#she got LUCKY she was given the sign up for while only two days into her sentence

[pow3rweb]

hi i know i barely post on here anymore but the weekly pressure brainrot is back again so meet my fucker (slash roblox avatar slash player) spook !

she’s a absolute idiot who just wants to get in, get out quickly (in result: running into the black site with NO PLAN and repeatedly dying OR getting so close to death she panics and dies again - biased on me actually playing lol)

and until i get the hell out of the blacksite, she’s stuck in this bitch with me :)

ill draw like doodles of her time to time but don’t expect much, burn out is on my tail :(

alright im out 🫡

[gghostwriter]

Time Gave No Compass, Were There Clues?

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times fate brings you to cross paths with a certain handsome stranger and the one time he purposely crosses with yours Trope:It’s fluff in a meet cute type of way w.c: 5.6k+ a/n: this is connected to ‘One Single Thread of Gold’! This took forever to make simply because I had this fear that the second part wouldn’t come out as great as the first and I’ve been in a writing funk lately—not quite sure if my writing worsened or got better during this period but at this point, maybe I shouldn’t care that much anymore? That’s a lie so please comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The first encounter—a knight in a vintage blue vehicle

The drumming noise of the rain against the vinyl awning of the Japanese restaurant became the perfect soundtrack for watching countless strangers scurry to the nearest shelter.

It was the night that you have dubbed your unluckiest as a woman in Washington—up until he came along.

According to the morning weather forecast, there was little to no chance of rain. A radiant reprieve from the downpour of light rainfall the city had been experiencing three days in a row. A believer of facts you were, excitedly slipped on your new pair of heels and joined the outside world, sun shining up above the sky without a single speck of dark cloud lingering in its wake.

The work day was nothing special—jumping on video calls with your boss, answering international emails from the magazine’s sister branches abroad, and reviewing articles set to be published for next month’s print.

Nothing unusual. No sign that the day would roller coaster down and up again, before ending right before a drop, leaving you white knuckled with anticipation.

As you were exiting the diner with your freshly cooked to-go in one hand, the weather decided to beat the statistics presented by the news forecast. Rain poured down hard, effectively stranding you on the covered sidewalk.

“Oh,” you mumbled under your breath, forced to settle down on the empty outdoor seating. The gust of cold wind that caressed your cheeks to turn pink reminded you of comforting childhood memories—warm cocoa, blanket forts, and cuddles with your precious teddy bear. 

It brought a smile on your face, recalling the time when life was still simple.

Working as a writer for an established fashion magazine had its own ups and downs. You felt lucky enough to be given the opportunity to work with living and breathing artists, all the while having the flexibility to live anywhere in the country.

Your boss initially found it odd when you mentioned temporarily moving back to Washington. It wasn’t a state well-established in the industry after all. It was a city filled with starched pressed suits, neutral ties, and newly shined loafers—the epicenter for politics and everything serious. 

The ridiculous misconception about fashion and its frivolousness caused your nose to scrunch. It was the same idea that pushed newly graduate you to move to New York and burn the midnight oil to be where you were now, highly respected in the circle.

She understood your truth—the need for a change of scenery before jumping back in to the game with fresh new eyes. Jokingly, she wagered you’d only last two months away from the Big Apple before coming back. It had been six months since then and you were starting to believe the urge for the city that never sleeps will never cross your mind again.

As you mused about the trajectory of your career, the clouds started to let up, enough that you took the chance to open your compact umbrella and possibly ruin your heels to get to the nearest subway entrance just 10 minutes away.

A mistake that you realized halfway as a sudden blast of strong wind flipped your umbrella inside out, rending you vulnerable to the hasty returning rain.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as water started to stain your light purple satin heels, turning them near black.

Definitely ruined.

The flickering light of the entrance and the still warm spot underneath the restaurant pulled you in two different directions. Should you just brave the weather already starting to look like a drowned animal or should you go back with your tail tucked between your legs?

As you debated your next move, being poorly protected by your broken umbrella and soaked by the tormenting weather no less, a blue vintage car came to a stop beside you and honked it’s horn.

“Um—do you need help? A ride, maybe?” a voice shouted out of the rolled down passenger window, barely heard against the torrential downpour.

A good Samaritan was rare this day and age. So uncommon that it made you immediately wary. You looked around, making sure it was you the stranger was addressing before uttering a reply.

“Depends on who’s asking,” your free hand clutching the ends of your spoiled umbrella. “Are you a serial killer by any chance?” 

He paused, caught off guard with your question, and chuckled. “What? No, no. Not at all, just a concerned citizen.”

You bit your lip, wavering between accepting his offer at the risk of your life, before reaching to open the passenger door. “Fair enough.”

The stranger promptly layered a black windbreaker on the tan leather seats. “Sorry, it’s just—did you know that wet leather can lead to discoloration?”

Your eyebrows raised, shuffling to get comfortable on the seat—mindful of your back not touching, before giving him a nod. “Yes, actually I did but it’s great to see someone else know about it too.”

He pressed his lips together into a tight smile and reached forward on the console, tinkering with the unlabeled knobs, turning up the heat. 

Your eyes tracked his every movement, curious as to any indication to who this mysterious gentleman was.

His nails were light pink in color, clean, and cut short—possibly for a desk office job. His fingers were long and bony, model length you’d surmise—a little calloused on one side of his middle finger possibly from holding a pen too tight. The back of his hand veined and wide in size, big enough to dwarf your dainty slim hands in comparison.

Your cheeks heated up, feeling guilty for gawking at a man’s hands before spilling your address without so much of a thought for your safety.

The stranger blanched, clearly caught off guard with your trusting nature. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to go with strangers willingly? Or provide vital information about yourself for that matter?”

You appraised his profile as his eyes trained on the road. 

Hazel colored hair that curled around his face. Sunken eyes framed by long, dark lashes that any woman could envy. A tall and straight nose bridge. Maroon pillowy lips and a sharp jawline perfectly matched with a five-o’clock shadow.

He was handsome.

Pretty even.

The type you’d see a casting agent and photographer fawn over.

Shoulders seemingly angular and wide, stretching his black knitted cardigan well. It’s arms pushed up to showcase his forearms lithe in form with muscles flexing underneath as he twists the wheel to take a right. His seat pushed the farthest it could go, highlighting how tall he could be.

Your handsome gentleman could rival male models that graced your magazine’s editorial pages.

“Well, you don’t look like a serial killer and I think I’d take my chances with you than out there—” a flash of lightning trailed on the darkened sky followed by a loud clap of thunder. “—yeah, I stand with my choice.”

His laughter mid-pitched, filled the confined space. “And how does a serial killer look like?”

“Sinister and not trustworthy. You look neither, by the way,” you shrugged.

“Actually, there’s a minor percentage of killers that don’t fit in your description. Ted Bundy is an example, he used his good looks to lure in unsuspecting women.”

You hummed in agreement. “You’re right and you could definitely use your looks too but I still doubt you’re one. Let’s call it intuition and if I had to guess, you work at a desk job. Finance or Human Resources, maybe?”

“Are you saying I look—” he cleared his throat, a wrinkle appearing between his well shaped brows. “—handsome?”

“Well, at the risk of sounding like I’m flirting with you—which I’m not, well, maybe. But yes, I think you’re good looking. Handsome.” 

The pink flush that slowly darkened to a cherry red started its descent to his exposed neck, making him look more endearing. His reaction made it quite obvious he was never one to receive such flattery about his appearance which made you question the eyes of the women around him.

He was utterly distinguished and dressed in this comforting nerdy fashion that added to the appeal.

“I take it you’re not used to compliments.”

The long lashes that framed his molten chocolate eyes fluttered, as if highlighting is naivety in dealing with the opposite sex.

It sent butterflies free in your stomach.

“Yeah, but thank you. And I’m really not a serial killer—I wouldn’t be using a memorable vehicle in picking up a victim in a crowded street with city cameras around. Not that, that information helps me state my case. In fact, it’s making it worse—” he rambled out, easing the car into a stop beside your apartment complex. “What I meant was, I-I think you’re good looking too, beautiful.”

You laughed at the absurdity of where your night has ended up.

The air trapped between two bodies crackled with an energy you couldn’t name. It was humming below the surface, making you feel hyper aware of the man who drove you home.

It was igniting.

Possibly the start of something.

In contrast, the outside was quiet and still. The rain had finally come and gone, leaving behind its comforting atmosphere.

The lamp posts reflecting off the puddles of water, tinting the streets a warm, honey gold color. Leaves dancing, like string puppets controlled by the forces of nature. The wind whispering and giggling—to what, you didn’t know but you felt it wasn’t important to dissect. No more important than the stranger who’s scent, aged books and cedar wood, intermingled with yours, vanilla and a hint of amber.

“Thank you for the ride,” quickly exiting the vehicle. Suddenly you felt shy as the last few minutes replayed in your head—how trusting you were to take his offer and how naive it was of you to let your guard down.

The sound of a subsequent car door opening echoed on the empty street. “You’re welcome and you’re wrong, by the way.”

“Wrong about what?” You twisted to look back.

The street lights hitting his face, casting a mysterious shadow on his handsome features.

“About me working in finance or human resources.”

Huh. 

Your steps faltered to a stop.

That was a first—people around you always did say you read people best.

He was an exception it seemed.

An anomaly.

A mystery you wouldn’t mind taking a second try in solving.

“Better luck next time then. I hope to see you around,” you waved as you opened the heavy metal gate behind you.

His hand mimicked your goodbye before promptly reaching down to open his car door, effectively disappearing from your gaze as you pushed the main door open to the lobby.

As you watched the remaining water droplets slide down your coat, waiting for the rickety elevator to descend, an all important question popped in your mind that you never uttered into the world.

His name.

You forgot to ask for his name.

Hurriedly running back to the entrance, your stained heels clacking on the stoned pathway, you opened the gate just to spy the gentleman’s memorable light blue vehicle rev forward to blend into the chilly city night. 

Damn.

**

The second—a shared cup of Joe between two no longer strangers

The sun peeking underneath the cotton candy white clouds did little to fight off the inevitable Autumn air. Weeks of sunny days from the past storm is nearing its end causing the city occupants to flood the streets and parks for their last soak of Summer. 

Weeks have gone since your enthralling encounter with the handsome stranger and his vintage blue car. You’ve spent days replaying the memory in hopes of finding any more clues on who he was or even how to run into him again. Nights lamenting over the missed opportunity and the bitter what-if that came with it. The thought, now hazy from time passed, seemed to be colored in this golden hue you couldn’t quite describe.

A sigh escaped from between your pale pink lips. 

The moment was captivating.

He was beguiling.

But until you run into him again, his very being in your mind lived rent free.

Hand adjusting the pale pink scarf wrapped around your neck, you stepped into the warm quaint bakery down by the office. The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasting coffee beans enveloped the otherwise packed store. It was still early on the day and otherwise sleep deprived workers were queuing up for their daily fix.

This had been your spot since renting a small office space to commute to. Given your need to separate home from work, you’ve opted to find a studio you could call your temporary ‘work room’. It added extra expense, you’d agree but the comfort of being in a sea of strangers going to and from added a sense of productivity you’d never quite get if you created a makeshift office in your one bedroom apartment downtown.

You squeezed your way towards the front to view the pastry selection when you spotted him.

The gentleman in question at the counter, clearly holding up the line. 

He flashed Sarah, your usual fixer as you joked, a tight smile filled with apologies and embarrassment. 

Destiny seemed to have heard your calls and to that you were grateful.

Not wanting to let this second chance encounter go to waste, you excused yourself to the register and deftly slid your card on the white granite counter.

“Hey Sarah, do you mind adding my order with his? And a one of your buttery croissants would be much appreciated.”

Her eyebrows raised, clearly wondering the reason behind your surprising actions. Eyes flickered to the stranger beside you muttering his light disagreeing reaction before nodding towards you, as if agreeing with what she saw. “One long black and a flat white coming right up.”

“Hey stranger, fancy seeing you here,” you cocked your head to the side, loose tendrils escaping the confines of your loose bun.

The same blush that haunted you graced his face. “Hey—hi, it’s you! It’s nice to see you again,” his fingers proceeded to fiddle with his leather worn wallet. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. Pay for my coffee, I mean.”

“It’s no problem at all, just think of it as my payment for the ride the other day and also a thank you for, you know, not turning out to be a killer, like you kept bringing up.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling close. “Well, I just wanted to instill some extra caution in you. It’s good to think well of people in general but it doesn’t hurt to be wary of them either. Especially the statistics of you—a young woman being targeted is quite high no matter how safe Washington seems to be.”

“I did get an earful from my friend about the reckless act I did. So, safe to say I’ve learned my lesson—” you paused, flashing Sarah a smile as your hands wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee and the bag containing the pastry. “But between you and me, I think she was more miffed about something I didn’t do.”

He mimicked your movements and proceeded to guide you to the nearest available standing table, his free hand hovering near the small of your back. 

“And what was it?”

“Not getting your name.”

His free hand wrapped around the strap of his satchel, pulling it towards the front of his body as if it was a shield that could hide away the blush that slowly crept down his neck.

“I, yeah—Spencer. Spencer Reid.” 

You introduced yourself with the same enthusiasm, finally at ease for knowing who he was.

“Well then, Spencer Reid, was I really wrong or was that just a lie to throw my deductive skills off course?” your hands pushing the packets of sugar towards his steaming open cup.

He thank you silently, counting at least 8 packets of sugar before returning the remaining ones in the jar. “What do you mean?”

“You not working in finance.”

“Well statistically speaking, more than 43% of the offices located here don’t belong in the finance section,” he grinned. 

With his eyes twinkling, he further continued. “21% of those are actually the government sector while the remaining are a mixture of publishing, business, and IT.”

“You sprouting off statistics doesn’t really sway me from my guess, you do know that?” You hummed, watching him dump and stir all the sugar into his dark cup of Joe. The idea of how sweet it would be sent a slight shiver down your spine. “If not finance then hmm—what about teaching?”

Appraising his get up for the day—a purple button down layered with a seemingly fraying cardigan and a black overcoat. He reminded of you of those quirky university professors that students would have no problem having a crush on. 

“You look like a young college professor with a couple degrees under your belt. Maybe literature? Or math?”

An airy laughter emitted between his lips. “Why is it always returning back to math?”

“I truly don’t know—” you shrugged. “You look smart and academic so that’s my best guess.”

“There’s actually a statistic on how many academically gifted people end up in the field of science rather than in math but I don’t know if you’d like to hear it.”

You leaned forward. “I actually do but that would cement my idea of you in maths.”

A ring from his pocket interrupted his reply. Spencer clambered to answer the call even before its’ third ring. 

“Yeah. Okay, got it. 5 minutes.” 

Any humor or lightheartedness the conversation brought had been erased from his face. It must have been work and the gravity of his responsibility must be heavy—definitely not finance and maybe not a professor then.

“I have to go—” Spencer tightly smiled, hands pulling the satchel and drink closer to his body. “It was really nice seeing you again.” 

You nodded, wordlessly walking out of the shop with him. As he started to step away from your presence, he turned back one last time to further throw you off course.

“You were right about one thing.”

Brows furrowing together, you shout back. “Which one?”

Spencer just smiled and shrugged his shoulders before turning forward, picking up his pace and leaving you further baffled about his mystery.

**

The third—a run- in during an otherwise idle day

The white noise the train against its tracks threatened to lull you into a daze. Its compartment surprisingly sparse with occupants during this otherwise tranquil Saturday. Everyone seemed to be at nearby parks, watching the leaves slowly turn this red-orange hue.

Your companion in hand—a book with its spine cracked and front cover folded backwards, sat idly on your denim lap. It was a tattered and worn copy of Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. When you were in your teens, it had been the gateway to your love of classic literature and it had been your favorite ever since.

The bench you were seated on shifted and with it, medium brown brogues registered in your periphery.

Inwardly, you scoffed at the stranger invading your space when there were a multitude of empty seats available in your section. Briefly you wondered if this was going to be another day of being picked up by men who didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘no’ which inevitably would ruin your day. 

As you were debating on nicely excusing yourself away, the man cleared his throat.

“Hey—hi,” he sheepishly greeted in this voice that had been replaying in your head since that rainy weekday night. 

You blinked away the surprise—the bafflement that fate had seemed to cross your path with his again and again and again. It always happened when you least expected it. After all, you spent numerous days craning your neck for even a small glimpse of Spencer Reid to no avail. Your eyes would subconsciously sweep the streets for a view of any suede coat matched with a purple pattern scarf. It had been your own version of Where’s Waldo—a past time that your friend joined as you forbade her (and by extension, yourself) from looking him up online. 

You wanted to keep the mystery and it seemed fate was rewarding you today.

“Hi-hey Spencer. This is a surprise,” your cheeks stretching wide from the grin you gave him. 

His fingers brushed a nonexistent stray of hair behind his ears. “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it was you. The odds of ever seeing you again—or anyone I’d know on the train is low, with how many people Virginia has.”

“Isn’t it fascinating?” your hands closing the book that no longer held your attention. “How we seemed to just run into each other? Funny how that works.”

“I mean, you could say that—not that I believe in destiny or fate with how abstract and little scientific studies it has. Maybe we just run in the same small schedule or circle.”

Your eyebrow raised, appraising his look. 

His hair looked unruly—with one side more flattened the the other, possibly slept on. His clothes, although free from any stains that would indicate it as yesterday’s, had crease marks that were reminiscent of its folding. They were clean but also not pressed—came from the satchel then. The very same bag laying on his lap, no doubt filled with dirty laundry and other necessities.

“I don’t think so,” you pondered on. “Are you just on your way back home from work, by any chance?”

“How’d you know that?” His voice cracking at the end.

You shrugged. “I pick up on things, small details and all that.”

“That’s really good. Must come in handy with your work as a journalist.”

Now it was your turn to be surprised. “How’d you know that? How’d—what gave it away?”

“It was an educated guess which—” he flashed you a grin. “—you just confirmed now.”

“Touche. Although that does seem unfair,” you pouted. “You know my occupation but I can’t even get yours right.”

He tilted his head to the right, eyes twinkling with life that keeps you pulled in. “You’re welcome to guess. In fact, I could give you a clue if you wanted—” he paused waiting for your agreement which you readily gave. “—alright you were right about one thing the last time: the one about me having multiple degrees.”

“You look young so I’m guessing a genius?”

“Well, my co-workers do like to tease me as one and it is true so yeah. I am a genius.”

The way his eyes shifted showed how bashful he was in admitting out loud he was one. You briefly wondered if there was ever a time where he felt embarrassed about it—probably in high school, you’d surmise. Teenagers, after all, had the tendency to ostracize anyone who doesn’t fit the rigid status quo they’ve collectively agreed upon.

“That’s amazing!” You gushed. “And it does narrow it quite down, actually. Do you happen to work for the government? I mean, I’m sure they try to collect the best minds our country has to offer, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do work for the government. And you’re right, they do tend to employ gifted adults as a way to also surveillance them—to make sure they don’t turn into anti-statists or anarchists.”

You pondered over every detail he presented. Freshly manicured nails tapping on your leg before finally guessing. “Okay so, I was first going to say NASA because—” you shrugged. “—it’s space but then that would be too stereotypical of me to assume. Plus, you’ve thrown off just about any deductions I’ve made during our first two meetings—”

Spencer nodded. He seemed proud to listen to you ramble your way through. 

“—I was also going to guess administrative work but it’s a weekend and you’re just on your way home so that’s a no—”

A small spread on his face.

A good sign that you were in the right direction.

“—it can’t be the judiciary too, right? I always imagined them to be wearing neutral suits and have this stoic air around them—”

He chuckled.

“—so I’m guessing law enforcement? Can’t be a regular cop, they have uniforms. So, for the FBI? Or am I just reaching?”

Spencer vigorously nodded his head, the wavy tendrils tucked behind his ears escaping their confines. 

“That’s right! Wow—you’re really good at this. Maybe you should have also been scouted!” He teased.

You giggled, the happiness from getting it right and the idea of you working with a gun seemed ludicrous. “Sadly, I may be too clumsy for that kind of work. With my type of luck, I’d probably trip over my feet and mess up a crime scene.”

The automated voice announcing the next station broke through the lighthearted conversation. Spencer’s eyes widened ever so slightly, indicating that this was his stop.

“I guess this is it, huh? See you soon then, Spencer?”

He sandwiched his lower lip between his pearly teeth. “Would you be interested in purposefully seeing each other next time? I would love to get to know you more—over dinner? Coffee? Any would be great—you don’t have to say yes of course but yeah.”

“Can I say yes to all of the above?” You teased. “I would love to.”

Spencer started to get up, hands pulling on his satchel to secure it. The train was coming to a stop and you could begin to see the stop come into view.

