#i have no idea who april is but PLEASE send that other ask i wanna read it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

softxsuki · 2 months ago

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FANFIC/FANART CONTEST (Money Prize)

!!!!BEFORE CONTINUING: For my U.S participants, please make sure you have Venmo or Cashapp. And for anyone outside the U.S make sure you have PayPal. That is the ONLY way I'll be able to send the prize money if you win, and I will NOT be using PayPal for an U.S winners (bc i need to pay a fee to send money with paypal and I'd rather not ).!!!!!

With that settled, hey! This is something I’ve been wanting to do for a while now, but every year has been a little tight for me with my own holiday spendings and student loans I have to pay back, but I wanted a chance to give back to you guys for all your support, and what better way than through a little contest?

I’ve been writing on tumblr since April 2021??? I’ve put out a lot of writing for you guys, despite my horrible writing schedule and terrible deadlines I never meet. I’ve loved every minute of it and have enjoyed talking to some of you ❤️

Perhaps you've been around for a long time, or you just followed me yesterday, ooooor maybe you're finding my blog through this post, if so, welcome! I write fanfics for anime and otome games (used to write for kpop as well, but I don't anymore). If that sounds like something you like, then you're in the right place!

What do you need to do to join?:

Write either a fanfic or draw fanart to enter and get the chance to win money :). It’s the holidays season, and while I can’t give out much, I want to give something. I’ll be picking 4 winners-- 2 for fanfics and 2 for fanart. First place winners for each will get $50 and second place winners will get $25.

How to Enter:

You must be following me

For U.S participants, you must have Cash app or Venmo, and if you live outside the U.S, you must have PayPal! (if you don't and you win, you won't be able to receive your prize money!)

Choose whether you want to write a fanfic or draw fanart (only pick one. And you can only submit once)

Tag me in your completed work and add the hashtag #hanscontest2024 along with any other hashtags you want to get your work out there (this is how I'll find your work if your tag gets lost in my notifications)

Add in your Cash app or Venmo ID to the bottom of your work (you can delete this once the contest is over if you want, just wanna make sure people who enter actually have one) Participants outside the U.S who will be using PayPal, I won't ask you to put your private info on here, but just please make sure you have one. And instead, just state which country you're from so I know you're an international participant! Thanks

Rules/Guidelines for Each Topic:

Fanfic Writers:

Your fics must be a minimum of 1k words, I don’t have a maximum, but I’d feel bad if you wrote a whole fic and didn’t win…but length doesn’t determine who wins, quality does!

You MUST pick a character from the list below. I’ve added fandoms and characters that I personally don’t write for as well, but enjoy (since I’ll be reading all of these, I’d like to read things for characters I like!)

Fem!Reader or Gn!Reader only please (Again, I’ll be spending time reading these and as a woman, I’d relate more to reader if I can relate to them. But if you have a male reader in mind, you can still enter, just write it gender neutral please!)

I am a SFW blog, but I’ll be accepting slightly NSFW submissions for this contest. Just please no straight up porn with no plot. I need plot to actually get into a story :(

Idea’s must be your own and must be new and written specifically for this contest! No plagiarizing, and no fics that you’ve already written and posted online or you’ll be disqualified

No non-con/rape, no incest, no poly, no character x character, no drugs (alcohol and smoking are fine, just no weed, no other drugs pls), no religion mocking, no racism, no hateful speech towards any group of ppl pls

Only one submission per person (I’ll be able to tell through writing style or if you make another account to join again and you’ll be disqualified)

That’s about it. As for grammar, I have a hard time reading things that don’t flow well or have grammar mistakes. SOOOO for my younger writers out there who don’t know some grammar rules, or maybe even my writers who don’t have English as a first language, or maybe even writers who’d like a proofreader, I’m willing to read through your drafts to correct any minor grammar mistakes. I won’t be helping with anything else, like how to progress your story, or plot holes or anything like that, only grammar. My editing help will not increase your chances of winning either or guarantee you to win.

For Fanart:

Like the writers, you must pick a character from the list below

Artwork can be physical or digital, just no AI artwork please, or you’ll be disqualified

Can be any medium; digital, drawing, painting, etc—just make sure it’s complete. Preferably some color would be great as well, unless you’ve chosen an artistic route to not use color

Just characters please, no readers. And no ships…you can choose several characters from the list and incorporate them into one piece, but just no romantic ship artwork plssss

Must be your own work and new! I’ll be reverse searching every image to make sure it doesn't already exist

Each image must have a little turtle in it somewhere in the artwork (just as an indicator that it’s really yours. Why turtles? Because I love them heh)

I’ll allow suggestive artwork, just please don’t send in anything explicit (you know what I mean)

Some more general rules:

Please make sure you’ve read and understand all the rules written. If you submit something that breaks one of these rules, you’ll be disqualified. So if you have any questions or need anything clarified, just ask me :)

If you’re a minor, please don’t send in NSFW content, I’ll disqualify you. Also I'm leaving this open to all ages, just know you won't be able to use the prize money or receive it if you don't have a bank account...so I guess that would be 16 and up? Idk what the age is to start your own bank acc lol

NO AI ART WORK OR WRITING ALLOWED. This is your chance to be creative and showcase you, in whichever way you decide

NO Stealing other people’s work…just don’t do it

Please don’t trauma dump on me, or beg me to choose you as the winner. I know there are people out there who would really need this money and who are struggling. I feel for you all, but I can’t afford to send everyone money. I can’t handle hearing how badly everyone needs this…my guilt won’t be able to handle it. I’ll disqualify you if you do, if many people do it, I’ll end the contest entirely. This is supposed to be fun with the added benefit of winning some money for yourself if you win

The creative freedom is yours! Write whatever you want to write about, make it unique, grab my attention. Draw/paint/create whatever you want with whatever ideas you have; whether it’s turning Bakugou into a boxer, or making Zoro a girl dad, the possibilities are endless. I want everyone to have fun with this!

Again, US participants must have cash app or Venmo and participants outside of the US must have PayPal! If you don’t then you won’t be able to receive the prize money if you win!

Deadline: December 22th @11:59pm

Please let me know if you have any questions about anything. Again, grammar editing can be requested. I’ll be going over only grammar. I won’t be giving you advice on how to write your story or how to advance your story/plot holes or things I don’t like. Only grammar! If you want to run your story idea or art idea by me first to make sure it’s acceptable, you can do that as well. I’ll be around :)

I was thinking over how to choose the winner. At first I was going to do a poll, but I realized it would be biased towards users who have more followers than others. So I will be choosing the winners myself. Looking at fine details and works that really speak to ME, hence why I’ve chosen specific characters.

Not sure how much attention this will get or how many people will enter, for all I know, only two people might enter and the money will go straight to them, or no one might enter…so this is a test trial. If no one joins, I shall delete and pretend like it never happened. But if it’s successful, then maybe I’ll make it a yearly thing! Giving back for the holidays :) <3

Good luck and hope you all have fun with this!

List of Characters to Choose From:

Honkai Star Rail: | Blade | Dan Heng | Jing Yuan |

Wuthering Waves: | Calcahoro | Jiyan |

Yona of the Dawn: | Hak | Jaeha | Shinah |

Attack On Titan: | Eren | Levi | Niccolo |

Naruto: | Itachi | Kakashi | Sasuke |

Mystic Messenger: | Jumin | Saeyoung |

Spy x Family: | Loid | Yuri |

Inuyasha: | Sesshomaru |

Snow White with the Red Hair: | Obi |

Good Luck <3

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danilovefest · 9 months ago

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DANI LOVE FEST 2024

WHAT IS DANI LOVE FEST

just a few days ago I was once again desperately looking for Dani content on here but it was woefully difficult....and since (hopefully) a Dani wildcard in Jerez at the end of april is very likely, I thought it would be fun to organise a little event to dig up as much Dani content as possible so that everybody looking for Dani content in the future can find loads of it here :) and maybe it'll even inspire some new fans!

HOW CAN YOU TAKE PART

MAKING POSTS: your post can be anything - videos, pictures, text posts, fics, articles - translated interviews or articles, web weaves - whatever your heart desires! just tag your post with #danilovefest or #danilovefest2024 to be featured on this blog OR you can send it directly as a submission to this blog (re: sources - please if possible include your sources/credits!)

SHARING POSTS: not all posts have to be new!! this event is all about sharing dani content, gathering it all in this neat little pile for us all to play in!! a lot of you definitely have a LOT more insight and archives of all the posts on motogpblr through the years. so please, dig up your favourite posts and let us enjoy them once again!! you can send posts via ask or send me a dm on my main @whoregaylorenzo so I can reblog it here!

ASKS: if you have any suggestions or spontaneous prompts - or you just wanna submit a fun pic without making a post - you can hop into our asks and talk to Dani! try it :)

TAGGING SYSTEM

I will try my best to make this blog SUPER organised so it can exist as a sort of dani archive for years to come <3 this list will be edited/added on to as I add new tags

media type: pictures, gifs, video, text post, links, web weave, art, mixed

theme:

year:

place:

others featured: marc, jorge, vale, ....

#rpf content

We will use tw injury/tw crash (re injury day) and #nsfw for explicit posts (re danifucker day)

THEMES (click on the links to access the tag):

this following list includes themes/prompts for all the days BUT of course we only want to give you ideas, you are not limited to these/nor are they limited to these days, you can post anything any day as long as it's Dani!

10.04. baby Dani

11.04. 125cc days

12.04. 250cc days

13.04. random Dani facts day

14.04. team tiny day

15.04. Dani's smile

16.04. injury day (you all made me!! ._.)

17.04. his gray hair streak

18.04. Dani ventures outside of motogp (windsurfing, cycling, his childrens book, car racing etc)

19.04. danifucker day (18+)

20.04. Pedrenzo day

21.04. Danis special riding style/ability to give feedback (gifs/videos/pics of riding, ppl describing his riding style etc)

22.04. Dani's relationship with other riders

23.04. after motogp/ktm days (various wildcards, reception and emotions coming back etc)

24.04. favorite helmet

25.04. favorite podium/win(s)

26.04. Dani at jerez through the years

27-28. give me all you got (ANY fav dani content at all) - also open for the hopefully new content that weekend

I hope you all have SOOO much fun, we certainly had fun planning and scheming and are SO excited to share the dani love with you!! - fran (@racewinnerbatmav) and dante (@marquezian)

"It's easy to base success on results, but I think that concept is mistaken. Above all, what is most satisfying is how I will remember all of those fans, all of the people who encouraged me, who supported me during my moments, good and bad, and who often kept me from throwing in the towel." - Dani Pedrosa

#danilovefest #danilovefest2024 #dani pedrosa #motogp

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ohcaptains · 2 years ago

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leah's 12k blurb night<3

hi all, so this happened the other day!!! holy shit!! thank you to all you lovely lovely people who have followed me and stuck by me over the past year (or two? or three?) & to those newer followers too. words, ironically, elude me. thank you for always being so kind and encouraging about my fics<3 love u all lots and lots.

in celebration, I thought i'd host another blurb night. this'll be similar to my other blurb nights, so if u wanna join, just send in a little blurb idea and I'll see what i can come up with<;3

blurb night will begin Friday 14th April at 6pm BST, but you’re more than welcome to send in ideas before then.

rules & characters i'll be writing for are under the cut !

pls keep requests short and sweet<3 they can even be a small idea that you want me to briefly expand on. they can be smut, fluff or angst, but i will not be able to fill them all, so please don’t be disappointed if i don’t fill yours<3

i'm sticking to only w|w fics this time around.

tlou

abby anderson ellie williams

arcane

sevika vi

a league of their own

jess mccready lupe garcia

marvel

kate bishop

if someone isn't on this list and u want me to write for them, please send me an ask and I'll have a think.

okay bye mwah<3

#12k blurb night #blurb night april 2023 #abby anderson #ellie williams #sevika #violet arcane #kate bishop #jess mccready #lupe garcia

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vgilantee · 2 years ago

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vgilantee's 800 follower celebration

this was originally going to be a celebration for my 22nd birthday, but y'all instead decided to follow me and my chaos, and now it's an 800 follower celebration instead. a couple of these i did steal from sav's 1k celebration, but in my defence they were very good ideas and i adore her

(i will still be doing a birthday celebration on my brain in mid-april if you wanna participate in that one too, and my birthday will fall in the middle of this one)

this will be running from the 27th of march to the 23rd of april, so it'l l be a 4 week long event! asks can be sent in prior, but won't be answered until the celebration begins!

solar flares ~ question time. cast your mutuals, fmk, this or that, would you rather, etc. these can be on any topic/fandom and the etc really covers any ask game!

supernova ~ top 3. give me a topic! any topic! and i will list my top three things within it

saturn's rings ~ playlist shuffle/song association. send me a character and i will tell you what three songs i associate with them!

nebula ~ rank it. send a character and i'll rank them on the scale {who? || not my type || totally fucks || um, yes || crushed || crushing || love of my life} or send me a fandom/aesthetic and i'll rank them on the scale {no, never || not a fan || it's okay || can get behind || like it || love it || absolute favourite}

constellations ~ moodboards. send me a character from my masterlist and a trope or aesthetic, and i'll make a moodboard

spiral galaxy ~ ship. send a small paragraph about yourself and one of the fandoms listed in my masterlist (preferably Avatar, Bridgerton, DC/DCEU, MCU, Scream V/VI, and Star Wars: The Clone Wars, but that being said, it can indeed be any) for a ship (i'm also open to do ships from stranger things even though i haven't written for it yet). please specify your preferred gender. the characters that can be ship results may not be ones that i've written for

black hole ~ mini blurb. send me a concept or thought for any characters within the fandoms in my masterlist and i'll expand on it in a blurb! (can be sfw or nsfw)

the t's and c's (and other important notes):

i will check for minors requesting and interacting with nsfw posts.

i don't have to have the character listed in a masterlist for you to send asks for them! just as long as they are in one of the fandoms i write for. that being said, you can always send an ask for another fandom that isn't listed, because i will likely write for it and just haven't yet!

moodboards and ships may take a little longer to get out, especially with uni happening, but i will do my best to get them done decently quickly!

when typing spiral galaxy, my brain started playing "privately owned spiral galaxy" by crywank but covered by lovejoy. you should listen to both versions.

tagging mutuals (who are undoubtedly sick of me /lh): @wanturvideo @websterss @jangofctts. and new moot @astrxq!

(i made the banner before i decided on a theme for the headings, and i ended up doing space themed but it's too little too late to change the banner because i'm lazy lmao)

all asks related to this celebration can be seen in the first tag!

#˚:✧｡• vgilantee 800 cele #char chatter ~✧

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hoe-doroki · 4 years ago

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steel and lace

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, anal play, sex toys, voyeuristic fantasy, scratching, creampie

pairing: bakugou x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k

summary: The only one who manages to get Bakugou’s birthday right is you.

a/n: This is my addition to the Bakugou Birthday Bash collab (masterlist). Many thanks to @lady-bakuhoe for helping me flesh out the ideas with this story!! You were integral to this idea, love! And additional thanks to @whats-her-quirk and @therealvalkyrie for beta reading <333

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Bakugou never took work off on his birthday.

Never. Why would he? Villains didn’t give a shit that this was the day the old hag had unceremoniously had him evacuated into a hospital room however many years ago. They didn’t give a shit that his friends—who were also heroes who should be fucking working, by the way—wanna come over to his house and surprise him. As though his reconnaissance-trained ears weren’t as fucking fine tuned at hearing idiots on the other side of the door as theirs.

What villains should care about was that he was a year older, wiser, and fucking stronger, and he was going to kick all their asses. That was what he told all his idiot friends every year when they asked him if he was going to take off work.

Every year he regretted it.

The idiots he works with really must not care about hero work, because every year they want to send him out on a field post sugar crash from some store-bought cake with his name on it. Or buy him gifts that he’ll probably toss in the trash on the way home. He’s not being rude; he just doesn’t need junk that he never would have bought himself in the first place.

Everyone is always grinning at him, wishing him a happy birthday—as though he’s any goddamn happier to see their ugly mugs flapping their lips at him—and trying to start stupid-ass conversations. If he doesn’t like small talk normally, why would he want it on his birthday?

And the singing.

If people really wanted to wish him a happy birthday, they’d find a way to do it silently while doing some respectable fucking hero work. Make his day easier.

But no, none of that was what happened. So he should have just stayed home. Let the villains have a fucking field day on April 20th, and he could have his real gift killing them all tomorrow on the 21st.

But, unfortunately, he was a dumbass and had gone to work anyway, like he’d learned nothing from the last many years of antics. And the continued antics had got him a little pissy. And when he was pissed off, his heart rate increased, his breathing grew heavier, and, of course, he sweat.

Well. Guess what happened?

“Bakugou, I am currently paying to treat burns and fractures on three villains. Care to explain?”

Best Jeanist was sitting in his office chair, blinding sunlight streaming in behind him. Late afternoon sun—darker in color but way more resentful towards human eyes, apparently. It was reflecting off of all of the neighboring glass corporate buildings, making Bakugou squint behind his mask.

Bakugou shrugged, petulant as he stood behind his chair instead of sitting in it. “Overkill.”

Best Jeanist nodded. “Did you…lose control?”

“Tch,” Bakugou scoffed. As if he ever lost control. “Villains were weaker than I thought.”

Bakugou felt the stare of that one fucking eye and stood firm. He knew he was looking at a suspension, hopefully just for a day or two. It wasn’t like he’d done anything terrible. Villains got hurt sometimes, just like pros did, and they got their care and then they got their justice. It’s not like Bakugou was violent on purpose. Anymore. And Jeanist sure as hell knew that, so it wouldn’t take Bakugou off the field for more than a slap on the wrist. He probably wouldn’t even be technically suspended. Just chained by the fucking dick to his desk with some paperwork.

