#oh brown people I wish I could save you

[nyikondlovu]

After Act 3, if you claim to be a Jayce and Mel fan, you gotta admit that the pregnancy fan theory would’ve worked better than:

Jayce:

-being manipulated his whole life by Vikkktor;

-losing autonomy;

-leaving his mother;

-randomly cussing out a woman who only ever supported him;

-becoming a vikkktor dickrider to the point of mischaracterization.

While Mel:

-loses her mom;

-loses her oldest confidant;

-now is the head of a war mongering clan;

-is slapped by her mother;

-is villainized by her partner.

Like damn, it seems I thought through that half baked pregnancy theory and what it would mean for their arcs more than people paid to do so.

But jayvikkk shippers won’t pay attention to the desecration of Jayce’s character because their meow meow isn’t held accountable and somehow Mel being a good investor negates Vikkktor setting Jayce up to never live his own life (or the fact that the writers still say it’s familial affection)

[esote-rika]

A bookstore meet cute I wish I could experience | Spencer Reid

Category: Fluff with S4 awkward, nerdy rizz Spencer

Warnings: use of Y/N, unedited (tenses keep shifting, sorry)

A/N: this is just 1.8k words of self indulgent self insert. Like this is inspired by some unpleasant experiences I've had talking with men about books in the past lol, and reader's responses defensive responses had been me at some point. i feel like a conversation with Spencer Reid would heal me, thus this fic. Also, save me, s4e9 Spencer Reid, save me.

He seemed like a fixture to the bookstore, if fixtures moved on their own. Or if they moved up and down the aisles with elegant fingers tracing the spines of the books on display. Or if they dressed like a rumpled professor, complete with the black rimmed glasses. He just seemed like he was part of the space, and you thought that every bookstore should probably come with one - a tall, attractive nerd who drifted all over the room like some sort of phantom. Maybe that would help with the literacy problem. It certainly would bring more people in, make them more interested in reading.

You've been trying to figure him out from afar, as subtle as you can. You're not a creep, after all, but he cuts such a lonely figure that you couldn't help but wonder if he needed some company. A part of you wonders if he's noticed you as well. This store is your late afternoon treat, after all. You come here every Friday, without fail, even when you know the inventory is unreplenished, simply to bask in the presence of books.

And then he started coming in regularly, and you had another reason to come.

You never approached him. Something about simply knowing he's there, while remaining a stranger, is thrilling. You can romanticize him if he's a stranger, project all the wholesome fantasies and book boyfriends you have upon him with no sense of accountability.

It also means you avoid the disappointment if he turns out to be another condescending know it all, eager to put you and your reading habits down because oh your tastes are so girly.

No, this was better. You're a flaneur, you tell yourself, you're here to be part of the space and observe from within, even though you doubt this is what Baudelaire had in mind when he wrote that essay and defined the term.

Still.

You smile to yourself, crouching down to check the books on the lower shelf, and also to catch a glimpse of his legs. He'd been on the other side of this shelf for the past five minutes, and you've gotten a soft chuckle when you saw his mismatched socks.

However, his lean form is nowhere to be seen. He seems to have moved to another aisle. With a small frown, you move to stand up, only to feel a tug.

“Shit,” a quick glance down reveals that a familiar looking shoe has accidentally stepped on your long skirt. You hadn't realized it billowed out around you when you knelt down.

“Oh, I'm so sorry!”

You look up and realize why the shoe looks familiar. It's him. You couldn't see him in the other aisle because he'd moved to your side, so silently you hadn't even heard him.

“Sorry, oh gosh, I didn’t notice.” He steps off quickly, and you watch as his cheeks bloom bright pink. A pink that quickly travels down his neck.

You stifle a laugh at how easily he blushed. “It's fine.” Your attempt to stand is more successful without his foot pinning the fabric of your skirt to the ground.

“I've messed up your skirt though.” He says, looking at the brown smudge left behind on the skirt.

“It's no big deal, it’ll come out.” You shrug, getting a good look at him this time. He's taller than you thought, with a sharp bone structure that's softened by large, hazel eyes and pouty lips. His hair is slicked back, curling at the nape of his neck, the color a soft brown that matches his eyes. Yeah, one of him should really come in every bookstore, you think.

“O-okay, uh, if you're sure…” He says, rubbing his hands on his pants. A nervous energy emanates from him, disrupting your idea that he's calm and tranquil.

Oh well, there goes that fantasy. Still, you wonder if maybe he's nervous because of you.

“I still feel bad though,” He adds, looking around, “Uh, how about I buy you a book for the inconvenience?”

“It's hardly an inconvenience,” You laugh, “But hey, I won't say no to a free book.”

He perks up, “Great. I'm Spencer, by the way.”

“Y/N. It's nice to meet you, Spencer.”

He repeats your name, and you find yourself enjoying the shape his mouth makes as he tests it out, lips and tongue wrapping around the syllables as if he wants to commit the way it feels in his memory.

You mentally kick yourself in the ass, wondering if you've read too many romance novels.

“Likewise,” He smiles, and you have to remind yourself that it's rude to stare at the lips of someone you just met. It's not your fault he has such pretty dimples, and you had the urge to count them. He continues, “So what kind of books do you like, Y/N? Romance?”

Your eyes narrow at that. You wonder how to answer. Yes? Would he judge you if you say yes? Is he one of those guys, the ones who only read heavy, intellectual books and look down on people who read fluff? Do you want to try and impress him by saying no, by scoffing and saying something like of course not I’m looking for a copy of Swann's Way by Marcel Proust? (which is the most “impressive” book you can think of at the moment). The idea seems too gross, too I'm not like other girls, and you immediately cross it out.

“And if I do?” you ask instead, surprised by the edge to your voice.

He blinks, then shrugs, looking entirely innocent. “Then we should head to the romance shelf over there.”

Once again, you're surprised. Some part of you had been expecting a smirk, maybe a roll of his eyes, that look you get when you even dare to bring up the romance genre. But, no. He starts walking to a different part of the store and you're forced to follow.

“Why did you think I read romance?” the words escape your lips before you can stop them.

He ducks behind a shelf, his hair falling down and hiding his face but you get a glimpse of the bright red skin of his neck. He's blushing again.

“Well, it's - ah - that is, I've noticed you here before, and you always seemed to hang out here in the romance section.” He says in a rush, his head still angled away from you.

You feel simultaneously called out, and a little giddy. So he's noticed you, just as much as you'd noticed him.

“So you're a stalker.” You can't help but tease.

He lets out a sound, somewhere between an indignant sputter and a scoff. “What? No! I just happen to be very observant, it's a skill I've learned to hone for my job, and you're not very hard to remember-” He cuts himself off, peeking at you with a horrified look on his face.

Laughter tumbles from your lips, and you clamp your teeth down your bottom lip to stop.

“I was teasing you.” You say, trying to fight the giggles.

He seems relieved, but the crease on his brow remains, a sign of his previous embarrassment.

“And you're right. The romance section has the biggest amount of secondhand books that I can read while I'm here.” You explain. This aisle also gives you the best view of the nonfiction section, which he frequents, therefore giving you the perfect spot to observe him over the past few weeks. Though you leave out that part.

“Ah,” He nods, looking around, “See anything you like?”

“No, I'm actually looking for a copy of The Hobbit right now.”

He lights up, “Oh, you're a fan of Tolkien too? I love him, he's such a genius and completely innovated the fantasy genre! So much so that he - wait, if you're looking for The Hobbit, why didn't you tell me sooner?”

“You just started walking.” You reply, smiling at him. He's adorable when he becomes so animated, hands waving around like his body can't contain his excitement and has to find ways to express them physically. “Had to follow you. But anyway, I'm assuming you've read The Hobbit?”

He accepts your explanation easily, then nods his head. You can't help but compare him to a puppy, so eager and nearly frantic in his excitement.

“I've read every Tolkien book.” He says, and you're surprised to find his voice contains no hint of superiority, or cockiness. Just genuine joy. It's refreshing, “Including The Silmarillion."

“Oh wow,” You laugh, aware of the reputation that tome carries, “I've only seen the Lord of The Rings movies.”

“Well that's not sufficient at all! You're missing out on so much history,” He says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Mhm, well help me find The Hobbit first, before I move on to the trilogy.” You reply, already walking over to where you know the fantasy books are.

He follows you, smiling bashfully, “You know, I have copies of all the books… I can just lend them to you, if you want.”

You pause, glancing over your shoulder in surprise. “You'd let a stranger borrow your books?”

“Only if you promise to take care of them.” He says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“I swear on my life, I will not tarry your precious copies of Tolkien's masterpiece.” You make a cross over your heart for emphasis, which makes him laugh. This time, you stare at his lips shamelessly, enjoying the dimples that appeared from the action.

“Okay, maybe we meet up over coffee sometime?” he asks, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “I'll bring the books.”

You fight the urge to squeal. Your body refuses to contain the giddiness, and the sound compromises by coming out as a giggle.

“Yeah, sure.” you watch as he digs into his pocket, handing over a card. “Oh, how very professional.” You say playfully, accepting the slip of paper.

He ducks his head, and you see the beginnings of the blush creeping down his neck. It feels exhilarating, being able to make him blush like this.

“It's just more practical.” He mumbles.

You grab your phone quickly, typing in his number and giving it a call, so that your number goes through his as well. “I'll give you a call. But, you still owe me a book for this.” You motion at your skirt, at the stain of his footprint on the fabric.

He chuckles, “Of course. Can't go back on my promise.” he looks around the store and you're taken by the sight of him, looking like he's part of the space, like he simply belongs here. And this time, with you standing next to him, with him. “Take your pick.”

“I'm pretty indecisive.” You say playfully.

“I have time.” He smiles, and you find he has two dimples on one side of his face, and only one on the other. Your chest feels heavy with something that you can't quite put a name to yet, but you're eager for more of it.

[billybutcherrtrash]

Throne

Link to Pt 2 <-

CW: 18+ (MDNI) oral (f) and fingers and smut.

You and Spencer are friends who attended at party for a mutual friend and find you have an interesting shared book fantasy.

It had been several hours since you’d arrived at the party for a mutual friend. Reid had been cautiously watching you as you talked to everyone and gave them a small amount of your time. Every so often your gazes would meet and you’d exchange a smile from a distance. Although you’d greeted him when he walked in, you’d been rushed away my another friend for some kind of emergency. Every guy you talked to made Reid anxious. He hated the idea of you walking out of this place with someone else. Anyone else but him. Finally you made your way over to him, sitting down beside him and smiling.

“Welcome back”. Spencer said as you took a sip of your drink.

“Thanks. It’s been very hectic. You’d think for a going away party it would be more fun. Instead I’m chasing down my drunk friends.” You sighed.

“Yeah, I think I saw one of my drunk friends fall off the bar earlier.” He laughed.

“I saw that. I think we’re the only two here that aren’t drinking.”

“I like to be in control of myself. I drink occasionally but in this atmosphere I don’t think it’s wise.”

“I agree. To much going on and I’m already over stimulated”

“Glad I’m not the only one.” He nodded.

You tucked your hair behind your ears and shifted closer to him. “I’m really happy you came.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up, “I’m glad too. I’ll admit I was on the fence until I heard you’d be coming too.”

“Really?”

He nodded, “Yeah. This isn’t my thing. Bars. Or people.”

“I would much rather be at home reading. I hate all this.” You shrugged.

“Oh, that’s reminds me I started reading this book about ancient erotica and I think -“

At that you held up your hand to stop him,“Did you just say erotica?”

Spencer nodded, “Yeah, but not in the way you’re thinking of pornography. It’s rather tasteful compared to today’s idea of erotica. I’ve read a few of what is considered erotic today and I think it’s just porn on paper.”

You stared at him for a long moment. His brown eyes stared back anticipating your response.

“Porn on paper is called smut now.” You smirked.

“Yes, and it is just sexually charged writing. Ancient erotica is art. Paintings and images that are tastefully done.” Reid explained.

“I guess my bookshelf is filled with porn then.” You laughed softly.

“You read…smut?” He bit his lip.

Suddenly you felt hot. Did the temperature go up? You’d just admitted you had read spicy books.

“I-wel-…I mean…I have other kinds of books too.” You stammered. “I have biographies and nonfiction also. Fantasy.”

Spencer was enjoying watching you squirm. You were flustered now. He could see trying to save whatever semblance of a normal conversation there was left.

“Fantasy? What kind of fantasy?” He asked.

“No sexual fantasy…I have Fourth Wing. Have you read it?”

“Dragons and thunder…I have read it and its sequel.” Reid nodded. “But may I ask…how you felt about the throne scene?”

He was torturing you now. He watched as your eyes went wide and your breathing halted just enough to notice.

“I…uh…Spence…you’re doing this on purpose.” You said softly.

“Am I? I’m just curious.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Are you?”

“Very…” He nodded.

He watched you bite your lip. The conversation had taken a sharp turn and now you were staring at each other, both quiet. You wished you knew what he was thinking about.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Spencer finally asked.

“Yes”. You agreed.

He stood and held out his hand for you. You took it and slipped out of your seat, following him out the door. You felt anxious as you walked out into the cold air, cautiously looking up at him.

“Did you drive?” He asked, looking back.

“No…I came with (your mutual friend’s name).”

“You should probably tell her you’re leaving.” Spencer smirked.

“I can text her.” You blushed a little as you arrived at Spencer’s car.

You turned to face him as he opened the door for you. It was only now that you realized he was so much taller than you. All the time working with him at the university and you’d never noticed. He stepped closer and slid a hand around your waist.

“Can I kiss you?” Spencer asked.

Your brained seemed to short circuit, unable to form words, so you nodded almost too enthusiastically. Spencer leaned down and cupped your face, kissing you gently. The feel of his mouth on yours was dizzying. You weren’t drunk but you felt like it. He pulled you a little closer and you welcomed the feel of his body. After a few long moments he pulled back leaving you aching his touch. He gazed at you, stroking your cheek gently.

“Still want to go home with me?” He asked.

“Yes” Was all you could managed, still seeing stars.

Spencer helped you in the car before closing the door and running to the other side. You watched him get in and start the car.

“Don’t forget to text (your friend’s name).”

“Oh, right.” You reached for your phone and sent a quick text letting them know you’d found a ride.

They sent a reply with eggplant emoji’s and water droplets. Thank God it was dark because your cheeks were red at the idea of them knowing who you’d left with. The man you’d confided in her to having a crush on from the minute he’d walked into your life. As he drove you pulled your sleeves over your hands and fidgeted with them anxiously. You couldn’t have possibly expected him to not notice. He reached over and laced his fingers with yours.

“You play with your clothes when you’re nervous.” Spencer said, glancing at your hands.

Of course he’d noticed. The many meetings you’d sat in together, the times you’d been in the elevator together alone, the time he’d come to you asking for your opinion on a case, he’d seen it every time he was near you. You looked up as you felt the car slow to a stop. He put the car in park and you both sat for a moment. Finally your eyes met his. He gave you a soft smile.

“Do you still want to come inside?” Spencer asked.

“I do.” You answered.

He nodded and got out of the car, coming around to open your door and helped you out. Her nerves were started to become more noticeable. You didn’t do this. You never went home with guys. Especially not guys you worked with. Especially not anyone with an IQ of 187 and read books on ancient erotica. Spencer took your hand and led you into his building. Once in the elevator you chewed at your lip, your fingers linked with his as he pressed the button to his floor.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, reaching up to brush your hair behind your ear.

“Spence…you need checking on me. I’m fine. I’m sure. I promise.” You said, standing on your toes to kiss him.

He cupped your neck, returning the kiss. He was gentle and soft. You could only hope he maintained that once you were in his apartment. The elevator dings upon arriving at his floor. He pulled away reluctantly and you stepped off, making your way to his front door.

“I’m slightly surprised we aren’t stumbling down your hallway, too impatient to get inside.” You joked.

Spencer slid his key in the door, “We could have been but you deserve more respect than me just trying to fuck you.”

Your jaw dropped, surprised. “Spencer Reid said fuck!” You smirked.

“I’ve been known to swear on occasion.” He replied, letting you inside.

You stepped inside the apartment, looking around. He closed the door and locked it.

“So…what now?” He asked, stepping closer to you.

“Spence…we both know what’s going to happen…but can we pretend for five seconds that you’re not thinking about undressing me and be making obscene sounds shortly thereafter?” You asked, taking his hand.

“Well now that you’ve put that image in my head…it’s going to be hard not to.” He smirked.

“You mentioned you had books. I want to see the collection.”

“The lady gets what the lady wants.” He replied, leading you to his bookshelf.

