#the red dot in the middle was the begining of a heart

[yelenaa-romanova]

My Valorant trio played Gartic Phone tonight. Naturally, about 90% of our prompts were Valo related. I drew this masterpiece of Wingman.

[k4marina]

— Prologue: Dragonstone|| Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: a trip to Dragonstone goes a little wrong, or does it?

game of thrones x modern!reader

4.5k+ word count

sereis masterlist || next part

"Why are we doing this during the hottest day of the year, again?" Daeron mutters, using the brochure that was given to us at the beginning of the tour as a fan.

If I could, I would've replied, but the heat was also getting to me, draining away my energy. And, on top of the scorching heat, I'd just finished the last of my water. I pursed my lips together, the line wasn’t that long and I’m sure I can buy another overpriced water bottle after we visited the caves.

The group tour guide turned back to us, just as exhausted, and somewhat bashful. He said something, but I couldn't be bothered with it as I was too focused to not tip over from the heat. It was probably something like “only a few more minutes and we’ll be outta the heat, folks,” with an awkward smile or something.

The line to the caves under the castles was stupidly long, but it's no surprise. So much history was in those caves and so many mysteries had come full circle there. And, the deeper they dug, the more they uncovered the history of the Targaryens that lived there from when Aenar Targaryen moved his entire family to Dragonstone after his daughter, Daenys “the Dreamer” dreamed of the Doom of Valyria. 

"Who's idea was it to come here for our research trip?" I didn't bother looking over at him, knowing that I'd be blinded by the sun that shone directly behind his big head.

“Shut up. Your voice is giving me a headache.” I quipped. “Besides, almost everything on this island is connected to the Targaryens. It might come useful when we have to write our research paper.”

The line moved up until our group was at the front of the line. A small group of students, along with Daeron and I, were on Dragonstone for our research projects. Some of the other students had decided to stay in Kings Landing or go to other parts of Westeros for their research.

Everyone was to spend a week in their respective areas and gather all the information they needed before heading back to Kings Landing to write and then later present their topics. Some chose to do it themselves whilst others, like us, decided to go with someone else.

Today was the first day of our stay on Dragonstone. Daeron and I had decided to check out the caves and the island's beaches before we would explore the labyrinth-like castle.

I rubbed the side of my head, feeling a headache approaching. My hand reached up to my necklace that rested on my chest. The chain was long enough for it to hang in the dip of my breast.

Not only did I come here for my project, but also for me. The necklace around my neck has been in my family for generations, but no one knows from where. It’s made entirely of Valyrian Steel, which was rare back in the day, and even rarer now.

As a child, I didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t until I grew older and more curious that I started asking questions. First to my family, but all I got was even more confusing answers that led me nowhere. Then I turned towards the internet, scouring for hours until I had found it.

On the official Dragonstone website, I found pictures of the caves under the castle and possibly under the entire island. On one of the walls was a crude hand drawing of my necklace. Two dragons around a sword with a ruby in the middle –though, the ruby was replaced with a red dot. Regardless, the cave painting matched. 

The line moved up and Daeron gently pushed me up while I was lost in my thoughts. “You good?” He asks. I nod, “Yeah. The heat’s just a lot.” He gives an understanding look. Once the tour guide is given the green light, he begins to lead up to the entrance of the cave.

"Ready?" Daeron asks. I nodded and we begin walking. Once we entered the cave, my jaw was on the floor. I had seen pictures of the caves, but seeing it in real life was far more beautiful.

The deeper we got we could see the cave paintings done by the Children of the Forest which Daenerys and Jon had found. As the guide droned on about the cave paintings, I could feel my headache intensify. Why was it so hot in here? 

The deeper and deeper we went into the caves, the worse it got. My chest started to feel heavy. I struggled to put one foot in front of the other. The back of my throat burned and I felt like throwing up, but I pushed forward. 

My eyes raked the the cave walls, Where was it? Finally, I was able to see it. The markings were next to a few unknown ones. A sign with some information was hung up next to it. Despite my head pounding I was still able to read the bold words. 

Unknown markings made by who researchers believe are the Targaryens. The paint used seemed to be as old as when Aenar Targaryen moved his family to Dragonstone.

By the time I finished reading, I could feel my head pounding so loudly in my ear. It felt like an ice pick was being hammered into the side of my head. I could hear muffled voices call out, but to who I didn’t know. The room started to spin and a ringing sound filled my ears.

A hand, most likely Derons, reached out and turned me around. I could see his mouth moving, but no words coming out. My chest felt like it was overheating while my head continued to throb. Everything turned blurry and then it went black.

When I woke up, I was still in the cave. The cold stone floor had helped with bringing my body temperature down. And, my head didn't hurt anymore. After getting up, I looked around the cave. It was darker, and quiet.

Where was everyone?

Carefully, I made my way out of the cave. It was harder to walk out of the cave and the spotlights that were on the walls weren’t on. Once I was outside I was met with the night sky.

All the tents and other buildings around the beach were gone, as if they'd never been there.

Okay, this is weird.

"Hello?" My voice came out horse like I hadn’t spoken in a long time. "Hello? Is anyone there? Daeron?" 

My feet moved on their own and I tried to find someone, anyone. But there was no one. How could a populated area with tents and buildings disappear within hours?

Retracing my steps, I found the stairs that would lead me back to the Help Center that were posted around for lost tourists, but like the beach, there was nothing. Matter a fact, even the lamppost that were posted into the ground, the banners, the signs –everything was gone.

"What the actual fuck?" Panic creeped up and I could feel my heart thumping in my ears. "Gods, If this is some kinda sick fucking joke..."

At this point, I was running towards the castle. For what? I didn't know, but surely there had to be something there. The grand doors seemed to be closed so I tried to find another way in. I guess you could say I found something like a side door that took a little force to open. 

The inside of the castle was grand. High walls, banners held high, candles and lamps lit all around. Truly, it was amazing. As I was gawking at the architecture I failed to notice unknown voices walking towards me. 

“Halt!” Two unknown men dressed in what looked like armor cornered me, pointing their spears at me. “State your name! Who are you?” 

I stuttered out my name, raising my hands up so they could see I wasn’t a threat. “I’m not going to do anything, I swear.” 

The two men shared a look and a few hushed words before one of them walked over to me, grabbing my arm roughly and pulling me along. 

“Ow!” I tried to pull back, but his grip was too strong. “What the fuck dude. I said I wasn’t a threat.”

“Khaleesi will decide if you are or are not a threat.” The man who wasn’t holding onto me said. 

Khaleesi? What Khaleesi?

“Oh please don’t tell me I just walked into those real-life roleplaying things.” I groaned, earning side eyes from both of the men. 

They led me down a series of hall ways, each one intricate as the other until we stood outside of a set of polished stone double doors. Another pair of men dressed just like the cosplayers that brought me here stood in front of the doors. Without having to say any words they opened the grand doors. 

Slowly, I could see the inside being revealed. 

There, on the elevated platform stood the Throne of Dragonstone, where all the Targaryen heirs of the Iron Throne sat as they took the title “Prince of Dragonstone.” A light push brought me back as I was dragged closer to the throne. 

“Khaleesi,” the guard called out. Before I could ask who they were speaking to, an unknown voice answered. 

“What is it?” 

Light footsteps were heard from behind a wall and a woman emerged from behind it. Except it wasn’t just any woman. Even a child would know who she was. Everyone around the world knows her. 

She was Daenerys Targaryen. 

Mother of Dragons. 

The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea.

The Unburnt.

The Breaker of Chains. 

I could feel time slow down as I watched her walk over to the throne and sit down. My blood turned cold as she sat in front of me. 

No.

No.

She’s dead.

This can’t be happening.

It’s not possible.

It’s not. I have better chances of reviving dragons than traveling back in time-

“What is this?” Daenerys eyed me, confused at my appearance and why I was even here before looking at the two men. 

“We found this unknown woman wandering around the castle, Your Grace.” 

She eyed me, as if wanting me to plead my case, but the words died in my throat. Why wouldn’t they when Daenerys fucking Targaryen was right in front of me. A million thoughts ran through my head, but I couldn’t rack my brain to find one answer. 

Daenerys squinted before speaking again, this time directly towards me. “Who are you?” The High Valyrian rolled easily off of her tongue like a true Targaryen. Those three words held so much power and conviction, like a true Queen.

“Y/n Vellarys!…” I rushed to reply in Valyrian. 

“You speak good Valyrian.” She praises, but it's quickly pushed away. “But that doesn’t explain what you are doing here.”

What should I do? I bit my bottom lip as nervousness filled my body. 

Knowing that if I lie, I’ll be fileted, I took a deep breath before responding. “I don't know. I.. I,” I paused, not knowing if I should continue. If this was real then I only wanted her to know, “Can we be alone.. please?” 

The two men besides me visibly tense up, but don’t speak up. Daenerys looks down at us, seemingly in thought before she nodded. The two men bow before turning around to leave. The double doors closed with a loud thud. 

“We’re alone now, you may continue.” 

I nervously swallowed. Here we go. “This might sound weird, but.. I don’t know how I got here. I.. I woke up in the caves under the castle… alone.”

Daenerys’ face stayed neutral as I relayed the information. She seemed to take some time to process what I had just said. “Do you think I’m a fool?” 

I could feel my heart fall all the way down. Fuck.

“You woke up in the caves alone?” She repeats. “Not even a child would come up with such a stupid story like this.”

“N-n-no, Daener- I mean, Your Grace. I swear to the Gods that I’m telling the truth. I have no reason to lie to you. Especially when you could get rid of me with your dragons in a second.”

She seemed to mull over my words, as if weighing her options. “Alright, let's say you’re telling the truth. Your story still doesn’t make sense. How do you just “wake up” in a cave?” 

Now or never, I guess. 

“Actually,” I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. “I’m not from here. I come from-” The future. Fucking hell, how cliché. “-I come from a different… time.” 

Daenerys squinted and I could see the clogs in her brain moving. “You mean you’re from the future?” 

Jeez. Ripped the bandage right off. 

“Well –uh, yes,” I say. “I was touring the caves and then I –I fell unconscious or something, I still don’t know, I just know that when I woke up I ended up here.” 

I let out a frustrated sigh. What if this was just a dream and that all of this is just my imagination running wild. 

“That necklace.” 

Huh? What is she talking about? 

 I looked up, confused. “What?” 

She pointed towards my chest. I looked down and I could see my necklace was out. “What about it?” I asked.

“Where did you get it?” 

“It’s mine.” I replied. “It’s been in my family for generations. Why?” 

Now it was Daenerys’ turn to look a little nervous. 

“I’ve seen it in my dream.”

“Your dream? Like, one of those Dragon Dreams?” I ask. She gives a nod, “While we were sailing to Dragonstone I had a dream of a woman with silver hair and that necklace. Because I couldn’t see her face, I thought it was me. I’ve turned the treasury over looking for them; however, it seems that I dreamt of you.”

Ho-ly Fuck. Daenerys’ dreamt about me. What the hell. I’m about to throw up. 

“What?” Now it was my time to be skeptical of what was being said. “You dreamt about me and my necklace?”

She nodded. “It seems odd, but a Dragon Dream has never been wrong.”

“Ture, but that still leaves a lot of blanks.” My hand subconsciously went up to hold my necklace while I tried to think back. 

The deeper I walked into the cave the more my head started to hurt, but that was most likely because of dehydration… probably. But then there was a burning feeling on my chest when I looked at the symbol on the wall that matched my necklace and the burning feeling got even more intense and it felt like it was about to burn my skin-

“Fuck.” I groaned, letting go of the necklace. The outburst made Daenerys frown, “Are you alright?”

I looked down at my hands and at my necklace before looking into her eyes. “I think my necklace tried to burn me, like last time.” 

“Last time?” She frowned. “How can a necklace burn someone?”

“I don’t know. It happened before I passed out in the cave.” I let out a sigh. “Gods, what is going on.” 

“It seems that this was the God's doing,” Daenerys says, as if it was a fact. “They’ve brought you here.” 

“The Gods?” I repeat. Sure, in some sense they did bring me here. “But why?” 

“That may be something for you to find out.” Daenerys stood from the throne, walking down the steps until she was right in front of me. “I was lost once, but then the Gods gifted me my children to show me my true purpose.” 

“The Iron Throne.” I thought back to my history classes where I learned that for the fight for the Iron Throne, Daenerys lost her life as she fell into what historians said was “Targaryen Madness,” but I’ve always felt that there’s more to it. 

“It’s late, I’ll have the servants bring you to a spare room for you to rest in for the night.” As if on cue, the guards from before stepped up to us. “We can talk further tomorrow morning.”

Daenerys turned to leave from where she came from. The guards bowed as she left. Once she was gone they brought me to a spare room somewhere in the castle, this time without having to pull me around. 

The hallways were nearly empty, meaning there weren’t a lot of people living here or servants working in the castle. The most I’d seen was guards posted around. Once we were in front of two thick double doors the guards stepped back waiting for me to open them. 

It took a little force to open the door, but once I was inside, my jaw was on the floor. Despite everything being made of stone, the walls were covered in rich tapestry. There was a giant bed with lavish looking furs laid atop the bed and maroon bed sheets. 

Behind me, a servant walked in with a few sets of clothes and laid them on the bed. “We’ve prepared you some clothes,” she said. “Would you like to change now or take a bath?” 

As if on cue, I could feel how dirty I was since I was practically on the cave floors for Gods knows how long. 

“A bath would be fine, thank you,” I replied. It honestly felt weird watching servants work. Not that it was bad, just the fact that in the modern day you don’t have them. Sure maybe someone who cleans your home or makes you food, but servants?