“Just…” Bakugou braced for it, narrowing his eyes but keeping his snarl to a minimum. “Just be more careful next time. Shower and go home—see you tomorrow.”

Bakugou’s jaw dropped. He closed it quickly, trying not to look like Dunce Face in front of his boss, but in all that was real and true what? He was just about to say something—he didn’t know what, probably something insubordinate—when Best Jeanist took out his own paperwork and waved him away.

“Happy birthday, Bakugou.”

Oh. So that was it.

Bakugou grit his teeth. Happy fucking birthday indeed.

It was nothing. His brain told him over and over again that it was fucking nothing. He hadn’t been punished, he hadn’t even really done anything wrong; he just hadn’t been squeaky clean up to fucking code. He could still show up for work tomorrow, business as usual. He should be tickled fucking pink.

But he wasn’t. Special treatment for being the birthday boy? What was he? Five years old and given a pass after stealing the chicken nuggets off Deku’s plate? Jesus Christ.

And if he was honest, he was mostly pissed at himself. Sure, he could blame how the weather always seemed to sprint from spring to summer around his birthday every year, strengthening his quirk. He could blame the villains for being weak enough that they had no business even stepping foot in his neighborhood. But losing control of his quirk even a little—and it had been a little—was fucking amateur and he’d have to pencil in some extra time at the gym. Maybe snatch Shitty Hair for some sparring, and, unfortunately, probably nab an extra therapy session and talk about this anger thing again.

At least walking instead of sitting on that stifling, crowded train car was doing him some good. Let him cool off a bit before he got home and you saw that something was wrong. He was nearly entirely relaxed by the time he got to his building’s lobby, even having the grace to nod at the concierge—who didn’t know it was his birthday, thank God—before heading up the elevator.

When he got off on his floor, it suddenly occurred to him that you might have done something truly repulsive, like inviting his friends over. He could imagine Shitty Hair’s shitty fucking hair sticking up from behind your sofa as he tried to hide before leaping up and yelling surprise.

Well, if that was the case, then the surprise was going to be him kicking all his dumb friends out of the apartment with one foot. Ain’t no way he was going to host a party on his birthday.

It turned out his worry was for nothing, though, because when he turned the knob—fully braced to punch out some teeth with his other hand—he was greeted with a totally bare apartment.

Like barren.

For starters, it was perfectly clean. Bakugou kept a tidy house normally, but this was certainly cleaner than he’d left it this morning. But more than that, there was nothing extra lying around. No stupid friends. No presents. No cake or even the smell of one. It was almost disconcerting.

No, it was a relief. A relief because he didn’t want any of that stuff. He’d had the slice of cake at work—and was slightly hangry now to show for it—and wasn’t interested in having another. And even though you’d choose better gifts than the extras at work would, it was nothing he couldn’t buy himself. So no, this was perfect. He was absolutely not disappointed. Maybe a bit confused. But not disappointed.

He took his shoes off and set his things on the small table by the door. Then he wandered into the kitchen, downed some water, and thought about what he might make for dinner. He might have expected that you and he would make dinner together or maybe even that you would have surprised him with something, but he didn’t mind doing it alone. It wasn’t like he’d learned to cook just to find a housewife someday to con into doing it all for him.

He decided to go to the bedroom first to plug in his phone. He was just sliding it out of his pocket when he opened the door, saw you, and stopped short.

You were on the bed—not in bed, but on it—wearing a black zip up with his signature orange x over the chest. You were on your knees with your legs spread wide, looking him dead in the eye with a deadly smirk on your face, painted in bright lipstick.

“New prototype. You like?”

The two of you had met when you were scouted from his parents’ business to design the clothing for his first merchandise line. He’d sworn off dating you from the beginning, because the last thing he wanted was to give the old hag anything to say about, firstly, her being at all responsible for finding him a girlfriend or secondly, the fact that dating a fashion designer would mean he was dating his parents. He’d said fuck that to anyone who would listen.

But you’d gotten his brain from the beginning. Your designs were all sick from the sketch to mock up to the prototypes you always wore for him. Maybe he was a simple man for falling for a girl dressed in his colors, aiming to please him, but fuck it. You were talented, too smart for your own good, and pretty as hell.

So what? Now he had a dream girlfriend and one more reason to fight with his mom. Net positive for sure.

Still, that jacket wasn’t a prototype. That was from his first official line, no doubt, and he’d seen you wear it hundreds of times. He knew from here how much it would smell like detergent and how much like you.

You caught his eyes, raised your brows once, and then pulled the zip on the sweatshirt.

Underneath was nothing but lace and ribbon, contrasting the black and orange of the sweatshirt with moss green outlining your silhouette. The moss green from his gauntlets and his belt was caged around you in the thinnest strips of fabric, scraps of floral barely covering your breasts and pussy. The lingerie was an all-in-one, with the tiny bra connected to the panties by a few ribbons crossing over your belly. Not hiding a damn thing, but showing it off for all its worth.

“Fuck,” Bakugou groaned when the sweatshirt hit the bed, your arms still in the sleeves, but the look underneath now fully revealed to him. He could feel the blood going to his dick, just seeing you on display like that getting him up to half mast in seconds.

“Not a lot of coverage on this version,” you mused, sticking your thumb under a bra strap. “Maybe an edit for the second try?”

Bakugou growled, taking a step forward, but you weren’t done just yet.

“I was also thinking maybe full panties next time,” you said, turning around, sitting on your heels. The sweatshirt hung just below your ass, framing round cheeks that were caged by thin elastic crosses, and that was it. Not so much as a triangle of fabric to speak of. “Maybe write: Property of Dynamight on them? Or is that too much text?”

That was all it took for Bakugou to pounce. One arc of his fist had his shirt thrown with a smack to the floor and then his hands were on your shoulders, spinning you face up as he pushed you flat on the bed.

“You know I don’t like unnecessary words,” he growled.

And then he was kissing you, a hand running up the falke stockings pinned on your thighs as you pulled your arms out of the sweatshirt. One leg came up automatically to wrap around his hip, and Bakugou began rutting against your center, fully hard already. On his second grinding thrust, his pants snagged on the scrap of lace you were wearing. Wetness was already glistening on his trousers and he moved his thumb down to your core, groaning at what he felt.

“Crotchless panties?” he mumbled against your mouth. “You’re making this too easy, sweetheart.”

“Shouldn’t have to work so hard on your birthday,” you mewled.

There was a rumble in Bakugou’s throat, half scoff, half chuckle. “Yeah, remind me of that next year, will you?”

You were soaked already—the swipe of his thumb told you that much. Either you’d gotten really excited when he’d texted you that he was coming home early, or you’d…gotten yourself excited at some point after. Either way, it meant that foreplay could wait for round two.

He pulled his thumb away from your core and pressed it against your lip, smudging what lipstick had survived the kisses down your chin. You were half ruined already. You stuck your tongue out and licked at essence on his thumb before sucking it into your mouth, eyes wide as you looked up at him. Fuck, he could feel himself straining against his pants, grinding circles against your half-bare cunt for a spot of relief.

After you licked him clean, he took his hand back, leaving your mouth open and wanting as he began to fuss with the front of his pants. He caught your smudged lips again, holding your jaw with one hand as he pushed his pants down with the other. He pulled his lower half away from you, kicking off the pants—hadn’t bothered with boxers for the commute home—and let them slide off the edge of the bed.

“Ready?” he asked.

Your smile was big and you bit the tip of your tongue, nodding your head twice. That was all he needed. He grabbed his cock in his fist and slid it through your wetness just once, and then he pushed himself in.

Immediately, he felt the drag of something hard and angled against your lower wall right along his cock, pressing from tip to base as he slid home inside of you.

“Woah,” he groaned. “What the fuck?”

You giggled, the action making your walls flutter against him.

“Got myself a new toy,” you said coyly, wrapping your legs around his hips. “Promise you can get yourself something pretty on my birthday too.”

Bakugou reach a hand around your thigh, feeling the elastic garter pulled taut against the stockings that were rubbing so deliciously against his back and his hips. He grabbed a handful of your ass, and the tips of his fingers felt a rounded edge of warm metal slid just between your ass cheeks.

“You fucking naughty minx.” Bakugou grinned, showing all his teeth, rearing back out of you before thrusting back in, feeling the novel pressure of the toy on the way out and back.

No wonder you had been so wet to begin with. You must have lubed yourself up before putting in that butt plug—which wasn’t small, from what he could feel of it. He could imagine you, one leg up on the sink, ass sticking out as you fingered yourself, mouth dropping open when you inserted the toy. How cold it would have been when it first touched your pert little hole and how you’d gotten it all warm for him as you waited with your little secret for him to get home.

“It’s curved to hit prostates,” you gasped as Bakugou rocked hard, steady thrusts into you. “In case you’re interested.”

The thought, much to Bakugou’s surprise, sent a thrill right through his belly down to his dick. He couldn’t help but slam rapidly into you, making your eyes roll back. Fuck, was that something he wanted? It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about, and he didn’t have the mind right now to ponder it.

“God you feel so big.”

“You feel so tight, sweetheart,” Bakugou grunted, refusing to acknowledge the fresh heat that was on his cheeks after your previous comment. “Squeezing me from all sides.”

The butt plug left it so there was barely enough room in your pussy for his cock to pump in and out. The pressure was hard on one side, making him fucking twitch every time the head of his cock caught against it, leading him to opt for long, deep thrusts in and out of you. It was so good that he didn’t even care if the only present he got for his birthday was a little hunk of stainless steel halfway up your ass. He’d gotten home five minutes ago and already he could feel his balls tightening, threatening to bust a nut.

“Just think of it, Katsuki,” you said, your voice dreamy as he fucked you raw. “All the women wearing this set, thinking of you when they show it off for their partners. All wishing that you were the one fucking them. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? But they’ll never have anything but their husband’s sad cock that they pretend is yours.”

“Fuck,” Bakugou growled, putting a hand on the headboard and nearly splintering it in his grip. You were riling him up and it made him want to press his palm flat against the burnished oak and let off his quirk, send shards flying. His hand was already drenched with more sweat than it should have been, just like with those villains earlier. Goddamn this time of year. He couldn’t help it; his quirk begged for it. He was in dire need of release of some kind, and it wasn’t like he could cum yet. He had to know how your pussy felt when it convulsed around him, ass cheeks tensing and squeezing that toy hard against his cock until he was spurting into you.

Bakugou let off a few crackling pops from his palm, moaning as relief filled him, the tension lessened for a moment. A faint smell of wood smoke spread through the room, slightly embittered by the resin blackening around his hand. One more scorch mark on the bed frame. You groaned underneath him, taken by the sight of Bakugou’s ever-tight control slipping for you. You knew he’d fuck you through the bed until the rest of the frame gave way if he wanted. You’d both be flat on a busted mattress and he’d keep going until he felt you clench around him.

“How’s that sound, Katsu?” you continued, your voice growing higher as Bakugou took his hand off the headboard and pressed four fingers, still sweaty and heated from his quirk, against the lace covering your clit. It was soaked through. “A-Ah, you’d like the idea of a woman home alone, dressed up just for you, fucking herself on the dildo she hides in the back of your closet, screaming out your name and hoping to God that her neighbors don’t hear?”

Bakugou couldn’t do the long, slow thrusts anymore. Your legs had grown tighter around his waist, your calves soft and silken against his ass as he kept his thrusts deep. The butt plug was rubbing against the base of his cock as he pounded into you, his fingers swiping over your clit with little finesse, but speed and steady pressure making up for it.

“But no matter…” you continued, the words coming out in little huffs as you panted with your head thrown back. Bakugou couldn’t resist leaning down and licking a line up the length of your neck, biting your earlobe when he got to the top, “no dildo, no matter how expensive, no matter how long and fat, will be good enough. The whole time…they’ll know they’re missing out. Oh, fuck.”

All of a sudden, your thighs were squeezing tight against his hip bones, arms thrown over his back and finger scratching hot lines that would mark him even more as yours tomorrow. Then you were gasping, walls squeezing and Bakugou fought against your grip to pull out just enough so that the metal toy was rubbing just over the cleft of his head with every convulsion.

He didn’t stand a chance. There was hardly any warning before he was cumming into you, streaks of his seed dribbling out of you. He couldn’t even pump himself through it; you were gripping him so tightly and, more than that, he didn’t want to move. Everything was white hot, so he just waited it out, barely moving save for where his hand was still rubbing over your clit.

Eventually you stopped him, grabbing his wrist just as the grip of your cunt loosened around him. Then you brought his hand, glistening with moisture, up to your mouth, and broadly laved your tongue from the base of his fingers to the tips, looking him dead in the eye. You then brought his hand down to your neck, and allowed him to streak the combined fluids across and down your décolletage.

Fuck—there was no way he was going to work on his birthday next year. He’d let villains overtake the city first.

“They’ll know they’re missing out,” you breathed, and it took Bakugou a second to figure out that you were continuing your voyeuristic fantasy from before, playing it out to the end, “They might even think they understand. But the only one who will truly know, is me.”

You smiled, your eyes and grin both heavy, sleepy, sated.

“Got that fucking right,” Bakugou said, pulling out of you, his cum already dripping down your ass. He eyed it, only catching a glimpse of the glinting metal plug before your legs fell to the bed, spread and limp. He smacked your hip lightly with one hand. “Roll over.”

In no mood to argue, you flipped willingly, ass up, plug still hidden from view. The lingerie was damp in some spots from where your wetness had spilled from your pussy. He leaned his mouth towards one of the strips of elastic stretching against the swell of your ass and bit. You gasped, back arching, and Katsuki smirked as he pulled away.

“A fucking lingerie line?”

A chuckle escaped your throat. “It was supposed to be a joke, but now…”

Katsuki pinched the elastic with his fingers and snapped it, watching the slight jiggle of your cheeks as you jolted. “No.”

“But Katsuki,” you whined.

“Mm,” he amended, as close to ‘maybe’ as you were going to get. You both could always talk about the idea—truly ridiculous idea—later. Katsuki put a hand on one cheek under the strips of lingerie and spread it.

There was the plug, a stainless steel handle. It was thin and shaped like an oblong donut, not like one of those cheap bejeweled things. This one, even just what he could see of it, screamed quality, and, for a moment, Bakugou wondered again what it would be like to wear. If you’d gotten it in, he sure as fuck could. And he did hold a certain anatomical advantage in using it.

He put his thumb and forefinger to the phalange and gave the toy a twist, pressing it just slightly deeper into your hole. You groaned, your voice low and deep in the pillow like when he gave you a back massage. He smirked and kept at it. Seemed this was a birthday gift for him after all.

“Katsu, don’t tease,” you moaned. “Sensitive.”

Bakugou, however, had no mercy. He flipped you over again, pulling a little yelp from you, and then picked you up bridal style, carrying you off the bed.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice suddenly much more awake.

“Shower,” he answered simply. He squeezed the meat of your upper thigh. Not quite your ass but close enough for the point to be made. “I’m not done with my present yet.”

#bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bnha smut #mha smut #tw: voyeurism #not/sfw #bakugou birthday bash

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alltooreid · 4 years ago

Text

Clean

As Spencer struggles to overcome his dilaudid addiction, Y/N is dealing with an addiction of her own, to her toxic, manipulative boyfriend. This is an account of a full year, following their joint journeys to sobriety and new love.

A/N: Hi!! I have another Taylor Swift inspired Spencer Reid one shot (but of course you do not need to know the song to understand the one shot). Although originally I was going to write something more fluffy, I switched to this song to write something more angsty and interesting. However, to change pace from my last one shot, this one has a much happier, hopeful ending. However, it is very triggering so please read the trigger warnings before you start. Also, if you have any songs you want to read please let me know!! Also, if you just have a general request please send it my way! Thank you so much for the love on my All Too Well one shot, I never thought my first fanfic on here would be so well received!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Type: Angst, but hopeful angst

Word Count: 7.6K

Content Warnings: Cursing, mentally and physically abusive relationship, relationship cheating (ie, reader is being cheated on), blood and cuts description, drug addiction (these parts are kept short purposefully), lots of fighting and yelling both in reader’s relationship and between Spencer and reader, however, there is a happy and hopeful ending. Reader is struggling to get out of her toxic relationship, please no comments about her being stupid. If you are in a situation like Y/N, please don’t use this fic as a guide. Get help immediately. https://www.thehotline.org/

Things to Know: Italics and bold are flashback moments, the time and date headers serve as time skips :) let me know what you think! Please request any songs you would like to see be made one shots!

“You're still all over me Like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore Hung my head as I lost the war And the sky turned black like a perfect storm”

3:27 AM, April 16th, 2007.

You have known Spencer for a long time. In fact, you’ve known him longer than you’ve known Randall, and you’ve felt like you’ve known Randall your entire life.

Maybe that’s because you let him become your entire life.

Still, although you had known Spencer for 7 years, 2 years longer than the entirety of your on again, off again relationship with Randall. You still felt weird calling him. He was going through a lot right now, not that he wasn’t normally. Spencer had one of the most difficult jobs you could think of. You know Spencer has shot and killed people before, and you know every time he did it ate him up inside.

And every time he did he called you.

You also knew that Spencer is one of the kindest people you have ever met, you struggle to imagine him wielding a gun on a daily basis. He just seems too sweet, too perfect.

Yet there was a lot you didn’t know about the young genius.

You have no idea that as you stand in the street, contemplating whether you should call Spencer to come and get you, Spencer is making a difficult decision of his own. As you worry about the possibility of waking Spencer up this early in the morning, Spencer sits wide awake and ponders if he has enough time to get high before he has to leave for work in 3 hours.