Your hand quickly reached out to tug on his rolled sleeve. “Wait—how do we contact each other?”

“It’s tucked in your book. My number, I mean,” he laughed. The sound coaxing you to release your own. “See you!”

Your eyes tracked him getting off the train and his would meet yours one last time, before disappearing towards the station’s nearest exit. Your hands hastily opened the front page to where a new object was slotted in between without you knowing.

His calling card.

Federal Bureau of Investigation - Behavioral Analysis Unit SSA Dr. Spencer Reid 1-761-xxx-xxxx

Giggling, you fished your phone from the confines of your wallet and quickly sent out a text.

Hey. Are you a magician too, by any chance? 

**

The fourth or better yet, the planned first—two strings interwoven by fate

Spencer hadn’t been able to explain the circumstances that led him here tonight—walking through a nearby park in the sparkly but cold weekend night with a beautiful woman right by his side. 

The dinner date had gone surprisingly well. So great in fact that he didn’t want it to end. Suggesting to walk you back home rather than use his blue well beaten vehicle left parked near the restaurant was his idea to prolong the night. 

He was well aware that you both could be exposing yourselves to a seasonal bout of cold but for the first time, it didn’t matter to his overactive and over-analytical brain. Nor did it seem to matter to you—given with how vigorously she accepted his suggestion to walk. 

Your dainty right hand was wrapped around the bouquet of flowers he personally selected. An array of daisies, daffodils, and sedums.

Joy from having to meet you, to new beginnings, and affection.

Spencer wanted to convey what he had been feeling since that run-in the coffee shop. Regardless if you knew what they meant.

This was all uncharted territory and the incidents that brought them into each other’s worlds was baffling to say the least. 

Was this the really the works of fate?

Does this prove that destiny is true and the notion of having free choice is a lie we tell ourselves?

He concluded it probably didn’t matter.

All that mattered was where he was now—with you.

“So you really took all those degrees all together?” you clarified, eyes widening from disbelief. “The amount of studying and writing you’ve done must have been massive.”

“Well, it did help that I could read fast—20,000 words per minute, but I could still remember my hands cramping from the amount I had to type down.”

“Of course you can still remember, with your eidetic memory and all. That must be nice—never forgetting any novel you’ve read.”

He shrugged. “It does have it’s perks but between you and me, there is a downside to it.”

You halted in her step, staring inquisitively up at him. 

Spencer found it cute—how even with yout heeled boots on, you could only reach up to his chest. It gave him this sense of protectiveness over you being. 

“Oh yeah, like what?”

He pondered. “Well, we did have this one vampire case and one of the victim’s laptop password was ‘Cullen’ and I didn’t get the reference—thought it was ‘colon’ actually. So I decided to read the first book and didn’t like it.”

“You actually read ‘Twilight’?” You giggled. It sounded like wind chimes echoing through the trees.

“I was curious!” His voice went up an octave. “Is that what teens are reading, really? What ever happened to reading ‘Lord of the Flies’ or Franz Kafka during high school, for that matter?” 

“The one where a group of boys are stranded on an island or the one where the protagonist turns into a cockroach? Doesn’t really read romance for teen girls, Spencer.”

He chuckled. “And a 104 year old vampire does?”

“It’s about the idea,” you continued on walking, free hand swinging in between you—all he had to do was reach out and intertwine it with his but could he do that? Should he? Would she want that? “How Bella is your average, teen next door and someone like Edward, mysterious and handsome, could fall for her. It’s about the premise—I mean which teenage girl didn’t dream of something like that?”

“Does that include you too?”

You laughed. “I mean—Edward isn’t really my type but sure, I guess.”

Spencer decided to do it. He tentatively reached out his pinky to yours, looping them together.

There, a small touch you could say no to.

He waited for the reaction. From himself, there was a lack of worry for germs (this surprised him) and from you, the possibility of rejecting his small advances. With a breath lodged in his throat, Spencer watched a shy smile grace your face and cheeks turn further pink. 

Empowered by the reaction, he reached out to intertwine the rest of his freezing hand with yours and proceeded to tuck both into his coat pocket. Spencer felt his cheeks emit warmth, wondering where his courage came from. If Morgan just saw him now, no doubt he’d get a pat at the back and a whispered ‘you’ve got serious game, kid.’

“It’s a good thing he isn’t my type at all, don’t you think so?” You whispered. “I mean, you don’t sparkle in the sun, do you?”

His laughter echoed through the otherwise empty streets. 

“Oh god—that was so so bad. Ignore my cheesy flirting, please.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, feeling lightheaded from your presence. “I don’t think I do, actually. We could check—” clearing his throat “—once the weather gives way to the sun.”

It seemed like you got what he was subtly stating. “That long, huh? I’ll hold you to that promise.”

“Please do.”

Both your steps slowed to a stop in front of your apartment complex.

Spencer sighed under his breath, he really didn’t want the night to end. There was still so much to talk about—anything and nothing at the same time. Is this what they meant when they said time flies when you’re having fun? 

“Well,” you squeezed his hand twice. “This is it. I had fun tonight, Spencer.”

He squeezed back in return. “I did too. Can I—call you again?”

You nodded, a single tendril of hair escaping from its' loose bun.

Mesmerized, Spencer reached forward and secured it behind your reddening ear. “Get home safe.”

“I doubt anything would happen between my way up from the elevator to my door but I will. Drive safe and let me know you got in safely, got it?”

He reluctantly let go of your hand, slowly backing away without turning his back on you. Each second seeing you bundled up in a coat with flowers still on hand was an image he never wanted to forget, never wanted to miss.

As he was a few steps away, the wind carried your sweet voice to his ears.

“Hey, Spencer. There’s one thing I think you forgot to take with you.” 

He patted his coat, unsure as to what you were pertaining to. Eyes scanning his being when the distinct sound of your heels against the pavement, getting closer and closer, made him look up.

A pair of soft warm lips met his cheeks. 

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

His jaw dropped. The act short circuited his otherwise intelligent brain. It felt like every thought had dropped away, turning insignificant, compared to the tensed silence between two individuals once considered strangers but now intertwined in a way he could not explain in any language he knew. 

Little white specks floated down from the sky, coloring the moment in the lightest color ever possible—a hue that symbolized new beginnings.

Before his mind could catch up, Spencer felt himself moving.

Towards you.

Closing in. 

Cupping your cheeks.

And meeting his own lips with the ones that short circuited his brain.

In that moment, all he could comprehend was the smell of you—like freshly cleaned laundry dried under the sun. The taste of you—cherries with a hint of the red wine you drank over dinner. And the feel of you—warm, hands grasping his coat tight, flowers dropped on the ground, momentarily forgotten.

These were details he willed to engrave in his eidetic memory. Observations he doesn’t want to forget.

And you, the single woman he hopes to never lose.

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[cherryredstars]

omg hi cherry!!! yay yay yay I'm so excited requests are open! I love your writings ❤❤❤

Mkay so I was wondering if you would be into writing something more fluffy (I mean you can put smut if you want, lord knows I'm not gonna complain 🤭). I was thinking maybe reader is a teacher, and Gabriella is in her class at school, so she meets Miguel that way. And like over time he just keeps making excuses to see her, even though Gabriella's grades are actually totally fine— he's just so down bad lmao

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reder

Warnings: Fluff, Last Line is Suggestive

A/N: Hi, lovie! Thank you!!!

Unedited

You're fucking stunning.

Standing there in a pretty little dress, skin glowy from summer vacation. Got one hell of a smile on you, too. It has Miguel antsy as he waits in line to drop Gabi off for her first day, his hands tightening around his daughter's book bag as his eyes study every little move you make. Eyes zeroing in on how the wind plasters the back of your dress to your legs, your hands catching the front of it to prevent the fabric from flying too high up. He's nothing but a lovesick puppy by the time he reaches you, nodding dumbly to your introduction as he marvels over the softness of your hand in his, and eyes dropping to the glossy tint of your lips. He has to stop myself from making a noise when you bend down to talk to Gabi, complementing her outfit and gushing about how excited you are to be her teacher this year. The sight is so fucking domestic and he has to stop the fantasies popping up in his head. He takes it as a god-given sign that you're meant to be his when you start to get up, only to grab onto Miguel's shoulder as two little kids come running and bumping into you from behind. He'd be one hell of a lousy man if he didn't jump at the opportunity to grab at your waist and pull you closer to him to 'help steady you'.

Any day that Gabi comes homes with a little paper asking for parent help at a school event for her class is one hell of a lucky day for Miguel. Instantly jumping at the opportunity, signing up the seconds he reads it. Can't miss out on a single opportunity to see how you treat Gabi like she's your own kid or be close to you. Fucking loves how flustered you are every time he takes something off your hands, encouraging you to leave all the heavy duty labor to him so you can focus on the kids. He's always offering to do something for you. Something in the classroom is broken and the school's maintenance is taking too long to fix it? Oh cariño, why didn't you say something sooner to him or Gabi? He'll come in during your lunch break to fix it up while the kids are at recess. Sweet little thing needs help putting up decorations around the classroom? Oh baby, what do you think big, large men are meant for? He'll stay after school Friday and put everything up, just sit and be pretty as you help Gabi with her math homework. Sad that you need to buy new supplies for the classroom but they don't fit into your budget and you feel bad having to ask the parents to donate supplies again? Oh doll, send him a list of anything and everything you want and it's yours, pretty ladies like you don't deserve to worry about things like that. He'll even give you his number so he can buy you lunch.

And when you blink up at him with your sparkly doe eyes and ask, "What can I do to repay you, Mr. O'Hara?"

Fuck.

If you aren't careful, he might just have to buy you a pretty little ring. And, by next school year, you'll be introducing yourself as Mrs. O'Hara.

Maybe he'll even give you a kid of your own while he's at it; Gabi's been bothering him about a baby brother, anyways.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

We all need someone.

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x afab!reader

Words count: 3919

Rating: +18, NSFW

Warnings/Tags: flour is safe in this one (LOL), smut, fluff, angst, Joel POV, Joel's thought inserts in italics, no use of y/n, reader is described having hair, breast and vagina, no other detail is given on her appearance, Soft!Joel, Older!Joel, age gap (20 years, but the age of both is not specified so it could be 20/40 as well as 30/50 and so on 😉), swearing, kissing, dirty talk, unprotected p in v (do better than these two irl, please), breeding kink (I don’t even know why this happened but here we are LOL), cream pie, cum eating, mention of Sarah and Tess (they’re both gone, I’m sorry 💔), Joel thinks about his past relationship with Tess, mention of Ellie (of course she's alive and well but doesn't speak to Joel), a lot of mixed feelings, some of them sad and kinda depressing, pet names (honey, baby, kitten), they says I love you for the first time.

This has been sitting incomplete in my folds for quite some time, I finished it these days and I hope you understand something about how deeply I love Joel, nothing ever seems enough to describe how I feel. I will continue to try anyway.

English is not my first language, I have no beta and I hope there are no mistakes but if there are please forgive me.

As always, thanks if you will take the time to read this ❤️

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

Joel is old. He can’t deny that no more.

Life wasn’t gentle at all with him and he can see clearly all the signs of it on his face and body.

His mirror reflects the image of someone tired, overwhelmed, just too worn out to feel an inch of youth somewhere in him.

Grey in his hair and beard, pain in his joints, hands calloused and ruined by the cold, back that gives him nightmare, weak knees, wrinkles… his entire self is failing on him.

He doesn’t even understand how he got someone like you.

Beautiful. Sweet. A body that could make world turns and the most amazing face he ever saw.

You don’t see you that way, obviously.

You don’t notice how men in Jackson look at you.

And you don’t even care because you only see him.

He can’t believe how lucky he is.

The most angelic creature set her eyes on him, barely a shell of a man.

He drop his gaze from the bathroom mirror sighing and returns to bed.

Near you.

______________________________

The day he met you for the first time he immediately felt the need to keep you safe running wild in his veins.

You were like a deer in front of flashing lights, scared, bewildered, confused.

And he was there, his hands itching with the urge to touch you, warmth radiating in his chest, his cock twitching into his pants.

You looked like a painting despite your dirty clothes and your lack of shower.

But then again, how could you deal with such things in the middle of nowhere, alone and hungry while struggling to survive.

You deserve the prettiest things.

Whatever he could find during patrol he brought it home to you. Wild flowers that he found in the wood, dresses, one time a brooch left in a drawer in an abandoned house, another time a nice scarf to keep you warm.

Nothing could match your inner beauty and your grace but seeing your bright smile is what keeps him alive right now.

“You don’t need to do that, Joel”

Sure he needs to do it, you’re a vision and he’s just an old man.

He vouched for you.

They were skeptical, you could have been a thief or a rat for some larger group.

You refused to talk about your past, which was why everyone was suspicious.

Joel knew.

He saw pain and loss in your eyes despite your stoic demeanor.

The grumpy, loner, unfriendly man that has always struggled to open up to anyone promised to keep an eye on you in front of the whole community.

And that’s why you ended staying in his house.

He got plenty of space anyway so it didn’t bother him, that’s what he said.

You scratched that little wound in him, that little scar that he thought he was keeping under control.

No matter how tough you tried to be, he could see the fear in your eyes, he could read it clearly in your emaciated face, in your frown and the involuntary twitch of your lower lip.

We all need someone.

He failed to admit that he needed you too, at first.

His battered heart had been out of order, had been crushed to pulp for Sarah, had bled for Tess, had died when Ellie stopped speaking to him.

He tried to be distant and coldly polite like he was with everyone else but you were right there, reminding him that beauty still existed in a fucked up world.

And after all, his heart was still working. It had been kicked but it was still pumping blood through his veins.

The day after you entered his house he woke up to noises coming from the kitchen and thought for a moment that the others were not mistaken. He grunted as he got up thinking he would find his supplies raided and you gone. He almost didn’t have the courage to come and check on you but then he heard a loud metallic thud and ran into the kitchen.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” you said as soon as he appeared in the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making breakfast… except I dropped a pan. Sorry.”

His gaze shifted to the table where he saw pancakes and hot coffee. “I thought you wanted some bacon, so I washed the pan to prepare it and it slipped out of my hands while I was soaping it up and the handle broke”

He breathed a sigh of relief as you looked at him guilty . “It's okay, I'll find another one and anyway maple syrup is fine”

Your eyes widened as if he had told you he owned a gold nugget.

“Do you have maple syrup?!” you squeaked and he laughed “sure”

You sat down at the table and you doused your pancakes in syrup. “Hey, take it easy, we don’t have supplies for an army.” he couldn't resist teasing you. Your gaze immediately dropped "oh shit, sorry, I should have thought about it but I don't know how long it's been since I last ate it“

He burst into the loudest laugh anyone had made him utter in months. “Don't worry, help yourself“.

_______________________________

You ended up in his bed during a freezing night, snow storm raging outside, the wind howling and banging against the shutters.

You knocked on his door timidly. Just once.

He was awake, wrapped in his sheets, under a duvet, eyes wide as he begged for a way to sleep.

“Who is it?” A stupid question, there were only the two of you in that house.

“It's me…I…I can't sleep” your voice was muffled by the closed door but it ringed in his ears anyway.

He sighed and replied “Come in”

“Sorry,” you said as you entered, “did I… wake you up?”

She came to me just because I’m right here in the same house.

“No, I can't sleep." and seeing your uncertain steps on the parquet floor he gently urged you "come on, sit here" and he patted the empty side of the bed.

She'll sit here for a while and then go back to her room, he lied to himself.

You sat down, wrapped in too-small pajamas that showed too much of your ankles and wrists, the best you could find in the pile of clothes stored in Jackson's warehouse.

The buttons struggled in the front to contain your breasts.

Lying like that, he could see the outline of your tit from a gap between one buttonhole and the other.

“Why can't you sleep? Is it the storm?�� He shifted his gaze to the wall in front of him, focusing on a stupid painting of a horse that someone had hung there who knows when.

“Yes, and also…I keep thinking about a nightmare I had last night, I’m afraid to dream about it again”

That night you opened up to him, you told him about how your parents died, how you managed to escape with some friends and how in the end, you were the only one still alive.

You didn't even know how, at some point you had lost hope. You dragged yourself day by day, a walking dead waiting for the end. You thought you would die in less than a week and instead you had survived another two months before he found you.

__________________________

Joel wished he had the strength to send you back to your room, close his eyes and sleep, without getting involved but everything you had said to him continued to echo in his head. You were finally vulnerable, eyes shining with tears that you were holding back. He felt it again, the need to keep you safe.

He wanted to kiss you.

He reached out to touch your hand. “You’re cold”

You shook your head “No, I’m fine”

You were lovely.

I have to stop, he thought.

“Get under the duvet if you want”

“No really, Joel, thanks but there's no need.”

Why do you have such a sweet voice?

“I don’t want you to get sick.” He immediately regretted saying it, did he sound like his grandmother now? It was tragic. And his pathetic attempt to get you into his bed was even worse.

You laughed. Your silvery laughter pierced his chest, leaving him baffled and needy.

“You know we don’t get sick from the cold, right?”

You were amused and you were teasing him.

“I know,” he replied dryly, pouting. Inside, he was a mess. “However, exposing yourself to the cold contributes to lowering your immune defenses and viruses and bacteria can have a party at your expense”

You laughed even more “Okay, okay. God, when you say these things you sound just like-”

Not your father. Please, don’t say that I sound like someone that could be your parent.

Instinctively he covered your mouth with his hand and you jumped as his big paw suddenly landed on your mouth.

“Damn Joel! Your hands are too big to do that all of a sudden,” you said to him with wide, scared eyes and he felt horribly guilty. He hadn’t thought about it, his head wasn’t thinking anything, but surprising you like that could awaken traumas in you, who knows what cruel and desperate people you had met out there.

You held his hand tightly in yours after you pulled him away from your mouth. You needed two hands to hold it. You were so small. Yet you were capable to do it, you were tougher than you thought.

He quickly apologized and tried to pull it away but you were still holding it.

“It’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting it”

You were blossoming in front of him, a completely different person than the one he saved in the wood, newfound lightness in your eyes, your body finally relaxed as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, the discomfort you showed at the beginning had completely disappeared.

Stop it, she’s too young, she’s 20 years younger than you.

Then you did something he didn't expect. You brought his hand back to your mouth, leaving feather kisses on his calloused fingers.

“These hands make me feel safe, you know? I don’t want that to change. They are the hands that saved me.” you added in a whisper between kisses and there…Joel’s moral code collapsed.

All his good intentions swept away by your lips.

He shouldn't have, but his body was no longer responding to his brain.

He sat on the bed, slowly taking you in his arms.

In your eyes he saw his own need. He no longer cared what others would say, he only felt the unbearable desire to have you that was throbbing in his temples.

You kissed him first. While he was still looking for a way you simply placed your mouth on his and kidnapped him in an instant.

You were so soft against him.

Your lips trembled with uncontrollable desire against his, demanding and needy.

“Joel…” you breathed on his skin “save me. Save me again”

He couldn’t say no, even though he felt overwhelmed and exhausted and he should just find a way to stay away from you so he wouldn’t drag you into a relationship that was wrong.

Maybe it’s not, he thought. If it makes me feel this good and if she wants it so much, maybe it’s right.

Maybe that's why I found her.

When you grazed his lips he just opened it letting you in.

You moved feverishly, clasping your hands behind his neck, your tits rubbing against his chest and your tongue caressing the roof of his mouth and then seeking out his as if it were a matter of life or death.

That night Joel laid down his weapons. He was the one who was defenseless before you.

______________________________

“Hey” you coo in your little bird voice “where were you?”

“I was in the bathroom”

“Mmmmm come here, I'm cold” you wrap your leg around his waist and press yourself against his chest.

Six months have passed since the night he kissed you, what you wanted had become his priority, even if you didn't ask for anything. At least not anything material. Just to have him by your side.

He lies down on the bed on his side and you press your head to his chest “you're always so warm”

Your left leg is wrapped over his thigh, your body blends so well with his, it feels like you've always belonged there.

He could spend every day of his life like this, lying in bed with you in his arms.

You’re making out for what it feels like hours, your kisses going from chaste and tender to demanding and needy, getting sloppier and deeper.

Your hips grind against his, seeking friction, asking for attention.

The lack of oxygen is starting to have the better of Joel, his mind is fuzzy and all he can think about is you whining and panting in his mouth, filling up the quiet room with your labored breath.

Your voice is a litany echoing in his ears, a prayer made of sighs and moans “Joel, please”

“I'm here, sweetie, tell me what you want” he softly urges.

“I want…I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me until I’m boneless . Please” you plead

“Such a hungry little thing” he smiles before leaving a bite where your neck and shoulder joints met.

