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hollandsmushroom · 4 years ago

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That Was Hot

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

AU: Frat!Tom

Word Count: 2,356

A/N: Um, this is pure filth and it came to me when I watched How To Get Away With Murder and Asher said that was hot like i want you to sit on my face hot and I couldn’t get it out of my head.

Warnings: Drinking, Drunkenness, unwanted Sexual advances, jealousy, face sitting, oral(fem receiving), cum eating, cum play, dry humping, frat boys.

You weren’t drunk, tipsy? Sure, but drunk? No. Your words were clear as ever but your aim was a little wonky as you stood across the table from the two frat boys who you recognized but did not know the name of. You saw your boyfriend walking up to you, always loving to watch you do literally anything and destroying his frat bros at beer pong was one of his favorite things. The boys you were up against were blatantly waisted, their aim probably already off with how much alcohol was coursing through their veins, you were confident that you were gonna win.

“We so got this” One boy slurred to the other, putting a hand up for a high five, receiving nothing but a brush of pinkys as his teammate almost entirely missed his hand.

A smile grew on your lips as you watched the interaction, and untamed laughter passing your friends lips causing you to follow suit, hunching over as laughter gripped your sides, it was a drunk laugh, messy and uninhibited. Tom’s eyes were trained on you as he watched you fall apart, he knew your reaction was overstated but he didn’t care, he just loved seeing you happy.

“What's so funny?” one of the boys inquired incredulously, his words prompting you to eye your friend again, still biting back laughter at the boy's childish response and lack of self awareness. You both knew how this was gonna go, both confident in your ability to win, so why not have some fun while you're at it.

“Just you guys thinking you’re gonna win” you taunted, only riling the rowdy frat boys up even more. You held the ping pong ball, flicking your fingers, tossing the feather light ball up and catching it without even looking, it was your silent tease, a taunt of challenged masculinity. One of the boys leaned forward, placing his stubby nailed hand on the beat up ping pong table, which at this point seemed to be held up together with duct tape and the spite of broke college students. There was a snarl wound tight on his lips.

“If you’re so sure that you’re gonna win, why don't you back up your words then,” his voice was angry, and in your periphery your could see Tom about to come over and tell the guy off for talking to you like that but with a quick glance you told him that you got it, and he respected your wishes, maintaining his stance but a little more defensive now. “If I win, then fine, you beat us, but if we win, you have to do something that you really don’t want to do” You almost cackled, his inebriation limiting his ability to even come up with something to torment you with.

“Kissing you it is then” you spoke, your voice a sugar coated venom. You tried to hold your persona but you knew that you had bothered Tom, his body tensing even more than it had after the boys taunts. You felt his hardened gaze training on you, his face twisted into the visual representation of and angry “What the fuck?” not thrilled with even the slightest possibility of your lips on someone else's. But you both knew that if you did lose the fame, a fist would sooner come in contact with that face than your lips on his. You knew that even though his eyes conveyed anger there was part of him that was proud, a small smirk tugging on his lips, appreciating the witty remark that belittled his frat brother. You turned all the way to him, giving him a warm smile, bringing your hand to your lips, placing a kiss on your palm before pursing your lips and blowing it Tom’s way, winking as his anger melted entirely and a soft smile replaced the smirk. Turning back to the boy you spoke up again, ignoring the angered look on the boy opposite yous face “I’ll play better if I am playing not to kiss you, let's get this over with” acting like you were exhausted by the notion of actually playing the game, you weren’t, in fact you were excited, thrilled by the idea of of crushing these boys machismo.

You tossed the ball, watching as it floated through the air, barely denser than the atmosphere that surrounded it. The tension evaporated as you sank the first shot, a groan sounding from the boys mouths as you and your friend cheered. One of your opponents took the ball out of the cup, drinking down the tepid beer before setting up his shot. He over shot any of the cups by at least a foot, you caught it easily, placing it in your friend's hand so she could make her shot, and she did, easily landing it in the cup and leading the other boy to have to drink as well. The game continued this way, you and your friend absolutely obliterating the two boys.

You held your breath as you took the final shot, knowing that you would still have opportunities to try again but you really just wanted to get it over with so you could return to Tom’s arms. The shot sinking into the cup, an excited shout leaving your lips as you jump up and down, high fiving your friend. Tom smiled as he saw your true joy, thrilled that the simplest possibility of you kissing someone else was no longer on the table, the only thing left being most of the cups of beer on your side of the table.

“Hey” the frat boy that you would have kissed if you lost spoke up, quickly moving to your side of the table and standing all too close. His breath was hot and sticky, heavy with the alcohol that was tainting every pore in his body. He reached out moving to touch your face but you stepped back. “I know we lost but I still want that kiss” he was pressing you up against the table.

“Um, no thank you, that was the punishment” you spoke fiercely, trying to hide the fear that was growing in your chest. The boy went to open his mouth again but was cut off as a hand was placed on his chest, pushing him away from you.

“Back off mate, leave with whatever fucking dignity you got left, and don’t you fucking dare try to touch my girl again, we clear?” Tom's voice was harsh, every word he spoke he pushed the boy farther and farther away from you, poking him in the chest with his final words to emphasize the point.

“Um, yeah, yeah we clear” the boy exclaimed, tense under Tom’s piercing gaze.

“Good, now fuck off” Tom growled, stepping back to let the boy scuttle off to where ever the fuck, you didn’t care and Tom only hoped that it was far away. Turning back to you, Tom cupped your cheek with his hand, letting you nuzzle into his palm. "Fucking cunt" he muttered under his breath.

“You okay, baby?” his voice was much softer than it had been when he spoke to the frat boy, it made you feel cherished.

“Yeah, baby, I am okay” you hummed “I just kicked ass at beer pong, I’m feeling pretty good” he leaned in, kissing your nose softly.

“You did so good baby, it was hot watching you beat them, like I want you to sit on my face hot” his words were heavy, laden with libido and the promise of a good time. Your eyes widened at his brashness, sending a jolt straight to your core, a rushed nod seizing your neck, prompting him to grab your hand, guiding you through the muddle of people, up to his room, passing couples with tongue in each other's throats, messes of red solo cups and lust. The final flight of stairs was short, not intended for the attic to be a room, but here you were, your hand wound with Tom’s as you stood in the A slanted den.

There was a pull on your hand, dragging you down onto the large mattress, the wooden frame creaking at the sudden weight of two tangled bodies on it. You landed on top of him, the soft unkempt blankets shifting beneath your knees as Tom’s hands gripped your ass, pulling you as close to him as possible, your clothed core dragging across his covered cock.

“Tommy” you moaned into his mouth, his hands on your ass continuing to rock your hips against his, the friction not something you knew you needed. Right as you thought things were getting to it Tom pushed you back, a confused look cementing on your face as you watched him.

“Take your trousers and pants off, Love, was serious about wanting you on my face” he smirked at your lust stricken features, immediately removing your bottoms leaving you bare, the dim light from Toms’s bedside lamp catching on the slickness between your thighs, glistening and making Tom’s mouth water. “C’mere” he elbowed himself up, grabbing you by the ass and pulling you back onto him, this time your core ending hovering above his eager tongue.

“Tom, I need you” you whimpered, feeling his breath on your heat. He didn’t dignify you with a response, simply shoving his face between your folds, lips wrapping around your clit eliciting a moan from you. You found yourself beginning to grind against his mouth, feeling his cheeks move against your thighs, presumably into a smirk

His hands wound around your waist, pulling you down on top of him, the added pressure of his hold pressing you farther onto his tongue, his nose nudging your clit as he lapped at your core, drinking you up like he hadn’t had a drink in years. His teeth grazed your folds, a shiver running up your spine, grinding farther down onto his face, fingers wound around his curls, tugging at it from the roots, a moan escaping his lips and vibrating through your core. He ground helplessly into the heated air, his hard cock begging for friction, the tip poking out of his waistband, leaking precum onto his lower stomach. He needed something.

Tom twisted his hips, holding you tight against his face, he flipped you over, your back landing flat against the worn sheets, your head delving into the pillows. Tom now laid on his stomach, immediately grinding his hips against the bed, giving his dick the friction it had been yearning for, wanting to feel any kind of touch, desperate for release. His hip bones became exposed as the gyration of his hips pulled his jeans down a little more, exposing his shaft further. The harshness of the fabric against his contrasting to what he normally felt, it was nothing like the velvety muscled lined walls of your tight cunt, not comparing to the tight grip of your hand, and subpar compared to your mouth, but then again, everything that wasn’t you was a downgrade in his mind.

“Fuck” he moaned into your heat, pressing his cock farther into the mattress, knowing that the feeling was building up more rapidly than he would like to admit. He knew he shouldn't. He knew that it would push him over the edge to look up at you but he couldn’t resist. His mouth not leaving your pussy he dragged his eyes up your body, toffee colored eyes widening as they fell upon your face twisted in pleasure, your hands gripping at your breasts and pinching your nipples. It broke something animalistic in him, bringing a hand from your ass and smacking yours away, aggressively groping the soft mounds of flesh and pinching your nipples.

“Tommy, I’m go-gonna cum” you cried, your back arching helplessly off the bed, your thighs clamping shut around Tom’s heads, only resulting disappointment was that he couldn’t fully hear your moans, but he say your face as you fell apart under his tongue and it sent him with you. He moaned loudly into you, cock twitching against his shorts as he came onto his stomach and the bedsheets.

Once you had both ridden out your highs he pulled away, looking up at you eagerly, meeting your gaze, your eyes carrying a similar longing to the one that was in his.

“Fuck Tommy, you felt so good,” you panted, your praising words causing a smile to take his thin lips. “I want you in me Tommy” your voice sultry, having maintained more of your breath.

“I want that too love but I um,” he scratched the back of his neck, tearing his gaze from yours and down to his cum smeared abdomen.

“Oh, I see, you got off on eating me out, didn’t ya baby boy” you teased, grinning at your bashful boyfriend, pride awakening in your chest that you had caused him to cum without even touching his cock. You were amused with the embarrassment in his red cheeks.

“Uh, yeah, I’m really sorry, love”

“Hmm, that's okay I guess, I’ll just have a different kind of treat” you shrugged, knowing what you were about to do would have the repercussions you so desired, it would leave you full in more ways than one, cum dripping down your legs as you slept, you knew what you were doing.

Your fingers dance on his flushed skin, gathering his cum on you fingers and bringing them to your lips, sticking out your tongue like he had done earlier, smearing it across your taste buds before leaning into his face, licking at that slickness that was dripping down his chin, the combined taste of your cums in your mouth making you hum. You licked over his lips, giving him a bit of a taste of the treat that resided between your lips before closing them, swallowing the rest. He licked his lips eagerly, eyes rolling back as your spunks mixed together, feeling the blood already starting to rush south once again, his refractory period dramatically shortened by your actions.

“On second thought, I think I can go for some more” he growled.

@spydeysense

#tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tomholland #tom holland #tom holland x plus size reader #tom holland au #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader smut #frat tom holland #frat!tom #frat boy tom holland #frat tom can end me #fratboy!tom #tom hollland

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moralesispunk · 4 years ago

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Old Guys Rule

Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Summary: With a birthday coming up, Frankie's insecurities about the age gap in your relationship start to get the better of him

Warnings: legal age gap relationship, insecurities about said age gap, mentions of children but no mentions of how they came to be in the relationship

I found this hat in a shop in Cornwall and I had to write this!

"Are you wanting to do anything on your birthday? I was thinking about booking a table down at that Italians you like and asking your Mom to watch the girls but if you have plans with the guys I can find a different day?" you looked over your shoulder at Frankie from where you had been scrolling through the booking page of the restaurant.

"Hmm? No, dinner sounds fine," Frankie answered, his head not lifting up from his phone as his face stayed firmly unbothered.

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to..." you trailed off as you turned back to the laptop that was resting on the kitchen counter, not convinced by Frankie's response.

"What?" you could tell that his head had whipped up to look at yours now you had turned around, "No, dinner sounds good, yes. Thank you."

You didn't answer, instead scrolling up and down on the page for a minute as you tried not to take his response too personally. It had been a while since you and Frankie were able to go out for dinner just the two of you, finding it more difficult to get some alone time since the new baby came along and you now had the two girls, so you thought he would like the idea of a romantic dinner alone.

You could hear Frankie's footsteps pad across the kitchen floor until he was leaning against the counter next to you. Avoiding his gaze as he crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking the way his ankles were now crossed over one another, you filled in the booking information before closing the laptop. Without looking at him you turned in the chair to stand but Frankie's hand fell on your wrist stopping you.

"Hey," his voice was soft, "I do want to go out for dinner with you and thank you for booking the place that I like, I just-." Frankie sighed and let you wrist go before dragging his hand down his face as he let his eyes drop to the floor, "I'm just not looking forward to this birthday. I'm in my late forties now!"

"I think you're still mid-forties."

"So much better," he rolled his eyes.

"So you're not looking forward to your birthday because... you're going to be a year older? Forty-six years and thats you just realising how birthdays work?"

"It's not funny."

"I'm not laughing, I'm wondering why that's upsetting you. Whether or not you're looking forward to it you can't stop it."

"You'll make fun of me if I tell you why," his foot was swinging out in front of him before crossing it back over the other again.

"Maybe, but we've been married for six years so I think I'm allowed to make fun of you."

A smile was tugging at the corner of Frankie's lips when he finally looked up to you, his head leaning slightly to the side as he met your eyes. Frankie loved everything about you but he especially loved how relaxed you made him feel. Even though he wasn't in a good mood when you started talking birthday plans, instead of giving in to it you pulled him back from it. You had done it ever since you met him. Frankie could tell you, and has told you, his deepest, darkest secrets and fears and you don't shy away. You don't pull him further into the darkness; you just listen and make him feel comfortable until you help him out the other side.

"I know there isn't a bigger gap between us now that there had been when we first started dating because thats not possible but it just feels bigger now? Like, you're still able to keep up with Sofia when she runs rings around us even after you've been up all night with the baby. You don't have to hold the menu back to read it more clearly when we got out for dinner. You don't have to think about having a sore back for a week if we fall asleep on the couch when watching a movie. You don't even fall asleep when watching movies at eight at night but somehow I do!"

You let his breathing settle a little before you pulled him to stand between your legs, resting your hands on his chest.

"Is it about all these small things or is there something bigger to it?"

You tilted your head to catch his gaze as Frankie's eyes fell to the floor again, stopping him with two fingers under his chin and lifting his eyes to meet yours.

"I just worry that you don't want to be with an old guy like me," he sighed, his hands resting on your thighs.

"I'll have you know that I love that your an old guy. I fall more in love with you every day as you get older. I love that you run around enough with Sofia until you're tired because you don't want to stop. I think you're cute when you have to squint at the menu because you're too stubborn to get glasses, even though I think you would look very handsome in them. And I like giving you back massages when it gets sore because its just an excuse to get my hands on your very sexy, super hot, handsome DILF self."

Frankie barked a laugh, his forehead falling against yours as his hands reached up to cup your face.

"I love you so much, you know that."

"I do, and I love you."

His lips found yours, pressing a soft kiss to them. Just as his mouth opened to push his tongue into yours the sound of tiny footsteps running into the kitchen pulled you both away.

"Mama, Papa!" the voice cheered as Frankie leaned down to swing Sofia up, groaning as he did so.

None of what you had said to Frankie was a lie. You truly did love him more and more every day.

As time went on it had been kind to Frankie. He had fought off his demons for the most part, nightmares only sneaking in every so often, and it showed. He carried a lightness with him, not being weighed down by his past anymore. His eyes crinkle at the side when he smiles, which he does more now than ever. His face has filled out a little more in a healthy way. His jaw is also covered in a patchy beard that now has spots of grey that you love the most even if Frankie doesn't believe you.

❀❀❀

You let Frankie lie in on the morning of his birthday, getting the girls up and ready so you could have a lazy breakfast together before you dropped them at their Gran's while you and Frankie go out for dinner. After sorting out a breakfast, having to start again after Sofia wanted to help and ended up spilling the batter over the countertop instead of in the pan, you carried it upstairs with the girls in tow.

Frankie was already waking up as you opened the door, his face lighting up with a wide grin when he spotted you balancing the baby in one arm and carefully carrying the tray in the other as Sofia carried bags of birthday presents.

"Happy birthday," you and Sofia chimed with a small gurgle coming from your side.

"My beautiful girls, thank you!"

Frankie lifted Sofia onto the bed with the presents, settling her into his side, before taking the tray of pancakes from your hands. Once it was safe on his lap he lifted his head, catching your lips in a kiss, before you sat across from him.

You managed to get through breakfast before Sofia had spoke about opening the presents again and once the tray was placed on the bedside table you got to opening the gifts. With baby girl back asleep and placed on Frankie's chest, Sofia pulled the paper off them more so than Frankie, handing him the opened presents as he thanked you all. Once all the presents that were on the bed were opened you leaned across and pulled another from your bedside.

"One more," you smiled knowingly and Frankie narrowed his eyes at you as you handed him the small bag.

He snaked his arm from around Sofia, holding baby girl close to his chest as he put his hand inside the bag and pulled out a hat.

"Oh a new hat, thanks babe I love-" he stopped when he read the front, looking at you with a grin on his face.

"What does it say?!" Sofia asked, pushing her head in front of her Dad's to see the cap he was holding.

"It says Old Guys Rule!" you exclaimed.

"Because Dad is old," Sofia flung her head back in a fake laugh that bellowed around the room.

"Is that right?" Frankie tickled her sides until she was giggling for real and her head was lying next to her sleeping sister's on Frankie's chest.

"Dad is old, but he's still cool isn't he?" you reached across and pulled Sofia onto your lap as she nodded.

"How does it look?" Frankie pulled it onto his head, a little wonky as he was only working with one hand with the other resting on the tiny body on his chest.

You and Sofia both put your thumbs up and you laughed.

"Four out of four thumbs up!"

"Thanks babe," he chuckled, lifting his hand to settle the cap a little tighter on his head.

"You're welcome, you look even more handsome today. Forty-six suits you," you winked and he smiled.

Yes, Frankie was getting older but he was becoming happier and healthier and you were falling more in love with him every single day.

Permanent tag// @phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @blackmarketmummy @bison-writes @dihra-vesa @queridopascal @sfr99 @rosiefridayrogersunday

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales x reader #headcannon #oneshot #fic #fanfic

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years ago

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Blind Spot

Spencer Reid x (Gender Neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2640

Warnings: Hair pulling kink! Bucketloads of sexual tension but no actual sex. Gratuitous facts about bird nests. Dorks being oblivious. Lots of fluffy heart-eyed banter. Accusations of intercourse with fictional tree-beasts.

A/N: I saw a gif that made me want to pull Spencer’s hair. That’s it. I have zero shame.

For the “friends to lovers” square on my @cmbingo card! Proofread by @fangirlxwritesx67 because she’s the best.

“You look like you fucked an Ent,” you commented cheerfully, stealing sideways glances at Spencer while you waited for the light to change.

“Thanks, that’s helpful.” He grimaced, trying to tug another burr out of a snarled curl.

“Oh my god, you’re just making it worse! I’ll help you when we get back to your place. Leave it, you goober.”

“Did you just call me a goober?” Spencer asked, trying not to laugh.

“You’re like the dictionary definition of a goober,” you said fondly.

“I have three PhDs!”

“I really wish I’d gotten a video of that tumble, Doctor Goober.”

Spencer was blushing, grinning down at his lap as he shredded a piece of leaf. It was hard not to stare at him when he smiled like that.

He’d essentially face-planted into a burr bush earlier, somewhere in the Virginia woods — he’d been so excited about explaining some wonky bit of Star Trek physics theory to you that he just forgot to pay attention to his feet — and he’d floundered out with half a hedge stuck in his hair before picking up exactly where he’d left off.

In other words, Doctor Spencer Reid was a ridiculous human being. You knew that, objectively. It didn’t stop you from having a massive crush on him.

Either he was pretending not to notice, to spare your feelings, or he was socially oblivious; you tended to believe the former, considering how well you’d seen him read other people, but you appreciated it. There was a chance you’d make it out of this — if you could just get over it already — with your friendship intact.

You cleared your throat and told him, “You look like the bastard child of Grandmother Willow and the Wizard of Oz scarecrow.”

“Even if they were real, the anatomical —”

“You didn’t mention that when I brought up the Ents. Something you want to tell me about you and Treebeard?”

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffed, trying to sound exasperated, but he could barely keep a straight face for a second before he was laughing, that scratchy sunny childish giggle that only came out when he was really relaxed and carefree.

“Close the window before a bird sees you and decides to take up residence.”

“How about you watch the road?”

“What, no facts about bird nests?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Nope.”

“Well in that case… gyrfalcon nests are frequently re-used and passed along for generations. The oldest one that’s been discovered was in Greenland, and it was actually estimated to be approximately 2,500 years old.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes! In fact…”

You had to remind yourself, yet again, to stop staring.

Maybe someday you’d get sick of hearing Spencer talk, but you couldn’t really understand the way most of your teammates reacted to his rambling. Even if you didn’t care about what he was saying, there was something amazing about the way his eyes lit up and his hands fluttered around to illustrate his point.

You parked in front of his building and followed him upstairs. His apartment had become comfortingly familiar — ever since you and Spencer bonded over a shared love of sci-fi, you’d taken to driving him home and, if it wasn’t too late, sticking around for an episode or two of Doctor Who.

He got his ancient little DVD player up and running, and you settled on the couch, fluffing pillows and shoving aside his nest of colorful crocheted blankets, getting cozy. There was something about Spencer’s space that always felt like home; maybe it was the smell of books, or just the general Spencer-ness of the whole place.

Just being around him had always kinda felt like home, too. Sometimes you forgot you’d only known him for six months.

He disappeared into his room for a second and came back with a comb. It was cheap plastic, missing a couple teeth, and looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. You looked from him to the comb and back again.

“That actually explains a lot,” you said, grinning. Spencer rolled his eyes and sat down on the floor in front of you, leaning back against your shins, and after a dismayed glance at his curls, you commented, “We could always just shave it all off.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” he said primly.

You started with a couple of the less tangled pieces, finger-combing carefully through one soft lock at a time. You half-expected some comment about primates and social grooming, or at least a few facts about the quantum theory behind the TARDIS, but Spencer was uncharacteristically quiet and still, his eyes fixed on the TV.

You separated out one of the worst knots, and he tilted his head to the side to give you better access. You were being as gentle as possible, but you knew you were hurting him at the first tug — he sucked in a breath, knuckles going white as his fingers clenched on his knees.