As you sit on the side of the road, debating between your very few options, Spencer leads up against the side of his bathtub tears pouring down his cheeks, tears that he doesn’t even register as being there.

Fortunately for the both of you, at the same time Spencer reaches into his bag to search for that tiny glass bottle, his phone begins to ring.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

You sigh, “He kicked me out again Spencer, is there anyway you can come get me?”

Spencer looks around his apartment, frantically hiding the belt and the needles he had gotten out for the events he was anticipating. “Yeah, of course I can come get you, um, just give me a couple minutes and send me your location.”

3:52 AM, April 16th, 2007.

You’re in the passenger’s seat of Spencer’s car, both of you sitting in silence. This situation isn’t new to either of you, Spencer has picked you up plenty of times before, in fact he’s done it for years now. One time, about 3 years into your relationship with Randall, you were permitted to go out by yourself with Spencer’s team, they wanted to meet you, apparently Spencer talked about you all the time. While you were at dinner with them, Morgan asked you if you had a car of your own. You explained that you did, but that your boyfriend had it a majority of the time, and that when he didn’t he hated you using it because you always had to mess with everything. He hates you touching his stuff. Morgan made a weird face about that answer, so you quickly followed up, explaining that you didn’t mind.

You do mind though. You hate how he never lets you touch anything or go anywhere, and you hate how much he despises your only form of transportation.

Spencer.

Randall hates everything about Spencer Reid, and he especially hates seeing his car pull into your driveway. That’s why after the 8th time he kicked you out, you started walking half a mile to the nearest gas station before calling Spencer.

The first time Spencer came to get you Randall came out to talk to you before you left.

“What are you doing? Who is this?”

“It’s Spencer, he’s gonna take me to his apartment.” you explained, confused why Randall was so angry you were leaving when he was the one who had kicked you out.

“Oh so just because I don’t want to look at your bitchass all night that means you can go sleep with another man? I knew you were a whore Y/N. You know him and his stupid fucking car aren’t going to be able to deal with you the way I can. How old is that thing anyway?”

“Randall, calm down, I’m not sleeping with Spencer. I love you, I don’t want to sleep with anyone else. But I’m not gonna sit out here all night, where else should I go?”

“Well maybe if you weren’t so quick to whore yourself out to the easiest man you could find I would invite you back inside,” he said before slamming the door in your face.

So you got in Spencer’s car, the one Randall would grow to hate so much.

“Are you okay Y/N? He didn’t hit you did he? You know you can come live with me, you should really get out of that house, I can get Morgan tomorrow and we can go get your belongings. I have plenty of-”

You snapped at him, “No Spencer he’s not hitting me! Why do you always jump to that conclusion, Randall is a great guy! I would’ve never called you if you were going to jump to conclusions like this. You’re supposed to be a genius, yet you’re acting like such a dumb ass right now.”

Spencer looked at you, and immediately you regretted your words. You knew Spencer was just worried about you and with his line of work he had reason to be. However before you could apologize he spoke again.

“I’m sorry Y/N, forget I said anything.”

You both sat in silence for a few moments before you even knew what to say, and yet all you could think of was, “Hey Spence, what kind of car do you drive?”

He smiled, “It’s a 1965 Volvo Amazon P130 122S, it’s horizon blue, that’s the color they refer to it as. Did you know they’re known as so reliable that the 4 door models are still used as police vehicles in some places. This one’s a two door, but still runs great. . . “

You smiled, how fitting a man as reliable as Spencer Reid had the perfect car to match.

When you get to Spencer’s apartment something seems off. Spencer has always lived in organized chaos, but this just feels different. Unlike his normal mess, this one feels like a blatant disregard for his things, even some of his most prized possessions. His books are strewn across the floors, his clothes overflowing from his laundry basket, which was a mix of both folded, clean, yet to be put away things and worn items. Weirdly, the one place that looks untouched is his kitchen, as if he hasn’t used it in months. And you mean that in the most literal interpretation, his counters are covered in visible, undisturbed dust.

“Thank you so much Spencer, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

He smiles, but his eyes look so tired. “Don’t worry about it Y/N.”

And at 4:47, you finally fall asleep in Spencer’s bedroom, which he insists you take, and he stays awake until he leaves for work just a few hours later.

9:33 PM, April 17th, 2007.

You leave Spencer’s apartment the following night, after an unfortunate screaming match with him. You have never seen him so angry, so easily ticked off. Yet as soon as Randall called you Spencer became aggressive.

“Yeah babe, I’ll be home as soon as I can. I’ll take a cab and be home within the hour. Of course I’m not mad at you sweetheart, I know you didn’t mean it. I love you, see you soon.”

Spencer exitted his kitchen in a huff, and opened his mouth to start talking before you spoke up.

“I’m sure you’ve overheard already, but Randall’s letting me back in the house. Thank you so much Spence. I really appreciate everything you do to help me. Call me soon please, I definitely owe you lunch,” you said, grabbing your coat and your phone, the only things you had managed to grab from your home before your unplanned eviction.

“Why do you even stay with him Y/N? Why do you keep going back there?” Spencer yelled. You had never seen him like this before, so livid and irritable.

“I love him Spence, and he loves me,” you explained, and you were telling the truth. You do love Randall, and you know that in his heart he loves you too, even if he got a little angry sometimes.

“If he loved you he wouldn’t treat you like this Y/N! Don’t you think I would know? I see this everyday! It’s my job! And yet my best friend is too stupid to realize she’s been in an abusive relationship for almost 6 years!”

You were just as angry now, “You’re wrong Spencer, I don’t wanna hear this okay? I love Randall and he loves me. We deserve each other.”

Spencer’s face softened before growing angry once more, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fuck you Spencer, I’m going home. I don’t need you and I don't need your help,” you said, grabbing your things and slamming the door open. You were lying, you need Spencer and you need his help more than anything, but you didn’t want to admit that while he was being such a dick.

“Fine!” he yelled, “Go run back to him then, but you better not call me when he kicks you out again. I don’t care anymore!”

And so you left, Spencer slammed the door behind you as you stormed out of his apartment. You didn’t stop to think about the fact that Spencer never acts like this. He has never lashed out at you, never questioned your relationship with Randall to your face, let alone scream at you and insult you because of it. You didn’t stop and think about what Spencer was on, or not on, that was making his act like this.

But you thought about it now.

You want to get home before Randall starts to get upset and suspicious, but now after your fight with Spencer you have to walk home. You couldn’t ask him to borrow cash for a cab, let alone ask him to drive you there. You were stuck walking, which also meant you were stuck with Randall’s wrath when you returned.

You already feel terrible about the way you treated Spencer. You think about going to apologize, and stand in front of the door for a second, weighing the pros and cons of doing so. Eventually, you go to turn away, ultimately deciding that you both needed to calm down before speaking to each other again.

Yet as you turn, the door opens. Spencer stands right there, strangely calm, seemingly out of it. All fury and anger you had seen just minutes before gone. In this moment he resembles Randall, and it's the first time you’ve ever been able to draw any comparison to the two.

It’s scary.

“Spencer I-” but you get cut off, not by words, but by an object. Before you can even register what was just thrown in your face the door is closed again. You duck down to grab what was thrown.

Twenty dollars.

For the cab ride home.

1:34 AM, April 23rd, 2007.

You light the final candle on your dining room table, before stepping back to admire your work. Randall always came home so late from work, so you rarely ate dinner together. But today was your anniversary, so you stayed up late, prepared his favorite meal and set up all of your fancy dinnerware so that you could have a very late dinner together before he goes to bed and you go to work. He should be home any minute now.

Yet 3 hours later Randall is not back. You’re just about to cut your losses and call it a night, and start to clean up the melted down candles and cold steak dinner as you hear your front door open.

“Y/N! What are you doing still awake?”

“Do you know what day it is Randall? Because I do.”

He looks down at his watch, checks the time, and looks back up at you, “Well it is now 3:57 AM, meaning it is now Monday. Which is why I’m curious as to what you’re still doing up sweetheart, you have to be at work in 3 hours.” “There’s something special about THIS Monday Randall,” you sigh, you’re disappointed but not surprised, this has happened for the past 3 years.

“Do you have a project going on at work baby? You know I can’t keep track of all that crap, your job is so silly and easy to lose track of. You have to remind me of these things if you actually want me to care about them.”

“It’s our anniversary Randall.”

He stops, but instead of looking guilty or remorseful (like you secretly hoped), he gets livid, “No it’s not, are you stupid or something?”

“Randall, baby it’s okay, it’s not a big deal.”

“No! You stupid fucking bitch, are you trying to make me look bad, cooking this stupid fancy dinner and staying up late. Trying to lie and act like I forgot our five year anniversary?! Stop playing the victim Y/N. So tell me, are you lying to make me feel bad, or is your brain really that fucking empty?”

“It’s our six year anniversary,” you whisper.

“What did you just say?”

“I said I was just being stupid Randall. You’re right baby, I forgot the date of our anniversary.”

He snarls. “I don’t think so Y/N, I think, actually I know that not only are you stupid, but that you’re a liar. I know that you just want to make me look bad by preparing our anniversary dinner a week early. And you have to push it by claiming we’ve been together for six years. I know it’s five. I’m not stupid.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” you cry.

“NO YOU’RE NOT!” he yells, pushing his plate of steak and mashed potatoes, letting your parent’s wedding china shatter on the ground. You cry harder. “You’re a stupid, waste of my time Y/N. Five wasted years I’ve spent on you. Do you know why I do it, huh. Do you know why I stay with you when I could have one of the beautiful, rich, successful, truthful women I’m fucking?”

You shake your head.

“It’s because I feel pity for you. No other man would want you. I’m the only one that will ever love you. You know that right Y/N?” He picks up a piece of your hair, gently tucking it behind your ear. “Tell me that I’m the only one who will love you, you know it’s the truth right?” You nod your head. In a swift motion Randall turns, grabs a glass full of red wine and chucks it at the wall, narrowly avoiding your left ear.

“I WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY IT.”

“You’re the only one who will ever love me Randall,” you croak out in between sobs.

He closes the distance between you two once more, gripping your chin and jerking your face so that your eyes meant his. It hurts, and makes you cry more, but you don’t say anything.

“Don’t you know it sweetness,” he lets go, delivers a sharp slap to your check and grips your wrist. “Now clean your mess up, and then I think it’s best if you get out of the house for a little bit, don’t you agree?”

You nod quickly. He smiles.

“Good girl, now I would normally be worried about you going to hook up with that string bean you’re always all over, but according to the last time I went through your phone, he isn’t in your recent calls. Glad to know he’s finally done with your bullshit. I’m sure a nice long walk alone will do you good. You can think about what led you to lying tonight, and then maybe you can come back in time for our real anniversary.”

He slips upstairs, so you clean up the rest of the uneaten meal and the broken wine class, cutting up your hands severely in the process. You spend at least an hour in a futile attempt to get red wine stains off of your wallpaper, before grabbing your phone and purse and running out the door.

Even after what Randall says, you still think about calling Spencer. Your thumb hovers over the call button for a minute until you switch the contact, phoning your boss instead. You inform her you need a personal day, and that it’s a family emergency.

You check the time, 6:53. Spencer is almost definitely on his way to work right now. You want to call him so bad, but the things he said you ring through your mind. You can’t ask for his help anymore.

For the first time, you are truly on your own.

Until a familiar horizon blue Volvo pulls up next to the curb you’re sitting on, and Spencer Reid sticks his head out the window.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? Get it the car, come on I’ll drive you to work with me.”

Confused as you are, this is your best option right now. So you climb into the passenger seat of his car, refusing to make eye contact with him, instead looking at your bleeding hands. “Oh my god, Y/N. You’re bleeding. Did Randall do this to you? Why didn’t you call me?”

“No, Spencer, Randall didn’t do this to me. He dropped a wine glass and I helped him pick it up. Now just drive.” And he does, drive that is. But you can feel his stares, on your cut up hands, and you forming bruises. You can feel him profiling the signs of abuse on your body.

But more than that you hate that you can feel he’s upset with you. Upset because you didn’t call him. Does he not remember screaming at you not too?

He pulls into the parking lot, parks the car and finally turns to make eye contact with you. He has tears in his, “I really wish you would’ve called me Y/N. If it’s getting this bad I want you to stay with me.”

“Spencer am I going insane?”

“Of course not, what do you mean?” he looks so gentle, so kind and you’re so confused.

“Do you remember what day me and Randall started dating?”

“Yes, it was April 23rd, 2001. 6 years ago today actually. Is that why he did this to you? Does it have anything to do with that?”

“How can you remember that but not our screaming match a week ago?” you laughed, your hands burned now, there’s definitely glass in there, you swear you can feel the tiny little shards in your blood.

“What do you mean, Y/N? We didn’t scream at each other? I haven’t even seen you in weeks. How long has he been hitting you? Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“Spencer, on the 16th you picked me up and took me back to your apartment because Randall kicked me out. On the evening of the 17th I went to leave because Randall told me I could come home. You said I was being abused and called me stupid for going back to him. When we fought about it I stormed out and you told me not to call you if he kicked me out again because you didn’t care anymore. That’s why I didn’t call you.”

You look up at Spencer, and nearly start crying yourself when you see his crumpled face. Tears are freely spilling down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I don’t remember that,” he pushes his long hair out of his face, clearly frazzled, “I- I can’t believe I don’t remember that.”

Before you can say anything, Spencer pulls out his phone. “Hey Hotch, it’s me. I can’t come in today. I need to use a personal day. . . I’ll tell you later. Okay, thank you” He angrily pulls out of the parking lot, and you can tell he’s headed back to his apartment.

“Spencer it’s okay, I’m not upset with you.”

“No Y/N, it’s not okay. I said all those terrible things to you, of course you were scared to call me after them. The worst part is I was too high to even remember it all. I- I just can’t believe I helped him do this to you,” tears still freely flowing down his face.

“Spencer what are you talking about? I was with you all day, you weren’t high. You don’t even drink, how could you be high?”

He sighs, “do you remember when I was kidnapped by that unsub, Tobias Hankel? About 2 months ago?” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “Well, I told you about his multiple personalities, how one beat me to death and then Tobias resurrected me, how I had to kill Tobias in order to survive, even though Tobias himself did nothing to me. Well when I was in the barn, Tobias would give me drugs, dilaudid, in order to cut the pain of his other personalities’ abuse. When I killed him, I took the drugs he had one him with me, and I can’t stop Y/N. It’s affecting my life, my work, and now it’s affecting you.” He parks his car in his apartment complex’s lot and turns to look at you. “Hotch has never said anything about it, so even though the team knows I have no reason to quit, I think I do now. Y/N, I think we need to get clean together.”

Suddenly that night made sense, Spencer was irritable and strange, he wasn’t high, he was going through withdrawal. But when he threw the money at you, so loopy and out of it, he was on it. He was so high he didn’t remember the moments before.

“Spencer, I don't know what to say. I want to help you get sober, I want that more than anything, but I’m not addicted to drugs, I rarely even drink.”

“I know Y/N, you don’t have a drug problem like me, but you are an addict. You need to leave Randall. You know it, I know it, but you can’t.” You open your mouth to defend yourself, but Spencer continues to speak, “It’s okay, I understand why. But we both need to quit, and I think it’s best if we do it together.”

“Well how are we supposed to do that,” you whisper.

“Come on, let’s get started,” you and Spencer exit his car, he loops your hands together, leading you up to his apartment. When you get there, he digs through his messenger bag and grabs a couple of tiny glass bottles and a syringe. He throws them into his garbage can, and turns to look at you.

“Pull out your phone.”

“What? Why?”

“We’re going to block Randall’s number.”

You want to fight him on it, but you know he’s right. You need to leave Randall, and now’s as good of a time as any. Yet, you can’t forget the things he’s said to you. “I can’t Spencer, he’s my boyfriend, he loves me.”

“Y/N, please, please do this with me.” You shake your head, he sighs. “Okay, I get it, this is going to take time. Just, um, stay with me for a couple days. Please. We can go get your stuff tomorrow night.”

You think about rejecting Spencer’s offer, but you really don’t want to go back there. More than anything, you want to stay right here. You try to tell yourself it’s because you’re worried about Spencer, but deep down you know it’s more than that. So you nod, and Spencer wraps you in a hug, burying his head into your shoulder.

“Thank you, Y/N. Now let’s go get your hands wrapped up.”

9:21 PM, May 2nd, 2007.

You’ve been staying at Spencer’s for just over a week now. You haven’t seen Randall since your anniversary, and Spencer hasn’t taken dilaudid while you’ve been here. Things are going well. You’re watching a lot of bad reality TV, and Spencer has gone through about 7 packs of Gatorade, but you’re both doing okay.

Now you were just waiting for him to come back from his case in Idaho, you knew this one was pretty bad. They were searching for a woman in the middle of a huge forest, as she was being hunted and chased down. Spencer called you right before getting on the jet, and told you he would be home soon, so now you were just waiting for him.

While doing so however, you found something. A lump on Spencer’s side of the mattress. Under it, were two small glass bottles and a syringe. The same ones you had seen Spencer throw into the garbage days prior.

Now you need to talk to Spencer, so you sit on his couch, and wait for him to come home. When he comes through the door, he immediately sees you and smiles. “Y/N! I’ve missed you.” He hugs you, and for a second you forget why you’re even mad at him in the first place.

“Spencer, I need to talk to you. I found your bottles.” The mood in the room instantly shifts, but you don’t care, you need to get your words out. “You told me you were quitting, I watched you throw them away.”

He brushes his hairs through his hair, and begins to mess with his hands. “I am quitting Y/N, I haven't taken any, but. . . I just need them to be there.”

“Spencer, please, throw them away. I’m trying to help you here.” Suddenly he grows very angry, and you can tell you said the wrong thing.