“I still have to wrap my head around the fact that you want this wrinkled old cock so much” he mumbles

Your voice is deep and husky as you continue to rock frantically on his leg and you slap him on the shoulder protesting “It’s not old. it’s thick and hot and perfect and my pussy needs it.”

He chuckles, surprised that you still have an attitude after all the grinding and making out.

“She wants it that bad, huh?” He whispers and you purr “yeah. She needs all of you, please”

“Oh baby, she’s weeping all over my leg, how can i resist” he smiles as he kisses you again sucking gently on your lower lip and then moving on your neck, licking over your pulse point.

He makes you lie down on the bed, gently crushing you with his body.

As he continues on his path paved with kisses and little bites he growls “Spread your legs for me, honey, let me feel you”

He lowers a hand, your soaked cotton panties sticky and messy under his touch. “Mmm how did she get so wet every single time”

“It’s because of you… she feels so empty right now”

“Damn, you’re so pretty when you’re begging for my old cock”

Your voice almost sounds like a cry, eagerness all over your face, your hands fisting his bed t-shirt so tight your knuckles are pale.

He’s intoxicated with the way you desperately demand to be full of him.

“Fuck me, Joel, fuck me hard”

Nothing exists anymore except your quivering body beneath him as he keeps hovering his fingers over your cunt and tasting your skin.

He doesn't even have the patience to take off your panties, he tears it, a large hole opens up on the front.

You whine loudly, a mixture of surprise and hunger.

He pulls down his boxers and let slide his cock over your clit wetting it, shivering at the sensation of your warm juices coating his shaft.

He usually licks you first, makes sure you have at least a couple of orgasms from his mouth before he enters you but he can’t wait. Not today.

He never really felt in control with you, he let you invade every cell of his body without even thinking about it.

Between him and Tess there was something left unsaid.

She had never asked him to feel what she felt, and he had no intention of bringing up the subject.

Tess was like him, bold because no one had to notice how deeply wounded she was, a woman of few words, she inspired respect and fear in others even more than he did.

They had bonded out of necessity and then discovered they were more similar than they thought.

He loved Tess but couldn't put it into words, he followed her around like a guard dog barking at anyone who threatened her.

It was the only way for him to show how much he cared, he couldn't make a relationship official when he was still trying to heal from losing Sarah.

When you stepped into his life he was even more hurt but he was still someone born to protect and the quiet coexistence with you had unleashed something in him that he couldn't oppose.

Before he could realize it, you were already beating hard in the center of his heart and it was as if the words were elbowing their way out of his chest.

He has to do it now, sink into you before it's too late, before time passes inexorably without leaving him anything to hold in his hands.

He puts the tip in.

Your glassy eyes are locked in his, overflowing with lust.

He slides another inch into you, your muscles clench around his cock and another moan escape your lips.

He has to hold on to all the willpower he has left not to shoot a load inside you right away.

He's slamming into you, trying to keep his mouth in check for once but yours is running wildly, he's never heard you like this.

“Holy fuck it’s so good just- fuck - just split me in two”

“God, baby, that dirty mouth of yours is going to drive me crazy”

“I can’t stop - nnnngh - the way you make me feel - fuck - it’s unreal”

When he reaches your soft spot you’re a bundle of whines “oh God oh fuck it feels so good”

He feels sweat beading on his forehead, his breath short, his strength faltering, it’s like fighting against his own body and it’s a fight he’s not willing to lose.

His lips latch onto your nipple, he tries to breathe deeply through his nose, so maybe you won't hear the rattle that crackles in his throat.

“Fuck. Yes, suck it, Joel. God, your mouth is so damn perfect” He doesn’t have a clue why you’re so wild today but he feels like drunk on you.

And he feels vulnerable, even with your nipple gently trapped between his teeth.

He sinks more, his balls slamming against your ass, so deep into you.

He hasn't shed a tear since he lost Sarah, he thought he had cried them all, but he looks at you like this now, disheveled, raw and longing beneath his body and he feels them stinging at the corners of his eyes for a totally different reason.

Happiness.

He is like snow, hard, cold, inhospitable and you are like the sun that melts him, inviting, comforting, warm.

His love for you is undeniable. Indisputable. It boils in his veins, it cracks his breath and makes his bones weaker. He never felt so much painful need of belonging to someone before in a romantic way.

His old body is aching but at the same time he feels like he has just gained a new sense of being alive in this wrecked world.

You're like a little beast writhing beneath him, clinging to his back, your nails scratching him and your mouth drinking from his skin, his neck, while your pussy sucks him in, taking everything he has.

Your hair is plastered to your forehead, scattered on the pillow beneath you, his hypnotized eyes don't miss a change in expression on your face transfigured by desire.

He has never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

His cock pulses inside you, wrapped in your hot, tight, dripping pussy. “God, you’re always so perfect for me,” he sighs. His chest grinds against you, his heartbeat now in his throat.

Your skin is salty, smells like the rose shower gel he brought you last week. He smelled it and your face came alive before his eyes as if you were there. Tommy had to shake him by the shoulder to try to wake him from the trance he had fallen into.

You're always too much for his old, broken heart.

“Come inside me, Joel,” you beg.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, dazed.

“YES. Please Joel, I want you to fill me up, I want to feel every drop of you, I want—fuck—I want your seed all the way inside my cunt, I want to feel it dripping on my skin”

You've never let him cum inside you before, he's marked your tits, your tummy, your back, once your face by mistake while you were milking him with your hand.

Never your cunt.

Your legs wrapped around his waist push him against you.

“Please, my pussy is yours only, yours only, feed her” your strangled sobs and your begging send him over the edge, he can’t hold back any longer.

Your clouded eyes are locked on his, sending shivers all over his body.

He does what you ask, exploding inside you in long spurts of sperm, painting your walls that tighten around his length as if they wanted to nestle him inside you forever.

His hand moves down to your clit, rubbing it frantically "come baby, come for me" and you cry out your orgasm almost instantly, your hips rolling against his, your breasts bouncing with your ragged breathing.

He pulls out of you and smiles, looking down, long white, slimy streaks sliding lazily out of you. You smile back, bringing a hand between your thighs.

You bring a finger to your mouth, as if you had never tasted it before, you spread it on your lower lip and then lick your finger clean “what does it taste like?” he asks without even thinking.

“Try it” you suggest offering your finger to him “lick”.

Joel sticks out his tongue uncertainly, darting it slightly, he pauses for a moment and then gives a more decisive lick “It’s salty. It tastes like…moss?” “Yes. It’s good” you tell him softly.

Good is not the word he would use but you seem convinced, so he doesn't comment further.

He takes you in his arms as you calm down, you bury your head in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent.

He kisses your hair, then your forehead and thinks that if you didn't exist he would have already given up everything, his entire life.

"Kitten" he drawl and you hum in response “Yes, Joel?”

The words had been jostling in his throat for a week but he'd kept pushing them back.

Having these feelings at his age, with everything he had been through, is terrifying.

Yet he could no longer lie to himself.

You crawled into his soul so easily.

He belongs to you. For all the days he has left. He wants nothing more from life.

“I love you”

It's the first time he's said it to you.

You look up, your doe eyes surprised and sparkling in the morning dawn that faintly enters through the window.

You are speechless for a moment, joy radiating across your face. Your mouth curves into the most beautiful smile he has ever seen.

“I love you too”

Your fingers tickle the nape of his neck and bury themselves in his hair as he kisses you.

“I love you, Joel” you repeat through the dance of your lips “I love you”

[phoward89]

Banner by me, dividers by @saradika

Based on this ask

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow is his own warning! Some cussing. Talks of prostitution. Manipulation. Implied forced body modification/mutilation. Mentions of murder/poison.

Now That We Don't Talk

The chill in the air made you shiver as you walked down the sidewalk towards Tigris’ boutique. Like every Wednesday you were meeting her for brunch. You only wished that you opted to take Coriolanus up on his offer to have the chauffeur take you since the winter winds were a bit harsh today. Of course, you declined his offer, telling him that you were meeting his cousin at her boutique this midmorning instead of the cafe where you usually went for your brunches with the kind hearted stylist.

Coryo wasn't happy with your answer but he accepted it nevertheless. He also told you to wear your new fur coat, the one he got you less than a month ago, since Lucretius ‘Lucky’ Flickerman's weather report predicted a cold, wintery day with the possibility of light snowfall. 

After agreeing to wear the luxury fur coat (your fiance said it was a rare fur, Russian sable, and that you were the only in the Capitol to have it), Coriolanus rose from the dining room table only to give you a kiss on your temple and prepare to leave for an early morning meeting with some political strategist for his campaign.

Yes, your man was running for president of Panem. 

Holding your coat closer together with your glove covered hand, you walked a tad bit faster. You were grateful that the walk to Tigris’ boutique wasn't too far from the penthouse you shared with Coriolanus. Meaning you didn't have to brave the cold too long. You hated the cold, but with how you were raised it's only a given that you'd hate it.

Upon seeing the scrolling print sign for Tigris' boutique swinging in the wind, you felt a sense of relief. In a matter of moments you'd be warm.

“Tigris, I'm here!” You called out to the blonde as soon as you set foot into the shop.

A girl with bubble gum pink hair was at the front counter of the shop. She smiled at you as her boss, Tigris, emerged from the back. You exchanged warm greetings and hugs before she ushered you down a hall and up the stairs that led to her condo.

“I'm sorry that we couldn't go to the cafe, but between requests and designing a new wardrobe for the victory tour, I've been swamped.” Tigris sweetly apologized for your change in plans as you removed your fur coat. 

“It's fine, Tigris. I don't mind having brunch here.” You replied with a smile while hanging the coat up on the corner rack by the door.

The stylist's eyes took in the luxury fur hanging by her door and asked, “That's not the coat from my new line that I made for you. Did Coriolanus get it for you?”

“Yes.” You nodded, going over to the plush sofa. “He gave it to me a few weeks ago and insisted that I wear it today.” You innocently said, not understanding the true meaning behind Coriolanus’ actions.

Bless your heart, but you were innocent and you'd never think that your loving and caring boyfriend would do anything to hurt anyone, especially his cousin. But…that wasn't the case and his true reason for making telling you to wear your new Russian sable coat was to slight his cousin. To hurt Tigris since he knew she gave you the light pink peacoat with faux fur collar from her new line as a holiday gift.

Tigris weakly smiled, feeling sick to her stomach that you were so sweet and being led to the slaughter by her cold and calculating cousin, as she went to the kitchen to grab the charcuterie board she had prepared earlier for your brunch along with making the two of you some mimosas.

When she returned, she set the items on the coffee table only for you to frown and tell her, “You didn't put any alcohol in the orange juice, did you? Coryo doesn't like it when I drink outside of galas or when he's not with me.”

Tigris gave you a long look of disbelief, only to sigh, “He doesn't have to know you had a mimosa in my condo. What's brunch without mimosas?”

Shaking your head, you refused the drink. “He told me not to drink it so I won't. Please, just get me a plain orange juice.”

Tigris sighed heavily and was about to give into your request, but changed her mind whenever a large shiny diamond ring on your left ring finger caught her attention. 

No.

No, you couldn't be.

Grabbing yout hand, she looked between you and the very large ring. “When did you start wearing this?”

“Coriolanus proposed last night.” You beamed, pulling your hand out of your friend's hold only to flick your hand up and admire the ring on your finger. “Coryo says it's one of a kind. That he designed it special for me.” Pointing to the ring, you explained the ring's design. “The large diamond in the middle's a rare pink diamond and all the white diamonds on the side are marquises. It's supposed to be a pink rose because those are my favorite flowers.”

Tigris felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach at hearing you happily tell her about the shackle her ruthless cousin had slipped on your finger hours ago.

She always thought that Coriolanus would grow bored of using you as his plaything and return you to your family. The star designer assumed that her cousin would push you away once he announced his intent to run as the youngest president of Panem. Tigris assumed that Coriolanus would spurn you because of your district background and latch onto a woman of impeccable Capitol breeding in his unquenchable thirst for power.

But she was wrong.

Coriolanus proposed and you said yes. 

Now Tigris knew that she had to warn you about him if you had any chance of escaping him. Any chance at happiness. You weren't just her cousin's girlfriend fiance, but a dear friend of hers and she wanted you to be safe.

You'd never be safe with Coriolanus.

So, with a sad look in her soft blue eyes, the blonde woman told you, “Sweetheart, there's things about Coriolanus you don't know, but need to know.”

“Like what, Tigris?” You innocently asked, assuming that she was going to tell you a childhood story or something.

But what she told you wasn't a childhood story. No, what she told you made your eyes pop out of your head. Tigris, to your utter shock and horror, revealed all of Coriolanus' sins to you. 

Sins that he never wanted you to know because he never wanted you to see him as anything but your loving and protective Coryo. 

When Coriolanus came home you were in the kitchen finishing dinner. The smell had his mouth watering as he hung up his heavy maroon coat. He smiled to himself just thinking about how you'd never have to lift another finger in the kitchen ever again once he became president.

You'd have an entire kitchen full of the best private chefs for that. You'd be able to fill your evenings reading your ancient books and watching those trashy Capitol tv shows you enjoyed so much. Oh, and pleasing him at every whim.

“Dinner smells good, darling.” Coriolanus told you, stepping into the kitchen.

You nearly jumped, feeling a bit snuck up on, as you heard his baritone fill the air. You prayed that he didn't notice your jumpiness, but he did. 

“What's wrong?” He asked, coming up behind you to wrap an arm around your waist in a comforting way.

But what should've felt like a comforting gesture didn't. In fact, his touch made you feel sick. His hands, covered in so much blood from all the murders he committed to rise up the political ranks, felt foreign as they touched you. His touch was that of the angel of death; not a lover, or at least that's how it felt after hearing his cousin’s damning words of warning earlier.

Shaking your head, you weakly assured him, “I'm fine, just tired’s all.”

“I told you, my darling rose, that you should've had the driver take you to Tigris’ for brunch. That it was too cold out for you to walk.” Coriolanus remarked before letting you go. “If you're getting ready to plate our food, I'll pour us some drinks.”

The thought of him pouring you a drink had you choking on air. Tigris' earlier words washed over you.

“He poisons people he deems as disposable or a threat to him, sweetheart. He offers them a drink and watches them die to tie up his loose ends.”

Before you knew what was happening, you were pushing past your fiance (nearly knocking him on his ass) and running out of the kitchen to the bathroom.

Concerned, Coriolanus followed you only to find you hunched over the toilet coughing and spitting up bile. Going over to the vanity, he turned on the sink and grabbed a small washcloth from the drawer they were stored in. He ran the white cloth under the cool water for a few moments before turning off the faucet and wringing out the washcloth. 

Bending down next to you, he tucked your hair behind your ear and ran the cool cloth over your face. “Are you okay, darling? You're not coming down with something, are you?”

He couldn't help but hope that he knocked you up. He wanted nothing more than to tie you to him forever with a baby. Having a child with him would be more of a life binding contract then marriage. But he knew that morning sickness usually happened, well, in the morning.

His icy blue eyes looked at you with concern. Believe it or not, the cold man with a too small black heart truly did care about you and your well-being. Truth be told, you and the cat you twisted his arm into adopting were the only things on God's green earth that he gave a fuck about. 

Hell, he didn't even give a shit about his own cousin these days, given how cold she was to him once he returned from his summer stint in District 12 as a peacekeeper all those years ago. Only reason he hasn't cut her off yet is because of you and how much you adore the fashionista bitch.

“I'm fine, just a bit tired.” You lied. Truth was you weren't fine. The fact that your fiance was a murderer that might end up poisoning you to get rid of you because of your inferior birth made your stomach churn. 

Yes, Tigris had told you that Coriolanus looked down on district people. That he was disgusted by them and viewed them to be lower than gutter rats. She told you that she thought he would've grown tired of you, but now feared what he'd do to you since he wanted to marry you.

She told you that she felt her cousin had no real intentions on marrying you. That she was afraid he'd poison you (kill you) to gain sympathy and higher polling numbers for his campaign.

Now the blonde woman's words ran wild thru your head and you couldn't even look at the platinum blonde man who owned your heart the same way again. 

“Perhaps you should go rest in our room.” Coriolanus suggested, thinking maybe some rest would make you feel better.

Coriolanus was wrong. Rest didn't make you feel better. Nothing made you feel better. In fact, in the days after your brunch with Tigris you started to pull away from him.

At first it was subtle, but then it became painfully obvious to him that you were pulling away. Especially when you stopped calling him Coryo. That's when he knew he no longer owned your heart.

Something was wrong and it drove him insane not knowing what it was. He couldn't figure out what had changed so drastically. It's as if you looked at him with undying love one day and then suddenly woke up to look at him with a fearful love the next.

A fearful love…

Damnit!

Did something scare you? Did somebody tell you something to make you shrink into yourself and become a shell? If they did, well, they'd pay for it. 

Pay with their life.

He decided that he was confronting you tonight about being so distant. He was getting to the bottom of your problems because over a week of you not being the woman he fell for was enough. Coriolanus couldn't handle you pulling away from him anymore.

Goddamnit, he's gone too long without fucking you. 

Enough was enough.

“Darling, we need to talk.” Coriolanus told you as soon as he got home from work. 

You stared at him from your spot on the sofa as he hung up his coat. “About what?” You asked, your eyes flickering back to the book you had in your hand. It was an old one from the ancient pre-Panem days. Your fiance got it for you at some high-end auction house.

“Us.” The word was clipped as he let it out of his mouth. 

You refused to look at Coriolanus as he crossed the room. Instead, you kept your eyes glued to the pages of Pride & Prejudice. 

“Did I do something to make you pull away from me?” You heard him ask while stopping in front of you. 

“No.” You half lied. He didn't do anything to you (yet), but it was the sins he committed in the past that had your head spinning. Deciding you didn't want to get into it with him, you simply said, “I'm not pulling away from you, Coriolanus. I've just been tired’s all.”

“Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not-” You began only for him to loom over you and shout, “Yes you are!” 

The pressure had finally gotten to him. He finally snapped. 

Yanking the book out of your hands and tossing it somewhere across the room, he ranted, “You won't call me Coryo anymore, my darling. You've been pulling away from me for over a week now and I need to know why. I miss the way you used the look at me, darling. Hell, I miss the way we used to be.” 

Your eyes fell to the floor as you sighed, “I told you, I've just been tired.”

That was the wrong answer. 

You should've told him the truth…

Coriolanus grabbed you by your upper arms with a tight, bruising force and pulled you to your feet, all the while yelling, “Stop fucking lying to me, darling! I can't handle your distance and lies anymore!” His chest wildly heaved up and down in anger as he added in, “I want to know what I did to make you stop loving me, my darling rose.”

You never stopped loving him and told him as much, which only prompted him to ask why you've been pulling away from him.

So now the truth you've been keeping from him flowed out of your mouth like a raging river.

“Tigris saw my ring and told me that you didn't mean to go thru with marrying me. That you'd just poison and kill me to boost votes for your campaign and gain sympathy as being the heartbroken lover.” 

“What?” Coriolanus blinked his baby blues. He removed his hands from your arms, only to take your hands in his and lead you to sit down on the sofa. A soft look washed over his face as he assured you, “I'd never do that to you, darling." 

Shaking your head, you cried, “She says that you've killed before for power and to climb the political ladder, Coriolanus.” Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you wailed, “And she told me that you're disgusted by district people, Coriolanus. That you view us as lower than gutter rats.” 

It was true that he thought district people were scum, but it wasn't true that he viewed you that way. You weren't scum to him. You were better than where you were born. Hell, you lived in the Capitol for so long now that he doesn't even consider you District anymore.

“Tigris says that I don't matter to you; that you don't love me and will marry a girl of proper Capitol breeding once you dump poison in my drink.”

How dare his cousin tell you that he didn't love you?! He did love you. Hell, he was more obsessed with you then he ever was with the lying, treacherous, traitor, snake charmer of a whore singer he nearly destroyed his life over.

No, he loved you with everything he had inside of him. Despite being a dark creature that had no problems killing to get, keep, and maintain power, he truly did love you. You were the best thing that ever happened to him and he knew that he couldn't let his cousin turn you against him. 

Coriolanus wanted, no needed, to be your Coryo again and he'd say anything to make it happen.

“I wish you would've told me what Tigris told you as soon as it happened, my darling rose.” Coriolanus sighed while wrapping his arms around you. Pulling you against his chest, his silver tongue weaved its magic with the perfect words to turn you against Tigris. “She's jealous that nobody wants her because, despite her impeccable reputation as a stylist, a lot of men remember that years ago she used to sell her body on the black market. Tigris is also upset that she became a stylist because I told Dr. Gaul that the tributes needed uniforms and interview outfits.” Threading his fingers thru your soft hair, he added in the final words he needed to make Tigris look like the villain in this story. “She's upset that it was me who made her who she is. Made her a star designer. And she's jealous that I have somebody when she doesn't because of some choices she made before I could make her stylist dreams come true.”

