set on remaining an only child lately, so I don't think our chances are too high.”

“Don’t you worry about that. Robin has been pestering me about wanting to spend more time with her godchild for weeks, so first thing tomorrow, I’m gonna call her and ask her to take her off our hands for a few days,” Steve says. Then, already with one hand on the doorknob, he turns. In the darkness of the bedroom, his eyes glimmer - wild and golden and hungry. “Sleep now while you have the chance. You’ll need the energy once that heat hits, because I meant every word I just said.” 

Eddie lies and stares at the dark ceiling for a long time, listening to his mate coo and laugh at their infant daughter next door and trying to ignore the crippling horniness growing in his belly. 

More Steddie Bingo

[gothic-lottie]

Chapter 16 of Making Some Sense of This is out now and a good bit of it is a flashback so I had to take the opportunity to draw Professor Fig.

“Alright Isobel, I have a list of all the school things you'll need but that can wait. We should find you some new clothes first. You'll need school uniforms, pajamas, and I imagine you'll want some casual clothes as well.” The man who had rescued me from my family the day before, Professor Fig as he'd introduced himself, went on as he led me through the bustling street.

“Professor, I don't have money for any of this.”

“Oh, don't worry about that, I'll be paying. You only have to focus on picking out what you want, though you do need at least one outfit off the rack since yours has… a hole in it…” he led me into a shop where a friendly woman greeted us. 

“Hello Eleazar, who's this? You never mentioned having a daughter.”

“This is Isobel Morgana, a new student starting at Hogwarts this year. She'll need an entire new wardrobe, do you think you could help, Alice?”

“Certainly… you don't look eleven dear, how old are you?”

“Fourteen ma'am. Almost fifteen.”

“She's starting as a fifth year. Very unusual but that's why I've been charged with getting her adjusted before the school year.”

“Very well then, let's see what we can do for you.” The woman, Alice, led me to a rack of skirts. “This is the fashionable length of skirt for girls your age. What colors do you like?”

“Do you have anything longer?”

“What? Darling, floor length skirts are for grown ladies. Enjoy being young while you can.”

“I want long skirts. Nothing short.”

“If you say so… these are our ladies skirts.”

“I like black… it feels as though it fits me.”

“A grim one, aren't you… alright then.” She took the measuring tape off her chatelaine and took a few measurements quickly before selecting a couple black skirts. “Let me find you a few blouses, one moment.” Alice wandered off to look for shirts and Professor Fig placed a hand on my shoulder. “Is something on your mind, my young friend? She's quite right, you aren't expected to dress like an adult until you turn seventeen. You are still a child.”

“I would prefer to present myself as an adult. If I am away from my mother for good, I am no child. Not anymore.”

“If that's what you want, but remember that we can buy you something more fitting of your age if you change your mind.”

“Thank you, Professor”

Alice returned then, a newfound skip in her step. “I've found just the thing.”

A few minutes later, Alice had me dressed in a soft Lilac blouse and one of the skirts I'd chosen. She'd even tied a matching ribbon around the top hat she placed on my head. “Oh, you look like such a lovely young lady.” She sang as she led me to a mirror. “You're going to be quite popular with the boys~” 

“I doubt that but this is a lovely blouse.  I should get a few more but I'll wear this one out if that's alright.”

 

Two hours later, we'd had me measured for a new corset since mine still had a hole and some blood in it, as well as having purchased school uniforms that Professor Fig assured me would change color by magic to match whatever house I was sorted into. 

As we walked down the alley, I noticed a shop just full of owls. I couldn't help but stare, thinking of how much Father Isaac would love a shop dedicated to keeping messenger owls.

“Oh, how could I forget! Thank you for reminding me, we need to get you your own owl. I know it's uncommon in the muggle world but here, most mail is sent through owl post. I'll teach you how to care for-”

“No need. I know how to care for messenger owls. A close friend keeps them as a hobby so I'm quite familiar.”

“I see… Well, you'll be better prepared than most. The only thing more useful you could have learned as a muggle would be how to speak Latin.”

“I do speak Latin. I'm Catholic and I've been reading the Bible in Latin for years now.”

“I'm impressed. That will certainly make your life here much easier.”

“Good to know.”

Professor Fig picked an owl for me before returning to the tavern we had entered the alley through.

Chapter 15 art

Chapter 17 art

Master list

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐟

˗ˏˋ𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ˗

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 —grumpy!erik johnson x sunshine!nanny!reader 𝐰𝐜 — 1.1k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — in erik's absence, his nanny takes over staging the family's elf on the shelf in order to keep the magic alive for his children. results are... questionable.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — i'm unhealthily attached to this made-up family send help

˗ˏˋ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ˗

JOSIE JOHNSON is thoroughly unimpressed by her Elf.

“Snow angels? In sprinkles? Groundbreaking.”

Dissatisfaction narrows her gray-blue eyes as she stands in front of the kitchen island.

Bernard, the Johnson family’s special scout from the North Pole, is lying limp against the marble countertop in a pool of red and green. The sugary spillage is low-effort at best, especially compared to his iPad drive-in movie yesterday and the miniature golf course the day before that.

Dumping a container of cheap sprinkles—and not even the expensive variety with confetti shapes and edible glitter—wasn’t going to cut it.

Someone was going to have to do better.

“Uh-oh! Looks like Bernard had a wild night,” Erik Johnson, her father, announces as he pads in from the dining room.

If he thinks he’s being subtle, he’s doing a terrible job. His daughter can see straight through him; his voice goes all sorts of wonky when he has a secret.

And his dye-stained fingertips aren’t doing him any favors, either.

“Wild for who? A first grader?”

Josie was in second grade now. She is far too smart to fall for his poor acting and, evidently, much too cool to bother with humoring him.

Erik cocks his head to the side. His kid could be snarky, but she typically postponed doling out remarks until the afternoon. Or until he’s had his second helping of caffeine.

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, he thinks to himself.

Aloud, though, he opts for a simple joke. “Well, I think it was wild. Do I look like a first grader to you?”

He sets his coffee mug beside the espresso machine and puffs out his chest like a peacock. Erik’s already 6’4 without trying, so when he raises both hands and lefts onto his tip-toes for emphasis, his head nearly brushes the ceiling. He’s grinning, wide and bright.

He expects his daughter to giggle at his antics like she did when she was younger or, at the very least, crack a reluctant smile out of second-hand embarrassment.

She does neither.

Rather than pearly teeth, Erik’s met with the whites of her eyes. If Josie had rolled them any harder, they'd have gotten stuck facing the wrong way. That’s what her older brother, Reese, told her whenever she did it.

The irony of the repeated red-lettered phrase "Be Nice!" on the white background of her Grinch-themed pajamas isn’t lost on him.

“Josephine Johnson, I thought I made myself clear the last time we talked about this; you do not roll your eyes at me. Or anyone, for that matter. It’s very rude,” he reprimands sternly. “What’s gotten into you?”

Josie crosses her arms, unphased, and fixes him with an unwavering glare. She could do this all day if need be.

“What’d she do this time?” Reese asks through a yawn as he strolls into the kitchen.

You, the family’s live-in nanny, are not far behind. You’re rubbing the sleep from the corners of your tired eyes when Josie darts to your side.

She looks up at you expectantly, eyes wide and pleading. Silently, they beg for you to agree to whatever she’s planning to say next.

“Can you be in charge of it again? Please, please, please?” she asks, so sweetly she might give herself a cavity.

Josie tugs on your arm to drive home her adolescent anguish when you aren’t instantly compliant.

Panic fizzles in your chest. There was no way she knew, right?

She couldn’t. No way. You were still a few years off from the dicey reveal. No one in her grade had spilled the beans yet, and the adults in her life were content to keep up the ruse.

Surely, she meant as the Elf’s supervisor or an assistant.

Wrong.

“Bernard looks so much cooler whenever Dad lets you set up his pranks instead of doing it himself. See? Look how lazy he was this time,” Josie explains while tugging you over to the scene of the crime. “All he did was spill my sprinkles all over the counter and set my Elf on top of the mess. Like, could it get any lamer than that? He’s probably all sticky now, and he’ll have to stay that way because he’d drown in the washing machine!” 

“No, I didn’t,” Erik says a little too quickly, tone noticeably defensive. “Bernard—who is perfectly fine and not sticky at all, for the record—must’ve been way too tired when he got back from visiting Santa last night to do anything else. He didn’t even bother making it hard for you to find him this morning. I’d do something “lame” too if I spent the entire night flying home from far, far away.”

Bernard wasn't the only member of their household who spent the night up in the inky sky; Erik had been in an entirely different country only four hours ago. And, instead of going straight to bed like his body urged him, he spent an hour arranging the stupid little Elf into what he thought was a fun scenario for his daughter to find the following morning.

Now, he wishes he had just left Bernard on the mantle.

He blames you. They wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t introduced her to the concept. Fuck your quirky childhood tradition. All it'd caused were problems.

“I’m not a baby anymore. I know Bernard isn’t actually one of Santa’s elves!” Josie shouts, growing angry.

Reese mumbles something to the effect of “Could’ve fooled me…” under his breath, and Josie’s face pinches with frustration.

Like the miniature teenager she’s rapidly morphing into, the youngest Johnson massages the fold between her eyebrows. Then, her outburst matures into an accusation. “I know you’ve been hiding him this whole time.”

Erik balks at the allegation.

Irritated, she continues, “I’ve been sneaking down to watch you do it since I was, like, five years old. It's not my fault you aren't very observant. Or that your footsteps sound like an elephant’s. But I don’t care about that. I don't care that I know, but I do care how much effort you put into it.”

Josie clutches your hand in hers and smiles. She could get away with murder with the deep dimples indented on either side of her mouth —and she knows it, too.

She also knows flattery can get her wherever she wants. “Which is why I want you to take over again. You did such a good job while he was away. The goldfish in the paper pond was super cute, and you even made sure he was watching my favorite movie at the drive-in!" 

“Fine, you know what? You’re right,” Erik confesses, conceding to his eight-year-old with a toss of his hands. “And if it really matters that much, I’ll never touch the Elf again. Okay? I give up full control and responsibility.”