“Well I’m trying too. To me it seems the only one not trying is you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you still haven’t blocked Randall, he still calls all the time! Why do I have to throw my addiction away if you can’t even do the same to yours?”

“That's not fair.”

“How so?” he yells. “How is it that you can’t block your abusive, no good piece of shit boyfriend but I have to throw away the things I enjoy? That doesn’t feel like trying to me.”

“I’m not addicted to Randall Spencer, I just love him. I don’t want or need to quit him.”

“Oh really? Then why are you even still here? Why haven’t you answered his calls? Or gone to see him? I think you know exactly why.”

And you do. You don’t want to go back there, but what Randall says is true. He is the only one who will love you, and you’re not ready to lose that yet. You’re not ready to cut off all contact with him.

“I can leave if that’s what you want Spencer.”

His face softened, “no, that’s not what I want. That’s the last thing I want.” He stops and thinks for a moment. “If you block Randall I’ll throw away my dilaudid.”

You ponder it, “Okay.”

He breaks into a wide smile. “Really? You’ll do it?”

You smile at him.

“Yeah, I promise. I’ll block Randall.”

6:56 PM, May 30th, 2007.

You did not block Randall.

Even after watching Spencer pour out his bottles, breaking up the glass and tossing it away for a second time, you couldn’t. Even after seeing him snap his syringes in half, and feeling him kiss your forehead, after seeing how happy and excited he was for your fresh start together, you just couldn’t do it.

Spencer thought you did, and it was easy to hide the truth from him. Randall hadn’t called since then, so you and Spencer continue to spend time together, last week you celebrated one month of sobriety. You got an ice cream cake and little, silly party hats and exchanged gifts.

And it made you feel like shit.

Spencer was so happy, so proud that you had both been clean for a month, but you still couldn’t decide if you wanted to be clean at all.

You still can’t decide if you should block Randall’s number.

You try not to think about it, instead focusing the energy into making you and Spencer virgin pina coladas, he was currently out picking up burgers from your favorite restaurant. When he returns, you were going to watch one of your crappy reality TV reruns, and then an episode of Doctor Who. It was Spencer’s idea a couple days ago, and quickly it became a regular occurrence.

Faintly over the loud whir of the blender you can hear your phone ringing. You run quickly to go grab it, just in case Spencer needed your help with something, but your heart drops when you see the caller ID. It’s Randall, trying once again to contact you.

Your thumb hovers over the accept button, but before you can make a decision, the call times out and sends Randall to voicemail. You let out a breath and set your phone down.

But then something possesses you, and you snatch your phone and dial Randall’s number. He picks up on the 3rd ring.

“Baby, oh my god baby is that really you?”

He sounds so excited to hear from you, how could you have stayed mad at him for so long?

“Yes baby, it’s me. I’m sorry I haven’t answered your calls at all. I’ve been busy.”

“Don’t worry sweetness, I’m so so sorry for the things I said to you, I need you to come home. You missed our anniversary you know? But it’s okay! We can celebrate now! I got you a really beautiful gift, one we can definitely experiment with tonight.” You could hear his smirk over the phone.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to come back right now, maybe later baby, but not right now.”

You hear his breathing pick up, and tense. You can tell he’s getting agitated. He wasn’t expecting you to answer like that, you always come home as soon as he tells you you can come back. “What do you mean? You’re being ridiculous, I want to see my girlfriend. I’m sure you want to get off of the streets too, you’ve been squatting for over a month now.”

“I’m not squatting Randall, I’m living with Spencer.”

“What!?” he yells. “I thought I told you not to stay with him. I hate that guy, you know that.”

“Would you rather me be on the streets Randall? Spencer’s a great guy, and I want to stay here.”

“Frankly, yes I would. But don’t worry, you can still come home. Just send me the prick’s address and I’ll come pick you up. We can enjoy tonight together.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not going to send you Spencer’s address. I’m staying here. I don’t want to see you anymore. Leave me alone Randall. I’m done.”

Before he could say anything, you hung up. As you did so you heard the front door open, and Spencer made his way to the bedroom.

“Hey! I got burgers! Ready to eat?” he looks down to see your phone still resting in your hand, stuck on the phone app. “Who were you talking to?”

“Just an old friend,” you say.

“Think you’ll be talking to them again anytime soon?” you can tell he knows, and you’re surprised he isn’t lashing out at you. You’re so used to how Randall reacts when you go against his wishes, Spencer’s calm, understanding presence is like a breath of fresh air.

“No, I think I’m ready to leave them behind,” you smile at each other. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a sec okay?”

He nods, and goes to set up the food and TV.

It takes you seven seconds to block Randall.

1:12 AM, June 10th, 2007.

You haven’t gone out with your coworkers in months, you forgot how good it feels to just be present with people. You didn’t even drink tonight, wanting to remember every second of this time out with friends. You were beaming when you unlocked the front door.

Yet your smile slips when you enter what had become you and Spencer’s shared bedroom.

He isn’t there.

You pull out your phone to call him when you hear a thud coming from the bathroom door. You hesitate, scared of what you know you’ll likely find. When you finally throw the door open you’re already teary eyed, and these sobs escalate as soon as you see Spencer, tipped over, lying on the bathroom floor, the needle still sticking out of his arm.

You’re sobbing as you rip it out, hastily undoing the belt wrapped around his upper forearm. He looks up, even in his groggy haze you can see the guilty look in his eyes when they made contact with yours.

“Y/N. . . I- I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me but I just couldn’t stop myself . . . I-”

“Shhh, It’s okay, just breathe,” you whisper through your tears. “It’s going to be okay Spencer, I’m here, and it’s going to be okay. I’m staying right here.” You pull his head into your lap, stroking your shaking hands through his hair.

His head begins to shake, and you can feel his tears on your dress. You rest your head on his, and for a few seconds you just sit there, crying together.

“You’re going to be okay Spencer.”

8:09 AM, June 11th, 2007.

Your head is buried in his chest, you need to be able to hear him breathe. You need to hear his heart beating. You need to be as close to him as possible right now. He stirs as he wakes up, and wraps his arms around you.

“I’m so sorry Y/N.”

“Don’t apologize Spencer, this is a part of recovery okay? You’re still in recovery, just because you relapsed doesn’t mean we have to start over. You’re so much stronger than you were before. So much braver. So much better. You can do this.”

He smiles at you, “thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course, now withdrawal is going to be even harder this time. I’m going to the store. We’re going to need plenty of Gatorade and water. We have to flush everything out of your system. Do you mind if I take your car to the store?”

He beams, even in his groggy state he manages to look so perfect, “You know my car is always yours to use Y/N.”

“I’ll be back soon okay? Don’t move a muscle,” you grab his keys and head out the door. And you really do mean it, you fully intend this to be the shortest grocery trip of your life. You’re terrified of leaving Spencer alone long enough to get high again, even though you spent all day yesterday searching for drugs and throwing anything you found in the garbage, taking it out the main apartment dumpster that night.

You get to the store, grab everything you need, 3 packs of blue Gatorade, 6 cases of water bottles, and the store’s entire stock of Jell-O and rush back to Spencer’s car. You were only in the store for 17 minutes, the majority of which was just check-out time. You smile, thinking of how excited Spencer will be when he sees all the Jell-O in the fridge, but feel your stomach drop when you see a familiar face examining Spencer’s car.

Randall.

Before you can decide what to do, he turns and sees you.

“Y/N! I was expecting Spencer, but this is even sweeter. I knew I recognized this hunk of junk. Where have you been?”

“I’ve been around, I’m kind of on a tight schedule here. I really need to get going,” you say as you load up your groceries into Spencer’s trunk.

“That’s a lot of Jell-O sweetheart, you hate Jell-O.” That’s not even true. You hate pudding, you love Jell-O.

As much as you wanted to yell at him for calling you sweetheart, you couldn’t deny that it felt good. You still missed him. Blocking him helped, but you still felt strong urges to call him sometimes. “It’s not for me, it’s for Spencer.”

“I thought I told you not to stay with him anymore.”

“What part of that conversation would make you think I would listen to you?” you say.

“You should always listen to me Y/N, I’m your boyfriend.”

“I haven’t seen you in months, we’re not dating anymore. I’m done.”

“You don’t mean that you’re just being irrational. Are you on your period? I bet that’s it. Come get breakfast with me. You probably just need chocolate, and the place down the block has incredible chocolate waffles.”

You open your mouth to reject him, but you can’t. Part of it is because you know if you do then he’ll follow you back to your apartment and the last thing you want is for him to know where you’re living right now. But the other part is much worse. A big part of you wants to let him try again. You can’t explain why, but you really want for him to redeem himself as your first love.

“Ok, you have 20 minutes, let’s go get breakfast.”

The walk there is silent and awkward. Randall grabs your hand, too tight for you to do anything about it, and keeps this grip until you sit down in your booth.

You don’t get chocolate waffles. You really don’t even like chocolate all that much. Randall knows that, or at least you thought he did. Instead you get cinnamon french toast, and within minutes it’s at the table.

“You know baby, Spencer doesn’t love you.” He says halfway through your french toast.

“We aren’t dating Randall.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve been with him in that apartment for a while now. I’m surprised he hasn’t given you the boot.”

You sit in silence, Randall takes this as a sign to continue. “We’ve been together for five years, sweetness. No one can love you the way I do. That’s just a fact. Spencer fucking Reid can not replace me, no one can replace me.”

“I hate that you’re right. I hate that I can’t breathe when I’m not with you Randall. I hate that you’re stuck to me. You’re this god awful stain on my life. I hate looking at it but no matter what I do I can’t wash it off.”

He smirks. “You’re not gonna get rid of me Y/N.” He pays the check, and gets up from the table. You go to get up too, but notice he didn’t tip your waitress, so you leave another five bucks on the table.

When you get outside he grasps your shoulders. “I knew you would come around Y/N, I knew you would get it. Now come on, we can go collect your stuff from that prick’s apartment and get you home. I know exactly how you can make it up to me.”

You pause, “I don’t think so Randall. I’m not ready quite yet, but I promise I’ll call you.” You meant it, you had already unblocked him from your phone.

“Oh absolutely not, you’re going home with me now.”

“No I’m not.” As you were yelling at each other you notice a strangely familiar face standing nearby, just in ear shot. You can’t place him, but you know you’ve met before.

“Yes you are! We’re happy together and you’re coming to live with me again!”

“We don’t love each other, Randall! Not right now at least!”

He’s livid, and once again you feel that scared, indescribable feeling in the pit of your stomach. “That’s not true! I’ll prove it to you.” He grabs your chin and pulls your face to his.

You feel as if water is filling your lungs, you’re drowning and no one is around to save you. Randall is physically stronger than you, you’re stuck in his grasp. It’s like you’re screaming and no one can hear you.

And yet, this flood of emotions you’re feeling is the first time you realize something.

You’re addicted to Randall.

You need to get out.

You need to get back to Spencer.

After what feels like minutes (but is actually about 3 seconds) of being unseen and vulnerable, you discover you’ve been protected the whole time. The man you can't place rips Randall off of you, “What’s wrong with you? Get off of her!”

It’s his voice that lets you place him. Derek Morgan, Spencer’s closest friend and coworker, punches Randall in the face. “Get out of here!”

“What the fuck is wrong with YOU? That’s my girlfriend! Sweetheart, tell him to leave us alone!”

They both turn and look at you, with tears in your eyes you look at Morgan and shake your head. “Please, get him to leave.”

And Morgan does just that, with a little yelling and a flash of his FBI badge, Randall is running for the hills.

“Come on baby girl, let’s get you back home. Did you walk here?”

You shake your head, “No, I drove Spencer’s car here.”

“Well, how bout I drive you home, and then afterwards I swing back and get Spencer’s car and drop it off?”

So you do just that. After profusely thanking Morgan, and him insisting that it was nothing, and also insisting to carry your groceries in from the car, you and Spencer are together once again.

“I’m so sorry Spencer, I didn’t believe you before. I was going to go back to him. How could I be so stupid?”

“Don’t talk like that Y/N, you said it best yourself. Just because you relapse doesn’t mean you aren’t trying, and it most certainly doesn’t mean you’re stupid.”

“I think it’s time we get clean Spencer. Both of us, once and for all.”

“I think so too Y/N.”

He pulls you into a hug and in between sniffles you manage to choke out what you’ve been wanting to say since you got into Morgan’s car. “I love you.”

He looks at you, and the look in his eyes almost makes you cry out of pure joy. He looks so happy, as if he’s been waiting for you to say that for years.

Maybe he has.

“I love you too.”

7:29 AM, April 16th, 2008.

You press your lips to Spencer’s, you know he has just woken up, but you know it’s a big day for him.

You both have been sober for over ten months now. Today is the day of his first group meeting. He found Beltway Clean Cops recently, and has been so excited to go. You’re excited for him. You know how proud he is of you, and you want to show him in every way possible that you’re proud of him.

He opens his eyes and smiles up at you. “What did I deserve to get a wake up like that?”

“What kind of question is that? You’re incredible, and an incredible boyfriend deserves an incredible morning. Do you know what else he deserves?”

He hums and waits for the answer.

“An incredible breakfast! That’s why I made blueberry pancakes. Now hurry up and come eat. You should leave soon if you want to make it to your meeting on time. Have I told you yet how incredibly proud I am of you?”

He smiles, “Only an average of 15.6 times a day since I told you I was going.”

“Well that’s not nearly enough, now come on, get up. It’s pancake time,” you say. “Oh, and Spencer?”

“Yes flower?”

“I’m so proud of you.”

He smiles, “I love you flower.”

“I love you more.”

You ate breakfast together and then forced Spencer out the door, making sure he had plenty of time to get to his meeting. You knew he would regret it if he was late.

You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you still thought about Randall a lot. You still missed him. You still love him in a way. But now that you had Spencer, now that you were clean together, you would never risk going back to him.

That day where you agreed to go to breakfast with him, Derek asked you if you wanted to press charges. You didn’t, you don’t regret that either.

You’re even more proud of yourself this way, because you know he’s still there, still accessible and available to you, and still didn’t run to him. You know that any trace of Randall in your future is gone.

You know you and Spencer are finally clean.

“Ten months sober, I must admit Just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it Ten months older I won't give in Now that I'm clean I'm never gonna risk it”

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

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x reader #spencerreidxreader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #reid x reader #criminal minds reid #reid fanfic #reid #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds spencer reid #criminal minds angst

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anneimaginesundertale · 3 years ago

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🌟🌻Monthly Plans for 2022🌻🌟

None of this is set in stone, but here is my general plan for 2022. I will let you know if things change. Please let me know if there’s anything you’d like to see me do — or things you don’t want me to do!

Anyways, here is the schedule!

❄️ January-mid-February — Reactions, prompts, and headcanons

I’m opening the inbox for all your questions about the skeletons, as well as other characters. (Please ask about other characters! I love all the UT characters and as much as I adore the skellies, there are other characters out there in the fandom!)

💖 February 19-April 9 — Spring Picnic Party RP

I know this is a weird time frame, but I’ve set it like this so that I can have a school break at the start and the end of the RP to get things off the ground and then get stuff all wrapped up. My current intention is to have this be a party RP, where anyone who wants to join can join just by sending a response to the starter post and it all follows a vague schedule but doesn’t really need a plot. If you want to sit and make out with your favorite skeleton the whole time, you can. If you want to run around and prank all the other skeletons, you can! I’ll have a few planned bits (I’m thinking maybe an egg hunt and some kind of ending thing) but other than that, it’s a free-for-all! More info on this as we get closer to the event.

🌷Mid-April-May — Open Inbox

Send in asks and I’ll answer them. I will try to finish prompts I didn’t get to before the picnic party, too.

☀️ June-July — Open Inbox

We did another RP for a little bit, until it fizzled out. Now we’re just gonna have the inbox open.

🌻 August — Worldbuilding and character asks

Ask characters questions! Ask about how the world works.

🔥 September — No Skeleton September Writing Project

I wanna do characters other than the skellies! I had so much fun writing Grillby in a few of the RPs this past month, and I love Asgore and Toriel and Undyne and Alphys…So this month is for all the characters I feel get forgotten because they aren’t skeletons.

🎃 October — Spooky something

I’m not promising a party, but we’ll do something spooky here.

✍️ November — NaNoWriMo?

I want to do it this year! I have a pretty cool idea for a fic for this year! I’m not sure if I will share daily progress but I will share eventually! In the meantime, not sure how much will be going on here.

🎄December — Holiday Ask Games?

Not sure what exactly. I’ll find something.

Please let me know if there’s anything you guys really want to see. As a reminder, I am open to writing other characters from Undertale, so any time the inbox is open, you can request things with them! Check the rules if you want to know who’s open. (It’s all the main characters…)

I’m going to pin this post and keep it up all year. I’ll reblog it any time I make changes. I hope you all are having a great 2022! I love you!

💕Anne💕

#blog schedule 2022 #master post #what’s happening in 2022

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galatially · 2 years ago

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I posted 1,337 times in 2022

154 posts created (12%)

1,183 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@galatially

@aphrogeneias

@cocoamoonmalfoy

@afriendlyblackhottie

I tagged 1,220 of my posts in 2022

Only 9% of my posts had no tags

#kendra posts - 155 posts

#kendra recs 📖 - 121 posts

#how queue like me now? - 70 posts

#kendra watches 💻 - 49 posts

#ask me anything ♡♡♡ - 48 posts

#bucky barnes - 47 posts

#message received 💌 - 44 posts

#galatially - 43 posts

#bucky barnes x reader - 41 posts

#outer banks - 31 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#my first memory of kendra is me going into her inbox and telling her that we were name twins and that i just wanted to let her know 🤣🤣

My Top Posts in 2022:

❝𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝❞

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 x 𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫!𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — it’s harder knowing you’re without me in the world than just missing you

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 —2.6K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — strong language, fluff, angst

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — i’ve decided to put up some stories from my old account (@/constellvte if anyone ever came across it lol) because they’re gathering dust and i’m in between ideas right now so, y’know, birds and stones and all that

as always lovely banners and dividers by @firefly-graphics / @maysdigitalarts

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64 notes - Posted April 10, 2022

➻ 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒔

I saw Suze (@musingsinmoonlight ) do this and wanted to try it!