“Sorry, I’m trying,” you sighed.

With his head tilted like this, you could see the muscle clenching in his jaw and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“S’okay,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s not — not your fault.”

He sat there stiffly as you worked. His hair was silky, where it wasn’t hopelessly knotted, and you were close enough that you could smell whatever clean, sweet shampoo he used. Something about it made you want to hold your breath; it felt like you were too close. Spencer rarely let you inside his little bubble of personal space.

Maybe that was why he seemed uncomfortable. He was usually so fidgety, tapping out a rhythm or twirling a pen between his long fingers, and it was strange to see him motionless like this.

You ran your fingers through a de-tangled section, slow and careful, and Spencer shivered, his shoulders trembling for a moment before he went unnaturally still again.

Spencer blurted out, “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

At the same time, you asked, “Are you cold?”

You paused for a moment, surprised by the reaction, but after hesitating, Spencer just muttered, “Yeah. Cold.”

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were missing something. It was too warm, if anything; Spencer had a patchy flush crawling up his neck and over the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones.

“Here you go, goober,” you said, awkwardly cheerful in an attempt to cover your uncertainty as you grabbed an afghan from the couch and draped it around his shoulders.

“Thanks.” He pulled the blanket down onto his lap without looking at you. “But maybe I should just do this myself.”

“You’re never gonna get this loose on your own, not without scissors,” you warned, plucking at the knot around the last burr in his hair. “I’ll just, um — I’ll try to be more gentle.”

“Maybe just go for it,” he said. “Get it over with.” His voice had gone all high-pitched and strained, like he was on the verge of a panic attack. If this was how much he disliked physical contact, no wonder he always avoided hugging you.

You tried to go quickly, figuring that one quick moment of pain was better than another ten minutes of making Spencer uncomfortable. In your nervousness, you ended up tugging the burr out much more abruptly than you’d intended, and Spencer let out this rough, low, choked-off sound. Before you could apologize, he was jerking away from you, curled in on himself with his shoulders up around his ears like he was worried you were going to hit him, and —

“Sorry,” he said, voice cracking.

— what?

“Spence?” you said tentatively. “What—”

He was still just curled up on the floor in a ball of gangly limbs, but he half-turned to you, twisting around. He wouldn’t make eye contact, though; he was staring intently at the pillow that was on the couch next to you. It felt weird, looking down at him like this, so you slid down onto the floor, hoping it wouldn’t spook him. He shifted back slightly, but at least he didn’t flinch away.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t — this was a bad idea.”

The profiler in you couldn’t help but notice a few details. He was blushing, for starters. His lower lip was red where he’d been biting it, and — this was the part that surprised you most — his pupils were huge.

You knew what Spencer looked like when he was panicking, and this wasn’t it.

“Oh,” you breathed. “Oh.”

He looked down at his lap, frowning as he played with the loose thread in the cuff of his sweater.

“Sorry,” he repeated. “I know you don’t feel the same way, I wasn’t trying to — I didn’t realize it would be like that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and—”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable! I shouldn’t have asked—”

“I don’t feel the same way about what?”

“I know you’re not attracted to me,” Spencer said, barely audible.

“You’re… you…what?”

He looked up, at that, genuinely startled. There was something sweet and vulnerable shining in his eyes, and your heart was racing. You slid a little bit closer, so that your knees were almost touching Spencer’s as you faced each other, cross-legged.

“I thought you knew.” His hushed, croaky voice broke on the last word. “I thought I was being obvious.”

You gaped at him for a second before letting out a sharp, hysterical giggle.

He ducked his head again, hiding behind a curtain of hair, but not before you saw the hurt expression that flashed across his features.

“No, that’s not—” you blurted out. “Spence. Spencer.”

“Forget it,” he said sharply, his body going tense like he was about to bolt. “Can we just forget this happened?”

Before you could think better of it, you reached out and pushed a few curls back behind his ear, and then you grabbed, twisting your fingers in his hair to tug him forward. You cut off the startled noise he made with a clumsy, eager kiss.

The angle was all wrong, both of you leaning forward awkwardly, but it felt like sparks all down your spine.

You pulled away just far enough to get the words out: “I thought I was being obvious.”

Then Spencer was surging closer on his hands and knees, crowding into your space, until you had a lapful of rumpled doctor pressing you back against the couch. He cupped your jaw with gentle spidery fingers, gaze locked on your mouth, and leaned in slowly like he was still waiting for you to push him away.

There was nothing awkward about it this time. If the first kiss was sparks, this was fireworks — it was such a goddamn cliche you wanted to kick yourself for thinking it, but it was true. Your head was spinning. Every pillowy press of his lips and soft slide of his tongue seemed to steal the breath from your lungs.

By the time you broke apart you were panting, but at least you weren’t the only one. Spencer’s chest heaved as he pulled away. He was still staring at your mouth like he couldn’t help himself. Part of you wanted to kiss him again and maybe never stop, but another part of you was paralyzed, trying to process the fact that this was actually happening.

You just wanted to put the world on pause so that you could memorize everything: the way he licked his lips, the smell of his laundry detergent, the barely-perceptible movement of his pulse — you’d never seen that before because you’d never been this close to him before. You wanted to hold onto it, even the less-than-perfect details — the soundtrack of buzzy Dalek screeching in the background — the way you were folded together on the floor, all too-long legs and bony elbows, which was going to get uncomfortable fast.

Spencer seemed to feel the same way. He grazed the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, then followed the curve of your smile out to your temple and traced the shell of your ear with careful fingertips. When he brushed his curled-up fingers along the ridge of your cheekbone, you turned your head and kissed his knuckles.

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, and you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, holding it in place, feeling the blood and bones shifting under the skin.

“You really didn’t know?” you whispered.

He shook his head shyly and gave you one of those incandescent smiles that always made your heart race. “No idea.”

“I thought you were just ignoring it to spare my feelings,” you confessed.

“I thought you were doing that.”

“I thought you were good at your job!” you laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?”

“I think I have a blind spot, where you’re concerned.” He was blushing again. “But I was so distracted by you that I walked into a bush! How did you not —”

“I’m the one who stares at you all the time like a creep.”

“You thought you were being creepy?” he said sheepishly. “As soon as you started touching my hair — oh my god that’s embarrassing.”

“That’s not the word I would’ve used.”

You tangled your fingers in his curls, tugging experimentally. His breath hitched.

Both of you were utterly still for a moment, watching each other, and the tension between you seemed to fill the air like a living thing. You were excruciatingly aware of all the places your bodies were touching.

You considered all the places you could touch. It would be so easy. You could tug him in, kiss him, melt into each other… there were so many possibilities, suddenly, and there was something incredible about that: the electricity, the excitement, the moment of pure potential in the pause between certainty and action.

Spencer sighed, long and shaky, and you were so close that you could feel the current of exhaled air.

“I couldn’t think straight,” he murmured, with a twitch of a smile. “That doesn’t happen to me often.”

“So you didn’t know…”

You scritched your fingernails down his scalp, marveling at the way he shivered and swayed closer like he was hypnotized. He curled his hand around the side of your neck, thumb slowly stroking the hinge of your jaw.

“I knew I liked it,” he confessed. “But — within a certain context? Not out of nowhere like that. I didn’t think it would be... like that.”

“Like what?”

“Intense.”

“Yeah?”

“But I think maybe it’s just you.” His eyes had gone all glassy and heavy-lidded, and you could barely breathe. “Maybe you drive me crazy no matter where you’re touching me.”

“I can think of a few ways to test that hypothesis.”

You caught a glimpse of his grin, but then he pressed his forehead to yours and his features went blurry, too close for you to focus.

“Never really thought I’d be into dirty talk, but if you’re going to start quoting the scientific method…”

“Funny, most of the time you never shut up,” you said, giddy and overwhelmed.

The tip of his nose brushed yours. There was maybe an inch of space between your mouths, and you wanted to close that gap so badly it felt like a physical ache.

“I mean, if you want me to start rattling off statistics—”

“Spencer.” You fisted both hands in his hair, tugging sharply, and he shuddered. “Take a hint.”

“Blind spot, remember?” he whispered, lips brushing yours as they shaped the words, feather-light and maddening.

“You know, for a genius—” you started, but he kissed you, hungry and sweet like he was making up for lost time, until you’d completely forgotten what you were going to say.

There is now a sexy follow-up here!

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message!

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader fic

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stuff-from-the-void-matron · 4 years ago

Text

Laurel Wreaths & Animal Teeth (3)

(c!technoblade x fem!reader)

(some people liked chapter 2 so here’s chapter 3. whether or not there’s a chapter 4 is dependent on if this one gets any comments/reblogs.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re not exactly sure when your plans for a house shifted from ‘maybe a two story house’ into ‘some kinda roman temple/shrine type building’ instead.

Probably after the third time you had to tear down what you were building because it just didn’t look right. You’d initially not been able to go anywhere with the white quartz (you’d made a base but it looked stupid so you’d tossed it) so you’d switched it with a birch wood. That was where the problems started. First you’d tried your hand at making a cute little cottagecore house, but it just didn’t look cute to you and instead came out kinda frumpy? So you scrapped it, even though it pained you.

“Hours wasted.”

Then you tried making another house, this one taller and with dark wood. But it ended up looking like some kind of Viking home, no matter how much you tweaked it, which totally clashed with the vibrant floral scenery around you. It would work better in a snowy biome. So you’d scrapped that one too, none too happy either.

“Why do I suck?”

Then you’d tried your hand at making a cute mushroom house! But…. it was awful. No matter what you did it just didn’t look right?? You tried making the stem ‘natural’ like it would look in minecraft but then it looked too artificial to you. Then you tried making it look more normal but then it just ended up looking wonky. Long story short.. you hated it. You scrapped it, maybe a little more angry than the previous two times. That was when you’d gone back to the white quartz blocks.

And you started with a huge square, then that sorta morphed into a circle. Or as ‘circular’ as this world’s building blocks could get. Then it just sorta.. went from there? Before you knew it you had a circular white temple/shrine with a domed and tiered ceiling and four tall stained glass windows with star and sky designs. You’d gotten into the construction as it had begun to be more fun. You’d even hung lanterns by chains from the ceiling in symmetrical points and it gave the whole place a nice vibe you think. Especially when it started raining outside.

Once it was all done to your satisfaction you just sat in the middle of the quartz floor and gazed up at the gently swaying lanterns. You’re glad you’d ended up with this place, it looks pretty and has a calm vibe you can resonate with.

It would be dawn soon so you decided since you were done you’d go to bed since you had nothing else to do at the moment. Or well that had been the plan until you placed down your bed and couldn’t help but notice how utterly ridiculous a single bed in the corner of this huge temple looked. It actually made you snort before deciding then and there you needed a bed that somewhat matched the temple aesthetic you guessed you were going for now.

-0-

You ended up making this huge canopy bed with curtains and a platform you had to walk up a step to get to the three beds you’d put on it to look right. Under normal circumstances you’d not like such an overly lavish bed but it certainly fit the almost regal aesthetic your new temple home had. Which was just fine you supposed, it’s not like you were opposed to it. Just not what you’d planned to do from the get go.

Only problem now was.. the place still looked weirdly empty of life. Like one of those barren ‘minimalism’ nightmare homes rich people get off to. So you went through the inventory and started looking for stuff to decorate with. On the wall to the left of the entrance you set up an area for a brewing stand and cauldron as well as an ender chest, mostly just because it looked cool with the purple particles. You also hung up some item frames on the wall by the quartz counters you set up and picked out a bunch of pretty colored potions to hang in them.

Then on the opposite wall you made a little library with an alcove in the middle for an enchantment table. With a lantern on top of the bookshelf next to the crafting table and clay pots of flowers on the uppermost bookshelves to give the area a nicer look. You even added some fluffy carpet in front of the area to enhance the comfiness. And when you went over to the front door and then turned to look at the whole space you smiled because it really did look good. Larger than you’d intended, sure, but also very comfy now too.

You think you’re done with the inside until you look up at the bare walls between the stained glass windows. They were a little… naked. So you tried hanging up some paintings but… they looked terrible. The ‘round’ angle of the windows kept the options for what paintings you could put up pretty narrow. So you forgot that idea and instead tried putting up item frames! But you put some up and disliked it almost immediately. It felt way too busy so you got rid of those too.

You were getting tired of decorating so you just grabbed a random banner (purple because why not?) and then you grabbed a handful of different colored dyes before pulling out a loom. You tried a bunch of different designs, threw out most of them because they either ended up with ugly clashing colors or looking way too busy. But you finally settled on one that was a purple banner with an orange gradient coming up from the bottom and finally a gold sun right in the middle. It looked very pretty, like a sunset!

Once you were happy you hung a couple inside then on a whim you even hung a couple outside your door on either side. It made the outside look prettier in your opinion so once you were done (for real this time) you went and just flopped into bed, not feeling more than a touch tired but with nothing else to do at the moment. So you snuggled into your big cozy bed and drifted off to sleep~

-0-

Days passed since you built your home and you kept up work around the village, planting bamboo and berry bushes in a wall around it in a circle as a form of defense against the Illagers. They were kinda jerks and seemed to only want to kill villagers. Which wasn’t cool. And yeah you could have dug a moat or pit around it instead you guessed but you didn’t want any of the villagers falling in and you felt like they would…

So a wall of bamboo and prickly berry bushes it was. And it works! And looks dope. So win/win.

And it was as you were on your way to put some lights at the bottoms of the ponds and rivers that you noticed it from the corner of your eye. One of your sunset banners! But it was hanging up outside of the weaponsmith’s place instead of on your temple home where you knew you left it. But then you noticed another one hanging up outside the stonemason’s workshop…

You look over at your home up on the hill and see your banners still in place. And you know none of them trudged all the way up there just to steal one from the inside so you decide to investigate more in the village. And the further you walk in the more banners with your pattern on them you see. Actually every building you pass has at least one hung up somewhere near the door. You blinked before chuckling a little and thinking to yourself,

‘Oh! They all must have seen the banner I made and liked it! So they made their own to hang up. That’s actually pretty cute. I’m glad they like it.’

You were blissfully ignorant to the fact that the villagers have started to see you as their saint of sorts. Their goddess of prosperity and kindness. Without whom they would still be lost and living in pathetic huts and with no drive to acquire a skill and better themselves. They honestly look back on those times as such a dark period of their lives. When they were ignorant of their own abilities without your blessing to guide them. They owed you their lives and they wanted to show their thanks to you.

So when they saw you put up your sunset banners on your temple they quickly went to the shepherd and asked him to make them some just like it! And the shepherd, with his skill being a master thanks to your wonderful trading help, was easily able to craft such banners. Every villager had at least one by the time the sun was going down, all of them proudly being hung on the outsides of their homes and work buildings to show their allegiance to you!

But it wouldn’t stop there. The villagers wanted to give back even a fraction of what you have given to them.

-0-

In the following weeks you definitely noticed the villagers acting… odd. It started small at first, with them each coming to you and giving you gifts. The shepherd gave you a pair of blankets that were beautifully crocheted with this fluffy wool yarn, one that’d been dyed a soft baby pink while the other was a soothing sea foam color. You thanked him with a smile three times over and he seemed endlessly happy you liked them. You took them home and laid them across your bed and liked the pop of color they provided your space.

Though after that the farmer and leatherworker both met you at the entrance to your temple and each gifted you some things they thought you’d like. The farmer happily handed over a full basket of freshly baked bread along with another basket containing a bushel of golden carrots and almost a full melon’s worth of glistering melon slices. While the leatherworker offered up a pair of dainty leather sandals that looked like they would lace up your legs to just below your knees. And also what looked like a prettily crafted leather utility belt! It had lotus details and golden studs and buckles on the front and back. And one large pocket, one medium zipper pocket, and two smaller pockets. You loved all of their gifts and thanked them both over and over while safely putting the food away (and maybe eating some bread right then) and putting the slippers and belt on.

You were beyond grateful and thought that was the end of that.

You… were wrong.

-0-

As the days turned into weeks you were lavished with more and more offerings. It took you a while to realize that’s what they were; offerings. You got a little uncomfortable with all the gifts after a bit but when you started to refuse them the villagers looked so sad so you began to accept them again. Especially after they tried to make ‘better’ stuff for you after your initial refusal, under the impression the last ones weren’t good enough for you or something. It started to get hard to take in all the gifts, because sometimes you weren’t available in the village (you still liked to explore) or because you were working on something and they couldn’t reach you. So as a solution you set up a double chest outside your temple for them to put the gifts in.

They eagerly adapted to that and each night you’d clean out the chest, putting away practical gifts and discreetly getting rid of ones you had WAY too many of. Like the food. You had a full double chest of food and you didn’t need anymore, but saying so would probably hurt their feelings. So this was the easiest way. Plus a lot of the gifts you actually DID like. Like the sandals, hip pocket belt, and the pretty white dress you were currently wearing. The under part of it was just a simple white sleeveless mini dress that went above your knees (you’re not sure it was that shirt when you first tried it on..) and the over part of the dress was a sheer white maxi dress with loose ruffled sleeved that hung off your shoulders, and a slit on each side that helped with ease of movement.

You’d taken to wearing the dress, the hip pocket belt, and sandals every day. They were all comfortable and looked pretty good on you now that you think about it. Not to mention the fabric was light and breathable too, which helped keep you from getting too hot. You’re not sure what kind of fabric it’s made of, but whatever it is it’s light enough to not make you sweat but it’s also heavy enough to keep you from getting cold when it’s windy. Regardless, it’s your go-to outfit these days.

But aside from the offerings and stuff, you had to sit down and really examine your current position. You really took the time to pay attention to how the villagers were treating you. And you eventually came to the conclusion that they were treating you like some kind of saint or deity. They gave you the best of their wares as offerings, they took on your banner as their own (presumably as a show of loyalty), and they almost seemed to worship the ground you walked on. This isn’t even mentioning the statues that they’d put up of you… Like, they were good! Very well done and made of polished white quartz but.. it was still strange. Though like everything else you can’t say you weren’t getting used to it all.

You sighed and rolled with it.

-0-

You realized one day you’d never been to the Nether. And you wondered if the rules here (like mobs not bothering you) was also true there? You couldn’t deny you were sorta excited to go see, but also scared. You HATED the freaking Hoglins when you played Minecraft before this place. They were always so aggressive and you can’t count how many times they’d killed you, the bastards. But your curiosity won out over your anxiety so you grabbed the enchanted diamond pickaxe you’d been given and then paused while grabbing a stack of gold bars.

“Wait I need to wear gold right? Or the Piglins will be all mad,” you said as you grabbed a gold helmet from your inventory.

You thoughtlessly went to put it on but jerked the helmet back when it clanged against something hard. Something hard that made you wince as a small shock of pain went through your skull. A curse left your lips as you asked out loud what the fuck THAT was about. You were in the middle of trying to come up with an explanation when you reached up with your free hand and flinched when it came into contact with something on your head. Something that 200% was NOT your hair or skull. Panic bubbled inside you and your stomach sank into your feet as you whipped the gold helmet up to look into its polished surface to see yourself.

Horns? Little blunt horns… On your head.

With a shaky hand you reached up, sort of hoping this was just a dream. But when your fingertips brushed against the soft velvety texture of the horns your breathing grew faster and you pulled your hand away like you’d been burned. You dropped the helmet, not even hearing it clatter against the floor as you stumbled back, nearly tripping over the step that led up to the platform your bed was on, but you somehow managed to get to the bed and sit down.

Before you knew it you’d burst into tears and buried your face into your hands, sobbing and unable to cope with this new fuckery.

You’ve had to deal with so much weird insane shit since ending up here, wherever the fuck HERE was. You were honestly so tired. You’ve done your best to stay calm, stay sane, and just keep going. And for the most part you have! You focused on surviving, building, and dealing with the villagers. You’d probably feel silly for breaking down over some dumb horns later, especially after you’d barely batted an eye over your weird ears, teeth, and EYES. But the breakdown was probably more to do with life deciding to give you another slice of bullshit despite your overflowing plate. At least that’s what the logical part of your mind was thinking.

But the illogical part, the emotional part, was just so done. So you cried and cried and cried your very soul out until no sound was leaving you anymore. And then, once you were cried out and exhausted you weakly crawled onto the pillows and just passed out.

You’d deal with this new shit later.

-0-

Far on the outskirts of the opposite side of the village from your temple a young boy with golden hair stumbled across the entrance to said village.

He’d never seen this village before and was curious. He’d have gladly stormed in and started going through villager chests for loot but it was getting close to dusk and his older brother said he needed to get back asap. Now usually he’d shrug off his brother’s bossy nature but he’d sounded worried so he decided to hurry and get back before it got too late.

But before he turned and left he marked down this village’s coordinates so he could get back to it later..

-------------------------

tag list:

@salinesoot @lady-bee-fechin @kacchasu @putridjoy @lunawritesstories @galaxypankitty3030 @paradigmax @zachariethememerie @killmewithafanfic @trinity-1002107

#technoblade x reader #technoblade #dsmp #dream smp #mcyt x reader #tommyinnit #tommyinit mcyt #c!techno #c!tommy

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writingsbychlo · 4 years ago

Text

smoke and fire (12)

word count; 8943

summary; you and newt are called to another unusual call.

notes; this is the first half (technically) of a mini sub-plot. the end comes in the next part.

warnings; violence, gun use, description of injury, slight gore, intentional harm, attempted murder, reference to drowning.

“I feel disgusting.” You mumbled, water still dripping from your arms as you stood, shaking yourself odd a little and groaning at the chill that was beginning to sweep in. The lights on the firetruck were flashing, equipment still being loaded back up, and Newt was standing on the other side of the ambulance, a water bottle Minho had given him sitting in his hand as he took another large sip, gargling the water loudly and frothing it around his mouth before spitting it out onto the concrete and grimacing.

“I think I swallowed, like, half the lake.”

You felt bad for him, you really did, and you tried to peel the wet material of the shirt away from yourself. Unbuttoning it slowly, you frowned, wet hair plastered to the back of your neck in the ponytail you wore, and Newt choked on his drink, laughing loudly and spitting up water again. He patted at his chest, turning away from you, his cheeks going red as he tries to hack up water that had gone down the wrong pipe, and you patted his back, startled at his sudden reaction.

His eyes were watering when he recovered, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “You know, if I was straight, I’d be very flattered.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your nipples.” He beamed, and your brows furrowed, before you glanced down, noting the hardened peaks from the cold, showing clearly through your tank that had gone clear enough in its pale grey colour to show off the plain design of your bra, and you scoffed. “Truly, it’s an honour, but it’s doing nothing for me.”