It seemed to overflow with classic literature in many languages. You looked at the titles, a few familiar and many you’d never seen or heard of. Then your eyes caught a familiar gold cover. You smirked and pulled out Fourth Wing.

“You really did read it.” You smirked.

“You and Penelope wouldn’t shut up about it, I was curious what had you so worked up. It’s not my thing but it peaked my interest.” He replied. “Especially chapter 48 in Iron Flame.”

You froze, knowing exactly what he was referring to. He leaned in close, his breath hot on your skin.

“My house. My chair. My woman.” He whispered.

You looked up at him, your mouth suddenly dry. You had forgotten he’d mentioned the throne room scene.

“You…um…you know the exact chapter.” You stammered.

He smirked down at you. “Of course I do. You never told me how you felt about it.”

“I mean…obviously it’s hot.” You turned to face him. “What woman doesn’t want a man worshipping her on his knees on a throne.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you want?”

“Do you have a throne?” You asked.

“Not quite a throne, but I definitely have a chair we can pretend is a thrown.”

You licked your lips as you felt your pulse rising. You felt hot again. You knew why you’d come to his apartment and now was the time you stopped pretending it was innocent.

“Show me.”

Spencer gave a soft smile and led you to his room. It was neat, bed made and everything orderly. Your eyes fell upon a gorgeous leather chair near the window. It was the perfect reading chair, but tonight it was going to be a throne for him to worship you on. He walked you over and you admired it. You could see it was tall enough that your feet might dangle if you sat down, and the leather was soft. God forbid you dig your nails into it and mark the leather.

“Are you sure?” Spencer asked from behind you.

You felt his hands sliding up your arms, stroking your biceps gently. His breath was hot on your neck as you leaned back into him.

“Yes.” You said, eyes closing when he kissed your neck.

“Then sit down.”

You swallowed anxiously, turning to face him before sitting down. You could have sworn his eyes darkened just a bit as he moved to the floor. Surprisingly the chair was the perfect height for you to be face to face. You pulled him against you and kissed him. His hands ran through your hair and down your shoulders. You knew exactly want was coming. He pulled away and removed your shoes. As his hands moved to your jeans you feel your pulse racing and your breathing quicken. He pulls you to the edge of the chair and tugs them down your legs. The air conditioning sends goosebumps over your skin as Spencer looks up at you. His eyes met yours and you forgot to breathe. He didn’t look away as you placed kisses on your legs, creeping higher and higher up your thigh.

“You’re so gorgeous.” He said, stroking your opposite thigh. “God, you’re perfect.”

You bit your lip, having trouble forming words. All you wanted was for him to devour and absolutely worship you. His hand slid over your hips and to the top of your underwear. The second they were gone you knew you’d never be able to recover. You ached for him. Slowly he slid them down and you watched him carefully. Spencer’s eyes darkened even more at the sight of you bare before him. He could see the moisture pooling at your core and he was instantly rock hard.

“Last time…you want this?” He asked.

“Last time, yes.” You panted, “Please, God, just touch me.”

Begging wasn’t something you’d thought you’d be doing but you were desperate. He nodded, moving one leg to sit over the arm of the chair and the other over his shoulder. You nearly came as his tongue slid through your wet folds. You let out a loud gasp, your head falling back against the back of the chair. He swirled around your clit, toying with it gently.

“Spencer, fuck!” You moaned, nails digging into the leather.

He smiled as he continued his actions, lapping up your juices. His hands held you firmly in place and you squirmed under his.

“Don’t stop, please.” You whimpered.

Spencer watched you coming undone, enjoying every second of it. Watching your breathing catch when he licked your clit. You moaned even louder when he slid a finger into you. It was nearly enough to finish you. Your hand moved to his hair and you tugged at it, causing him to groan against you. The vibrations only added to the pleasure. He added another finger, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…” You panted, so close to cumming.

Spencer felt you clench around his fingers and he moved them faster. His tongue massaged your delicate folds until finally you couldnt hold on.

“Spence, oh, fuck…” You whimpered before coming undone.

He smiled, working you through it. Finally you could breathe again and you looked down at him. He was just watching you, stroking your thigh gently.

“You okay?” He asked.

“More than okay.” You blushed as you sat up.

“How was it?”

“It rivaled all the fantasies I had about being worshipped in a thrown”. You admitted.

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Pack Chapter 21

Trigger Warnings: smut, cunnilingus, sex tape, kink positive, threesome, salirophilia.

"These are amazing. I'm sorry I can't remember these." "Don't apologise. Some of them you were not aware of. I did these secretly. I loved to draw or paint you. You are my everything. You are my soul. Everything. I had to keep a physical copy of you. My thoughts were not enough." "Oh. Jinnie." Y/N breathed out as he flicked through his paintings. "Can you tell me why you never told me?" "Because you can't tell someone who doesn't remember you that they loved you and were obsessed with you. I'm grateful this version of you has given me another chance to love you." Hyunjin's voice was soft. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. He was truly in love with her. "Tell me the story of each painting. I wanna live through your memories." Y/N asked.

"This painting was the first time I met you, her. She was shy. Unsure of the men in front of her. She knew she was ours but the level of trust wasn't there yet. The only people she trusted were Jongho and Yeosang because they were like her. Both omega's. Jongho was like Jisung. Always willing to get into trouble but Jongho was smarter. He could outsmart Hongjoong. Yeosang on the other hand was always gentle and submissive. Your stereotypical omega. He tried to teach Y/N everything she knew. So, I drew this. A picture of the three of them. It was a later drawing but I put it in with the firsts as I hoped to give it to her on her birthday but I never got a chance to. I felt embarrassed.

Back then sex was disgusting to me. I practised a lot of absenteeism. I came from a wealthy werewolf family who took pride in werewolf lores. They were millionaires. They were almost werewolf royalty, but I was the bastard. I was out-casted and looked after by my elders. My mother was an artist she always painted whenever she was sad. She painted pictures of my father and how he loved her. She taught me how to paint, but she made me promise only to pain things that made me happy or loved, so I kept that promise. I had a half brother you know. Chan's best friend. He was mean to me, only because his mother taught him to be. He learned later in life that they were wrong and it was never my fault. He tried to save me from Ateez. Hongjoong manipulated me into his pack, but that doesn't matter because I'm with Chan now who is a forgiving alpha.

Anyway, this next picture was what Y/N called the 'werewolf school for obnoxious omegas.' Her and Jongho were always sent to me because they didn't know how to be omegas so I became their teacher. I re-trained them, but it was more of a punishment. On one of the days we were alone, I asked her to clean the library out and she did, but she purposely swapped all the books out and put them into coloured order. What I mean by coloured order was, in the brown section there would be random red ones in there to annoy you. She knew how I felt about my library and she reordered it.

One day she swapped my photographs out. I took pictures of images at an art gallery that I wanted to paint. She swapped them with images of her in such a coital position. It held power, desire, femininity, omeganess." Hyunjin showed her the photographs of her in different positions. She was mesmerised but confused. She didn't recognise them or herself. They were positions of pure utter confidence. Arousal. Desire. Need. Sexuality. Want. They were all of the erotic semantics. "Oh. My." Y/N touched them slowly. They felt too intimate and personal as if she were looking at another woman. Technically she was. This was her in another past life. She understood then why Hyunjin spoke about her in the third person. It was like the old Y/N was a lucid dream. "Do you wish she still existed?" Y/N asked curiously as she looked at Hyunjin who bit his lip nervously. "Yes and no. I still own you and you are always going to be mine." Hyunjin warned as he watched her lick her bottom lip. Her arousal was still there from the day before. "Jinnie I'm always going to be yours. We've been through so much-" "And Seungmin's not your favourite beta?" Hyunjin growled as he wrapped his large hand around her throat tightly, watching the way she threw her head back. Y/N was prepared to bring back his old memories. She wanted to arouse him. Relive his deepest and darkest fantasies. "You want to fulfil my fantasies, huh? Go and bring Seungmin in here. Off you go." Hyunjin ordered. He could feel her nerves and confusion but acted on the order and left to get Seungmin. "What have you done? Why does he need me?" Hyunjin could hear Seungmin flapping about being called to Hyunjin's art office. It made Hyunjin laugh at how stressed he was.

Hyunjin watched the two enter his room nervously. They were unsure of what he wanted them to do. Hyunjin showed Seungmin his old photos of her. He gasped as he saw the erotic photos at the height of femininity. Seungmin had not expected to see something so divine. "I don't understand, Hyunjin." Seungmin breathed out. "I want you to fuck and play with our mate while I take some photos," Hyunjin said, freely waving his arms around. "Are you sure?" Seungmin looked between the two in confusion. Y/N was willing to do anything to her alpha, so she walked over to his sofa and slowly started to strip when Hyunjin stopped her. He wanted Seungmin to do it. Seungmin slowly walked over to her and kissed her deeply, ignoring Hyunjin's snaps with the camera. Seungmin admitted he was getting stage fright but pursued. His mate's arousal gave him confidence.

Seungmin took his time stripping both of their clothes off. Carefully placing their discarded clothes on the other chair. "Sit in front of her and lick her sweet cunt while she plays with her breasts," Hyunjin demanded. Seungmin did as he was told and crouched down, spreading her legs open so he could take a lick. Y/N squeezed her breasts, subtly looking at Hyunjin as he snapped from different angles. The sight turned her on more and more. Y/N let go of her left breast to push Seungmins head forward. She stroked his head as he sucked with gratitude until she came. Seungmin lifted his head giving her a deep kiss as one hand tangled in her head and the other grabbed her throat. Seungmin broke the kiss and squeezed tightly causing her to smirk. Her head went backwards along with her eyes. She was more feral than the last images. These portrayed a dark desire. Something sinful and dangerous.

Seungmin then relaxed and moved to position himself into her tight pussy so he could fuck her while Hyunjin snapped away but Y/N stopped him. She wanted Hyunjin to play with her. She wanted Seungmin to take the photographs. She wanted the devil's touch. And the devil obliged. He pulled her roughly up by the hair, her back arched into his chest as he forced her to look up at him. Hyunjin spat on her face. The spit glided down her face. Down her breasts to the floor. Hyunjin then groped her harshly before his hand went to her wet pussy playing with her. Hyunjin then pushed her down so he could fuck her from behind. His thrusts were relentless. The position was tight. Dreadful. Harsh, but amazing. Seungmin put the camera down and rushed over wanting to place his cock in her mouth but Hyunjin made him get the camera, so he awkwardly ran back to grab it. Snapping away as she sucked his cock. The two fucked her until they came and knotted. It was the most phenomenal sex she had had in a long time and she loved it.

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@galaxy4489 @reallychaoticwoo @mbioooo0000 @jisungs-iced-americano @maybeimmia @hwangrfrnd@wolfo2027 @kayleefriedchicken @leamueller920 @borahae-reads @jennibahng @cookiesandcreammy @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @pixie0627

~ Taglist closed due to Tumblr only allowing a certain amount ~

[motthe]

I know probably everyone has asked tis but- how about a smoll blurb on S2 Viktor and reader in the lumen au? Maybe reader also tries to bury themselves by helping Jayce or Mel (I’m more inclined to Mel in particular)

thank you so much for requesting! (the inbox is currently empty so you’re the first to request!!! how exciting~)

SPOILERS FROM ARCANE S2 ARC 1

Days went by, each longer than the last. Neither you nor Jayce had anything to show for it besides the lab left in ruins and dark circles weighing your eyes down.

You two had never been particularly close, always busy running in different circles, but you shared the same important people in your lives. What Mel was to him, Viktor was to you and vice versa. Mel was your confidant and Viktor was his—truly it would make more sense for you and Jayce to be closer. Then again, Viktor hadn’t been all that interested in befriending Mel either.

Not all circles merged, it seemed.

“How is he?” Jayce asked every morning, hovering by the cot you’d taken in the corner of the room. You stopped responding on the third, holding Viktor’s lumen out from where you kept it cradled to your chest.

In the wake of Jayce’s last ditch effort to save him, all that was left of Viktor’s soul was a wispy bronze overtaken by that violaceous magic that had swirled within the hexcore. Where it had been the size of your palm, now it barely filled the center, a few millimeters bigger than the hex tech gemstones.

It was brighter than it had ever been, but that tawny gold that had dulled to a muddied brown in the rise of his illness—that lumen you would know blind—had been stripped away.

He was still alive. That pulsing block encasing him had left his face bare, his breath stable. But whatever it was doing to his body was blurred. You could see the outline of his arms and legs, thin but prominent.

Whatever was going on in there reflected on his lumen, as it barely remained conscious. He couldn’t fly. Where he loved to sit between your neck and shoulder had become cold as he didn’t have the strength to hold on. The warmth of him remained, and some days he managed to move, always wiggling deeper into your palm.

Your heart kept breaking. If someone took a stethoscope to your chest they might only hear the crunch of glass with each breath. It might soon be dust if nothing changed.

Your name brought you out of an empty sleep, a warm hand brushing back hair in desperate need of a wash. The cold metal of a ring had tears filling your eyes.

“Mel,” you whispered, opening your eyes to her gentle features.

“Oh, dearest,” she murmured, throwing her arm around you as you curled tighter, shoulders shaking. It took so much energy to cry, you wish you wouldn’t.

“Where’s their lumen?” You were drifting as you watched Mel turn from Viktor’s prison. “Was it—?”

“No. It’s there.” He gestured to a metal birdcage he’d taken from one of the academy classrooms. Your lumen was inside, pressed against the side facing Viktor. “I put it as close to him as I could.”

“Jayce,” she said, words hardened. “Take it out of that. Now.”

“I can’t!” he breathed, running his hand through his hair. “It keeps trying to go to him and whatever the hexcore did could end up absorbing their lumen, too. This was the best I could do!”

“Put them in a cage?!”

“Mel,” you murmured from your corner. She turned, eyes brought with fury. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not!” Her nostrils flared, her hands waving towards you. “Look at you! You’re sick.”

“I’m heartbroken,” you said, holding Viktor’s lumen impossibly closer.

“They’re injured,” Jayce explained, guiding Mel to the other side of the birdcage. The council woman choked on a gasp as she lowered, taking in the vein-like strips of purple worming out from your lumen. “It tried to take it in. I managed to pull it out of the vortex before the hexcore did that to Viktor.”

Mel rushed back to you, looking you over. You smiled weakly, lifting your shirt where that same injury pulsed under your ribcage.

“It doesn’t hurt as bad anymore,” you promised.

“But it’s not healing,” Jayce pointed out, “and Viktor hasn’t shown any signs of waking up.”

“Heimerdinger?” Mel asked, running her fingers through your hair again. Your eyes closed, tension ebbing away just a bit.

“Missing,” whispered Jayce. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

Their voices strung together, tones bleeding into one persistent hum. You were exhausted. Everything took so much out of you, even breathing. It was as if you could sense each trickle of energy as if left. All the while, that stain on your side grew hotter.

So tired, you thought and fell back into an empty slumber filled with the distant sound of something gurgling.

.

Viktor woke abruptly, his name echoing somewhere just out of reach. Every movement was hindered, the sensation too uncomfortable to stay in as he struggled to freedom. His hands emerged first, his first step bringing him to his knees. He was used to that.

But not this. Not these limbs, deadened and stripped to muscles trickling with the color that stained the black behind his eyes. The metal of his back brace had combined with the flesh, just as the one on his leg had done with the hexcore experiment. His palms and knees scraped the ground like prongs on porcelain.

He stared at his hands, finding his breath and processing the sensations. Retracing his steps had him in the council room—votes entering the air, Jayce’s hope-filled smile as he turned to Miss Medara and that refraction of light as glass shattered.

Viktor stared at his hands, not anything like they were, when they shielded your lumen from the onslaught of something. An explosion?

Where are you? he thought and passed that ethereal purring in his head, something rattled.

His head turned and blearily, he made out a cage just shy of his foot. Your lumen, flushed against the bars, flashed in worried little increments.

He groaned, pushing back into his calves as he reached, dragging the cage to him. The simple lock flicked open and the small hinges nearly broke as you burst out, burying into his cheek. The cage lied abandoned as he held you, a new strength in him as he spied his cane and Jayce out-cold on the desk nearby.

Your lumen slid from his cheek. He just managed to catch it before it dropped from the air and it’s then he saw the new color bleeding out, purple veins trailing from a spot at your center.

Viktor…

He swiveled, eyes widening at the body curled on a cot against the wall. Even under a blanket he knew your outline, your hair falling off the edge of the cheap bed. Your face was tucked into your chest, one hand outstretched towards his prison, fingers brushing the floor.