Josie positively beams. She always got her way eventually.

“So, how did you even figure it out, anyway?” Reese asks.

The question is garbled; he couldn’t wait until his mouth wasn’t full of Lucky Charms to make his inquiry.

“How could I not?” Josie retorts. Her facial expression is equal parts annoyance and ridicule. Reese’s eyes loop. His little sister clarifies with a huff, “Obviously, he isn’t a real elf, Reese. Santa needs all the help he can get to make sure everyone on the Nice List gets exactly what they asked for every year. Why would he send an actual elf, who should be building a bike or sewing a teddy bear, to spy on me for weeks?”

Fair point, you think to yourself.

“Wait a minute... If you knew he wasn’t real the entire time, why did you let us keep hiding him?” Erik asks, a quizzical dent in his forehead. 

Josie perks up, apparently thrilled to clue them in on the motivation behind her feigned ignorance. “Mrs. Thornton says even adults need a creative outlet because it makes them happier. Especially when they’re grouchy. Clearly, you’re the exception, Daddy.”

Reese honks, sending milk across the room from his nostrils.

Your sudden amusement is muffled by your free hand.

If it were humanly possible, there would be steam billowing from Erik’s crimson ears.

my lovely patrons gained access to this piece on DEC 16, 2022. learn more HERE!

asks, reblogs, and comments are very welcome and greatly appreciated! the best way to support the creators you love (and encourage them to post more for you to read) is by engaging with their content in a meaningful way!

thank you for reading, and happy holidays <3

────────────

All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2023 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

⤑ to my inbox 💌

⬸ back to the catalog

⬸ back to the main blog

[catgirl-for-hire]

Misty Quigley Headcanons

Misty Quigley Headcanons/thoughts bc idk if i am her or im in love with her

Friends and I agree Misty gives off raised by grandparents energy (I mean this as a compliment, some may not tho idk) and ik they mention her parents vaguely here and there but I could totally see her parents passing sometime while she was young like in elementary school, or being unable to care for her for some reason, and her grandparents taking over as her guardians

Very bad at games like pictionary or charades. Good or at least decent at chess, but somehow god tier at checkers

Has tried to be one of those people that wears cool, funky glasses, but ultimately reverts back to her standard pair cuz they just suit her better 

Ate strawberry lip gloss as a kid

In the wilderness, she does in fact have favorite foods even though she knows she shouldn’t be picky. But whenever they manage to gather more of the berries she likes, she always sneaks a little more than she should.

Took several tries to get the bob length hair to work for her, but she was determined. Took her way too long to realize she had to ditch the bangs for the side swoop. Now she hasn’t changed her hair since she got it right. 

Not big on shoes for fashion. She sticks to her crocs for work, and for everything else she mostly chooses to wear comfy sneakers she’s had for years. Has other shoes for appropriate occasions, but sticks to what she knows if she has the choice. If she’s ever adventurous in her fashion it is just about any other article of clothes. 

Not sure this qualifies as a headcanon since its just a general short person experience, but all her pajama pants are way too long on her. She’s also picky about dresses (generally doesn’t like to wear them) since they tend to be at odd lengths for her too. Rolls her jeans, giving her a permanent retro look even when that isn’t the trend. 

Was never into makeup because she didn’t feel like she was good at it, at least until Jackie helped her get ready for doomcoming that one time. Since then, she’s liked to experiment with it here and there. She likes sparkly highlighter and blue eyeshadow, and even as an adult has a fondness for these though she doesn’t really wear them anymore. 

Has been a size 5 shoe since she was 11. Has had a pair of pink converse almost as long. 

Not big on physical books once audiobooks/e-readers become an option 

Wanted the animals to like her in the wilderness but of course they end up preferring Akilah. She still sometimes liked to stop by and talk to the bunnies though, when nobody was around to hear. 

Before the crash, and honestly even during and after, she’s a very big daydreamer. I think generally Misty is someone who’s very aware of her surroundings, observant, attentive, but when she’s at home or in any sort of waiting period, or like in line for something, she absolutely drifts off to whatever fantasy or subject has captured her mind as of late. She’s got an active brain, I think it works a mile a minute and she can drop in and out of her daydreams in a snap

Speaking of snap, she always uses outdated slang. But like. Really outdated. Similarly, she says a lot of those white people-isms, especially when she’s young (ex. “News flash buddy,” “you’re barking up the wrong tree,” “whoopsie daisy” etc)

Just wrote these when I was in the mood to think about her :))) my favorite crazy cutie.

[queer-froggit]

i had a dream about Miraculous Ladybug where Season 6 was just some slice-of-life film noir.

basically, instead of whatever happened at the end of Season 5 (i gave up watching it midway), Marinette and Adrien gave up their miraculouses, and now everyone knows their secret identities. so Season 6 was just the aftermath of that decision.

Adrien's life is even less private now that people know he was Chat Noir.

he has to deal with Paparazzi when he's walking to school. every interview he attends asks him about his experience. how did his powers work. who was his kwami. did his any of his friends know? what do they think? is he still in touch with Ladybug?

would he have gone crazy if he was Chat Noir any longer?

and he hates it. he tries to be nice- he is nice, but he could literally just be helping some old lady down the street and everyone would say "What a hero!" but he's not. he's just a decent human being like everyone should be.

and now no one wants to be. no one does anything to be kind, or make the world a better place, because they rely on him to do it himself.

he doesn't want that. it was the reason he gave up his miraculous in the first place- no one should have the power to manage the entire world in their hands. the responsibility of mantaining the cycle of creation and destruction, handed to teenagers? something bad was bound to happen.

and if he did destroy it all, even on accident, he would never forgive himself.

Marinette... is in a struggle, to say the least.

she doesn't get bombarded by Paparazzi, she doesn't have to sit through interviews, and she's pretty much living a normal life.

excpet, she's not.

people expect her to be some God with the answers to everything, but she's just clumsy, boy-crazy, fashion designer Marrinette Dupain-Cheng. when she trips delivering her parents macaroons, or accidentally comes to school in her pajamas, she's met met with a lot more scrutiny than before. this was Ladybug, our Ladybug, the one we trusted our lives and city with? how could someone like her have gotten power like that?

when really, she just happened to be nice to the right person on the right day.

she didn't want to be Ladybug. didn't ask for it or anything. she only kept it because she wanted to help people, and she got to be a better version of herself while doing so.

but now she's not. she isn't Ladybug anymore. she gave up her miraculous because she realized how much it was interfering with her everyday life. people shouldn't expect her to be a perfect hero in action, because now she's just a somebody, and nobody's perfect.

she should have her life back now. it almost makes her cry in anger that she doesn't. why doesn't she?

so Adrien and Marinette meet with each other, unwinding on their experiences as superheroes, and the new challenges they have to face outside of the suits. Adrien is only Chat Noir, but Marinette can't be Ladybug. why is that, and how do they fix it? is that even their responsiblity, to change the people's perception?

they're not superheroes. they don't have the same responsibilities as before. it's not like there's a Hawk Moth to save Paris from.

so what do they do now? where do they go from here?

they'll figure it out together. they may not be Ladybug and Chat Noir anymore, but they're still a team.

[philtstone]

Eowyn/Faramir, 22

painstakingly continuing my spotify wrapped prompts with yet another bollywood entry from one of my favourite movies #22, "Ankhon Mein Teri" from Om Shanti Om along with you / some light has come anyway, this is my answer to the question, "was their great hobbit cacophany post-kiss on the ramparts?" but in hippie camp counselor au

Eowyn’s hospital room has a very large window that looks out into the darkened waiting room. When she wakes up from her doze, which she was partaking in for lack of anything better to do, her head is turned the other way — and so it is that the first thing she sees in front of her is Faramir.

He is sitting in her bed, right beside her in fact, absorbed in a book. He appears to be wearing borrowed pajamas. Eowyn can feel the warmth from his leg against hers. She blinks a few times to make sure she is not dreaming (not that she has had dreams about Faramir in her bed), and it is then that she is struck by the soreness in her hand and shoulder, and quite honestly much of the rest of her as well.

Oh, right. Their valiant protest in front of the EPA building. Eowyn hadn’t expected to be shoved quite so hard by that SWAT officer, but at least Merry caught it all on video. And she got a great punch in before falling with such indignity on her now very broken arm. She wonders if Merry got that on video too; it’d be useful in the event anyone tries to arrest her for assault.

A large white cast covers her whole right forearm. It isn’t particularly ugly, but it is very empty in its clean whiteness, and looking at it leaves a queer disembodied feeling in the pit of Eowyn's stomach, so she goes back to looking at Faramir.

“What are you reading?” 

Of the many questions Eowyn has this is the first that comes to mind. In her general discombobulation the part of her that has lately been engrossed in figuring out Faramir's interests takes the wheel. Of course, it very often does that, but rarely to the point of causing incoherence, which Eowyn is sure she is exhibiting now.

Faramir, who had not noticed her waking, jumps in place.

“Oh! Eowyn!”

“Hullo,” says Eowyn.  

“How're you feeling? Should I call for the nurse? I should call for the nurse — here, I’ll call —“

She nudges his leg with hers (this at least is still entirely operational), and that shuts him up. He presses the nurse call button anyway. Eowyn ignores this and offers a pointed look at his literature of choice.

Faramir says, “Well; a philosophy primer. Gandalf gave it to me at the beginning of camp.”

“You mean like,” Eowyn's voice is much raspier than she remembers it, “as homework?”

“No. He said I might like it.” He pauses, then adds with a conviction that might have always been there, but appears a touch more at home in his mouth now, “He was right.”

The green of the borrowed pajama shirt suits him (she is sure it is borrowed, as it is too large at the shoulders — possibly it is Aragorn’s, or even Gandalf’s) and his pants have little Smurfs on them. She stops inspecting his hospital clothes and begins inspecting his face, which is turned towards hers and very earnest about it. He has a terribly comforting face, Faramir has. The overall effect is more subdued than what she’s used to (certainly Eomer’s got a talent for looking a bit shocking), as all her family members are known for both being and looking intense. Faramir is also intense, Eowyn supposes, but in a different way. He’s intense about philosophy primers and whatever poem he’s reading. He’ll make weird faces because he’s so absorbed in it all. His fair hair and eyes are familiar, of course, but the bigness of his nose is softer, his hair browner and floppier, and his facial hair patchy and mousy. He has lovely eyes, Eowyn thinks. A bit like a doe or something.