“I never knew Tigris sold herself.” You gasped, clearly a bit horrified at the thought of your friend doing sexual favors with men for money. 

A large smug smirk spreads over Coriolanus' face as he continues to hold you close to his chest. Oh, he knew that he had you right where he wanted you. He had to lay it on thick so he'd be able to reel you in; have you under his thumb again. But he planned on having you look at him like you used to. He'd say and do anything to accomplish that too.

His voice quivered as he put on an act worthy of an academy award. “My darling rose, we don't talk anymore and it's killing me. The possibility of losing you because of some lies my jealous whore of a cousin told you because she's alone and miserable is heartbreaking.” He sucked in a breath, making you think that he was trying to prevent himself from breaking down, only to confess in a broken timbre, “I miss making love to you, darling.”

The phrase making love made his skin crawl as if spiders were underneath the epidermis, but he knew that to manipulate you back into his arms then he had to say it. After all, making love sounds more poetic than fucking your goddamn brains out does.

You lifted your head off his chest, only to look up into his icy blue eyes. Eyes that looked pitiful, like a kicked puppy’s, as he poured his heart out to you.

“I love you more than I ever thought possible, my darling rose. You consume me and losing you would destroy me. Turn me into a monster.” Coriolanus truthfully admitted. He wasn't lying about that, he was obsessed with you and knew deep down that if he ever lost you then he'd become a monster deadlier than anything that ever came out of Dr. Gaul's lab. 

And that was scary considering at the moment he had no morals, just the compass of his late father to guide him.

His large, calloused hand cupped your cheek as he swore, “I will never hurt you, Y/N. And I will never ever kill you or try to.” He pressed a kiss to your lips, only to rest his forehead on yours and confess. “I love you, my darling rose.”

That phrase was one he never thought he'd utter, but he did it to reel you in. To make sure that you never left his side. He needed you just like he needed air to breathe, so if he had to make himself a bit weak by saying the love word to you then so be it.

Hearing him say ‘I love you, my darling rose’ made your fears and doubts about him fly right out the window. He'd never said that to you before, not until now, and you knew he meant it. That he said it because he loved you and didn't want you to leave him.

But you could never leave him. You loved him too much.

“I love you too, Coryo.” You softly smiled, looking at your hand still holding his.

Hearing you call him Coryo again was the signal Coriolanus needed to let him know that he'd won. You were once again his and under his control.

“I'm sorry I was being distant. I was just scared.” You apologized, feeling foolish for pushing your fiance away over hearsay.

Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, your fiance told you, “I know you were, darling. I only wished that you came to me so I could put your fears to rest.”

You believed that he loved you and wouldn't do you any harm, but you were still curious about one thing. “Coryo, have you poisoned people to climb up the political ladder; for power?”

“Of course not, Y/N.” He firmly denied, only to add in the rhetorical question of, “And why would I want to kill my political allies? Makes no sense, darling.”

Yes, why would he want to kill his political allies? You couldn't help, but think that he'd need his political connections alive since they'd be able to help him in elections better breathing than pushing up daisies. 

What you didn't know was that Coriolanus craved power and would kill anyone to get it and keep it. Didn't matter who they were. But…you didn't need to know that.

All you needed to know was that he'd NEVER kill you.

“Yea, it doesn't make any sense.” You innocently agreed with your fiance.

Looking between you and the clock on the wall, he suggested, “We still have half an hour before the Justice Building closes for the night. Let's go have the Magistrate marry us.”

“You want to get married tonight?” You asked, wide-eyed, with a mix of excitement and disbelief in your voice.

No.

No, he didn't want to get married tonight. In fact, Coriolanus wanted to marry you in a lavish ceremony dripping in diamonds, gold, roses, and silk bunting in the presidential palace right after winning the election. But…he knew that Tigris made you doubt his intentions of making you Mrs. First Lady Snow so the only way to scrub that from your mind was to marry you right away.

“Yes.” He nodded. Pulling you to your feet, he simply instructed, “Go put on that white dress you wore for the winter gala, Mrs. Snow.”

The following morning Tigris’ heart sank into the pit of her stomach as she read the main headline in the political section of the newspaper.

Presidential Frontrunner Now A Family Man- Senator Coriolanus Snow & Long Time Girlfriend Wed Last Night In Private Ceremony

Tigris mourned for the loss of your freedom, of your life. She has no idea why you didn't heed her warnings, but she wished you did.

Before she could start to read the article, a knock sounded at her door. When she answered it, she found a pair of peacekeepers at her door. They told her that they had strict orders from Senator Snow to escort her to a very important appointment he had made for her. 

It was an appointment that would change the rest of her life and if she knew what it was for, maybe she would've tried to run from the peacekeepers her cousin had doing his dark bidding.

You hadn't seen Tigris since you married Coriolanus. He said that it was for the best. Of course, you believed him. He married you when she said he wouldn't. Coriolanus had proved her a liar.

It's been roughly 5 months since you've been Mrs. Snow and you couldn't be happier, especially since you were expecting your first child with Coryo.

A baby boy.

A baby boy the two of you decided to name Cassian Xandros. It was to keep up the Snow tradition of the first born son having the initials C.X.S.

You thought it was so sweet how your husband wanted to uphold his family's traditions.

Too bad he didn't let you uphold any of the traditions you grew up with. Mhm…

“Are we still going to be on this campaign tour during the games?” You asked your husband, who was sitting in an armchair, sipping on coffee and reading the paper, in the luxury train carriage you shared.

“We’ll go back to the Capitol for the games; then we'll continue the campaign tour.” He explained while turning the page of his newspaper.

You were reading your favorite book, Pride & Prejudice, whenever Coriolanus stood up and walked over to where you were resting on the sofa. Folding the paper, so only one page was visible, he handed it to you and solemnly said, “Darling, you need to see this.”

“What is it? A drop in your poll numbers?” You innocently asked, setting your book aside and reaching for the paper.

“No, it's something very unsettling.” He said as you took the paper from his large hand.

You wondered what was so unsettling in the paper, but soon got your answer as you read the headline in the current events column.

Star Stylist Tigris Has Transformed Into Her Namesake, A Tiger

As if that wasn't enough, the picture of her transformed face made you gasp. She no longer looked like herself, but truly did look like a tiger. She had plastic surgery and tattoos to modify her face, neck, and chest. Black lines zig zagged all over her and her once blue eyes were now a bright yellow with thick, sweeping liner. She even had whisker implants and her upper lip split to mimic the mouth of a cat. Even her hair was different. The once light blonde locks now had chunk black highlights in it. 

You couldn't believe your eyes. Why would she do that? She was so pretty…

You must've asked your question out loud, because the next thing you know your husband's sitting next to you, sighing, “I don't know why, my darling rose. She was pretty, but now nobody will ever want her.” Taking the paper from you and passing you back your book, he knowingly said, “If only she didn't tell you lies; try to break us up. Then she wouldn’t be alone.”

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22, @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri, @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak, @spear-bearing-bi-witch, @gisellesprettylies

[m00nsbaby]

Do you want me (dead)?

Jake Lockley x F! Reader.

Tags & warnings. College AU, no mentions of Marc or Steven, explicit, +18, oral sex (m receiving), cum eating, no use of y/n.

Word count. 3.5k

Summary. He was childish. Unbearable.

It was as if he had a magnet to you, always bothering you, finding a way to ruin your day in some manner. 

You were going to kill Jake Lockley at any moment.

You decided not to blame anyone else but yourself for your bad mood. It had been a conscious choice to only get two hours of sleep due to your sudden desire for a movie marathon by yourself.

You didn't have many friends; you exchanged words with a couple of people, if you were lucky. On any given day, you would arrive, attend class, and then spend the rest of your time alone somewhere else. So, on a Wednesday morning, you could afford to rest your arms on your desk and hide your face there, dozing off until the class started.

Or at least, that was the plan.

"Cariño." If you were a cat, that single word would have been enough to make your fur stand on end. You didn't even bother lifting your head to see who was by your side.

He cleared his throat louder. "Cariño."

When you raised your hand to show him your middle finger, he smiled satisfactorily. Jake was content with getting even a gram of your attention. There was a personal pleasure in getting under your skin, as if his day got 200 times better.

"Did you sleep well?" He was going to keep pushing until he got more from you. "I slept amazingly, actually. Last night, I found a video where..."

"I'm not interested, Lockley." You growled, finally raising your head.

"There she is." You wanted to wipe that cocky smile off his face with a punch. You could only hope that one day he would annoy the wrong person, and someone else would take care of the dirty work. "As beautiful as always."

"I hate you."

"Ouch, my heart." He placed a hand over his chest, still smiling.

"Go to..."

"Good morning, everyone!" You nibbled on your lower lip to avoid screaming over the professor about how much you wished a truck would run over Jake Lockley.

At least with this, you were free of him for the next three hours.

It wasn't long before a poorly folded note landed on your desk.

Hey :)

With your index finger, you pushed the note, letting it fall to the floor.

Heyyyyy!!!

The next one also landed on the floor.

Hey, hey, hey, hey

You caught a glimpse of what looked like a poorly drawn cat. Next paper to the floor.

You didn't even bother opening the next one.

"Professor?" Hearing him speak again made you lift your gaze, wondering what nonsense he would come up with this time. "We have a trash bin in the classroom for a reason, right?" As he said this, he pointed at you and then at the papers on the floor.

"No, no, no! I didn't..."

"You two again?" The professor pressed the bridge of his nose with his fingers as he sighed heavily. His gaze landed on you almost immediately. "Get out of my class."

"But..."

"Out." After a few seconds of silence, you realized he was serious, and you had no choice but to make as much noise as possible with your belongings while standing up.

"Go to hell, Lockley." You said loudly, eliciting a collective 'uhhh' from the group. If you were already in trouble, it was better to have a good reason.

"You're staying for..."

"Detention, yes, yes." You growled as you slammed the classroom door.

You could still feel Jake's gaze on you, along with his triumphant smile. You didn't cross paths with him for the rest of the day.

It seemed that the next day fate was on your side because there were no signs of life from him.

Classes passed as boring as ever, in fact, even more so now that you had no one to argue or talk with. 

It was quieter without him around. Well, the good side was that you were finally free to go home.

You had no choice but to cross the edge of the football field to leave school. Both hands were in your pockets, and you had your earphones on. You were almost thanking God for getting through another day without Jake Lockley.

Almost.

At the last row of stands, there was someone. It wasn't uncommon, and you would have done your best to avoid them, except this time you recognized who it was even with his face hidden in his hands.

You rolled your eyes when you realized you couldn't even have a single day of peace.

Fortunately, not even the sound of footsteps caught his attention. In fact, it left you more intrigued how loudly he was breathing. Perhaps today was the day he finally crossed paths with the wrong person and got put in place.

You shrugged to yourself and kept walking, but your chest decided it didn't agree with you.

What if something had happened to him? Was he crying?

"Keep walking, keep walking, keep walking," you thought to yourself when your legs wouldn't move any further.

Ugh.

You retraced your steps.

"Are you okay?" It came out in a stronger tone than you would have liked.

When he lifted his head from his hands, your stomach churned. You always thought you'd enjoy the day someone finally gave Jake Lockley what he deserved, but this felt horrible.

He nodded silently when he realized it was you.

There was a cut along the bridge of his nose and another on his eyebrow. Blood was flowing from one of his nostrils and reached his lips, all on top of a black eye.

His response should have been enough for you to continue your way, but...

"You don't look good."

He laughed, not genuinely, but one of those laughs you give automatically when someone tries to cheer you up in the worst moments, even though you weren't joking.

"You should've seen the other guy." You didn't smile.

He was a jerk, even in this situation.

You hesitated a few seconds before making your decision. You took a seat next to him on the stands, close enough for your leg to brush against his.

You were silent for what felt like an eternity. Jake didn't even bother to look at you, but at least he wasn't hiding in his hands anymore; he was watching the field as if the grass were the most interesting thing on planet Earth.

"Can I see?" you whispered after a while.

"Huh?"

"Your face. Can I see?" He finally turned to you in silence, and you did the same, daring to look at him. If you noticed any hint of him about to give you that stupid smug grin he always had, you'd make him regret it even more.

But no. Those huge brown eyes were fixed on you as if he were a lost puppy.

You used your right hand to gently hold his chin, lifting his head slightly to search for any other injuries. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be more than what you noticed at first glance.

You pulled the sleeve of your sweater enough to cover part of your hand, which was such a light shade of pink it could pass for white, though you didn't care as you used the fabric to wipe away the blood running from his nose.

If only you had been aware of how Jake's heart was racing.

You licked the fabric slightly to dampen it when you noticed the blood had started to dry.

"Is this why you didn't go to class?" You tried to fill the silence that was starting to make you nervous.

He nodded without saying anything more. You never thought you'd wish to hear his annoying voice.

"Was it a fight?" Another nod. Well, knowing there was no one else bothering him was enough to give you some relief. You kept cleaning. Under his nose and upper lip. The wounds looked less dramatic without so much blood.

"Done."

He licked his lips, cleaning off any remaining blood. You adjusted your backpack on your shoulder when you finally stood up.

"It's late, Jake. Go home." you whispered. You didn't care if it seemed like you were talking to yourself. You didn't wait for a response before walking away, or at least taking two steps before his voice stopped you.

"Hey." You spun on your own feet to look at him. "Thanks, cariño."

You smiled; you couldn't have stopped it even if you wanted to.

"See you tomorrow." It was the last thing you said before continuing to walk.

And yes, you did see him the next day, against your will.

The following days were torturous for both him and you, as Jake set out to annoy you in new ways.

He asked you at least 4 times if you would spend some time with him after school, like a date or in any situation. He simply took your concern for him as a way of saying, "Maybe I don't hate you as much as you think."

You were on the verge of exploding.

You were tangling the cable of your laptop when you noticed a silhouette in front of you. You didn't have to look up to know who it was.

It was just the two of you in the classroom now that everyone had left.

"What do you want, Lockley?" You didn't look up as you packed your charger into your backpack.

"I want to know if we can hang out after school," his tone was firm, more than usual.

"I already told you, Jake, in how many languages do you want me to say it? Fortunately, it's the same in Spanish or I doubt you'd understand," you were not in the mood, not today, not now, and especially not after having rejected his invitations several times before.

"I just want to buy you an ice cream, cariño. Or do you prefer a smoothie? A frappe?" The poor guy was desperate.

"I don't want anything." You finally turned to face him with a frown, adjusting your backpack on your shoulder.

"¿Por qué tienes que portarte como una idiota conmigo?"

"I understood it, you enormous jerk!" Your voice rose almost immediately as you pushed his chest to keep him away. "We're not friends, Jake, we're nothing. I can't stand you, and you can't stand me either. What happened the other day was just some human empathy."

Your index finger kept hitting his chest again and again as you spoke, your frown remained deep.

In Jake's eyes, you looked nothing more than an annoyed kitten, hissing when someone gets too close.

"So leave me alone, seriously, because I swear if you keep this up, I'm going to..." You couldn't continue speaking because his lips were on yours, devouring them like a starving man.

Your eyes opened in surprise just seconds before you succumbed to his delicious taste of mint and cigarettes. Your hands slowly traveled up his chest until they reached his shoulders, which you held onto when your legs weakened.

It wasn't fair that he was such a good kisser.

He moved forward slowly, guiding you until your body was pressed against one of the walls of the classroom. His hands were hooked onto your waist as if you were going to run away at any moment.

You had no intention of doing that; your mind was genuinely somewhere else. However, after eliciting a delicious moan from the guy in front of you by biting his lower lip, your thoughts were momentarily disrupted.

"Please, hermosa." he whispered with a husky voice as his kisses trailed down your chin. "Please, just one date."

You couldn't hate him more. How could he do this to you?

Your eyes were closed as you tilted your head to the side, guiding Jake to your neck. You nodded without saying anything.

A moan escaped your lips when you felt him bite your skin, sucking with enough force to leave a mark.

"Fuck, Lockley," you whispered with heavy breaths as he pulled away from your neck. That stupid cocky smile. Ugh.

"Then I'll see you this afternoon." You hated him. Really, you hated him, just as much as you hated his ridiculous and soft lips now coated with your strawberry-flavored lip gloss.

"Fine." You wished your mouth had expressed what you felt, but your body was acting faster than you."

He picked you up in his car, and you would have preferred to jump out of it while it was still moving than admit that there was something about being in Jake Lockley's car that made you feel... special, especially after hearing him call it 'baby' more than once.

The car smelled like leather, cigarettes, and his cologne.

"You look beautiful." You rolled your eyes with a smile as he got in on the opposite side of the car.

"Thanks, Jake." If you were going to spend so many hours together, the least you could do was try to make it tolerable for both of you. However, you remained on guard for any stupid remarks that might come out of his mouth.

"So, ice cream?"

"I love the vanilla ice cream from McDonald's."

"McDonald's it is, then."

Was it because it was him, or were you just easily impressed to feel delighted with an invitation for a one-dollar ice cream?

"Are you going to tell me why you got beaten up the other day?"

"I didn't get beaten up." He rolled his eyes as he placed a hand on your seat to look back, reversing the car.

Oh, that was...

Oh.

"Well." You imitated his disgusted gesture. "Why did they fight you then?"

"It was over something stupid. Can we talk about something else?"

"And what could you and I talk about?"

"About school?"

"Boring." When he stopped at the drive-thru, you remained silent, smiling.

"Two vanilla ice creams, and... do you want something else?" Was this what it felt like to be the passenger princess?

"Fries."

"And some fries."

"Have you ever eaten fries with ice cream?" You asked as he drove forward to receive his ridiculously small order.

"Together? No." He frowned as he looked in his wallet for the exact 3 dollars to pay the girl at the window. "That's disgusting."

Receiving your ice cream made you confirm that this was what it felt like to be a passenger princess.

"Or maybe you just have terrible taste." You also received the fries.

You would have never imagined that Jake Lockley's idea of a date was sitting in his car, chatting and eating fast food, but you weren't complaining. He was doing an excellent job of making you feel comfortable.

You didn't even notice when the sun set, and the McDonald's parking lot emptied, leaving just the two of you.

"Jake? They'll worry at home, it’s late."

"Sorry, cariño! I didn't even notice." He quickly started the car, and you laughed because you would have never imagined that a guy like him would care about what your parents might say.

You sighed heavily as you got back into your seat. If only the day lasted longer.

And if only the way home was longer.

He opened the door for you just as he did when you got in, and you smiled in thanks. You turned on your heels to face him after stepping onto the sidewalk; you needed the extra inches to be able to look him in the eyes.

"Thanks for driving me," you whispered as he took a step closer to you.

"You're welcome, cariño."

"And thanks for the ice cream."

"You're welcome, cariño." he repeated, trying not to laugh.

"And the fries." His hands found your waist as he pulled you closer, keeping you on the edge of the curb.

"You're welcome, cariño." He finally laughed before leaning in just enough to leave a chaste kiss on your lips.

"See you tomorrow." Another kiss, short and gentle.

Both of you went to bed with the most ridiculous smiles on your faces.

You were looking around nervously, feeling a pit in your stomach at the mere idea of running into Jake. How should you approach him this time? Did you want to deal with the curious stares from your classmates?

Well, you didn't have to look for an answer because a hand pulling your arm took you out of your reverie. Before you could react, you found yourself locked inside the janitor's closet, and once again, you were about to kill Jake Lockley.

"Jake... What the fuck?" You said with almost disappointment. Just when you thought he couldn't annoy you any more.

There was no response from him. The only thing you got from him was the most desperate kiss you had ever received. His tongue was exploring every inch of you while you tried not to knock over the stack of mops and brooms next to you.

"I missed you," was all he could say between kisses. You wondered if he had always been this intense or if it was his strange fixation on you.

You pulled away for a moment to catch your breath, looking at him. Bright brown eyes, flushed cheeks, and lips now pink from kissing you.

Maybe you didn't hate him as much as you had sworn.

"Can you lock the door?" you whispered, looking at him with your lower lip between your teeth. Maybe it would be fair to give back some of the mistreatment you've put him through lately, while he looks at you with so much admiration.

Maybe he deserved it.

He stretched out a hand to obey you, when the 'click' resounded in the small closet, your hands immediately went to his jeans, you unbuttoned them without looking away.

“¿C-cariño?"

"Shhh, do you want to get caught?" You questioned with a smile that nearly made Jake faint.