@honeystevie + @ambrosiase + @xbuchananbarnes + @specialk-18 + @onsunnyside - if y'all have read anything from them (my personal faves are dance in the dark, wanna be yours, objects in the mirror, what a world, + love me till august), you know that they tug at the heartstrings and flood the basements

@aniqua + @silkscream + @kneel-bitches - these three can fucking craft sagas, epics! i'd love to see some crossovers between them

@melodramama + @syntheticavenger + @aphrogeneias + @subspider - JUST FUCKING IMAGINE IT Y'ALL — the drama, the characters, the STORY 😫😫

@the-iceni-bitch + @afriendlyblackhottie + @peachyteabuck + @navybrat817 - i'm here for the filth and the filth only

@boxofbonesfic + @slothspaghettiwrites - MY DARK DEITIES I FALL AT YOUR FEET

i'm almost positive i'm missing so many other people but please add on your faves!

74 notes - Posted March 26, 2022

❝𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐞❞

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 / 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 x 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 —1.9K

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — even with distance between us, my love burns bright; say you feel the same

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, strong language, fluff, ANGST DEAR GOD THE ANGST, me pining over Two Idiots™ i made

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — i’d almost forgotten that this was sitting in my drafts and thought, “let’s give my girls a proper send off.” so, i hope y’all enjoy these two and, who knows, we might see them again

i don't have a tag list but i do have a library where all of my works live,@galatially-wrote so please check it out!

as always, lovely dividers by @firefly-graphics

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83 notes - Posted October 22, 2022

Hi can you please write a story/scenario where Bucky comes back home to his bratty|kinky wife/ girlfriend and things get steamy real quick (doesn’t matter where, it just needs to be vivid if I may) be creative as possible.

Thank you in advance 😊

I'm so sorry this was late! Thank you so much for sending this in! I hope you enjoy it! ♡♡♡

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111 notes - Posted February 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

❝𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡❞

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 / 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐝 x 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — while there are always consequences to the things you do, you can't seem to keep away from ruin

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 —3.8K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, strong language, angst

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — the way that this song came up on shuffle and i immediately thought of these two 😫😫. i’m not gonna lie, i missed these two something fierce and finally had time to give them a proper ending. hope y’all enjoy ♡♡♡

dividers by the always lovely @firefly-graphics

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128 notes - Posted April 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#kendra posts #tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #the love on wwstom and aine has been magical and i appreciate all of you

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pikemoreno · 4 years ago

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lucky

pairing: marcus moreno x gn!reader

request: from @chibi-liz05 “Can I request a Marcus Moreno fic (or ficlet, or drabble) where either Marcus or reader gets hurt (not seriously hurt) and end up in a med bay, kinda woozy from pain meds and they have a funny and/or cute conversation when the other one goes to check on the one hurt? Please.”

warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, death. it starts out pretty darn angsty, but gets silly and fluffy i promise. these two are hella married.

word count: 2.7k

a/n: honestly this is nothing like you asked for until the end? but this lil drabble idea inspired this whole one shot so i hope you enjoy what you helped my brain create? i loved this, needless to say.

i love this himbo and i’m so happy to write for him.

And thank you for the medical advice to @disgruntledspacedad! Thanks for helping me choose the right drug! 😆

wanna join a taglist? | masterlist

This was Marcus’s least favorite part of his job.

As the newly deemed Director of the Heroics, he was the one to decide who went out on what mission when and with who. Normally it wasn’t too tall of an order. After all, he was chosen as director for good reason. He was perfect for the job. He was smart, organized, resourceful, and tried in everything to understand people-- whether that be in their personal habits or in their superpowered strengths. He was often commended for his ability to form the perfect teams for whatever job arose; and it came pretty naturally, it really did.

That is, until emotion got involved, until personal bias compromised his decision making.

He was determined to not let you go on the mission, absolutely not. The band of powered individuals the team was going after were incredibly dangerous and unpredictable.They’d been a problem for months and this mission was all or nothing. The high stakes and vulnerable position made him incredibly reluctant to make you a part of the team that was heading out under the cover of night to apprehend them. When he didn’t name you among them, he was immediately countered by the rest of the heroes in the room about the choice.

By all the accounts they were right. Given the tactics of the mission at hand, your teleportation abilities were perfect for the job. And if he was being even a little more honest, he’d agree with Miracle Guy that not sending you with them was a “disservice to the team.” It was and he knew it. In a very un-Marcus Moreno move, he was making the completely wrong choice and he wasn’t going to let the sound judgement of anyone else change his mind.

“Psion is not going and that is final,” he boomed. The room became deathly silent. “Now, go get ready. You leave in 20.” But no one moved, no one could. They were glued to the floor, watching their unflappable leader become uncharacteristically flapped.

Marcus was the one to stomp out of the room first and you followed him without hesitation.

“Marcus,” you called, nearly running to keep up with long strides. “Marcus!”

He didn’t even deign to turn around.

In a blink you were now in front of Marcus, hands out to stop him from continuing on without talking to you.

“No teleporting outside of work, Psion” he snapped lowly, but he still obliged your silent request and remained in front of you. You blinked at the small outburst.

“Mind losing the ‘tude so we can talk like adults?” You countered. Marcus lowered his head and whispered an apology. At that you stepped closer to him, your hands coming to rest on his tense shoulders in a soothing manner. “What’s bothering you, love? You know you can talk to me. This isn’t like you at all.”

When his eyes met yours again they were pained.

“It’s too dangerous,” was all he could get out at the moment. His exhale was unsteady as he leaned in, his forehead meeting yours in a much more “Marcus” gesture that brought you both back down to earth.

You sighed, fingers carding through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “Of course it is. It always is.”

“Not like this,” he countered, biting his lip. “These guys are no joke.”

“Neither am I,” you grinned, tapping his nose with your own before pulling back to look at his face in full. He laughed a little, but it wasn’t whole-hearted, you saw it in his eyes.

“And I trust you. I do. I know you’re capable. I just--”

“Worry?”

“Yeah, that.” His eyebrows were furrowed. You softly ran a thumb across the harsh lines it made, smoothing them and making him smile.

“I’m not going to lie to you and say nothing is going to happen. Because it might.” He winced at the words, not wanting to think too hard on what “it” could be. “But I’m prepared and so is the rest of the team. We’re gonna watch each other’s backs like we always do and getting everyone out safely is going to be our priority over completing the mission. It’s going to be business as usual and it’s going to be OK. I’m going to be OK. You’ve gotta let me go. They need me out there tonight.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Just… Be careful. Be ready in 10.” You sighed in relief.

“Thank you, Marcus.” You kissed him. “It’s gonna be fine.” He kissed you. “We’ve got ‘em this time. I know it.” One last kiss, strong and lingering. You tilted your head, an invitation-- no, a plead-- for a deeper kiss, which he obliged before being the one to break it.

“Go,” he murmured, “Or you won’t make it before they leave.” You nodded, taking a deep breath. “Be careful. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You smiled through the sudden onset of nerves before turning and walking down the hallway to join up with the rest of the team.

***

That had been hours ago. Now Marcus was in command with a skeleton crew, the late hours of the assignment sending most of the support and technical team home. He quickly decided that was probably for the best. The sweet little interns did not need to see their mentor so stressed and antsy. No, he had to be “on” for them, he had to be the Marcus Moreno. And he couldn’t be that right now. Right now he was an anxious husband and teammate.

“Where are they now, Connie?” he asked the poor woman at the comms desk behind him for the upteenth time that hour.

“Trackers say they’re still in the hanger, sir. Last update was that they had the grunts and were waiting for the ring leader to respond to their distress call.”

He wasn’t responding. It’d been two hours. And that was a major cause for concern.

“Tell them to just bring who they have back here and we’ll keep searching for him. This is still a win as far as I’m concerned.”

The man who was on comms moved to press the talk button to speak to the team, but the comm crackled to life before he had the opportunity.

“It’s an ambush!” Miracle Guy yelled from the other side, “We’re sitting ducks out here!”

Marcus’ heart dropped into his stomach.

“Go! Go! Get back to the-” He heard your panicked voice call out, the sentence interrupted by a cry of pain.

The room spun. Marcus knew he was yelling but he couldn’t hear a word of what he said. It all just sounded like white noise now, mixing with the jumbled thoughts in his head and the ringing in his ears. He must’ve said something right though, because everyone was working. One was arranging a rescue, one was calling out the vitals of the team via the trackers on their wrists-- everything seemed fine by the tone of voice, but Marcus couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t grasp a word that was said to him. He was totally on autopilot, only able to respond in vague nods of yes or no.

“Hey,” one voice next to him cut through the fog and he looked up to Lucas, the man who ran comms, “They’re going to be ok.”

Marcus’s response was non-committal, not wanting to pull the young man down to share his current state of mind, but not allowing himself to share in his confident optimism either.

The next hour went by in a whirlwind and the next thing he knew, Marcus was downstairs in the medical wing waiting on you and your team to arrive. He’d been in this position before and the thought of it made his throat close up. The images flashed through his mind of a gurney and too much blood and a confused little girl and black clothing on a rainy day in April.

He closed his eyes harder as if to block it all out.

No, it couldn’t be like last time.

It was then that he heard the distinct sound of the sliding doors opening and the murmur of a small group of people. His eyes shot open and, though he stood to his feet, he felt that he could collapse in relief. There was no gurney. Minimal blood-- just a couple of cuts on your face. You were hobbling in, arm around Miracle Guy as he helped you keep pressure off of your left leg. Your face was pained, which probably should have concerned him more, but he was just too happy to see you upright… Breathing. As long as he had that, you could get through anything else together.

He watched as the medical team surrounded all of you, asking questions, prodding delicately at injuries. Marcus could vaguely hear your voice cutting in and out through it all.

“Super strength… Kicked… Broken.”

They had asked you a couple more unheard questions that you responded to in a simple yes or no and then they were leading you to sit on one of the beds. He watched as you went, noticing the way you were looking around for… Something.

Oh.

He smiled.

You were looking for him.

In all his panic and then relief, it hadn’t occurred to him that you would want to see him just as badly in your current state. His heart warmed at the way your tired eyes lit up when they met his. He all but ran to you.

“Hey baby,” he cooed, leaning in to capture your lips in a deep kiss. He’d never been more in awe of you, that you were real, that way you were his, that he could kiss you freely. When he pulled away he observed your injuries closer. Head wounds were always scary amounts of bloody, but he could see that all of the cuts were minor. He brushed a strand of hair away from where sweat and blood had plastered it to your forehead. “What happened? How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” you hissed as a stab of pain surged through your leg. He looked down to observe it. His immediate diagnosis wasn’t a good one. It was terribly hard to break a femur, but he was certain this was exactly what it would look and feel like. “Some super-strength asshole kicked me in the thigh to knock me down and--” You winced again. “They think she broke my femur, and I would have to agree.”

“I have to say I’m thinking that too,” he sighed. “I’m so sorry.” He kissed your forehead in between the cuts.

“What are you sorry for? You’re the one that tried to keep me from going. I forced you to let me go.”

“I should’ve stood my ground and had you and the team be mad at me,” he said completely seriously.

“You’re ridiculous.” You side-eyed him, but smiled through the words. One of the medical staff returned at that moment, bringing over supplies to clean your cuts and asking if you’d like something for the pain while they got prepped for surgery. You nodded eagerly.

“I’ll take this over,” Marcus said, hands open to take the first aid kit, “If you want to go get that?”

“Oh, sir I couldn’t ask you to--” The young woman gawked, slightly unbelieving that her boss’s boss’s boss would volunteer to do her job.

“You’re not asking me, I’m asking you.”

“A-- Yes, right away.” She handed him the kit and seemed to flee his presence to get an IV ready. You sat in silence a few moments as he prepared everything. He seemed lost, even in this small task. It took him longer than it should’ve to get his ducks in a row.

“Someone’s a little edgy,” you prodded, watching as too-intense eyes focused on cleaning dried blood from your forehead. He shook his head, eyes softening, but maintaining their focus. The whole endeavor was very clearly an attempt at keeping his hands as busy as his mind was.

“I’d thought I‘d lost you. I thought...” His jaw tightened-- and it wasn’t due to the effort of wiping up blood. You stopped his hand from continuing its ministrations, lacing your fingers together.

“That it was all happening again?” you whispered.

“It was like deja vu, baby. Everything was just like before.” The last word almost came out like a whimper.

“But it’s not. I’m right here. I’m ok.” You brought your forehead to meet his comfortingly. The cuts stung just a little at the touch, but you remained there with him, feeling a deep, grounding breath fan lightly across your face.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You kissed his nose and pulled away as you heard the medic return with the Versed for the pain. Marcus stayed right by your side as you were put on the IV, a hand staying firmly on yours. Which more for him than for you if he was honest. It brought him back to reality and out of his head. He no longer had to imagine the worst, because the best had happened. You were really there. It wasn’t a repeat of the aching horror of seven years before, the day that still had you shaking him awake from unspoken nightmares. You’d made it home to him and Missy-- but he was going to be hard-pressed to go against his better judgment again, no matter how much the team needed you.

“Alright, you’ll start to feel it in just a few seconds. We’ll be back soon to take you into surgery, ok?” the medic explained to you as the IV was in place. You nodded.

“In the meantime, let me keep working on this,” Marcus gestured to the bandages in the kit. As he got to work, he watched the look in your eyes totally change, the Versed taking effect.

“Are you alright?” he asked, covering the cut that just barely grazed your right eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you sighed dreamily in a total demeanor change. The whole room lit up in his eyes. Marcus grinned at the way your posture slumped just slightly in relaxation. “And how are you?” you winked. Oh, this was going to be fun. He really needed to keep you talking.

“I’m doing great. Happy to be here with you, sweetheart. Now, sit still while I take care of this last cut,” he cooed.

“Ok,” you giggled. “What a charmer.”

“I try my best, darling.” He played along, enjoying the way the Versed had turned you into a starstruck girl with a crush.

“Oh noooo,” you squeaked suddenly.Marcus panicked, checking you over quickly for further injury.

“What is it? Are you ok?”

But you only grabbed his left hand, holding it up.

“You’re married!”

Marcus blinked. What was in that stuff they’d given you? You put your face in your hands and Marcus tried to contain his laughter at the way your voice was muffled by your fingers. “You’ve been so nice and caring! I wanted to ask you on a dateeee. I’m so sorry if I came on too strong.”

“Baby,” he called with a sweet lilt to his voice-- still trying to hold in a laugh.

“You shouldn’t call me that,” you sighed sadly, pouting, “You’re married. We can’t be together.”

“Of course I’m married,” he held your left hand up now, “I’m married to you, you goof.” You blinked at the silvery ring on your finger.

“Oh!” you practically yelled, “That’s so cool!” Marcus’ heart warmed at the way your eyes lit up at the realization. Even drugged out of your mind you were excited to be with him. He couldn’t help but feel likewise.

“I agree,” he smiled, “It’s very cool.” He intertwined his fingers and yours.

“I’m so lucky,” you grinned toothily in response. It was so unlike the smiles you usually gave him: too exaggerated and, in a word, dopey. But it held the same affection.

“No, I’m definitely the lucky one,” he countered. Your grin faltered slightly as you grew sleepy-- another possible effect of the Versed, he guessed. “Now, go ahead and lay back for me ok? I’ll see you as soon as you’re out of surgery.” You nodded in agreement and then right off to sleep.

Oh, he could not wait for you to get out so he could tell you about just how “lucky” the two of you were.

#marcus moreno x reader #bri writes #marcus moreno

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jjmaybanksbaby · 4 years ago

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Where It Leads (Rafe Cameron)

Summer IV

Part 07: Crashing Down

series masterlist | previous part

summary: A jarring family emergency forces you to consider the future of your relationship with Rafe Cameron.

a/n: I'm a little bit emotional about this series ending because I've had so much fun writing it! Enjoy the last part and, as always, please come share your reactions with me in my inbox. Okay, that's all from me!

word count: 2.1k words

Rafe Cameron knew how to text. He was somehow witty, charming, and hilarious all in less characters than a single tweet. Texting with most boys was like talking to a brick wall: single-syllable answers, unironic uses of punctuation, asking “What are you wearing?” before even listening to how your day went. Though, to be fair, Rafe had asked that same question a few times, which always earned him a sarcastic answer in return. Well, except for that one time.

You’d been forced to spill the beans about your dreamy summer romance to Alice and Kensie after one of Rafe’s funnier texts almost made you pee yourself laughing at the lunch table.

“Oh, so he’s a stud muffin,” Alice announced, peering over Kenzie’s shoulder at the photo on your phone.

“Please god don’t call anyone a stud muffin ever again Al,” Kenzie replied.

“What? The 80s are like making a comeback.”

“Yeah, not that,” you countered and Alice huffed.

“He’s totally hot though,” Kenzie said, handing the phone back to you. “And I kinda hate you for not telling us about him.”

You looked down at the picture. Rafe was kissing your check while you grinned up at the camera, the golden hour lighting made the whole thing look rather enchanting. It was your favorite picture of you and him.

“Oh shit,” Kenzie said causing you to look up from the phone. “You’re like in love in love with him.”