On whole he is, at this moment, a bit mesmerizing to Eowyn, who has always liked him – and it’s a good job he showed up this summer, and not last, when she was in the throes of her Most Mortifying Unrequited Crush (named thus by Eowyn and Eomer and Merry, in mutual consultation) to date – but she’s never properly thought about it because she was too worried about starting college next year. It’s odd. That doesn’t seem nearly so frightening anymore. Only it isn’t as if Eowyn’s feeling any better about things. After all, maybe she is about to be arrested for assaulting a cop. So what if her love life is marginally less pathetic, and her future plans slightly less immediately in the hands of her deeply flawed decision-making? The next time Uncle Theoden tells her she oughtn’t worry so much about The Real World and to go get her degree so she won’t be stuck with only farming as her option, she won’t have a good argument against him; The Real World has been pretty awful so far. 

Eowyn wonders if Faramir would bring his philosophy book and visit her in prison. 

She decides she should ask him. Maybe knowing the answer will make her feel better. She hasn’t managed to open her mouth halfway when the door opens and a sturdy looking nurse bustles in.

“Oh, good,” says the nurse industriously. “You’re awake. Not in too much pain are we? I don’t expect so; it was a very clean break.”

“Was it,” asks Eowyn, as her pillows are righted in a bustley sort of way and a cold metal straw is stuck into her open mouth. Her question comes out a bit garbled around the straw.

“Mmm,” the nurse eyes her significantly. Her name tag reads Ioreth in blocky penmanship and includes a little hand drawn smiley face in the corner. Eowyn wonders if she has put that there to counter her extremely brusque and straightforward manner. Don’t you worry; when I’m not shoving eco-friendly straws into your mouth, I draw my own smiley faces, actually! “You’re lucky your friend splinted it so well, or it might’ve moved around on you before the EMTs arrived. Not a medic, is he?”  

Eowyn can’t quite tell if her tone is impressed or disapproving. 

“He’s thinking of doing herbal medicine MSF,” offers Faramir a bit lamely. 

They follow the nurse’s eyes to the big windows of her hospital room, beyond which she is only now registering is a very full waiting room. It was mostly empty when Eowyn last checked, and the sight of it full makes her eyes well up at the back in a very silly and childish way. Closest to the door sits the lanky figure of Aragorn, who indeed set her broken arm and quizzed her on Twilight trivia on the way to the hospital so she wouldn’t fall asleep before being checked for a concussion. He is asleep himself now, but looking like someone does when they didn’t quite mean to doze off, slumped over sitting up with one scruffy cheek propped up against his palm. A pale-faced Frodo is tucked, sleeping more intentionally against his side, with a lumpy bit of gauze covering two of his fingers. Sitting careful guard over them (for all that they are having a friendly chat with a passing nurse and pointing animatedly to something on the familiar lavender-cased iPhone) are Arwen and Sam, who have together been wrapped once in a hospital issue blanket and a second time in Aragorn’s familiar mud-stained jacket. Eomer (whose face is a much bigger comfort than she expected) is wedged into a seat that is much too small for him and rapidly bouncing his left leg while staring determinately at the ceiling. Draped over a lone plastic chair Legolas’s cream cardigan is all that evidences him, Gimli, Merry, and Pippin (who must have taken his Super Mario backpack with him, wherever they are, as she can’t spot it); and if Eowyn listens hard enough, she can hear a man’s unfamiliar, somewhat distressed, definitely disembodied tones from further down the hallway.

While Nurse Ioreth bustles through checking her chart, Eowyn must make some kind of questioning face in Faramir’s general direction, because he says,

“Oh – that’s, um, my brother. Boromir. He came down, after – everything.” By which Eowyn, remembering it all in patchy fits and starts, realizes Faramir must mean the incident where his father flew down from upstate to loudly disown him in front of many strangers and several news reporters (Eowyn was told this all by Merry on the trip to hospital; she’d been in the midst of getting shoved for her not-entirely peaceful protesting when it happened) for squandering his potential trying to do such useless things as saving the environment, instead of securing a future for himself in this dismal and unforgiving world. 

For a Very Important Businessman, Denethor seems to have an awful lot of spare time on his hands. He spent a whole half hour elbowing his way through police and news vans and a very distressed eleven year old in the shape of Pippin Took, just to yell at his son.

“Is he alright?” asks Eowyn; the voice in the hallway seems very consternated. 

“Who,” says Faramir. “Boromir? Oh, yeah.” He fixes his glasses a bit, which are slipping down his nose, “It’s just that the possum finally bit Frodo, and then we lost it.”

“The collective cool, you mean,” says Eowyn.

“No,” says Nurse Ioreth, definitely disapproving this time. “The possum.” 

Faramir grimaces. “It was sort of my fault. That’s why Boromir’s dealing with it — I think he’s trying to make me feel better about Dad. I really am fine though. And Legolas and Gimli took Merry and Pippin to find us all food — wouldn’t it be ironic if they wound up finding the possum instead? Funny how things work though. Everyone’s sort of come together about it so it’s really hard to feel like I'm doing something wrong, no matter what my — what anyone says. I was more worried about you than anything, and Arwen made Eomer sit outside because he kept getting up and sitting back down in here and the nurse got annoyed, so I got to come sit with you instead.”

Ioreth makes a mild tsk noise over her clipboard and Eowyn blinks. It takes all of her willpower not to blurt out You were worried about me? as if that is not the standard fare between friends – camp counselors, even.

Ioreth says, “If you need more pain medication, press the button; you should be out by the end of the day, dear,” and leaves. Eowyn and Faramir watch her, and the unexpected care she takes to close the door quietly so Aragorn and Frodo don’t startle awake, go. 

“You’re okay, then,” she says, after a moment.

“Hm? Yeah, I mean – well.” He shrugs. “Dad can be a cynic if he wants. I much prefer the delusional idealism of youth.”

Faramir’s always been better at making jokes than anyone gives him credit for. Even so, Eowyn wonders if she’d count as a cynic or delusional by his count. Here she is, having mentally avoided the topic of College Next Year so determinedly all summer, insisting to herself and Uncle Theoden that she hadn’t decided a major yet because she’d rather participate in The Real World, only for that world to have immediately proven itself terrifying and she, Eowyn, unequipped to deal with it. So she is back at square one, and even less sure of herself than before.

“I’m glad,” she says, and finds she can’t look him properly in the eye but has to instead stare at her purple fingers poking out through the cast. She feels all of a sudden quite miserable, but can’t put it to words.

“It doesn’t hurt too badly, does it?”

She shrugs, like he did. “It’s a bit sore.” Like how I feel, despite how wonderful you are, she doesn’t add. It’s so sappy of her. Eomer would sigh for hours if he knew.

“We’ll get the kids to draw on it. Or Gimli. You can too, if you like.”

“Will you come visit me if I go to prison?” Eowyn asks, suddenly on the verge of tears.

“Obviously yes,” Faramir answers, quite seriously. “But Gandalf’s got all that sorted. None of us are in trouble with the law, thanks to you and Merry’s video.”

“Oh.” The realization is not as much of a relief as Eowyn expected it would be. So now she’s got to go to college next year. And actually know what she wants to do with her life. Oh indeed. 

“Which is pretty good actually,” Faramir is continuing, “because I’ve decided to switch into a BA, and I don’t think I’d have been able to do that if we were going to prison.” 

She is quiet for a long moment, chewing on her bottom lip. “Everything is very confusing,” she finally manages, in a whisper.

Then, in a way that makes the small breath at the back of Eowyn’s throat catch, Faramir’s free hand slips over the thin hospital bedding and cups itself over her cold and bruised fingers. 

“I don't think we’ll be confused forever,” he says, just as quiet as she has been, but on purpose. “I think one day, we’ll wake up, and life will be less scary than it is right now.”

Finally Eowyn turns to look at him again. “At seventeen,” she says, and her voice is a bit watery; Faramir smiles at her. A small little smile.

“Yeah.” His voice cracks with the bit of laughter in it. “At seventeen.”

Eowyn is very unintentionally staring at his mouth. Because of the smile — and also maybe him as a person. She feels a bit of her old determination return, but with much less defensiveness and also her own little smile; she leans over the philosophy primer and their held hands, and kisses Faramir on the mouth.

Her stomach is half filled with butterflies when they are interrupted by the sound of small palms pounding against glass.

“Merry! Merry! Merry look —”

“Don’t interrupt them, Pippin!”

The crow of delight is so loud, and Eomer’s leaping to his feet so sudden, that Aragorn almost falls off his chair startling awake. Eowyn watches through the large window; their movement has made the sensors in the hallway go off, and all the lights turn on. The lights in the waiting room are yellow, like sunshine, and not the dull white of a hospital she was expecting.

“I called it! I knew! I said, Faramir’s got to go sit with her ‘cause he cares so very much, you see, and it’ll make Eowyn feel better.”

“Well Eowyn's my friend first, I’m the one who told you she needed to feel better —“

“Both of you pipe down, as if the rest of us didn’t care —“

“I have a sixth sense, you know. It’s very well tuned to romance and such. Remember Gandalf’s rule about only platonic activities in the break room, on account of what I walked into on our first week of camp –”

“Pippin, I am once again begging you to stop talking.”

“Faramir! Faramir can you hear me! Is she alright, then? We got you Mexican food from the cafeteria. Well, Gimli’s the one who paid for it, but we carried over the tortilla chips –”

And by the time the door is flung open Eowyn and Faramir pounced upon by overexcited tweenagers, she is properly laughing.

[skelavender]

Mulder’s eyes are locked on Scully. Living, breathing Scully, who is not in a hospital bed. Instead, Modell is the one who lay dying in front of them, head bandaged and tubes pumping oxygen and whatever else into his body.  He reaches for her hand and takes it in his own. She doesn’t grab him back, but allows for the touch. “I say we dont let him take up another minute of our time.” Scully squeezes his hand. “Come on, sweetheart, let's go home.”

read chapter two of shelter on ao3, or below the cut!