You pulled his jeans down enough to free his erection, still covered by his boxers. You gathered saliva in your mouth before running your tongue along it to moisten his underwear, all without taking your eyes off of his.

He exhaled heavily causing a smile in you. You licked over the top of the cloth again a few times before slowly lowering his boxers.

You swallowed when his cock was in front of your face.

"What is it, hermosa?" He questioned with a mocking smile when he noticed the surprise in your expression.

"Shut up." You rolled your eyes as you spit into your hand to hold it. You licked its entire length again from base to tip.

You aligned it to your mouth with your hand while your lips were in charge of leaving wet kisses on the head, not caring that your lips were being stained with pre-cum.

"Hermosa." Jake repeated, his voice shaking. You already knew what he wanted but your habit of bothering him was always present in you.

"Yes, Jakey?"

"Please."

"Please, what?" You looked up at him as you traced little circles on his slit.

“Put it in your mouth. Please please please".

“You are adorable when you ask properly.” You gave a small laugh before obeying him. You took a deep breath in through your nose and you pushed it into your mouth in one movement, to the point where you felt it hitting your throat.

“Carajo.” He whispered breathlessly and finally placed a hand in your hair. He held a few strands in his fist and pushed you further against him, to the point where your nose collided with his abdomen.

You'd have to fix your makeup when you got out of there.

And although your eyes began to water, you didn't move away or make any fight to push him, first dead before letting yourself lose. After a few seconds he released you, letting you take a breath and sniff.

"Do you want to kill me?" You whispered laughing as you licked your lips.

"It seems to me that you are the one who wants to kill me, hermosa." His fingers squeezed your chin before pulling you back against his erection.

It didn't take long for you to open your lips for him, taking his entire member into your mouth for the second time.

Your gaze was still fixed on him.

"Are you going to swallow it all, mi amor?" With teary eyes you nodded, your hands resting on his thighs. "Buena chica."

Both hands went to your hair to keep you still. You obeyed and opened your mouth wide for him, even sticking your tongue out from under his cock so he could move freely.

He thrusted into your mouth without an ounce of mercy, you could feel your saliva run down your chin to your neck. When his movements became more frantic you knew he was getting closer.

The heat in his lower abdomen had him covering his mouth with one hand trying not to make any more noise.

One more hard thrust and Jake came. His hot cum ran down your throat as there wasn't enough room in your mouth to keep it there, it shot straight for you to swallow.

"Are you okay?" You questioned with a smirk as you wiped your chin with the back of your hand.

"Better than okay, cariño."

Hey :)

A note appeared on your desk, making you roll your eyes before laughing softly. You uncapped your pink pen to write underneath the horrible handwriting.

Hi! ♡

You filled in the heart before placing the paper on Jake's desk. You even winked at him when he looked surprised to receive a response.

Vanilla ice cream after classes?

And fries too? :)

[the-hinky-panda]

Boss Mare: Part VI

Catch up on the Boss Mare Series here.

Want to be added to the tag list? Just click here!

Jamie falls in love with you the day you decide you want to learn how to ride a horse. 

You tell him one evening on the back steps of the porch, over a bowl of chicken and corn soup, about the herd of donkeys your family had. How you and your sisters would help each other up onto their backs and sit there. If you were lucky, another sister would encourage it to walk along a game trail in the woods by holding a carrot or apple in front of it. Once the donkey got its treat, you all had to walk back home because without motivation, the animal refused to move. How much harder could riding a horse be?

It’s an easy day workwise; Sundays usually are. There’s no day of rest on a ranch but there are more restful days than others. The fence lines in the closest pastures need to be checked. The ride is relatively flat, the route will only take an hour at tops, and major repairs won’t be done until tomorrow. It turns into a family ride of sorts. Tate wants to “cowboy” with Kayce and John. Rip goes to take notes and make flags on sections that need to be repaired tomorrow. Jamie goes because he’d rather be on the back of a horse than in front of a computer. It’s a good opportunity to get Robin, an older mare, out of her stall and give you your chance to ride. 

That was the plan at least. Robin had other ideas. Four days in a stall has given the otherwise sedate mare some extra pep. Never having sat on the back of a horse before, you perceive the sideways bouncing trot as normal despite no one else’s horse doing that. But that is part of your charm, enjoying a new experience without an ounce of fear in it. And as he watches his father reach over and grab your reins, showing you how to manage the energetic horse, the realization of why hits Jamie right between the eyes. 

You trust them. All of them. 

There’s been enough conversation between the two of you for him to gather enough pieces of your background. You came from a very tight knit, off-grid community somewhere up near the Canadian border. He had looked into the law enforcement side and found there were a couple militias and a religious cult that would fit some of the descriptions you’ve given him of your previous life. You lacked the edge of a militia, showing far too much empathy for the horses and the wranglers, so that left the cult. A cult would also explain how you adapted so quickly to the ranch hierarchy. It’s why you so easily accept the authority of his father and Rip, follow the expectations without questioning why. He’s been keeping notes, compiling evidence towards the cult theory, and it’s left him wanting to investigate more into the group. You ran for a reason and he hasn’t asked you about it just yet. Given your easy going nature, it must be something horrific. 

“Son of a bitch-” 

Jamie looks up to see Robin has interpreted John’s dismounting of his own horse as a personal act of war and bolted along the fence line. Rip and Kayce race off after you and the horse, while John grabs Tate’s reins to keep his horse from following. Jamie moves up closer in case Tate’s horse decides to take off too but the old mare just doesn’t have it in her anymore. John comes to the same conclusion and pulls himself back up into the saddle of his own horse. 

“So much for switching horses with her.” 

Jamie’s watching you closely, expecting you to bail off at any given point and he prays you jump off away from the fence. But you don’t. You’re stuck to the saddle and showing no signs of listing off one side or the other. He wonders if you superglued your ass to the saddle. John chuckles. 

“She’s going to ride the hair off that horse.” 

Jamie laughs too. “Looks that way.” 

“See, grandson,” John points to Rip and Kayce. “When a horse runs off with someone, you don’t chase them. You bank out to the sides and then cut across to stop them. If a horse senses there’s another horse behind them running, it becomes a race. And then you got two horses running away.” 

Tate nods sagely. “That’s why we’re waiting back here. Less horses running.” 

“That’s right. Less horses running.” 

The dust is starting to settle and Robin has slowed her run down to a bouncy trot. Rip has reached you and has a hold of the reins while you’re patting the mare’s neck. He can hear your laugh all the way back to where he’s still sitting. Kayce starts cantering back to them while Rip and you follow at a slower pace. 

John glances over at Jamie before tapping Tate on the shoulder. “Tell you what, grandson, go on up there and meet your dad. Just walk now. I want to talk to your Uncle Jamie for a minute.” 

“Okay.” Tate gives his horse a quick tap and off he moves towards Kayce. 

Jamie shifts in his own saddle, feeling like he’s about to be scolded for something, what that is, he has no idea. 

“You and Lara have been spending a lot of dinners out on the back porch.” 

Jamie gives his father a side eye. “Yeah, I suppose so.” 

“Have you learned anything about her?” 

“Not a whole lot. Lara’s not her real name, just one that she chose. I think she’s from a cult somewhere up near the Canadian border. I’ve asked some law enforcement contacts to look into the group a little more.” Jamie’s quiet for a moment, watching you ride back towards them. You’re smiling so brightly, cheeks flushed, and hair wild. It’s the most free you’ve ever looked and it causes something to twist in his chest but in the most pleasant way possible. “I know she’s happy here.” 

John hums. “And so are you.” 

“I’ve always been happy here.” He bites his tongue so he doesn’t finish the rest of the sentence. I never wanted to leave. 

“I like her,” John says at length. “She’s honest, hard working, and actually pleasant to be around. Bar isn’t set too high on that last one though.” 

Jamie actually laughs. “That is true.” 

“That being said, she doesn’t strike me as someone who leaves a place where she’s happy and safe. A place where she’s made a connection with someone. These people she ran from are going to come looking for her.” 

“Yeah, I thought of that. I figure the more we know, the better we can protect her.” 

“You’re going to have to protect her, son. I doubt they’ll come after us physically. If they really are a religious cult, they’re about fighting on the mental battlefield. They won’t use violence to get her back. They’ll do it on paper, legally, intellectually. You’re going to be her first line of defense.” 

Jamie nods solemnly. “I agree.” 

“She also needs to know that we all want her here, that we all will fight for her to stay here if that’s what she wants. So tonight, I want both of you at the dinner table.” 

“Dad,” Jamie shakes his head. “Beth is going to-” 

“Son, Beth hasn’t come to dinner for the entire week. You would have known that if you were at the table and not the back porch. And she won’t be there tonight.” John chuckles. “We’ll break Lara in slowly.” 

Jamie watches as you’re almost back to where he and his father are still waiting on their horses. You look even more wild closer up, so alive, so happy. So breathtakingly beautiful. He realizes it’s not about just protecting you from whoever comes looking. He has to protect you because his life will lose all color if you were to ever leave the Yellowstone. 

[romanoffsbish]

Cooking With Timmy

Florence Pugh x Pregnant!R

Warnings: Brief mention of loss

Florence entered your shared home with a long, drawn out sigh, it'd been a long week away, and all she wanted was a glass of wine, a decent meal, and to fall asleep holding you.

Her plans faltered though when she stumbled into the hallway and peered into the kitchen.

There she found a curious little boy on the floor with an array of seasonings, pots and pans.

"Hey guys!" He shrieked at his iPad that was recording. "Welcome back to Cooking with Flo, I'm Timmy Pugh, her fill in until she returns."

——

Florence bit back a chuckle, as well as a sob because this is the first time he'd called himself by her namesake that she'd heard. It'd been about three years since you and Flo had taken the orphaned boy in, so this was monumental.

Back then your relationship was still fresh, it'd only been a year, and though it was blissful, you'd only just said I love you to each other in a way that mattered before you got the call that changed everything. Being parents one day was a conversation you'd vaguely had with each other while drinking yourselves silly. It was believed to be a far off subject to broach when things got serious. Not on a random Tuesday.

So, when your close friend Laura was in a life ending accident, you couldn't exactly deny her final wishes that designated him to be given to the both of you. His father wasn't around, and her chaotic family wasn't an option. She clearly had faith in your relationship, you confirmed that when you found out she signed you up for parenthood before you were even a couple.

She just hadn't told you since she thought she had time, but the universe is fickle that way.

Florence and you wasted no time, you got your paperwork together, and went down to the courthouse the following morning to legally bind yourselves, it felt rushed, but even with the fear of the moment backfiring in the future it was still easy to say I do. Florence was your forever, you always knew that deep down.

With marriage came the name changes, Y/N Pugh had a ring to it, and it also offered security over the smooth custodial transition of your son, Timothy Pugh, who at the time had only just turned three when you took him in.

It was easy enough for him to trust you since he knew you well, but he still had quite a hard time. Every single day came with blow out tantrums that would put a strain on anyone. Florence was sometimes too exhausted from her long days on set to handle his episodes with kindness, so you decidedly took turns.

When she was clearly at a low energy level you'd send her to relax, then you'd scoop the boy up, and sing him a lullaby you recalled his mom would sing to him. This always worked. Because when it was your turn to be spread too thin Flo would pick up the slack. She'd put the emotional toddler on her hip, and animatedly describe to him her day as she made dinner.

Every time you'd reconvene, and the parent that couldn't handle the tantrum would take him and offer him gentleness as they got him ready for bed. He'd go down in his bed, but without fail he'd wind up between you both.

It was complicated, but with therapy, and the sweet reminders of his mother, things began to look up around his fifth birthday. Once he started grade school he was able to cycle some of his energy into recess or making friends.

Soon enough he was the happy go lucky boy you remembered him to be before he lost his mom. He'd actually been calling you mama for the last year now, you beamed the first time.

Florence however had been met with Flossie. Something he was familiar saying since he was two, so it just carried on, but it always worried her that he didn't feel comfortable calling her mom. She wondered if her work schedule made him feel less valuable, or as if she was only a guest in his home that she partially owned.

Then she heard him continue his monologue, her hazel eyes closed as a couple happy tears streamed down her face, her heart felt full.

"Mommy Flossie is really busy right now," he informed his crowd of zero. "Mama said she is working on a new movie, because she's like a superstar or something. How cool is she?!"

He paused to shake a salt shaker over a pot that was actually empty, but his mimicry of Flo's mannerisms was shockingly spot on. Especially as he lifted a wine glass of juice to his lips, Florence felt a wave of embarrassment at being so incredibly transparent to her son.

"My friend Jackson told me she's British." He frowned as he shrugged, not understanding the implications of his friends words. "But then my friend Amelia said she's actually a superhero," he relayed excitedly, "I like her idea better."

He stirred the faux contents of the pot with a wide grin that Florence admired through the recording on his screen as he rambled on.

"Spying on our son are we?" Florence jumped as you suddenly spawned behind her. She turned to face you immediately, her hands took their rightful place, one on your protruding baby bump, and the other cupped your cheek.

"He's recorded like five episodes today."

Florence deeply pouted, "I'm missing it, huh?"

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around her neck so you could pull her into a soft kiss, your baby bump slotted to the side of her body as she melted into the affection.

"One of us had to work my love," you reminded her. "Acting was always your dream, becoming a parent wasn't on your 2020 Bingo card."

"Neither was a global pandemic that forced us to move into the same house two months into our relationship if we wanted it to work. It was like the world wanted to make sure we never broke up." Florence smiled at the thought.

"Yeah, 2020 was an odd year," you teased, and kissed her smirking lips, the kiss was heatless, but passionate in its own regards. It lasted an entire minute until your sons voice cut in.

"Mama! I want to make dinner tonight."

You stared down at him with a practiced quirk of your brow. Florence watched as the two of you stared the other down until he softly sighed, "Mama, can I please help with dinner?"

"What a polite boy, thank you for offering to help and using your manners baby, but I was going to order in since this one just got home," you gently crushed your sons dreams, you couldn't help it, but you'd been craving a big mac with extra pickles and sauce all day long.

Florence shook her head though, and scooped the much bigger boy up with an ease that reminded you of her Marvel workout regimen.

"I could really use a sous chef so that Mama and your baby sister here can eat something besides Maccy's." Florence evaded your hand as it attempted to slap her in the shoulder. "We better hurry bubby, Mama seems hangry."

Timmy giggled wildly on her hip as she ran the pair of them to the kitchen. You smiled at the scene as it unfolded before you with a hand on your bump. Rubbing it fondly as you saw the wonderful mom your wife was that she herself didn't exactly see. Florence might not always be home, but she was always there when she was, and that alone counted for everything.

"Mama! Go sit down and relax!" You smiled, and shook your head at your sons outburst.

"Okay, you two make sure not to burn my kitchen down!" Florence scoffed, "As if..."

Florence and Timmy started by washing all the pots he'd used as toys, then afterwards she rewarded the boy with a kiss on his cheek that made him giggle and her heart soar. Then she propped her phone up and started up a cooking with Flo. Tim's hands and voice were all she allowed on the tape, your son was aware of his exposure to the internets limits so he didn't take any offense. He happily played his part.

The duo decided to try their hand at making a Big Mac for you, vegan patties of course. This led to the blonde gushing about you and the pregnancy on her story as your son filled them in on the things even Florence hadn't seen. It made her feel guilty all over again for having not been here for huge chunks of your lives.

She knew you were right, that she had a career to build so your family would be secure. It didn't stop her from wanting to quit though. Hearing about how tired you've been from the babes mouth made her wonder if the spotlight she found herself under mattered anymore.

When she had a growing boy who deserved her sole attention before your infant arrived, and you who deserved to rest in this last trimester.

Florence texted her manager as your son set the table all on his own. He beamed up at your wife whenever he felt he did something right, and she always praised him, never letting the argument on her phone interfere with their precious time together. "Mommy?"

The blonde nearly dropped her phone as he directed the title at her. "Yes bubby?"

"Is it true that you're a super hero?"

She smirked, "I'm actually an anti-hero."

Timmy looked at her puzzled, he now stood right in front of her wearing the expression so that she could catch onto his confused drift.

Florence dropped to her knees so she could look him in the eyes as she spoke. "That's when the person is in between good and evil. They are trying to figure out the best way to make things work, sometimes they do good, and others they do really bad things. Way cooler."

"What's cool?" You asked as you settled down at the table, Florence froze as your son enthusiastically cheered, "Being the bad guy."

Florence's jaw dropped, she attempted to fix the moment, but fortunately Timmy did.

"She was telling me about her character."

Dinner went smoothly from there, your moans of appreciation told your wife she'd done the food of your heart justice. It made her happy to take care of you, knowing that she was able to give you what you wanted, while making sure your daughter got the nutrients she needed.

Also, it made her feel less guilty being able to take some of the load off of you. You'd never complained, you simply took it all in stride, but she sees the way your smile is tired, and she catches the hand pressed into your lower back.

Carrying a baby is no joke, she knows that, so she does whatever needs to be done when she's home, and after tonight she plans to be here far more often. In a weeks time she'll be done with her current film, and the other's won't start shooting until after your daughters birthday.

When your son saw you getting up with the dishes he stopped you with a hand on your bump, and carried it to the sink for you. Flo scooped him up moments later, and tickled him until he was unable to breathe right.

"Careful Flossie, don't suffocate my baby." Your lover rolled her eyes, then she made her way over to help your wobbly self to your feet.

"You go take a nice long shower my love, I'll handle his bedtime routine." Florence kissed your cheek, and Timmy mirrored her action as he was sat on her hip. "You deserve it mama."

"Thank you my loves," you couldn't hide the emotional timbre of your voice, your eyes glistened in a direct call out. "Goodnight to you then my baby boy, I'll see you in the morning."

Timmy grinned, "We're making french toast!"

"My tummy is already rumbling," you enthused back, then happily slipped off to your en suite.

After Timmy was clean and in his PJ's, she decided to bring him with her to your room. Where she read him a story as he laid on her, and within a few minutes time he was snoring.

Florence carded a hand through his damp hair, she watched him in amusement as his eyes fluttered beneath the lids. Her tired mind wandered to what he might be dreaming about, the possibilities with him are endless, but she is almost certain it's either dinosaurs or fairies.

His obsession with Tinkerbell was her favorite.

"What's got you smiling?" Florence's lips widened when she saw you toweling your hair.

"I was thinking after the baby is six months we could leave her with my parents and take Tim-Tim here to Disneyland." She placed a kiss to his forehead then went on. "He is big enough to ride things now, and he'd love to meet the characters. We can do the brunch with them."

You smiled at her, delighted by her idea, but then your brows furrowed in confusion. "What about that horror film you were excited for?"

"I told them to push the filming to the end of 2024, or to recast me." Florence shrugged with an air of genuine indifference. "They moved it to October, so baby Pugh will be a year old."

"Baby Pugh," you softly repeated, hand softly caressing your bump as you realized you'd yet to give your daughter a name. Even when she was due to arrive within the next two months. Florence's hand joined yours as you stood beside the bed, and before she could soothe your worries she was gasping, "She kicked."

In all seven months of your pregnancy the little girl had yet to let Florence feel the harsh jabs she subjected you to. One time, when Flo felt like sleeping on the couch, she'd told you that you had to be exaggerating. You weren't, and she knew that now. Sometimes you wondered if you watched Flo's "Fighting With My Family" one too many times whenever you missed her. Because you were now absolutely certain your daughter had the potential to be in the WWE.

"I'm glad that brings you joy," you teased through a wince as the little one kicked again, this time much stronger, your belly even shook.

"Oh darling, I'm so sorry I doubted you," Flo giggled softly as she saw an imprint form under the skin, and you smiled tenderly down at her as you moved to put your hand over hers. "You should be, it's because she hears you talking."

Florence tried to deny it, but you were already two steps ahead of her. Showing her the videos of whenever she kicks, and how it's usually as you rewatched old family videos. Each shake or prod of your belly followed her laugh or words.

Your wife gently moved the boy on top of her onto the mattress, then stood up, briefly she kissed your lips before bending to be eye level with your pregnancy bump. "Hello Lyla," she tried, but she was met with a sudden stillness.

"Okay, how about hello baby Patricia."

"No," you vetoed immediately, then the both of you felt a powerful kick, baby Pugh agreed.

"I'm running out of names little one."

"Florence, that was two names," you laughed and she looked up at you with a tired smile. "I'm jet lagged my love, please do forgive me."

"Come on then," you paused, taking her hand in yours as you guided her to her side of the bed, "We'll discuss everything in due time."

Florence however flipped your positions, and gently helped you into your side. Then she straddled your thighs, leaving you to quirk a distrusting brow at her. She shook her head, then gestured to the sleeping boy beside you before her hands began to bring you to bliss.