“Oh, no, whatever will I do now?” You mused, voice flat of any emotions, and he only laughed again, peeling off his shirt, and ringing it out, goosebumps rising along pale skin as the chill of the air washed over his skin. The lake was clear now, a group of kids who had stupidly enough decided it would be a good idea to jump off the edge of the dock before realising the wall was too tall and slippery with algae to get out, beginnings of hypothermia and ingestions of dirty water before anybody had wandered past close enough to hear them calling for help.

Sometimes, you really hated teenagers.

“Think if we’re fast enough, we can get back to the house before the firefighters? First dibs on the showers with the best water pressure, and guaranteed hot water.”

His eyes twinkled a little as he lifted a still damp but no longer sodden shirt back onto his shoulders, grimy and covered in green and brown stains from the water, no bothering to button it back up. “I take that as a challenge, and I accept.”

You climbed in through the back of the van, pulling open the bottom drawer and finding the plastic seat coverings, chucking one of the sheet packages to Newt for his own chair, before he slammed the doors with you in the back, and rounded to the driver’s side. Smoothing the plastic over your chair to make sure it was covered, your shoes squelched a little as you collapsed down into it. Newt did the same, and the second the keys were twisted into the lock once he was shuffling uncomfortably on the plastic, you were flicking the heating on to the highest temperature you could get it.

The downside of working in a van filled with drugs and medicine? The heat didn’t get very high in order to keep what needed to be refrigerated at the temperature is was required to be at. His eyes checked the mirrors as he reversed, noting the firetruck that was beginning to back out, the Squad truck leaving first, Gally and Fry still milling around to talk to the cops, and so you and Squad had a head start.

It would seem that they had the same idea, because Minho had a positively dangerous look in her eyes as she pulled up towards the entrance alongside you both, and Newt smirked, hand on the gearstick as he switched gears and pressed his foot down on the pedal. He surged forwards, the van moving faster than the trucks due to their added weight, a delay in its start-up, and the pair of you shot across the uneven gravelly path towards the main highway.

The red truck wasn’t far behind, and yet you were laughing a little at the determined look on your partners face, what had been a modest challenge was now becoming a battle between yourselves and the Squad team. You had the edge, being a lightweight vehicle, easy navigation and more speed, but they had the edge, the big red truck was more noticeable to other driver’s and they tended to move out of the way more for firetrucks than they did for ambulances.

As you met the junction for the highway, Newt flicked on the indicators and swerved onto the highway in a gap between cars that was too small to be considered safe. The move left you pressed into the side door of the ambo’, turning to look at him as his eyes stayed fixed on the road, a smirk on his face as the red truck was left in the dust, having to wait much longer to be able to pull out.

“Alright, Vin Diesel, settle down.”

“You want a hot shower to get clean? Or do you want lukewarm water with weak pressure that takes hours to get you clean?” You considered it, knowing that the more the showers were used, the weaker the water pressure got and the colder they ran as the hot water was distributed out, and you weighed out the pros and cons. You gave in with a reluctant sigh, watching Newt weave between cars, and he let out a triumphant noise. “Exactly. So, be a good co-driver, and play something exciting.”

“This is an ambulance, Newt. We have the classical jazz station, the news station, the emergency radio, or static and silence.”

“Sing something.” He offered, and you laughed loudly. “Maybe just yell exciting things at the top of your voice like it’s a James Bond movie. You can be my Bond woman.”

“Exciting things? You mean like ‘Quick, Newt, watch out for the rock slide’ or ‘Oh my God, Newt, he’s shooting at us’?” He hummed, rolling his lips together a little, and looking into the mirror where the red van wasn’t all that far behind anymore. “Oh, okay, I got it. How about ‘Quick! Newt! The bomb that will destroy world peace and the alien trade federation is about to go off, hurry so you can disarm it and save the galaxy!”

“That’s the one!” He shouted back, laughter taking up the cabin between you both as he picked up a little more speed, growling under his breath as distant wailing took place. “Did they just turn the fucking sirens on?”

“That’s illegal! A crime! Disqualified!”

Only a moment later, the truck was passing you by, Thomas lounging in the front seat with a smirk on his face, not even bothering to look at the two of you as he held up his middle finger, feet popped up on the dashboard, before they were pulling ahead, and you gaped at it.

“He flipped us off!”

“He did what?” Newt sounded like he had been told that Thomas had run over his dog, before his face was growing stormy, and he peeled off towards one of the exits, and you sat up a little more in your seat.

“Newt, this isn’t our exit, why are we slowing down? This is war now!”

“We’re taking a shortcut! I think.”

You pouted, watching as he pulled off onto the quieter roads, already resigning yourself to the loss. The van moved slower, not by much and certainly still considered fast for these roads, and you didn’t recognise the area you were driving through until you were almost at the house, coming at it from a completely different angle. It was a side that the trucks would be unaware of, the roads on this side of the house too narrow for the trucks to navigate on, but an ambulance could definitely weave and dodge along them.

You were expecting the grey garage to already be stained with bright and shiny flashes of colour, but as you approached it, the bay was still empty, and you gasped.

Unclipping your seatbelt before the vehicle had even rolled to a halt, and as soon as it was in park, haphazardly and slightly wonky within the designated space but still inside the lines, and Newt was ripping the keys from the ignition. You didn’t even bother peeling away the plastic overs, both hopping down from the van, doors slamming, uncomfortable runs in wet shoes from the vehicle to the changing rooms, the door practically bounding from the wall with the urgency that you forced it open.

Your fingers were trembling with both the cold and the adrenaline as you opened your locker, grabbing for the towel and washbag that sat on the middle shelf, slamming the metal canister shut a second behind Newt, and on the other side of the room, you heard a shower curtain swipe open, before the water spray was coming on.

Kicking off your shoes onto the white tile, your socks were ridden with water, and you stopped into the basin, flimsy curtain closing behind you. Switching on the water, you didn’t care about clothes getting wet as they were all drenched regardless. The water was hot and strong, pouring down over you as you let out a breath in relief, sighing out at the feeling, and stripping the partially unbuttons shirt the rest of the way down.

Dropping it to the floor outside, your vest followed, bra dropping by your feet for modesty, not all too thrilled about the idea of the entire team seeing your underwear. One fireman was plenty enough. Your trousers came next, panties following your bra, and socks lastly, before you were freeing your hair from its bobble and scrubbing dirt from the tendrils. The water was murky as it pooled around your feet, and you grinned through the suds as you heard the locker room door open up.

“Nice of you guys to finally join us!”

Newt laughed at your words, and you scowled at the taste of shampoo that got in your mouth, eyes squeezed closed tightly, but you couldn't hold back your laughter at the several complaints that burst out.

The shower next to yours clicked into gear, a slight dip in the flow of water as it adjusted, and it was steadily growing weaker as the firemen all changed and climbed into a shower, but you had already shampooed, only some soap and conditioner to go.

“How the fuck did you guys beat us here?”

“We played by the rules, Bren! Flicking on sirens, that was cheating.” You tutted, the girl scoffing from the cubicle beside you.

“Uh, playing it smart isn’t cheating!” She retaliated, and you scrubbed a bar of exfoliating soap over your skin, the extra shrub helping to rid you of the feeling of grunge from the lake away from your flesh. “But seriously, how the hell did you beat us here with so much time?”

“Newt knew a short cut, apparently.” She made a vague sound of agreement, the boys all chatting loudly from the other side of the room, and the build-up of steam was beginning to give you a headache. Running some conditioner through your hair and combing the knots out quickly, you finished up, switching off the water and finding your towel, hand fumbling outside of the stall for the material, before you were finding it, and wrapping it around your body. Wringing out your hair, you pushed back the shower curtain and stepped free.

Newt was at the lockers, pulling a shirt over his head, almost fully dressed, the plastic washing basket from the corner was sitting outside him, water pooling through the cracks to the floor as his clothes dripped, and you scooped up your own, dropping them in with his and flashing him a grateful smile as he all but nodded in a promise to load them into the washer.

His fluffy hair was almost dry already, messy and sticking up from his towel, and you envied how quickly he could get ready again. How quickly all men could get dressed, really.

Taking your kit over to the sink, you fastened your towel a little tighter around yourself again to make sure it would stay tight, before wiping a patch in the steamed-up glass to see your reflection. Running a collection of moisturisers and serums over your cheeks, keeping it at it’s best despite the smoky and dirty conundrums you found yourself in on a day to day basis, you rehydrated and cleansed your skin, before moving on to your hair.

Heading to your locker to get a new set of clothes, you lifted the catch open, the door swinging as you gathered belongings, checking you had everything for a new uniform in your back-up bag, before placing it down on the bench. As you closed it, you jumped, a body leaning on the metal on the other side, and a mumbled curse fell from your lips at the shock. Reaching up to clutch at the edge of your towel and ensure it didn’t fall, you glared at the laughing attacker.

“You fucking suck. Why are you scaring me when I’m in a towel? Dumbass.”

“Oh, ouch. Cranky today, huh?” Thomas teased, reaching out a finger to poke at your stomach through the towel, and you jumped, slapping his hand away as he chuckled more.

“I’m cranky when I’m in a towel, and risking flashing the entire team because you wanna’ startle me!” He smirked, eyes scanning over your body particularly slowly, as if to make a point, and you rolled your eyes, despite the heat forming on your face. Adjusting your towel again, he watched your fingers move, and you kicked at his shin, watching him hop around in his towel at the aggression.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You know what that was for!” You held your fingers up, pointing them from your chest to your eyes, and he got a wicked grin once again as he clocked onto what you were saying. “Go away so I can get dressed in peace!”

“So now you don’t want me around? That’s not how you felt a couple of weeks ago.” You glared at him again, crossing your arms and stomping your foot a little, knowing what he was referring to, and he hadn't been any less affectionate since. At the action, though, he gave in, hands held up in a surrender and his laughter following him all the way around to his locker on the other side, leaving you alone.

Members of the team were still wandering around, and so you tried to be as quick but as discreet as you possibly could, tugging your panties and trousers up under your towel. Your spare shoes were uncomfortable and tight, barely worn in as opposed to your regular ones, and you were cold as you put on the clothes that had been chilling in the metal canister, bag ready to be taken home to refill.

Rubbing your towel across your hair to dry it out better, you left it as it was, towel folding in the bag to be taken home, and you placed it all back inside. Adjusting your fresh uniform to sit a little more comfortably on your body, your fingers smoothed along the collar and flattened it down, before sweeping still damp locks away from your clothes.

The men were all filtering from the room, a faster turn around as they dried, all carrying dirty and sodden uniforms to the laundry room to try and get them sorted, hoping to find themselves with one less task to do when they go home, and not wanting to stink up their cars with the foul smell that came with the water from the dock by trailing the wet garments home.

The dull buzzing of the only hairdryer the fire station had was already in use by Brenda, shorter hair looking a little crazy as she only had her fingers to come through instead of her usual styling brush, and she was scowling at her reflection in the mirror as her hair curved up in the wrong directions at the edges, bangs looking untamed. She glared at your snickering as you approached, finger flipping over the switch to turn it off, clearly deeming the effort good enough, and she stuck her tongue out at you and handed it over, letting you start it up to reduce some of the water trapped in your own hair as she tried desperately to do something to control it a little better.

“Why don’t you just comb it all back?”

“And look like a starring member from ‘Grease’? Want me to start singing ‘Go Grease Lightning’ on the top of one of the fire trucks, huh?” She was so over-dramatic, and yet you loved that about her, shaking your head and smirking a little as she continued to struggle. You weren’t all that bothered about getting it completely dry, just enough that you wouldn’t catch a chill from it. You didn’t really feel like facing the next few weeks with a sore throat and a blocked nose.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you that I’m pretty sure I have a curled brush in my bag?”

She paused her work, arms crossing over her chest, hip leaning on the porcelain of the sink, and you could feel her burning glare on you as you continued to keep your one hair tame just with the use of the machine and your fingers. “You’ve had a blow-dry brush this whole time and you let me suffer?”

“Uh, first off, it’s not a blow-dry brush. It’s just a round brush. Make do. Secondly, you make it sound like I had food and you’ve not eaten for three days.”

“Same thing.” She hissed, playfully through it all, and she didn’t wait for permission, before she was meandering to your locker over hers and letting herself in, beginning to dig through the items in there to find the brush. She let out a triumphant little noise, and as she all but skipped back across the room, you decided you were close enough to dry, shaking your head to tame fly-aways and handing her the dryer back. You turned, walking away from her, and she let out a sound of complaint. “You’re just gonna’ leave me in here, alone?”

“It’s the changing rooms, not a back-alley at a nightclub at 3am.”

“What if I get lonely?” She pouted, turning the heat up and power down, the whirring going quieter so neither of you had to shout quite as loudly to one another, and you shrugged, backing away from her a little more, and smirking.

“Talk to your reflection. I’m going to make a snack.”

She huffed, but smiled, turning back to her plans, and you were the only one to what your soft chuckle as you left, the chill out in the corridor being shocking as you stepped from the steam-filled room to the breeze-filled hall to the main bay, shuddering as goosebumps rose over your arms, and you crossed them across your chest to keep your heat in.

Thomas was standing at the entrance of the laundry room, a basket full of wet clothes, nose turned up a little as Newt and Jeff loaded the machines, and you didn’t envy them at all. The doors to the common room were sealed shut tightly, presumably to keep in the warmth, because Fry had turned on both of the space heaters, and the room was already warming up to being hot. The smell of garlic bread was filling the room, some kind of cheesy pasta following it, and Fry was already singing loudly to the song playing over the radio, almost drawing out the television as Gally watched a movie that was so old it was in black and white, but he wasn’t paying attention, rather, he was texting on his phone and enjoying the background noise.

Minho was sitting beside him much the same, fingers moving swiftly over the screen, and Clint was chewing on a pen at the table as he filled out the puzzles in one of the newspapers from last week's stack.

“What’cha making, Fry?”

“Chicken and mushroom pasta, you want some?” Your face screwed up, shaking your head, and he laughed. “Let me guess, you don’t like mushrooms?”

“They’re gross and slimy. No offence to your pasta.”

“They’re delicious, and healthy.” He corrected, and you grunted, opening the fridge, and pulling out a loaf of bread, shuffling through the contents of the fridge to find a topping you wanted. As you searched, a soft bumping at your ankle caught your attention, a sharp and chipper bark to follow it, and you glanced down, finding a wagging tail and a ball of golden fur staring up at you expectantly. “That dog is a bottomless pit of food!”

“He’s a growing boy!” You waved the cook off, taking a packet of ham out and peeling a slice off from the inside of the pack, holding it up at about waist height, and watching as the dog shuffled backwards, staring up at it and preparing himself. “C’mon, Scoot, jump!”

The dog did so, a happy yip sounding from him as he did, snatching half of the slice as it tore in your hands, and chewing down on it happily, pieces falling from its mouth and onto the floor, and he was quick to lick those up too. “He’s never going to learn any tricks if you pamper him like that.”

You looked up, Thomas having come through the doorway, Newt following behind him, your partner raising his shirt to his nose and sniffing at it, trying to determine whether the stench had transferred to his uniform just from doing the laundry, before collapsing down in the armchair. “He just did a trick! He jumped!” Scooter did it again, snatching the rest of the ham from your fingers, and you gasped as teeth brushed over your fingers, your hand snatching back, and Thomas chuckled, coming to a stop before you and taking the ham from your fingers.

“He did not jump on command, he just jumped for food.”

“Fine! You try!” You raised a brow, and Thomas took the challenge, a smirk forming.

“Scooter!” The dog’s head snapped to face him, from where he’d been occupying himself with pawing at one of your undone laces, now focused on Thomas. “Scooter, sit.” The dog remained still for a second, your lips pursing as he continued to pant and wag happily, stood on all four paws.

“What was it you were saying?”

Thomas’ eyes flicked up to you, narrowing for a second, before he was trying again. “Scooter, sit.” Your jaw was slack as the dog did exactly as told, sitting neatly and letting his tail brush over the flooring patterns, hearing the fridge behind you opening and closing, jars and tins rattling as Fry continued to cook. “Good boy, Scoot! No, lay down.” Thomas clicked his fingers, pointing at the floor, and the dog flattened out, staring up at Thomas expectantly, and you huffed. “Good boy. You want a treat?”

A bark signalled that, and Thomas rolled up a piece of the honey-glazed delicacy that Fry was snatching back a second later with mumbles about it being wasted, and Scooter stood up to snatch it, running away across the room in a pitter-patter of movements, scurrying away to his bed in the corner.

“See?”

“How the hell did you do that?” You demanded, washing your hands under the tap and drying them off, before going back to the sandwich you’d been preparing, and Thomas seated himself on one of the island stools with a shrug.

“I’ve been practising. Wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, consider me surprised.” You offered, grabbing a knife from one of the drawers, and Fry groaned beside you, shooting you both a dirty look as you began to spread the butter.

“Consider me revolted.” He gagged, and you rolled your eyes, swinging your foot out to kick at his shin, Thomas flipping him off despite the heat that was building on his cheek, and the chef wasn’t deterred from mimicking your conversation. “Seriously, get a room.”

“We have a room. It’s this kitchen. Two out of three, we win, majority rules.”

“Nice.” Thomas grinned, holding his hand out, and you slammed your palm against his in a satisfying high five, before pressing the knife down and cleaning it off, sealing the butter back up and putting it in the fridge, before grabbing your fillings. Layering them on carefully, you started slowly, constructing your sandwich carefully, and building it on your plate, before slicing it evenly down the middle, starting at your lunch proudly.

You only had a second to appreciate it, before a large hand was picking up a piece of it, taking it away and biting the corner off or it happily. “Hey! Who the hell said you could eat my sandwich?”

“Sharing is caring, sweetheart.” He winked, taking another large bite and speaking through his food, hopping down from the stool, and your face screwed up. You took your now half a sandwich, walking towards the empty couch and hearing Thomas trail after you, the couch the wrong way to the screen, but you weren’t all that bothered about what was happening in this movie anyway, and so you faced away from it, spreading out along the couch. “Move your legs.”

“Give me my sandwich back!”

“It’s half gone now!” He held it up, showing you the evidence of the half-eaten piece, and you shrugged. As if to prove a point, he pushed the rest of it all into his mouth at once, cheeks feeling with food and lips barely able to close, before he was brushing crumbs from his shirt, and picking your legs up at the ankles, lifting them up to be able to sit down.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Yep.” His words were muffled, your feet being laid back down across his lap, and you took a more polite bite of the remaining half. His fingers moved to your shoes, finding the undone laces and wrapping them around his fingers, before pulling them tightly and looping them into neat knots. He repeated the same on the other foot, before slumping back into the couch a little, still trying to chew the whole mouthful, and you wiggled a little as you got more comfortable, sliding further down until it was your calves in his lap instead of your feet, and your shoulders could rest on the armrest.

His hand rested on your knee, thumb smoothing over you lightly as his other hand produced his phone from his pocket, beginning to swipe at it absentmindedly.

“You two are honestly sickening. I have toothache.”

“Oh, cut the crap, Newt. You spent a half-hour on the phone to me two days ago talking about Derek.” Newt looked shocked for a second, pale cheeks flushing with warm colour, before he was shrugging it off.

“Yeah, well, at least me and Derek have never cuddled in a waiting room at his job.”

“We aren’t cuddling right now!” You scoffed, taking another bite of your sandwich, and chewing it as you process what to say next. “Besides, it would be unprofessional to cuddle in a waiting room where patients could see. This is totally different because we’re inside the house, an-”

Your words went flat as you heard the siren overhead go off, even Thomas’ thumb on your knee pausing its motions, everybody going silent, only the sounds of sizzling oil and the muted television static to go as the alarm went off. You deflated, only yourself and Newt being called for, and you heaved yourself to a sitting position, Newt already beginning to peel his body back up out of the comfy chair he’d seated himself in.

“At least it’s only a local call, we’ll be back before the shift even ends.”

Your partner’s words did little to comfort you, and he chuckled as you continued to glare, before forcing yourself into action.

Swinging your legs down to sit up, you looked mournfully at your only half-eaten meal, before handing the plate to Thomas, who beamed at the offering, your fingers tousling his hair before you were wandering away, and attempting to pull your hair back into something that resembled a pony-tail using on the bobble on your wrist and your fingers.

Newt grabbed the keys, ready to set off, and you followed after him as the doors remained yet to even start swinging shut in his haste. Reaching the van, you hesitated as you neared climbing in, stripping away the plastic over your seat and dropping it down into the footwell of the van, watching Newt do the same. Starting up the ambulance and fastening your seatbelt, Newt flicked on the SatNav, the machine taking a second to load up, before it was programming in your given destination and beginning to guide you.

“So, that’s something pretty new.”

“What is?” Your eyes flickered over yourself, the same uniform you always wore clad on your body, and a pair of sneakers, your brow raising as you turned to your friend, the silence saying everything, and he scoffed. Switching gears as he pulled out onto the faster roads, he spared you a look, dubious and unbelieving of your confusion.

“You know what.”

“I assure you, I don’t.” You shuffled a little, the radio crackling, but none of the chatter directed toward the two of you was coming through yet, and you waited.

He sighed, flicking on the indicators and pulling out onto the highway. “You and Tommy. That’s what I’m talking about. What’s up with you two?”

Heat flushed over your face, and you sank back a little further into your seat, but your lips wanted to form a smile, and you had to bite down on the inside of your cheek just to contain it. “I’m not totally sure.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Well, I kinda’ know. It’s all so new. It’s scary, but exhilarating.” Newt only smiled, eyes flicking to the mirror to check over everything he was looking at, before taking another turn following the SatNav, a side road to leave the highway, and you were still waiting on call details to come through on the radio. “I mean, I know it’s something. He knows that, too. We’ve talked about it, but we’re just, sort of, waiting.”

“Waiting for what, exactly?”

“The right time, I guess.” You sighed, realising how odd it all sounded out loud, to be talking like a teenager to your friend about a guy you liked, but it also felt natural and right. “Everything has just been crazy lately. I don’t think we would be like we were without the craziness, and it’s kinda’ weird to think that this job has changed my life so much, that this house has changed my life so much, when none of the others did before. I think we’re just waiting to see if it’s real, or just an in-the-moment emotional deal.”

“Seems pretty real to me.”

You smiled, knowing that Newt’s words were intended to be soothing, but instead, they made your heart race a little more.

Everything made your heart race nowadays, like you were in overdrive all the time, you were constantly on the edge, and not in an anxious way. You’d spent so much of your life feeling closed off and locked down that you weren’t used to how it felt to be on the opposite end of the scale. You had anxiety, and fear, and loneliness, that was your normal status, but since settling into Firehouse ‘21, everything had been turned upside down.