February 1996

“Mine or yours?“

Mulder looks up to see Scully lingering by the door with her long jacket folded over her arm, clearly on her way out. 

“Mine,” he answers simply, “I’ll head out soon, I want to finish reading this first. I should be back by the time you get there if you’re stopping at home first. You have your key?”

“Yes. See you soon, Mulder.” She offers a smile, and she’s gone. 

It’s become a habit, staying at each other’s houses. They’re both sleeping much better, and are therefore less likely to take mid-workday naps. 

After Scully had shown up in the middle of the night, Mulder had invested in a bed. Crazy concept. If Scully was going to keep showing up to sleep – which, apparently, she was – he wasn’t going to make her do so on the floor or couch. 

She does beat him to his place, despite stopping by her own apartment to shower first, and when Mulder enters he is greeted by the smell of vanilla — the body scrub Scully uses at the end of a particularly long week. Given the case they’re in the middle of, he thinks it’s warranted. 

Between the disaster of Modell’s arraignment, Holly attacking Skinner, and the deaths of multiple law enforcement officers, things had been stressful to say the least. Mulder was happy to be guaranteed a solid night’s sleep tonight, thanks to Scully’s company. 

He knows Scully needs both the proximity and the rest just as much as he does. When they had been informed that Modell had pulled Mulder’s file, she had immediately been most concerned about him having Mulder’s address. He could basically see the images flashing in her mind, Modell invading his home like Eugene Tooms and Duane Barry had through hers. She wasn’t going to leave him alone right now, and he didn’t exactly cherish the idea either. There was no point in avoiding the apartment, though. If Modell wanted to find them, he would.

Scully’s in the kitchen, pajama-clad and leaning over a steaming pizza. She turns to greet him with a soft smile, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies, “If that’s from Caprotti’s, I might have to marry you. Again.”

“You better dig your tux out then.”

Mulder slides his hand onto her lower back when he approaches her, “God, you’re the best.” He lays a kiss on her temple before grabbing a slice. 

They eat over the counter, chatting idly around the real concerns for their safety. Eventually they crawl into bed, Mulder on the right, Scully on the left, as always. They fall asleep with hands clasped in the space between their bodies, holding on for dear life. 

***

Here’s what the gossip mill of the FBI, with all their teasing names and idolization of profiling skills, doesn’t know about Fox Mulder: he’s a fucking klutz. 

Even Scully didn’t notice it until she started spending significant time at either of their homes with him. He takes his contact lenses out as soon as he gets home, but only remembers to put his glasses on to compensate for the fact half the time. The result is many bruises blooming on limbs that have bumped into furniture, door frames, hell, even Scully had acted as an accidental obstacle on more than a couple occasions. 

At the moment, the both of them sitting against the headboard of Scully’s bed as they wind down for bed, Mulder has miraculously managed to get a pair of glasses on his face. However, the pair he’s squinting through while trying to read the book propped against his knees aren’t his own. 

They’re Scully’s.

Her backup pair, that is. The ones from a couple years ago, which are out of style and the prescription is slightly too weak. That means, of course, that they are far too weak for Mulder. Hence the squinting. She doubts that he’s even managing to read any words on the page. Not that Scully's any more focused – she keeps glancing up to the mirror across from her bed to look at Mulder, to take in his relaxed posture, the furrow between his brows, the press of his lips together. 

She doesn’t know how they got so… domesticated, so comfortable in each other’s presence that they can just borrow each other’s stuff with such ease. She loves it. 

Her eyes run down the reflection of Mulder’s neck, his arms, how his fingers are curled around the book. As if he can feel her gaze dance across his skin, he squirms, revealing a patch of skin just below his elbow. A very purple patch of skin.

She turns to him, “Did you bump into the doorframe again?”

“Hm?” Mulder tears his eyes off the book and looks at her through her own glasses.

“Your arm,” She gestures to him, “Did you hit it on the doorframe again?”

“Oh,” he twists his arm and looks down at it. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Let me see.” She places the bookmark on the relevant page and sets it on her nightstand before opening her hand to summon Mulder’s elbow. He offers it, and she inspects the skin. 

“I don’t know how you manage to do this to yourself so often,” Scully murmurs.

“I swear, Scully, they move. We ought to open an X-file on the ever-changing layout of doorways in the DC area.”

She shakes her head with an affectionate smile, and pivots to rustle through her nightstand drawer. She removes a tube of arnica she had started keeping there for this exact reason, and reclaims Mulder’s elbow.

“Scully, it’s fine, really.” He protests, but doesn’t reclaim possession of his elbow.

“Which one of us has a medical degree, Mulder? Let me help.” She squirts an appropriate amount of gel onto her own index and middle fingers, rubs them against her thumb to decrease the sting of the cold, and applies it to Mulder’s arm. She lets her fingers dance in circles across his skin until the stickiness has faded, and she can’t justify the contact any further. 

When her eyes lift to reach his again, he’s already staring at her. “Thanks, Scully.”

“Of course. Anytime.”

“About time for lights-out?”

“That sounds good.”

They both turn off their bedside lamps, and settle into the bed. Within minutes they’ve met in the middle of the bed, and Scully doesn’t bother trying to find an excuse to touch him. 

***

Mulder’s eyes are locked on Scully. Living, breathing Scully, who is not in a hospital bed. Instead, Modell is the one who lay dying in front of them, head bandaged and tubes pumping oxygen and whatever else into his body. 

He reaches for her hand and takes it in his own. She doesn’t grab him back, but allows for the touch.

“I say we dont let him take up another minute of our time.” Scully squeezes his hand. “Come on, sweetheart, let's go home.”

Over the years, they’ve started referring to just about anywhere as home. “Mulder, let’s go home” could mean a motel room, DC, his place, her place, the office, anything. He’s not sure which home she means, but he knows wherever they end up, home will be an apt descriptor. As long as Scully is there. 

Scully all but pulls him out of the hospital room, leading him by the contact of their hands. They walk all the way to the car with their hands linked, and don’t let go until they need to.

Home, as Scully had used it, turns out to be his apartment. Mulder lays awake with his partner in his arms, mind racing. 

He had almost killed her. There was a bullet in the chamber and his finger on the trigger, and he had almost killed Scully. His partner. His wife. 

There would have been no going back from that. 

He thinks it must have been intentional, Modell must have put the bullet in the third chamber knowing he would make Mulder turn it on Scully, shoot her, kill her. He wanted to do as much damage to Mulder as he could on his way out, and knew exactly how to do it. Mulder would never be able to live with that guilt. He would, and did, sooner point the gun at his own head than Scully’s.

Instead, Modell would be the one spending the rest of his life in a hospital bed with a bullet in his head, the one meant for Scully. 

He hadn’t hesitated when Modell told him to turn the gun on himself, but the potential of losing Scully, the potential of being the one responsible for ripping her from this world, had made him strong enough to resist. That, and Scully’s encouragement, her unwavering faith that he would be able to shake Modell’s influence. 

There hadn’t been any doubt, per se, in his mind that he loved her before this whole ordeal. But such a close brush with death, just those few minutes of sharp, intense fear of having to live in a world without her… it was some of the worst pain he’d been in. Some of the worst grief. The same, bone-deep and all-consuming pain that Samantha’s absence had brought. To have such a large, gaping hole inside him, nowhere for the love to land. It’s a very different type of relationship, yes, but the grief tastes the same.

Mulder’s fingers dance across Scully’s hair and he lets the repeated motion, along with her consistent breathing, soothe him. She’s alive. She’s alive, and she’s in his arms. He can see that she’s safe, feel her breath against his shirt, press his palm to her back and let it rise and fall with her. He just can’t get the what-ifs out of his head. 

He shudders, and holds his partner tighter. Unconscious, she does the same. 

***

When Mulder wakes a couple days later, Scully is already awake with her head on his chest, eyes open and staring off into space. His face is buried in her hair, and he presses a kiss there to let her know he’s awake. 

“Hey,” Her voice is floaty, absent. Like she’s thought so hard it’s brought her into another world. 

“Hey.” He lets the silence stretch for a moment. “What’s got you thinking so hard?”

Scully bites her lip, hesitant to tell him about the idea she’s been rolling over in her mind, the one she’s been trying and failing to talk herself out of. “I’m not sure this is… sustainable.”

Mulder tenses under her. He is so, so not ready to have a potential divorce conversation. “You mean our, uh…”

“What?” She lifts up on her elbow to look at him, and reads his face plain and clear. “Oh, no, Mulder, not like that. I mean staying over every night, alternating apartments.”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll, uh, get out of your hair–” He shifts to slip out from under her and get out of bed, but she stops him with a hand to his arm.

“Not like that.” They settle back into their spots, Scully’s head on Mulder’s chest. Her voice is shaky when she confesses, “I sleep better with you closeby, and I think you do too. I want to continue that, I just…” She takes a deep breath and takes the plunge, “What do you think about moving in together?”

“Oh.” Mulder’s a bit floored by that. This conversation was going in the complete opposite of the direction he was expecting. The silence stretches for a moment while he considers it.

“What’re you thinking, Mulder?” 

“Well we could save a lot of money on rent if we moved into a two bedroom.”

“And on phone bills.” Scully reasons. 

“And we could carpool – save on gas.”

“Mhmm,” Scully affirms. They’re both quiet for a moment, mulling it over, before she continues, “So, mine or yours? Or somewhere else?”

“Somewhere else, I think. Something fresh. Are you married to Georgetown?”

“I’m married to you.”

He smiles at that. He’s not looking at her, so he doesn't see the open wound of sincerity in her eyes.

Scully continues, “Alexandria is fine. It’s cheaper. We’re being… pragmatic.”

“Pragmatic… yeah.”

“Reasonable.”

“Mhmm.”

“So,” she lifts her head to look at him again, “Do you want to get the paper to look through the listings, or should I?”