Every press of her hands against your bump was heavenly, and in no time you yawned. It was a miracle that you were still awake when she finally finished. Clambering off of you she moved to sit beside you instead, leaning down so she could kiss all over your face before she landed on your lips with a contented sigh.

"I think Samantha could be cute." You both chuckled when a soft kick resounded beneath her hand that was still settled atop your bump.

"Timmy and Sammy against the world?" You both chuckled softly at your sleepy son's voice cutting through the already sweet moment. "We could be like mommy and be anti heroes."

"Where does that leave me?" You inquired, and he sleepily shrugged, a move that brought him closer to you, he easily snuggled into your side. "At home making all of us cookies of course."

"Oh of course," you conceded, but sent your wife a disapproving, heatless glare over it.

"A cookie might make us less evil mommy," he reasoned. "Mommy's are never as sweet."

Florence had already settled in behind your son, wearing a mischievous grin as she leaned in to whisper: "That's cause mama pours the entire bag of chocolate chips into the batter."

"Go to sleep," you barked. "Both of you."

"Yes ma'am," the two giggled in sync and you couldn't help but to smile at their childish camaraderie. "I love you mama," your sons tired whisper of affection made your eyes glisten. "I love you too bug." Then he sweetly rubbed your belly. "I love you Sammy Pugh."

He giggled as she kicked, "She loves me too."

"Of course she does," you reasoned, settling a kiss to his temple. "You're her big brother."

Florence observed the moment with an adoring smile, but it held an obvious longing as well. It wasn't unlike her to watch moments like this between the both of you, it's one of the main reasons she was so adamant on taking a break.

Timmy deserved her time, and she not so secretly craved his reserved affections.

Then he rolled over, she softly gasped as he burrowed into her chest. "I love you mommy." Her arms wrapped around him tightly, and she shakily whispered, "I love you my lil sous chef."

Florence's eyes sought yours out as soon as his soft snoring filled the space. You'd already been looking at them, neither of you said a word, you just admired the other as a steady flow of happy tears trailed down your faces.

This was all either of you had ever wanted. A happy little family, unconventionally formed, but brought to the now by unconditional love.

——

3,135 Words

❤️ K 💋

[cultofdixon]

Relapsing back to old habits

Daryl Dixon [PLATONIC] • She/Her Pronouns • Youngest Dixon Sister!Reader • It’s been years since the world fell and Daryl thought you would tell him anything that bothered you. But here you were finding out your brother found your stash • ANGST/SFW • TW: Relapses / Marijuana / Scars / Injuries

Requested by: Anon

“Y/N?” Daryl called out when he entered the house after taking his morning watch. “I could use a hand with the snares around the gates”

Nothing. Which…was weird for his sister. But even then, she’s not the excited little girl that would come running at a full sprint to greet her brother anymore. She still would greet him with her presence minus the bone crushing hug.

To be honest with you, Daryl wished she didn’t grow up in the conditions that she did. Let alone grow up in an apocalypse. The end of the world changed everybody.

Daryl decided to make his way to her bedroom to see if she was in there. The Dixons stay with the Grimes given Carol moved to the Kingdom. The two help with the kids, ever since Rick’s disappearance.

It was a lot.

Whoever didn’t feel for Michonne, was just an asshole. Imagine finding out you’re pregnant while your husband explodes.

Then there’s Daryl, you’ve lost so much in this lifetime that the closest thing to a brother just is gone with zero remains…who knows what’s he’s battling internally.

The last thing he’d want is to lose his sister in all this mess. He wanted to spend time with her in that moment but not finding her was irritating him.

“Where is that girl” Daryl frowns knocking on her bedroom door only for no reply so he decides to open it.

He likes to remember when they used to live in a one bedroom apartment with Merle.

During arguments Y/N would storm off and close her door in Daryl’s face that it annoyed him to where he’d tell her “don’t make me remove this door”

But he never did. Hell, he added a lock to the door because of Merle’s high escapades getting more aggressive

Daryl checked around the room for any signs of her leaving but even if Y/N is an adult now and doesn’t need him to know where she’s at 24/7…it’s a security thing for her for him to know. Her calling card is leaving her lucky rabbit’s foot that he got her during their prison days on her night stand to tell him she’s still around. She doesn’t leave the community without it.

As he went to pick it up, he kicked something under her bed and while part of him shouldn’t check it. He decided to do so anyway.

To Daryl’s surprise…a rather unpleasant one

“Fuck…” Daryl frowns opening the box to find her stash. It was two boxes of smokes, a baggie with what he assumes to be weed, and the obvious lighter. I thought she quit he only started to feel worse.

The fuck you have there?!

U-Uhm. Weed?

Y/N. You didn’t get that from Merle did you?! His shit is always laced with something! Please fucking tell me—-

No! I didn’t! I got it from a friend…I wasn’t going to smoke it

For the love of whatever god out there. Don’t ever.

Daryl it’s not going to kill me…

“C’mon Dog, gotta grab my gear before Daryl comes” Her voice echoed the hall causing Daryl to freeze in his place knowing damn well he won’t be able to escape.

Dog nudged the door open with his snoot and stared directly at Daryl. He found a Mal pup in the woods and thought Y/N could use a companion when he was gone looking for Rick.

All the eldest Dixon could do was stare directly at Dog and wait for his sister to shortly come in to notice the staring contest. More importantly the box where she keeps her stash being open in Daryl’s lap.

They’re just cigarettes, bubs. You smoke them

Yeah, don’t mean by baby sister should

As much as I appreciate you being the father figure in my life over Merle. You gotta realize it’s the end of the world. Once the pack is gone, I won’t do it anymore.

You promise?

If it helps you sleep at night, Dar. I promise

Y/N was now the one staring blankly at Daryl as she shoves her hands in her coat pockets not uttering a word. But also not freaking out either. She didn’t want this to become an argument so she walked toward him taking the box from his hands and setting it on the nightstand. Next to be grabbed was her rabbit’s foot as she attaches it to her belt loop on her pants.

“My bow is downstairs, I gotta pack my bag. Mind waiting down there?” Y/N knew what his original intentions were, given Aaron was informed what he was doing and when he saw her walking the community he informed her of her brother’s whereabouts.

The eldest Dixon decided to listen and leave to meet her downstairs.

Soon the two were walking the woods tracking a deer, Y/N glances every once in a while toward Dog who happily trotted beside her in a sweater she made for him. Ignoring the worry filled silence coming from her brother. She seems to have to break the silence more nowadays.

“Any news? On Rick?”

“Nah…was thinking of expandin’ my search. Go further up the river”

“Mm.” Y/N frowns turning away from her brother to check some damage done to a tree to see if it’s a walker or something else.

Daryl watches her carefully noticing her saddened expression after telling her plans about heading further away in the search for Rick. He only snapped out of it when they heard the snap of twigs and spotting the deer.

Before Daryl could even ready his crossbow, Y/N stopped him which he then noticed the two babies with the deer.

“You promised”

“So did you” Y/N frowns walking away to go further into the woods without disturbing the deer and in hopes of finding something else.

You said you’d stay this time

I am gonna stay. Michonne just had RJ and the community needs help.

Is that all?

What do you mean?

The end of the world took a lot from me too Daryl. The last thing I’d want is to lose you too

You won’t ever lose me, bug.

You don’t know that.

Y/N…what do you want me to do? To reassure yea that I’m not going anywhere.

Please just stay. Go out until nightfall, come home at the end of the day. Just so I know you’re alive and not…

Okay. I promise.

You better not be telling me what I want to hear.

Bug, I promise.

The arrow pierced right into the raccoon as the squeak it made only hurt Y/N. But meat is meat nowadays. As she went to retrieve her arrow and her catch, Daryl couldn’t hold it any longer.

“Why’d yea hide that stuff from me?”

“Because I’m an adult. I’m allowed to have some privacy with my belongings”

“Fine. But you said you stopped smoking. Hell—-You’ve got weed! Where the fuck do you come across that?!”

“That’s none of your damn business!” Y/N snapped at him as she felt the regret, she felt the pain she’s been internalizing—numbing. “I can handle myself, Daryl. I ain’t an addict like Merle. I ain’t gonna go crazy and tear myself apart just because of some marijuana and cigarettes”

“How can you be for certain?”

“Because my brother never coming home does the job” Y/N felt the tears come on as she quickly turned away to try and stop them. Daryl tried to rest his hand on her shoulder but she pulled away. “You ain’t the only one to lose Rick, but why does losing that man mean I have to suffer and never see the only blood I have left”

“Y/N…”

Y/N tensed to the sound of crunching as Daryl quickly readied his crossbow and shot at the sound. One of many squirrels they’d be getting out there. As he passed her to grab his catch, her tears fell.

“When we found the prison, you promised then you’d always be there for me.” Y/N formed fists to contain her anger and slow the tears. “Then Merle died and you were wrecked…so I took on a lot because I couldn’t process my feelings. He was a dirtbag. But he was my brother. It killed a part of me that I wanted an escape that wasn’t harming myself directly. I couldn’t find shit then so I suffered. Then you got kidnapped and I destroyed Carol’s house in Alexandria. I tore off the wallpaper, broke all the dining room chairs, threatened to kill Spencer and broke all the glassware…I thought I had lost you then and I couldn’t escape that old familiar feeling…then the day after Rick died, you left and I cried for days. I lost someone important to me permanently and temporary at the same time. He meant a lot to me too, Daryl. He saved me countless times and I will forever be in the Grimes’ debt. But why did you have to go back on your promise all the fucking time?” She pulled herself away storming off in a sense as Daryl quickly picked up his catch and followed her.

“Y/N—-I was—-“

“Nah. None of that “I was doing this for more than me” crap. Because Michonne would understand if you took breaks and shit. But you never did. Never even bothered to check on me when you did come home…”

“Y/N…”

“I was 15 when this shit started. Now I’m in my 20s and I want the whole fucking world to just burn because of how many times it’s burned me…” Y/N frowns, tripping on an outgrown tree root resulting in Dog quickly sniffing her and Daryl rushing to her side being pushed off of her at first. “Why did you leave me? You’re my big brother and you left me” she sobbed leaning into Daryl as he wrapped himself tightly around her feeling the tears wet his eyes.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to…I thought I owed him something. I do owe him my life and just…I’m sorry I stopped trying for yea. I should’ve done better”

Y/N simply continued to sob and latched onto her brother feeling him tighten his hold.

“Please don’t leave me anymore…take me with you or just stay longer”

A few hours passed since then and Y/N found herself on the porch steps with Dog laid by her feet while she took out one of her cigarettes and her lighter. She struggled a bit for the light and it felt like a sign when Daryl handed his zippo to her after stepping out for his own smoke.

“Supporting my bad habits?”

“Nah, joining” Daryl brought himself to sit beside her causing Dog to stir and bring himself to rest his head on his knee. As Daryl starts to pet the pup, Y/N lit her cigarette smoking it a bit before sharing with her brother. “So I have a proposal”

“You leaving again and trying to butter me up with something?”

“Nah. I want yea to come with me.” Daryl stated watching the confusion write itself on her face. “Two sets of eyes are better than one…and Dog”

“…if you have something of Rick, maybe Dog can pick up something” Y/N suggests taking her cigarette back. “We could make camp out there”

“Exactly. Even visit the other communities.” Daryl started, watching her light up slightly and give him a more curious look. “See Carol and Zeke”

Her smile that he’s missed for so long returned from something as simple as seeing old friends. But she was also happy to have her brother back…

[barefoothighlander]

OMG I loved your ghost and sunshine wife headcanons! Can you please also do one similar with Gaz with a wife that’s kinda goofy and a total optimist? Like she’s the type to put googly eyes on random objects or leave to go to the store real quick to buy milk and come back with an alpaca saying that she “was super lucky and got the last one!” I feel like Gaz is a total realist in a relationship and him having glass half full type of wife is a perfect fit for him :)

um of course! Gaz is so cute, such husband energy.

warning: none just some fluff

to most outsiders, Gaz was a man of few words, but once he got home you almost couldn't get him to stop talking. The two of you spent countless nights on your back porch just laughing over stupid jokes, enjoying each other's company.

he hated leaving you at the house when he had to deploy but it always made him smile when he'd reach into his tactical vest and find a picture of you two with a note on the back, always signed the same, 'all my love' right beside a small heart you had drawn.

it wasn't uncommon for him to return home and find new pets living at his residence.

"Oi love" he called, eyes glued onto the small orange cat pressing against his ankle.

"You're home!" you practically screamed as you ran across the room, throwing yourself into his arms, feeling him wrap around you in a tight embrace as you planted kisses all over him.

"Who's this?" he had asked, head nudging toward the feline.

You giggled a little, "This is Price" you say, picking the cat up to hold him in your arms, while Kyle bows his head, palms rubbing at his eyes.

"You got another one, and named it after my captain," he states plainly, eyes focusing on your beaming smile.

"He's so cute though, I couldn't not take him home, plus I figured kinda orangey-brown, long whiskers, he's totally Price" You fight the laughter that threatens to erupt from your chest.

"Had I known leaving you alone would mean I'd come back to 9 different animals, I'd quit the service"

You fake a gasp, "You love them"

The days you two spent at home mostly consisted of him chasing you around, stopping you from buying more plants for the house, or costumes for your pets. He loved how spontaneous you were, he was used to order and rules, and you threw both those out the window, often urging him into the car so you two could drive out to some lookout point and watch the sunset.

His favourite days were when you'd surprise him at his office, he'd always hear you coming down the hall, engaged in conversation with whoever was near, you made him see the good after the years he spent in warzones.

You rarely asked about work but were always open to talking about it if he had something to get off his chest.

He'd bring you home flowers purely to watch your smile grow wide as you grabbed the bouquet and dragged his lips to connect with yours.

The two of you had been married only a few years, but he had fallen head over heels the second he laid his eyes on you. Your energy was infectious, he felt like you were some bright glowing light over the sea, calling him home.

The team attended your wedding, it was small but bright, strings of flowers hung anywhere they would stay, Price of course standing in as Kyle's best man, he even shed a tear when Gaz had read his vows.

He had promised to love you forever and all of the typical things, but he also vowed to always come home to you, which given his typical circumstances meant so much more.

Often times he'd come home exhausted, just wanting to collapse into bed but then he'd see you, hair a mess, barely dressed and hips swaying to whatever music you had on while making dinner.

He'd immediately forget about the fatigue that had settled in his muscles and promptly pull you into a tight hug, whispering into your ear about how much he missed you, how good you looked, et cetera.

Birthdays were a big thing in your home, Gaz didn't much care for them but you went all out. Sneaking out of your bed before dawn to hang balloons and streamers, always cooking his favourite breakfast.

One year you had fashioned all the pets in matching hats to celebrate, waking him up with soft kisses over his bare chest.

He woke up eyes tired but full of love as he pulled you tightly into his form.

"Can't stay long, have a surprise for you" you told him, a mischievous smirk on your face.

He quirked his brow in intrigue as he let you guide him out of the bedroom, opening the door to a scene of bright decorations and scattered animals, all donning birthday caps.

You had turned to him to see his reaction and he just started laughing, hard enough that it turned into a small wheeze as his arms snaked around you again to hug you, his lips pressing onto the crown of your head.

"I love it, hun, thank you"

You hid your wide smile, pressing your face into his chest.

"Oh! One more thing" you say as you pulled away, crossing the room to open the front door.

Loud shouts and chants filled the room as the rest of the 141 rushed in, headed by Soap who was also wearing a birthday hat and rushing over to grab Gaz, practically lifting him into the air.

You stood back, hands over your mouth trying to muffle your fit of laughter as Kyle simply shook his head.

He loved that you balanced him out, for every negative thing he saw in the world you saw two positives, he'd let you influence him with your optimistic view on life.

The only thing he wouldn't let you change his mind on was sharks, you thought they were so adorable and misunderstood, but Kyle was terrified of them. On one vacation you had insisted on swimming out into the ocean to see the small sharks, trying to convince him to join you but he stood firm on the beach.

He watched you explore the waters with so much curiosity, giggling when some creature would brush against your leg, he couldn't help but smile, looking at you treat everything in the world with such kindness.

He couldn't understand why someone as cheerful as you would choose to be with him, he had seen and done such terrible things, he had so many regrets. But marrying you, he'd never regret that. He loved everything that came with you, the heart-shaped pancakes you'd make (you made special skull ones for when Ghost visited), your impulsive desire to always pull him in to dance with you, that fact that more than a few rocks in your garden had googly eyes on them.

He had thanked whatever higher power that he had met you, and that you loved him just as much as he loved you, even if it meant getting woken up at 3am because you simply had to drive 2 hours out of town to visit a petting zoo that had alpacas.

[dailyadventureprompts]

any ideas for a druid villain who isn't a pro-environmentalism "extremist" who opposes the #just'n'kind authorities and such? i'd like to do one but honestly most suggestions are just to make a fantasy anti-civ unabomber and idk im not too crazy about the concept

Villain: The Eelmonger

While the scholars debate whether it is nature, society, or fate that makes a person cruel, remember my student that none of these things are kind or fair to most whom they govern. -From the diaries of Tarraji, country tutor

Hooks:

Every year a great festival is held across the kingdom to honour the queen's birthday, a tradition started by the previous rulers to celebrate the long-sought birth of their first heir, but maintained by the current sovereign as a means of sharing a little of her prosperity with her subjects, the crown footing most of the bill for the event. This year, just as people (and the party) are crowding into the rivermarket to enjoy the festivities, a horde of grotesque aquatic monsters surge from the water to rampage through the town.

Two days later when the last of the beasts is either slain or driven off, word arrives that similar attacks have occurred all up and down the central waterway, paralyzing the realm's economy and making travel tremendously dangerous. The party could go hunting the worst of the rivermonsters, or they could sign up to protect a daredevil merchant's cargo and make a small fortune crisis trading.

Along with all this chaos an old threat reemerges, pirates with a long hatred of the realm trawling for plunder in the wake of the rampage. Apparently exempt from the wrath of the seabeasts that still lurk in the rivers and canals, they fly a new flag bearing images of sharp-toothed eels, and sing songs in praise of an unseen master.

Dressed like a peasant and exalted by outlaws, the enigmatic figure known only as the Eelmonger has emerged seemingly from nowhere to overthrow the realm and topple the queen from her throne. Who is she? Why her unprecedented attack? How is she able to turn the great predators of the deep into warbeasts bent to her aims? Among all the uncertainly all that can be known is that she has seemingly declared war against the realm, and will not stop till the queen and any who support her have been reduced to meals for the ocean's scavengers.

Background: Sha's parents thought it was very lucky for their daughter to be born under the same stars as the crown princess, as in the old traditions of the kingdom such "celestial siblings" were thought to share their fortunes, and as poor fisherfolk eking out a meagre living from the sea that fortune was dearly needed. As Sha Grew however it became apparent that the stars played a cruel game of favourites, and whatever luck the oneday queen was given was taken in equal portion from Sha's own: The day the princess was thrown from her horse and rose mirraculously unharmed was the day Sha tumbled over the side of her family's boat in a calm sea and somehow broke three bones, the announcement of the king's recovery from the brittle sickness reaching Sha's village the same day they put her long-ailing father in the ground.

These transgressions were manifold, too obvious and cruel to be mere happenstance, and over the years and the grand festival-birthdays Sha's resentment at her distant royal sister and the injustice of fate filed her sharp and cold as a gutting knife. Things paradoxically got a little better during the pirate wars, when those foreign fleets took the town she lived in as their fortress, burning and pillaging many other settlements along the coast and great river. Sha, now a woman grown, felt her fortunes had reversed, as the pirates were all to happy to pay for her catch with handfulls of stolen coin, and her expertise with local cuisine saw her elevated to the position of landbound galleycook, feeding whole crews of cutthroats in between their inland raids.

It was not to last however, after a few brutal years on the defensive, the princess and her allies rallied and launched an offensive that shattered the invader's fleet and ousted them from the lands they'd set to conquer, culminating in a battle that saw Sha's town (and the life she'd built there) burnt to the ground. It was in the midst of that fighting, trapped beneath burning rubble that Sha saw her celestial sister for the first time, glorious and beautiful and totally ignorant of her existence, scaling the ruins of Sha's happiness on her way to future glory. Sha was pinned there for days, forgotten among the rest of the corpses; it wasn't until a great storm broke and washed the wreckage of the battle out into the sea that she was freed, her druidic powers awakening as she drowned and calling out to those creatures of the brine to aid her. Whatever warpath and hope she had for making a good life in spite of her sister she left below the surface, because as soon as she made landfall she started plotting her path back to the queen.