Grabbing his cane, he didn’t bother to watch as it elongated under his touch. Now a staff, it brought him to you, dead to the world as he tilted your head back, brushing the hair from your sickly colored skin.

A light drew his attention to the cover over you. Peeking out from beneath was his lumen, changed and pressed against your skin where your shirt had ridden up. The same scar on your lumen pierced your side, the color of the veins flashing as he brought his hand closer to observe.

The memory of Sky cut into him. Those colors pulling at her face as she disintegrated into dust.

The hexcore had attempted to take you.

“Vik…tor?” Your eyes fluttered, breathing mere puffs as you tried to focus on him.

“Be still,” he murmured, the voice strange in his ears. “I must fix this.”

His palm smoothed over the stain, his other hand holding your lumen as white wisps curled around them. He took a breath, fingers quivering. A blinding light flashed through his eyes. Your back arched as if pained, your weak cry echoing.

Jayce’s voice called for you as you dropped onto the cot, panting.

“Viktor?”

He ignored him, taking in the silver scared lines left behind on your side and lumen. It floated from his palm, twirling as if shaking off the excess energy.

You sat up with a gasp, crumbling off the cot into him. He wrapped his arms around you, a memorized response. The warmth he knew from you was the same and yet it did not seep into him as it once did. The sensations were all distant.

“Viktor,” you whispered into his neck, clutching him. He stared down your back at his arms. Holding a hand up.

“What…am I?” he questioned.

“You’re alive!” shouted Jayce, kneeling next to him with a hand on his shoulder.

Viktor wasn’t sure if that was the answer he needed, but as you pulled back and looked up at him, there was a…charge. Familiar, yet new.

Whatever he was, if he could still be with you, perhaps it wasn’t all that bad.

[fayes-fics]

(Be)Longing

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Mutual rescue, mutual jealousy, longing and belonging.

Warnings: None, really. Angst, jealousy, fluff. Shyness and insecurities. Minor character injuries. Time jumps.

Word Count: 5.2k

Authors Note: This is an anon request fill here (request: Benedict x shy!insecure reader, with some angst, jealousy fluff, and all the good stuff. Happy ending, of course.). Sorry it took so long to get to this Nonny; I have no idea if this is what you wanted, and I'm really not sure about it, but I hope you enjoy <3

I: Saved

“Unhand her at once!” 

The smooth, confident, older voice rings out across the village green, and suddenly the pack of nasty bullies who have your arms in a grip seem to melt away from around you.

You don’t even think to pause and thank the person who broke up the mob. No, your fight-or-flight response is in full-on flight mode. The minute your arms are released, and you see the break in the circle, you run. Run as fast as your legs will carry you. Bolting down the road and into the safety of the churchyard near your house. You do not want to run home upset and worry your mother, so you do the next best thing, the thing you are becoming increasingly good at, hiding. You climb a crabapple tree. And then you let the tears flow—just flooding down your cheeks.

You hate this new village your parents have moved you to. Your father, a doctor, had been offered the position as village physician, and now here you are, moved from Surrey to Kent, but it might as well be the other side of the world. You miss your friends. You miss your old village. You are not the most outgoing of people, and the upheaval in your life has been immense. You yearn to be back in your old, familiar, comfortable home.

You are sniffling, taking deep breaths, angrily wiping tears, and preparing to face your family when he appears. 

“Are you alright?” 

You startle. Beneath you, squinting up into the tree, is the owner of the voice who rescued you. Seeing him now, you feel an odd warmth in your ribs. He looks older, maybe fifteen, if you had to guess. He seems benign with a calm face, and his expression is one of sympathy and concern.

“Yes,” you squeak quietly.

“It is safe for you to come down,” he says gently, “should you wish.”

“Are they gone?” you query, wishing you could hide the tremble in your voice.

“They will not bother you again; I can assure you,” he states with absolute certainty.

Your eyes go wide, “What did you do? I don't want to make it worse for my brother,” you fret.

“I told them if they mess with you again, they will have the Bridgerton brothers to contend with,” he nods, with an air that suggests the name is of some local import.

“Is that you?” you ask timidly, not wanting to get down from the tree just yet.

He chuckles. “You must be new here?”

“Yes… we just moved here two weeks ago. Those boys have been tormenting my brother since his first day at school. They appear to have chosen me to pick on as he is not around,” you frown, dusting a twig from your skirt.

“Well, that ends now. Now, do you need help down?” he asks.

“No,” you sniffle, “I am capable.”

“I wouldn't doubt it,” he nods politely and steps aside to allow you space to jump down.

With a quick swing, you do so, landing neatly on your little brown boots. You unfurl to your full standing height, but even then, you have to crane your neck to look up at him.

“Very impressive,” he smiles warmly. “I am Benedict. Benedict Bridgerton. Welcome to Kent.” he thrusts out a hand to shake and, bemused at the formality, you take it and shake as if a businessman, not a ten-year-old girl.

“Thank you, Benedict. I am y/n y/l/n. My father is the new physician,” you gesture vaguely over the church wall towards your home next to the rectory.

“Ahhh,” he nods in understanding.

“And thank you,” you curtsy.

“Whatever for?” he frowns.

“For rescuing me,” you clarify.

“Oh please, that was nothing,” he waves dismissively. “I cannot abide bullies. Or any injustice really,” his eyes appear briefly unfixed, and he looks thoughtful, as if what he said just occurred to him as truth. Then he shakes his head and brings his attention back to you. “You are alright, though, correct? Able to get home?”

“Yes,” you confirm shyly.

“Then I shall be on my way” he tips an imaginary cap at you that makes you giggle, and he smiles goofily before turning away and walking out of the churchyard.

A little part of your heart yearns to follow him, the boy with the hazy, kind eyes and the pleasing smile, who just made your transition into life in the area much more bearable. 

You and your brother are never bothered by that gang of boys again.

II: Envy

“Y/n, this is Miss Clarissa Worthing.” 

Benedict introduces you to the willowy blonde whose hand is looped through the crook of his arm.

“Clarissa, this is Miss y/n y/l/n. She will beat half of my family at Pall Mall once you can coax her out of her shell,” he teases delicately with a friendly glint in his eye that makes your heart flutter against your ribcage.

Clarissa nods in cool acknowledgement, then cranes her neck to whisper something, her lips brushing his earlobe, her regard for you already gone. You curtsy politely, smile weakly and scurry away, feeling clumsy and out of place, unsure of what else to say to this swan-like beauty. 

It's the summer after your fifteenth birthday, and he is back from his second year of university. It doesn't take much to deduce that this is the lady he is currently courting, accompanying him as she is to a garden party at Aubrey Hall. Jealousy clings to your skin like an invisible oily substance and taints your every thought.

Ever since that fateful day when he chased away your bullies, you have carried a torch for Benedict. The year after that incident, you sadly have to attend his father's funeral. Your own father unable to save the Viscount’s life. The forlornness on Benedict’s face as he stood there in the chilly church made your chest ache. You didn’t fully understand why at the time, but your impulse was to go up and wordlessly hold his hand. He looked so utterly unmoored and sad. You didn't, of course; you would never be so bold, but the impulse was so strong, a tingle on your palm that needed to touch him. It was all you could think about for days.

Over the intervening years, your soft spot for him grew with every encounter, the childish admiration morphing into something stronger, a deep-rooted longing. He always seemed to be the one who cared the most—about his siblings, his mum, and even the problems of the wider world. And as your body started to change and you began to feel differently about boys, your feelings for him had another layer of confusing complexity. His was the first face that popped into your head when your friends giggled about boys and talked of marriage. 

Even now, it seems ridiculous to entertain that he would ever pursue you… you are stuck in small village life, the daughter of a doctor, not from a noble family, and he is off in the world, experiencing things you have no notion of. And yet he is the only man you have ever met who intrigues you that way. The idea of marriage not being entirely abhorrent, provided it is to him.

And so you just watch—the perpetual wallflower. Watch as Benedict and Clarissa make the circuit of the party. Effortlessly chatting among various members of the Ton, looking like the picture-perfect young couple.

“Makes you sick, doesn't it?” Eloise’s dry tone pops over your shoulder. 

You smile at Benedict's little sister, just a couple of years younger than you and a kindred spirit at these events, mostly wanting nothing to do with them.

“She is very beautiful,” you offer politely, sipping your lemonade.

“She steals,” Eloise states plainly, making you splutter your drink all over your face and dress, the little immediate crowd of attention it draws to you mortifying. Luckily Benefict is far enough away and otherwise engaged that he does not see it. You are not sure you could live that down.

“That's a scandalous thing to say,” you hiss softly as you blush under the attention of a few strangers and furtively clean yourself with a serviette as best you can.

“Tell that to mother’s silk gloves,” Eloise volleys back, her disgust evident. Apparently oblivious to your embarrassing predicament or perhaps just uncaring of what others think. “She will be gone before the weekend is out, mark my words.”

You don't doubt it, knowing how spirited Eloise is. And how well she has her brother's ear. You know he will instinctively trust what she says as truth. As she marches up to grab his arm and pull him away, mostly, you wish you had more of her bravado, her fearlessness. While you agree with her outlook on many things, you are not built of the mettle she is—not one who draws attention. Still, you watch with a twisted, guilty, but victorious smile as Eloise pulls Benedict aside and has words with him. 

You never hear of Miss Clarissa Worthing again.

III: Jealousy

“Lord Boswell would be a wonderful match, my dear,” your mother smiles encouragingly, handing you a slice of lemon drizzle cake. 

You can't hide the curl of your lip at the mere thought. 

It's the morning after the first ball of the season, just after your twentieth birthday, and you are in the London townhouse your parents have rented for the season, awaiting any suitors to call. Less than three days into your first season, you want the merry-go-round to stop. A dizzying whirl of social engagements you feel unequipped to deal with, wanting nothing more than to be back in Kent, stealing into the grounds of Aubrey Hall with a good book. Perhaps even spend time with Benedict.

Just the very thought of him causes a flare in your belly. Since his return from his studies in Cambridge, he has seemingly moved to Aubrey Hall full-time, spending his days painting the Kentish countryside with hopes of establishing himself as an artist. You have spent more time together in the last year or so than ever before, often finding yourself reading quietly in the shade with Eloise as he paints nearby, his company always somehow a balm as much as a thrill. And it feels as if there has been a subtle shift in how he regards you, giving you the unbearable lightness of hope. Perhaps he sees you in a different light now that you have come of age, no longer the child you were. There have been some moments where he has looked at you and felt it, like a weight on your skin; even as you doubt many other things about yourself, you don't doubt there is something there—a most wondrous and perplexing development.

Your butler bustles in and announces something that makes your heart leap into your throat.

“Mr Benedict Bridgerton has arrived.”

Your mother's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, giving you a sideways glance. A Bridgerton, even if not the Viscount, would be more than sufficient in her eyes. Especially one known so well to your family.

“To call on Miss y/l/n?” your mother asks, excitement evident in the breathy question.

“Oh no, ma’am, apologies. To see your husband. His brother, the Viscount, has dispatched him here to talk about some business in Kent,” your butler explains, somewhat apologetic as he realises the misconstrued intent.

Your mother’s disappointed face is only a match for your roiling stomach. 

Your father folds his newspaper and jumps up. “I shall meet with him in my study, Jenkins. Please show him there,” and with a nod to you both, he leaves.

It has been just two days since your presentation to the Queen. That had been a waking nightmare. Parading down a long hallway at the Palace to be presented to her majesty filled you with utter dread. All eyes upon you, your every move and inch of appearance judged, and you are certain you were found lacking. Your status is unknown in the Ton; your parents pushing you into the season, hoping for an advantageous match. But you feel they could tell from one look where you belonged—almost invisible, on the periphery, a wallflower. Quiet, reserved, bookish, watching more than participating.

“Lord Boswell is here,” your butler reenters the room moments later.

Your stomach clenches. Your mother can barely contain her glee. You are so confused; you barely spoke two words to the man as you danced the previous night. Your conversation skills were utterly lacking, and he seemingly could not find an engaging topic to broach. You were keen for the music to end so you could return to standing and observing. You cannot believe that awkward interaction would be enough to propel the man to call on you, having said so little to each other just a few hours earlier. And yet here he is, a bunch of flowers in hand and a slightly vacant smile. The fleeting thought of marrying such a dull person makes you mildly nauseated.

Your mother hurries to the other side of the parlour and leaves you to converse, wearing a happy, hopeful expression that you hate to dash. And so you stumble the best you can through small talk. He talks of the weather, his property, and his interests but never asks anything about you—as if he is a candidate for a job you are interviewing for. In some ways, that is perhaps accurate, but part of you yearns for him to show interest in you, not just talk incessantly of himself.

Just as you give up hope of escaping anytime soon, you startle as he lays a hand on yours on the sofa between you. You don't even hear what he is saying anymore, just staring at where his glove covers yours, not liking the sensation, wanting to claw yourself away and withdraw. 

Motion in the doorway makes you look up; Benedict is with your father. And suddenly, your heart is racing. Benedict looks taken aback; something sour in his expression you have never seen before makes you want to run to him and ask what is wrong. But you don't. You do the polite, reserved thing and smile.

“Mrs y/l/n, Lord Boswell,” he greets politely. “Miss y/l/n,” he adds, and you could swear he uses a different, lower register. Something inside you turns pulpy and ripe, blossoming just for him. 

Before you know it, he has taken a seat on the sofa facing yours, shooting you the tiniest of winks that could be an eye twitch, but you know him better than that—seeing the sparkle of mischief in his eye. Your parents seem to exchange nonplussed glances, uncertain why he has chosen to stay.

“Boswell,” Benedict begins, shooting the man his most impervious glance. “What of your qualities make you an ideal suitor for Miss y/l/n here?” he questions.

Boswell splutters and seems taken aback, clearly not expecting such an interrogation, especially from a man who isn't your father or brother. Benedict’s eyes are back on you as the man stumbles through an inadequate and entirely uninteresting response that you do not even listen to. Your whole focus is on Benedict, feeling unable to breathe.

“Hmmm,” Benedict hums as he ends, “and what have you to say about Miss y/l/n’s interests? Are they perhaps complimentary to yours?”

“I… I did not think to ask,” Boswell falters, his cheeks reddening at the faux pas.

Benedict looks almost disgusted. 

“You claim to be interested in providing your suit but ask nothing of what makes her the wonderful person she is?” he scolds, and your mouth opens into a little O of surprise. “Have you not asked her about her excellent marksmanship? How she can shoot an archery target better than anyone else within ten miles of Aubrey Hall? Have you not asked after her artistic skills? You see that cushion you sit next to? That is the work of her fair hand.”

You barely register as Boswell twists to look at the item and then at you; you have eyes for no one but Benedict as he continues, his voice loud and clear even over the sound of your heart pounding hard in your ears.

“Have you asked her about her love for literature and poetry? How she will correct you that it was, in fact, Guildenstern, not Rosencrantz, who enters first in the first folio version of Hamlet?” 

You duck your head and blush. That is precisely what you did to him last year, surprising even yourself with your boldness. And he remembers. 

He continues. “Have you asked about her love of animals? Perhaps you need to hear the tale of Mr Whiskers and how she was able to nurse the beloved cat of my sister Hyacinth back to health. You have not asked her of any such things?!?” his tone incredulous.

Even from the corner of your eye, you can tell that your parents’ faces are as shocked as Boswell’s. And suddenly, you recognise this as a Benedict Bridgerton you have seen before. It’s the one that comes out when defending those he loves against injustice or an unworthy opponent—the staunch guardian. 

“If you cannot find it in yourself to show such interest, I would hope she will entertain better suitors,” Benedict sniffs dismissively. “As a long-term friend, I cannot in all good conscience allow this young woman to be pursued by anyone unworthy of her,” he concludes cuttingly, his nostrils flare, and his lip curls just a fraction as his eyes flit to where Boswell’s hand still rests upon yours.

Even as you struggle through your jumble of thoughts about everything he has said, one question so singular strikes you. Is this is Benedict….. jealous?? Jealous of your suitor? Finding ways to cut into him with his precise knowledge about you? The thought seems so fanciful that you want to dismiss it, but the sliver of possibility it offers is exhilarating. Just the chance of it being true has you utterly undone.

You barely even listen as your father jumps up and, with some belated sense of defence, agrees with Mr Bridgerton and asks Boswell if perhaps he should take his leave and return another day when he has thought of more engaging things to ask of you. Every fibre of your being yearns to talk to Benedict somewhere private, but he gives excuses to leave as quickly as your chastised suitor is dispatched.

Boswell never darkens your door again.