“What? No,” you protested. Yes, your brain corrected.

Kenzie glanced over at Alice for backup.

“Besides, I wasn’t hiding him. I just didn’t know if there was anything there to...tell,” you finished.

“I wish I had a handsome summer fling with spectacular cheekbones,” Alice sighed.

“Don’t let your boyfriend hear you saying that.” Kenzie chucked a fry off her tray at Alice who dodged it expertly.

“Oh, please. Matty knows I would dump his ass for someone who looks like a young Chuck Bass any day of the week. Gimme your phone. I wanna see the photos again y/n.”

“I seriously don’t know how you and Matthew have been together for two years,” Kenzie replied.

“Are you kidding? They’re practically made for each other,” you added.

“The phone, please,” Alice interjected. “I wanna thirst over your mans while my boyfriend is sucking up to his English teacher so she doesn’t fail him. Of course, I told him he needed to actually read Wuthering Heights and not just sparknotes it. But did he listen? No. I picked a real winner y’all,” she finished, taking the phone from your outstretched hands. “You sure Rafe doesn’t have any brothers? Not even like a half-step brother?”

So yeah, going great. Against the odds of three thousand miles, the whole thing was somehow working. Long-distance friends with benefits? Check. Well, except for those moments when that nagging feeling in your stomach came back and you’d start overthinking everything. His texts would sit, unread in your phone for days or even a whole week, slowly sinking to the bottom of your messages.

Then came the call from the Kildare Country Hospital in the early hours of a foggy April morning. You should have gone to sleep hours ago but were still up, desperately trying to cram Maria’s lines into your brain while also texting Rafe. The Sound of Music opened in three weeks and your director had already chewed you out twice for not being off-book, something about being an upperclassman and the lead, and what kind of an example were you setting for the rest of the program. Big speeches were kind of your director's thing, you learned to just ride them out.

Around 1 a.m. your phone ran with an incoming FaceTime call from Rafe. You pressed the green acccept button, a smile spread across your face as Rafe’s own filled the screen.

“Hey Broadway Star.”

“Hi Rafe.” The dim lighting of his bedroom made his feature especially striking. “What are you still doing up?”

“Can’t sleep. Plus you’re up too so. How’s the memorizing going?”

“Shitty,” you replied, closing your binder with a sigh. “I’m too tired to do anymore of it tonight anyway.”

“You know, I was thinking I could come to Oregon for your opening night?”

“Really?” The possibility of Rafe sitting in the audience made your heart race.

“Yeah, why not? I’ll ask Ward if I can borrow the plane that weekend and I bet Sarah’ll want to come too. I wanna see my girl kill it. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Rafe. You know my friends think you’re hot.”

“Oh, do they?” Rafe replied, rolling over onto his back in his bed.

“Don’t let it get to your head, Cameron.”

The home phone ran but you ignored it, much more invested in your conversation with Rafe. The second time the hospital left a message. Your Nonna’s heart had given out. The prognosis wasn’t good. She had barely any time left.

Your heart dropped as the words echoed over the speaker of the answering machine.

“Rafe,” you said, cutting him off momentarily. “I gotta go. I’ll call you back later. I gotta-” you ended the call before Rafe even had the chance to respond. You dropped your phone on the kitchen table, dashing up the stairs to your parents’ bedroom. Your father was booking a flight for your mother back to the Outer Banks minutes later.

The end had come so quickly, so unexpectedly. It was almost like that made it harder. There'd been just enough time for your mom and uncle to get to the Outer Banks, sitting on each side of your Nonna as her final breaths passed through her lungs. Now, everyone was there to say goodbye one last time. Uncle Austin and his fiancé. Your mom and dad. Both your siblings. The entire population of Figure Eight.

☼☼☼

Rain drizzled down from the dark, gray clouds looming overhead. It was as if Mother Nature was mourning your Nonna too, hiding the sunshine away.

Three baby ducks followed their mama into the man-made pond at the edge of the cemetery. You watched their tiny feet kick up small waves disturbing the peaceful water and the tears silently slipped down your face.

The cars were waiting to take you back to your Nonna's house for the wake. The same house with the for-sale sign now stuck in the front yard. The for-sale sign with Rose's patronizing grin that you were starting to really hate. Your dad had handled that. Listing the house. He'd handled most of the funeral arrangement's actually because your mother had been too sunken into her grief to make any decision. Sending out the invitations, picking out your Nonna's casket, choosing the flowers. Your mother clung to him during the entire funeral, weeping into his shoulder.

“Y/n?” Rafe's voice called out from behind you and you turned to see him walked toward you. He’d stood at the back of the church with his family during the funeral. You had longed for him to be sitting in the first pew next to you, to have had his hand to hold onto to ground you, but it hardly would have been appropriate. Your Nonna would have sooner risen from the dead than have had a Cameron front row at her funeral.

As soon as he was close enough, Rafe reached for you, pulling your body tight into him. Your head landed on his chest and the sobs came moments later. God, he always smelled the same. He just let you cry, holding you close, smoothing his hand over your hair.

“I know you’re selling your grandma’s house but I was thinking you could stay with me for the summer," he said as your tears began to slow. It was hard to imagine that you wouldn't return to the Outer Banks once school let out. It was the first week of May already and you could feel the tourist-attracting town waking up. But selling the house just made more sense. Your older sister was already living her life in New York, a real adult life. Next summer, you'd be moving out too, headed to college. The house would sit empty for eight months out of the year, your family couldn't keep it and your uncle certainly didn’t want it. Selling it just had to happen.

You stepped back, slipping out of his embrace. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rafe.”

“Why not?”

“Cause we’re like Romeo and Juliet.”

“I copied Cleo’s notes for that unit," he joked, trying to lighten to damp mood. “Plus I was never a fan of Leo DiCaprio so I didn’t finish the movie either.”

“It means we’re not supposed to be together, you and me. And whenever we try, the universe rips us apart. We hurt each other.”

Rafe shifted awkwardly on his feet, clearly wanting to reach for you again but stopping himself from doing it. “But I can't lose you.”

You reached your hand out, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “Oh Rafe, don’t you get it? You never really had me.” You stood up onto your tiptoes to kiss him just like you had the first time three years ago. Rafe barely parted his lips, kissing you back gently. Your hand cupped his face, your thump stroking over his cheek. It was a goodbye. Both of you knew it. It was an ending and this was your closure. You pulled away, your hand falling away from his face.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say the actual words. Your eyes fell to the ground. You needed to walk away now. You side-stepped Rafe but he grabbed your waist, turning you back around to face him.

“So that’s it? You’re not even gonna try to fight for us?”

“What even is there to fight for, Rafe? I’ve been fighting for us for the past four years. If we were supposed to be together that car wouldn’t have crashed into ours, I wouldn’t have fallen for Evan when I did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at my Nonna’s funeral. What? Are we supposed to do long distance for all of college? I hardly know who I am right now. I have no idea who I’ll be in the next four years. Our future selves might not even like each other. I’m not gonna wait around for you Rafe and I would never ask you to do that for me.” You twirled the small, star charm between your fingers, a nervous habit you'd developed over the past year. His eyes dropped down to your neck momentarily and his adam's apple visibly bobbing as he swallowed his next weeks.

“You were it for me, you know. I tried to give a fuck about anyone else but I couldn’t get your gorgeous, stupid face out of my mind. I only wanted you.” Rafe paused gauging your reaction “I was falling in love with you.”

Your eyes wandered over his stoic expression. “The feeling was mutual, Rafe Cameron.”

He dropped your wrist but you both stood, not moving or saying anything. “Do you wanna walk me back to the car?”

“Yeah.” He reached for your hand, interlocking your fingers. Your other hand held onto his bicep so you walked together through the graveyard back to the parking lot.

The moment felt precious and delicate, like the fragile china your Nonna used to collect. You wondered what would happen to all that china.

Rafe placed a chaste kiss on your lips before opening the door of the car.

“I’ll miss you,” you said, the words hanging in the air meaning so much.

“Me too,” Rafe agreed.

You wanted one more kiss, one more passionate declaration of how much this all had meant but that would make leaving Rafe so much more impossible.

You climbed into the car, dropping Rafe’s hand in the process.

“See you around Cameron.” You knew it wouldn’t happen but it felt better than a goodbye.

He smiled back. “Maybe so.”

Perhaps Rafe was right and you’d both end up at a small liberal arts college in California taking the same second-year Econ class with a professor who always smelled like weed. Perhaps the stars would align and two of you would realize the universe wasn’t trying to keep you apart. It was just waiting for the right moment to show you that the love you had for each other was the soulmates, forever and ever kind of love. Perhaps you would get married and Sarah would be your maid of honor, of course. You’d buy back your Nonna’s house to raise your troubling-making kids in. Perhaps, you would find your way back and wake up each day and choose each other again and again.

Or perhaps, he'd always be your right-person-wrong-time. And, in the end, the passing days will steal away your memories of the blue-eyed boy from the Outer Banks.

taglist! @oreoenthusiast13

#outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron series #obx netflix #obx #obx fanfic #where it leads series #where it leads

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lalainajanes · 3 years ago

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This completes column #2 on my bingo card, the square was “Eager Backstage Groupie”

Another Shot of Courage

Saturday, May 1st, 8:16 AM

Caroline wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, in the little black dress she'd worn to Kat's birthday party, with a headache and a foul-tasting mouth. She's sprawled in the middle of a very large mattress, so the first thing Caroline does is explore. She stretches her arms out tentatively, expecting to poke someone (hopefully an unobjectionable someone) awake.

She appears to be alone, and Caroline relaxes into the fluffy pillows. She wiggles experimentally, satisfied when her bra and underwear dig into uncomfortable areas and gives in to the temptation to burrow under the duvet.

She just needs a minute to regret her life choices before she confronts them. Caroline sighs, stretches, and her fuzzy head begins to clear, memories sharpening.

And yikes.

Can she stay in her self-made blanket fort forever? A lot of her conduct last night had been highly irrational, some of it downright hypocritical. She is a public relations professional, highly sought after. Her clients pay many pretty pennies for her services.

Had she seriously mauled Klaus Mikaelson in one of the trendiest clubs in LA?

Caroline tugs down the blanket, intent on confirming her suspicions, allowing her to look around and study the room with new eyes.

There's a brick fireplace at the end of the bed, a wide armchair in front of it – not particularly revealing. Her eyes flick to the left. There's nothing, but dark curtains pulled tight over a wall of windows.

When she looks to the right, there's a smoking gun. Well, kind of. It's a drafting table, an easel, and shelves featuring paintbrushes, haphazardly stacked sketchbooks, and a bunch of other things that Caroline doesn't currently have the brainpower to identify.

She considers slipping out of bed and checking to see if those curtains cover any kind of door. She thinks it's logical to assume so. She's only been to Klaus' home a few times, tries to insist they meet at her office. She's never ventured far beyond the kitchen and living rooms, but it's a Spanish-style bungalow on a sprawling lot. Why wouldn't he have a walk out into the yard from his bedroom?

She discards the idea with some regret. Running away without a word is a coward's move and would probably backfire. Klaus is still her client, whatever psychosis had gripped Caroline last night, and it's not like she could dump him via email at this point. He's got a huge movie coming in three weeks, and they're flying to London tomorrow to begin the premiere tour. She could probably pass it on to another publicist, but she'd still be on the hook, would have to coordinate her plans long-distance.

Selfishly, Caroline hopes that's not necessary. She'd hate for someone else to reap the benefits of her hard work.

She heaves herself into a sitting position, wincing when her head throbs. Her stomach seems solid, with no hint of queasiness, so that's a plus. Caroline tosses the covers aside, shifts until her legs slide over the side of the bed. She catches a glimpse of herself in a mirror through the open closet door and cringes.

She'd done an excellent smoky eye last night, and it's migrated all over her face. She doesn't even want to consider how long it's going to take to detangle her hair. She decides she can wait a bit to hunt down Klaus, stepping forward and twisting the knob on the closed door. "Jackpot," Caroline mutters, walking into Klaus' bathroom. There's a stack of towels on the counter, and she figures it won't hurt to take a shower.

She'd had her tongue in his mouth and had apparently kicked him out of his bed, so what's one more presumption?

Friday, April 30th, 10:47 PM

In the VIP lounge Kat had rented, elevated above the main dance floor, Caroline waves away a shot of tequila. She'd had one during the birthday toast, wine at dinner. Had just ordered an overpriced cocktail. She's pleasantly tipsy but needs to pace herself because she can't get too drunk tonight.

Besides, Caroline and tequila have a complicated relationship.

Kat boos her, a few of the other girls joining in. Caroline laughs, "I know, I'm boring. I have a million things to do tomorrow to make sure I'm ready to live out of a suitcase for weeks."

Katherine scoffs, "Just make Klaus buy you anything you forget. What good is a guy who's hot for you and makes big fat superhero movie paychecks if he won't buy you pretty things?"

They've discussed this a bajillion times. Caroline has actually run away from this exact conversation, shouting nonsense syllables, with her fingers jammed in her ear, as if she and Katherine still fight over Barbies and who gets to wear dress-up trunk's best princess dress.

Caroline still can't resist arguing – it's a character flaw. "He's my client. That's it."

"Oh, please. Men in this town bone their clients all the time."

"That doesn't make it okay!"

Usually, this is the part where Katherine tries to convince her that Klaus is dying to be boned – her words, not Caroline's – but she gets distracted, squinting across the bar. Kat's lips curl, expression growing sly, "It appears my argument is moot."

Um, what? Katherine's literally never backed down from an argument in the twenty-plus years they've been friends. Puzzled, Caroline turns, trying to see what caught Kat's attention.

The club features several VIP lounges, each located at the top of a short staircase and decorated with wide velvet sofas and crystal chandeliers. There's an attendant who keeps booze and food flowing. It's clever – the sofas are inviting and squishy, tend to force people close together. The chandeliers ensure that anyone who happens to take a picture can get a decent shot, and the free flow of liquor has lowered the inhibitions of at least half a dozen celebrities, resulting in photos that send the gossip blogs into a tizzy as soon as they hit the internet.

When Caroline spots Klaus across the way, a redheaded model sprawled in his lap, she's immediately fuming.

"Looks like he got tired of waiting," Kat drawls. "Wanna reconsider the tequila?"

"Katherine. I love you. But zip it."

Katherine makes a face but leaves Caroline alone, turning to another one of their friends and asking a question. Caroline takes a deep breath, counts to ten.

She'd busted her ass to make him appear family-friendly enough to land the movie with the very PR-conscious studio that had netted him the big fat checks Katherine had just been crowing over. He's jeopardizing that on the eve of the most significant press tour of his career.

She looks over again, leaning forward. The redhead's moved away, she's sitting at Klaus' side, and they now appear to be merely engaged in conversation. Caroline does her best to think like a photographer – is there an angle that could make the scene look tawdry?

Probably not. So really, Klaus isn't jeopardizing anything.

Caroline's anger doesn't cool at the revelation.

She's so screwed.

She's on her feet before she decides to be, stalking down the stairs. She hears Katherine yelling borderline lewd encouragement at her back, but Caroline knows better than to take her advice.

She's marching over to diffuse, not inflame.

Hopefully.

Saturday, May 1st, 9:01 AM

She finds Klaus in his living room, asleep, his legs hanging awkwardly over the arm of a too-short couch, his torso twisted so awkwardly that Caroline's back twinges sympathetically. With the confirmation that she had stolen his bed, more of Caroline's irritation fades. The shower had helped, as had the bottle of water she'd guzzled and the three Tylenol she'd popped.

She takes a seat on his coffee table, setting down her second bottle of water. Caroline reaches out, shaking his shoulder gently. "Klaus," she murmurs when he begins to stir. "Wake up."

She could probably leave him to sleep. Klaus' stylist will handle most of his packing; he's borrowed a dizzying volume of outfits and accessories for Klaus to wear on this trip. The announcement won't come for another two weeks, but Klaus is shooting a Dior cologne ad once his press obligations wrap. The brand had requested he start wearing the newest line. Caroline had attended the last fitting, and she'd had a hard time keeping her blatant ogling under wraps.

Klaus looks good in ratty jeans, in a suit tailored to his measurements? Just about anyone attracted to men would have struggled not to appreciate the sight.

That's how Caroline had justified letting her emails pile up that afternoon.

She'd been a little worried about her control slipping on this trip, once they were alone in the hotel, and Klaus dropped the shiny, press-perfect façade he's learned to maintain. Caroline had designed that mask to appeal to the broadest possible audience. Doing interview prep has unfortunately only emphasized how much more she likes Klaus without it.

Klaus stretches, eyes fluttering open. "Good morning," he murmurs, voice husky with sleep. "I hope you slept better than I did."

Caroline winces, "Don’t you have a guest room or two you could have shoved me in?”

He smiles lazily, “You were quite insistent on touring my bedroom.”

Her eyes slam shut, face heating, “And that is why I don’t drink tequila unsupervised,” she grumbles.

He laughs, sitting up, his legs bracketing hers. He reaches for her water bottle and helps himself to a sip. Caroline leans back, fishing the Tylenol out of the pocket of the hoodie she’d stolen from his closet. She’d needed something bulkier to hide the fact she hadn’t been able to convince herself to strap her bra back on. “Do you want these?” she asks, rattling the bottle.

Klaus shakes his head, “I’m not hungover. I didn’t drink at all, and you stole that shot of tequila that was meant for me, remember?”

Ohhh no. She’d forgotten about that. She’d stolen his and the model’s.

Which, in hindsight, goes a long way to explaining what had happened after. Caroline’s problem with tequila is that once she starts, she has a hard time stopping. It heightens her usually non-existent impulsive streak, leads to sub-par decisions.