Once they had pulled out the massive tub and manually poured in the hot water they led me to the tub. One of their hands went up to my shirt's edge and the other to my pants. 

“W-wait!” They all looked at me confused. 

“Is everything alright, My Lady?” One of the servants asked. 

No it’s not. You’re taking my clothes off. And sure, it’s your job to do practically everything for a highborn, but that ain’t me. 

“Uh, there’s no need for… all of this. I can do it myself.” 

“Are you sure?” Another girl asked. “It’s our duty to serve you.” 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” I replied awkwardly. “Just not really used to all of… this. Um, anyways I can take it from here. You guys can go…” 

I internally cringed at my words. Gods, I sounded like an idiot, but could you blame me? 

The girls reluctantly agreed, leaving me alone in the room. Once they were gone I let out a sigh and began to undress myself. The water was hot, but it was fine since I practically liked showering in lava every morning. 

Settling into the tub I finally relaxed. This entire thing was just so… bizarre. At first, I thought it was some sort of dream, but that searing pain I felt wasn’t something I could just imagine. 

My necklace burned me. 

And it burned me when I first saw the markings on the cave walls. I looked down at my chest and hand, but saw nothing. 

Okay, weird. 

That aside, why was I even brought here? Why me? What do I have that made me so special that I had to be flung into this era of time?

“Think, y/n, think,” I muttered to myself. The dream. Daenerys’ dream about the necklace. But wait, no history books said anything about her having a dragon dream. Could this maybe be connected?  

For the next hour, I mulled over my options while I soaked in the tub that had turned lukewarm. Having enough, I got up and grabbed the towels that the servants had thankfully set close for me. 

The clothes that they had laid out for me were a bunch of nightgowns. Thankfully, they were my size. I decided to wear a simple white nightgown. 

Laying under the mountain of covers and blankets, I finally let myself completely relax, falling asleep. Hopefully tomorrow’s discussions can help this situation get better or at least easier. 

I woke up to the sun glaring down into my face. Groaning, I turned to my side, hoping to get some more sleep. But the damage was done. 

I could hear light shuffling in the room and things being moved around. When I opened my eyes, I was nearly flash-banged. All the windows (that are floor to ceiling length) were opened and the curtains were drawn back. 

A few servants from last night and a few new faces worked around the room. I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes, catching the attention of one of the girls. 

“Good morning, My Lady. Did you sleep well?” 

“Morning,” my voice came out a little low and rough. “What’s going on?” 

“We’re getting you ready for the day,” the girl replies, matter of factly. “You will be having your morning meal with the Queen. We’ve already drawn you a fresh new bath and arranged a new set of clothes.” 

I looked at where the tub was last night, nothing that was gone, along with my clothes. 

“Where are my clothes?” I asked. 

“We’ve sent them to get washed,” the servant replied. “My Lady, if i may…” 

I nodded for her to go on. “We’ve never seen such clothes like yours before. They remind us of what the men wear however, yours are a bit more.. different.” 

“Oh, that. They’re just something that I made.” I lied. Thinking back to last night, I’m confused I didn’t get as many weird looks as I should have wearing my jeans and shirt. It's not really the typical Westerosi fashion for this time. 

“The bath is ready.” Another girl says. 

Reluctantly, I got out of bed, following them to another room adjacent to this one. The room was a massive bathroom that could function as a bathhouse. 

There was a massive tub nestled into the floor. The windows were also huge but a little higher up, letting in some natural light. I could tell the water was hot just by how much it was steaming. 

Carefully, the servants began to undress me. They led me into the water and began adding what I can only assume are oils and salts. Truthfully, it felt like I was at some fancy spa with how they washed my body and hair. 

Once that was done, they helped me into a beautiful white dress with a dark teal and gold design. I felt like a model wearing such a beautiful dress. I let my hair down, not wanting it in any style (or knowing any styles of this period). 

A servant walked me to the dining room where Daenerys was waiting for me. She wore a light blue dress with her hair braided and her three headed dragon pin.  

“Good Morning,” she greeted. 

“Morning uh, Your grace.”  I replied. “Sorry, I’ve never called anyone “your grace” before.” 

She brushed it off, motioning for me to take a seat next to her at the table where the food was already prepared. 

“How did you sleep?” She asks, beginning to eat. 

“Fine, surprisingly.” I reached down to grab a fork for my food. “How about you?” 

Was I really making small talk with Daenerys Targaryen? 

“Mine as well,” she smiled. “I was hoping we could talk a little before I had to go meet my small council.” 

“Okay, what did you want to talk about?” I wanted to smack myself. Every time I spoke it was full of nerves and anxiety. 

“Let’s start with you. Your name and where you’re from.” Daenerys says confidently. “Judging by your looks, you’re of Valyrian descent.” She says, eyeing my silver hair. 

“Yes,” I nodded. “My family moved from Volantis to the Eyrie. My family is known to be of the Old Blood in Volantis.” 

“The Old Blood?” Daenerys says, surprised. 

The Old Blood are a group of people in Volantis that have proven to be the last remaining families of Valyria. They live in a perched area of the city that only they can walk. All the families in that area still continue their Valyrian traditions and practices, just minus the dragons. 

I nodded, “My father is the youngest of four sons, so he thought ‘why not move to westeros and start something there?’ knowing that he wouldn’t have to really carry on the family name.” 

“And your family name is Vellarys?” She recalled from last night. 

“Yes. We’re known for our jewelry making in Volantis. That’s why my father moved to Westeros, to open a shop there without having to take over the business and stress like his older brother.

“As for myself, I have two older brothers. One is working to be a doctor,” Daenerys frowned at that, confused, “uh, it’s like a Maester. The other is helping my father run the shop.” 

“And what about yourself?” 

“I’m in school. I go to the University of Kings Landing.” 

“The.. University of… Kings Landing?” 

“Well, after the monarchy was sorta let go, they turned certain parts of the Red Keep and other castles into Universites -places to go for higher studies, like the.. Citadel for example.” 

Daenerys nods, understanding some of it. 

“I study the era of The Game of Thrones as well as Targaryen History.” 

“The Game of Thrones?” She repeats. “What is that?” 

“It’s, uh, what we call this time period. It ranged from the death of King Robert to,” the death of Daenerys Targaryen, “to now, and a little later. We look into how the events after Robert’s death played out and how people fought for the Iron Throne.” 

“Like a game.” She says. 

I nodded. “Yes, like a game. There’s this quote that Cersie Lannister said to Ned Stark that summed it up, “When you play the game of thrones, You win or you die,”.”

“I see,” Daenerys looks down at her plate in thought. “And what about me?” 

Oh fuck. 

“What about you?” I say, acting innocent. 

“What happened to me?” 

I purse my lips together. Should I say it? I mean, it’s a good segway to what I want to really say… if this part goes well. 

“You…” I nervously swallowed. “You die… before you could even claim the throne.” 

The fork in her hand hits the ceramic plate with a loud clunk. 

“What?” 

Nervously, I looked into her. “You were killed… after you burned Kings Landing to ashes.” 

She frowned. “You're lying. I would never do such a thing. Me? Burning down Kings Landing? 

And the Red Keep, but I’ll keep that to myself. 

“I’m not lying, Daenerys. After you died, Drogon picked you up and flew you away. We still haven’t found your or his body.” 

Daenerys' hands started to shake at the information I had just thrown at her. Carefully, I placed mine over hers. 

“Daenerys,” I said softly. “Breath. You’re fine, nothing has happened so far.” 

Slowly, I could feel her hands stop shaking and her breathing seemed to steady. 

“What do you mean so far?” 

I gave her hand an encouraging squeeze although, I can’t tell if it was for me or her. 

“Meaning, I can help you.” 

She looks at me, puzzled. 

“Daenerys, I can help you take the Iron Throne.” 

okayyyy so it's finally here after many rewrites. let me know if you guys liked the first person POV. its my first time writing it like this, typically i do second POV. more to come in later chapters. also, i will be changing a few things, nothing major. one personal head cannon that i have is that jon isn't really named aegon, but jaehaerys. makes a lil more sense in my brain. also, i'll maybe be using some info from the books. and if you guys have any suggestions with y/n's character and other stuff please feel free to let me know. don't worry there will be more story and character development in the coming chapters.

[theurgists]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ CHERRY FLAVOURED ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: when you and ellie started your situationship, you had one single request; a bag of cherries every time she showed up at your doorstep. unfortunately, you want more than that.

warnings: 18+, smut, angst at the end if you squint, mentions of weed, weed consumption, cunnilingus, kinda sorta dealer!ellie ( not all that relevent to the plot ), ellie's kind of a dick, womanzier!ellie, not proof-read

a/n: a repost because i deleted my old account on a whim ;)

The tips of your fingers were coated in crimson.

 Red and sticky.

 Warm wetness trickling down your palms' creases, spreading sugary stained streaks onto the heat of your velvet skin; something you grew indifferent to. It was always so messy — the plump fruit surrounded by the shelter of your mouth, sweet and addicting every single time. Even with a bad full, they were something you’d savor with every inch of your being, as they were too small to enjoy fully. There would be at least five seconds of flavor before you were left with a bitter taste on the surface of your tongue, a wine-red tint coating the lingual papillae to give you something to remember them by. 

Your constant craving was satiated, alongside the need to see the person that brought them for you every Wednesday without fail. Three sharp knocks on the scuffed steel of your front door were the beginning of five months entwined in your sheets, sinking into the comfort of your mattress. The scent of cherry blossom and freshly washed linen stuck to you as if to taunt you whenever she’d leave in the middle of the night, love bites littered across the expanse of your chest, reaching the insides of your soul.

Just like those fucking cherries you were addicted to — you were addicted to her. 

Ellie. 

The girl stood at a measly five foot three. Kissed from head to toe with freckles that dotted her gentle skin in a multitude of clusters, eyes as green as the moss that’d grow in the crevices of your roof, and a seemingly unbearable attitude to those she rendered unworthy of her time and presence. You, unlike other people, got to experience two of those things from her simultaneously in the form of discarded clothes and rushed greedy touches.

The unwavering connection between you two was there from the moment she laid her irises on you in that hazy, smoke-filled basement last October at Ollie’s. A fat joint laced with bad intentions between the pink, plump flesh of her lips as she weighed the two options that arose. Either she could approach you, ask you for your name, and smooth talk her way into your heart till the pads of her fingers made it past the waistband of your underwear — or  — she could keep still on that withering couch she sat on and smoke her head off.

And it was such an easy choice for her, that she mentally hit herself for even thinking of the latter. 

That one, singular encounter changed the trajectory of her life, as dramatic as it sounded. The reason for that one was fairly simple. 

You tasted too fucking good.

That was the only reason she found herself here. Her head between the fat of your thighs, warm breath hitting your cunt just like the many times before this one, hands squeezing the outside of your skin so hard you were sure they’d be marked for the next few hours. 

“Ellie, c’mon.” You hissed through clenched teeth, jaw grinding in annoyance at the lack of attention you were receiving. She was right there. So fucking close to your core that all she had to do was dart her tongue out and the arousal that coated your slick would pour onto her tastebuds. 

“You keep talking and I swear I’ll fucking leave.” She spat, narrowing her eyes at you, watching as you clicked your tongue on the roof of your mouth. 

Curling your lips into a frown, your elbows dug into the springs as you propped yourself up. “You wouldn’t.”

She rose an eyebrow, the skin of her forehead creasing slightly before she tightened her grip on your thighs, a twinge of interest sparkling in those dark eyes. “But I would.” 

As she lazily drawled out those three words, her right hand snaked its way to your core. Her index finger slid through your folds with ease, a slight buck of your hips stopping them from moving any further. 

You were soaked. It was as obvious as her favoritism toward you. Not just as one of her clients, but as the girl she occasionally fucked with no strings attached from time to time. 

From the low lighting of the lamp on the corner of your nightstand, your slick glistened in the sliver of light that shone behind her head when she lowered it even further. 

“You’re so fucking wet f’me, princess.” 

The guttural whine that left your throat was animalistic. Something that sneakily blended in with the blood in your veins and tainted every healthy cell in your body, starting from the very back of your brain to the tips of your curling toes.

With your hands grasping the light green and pink polka dot sheets that decorated your bed, you took a sudden interest in drawing invisible patterns on the ceiling in your head, shuddering when the muscle of her tongue finally made contact with your clit.

“Oh — fuck!”

Giving you no chance to recover, she continued, flicking her tongue so harshly, that you were positive she’d have lockjaw by the end of the session. 

“Always letting me fuck you so good.” She murmured against you, hollowing out her cheeks as she sucked, taking every last drop of your wetness into her mouth as if she was being deprived of water. 

Wednesday’s were your favorite day of the week thanks to her. It was as if she were an excessive amount of caffeine you desperately wanted as soon as your heavy lids opened. Except, she wasn’t black coffee, albeit the bitterness rooted deep within her. She was the bag of cherries that sat in your refrigerator, rationed throughout the week as a means to keep them longer. 

At first, you thought of it as foolish to share yourself so intimately with someone you barely knew. To poke a finger into your chest and claw the flesh apart with your bare hands, bearing your entire soul. 

She still didn’t know your favorite color. She still didn’t know your favorite book. Hell, she still didn’t even know if you preferred smoking joints or blunts. 

But, what she did know was how to touch you. And that  — that was just fine.

“Oh my god, right there.” You chanted in a hushed whisper, over and over until her hot hands had traveled from your thighs to your hipbones. Thumbs gently tracing circles over the skin there as she devoured you as if she were starved, nose nudging the top of your pussy. 

It was only then that your phone vibrated atop the wood of your nightstand, shaking so violently, that it had shuffled a couple of inches. 

“Ignore it.” 