IV:  Rescue

“Penny, for your thoughts,” Eloise smirks as she catches you staring into space on the terrace. Your cheeks blush, and you do not admit to where your thoughts had wandered—to her older brother.

“Will you come with me for a walk?” you ask, feeling the need to get away before you cross paths with the man who has occupied your thoughts more often than not of late.

It’s the week of the midsummer Hearts & Flowers ball at Aubrey Hall, and you are glad to have escaped the hubbub of the London scene and to be back in Kent for a few days' respite.

“No, I would prefer the company of Mary Shelley this afternoon,” she states airily, waving a book she holds.

So you set off alone, walking the grounds you now know so well. You are half an hour into your stroll, admiring the wildflowers along the eastern fringes of the grounds, not far from the village, when you see him approaching in the distance.

Benedict is riding his trusty horse and looks so majestic your chest constricts. Clothed in just a billowing white shirt and beige britches, you have rarely seen him look so informal. Or so very, very attractive. Your palms feel sweaty, and something stirs deep inside your body as you slink slightly into the treeline, hoping to remain unseen. A chance to merely observe this beautiful man, even knowing it is wrong to do so. To spy on him as such. Just as he draws close enough that you can see the flex of his leg muscles under the material, which causes all sorts of sensations in your body, a startled deer darts across the path and spooks his horse.

Time seems to slow as you watch his horse rear up and make the most terrible whinny of fear. 

And then your heart is in your throat as you watch horrified as Benedict loses his grip on the reins in surprise and is thrown violently backwards to the ground.

Bile rises in your throat as you see how his body hits the dirt path, unable to brace for impact. The air fills with a blood-curdling scream that you belatedly realise is your own, and before you know it, you are sprinting. Sprinting towards him. Your whole focus narrows to his body splayed on the ground, worryingly still, as his horse bolts away. Heart pumping wildly and adrenaline coursing through your veins, you pull up to him and skid to your knees.

He is still conscious but barely. Moaning slightly. 

“Do not move!” You bark, and even in his woozy state, he appears taken aback by your ferocity. “I mean it, Benedict!” you bite out as he attempts to move his arm.

He seems to mumble a noise of ascent as you try your best to assess any injuries, having learned some things from observing your father over the years, but you realise he needs proper medical attention. Where you are on the grounds, it’s closer to your home than Aubrey Hall.

“I am going to get my father,” you explain as calmly as you can, “for the love of God, Benedict, do NOT attempt to move until he gets here.”

A wan smile spreads across his face even as he winces in pain. “Hmm, fine. I promise to stay still,” he sighs, “....prefer to do it for the love of you…,” he mutters slurringly before he appears to pass out.

Knowing he has likely struck his head, you try your darndest to put what he said out of your mind. A head injury would be the only way to explain such a comment, even as you are praying he doesn't have one. 

Heart still beating out of control, and not knowing what possesses you, you lean over and press the quickest shyest of kisses onto his lips—pulling back a few inches before he can even acknowledge it happened.

“Don’t you dare go anywhere on me, Benedict Bridgerton,” you whisper fiercely, just in time to see his eyes pop open, hazy and clouded with something you have never seen before. It’s not the pain he is in, though. And it’s not confusion, amusement or even irritation. It’s something else, so blisteringly intense your legs want to turn to jelly.

“I won’t, I promise,” he attests, his tone rough, ragged.

There are a couple of seconds where all you do is stare wildly at each other, and then, with a reassuring squeeze of his hand, you take off running. You have never run so far and so fast in your life; fear makes your muscles work harder than they ever have before. It’s probably only a few minutes, but it feels like a lifetime.

Your parents almost burst out of their skins in shock as you barrel into the house, panting wildly, wordlessly grabbing your father's medicine bag, and he reflexively springs into action. 

You run to the stables and hurriedly hook up the long cart he uses when he needs to transport patients, and the look he shoots you is filled with concern.

“Who is it?” he asks as you climb aboard and direct him.

“Benedict,” you tremble, and there is a world of understanding in your father's eyes as he cracks the whip, and the horse jolts faster. 

Perhaps your adoration is less concealed than you like to believe, but at this moment, you only care about getting him the help he needs. You are grateful your father doesn’t ask questions as you speed along. 

And it becomes a blur as you reach the site, grateful Benedict laid still as you requested. Your father examines him and fires questions that are answered lucidly, tending to some immediate wounds and bandaging in places. Before you know it, you are helping your father with a canvas stretcher and insisting on sitting with Benedict in the back of the cart as your father takes the patient back to Aubrey Hall. 

Never addressing the fact that you grip each other's hands so tight that both of your knuckles go white.

V: Belonging

“You can come in.”

Benedict’s voice calls out, bemused as you vacillate in the doorway, not realising that he can see you in a mirror reflection. 

So at his invitation, you blush and scuttle into his room. Awkward, unsure what to do after your bold, daring, downright impertinent behaviour when he sustained his injuries. Part of you is hopeful he does not remember it.

It’s been two days, and he has made excellent progress under your father's watchful eye. The minute your father had pulled up at the house, you dropped your hold on his hand. And as word spread, it was a frenzy of activity that you found yourself superfluous to. The last you had seen was Benedict being carried inside for a more thorough examination.

Luckily, it turns out he has no lasting damage; his head was uninjured beyond a mild concussion. He is bruised all over, likely has some cracked ribs and has a sprained wrist, but he will be fine after some rest.

“H.. how are you?” your ask quietly, stilted, fiddling with your dress nervously.

“Much better,” his tone soft, “only because of you.”

You look up and meet his gentle gaze. “I merely did what anyone would have done,” you demure.

“Nonsense,” he counters, “you ordered me to stay still and await the doctor. If you weren’t there, I likely would have done myself additional injury being stubborn,” he points out dryly.

You don’t know what to say in response, so you change tack. “Is your horse alright?”

“Yes. Colin found him wandering around the wildflower meadow, munching on all manner of grasses. Never happier, completely uninjured,” he assures.

You nod, glad to hear the news. Then you allow the room to lapse into silence, unsure how to commence your profuse apology.

“I am very sor….”

He stops you with a bandaged hand held up.

“If you even begin to apologise for saving me, well then I shall be most vexed,” he chides, but there is no heat there, a lopsided grin tugging at his handsome features. “Besides, the more pertinent point of discussion is the fearless woman you can be when needed. The person you are becoming, when you allow yourself to, is quite something,” you bow your head as your cheeks heat at his praise. “I would have injured myself months before now had I known I would meet the creature who sits behind that cloud of shyness. Just look at what you did, taking change so very effectively,” he flatters then there is a pause. “Hell, even being brave enough to kiss me.” 

Your head shoots up, and your mouth falls open.

“Oh yes,” he chuckles, “don’t think I forgot that part,” His voice has lowered to a pitch that buzzes right through your being.

“I… I was worried I… I was going to lose you,” you stutter, “and I-I’m sorry that was terrible of me to take liberties like that. Please, please forgive me?” you beseech.

“It was not in any sense of the word terrible,” he disputes, “the exact opposite. There is nothing to forgive. But there is one way you can make it up to me…?” he hedges.

“Anything, please,” you beg, so hopeful of absolution.

He holds out his hands and gestures for you to perch on the bed beside him. Almost without thought, you do so, even as you feel your pulse speeding up. You have rarely been this close, and now you are transfixed by all the tiny flecks of colour in his iris and the hints of stubble around his jaw.

“Kiss me again,” he requests; a finger trails lightly over the back of your hand. “But properly this time. Give me a chance to kiss you back.”

You just gawp at him in utter shock, heart pounding again, just like it was that day. You don't move away. You can't. Rooted to the spot. Unable to stop staring at his plush bottom lip.

“You cannot mean it…” you stutter when you finally find your tongue, disbelieving.

“Does this seem like I do not mean it?” he argues ardently, and before you know it, he is sitting up and leaning in.

And then warm lips touch yours, and fireworks explode inside your chest. 

You feel like you are drowning in the very best way as your lips move together gently. Everything about the moment is sweet and light, but promising more, something tart that makes you want to climb atop him and crush yourself against him. Just as you feel the instinct to open your mouth to him, he pulls back, looking lost and found all at once.

“I need you to know something,” he begins, grabbing both your hands and placing them between his. “It pains me to see you ever doubting yourself or if you belong. You belong. Everywhere you go. You have so much to give to the world,” he states passionately.

“I… “ you falter, wanting to believe him, the version of you he sees.

“You do. Hell, you give me a reason to get up every day. To try. To be better. I would not be the artist I am now were it not for your words of encouragement as I painted all those afternoons.”

You are dumbstruck. You honestly didn't believe he was taking on board what you said. Mostly just encouraging him to follow his instincts when he seemed to doubt them.

“And now it’s time someone did the same for you. Be the encouragement you need. You deserve everything, y/n. And it would be my greatest honour to try to give it to you?” he adds, a gently loving smile lighting up his face. 

Your heart sings as you realise this is the declaration you have been waiting half of your life to hear. Before you can stop yourself, you launch yourself at him, this time being the one to demand a kiss that he happily obliges. 

“I have a question,” you state as your lips part, your boldness growing with every moment. “Mr Bridgerton, were you jealous when I had a suitor?” you tease, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

He chuckles and nuzzles your cheek. “My god, you have no idea.”  You cant help the victorious giggle, basking in the fizz in your veins.

“I suppose it was payback for Ms Worthing. She of the ironic name. She was never worthy of you,” you state passionately.

He laughs with a headshake. “Perhaps it is our ability to rescue each other that makes us so best suited,” he opines. “I do believe we may belong together,” he adds.

And you couldn't agree more.

In fact, you are never alone again from that day on.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz

[xoxovanillq]

It’s On Me

Childhoodbestfriend!Steve x Introvert!Reader

Warning- Shy reader, reader like cotton candy ice cream (sorry if you don’t like it 😭), kissing, tooth rotting fluff

A/N- There was inspiration taken from the Cherry series, and this was also based off an ask.

———

You pick at your nails, the blue polish lifting and peeling up. It was the same color it always was, light turquoise blue, you’d stuck to the same color since middle school. You thought people didn’t notice, I mean, you didn’t really talk much, well, not to anyone but Steve. 

The two of you met in primary school, both around 6 years old. Some girl had bumped into you, causing you to spill the soup you brought to school for lunch. He had swooped in to save the day, sharing his lunch with you, and the two of you had been attached at the hip since.

In middle school, you watched as Steve gained popularity, and you stayed behind, your once outgoing personality reduced to a shadow of its former glory. You didn’t have many friends, but time after time, he was there beside you, never leaving. This devotion caused you to become attracted to him, something that wouldn’t leave you.

The same pattern continued in high school, but somehow, you made it through all that, and more, and came out the other side.

Now you were here, walking beside him, Robin and Eddie behind you, and the kids behind them. After all the whining and complaining about the heat, Steve had dragged you all out to get ice cream.

“C’mon, walk faster. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can cool down.” He calls back to the rest of the group picking up the pace a bit, grabbing your hand and bringing you with him. 

You had always enjoyed the feeling of his hand grasping yours, the slight roughness of his palm, his thumb absent-mindedly rubbing the back of your hand. It was familiar, something that calmed you in awkward situations. You thought back to all the things he’d done for you over the years, sneaking chapstick into your pocket, replacing your nail polish, all things he thought you never noticed.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” He asks, noticing the way you bit your lip and looked off to the side, spaced out in thought.

“Oh, nothin’, just figuring out what I’m gonna get.” You reply quietly, looking him in his big brown eyes. God, you could drown in them, with the way they swallowed you with kindness. 

“They’ve got Cotton Candy, your favorite.” He says with a little smile, nudging you with a smile. He remembered your favorite flavor after all the nights the two of you spent together, talking til’ the sun rose.

“Can you two lovebirds pick up the pace? For someone who just told us to stop complaining and walk faster, you’re really slowing us down.” Robin calls out, followed by a chorus of agreement from the kids. Steve groaned and began walking faster, muttering something about how he wished people didn’t say stuff like that to you, that you were just friends.

Although you’d never say it aloud, you kind of liked the teasing, it made you feel like other people would approve if you ever got in a relationship with him that was more than purely platonic.

Once you arrived at the ice cream shop, everyone ordered, and Steve quickly payed. You immediately noticed he got nothing for himself, and you began to get worried. It was easy for you to spiral, something you were used to, the second you got worried, you began to think the worst. As you spiraled, worried about something as small as him not getting ice cream, your eyes drifted to his hands. Before you could think about how nice his hands were, you got distracted by his near-empty wallet. Without another word, you got up from where you were sitting, leaving your ice cream at the table, and pulling out your own wallet. You quickly ordered his favorite, reciting it as if it was something as simple as your own name. 

“Here.” You state simply, placing it in front of him before sitting in the chair across from him.

“You didn’t have to do that, I’m fine.” He says apologetically, his face flushing red. 

“No, I wanted to.” You reassure, taking his hand in yours, suddenly feeling a little bit bold.

“Honey, you don’t need to worry about me, and don’t tell me you aren’t worried, because we both know that’s a damn lie.” His tone is as sweet as the ice cream the two of you are eating, and it melts your heart. He reaches out, swiping his thumb on your chin to rid the bit of ice cream that had melted onto it. You laugh softly, and when he doesn’t move his hand, you suddenly go quiet. “Y’know I’ve liked you for like, ever, right? Ever since middle school, when you dragged me out to your backyard after my first girlfriend dumped me. I was so upset, but we ended up falling asleep out there, and I forgot all about her.” He admits suddenly, his face still flushed a little red.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve liked you since middle school too.” You say, suddenly less worried about what other people think, I mean, he likes you too, finally.

“I was scared, but c’mon baby, I’ve made it pretty obvious.” He quips with a little grin, and before you can reply, he’s giving you a soft kiss. You can taste ice cream on his lips, and he can taste the same strawberry chapstick he had been slipping into your pocket since 7th grade. 

“Love you baby.” He whispers as to pill back.

“Love you too Stevie.” You whisper back. These confessions didn’t go unnoticed on the walk home, with cheers from the rest of the group. You couldn’t be happier, you finally had the boy you’d been wanting for years.

[wcnderlnds]

here for you | peter parker

・❥・ summary: after getting kicked out, peter comes to the rescue like always ・❥・word count: 1.1k ・❥・warnings: n/a ・❥・ authors note: this is my first time writing for my beloved peter parker!! its also the first time ive wrote anything in like a month. this was a request from this list. feel free to request any!

The rain was falling hard in New York City. It was one of those cold, rainy nights that had most people bustling through the streets with their umbrellas hurrying to get home. Unfortunately, you were one of those people. The heavy thud of the raindrops falling on your umbrella and the usual sound of the busy New York traffic were the only things keeping you grounded in that moment. The puddles on the pavement soaked your favourite pair of boots as you aimlessly wandered, suitcase full of belongings trailing along with you as you dragged it across the concrete. This wasn’t how your day was supposed to go. Your original plan had been to sit in front of the fire, cup of cocoa in your hand as you watched Love Actually. Too bad you had forgotten to pay your darn rent. 

Money had been tight lately. Balancing a part time job and university was no easy feat. So much so that you had ended up sacrificing your job for the sake of your mental health. You had thought your savings would be enough until you had a better grip on things to find another job but you were wrong. The well had run dry and after another missed rent payment, your landlord had kicked you out. 

When it rained, it definitely poured.

As you stepped into a particularly deep puddle, the familiar sound of a ‘thwip’ sounded above you. Craning your neck up, you spotted none other than the famous Spider-Man perched on a lamppost, head tilted as he looked at you almost like he was examining you. The corners of your lips almost tugged up into a smile as you imagined the concern in his eyes under that mask. Peter Parker had shared his secret with you almost the day he’d found out himself. You were his best friend after all – the two of you told each other everything. The eyes on his mask widened in questioning.

“Got kicked out,” you shrugged. Saying it out loud made it feel all the more real. Not that walking through the streets with everything you owned in a suitcase didn’t.

After checking to make sure nobody was around to hear, Peter spoke. “Meet me at my place. Gotta take care of something first.”

With that, he swung away no doubt on his way to tackle some crime. At least in a city like New York, Spider-Man was never short of something nefarious to keep him occupied. The whole city was like a hub for superheroes and criminals at this point. It was so much so that you were almost desensitised to it. Maybe that had something to do with the fact your best friend was one of those superheroes. Your feet carried you to Peter’s apartment, knocking on the door when you approached. No answer. He must still be out. A sigh passed your lips as you sat on the floor, back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of you as you waited for that nerdy, cute friend of yours to arrive. The raindrops from your jacket were dripping on the floor. Huh, you hadn’t realised it had been raining that hard. Probably too lost in your own thoughts. 