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

[pupphe-additions]

✬Evie’s Relationship With NMIXX✬

Note: Evie calls NMIXX her babies and she adores all the members. She may not be super close to the younger girls but the love she has for them is very obvious anytime she is near them. Both Stay and NSWER joke that Evie is NMIXX’s mother. They will not be as detailed as the other groups but if you guys want I can update it in a couple weeks. In all honesty I'm still learning about NMIXX that's why they aren't as detailed but I love these girls sm so I had to include them now.

Evie x Haewon

Quote: “Friendship is the golden thread that ties the heart of all the world.” Dynamic: Rants, Listens

Haewon’s contact in Evie’s phone is “🎃Pumpkin🎃”

Haewon goes to Evie for advice a lot.

Evie enjoys hugging and playing with Haewon’s hair when they are able to see each other in person.

Evie calls Haewon “pumpkin” and “honey bear” a lot and prefers those nicknames for the younger girl. 

Haewon has proudly admitted that Evie is her favorite stray kids member.

Evie x Lily

Note: You can read more about her dynamics and friendship moments with Lily here. I do not want to repeat points so anything included in that post will be exclusive to that one and vice versa. 

Quote: “I do not see well without her. I do not hear as well without her. I do not feel as well without her. I would be better off without a hand or a leg than without my sister.” Dynamic: Soul Sisters

These two can sit on call for hours and not even realize any time has passed.

Content just sitting in silence doing their own things because just being in each other's presence is rewarding enough as is.

Evie enjoys rambling to Lily about her favorite games and anime and Lily always listens.

Evie enjoys teaching Lily about her games she plays.

Lily and Evie mainly speak in English together.

Evie x Sullyoon

Quote: “When the world is so complicated, the simple gift of friendship is within all of our hands.” Dynamic: The Sweetheart and The Scary Dog Privilege

Sullyoon’s contact in Evie’s phone is “🐰BunSull🐰”

These two are baking buddies. They always enjoy exchanging different sweets that they made when they get to meet up.

Evie is extremely protective of Sullyoon and would likely fight anyone who tried to hurt her in any way or who makes her cry.

Sullyoon enjoys when Lily and Evie have sleepovers because she gets to see Evie as Evie makes sure to visit with all of the girls before hanging out with Lily.

Sullyoon enjoys hugging and clinging to Evie whenever she is around.

Evie x BAE

Quote: “A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself.” Dynamic: The Extrovert and The Introvert

BAE’s contact in Evie’s phone is “🌻🐤SunChick🐤🌻”

Evie enjoys helping BAE with her English, she has stated it makes her feel like a teacher and it makes her feel useful.

These two are the least close of the group but Evie still adores her.

Evie and BAE often eat snacks when together.

They dance together sometimes.

Evie x Jiwoo

Quote: “A good friend is like a four-leaf clover: hard to find and lucky to have.” Dynamic: Family

Jiwoo’s contact in Evie’s phone is “🐶PupWoo🐶”

Evie has made a playlist specifically for Jiwoo. Jiiwoo will listen to it whenever she wants to feel energized as it has a lot of happy and fast beat songs on it.

Jiwoo has made perfume for Evie before, and Evie wears it on stage a lot.

Evie and Jiwoo are extremely close.

Jiwoo is the member that Evie is second closest to.

Jiwoo always takes whatever good advice Evie gives her and calls Evie her older sister.

Evie x Kyujin

Quote: “A sweet friendship is refreshing.” Dynamic: Mother Daughter

Kyujin’s contact name in Evie’s phone is “🐱Kitjin🐱”

Evie calls Kyujin her child and is overly protective of her.

Kyujin jokingly called Evie mom before and since then Evie has called Kyujin her child.

Evie is known to make Kyujin food when she is stressed.

Kyujin, Evie, and Lily all have a pair of matching pajamas.

When Kyujin has any problems she has a habit of going to Evie first to help figure out how she should go about solving them.

[romantic-reveries]

I don’t mean to be petty or mean, but this has been one of the toughest weeks, mentally, that I’ve had in a very long time. There’s a lot of change going on at work that I don’t like and will have to adjust to. It is what it is, whatever.

I get home late last night from going to a comedy show - it wasn’t my intention to be out late on a work night, but the show was rescheduled from a Sunday last year to last night. I didn’t get home until 10.

That, combined with the fact that I’ve been so stressed this week that I’m having ideations, and I haven’t slept well since last Saturday, I thought - hey, maybe I’ll just take tomorrow off and catch up on rest. I don’t do that often, but every once in awhile, if I wake up feeling really shitty and like I just can’t do it that day, I’ll take it. My boss really doesn’t care as long as work gets done anyway.

But my grandma got all shirty with me about it - “well, tell me why you would do that.” Because I want to? Because it’s been a really hard week for me and I could use it? And she’s like “well, I guess we just won’t go to that thing.” The thing being an event I’ve been trying to push myself to go to at the library - they have a monthly meet up where you meet up with a group and go out to eat. She’s like “I just don’t feel like it’s appropriate to take a sick day and then go out.” And how she was raised in a different time. And I do get that, but newsflash: that world doesn’t fucking exist anymore.

It flew all over me. I very rarely get mad at my grandma, but I blew up about how I’m not a child, and if I wanted to take off work and then go shake my ass at the club, I could. It’s my business. I could have taken off today and STILL gone to the library thing by my goddamn self.

But it made me feel like shit. She’s never really cared - or at least kept it to herself - when I’ve taken days before when I wasn’t necessarily that “sick” I just woke up and didn’t feel good. I don’t do it often. I get my work done. Like, it genuinely makes me want to die, thinking about having to work 40 hours a week for the next 60 years, if I make it that long. If I need a fucking day off every now and then when I’m struggling, and I work at a place that allows that kind of flexibility, why can’t I take it?

Also, our boss is so deep in the hole anyway, it’s pathetic. He fired one girl, moved two more to part time, so four days a week, there’s only five of us in the office, when there used to be eight daily. And I guess maybe that’s my grandma’s issue, but I’m sorry - fuck this place! I don’t give a shit. It’s a JOB. I have no loyalty to them. I’m not gonna actively fuck shit up, but I am my priority - not them. And if he’s made himself so short staffed that me calling off is an issue because of his own financial irresponsibility, that simply is not my problem.

So I got up and dragged my ass to work today. I don’t even give a shit about going to the library thing tonight anymore, it was just the principle of it. I’m not a kid and you don’t get to threaten me with loss of privileges because I “skipped school” or whatever. I’m thinking about just telling her to go with the other lady she invited tonight and I’ll stay home.

And THEN, the cherry on top - she’s one of the ones cut back to part time, so she has Mondays and Fridays off now. She took Tylenol PM last night to sleep better. I had to go home on lunch today because I forgot to take some of my medicines. It’s almost 11 AM, and she’s sitting on the couch in her pajamas. She goes “oh, I didn’t get up until 10 o’clock. I was so tired.” Well, me fuckin’ too, but here we are.

And it’s not even about her being off. I recognize that she’s worked for a long time and she’s a lot older than me. She DESERVES to be retired and I wish we lived in a world that facilitated that better. But it’s shitty for her to have made me feel bad for wanting to call in and then be like “ahh, what a nice lie in I had! I really needed that!”.

And she can tell I’m still irritable about it and she’s like “well why don’t you put in a slip to take off Monday?” Because I don’t want to. I wanted to be off today because I’ve had a hard week, I haven’t slept well in days, and I was out late last night. I’m hoping I’ll feel a lot better by Monday, in which case, I won’t need it. You can’t pre-plan a mental health day like that. If I was taking off for a specific reason, an event, a long weekend, okay, but that’s not what today was supposed to be, and it’s not what Monday would be.

And really this started a couple nights ago because I was talking about how stupid and unfair the whole system is and she was making me feel stupid for feeling how I feel. I get that not everyone thinks how I do. That most people don’t have the compassion I do. Whatever. That doesn’t mean I have to like or accept it. And if I’m bringing it to someone I love and trust just to vent - because there’s nothing fucking else I can do about it - I don’t think it’s insane to think they could at least validate it instead of acting like I’m being silly and irrational because they simply don’t understand.

[j-graysonlibrary]

His Transgressions Built It: Chapter 11

Title: His Transgressions Built It

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 51K

Genres: psychological horror, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website and on Kobo

Synopsis: After living almost a decade estranged from his family because of his transition, Noah is called back to his hometown to take care of his young niece and nephew when their parents die suddenly. Because the children only know of their distant "aunt", Noah pretends to be his own husband in order to not explain himself or cause further issues. But, in doing so, he has to navigate the small town, filled to the brim with his childhood trauma, under the guise of a complete stranger.

Full Chapter 11 under the cut

XI:

Noah is before Kiki’s apartment again. He hopes to see her. It feels like an emergency but, for some reason, he can’t quite remember why. There are blips—hints. He doesn’t want to focus on them.

If he sees too much, he’ll return to a panic and he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

It’s safest just to go up the stairs and hide away.

Kiki will make him feel better. She always does.

Even if she also, always, makes him feel guilty as well. But she’s not doing that. He is. That’s not her fault at all.

Noah shakes his head. The thoughts are flung away, like water droplets, and he hurries up the stairs. He doesn’t even pause when they scream under him and his weight. The structure doesn’t fail him.

He doesn’t allow it to.

Sometimes, he thinks if he imagines something, it’ll happen. No matter how ridiculous. That’s why his anxieties are so bad, when everything else is fine. He’s minding his own business and then, out of the blue, catastrophe is born behind his eyes. Then it’s happening. Or it could, very well.

Now’s not exactly like that, as he has some genuine problems, but it doesn’t hurt to carry the same precaution. Or, it doesn’t help? He can’t say, either way, but at least forcing himself not to worry about the stairs or the floor means there’s more space for whatever else comes his way.

He reaches the door, almost out of breath, and he knocks a few times. Their bell is broken. They don’t like the sharp tone of it anyway. Noah agrees—he hates doorbells. Actually, he’s not sure this is something he and Kiki discussed recently or a lifetime ago.

It doesn’t matter.

The door opens.

Shaun’s there, in pajamas. He’s not surprised to see Noah but he doesn’t exactly greet him with a smile either. “Hey, man. Sorry but, ugh, Kiki’s out. Doctor appointment.”