Your heart would race with thrill and excitement, and the heat flushing over you wasn’t so much from rage - after you’d sorted your problems with Thomas, anyway - but from flustered shyness. On the days when you felt lonely, when the urge to be around someone else was stronger, your phone was there, lighting up with notifications from a group chat and you knew you had friends you could call, someone who would spend time with you, when they weren’t on duty.

It was all still new, and a little scary, and still thrilling.

Then, there was Thomas. You weren’t sure what it was with Thomas, because you had nothing to compare it to. Your previous relationships had been quick and spinning. A fling that ended just as fast as it started, almost always ending after a first date with tumbling into bed and shutting down when the first signs of intimacy began to rear their heads. You moved around and you never stayed put long enough to invest in something, but you had no plans of leaving Firehouse ‘21 any time soon, and so you’d allowed yourself to let Thomas in before you’d even realised it was happening.

Intimate and emotional, a connection that wasn’t physical yet, you didn’t even know what it felt like to kiss him, and yet it still made you feel a little breathless and lightheaded to imagine it because there was a weight and meaning hanging to it now. There was something deeper than you’d ever had, a relationship that wasn’t pinned on sex and quick connections to chase away the cold sheets when you felt truly alone, but instead, left you feeling warm and loved even when no one was around.

“So, what about you and Derek?”

It was Newt’s turn to be embarrassed, the gravel and shale under the tires crunching loudly as the two of you began to trail up abandoned dirt roads, the rickety and deafening sounds of the trains of the metal bridges overhead shooting past were like the banging of metal against metal, hitting a spoon against a pan or steel-tipped work boots on metal platforms.

Pale skin turned dark pink, and he flashed a cheesy grin, eyes sparkling a little, and you already knew how excited he was. “That good, huh?”

“Things with Derek are awesome.”

“I take full responsibility for that awesomeness.” You teased, and he chuckled, the van coming to a halt, and your brows furrowed, amusement disappearing and confusion over as you stared out at the empty scene. The SatNav on the dashboard clicked green and shut down as you reached your destination, clearly telling you both that this was the correct location, and yet there was nothing, and nobody to be seen. “Put a pin in that conversation.”

He only mumbled his response, equally as confused, and the two of you stepped out of the car, a chill sweeping over you as it became eerily similar to the last case you’d received with nobody present, still so recent that the police investigation into it was still open, the court case over Chuck’s death was yet to be closed and the arson investigators hadn't even completed their analysis. “Check the radio. Is it turned on?”

You moved back in, knowing that it was because the static had been playing lowly in your ears all the way through, but there was nothing else. Normally, at a call on the edge of a town like this, the two of you would be greeted by someone, a frantic pedestrian, friend or family member, the person who had made the call would arrive to lead you to the person, and even as you listened, you couldn't hear anything.

No loud groaning or yells of pain, no mangled screams for help or even a blood trail to guide you. There was absolutely nothing to suggest why the two of you would be here, and it all became more and more suspicious as each second ticked by. Newt tucked his hands into his pockets, and you picked up the receiver, sitting sideways on your seat and turning the dial, before pressing the button down on the side.

“House ‘21 ambulance, calling in. We haven't had any more details, can we get an update?”

You waited for a second, eyes narrowing as the machine clicked you through to an operator, and there were muffled voices in the background of the call centre, before a clearer voice rang through. “‘21 ambulance, can you confirm your location, registration number and ID for me.”

Newt smirked at the frown on your face, knowing that every so often a caller came who actually required you to cite the information. While you couldn't deny that it was protocol, and they should be doing it every time, most of them took it simply at your word of being the paramedics, because they knew that most robbers wouldn't be bothering to call in on the radio of they were stealing from an ambulance, they’d just clear out all the medicines and run.

Listing off the information she requested, you listened and waited, the sound of long nails typing quickly at a keyboard sounded out, and you turned up the volume, holding the device out from you a little, so Newt could hear more clearly, even as he wandered a few feet away, looking around some more. “Still there, ‘21?”

“Yep.” You paused, hearing a few more clicks, before the woman was sighing.

“My files don’t have much. The caller didn’t leave a name or an identification, the only notes here are the address, and that you’re looking for a stab wound victim.” Newt's brows raised as he heard the words, and you only felt more confused. If someone had been stabbed, there should be a trail of blood or someone calling for help, you should be able to see them, they couldn't have gotten far without leaving a pathway of where they were, and yet, there was nothing here except the trains on the bridge overhead. “That all?”

“That's all.”

She hung up not long after, and you grabbed for your go-bag, chucking Newt his bag too, and he only just managed to catch it as the breath was knocked from his lungs, sticking his tongue out at you childishly as you grinned, before slamming your door back shut, and letting Newt lock it up, the van chirping and flashing as it sealed.

Swinging your bag onto your shoulder, your partner mimicked you. Wandering away together, you paced a few minutes from the van, staring out across the empty area, and crossing your arms. “I gave up my lunch for this shit.”

“You go left, I’ll go right, we’ll sweep around, and in ten minutes we meet at the van?” You only nodded, kicking at a particularly large pebble under your foot, and turning to face the direction you were told to go in. You heard Newt stepping away, pebbles shifting underfoot, and you followed suit, glancing back at the blond over your shoulder for a second. “Yell if you find something.”

“Will do.” You saluted, a grin thrown over his shoulder to you, before fixing your gaze ahead of you once again.

There were a few old houses, run-down and abandoned, nobody having lived in them for at least a decade. Broken windows were boarded up and front doors were hanging on their hinges, spray paint that was old and faded, drips and chips on the wood that was stained with years of abandonment, and wire fences with chains on that had been long since cut away. The grass was dead, yellowed and brown and overrun with weeds, and spoke spots ere charred blank with ash, where you suspected kids had come to light fires and get away from parents when they were bored; empty bottles of booze and cans of pop littered the ground, among wrappers and boxes for things too old to see the labels on.

You checked every garden, standing in the gate and calling out to offer help, but nothing except for silence came back. The rusty metal creaked as you stepped out from the last row, three random houses in an area of town that had clearly been skipped in the surrounding gentrification, left to fall into disrepair, and you didn’t blame it. The constant source of trains of the tracks overhead was already beginning to give you a headache, there were no real roads built to this area, and it was miles to the closest bus stop or shopping centre.

Turning back around, you didn’t walk straight back to him, but you walked a little to the side, taking an angle back towards the van just to be sure you were covering the maximum space that you could, checking over it all thoroughly, and just as you’d been giving up, your eyes caught the flicker of movement in your peripherals. When you focused on it, it took you a second to find it again, the trembling of metal stilts holding the bridge up forty feet above you disguising it, but then there was a twitch again.

In the shadows, easily missed, but then there they were. Sitting, leaned up against one of the bars from the other side, hand-pressed weakly over their stomach, head lolled to the side. You weren’t even sure if they had moved, or if they’d simply slumped forward because of the vibrations of the rickety bridge legs, and you felt a jolt of adrenaline race through you as you tried to jump into action.

“Shit!” You muttered, a slight rise on the hill before you as you tried to climb up it, the dust forming clouds behind you as the stones slipped at the sudden and uncoordinated movements, before you were stumbling closer to the person. “Newt!”

Another train shot overhead, drowning out the sounds of your shouts, and you hoped Newt had actually heard it, because you’d walked so far that he was more like a blur away from you, and you certainly couldn't hear his yells as he offered help anymore, they’d faded away a few minutes ago, but you couldn't be occupied with it now. The second the train had passed, you tried yelling again, out of breath and panting as you dropped to your knees before the person.

Their head was lying forward, chin pressed to their chest, fresh red blood seeping out between their fingers in weak bursts, and at least you knew they were still alive. Cupping their face, you pushed their head back, skin sickly pale and flushed with sweat, a very quiet groan leaving his lips, and hooded eyes cracked open barely at all to look at you. “Did you make that call?”

“Call?” He echoed, seemingly confused about what was even happening, but with the amount of blood that was staining the pebbles around you and clumping in the dust and dirt as it turned dark, you weren’t all that surprised.

“Alright, buddy, we’ll get you all sorted out, okay?” You circled a hand around behind his neck, the other on his side, and you needed to lay him down just to be able to get to the wound, because you couldn't see anything with him slumped over like this, daylight partially blocked out from the bridge overhead and shadows forming over the man. “I need to get you laying down, think you can handle that?”

He didn’t even nod, simply made a broken hum under his breath that you decided to take as an acknowledgement, before pulling him forwards. He let out a louder cry this time, the pain taking him over, and you heard the rapid-fire crunches of Newt running towards you, slightly uneven footsteps on his hurt leg, but you didn’t pay any attention to it, grateful that he’d heard you, but focusing on your patient.

His hands had fallen away from his wounds, and you fumbled for your torch, the light designed to check eyes did little to light up the wound but blood was staining the pale shirt he wore, leaving wet red patches as far up as his ribs. Newt skidded to a stop behind you, a hand running through the longer fringe in his face as he pushed it back, eyes wide.

“Well, shit, I’ll be damned.”

“Knife wound, pretty deep, can you hold the torch for me?” He nodded, stains of red smeared across it from where you’d already got blood on your fingers, and you pushed up the edge of his shirt, getting a look at the wound. He sank to his knees, holding the light over it more clearly, and you hoped he could sense your silent appreciation. It helped you to see, but didn’t clarify much, because blood was smeared over his skin and gave illusions about where his injuries started and ended, bubbling blood still leaving the gash. Dropping your bag down to your side, you opened it up, fumbling through for a pair of rubber gloves, and a tissue to be able to wipe away the blood with.

Snapping the latex onto your wrists and taking the folded clump of paper, dragging it delicately but firmly over the spot to try and get a better look. A second, maybe two, was all you got of clear skin before blood was beginning to fill the space once again, the man’s shallow pants and groans getting lighter and weaker, and you knew you had to hurry, lost time in having to search for him taking its toll now, but it was long enough to get a good look.

“We’re going to need some stuff from the van, probably the stretcher, but I don’t know how well we can wheel him across that gravel.”

“I can just pull up the van?” He offered, clicking off the torch to hand it back to you as you put the correct pressure down on the wound to stop the bleeding, pinching around the edges and holding tight to seal the wound, and you nodded.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s good. Pull up the van!”

He nodded, brushing dust from his knees as he stood, and you used your other hand to begin searching through your bag for the disinfectant spray you needed to start cleaning up his wound so you could put a provisionary seal on it.

You found the canister, shaking it carefully and trying to squeeze the lid with two fingers to get it off, a ‘pop’ sounding before the fading footsteps Newt was making came to a sudden halt.

“Woah, woah, woah..” You looked up, eyes widening and blood running cold at the sight. Newt had his hand held up, a man who’d ace you couldn't quite see behind the baseball cap and the hood he had pulled up to obscure his features, sleeves reaching gloved hands, and a gun in one hand, finger pressed over the trigger as Newt took a few steps back toward you both and stumbling slightly, his leg going weak as he stood unevenly on a rock, and you couldn't help the gasp in fear that left you. “Look, man, we don’t want any trouble. We just got a call, for that guy.”

He reached out one hand, pointing to where you were kneeling still, and you leaned forwards, moving very slowly as you tried to press down gently on the top of the canister, spraying gently on the wound, but as the man let out a sudden and pained noise, the gun moved to you, and you froze, jumping back from the actions and dropping the can.

“I know, because I made the call.”

“You made the call?” You repeated, the face of the shadowed man becoming a little clearer, a large tattoo taking up one side of his face, and you shifted, the uncomfortable stones digging into your knees making you wince as you tried to hold still, an ache in your muscles as your heart raced with fear once again. “If you made the call, why can’t we help him.”

“You’re not here to help him, his wound is just to get you here.”

“You stabbed a man to get ahold of a paramedic?” The gun clicked, the safety catch off, and you swallowed thickly, internally berating yourself for asking such a question when the moment was so tense. “Look, we’ll come with you, we’re more than happy to, but just let me help him and then we’ll go wherever y-”

“Lady, if you don’t stop talking, I will blow your fucking brains all over these stones.” Your jaw snapped shut, heart freezing in your chest entirely, and you nodded dumbly. “Great, now get the fuck up, grab your bag, and walk over here real slow.”

You hesitated, only for a second, before lifting your hand from the man’s wound, hearing him groan out a little, and you ducked your head, knocking your bag over and the contents falling out across the gravel. “I don’t know if you’re even sentient enough to hear me right now,”

Your words were as low as you could get them, hoping then standing a few metres away wouldn't pick them up as he focused back on Newt, and you packed away slowly,

“If you can, I’m leaving the antiseptic and some gauze here. You need to pinch the sides of your wound, lay still, take deep breaths, and hold as much pressure as you can. In about forty minutes, we’d be due to make a call in, we’re supposed to every hour we’re out; when we don’t report in, they’ll send another ambulance. Just hold on, alright?”

You nudged the items a little further into the shadows, hoping the man had caught your words and had the strength to hold on, before you were peeling off your gloves, tucking them into your bag, and zipping it up to sit on your shoulder. Holding your hands up to show they were empty, you stepped beside Newt, the look on his face silently questioning if you were alright, and you gave him a subtle nod, raising a brow in return, and he ducked his head once in reply.

He stood behind you both, pushing the edge of the gun against Newt’s head to urge you both forward, and you matched his steps, the three of you walking slowly as you allowed yourself to be guided. There was a sleek black car pulled up, one you’d missed when arriving, and you suspected he’d driven away and waited somewhere for the ambulance to go past before pulling up again, because it wasn’t exactly hidden.

“Look, we’re going willingly, alright? No fight here, I’ll help. Our ambulance is right there,” You pointed to it, hands still raised up, arms beginning to ache and tire, and Newt folded his, resting his hands behind his head, and turning to look at you as you spoke, “Just let me call in for someone else to come help the other guy, they won’t even get here until after we’ve gone anyway, it’ll t-”

Your ears were ringing, the sound of the bang going off, the rush of air, and the way it felt like an explosion had gone off inside of your own head. You stumbled, falling to your knees at the impact as your entire body went weak, and your vision went black for a second as you tried to process it. You couldn't focus, everything seeming a little blurry, and you could feel Newt’s hands on your shoulders, shaking you, a very muffled shout of your name, before it was all torn backwards once again, and you felt nauseous as the shock swept through your body.

The man crouched down, pulling his hood back and directing an angry gaze straight at you as you blinked to clear your vision, barely able to hear a thing. “That was a fucking warning shot, speak again, and the next bullet won’t miss.”

You had to read his lips for half of the words he said, barely processing them, the bullet that had flown past your ear was making everything fade around the edges, and you were hauled roughly to your feet by a hand under your arm, leaning you against Newt as you staggered the final few feet to the car that was your destination. You could barely clear your head, shaking it a little bit finding even that action was too painful.

Blood was rushing, your headache felt like it was about to split your skull in half, and your shoulder ached as you were tossed down roughly into the open boot, unable to catch yourself in time. Newt followed, the lid slamming shut, darkness surrounding instead. You could feel Newt’s hands on you, the flash of light from his keyring over your irises making you wince, his fingers pressing along your jaw and around your ears, checking for any signs of a ruptured eardrum or any bleeding, but as the car rumbled to life, peeling out of abandoned area everything felt like it was slipping.

Your fingers scratched at the flooring of the car, nails digging into the felt, grains and dirt stuck under your fingernails, and then the car jolted, dipping into a pothole on the road, your head hitting against the floor of the car, and everything you were still clinging to was lost as well as you blacked out.

#thomas #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #smoke and fire #SAF #firefighter!tommy #ff!tommy #the maze runner #thomas the maze runner #dylan obrien #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader smut #thomas x reader smut #thomas/reader smut

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

Note

Rach could you please do something soft like it’s maxwells birthday and you and alastair plan a small birthday party ( just the three of you) and he is so overwhelmed with love he can’t believe he got so lucky after everything ❤️ then you tell him you’re pregnant.

Also no pressure to write you can totally ignore this 😊

Birthday Surprise [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader]

Warnings: pregnancy, allusions to sex, food mention, mention of infidelity/cheating, mention of poverty

Word Count: 3200>

A/N: It’s April 1st which means it’s officially Max Lord’s birthday! <33 Thank you for all the Max requests people have sent in over the past week. They’ve truly been a joy to write. & Thank you @supernaturalgirl for this lovely request. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Once upon a time, Maxwell Lord had these big, extravagant parties to celebrate his birthday. He’d host at fancy venues and it would be formal, strictly black-tie, and only the elite were invited. But the truth was, he was incredibly lonely. He had no friends, only colleagues and business associates. His wife would hang on his arm, wearing real fur, and Chanel couture earrings, parading around the room, flirting with other businessmen who might’ve been more successful than Max.

He didn’t like his birthday. Growing up, he didn’t celebrate much either. The Lorenzano family could barely afford to buy Maxwell new shoes or clothes that fit, so expecting gifts and parties was the last thing on his mind. Every year though, without fail, his mother would cook him a small cake and light a candle. “Make a wish, Maxwell.” she’d whisper. It was funny how things turned out.

And when he married for the first time, it was his wife who insisted on these big, luxurious celebrations with balloons and music. The attention was nice, sure, but it always felt like it was more for her than it was for him. He’d never say anything though. Just smile and nod. As long as she was happy. She sure seemed happy when Maxwell caught his wife with her tongue down another man’s throat at his 32nd birthday party. Thankfully, that marriage soon ended, and whilst Maxwell swelled with heartache for a good few months, better things were soon to come.

Like meeting you.

About a week before Maxwell’s birthday, Alistair was... hyper, to say the least. It was way past his bedtime, and yet he was bouncing up and down on yours and Max’s bed, clearly trying to get his father to leave the room.

“Daddy, could you go make me some french fries?”

Maxwell peeked up from his newspaper and furrowed his eyebrows together. His son’s question even ruffled you slightly, as you looked up from painting your nails and tilted your head slightly.

“Alistair, it’s eleven at night. No french fries.” Maxwell sighed before looking back down at his newspaper.

Alistair hummed, looking around the bedroom.

“Daddy, did you remember to feed Lady her evening biscuits?”

Maxwell looked up from his paper again, and stared at his son.

“I fed her this evening,” You said, trying to work out what kind of mischief Alistair was getting up to now. “Ali, is everything okay?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” The six year old replied, and well, it was a fair response. You and Maxwell exchanged a glance before getting back to your business. About ten seconds passed.

“Daddy, can you make me some warm milk?”

Maxwell sighed, this time dropping his newspaper completely and rubbing his tired eyes. “You don’t need warm milk Alistair.”

“But I’ll struggle to sleep without it.”

“I’ll go get you some,” you told the child, but Alistair quickly extended his arm, stopping you before you could get out of bed.

“No mommy, you’re sick. Besides, I asked daddy.”

You blinked, taken slightly aback. Alistair was a sweet child with wonderful manners, that much you knew, but even his decorum right now took you by surprise. He was speaking like a fully grown gentleman. Processing his words, you simply shrugged your shoulders before shuffling back into bed and getting comfortable.

Yeah, you’d been throwing up the past few days, in the mornings mostly, but you’d drawn it down to food poisoning. It was sweet how Alistair was seemingly looking out for your health. Maxwell’s gaze flicked between you both but, in defeat, he got out of bed and padded downstairs, into the kitchen to prepare his son’s bedtime beverage. Once he was gone, and you could hear him begin to steam the milk, you snapped your fingers to get Alistiar’s attention.

“Alright Ali,” you sighed, folding your arms across your chest. “What’s going on? Why have you been trying to get your dad to leave the room for the past...” you checked the time on the alarm clock which was positioned on Max’s nightstand. “Half an hour.” Gods he was persistent. Just like his father.

“We need to do something special for daddy’s birthday.” Alistair announced, and as he uttered the words, you already knew that there was no room for questioning him. He and his father were similar in that sense too.

“What do you have in mind?” you wondered out loud. You knew Maxwell’s birthday was approaching, despite your husband never talking about it. You hadn’t even thought of what to get him yet, which was a problem.

“A party. But not like the ones daddy has for work,” Alistair explained, referring to the many galas Maxwell had hosted in attempt to gain sponsorship and investments for his company. “Like, a small tea party. Just us. All his favourite snacks and the birthday cake granny used to make him when he was a kid. I know it’s his favourite. And balloons and banners and streamers. I can draw a picture. And music. And—“

“Okay okay baby slow down, I see where you’re coming from,” you smiled, pulling Alistair into your lap. “And I like the idea. Do you know if your dad has ever had a small party like this before?”

“I don’t think so.” Alistair replied softly and you nodded in understanding.

“Well, we’ll have to make sure it’s perfect. We can start planning tomorrow morning when he goes to work, okay? But keep your mouth zipped tight Ali, it has to be a surprise.”

———

The day of Maxwell’s birthday started like any other. He left for work at 7:30, his driver waiting for him outside. He graced you with a quick peck on the cheek and told you he couldn’t wait to see you tonight. Now, Maxwell hadn’t uttered one word about his birthday in the past week, but even today, he hadn’t mentioned it. You’d planned on giving him his present this morning when he woke up, but your nerves got the better of you.

You’d waited to give him this gift for a week already, you could at least wait a few more hours until he got home from work.

At 9am, your best friend arrived with an abundance of helium balloons, birthday banners and streamers. At 9:30am, you tried to help Alistair pick out a smart outfit, although he was begging to wear one of his new Star Wars Ewok costumes.

“How can you eat all the cake if you’re dressed as a massive teddy bear?” you asked the boy. He sighed, knowing that you had a point.

Alistair looked adorable in his button down shirt and pants. You even fished in Maxwell’s closet to find a bow tie, hoping it would complete the look.

“I look like dad.” Alistair mumbled, fiddling with the wonky tie that you’d haphazardly wrapped around his neck.

“Exactly. You look wonderful.” you grinned, enveloping him into a massive hug.

At 12, you figured it was the best time to begin baking the cake. But to do that, you needed the recipe. When you called Ms Lorenzano, your heart blossomed upon hearing the excitement in her voice.

“Oh darling! Hello! It’s so lovely to hear from you.” she spoke into the phone, and you could just imagine her smile on the other end of the line. It was identical to Maxwell’s.

“Hello Ms Lorenzano,” you greeted, nervously curling the telephone wire around your finger. “How’ve you been?”

“I was just packing away my groceries. I got the bouquet of flowers you and Maxwell sent me yesterday. They look beautiful on my dining room table. Thank you, darling. They really lighten up the room. How is my son? Is he there?” Ms Lorenzano quizzed.