Occasionally, tequila does make her clothes fall off.

Caroline buries her hands in her face, wishing she hadn’t tied her hair back. She’s mortified, probably growing splotchy. “I am so sorry,” she mutters.

Klaus sighs, tries to tug her hands away. Caroline resists, tensing her muscles, wishes she’d gone with her first instinct and fled out the backdoor. He rests his hands on her knees, squeezing, voice dipping into coaxing tones. “No apology necessary. I’m not the least bit upset.”

Unfortunately, Caroline’s totally up to the task of being upset enough for the both of them.

Friday, April 30th, 10:53 PM

Once the attendant in Klaus VIP area confirms that he does know Caroline and lets her up the stairs, Klaus has managed to increase the distance between his body and the model’s. He seems pleased to see her, grabbing her hand and tugging her to sit next to him on the couch.

Close enough that they’re connected thigh to shoulder.

The model, whose name Caroline doesn’t particularly care about, is less welcoming. She glares daggers at Caroline’s hand, still enclosed in Klaus’. He makes polite introductions. “Genevieve, this is my publicist and very good friend, Caroline Forbes. Caroline, Genevieve. She’s a friend of Kol’s.”

Klaus’ younger brother is also an actor, still firmly in the throes of his wild child phase. Caroline finds him entertaining, despite her best intentions, but he’s known to delight in making her job more complicated. She glances around suspiciously, “Is Kol here?”

Klaus gestures vaguely to the dance floor. “Somewhere. He dragged me out to celebrate a pilot he booked, then disappeared.”

Hmm, that could lead to disaster. Caroline wonders if she should shoot his publicist a text as a professional courtesy.

Caroline smiles at Genevieve sharply, “So sweet of you to keep Klaus company.” It’s mean, but Caroline wonders if Genevieve has somehow heard about Klaus’ Dior deal through the grapevine. Maybe she’s aiming for a co-starring role – Caroline’s read the treatment for the commercial; it’s supposed to be streamy.

Oh, good lord, High School Caroline has somehow time traveled and taken over her body.

Genevieve pastes on an equally fake smile (at least Caroline’s not the only one regressing). Before she can snipe back, a silver tray is set in front of them, two shots resting on it. The attendant catches Caroline’s eye, “Can I get you anything, Miss?”

Klaus interrupts, squeezes her hand in an absent apology, “Sorry, there must be some mistake. I ordered a water.”

He’s contractually obligated to maintain a ridiculously chiseled body. Caroline’s got a reminder in her phone to order him a pile of celebratory spaghetti after his press obligations are officially over and he can relax for a few months.

The attendant’s eyes flit to Genevieve in confusion, “I…”

“I cancelled that,” she chirps, sliding her hand up Klaus’ arm. Genevieve leans in, tone lowering to what Caroline thinks is supposed to be a seductive level. “Figured we would toast.”

Caroline catches it because she’s practically plastered to Klaus’ other side. “Who toasts with tequila?” she asks. “Other than creeps at bars, I mean.”

Had Caroline not been well acquainted with Katherine Pierce, she might have been intimidated by Genevieve's attempt at a lethal glare.

Caroline stares back, reaching blindly for the first shot. She tosses it back, then the second, fighting the shudder that wants to wrack her frame through sheer willpower alone.

“Bitch,” Genevieve mutters, standing and flouncing away.

It’s petty, but Caroline savors her win.

Klaus is staring at her oddly, a touch concerned. “Maybe we should get you some water, love.”

Saturday, May 1st, 9:04 AM

“There were more shots when I got back to Kat’s party,” Caroline moans. “I’m going to kill her. She knows my weaknesses.”

“While I am reluctant to defend your irritating friend, she did seem rather intent on her fun. It was her birthday, wasn’t it?”

Caroline nods, “Yeah. And Kat’s always been firmly convinced that she should get to do whatever her little black heart desires on her birthday.”

“She did insist I ensure you get home safely. I’m afraid you were rather reluctant to supply your address.”

She sighs, finally dropping her hands. “Honestly, I just moved into a condo. I might not have remembered it.” That’s the less embarrassing option. It’s probably more likely that tequila drunk Caroline had crafted a plan to seduce Klaus, and step one entailed getting invited to his house. “I know you said not to apologize, but I obviously put you out. I’m supposed to babysit you, not the other way around.”

Klaus laughs, his knee nudging hers. “I haven’t needed that for ages, as you well know.”

He has a point – Caroline likely wouldn’t have agreed to take him on if he was still indulging in public drunkenness and paparazzi punching. When she’d first met with Klaus, it had been out of curiosity. She’d made a comfortable living from her client roster, did not need to take on the project of a difficult actor.

Klaus’ bad behavior had been a few years in the past, and he’d just come off a run of festival darlings and had produced a surprise hit sci-fi drama. He’d been frustrated by the doors that remained firmly shut to him, had laid his ambitions on the table.

Caroline had been intrigued. While she’s excellent at her job, but it’s always easier to work her magic with clients who are willing to dive into the work. Klaus’ talent was undeniable; she’d thought he could be a household name with the right opportunity. She’d agreed to take him on, and three years later, it’s paid off.

Caroline tugs the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over her hands, eyes on the frayed trim. “I was mad when I saw you last night, and that wasn’t fair. You’d set you were resting up for the press tour, but it’s not my business if you changed your mind.”

“Did you think I was resuming some bad habits?” Klaus asks. “I know that particular venue has a… reputation. Probably why Kol picked it.”

Caroline sneaks a glance at him, trying to gauge how he feels, but he’s not giving much away. “No, not really. I trust you. I wasn’t thinking super logically.”

She has to admit, at least to herself, that she’d been jealous. Caroline’s going to have to think about how deep that goes, if the feelings that had slapped her in the face last night will prevent their working relationship from being effective. What if Klaus meets someone? Will she be able to plant sneaky tidbits about how happy they are, scour the gossip blogs for rumors that could become issues?

“You? Not thinking logically? However could that be?”

She glares at him, though she knows his teasing is good-natured. “Some of it was the booze. I totally wouldn’t have hauled you onto the dance floor without it. And I wouldn’t have… well, you were there.”

She’s not up to list her transgressions. If Klaus hadn’t been drinking, then his memory of her wandering hands, her flirtatious comments, and heated invitations should be crystal clear. Caroline had been drunk, and she’s having a hard time not dwelling on the kiss – which, to be fair, Klaus had enthusiastically participated in – that she’d initiated.

“I was there. I have no objections to anything that occurred last night, save perhaps wishing you’d been sober.” Her head snaps up, eyes widening in shock, and Klaus laughs incredulously. “Surely you must know of my interest in you, Caroline.”

She’s suspected, but she’s also well aware that Klaus has no shortage of offers. Last night is proof of that. Caroline has always assumed that take one of them, at some point, and his flirtatiousness with her would fade away. She’d dated an actor or two when she’d moved to LA after wrapping up college. Caroline had been working insane hours then, trying to claw her way past the other assistants at the agency where she’d worked. Her exes from that time period had been quick to move on once they realized she wasn’t willing to center her universe around them.

“Interest can be fleeting.”

“It’s been three years.”

“You never made a real move.”

Again, Klaus counters quickly. “You’d not have accepted, and then you’d likely have pawned me off on someone else.”

Yeah, he’s got a point there. “I’m your publicist.”

“I have no objection to mixing business with pleasure. If you do, I suppose I’m willing to suffer a less competent publicist.”

“I’m beginning to suspect you’ve been plotting.”

Klaus shrugs, entirely unrepentant. “Perhaps a bit. I’ve always been entirely honest with you, I merely prevented a situation that would lessen the time we spent together until such a time as you were ready to consider me in a romantic light.”

“That’s a lot of words to confess you’ve been trying to flirt me into submission while flashing your hot body at every opportunity,” Caroline grumbles.

Klaus’ smile widens, dimples now visible. “It seems to have worked. Assuming that you meant the things you said to me last night?”

“I…” she hadn’t been expecting him to ask her that directly. She should have been – Klaus is skilled at choosing the best way to catch someone off guard. Caroline glances away from him, eyes catching on the clock across the room. Crap. She has so much to do. “I have to go,” Caroline tells him, standing up.

His eyes narrow, and his head tips to the side, like he’s searching for a sign of weakness. Both telltale indicators that Klaus is gearing up to argue. Caroline holds up a hand, “I know, okay? This looks like I’m running away, and technically I am, but this is not the time to begin that mixing you mentioned. We’ve both worked too hard to risk screwing up the next few weeks. Did you read your contract? The fines for non-compliance are no joke.”

“Now is not the time,” Klaus says slowly. “Meaning?”

“We table it now. I’m open to a discussion later.” Three weeks is plenty of time for her to sort out where she stands, right? Caroline never sleeps on flights anyway.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I want a timeline. I understand that you feel obligated to ensure this press tour goes smoothly, but you can only use it as an excuse until it’s over, love. I’m prepared to be persuasive.”

“What, do you want me to schedule something on your calendar? Maybe set an agenda?”

“No need to be so formal. Just agree to have dinner with me once we return. Here, if you’d like, so we don’t risk inflaming the tabloids before you’re ready.”

“You seem awfully sure that this is going to go a certain way. So eager to fire me?”

Klaus gets to his feet, and Caroline sucks in a nervous breath. Sitting across from each other, he’d been a reasonable distance away. Now, with both of them standing in the narrow gap between his couch and coffee table, if one of them breathes too deeply or shifts deliberately, they’ll be plastered together.

She’s tempted despite knowing she’s right about the timing.

Klaus rests his hand on her waist and turns them so Caroline could step back if she wanted to.

She stays where she is.

A tiny smile curls Klaus’ lips and his hand moves, pressing her closer. “As much as I enjoyed your more… explicit ramblings last night, I must confess my favorite revelation was when you confessed to just how long you’ve had them.”

Caroline, not for the first time, curses tequila’s wretched existence.

Wednesday, May 5th 2:20 PM

The meet and greets are going to kill her.

Caroline had thought they were a good idea when she’d poured through the itinerary the studio had sent over. Inviting popular bloggers, auctioning off tickets for charity, allowing fans to enter random draws – it’s great PR and provides the opportunity for viral moments, while also controlling the environment.

Caroline’s leaning against one of the walls, unnoticed, eyes on her client.

A lot of eyes are on her client, some of which irritate Caroline more than others. The two teenage girls, trailed by an exasperated dad, who’d both burst into tears when Klaus had smiled at them? Totally adorable. The nerdy college student who’d grilled Klaus about his character’s comic backstory? Kind of a pain, but Klaus had done his homework, and Caroline had been impressed.

And annoyed. Excessive preparation is very attractive and unhelpful at this juncture of the press tour. Caroline’s already begun to reconsider what they’d agreed to, wonders if knocking on his hotel room door on the last night would be such a bad thing.

That line of thinking might be overly influenced by the scene in front of her.

Klaus is speaking with a woman in an afternoon inappropriate silver dress. Caroline’s sorely tempted to have her escorted out by security. She’d slipped a key card into the back pocket of Klaus’ jeans within 90 seconds of meeting him.

He’s handed it back, said something that made her laugh. They’re still talking.

Klaus glances up, eyes landing on her immediately. Caroline hastily tries to soften her irritated expression lest he guesses its reason. Klaus smiles, subtly tips his water bottle in her direction. Silver Dress invades his personal space a little more.

Ugh. It’s gonna be a long three weeks.

#klaroline #klarosummerbingo #klaroline fanfiction

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aaronstveit · 3 years ago

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Hello! First I wanted to say I love all your creations! I’m always curious about people’s creative process but I rarely ask them about it, I hope you don’t mind me bothering you with this ??! Do you make a list of sets/ideas and follow them or? You make a lot of sets, and all of them are so good, I wish I had this level of excellence and dedication in me. Also, do you ever gif something that isn’t very popular but you were really excited to gif it and looking forward to people seeing it and it just... flops? It’s been happening to me lately and I feel so stupid for keep creating only for myself... :( I know tumblr has been like this for a while, but I feel like the people who used to be interested in my creations aren’t anymore, and it honestly depresses me because it’s where I put my energy and creativity, you know? Anyway, keep creating, your sets make me smile❣️✨💌

hi anon !!!! first of all, thank you so so much for your kind words, you are such an angel !! you have made my entire day 💖 and i do not mind you asking at all, you're never bothering me!!

my creative process is probably a bit ~ chaotic ~ compared to others, but i don't mind sharing!! i very rarely make a list of sets i want to make. generally i get an idea and then it just sticks in my brain until i make it (this applies to every area of my life, not just giffing — if i think of something i want to write, or watch, or if i suddenly remember i have to vacuum, or if i think about cutting my hair, i literally can't stop thinking about it till i go through with it). a lot of my sets depend on what i've been watching recently; for instance, the now you see me gifset that i posted today was made in january after i watched that movie for the first time. also, i do post a lot of sets, but for the record, i do not make a set every day 😭 last year & the year before i had a habit of making sets and then leaving them in my drafts forever instead of posting them like a normal person, and eventually i ended up with nearly 100 sets in my drafts and i finally began queueing them to get them out into the world. because of that, i have been working through posting a backlog of edits for several months and i probably always will be 😭 so i have one gifset scheduled to post every day at the same time, and usually whatever set is posted was made a month or two before posting. right now i have an edit scheduled for every day up until april 9, so even if i go a week without making a single gif, i'm still way ahead of schedule. i just wanna explain that so nobody feels bad abt how long it takes them to make a set when i'm posting one every single day without fail — this is just the result of poor planning on my part, basically !!

also, yes, i have absolutely been there re: sets you love flopping :( i don't think any of my most recent sets have even cleared 100 notes which can be super discouraging. please don't feel stupid though, there is absolutely nothing wrong with creating for yourself. that's the main person you should be creating for! i know we all want people to love the things we make, and there is nothing wrong with that. but at the end of the day, the only person who truly needs to love what you've made is yourself. if you love something and you want to make a gifset or an edit for it, if you want to draw for it, or write for it, or even just talk about it, you should. even if your audience is just yourself. you should do what makes you happy! that's what tumblr & fandom are about! i know that for myself, when i stopped waiting for outside validation and just created for myself, that's when i became a lot happier with my experience on this website. that's a lot easier said than done, and there is truly nothing wrong with liking validation. but you can't let it be everything, you know?

i'm sending you lots and lots of love, anon. i hope you find more joy in your fandom experience soon 💖 i am always around to chat and you are always welcome to tag my in your creations 💛✨

#<3333 #thank you !!!#answered #love letters only💛#anonymous

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heffrondriving · 3 years ago

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I'm sorry if this is a little assholely but after seeing your vent post I went looking for where you said to not tag names and the only place I saw it was at the end of your very long tags,, so assuming i didnt miss another more obvious place...? Have you thought of just putting that in the post itself? Because anyone who's seeing it second hand (as in seeing it after someone else rebloged it) won't see that tag + not everyone reads tags, you know :( sorry that it makes you uncomfortable but if you put it somewhere more visible, like in the body of the post, then at least people def will see it. Sending love either way 💕

nahhh nothing to be sorry for issall totally cool and encouraged and you are very kind,, tbh i was lowkey waiting around for something like this and i'm kinda glad for it and also surprised it's not at least fifty times worse??? in all honesty i think i am in dire need and deserving of the hardest dose of criticism at this point for all the stupid messy personal posts i make on a sleep-deprived whim, as i am fully aware that this is not the place for it, and i am and should never be exempt from getting my necessary comeuppance should it arise. and like i said, this quandary was completely of my own fault. i have made my stance on personal comfort posts clear numerous times before and only put them in subtler places like the end of my annoying-ass rambly tags because i really don't wanna bother people with something that sounds so trivially inconsequential, and it makes me incredibly anxious to add them in the post itself (as i reckon it just outright ruins the whole content and that's such a selfish and gross thing for me to do personally,, like who tf am i to ask anything of anyone ech :-/). but this is still my sole responsibility to properly handle and conduct myself online, and i'm so sorry if i came across like i'm attempting to pass the blame for my own self-implicated neglect, as no one else should be subject to dealing with my mistakes. (like no joke i screamed aloud when i read that you looked through my posts or tags??? PLS LICHRALLY NEVER DO THAT EVER THAT'S A VV BAD IDEA ACTUAL ONLINE EQUIVALENT OF DUMPSTER DIVING VIBES EXCEPT THE DUMPSTER'S ON FIRE AND CAUSES MAJOR BRAINROTOFFISITIS!!!!! (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`))

i've had a well-needed rest hrk composed myself, deleted my prev post (i'm also thinking of removing the post that spurred it just to be sure, t'was super terrible anyway lmao), and muted my notifs for the time being, so please do feel free to tag anything however you wish at this point—i know i'm making an absolute fool out of myself for this full 180 departure (just in time for april 1st tho so swings and roundabouts-) but yeah that's completely fine idk, and if my walnut brain has anything otherwise to say abt it they will be catching These Hands according to the Fists Of Fury Code!!!!! ᕦ(ò皿óᕦ) but in all seriousness, emotional dysregulation is the absolute worst but i understand that maybe i can't really set boundaries for something fully well out of my control, so i just give up the ghost on this bc what else is there to do. c'est la vie if it sucks for me, tough shit @ self tough it out bebs u asked for this :^) though i hopefully can, however, keep everything else out of sight and out of mind so that i don't have to deal with the self-imposed repercussions by willingly setting my triggers off and lashing out incessantly. like mmm that's toxic shit girlie no one wants that here bls get u some therapy pare *whaps myself with an abaniko fan*. it's 100% on me if i choose to expand the tags on my notifs, and what happens in other ppl's blogs should be none of my fucking business and i'm just a super nosy lurker goblin sometimes ig exhibit a: this is what being a chronic cave hermit does to the human psyche. irreversible damage u.......*steven he voice* EMOTIONAL DAMAGE!!!!! my sincerest apologies again for all the trouble and i really hope this answer doesn't come off as too sardonic or acerbic or anything of the sort, i know i goof a lot but i really do mean all of it, even if trying to convey appropriate tone indication in text form is so whack 😩

also i'm really sorry for this mf ten-volume novel series of an answer (i really hope no one's insane enough to actually read this....whatever the hell this is .-.). thank you so much for your patience and understanding, and please keep the love and give it to another funky cool blog who's worthy of it and not deserving of getting squished like a pestilent vermin under your steel-toed bootheel!! /lh ~(இ௰இ~) anywayyy let's ignore (slash unfollow hardblock permanent dni etc. etc....very good ideas, those, bc if i could block myself i would without hesitation smh get this chernobyl elephant's foot outta my feed) this and my other inane bullshittery and let bygones be bygones and go back to our silly manband content, shall we??? this blog is for no-braincell shits and pure dumbassery first and foremost i promise......also i have more poorly-made sh!tposts and kendall's pretty grampa face stuff which i wanna plague the btr tag with if that's still allowed pls ¯\_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_/¯

(^^^ i can't believe i actually got to use this gif for something sdjsfjksd)

#tbh i'm genuinely shocked i'm not getting more hatemail at this point (this is an implicit urge to action!) bc lawd gawd i am obnoxious??#you know when you say things and the moment it leaves your mouth you instantly know that you fucked up??? that is me all the time #i have zero filter and it gets the best of me and i just really need ppl to tell me to shut tf up so this is good. more of this is good #i'll delete this too just so it wouldn't clutter up the feed i'm so sorry ahh ;-;#full disclosure there was another ask regarding this matter that i never answered bc it got washed out of my slow braim and by the time i #remembered it felt too uncomfortably late to respond yk so. i hope this could be some kinda reparation #fr why do i look forward to getting slammed down;;; watching me get my ass kicked is cathartic ngl. painful and tr//um//tic but still >:3 #this is what u get allen!!! hoshit here comes the undertaker with a folding chair ready to body avalanche the weak spine outta u hofuckk #i'm rambling nonsense in tags again when this answer already has no right being this long sorry drank too much coffee fushfuahj #anon #all the windows down #do pretty girl don't speak

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migeviellardi · 4 years ago

Text

Out Of Comfort

Rottmnt Donnie Centric Fanfic

Genre : Adventure, Action, Humour, Hurt/Comfort

Summary : Things happens sporadically at times, especially when you meet an interesting stranger that saves you from a lonesome rock decides to fell on your head.