Ellie's gruff voice came from under you, lips detaching from your cunt to speak, the flesh there glistening with your juices before she dove in once more. 

The buzz that sounded in your ears had dissipated. A small beat of silence took over before it began again. 

With a sigh, you shuffled onto your elbows again, outstretching an arm to grab the device with straight fingers, unsuccessful in your attempt. 

“What if I — shit,” The ridges of her teeth skimmed over your clit, causing your hips to buck into her face involuntarily. Your throat was dry from the deep inhales and exhales during this sexual encounter and she had only just started. 

“What if it’s important?” The question came out of your lips in a breathy sigh, head growing hazy at her touch. 

She hummed, “It can wait.” 

It couldn’t because the moment those words were out in the air, it buzzed again. 

“The fuck…” 

Lifting herself from her position clad in nothing but boy shorts and a thin wife beater, Ellie crawled over you, her weight emitting a groan from the creaks in the springs within the mattress as she pressed her clothed chest flush against yours. 

Without warning, her fingers flexed, snatching your phone from its spot before you the lids of your eyes could open back up again. You watched curiously as her mossy green eyes scanned the text on the screen, rolling them after as she pursed her lips into a thin line. 

“Why’s Ollie calling you?” The question held a small hint of suspicion, and that was something you heard clearly despite her effort to hide it.

You were just fuck buddies. Nothing more than that. So why did your heart jump within your chest as if it were going to escape your body at any second?

Shaking your head from side to side, you tilted your chin at her, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. “I dunno…” 

“I’m gonna call back.” She stated, making her way to your contacts and scrolling through the alphabetical format, pressing on his name with a thumb. 

Outstretching your arms, you huffed, exhaling dramatically as you gently shoved her off of you. Sitting up, you leaned against the bedframe, knees tucked close to your bare chest, goosebumps forming at the sudden cold rush of air that weaved its way around your frame. 

The low hum became louder as Ellie held out your phone between the both of you, tight grip never faltering as she narrowed her eyes at the screen. She was staring at it harshly, her gaze practically burning holes into the device as it rang once, then twice before a ‘finally’ sounded in your ears.

“Fucking finally, where the fuck is Ellie?”

Snorting, you rolled your eyes. “Well hello to you too Ollie.” 

“Yeah, yeah, hey. Where’s Ellie?” 

“What makes you think I'm with her?”

“Because her location is pinpointed to your house. Am I on speaker?” 

Licking your lips as a means to moisturize them, you cocked your neck to the side, raising a brow at Ellie who sighed. “Yeah, you are. What’s up?”

Crackling static could be heard on the other end of the line, followed by shuffling and a female voice that sounded all too familiar to you. 

“Uh, I kinda need to buy off of you again.” 

Ellie looked around your room for a while, taking in the different array of patterns that decorated each article of furniture that gave away a whole lot more than your personality. For a second, Ollie’s talking seemed to grow muffled, as she marked every place in that small space that she fucked you on. 

It was something that had etched itself in the inner corners of her mind as she struggled to come to terms with what exactly she felt every time she got down on her knees. For you. 

Every. Single. Time. 

Sometimes, she’d lay awake at night, curled up under the sheets, wearing exactly what she is right now  — sitting here with you. Being intimate  — with you. Sure, she sold her weed and made her money, accompanied by a stone-faced facade, but handing drugs to girls who’d let their hands linger a little too long on her skin, always sent her back to you at the end of the night with a plastic Tupperware container filled halfway with those cherries only sold downtown.

Clearing the rising lump in her throat, the auburn-haired girl tugged her bottom lip between her teeth soon after. “Sure. Do you need me right now?”

Ollie laughed humorously as if Ellie had said one of the funniest things in the world, and you had assumed it directly wasn’t aimed toward her due to the high-pitched yell. “If that’s cool with you.”

Observing as Ellie lifted herself from her position next to you, your eyes followed as she leaned down at the end of the bed to tug on the jeans she had previously discarded in the heated haze of your earlier makeout session. 

Tossing the phone on the bed, Ellie focused her attention on buttoning her jeans, the worn band tee she showed up in following immediately after. 

“C’mon.” 

A puzzled look painted your features, the corners of your eyes creasing as you narrowed your eyes at her figure near the door. 

“I’m not going to Ollie’s alone. His girlfriend’s weird.”

You grimaced. 

“Are you seriously dragging me with you?”

━━━━ ◦: ✧✲✧ :◦━━━━

Ollie’s girlfriend, Penelope, wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows as he made her seem. It was something that should’ve been obvious to you from the beginning due to how highly he talked about her, albeit being dramatic at the same time. But since he was sort of a friend, you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. The first time you met her, the brunette immediately started talking your ear off about how the color of your shirt wasn’t really appealing to the eyes, index finger twirling a strand of her hair as she tried to make up for the comment with back-handed compliments. 

She was something… and that was to put it in the nicest way you could, cementing it into your brain that she just didn’t like you.

Internally, you were cursing Ollie out. Externally, you held it together better than you thought you would as she ranted to you about one of her many friends with a lit joint in hand, waving it back and forth. 

You were sat directly across from her, muscles tense and spine rigid on an ottoman, one leg crossed over the other, lips pulled back into a small snarl that she hadn’t noticed. The cool outside air did little to relax your body as the unease that overtook you moments ago, seemed to spread quicker than you thought it would.

“ — I told her that she shorted me like twelve dollars. I mean I was valid in that, right? The tag was missing off the skirt.” Extending her arm out to you, she wiggled the blunt between two fingers for you to take, which you did a little too enthusiastically.

Putting it between your lips, you inhaled, closing your eyes for a second as the smoke wafted into your line of vision. Nodding, you decided to play along with her, not in the mood to piss her off just yet. “That’s understandable. I wouldn’t wanna pay the full price either.”

Peeling your gaze away from Penelope, you watched as the smoke you exhaled swirled in different directions, lifting into the multi-colored sky. You needed this.

“I knew I liked you. But, you don’t have to lie to me y’know, I was just fucking with you about the skirt thing. I would never buy a skirt without a tag.” 

Feeling warmth rise under the flesh that covered the apples of your cheeks, you shook your leg, scanning the patio deck for any sign of Ellie who had disappeared inside the house with Ollie for what seemed like too long. 

Penelope leaned back in her seat, cautiously letting her brown eyes roam down your stiff body, narrowing them after. “So, like are you and Ellie a thing?” 

Taking another drag, you held it out for her to take, eying her from your peripheral inconspicuously the moment she took her eyes off of you. “No.” 

The answer that was processed in her mind was short, and in response, she clicked her tongue on the roof of her smoke-filled mouth. She was unsatisfied with your answer. “You gotta give me more than that.” 

Her voice went an octave lower as she leaned toward you, ready for you to spill all of your darkest secrets to her. “There’s nothing else to give.” You spat, eliciting a hum from her. 

“I don’t think that’s it. Ollie tells me that you two just fuck.”

Furrowing your brows, you let genuine confusion write itself on your features as you crossed your arms, curling into yourself the more she spoke. 

It was then that she sighed, taking another hit before extending it out to you. “Listen, I didn’t mean to say it like that… it’s just the way she talks about you is just…”

A twinge of curiosity sparked within you as she searched the jumbling words in her brain, sorting them in a way to soften the upcoming blow. “... it rubs me the wrong way like you’re just there to convenience her or some shit.”

“What?”

The air was knocked out of your lungs, and hairs on your arms raised, creating an itch all over that you wanted to scratch more than anything.

“Listen, I know you don’t think I don’t like you.”

“I-”

“You deserve something better than just sneaking around with someone like her. Her history with other women is fucked up, girl. Be careful.” 

With that, she directed her attention toward the patio door, watching as it slid open. 

Someone like her. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

Those words were all that hit you when Ellie rubbed your left shoulder, telling you that it was time to go. They consumed you when you had buckled yourself up in the passenger seat of her car. They ate you when the tears in your eyes started to burn as you leaned your forehead against the window. 

The drive was a little too quiet, and Ellie had been slyly giving you little looks throughout the trip, internally arguing with herself to ask about your sudden change of mood. 

“What’s w —”

“Am I just someone you like to fuck every week?” 

The question had caught her so off guard that her foot had nearly lifted off the gas and slammed on the break as she swerved slightly. Twisting her neck in your direction, she let her eyebrows furrow together. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Closing your eyes, you swiped at a fallen tear swiftly with the back of your hand, wiping it on the denim of your jeans after. “Now that I actually fucking think about it, we don’t do anything other than screw each other.” 

It was something you had meant to say to yourself, rather than aloud, but on the quietness of the car — even under the low hum of the music playing from the car radio, she heard every single word.

“Where’s this coming from?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you kept your head forward, noting the street you were on when she had turned into a familiar neighborhood about three minutes away from your destination.

“I’m just saying.”

Ellie scoffed, not believing a single word that bitterly came out of your mouth. “Yeah, okay.” You didn’t even have to look at her to know she was rolling her eyes as far back as they could go as she pulled into your driveway. “What’d she say to you.”

Fuck. 

“She didn’t say anything.” You insisted, moving to tug the door handle open. Right before you could, she pressed down on the lock button, trapping you inside the car with her. 

“I know she said something to you. You were all smiley when we got there, now you’re crying.” Pressing the matter even further, she twisted her body as much as the driver's side allowed, giving you all her undivided attention. 

Still refusing to look at her, you breathed in through your nose. “Ellie, I want you to be serious with me for a minute, please. All we do is hook up with each other. That’s not something that I find myself needing anymore now that I'm actually putting my brain to use.”

Your eyes darted across her face, watching when her hand came up to pinch the bridge of her nose — something she did while irritated. You wanted her to be truthful, and it was something she had a slight problem with as she sat there, a knot of unease developing within her empty stomach so tightly, that her body grew numb. “You’re making it more complicated than it has to be. I thought we made shit clear from the beginning that this was all it ever was gonna be.”

You scoffed, grinding your teeth together as the pressure behind your eyes burned once more. You shouldn’t have said anything. You shouldn’t have said a fucking word.

From the minute she approached you with that fucking toothy grin on her lips — you shouldn’t have said a word because look at you now. 

Crying for someone who clearly doesn’t want you back.

“I just took it too far.”

[minaturefics]

There Will Be Time

Request: I have a request for Boromir x reader! (My favorite of yours is "Anything But This"). What if Boromir survived the Uruk-Hai ambush by getting pierced by just one arrow, was saved by Aragorn and helps pursue the orcs to save Merry and Pippin? He still carries the wound of the arrow and the guilt of attacking Frodo, but his internal and external wounds begin to heal by falling in love with a shield-maiden of the Rohirrim.

A/N: Thank you for waiting! I actually wrote part of this before my hiatus and finished it recently so hopefully it doesn't feel too disjointed!

Boromir x Reader

Fem reader

Content warnings: Vague mention of battlefield carnage

3.9k words

---

It was day but the sky was dim and overcast and tinged with an ominous red that bled from the horizon. The clamour and chaos from the city and the citadel seeped through the walls of the Houses of Healing, and even the matrons and patients were restless with the mustering of the army. You paused by an archway, staring out at the plains, still dotted with blood and bodies, and looked to the horizon. In a day or two, the people will march. And the fate of Middle Earth would be determined. 

You carried on along the corridor, cradling your bandaged arm, wishing you had accepted the healers’ suggestion of a sling, and searched for Eowyn. It had been a terrible day in Dunharrow when you realised she had gone off with the army. Your princess, your future queen, but more than that, a friend, a sister almost. You had ridden after them, arriving just in time for the battle, and your heart had shattered when you heard Eomer’s cry of anguish on the field. 

You rounded a corner, eyes still half-focused on the horizon, and collided with someone. Pain flared in your arm and you hissed. The other person let out a pained groan and a sharp exhale. Righting yourself, you looked up at them and saw a familiar face.

“Boromir?”

He looked better than he did the past week, laid up in bed, pale and delirious with fever and infection from the arrow wound in his shoulder. It seemed that the matrons finally allowed him out of bed and granted him a bath, for his hair was damp and his beard was trimmed. Colour was coming back to his face and he looked more like the strong man you saw a few months back when he had stopped by Edoras to borrow a horse. 

“My lady,” he said, astonished. “My apologies, I was not watching where I was going.”

“I am equally at fault. I was distracted by the sky.” He nodded, understanding. “I was looking for Eowyn, have you seen her?”

He chuckled a little, the smile softening his face to something cheeky and boyish. “She is with my brother. The last I saw of them they were talking on one of the balconies. I think it is best we leave them undisturbed.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.” He grinned. “Though, if you are in need of some company I will happily volunteer my own.”

Your acquaintance with Boromir was still a fresh one; he had not come with his companions to Edoras and instead had gone ahead to Minas Tirith. It was visible to anyone that Faramir had some amount of admiration and interest in Eowyn, but it puzzled you why Boromir always seemed to come along to the rooms where you and Eowyn were staying when Faramir visited. And when Faramir and Eowyn were lost in their own conversation, you would speak to Boromir.

Seeing him up close and at length, it was easy to believe the stories of bravery and valour about him that spread to Rohan. He spoke with a sureness and an authority, logical and bold with his opinions. But of course, none of the stories mentioned how quick to laugh he was and how freely smiles came to him, and of course, there was no mention of the endearing  avuncular fondness he seemed to have for the hobbits.

 Still, there was a grimness to him, a darkness that seemed to pass in his eyes every once in a while, his expression turning from elated to guilty when he spoke of the halflings, particularly Frodo and Sam.

Was there something there? He had said that the fellowship had become separated when the Uruk-Hai attacked, but he always omitted the reason for the separation, or what drove Frodo and Sam to be foolhardy as to continue on the quest alone.