“Max is great, actually. He’s working at the moment but we were thinking about flying out to see you this weekend. If you weren’t busy? Alistair misses you very much.”

“Oh that would be wonderful! I’ve missed my little cherub so much. Let me guess, a big party planned tonight for my Maxwell’s birthday?” She beamed.

“Not quite. It was Ali’s idea to plan something small - a tea party of sorts. He was telling me about this vanilla frosting birthday cake you used to bake when Max was younger? And I was hoping you’d share the recipe with me. I’d love to try and recreate it… although my baking skills are nowhere near as good as yours.” you giggled.

“That recipe has been passed down our family for generations,” Ms Lorenzano explained and you felt your heart sink into your chest. By neither law nor blood, you weren’t family. Would she really not give you the recipe? You’d been dating Maxwell for years now. And Ms Lorenzano did always say you were like a daughter to her… “Of course you can have it.” she smiled and you felt a wave of relief wash over you as she began to list the ingredients.

“Thank you Ms Lorenzano, it was so lovely to speak to you. Max is gonna give you a call tonight. Take care, okay?”

“Okay darling. I send my love. Give Alistair a kiss from his ol’ granny. I will see you Saturday.”

Now, the smart thing would’ve been to call over the house chef and have her prepare the birthday cake. At least then, it would be void of any errors. But this was strictly a Lorenzano family recipe and the last thing you wanted to do was to disrespect Ms Lorenzano and immediately give it to the house chef. So, you figured you’d give it your best go. At least then it would be sentimental.

Maxwell was a fussy eater, only eating the most delicious and well presented foods. You weren’t sure if he’d even step a foot near this cake. As you stirred together the ingredients, something wasn’t right. It was lumpy and bubbling and -- no matter what, you just couldn’t seem to fix it. You called Alistair in, who had been colouring in a family portrait he’d drawn, to take a look, but of course, he didn’t know any better.

When the cake came out the oven, it was lop-sided and slightly burned. You figured it would be okay if you just covered it in the vanilla frosting and placed the sliced strawberries intricately on the top. But no. Luck wasn’t on your side today. The strawberries slipped off and the icing was uneven. At least you managed to put the cake on one of the fancy ‘special occasion’ plates. You could just tell Maxwell that it was made with love.

Ali helped you decorate downstairs, which proved to be a challenge. The rooms in Lord manor were extensively sized and tall, but you did your best.

“Ali, I’m going to quickly get changed okay? Would you do me a favour and bring down your dad’s presents from upstairs? You could place them on the dining room table.”

Alistair nodded obediently and did as he was told. You went up to yours and Maxwell’s shared closet and looked around, trying to decide on what exactly you should wear. You opted on a beautiful, fitted champagne coloured dress that glittered in the artificial lighting. It was one of your favourite gowns and you had worn it last summer at one of Black Gold Cooperative’s charity fundraising events. You knew how much Maxwell loved it too. If Alistair was dressed in his father’s bow-tie, and Maxwell always looked presentable, there was no reason you couldn’t make an effort to look good too. Besides, you didn’t know how long you’d have left before you wouldn’t be able to fit into these dresses anymore.

You didn’t have long before Maxwell was due to finish work. You quickly style your hair and adjust your makeup, before padding downstairs and into the dining room. Just like you had requested, all of Maxwell’s presents were neatly piled on top of the table, courtesy of Alistair.

“He’ll be home any second Ali,” you said, handing Alistair a party popper and adjusting the cone shaped party hat on his head. Alistair was absolutely beaming, his big brown eyes twinkling like starlight as he anticipated his father coming home from work. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Alistair grinned.

“Okay. Good. Let’s go find a place to hide.”

Ducking down behind the stack of gifts, you waited for about five minutes in silence, until you heard the front door unlock. Alistair squeaked excitedly, hearing his dad come home and you bit your lip, quietly shushing him but unable to contain your own smile.

Maxwell was surprised when he came home. He wasn’t greeted like he expected to be. Normally, every evening after his shift, you and Ali would run into his arms and envelope him into a hug. The lack of running and hugs concerned Maxwell. The house was dead quiet, and he even found himself wondering if either of you were home.

When he padded into the dining room and switched on the light, you and Ali jumped out and screamed in unison; “Happy birthday!”

Maxwell froze, his jaw dropping open and his eyes going comically wide. He was presented with an abundance of gifts, a decorated dining room, his son and girlfriend all dressed up, and a questionable looking cake with a wax candle stuck in the top. You and Alistair ran into Maxwell’s arms and hugged him tight.

“Daddy! Daddy! It’s your birthday! Look! We planned a surprise tea party all by ourselves!” Alistar squealed, tugging on his father’s arm.

“I- I- wow!” Maxwell gasped, genuinely speechless. You bit your lip and swayed your hips as you lovingly gazed into his brown eyes. You didn’t know what it was, maybe the fact the whole day was leading up to this moment, or perhaps just an imbalance with your hormones, but you had missed him so much. Just seeing him again made you want to weep in his strong arms. You loved him so much.

“Happy birthday.” you whispered, raising your hand to cup his face. He nudged his nose against yours and you kissed him sweetly.

“You did all of this for me?” He asked after reluctantly pulling away, still in genuine shock.

“It was Ali’s idea.” you replied, letting your body lean against his. You rest your head into his chest so much so that you could hear the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You look… breathtaking, darling.” Maxwell hummed, his hand resting on the small of your back.

“Come sit down,” you said, taking his hand and guiding him over to the dining room table. “You have all these presents, and we have cake and music…”

“The cake…” Maxwell pointed and quirking an eyebrow. “Is that… it can’t be…”

“It is, I called your mom for the recipe.” You confirmed with a nervous smile.

“I-- don’t believe it. I haven’t had this cake since--”

“I know. Again it was Ali’s idea,” you informed him. Alistair looked bashfully proud as he anticipated the cake cutting. “I know it doesn’t look the best…”

“Are you kidding?” Maxwell asked, cutting you off. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Would you like to try some?”

“Would I like to try some?” Maxwell repeated incredulously. “Of course!”

You lit the candle and held hands with Alistair and Max as the two of you sang happy birthday. As Maxwell blew out the candle, you told him to make a wish.

“I don’t need to wish for anything. I already have everything I could ever want. Right here.”

Maxwell got a variety of miscellaneous gifts for his birthday. A porcelain statue of a dog, a small desk flag with his company logo on it, a basket filled with biotin supplements, and of course the artwork that Alistair had created earlier in the day. It was a beautiful crayon illustration of you, Max, Ali, and of course your cat, Lady Lord. Maxwell promised to frame it and put it on his desk at work. Little did he realise though, the best gift was yet to come.

Once Alistair was tucked into bed, you and Maxwell decided to settle down and have an early night. All the eating and dancing had exhausted you both.

“Thank you for today,” Maxwell mumbled, pulling the zipper down your dress. His warm breath fanned over the shell of your ear and you immediately felt butterflies in your stomach. “Why don’t we go to bed, hm?” he asked, peppering kisses down your neck and along your shoulders.

You knew what he was hinting at, and you wanted it too. Of course you wanted it too. But there was something you had to deal with first. You were so nervous but you knew it was now or never.

“I didn’t give you your birthday present.” you announced, turning around to look your boyfriend in the eye.

“Wh-- what do you mean? You didn’t need to get me anything. This was enough. You-- you, my love, are enough.”

You smiled, rubbing his bicep and finding yourself once again getting lost in his eyes. You took a deep breath and pulled him into the en-suite bathroom. Although confused, Max didn’t say a word, and instead, he watched you in silence as you unlocked the drawer under the sink. It was where you usually kept your cosmetics, but Max’s gift had been waiting in there for the past week, wrapped up in tissue. You took it out and handed him it.

You anxiously watched as he unravelled the tissue, only to be presented with a positive pregnancy test. Your positive pregnancy test. His eyebrows knotted together and you watched his Adam's apple bop in his throat as he swallowed. But then, only seconds later, his face softened and his eyes became glazed with unshed tears. “You’re… we’re…”

“We’re pregnant, Max.” you confessed, confirming his thoughts.

Maxwell choked up and wrapped his strong arms tight around you, squeezing you hard. “Oh my God, we’re really pregnant?”

“Mhm.” you giggled, as Maxwell pulled away and cupped your cheeks with his hand. He kissed you passionately and when he pulled away, his grin was ecstatic.

“How long have you known?” He quizzed.

“A week.” you admitted.

“A week?!”

You swatted his arm playfully and shushed him.

“I wanted it to be a surprise. We have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, to confirm it and everything. But with the sickness and… I can feel it, you know?” You took his hand and placed it against your stomach. “I can really feel it.”

“I love you so much,” Maxwell smiled. “I love you so, so much.”

“Happy birthday my dear.” you replied, guiding him back over to the bed. “I love you too.”

--------x---------

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @pedro-pastel @steeevienicks @rrtxcmt @saphic-susperia @ladyjenny19 @readsalot73 @softmedics

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

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winter-fox-queen · 4 years ago

Text

The Gentry’s Gifts: Max Phillips

Hello! This is sort of a sequel to the Pero story, in that we saw Max and now we know what he was doing there and what choice he needed to make.

Warnings: Cursing. Angst. I had the trick of having to put both blank canvas characters into one story, lol. But I think I finessed it. The “you” character is a blank slate, mostly gender neutral (mentions of wanting to have children could sway your perception one way or the other.). Not betad.

This is my late #writerwednesday entry, thank you to @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape

Prologue:

Max Phillips slammed the hospital doors open, eager to get outside. The sound beeping machines seemed to echo in his ears, making them hurt. The smell of the place stuck to the back of his throat.

He tilted his head back in the afternoon sun, and breathed in, breathed out. Tried to make himself calm down. The Autumn are cleared his head as he jogged across the road.

“Bad day?” A voice asked.

Between two benches, almost hidden in the orange leaves, was a woman, instead of the ‘Nam veteran he usually passed a few moments talking to. Her wiry steel colored hair was in a messy bun, covered by a turban. She wore layers and layers even though it was a warm fall day. “Where’s Raffi?” Max asked.

“His daughter found him. He decided to try living with her again.”

Max nodded. “I hope it works out. She wasn’t…apparently he isn’t easy to live with. Bad dreams.”

“It’ll be better now.” She said with such serene certainty that Max believed her. He gave a little wave and walked away.

He was back, twenty minutes later. He put a chocolate shake in front of her, and a boxed fried chicken meal. If he had known his folklore…which, sadly, he would become intimately familiar with, he would have understood her amusement. Milk, bread…these were the Old offerings.

Instead he shrugged, uncomfortable. “What? I figure everyone likes chocolate. And I needed to eat, too.” He sat next to her.

“How old are you?” She asked, though she knew.

He shrugged. “Seventeen.” He buttered a biscuit and took a huge bite. He ate like he was starving. “Why?”

“You seem to be awfully young to be hanging out with homeless people. Where are your parents?”

He shrugged again. “My mom’s gone. My father…”. He pointed towards the hospital doors with his chin. “He’s dying.” He hunched over the greasy box of chicken, potato strips and biscuits, eating like it was the only thing keeping him sane.

She sighed.

He looked at her, and she shook her head, and ate the food he brought her. You are going to go off the rails Max Phillips. You are going to go off the rails so badly and there’s nothing I can do about it.

The Present:

He entered the library through the basement, crept up the stairway. The first floor was nearly empty…the university library kept late hours so that students could cram late into the night, but it was Thirsty Thursday and most of the students were elsewhere.

He waited until you were focused on the book cart again, back towards the main floor, and got himself around the corner. Then he pulled out his cell and dialed the front desk.

You now turned to go to the phone, at least he hoped so, as he disconnected the call and opened the side door to the area behind the circulation desk…

You were there, leaning against the cart, arms folded. “Nice try, but I know your tricks, Mister Phillips.”

He grinned and advanced on her, step by step.

“No no…”. You point a finger at him. “Stay back, this is a work place…”. You shoot a look towards the front desk as he backs you into your office. “You are going to lose me my job.” You hiss at him, and he bends a little, and kisses you breathless.

“Quit. I’ll take care of you.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders. He’s cool to the touch. It’s not disconcerting, not like it used to be. “I wish I could.”

“Stop wishing...”

“If you say ‘and make your dreams a reality’, I’ll bite you.”

Max looks offended. “It’s a great slogan! Do you know how many units of Losapill those golden words have sold?”

“I don’t understand how I can love someone so much and want to punch them so badly.”

He grins down at you. “I can name several reasons why you love me.”

You smirk up at him. “I’m sure you can…let me go, honey. I’ve got to tell everyone we’re closing in half an hour.” He listened to your voice on the loudspeaker, buttery and gentle and reassuring, and smiled a little. He could listen to that voice forever. He could sell holy water to a priest, but so far all his skills had failed to net him the one thing he wanted.

He walks with you, as you check the restrooms (He even does the men’s for you on each floor, turning off the lights and blocking the doors open) and stands behind you, hands in his pockets, looking gloomy as you gently tell students to take their books to the front desk if they needed to check them out, that the library was closing shortly.

He waits, patiently, while you close up and lock the doors and usher the last people out.

“I really wish you’d let me turn you,” he says when you are both in your car and on the way home. Max often took the rooftops from his office to the university. He was fast, and strong, and being fairly indestructible made him long for the thrill of possibly getting hurt, so he parkoured his way through the city once it got dark. It was disgusting, how he looked so good after running and leaping five miles.

He shifts in his seat as you let the silence grow. “Are you ignoring me?”

“Yes.” You stop at a red light.

“Why? You said you’d think about it. You’ve been thinking about it for a month. Any idea where you are on it? Like, from the scale of one to ten…”

You’ve been wanting to avoid this. You’ve really been wanting to avoid this. “Zero.”

She waits. She waits for the torrent of salesmanship. The spiel. Why becoming a vampire and living forever is what she wants, she just doesn’t know it’s yet.

For once, words fail him. No quick comeback, no charming lines. “I can’t believe you don’t want to be with me.” He says it so softly that you almost aren’t sure you heard it.

You pull into the apartment parking lot, picks a spot quickly you can park and take his hands in yours. “Max. I do. I really do. But just…I don’t want to be a vampire. I don’t want to give up the things I would have to give up?”

“Like what? Death? Getting old? Getting sick? Being weak?” He pulls his hands away. “I am offering you unlimited time. Think of the things we can do together! And you don’t have to kill…I haven't killed anyone in ages!”

“Sunlight.” You say. “Food.” He makes a disgusted sound and looks out the window. “A family.” You take a deep breath. “Children.”

He finally looks at you again. “Then I won’t waste any more of your time.” He raises his hand, and time goes wonky for a moment, and when things snap back into place, he’s gone.

You stay in your car a long time, hoping he’ll come back. Every step up to your apartment, you look around, hoping.

It’s dawn, before you give up, dried out from crying, your mouth feels full of ashes and your heart full of regret.

The next day:

Max was not in a good mood the next day. Usually he has a nice word for, if no one else, his PA, a miracle worker of a woman he’d always been fond of, but he just glared at her and slams his door shut.

Emails. Reports. He plowed into work.

The door opened, and he ignored it, steadfast in the hope that whoever it was would go the fuck away. I could always eat them. I don’t have to be good anymore.

A cup thumped down on his desk. He looked up. He didn’t recognize the woman — her steel grey hair was neat, her suit elegant. Her heart beat strangely, and he could tell she was not — quite—human. Great. Someone new from corporate?

“I thought you said that everyone loves chocolate?” She said, pointing at the milkshake. “You’ve come far, since we last spoke outside the hospital…”

He shook his head. “I remember you, but…”. How did she come to be here? Why? His brain was still trying to match up the homeless lady with the epitome of corporate flash in front of him.

“Now, I didn’t say you moved in a good direction. How did the sweet boy who spent his last twenty on dinner for himself and a homeless woman end up being a bloodsucking asshole selling fake products?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s schedule an appointment, maybe for the next century?”

“Nope.” She reached across the desk. “You gonna drink this?”

He shook his head and she took the milkshake, leaned back in her chair, moving the straw back and forth in the lid, making an annoying shriek sound that hurt his ears.

“Do you think I wanted this?” He snapped at her. Vampires didn’t really need much in the way of sleep, but he was tired. Tired and hurt. “And who gives you the right to fucking judge me?”

“I’m one of the gentry,” she said. “That doesn’t give me the right, but it gives me the power.”

“You’re fae. That explains it. You don’t seem human.”

“I thought they taught you the rules. You never call us out so clearly. Always call us by some euphemism and hope we don’t take a notion to turn our attention towards you.”

He threw up his hands. “Why? Why does it matter?”

“Because if I wanted to, Max Phillips, I could turn you back into the weak, dying, foolish mortal you once were.”

This stopped him. “You could?” He said carefully.

“I could.”

“What’s the catch?”

She smiled. “Good boy. Maybe they did teach you something, after all.” She put the milkshake on the desk. ”You were…what? Twenty, twenty one when you got turned? I could, if I wanted to, make it as if you never got turned. I could choose for you to age to the age you should be, had you not cheated death…or I could make you start from where you are right now. If I was feeling so inclined.”

“Why would I want that?” He scoffed. “Do you think I want to get old and sick? Do you think I want to spend the last year of my life in a hospital bed, unable to even piss for myself? You think this is a fucking gift? Enticing? No.”

“So you don’t want a life with the librarian? Probably for the best. She is made out of sunlight and deserves so much better.”

He stopped. He could feel the slipping…where the darker side of him started clambering up, eager to take control and rend and kill.

“Hush.” She said, and the blood stopped rushing in his ears, the fangs stopped aching. “I shouldn’t needle. It’s just so frustrating. You were a sweet boy and you just allowed the bad in your life to make you…well, frankly, a bit of a jackass.” She shoot him an apologetic look. “OK, that was a cruddy apology. But. Back to the subject at hand. Once, you were kind to me. And if you do me a favor — one more favor — I will give you a choice. A chance to choose a life for yourself instead of being a victim of bad choices and worse luck. No strings. No further price.”

He side eyed her a long moment. He was intrigued, despite himself. “What’s the favor?”

She took a small painting out of her pocket and slid it over to him. “Another debt to pay…that woman has a soul mate out there. I know where he is. If you get her to my house tomorrow night, I can unite them, give them a chance at well deserved happiness.”

“Yeuch.” He said, then picked up the painting. “Wait. That’s my PA.”

“Is it? How delightful. Isn’t just splendid how fate intervenes.” She put a card on the desk. “This is the address. Hope to see you.” She held up her finger. “There is one thing. She can’t know. You have to get her there without her knowing why. Alright?”

“Don’t hold your breath.” He muttered.

“Good. I am glad you understand. Ciao!”

He picked up the card. And cursed a bit.

NIght, in the time middle of nowhere:

“So, Mister Phillips…are you taking me out into the middle of the woods to murder me?” His PA asked, laughing. She didn’t know he was a vampire. Telling people what he was hadn’t worked out very well at his last job, so he’d been much more circumspect this time.

“I promise, you are safe. From me. I don’t know what Corporate will do, though,” he said, turning down another road.

“So, did they tell you what the meeting is about?”

“It’s meant to be a retreat. All the heads of the various branches and their PA’s. They want to re-envision the future of the company”. He took one hand off the wheel to put air quotes in the right place. “Apparently they messed up your email address so we didn’t get the invite in time. Someone caught it and called me directly.”

“I hope the place they picked is nice…”. She was looking out the window, trying to make out the road ahead. “Carol in accounting is super jealous. I think she has a bit of a crush on you…”

“Well, I am irresistible.”

“Mostly.” She grinned at him. A square of light grabbed her attention. “I think we’re here.”

He pulled up to the house. It looked sketchy at best, and the looks his PA were casting made him wonder if her trust was stretching a little too thin.

He got out and walked up to the porch. The Fae came out this time wearing a chic, flowery dress. She ignored Max and called to his PA. “Don’t be afraid. You are here so I can talk to you about your dreams…and by that, I mean the Spaniard, with the scar over his eye.”

The PA froze. “You…you know about him?”

“Go inside, dear, and I will tell you all about him. But I need to talk to Max, here, first”

His PA stopped next to him, put her hand on his arm. “Will you be OK?”

“Absolutely. You know me.”

She went into the house.

“Come here, Max.” The Fae held out her hand, gesturing him to come up to the porch. He did. A card table was set up, with one chair. Two cards lay face down. “Here is your choice. Are you ready?”

He stood there, looking at the table, and nodded. Fear coursed through him, as strong as the day cold hands grabbed him from behind, teeth sinking into his throat…

She reached down and flipped over a card. The Queen of Spades. “Darkness ever lasting. A vampire queen even now is looking for her equal. She will choose you, and the two of you will know power beyond your wildest dreams…until enough people get angry about it and decide to deal with you both. You will not love her, but who needs love when you have sex and death and all the power you ever hoped for?”

She reaches again, flips over another card. The Queen of Hearts. “And this. This is life. Your soul will wake up, and you will be twenty one and full of possibilities again. Your heart will beat every beat that was stolen from you. The slate will not be wiped entirely clean, but you will have a chance — a chance with your lovely librarian. Children. Be kind when you were once cruel, and live a decent, good life.”

His lips were numb. “How…how long?”

“Long enough. You will not feel cheated. It will be a plain sort of life, but it will be yours, and you will have the woman you love…some would say that is worth dying for.”

“What do you know about death? Your kind just fade when they are tired of living. You will never know the absolute fucking horror of your body betraying you. The fucking humiliation that waits. The pain.”

“No.” She said softly. “I do not.” She kissed his temple. “I am sorry. If I had met you sooner, perhaps…but, in any case, I consider all debts paid. When you are ready, pick up the card representing your choice, and rip it in half. Choose well, Maxwell Phillips. May we never meet again.”

He didn’t notice her leave. He sat down, weak, at the table.

Life. Death. Life. Death.

He’d seen both his parents die terribly. After he was turned, he’d mourned, then he realized the gift he’d been given. No hospitals. No lingering disease. No pain.

His hand hovered next to the Queen of Spades. No love, but power and sex. He’d tried to recover, tried to be good, for you. And he’d started feeling the guilt. And with guilt, came all the excuses. That he was living according to the nature that had been forced upon him. That he was giving people a gift…they died, or they become something that could never die.

You don’t punish the wolf for being a wolf.

But that was why it had been easy to walk away. Because you deserved better. Not a vampire. Not a wolf. A man…

He did not hear the car, but he heard the thump of the other man’s steps as he mounted the porch.

“She’s in there…” he said, barely paying attention.