Chapter 3 The Stranger

Mikey : All clear.

Leo : What do you mean ‘all clear’?

Mikey : I’m making sure there’s no police around.

Raph : I thought they’d let us go.

Splinter : They are. But that doesn’t mean that you boys don’t behave.

April : It’s alright, Splints. I’ll make sure they won’t cause any troubles.

Casey : Ugh, what’s the point of life if there won’t be a trouble?

Baron : That you won’t be here, existing.

Casey : WHAT?!

April : Okay. You need to chill.

Donnie walks right behind the group as they strolls the Hidden City’s streets. Head covered in his hoodie with his hands shoved in his pockets. So far, they hadn’t realize he’s being quiet. He’s not having the mood to talk to any of them.

Although, he agrees with Mikey, he still hasn’t trusted this whole situation. He looks around to make sure there’s no undercover cops or something, perhaps Big Mama’s goons.

Big Mama. What could she be doing right now? There’s no telling if she’s watching or plotting something. Two years after the incident of ‘You-know-who’, was caused by that wretched spider-lady.

Nobody knows what her deal is. Her fanatic obsessions about Battle Nexus always made everyone in the world got involve. She had no chill, she never does. Which come to wondering why would his father dated a girl like her?

“Donnie!”

April’s voice startled him. The group had their heads turned to him. “You okay?”

Donnie : Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.

Leo : Uh, no. You’re not.

Donnie : Can it, Leo!

Leo : You were spacing out again, Don! And considering we’ve been brothers for like, forever, usually that means you’re not.

Donnie : Oh, so you’re an expert now?

Leo : I’m an expert to know what you’re thinking, Donnie.

Donnie : No, you’re not.

Leo : Yes, I am.

Donnie : And, why is that?

Leo : ‘Cause we’re twins.

Donnie : We’re not twins.

Leo : Whatever you trying to say, Don. I don’t care. We’re born with the same age.

Donnie : And that doesn’t MEAN that we are. We’re not even the same-

Leo : Ah ah ah, don’t wanna hear it! Lalalala~~~

Donnie : Leo-

Raph : ENOUGH!!

The twins startled at Raph’s shouting. Raph sighed, pinching his nose-bridge.

Raph : We’re here to have some fun, okay? And if I see you two fight again, imma SHOVE YOUR HEADS into a toilet. Y’all understand me?

Leo : Yeah, yeah.

Donnie : Hmph.

Raph : Good.

Splinter groaned, massaging his constant headache. Why can his sons just behave?

Splinter : Alright, since you two done arguing, why don’t we split up-

Baron : I’ll call dibs with Mikey.

All : .............

Leo : Whoawhoawhoawhoa, did you just say ‘dibs’?!

Baron : Yes, I did.

Mikey : Aawww, okay Barry. I’ll go with you.

Leo : Does nobody questioning that he said ‘dibs’?!!

Donnie : Great, now it’s haunting me.

Raph : He looks weird saying that.

April : Am I hearing things, Barry? Did you eat something alive at your lab again?

Casey : Why you making this a big deal?

Leo : Of course, it’s a big deal. Calling ‘dibs’ is our thing!!!

Splinter : For the love of Hamato, please don’t say that ever again!!

Baron : Don’t worry. I already regretting ever saying that. But my point still stands, I’ll go with Mikey.

Mikey : Don’t listen to them, Barry! You did a good thing.

Donnie : Michael, you better stay out of his head!

Splinter : Okay, fine. Baron will go with Mikey. I’ll go with red.

Raph : Sure thing, pops.

Leo : Nah, fam. I got somewhere else to go. I’ll fly solo.

With that, Leo took off immediately.

April : What about you, Donnie? Are you fine on your own?

Donnie : Yeah, I’ll be good. You go ahead dealing with the....

Casey : .....

Donnie : Uuh-I’ll go this way.

Donnie left the group. He can sense for-sure that Casey staring at him. He doesn’t know why she terrifies him so much, she hasn’t done anything to him, regardless of those times they fought her while she still a Foot-recruit. Maybe he’s just paranoid, the fact that he did forgot to take a battleshell with him.

His hoodie made it obscure and that his brothers didn’t warned him about it means they didn’t know he didn’t use it. With that in mind, he should be more careful and not get himself involve on a fight. The fact that he also didn’t bring his bo.

“What is wrong with me?” he said to himself. Now fully knowing that he’s extremely vulnerable and too open for an attack, he began to be more cautious. Perhaps he needs to visit a place where there’ll be no violence. A place that strict with rules, like a Mystic Library.

No. Raph ever told him that their last visit got thrown apart by the Foot-Clan, and if he make a noise above whisper, he’ll be send to a Kiddie Room that filled with hungering monstrous children-behaved Yokais who’s out for blood.

Guess not every safe places are safe after all.

Then, Donnie yelped as he felt being pulled backwards. Suddenly a huge rock drops in front of him and shattered to bits. Donnie went shocked as he tumbled and fall on his back. A short flying yokai flew down to him.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. Are you okay?” she apologized, her wings flutters real fast as he helped him up.

“Uh, yeah yeah. I’m okay.” the fairy like yokai blew away some dust from him.

“Oh good, I am very glad.” then she turned to his left. “Thank you kindly, sir. I’m not sure what will happen if you didn’t save him.”

Save him? Donnie looked to his left. A tall human stood still with a sharp gaze staring at him. Donnie flailed back at the guy. The stranger gave him an unexpressive look. He’s a few centimeters taller than him. His slim posture stood steady and a bit stiff.

He’s unruly silverish grey hair nearly obscuring his slanted grey pupils in his pale skin tone. He’s collar on his cyber yellow jacket unfolded. It also unbuttoned that reveals a white blank T-shirt underneath. His hands shoved in his navy blue pants pockets, looks somewhat made out of a comfy fabric. He’s black and intricate design shoes looks appealing as well.

Donnie don’t know what to say. The stranger keeps staring at him, not saying a word, not even when the fairy said her final apology and flutters off.

And there it was, the awkward silence. Donnie held his hands close to his chest, he knows he’s extremely vulnerable, but he needs to be ready for a fight.

Then, the stranger walks towards him. Donnie instinctively walks backwards, keeping his distance from him. He startled and horrified as his shell hits a wall, he was cornered. The men were an inch away from his face. Donnie pressed himself against the wall, body’s trembling in fear, seeing the guy eye to eye.

Then, the guy swept his shoulder from the leftover dust. Donnie flustered by his gesture. The air somewhat less tense than two seconds ago.

“You alright, kid?” the stranger finally asked. He spoke in a low tones, but not a deep one. Donnie was stunned, he would say something but he can’t. “Are you shook?”

Once again, Donnie couldn’t speak. Some lump in his throat made him unable to let ou a single word. The stranger sighed, arms crossed.

“I assumed that you are, so I don’t think leaving you here alone will be a good idea.” he walks away from him. Donnie still flustered of what just happened. He stares as the guy moved away then startled when he turned back to him. “Come.”

He ordered. Donnie isn’t sure if he should trust the guy, let alone that he’s a human. Since when there’s a human besides April and Casey walking in the Hidden City? But he did saves his life. If that rock got him without his battleshell, he probably be dead by now.

Donnie took a deep breath and release, he followed the stranger somewhere. At least he still have his phone with him, so whenever he’s in trouble, he could call for help. Right now, he keep his distance to the guy in front of him.

What was he doing here? Is he from New York? Because he doesn’t look like he does. And his aura are extremely, menacing. He can’t see it, but he could feel the tensity whenever he got close to him.

The stranger stopped and turned to his right. Donnie was confused when he realize that he took him to the Run-on-the-mill Pizza place. Huh, so he likes pizza too.

Donnie followed him inside, he took a side on the sofa side. He points at the other end of the table, telling him to sit down. Donnie do what he told, and things back to its awkward silence. This time, the guy took his attention at his phone, ignoring Donnie’s constant staring at him.

Donnie probably would do the same if it wasn’t with the awkwardness hanging in the air.

“Good day, gentlemen.” Donnie look up to see Hueso stood there with his notepads on his bony hands. He seems unimpressed seeing Donnie. “Anything you would like to eat?”

“Order up, kid. Don’t wait for me.” the stranger said, eyes still on his phone. Donnie blinks at the words. He looks back at Hueso who’s staring at the guy then back at him, raising his boned-eyebrow.

“Uuuh, as usual. Please.” Donnie forced out to smile. Hueso notice that, he wrote his order at the notepads. Then, turned to the stranger.

“Whatever the kid’s ordered, make it two. I’ll take the bill as well.” he said, still not looking up from his phone. Hueso wrote it down and took off, he took the chance to pat Donnie’s shoulder.

It made him jumped, not sure what’s that for. He watched Hueso leave until he’s longer visible.

“Something bothering you?” Donnie looked back to the voice. The men stares at him at last. The lump in his throat is back, but he knew he can’t stay quiet forever, the guy knew he could speak. He might gets angry and pissed if he didn’t talk.

Donnie clears his throat, gathering his courage to speak up.

Donnie : Um, thanks. For saving me.

Stranger : It won’t happened if you didn’t spaced out.

Donnie : Oh, yeah, that I...*rubbing his neck* I didn’t mean to- Well, I guess I can’t help it.

Stranger : Can’t help what?

Donnie : Well, I dunno. I just can’t think straight for these past years, science block often drives me crazy.

Stranger : Science block?

Donnie : More of a tech block, I guess. I just, every time I tried to built things it’s just didn’t work, all I do it’s fix and fix and FIX-

Stranger : Kid.

Donnie : -it keeps jeopardizing my usual productivity, if wasn’t for a certain ‘you-know-who’ who took pleasure destroying my LAB that I built since I was NINE-

Stranger : You what?

Donnie : -destroying my techs like layers of newspapers, my home, my family’s life!! Sure, we start off with new lifes now that we’re ‘Hamatos’, elite group of ninjas or whatsoever. Yeah, life was good, until I certainly am NOT!!

Stranger : Okay, kid-

Donnie : -And what would I do? Quit? Run away? Oh, I could. I thought about it. But of course, my father won’t let me. Keeping me in full surveillance 24/7, For YEARS!!

Stranger : KID!!

Donnie flinched, then he looked around to see Hueso, with their orders in his hands, and all the customers staring at him. Donnie felt very embarrassed, he pulled down his hood to cover his face, looking away towards a wall. Hueso sighed heavily.

“Here are your orders.” he puts down two large portion of pizzas on the table. Donnie held on to his hood, ducking his head onto his arm. “If you like, I’ll call Pepino to-”

“No.” Hueso blinked, “No, please don’t! Don’t call anyone!” his voice was semi-whispered. Hueso can see his hand trembles clutching the fabric of his hoodie. Hueso felt sympathetic, it wasn’t the first time the turtle took this place to vent his feelings.

“I will get some coffee, my treat.” Hueso took off again. The Stranger glanced at the kid, he could hear some sniffles coming off of him. He knows the kid’s crying. He held on to his hoodie for dear life, not wanting everyone to see his tears.

He hates it, Donnie hates it. Crying means weakness, feelings that aren’t supposed to show that make him more vulnerable. He can only hope his family and friends didn’t know about this. He doesn’t want them to worry, he wanted them to stop. He’s fine, he can take care of himself. He’s also a Hamato, he can fix his own problem.

“Sorry.” the word took him back to reality, he sniffles as he slowly peeks from below his hoodie. “Didn’t mean to upset you, kid. I just concern that if you keep spacing out like that, you might hurt yourself.”

The stranger apologized to him, why? What did he do? It was him that supposed to be sorry. For what he done, Donnie just revealed his whole problems to a total stranger. Now, he’ll probably payed the price. Way to go, Donnie. What a way to keep yourself from trouble. Now watch this stranger use your weaknesses to enslave you.

Suddenly, a small blue entity appeared on his face. Donnie flinched, the blue thing looks at him. It looks like a little ghost, with it looks limbless and its body looks like tiny tendrils work as torso and arms with its round head containing two white friendly eyes.

The little thing squeaks, tilting its head. It was a cute to look at. It then flew close to Donnie’s face and hugged his cheek with its tiny tendril arm. It felt warm and comforting, as if it was a real hug. Donnie hovered his hand onto the thing, wondering how to hug back the thing without squishing it.

It then let go of the hug and gently patted his head, telling him to calm down. Donnie wipes his tears, he smiled at it. The blue thing smiled back, twirls happily knowing its attempt of comfort works.

It then flies towards the stranger, perching on his finger. The stranger smiles down at his little friend. It squeaks away, seems talking to him. Donnie titled his head slightly, curiosity began to appear.

“What is that?” he asked. The stranger glances at him. “It looks, cute. It’s that a ghost?”

“This is a wisp, kinda like a small ghost. And also, it’s a ‘she’. Not an ‘it’. Her name is Sia.” he explain. Sia waves happily at him, Donnie waved back.

“Their more of a soul remnants rather than ghost. Whenever someone or something died, their memories remains, in a form of a wisp.” he added. Donnie blinks, he don’t know souls did that.

“So, are you a....psychic?”

“Kinda.”

“So, you can see ghost. And,....her type of thing?”

Sia flew circling the stranger’s head, “Yes, that’s what psychic means.”

“Well, I know. It just--are there more around here?”

The stranger looks around him, from corners to corners. Then back at Donnie. “There are, but not much. Five including the one besides you.”

“My what?” then a small greenish entity appears right beside him. Donnie startled. It looks exactly like Sia, only it’s on different color. Donnie somehow felt a familiar precent from it, suddenly a tear came down to his cheek. He startled, what makes him cry?

“Who-who’s this?” he asked.

“Some wisps might wanders around aimlessly when they separated from their souls.” Donnie glanced back at him, “Others, might come back and followed whoever they’re close to.”

“Whoever they close to?”

“The same case with the one in front of you.” Donnie’s eyes widened. This wisp is whoever close to him? Who was it? Why it felt familiar?

“And, I believe it’s a ‘she’ as well.”

Donnie gazed back at him, tears began to streams out some more, “And, her name is Karai.” the men revealed. Donnie shocked hearing her Gram-Gram’s name. He looked down to the wisp, she nodded at the sound of her identity.

Donnie’s tears began to burst. It might not be a real form of her body, but it’s enough to make him pulled her small presence into a hug. Donnie let himself cry one last time, holding close the wisp of his dead Gram-Gram to his chest.

He could feel the wisp hugged him back. He felt it somehow, the warmth of her arms began to wrapped around him, hugging him close. Almost felt like she never left, that she’ll always be there. Watching over him, accompanying him. He didn’t get to spent much time with her, he wish he could. He wished she still alive. Here with his family.

Donnie let go off the hug, wiping his tears. He cupped his hands to let his wisp sits on his hands. He smiled, she’s not Gram-Gram, but she’s the closest thing about her.

Then, he realized that the stranger still there. He quickly dried his tears with his sleeves, gathering back his bearings.

“Sorry, I...Name’s Donnie by the way.” he finally introduced himself. The stranger raised his eyebrow. He held out his hand at him. Donnie stares at it and took the handshake gesture.

“Silver. Just call me Silver.”

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt fanfiction #oc crossover #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt leo #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #fanfiction #fanfic

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