“My lady?” Boromir said, a frown forming on his face. 

“Forgive me, I have been lost in thought,” you said. “Your company would be delightful.”  He offered you a fleeting smile and the both of you drifted towards one of the small balconies overlooking the fields. You rested your arms on the cool bannister and gazed out at the carnage. 

“I wish I could go with the soldiers to The Black Gate,” you murmured. “I feel guilty that I am unable to fulfil my duty to my people.”

“I understand what you mean,” he said, voice low. “To have my father so recently gone, and Faramir and I here… It feels as though the House of the Steward is shirking its duty.”

“But you have done your duty — shepherding the ringbearer, travelling by yourself from Rohan to Minas Tirith, wounded, to warn your people. But me?” You could not help the note of bitterness that seeped into your voice. “I did not fight at Helm's Deep, I left my people at Dunharrow, arrived just in time to join the battle here and still managed to wound myself and fail to defend my lady Eowyn.” 

“I would tell you not to be so harsh on yourself, but I think it would be hypocritical of me.” He gave you a wry smile before his face grew serious again. “Though, my time away from my city and the hours I have spent alone here in bed have made me question how I value pride and valour and duty. It has made me wonder how easily the pursuit of such things may warp one’s actions.”

You eyed him, curious but cautious. The red light on the horizon only served to highlight his handsome features. The line from his brow to his nose was strong, and his chin was lifted, still proud and noble even in such dire circumstances. And his eyes, all grey and cold steel, were burning with intensity. 

Would it be better to be tactful? Or would directness be best with a man like Boromir? 

“Did something occur on your quest?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light. “Such thoughts rarely arise without some sort of event to drive them.”

He paused and looked at you, his gaze hardening then softening. He let out a long breath and shook his head. “You must forgive me. You have been frank with your… perceived failings, but I fear I am still too proud of a man to admit my own. Perhaps in time I will forgive myself enough to share my shame.”

You nodded slowly. “I hope when the time comes you will find in me a good enough friend to speak of such things. Sometime in… the future.”

“Ah yes, the future. Here on the cusp of destruction, can we even speak of such things?”

“I must confess, I have lived so long in the shadow of the Enemy, I am uncertain what I shall do with myself once it is all over.” You sighed, wistful. “My family rares and cares for the horses that the Rohirrim ride on — it is how Eowyn and I met as children — I was to carry on the tradition but… More swords were needed, and I felt a need to stand by and protect Eowyn while she was still restrained by the trappings of her position.”

He hummed. “I am the same as you — I do not know what I shall do once we have victory and peace. I suppose either my brother or I will take up the mantle of Steward. Faramir is far more suited than I am, so I’ll have to find some way to occupy myself.” He grinned. “Maybe I shall take up smithing or music or… weaving.”

You laughed, lightness slowly filling your chest. “All those things require patience, Boromir. Are you sure you have enough supply of it?”

He chuckled. “We will have to see. I have not had much time in my life to explore what else I may pursue and enjoy.”

“I am the same. Maybe I will join you in your smithing or music or weaving.” 

Another laugh burst from him and suddenly he looked young and boyish, his head thrown back, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and your heart leapt from your chest. You turned away from the horizon and looked towards the comforting warm light of the torches. “We should make a list.”

“A list?”

“Yes, to ensure we have a good variety of activities to try. At the very least, it would serve as a distraction for the time being.”

“Very well.” He gestured towards the corridor, a wide smile on his face. “Lead on, my lady.”

-

Boromir frowned at the paper flower in his hand. The binding’s tension was uneven and the delicate paper was mangled and creased. Merry and Pippin had somehow convinced him to help them make decorative flowers in preparation for Aragorn’s coronation. The hobbits had shyly offered to create something for the high table, and Aragorn, forever fond of his little friends, had given them free reign. 

He sighed and tossed the ruined flower off to the side. 

You came through the archway and into the little alcove the hobbits had commandeered and smiled at him in greeting.

You were dressed in a set of borrowed clothes and your hair was done up in a simple braid. The Gondorian cut and style complemented your figure, and you stood strong and healthy and radiant. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, before he looked back down at the table. You were not for him, never for him. If you knew the depths of his treachery, there was no doubt you would scorn him.

The last couple of weeks were spent in a wild fervour. Between managing the city with Faramir, he had attempted the activities on the list he shared with you. You had excelled in the wood carving, your little bear more detailed and fine than his, but he had bested you at the loom, his piece of fabric coming out more smooth and even than yours. Pottery, painting, gardening, juggling, needlework — the both of you attempted whatever your injuries allowed.

He adored the way you looked when you were concentrating. Your eyes were downcast and focused, your brow just slightly knitted, and you had this endearing habit of tilting your head just so when something vexed you. Each time he met with you, he searched for ways to elicit your smile, fumbled with something just to get you to laugh, even at his own expense. What a privilege it was to see the respected and stalwart shield-maiden soften and melt. It was even more of a privilege to watch you with the horses.

The old stable master had taken to you instantly, curious and interested in what you had to say about the care and rearing of horses, and nearly every morning you had gone down to the stables to check on the animals. He had watched as you taught the shy stableboys how to braid the horses manes, your deft fingers working the strands, and listened as you told them what sort of grains and seed were best for the foals.

You seemed to come alive in the stables, eyes bright and smiles brighter. Was this what you looked like unburdened by duty and responsibility? Was this what you could become, always?

The stablemaster was old, due to retire, and perhaps…

He shoved the thought out of his mind. 

You were friendly enough with him, playful and affectionate with your comments sometimes, but if you knew the truth… How could someone like you, loyal and strong, look past his mistake with Frodo? No. It was better to keep you at arms length, as a friend. Whatever disappointment you felt with him would be more tolerable.

“Having trouble?” you asked, plucking the ruined flower from the table and holding it up to the light. 

“You are welcome to give them an attempt if you wish,” he said, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. “Valar knows we’ll need more hands if we are to finish these. I can teach you.”

You slid into the chair and watched as he moved through the steps. The flower looked better than its previous counterpart but it still looked a little wrong somehow. “Where are Merry and Pippin?” you asked, taking a sheet and mimicking his steps, folding the paper and trimming the edges.

“They have gone to visit Frodo and Sam.”

“And you did not follow?”

He shook his head and kept his eyes fixed on the sheet of paper. In truth, he had already gone to see Frodo. There, in the quiet and privacy of Frodo’s room, Boromir had wept and fallen to his knees, asking, nearly begging, for forgiveness. Frodo’s eyes, so wide and expressive, had softened and watered. He clasped Boromir’s hand, bid him to rise, and gave his forgiveness right then and there. 

But how could it be so simple? So easy? Was there not some sort of trial, some sort of penance, that he must perform to earn such forgiveness? 

You let out a little gasp of delight and presented your flower to him. It was beautiful and well formed, the petals fanned and splayed, the perfect facsimile of a blooming flower. “You know,” you said with a smile. “This is probably one of the more agreeable activities we have done.”

He wished he could spar with you, to connect with you in the mutual language of battle,  but alas, your injuries and his were still healing. He rolled his shoulder, the muscle still stiff and sore from the wound, and grimaced.

“It is still not healing well?” you asked, lowering your flower.

“The infection from before did more damage than previously thought. It is healing, just slowly, the matrons assured me.”

“Merry and Pippin told me how you faced the Uruk-Hai by yourself. Truly, a remarkably brave act.”

He deflated a little in his chair, thumbing the edge of the thin paper. “Bravery did not enter into my mind at that time. I thought only of my friends who, at that time, were neither ranger or soldier.” 

“Still, it was a brave act.”

“Brave… but not strong.”

“Boromir,” you said, exasperated. “The fact that you are still alive now is testament to your strength.”

“It is not the strength of body I am speaking of but rather the strength of will.” He shook his head and forced a smile onto his face. “What am I speaking about? These are merry times and happy days — we should not dwell on such ill things of the past.”

You paused, eyeing him. “Just as our bodies sometimes fail us, so do our minds. In Rohan, we learn in our training that it does us no good to fault and blame our bodies when they cannot perform as we wish — it simply gets in the way of learning, and more importantly, healing — it would seem remiss to not extend that same grace to our minds.”

Grace. Forgiveness. Gentleness. He had never been able to afford such luxuries, not ever since his mother died and he and Faramir had to grow up all too fast in the shadow of Mordor. Faramir seemed to be easing into the position of Steward comfortably, looking far more at home in the office than he did in the barracks, and even Eowyn was getting on well in the Houses of Healing. 

People were… moving on. Or at the very least, trying to. 

He picked up a sheet of paper and began folding it, binding the middle and trimming the ends. He started to unravel the petals but only managed to put his thumb through it.

 Could he move on as well? Was he allowed to?

“Here, like this,” you murmured and reached over. “Slowly. Gently.”

You guided his fingers, and right in his hands, his flower bloomed.

-

Early morning light glowed through the open ends of the stables. The air was warm and musky and you inhaled, relaxing into the familiar scent of horse and hay. The stableboys were yet to turn up for the day and you took your time greeting the horses individually. One of your favourites, a beautiful black steed with a glossy coat, nudged your outstretched hand and dipped its head while you stroked it affectionately. 

There seemed no end to the post-war celebrations with the coronation beginning a stream of parties and dinners, lunches and teas, but finally after nearly two weeks, the city was blessedly calm. You pressed your forehead to the cheek of the horse and sighed. He was warm and solid, grounded and real. The days and nights had passed like a dream. Boromir, smiling at you over the rim of his mug. Boromir, meeting your glances across the room. Boromir, taking you into his arms, your bodies moving in sync with the music.

He had been so close, so warm. His smell, salt and cedar, enveloped you. You had looked up into his eyes, the candlelight flickering in them, and nearly leaned in.

The horse snorted and you stepped back. What were you thinking? There was no time for such things. You were still yet to find yourself in this new world of peace, King Theoden still needed to be buried and mourned. Eowyn would return to Minas Tirith in due time — Faramir had all but formally proposed, waiting for the mourning period to be over — but what about you? 

Eomer had assured you that if you wished to return to Rohan there would be a place for you as part of the personal guard but was that something you even wished for yourself? 

Minas Tirith had grown on you. The bustle of the morning markets, the distant bell that tolled every hour, the ivy covered walls, the polished marble. Boromir had even promised to take you to Dol Amroth to see the ocean one day. And Eowyn would be here in Gondor.

It had been so lovely working with the horses and the stableboys, your muscles remembering the things you had been taught as a child. It felt like some part of you, long dormant, was finally waking up. The stable master had mentioned that he was planning on retiring soon. Perhaps you could speak to Boromir and Faramir about filling the post. 

You hummed to yourself. With Boromir retaining his position as Captain of Gondor, there was something deeply satisfying about the thought of caring for the steeds he and his men would ride on. 

“My lady?”

You turned and found Boromir standing by the entrance of the stable. He was in his casual tunic and trousers, and his hair was lightly tousled. Boromir looked the best liked this, just slightly dishevelled, loose and relaxed. 

“Good morning,” you said. “It’s early, even for you.”

“I wished to speak with you. You and Eowyn will be heading back to Rohan in a few days and I wanted to discuss something with you before you left.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Very well. Let us speak outside.”

He nodded and the both of you made your way out to a small open balcony that overlooked the rest of the circles. The air was warm and balmy and the scent of freshly baked bread wafted on the breeze. Boromir stood beside you and surveyed the city. 

“I never thought I would see the day where there was no shadow on the horizon, that my people would wake and live in peace.”

“Yes,” you murmured. “There is change in the air, a renewal. It is quite exciting to witness.”

“Speaking of change…” He turned to face you. “I am sure you are well aware that our stable master is thinking of retiring. Faramir and I have been discussing and we were wondering if you would be open to fulfilling the position.” He glanced away then back at you. “You and I will be working with each other, of course, with regards to the Calvary. Before you accept, there is something… something I wish for you to know.”

His eyes swept down and his jaw tensed. “Go on, my friend,” you said gently. 

“The Ring… I had tried to take it from Frodo. He had gone off to think and I had followed him. In my weakness, I —” He swallowed. “That was why he had continued on alone with Sam.”

You had suspected as much, gleaned from his various comments and the way he would both keep his distance from Frodo but be overly courteous in his presence. “The Ring had tempted many over the years. I do not think any less of you. And… this may be presumptuous, but knowing you, I suspect you were motivated out of love for your city and your people rather than any personal gain.”

He exhaled, short and sharp, and a wry smile crossed his face. “You know me too well.”

You shrugged. “We are friends, are we not? Friends and —”

You snapped your mouth shut and looked away. What were you going to say? ‘More’? How foolish. The man had just offered you a job, for Valar’s sake. He was a friend. A friend.

“And?”

You hazarded a look at him. His eyes were wide and his lips were parted in disbelief. Was it possible that…? 

“I… I do not know,” you muttered, and he deflated a little. His mild disappointment emboldened you and you continued. “Sometimes, I think I see more in your eyes, but I can never be sure.”

“You are not mistaken,” he said, straightening his shoulders and meeting your eyes. Your heart sped up and hope sparked in your chest. “But I do not wish for this to sway your decision in accepting the position. I —”

“Either way, I would accept. I do accept.” You smiled. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to oversee and care for the steeds of Gondor. Except, perhaps,” you added softly, “being able to be by your side.”

A smile broke out on his face, open and unguarded, and the years fell away from him. He offered his hand, palm up, and you reached out, intertwining your fingers with his.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Faramir has always berated me for my lack of romantic tendencies and I always dismissed him. For the first time, I wish I had paid more attention in my poetry classes.”

“I do not need to be wooed with poetry and flowery words, Boromir.” You laughed and he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. “Besides, it is not our way.”

“What is the Rohirric way?”