When the other man left, he repeated what he said to him, in his head. Choosing between life and death.

He picked up the Queen of Hearts. His hands were shaking. He ripped the card in half. Darkness roared around him, pulled him under.

When he woke up, he was on the floor of his apartment.

No. His fucking. College. Dorm room.

“Dude, you started early.” Evan’s stupid face appeared as he bent over him.

Max wondered if he could punch him in the face. It would feel really, really good to punch the other man in the face,

“OK, well, I’m going to an away game…see you sometime tomorrow.”

He put the palms of his hands in his eyes. “Yeah…have fun.”

Evan stepped over him. “See ya…wouldn’t want to be ya!” The door slammed shut and Max raised both hands in a one finger salute towards it.

He made himself get up and go to the bathroom. He looked younger but not better, per se. What is wrong with me? What’s this feeling?

It wasn’t just that he could feel his body working. Feel breath (was breathing always so fucking noisy?) and heat beats and aches in his neck and back from laying weird on the floor.

He’d lived for years. But right now, he was still the same angry, miserable hit mess of a man he’d been at this point of his life.

A phone was ringing, he went and grabbed it.

“Hey Maxie. Is Evan gone?” Evan’s girlfriend. Great.

Oh.

“Yeah. Yeah. Look…”

“Awesome. I bought the cutest bra and panties…”

And this is where, he thought, this is where he took the step to becoming the man you deserved him to be. “That’s great. But you know…I only want to fuck you because your boyfriend is an annoying twit.”

Shocked silence. OK still an asshole. Check. So much for being a sweet boy when I was younger. “Look. I meant what I said. You are beautiful. You are probably far, far too good for Evan. Or maybe not, if you are willing to screw around with an asshole like me. In any case, you deserve better. But you have to decide what better is.”

This treated him to a string of profanity before the woman hung up.

Then, he walked to the infirmary, and asked for aspirin. And if there were any free spots for the therapist.

Sunday, the conversation between roommates went like this:

“So you were going to screw my girlfriend?”

A shrug — Max concentrated on the video game. “Changed my mind.”

“Why?”

He paused the game. “Because you deserve better.”

He felt Evan throw himself on the couch next to him. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I don’t hate you. You’re just so fucking happy and peppy and optimistic and everything is going to be awesome but I think the world is shit and misery and maybe if you dialed it back a little I we could have conversations that didn’t end with me wanting to punch your face.”

“Dude.” It sounded defeated and apologetic at the same time.

Max held a controller out to him. “Sorry. I’ll try to be less of an asshole.”

He took it. “I’ll try to be less…happy?”

Max sighed. “Just don’t get me kicked out, ok? I can’t afford anywhere else and I really don’t want to end up in Transylvania.”

Two years later, he decided he could go and find you.

Most people went to nice places on their spring break.

Max got on a bus and headed to a University in the next state. They’d had their Spring break a week sooner.

There you were. Sitting cross legged on a bench with a man with a streak of blonde in his hair, and a suit coat with elbow patches. Elbow patches. Pretentious asshole.

You were tucking hair behind your ear. You liked him. Max wondered if he should leave, come back…in a year? Three? When did he have a right to become part of your life? Did he even?

You look at him and smile and it is sunshine and he can’t leave.

The man on the bench says something about class. “See you at work,” she tells him, and he lopes off in an easy walk to one of the brick covered class buildings.

Max approaches carefully. “Hey. Um. I’m thinking about transferring here, wondered what it’s like?”

She shifted her bag over, even though there was plenty of room to sit, and he took it as an invite. “Sure. What do you want to know?”

He gave her his best smile. “Everything. I want to know everything.”

#Max phillips #max phillips x reader #writer wednesday

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lulu-zodiac · 4 years ago

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Title: You'll Know All I Haven't Said

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Tags: Fluff, First Kiss, Pining, AU

Summary: Cas has always had an unnerving knack for knowing what Dean wants the most, even before Dean knows it himself.

If you want to be added to my fic tag list, let me know! <3

Cas always gives the best presents.

Dean knows it’s something to do with his unnervingly observant nature, the way he’s so tuned into the people around him. Or maybe just Dean. The thought makes something unfurl in Dean’s stomach that’s feels a bit like fear, or anticipation maybe. It happens a lot when he thinks of Cas, these days. Which is a lot, if Dean is being totally honest. Cas is his best friend, has been since they were both eight years old, so it’s normal that he occupies a lot of space in Dean’s head. It’s just that these days – sometimes it’s so much that it scares Dean, just a little. Because he knows there isn’t much time left where Cas will be a daily fixture of his life; next fall, they’re both heading off to college and everything’s going to be different.

That’s why, Dean tells himself, he’s spent so much time trying to think of what to give Cas this Christmas. It’s hard to top Cas’s gift-giving skills. He has always had an unnerving knack for somehow knowing exactly what Dean wants, even before Dean knows it himself. Not that Dean would tell him, but all his most treasured gifts over the years have all been from Cas. A wonky, handmade wooden impala car Cas made in his Dad’s workshop when he was twelve. Zeppelin concert tickets the Christmas they were both fifteen. Last year, an anthology of Neruda with Cas’s scrawling writing on the opening page, which Dean has read more than the poems the book contains (not that he’d admit that to Cas).

The only problem with Cas being so amazing at choosing gifts is that Dean always feels under pressure to match Cas’s presents, give him something that he’ll treasure as much as Dean treasures the gifts Cas gives him. And the thing is, Cas is hard to buy for, hard to read, a lot of the time. Even though Dean spends more time with Cas than anyone else, and spends even more time thinking about Cas, he’s never quite sure what’s going on in his head. And that makes it difficult, because Dean so wants to make this last Christmas before they both go their separate ways special.

The thought of not being around Cas every day makes his whole chest ache, so Dean tries not to do it. But sometimes it just creeps up on him and it’s like having a bucket of ice water poured over him, a constant knife in his chest that twists deeper and deeper as it gets closer to the time he knows they’ll have to say goodbye. It’s not just about parting ways – Dean knows there’s no way he and Cas won’t stay best friends. But it's like there's also something that Dean's always been waiting for that might not get to happen, that graduating and leaving for college might get in the way of, and even though Dean has no idea what it is he’s waiting for, the idea that it might get pushed aside, might never happen, is somehow unbearable.

After a week of agonising over options, it’s finally Christmas Eve and Dean is standing on Cas’s doorstep, breath clouding out in front of him in the frosty air. There’s small parcel in the pocket of his leather jacket that he fiddles with nervously as he waits, feeling the bumps of his own bad gift-wrapping skills. His stomach flips over inexplicably when the hall lights flicker on there’s the sound of keys in the lock.

“Dean,” Cas smiles, quiet but sincere, and stands back to let Dean in. Dean is hit, as he is not infrequently these days, by how good-looking Cas has become. He’s not built but he’s lean, strong-looking, with a kind of grace about the way he carries himself. Tonight, he’s wearing an indigo knitted sweater that he got in a thrift store with Dean last year, and it makes the blue of his gaze feel infinite as it sweeps over Dean, familiar and warm.

“Hey,” Dean smiles stupidly, suddenly feeling self-conscious as he steps into the hallway. It’s warm and smells faintly of incense and home-baking, but they don’t linger, heading straight up the stairs to Cas’s room as usual.

“Very festive,” Dean remarks as Cas closes the door behind them, noting the multi-coloured fairy lights Cas has strewn around the window, glowing softly and casting the room into muted colours. Dean secretly prefers Cas’s room to his; he’s spent so much time in it over the years that it feels just as much like home, maybe even a little more because it has Cas in it.

“Thanks,” Cas is standing by the door, arms folded across his chest as he watches Dean inspect his bookshelf, run his fingertip along the spines. “There’s a new one there for you, if you want it.” His expression is uncharacteristically unreadable. Not that Cas is easy to read – not by any stretch of the imagination. But Dean’s spent a long time mapping out his different expressions and mannerisms, and it’s not often these days that he’s faced with one he can’t place at all. This one is not unfamiliar, though. It’s one he’s noticed playing across Cas’s features increasingly often in recent months, generally when he glances up and catches Cas off guard. It’s an expression that niggles away at the back of Dean’s mind when he’s trying to get to sleep at night, gets under his skin.

Dean looks reluctantly away from Cas and back to the shelves, eyeing them more closely. His hand pauses on an unfamiliar hardback, Bluebeard by Vonnegut. “This?”

“If you want it,” Cas says, and Dean thinks he detects a note of apprehension beneath the warmth, a kind of distraction, as though he’s thinking about something else, which is a sharp contrast to his often unnerving focus that’s usually directed Dean’s way.

“Thanks,” Dean takes the book of the shelf and flips through the pages, catches a few flashes of Cas’s dextrous scrawl.

“Don’t – don’t read my notes now,” Cas crosses the room, takes the book from Dean’s hands and closes it. “Not when I’m here.”

Dean eyes him curiously. One of his favourite things about Cas lending him books all the time is getting to read Cas’s private thoughts filling the margins. “Is this my Christmas present? Not like you to forgo the fancy paper and the chance to upstage my gift-wrapping skills.”

A smile pulls at the corner of Cas’s mouth, his eyes crinkle with quiet amusement even though the nervousness doesn’t dissipate, Dean notes. “No, it’s not your present.”

“Then where is it?” Dean asks, glancing around the room – but there’s no sight of a gift. Just the soft glow of the fairy lights and Cas’s notebooks on his desk, a couple of jumpers hanging over the back of his chair, the little cactus Dean gave him for his birthday two years ago sitting stoutly on his bedside table.

“You’re very demanding,” Cas admonishes, handing the book back to Dean and crossing the room to sit down on one end of the window seat, curling up like a cat. There’s a twinkle of amusement in his blue gaze, but he pulls the sleeves of his jumper down over his hands, something Dean knows he only does when he’s nervous. The thought makes a pang of nerves curl through Dean too, although he doesn’t know why, doesn’t know why it feels like they’re waiting for something.

“Well, you’re very mysterious,” Dean counters, flopping down on the other end of the window-seat and pushing one of his socked feet playfully at Cas’s. “And unnervingly good at presents, which is why I’m so particularly demanding today. I’m expecting great things. How is that you always seem to know exactly what I want?”

“I very much hope that’s true this year,” Cas says, quiet in a way that makes Dean catch his breath, inexplicably nervous too. He’s looking down, still fiddling with the stray thread from the cuff of his jumper. His expression is uncharacteristically vulnerable in the soft light, messy dark hair and wide eyes so blue that they make Dean’s heart fumble a beat in his chest when Cas suddenly looks up, holds Dean’s gaze. It’s very quiet, the space between them. Dean feels very aware of his heart, doesn’t know why it’s suddenly going quite so fast. “You go first,” Cas says, low, eyes intent and full of something, and it takes Dean a moment to remember what they’re talking about.

“Oh – yeah, okay,” he stutters, feeling his cheeks flush as he fumbles in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out the package he’d wrapped earlier. “Look – don’t get too excited. You know I’m not great at presents, but I wanted to do something special, because you know –” he breaks off, trying to push down the sudden sharpness in his chest, “This might be the last Christmas we spend together, and I don’t want you to go forgetting me when you’re off being all genius at some school I’d never be able to get into.” He thrusts the present unceremoniously at Cas. “Badly wrapped as usual, sorry,” he adds, as an afterthought.

“Dean,” Cas is holding the wrapped present, but he’s not looking at it. He’s looking at Dean with the kind of familiar, earnest sincerity that makes Dean’s heart ache, that he’s going to miss so much. “There is no chance of me ever forgetting you,” Cas says slowly, and the something in his gaze deepens, turning into something that makes Dean feel simultaneously as though he wants to look away and never look away again. The space between them suddenly feels intimate, theirs. Just the two of them, the way Dean always aches for when it’s not.

“Thanks,” Dean says, gathering himself, but his voice sounds unsteady to his own ears, like he suddenly feels. Off-kilter, dizzy, like they’re both spinning into orbit. “Okay, okay, open the goddamn present already,” Dean mumbles, awkward, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if Cas keeps looking at him like that, and he’s afraid of how much he wants to find out.

Cas looks at him a beat longer, before dropping his attention to the present, unwrapping it carefully with his long, dextrous fingers. There’s a moment when he pulls the leather-bound album out of the shell of wrapping where Dean feels hot all over, embarrassed by his own sentiment. He digs his nails into his palm, watches as Cas opens it and goes still, reading Dean’s inscription. There’s a long pause, and then he turns the first page, and then the next and the next, looking at the photos of him and Dean that Dean has collected from over the years: the two of them togged up in winter coats and red welly boots, making snow-angels in Dean’s back garden; Cas aged ten with a tearstained face, watching as Dean puts a band-aid on his grazed knee; both of them on their first day of middle school, Cas moody with pins all over his jacket and scruffy converse sneakers, Dean grinning with his letterman; Cas, windswept and smiling two summers ago, lying on a sandy beach and gazing up at Dean with that a hint of that something Dean can’t get out of his head now.

Cas finally looks up at him, eyes so blue it hurts to look at them. “Thank you, Dean,” his voice is slightly hoarse. “This –” he breaks off, swallows, turning the album over in his hands. “This must have taken you ages.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dean mumbles gruffly, cheeks heating up. His heart is racing, and he wants to change the subject, take the focus away from how intimate the present suddenly feels now that Cas is holding all their memories in his hands. “Anyway, enough of that. I’m glad you like it, but you know I can’t handle chick flick moments. Come on, your turn. Where’s mine?”

The unreadable look is back on Cas’s face with more intensity, combined with something Dean definitely recognises as nervousness now. Cas’s chest is rising and falling more rapidly, eyes wider than usual, cheeks slightly flushed as he holds Dean’s gaze, almost like he’s steeling himself for something. “Okay,” he says, seemingly more to himself than to Dean. Okay, close your eyes.”

“What?” Dean blinks.

“Close them,” Cas says, with slightly more authority, but Dean can see the way Cas’s fingers are trembling where he’s still holding all of their memories, their whole friendship in his hands. Cas glances down at it unreadably, like it’s suddenly fragile, and then back at Dean. He swallows, repeats, “Dean,” quietly imploring.

Dean closes his eyes. Cas’s gaze and the fairy lights all fade into to soft shadow. Vision gone, Dean suddenly feels very aware of the proximity between them, the almost imperceptible warmth of Cas beside him, the way their thighs are pressed lightly together. Dean has a sudden urge to nudge his closer to Cas’s, to close all the gaps and feel how warm Cas really is. He breathes in, suddenly breathless, and is overwhelmed by the smell of Cas’s skin, familiar and musky, a hint of the patchouli incense he always burns when he’s working. The smell of home. Dean’s heart is suddenly racing so hard it hurts. “Cas?”

Cas is silent. There’s a pause that might be a single heartbeat or the whole last ten years, and then there’s warm, tentative pressure against Dean’s mouth. Cas’s lips, silken soft and hot, brushing tenderly, slowly, against his. Cas’s hands cupping his face, rough and warm and trembling, holding him still as the world spins away into nothing. Cas’s breath, gentle and unsteady against Dean’s mouth, punctuating the kiss.

Dean’s eyes fly open, and the first thing he sees is blue. Deep, exhilarating blue. Like the sky at that moment just between dusk and darkness. And then he’s drowning. He ducks forward and captures Cas’s mouth again with his, stomach somersaulting at the stifled sound Cas makes, like he thought Dean wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t want this. The heat unfurling deep Dean’s chest intensifies at the way Cas’s hands grab at the front of Dean’s shirt, clumsy and desperate, the way Cas shifts closer, all warmth. Cas’s mouth is hot and wet and perfect, tongue twining with Dean’s as they kiss, pressing so close together that their noses nudge together, that Dean’s not sure who’s heartbeat belongs to who anymore.

When they break apart for breath, Cas’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are dark and shining. He’s so beautiful Dean aches with it.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Cas says, voice low and heavy in a way that makes arousal curl through Dean. His eyes are full of quiet happiness, and that something that Dean hasn’t been able to get out of his head for months. It’s wonderful to finally know what it is, to know that it is this. Dean feels like he’s floating.

“Merry Christmas,” Dean echoes, dazedly, and his voice sounds as rough as Cas’s. He shakes his head, smiling in disbelief. “I told you that you always know what I want before I do,” he pauses, “Though, amazing as all the others were, I think this present might just top the list.” Dean is vaguely aware that he’s grinning giddily, heart still pounding.

“I wasn’t sure you’d like it,” Cas admits, looking down, and Dean catches a hint of the nervousness Cas was full of earlier, that makes sense now. Dean feels a rush of warmth for him at the courage it must have taken to cross that line, to take a whole ten years of friendship in his hands and do what Dean never had the courage for.

“Hey,” Dean reaches out, twines their hands together. It’s reassuring the way he can feel Cas trembling a bit too, reminding him they’re both in this together, it’s just the two of them, the way Dean likes it best. “Cas. It’s the best present I’ve ever had,” he says, honestly. Cas looks up and smiles at him, brighter than the lights above them, than anything Dean’s ever known – and Dean suddenly has to rethink his words, because Cas looking at him like that, so full of love and happiness, is better than anything Dean could ever have imagined.

#reorganising all my destel fics onto tumblr!#feedback makes me very happy <3 #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #destiel fluff #dean winchester #castiel #spn #supernatural #spn fanfiction #spn fandom #my stuff #my posts: fanfic

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years ago

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House Calls: Part 2

A/N: This was hella long and I’m stubborn so I apologize if the spacing is a bit wonky. Nevertheless, I hope this reads well, as I’ve added some line breaks in the story to help.

Trigger Warnings: Awkward af, Angst, Fluff, Maybe Swearing?

Word Count: 4,139

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader

Requested by: @captivatedbycillianmurphy and I think some other people so enjoy! :)

Summary: After taking care of Charlie one early morning, Y/N remembers the date she made with Thomas as a deal regarding her payment for her efforts. But it didn’t take long for it to be more than they bargained for.

Part 1 | Part 2

It was Friday evening and you’d just finished up a hectic day at the children’s hospital. You’d had 2 house calls and 4 appointments at your office almost back to back.

With a sigh of relief you sat lazily in your chair at your desk, finishing up patient reports and going over the requests from the previous couple of days. You smiled slightly when your finger traced over the name typed on the rigid paper.

“House Call Request: Mr. Thomas Shelby.”

It had been 5 days since the early house call, and your job being so busy often left you with little down time, but you quickly shuffled the papers away and took in a deep breath before picking up the phone.

“Hello, this is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, can you connect me to Mr. Thomas Shelby please?” You asked the phone operator. You heard the clicking and frazzled line as you waited, your heart racing as the seconds passed.

“Thomas Shelby.” He said tersely.

“Uh-hello...Thomas, it’s Dr. Y/L/N from a few nights ago...I was just wanting to let you know I was free.” You said, mentally slapping yourself for being so awkward. Any composure you usually had when working over the phone completely slipped your mind.

“Y/N...nice to hear from you. How about you meet me here at 7?” He asked, his voice sending your heart over the edge.

“Sounds great, I’ll see you then. Goodbye.” You said quickly as you shakily put down the phone. Your stomach was doing flips as you frantically looked at your small closet that housed extra clothes for messy house visits or appointments.

“God I hope I have something in here....” You thought to yourself as you pulled out a knee-length black dress. Your heels were in the bottom compartment and so you rummaged around until you found a pair that were dark red.

“This should do...” You whispered as you took off your white lab coat and shimmied out of your tattered blue dress. You glanced at the clock as you got ready, taking the pins out of your hair and going through your spare makeup to find a dark red lipstick and black mascara. You finished your makeup hastily, knowing it wasn’t the amount you preferred especially for meeting someone such as Thomas Shelby.

The tension inside you went away slightly as you packed up various things in your office, temporarily taking your mind off the coming plans.

With a loud dinging sound, the clock struck half past 6, signaling it was time to leave. Reluctantly, you gathered your things and put on your old black coat, taking one last look in your mirror before locking the door behind you.

The drive was a bit rocky as it was sprinkling outside, the rain drops coming down like glitter on the dark dirt roads. As you parked and got out, your heels slightly sunk into the dirt as you walked towards the steps of the shop.

When you walked in you were greeted by a woman at one of the front desks, her hair was dark and her eyes tired but alert all the same.

“Hello dear. You must be-“ She started to say, but a deep familiar voice said your name before she could.

“Y/N, welcome. This is my aunt Polly Gray, Polly this is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N.” He said, quickly putting on his coat and his flat cap, the razor blade glinting in the dim light of the shop.

“Nice to meet you Ms. Gray.” You said, smiling and holding out your hand for her to shake.

She shook back with a firm grip, her eyes seemingly boring into yours as she spoke.

“Y/N, Thomas has said so many nice things about you. Would you care for a tour?” She asked.

“I think we better get going.” Thomas said, impatiently lighting a cigarette.

“Tommy it’s the first time we’ve had a guest since sprucing up the place, let me have this one moment.” She said looking annoyed at her nephew.

“Ten minutes.” He said, glancing at you with tired eyes.

You looked around at all the desks and various piles of papers that the assistants were working on, typing what seemed to be the last of their work for the day, and you heard loud chatter in the meeting room, with men drinking and writing numbers on a board and yelling every now and then.

“This is Tommy’s office, and here’s the washrooms. No ones allowed in without knocking, but since he’s not in there we’ll sneak around.” She said smirking.

“I like what you all have done to the place, I imagine it was a bit hectic before?” You asked.

“Yes. Papers strewn everywhere, faulty lights, cracking walls, luckily we came into some money.” She said, sparing any grim details.

“I see...” you said, walking over to his desk and smiling at the picture of Charlie.

“He’s talked so much about how great you were with him. Thank you for helping him the other night.” She said walking near you.

“It was no problem, really. He’s a sweet boy.” You said, as you looked at another picture of Thomas from what must’ve been a few years ago during the war.

“I’m surprised he still has that picture, considering he threw his medals in the cut...he got sent off to France with his brothers, but I’m sure he’ll tell you about that eventually.” She said, her eyes looking a bit sad. You looked at the clock on his wall, causing you to head to the door.

“Probably not a good idea to keep him waiting eh?” You asked smiling a bit to try to lighten her mood.

“Right! Sorry, those times distract me dear. It was nice meeting you Y/N, we’ll have to introduce you to the rest of the family sometime.” She said rushing you out the door and towards the lobby.

“How was the grand tour?” He asked, eyeing Polly’s sullen face.

“It was great...so where are we going Tommy?” You asked, getting him to look at you.

“The Garrison.” He said, stomping his cigarette into the floor and nodding his cap at Polly before helping you out the door.