It was ten minutes later when the door to the apartment opened – Peter must have swung in through his window. The pros of being Spider-Man meant you didn’t have to deal with such meander things as walking. Sometimes you wished that spider had bit you so you could swing your way through the city without a care. His mask was in his hand as you stepped through the threshold, the door shutting behind you. His big, brown eyes looking at you with concern.

“I know you have questions and I’ll answer but I really need to get out of these wet clothes right now,” you cringed as you pulled your jacket off, your jeans sticking to your legs.

“Oh! Uh, yeah, sure, sure. You can… use the bathroom. You know where it is,” Peter nodded, his cheeks tinting pink at the mere thought of you getting changed in his apartment. He knew he shouldn’t have thoughts like that but he couldn’t help himself. Throughout the years Peter had somewhat started to develop feelings for you. It was something he beat himself up about every single day because there was no way you felt the same way for him. Why would you? You were incredible and he was… him. No, Peter would always keep this secret to himself. There was no way he was ever going to lose you so if it only meant friendship then he’d take it.

“You should have told me you were struggling to pay rent!” Peter exclaimed. Once both of you had gotten changed, you’d situated yourselves on Peter’s couch, a blanket thrown over the two of you as you filled him in on your situation.

“Peter, no offence but you can barely afford to pay your own rent let alone help me.”

“I would’ve found a way.”

A smile lit up your face, hand reaching out to give his a squeeze. “I know and I am so lucky to have someone like you looking out for me like that but I could never ask that of you.”

Peter’s eyes glanced down at your hand atop his, barely containing how sweaty his palm was starting to feel at your simple touch. He was down bad. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed down a gulp, shaking his head. “You know I’m always going to be there for you, right? Always. No matter what happens. I would do anything and everything in this world to help you and protect you. There’s nothing more precious to me than you.”

His words hit you straight in the feelings, your heart beating a mile a minute like it was about to burst out of your chest. The sincere look in his eyes, the way he always seemed to make you his number one priority – there was nobody who looked after you as fiercely as Peter did. Despite everything he’d been through with his family and losing Gwen, he had never let you down. The second your eyes met his it was like the whole world had stopped still. Your breath hitched, caught in your throat as Peter’s delicate fingers reached out to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. His thumb brushed your cheek, the gesture making your stomach do flips.

“Stay here with me…. for as long as you want,” his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” you leaned into his touch. The moment lingering between you, neither wanting it to end. There would be many, many more moments just like this one – you just didn’t know it yet.

taglist: @strawb3rrystar @decaf-mother @ldydeath @mistysconcilium

[the-kr8tor]

May I have Bitter Orange in a ⭐ bottle please? The start of R and Hobie being handcuffed together before they turned, with R succumbing to the effects of the virus much faster than Hobie due to his spiderpowers, so for a bit he just watches his love become a husk of who they were before he too is a zombie?

*laughs evily* Yessss I've been waiting for a request exactly like this hwjsjwijsjaj hope you like it!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.2k (whoops)

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), description of illness, TW blood, CW injury, TW death, zombie AU, Zombie apocalypse AU. Angst, Hurt/comfort

A prequel to this one shot

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

The air is nice and cool on your face as you walk hand in hand with Hobie in the barren street. There's rows upon rows of abandoned houses, all in different stages of decay from both scavengers trying to survive and time itself proving to be the worst enemy. But it's on your side for now for it has given you infinite time to be with him.

Hobie's hand is suddenly on your scarf, fingers gingerly sliding the fuzzy material up to your chin. He smiles at you, the sun blindingly light behind him. Despite the apocalypse, he still looks just as handsome. He has new shallow scars on his chin where a stubble is slowly growing, hair a bit of a mess but beautiful nonetheless. You've once told him after a lucky find of one whole pound of chocolate pudding that he's apocalypse chic, that he makes the end of the world look good. To which he laughed and shoved a spoonful of chocolate pudding in your mouth. Compared to him you probably look like a mess, you wouldn't know, you've ignored mirrors ever since you ran out of shampoo a few days ago.

“What are you thinkin' ‘bout, gorgeous?” He tugs you closer to him, the crowbar hanging from his backpack clinks against the machete next to it.

“That I really need shampoo, and that you look unfairly handsome in this light.”

Chuckling, he intertwined his fingers around your own. It could mean death for the both of you if the undead suddenly lunges and he doesn't have enough time to take his hand away from you. But he thinks it's alright for him to do, to indulge himself to your touch since the entire place is empty save for a few dead cars and scattered luggages left by people.

“You should see yourself in my eyes, lovie, the greasy hair is doin' a lot for me.”

“Oh yeah? You like it when you pat my head and you get petrol on your hand?”

“We need petrol, d’you think if I bunch up your hair and squeeze it I can collect the oil?”

You nudge him playfully, “you're an ass.”

“Yeah, well, you're stuck with this arse.”

Your mind goes back to your friends and family you've left behind. “Do you think they're okay?”

“'m sure they are, Yuri's got them, and they have Ned, he'll whip them into shape. ‘sides, we're almost at James’, if I was them I'd stay there.” He adjusts his hold on his pack and guitar. “We'll find them.”

You smile, nuzzling his bicep for his own reassurance, knowing that he also worries for them. “You're right. They're probably doing better than us.”

“Yeah,” he pecks the crown of your head. “They're living like kings, I bet.”

You two stop in front of a large house, complete with white marble steps and tall roman columns. “James' dad never had taste, huh?”

Hobie snorts, “his son took all of it. C’mon, then.” He leads you on the porch, trying the door, wishing that it was locked because if it is it means that someone's inside, that they're surviving and waiting for the two of you. To his despair, the door opens without a problem.

Hobie looks back at you having the same expression. “It's okay,” you try to be optimistic, “maybe they left a message for us.”

He nods, “yeah, maybe.” Crossing the abandoned space, he takes his guitar from his back to strum a tune. When he doesn't hear stumbling or any rattling from anywhere inside the house, he continues forward, but his guard is still up. “We might as well get some supplies while we're ‘ere.”

“Yeah, there might be some left in here.” You give him a small smile. “How about we split up? This place is too big, it'll take us forever to comb over this place.”

Hobie considers it for a moment. The place seems pristine except for the furniture and cabinets that are picked clean, so he deems it safe. “Okay, just…” you walk to his side, rubbing his arms, smiling sweetly at him even though he probably doesn't smell the best. “...keep your knife close.”

“I will keep my knife close,” you repeat his words, ���and I'll stay alert.” Poking at his chest, you peck the frown off his lips. “And you keep safe.”

He's still apprehensive, but he knows you can hold your own. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you fully, smooching until you're giggling. “We’ll meet back ‘ere in fifteen.”

“Aye, aye, Cap'n!” You mock salute. “Any special requests?”

“Chocolates.”

“I said a request, not wishful thinking.” You tease, he has an urge to kiss you again.

“Towels, the nice fluffy ones.” You slide your hands away from him, to which he already longs for.

“Got it! I bet James has a ton of them.” You wink, knife in hand, walking away from him.

Hobie watches your retreating back, tamping down his anxieties. He searches upstairs, grinning at James' familiar room. His posters and messy floors remain untouched, the bed still looking like it was tossed around by a tornado. He almost cries at the picture frame on the bedside table containing his band's smiling faces plus you who's embracing him.

Turning the frame around, he takes the picture and pockets it to show to you. After rummaging James' room, he takes a few shirts and pants for him and you. He even finds a pair of silk pajamas that he knows you'll love. A piercing scream echoes around the house, he immediately bolts downstairs, heavy footsteps thudding across marble floors.

You're on your back, fighting for your life while the undead on top of you tried to get a chunk out of you. It all stops when Hobie's guitar connects to the corpse's skull in a sickening crunch of metal and bone.

You scramble away, neck and arm in pain. Hobie's wide eyes meet yours just as when the back door bursts open, revealing a whole horde of the undead. Panicking, he yanks you up, holding your hand, running outside to more of the shambling dead.

“Fuck!”

“Hobie!”

“Just hold on!” His hand is tight around yours, you try to run at his pace, panic in your veins, adrenaline in his.

It feels like you've been running forever, Hobie sees an opening hidden in an alley. He can climb on his own without a ladder but you can't. So he leads you towards the empty alley while the rotten, decayed corpses of once human beings run after you at full speed.

Hobie jumps to take down an emergency ladder, without missing a beat, he grabs your waist and throws you on the ladder. You climb, but the pain in your arm gets worse so you're slower but you still try for him.

The undead finally gets to the alley, you don't dare to look down. Once you're on the rooftop, you peek below to see him struggling to get up the ladder, he's halfway with a handful of zombies dangling on his leg.

You scream his name but it's too late, one of the undead has bitten a chunk of his leg as he tries to kick the former human off the ladder where he's desperately trying to climb to. You wish he didn't run out of web fluid, you wish the world didn't end, you wish the throbbing pain on your arm is just muscle spasm, but the warm crimson seeping out of teeth marks says differently.

With a sickly crunch, the zombie falls down the ladder and into the rotten horde. Hobie climbs up quickly back to you, hands immediately grasping on to you.

“Did it get you?!” You yell, still in denial, frantically checking in hopes that his boot saved him. Your heart falls into your stomach at the sight of broken skin, blood staining your fingers where you hold the hem of his trousers away to get a better look. You're frozen on the spot, tears clinging to your lashes. “Hobie,” you gasp, taking off your scarf to make a makeshift tourniquet around and above the bite. “Fuck—!”

“You okay?!” He does the same to you, heaving, ripping off your sleeves like a madman trying to find the secrets hidden in your skin. He prays that he finds none. His eyes widen, terrified, broken hearted, shaking his head, refusing the fact that you're infected. “No,” he shakes his head again, closing the torn up cloth around the slowly rotting wound. “It's just a scratch, love, y-you’re not—”

“Hobie…” you smile bitterly, eyes mirroring his own. He rips the hem of his shirt, using the cloth to wrap it around your arm, just above the wound in an attempt to stop the spread. He ignores the stinging pain on his leg. “Hobie, stop, it's—”

“We can still stop it!” He yells desperately, tying the cloth tightly. “It's just a scratch.”

“Hobie, please.” You hold his trembling hands, “it has been ten minutes.” He refuses, you squeeze his hand weakly, the virus already taking hold. Slowly killing you. “And—” with trembling hands, you show him the gaping bite on your neck, oozing dark decaying blood. He choked on a sob. “B-but there's a chance for you, your abilities might've made you immune—”

“No, if you're goin’, ‘m goin’” He stands up, not giving up on you. “There's a chemist’s ‘ere, maybe if w-we…” he puts on a brave face amidst the impending doom and rotten flesh that stings his nose. “Maybe there's somethin’ there.” Hand reaching down, you smile up at him, orange and pink hues from the sky dancing around your face. “C-can you get up?” His voice breaks, chest heaving. “I can carry you. Don't make me carry you, love.”

You slide your hand onto his own. “Hobie,” your voice is soft above the mindless groaning below. His eyes beg you to move. So you do. “Okay,” with a single word, you bring him hope.

With divided effort, you both make it towards the roof of the pharmacy. He was uncharacteristically silent the whole way, but his hand never left yours. His eyes never met with your wounds that's slowly festering. You feel it inside you, the fever, the virus that's eating at you, spreading throughout your body, gnawing at every bit of your warmth like a seed taking root. Hobie feels it too, he's terrified that you're experiencing it too. It's his worst fears came to life only because he wasn't fast enough.

Opening the creaky door, he hopes that it's devoid of the undead. Like he's not on the brink of eating flesh, he does his usual prep. He strums his guitar softly to attract any walking corpses waiting behind doors, when none comes out, he cracks the door wider. With his torch, he lights up the way. But he doesn't feel your presence behind him.

Looking over his shoulder was a mistake, he finds you hunched over the doorway, groaning quietly, nails clawing at the throbbing wound around your neck. That's the moment he knew that you'd go out before him. For the first time, he curses his gifts.

Slowly, he crosses the distance towards you, shaking hands grasping your shoulders. You're warm, incredibly warm. “Love?” He could cry, but he doesn't want you to see his sorrow.

You sniff, tears streaming down your face from the pain and the tragedy of it all. You've accepted that you were infected, but not him, you'd take the virus from him too if you could. “I'm s-sorry, so fucking sorry. I should've—”

“Oi, none of that, yeah? You're gonna be fine.” He says it to convince himself. “You'll be back on your feet tomorrow and by then we'll see Yuri and the others.” Nodding, he takes you by your arm, careful of making your wounds worse. There's blood sticking to his clothes, seeping through his clammy skin. He hates the fact that it was yours. Bringing you behind the counter, you almost keep over. “I've got you, I've got you.” He says it against your temple like a prayer.

“H-Hobie.” You sob, salty tears marring your pretty face. “I can't— it hurts.” The gnawing feeling gets worse, as if a chainsaw is ripping you apart from the inside. “It's so hot, I–I can't breathe.”

“O-okay, I'll set you down ‘ere, get you comfortable. There's some fever meds over there. It'll help.” His hazel eyes pleads for anyone, anything that'll help you. He helps you sit down, and you immediately lie down on the cold tiles. “Do you want a blanket?”

“N-no,” you're hot and cold at the same time. “I don't know.” You look up at him, he sees the light in your eyes fading. “I don't feel so good, Hobs.”

Hobie could only look away from you, inhaling, exhaling but it doesn't feel like he's breathing right. He kneels down, setting his guitar next to you, palm placed on your forehead. “This is nothing, love.” He tries to smile, but fails. “Remember when you had the flu?” You nod weakly, “you were a fuckin' beast, you beat it on your own in just a few days.”

Even though you feel your heartbeat going faster and then slowing down in a weird rhythm like a heartbeat monitor going haywire, you smile for him. “I was, wasn't I?”

He rubs your bicep, under his touch, he feels your muscle twitch. “Yeah, you still are.”

You chuckle softly, tears sliding down your cheeks and into the cold tiles. “Okay, get me the meds.”

“That's my girl,” laying his forehead atop yours, he hopes that he'll take your pain away with the simple gesture, but it's futile. “I'll be back, I promise.”

“Don’t make me wait.”

Smiling, he squeezes your arm. “Never.” Standing up, he rummages through the entire place for the pills you need. Crouching down to check under the broken shelves, climbing up on the walls to get a bird's eye view, and all the while ignoring his own pain. It's slim pickings, but he manages to find a single bottle of tylenol that has rolled under a shelf, it's not enough, but it'll do.

With a victorious sigh, he quickly makes it to the counter, rounding the corner, he sees you wheezing, catching your breath and with blood leaking out from your eyes and ears. “No, no, no!” He takes you in his arms, making you sit up. “I've got the meds, love. Oi, open your eyes for me.” You crack one eye open tiredly. “That's it, good job.” He almost cries when you smile at him through the thick fog of illness.

“G-good job,” you murmur, he doesn't know if you're delirious or you're congratulating him for finding the medicine.

“Bottoms up.” He brings two pills to your mouth, to which you gladly take. Giving you his canteen, you drink most of it, downing the tepid water. “That's good, see, you're already gettin' better.”

You shake your head weakly, barely opening your eyes. “Thanks to you, Hobie.”

“Yeah, thanks to me.” He tries to joke but it comes out choked when blood still leaks out of your tear ducts. Sitting next to you, he now feels his temperature rise so he takes the same amount of pills as you.

You lay your head on his shoulder, hand shakily reaching towards his own. “I'm sorry.”

He almost breaks down at your apology. “Nothin' to apologize for, love.” Meeting your hand halfway, he intertwined his fingers with yours, you're cold now, frozen under his hold. “D’you want that blanket now?”

“Please,” you wheeze out.

Hobie obliges, taking a thick blanket from his pack and then draping it around you as if it'll protect you from the infection. “There, nice and cozy, eh?”

“Thank you,” he feels your crimson fall down on his collar. “For everything.”

“None of that, Y/N, please. None of that.”

“I still want to talk to you.” Your voice is soft and small. “I still want to stay with you.”

Hobie brings your intertwined hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle softly. “And we will be, after this—” a sob escapes from him. “After this, we'll be together, yeah? Just like how we talked about.”

“Forever and ever?”

His tears flow freely, “yeah, forever and ever.” After a beat of silence, he fears the worst. “Love?”

You cough, he sighs in relief. “Still here, Hobs, not leaving yet.”