“Sometimes courting couples braid the manes of each other’s horses, weaving in their family’s colours or tokens. Wealthier families exchange horses to show that their horses are healthy and well-trained, that they can be trusted with the care of their partner, to carry and support them through life.”

He nodded. “I like that. It is practical and… sweet, in a way. I would offer to give you a horse, but I have just given you a stable full of them I suppose.” You laughed and he shared a smile with you. “In seriousness, I wish to court you properly. I understand that you will have to go back to Rohan, and there are matters to sort out. But when you return to Minas Tirith…”

“Yes. Whatever you wish, yes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Whatever I wish? A dangerous thing to say.”

“I trust you.”

He leaned in and kissed your temple, his warm breath tickling your hair. He smiled against your skin and drew back.

“So yes,” you murmured, grinning. “Whatever you wish.”

___

I really wanted the reader to have some sort of arc/development as well, and not just act as some developmental catalyst for Boromir - I hope that came through.

@mileycyprus-hill

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Barbie Girl 💄 | Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin Imagine

Takes place before, during, and after the events of Top Gun Maverick

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Barbie!reader (romantic), dagger squad (platonic)

Content warnings: light profanity, fluff | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 4.3k

Requested 📨 yes/no (for @kayla-swiftly)

Premise: They say the sky is the limit and anything you set you’re mind to will be achieved as long as you’re dedicated to it. For most people that testimony is nothing but a mere fantasy. But for one woman, with too many dreams to count on her fingers, she took that statement to heart. Proving you can be anyone you want to be and maybe even a few others give or take 😉

Note: Anyone else obsessed with Barbie lately?? Omg y’all I saw the movie last week and absolutely fell in love and i had this request from around the time the final trailer dropped and knew it was the perfect time to write this. I know I know I haven’t been living up to my promise of being consistent but man they having me working my ass off at my job. Also I’ve been traveling and I saw Big Time Rush last night (i felt like a teenager again and it was amazing 😭) anyway I hope you enjoyed this and let me know what you think!

—————————

“Hi, Barbie!” The familiar greeting fills Y/n’s ears as it does every morning she arrives at the hangar. With it comes an instant smile, hand raising to wave at the person responsible for it, “Hi, Phoenix!”

“Hey there, Barbie,” winks another friendly face.

“Hiiii, Hangman,” her tone is playful like his, turning energetic for Bob when he goes, “Hiya, Barbie!”

“Hi there, Bob!”

“Hey, Barbie.” “Good morning, Barbie.” “What’s up, Barbie Girl.”

“Hello, Rooster.” “Good morning to you too, Fanboy.” “Nothing much, Pay. And yourself?”

Unlike her fellow pilots, clad in their deep green flight suits, Y/n stood out in the crowd for hers was a little unorthodox when one thinks of a naval fighter pilot's uniform.

It was pink. Completely as in her combat boots were also the bright color and the patchers were white and pink tones rather than red, blues, black and any other color seen in the ones attached to her coworkers arms. ‘Barbie’ in pink cursive writing instead of traditional bold Times New Roman lettering.

And don’t forget the little flower dotting the ‘i’.

Growing up, Y/n took ‘you can be anyone and anything you want to be,’ quite literally. At no point was it a joke to her when she would tell her friends and family, “oh I’m gonna be a fashion designer and Olympic Gold medalist when I’m older,” “I wanna go to space, fly in planes, and see all the wonders of the world,” “I’ll be a doctor, a teacher, and movie star!” They’d smile and laugh, thinking it was adorable for a little girl to dream big. No way would it be possible to achieve all of those careers. Everyone only gets one life to live and time goes so fast one can only set their eyes on one path and hope for the best.

But Y/n was a dreamer. And if you’re going to dream, might as well dream big.

All through middle and high school people took Y/n’s intelligence for granted. Focusing more on her beauty rather than brains, it came as an under shock to everyone when Y/n had the credits to graduate at the ripe age of 15. Exceeding in her standardized test scores with a high school resume taking up three pages with extracurricular and academic achievements, she had colleges from all over the country begging for her to apply.

Stanford. Cornell. Pratt. Juilliard. NYU. John Hopkins. Harvard. UCLA. Duke. Top medical and law schools. Ivy League universities. Performing Arts schools calling for auditions after sending scouts to watch her perform in school plays and dance recitals. Coaches from high ranking NCAA gymnastics teams sending emails after emails.

So many to choose from….And so the story of Y/n L/n becoming a real life Barbie Doll begins.

Setting her eyes in New York, Y/n attended not one but two of the best schools in the country. While obtaining her bachelor’s in both astronautical and aeronautical engineering at NYU Y/n also completed a two year degree in Fashion Business Management at the Fashion Institute of Technology. During this time she continued training for the Olympics in hopes of making the 2008 Beijing team in gymnastics.

“How do you do it?” Her roommate at NYU constantly asked. “You go from here to FIT, working on two degrees that are completely on opposite sides of the spectrum and career paths,” she emphasized with hand expressions, “and still have enough to time to go to the gym to practice, eat three meals a day, have all your assignments done early, and sleep a reasonably about of hours each night.” Letting out an exhale, her roommate looks at Y/n as if she’s an alien from another world, “What’s your secret? Are you some kind of Barbie doll the government created as a test robot?”

Each time Y/n would pause, think for a moment before smiling, “I don’t know if I should find that as an insult or compliment, but I’m gonna chose it as a compliment and say it’s because I want to live a life where I can look back on and go, ‘I took a risk and tried something new even if it didn’t look possible but it was all worth it.’”

By the time Y/n turned 20 she had accumulated a vast list of credentials to her name. The list included getting her fashion business degree at 17, Bachelors in astronautical/aeronautical engineering at 19–receiving her Master’s for it at 20–An Olympic Gold and Silver medalist, dancing with the Radio City Rockettes, performing with the NYC Ballet Company in their rendition of Swan Lake, landing a role on Broadway, walking a runway at NY fashion week, and appearing on episodes of SVU, 30 Rock, All My Children, Sex and the City, and Ugly Betty.

So yeah, New York was a success in experiences for Y/n.

Following the high note, she packed her bags to leave the golden apple for the flashing lights of Hollywood, California. This time Y/n was working on her doctorates at USC, running her own business with her fashion degree called ‘Dream Closet’, and auditioning for film and tv shows.

Hollywood was a dream come true just like New York. Again she attended two different schools, this time flight school and USC. During the day she was occupied running from class to the hangar and then the observatory. Coaching dance and gymnastics on the side, designing clothes for her online shop which developed into a pop-up chain store in malls across America.

It wasn’t long until Y/n’s name grew into nationwide popularity. People started realizing the Y/n L/n who won the Gold and Silver medals in the 2008 Olympics was the same one responsible for the most recent fashion trends and guest starring on their favorite tv shows. What really set it in stone was when Y/n landed the role of an engineer officer in the 2009 reboot of Star Trek, going on to appear in both the 2013 and 2016 sequels.

Impressive was the only word her costars could use to describe her. What else was there?

Anytime there was a question involving, “who’s most likely to become president?” “Who’s most likely to try something new or create a new hobby?” “Who’s most likely to win a Nobel Prize?” Along those lines…the answer was obvious.

“Oh Y/n,” Zoe Saldana waves her hand, “Always.”

“Yeah,” Chris Pine agrees with a laugh, “That woman, I-I don’t know how one has the energy to do all that she does—a-and still want to do more.”

The Interviewer laughs with them, “didn’t she just race in the Daytona 500 last year?”

“Yes!! And she did a song with Lady Gaga when they were on American Horror Story,” Zoe’s tone is in absolute awe, “All while teaching at USC and creating new technology at NASA.” Chris lifts a finger.

“Don’t forget she had her own Mac Viva Glam line a couple years ago.” Zoe made a sound along the lines of ‘see what I mean,’.

“I’m telling you, she’s gonna be a name in the history books.”

What all has Y/n accomplished career wise? Let’s take a look.

Model, dancer, actor, singer, fashion designer, entrepreneur, athlete, engineer, race car driver, and professor.

And now she can add pilot to the list. Although she got her license to fly way back in 2009, Y/n didn’t put it to use full time until 2016, wanting to wait until after the release of Star Trek: Beyond to say goodbye to Hollywood for the time being and set forth on her next adventure.

Boy did it come as a surprise what she had planned.

The Manila folder containing her resume hit the desk of the Admiral, his eyes wide as saucers. “You wanna join the Navy?” Reading the front page for a fifth time, Cyclone glanced back at the woman in front of him. Doctor Y/n L/n. Or is it professor L/n? “And you wanna be one of my pilots?”

“Yes, Sir.”

”Ma’am, I apologize if this comes off as offending,” he really didn’t know any other way to put it. “But you are more qualified than any person on this base. Doctorates in aeronautical and astronautical engineering from the University of Southern California,” he counts off on his fingers, “you recently developed a groundbreaking advancement in space technology that’s going to help our astronauts—on the road to becoming a Nobel Prize nominee.” He raises his eyebrows, “And this is only what relates to this career field. I’m not even mentioning your acting, athletic, and fashion credentials. Why join the Navy?”

Y/n only offers a shrug, “I think the better question is, why not?” Cyclone lets out a sigh.

“What did you say your callsign was again?”

“Barbie.”

There was no stopping the small smile trying to break free, “I should’ve guessed.”

After completing OTS there was much debate on what Y/n’s rank would be coming into the Navy. Civilian lawyers and physicians often are Lieutenants (O-3) right away, but considering Y/n had two doctorate degrees and her pilot license they felt it was only fair for her to come in as Commander (O-5). From there Y/n was sent to North Island to attend Fighter Weapons School.

Better known to its flyers as Top Gun.

Y/n was used to the looks she received on a daily basis. From head to toe she was covered in variations of pink depending on what she was feeling. When teaching her briefcase and pantsuit were baby pink, in the labs her coat was hot pink, at auditions she wore pink leather jackets. Even her race car for the Daytona was pink.

Shoutout to Mac cosmetics for the sponsorship.

So it’s no surprise her flight suit would be the color she was known for—despite it being out of regulations.

Being more qualified than your superiors had its perks.

If she could have a pink F-18 she would but unfortunately that wasn’t possible. That was okay for Y/n. After all, she managed to get her own custom flight suit. One which had everyone having to do double takes whenever she walked into a room.

“Is she wearing…?”

“How the hell did they allow that?”

“Does that mean I can have mine in purple?”

Her first day at Top Gun Y/n met Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace. They were paired as roommates in the dorms and quickly became good friends. Phoenix was beyond amazed with Y/n’s accomplishments and experiences. Every conversation led to a new discovery. “Do you ever burn out?” Nat stag criss crossed on Y/n’s satin pink bed sheets, admiring her wall of photos from when she traveled to see all the wonders of both the ancient and modern world. “I feel I’d be a walking corpse from exhaustion. And you mentioned you’re still running and designing clothes for ‘Dream Closet’?”

Y/n removed her diamond studs, placing them on her desk she was using as a vanity. “I have a team dealing with the business side of things for the brand. I’m still CEO and creative director—usually I work on designs for a couple hours before bed to prepare for the next launch.”

Nat was in awe, “I have to ask….what’s been the best career you’ve done so far?” A common question Y/n heard, there was never a true answer. She loved every career. They all had their perks and their flaws, but at the end of the day it left her satisfied she achieved them.

“I don’t know yet,” she spoke truthfully, “I still have a few to check off on my list. When that happens I’ll let you know.”

Fast forwarding to 2019, Y/n answered the phone to Admiral Simpson’s voice with the news she needed to report back to North Island for a highly confidential mission. The details were unknown, but Y/n packed her bags, loaded her pink vintage corvette convertible and high tailed it to sunny San Diego.

The squeals initiated by Y/n and Nat the moment she stepped foot in the Hard Deck had heads whipping in their direction. “Hi, Barbie!” Nat’s arms opened for a hug.

“Hi, Phoenix!” Y/n accepted the embrace, still grinning ear to ear. The guys around them were looking at each other like, ‘what the…?’ Y/n wasn’t in her standard Khakis like they were—minus Rooster. She bore a pink denim number with matching boots with her hair curled and pink eyeliner surrounded by tiny rhinestones.

“You got selected too?” Nat complimented her outfit before cutting straight to the point.

“For the special detachment? Looks like it,” she winked.

“What happened to the Artemis program? Weren’t you up as a candidate?”

“Oh I still am,” Y/n affirmed proudly, “They’ll be announcing who’s to be selected in the coming months. So for now I’m still with the Bounty Hunters. Plus,” she leans in to whisper, “this will look good on my resume.” The two giggle before Y/n drifts her gaze to the boggling gazes in front of her. “Oh! I’m sorry for being so rude. I’m Y/n L/n,” extending her hand to the first person who’s name tag read Fitch, Y/n added, “But you can call me Barbie.”

“Barbie,” the blonde holding a pool cue repeated like a question, “like the toy Barbie?” Nat chuckled, throwing an arm around her friend after she was done shaking everyone’s hand as they introduced themselves.

“Fellas, if there is anyone who is a life sized version of Barbie, it’s this one right here.”

“Now, Phee…” Y/n’s tone was that of, ‘Don’t start.’

“It’s true,” the pilot defended. “Not only is she Commander Y/n ‘Barbie’ L/n,” jaws drop, “but she’s Professor and Doctor L/n.” The jaws hit the floor, “On top of founder, creative director and CEO of ‘Dream’s Closet,’” Javy makes a sound, familiar with the brand, “Emmy nominated actress,” Fanboy chokes on his water, “Olympic Gold Medalist and soon to be astronaut for the Artemis program.” By now all the guys are on the verge of losing their minds.

Bob rapidly blinks, “uh—.”