“So is this where you grew up?” You asked, gripping your coat tighter as the cool night air crept across your skin. The rain was coming down a bit harder now, as you all hastily walked to the bar.

“Yes, like what you see?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you and smirking as you looked only at him and not at the town he grew up in.

Your face heated up as you realized you’d been staring, quickly looking away and towards the entrance to the bar.

Once inside, you shook the droplets off your coat as the smell of smoke and various alcohols filled your lungs.

Your heart skipped a beat as he took your hand in his which was warm compared to yours and led you through the crowds and to the bar.

“What’ll it be Mr. Shelby?” The bartender asked.

“Whiskey, Irish as usual.” Tommy said.

“And for the lady?” The man asked eyeing you.

“I’ll have a gin and tonic please.” You said.

You looked around at all the people, some were drunk already, some were dancing to the barely audible music being played, and others were having quiet conversations at the small tables in the middle of the place.

“Here you go. Enjoy.” He said.

Tommy took the bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses as you took your gin, but before he could walk away you spoke.

“Wait don’t we have to pay?” You asked, looking back at the already occupied bartender.

“You’re with a Shelby...it’s on the house.” He said as he led you to a table towards the back of the bar.

He sat down and lit a cigarette before taking a swig of his whiskey, watching you as you sipped your gin.

“So...Polly mentioned you’ve been talking about me...I hope it’s not anything too terrible...” You said a small smirk playing at your lips, looking at him as he gulped down the last of his shot.

“I assure you it’s nothing bad, I’ve told them about how good you were with Charlie. You saved me from one hell of a week.” He said grinning a bit.

“How is he by the way? He looks so much like you ya know...couldn’t deny he’s yours.” You said, hoping the gin would kick in sooner rather than later so you’d be able to talk as if a an anxious hand wasn’t gripping your throat.

You could see his tired eyes light up slightly as he spoke.

“He’s doing better, his cough is going away and the fever’s gone.” He said.

“I’m happy to hear that, he’s a sweet boy.” You said.

Tommy nodded as he looked at you, making you a bit self-conscious all of a sudden. If there was one thing he truly mastered over the years it was definitely making prolonged eye contact with people.

“So, how was work today?” You asked, taking a larger sip of your gin.

“Well I was supposed to be off. I had Polly clear my schedule, but something came up. Work is never really done is it?” He asked taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Not until we’re dead.” You said.

He chuckled at that, easing your nerves a bit.

“So what did Polly show you?” He asked, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and offering you one. The night was still young so you accepted it, the brown liquid burning your throat as it went down, making your face turn up slightly.

“Not a fan of whiskey aye?” He asked, a smile forming on his face.

“Only when I’m drunk enough.” You said, the rest of your gin hitting your system a bit.

“Polly showed me around the shop as you saw, and...your office.” You said, seeing him tense up slightly.

“I loved the pictures of Charlie and you on your desk. I didn’t touch anything though, I swear it.” You said, finishing your gin.

“What’d Polly tell you?” He asked, taking another drag from his cigarette.

“She thanked me for taking care of Charlie...and she mentioned you were in France...during the war...” You said looking down at the empty glass.

When you lifted your eyes up you were met with his face turned away from you, staring out the window, lost in thought.

“I-I’m sorry Tommy. I didn’t mean to upset you.” You said, reaching for his hand. The contact broke him out of whatever thoughts he’d had, his eyes searching yours.

“It’s alright. Just a difficult time that’s all. It changes you.” He said, looking at your hand in his.

“You don’t have to talk about it unless you want to.” You said, looking at his tired eyes, knowing he probably had trouble sleeping ever since.

He took a deep breath before downing another shot, you downing yours a bit later, trying to come up with a way to make the night better.

“I was a clay-kicker. We dug tunnels and planted bombs...One night we’d heard them digging right at us, so we waited knowing death was coming for us. We were prepared to die there....I can still hear the bombs exploding...the shovels scraping...” He said breaking the silence.

“Well, you’re here. That’s all that matters now Tommy.” You said, realizing he’d been holding onto your hand the whole time.

As the couple of shots you’d drank ran through your bloodstream, you saw him let his guard down slightly as the night drug on. Ordering you another gin so you wouldn’t have to deal with the whiskey as much.

“So you like gin aye?” He asked.

“Yeah, why?” You asked grinning as you took a sip of the cold, clear liquid.

“I make gin.” He said, lighting a cigarette once again.

“Oh really? I’ll have to try it sometime.” You said, your vision going slightly fuzzy as you grew more tipsy.

“How about tonight?” He asked. You pursed your lips in thought before answering.

“Alright, I’m never one to shy away from new things. Is it here?” You asked, glancing at the bar.

“No. Stored away at the warehouse, we ship some of it out but I’ve got over a hundred and thirty bottles stashed away.” He said.

“Who are you saving all of it for?” You asked.

Tommy thought for a moment, the images of Grace slipping away for once as he stared at the woman in front of him.

“For the right person I suppose.” He said.

Your cheeks heated up at the thought, causing you to look away.

Tommy continued to stare, taking in every part of you, knowing all the women he’d loved in the past usually came with a time limit. It had only been a matter of days, but he knew in his bones he felt some way towards you, no one had felt this special to him since Grace. And as much as it excited him, it also terrified him.

“Would you like to go?” He asked.

“I’d love to.” You said, clinking your glass with his as you both finished off your drinks before heading off.

The sky was as dark as ever, the moonlight guiding your path as Tommy drove towards the warehouse. The air was chilled and you could see your breath when talking.

As he parked, he ran round to help you out, holding you steady as your heels sunk more into the dirt. The rain subsided luckily, making the trek over to the heavy wooden doors somewhat bearable.

“It’s back here.” He said, prying open a crate of clear bottles, the Shelby Co. Ltd. label catching your eye, along with the description.

“Distilled for the eradication of seemingly incurable sadness.” You said, reading it aloud.

“When my wife died...I started this partly for business...and partly for myself to take my mind off everything.” He said.

You nodded and sat on an old crate and watched him open the bottle and pour you both a glass.

“To the eradication of sadness, aye?” He asked raising his glass to yours.

“To the eradication of sadness.” You said smiling before taking a drink. It was slightly sweeter than the one at the Garrison, but it went down smoothly to your surprise.

Tommy looked down into his glass, getting lost in thought as the rain started up again. The heavy drops pounding on the roof of the warehouse as you sat there in drunken silence.

You had both nearly finished the bottle when the thunder grew louder over the wooden structure, your eyes lazily looking through one of the windows as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Do you want to do something fun?” You asked, lifting your head off his shoulder and looking up into his eyes. They drew you in no matter how many times you tried looking away.

“What do you have in mind?” He said, raising his brow with a slight grin.

“Do you like to dance?” You asked, knowing you were fully drunk at this point.

He looked at you as if he was searching for himself in your eyes, searching for some portion of him that he could still grasp onto amidst all the noise.

“I suppose.” Was all he said, not wanting to deal with absolutes. A yes would mean he’d have to be amazing at remembering the moves and dig past all the muck to find his old self, who’d smile and dance and ride horses all the time. A no would make the beautiful woman before him frown from disappointment. So he reluctantly got up and took her hand as she led the way, giggling slightly as she staggered slightly through the dirt covered floors.

“We’re dancing in the rain.” You said, grinning mischievously and leading him out the door.

“Fuck these shoes.” You said, taking them off so you wouldn’t sink your heels into the mud. You sat them by the door and Tommy watched as you took a large step onto the dark muddy ground looking up at the huge raindrops coming down.

“Are you mad?” He asked walking to you and putting his arms around your waist.

“I’m just living in the moment Tommy. Try it.” You said, swaying a bit as you put one of your hands in his.

He smiled and shook his head, the moonlight illuminating his features as he spoke.

“We’re going to get sick you know.” He said looking down at you, admiring how the rain made your hair shine and your skin glisten as the drops fell around you.

“Well...it’s a good thing I’m a doctor then huh?” You said smirking as you locked eyes with him. Yours trailing to his lips and his doing the same to yours.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment as you kissed, all the worries either of you had vanishing for a moment as the rain danced around you.

“Have you thought about expanding your practice?” He asked, breaking the kiss.

“Yes......why?” You asked, bringing your arms up around his shoulders as his rested on your waist.

“I figured it could be good for you, you could get out of Birmingham for a while. Have a new range of patients.” He said.

“Tommy....I can’t just up and leave, I have a life there you know.” You said, looking up at him. His eyes were set on yours, almost pleading.

“I’ll think about it, alright? But if I do decide to move out here...where will I go? Who will I help?” You asked, knowing there were only a couple of doctors in Small Heath, all old and withering away with age. And the apartments around here weren’t exactly aging any better.

“I have plan for that...if you’d let me help you. I have a couple of people in the family that you could help, only when needed of course.” He said.

“Are you wanting to hire me as the Shelby family doctor then?” You asked, smirking as he looked up at the rain.

“It would be nice not having to go to the hospitals all the time. Raises too much suspicion.” He said.

“Will I get to see that sweet boy of yours? I can’t drop my children’s practice entirely you know.” You said, the nerves bundling up in your stomach as you thought about a possible future here.

“Of course. Like I said, I have a plan.” He said smiling down at you.

You raised your hand up cupping his cheek lightly, the rain just missing his face thanks to his peaked cap.

“You and your plans Tommy...At least tell me what it is, for business purposes...” You said before he pressed his lips to yours again.

“I’ll tell you, but only after a few more dates.” He said giving you a half smile that melted your heart.

“Deal.” You said, taking his hand in yours as you walked back toward the warehouse.

The sudden movements made your skin crawl as the cold wind blew through.

“You cold?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You said, drawing your damp coat tightly around you.

Unlike you, he was used to the cold, having slept in muddy tunnels and trenches for nights on end, so he swiftly took his coat off and draped it around your shoulders, the scent of cologne and cigarette smoke radiating from the fabric.

“Now how about we go home aye?” He asked.

“Home?” You asked, sobering up as the night drug on.

“I’m not letting a lady drive herself through town this late, you can stay at mine.” He said, walking to his car and helping you in.

“Alright, but listen. I’m tired and I’d just like to sleep. No funny business.” You said holding up a finger at him.

“Why not?” He asked jokingly.

“I don’t fuck on first dates.” You said bluntly, cringing internally at the one time you did.

“Alright then.” He said, looking at you as he lit a cigarette. He smirked a bit before turning the engine on, respecting your decision but also intrigued that you were more hard to get than some other women he’s encountered in the past.

The drive was a bit long, making you want to fall asleep right there in the car, but the sounds of the gate to his grand driveway opening and closing kept you up. You lazily put your heels on before walking in the large house, the clicking of them echoing throughout the long halls.

“I assume you remember where the rooms are. My room is to the left of Charlie’s, I’m going to check on him but you can make yourself at home. There’s extra clothes in the dresser.” He said going up the stairs as you looked around. Your heart raced at the thought of sleeping beside him, the portrait of his late wife seemingly judging you as you walked up the stairs and into the bedroom.

While there, you hurriedly washed your already smudged makeup off and put one of his shirts on, letting it skim across your thighs as you walked back into the room.

Pulling the covers back on the huge queen bed, you heard Tommy talking sweetly to Charlie before hearing him shut the door. You had just made yourself comfortable when he’d walked in, a small smile plastered across his face that you’d seen so many times with parents.

“Was he asleep when you walked in?” You asked breaking the silence as he quickly changed clothes, causing you to sneak a glance at him before he climbed into the bed with you. It was a foreign feeling, sharing a bed with someone other than yourself, but you took in the moment, not knowing just how many you’d spend like this.

“He was until I walked in...had to tell him stories and play with his horse toy until he fell back to sleep.” He said, pulling you closer to him.

“Awe...I’m sure he was happy to see you though.” You said yawning lightly.

“Lets get to bed, don’t want you passing out on me tomorrow.” He said smirking down at you.

“Goodnight Tommy.” You said quietly.

“Goodnight.” He said, staring at the ceiling like he did so many nights, hoping that this time he’d be able to sleep somewhat peacefully.

The next morning, the birds chirped wildly outside as you and Tommy got up. The light from the windows blinding you both as hangovers clouded both your heads.

Tommy let out a cough and you managed a sneeze, as both of you felt like it was more than just hangover as the minutes passed, both of your heads feeling stuffed and your skin feeling a bit warmer than usual.

Tommy gave you a annoyed look as he sat up in bed, regretting his life decisions in that moment.

“What? Don’t look at me like that...” You said, getting up from the bed.

“I told you we’d get sick, you just had to live in the moment...” He said, mocking your words and watching you as you made your way to the bathroom. He watched as his shirt rode up your exposed legs as you leaned over the sink, splashing your face with cool water to help with your fever a bit.

“You could’ve stopped me you know...” You said dryer your face and then sitting next to him, checking his temperature with the back of your hand.

“Will this be going in your patient records?” He asked as you handed him a cold rag to put over his neck.

You smiled weakly as you spoke, clearly more sick from your actions than he was.

“No...we’re going to keep this one off the record...alright?” You said.

“Alright.” He said, getting up and slowly walking to his study downstairs. You got dressed in your now-dry dress and walked down the stairs to see the nanny with Charlie in the other room. You waved to him as he smiled, his appearance looking better than the last time you’d seen him.

“Hello Arthur. I won’t be in today, I’m a bit under the weather...yeah...it’s a long story. Aye don’t let the power get to your head alright brother? I’ll be back tomorrow.” You heard him say, causing you to chuckle as he walked out of his office.

You looked at his tired eyes and red nose, knowing you weren’t going to your home just yet.

Sighing and running a hand along your cold arms, you turned to him and checked is temperature again just in case.

“What?” He asked as you smirked to yourself.

“I guess today will just have to be like another house call...” You said, kissing his cheek before heading towards the bedroom again, knowing you’ll both be spending more time in there than originally planned.

Thomas Shelby Tag List:

(If you’d like to be added/removed just send me an ask/message!) :)

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @psychkunox, @peakyxtommy, @captivatedbycillianmurphy,@dreamwastakenx, @lovemissyhoneybee, @thomashelbyswhore

#katiesfics #katiesanons #captivatedbycillianmurphy #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #Thomas Shelby x female!reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshots #peaky blinders fanfic #katiesrequests #katiesWIPlist

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jamesmydeer · 5 years ago

Text

Please Don’t Swear x Sirius Black

notes: goodness it’s been a while. i’m beyond sorry for my absence. i feel like since it’s been so long since i’ve written, this may be a little wonky. please let me know if you liked it! thank you so much for reading!

word count: 1.8k

warnings: swearing :/

masterlist

Growing up in the wizarding world, the subject of magic was hard to avoid. Every child grew up on the stories of their parents’ times at Hogwarts, learning spells and having fun. They didn’t have to question what the words on their wrists meant, they learned the meaning before they could formulate coherent sentences.

Y/n L/n grew up in a completely different environment. She had been taught from a young age that magic was not real, and it was silly to believe so. She couldn’t explain the weird things that happened to her, all she knew was that it wasn’t normal. The most alarming thing was the three words written on her wrist.

She knew it was vulgar. For as long as she could remember, her parents had done their best to cover them up. She wore long sleeves year round, bandaids over the writing, anything to make sure no one knew that spelled out on her wrist were the words “What the fuck?”

It was almost comical; at first glance it seemed so pretty. The writing was a lot more elegant than the wording. Maybe if it was on someone else she would think it was hilarious. But it wasn’t.

Y/n was eleven when she received the letter that explained everything. She was a witch. Everything made so much sense once she figured out that she had magical powers that she had yet to learn how to control. Well, almost everything. She would later learn that the words on her wrist were the first words her soulmate would say to her.

Soulmate.

———————————————————————

Sirius Black hated the three words that displayed across his wrist. He was bossed around by his family enough, he didn’t need his soulmate for that. “Please don’t swear.” Yeah right.

His mother would use the words to her advantage as much as she could. Whenever he would do something she didn’t agree with, she would simply inform him that ‘your soulmate wouldn’t be pleased.’ Sirius hated it more than anything.

So, after arriving at Hogwarts, Sirius decided that he didn’t care about soulmates. He would date who he wanted to date and not acknowledge the twinge of disappointment he wasn’t scolded by a girl upon speaking to her.

———————————————————————

“You know, you’re never going to get anywhere dating around Padfoot,” James scolded Sirius, who had just returned from Godric knows where.

“Yeah, cause having a soulmate has really worked out for you, mate,” Sirius jokes.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that Lily and I will one day be-”

“the happiest couple in the whole world,” the three marauders cut him off, having heard the statement too many times to count.

“Yeah, we know Prongs.”

“Say, if James knows his soulmate, and she can’t even stand to be around him, I can only imagine how much yours hates you, Pads,” Peter laughed, earning him two swift slaps to the back of the head. He quickly turned around and hit them both in the arm. Before the trio could start a wrestling match, Remus cut them off.

“You know, he’s right.”

“Hey,” James muttered.

“No, not Wormtail. You, you git. Pads, if you don’t at least try to find your soulmate, you’re never gonna be happy,” Remus warmed him.

“Exactly, do you want to spend your future wondering what could have been if you weren’t such a tool?” James teased, once again starting up a wrestling match.

Remus rolled his eyes and returned to his magazine. “You know, you should look for her tonight at the party.”

“Yeah right, as if I, Sirius Orion Black, want to spend an entire party looking for some chick.”

“You know Moony, I think he’s chicken,” James said, proceeding to cluck at Sirius. Peter joined in.

“Real mature you guys,” Sirius deadpanned. They continued clucking. “Cut it out,” he warned, growing more annoyed. As the clucking grew louder, and the flapping arm movements became more exaggerated , Sirius caved. “Fine!”

James and Peter cheered, high fiving each other. Remus smirked down at his magazine, knowing that his plan had worked. Sirius glared at him.

“You know, you’re too smart for your own good,” Sirius whined, aggravated that Remus knew this exact thing would happen.

“What can I say, you lot are predictable.”

“Piss off!” Sirius retorted, turning towards the door to walk away.

“Please don’t swear,” James and Peter laughed, earning a crude hand gesture from Sirius, followed by the slamming of the door.

———————————————————————

Y/n and Lily sat in the library, quietly bickering back and forth across the table.

“How come whenever you ask me to study with you, we never study?” Y/n asked, annoyed with Lily’s inability to be quiet.

“Oh come on, it’s one little party. Please don’t make me go alone.”

“No way Lily. You remember what happened last time?” Y/n whined, hoping Lily would soon drop it.

“That was one time! And Marlene didn’t mean to spill her drink on you. She said sorry like a hundred times!” Lily retorted, trying her hardest to convince her friend.

“Yeah, well sorry didn’t dry my clothes off.”

“Oh pretty please. I really want you to meet my friends. You and Remus would get on really well.”

“Is it because James is going to be there?” Y/n teased, looking back down at her book. When Lily stayed quiet instead of defending herself, Y/n’s head shot up. When she noticed Lily’s blush, she knew that she had to go for her friend.

“Fine, I’ll go lover girl.”

“Thank you so much. You know, you might even find–”

“Yeah yeah, now shut up. You dragged me here to study, now study!”

———————————————————————

The Gryffindor common room was a lot louder than usual. Y/n had been there a total of thirty minutes and was already ready to leave. She glanced at Lily to make sure she wouldn’t notice, and saw her talking with James. She smiled, partly because she was happy for the pair and partly because she knew she could leave undetected.

As a fifth year threw up in the corner, she glanced down at her butterbeer, suddenly disgusted by the beverage. She decided that she would set the butterbeer on the closest table and make a beeline for the door.

Looking over her shoulder to make sure Lily hadn’t spotted her, she collided with another body, and her drink went all over them.

“What the fuck?” Sirius yelled, surprised at the sudden coldness and angry about the uncomfortable wetness.

Y/n, trying not to make a scene that would alert Lily of her absence, frantically scolded the person in front of her.

“Please don’t swear.”

She looked up and was met with the eyes of Sirius Black. She felt very small under his glare, which she guessed she deserved, having spilled her cold beverage all over his front.

“I’m really sorry, I’ll go get you some paper towels,” she spoke shyly, turning to grab something to dry him off with when she felt a hand wrap around her wrist.

“What did you say?” he asked, a mix of shock and anger on his face.

“Um, that I was going to go get some paper towels…” Y/n responded, coming out as more of a question. She always thought the Black boy was a bit curious.

“No, before that,” he shook his head, rolling her sleeve up. Y/n went to jerk her arm back, but Sirius let it go before she could attempt to.

That’s when she realized what was going on. Sirius Black, notorious bad boy, was her soul mate. Of all people.

“It’s you?” she gasped, beyond shocked.

“Don’t act so surprised, princess. You know, you ruined my life!” he progressively got louder, let all of his bottled up feelings towards the whole soulmate situation finally spill.

At this point everyone at the party was silently watching the argument unfold.

“Me! Me? Do you have any idea how hard it is to have a curse word on your wrist?” she yelled back, growing angrier the more she looked at him.

“Just say fuck!”

“I most certainly will not!”

“You know, we’ve barely said ten words to each other and I already can’t stand you.”

“Well I’ve never been able to stand you! You–”

Y/n continued to talk, but Sirius tunes her out, focusing instead on her eyes. He thought they were very pretty. The light of the common room reflected in them, and he wondered what they looked like if they were filled with joy and not anger.

He moved from there to her hair, which he thought complimented her face perfectly. He found himself wanting to reach up and move the hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear.

Sirius’ moment of infatuated bliss was cut off by a snap in front of his eyes.

“Are you even listening to me?” she thought she would never be angrier than she was at this moment.

It was then that Sirius noticed all the eyes watching their altercation. He grabbed her hand again, despite her protests, and ushered her into the hallway.

“Sirius Black I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but–”

“You’re really pretty,” Sirius smiles down at her, blushing under her bewildered gaze.

“Excuse me?” Y/n was left even more confused than she was before.

Sirius chuckled, reaching his hand up to cup her face. “You’re really pretty,” he reiterated.

Y/n blushed and averted her eyes downwards to her shoes. She didn’t know what to think, but she knew she liked the feeling of his hand on her cheek.

“I don’t hate you,” she spoke softly, looking up at the boy who chuckled softly.

“I don’t hate you either,” Sirius started, leaning in closer. “You’re far too beautiful to hate.”

Y/n smiled as Sirius connected his lips to hers. Both of their grins caused the kiss to be a tad bit awkward, but just about everything about the couple had been up to that point.

Sirius pulled away and placed his forehead against hers. He placed a soft kiss on her nose, which she responded to by scrunching it up. In that moment, Sirius felt like his legs might give out. As he leaned back in, they were interrupted by two very distinct giggles.