Goals & Schemes:

Ruination: As strong as her monsters are individually or as a horde, The eelmonger knows her beasts can't challenge the might or logistics of an entire kingdom. However, Sha grew up on the kingdom's waterways and knows that just like small tributaries fed the great trade river, the lives of farmers and merchants feed into the strength of the crown. If she has any hope of evening the playing field Sha must break the system that feeds the realm's warchest even if it means breaking the realm itself in the process. Monstrous chaos and resurgent pirates are just the first step: Targeting the merchants will cause supply shortages and beggar the realm, after that she'll move on to sowing famine in the farmlands. When there isn't enough to go round people will break down into factions, causing the army the well trained army the queen has inhereted to crumble before it ever reaches the field.

Fixing the broken scales: Simply killing the queen won't be enough. Sha reasoned out long ago that if she ever did direct harm to celestial sister whatever fate bullshit that connects them would likely redirect the outcome onto her somehow and that just wouldn't do. Instead she has to settle for making the soverign suffer by proxy, all the while searching for some means of attacking the connection itself. Those pirates directly privy to her plan are out hunting for priests and fortunetellers during their raids, anyone they could kidnap and bring back to the eelmonger to help correct this balance.

Saint of the Brine: Though she has no love for gods, Sha's vengeful ascent is watched over by a coldhearted deity of the fathomless seas, who has umbrage with this particular kingdom ever since the queen's ancestors laid claim to its bays and coastlines by slaying a titanic beast she favoured. The eelmonger is her unwitting instrument of wrath, and whether the gods involvement began during Sha's almost drowning or all the way back were praying for a safe birth is impossible to say. Though the eelmonger has unseen aid throughout her campaign against the crown, if the party is able to make their enemy aware that some god may be the source of her misfortune they may be able to divert Sha's wrath from the queen and the realm's inhabitants.

Art

[pandor-uhhh]

Ghost of the past

Jake Sully x ex-wife reader

Warnings: use of y/n, not proof-read (I'll do it later), mentions of: divorce, and canonical death

Description: you travel to Pandora to work as a mechanic for the RDA, only to discover where ex-husband Jake Sully has been for the past two decades

Notes: I really love this request, I’m so scared I didn’t do it justice. If not I’ll probably make a second part

You knew you weren’t going to be high raking when you came to Pandora, not over the blue, bastards carrying big guns, but you didn’t mind. You would choose your small dorm room and big machines over your small apartment back on earth any day, especially given the memories around the place.

“Hey, gear-head!” Speaking of big, blue bastards who outrank you. You turned to the voice, some of your half eaten lunch still in your mouth. The recom soldier towered over you, even more so since you were sitting.

“You y/n Sully?” He asked with a southern drawl to him, you dropped your sandwich after swallowing your food, no longer hungry. “It’s actually y/n l/n” you corrected, the soldier looked surprised. “So you’re Sully’s ex wife” he smiled, you sighed “yep that’s me, now mind telling me who you are and why you’re so interested in my marital status?” You snapped.

The soldier extended his hand “Quaritch, Miles Quaritch, but you can just call me colonel” . You leaned back and looked him up and down before taking his hand and shaking it. “What’s this about, colonel?”

“Well, you have a bone to pick with your ex-husband, lucky for you, so do I” you could almost laugh “last time I even heard about him he was getting shipped off here, how the hell did you manage to lose him” Quaritch smiled “see there is where things get interesting, your ex-man is a traitor”

After a long explanation about how Jake had managed to fully assimilate himself with the na’vi, and how he had killed his former colonel, you were sent with the recom team to find Jake Sully.

You rappled down with the team, and began looking for any signs of life. You followed the team to a small clearing, there was a trailer-like structure in the middle of it. Z-dog explained that it’s where Quaritch and Jake had fought, alongside another na’vi. Quaritch managed to dig up an old mech-type suit and told another soldier to pull the footage from it. You heard rustling and whispers in the trees next to, Quaritch signaled the team to investigate it.

You stayed hidden, which were orders you had no problem complying with. But you watched what happened from behind cover. One of the recoms jumped out and grabbed the smallest out of the group, they started yelling and the human boy that was with the na’vi aimed his bow at them. You felt a little bad as the soldiers barked orders at them, which they were forced to comply with. Lyle took one of their hands and showed off that she had five fingers, something that you had learned was uncharacteristic for na’vi that weren’t avatars. Checking the others hands, or more so him flipping off Quaritch, you found there was another one with five fingers.

While checking the na’vi, it was discovered that the human was named Miles, but preferred Spider. The team also discovered that he was the colonel’s son.

Quaritch called for extraction, and told you that you could come out, you stepped out from behind your cover and got a better look at all of them. The shortest of the na’vi was the closest to your height, but still pretty tall. You could tell she was scared, you made your way over to her, earning hisses from both the na’vi and the human. Which caused the soldiers to shake them and tell them to pipe down 

“get the fuck away from my sister, demon!” The boy who flipped off Quaritch yelled. You backed off, you knew they were scared, and didn’t want to give them more reason to be. You turned your attention to the human boy, he hissed when you got close. You wondered if he had assimilated like Jake had. You turned to Quaritch “if na’vi are born with four fingers, and not five, why do these ones have one extra?” Z-dog stifled a laugh, and turned to Quaritch. “You really didn’t tell this poor girl?” you brows knitted together, “tell me what?”

Quaritch was too invested in the footage that they pulled from the mech to pay attention, “hey!” you exclaimed. You walked over and saw the footage, how Quaritch was shot with arrows, twice. Lyle took the tablet, and Quaritch Walked over to the skeleton in the mech. He took the skull and crushed it, you were a little freaked out. It was mostly silence after that while you waited for extraction.

“You want answers?” the colonel asked you, you looked at him and nodded. He sighed “your man has a new girl now, that’s why those kids had an extra finger” he pointed to the na’vi. You leaned on a tree and put your head in your hands, you knew Jake would’ve most likely found someone else than you, but to then learn he has kids was something new. You felt a hand on your shoulder “I know that’s not the answer you wanted, I’m sorry” you could almost laugh. 

A marine that was killed by your ex-husband and his alien wife, was brought back as an alien, and was then comforting you about losing said ex-husband for good. If someone told you that was your future 24 hours ago you would’ve called them crazy. 

When you were about to open your mouth to say something, an arrow came from the trees and hit one of the soldiers through the head, it all happened so fast. You screamed at the sight, Quaritch pushed you, and Spider to the ground, Spider taking the eldest girl down with him. Gunshots rang, you could see that Spider and the girl were getting away but didn’t try to stop them. You curled up, just hoping that you wouldn’t get shot. 

You eventually turned to be on your stomach to crawl away, you heard Z-dog yell out, then some weird green gas started filling the area. You weren’t worried since you were wearing a mask, but you felt someone pick you up. You screamed, thinking it was whoever shot one of the soldiers, but soon realized it was Quaritch. He got you to cover with him, and held you close. If it wasn’t a situation where you had the chance to be shot to death, this might have been seen as intimate, but considering your head could’ve been turned into a kebab by an arrow, you weren’t thinking of it like that.

After most of the shooting stopped one of the team members over the coms told Quaritch his son had fallen down a steep hill. Quaritch told you to stay put, and not to move from the spot.

Then, possibly having the stupidest idea ever, as you saw one of the kids running away. You got up and started tailing her to get to her, you saw her jump into her fathers arms as she cried. You thought at that moment that you should just turn back, that you didn’t need to do this. But while you were trying to walk back a twig snapped, the mother drew her bow and pointed it at you, you dropped to the ground and put your arms out as a sad attempt to block it. “Please I just wanna talk!” You yelled out, you could hear the woman's breathing coming out in huffs “please, I’m sorry about your children, I had no idea that they would do that!” you cried.

“Neytiri, hold on” You heard a familiar voice say, “she is with the ones who took the children, I will kill her!” The woman snapped in response. You heard someone walk towards you and push your arms out of the way. “Y/n?” you opened your eyes and saw a male na’vi staring at you, how did he- oh, right. 

“Jake?” You questioned, Jake sighed and took your arms in his hands and bound them together, before also tying your feet. “Wasn’t enough to bring my damn kids, they had to bring you too” and mumbled, “Jake, please I just wanna talk” you cried. “No!” he yelled, you flinched “you don’t get to talk to me, I already never wanted to see your face after what you did! But this?” He motioned to his family, you saw the littlest still crying as her sister tried to calm her breathing “this is low, even for you”. 

With that he walked off. You cried out his name till you could no longer see him, at which point you just started crying. The noise must have alerted your team, since Quaritch found you. Z-dog was holding onto his son, while Quaritch ran over and cut you free “they do anything to you?” He asked, you just cried and shook your head. He helped you up and guided you to the extraction point.

You fell asleep on the ride back to base with only one thing on your mind.

That Jake had moved on long ago.

And you were simply just a ghost from his past.

Thanks for reading! ~(˘▾˘~)

(After notes: lol what if I made this a slow burn between the reader and Quaritch, jk…. unless…)

[idontplaytrack]

Can I request an Amber Appleton x reader fic where reader ends up in the hospital somehow? amber rushes to the hospital after she finds out and is super worried/anxious because she’s already lost 2 of the people she loved the most in the world and she can’t lose another. angst with comfort at the end please.

Ain’t no sunshine

Amber Appleton x fem! reader

Warnings: mentions to a shooting, on the job injury, crying, stress, anxiety, hospitalisation & hospital settings

This day started out like any other. You woke up next to Amber, had a nice breakfast together then you both went your separate ways to go to work. But as with your job, every day was unpredictable. You’d run into all sorts of criminals and crimes, some days were easier without a doubt. But today was not your lucky day. You were in the area of an active shooting with your partner while out investigating and had to be at the location to help. Because of that, you’d missed your lunch and also failed to respond to Amber’s texts. Eventually, once you and your partner were out of the situation, you realised Amber’s also called— though that was many hours later.

You hear a knock on the other side of the hospital room door and you jump, startled. “It’s me, y/l/n.” Your partner walked in with a small teddy bear from the gift shop downstairs and a balloon tied to its arm.

“Banks.” You chuckled at the gift, “Thanks, for that.”

“It’s crap. I just wanted to get you something but choices are limited.” He says, “How’s uh, your butt?”

“It’s fine, but a literal pain in the ass.”

“Hey. I’m thankful you were only shot in the ass and not elsewhere more vital.”

And then, your phone went dead. It’s been a long day. It’s already past 5pm— you were supposed to be leaving work right now and on your way home.

You sigh, “Desk duty is going to be so amazing.” You remarked sarcastically.

“I’d trade you if I could.” Banks scoffs, “But of course, Bowman or anyone else would never let it slide.”

Banks stayed with you until you were cleared to go home. Even then, he said he’d sent you home. “Why have you not talked to Amber yet?”

“Phone died.” You answered, “Also it’s just been a heck of a day, so I can’t really…I mean, it just didn’t cross my mind. I’m still trying to process the fact that we were in a situation like that— I —”

“I’m sure they just called her.”

“What?” Your eyes went wide, “Why couldn’t you have just led with that?”

“I was more concerned about you. Hello? You got shot. Besides, I was going to call her but the nurses out there beat me to it.”

You had pulled the curtain close and changed back into your own clothes. Then, you opened the curtain back up.

“Mom? Oh, shit.” You expected Amber, but it was your Mom you saw first, entering the room right as you looked up.

“How’d you get here so fast?”

“I live near where you were.” She squints, “Also, Peralta’s son saw you getting into the ambulance. They called.”

You sigh, staying standing because you clearly felt uncomfortable sitting down.

“Does Amber know yet?”

“I couldn’t call her. My phone died, but given the obvious, it didn’t cross my mind. My mind is still racing, if it’s any worse they would’ve given me a damn sedative.”

“Oh, my God.” A distinct voice was heard right as the door burst open. “You’re okay, thank goodness.” Amber ran up to you and hugged you so tightly. She’d been crying.

“Don’t cry, I’m fine, baby.”

“You got shot.” She sniffed.

“Yeah, did they tell you it was in the butt? It was a nick. I’m all good to go home.” You broke away from the hug and dried her tears.

“You’re obviously shaken up.” Banks chimed in.

“Shut up.” You seethed. “Can we go home?” You looked between Amber and your Mom.

“Did you guys come here together?” Banks asked.

“No.” Your mom answered before Amber could. “I’m driving you two home though, let’s go. I signed the papers on my way in. You have the all clear.”

“Didn’t know Rosa Diaz was your mom.” Banks remarked.

“Why does that matter?” You squinted at him, “Ugh, not today, Banks. I’m tired. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah—” His phone buzzed right as you were about to leave, “Wait. Bowman said you’re not going into work tomorrow.”

“Tsk, fine.” You huffed, leaving in silence with Amber and your mom.

You laid down on the back, head in Amber’s lap as she held onto your hand. She brought your hand to her lips and gave it a kiss, “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” You nodded, more so repeating that to yourself so you could believe it. You couldn’t actually believe it yet, and you hadn’t even processed the fact that you had a weapon pointed right at you, and if you didn’t dodge any quicker, you wouldn’t have been going home. You wouldn’t be here laying next to Amber, you wouldn’t be seeing her or your Mom ever again.

You got a glimpse of your Mom’s worried gaze in the rearview mirror and you just burst into tears. “You’re safe now, corazón.” Your Mom spoke up, Amber just rubbed your back. “They caught him.”

“I know.” You choked on a sob. Much like your mother, you hated showing your emotions. So this freaked them out as much as it did worry them.

Thanks to pain medications, you were pretty comfortable while the wound healed. Though very much unhappy about desk duty until cleared by a mental health professional to get back on the field.

After what happened, Amber wanted you to quit your job. And honestly, you were almost readily agreeing to it. But watching the rest of your squad doing what they do day in and out while you were stuck to your desk indefinitely ignited a newfound sense of eagerness in you after a few weeks. Your job gave you a great sense of purpose. Not so much the paperwork part of it, but being out on the field and protecting the people, keeping the city safer. Amber knew that, but she was just scared of losing you too. You knew your wife’s already lost two people closest to her, and you wished you could promise her it wouldn’t happen again, but it wasn’t even a risk of just the job but where you all resided. Things like this were seen here, and you were fortunate to have never ran into it before until you had. You sure were hoping it wouldn’t happen again, but who knows? Until then, you knew to do your job because it helps. Not to mention that it pays the bills and put food on the table. Where else were you going to work after dedicating a good part of your life working towards this job? One that you were proud of? One that gave you your found family? One that made you feel closer to your Mom.

“I can’t promise you that it won’t ever happen again, I can’t and won’t lie to you. Life is not always going to be easy and good. And I’m hoping things will change with regards to that thing, but—” You shrugged, “We can’t predict what the future will look like.”

“You…are my hero.” Amber’s lips tug into a smile, “Your job is important, and it's hard but you’re so freaking good at it and so passionate about it.”

You chuckled, teary eyed.

“I am so proud of you. Every single day.”

“I’m proud of you, I’m proud of the life we’ve made together. I’m proud of us.”

🏷️Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128

[robbersofmyheart]

A coffee shop meeting…

Summary: Fate steps in when a teacher in her not-even-quarter-life crisis meets Matty Healy.

A/N: There's a very strong possibility that I'll never post any other writing on here again, but I hope this brings a smile to someone else's face. This was a daydream born of my love both for the 1975 (Matty in particular tbh) and for the found family trope. Hope you enjoy it!

“You don’t happen to have a light, do you?”

“No, I don’t. Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t smoke it.”

“I’ve done a lot worse, believe me.”

“Oh, I know. Doesn’t make that nicotine any better for you though.”

Eleanor looked across at her companion, eyebrows raised in challenge, waiting to see if he had a comeback. The café, which had been heaving when she arrived a couple of hours ago, now had only two customers remaining. In their typical British fashion, they hadn’t spoken until now, despite being alone at their adjacent tables, so Eleanor was surprised to hear him finally breaking the ice over the rattling of coffee cups being tidied away. She watched as he put the cigarette back into the packet, a smirk overtaking his features.

“So you do recognise me then.”

Crap. Of course that’s what he took from that. Matty Healy - 1, Eleanor - 0.

“Yes, I recognised you, Matty,” Eleanor replied with a sigh. She couldn’t believe she’d lost that easily.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You were the only one in here that could see my face.”

“I was working,” she paused. “Or at least trying to. I don’t usually focus well in busy places, too many more interesting things to study.”

“Why are you here then?”

“My cousin lives in Manchester and I’d come to visit him. We managed to have half a day before he got called in for a last-minute shift at work. I missed my train home by literally seconds, then I saw that the next one was cancelled, so I thought I’d get some planning done while I wait for the one after to arrive.”

Matty was listening to her intently now, his chin resting on his hand. Eleanor wondered what he was doing here. Since he arrived, he’d alternated between drinking cups of coffee, scribbling frantically in his Moleskine, and watching the comings and goings of customers out of the corner of his eye. Before she could ask him, however, he dived in with yet another question for her

“And what sort of planning would that be?”

“Factorising quadratics with Year 9, area of a trapezium with Year 7, and recurring decimals revision with Year 11.”

Matty exhaled loudly, leaning back in his chair, the glint in his eye telling her that he was impressed. “You’re a maths teacher then.”

“Bingo.”

“That must be a tough gig.”

“Just a bit.”

“You seem quite young to be a teacher.” It was a statement, but the furrow in his brows betrayed his confusion.

“I’m 22, so I guess I am.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Eleanor hesitated, considering what her reply would be, and Matty waited patiently, almost watching the cogs turning in her brain. “I do, for the most part. I work with an amazing team of people, and I love seeing the difference I make to those kids’ lives. Not everyone has that purpose, so I’m lucky really.”

Matty narrowed his eyes at her, knowing that she wasn’t telling the full story. And that was how Eleanor found herself pouring her heart out to the curly haired singer, the troubles that she had bottled up inside her for months finally breaking free, whether she liked it or not.

She told him about how she lived in a permanent state of exhaustion, tired from the never-ending to do lists and the unbearable repetitiveness of her daily life. She told him about the part of her that regretted throwing herself into such a big career at such a young age, and how she felt that she missed her chance to be young and wild and carefree because she’d always been so focused on her work. She told him about how she’d thought about leaving her current life behind and starting again so many times, but had ultimately been too scared of failing and letting people down when they’d given up so much to help her get to where she was now.

To his surprise, Matty didn’t feel like interrupting her once during her monologue. He simply wanted to let her talk, to let her share her thoughts with him. It was like he could actually see some of the weight lifting off the girl’s shoulders as she unburdened herself of her worries, and it almost made him smile to think that she felt comfortable enough to tell him when he somehow knew that she had never told anyone else. So he just listened, letting her ramble on until she ran out of things to say.

When that time finally came, Eleanor let out a big exhale and looked Matty in the eye as he responded with one word: “Wow.”

Eleanor felt her face start to burn and she buried it into her hands. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. This is probably the last way you wanted to spend your afternoon, being on the receiving end of my word vomit.”

“You know what, it actually made a refreshing change. Didn’t expect to get recruited as a therapist today.” Matty watched her shoulders start to shake under her blanket of blonde waves, and was shocked at the worry he felt that she might be crying. But when she looked up she was giggling, despite the faint sheen of tears in her eyes.

“Oh, so you’re my therapist now?”

“You mean you didn’t purposefully choose me? I’m wounded.” That made her laugh properly this time, and Matty found himself unable to hold a soft smile back any longer before his expression turned more serious. “Look, I’m not going to pretend like I know how to solve your problems, and I’m not even sure if you want me to, but can I say one thing?” She nodded. “I think that if the people that you’re worried about letting down really love you, they’ll be more upset if you carry on doing something that’s making you miserable for their sakes than if you give it up.”

Eleanor mulled over the singer’s words and whilst she knew deep down that they were true, it didn’t change the fact that she was absolutely terrified at the idea of giving up teaching. Below the supportive façades, she knew her parents would always berate her for leaving such a stable, well-paid career, and her pride would never let her return to work at her current school with people that she adores if this mysterious plan B failed. She relayed all of this to Matty.

“Well who gives a flying fuck what anyone else thinks anyway! What’s the point in life if you don’t do something you love?”

“But teaching is the only thing I’ve ever even contemplated doing, I’ve got absolutely no idea what else I’d do.”

“Listen, you’re young, intelligent, beautiful, and you’ve literally got the whole world out there with so many possibilities - it doesn’t matter if you don’t get it right first time.”

“Careful, Healy, I might start thinking you like me,”

Now, if you asked Matty Healy of The 1975 why his immediate response was to do a stereotypically girlish impression of that comment before flipping off the young woman sat in front of him, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. Nor could he explain why, after only an hour of talking to her, he felt such an incredible fondness for her, an almost brotherly affection, which prompted him to tell her how amazing she seemed to be. But he could describe how his heart soared as she laughed at him, and then sunk as she realised the time and started hurriedly packing her stuff into her bag.