“Now I’m not an astronaut yet,” Y/n points out, “I’m a candidate for one.” Nat scoffs lightly.

“They’d be stupid not to pick you, Barb,” she then slaps her side, turning back to the guys, “Oh and how could I forget Broadway, Vogue, and the Daytona 500.”

“Daytona 500!?” Payback practically screeches.

“You were on Broadway?”

“—featured on Vogue—?!”

“Wait a minute I recognize you from Star Trek!”

“—How in the hell—.”

“Guys, guys!” Y/n laughs with her hands slightly raised, “Please, one at a time.” They were in for a long night of questions and story times. And just like Nat was years prior when she first roomed with Y/n at Top Gun, the officers were in complete amazement over the woman in front of them. Never had they met anyone like her.

“Wow,” Jake whistled once she finished bringing them up to date on her most recent careers. “You really are a real-life Barbie.”

“Shhhh,” a finger went to her lips, followed by a wink, “don’t tell Mattel.”

And thus the dagger squad was formed. Two and half weeks of hell bearing training preceding a face-with-death mission brings people closer. Every morning Y/n arrived at the hangar to a chorus of “Hi, Barbie.”

She waved at Reuben, “Hi Payback.”

“Hey there, Barbie Girl,” Javy threw her a peace sign.

“Hiya, Coyote!”

“Good morning, Barbie,” Rooster tipped his hat.

“Mornin’, Rooster.”

“Hi, Barbie!” “Hi, Barbie!” Her favorite duo harmonized.

“Hi, Bob! Hi, Phee!”

And for some closer than others….

“You know I was thinking,” Jake commented, taking Y/n’s hand before leading her to the pottery class he signed them up for. Every Friday night was reserved for date night. Dinner and a movie. Walk on the beach. Spending $20 worth of quarters at an arcade. Attending a comedy show. Paint and sip. Following the successful mission, Jake and Y/n hit it off and began seeing each other.

“Famous last words.”

“It’s not bad,” a chuckle left his lips, stopping at the door. “I just thought it was funny. You know how you’re basically Barbie?” His cheeky smile resulted in her mirroring it.

“Yessss.”

“This means I’m pretty much your Ken, right?” The question makes the woman visible ‘awe’. Jake ruffles a hand through his hair and gives his best blue steel, “we kinda look alike. Don’t you think?”

Laughing, Y/n kisses his cheek, “I mean…name a more iconic duo than Barbie and Ken.”

“Barbie and Hangman?”

“Exactly.” It was safe to assume what their Halloween costumes were going to be.

Time went on, missions were run. And after a year of anticipation—though it felt like forever, it was finally announced in 2020 Y/n would be one of the astronauts selected to be part of NASA’s Artemis program launching in 2024.

Making Y/n the first woman to go to the moon.

The call came in from a restricted number when they were in a meeting, and knowing she was to expect a call within the month everyone quickly shut up so the pilot could answer.

She excused herself to leave the room, staying in front of the window so the team could see her. Throughout the conversation Y/n’s expression remained neutral to the point none had a clue whether the news was good or bad. Only when she reentered the room did they get the answer.

“I’m going to the moon!!!”

“Ahhh!!!!” The team exploded in an array of cheers, Y/n jumping up and down, careful not to drop her phone that was in her hands when Jake lifted her in his arms.

“I’m so fucking proud of you!” Despite being unauthorized to show pda in uniform, Jake gave her a big kiss on the lips, not caring who saw. “You are the most exceptional human being on this planet.”

“Jake,” tears welled in her eyes, which he kissed away. Her heart filled with warmth and gratitude. Feeling on top of the world with her closest friends supporting her.

Once all calmed down and they finished the meeting, Mickey jumped from his seat, “Come on Barbie, let’s go party!” Everyone sped to the Hard Deck to celebrate the news. Mav bought the first round, followed by Payback.

“Guys you don’t have to do all that,” Y/n said once she realized they all agreed to buy her drinks for the night.

“We want to,” Nat tapped her beer with Y/n’s cocktail glass, the guys voicing agreements. “For years you’ve been dreaming about this and it’s finally happening. Your hard work is paying off and we want to celebrate—show you we love and appreciate you, Barbie.”

Y/n fought back tears, never afraid to show her emotions. Some may find it childish or thinned skin, but to Y/n that was what being human was all about. “I love you guys.”

“We love you!” The voices echoed together.

The night had been going well with the squad hanging out by the pool tables like they usually did when Y/n approached the bar to pick up the next round Mickey was paying for. Not paying attention to those beside her, she smiled at Penny and repeated the order before waiting patiently.

But what’s a night at a bar without someone who lacks boundaries.

“You must be the one they call Barbie,” a voice says, flirtation seeping through the words. Glancing to her right, Y/n recognizes a gentleman from the flight line whose name she could not recall. “You’re quite the talk around base. In fact, weren’t you in some Hollywood blockbuster?”

“Yes,” she politely responds, keeping the answer short. Though she was known to be a sweetheart and kindhearted to anyone she met, Y/n could tell where the interaction was heading toward and did not feel comfortable entertaining it any further. “A long time ago.”

“I’m Lieutenant Paul Billings,” he extended his hand, and she immediately clocked he was trying to show off his rank. ‘Boy he’s in for a treat.’

Not wanting to make a scene, she accepts the handshake. “Commander Y/n L/n,” there was emphasis on the Commander, displaying the woman was of higher rank and therefore a silent warning to Billings to not cross a line.

There was a flash of surprise on his face. Y/n held back an amused laugh, ‘guess you didn’t hear everything.’

“Something the matter, Lieutenant?”

“No,” he brushes it off, “Nothing. Say,” he nods to the bar, “can I buy you a drink.” Did he not just hear her order a round for the people she came with?

“That’s kind of you,” she starts just as Penny arrives with a try full of cold beers and her usual cocktail. “But I’m all set, thank you.” Hands moving to take the tray, she jumps slightly at the feeling of his own coming to her wrist.

“What about lunch this week?”

“I’m sorry but I am spoken for, Lieutenant,” removing his hold, Y/n takes a step away.

Now Paul had lost his reasonable composure. Scoffing, he says, “What? Am I not enough for you?” The question results in her raising a brow.

“I beg your pardon?”

He makes a face, “You think because you’ve done all these careers and occupations that you’re better than the average person? I’m not a pilot and an actor or researching the cure for cancer while creating a documentary series,” venom seeps through his tone, obviously depicting his jealousy, “Basic is not up to your standards, so you have to throw our failures in our face as if we don’t already know.”

By now a crowd has formed. Jake started moving the second he noticed Billings etching too close to his girl, followed by Nat and the others who were ready to back him up. Behind the bar, Penny was fixing to ring the bell until being stopped by Y/n’s wave of the hand.

“Are you done?”

Paul’s expression was that of, “what?” No audible response was voiced therefore Y/n continued.

“Okay, I’m gonna go ahead and say this, Paul,” Y/n drops her shoulder. The change in body language let Jake and her friends know she wasn’t taking anything that the man said personally. “I know I should be offended by your insults and insinuations, but the truth is I’m not.” A small smile forms on her lips, “I don’t view myself higher than anyone because of what I accomplished. The only person I do that to, is myself—because I don’t have to prove to no one but me that I am capable of achieving what I set my mind to. And yeah,” a light chuckle escapes, “I’ve set my mind to a lot of things—way more than the average person. But that doesn’t mean you or anyone else can’t do the same.”

Pausing Y/n takes a breath before exhaling, “You look at me, and hate the way it makes you view yourself. Makes you believe you’re a failure because you didn’t follow the path you hoped to make for yourself.” Paul’s expression shifts to one of solemnity, like he was thinking of his younger self who had dreams and aspirations. Mourning what could have been.

It made Y/n sad for him. Empathetic despite him attacking her. “One thing I’ve learned over the years…is time is what you make of it. Life is about taking risks. You can still set out to do whatever it is you wish, as long as you’re committing to taking the risk no matter how scary it is. Sure you’ll find obstacles and it’ll feel like the whole world is against you. But determination will guide you through the walls, and you will be successful so that you can look back and think, ‘it was worth it.’ As cliche as it sounds,” she couldn’t hold back a laugh, “Barbie isn’t a person or an object you can obtain. Barbie is a mindset. And you have to unlock it in your own way, Paul.”

It was so quiet in the building, a pin could drop and everyone would hear it. Their looks of awe, admiration, and even newfound motivation by Y/n’s speech. Impressed by how classy she handled what very well could have been a scream match between rival squadrons.

Behind Billings the Dagger squad stood with proud smirks at their friend. Especially Jake, who caught Y/n’s eyes and threw her a wink. Nat gave the woman a salute, a silent gesture to say, ‘you inspire me everyday.’

And Billings? Well he was at a loss for words.

Patting his shoulder, Y/n grabbed the tray of drinks, “I wish you luck, Paul.” Thanking Penny, who gave her a proud nod and replied, “this ones on the house,” Y/n returned to her friends where she was met with a sweet kiss from Jake, claps on the back and “You go girl!” “Tell them who’s boss.” “Damn, you made me wanna go out there and live life the way I should.”

“What’s stopping you, Javy?” she handed him a beer, “the world is your playground.”

A couple hours later it was time to call it a night. Hugs went around, promises to meet up the following night and tabs were closed.

On their way out, Jake dropped a kiss to Y/n forehead, pulling her close to him as he led her to the door of the parking lot, “So what’s next for you, doll? You’ve proved you can be anything and anyone you chose to be,” he grins at her, “What will you set your mind to now after space?”

“First, I want to write a book—I think that’s something a lot have been waiting for me to do. Afterwards, well, I’ll have to wait a couple more years, but,” The corner of Y/n’s lips lift up before flashing a dazzling smile, “I’m thinking….the Oval Office is in need of a makeover. Don’t you think?”

Then, before he could answer, Y/n turns her head in the opposite direction as if she’s trying to find a hidden camera. Makes eye contact with you, the reader, winking before turning back to Jake where she sets off on her next adventure.

…………….

TGM Tag List: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa @artemissunn @pinkpantheris

[dreamsontheirway]

Lemon & Honey | S.R.

Summary: The reader has postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, or POTS, and suffers from fainting spells. Warnings: POTS, fainting Word Count: 2.1k

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Growing up, you always had awful menstrual cycles. They were heavy, you were emotional, and black dots danced in your vision each time you stood up. When you became a teenager and started the birth control pill, your cycles became better, more consistent. But that was also when the fainting started.

In your teenage years and into young adulthood, you fainted multiple times a week, sometimes more. At first, the doctors had no idea what was wrong and they thought the worst. It was a scary time for you and your family, not knowing what was causing these debilitating fainting spells.

Finally, a couple months after your twenty-first birthday, you went to a new doctor. You soon learned that your extreme menstrual cycles and your fainting spells were connected. You were diagnosed with POTS.

You recalled the memory, your brows furrowing in confusion as your mother’s hand held yours.

“Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome,” the doctor furthered. “Your fainting is caused by an extreme change in heart rate, particularly when changing from a seated to standing position.”

“Fainting isn’t always a common symptom,” the doctor continued, looking at you with kind eyes. “But it can happen more than people realize. There’s nothing wrong with you, Y/N. We will get you on a medicine to manage this.”

You liked to think that miracle doctor saved your life that day. If it weren’t for him, you may still have these debilitating fainting spells. If it weren’t for him, you would have never found a medicine that reduced your fainting to once in a blue moon. If it weren’t for him, you would’ve never joined the FBI and met the love of your life, Spencer Reid.

You and Spencer have been dating for several months, but he has yet to learn about your diagnosis. With how managed it is now, it merely feels like an afterthought for you.

However, that doesn’t mean Spencer hasn’t picked up on a few things over the course of your relationship. He noticed how awful your periods messed with you; the cramps and the depression. He noticed the way you gripped the side of the table until your knuckles turned white upon standing up from your desk.

Spencer knew that there were a multitude of reasons for these behaviors. Maybe she has low iron levels? Could it be orthostatic hypotension? Unfortunately for Spencer, there was never a way to fully diagnose your symptoms. He was forced to sit and witness, and take care of you, with your struggles. Spencer probably would’ve figured out your diagnosis, if it weren’t for the fact that you’d never fainted around him, yet.

That fateful day came on a Wednesday in the middle of October. The trees were transforming, swirling colors of red and orange and yellow. You walked into the bullpen, preparing yourself for the mountains of case files you knew you had to complete.

You had woken up feeling the symptoms. The pounding in your chest, the dizziness. You could often tell when it was going to be a bad day in terms of your diagnosis, but today you brushed it off. It had been months since you fainted, and you were beginning to hope that you never would again. You realized that was likely wishful thinking, but you continued your morning as normal.

Well, somewhat normal. Upon sitting at your desk, you realized you probably shouldn’t have coffee today. You probably shouldn’t have tea, either, but you needed something. The caffeine from the drinks spiked your heart rate, making fainting inevitable on a day like today. Your thoughts were interrupted by the kind voice of your boyfriend.

“Good morning, I picked this up on my way in.”

A tea bag was draped over the side of the cafe take out cup, and you grinned. Somehow, Spencer always knew what you needed, despite you having yet telling him about your POTS.

“It’s a green tea with a splash of black, with lemon and honey.” Spencer smiled goofily, his mouth straight, but outstretched and downturned. You always thought he looked reminiscent of an amphibian, in the cutest possible way of course.

“You are literally the best thing to ever happen to me,” you spoke, a hint of playfulness in your tone.

Even though you were joking, a part of you really meant it. Sometimes it felt like Spencer read your mind when it came to the things you needed, especially when dealing with your symptoms. Of course, there were many other things that Spencer was a bit clueless about. When it came to your symptoms, though, he somehow just knew.