“Not yet,” embracing you, he lays his chin atop your head, you're made comfortable in his hold. Home, you feel like you're back home in his houseboat, watching a shitty romcom while he rambles on about his patrol. You want to be back there again. He wants to be back there again. “Can I say somethin'?”

You hum into his chest, squeezing his hand tighter but your sickness, he barely felt it.

“I don't want to…” he could barely say it. “I don't want to kill you. ‘m sorry, I know we talked about it—”

You lean up, he's met with milky eyes, he knows you can barely see him now. “Then don't, I don't want you to—” you pause, clinging to humanity. “— to feel that before you go.”

Nodding, he kisses your forehead, crying, weeping into your skin. “I couldn't save you, ‘m so fuckin' sorry, love, ‘m so sorry.” He shakes, you gather enough strength to embrace him and bury yourself in his chest, letting his scent waft around you for comfort.

“Don't apologize, nothin' to apologize for.”

He sniffs, peppering your face with heavy weakened kisses. “Oi, don't use my own words against me.”

You smile against the rough leather of his jacket. “Can I say something?”

“Go,” he can practically see the countdown. “We have all the time in the world, love.” There's something warm leaking out of his eyes and ears. He's catching up to you.

You'd laugh but you can feel your life slipping through your fingers. “When we turn, I don't want us to be separated.”

“What do you propose?” He tries to inhale but he could only let out a sickening cough.

“Tie our hands together…really tight.” Your words fade away, but you still hold on.

“I've got rope here, I can do it now.”

“But I'll turn first, Hobie, I-I might—”

“It'll be my honour to be your first meal.”

“I'd laugh if we weren't dying right now.” Eyes too tired to open, you feel the rough rope around your wrist, and the unmistakable sound of a knot getting tied. You smile for the last time when you feel his fingers wrap around your own. “I love you.”

“How's that? Too tight?” He whispers close, he feels you slipping away, “Y/N? Love?” he breaks down when your hand falls limp around his own. “Not yet, please, not yet.” He holds you, rocking you back and forth like a babe needing to be held. Your heart doesn't beat in sync with his anymore. “C’mon, not yet, we still have to find the rest of the band, right?” His eyes cloud over, cold taking root inside his entire body. “Say somethin’, fuck!” He yells with all his might, “I love you, fuck, please wake up.”

Closing his eyes, he wraps you in what's left of his warmth. “Don't go, please.” Hobie pleads and cries until he can no longer breathe the same air as you. His last thoughts were of you.

[inthedarkshadows000]

SneakPeak#110.......

From the story I might never write

I was currently sitting on the kitchen slab after convincing Nanami to let me help him cook.

Now I know I am hopeless when it comes to this area but I managed to convince him. I know, I am so smart.

Although the reason I wanted to be here was so I could ogle at him. He looks so delicious wearing those sweatpants and thin cotton shirt which show his Greek god body underneath and don't even let me get started on his cute aprin. Yummmy.

"Y/n! Yn ! Hey Nanami have you- what the hell are you doing here?What the hell is she doing here? Are you planning to have your house burnt?" Shoko please shut. Please. I suddenly wish I had telepathy so could tell her to shut up.

Nanami only turned to face her after switching off the stove and raised his one brow. Me jealous. I mentally pouted. I wanna learn that too.

"What do you mean?" He crossed his hands and all I could do was drool over his biceps. I pretty sure I it was coming out of my mouth.

"She didn't tell you? She is horrible at cooking. Inviting her in the kitchen is like purposely trying to have you house burnt." Sho said like it was a universal fact.

"That is so not true. I have helped you in kitchen." I said quickly coming out of my drooling state to defend my honor.

"I asked you to boil the water because I had to use the washroom and you! madam almost set the kitchen on fire!!!!" She said with her eyebrows so high that they almost disappeared off her face.

"I so did not!!" I said with narrowed eye and at the same time telling her to shut up.

"How so?" He asked clearly finding this amusing because I may or may not have told him I was an awesome cook. I knew it was gonna bite me in the ass.

"She put the pan on the stove without actually lighting it. I mean she turned the nob on and didn't light it. So we basically had a gas leak" she exasperated.

"That was like ten seconds." I said throwing my hands up. Although I knew I had originally forgotten about lighting it. She doesn't have to know that.

"Liar. The only reason we were saved was because Suguru thought about following you to the kitchen as a precaution. He switched it off when he realised that she wasn't because she got back to stalking. " shoko looked at me pointedly. I only huffed and crossed my arms with a pout.

"Sugury said he was getting himself a glass of water. He didn't follow me." I mumbled. Beside me me Nanami chuckled and it made me smile internally.

"Of course he said that. Although even you know that's not true." She laughed like it's the funniest thing.

"Once I helped Satoru too." I said whining.

"All you did was pass him a packet of chips from the pantry. Although considering you didn't make a mess counts for something." she had the audacity to smirk. Bitch. She will so regret it when I eat all of gummy worms then we'll see who smirks. For now I settled with sticking my tongue out at her.

"Anyway I was looking for you because I was gonna go out for some work. I'll be back in an hour." With that she walked away without waiting for my reply. I shrugged.

"Soo. You lied to me." He said with one brow raised.

"That depends on how you define lying" I said smiling

"I define it as not telling the truth. How do you define it?" He grinned.

"reclining you body in a horizontal position?" I screamed with a huge grin. OH MY GOD He watched teen wolf. He just quoted it. I was stiles?!!!?? I am fangirling so hard.

"You watch teen wolf." I laughed.

"Of course I did. You asked me to." He said as if I just offended him. Although his eyes twinkle as if he found treasure.

The brown in them a lighter shade. We were standing so close. I didn't realise when he had moved to stand between my legs. It was then I realised that why his eyes were so striking. Why they stood out in a room of fifty people. He had a black ring around his iris. As if holding all the colour in, preventing it from spilling out.

"I didn't think you would, with all the missions and stuff." I was still looking into his eyes as I mumbled.

"I always for time for you, love." He traced my cheek bone. He leaned in further and before I could process, his lips were on mine.

"My little liar.." He murmured and pecked me once more.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Enigma (Joel's Version)

A home tour and 400 word drabble celebrating Chapter 4 of Elks.

A/N: Doing this a little different because the reblogging a reblog game can be a little pestery for some. No playlist this week, to honor reader's long gone stereo. So, I've been playing The Sims longer than some of you have been ALIVE.) Please enjoy my Elks girl's home. I wish it was a little more run down, but I can only do so much without custom content. Also, peep the reader I designed in CAS. (If you have any PPCU inspired Sims creations PLEASE SHOW THEM TO ME.) So, just like Joel walked into her home in this chapter, now you can too.

“Sooooo,” Tommy looks at him from across the fire with the shit-eating grin that has always spelled trouble for him. “Maria couldn’t sleep last night, said she saw you comin’ home early Sunday morning.”

Shrugging, Joel doesn’t look up, keeping his attention on the knife in his hand as he works it against the wood. A little bird is slowly taking shape, it reminds him of the sparrow you painted on your cracked mirror. 

“Oh, come on now. Ain’t nobody here but us. I think I know exactly where you were comin’ from," Tommy teases, dragging out your name with a smirk.

Joel shakes his head and shrugs, a bit of shyness rears its head. “It’s not–s’not like that.” He knows Tommy can sense his lie.

“Hey, even if it is,” Tommy’s big brown eyes crinkle at the edges with a smile, “I’m glad.” 

He nods, too afraid to acknowledge to someone else the feelings for you that have planted inside of him. 

He felt something for Tess–of course he did. All those years spent together he never allowed himself to truly feel for her, but the second he realized he’d lose her forever, regret entered his heart. Then, Bill’s letter let the regret take over his whole body.  

I used to hate the world, and I was happy when everyone died. But I was wrong because there was one person worth saving.

He couldn’t save Tess, but he could save Ellie. 

And you? You didn’t need saving. You’re safe amongst the people he now calls neighbors, behind the walls he’s now guarding while on patrol. He wants to be the one to protect you, to care for you.

“Joel, look, it’s time for you to be happy,” Tommy comforts, sensing his inner turmoil. “I know you won’t listen to me, but–you’re allowed to be cared for.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Tommy–his little brother, the one person on this earth who used to know the old Joel Miller. He looks up from the little bird, remembering how serene he felt opening his eyes yesterday and looking around your beautiful home then looking down to watch your peaceful, pretty face in slumber. He wants to do it again. 

“I know,” he nods, watching Tommy’s grin spread wide.

“Hell yeah brother.” 

More home pics under the cut!

Taglist. Let me know if you’d like to be removed or added.

@ohheypedrito, @magpiepills, @secretelephanttattoo, @goodwithcheese, @copperhalfcent

@yopossum, @burntheedges, @noisynightmarepoetry, @moel-jiller, @tinytinymenace

@sawymredfox, @bardot49, @maggiemayhemnj, @jolapeno, @chrysochromulina

@vickie5446, @dancinglotusbud, @cozylittlepigeon, @chippedowlmug

Thank you @saradika-graphics for the headers!

Next Chapter

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Okay I got more angst prompts, not from the list this time. Consider:

After the final battle, after the hotel is rebuilt, when Lucifer finally gets the chance to go home and rest, it all hits him at once. Adam is actually dead. He didn't feel bad about it in the moment at all but now it's hitting him that Adam is dead and gone and oh no I killed one of the first people I ever loved. (Niffty wouldn't have been able to kill him if not for Lucifer, so he would have enough reason to blame himself) He's struck by grief, that love having never truly left. Charlie finds him, and comforts him.

Mayhaps her reaction finding out that her father loved Adam, their enemy? Mayhaps Luci's reaction when Adam respawns as a sinner? Up to you!

Indigo (struck with the desire to hurt my favourite characters emotionally)

*Sips coffee* Ahhh, after battle angst. Thank you for this! Please send more if you'd like :)

Lucifer hadn't had time to really let it sink in now, in his new room alone. He sat down on his bed, his chest weighed like a ton of bricks.

Adam was dead. He was dead dead as in no coming back. He still remembers the angelic blade going through the angels chest. All that blood.....

Lucifer felt his eyes pool with water. His first love was dead and he let him die. His heart clenched in his chest. Fuck. He thought he was over Adam, but guess not.

At the moment he didn't care. He was still angry that Adam would try and hurt Charlie. But he was going to let him live, Adam may have been an asshole but he was HIS asshole.

Then Charlie's little friend killed him.....

"Fucking hell." He swore as he scrubed the tears from his face. Closing his eyes, Lucifer could still see Adams face. Not the one from the battle field. The one in the garden.

Even then his eyes were bright and golden in color like honey. Soft brown hair ruffled and wild on his head, smile wide and breathtaking. Oh, how Lucifer wished he could go back to those days.

'Will we be friends forever, Luci?'

'Every day is amazing when I'm with you.'

'Luci, I think I lov-'

"FUCK!" Lucifer screamed, he gripped his hair painfully. "I'M SORRY! I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE I'M SORRY!!" He sobbed. He was just destined to never save his favorite human was he? Adam was all he ever wanted and now he was gone for good.

"Dad, are you busy there's some- Dad? Are you okay?" Charlie came in and sat down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"No." Was all he said, the guilt was weighing on him.

Charlie frowned. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I loved him so much."

Charlie blinked and looked at her dad. "Who?"

Lucifer sniffed. "Adam." Not the answer Charlie thought she'd hear. "He was my first love Charlie, I was there when he was made from the dust of the earth. I showed him how to do many things. That man on the battlefield, the one filled with hate for demons. That was my fault. When your mother came into the picture I was blinded by her beauty that I didn't see who she really was." This was not a conversation to have right now. "I broke Adams heart when I chose her. I ruined something beautiful for something extra."

"But, he was the enemy. How could you love him?" She just didn't understand.

Lucifer smiled sadly. "You didn't know him like I did. The beautiful soul I knew he always was." And he was, Adam had a soul that shined so bright it was blinding. He just had up so many walls after Eden.

"What if he's not as dead as we thought?"

"Huh?" Lucifer looked at his daughter. "What do you mean?"

Charlie bit her lip. "That's why I came up here. Adam is here. Downstairs. As a sinner."

Lucifer never ran so fast in his life. Faster than Charlie could keep up, her cries in the distance. He flew down the stairs and stopped in his tracks when he got to the lobby.

There he was. In all his glory. Adam stood with his back to Lucifer, he had long black and gold horns that curved around to the back of his head like his exterminator mask horns. He was looking at his newly formed demon hands, black up to his elbow with claws sharp like knives. His robes were now black and red, slightly tattered and still dirty. He had hooves now and likely a mouth full of sharp teeth.

He was beautiful.

He was alive.

"Adam?"

Adam jumped at the sound of his name and turned to face the devil. "Lucifer." His voice sounded rough but the same. His golden eyes were firey with anger, Lucifer could just imagine how he felt about being a sinner.

"You're here?"

"I know, the fucking shocked too."

Even if he hated him, Lucifer could deal with that as long as Adam was alive and well. "Gonna give redemption a shot?"

"Might as well." Adam crossed his arms, an unimpressed look on his face.

"Swell! Let me give you the tour and get you settled into a room." Lucifer took Adam by the hand and led the way, all while the sinner followed him, grumpy and cursing under his breath. "You know, if you ever need protection down here. I'd be willing to provide it."

Adam scoffed. "Yeah, for my soul."

Lucifer looked back at him. "Would that really be so bad? To be completely safe, always?" His voice echoed around them. "I would never let anything happen to you, Adam."

He didn't miss the way Adam's face pinched pink at his words.

Maybe second chances do happen.

[m1dnyt3-w0lf]

Blazing Meeting Part 2

Ghostrider x Farmer!F!Reader

Part 1

Summary: Johnny is closed off, leaving you to wonder what is going on with him

You didn't know you had fallen asleep until you felt someone nudging at your arm. You opened your eyes to immediately meet those of the daredevil. Oh gods, he was so close. He was…You shot up, shocked he was standing in front of you.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.” Johnny said. He held a plate of food in front of you. Just some eggs, hash browns, and sausage. The smell had your mouth watering. “I made breakfast.”

“Where did you go last night?” You asked after finding your voice and taking the plate of food. Johnny froze.

After discovering him gone, you stayed in the guest house. You sat on the sofa to wait for him to return. You, obviously, fell asleep before he did.

“I, uh, went to do some thinking.” He said, putting on the most serious face he could muster. You arched an eyebrow.

“And did riding your motorcycle and lighting my pasture on fire help you think?” There was venom in your words that made Johnny wince.

“Listen, I can explain-”

“Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn't lie.”

“Then how the hell did you get that bike going if it had no gas?!” You demanded. Johnny’s jaw set. He seemed to be weighing his options with the way his eyes flicked between spaces on the floor and shined with nervousness.

“I…you'll think I'm crazy if I told you.” He said, finally looking at you. You stared into those intense blue eyes before breaking away.

“Ugh, fine, don't tell me.” You huffed, finally digging into the breakfast Johnny had handed you earlier. He looked taken aback.

“You don't want to know?” You shook your head, swallowing.

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Man this is good. I didn't think a superstar knew how to cook.” You said through a mouthful. Johnny simply looked exasperated.

“Thanks,” he said quickly. “Why don't you want to know?” You halted and looked up at him, fork halfway to your mouth. You sighed and set your fork down as you looked at him more fully.

“When someone starts with ‘you'll think I'm crazy’ it's almost always a lie. Besides, when you've lived alone for as long as I have, you learn to care less about other people.” You say bluntly.

“Well…I mean, yeah, but…” He seemed to be at a loss for words. You watched with a small smile, eating your food. It really was good.

“Huh. Alright.” He looked at you for a moment, the very act making your cheeks burn.

“What time is it?” You asked, trying to distract yourself from the feelings that started to swirl in your heart.

“It’s, uh,” he checked his watch, “ten a.m.”

“What?!” Your eyes bulged out of your sockets as your fork fell with a clatter. Johnny jumped.

“Is everything alright?” He asked as he watched you grab your fork and start shoveling eggs into your mouth. “Slow down, you'll choke!”

“Did you eat?” You asked him through a mouthful, ignoring his question.

“What?” You swallowed and asked your question again. “Oh, yeah, yeah, I did.”

“Good, we leave as soon as I'm dressed.”

“Really?”

“You want to make it to town before nightfall, don't you?” He didn't argue with that.

“Does this thing have air conditioning?”

“Nope.”

“You're kidding.”

“Wish I was. I can't afford to get it fixed.” Silence.

“I'm paying for this damn thing to be fixed.”

That was the first thing you both had said to each other since the start of the car ride. It was nothing but pure silence, save for the jostling of the old truck and the motorcycle in the back. Johnny tried to play music, but considering you were in the middle of nowhere, no radio stations broadcasted out there. You purse your lips as the silence settles thickly and practically choked out all the air.