Noah exhales the last of his breath, going back to a normal pattern afterward. Or course, when he needs her the most, he’s just missed her.

He feels a little better, just being on the lot, but he knows that won’t be enough.

“Oh,” it’s all he can muster. It sounds rude but he can’t take it back.

Thankfully, Shaun doesn’t let it bother him. He shrugs and hangs back from the door. The floor protests but only for a second. “You can come in and chill anyway.”

Noah begins to nod; he’s more than happy with that idea. He can be in that safe space and wait for Kiki. Shaun is good company, even if he doesn’t talk much. Noah doesn’t talk much either.

He opens his mouth to agree, too, but his words get caught and his head freezes on his neck. Behind Shaun’s shoulder, in the middle of the living room, is the very reason Noah fled here to begin with.

He might have forgotten but now it’s back.

Christopher.

Noah gasps in air and steps away. His back hits the railing. If he had momentum behind him, he would have tipped over. One hand flies up and grips it. Shaking, rattling, Noah feels it in his teeth.

Shaun’s brow furrows and he’s definitely about to ask what’s wrong but Noah can’t explain it. He won’t explain it, no matter how odd he’s sure he looks.

“I have to go,” Noah beats him to the punch and then bolts down the stairs. He takes two at a time. He’s sure Christopher is already following him.

He’s no longer safe anywhere.

If Kiki’s apartment is vulnerable, everywhere is.

Noah could skip town, move across the world, and he can still picture the priest waiting for him.

He nearly fumbles the car keys when he pulls them from his pocket but he catches them with his free hand. Every few seconds he looks up, at the apartment building, but he sees no pursuer. That doesn’t slow him much or offer any real comfort.

Just because he’s not seeing him doesn’t mean he’s not there.

Noah slides into the car and promptly starts the ignition. He tears out of the parking lot, ready to speed back to the house even though that’s where he’s originally come from. The kids are probably still there, confused, so he keeps them in mind as he puts more pressure on the gas.

The scenery blurs past him. He’s in a wormhole. He’s traveled through time. The clock on the dash is all eights and the radio hisses with a strange frequency.

But he’s also winding through the old downtown area. He wants to discover a new way to the house, one that doesn’t take him past the church. Even if he knows it’s impossible, he still tries. He has to.

“There is nothing you can do to escape your destiny.”

Noah doesn’t even look over. Christopher is in the car, right next to him. He’s probably been there all along.

“Get out of here,” he responds, eyes laser focused on the road. There’s no traffic.

“I can’t. Not until you fulfill your purpose.” Christopher sounds even closer. His presence encroaches around Noah. He is smoke and all the windows are sealed shut. Noah has no choice but to breathe him in. “You are almost complete, yes? You are only missing one thing.”

 An icy hand, large and thin, slaps down on Noah’s thigh. It squeezes, tightening as it goes, and the fingers grace along the inner seam of his pants. They are only leading to one spot, with no sign of slowing.

So, Noah stops. And he stops hard.

Christopher isn’t buckled in so the sudden, sharp brake sends him forward. His head hits the windshield first and his body follows after. Everything in front of Noah shatters and his eyes finally drift to the priest who is, now, out of his car.

His body is slumped in the middle of the road and blood begins to pool around it.

Only one other soul is around as witness. Some old woman, sweeping outside of her shop. She stops to stare, lips pressed firm, and she shields her eyes from the sun with one of her hands. Her vision must be terrible because she carries on sweeping right after.

Noah, for the first time in his life, can’t wait to get back to the house.

All the lights look like they’re off and it’s later than it should be. Noah thought he went to Kiki’s at around noon but the sun is setting. It’s rays, weak as they are, still shine through the tree branches around the house. A flock of birds fly overhead.

He hurries inside, not bothering to take light steps now, he doesn’t care who he disturbs with his stomping or key jangling. He locks the handle and deadbolt and then leans against the door. His stress catches up to him and he feels like vomiting.

His churning stomach doesn’t subside but he walks away, pocketing his keys and looking around. There’s no sound coming from further in, like there usually is, and he hasn’t seen any movement either. It’s quite possible that both kids are just in their rooms, keeping to themselves, but there is no creaking over his head. Even small steps or movements make some sort of sound.

Noah climbs the stairs, unsure now.

He’s not been the kind of guardian that checks in on the children every few minutes or constantly asks what they’re up to but, in this case, he can’t be sure how long he’s been gone. It’s a bit different, he thinks, as he approaches Erin’s room.

It’s the closest to the stairs and to the bathroom.

Noah raps his knuckles against the wood and waits. His breath is still loud, he’s not quite got that under control yet. He swallows, hard, and tries again. This time, he adds, “Erin?” Maybe she has her headphones in.

He leans in, listening, and that’s when he hears a sound mimicking him. A big, gasp of air. But, then, it shifts. A sob. From her core, Erin belts out a wail and it rattles Noah. He wonders a lot, at once, and the thoughts don’t go in any proper order.

Is this his doing? Does she hear him? What is she crying about?

For any of that to be answered, Noah has to go inside. He’s not a fan of doing so unannounced but she won’t speak to him otherwise.

He turns the handle and pushes. It’s the squeal of the hinges that finally gets her attention. Too late, Erin wipes her tears away and sniffles.

“What?” she asks, trying to make her voice sound flat and unaffected.

Noah can’t get around it so he walks in and asks directly, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Erin, obviously, lies. She wipes her eyes again and, this time, it smears her makeup.

“If there’s something I can do, just tell me.” Noah hopes offering help will open her up some. Otherwise, he’s not sure what his best move is. He’s got his customer service playbook and, outside of that, there isn’t much else.

His niece shakes her head back and forth. “I’m fine. It’s stupid.”

“I won’t think it’s stupid if you tell me.”

Her eyes narrow, for a second, but then she wipes under her nose. She sniffles again and, afterward, she attempts to smooth her hair down. It isn’t, especially, out of sorts but it’s clear she’s been rolling around on her bed and crying for some time.

“I’m just, I guess, thinking about mom and dad.” Erin throws her hands up. “It’s like…I’m the only one that cares. Everyone just sees it as some freak accident but I actually, I dunno, feel sad? But not even all the time. Sometimes I don’t even think about it.”

“That’s normal.” He thinks so, anyway. “I lost my parents a while ago but it was complicated. I was numb some days. Sad others. And I didn’t even get along with them.”

Erin frowns and a new wave of tears come, no matter how much she tries to stop them. They roll down her cheeks and her skin reddens. “I didn’t get along with them either.”

It’s the first Noah has heard of the actual relationship between the kids and their parents. Since they’ve avoided the topic, altogether, he’s only had outsiders’ views to go off of. And, from the neighbors’ perspective, everything was peachy.

“I hated mom sometimes,” Erin continues, sobbing now. Her shoulders shake and her hair falls forward. A few strands stick to her tears. She has to really comb her fingers through her hair to get it to behave. “And now it’s like…maybe if I didn’t hate her and dad then they’d still be here. Or, I should have appreciated them more! It’s not like I’ll get another mom and dad but I just wasted them. I…God says to honor thy mother and father and I didn’t, so maybe this is my punishment. Maybe I’m really responsible for their deaths...”

“You’re not,” Noah doesn’t skip a beat. “You didn’t cause them to die because you hated them sometimes. If God punished children for that then many more people would be orphaned, don’t you think?”

She smears more of her makeup by wiping her whole palms against her eyes. Black streaks line her skin. “Well, sure but…!”

Noah can’t even remember the last time he had to console someone. It was probably a customer, upset over some change or recall in their favorite product. While it isn’t even comparable, Noah leans on that experience and he claps a hand over his niece’s shoulder.

“All you can do is cry until it’s all out. You’ll probably feel better.”

She doesn’t need the permission and just sobs from the bottom of her heart. She holds herself but Noah isn’t comfortable enough to attempt a hug. It’s unlikely she really wants one anyway. At least not from him.

As she blubbers, she vents out some more of her frustrations. Most have to do with her parents but, occasionally, Bryce slips in too.

“He doesn’t even understand that they’re dead. I don’t think so anyway or, if he does, he just doesn’t care. Every day he just plays his stupid games and I haven’t seen him cry over it once! Not even when it first happened and I sobbed for like an hour! He just sat there and picked at his nails!”

“Everyone handles things differently,” Noah came to his nephew’s defense. He was quite the same himself, when it came to handling heavy emotions. He tended not to or, at the very least, he responded in ways that didn’t correlate.

He could still recall getting angry over a classmate’s dead father.

They got to skip out on class for a month and their dad was out of their life. Noah thought they were so unbelievably lucky and he resented the fact he had a sign a card with his “sympathies” along with the rest of the class. He wasn’t sorry, he was furious but he couldn’t quite comprehend why.

It took another decade and a half for him to realize the cause of the misdirected rage and, far too late, the guilt and sorrow came.

“I get that,” Erin’s voice breaks him from his minor flashback. She rubs her hand under her nose and then sniffs. “But Bryce is too laid back, like he’s content or something. Or, I dunno, maybe he’s just so lost he can’t care about anything but himself.”

That word, in particular, makes Noah’s hand on her shoulder tense. He nearly lets go. “…What do you mean he’s lost?”

Erin shakes her head and then clicks her tongue, a flavor of irritation seeping in. “It’s stupid. He can’t think for himself. It’s like I’ll never see my brother again.”

Noah does take his hand off now. He circles around to face her. “What happened to Bryce? Where is he?”

“Who knows,” his niece says, letting out a long exhale. “Long gone, probably.”

[cinematicsoph]

valntyne • calum hood blurb

summary: it's your first valentines day in a relationship and you're super excited. however, everything that could go wrong - did. and your boyfriend doesn't even seem to remember it's valentines day…or does he?

warnings: swearing, super duper cheesy…like extremely cheesy

a/n: heyyyy how y'all doing? happy valntyne's day, lovers! i randomly got this idea listening to valentine and luckily Cal won the twitter poll bc i lowkey wanted him to win it all along oops lol. anyways (as always) thank you to my amazing editor and to you guys reading this! i hope you enjoy and that you had a great valentines day !