Spencer occasionally brought you coffee, too, but he had noticed your behavior being off yesterday and last night. He noticed your white knuckles gripping the desk almost every time you stood up yesterday. Last night, he noticed your exhaustion. You two had been sat on your couch, watching a movie. Your head had rested on his shoulder, but you fell asleep nearly twenty minutes into the movie.

Spencer had a hunch, but he wasn’t sure. He was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with your heart rate. If he was correct, coffee was the worst possible thing you could be drinking. In all seriousness, you should only be drinking water, but he knew you needed something to be able to function. So, he decided on your favorite tea order.

Several hours ticked by, the pile of files on your desk slowly but surely decreasing. Your tea was long gone, but your eyes kept fluttering closed. You needed more caffeine or you were going to fall asleep at this desk and probably get written up. The thought of getting in trouble stirred you to a straightened sitting position.

You stood, your head pounding along with your quickened heart rate. Your hands gripped the desk for a few moments, enough time for your vision to clear from the black veil. You continued towards the kitchenette to find something to keep you awake.

Spencer had witnessed the entire ordeal, and he quickly stood and followed you to the kitchenette. If his hunch was correct, any more caffeine would surely make you feel much, much worse.

“Y/N,” he spoke, and you whipped around to look at him. “What’re you doing?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion at your boyfriend’s concerned face.

“I am looking for more tea?” You said, a questioning tone lacing your words.

“I don’t think you should have any more.”

“Excuse me?” You asked incredulously. Spencer had never made any sort of remark about what you should or should not be eating or drinking. Luckily, he typically knew better than that.

“I noticed that you get dizzy when you stand up. If my hunch is correct, any more caffeine may make you more dizzy and potentially lose consciousness.”

You gaped at him, wondering how he had merely hypothesized a diagnosis that had taken years for you and your doctor’s to figure out. He is a doctor, you thought, but not that kind of doctor.

“I don’t see how what I drink is any of your business.” You muttered, more harshly than you intended to.

The continuous pounding in your head paired with the frustration of not having more caffeine just pissed you off. You grabbed a water bottle and stormed back to your desk.

Spencer wasn’t upset at your anger towards him, especially when he saw that you chose a water instead of more tea. He was just glad that you were taking care of yourself. In addition, he knew you’d most likely feel bad about your outburst in a few minutes and everything would be fine. Even if you didn’t, he didn’t care all too much.

You stormed back to your desk, the tips of your ears red with anger and embarrassment. You felt bad for lashing out at Spencer, but frankly, you wanted your damn tea. Now you had to resort to the classic way of waking yourself up, cold water and the stinging on your arms. You pulled a hair band that rested on your wrist above the flesh before letting it ricochet back to your skin, leaving a red mark. It hurt, but it did the trick.

Another hour or so passed, and you had to go to the restroom. Once again, upon standing your vision blackened and you waited a few moments before continuing out of the bullpen.

Of course, in typical Spencer fashion, he noticed it all, but there was something different this time. Not only did the time it took you to regain yourself take much longer, but your eyes were squinted as you left the bullpen. It wasn’t that bright in here. He wondered if you had a headache, or if there was still blackness clouding your vision.

He didn’t have time to decide before he hopped up and followed you. Upon seeing you, he was extremely glad that he did. You were leaned against the hallway wall, starting to sag.

“Y/N!”

He rushed to you then, either hands gripping your waist to hold you steady.

You mumbled something incoherently, your vision almost completely masked by unconsciousness. You felt hands on your waist and it was the permission your body seemed to need in order to let go.

Spencer felt your body go limp, and he pulled you into him before lowering you to the floor.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered frantically, as his hands hovered above you, unsure of what to do.

He reminded himself that most fainting victims will wake up within the minute. He knew he had to be patient, but that was fucking impossible at the sight of his girlfriend unconscious and crumpled on the floor.

He was about to get up and call for help when he heard you groan.

“Love,” he cooed, falling to his knees, his hand softly grazing your flushed cheek.

“Spence?”

“Yeah, beautiful, it’s me. I’m right here.”

“Did I faint?” Your eyes were still closed, presumably to shield yourself from the harsh light of the hallway.

“Yeah, love, you did.”

You slowly nodded and started to sit up. Spencer started to protest, but he decided to help you lean against the wall instead.

“I’m sorry, Spencer, it’s my fault. I should’ve been more careful like you said.”

His brows crumpled. He felt guilty for making you feel as if this was your fault.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He kissed your temple, his heart fluttering with thankfulness that you were alright.

“Spence, I have to tell you something.”

His heart fluttered in anticipation, worried of what you might say. He nodded, encouraging you to continue.

“I have POTS, it’s,”

“Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome,” Spencer finished for you, a guilty smile playing his lips when he realized he interrupted you.

“Yeah,” you smiled at him, thankful that you wouldn’t have to go through the spiel of explanation. Of course, not that you expected you’d have to with Spencer, the resident genius.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he started, rubbing your cheek again. “It seems like you have a bad case of it.”

She paled at the memory of what she had gone through growing up.

“It used to be worse, if you can believe it.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened, bothered that you’d had to go through any of this. The fact that it used to be worse pulled on the strings of his heart.

“What can I do?”

You smiled at him, thankful for his understanding and willingness to help.

“If I’m being honest, I should probably go home, but all those files,” you paused, groaning at the thought of your continuous mountain of case files.

“No, we’re going home. I’ll bring your case files and work on them.” Spencer stated matter-of-factly.

You didn’t protest; you knew how fast his reading skills were, and you were at the point where you’d appreciate any help.

“Will you tell Hotch? I’ll grab my stuff," you spoke and started to sit up, but Spencer softly held your shoulders down.

“No, you stay here. I’ll grab your stuff and be right back. I don’t want you fainting again.”

“Spence,” you began to protest, but he was already gone.

You smiled lovingly, sipping at the water from the bottle that he had brought with him when he followed you. You felt so thankful to be with a man like Spencer, someone who looked after you and knew what you needed when you needed it. You loved Spencer Reid, you realized, and you would tell him as soon as he came back.

-----

Part II (?)

A/N: Wow, this was the longest single-shot fic I've written! It sort of was just at the tips of my fingers and wrote itself. I really love it and I hope you do, too! Please let me know if you'd like a part 2!

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[cherrycolored-punk]

WD - Chapter Two🦇

Masterlist

summary: is it possible to be haunted by a town? for it to sink its claws into you, and be felt whenever you close your eyes?

author's note: I’m a few hours late but here it is! I really enjoyed writing this chapter so I hope you love reading it. Please comment or reblog if you did! Support is always so appreciated 🖤

w/c: 2.5k

warnings: nightmares, mention of blood and injuries. please let me know if I missed anything!

The road into Hawkins is quiet except for the faint noise of cicadas in the distance. Their song plays low, a soft hum in the cool air. 

The only light is the full moon hanging in the night sky, illuminating everything with a white glow. It follows you, a quiet passenger, as you approach the Hideout—hesitant, heavy feet carrying you forward.

The building isn’t as it was before when you first saw it. 

The wood is all but rotted through, the thin boards warped and bent out of shape. Looking as though it could collapse in on itself. Cobwebs hang on nearly every surface, thick and dotted with corpses of bugs. Spiders crawl in and out of the crevices in the wood, searching for more sustenance. 

There is an unnerving silence that envelops you, the cicadas no longer singing. The wind still and heavy.

You take a shaky breath. 

It’s cold despite being the middle of summer, and you can see the evidence of your unease puffing out in white clouds in front of you.

You step through the front door, just as you had before. The space is dimly lit, and the red of the Coors Light sign creates an eerie glow in the otherwise pitch-black room.

Shadows dance in your peripheral, moving on the bar's edge, closing in on you until you can feel their presence like a whisper above your skin.

Dominating and suffocating.

You walk further into the Hideout, your legs feeling like they’re made of lead. 

A chill runs up your spine as your head whips around the space. 

“Eddie?” you whisper for the only person you know, but your voice echoes across the empty space.

The squeak of a floorboard makes your neck snap to the right. Listening, waiting. Trying to steady your breathing.

You are not alone.

The hairs on your arms stand on end, and your heart picks up pace. The same strange feeling that someone is watching you growing by the second.

You can feel them with you, their eyes following your frame.

Fingers dance across the back of your head and you turn around, breaths coming in unsteady gasps - finding no one behind you.

“H-hello?” You stammer, but you’re only met with silence. A never-ending quiet that feels like it consumes you.

A shiver runs up your spine as warm breath fans across your neck, and you feel something sharp run down your back.

The voice is loud as it calls your name. Haunting and overwhelming. A little hypnotizing, but you don’t dare turn around, eyes trained on the darkness as it steadily approaches. The red glow of the neon sign disappears.

The stench of rotting flesh fills your senses, making you dizzy with nausea, and you about fall to your knees when sharp fingers wrap around your neck. Their grasp cuts off your breath, digging into your throat.

The voice repeats your name. 

Closer. 

Louder.  

Angrier.

You feel your eyes begin to close as you drift into unconsciousness. Unable to breathe, unable to see. 

All you feel is darkness.

–

The alarm on your phone blares, the catchy pop tune a stark contrast to how you gasp awake, fingers clawing at your throat as your legs thrash beneath your sheets.

You sit up in bed, wide eyes dancing around the room, wondering if what you’re seeing is real or part of the dream.

A layer of cold sweat coats your skin, making the fabric of your t-shirt cling to your skin uncomfortably. Your chest heaves as you try to draw more air into your lungs, a disbelieving gaze searching for signs that you’re still stuck in your nightmare.

But the loud noise of the busy streets below your apartment reminds you that you’re home. You reach over to your nightstand, an absent finger tapping away until finally, the alarm quiets, and all you can hear is the white noise of the city.

A sigh of relief leaves your lips as your shoulders shrink from your ears, but your hand is still pressed to your throat. You can still feel its grasp, its nails clawing into your skin. The stench of its dead flesh still stuck in your nose, making your stomach turn.

You throw the comforter off your body, swinging your legs over the side of your bed and ignoring the way the cool air of the fan meeting your sweat slicked skin sends a shiver up your spine. Making your nausea that much worse. 

Your arms stretch over your head, but a sharp pain makes you freeze, face twist in growing agony. Automatically, your hand reaches for your back searching for the source of it all. Your fingers push under the fabric of your shirt, and you wince, a gnawing pain shooting through your body when your fingertips connect with a jagged mark starting at the bottom of your back.

What the fuck?

You rush off the bed, pulling your shirt above your head and turning your back towards the full-length mirror that leans against the wall near your closet.

For a moment, you’re scared to turn around. Already knowing what the mirror will reflect.

You take a steadying breath and place a hesitant chin on your shoulder, chancing a look down. 

Every muscle in your body tightens, your heart hammering against your ribs when you see the long gash that lines your spine. The blood is already crusted over, a deep maroon that stares back at you.

Flashes of your nightmare spring forward and you quickly pull your shirt back down, gaze trained on your hardwood floor.

Questions flooded your mind, none of which you had answers to.

What happened in Hawkins forty years ago?

Who or what was Eddie?

And what was the thing in your dream?

Matthew had mentioned an earthquake that decimated the town, but it felt like there was something more.

All you knew for sure was that there was something strange about the small town, something that lurked in the shadows, and for some reason, you could feel its malice. The evidence of which was marred into your skin.

You sat in front of your laptop and stared at the screen, the cursor blinking back at you as you debated what to search for first.

The easiest place to start was with Hawkins itself. Hurried fingers rush over the keys as you type into the search bar. 

Dozens of links loaded onto the screen. Headlines that gave a glimpse into the destruction, the loss that the town felt.

“Hell Is Upon Us”

“The Devil’s Gate”

“Nearly All Presumed Dead”

You read through each one, all of them containing the same details. An unprecedented earthquake, a death toll that only climbed as the days dragged on, and missing people who were never found presumed to be amongst the carnage.

“The town appears nearly split in half, a massive hole in the ground like a portal to hell.”

Pictures were attached, blurry images that showed the state of destruction from when it first occurred. Your eyes pour over the scene, widening when you see the giant crater that was once Hawkins. 

You scroll further and read through the names of those missing and presumed dead. 

Dustin Henderson.

Lucas Sinclair.

Steve Harrington.

Robin Buckley.

Ted Wheeler.

Karen Wheeler.

Nancy Wheeler.

Michael Wheeler.

Holly Wheeler.

Jesus, the whole family.

The list dragged on.

The few who survived relocated or were never heard from again.

And it was only when you saw his face that you knew it wasn’t a dream.

Eddie Munson stared back at you through your screen, a picture of him in black in white but with the same vivid gaze. The flyer detailed his appearance, height and weight—the color of his hair, the shade of his eyes. But you could still smell his cologne. 

You gulp, mind unable to grapple with the reality. Because you know you saw Eddie. Talked to him, flirted with him, but he was…a ghost? 

It didn’t make sense.

It was almost worse than him being a figment of your imagination because he was real, but he was dead.

You swallow the bile that rises in your throat and click the back arrowing, Eddie’s face disappearing when you do but stained on your vision.

You continue to scroll down the list of articles.

One link in particular catches your eye.

“No Return: Some Who Visit Hawkins Don’t Come Back.”

You click the link and are taken to a LiveJournal blog.

Above the title is a collage of missing faces, and amongst them are newer pictures of those who recently went missing. 

The blog entry details their disappearances with one common denominator: they all had ventured beyond Hawkins’ city limits and were never seen again.

You read through the accounts of their family and friends. The details the missing had once shared before they disappeared. 

A broken-down car on the edge of the town, an abandoned bar or store, ghostly encounters, and recurring nightmares. 