“So, how did the bike have fuel?” You asked finally.

“What?” Johnny asked, calling out over the wind roaring through the open windows.

“I said, ‘how did the bike have fuel?’” You repeated louder.

“Oh, I guess it just did.” He said, avoiding the question. You purse your lips, but don't press further. You could tell he was hiding something. You didn't know what, but it had to be something. Maybe he did commit those murders?

Silence befell you both once more. You weren't sure what to talk about, and it seemed Johnny didn't either. You worried your bottom lip, wondering if the silence was welcomed or not. If you should say something or not. Should you try humming?

Who the fuck hums? You thought to yourself.

“How long have you been farming?” Thank goodness your inner torment didn't last long.

“I'd have to say shy of twenty years? I started back when I was sixteen.”

“Wow, so that makes you…” You gave him a side glance, and he had the courtesy to keep quiet. You roll your eyes.

“Yes, that makes me thirty-six.” And only a couple years younger than you.

“Ah.” The awkward silence that fell after was palpable. Neither of you made another effort at conversation.

Due to the late start to your travels, you didn't reach the town until sunset. Johnny was getting increasingly antsy the closer nightfall came. He constantly asked ‘how much farther until the town,’ ‘how much farther until the hotel,’ and ‘will these hotel people hurry up?!’ Needless to say, neither of you had sighed a breath of relief until you both had received your room keys.

“We can go get that gas filled up after we put our things in our rooms.” You told him as you both entered the elevator.

“Uh, yeah, about that…” He started to trail off as he scratched the back of his neck. You immediately shot him a glare.

“What about it?” Your eyes narrowed, and your nostrils flared. Johnny had the proper sense to not meet your eye.

“Listen, we've been on the road for hours, we should get some rest and leave tomorrow.” He tried.

“I'm not tired.”

“Well, I am.”

“You didn't even drive!”

“You can still get tired from traveling!”

“You just sat there in silence!”

“I got tired of you!” The screaming match halted. For some reason, you felt your heart fall to your feet. Johnny's anger was quick to subside.

“I didn't mean-” The elevator doors opened with a ding!, allowing you to run out of the previously enclosed space and away from him. Johnny was left alone, absolutely dumbfounded.

You slammed your room door behind you. A frustrated grunt tore out of your throat as you threw your duffle bag to an armchair in the room. You were thankful you had the forethought to pack for the trip.

A blessing in disguise, you suppose.

Tags: @symmetricalkazekage @thelaundrybitch @eveandtheturtles @raphsmuneca @crocs-blogs

[catiecat1320]

Participating in Sonadowtober this year!! Really excited and probably gonna fail but we ball

Prompt 1: “I Found You, Faker!”

Read Below 🔽

Of course it had to rain.

It was as if some higher force had cursed him with terrible luck. It might as well suddenly start thunderstorming now.

The original plan had been simple enough, but things rarely ever turn out as expected. For once Sonic wished everything would go smoothly. But no, there was a faker using his face, running around and getting him accused of unspeakable acts.

Heh. Sounds familiar…

He absentmindedly played with the device on his wrist, hoping to trigger something that could help him. An umbrella, maybe. He was getting drenched.

Stupid imposter and their stupid tricks. Although he wasn’t exactly playing hero here, he wouldn’t ever go out of his way to hurt someone purely for the sake of an act. But the few that had spotted his face probably didn’t believe that, and so he’d rather keep anyone else ignorant of his true identity. 

Hard to do when his face is uncovered.

Sonic smacked the device and sighed. Standing up, he wiped the rain from his eyes and looked up at the whole procession of vehicles, hoping to find a relatively clear path. He needed to keep up. Man, it’d been so long since he’d been chased like this, he was getting out of practice. Let’s see…

“Found you.”

A sharp PING of metal on metal, and the next thing Sonic knows, he’s falling, the gear knocked out from right under him. Managing to snag his perpetrator’s board just barely, he sighs a short lived breath of relief as an all too familiar voice whispers, “...Sonic?”

Ruby eyes bore holes in him as he looks up. Protected by a hood, they seem to glow in the dark. A bit too menacing for his liking. “Hey, Shadow! Fancy seeing you here!” Sonic laughs, flashing the best smile he could muster while dangling what was likely thousands of feet above ground. “New fit?”

His rival scowled, tugging his brown cloak tighter. “I should be asking you that.”

“It’s… not what it looks like, I swear.”

“Then explain. Now.” 

“Could I at least get my gear back first?” Sonic eyes the board floating away in the wind, silently willing it to return. It didn’t work.

“I said now.”

“Alright, alright! Long story short, something fishy’s going on with Cleansweep. Tails and Amy are in the big shuttle right now, investigating it. I was supposed to create a distraction with this fancy getup, which worked pretty well until someone copied my whole schtick and made it worse. And now my thingy’s broken—” he shakes the malfunctioning device for emphasis “—and everyone who saw me thinks I’m the bad guy. Crazy, I know. But you gotta believe me—”

“I do.”

“I…! Uh… wait what?”

“I believe you.” Shadow grabs his wrist and pulls him onto the board. “You do many things, but you’d never hurt anyone without cause. That whole act was unlike you.”

“Gee, thanks I guess.” That saved a lot of talking. Sonic supposed he underestimated his rival’s understanding of him. He couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his mouth as Shadow flew him over to his drifting Eggstreme Gear. Of all people… Shadow might have been the best one to run into, ironically.

“Stop smiling like that. You look stupid.” Shadow undoes his cloak and tosses it at Sonic, who fumbles with it in surprise.

“What’s… this for?”

“You are stupid.”

“What—!” Then it clicks. “Ohhhh. Oh yeah, I knew that. Cloak. Disguise. Duh. But uh… don’t you need it?”

Shadow shakes his head. “I brought it along for the rain. It’d be of more use to you. I can handle getting wet.”

“...Thanks, dude.” Sonic smiles as he puts it on. Unfortunately, his rival immediately ruins their nice moment with a glare.

“Don’t ‘dude’ me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He rolled his eyes. Typical Shadow. He can’t say he was surprised. “Didya have to ruin the moment?”

Shadow doesn’t answer his question, instead turning his board around to leave. He doesn’t get far before Sonic calls after him. “Wait… where are you going?”

“You’re handling this just fine on your own.”

“But… That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I have faith in you. You don’t need me to hold your hand any more than I want to. Do your part, and I’ll do mine.”

Shadow’s expression is the perfect blend of unreadable and untouchable. Crimson eyes lock onto emerald with a look that makes Sonic glad he’s no longer on the opposing side.

“If you’re really curious… I’ve got a faker to find.”

[apothe-roses]

I Wanna Ride

modern Aemond Targaryen x reader

Part 2

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Summary: You go to your first biker meet with Aly and Cregan. After witnessing a bit of that classic Targ family tension, an opportunity arises. One that may require you to spend more time with your least favorite Targaryen.

Fic Contains: swearing, family tension, Aemond being a prick (again), sexual tension if you squint

Word Count: 2034

The sun has just set over the gathering in the heart of King’s Landing’s steel district. The air is alive with the sound of purring engines, shouts, and rock music playing. You look around, trying to take everything in at once.

You and Ally likely would’ve been swallowed by the crowd had it not been for Cregan serving as your personal buffer. With his height, he easily cut a path through the crowd for the two of you. One of his hands reaches behind him to hold Aly’s. Her other arm is linked in yours.

“Isn’t this fun?” Aly shouts.

“Yeah, I wish I’d gone to one of these sooner,” you respond just as loud.

“Really? Even the countless times I asked you to come with me?” Aly shoots back playfully.

“I was busy!” you argue.

“Excuses, excuses,” Aly retorts. “You were scaared.” She drags the last word out mockingly.

You elbow her playfully. She laughs and elbows you back.

“Well, at least you’re here now. Right, babe?” She directs the question to her boyfriend.

“Yeah, sure!” Cregan shouts over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure he wasn’t paying attention to your conversation at all.

Suddenly, Cregan raises his free hand and starts waving madly.

“Jace! Jace!” He shouts. He picks up his pace, dragging you and Aly with him.

You come to a less crowded area with picnic benches scattered about. Cregan makes a beeline towards one, letting go of Aly’s hand to engulf another guy in a bear hug. Cregan breaks the hug, ruffling his friend’s curly brown hair. You presume this is “Jace.”

“Aly! How’ve you been,” Jace asks, embracing her.

“I was doing great til I saw your ugly mug,” Aly teases, copying Cregan and ruffling his hair. Jace waves her off, laughing. Then he notices you.

“Hi! I’m Jace! Nice to meet you,” Jace says happily.

“My boyfriend’s boyfriend,” Aly explains over Jace’s shoulder. Jace turns to retort, but Aly takes refuge behind a laughing Cregan. Jace turns back to you, shaking his head.

“Come on. I saved us a table,” he said with a smile. He leads you all to a table where another boy—his brother Luke—sits. You all fall into easy conversation. You tell Jace and Luke about your new dragon, and they tell you about the new models they’re having a hand in developing.

“I thought only Targaryens were allowed to submit designs,” you say, confused.

“Oh, they didn’t tell you? Our mom’s Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Luke explains. Your mouth falls open.

“We take after our dad. Our little brother Joffrey is the same,” Jace adds in. Looking at him, you could see the resemblance to his father, Harwin Strong.

“Oh, wow,” you stammer, unable to find a response. Luckily, you didn’t have to as something catches Luke’s eye.

“Oh no,” he says, shrinking in his seat. You turn to where he’s looking. Walking through the crowd are none other than Aegon and Aemond Targaryen. Both Targaryens have ditched the coveralls you initially met them in. Aegon opted for a navy sweatshirt and jeans, a gold chain hanging around his neck. Aemond was wearing all black, from his leather jacket to his combat boots. His hair was only half pulled up, leaving the rest to hang down his chest.

They were accompanied by two people you immediately recognized as their siblings Daeron and Helaena.

The four siblings spot your group and start to make their way over. Well, three of them do. Aemond immediately turns and stalks off in a different direction. Helaena looks like she’s going to stop him, but Daeron shakes his head at her. You watch as Aemond disappears down an alley. When you turn back, you immediately lock eyes with Aly, who raises a brow and smirks a bit.

You scowl back at her, thinking back to the conversation you two had after getting your bike back.

“You didn’t mention he was hot!”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware the hotness of the mechanic was of any relevance!” Aly shot back sarcastically.

“You also didn’t mention he was…”

“Rude?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah, Aemond’s always been more on the antisocial side. Apparently the rudeness came in after the accident,” she whispers that last part (even though they were the only two people in the room).

“Accident?”

“Yeah. Something to do with his nephew. Never got the full story. All I know is that it really divided the family and they haven’t been the same since.”

That tension is evident in the strained smiles the remaining Targaryen siblings give your group.

“Hello nephews,” Aegon greets Jace and Luke. “And friends,” he finishes, sending a wink your way.

“Mind if we join you?” Helaena asks softly.

“Of course,” Jace answers, noticeably less tense with his aunt. Aegon and Daeron squeeze in on either side of Jace and Luke while Helaena takes a place on the edge of the bench next to you. You notice she has brightly colored earplugs in.

“I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Helaena,” she says softly. You tell her your name in response.

“The one who put Aemond in his place,” Aegon adds from his seat at the table.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset him,” you say

“Don’t be. Aemond’s funny when he’s mad,” Daeron laughs. You furrow your brows.

“We didn’t even interact for that long. I didn’t think I would make much of an impression on him,” you ponder.

“Oh, Arm’s not used to people talking to him at all. People tend to give him a wide berth when they come to the garage,” Aegon explains. “And you not only tried to make conversation but called him out on his bullshit. Honestly, I’m impressed.”

“It’s a shame, really,” Helaena muses. “He’s really nice once you get to know him.

“Everyone is nice to you Hel,” Daeron drawls.

“Still,” Helaena huffs.

The topic is dropped as the table makes meaningless small talk with each other. You tuned most of the conversation out til Aegon clasped his hands together.

“Look, nephews,” Aegon starts, leaning in. “Word on the street is that you know the location of the next Dragon Rally.”

“How do you know we know?” Jace asks.

“Because you don’t shut up about it,” Aly responds, causing Cregan to snort. Jace frowns at her. “Didn’t Grandpa tell any of you about it?” He directs the question to his relatives.

“Of course not,” Daeron scoffs. An awkward silence falls over the table.

“Aaanyways,” Cregan drags out. “You gonna come with us?” He looks at you over his girlfriend’s head. Aly turns to look at you as well.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you reply. The Dragon Rally was a rather secretive event despite its popularity. All you knew was that it involved a grueling ride to whatever location was picked that year and that it was sponsored by the Targaryen family.

“I don’t think I’ll have quite gotten the hang of riding by the time it rolls around,” you continue.

“Oh, Aemond can teach you!” Helaena exclaims. Everyone at the table turns to look at her as if she’s grown a second head.

“What? Vaghar and Meraxes are similar enough models. Plus, it could help patch things up between them.”

“As much as I’d hate to throw you to the wolves, she has a point,” Aegon says. “If anyone’s got the stuff to whip you into shape in a short amount of time, it’s Aemond.”

You look down at the table, thinking on what they said. You’ve spent a long time on the outskirts of this community, wanting to join on the fun but never finding the opportunity—or the courage. You didn’t want to miss out on any more.

“Why doesn’t Aly do it? They’re friends after all,” Jace asks.

“Trust me, Aly couldn’t teach a fish how to swim,” Cregan laughs, earning an elbow in the side from his girlfriend.

“I’m a great teacher,” Aly snaps at Cregan, who laughs and kisses the top of her head.

“Of course you are, love,” he says softly. Daeron pretends to gag, causing Helaena to scold him.

“You know I’d help you,” she says to you. “But my nephew and his gremlin friends are coming into town.” You nod sympathetically. You’ve met Benji Blackwood before. He’s a nice kid, but if he and his friends are in town…Aly’s brother’s gonna need all the help he can get.

“And before you ask, I won’t have the time to lend my expertise. And neither will you,” Cregan explains to Jace.

“Come on, there’s no harm in at least asking,” Aegon teases. You look up at him.

“Alright,” you say simply, rising from the bench.

“Wait, I didn’t mean right now!” Aegon shouts as you walk off in the direction Aemond disappeared in earlier.

Aemond leans against the brick wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“You know that’s bad for you, right?”

Aemond’s eye lands on you. He gives you a once over before removing the cigarette and letting out a puff of smoke.

“Oh. You,” he said flatly.

“Yes. Me,” you parrot back, matching his flat delivery. You swear you see a slight twinkle in his eye.

“I didn’t think events like this were your thing,” you say, folding your arms across your chest.

“They’re not,” Aemond responds curtly. He takes another drag. “My siblings practically kidnapped me. They think I don’t get out enough,” He scoffs.

“Based on the mercifully brief interaction we had, I’d wager they’re right,” you quip.

“Did they send you to drag me out there,” he asks, taking another puff.

“No, actually. I wanted to ask you about something.”

He raises an eyebrow at this. “Did you fuck up your bike already?”

“No,” you huff. “Though if I had, I could probably fix it myself.”

He angles his body towards you, his shoulder braces against the wall. “Could you now?”

You thought he was mocking you, but the look in his eyes…he looks more curious than anything.

“I brought her to you ‘cause I hit a dead end. Thought it would be good to get a second pair of eyes to look her over. Oh!” You mentally kick yourself for your poor word choice. “I didn’t mean—“

“It’s fine. Happens all the time,” Aemond interjects, though you see his jaw clench. “So, what did you want to ask me?”

You took a deep breath. “The Dragon Rally is coming up. I want to go with my friends,” you start.

“That ride is brutal,” he says, frowning. “You’d have to train hard to be ready by the time it rolls around.”

“I know. Which is why I want you to teach me,” you finish, bracing yourself for his response.

He doesn’t say anything, only gapes at you as if you’d spouted the most ludicrous idea in the world. “Why on earth would you want me to teach you?” He asks.

“Your sister suggested it,” you reply shyly. “And Aegon seconded the idea.”

He lowers his gaze with a hmm. You shift from foot to foot, waiting for his response.

“It’s going to be a lot of work. To start from absolutely nothing—“

“We wouldn’t be starting from nothing!” You interrupt.

“Wouldn’t we?” He quips back.

“I know the basics,” you explain.

“The basics,” he scoffed.

“And what’s wrong with that?” you ask incredulously. His lips curl into a smirk as he leans in close enough for you to feel his breath on your ear.