Copyright @ 2022 sophi_quimby. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format by anyone but me

 ✧ ˚ 　· 　　. 　　 · 　˚ ✧ ✧ ˚ 　· 　　. 　　 · 　˚ ✧✧ ˚ 　· 　. 　　 · 　˚ ✧

Today sucks. It has honestly been the worst day you’ve had in a long time. To make matters worse, it’s your first Valentine’s Day in a relationship and your boyfriend didn’t seem to remember or care.

   You and Calum have been dating for four months and things have been going great. You and the guys have been friends for so long but you always felt different about Calum. When he finally got the courage to ask you out, you were ecstatic. Now it’s Valentine’s Day and while you usually hate this holiday since you never got to fully experience it, you were looking forward to spending the day with your boyfriend. But Calum didn’t say anything about Valentine’s Day when he woke up, and then you got called into work at 6 am so you couldn’t even stay at home with him. Then you got a shit ton of work thrown at you, and you spilt your coffee on your outfit and important documents that needed to be sent out before you left. It seemed that everything that could go wrong, did. All you wanted to do was go home and curl up in a ball, never to leave again. You knew that by now Calum had left your house to go back to his own and you couldn’t tell if that made you feel better or worse. Part of you longed for his comforting cuddles. His body temperature always seeming warmer than normal and his tattoos were strangely calming to trace always made you feel better. But the other part of you desperately wanted to be alone. To go to the grocery store and buy whatever the hell you wanted, go home to change into your pajamas, and binge watch John Mulaney specials until the tears on your cheeks turned to ones of laughter. Unfortunately, you cannot have both.

   Work seemed to drag on, the end of your shift always seeming out of reach. Until finally, your boss walked into your office. “Y/N, you’ve been here for nearly 10 hours. Go home and enjoy the holiday with your boyfriend.”

   “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks” you said, ignoring her and continuing the last of your work.

   “Hey, I know I’m your boss. But I’d like to think that we’re friends too. I can tell when somethings wrong, Y/N. Did something happen between you and Calum?” She closes your door and sits down in the chair across from you. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

   You look up at her and the sympathetic look on her face made you tear up. “It’s just been such a shitty day, and it’s my first Valentine’s Day in a relationship, and my boyfriend doesn’t even seem to care. I woke up this morning hoping for at least a “Happy Valentine’s Day” from him. But I didn’t get anything. I got a “good morning” and then a phone call that I had to come in today. I just…I just want to go home and be alone,” you say choking up. You’re trying to keep the tears from falling and then you realize how much you just spilt to your boss. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to rant like that. I’m just so tired.”

   “It’s okay, Y/N. Why don’t you go treat yourself to some sweets and go home, okay? I’ll have one of the interns finish the last little bit of work.” You nod and gather your stuff. You quietly thank her and walk out your office door. As you’re walking to your car, you check your phone in hopes that Calum remembered what day it was and texted you. But there was nothing. No call, text, not even a tag on Instagram for a Valentine’s Day post. At this point, you don’t even want the sweets. You don’t want to walk through the store and see more people. So you head home, hoping for some quiet.

   After unlocking the door and walking in, you take off your shoes and notice a rose petal on the mat you keep your shoes on. Confused, you pick it up and look at it. Looking at the floor, you notice more rose petals. You being to grow more confused and decide to follow them out of curiosity. You follow them all the way upstairs to your bedroom. You see that they go under the closed door so you open it up. Your bedroom is covered in balloons and rose petals and sitting on your bed is your boyfriend, grinning like a mad man. He looks as handsome as ever in a suit and red tie, hold a giant teddy bear and a few boxes of chocolates.

   “Hey,” he says smiling even more (if that’s even possible).

   “Hi.” You say quietly, walking over to him. “What is all this?”

   “Well, I was hoping to spend Valentine’s Day with my favorite person ever, but they got called into work. And a little birdie may or may not have mentioned the terrible day you had. I didn’t forget about Valentine’s Day, love. I just really wanted to surprise you.” And that’s when the dam holding your tears back finally gives out. You sniffle and look at him. “Hey, it was not my intention to make you cry!” He sets the teddy bear and chocolates on your bed and walks over to you. He hugs you and lightly kisses your head.

   “You’re just…you’re so incredible and I just spent the work day angry at you because I thought you didn’t care about Valentine’s Day.” Your words are muffled by his shirt. “I’m so sorry, Cal.”

   “No, don’t apologize, love. I wanted to surprise you and I obviously didn’t think this through very well.” You shake your head and look up at him.

   “It’s perfect, thank you.” You peck his lips and he wipes your tears.

   He kisses your head again and for the first time—he says “I love you.” You swear you have never felt the way you are feeling right now. You face breaks out into a huge smile and you kiss him. Eventually you pull away for air, still smiling.

   “I love you too, Calum. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” You walk over to the box of chocolates and giggle when you see “will you be my valntyne?” written on the lid. “You’re such a dork.”

   “Yeah, but I’m your dork.” He smiles and hugs you from behind. “Now let’s go cuddle and watch John Mulaney.”

   “You read my mind.” You turn and kiss his nose.

   “There’s a horse loose in the hospital!” 

   After you change into comfier clothes, you and Cal are cuddled together on the couch with your favorite comedian on in the background. He brought all the snacks and treats to the living room and refused to eat any of it claiming “it’s for you, love.” He pulls you closer and lightly draws shapes on your back. As he does, you feel your eyes begin to feel heavy. The long day and tears finally caught up with you and exhaustion kicks in.

   “Love, you can take a nap. I know your day was rough,” he whispers and kisses your head. “You must be so tired.”

   “‘M fine, Cal. I wanna stay up with you.” Your eyes are closed and you are cuddled into his side as much as possible.

   “Go ahead and take a nap, love. I’ll be fine. I can carry you to bed if you want.” You nod, already half asleep. He picks you up and brings you back to your room. He lays you down on the bed and kisses your head. He starts to walk to the door

   “Stay,” you say. You grab his wrist to stop him from walking away from you. “Please, Cal.” You look up at him as he smiles and nods. He takes his jeans and shirt off then lays next to you. Your legs end up tangled together, his arms wrap around your body pulling you as close to his chest as possible. He rubs your back and kisses your head every once and a while.

   “I love you so much,” he whispers. Since he said it the first time, he hasn’t stopped. While watching the special, he would look at you when you were laughing and say it. You would say it back, obviously. He must’ve thought you had fallen asleep, but you were still slightly awake. “God, how did I get so lucky. I don’t deserve you, love. I really don’t.”

   “Cheesy fucker,” you say with a sleepy giggle. You open your eyes and look up at him.

   “I thought you were asleep!” He laughs, but is clearly embarrassed.

   “I am! I am, keep going.” You quickly close your eyes again with a wide smile on you face.

   “Yeah, no. I’m not going to make that ego of yours any bigger.” You both laugh and he kisses your head. “Just go back to sleep, bub. We can go back to watching John Mulaney specials and eating our weight in chocolate when you wake up.” You nod and look up at him. You kiss his nose and cuddle back into his side. “I love you.”

   “I love you too, Cal.” You smile and close your eyes again. Before falling asleep again you remembered something. “You are gonna clean up the rose petals…right?”

[twinkleimagines]

* Don’t be jealous princess*

You and Drew have been dating for over a year now, you had actually gotten together right after Chase and Maddie has. Usually you weren’t the jealous type but when you noticed that your boyfriend spent more time with Your shared friend Maddie than he did with you it had started to bother you.

“ hey chase” you spoke as you saw your friend and coworker from the show OBX’s face pop up on your screen.

“ howdie y/n what’s up?” He responded running his hands through his hair fluffing it out.

“ howdie howdie” you responded smiling down at your phone. “ I was gonna go live later this afternoon on the obx page and I was gonna see if you and Maddie wanted to join me at some point” you responded , flopping down on your sofa.

“ uhm duh” he beamed out.

“ awesome “ you responded nodding your head . “ where is Maddie ?”

“ oh she’s at Drew’s” you sat still for a Monet, your brows furrowing together.

“ huh” you responded, a frown placing on your face. “ that’s funny” you responded. It was really to yourself but Chase heard you.

“ what?” He asked getting curious himself.

“ Drew hasn’t talked to me all day” you responded softly, the expression showing clear on your face.

“ oh” was all chase could say, not really knowing what to say.

“ does it not bother you?”

“ what?”

“ they’re Always together Chase. “ you responded. Chase sighed heavily looking out one of his bedroom windows , thinking how to respond to your statement .

“ well, we’re all so close . The whole group. And they live in the same apartment complex. I’m also always busy so I can’t be around as much. “ you nodded slightly agreeing with him.

“ but” chases interrupted causing you to look back up at the phone. “ Drew could at least tell you he’s with her. If Maddie didn’t tell me and didn’t text me all day that would definitely have me worrying. “

“ I know! I feel like all day I’m fighting for his attention and they’re always together. It use to not bother me but when I’m waiting until the end of the day to hear from Drew just to find out he’s been with her all day is beyond annoying”. Chase nodded sighing heavily. You could tell by what all you were saying was starting to cause a concern for him as well.

“ I’m sorry chase I just-“

“ no no I get it y/n I do” he responded . “ I don’t personally think there is anything going on between the two of them but I would talk with Drew just to clear up and confusion and stuff” he suggested . You both spoke for another 30 minutes before hanging up. You sighed before attempting to call Drew, his phone going straight to voicemail which only angered you. You sighed with frustration as you dialed maddies number, pressing speaker as you waited for her to answer.

“ hey y/n” she responded with her bubbly voice.

“ hey” you responded kind of stern. It was honestly harder than you thought it would be to hide the envious of her being with your boyfriend .

“ what’s up you okay?” She asked , noticing the tone in your voice.

“ yeah” you responded, hardly convincing. “ where’s Drew?” You asked .

“ hold on” she said her tone lowering .

“ here Drew, it’s y/n” she said . You could hear her say in the back ground ‘ I think she’s upset’ before you heard Drew answer.

“ hey princess” he responded. You frowned, you were so happy to hear his voice but you wanted to be with him so bad and you hated how you were feeling jealous over his friendship with Maddie.