They turned around to see James and Lily hand in hand, both with sheepish grins on their face.

“Looks like this hallways is taken,” James spoke, avoiding Sirius’ knowing glance. He grabbed Lily’s hand and pulled her back down the hallway, looking forward to filling Sirius in later.

“Do you think they?”

“Oh for sure,” Sirius nodded, grabbing her hand and leading her back towards her common room.

“Let me walk you?”

“Lead the way,” she smiled, resting his head on his arm and smiling.

Maybe the years of embarrassment would be worth it. Looking up at Sirius, she figured they had to have been.

#sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagines #sirius black hc #sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius imagine #harry potter #jamesmydeer #marauders #harry potter hc #harry potter imagine #marauders imagine #marauders hc #marauders era #harry potter x reader

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hunnybadgerv · 4 years ago

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Free Consultation | SWTOR | JK/Doc

Summary: Doc recommends a full night’s sleep for the Jedi Knight.

a/n: This idea just kind of wandered into my head and took up residence.

Link to AO3

Free Consultation

“As the ship’s new medic—”

Amaryn jumped when he set the cup of energy pudding and the spoon down near her elbow. She blinked up at him from her seat in the central hub of the ship, surprised that someone else was awake and wandering.

“—I cannot in good conscience not recommend less that at least seven hours of sleep on a regular basis.”

She tried to smile, then looked down at the light-colored beige surface of the table. He seemed to notice the tension in her movements and slid into a seat opposite her.

“Seems reasonable,” she agreed.

“Then why aren’t you sleeping soundly?”

The question felt rhetorical and she let it linger. He didn’t say anything for a long time, she could feel his gaze on her, like he was studying her. She’d known other medics that did the same—it felt innocuous like she were a specimen in a petri dish that he was trying to decipher.

“Doesn’t the droid have the controls?” he finally added.

“Tee-Seven is keeping us on course.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you are wandering around the ship like some kind of thief.”

Amaryn couldn’t help but laugh and look at her hands clasped atop the table. “I did not mean to wake you.”

“Eh. I barely sleep.”

“What about those seven hours?” she asked, looking up at him.

Doc smiled at her. She liked the way his eyes twinkled when he donned that smug crooked smirk. “My body requires just the right kind of exertion to achieve that kind of rest.”

Amaryn had to look away, she could feel the heat in her cheeks at the innuendo in his tone. Though honestly, she really ought to be used to it by now. He had used that tone with her since they first met. Even so, it still affected her the same way, making her pulse go wonky and her stomach flip-flop about like something suffocating.

“Won’t that defeat the purpose of trying to get back to sleep?” she asked, gesturing to the cup in his hand.

Doc tipped his head and pulled the thin lid off his cup. “Well, you’ve already done two laps around the ship checking on everyone. So, I’ll wager you’ve already surpassed the threshold for going back to bed. And I got my usual four, so I’m ready to face whatever you’ve got planned for us.”

The smile that flashed across her face was followed by a hint of a blush; she was nearly 100% sure he had not noticed it—the advantage of her deep crimson skin tone. It hid embarrassment very well. Though she wasn’t as confident as she might have been; she’d also thought no one had heard her wandering around the corridors either.

“So, what woke you?” he asked, as he scooped out a chocolatey mound. He stared at her, waiting for her answer.

“It has been a long time since I slept according to your suggestion.”

“Trouble getting to sleep? Or staying asleep?” The question sounded almost clinical … almost.

Amaryn couldn’t help but notice the business-like turn of the conversation. A part of her was thankful for it. She reached over and pulled open the energy pudding he’d set beside her.

“A little of both,” she finally admitted. She dipped her spoon into the pudding a few times, mainly just stirring it around.

“Been like that for a while?”

“As long as I can remember.”

“Really?”

Amaryn just raised her brow at him as if he should already know of her candid nature. Her gaze dropped to the container, which she only stared at. Chocolate. Doc hoarded those; said they were his favorite. She stirred it around once more, before pulling her spoon out. The thick viscous concoction clung to the utensil, allowing her to nip a test taste.

She was aware that he was watching her again. The heat crawled up her next once more and she stuffed the spoonful in her mouth and returned it to the cup. Cool and fluffy, it coated her tongue. She tried to think more about the creamy flavor of it than that prickling heat radiating along her spine. A part of her wondered if he knew, if he understood that she could sense him.

“What disrupts your sleep? Nightmares?” His voice snapped her out of her head.

“Uh.” She swallowed hard, and blinked at him a few times as if she hadn’t quite heard what he said and had to hit the rewind button on her memory to replay it. “Yes. Sometimes.” She shook her head. “Not always.”

“I didn’t figure Jedi got nightmares. Aren’t you guys all aligned with goodness and light?”

Another swallow to deal with a tight knot forming in her throat. “Doesn’t mean we haven’t seen things that stick with us. And sometimes, we can’t always deal with a situation the way we would prefer. It can leave one with scars … regrets,” the final word came out more quietly. She stuffed another spoonful into her mouth hoping it might keep her from saying anything more.

“Isn’t that the truth?” Doc agreed with that casual relaxed tone of his. It suggested an understanding, but he didn’t expound on the subject.

Instead, the silence bloomed again. Not uncomfortable, but natural, at least until she felt him looking at her again.

“What about you?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet.

“I have my fair share of sleep disruptions,” he offered with sigh. “Hell, you were on Balmorra. The colicoids alone were more than enough nightmare fuel for one lifetime.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she chuckled. He laughed too, leaning on the table and smiling at her when she finally looked him in the eye again.

“Of course, I am. Ol’ Doc’s never wrong.”

“Never, huh?”

“Never,” he insisted with a cocky smile.

Amaryn liked his smile, maybe a little too much.

#Badger Scribbles #SWTOR Fanfiction #Archiban Doc Kimble #Jedi Knight #Doc #archiban kimble #swtor #Amaryn Rha #Free Consultation #mutual pining #Fluff #Comfort

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craftypeaceturtle · 4 years ago

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Bewitching

Summary: Roman and his trusted friend, Logan, embark on a journey to visit their local witch.

Note: I was inspired by a post that described this like exact concept. This is just a small fic that struck me! I have no idea why I am only capable of writing rare pair fics but hey ho! At least I’m writing. Analogical and Royality.

“Do you even understand where we’re supposed to be going?” Logan muttered as he tried to massage away his upcoming headache. Unfortunately his headache bounded into his side with a wide smirk.

“Of course! It’s only a simple path through Sanders Woods,” Roman announced as he continued marching through the castle with proud wide steps.

“Do I even need to deconstruct how vague those directions truly are?”

“Pfft! I’m not an idiot Logan. I do have a map. You just follow through the main path through Sanders Woods but then at some specific stump or something stupid, you turn and then boom! Witches!” Roman wiggled the paper in his face but even that movement didn’t hide that it was just some rushed notes on a napkin from his father. It looked like just simple lines and labels. There wasn’t even an compass pointing north!

“Ah I stand corrected then, your majesty. Truly you must be a true scholar in the geologies,” Logan sighed and Roman checked his shoulder.

They were being sent on the incredibly (vague, according to Logan) journey to go track down the kingdom’s local witch to re-establish their trade. A journey that sounded very important and essential so when Logan first heard it, of course he immediately offered his service. The warning sign should have been that Roman was conducting the journey. Another warning sign (as there were many), was the fact that to re-establish their trade, they were trading a kitten and were expecting to get cookies in return. It all painted the very obvious picture that the king wanted his son to do his chores and so asked his friend to ensure the task got done. But then again, Logan prided himself as a man of honour and he wouldn’t refuse to conduct on this journey. He was nobler than this pettiness. He was more serious than any one of the royal family members. He would take great pride in this stupid task.

“Logan!” Roman shouted, Logan whipped round to face him, “Do you mind leaving the kitten alone for at least one second and help me pick out an outfit?”

“Pick an outfit?” Logan squealed indignantly, ignoring his own burning blush as he followed Roman into his room, leaving the poor mewing kitten to sprawl around its basket, “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

He was wearing his typical outfit which was his full princely attire. A pristine white tunic with gold embellishments that all highlighted the strong red of the emblem on his sleeves. He would usually wear a bright red sash across his chest but instead he was flinging it about like a child first trying to learn ballet. But now he blushed bright enough to match the emblem. “We’re meeting new people. Of course a prince should always present their best foot forward.”

“Oh all princes?”

“Okay, don’t pretend that’s fair! We all know that Remus is an octopus dressed as a prince. He shouldn’t be considered along with all other princes!”

“An octopus?” Logan chuckled.

“Dad got at me for constantly calling him a rat so I’m calling him an octopus. Just as ugly but this time dad thinks it’s just some weird nickname,” Roman said way too proudly for someone who was in his twenties and definitely above sibling squabbles. Then again this was indeed Roman.

“Ah, you are just so charming and intelligent, your majesty,” Logan smirked before he also bumped their shoulders, “But don’t think that will distract me. Please promise me that you will not flirt with the witch.”

“It’s not flirting! It’s called being friendly, not that you would know that Intronerd!”

“It’s definitely flirting. And it definitely taints any and all official communication. Do I even need to retell the event with Janus?”

“Right! I’m all ready to go, are you?” Roman bellowed, rushing past him with a satchel of bare essentials. Logan simply sighed and carefully cradled the basket with the kitten.

It was just after midday and they were finally on their way, the guards around the castle grounds waved with barely hidden laughs. Roman frowned at them and clutched Logan to his side. He was well aware of his reputation around the castle. Foolish and way too optimistic. It stung each time but then Roman knew himself better than any guard could. Plus he could always sick Remus on them! But he also knew Logan was quickly getting mixed in with that reputation. A truly genuine travesty to this world. Logan was a bold, determined and so quietly compassionate but he was only regarded as dumb and easily flustered. And Roman could get it! Like yeah, seeing this emotionless guy walk out of the grounds cradling a kitten was funny, but he knew Logan well enough to laugh at how lovey he was really. They just laughed at the ditzy dumb consort who pretended to be cold and collected. Yet Logan always remained oblivious and Roman would risk his life to ensure it would remain that way.

He wished he could say it was a beautiful summer’s morn with the birds chirping their victory as they headed into the deep mysterious forest. But instead the sky was a striking grey with a wind that was just the wrong side of cold. Reports stated it would rain in the afternoon and he was unfortunately momentarily defeated by the allure of sleeping in so he couldn’t leave early enough. Meh, he was pretty sure Logan appreciated the extra hours to sit around doing nothing! He waved the famous royal wave to a bunch of children who scattered at their approach with amazed giggles while Logan did his usual Logan thing of keeping his eyes forward and walking away before they could talk. Perhaps it was for the best, they had to focus.

Well... ‘focus’. The journey was important and all but also this tiny little ginger kitten snuggling into Logan’s muscly bulky arms was very distracting.

The path into the woods was very simple. It was a worn away path in the grass that become wider and wider each time he saw it. It was pretty much a very wonky lane straight through the forest and the map clearly presented an equally wonky line to a blackened tree stump that “they could not miss”. Then turn left and, as he eloquently put it, boom! Witch. In all honesty, the journey was the very last thing on his mind currently. Sanders Woods was big but it was so close to the kingdom that there was never anything too dangerous in there- people travelled through it every day. But, Roman prided himself on his studies into the kingdom’s history and all the fables and stories that it inspired. It didn’t take a genius to know that witches meant trouble. Witches cursed and violently lashed out at any hero that came their way.

He stared up at Logan out of the corner of his eye. Logan looked the part certainly with his official royal uniform and he was fairly built. But Roman also knew Logan. While he could look intimidating, he was anything but. At the first sign of conflict he would freeze, and even if he didn’t, he was in no way trained for battle. He looked built but his muscle purely came from grabbing heavy books from high shelves. He wouldn’t last a second against a witch in a physical battle.

“How have your studies been going?” Roman innocently asked innocently.

“As expected, why?”

“What do you mean why! I can be interested in your studies! What are you learning about now? It was magic right?” Roman kept his focus on his light marching steps. Logan huffed a chuckle.

“Magic is such a broad term I don’t even know how to go about correcting you. Yes, I have largely been studying magic. It is...” Logan scrunched his face up, “going, to put realistically. I’m struggling to fully grip the module I am currently on. But overall, my study of magic is going better than I first thought. How are your studies? Are you studying anything right now?” Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Not really. I finished the whole economics junk and I have a bit of a break before I launch back into studies. Trying to make the most of it,” Roman answered honestly but he kept his gaze straight ahead, “Anyway, what kind of magic are you doing? Like any... cool spells?”

“Cool... spells...” Logan said, stopping completely in his path, “Why are you so interested?”

“As I said! I can be interested in what my friend is doing!”

“You haven’t ever before taken interest in my, how did you put it, ‘nerdy junk’!”

“Well!” Roman snarked back but he could feel Logan looking right through him, “It’s just important to know what kind of magic you can do. Just in case we ever n-”

“You think this is dangerous don’t you!” Logan gasped, feeling panic slam into his chest.

“What?” Roman nervously laughed off, “No...”

“You do!” Logan dramatically pointed at him, “Oh we don’t have nearly the right supplies for any kind of conflict! We’re carrying around a cat!”

“It won’t be dangerous!” Roman tried to soothe while panickily pacing.

“I asked you! I asked you! I asked and you said that it was a simple trade. That we are practically just acting as postmen!” Logan threw his head back.

“I’m sorry!” Roman gasped.

“You’ve got your sword. Plus, I really don’t think your dad would send us on some dangerous journey without at least some back up. I think you just got into your head with worry. There’s lots of rumours about witches despite those spreading them having never met a witch, we should be fine,” Logan answered softly. There was no use having them both panicking when they were already significantly through the woods. But then again maybe they could turn back now before they truly prove themselves to be idiots.

“Yeah!” Roman lit up and snapped up straight with an obnoxious smile, “C’mon, we’ll be fine!”

Logan simply ran through his warning signs he listed earlier about how this task was a stupid chore. His hand found the kitten’s fuzzy little forehead and he gave some scritches before following in Roman’s footsteps.

It was another hour where each minute felt more and more uncomfortable. They were a decent way through the woods but they had yet to see anything resembling a tree stump. Even Roman was now flicking his gaze behind him, checking to see if they had perhaps passed it without realising. Logan was practically chanting about how King Thomas wouldn’t send his idiot of a son on a difficult journey without a proper map. But then again both of his sons were idiots so maybe he just chose Roman as the lesser of two evils? Maybe the wobbly scrawled line on the map was just longer than expected. This was why people added scales and a compass! Eventually they paused at a blackened tree. They didn’t even talk or notice the other had paused as well.

“Maybe by stump they more meant a stumpy tree?” Roman cautiously looked around.

“Did your father not describe it any more than that?” Logan asked, still not convinced.

“I mean he even drew it in black!” Roman yelled out in what was supposed to be confidence. Logan winced as Roman marched slowly forward into the treeline.

“That cannot be where the line is. That map should never be considered as accurate or, or- just slow down Roman. We have no idea if this is the right direction!”

“Yeah well, we literally just go left into the trees. If it turns out to be wrong then we know which direction we went and just go back.”

Logan sighed at the legitimate logic the illogical prince presented, “It’s going to rain soon.”

“Well hurry up then!” Roman had already started running into the woods and Logan grumbled out some swears before reluctantly trudging after him.

Now underneath the thick canopy of the woods, it was quite dark and moody. Roman tried to lighten the mood by pointing out every single squirrel that skittered away when they passed but even that didn’t fix the tension. The ideas of danger were swirling uncomfortably through them. The kitten was now restless and was mewing very pathetically. Logan winced at each quiet mew and Roman knew that it was a matter of seconds before Logan demand they go back and get the kitten to safety. And he was about to agree until he saw a tiny mushroom on a tree.

It softly glowed, and if that wasn’t a strong enough indicator of magic and witches, it was illuminous purple. It almost seemed transparent as black smoke billowed underneath it’s surface but it still somehow glowed brightly.

“Logan, I think we’re almost there,” Roman muttered and tugged him forward.

“Roman.” Logan stopped them dead in the path. He was shifting and looking away but his back was straight and his posture screamed listen. Roman, of course, stopped in his tracks. “What if they use the cat... like... what if they kill the cat?”

Roman paused. That... would be very in character for witches. The kitten was frumpily stomping around and of course released an adorable mew as if it very well knew they were talking about it. “We’ve got to establish trade routes... Maybe we could be the ones to persuade them to see the light and understand cuteness and love for all living things!”

“Hmm.” Logan took the lead and stepped forward.

They had walked for another ten minutes but yet the woods felt unrecognisable. The woods went from very stereotypical brown and green woods that seemed to stretch onwards forever. Now the mushrooms were everywhere and they couldn’t see the trunks of the trees anymore. The forest was filled with an overwhelming nauseating swirls of colours. Now they were seeing flashes of deer and groans from toads under their feet. The sun was completely blocked from the trees and it was almost like walking inside a building.

It wasn’t long until they stumbled finally into a cottage looking house. A thatched roof and everything. It almost blended in, blackened charred wood with no windows or even sign of anyone living there. Dead leaves were still swamped up again its sides like it was still autumn. Logan cradled the kitten tighter and Roman couldn’t exactly blame him.

It seemed straight out of a storybook.

When the main characters stumble into the villain’s lair.

Roman gulped and latched on arm on to Logan’s shoulder, which Logan happily sank into. They approached the door in timid steps. The wind harshly ripped through the forest, whipping around the wet clumps of leaves around the sunken door. The rain finally arrived and a few drops pattered on the ceiling of leaves. Logan stuttered in his steps but Roman winced and guided him forward.

As they were a few metres from the door, it slammed open.

“AAAH!” They both shrieked.

A witch stood there... kinda proudly. He had a wide stance and the hood hid his face. But also his arms were crossed and he was hunched over to look extra small. He probably reached Roman’s shoulder standing straight... he looked like the wind around his house would knock him over. But also the billowing black cloak and clenched fists also spoke for themselves. “What are you doing here!” A whiny voice broke through their panic.

Logan was clearly frozen and his mind only screaming about the kitten in his arms. It took a few moments for Roman to realise he wasn’t going to snap out and talk. He stuttered out, “Oh ah... hello there. We are fr- We come from the kingdom of Sanders to present a trading opportunity. I understand you have been in discussion with our king to re-establish our long ancient trading with you, Witch.”

The witch frowned, “Oh I’m not a witch. That’s Patton you’re looking for.”

He pointed over his shoulder to a cottage past his house. Now this looked like the idyllic cottage countryside house. Thatched roof, pristine pastel pink house and a beautiful neat line of wild bluebells. Roman found himself drawing near it without realising. It looked beautiful and the house straight out of his dreams. “Oh sorry sir! C’mon Logan, we’ll sort this out!” Roman tugged his arm but Logan remained statue still. “Uh, Logan?”

Logan was completely trapped under the gaze of the random civilian that stumbled into. His chest glowed along with his bright red face. The man had very strong features and was clearly much more awkward than anything dangerous. It took a minute before he realised that words were needed if he was just going to stare, “Oh H-hi, I’m Lo...” He winced but tried to battle through, “Y-you’re not a witch?”

“Nah, I’m... I guess you’d call it emo and just hate people,” The guy awkwardly chuckled as he stepped out from his doorway. Logan allowed himself to smile and only just remembered Roman’s advice to puff out his chest and show himself off. Right, time to sweep this handsome man off his feet.

“Ah I understand that sentiment. People can be so frustrating and exhausting.” The man walked forward before he awkwardly looked away.

“Uh can I?” The man asked with his hand out stretched towards his chest. Logan burst into a childish smile. Maybe Roman was right and he is handsome! All that heavy book lifting did pay off if cute emos then wanted to feel up his chest! Maybe he can sweep someone off their feet. Maybe he should work out more!

“Sure!” He squeaked.

The man smiled in thanks before grabbing the kitten from his arms and pressing loud sappy kissies to his fuzzy little forehead. His croaky foreboding voice snapped to a squealing happy coo.

Roman laughed at how ridiculous he was and went down to the next house. He’s never seen Logan so useless! He was never going to let me live this down- after all that teasing he’s been putting up with for flirting with Janus. Now he had some fuel to fight back.

He knocked on the door with a new found confidence as the rain finally started to slip through the leaves and actually start to slowly soak him. Humming to himself, he looked back at Logan still failing to flirt with the random scary guy. He’d never be that useless. The door opened, “Hello there. Are you the witch that lives in these wooooo-”

A young man opened the door with a cheery smile, ginger curls flying about his head with wire frame glasses. Freckles absolutely everywhere. He was a little taller than even him! He was of course wearing a pink frilly apron with a blue soft chunky knit jumper. Everything about him looked soft. “Oh hello there. What’s your name!”

“Uhhhhhhh... Ro?” Roman awkwardly drawled out while trying to pick his jaw off the floor. He looked back at Logan who was now walking over with the other man.

“Hey Pat. We need a talk.” He growled out while Patton awkwardly laughed. Instinctually, Roman stepped forward to protect this marshmallow from this emo.

“Y-yeah Virge?”

“Did you really organise for the king to sneak you a kitten?”

“Maaaybe!” Patton squeaked before launching forward and spinning him in tight excited circles. Logan was now carrying the kitten, he looked very confused and flustered as he kept his gaze firmly on the kitten.

“Don’t distract me! You’re allergic!”

“Well are you going to make these nice young men walk all the way back with the heavy basket and wiggly little itty bitty kitty!”

The man, Virgil, frowned with a look. “Okay. I will take the kitten and you can have visiting rights. But! Those visiting rights can be revoked at any time!”

“Yippee!” Patton laughed with all of himself. His arms flailing into a hug for himself, his belly bursting and moving with the genuine happy laughter. Roman was thoroughly star struck.

“Can’t believe you’re the witch of us...” Virgil groaned with his own fond smile, to which Logan was also star struck.

They both paused as a fat raindrop slapped against Patton’s forehead. The rain must have been truly heavy if it was still dripping through the thick canopy. They turned and faced the two men and only now noticed that they were fairly wet with their hair plastered against their foreheads. They did look pretty pathetic.

Patton smiled, “Hey, Ro was it? Would you like to come in? Just to wait for the rain. Sorry, uhh,”

“Logan,” Logan introduced.

“Logan, the house is fairly small but I’m sure Virgil would love to show you around his little place!” Patton smirked innocently.

All three of them gulped with bright blushes... but of course they all nodded along to that plan.

#sanders sides #My writing #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #analogical #royality #fluff #the boys being useless gays #fanfic

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