“Riding a dragon,” he purrs, “is anything but basic.”

You weren’t sure if he meant for that to come off as seductive as it did.Gods, why does his voice have to be so sexy?

“So will you do it?” You ask tentatively.

“Hmmm. I’ll think about it,” he responds.

You nod your head. At least it wasn’t an outright no. Not wanting to push your luck, you turn to walk away.

“But if I do say yes, I’ll want something in return,” he calls after you.

You freeze, looking back at him over your shoulder. “And what exactly will that be?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” he replies. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with.” You let out a small sigh of relief.

“But you’ll owe me,” he finishes. “And I never forget a debt.”

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Taglist: @valeskafics @carriellie @let-love-bleeds-red @wintrr13 @queenofshinigamis @seabasscevans @fangirlninja67 @toodlesxcuddles @almostpurplelady @goldenpanda16

Bold means I couldn’t tag you

Let me know if you want me to add you to the list! (Or be removed. No shame in that 😊)

[saphiccarma]

Title: the moon will sing a song for me

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Reader (briefish Natasha R x Reader, but not really)

Warnings: None.

{A/N: sorry if Natasha is a little ooc in this one. I hope this is as good as part 1}

Part 1

Things were supposed to be fine between you and Natasha, they were supposed to be fine. Things were fine. You were fine. Natasha was happily married to Maria, and you were happily....you were hapily running backend and doing their paperwork. At first it was difficult to work into a routine while staying at the tower, but it worked.

A few months ago you moved to compound with everyone, but thankfully your routine stayed the same. It was much more spacious in the compound. Tony gave you a bigger room, even though you protested, he claimed, "It's a raise." And raised his hand dismissively.

So yeah, everything was fine.

Right now, you were typing out paperwork after the latest disaster in Lagos. It may have been an accident, and in no way did you blame Wanda, but the paperwork was killing you. Meanwhile, you were pretty sure most of the avengers were out chilling in the main room. You decided to take a break and go check on Wanda.

Peeking into the mainroom, only Clint catching you and sending a small smile, you found no Wanda (and no Tony for that matter, which was odd) so you went to look in her room. You socked feet glided over the floor as you jogged over there before skidding to a halt and letting yourself slide on your socks with a soft laugh. Softly knocking on her door, you could hear television playing inside - the news by the sound of it.

When there was no reply you called out, "Wanda?"

It took a moment before there was a reply, and a hesitant one at that, "Come in."

Carefully you pushed the door open and stepped in. You had never actually been in Wanda's room before, taking in the bookshelf with small trinkets and cluttered desk. Wanda, herself, sat on the large, fluffy, bed. Her legs were sitting criss-crossed as her brown hair fell down past her shoulders. As you stepped closer, hesitating on where to sit, her lips twitched up and her amber-ish green eyes sparkled a little bit. The witch gestured for you to sit on the bed after your obvious hesitation.

You snatched the remote on the way and shut the TV off.

"It's my fault," Wanda spoke first as you sat on the bed, "Turn the TV back on."

"No."

"They're being very specific," her accent laid heavy on her words, it came out more when she was angry.

"It's not all your fault," you shook your head, "there were other's there. And not that I'm blaming him, Rumlow obviously said something to trigger something, but Steve was there first. You did the best you could so it didn't kill everyone in the vicinity."

"People died, that's on me," Wanda refuted her head turning to down as she fiddled with her sleeves.

"Wanda- this job-" you weren't quite sure what to say, comfort was never your thing.

"You try to save as many people as you can," Steve interrupted, and you could barely restrain yourself from glaring at his form leaning on the doorway, "that doesn't always mean everybody, but if we can't find a way to live with that, next time maybe nobody gets saved."

Before anybody could get another word in, there was a distinct sound, almost a whirring sound, and Wanda jumped before Vision phased into the room.

"Vis," she reprimanded, "we talked about this."

"Yes, but the door was open so I assumed-" he gestured to the door as if to make his point, then Wanda gave him a look, so he sighed, "Captain Rogers and Ms. Y/L/N wished to know when Mr. Stark was arriving."

"Thank you, we'll be right down," you said curtly.

Vision hesitated then pointed towards the door, "I'll use the door this time. Oh! and he's brought a guest?"

"Do we know who?" you and Steve asked in tandem, drawing a soft smile out of Wanda.

"The Secretary of State," Vision said before exiting out the hallway.

<____________>

Tony just finished his spiel on the kid who died, the young-ish boy who wanted to make a difference. Your heart ached for the kid and his mom, it did, but the whole world would be taken over at this point if the Avengers hadn't done anything.

"Tony the whole world would be gone if we didn't stop those threats, I'm not-" you didn't even get to finish your sentence before Tony cut you off.

"No, there's no decision making process here," his tone raised (you did not flinch) as he leaned against the counter, "we need to be put in check. By whatever means, I'm game."

There was a slight stunned silence, nobody quite expected Tony to sign the accords.

Steve sighed, "Tony if someone dies on your watch, you don't give up." his tone weighed heavy on his words.

"Who said we're giving up?"

"We are if we don't take responsibility."

"Guys listen-" you tried to get your voice in, but when Tony, Steve, and Rhodey started arguing you were cut off.

They weren't even being that loud, but you despised when people argued and quietly slipped out, just barely catching Wanda's "They'll come for me." You would protect her. Your feet carried you towards the balcony and you took a seat on the ground, tilting your head towards the sky.

These Accords were going to split the team apart, you knew it, but you would be dammed if you lost another group of friends. You wracked your brain for flaws in this plan. If the Avengers were needed but were told 'no', that could cause more disasters. But that wasn't enough. The team could all disagree to sign it, bluff and say they would no longer help and be heroes, but they might be called on their buff. There wasn't a lot of options to keep the team together.

Maybe, just maybe, Steve told you they had 1 month to decide - if the team could win back trust, then maybe they wouldn't have to sign the accords. It was a long shot, and you didn't even know how to pull it off, but it could work.

"What's on your mind?" Natasha asked as she stepped out onto the balcony and slid down the wall next to you, "You got your thinking face on."

You love how she thought everything was perfect between you two.

"Nothing," you croaked, "How're things going with Maria? I haven't seen her in a while."

Natasha winced, "We...aren't on the best of terms right now. Currently taking a break, she has an apartment in the city."

You never expected their marriage to last. Two hotheaded, stubborn women? That was a recipe for disaster. Natasha should have been able to tell, but she seemed to desperate for love. You made a sympathetic face, but offered no other comfort.

"What if..." you trailed off, hesitant, "What if you guys appeal to the UN? Ross gave you a month right? Appeal to the UN, get them to repeal the accords."

Natasha let out a long, heavy breath, "That would never work," she shook her head.

When she oppened her mouth to speak again, Wanda stepped out onto the balcony fidgeting with her cuffs.

"Is it alright if I steal Y/N for a moment? I need her help with something."

It looked like the last thing Natasha wanted to do was say 'yes', but regardless, "Yeah sure, go ahead."

You followed Wanda out into the hall and she led you towards her room silently, stopping just outside the door. The witch bounced on her toes and bit her lip.

Eventually she mumbled, "Do you want to watch a movie with me?"

"Huh?" you asked momentarily stunned.

She looked up, eyes a little wide, "It's just that Vis cancelled for some reason and I have all these snacks so I figured-"

"Wanda," you cut her off with a laugh, "I would love to."

For some reason, an ugly feeling twisted in your gut when she mentioned doing this Vision. You didn't want her to do this with Vision.

Wanda smiled and opened the door to her room. She led you towards her bed and snuggled up under the covers. Tenderly, you sat atop them, careful to keep a boundry. Popcorn and candy sat atop the bed, which the witch softly passed towards you before flicking the TV on.

It was some cheezy sitcom, a genere of movies you had never been particullarly interested, but Wanda would let out small giggles that warmed your heart. The young woman had been through so much and deserved some happiness in her life.

<__________>

Your nose bled as you cradled Wanda in your arms in the airport of Germany. Her strain from using magic and Rhodey's attack was too much.

In the end, when forced to choose sides, you tried to choose neither. Then Tony locked up Wanda, and caught Steve. Before you could even decide, Natasha approached you with her best puppy dog eyes that you could never say no to and asked you to join them.

"Y/N please," she had begged, scooching closer, your shoulders touched, "We need help."

Her hand landed on yours and you shook her off, "No, Nat. I don't- I'm not- this isn't right."

You knees knocked against hers accidentally, "Please," she asked once more.

"No, Natasha." you shook your head.

A steely mask came over her face as she nodded and exited your room. You didn't see her after that until the airport fight.

As the situation escalated, you tried to keep yourself neutral and spent time with Wanda and, unfortunately, Vision. The android didn't seem to like you very much. To be honest neither did you for one, simple, reason. Over the past month you realized you liked Wanda. No, not liked, you loved Wanda. You guys did movie nights together, she taught you how to cook, and simply hung out together despite the chaos growing.

Vision did not seemed pleased by this development. You found it stupid, he was an adriod for pete's sake. You would be damned if you let an advanced microwave steal Wanda.

(Maybe you had already had someone better than you steal the person you love once, and you didn't want that to happen again.)

When Clint stopped by, your first time seeing him since Christmas, he recruited you and you joined the fight.

Now, here you were with a few cuts and a bloody nose craddling Wanda in your arms gently.

"You ok?" you panted as she regained her breath.

"Yeah, you?"

"I'm good," you responded.

Tenderly you bent your head towards hers until your foreheads knocked together. She offered a soft smile, and even though she had looked better before; Wanda looked stunning. Her red centric outfit that made her amber eyes pop. You trailed you eyes further down her face, down the kissable slope of her nose, past her perfect cheekbones - all the way to her soft lips.

She leaned up, her hand coming up to cup the back of your head and pressed her lips softly to yours. You were enveloped by the taste of paprikash and could smell Wanda's honey shampoo, mingled with the smel of sweat and smoke. You pressed lips further into hers with a meek whine and could feel her smile.

Before it could deepen any further you were ripped away, the collar of you shirt pressing against your windpipe. Vision yanked your arms behind your back, leaving Wanda on the ground.

"Vision!" Wanda exclaimed, climbng to her feet, "What are you going?"

"You and Ms. Y/L/N are criminals now, I have a duty to arrest you," he explained in his stupid monotone robot voice.

Wanda raised her hands, ready to fight, before you shook your head.

"We're beat Wanda, let it go."

The witch lowered her hands, giving you a tight-lipped frown to convey her displeasure.

<___________>

The raft was perhaps the most unpleasant prision you had been too. Other than one in Germany, that one really sucked. You had no sense of time on the raft, they delivered food at random intervals - sometimes what felt like days apart, and they only seemed to give water at regular intervals so you wouldn't die.

When Tony first came, you wanted to punch Clint for telling him where Steve and Bucky went. When Tony first came you wanted to punch him. He turned you guys into Ross, and now you were sitting in this stupid water prision and Wanda was in a straight jacket like she was some physcopath. The young brunette hand't spoken in days, opting to stare at the wall - no doubt reminded of her HYDRA days.

Clint and Sam had taken to singing the most horrid songs, but trying to keep the mood up none the less. However, some time ago (you still weren't sure) an officer came and told them if they agreed to house arrest they could go home. Both gentleman agreed giving the rest pitying looks. Clint had tried to advocate for at least you and Wanda (sorry Sam) to come with him, be on house arrest, but he was denied.

After what had felt like at least a month (still time was an unknown variable), Steve, The Winter Soldier, and Natasha came to break you all out. It was perhaps the most messy prison break and you had a feeling the only reason it had any semblence of order was because of Natasha. If it was just Steve and Bucky they would brute force it.

Once they broke you out, all of you went to Wakanda and The Winter Soldier was sent into cyro-freeze. T'Challa, despite previously being against you, offered for the 'Rouges' (as you were dubbed on television) to stay in Wakanda. You all gratefully accepted the offer.

Currently you sat cuddled up with Wanda, her arm wrapped around you as you laid on her chest, watching a sitcom. She claimed it to be one of her childhood favorites, but she said that about every movie.

"Wanda," you peeked up at her as the credits rolled, "Is it wrong that I think I might still love Natasha?"

The woman pursed her lips, "..How much do you love her?"

"I-" you shrugged awkwardly, "I still feel like I love her- I had known when we were little, but I don't love her. I just think I'm-" you reached a hand up to your hair and tugged in frustration because you couldn't get the words out.

You would never break up with Wanda for Natasha. But some stupid little part of your heart still loved Natasha, and for a moment you almost shot your shot. During the early stages of the accords, when she mentioned taking a break with Maria, you almost tried it. Only stopping for two reasons: one, you would almost be helping her cheat on her wife, and two, you were already falling for Wanda. And yet still, there was that lingering warm and fuzzy feeling your chest when you thought of Natasha. That feeling that made you want to care for her and protect her.

Wanda looked down at you, seemingly reading your mind (she probably was), and gently pried your hand away from your hair, "I think..." she bit her lip before "that based on your thoughts, I don't mean to listen they are just loud, that you care for her, but you do not love her," the witch shrugged, "I trust you."

"I love you," you whispered, "I'm supposed to love you."

"Dekta," she took your face in her hands, "you're not supposed to love anyone." she brushed her thumbs over her cheeks.

"...I love you," you stated, your voice firm.

Wanda smiled widely, flashing her pearly white teeth, "I love you too."

You tucked your head into her chest as the next movie began, smiling in content.

<___________>

Life in Wakanda was awesome. You kept in shape, training with the Dora Milaje (even though you got your ass handed to you every time), and running laps around the area. The Winter Soldier came out of cyro not too long ago, and you became pretty good friends with him. Turns out his name was Bucky, and he was actually very sweet, choosing to go work on the farms and earn his keep.

Steve and you often jogged around the area "together". He mainly ran ahead and waited until you were done.

Sam became your new cooking budy, both of you trying out Wakandan recipies and occasionally starting a tiny kitchen fire.

Natasha was a bit of a rocky start once again. She approached you one morning, fiddling with her thumbs - something she never does.

"Look- Y/N," she began after clearing her throat, "Maria and I decided to get a divorce and I was wondering if you wanted to- if you wanted to go out with me?"

Your heart broke at her sad expression, but you already had a girlfriend, "I'm sorry, Nat, but I'm already with Wanda."

"Oh, I see," she visibly deflated, her shoulders dropping.

"But, we can still be friends," you offered a friendly smile with a shrug.

"I would love that."

After that encounter you two spent some awkward time together before building up your usual comfort and hanging around each other like you had been best friends your entire life.

The best part of Wakanda was Wanda.

You two spent most your free time together. Whether it was watching cheezy sitcoms, talking about dark pasts, cooking, making out, or working out together. It made you fall in love with her even more. By this point you had been dating for a year and a half, a year and a half since the accords.

Gosh, it had been a while.

"Y/N, my love," Wanda asked that afternoon, "how would feel about doing a picnic for dinner?"

Ignoring the oddity of the request you grinned, "I would love to."

Which led to your situation of sitting with your girlfriend on a blanket, watching the sun set over a river - a beautiful array of colors. Wanda looked beautiful in the light of the setting un, her brown-ish red hair falling past her shoulds with subtle waves. Her green eyes sparkling against her red-dress. Her lips, plump and kissable, and oh so soft.

You loved every piece of this woman. When you glanced away for a moment, and heard shuffling, you thought nothing of it. But when you turned back around....

Wanda was kneeling on the ground, the softest smile on her face, as she held a small black box in her hand. A glittering, but simple, ring sat snuggly in the box.

"Y/N, my love, my beautiful love, would you do the honor of marrying me?"

You blinked at her like an owl, drawing a soft laugh out of her, before tackling Wanda to ground.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," you chanted.

An angelic laugh left Wanda's mouth as she wrapped her arms around you. You propped yourself up and stared into her eyes, which were shinning with adoration. Pressing a soft kiss to her lips as you savored the moment.

Gosh, you loved this woman. You love her laugh, the way she scrunched her nose when she laughed. You love her eyes, those shiny green with a slight hint of amber eyes. You love her cooking and how she's always willing to cook when your sad. You love the way she tells stories, mostly about her brother. You love the way she cares for you, holding you tenderly in bed and stroking your hair. You love how kissable her lips her, always soft and always tasting faintly of paprikash, and the way her hair smells of honey.

Most of all you love how thoughtful she was. The way she would leave little reminders around your shared room so you wouldn't forget things. When you were sad she always made your favorite comfort meal and listened to your stories of your dad. Both of you watched childish shows together, healing that inner child. There were so many things about her that you loved.

Gosh, you love this woman.