“ hey babe” you sighed out. “ what are you doing?”

“ I brought Maddie some of mommas casserole and then we’ve been playing board games. What are you up to princess ?” You rolled your eyes of the image of Drew and Maddie playing board games but quickly shook your head pushing those angered thoughts away.

“ well…. I was waiting on you” you replied softly, messing with the strings on your pajama shorts .

“ waiting on me?” He responded . You scoffed slightly. Of course he’d forget.

“ my OBX live is within the next hour, you were going to come over remember ? “ you exclaimed.

“ ahh… shit princess I’m sorry my phones been dead so I hadn’t even paid attention to the time. I’ll come over” he said moving around.

“ No no it’s okay, you won’t get here in time anyways..” there was a moment of silence between the two of you before Drew spoke up excitedly.

“ you can just add me and Maddie to your live!” He suggested excitedly . You pushed your lips together in frustration, squinting your eyes In anger.

“ yeah sure ok” you responded without much enthusiasm but Drew hadn’t caught on.

“ awesome princess I’ll charge my phone okay I love you “ he said .

“ I love you too” you said before hanging up.

“ ughhh” you groaned before throwing yourself back against your couch.

****

“ okay thanks chase we’re gonna bring Maddie and Drew on next ! “ you said into your phone. You had been on Instagram live with chase for a good 45 minutes , answering wild questions from the fans , waiting for Drew to text you that they were ready to come in the live .

“ okay love you y/n bye guys!” Chase said before ending his side of the chat.

“ okay let’s get Drew and Maddie on” you said quietly before biting your bottom lip as you searched Drew’s name in the view list .

“There they are!” You beamed before clicking Drew’s name .

“ hiiiiii!” Maddie said excitedly waving into the camera. Drew was sitting next to her on her couch, waving into the camera. You could feel the jealously pooling back through but this time you really had to hide it since over 20k people were watching . You had only been 5 minutes into it with Drew and Maddie when you started noticing comments from the views mentioning how it was weird that Drew was with Maddie and not you. You had even seen one comment

‘DREW- why are you not with your GF????’

You watched Madelyns face to see if she would notice the comments too and you could tell she had seeing as her smile went away. The live didn’t last much longer considering most the comments were nothing but shaming Drew and Madelyn for being together and not with you or Chase. It blew your mind since the fans never really pointed it out when it was chase on live with them but when it was you it was like that’s all they could speak on.

***

You were awoken from your nap to the sound of your doorbell ringing, your living room dark as it was night time.

“ coming” you said pulling one of Drews t-shirt down that he had left over at your house.

“ hey princess “ Drew said as you opened the door, a set of flowers. You were honestly very excited to see him, but being annoyed as to how much he’s being leaving your out for Madelyn was over powering your excitement.

“ thanks” you mumbled while grabbing the bouquet of flowers before stepping out of the door way letting him in.

“ I’m sorry I’m sent here for the live but I figured movie night can make up for it “ he said, his tall figure slouching down pecking your cheek.

“ sure” you answered walking towards your kitchen, grabbing a glass of water.

“ comedy? Horror?” Drew questioned following behind you. You sighed as you felt his large hands wrap around your waste, “ romance” he said seductively in your ear. You pushed his hands away stepping away from him.

“ Drew stop” you said walking towards your counter, pushing your hair behind your hair.

“ princess what’s wrong?” He asked, genuinely concerned. You furrowed your eyebrows, almost in anger at the fact he was being so clueless to it all.

“ really drew?” You responded . You really didn’t want to be one of those toxic controlling girlfriends, but you knew if you didn’t bring it to attention it was going to honestly eat you alive.

“Y/n what’s wrong?” He stated straight into his figure up looking at you with confusion.

“ ugh” you scoffed, throwing your hands up. “ isn’t it obvious?” Drew just looked at you dumbfounded and completely lost.

“ I miss my boyfriend “ you stated , leaning back against the counter , looking down at the floor.

“ what? Princess what are you talking about?” He said walking towards you.

“ we’ll drew, we’ve been together for over a year and yet you’re with Madelyn more than you are with me. And it’s becoming like an excessive amount.” You stated, pushing your hair back. He chuckled slightly, shaking his head.

“ are you fucking laughing ?” You scolded pushing yourself up off the counter .

“ yes I am “ he stated crossing his arms as he propped himself against the counter next to you. “ are you jealous?” He replied in a mocking tone, clearly amused. You went to speak but nothing coming out as you didn’t know how to respond.

“ don’t be jealous princess”

You rolled your eyes before brushing past him, purposely brushing your shoulder into his bicep since his figured towered over you. “ whatever Drew don’t take me serious then” you spatted out before flopping down on your couch , pulling your phone out.

“ princess I do take you serious” he said before standing in front of you , looking down at you. “ it’s just you’re so cute when you’re jealous, especially when you have nothing to be jealous about” he replied before grabbing your hands, pulling you up to stand with him. “ all of us are just such close friends, and Madelyn lives below me so we’re just closest to eachother when we need company. There’s nothing going on between us princess you never have to worry about that” you looked over looking around in your kitchen, not wanting to look him in the eyes.

“ I don’t mean to be jealous” you said still not making Eye contact. “ but when my boyfriend is with another girl s day and can’t even call me or text me at all the whole day… kind of hard to not question things. “ he sighed heavily nodding.

“ yeah honestly that was kind of shitty of me. I got lost in time and I had my phone up and - it doesn’t matter. I’ll do better princess. “ he said before leaning down to kiss your lips. You sighed with relief into the kiss, wrapping your arms tightly around his abdomen, pulling his muscular figure against yours. You giggled as he moved his lips from your cheek down to your neck , and then back up again to peck a quick one on the tip of your nose.

“ so” he said , holding your face in his hands. “ comedy, horror, or romance?” He asked again, with a big smirk playing on his face. You shrugged knowing the smile he was giving meant you guys weren’t going to make it through the movie anyways.

“ what ever “ you responded staring at his plump bottom lip, fantasizing about pressing against it once again.

“ whatever” he mocked before leaning down again to kiss you, this time his hands landing on your bottom, giving it a squeeze.

~~~~~~~~

❤️❤️ feed back much appreciated ❤️❤️

[airi-p4]

The weekend Project - Ch 2

Chapter 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7  __________________________________________

Summary

At school, Marinette has no friends in her class other than Alya. With the idea of making students interact more and out of their usual groups of friends, Ms. Bustier assigns her students to a school project that requires spending a weekend with another student of her choice. What Marinette didn't know was how this project with her partner Juleka was going to change her life.

__________________________________

AO3

__________________________________

Chapter 2: First weekend at the Dupain-Cheng’s

By the first day of the project, Marinette was nervous. Juleka came by on Friday evening to her family's bakery, with a bag with some clothes and other personal belongings. It was awkward between them: they had never talked before, and whenever Marinette tried to start a conversation, Juleka didn't answer or mumbled something too low and incomprehensible. They finished their homework first at Marinette's suggestion. Silence reignited the whole time and the awkwardness only ended later, when Marinette's parents called them to eat dinner.

Marinette's parents weren't successful either in making the taller girl talk much, but at least she answered a few questions. Marinette's mother noticed she was a bit of a picky eater, and was touched by how she worked hard to eat despite her apparent dislike for some of the dishes. She offered to cook her something different and Juleka finally accepted after insisting for a while.

Things didn't get much better after dinner. They decided to watch a movie together, with the whole family, but Juleka didn't seem very interested in it either.

They went to sleep fairly early.

Probably, the best part of the day had been when Marinette complimented Juleka's pajamas and she let her dry and brush and braid her long hair. "It's so long and beautiful!" Marinette was happy to see Juleka blush and smile a little at her words.

Maybe, it wasn't that bad. And she had something to add to that list now! Tomorrow was going to be another day…

…Or so she thought, but communication with Juleka didn't improve much during the weekend. They helped Marinette's parents at the bakery during the morning. Marinette had been with her mom by the counter, but Juleka had been too shy and preferred to stay behind, helping her dad instead. The picnic they went to in the afternoon didn't go especially well, either. Juleka had been glued to her phone and, seeing how it was impossible to keep a conversation with her, Marinette had focused on drawing instead. Juleka was beautiful, though. She made a great model. Another good point to add to the list.

The last day, Marinette tried to be more assertive.

"Hey, Juleka! Wanna play video games? Watch a movie? Go to the park? Shopping?"

Juleka only shrugged and mumbled something the baker's daughter still couldn't understand. "Whatever you want," she had said.

Defeated, Marinette resigned.

She knew Juleka wasn't a bad girl, but how could she work on that project if they couldn't communicate? If she wasn't willing to open up and talk to her despite trying…?

She must have said it out loud because Juleka mumbled something that sounded like an "I'm sorry." But that could have been her imagination.

Sabine Cheng saved the day by offering to do some yoga classes and tea, and when Tom Dupain started a video games tournament. Marinette could almost swear there was a tiny smile on Juleka's lips the moment her father danced celebrating his victory.

And the first weekend ended. Just like that. Without anything relevant to add to the school project.

_________

"Hey, Marinette! How did it go with Juleka?" Alya asked, linking her arm to her best friend's, on the next day.

"It was impossible, Alya…" Marinette sighed. "Juleka is too quiet and wouldn't even speak for the whole weekend. This project is going to be a disaster for me! And I still have to spend the next weekend at her house! I have no idea of what's going to happen. I don't know what to do anymore! I'm so unlucky!" She leaned on her best friend's shoulder.

"You're going to be okay, you'll see." Her best friend patted her back. "You're Marinette! You don't give up easily and always find a solution to any problem!"

"I'm not so sure about it… as things are going this time…" She shrugged. "How about you Alya? How are things going with Sabrina?"

"Oh, girl! You're not going to believe it but it's actually cool! Her dad's stories as a policeman are unbelievable! I think I'm going to make a post on my blog about them. It's going better than I expected!"

"Good for you…" Marinette groaned.

"Oh, c'mon, girl! Cheer up!" Alya elbowed her, but she still faced down. "Hey Marinette," Alya continued, with a smile. "Did you know Juleka lives on a boat moored by the Seine?"  

"...what?"