“Shit, shit, shit. Do you think I can make the train in 5 minutes? I can’t miss this one as well. This is all your fault you know!”

“Hang on, how is it my fault? You’re the one who started emptying your brains onto the table.”

“And you were the one who made the mistake of listening.” Eleanor swung her bag onto her shoulder, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

Then she was running out of the coffee shop, a blur of blonde hair and floral perfume.

It was only then that Matty realised he didn’t even know her name.

***

1 year later…

“Lovely to meet you, take care.”

As soon as the interviewee had left the room, the smiles on four of the five faces dropped and they let out a sigh.

“Guys, if you want to actually do this, we do need to hire someone.”

Matty tugged at his hair in frustration. “It’s not that we’re not on board with it, Jamie, it’s just got to be with the right person. I mean, it’s letting someone totally unknown to us into an entire chapter of our lives, not just our careers.”

It was just over a month ago that The 1975 had told Jamie Oborne that they were ready to start working on their next album. In the same meeting, Jamie had proposed an idea that he had been mulling over for a while. The response to ‘A Theatrical Performance of an Intimate Moment’ had been better than anyone had anticipated, and the fans always loved seeing behind the scenes footage. So, Jamie had suggested filming the entire journey of their next album, from concept to creation to tour, and releasing it as a mini-series. Of course, the band could get the footage themselves, but whether they would actually remember to do it was a different story.

That was how they found themselves in a boiling hot room in the London office of Dirty Hit, having collectively decided against all 15 people they had interviewed for the role of documentarian.

“I mean, they all just seem so serious,” Matty continued.

“Boring, you mean,” George muttered.

“This thing does have to look good, though, for it to work, and these were the most qualified of all the candidates,” Jamie countered.

“We don’t fucking care about qualified!”

“I think what Matty’s trying to say, mate,” Ross calmly cut in, “Is that we were thinking of something more low key. More of a collection of home movies than something carefully filmed and edited.”

“Yeah, we don’t know how long this thing is going to go on for, way over a year at least, and we don’t want to feel like we’re putting on a show the whole time. It’s got to be authentic. It’s gonna be fucking weird at the start but after a while we just want it to be like a mate is casually filming what we’re doing.”

Jamie had to admit that George closed their argument well, and he was sold on it. He just wished that they had told him sooner.

“Okay, okay, I get it and I’m happy for us to go ahead with that. There’s one more person for us to speak to today, who was kind of my wildcard, so if she’s more what you’re looking for then we can revisit some of the other applications tomorrow.” With that, Jamie left the room to get the last candidate.

“A wildcard? What is this, mid-2000s X Factor?” Matty huffed, to the amusement of the others.

But any annoyance that Matty felt was washed away in an instant when he saw who his manager was holding the door open for.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Matty’s words might have sounded rude, but it was the smile spreading across his face that shocked everyone the most.

“I’m here in an attempt to annoy you for longer this time,” Eleanor smirked.

“Well, you’re failing miserably at this point. How are you?”

“I’m good. Really good, actually.” A genuine smile crossed her face this time. “Didn’t think you’d remember me to be honest.”

“I often wondered what you decided to do with your life in the end,” Matty shrugged. “It frustrated me knowing everything and then nothing at all. So I guess you have already succeeded in your goal to annoy me.”

Before you had chance to reply, another voice broke through to join the conversation. “Sorry to interrupt this lovely chat, but would someone kindly explain what the hell is going on here?” It was George, and he, like everyone else in the room, was stumped by Matty’s sudden personality transplant.

Now very aware of all of the eyes on her, she looked to Matty for help, who simply sat back in his chair before saying “Well, I think you’re sat in the better seat for a storytime, don’t you? Anyway, I don’t even know your name.”

So Eleanor told the room about how she had met their frontman, briefly mentioning the life crisis that she’d been having at the time, whilst Matty impatiently waited to hear what happened after she left the coffee shop. She told them how she’d stayed in teaching until the end of that school year, before handing in her notice. Her boss had been sad to see her go, but told her that if she ever decided that she wanted to come back then he’d always find a job for her. Eleanor’s family, however, reacted quite differently; she ended up having a massive row with her parents about it and her relationship with them still hadn’t quite mended fully. Ever since her move to London, she had been taking whatever bar jobs she could find and spent her days applying to any jobs that took her fancy.

Matty couldn’t help the pride that was coursing through him for the young woman sat across from him. She had taken all of those ‘What ifs’ that she’d told him about, thrown them in the fire and walked away, when he knew that all of her instincts would have been telling her to do the opposite. He looked around at the others, and was both amused and pleased to find that they all seemed to be as entranced by Eleanor as he had been at their first meeting. In Matty’s eyes, she was the perfect fit, and he could tell that she was quickly winning the others over as well.

Surprisingly, it was Adam who spoke up first. “So, you’re saying that you’re totally unqualified for this job?”

“Never done anything like it before in my life. But it sounded interesting and I’m always up for learning new stuff.”

“Never been behind a camera? Never had anything to do with the music industry?” Ross asked, slightly taken aback by her honesty.

“Not the music industry, but I used to study music at school and I still play the piano from time to time.”

“And I take it you’re on board for annoying Matty as much as humanly possible?” It was George this time.

“Oh 100%.”

Matty rolled his eyes, but the smile remained on his face. She’d done it. Now, there was only one person left to convince. Matty quickly joined the others in looking at Jamie the way they used to look at their parents when the ice cream van pulled up on their road.

Eleanor watched on nervously as some sort of telepathic conversation seemed to transpire between the band and their manager.

Eventually, the silence broke and a new chapter began.

[atomicladytimetravel]

If It’s Wrong, I Don’t Want to be Right Part 1 - Brat

Summary: After wandering alone for days, you’re taken into Jackson by Tommy and Joel. You butt heads with Joel at first - he’s mean and you’re a brat - but things get spicy later.

A little mean!Joel, female reader, dirty talk but no sex in this part. 20+ year age gap (reader is in her 30s, Joel is in his 50s). I’m gonna say MDNI because this will get explicit later on. 18+ ONLY.

I rewrote the previous story I posted. I like this version better and I’m going to do a series with it. I’m not sure of the word count, I wrote this on my phone.

I wonder where the fuck I am.

You’d been walking for days past dilapidated strip malls and through ghost towns with no names. You searched for any signs of life, but had found none. You had seen abandoned campsites and communities and you searched them, hoping to find food that had been left behind, but to no avail. You ran out of food and water yourself two days ago and you were getting desperate.

You were the lone survivor of a clicker attack that had wiped out the small group you had been traveling with. The gun holstered at your hip was useless, as you’d used all the bullets putting down clickers, and then your friends. You were a skilled fighter, but unfortunately, your friends had not been. Your father had been ex-military and, though you were only ten when the outbreak began, he taught you everything he could to protect yourself.

As the sun began to set, you started looking for a place to bunker down for the night. Traveling alone in the daytime was dangerous enough, especially for a woman. You considered herself lucky that you hadn’t run into anyone else so far.

You settled for a small house that looked relatively intact. You cautiously opened the front door and peered inside, scanning the front room for any danger. Once you were satisfied that the room was clear, you went inside and quietly checked the kitchen and dining room. You scanned the cabinets for food, but came up empty handed. You were getting ready to check the other rooms when a clicker emerged from the last door down the hallway. Then, a second appeared next to it. Your plan was to leave as quietly as possible, but when you took your first step back, your foot crunched on broken glass.

Shit.

The clickers whipped around at the sound and you took off running. The only thing you had to defend herself was the knife given to you by your father years ago. You unsheathed it while you ran. You got lucky and sunk the knife into the head of the first clicker before it could attack. You yanked it out and threw it at the second one, the blade sinking right into its skull. If the clicker had a target on its head, you would’ve hit the bullseye. You pulled the knife from the second clicker and stood with your chest heaving. You were dizzy, weak from a lack of sustenance. You turned and saw two men on horses watching you.

“Nice throw,” one of them said.

“Thanks,” you panted before promptly passing out.

When you awoke, you were lying on a cot in a makeshift infirmary. You sat up and looked around, catching the attention of a woman on the other side of the room.

“You’re awake!” the woman smiled. She poured some water from a pitcher and brought it to you.

“Oh my god, thank you,” you said, taking the glass from her. You drank the entire thing in seconds.

“Where am I?” you asked once the glass was empty.

“You’re in Jackson, Wyoming. A couple of our patrolmen brought you in after you passed out,” she replied. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Tommy will want to know you’re awake.”

She left the room, returning a few minutes later with a man and another woman.

“Hi, I’m Tommy Miller. This is my wife Maria,” he introduced them. They both smiled warmly. You gave them your name.

“How are you feeling?” Maria asked.

“Weak, but okay,” you responded.

“That was some impressive knife work out there,” Tommy complimented. “What else can you do?”

You shrugged.

“Shoot, hand to hand combat - my dad was ex-military.”

“We’ll have to see what you’ve got once you have your strength back. We could use a good fighter for patrol,” Tommy said.

“You want me to stay?” you asked.

“Only if you want to.”

You only had to consider it for a moment. You had nowhere else to go and no plans.

“That’s very generous and I would love to. Thank you.”

Life in Jackson was infinitely better than the life outside you’d become accustomed to. There was a steady supply of food and water and you had a job - Tommy put you on the patrol rotation as soon as he found out how good of a fighter you were. You made fast friends with a girl named Holly you’d met while volunteering in the community garden.

You’d made several friends, actually. You were the kind of person who was nice until given a reason not to be. If anyone was going to give you a reason not to be, it was Tommy’s older brother Joel. He was standoffish and more than a little rude. Most people in Jackson were intimidated by him, but you weren’t. He got under your skin from time to time, sure, but you could most definitely handle him if you needed to.

Unfortunately, he was as attractive as he was rude. He was ruggedly handsome with salt and pepper hair and deep brown eyes. He had a good twenty years on you, at least, but that didn’t stop the dirty thoughts from crossing your mind.

Admittedly, it was you who started the first argument between yourself and Joel. He had it coming, though. You’d literally just met the man and he had been so rude.

He was sitting alone at the bar in the Tipsy Bison. Tommy took you to meet him once you’d gotten out of the infirmary, considering Joel was the man with him the day they took you in. You’d said hello and smiled at him, but all you got in return was an uninterested glance.

“I said hello,” you asserted.

“Hello,” he scowled, rolling his eyes.

“Joel, don’t be rude,” Tommy sighed.

“Don’t worry about it Tommy,” you said, glaring at Joel. “If this is how he is, I don’t want to talk to him anyway.”

“I’m truly disappointed,” Joel deadpanned as you walked away.

“You should be!” you countered over your shoulder.

The second time was his fault. You were minding your business in the garden when he approached.

“Well, well, if it isn’t The Brat,” he taunted. You wrinkled your nose at him.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t act like one,” he shrugged. You sighed and put down your gardening shears.

“Do you need something, Miller?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, would I?”

“Listen, just tell me what you want. I’m not in the mood for your bull shit,” you huffed. He raised an eyebrow. Had he finally met his match?

“Tomatoes,” he grumbled.

“Fine,” you nodded. You gathered some tomatoes in a basket and handed them to him without looking at him

“What kind of customer service is this?” he quipped.

“The kind you get when you get on my fucking nerves,” you sassed. “If that’s it, kindly get the fuck out of here.”

His eyebrows furrowed angrily.

“Don’t tell me what to do, brat,” he argued.

“Oh my god,” you said exasperatedly. “Miller, I have better things to do than argue with you. Do you need something else or are we done here?”

He scowled at you and left without a reply. You were starting to hate him, but you hated yourself even more for thinking about him whenever your hand was between your legs.

Every other interaction with Joel went about the same - he was rude and you were combative. He liked to call you brat and that both infuriated you and turned you on.

Everything came to a head one day after a few months of the back and forth. It was late afternoon, about an hour before you were supposed to report for patrol. You were sitting on your porch reading your favorite book. Tommy was approaching in the distance, but you were so engrossed in the story that you didn’t see him. You also didn’t hear when he called your name the first time. When he called out a little louder, you jumped and looked over at him.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“No worries,” you laughed. “What’s up Tommy?”

“You’re on patrol with Simpson tonight, right?” he asked. You sighed. If anyone here was as annoying as Joel, it was Paul Simpson. He was obnoxious and didn’t know when to stop talking.

“Supposed to be, unfortunately.”

“Well I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that he broke his hand and won’t be able to help tonight,” he said with a grin. Tommy wasn’t Simpson’s biggest fan either.

“Great! So what’s the bad news?”

“Joel is his replacement.”

“Ugh, Tommy why?” you whined.

“Nobody else could do it,” he shrugged. “Listen, I need to go meet Maria. Be a doll and tell me for him, will ya?”

He turned without waiting for an answer. He didn’t want to be the one to tell his brother he had to work on his night off with his least favorite person.

“Hey! He’s your brother!” you called after him.

“Sorry!” he called back over his shoulder.

“This should be fun,” you grumbled to yourself as you marked your place in your book.

You found Joel in the Tipsy Bison, sitting alone at the bar. You sat next to him on one of the barstools and gave him a sarcastic smile when he looked at you.

“What do you want, brat?” he asked gruffly. You rolled your eyes at the name.

“Simpson’s off duty tonight. He broke his hand,” you answered.

“What’s that got to do with me?” he snapped.

“Tommy says you’re his replacement.”

“And why can’t you be his replacement?” he asked, annoyed.

“You’re gonna love this,” you laughed dryly. “I’m already on duty.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he hissed, his fist slamming on the bar. Several people flinched, but you did not. You glared at him.

“Listen Miller, I know everyone else here is intimidated by you, but you don’t fucking scare me. I don’t know if you just need to get laid or what, but I’m tired of your fucking attitude. You,” you poked your finger into his arm, “are going to learn to talk to me with some god damn respect.”

You pushed the barstool away from the bar and headed for the door. Joel downed the rest of his drink and followed you. Everyone in the bar watched the two of you curiously as you exited.

“I don’t owe you any fucking respect,” Joel spat. “I don’t even know you.”

“Go fuck yourself Miller,” you said without turning around. “And adjust your attitude before patrol.”

You entered your house and slammed the door. Joel barged in behind you and slammed it again.

“Excuse me, this is my - “

He cut you off with a hand to your throat, pushing you against the wall. The action made desire pool in your belly.

“Who do you think you are talking to me like that?” he growled. You smirked at him.

“Are you trying to scare me? I already told you, I’m not afraid of you.”

“Yeah? Even with my hand wrapped around your pretty little throat?” he asked, his face inches from yours.

“My pretty little throat, huh? Sounds less like you want to hurt me and more like you want to fuck me,” you teased. You looked up at him seductively. “What if I told you I’d let you?”

“God damn it,” he mumbled before his lips crashed against yours. He moved his hand from your throat and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling your body to his. You wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. It was all tongue and teeth, desperate, like this was something you’d both wanted for a while.

“I see you walking around here in these little cutoff shorts,” he said, reaching down and squeezing your ass. “That ass just begging to be spanked like you deserve.”

“You think about me Joel?” you murmured sultrily. He was almost ashamed to admit how many times he’d jerked himself off thinking about you. Almost.

“Every time I touch my cock, sugar,” he smirked. The thought set your body on fire.

“I like to think about getting you all fired up so you’ll run that little brat mouth,” he said, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. “Spank you a little and then shove my cock down your throat.” You were practically melting at his words. “I bet you get off on being a brat, huh?”

“Maybe I do,” you responded cheekily. “Is that why you’re such a dick? Cause you get off on me being a brat?”

His hand was still on your ass and he gave it a sharp spank. You squealed and he chuckled.

“Maybe so.”

“You know if you want to fuck, you can just say so. I’ll be your brat whenever you want me to be,” you told him. You popped the top button on his flannel and moved your pointer finger in circles on his chest. “You can use me however you want.”

You undid a few more buttons as you talked and you pressed soft kisses to his chest.

“God damn, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groaned. He caught sight of the clock you kept on the wall and swore under his breath.

“We only got five minutes sugar. Gonna have to pick this up after patrol.”

“Damn,” you sighed. “Okay. It’s gonna look real weird with you coming out of my house after all this time though.”

“Just yell at me as I go out the door. Slam it. Make it look real convincing,” he said. He walked towards the door; before he opened it, he turned to you with a smirk.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you later.”

“I hope so,” you said, returning his smirk. He opened the door and you put on your best angry face.

“Get the fuck out Miller, and don’t ever barge into my house again!” you yelled.

“Fuck off!” he yelled back. “And don’t fucking be late!”

You slammed the door, a grin spreading across your face.

This will be fun.

[eva-knits12]

A TED talk- the PR edition.

I know very little about PR.

Megan Moss Pinchon, the founder of Narrative, had every chance to pull her client, Chris Evans out of this situation. But no. She only sees him as a six-foot-tall walking dollar sign. I'll explain.

Pulling Chris out right after the pap walk. Talk about cringe.

Pulling Chris out right after the family's annual Disney trip. Mama Lisa's annoyed and murderous expression says it all.

Pulling Chris out after the trash nun's famous shower tantrum, which got her suspended on IG, and would have gotten her on a sec offenders registry. But, no. Meg swept that under the rug.

The Ghosted premiere. The trash nun's shoes up uninvited. Chris looks pissed! That's unusual for him, given his happy-go-lucky demeanor.

The laser focused comment. Meg needed to pull Chris from this, but no. She stood by, making sure he stuck to the script. When he didn't, Meg certainly gave him an earful. Instead, we get 5,000.artickes about them being "IG official", onky to have another 5,000 articles about Valentine's Day photo dumos when it's fucking clear he can't stand her, and can"t stand beinf around her.

After Scott's comment. It was clear Scott was put on the spot, and didn't know what to do. Instead, you used a People article to sweep it under the rug.

After the engagement rumors. Boom, there was a huge chance. But no, you just cleaned up using a dog shelter video and a People article about the family.

The "wedding". It's clear that fraud was committed. You had Chris claiming this the same weekend as 9/11, but wait! Was it that Friday? That Saturday? That Sunday? Nobody can keep the timeline straight. When the met? 2020? No, there was a global pandemic, and at that time, you had your client go to London to help clean up the cocaine Cinderella 's mess. He would have been nominated for an Emmy for Defending Jacob, but no. 2021? No, there were still lockdowns. 2022? Think again. They never met. The trash nun was still with Lucas while seducing old men, making internet porn, and selling foot fetish pics and foot fetish videos. You had every chance to pull him out of this. Then, later that week, you had your client in a "second wedding" in Portugal, the trash nun's home turf, only to avoid immigration laws. Where is the marriage license? Visa's with her name on it claiming that she was here? Where is the spousal visa? They don't exist. Ask anyone who has dealt with immigration, and they can tell you becoming a U.S. citizen is a process, albeit a very long one. Anyone who has married a non-U.S. citizen knows that your spouse is not leaving U.S. or foreign soil for a minimum of four months.

The Con. You had your client, Chris, wear an ill fitting ring the entire time, and admit to fraud. His panel wasn't recorded. How convenient. He spent more time talking about Dodger than he did about the trash nun. He looked very exhausted, haggard, and drugged. Since he was drugged to comply, Meg could have wound up in jail for possession with the intent to distribute, but no. Even that was cringe, and Meg was at the Con the whole time, making sure her client stuck to the script. You also had two people right next to him, one taking gifts from fans, and one watching intently. For what? In case he wanted to escape? I wouldn't blame Chris for making a run for it.

Another People article on Thanksgiving. Chris wanted to handle his return to IG and social media privately. But, no. You had to go ahead, embellish the crap out of it, and again, mention the trash nun, when it's perfectly clear that he hasn't said her name this time, and she's not on his list of followers or peopke that is following him. He is only following two accounts, and two accounts are only following him. Again, you had a chance to pull your client, but no. You chose to announce his return to IG loudly using People.

The manipulation quote in the SMA interview. The trash nub is famous for this, and Meg is, too. Again, you had a chance to pull your client from this.

The GQ article. Again, you could have protected and pull your client. But, no. He was drugged to comply, and you had Mama Lisa there making sure he stuck to the script. I'm pretty sure Mama Lisa didn't want anything to do with it.

We all know Meg loves her designer toys and clothes and accessories. Whatever makes her money, that's the tactic she takes. She cares nothing about her Chris and her other clients. I can guarantee she's done the same with her various other clients, but nothing to this extent.

At the end of the day, Meg is working for Chris. It's not Chris working for Meg. Chris just needs to fire her. She's done more harm than good, and all at the expense and the safety of her client.

I just want to give Chris a hug, and tell him it's going to be okay. I'm still sticking around because I believe in him.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.