Your heart thuds against your chest, and you click on another blog entry. 

It’s a list of links, one of which leads to a YouTube channel. You click it curiously, recognizing the face of the narrator from the banner on the blog—one of the people who was now missing. 

Ryan Lancaster.

The video is dated two years ago and starts with a recounting of Hawkins’ history with a montage of the photos you’d seen in the articles you read before it cuts to a video of Ryan talking about his experience.

He’d entered on the opposite side of town as you, but not two miles in, his car broke down. His cell had no service, so he began to walk into town, hoping to find someone who could help or direct him to a mechanic shop.

He talked about how he wandered into a video store, excited because those were obsolete. Replaced with streaming.

The inside felt like stepping into a time capsule. He expected DVDs, but he found VHS tapes and two workers who he thought were pretending not to know what discs were. 

Ryan swears he wasn’t inside for over thirty minutes, but the sun had already gone down when he left. 

When he turned back around, the store was abandoned. There was no one in sight. No Robin or Steve, the two he’d just met.

An eerie feeling settles over you as you continue to watch the video.

He walked until his phone regained signal on the outskirts of town and called a tow service. 

The nightmares started two days later, and you can see the terrified look in his eyes. The way he stares off into space as he recalls the presence he can still feel.

It sends a shiver through your spine, a sense of dread pulling in your stomach.

He only found out about the town’s history when he searched online. Horrified to find that Robin and Steve were presumed dead for nearly forty years. 

So he was set on exploring the town, convinced that it was an undiscovered gem. Possibly one of America’s most haunted.

The video ends with him inviting viewers to continue to watch as he documents what he uncovers. 

You click on his page, and your heart stops when you read the next title. 

Six days after the first video is one titled Ryan is Missing…

You slam your computer shut and press your fingers into your temples, trying to massage the growing headache that throbbed against your skull.

None of it made sense; it felt like you were losing your mind.

There wasn’t a logical explanation for any of it, but you couldn’t ignore how you were drawn in. Like the town had a vice grip on you and refused to let you go. 

And part of you wants to reach back. To be dragged in. 

—-

The Hideout is busy…as busy as it can be for a Wednesday night. 

A haze of cigarette smoke clouds the space, making the light of the neon bar signs all the brighter—a red glow cast over the otherwise dimly lit bar.

Madonna’s Like a Prayer plays on the jukebox, and Eddie tries to hide how he bobs his head as he pours another beer. He has heard this one at least once a night since it came out.

Customers are scattered around the Hideout; a couple dancing, gazing at each other with drunken smiles. The same few drunks plopped into stools before him, downcast eyes staring into their drinks, watching how bubbles form and burst at its surface. Some pressed into the red vinyl seats that needed to be replaced. Making out or in deep conversation.

It is a typical Wednesday night, and Eddie is bored out of his mind. Praying for some excitement. A pretty girl, a funny drunk, a gnarly bar fight. Anything.

He huffs and stares at the ceiling, absently wiping circles into the wood surface of the bar—persistent rings threatening to break down the varnish. 

He is tempted to begin ripping dollar bills from where they are pinned to the ceiling, betting that there’s at least two hundred dollars there. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to get him the hell out of Hawkins. 

“Munson,” one of the regulars grumbles and breaks his trance. 

Eddie points his bored, hooded gaze in the man’s direction. His chin resting on the palm of his hand.

“Another?” He asks, already pushing off his elbows and reaching for the man’s mug.

“You know me,” the man chuckles, hiccuping and tilting back in his seat. 

Eddie fills the glass to the brim with the cool, amber liquid. 

“That I do, Roy,” but Eddie can’t give him a full smile as he slides the filled mug in front of the man. 

Roy pushes a five-dollar bill towards the curly-haired bartender.

“Towards your tab?” Munson asks, holding up the money, but the man shakes his head.

“A tip,” the man holds up his mug in cheers, and Eddie tilts an appreciative chin in his direction before reaching for his wallet.

He pulls the black leather from the back pocket of his jeans and unfolds it to push the five into the bill hold. 

His hands freeze, his gaze trained on a bill he’d never seen before. 

Where did you come from?

Eddie pulls it from his wallet, dropping the leather onto the bar top as he examines the money. 

The note is so different from the one he was just given; a bigger portrait of Lincoln, the bald eagle situated behind the president, and the money far more colorful.

His eyes turn to slits as he peers closer, looking for signs of forgery because there is no way it is real. 

And then he sees it, the small writing right next to Good Ol’ Abe—series 2024.

No fucking way.

How did you get here?

His heart thunders against his ribs, and he shakes his head as he closes his eyes—images of a girl, her smile, the smell of her perfume. The way she looked up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Why do you look so familiar?

It feels like he’s grasping for a memory that feels more like a dream because he would’ve remembered you.  

Eddie swallows hard and opens his eyes, his gaze darting around the bar.

The scene is just like any other Wednesday, but why does he feel like he’s lived this moment before?

-

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[v3nusxsky]

I hope that you're having a good day.

I was wondering if you could write a Natasha x reader story where Natasha finds out that Y/n has a crush on her sister and punishes Y/n very intensely, can you also have Y/n call Natasha mommy?

Who’s your mommy? 18+

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*Authors note~ this is definitely a mind boggle to get your head around. But I'm quite happy with the idea I came up with. Plus r will be crushing on yelena as like she would a celebrity she will still love Nat*

Trigger warnings~ hate sex kidnapping, manipulation drugs used as muscle relaxers degrading kink bondage dom Nat g!p nat face fucking gaging daddy kink

Prompt~ see ask^^^

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Recently, rumours had began to fly around the compound about you and a certain widow. And at first Nat didn't let them bother her, she was playing the long game with you, and of course you wouldn't actually be crushing on Yelena. You weren't that stupid. No. You're hers and hers only. However, there seemed to be so miscommunication on your part, after all you wouldn't have been so close to her sister otherwise. The need to speed her plan up beginning to rise.

The first few times she caught you and Yelena together looking like more than friends she immediately exited the room and went straight to her ballet studio that Tony created for her, to dance through the overwhelming thoughts. But soon not even dancing for hours on end until her feet began to bleed would soothe the anger rising in her. Truthfully, Nat was always a little jealous of her sister, too young to believe anything over than the cover up, giving her more of a normal life than Natasha. Perhaps that's why you choose Yelena. Yelena wasn't like this, no she was sweet, sassy and stubborn but her heart is big and you both get along well. Yet it was wrong. You were hers and that was that. Natasha would do anything to get you. Which is why she began to plan your captivity.

In the outskirts of town, hidden by the thick cover of forest, the red head secured a little cottage where you'd build your lives together. So deep in the forest no one would here you scream anyway. Preparing the basement for your arrival was the biggest challenge yet thanks to the black card Tony gave her it was all done in a matter of days. A large double bed sat in the middle of the wall where binds were screwed into place. Toys displaying the walls and in her bed side table was the special muscle relaxer that the red room often used on the widows. The room was dark but she wasn't cruel, you had a few red lights dotted around the room to produce some light. Everything smelled like Nat by the time she was ready to collect what was hers.

You and Yelena had decided on a date at this new restaurant that had opened recently. But on your way there, you felt something hard connect to the back of your head before losing consciousness. Your ability as an avenger was truly no match for Natasha's so it was really with little effort that she hulled you up from the ground, admiring how your dress rose to show your pretty lace panties before placing you in the back seat of the car, and blindfolding you, just incase you woke up.

Luckily for Nat you were out cold, allowing her to position you however she deemed fit, strip of the beautiful fabric and tie you to the bed. Ready and waiting but maybe not so accepting of the idea when you came around. You would grow to love her though, she'd make sure of it. The sight of you laying there had her bulge becoming more noticeable but she had to wait, to see you take her despite the fact you hate her.

"Oh what a sleep slut you are" she all but purred when you began to come to. Your fuzzy gaze trained on her. "Nat?" You whimpered, "what are you doing?" A dark chuckle escaped the red head, "taking what's mine, you. Don't done you even dare lie to me and say you aren't. Because you don't hate me, you just think you have to." Her words making no sense to you." She'd just kidnapped you, of course you hate her. The cool air bit at your skin alerting you to your lack of dress. "Give me my dress Nat and let me go. I won't tell anyone you are sick" you pleaded only to be met with a harsh slap that had you sniffling back tears. "Sick? No. I'm not sick and you aren't going anywhere. This is your home now Dekta. My pretty little wife. Our home."

Your words of protest were silenced by her crawling next to your bound body and shoving her hard cock into your mouth with such a force you felt like you were choking. Tears streaming from your eyes are you struggled against the bonds. "Fuck y/n, good girl! Keep choking on daddy's cock, get it nice and wet for your pretty cunt" she groaned out. Truly the feeling of your warm wet mouth was driving her insane, alongside the gagging and tears, Nat was almost ready to burst.

You gasped for air as she removed herself from your mouth."fucking hate you" you sobbed only to be met with a harsh smack the tearing of your panties. The same ones that were stuffed into your mouth seconds later, "will you shut the fuck up? You're mine, always will be. Stop lying to yourself and take everything I'll give you. My sister couldn't give you anything like this. I bet she's off railing Kate bishop right now." Any protest you made were muffled,

Natasha was losing her patience with you, after all she'd been dreaming of taking you for so long, and now your cunt laid bare for her to use, she couldn't wait any longer. You screamed around your makeshift gag as she roughly pushed into your tight little cunt. "Oh fuck me! You feel so good Dekta! My good toy. Gonna keep you like this forever. Mine and mine only" she grunted as she began to find her frantic rhythm of pounding into you. More tears steadily flowed down your checks. Not understanding while your body was betraying you like this. You hate her. But your body was acting like you were nothing but a common whore.

Clearly, Natasha was only in this for her pleasure as she release white hot spurts of her seed into your awaiting womb. "Gonna make you mine forever. Gonna carry my babies! Good whore. Take it" she growled before grabbing another needle and slamming it into your plush thigh. The drug quickly working through your veins to knock you out once more. This time, Natasha could do just whatever she wanted to you and she had no intentions of stopping now.

Word count~ 1179

[gojosmovingcastle]

end of beginnings - r. sukuna

☄. *. ☄⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆☄. *. ☄☄. *. ☄⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆☄. *. ☄

(modern au)

"Sukuna?" My voice was light, airy, and far away from Sukuna's thoughts. 

The wine bottle swayed in my hold as I turned on the grass to fully face him. "What are you..." I didn't finish my sentence as his mouth closed and he sat next to me wordlessly. I turned back to the empty field and we both looked out over the field of lavender scent, white dots, and baby blue petals. 

"Well," He held out his hand but didn't look over at me, his eyes dead set on a small area of the field. "Are you going to share?" 

My eyes fell to his calloused hand and I placed the bottle of red wine in his hold. 

His gulps were bigger than mine, his burdens weighing heavier on his shoulders. 

The thicker air made me pull my knees to my chest, "Every time I come here I feel like another version of me is buried along these flowers." I spoke out to the dead air, not expecting Sukuna to respond.

"I feel like the only good version left of me is buried here." He said, almost barely hearing level.

I looked to Sukuna with haste, wanting to comfort him and deny his dark thoughts. But, how could I when I thought the same? 

"So," my hands dug into the dirt beneath us, "two souls, lost in a field...unable to return back to their owners? Sounds like a good Ghibli film..." I smiled softly, but it didn't reach my eyes. "Yeah, maybe you can write it..." His voice was just as distant as mine, stationed somewhere further in the field. "Maybe," I reach over and take the bottle from him, "but probably not." Shrugging my drinks were little compared to the empty heart next to me. 

"I hate it here." His lips pouted out as he leaned back on his hands, the sunset brushing over his skin. "Don't let the flowers hear that," a smile laid on my face, but it didn't reach the soul sitting in the middle of the field watching two empty hearts.

"They hate it too..." Sukuna got back up and held his hand out for the bottle again. My head shook in denial at his statement as he grasped it and began to search for his soul in the sea of flowers. 

"You know that's a lie, they are the only things that make this place beautiful." I sighed resting my chin on my knees.

A few steps in front of me the only person to have ever seen me in this state turned to me and held out his hand in my direction, "The only thing?" 

Looking into the amber almost ruby eyes I saw something I had been missing for so long.

The eyes that held as much pain as my own, but also the look that held the comfort we both needed. "Well, are we going to do this together or do you expect me to walk out into the field for the first time in years alone?" 

And with that one statement I laced my fingers with the only man who ever held me as dearly as I held everyone I once loved. His soul held the other version of me that was lost in this field of spring bloom. His jaw was set on finding the two lost and buried souls in the sea of doom.

[visit-ba-sing-se]

misread a prompt about being the last human on earth. still wrote a short story. enjoy.

My name is Sophie Smith. I am the last human on earth, and this is my report for June 28, 2070, day 456 of monitoring. General population: one. Changes since the last report: none. Maintenance work completed.

I save the file for today's report on my memory implant and shift my focus back to the monitor in front of me. A familiar black screen with a familiar white outline of the world map. One small red dot keeps blinking on it, in the middle of a region described as "European Union." If you were to zoom in, you would see that it is located in the middle of a town called Berlin, marked as the capital of a state called Germany.

Not that those things still mean anything anymore.

Zooming out again and seeing the empty map, it seems strange they ever did.

At the beginning back in 2069, there used to be 8.9 Billion red dots. One for every beating heart, monitored from above by space-link satellites. Now only mine remains.

I had singed up to monitor them quite early after the omega variant broke. After wasting years of my life on a - in face of the apocalypse utterly worthless - degree and an even more worthless PhD thesis, it felt like doing something real, and the task was simple: Monitor the development, stay in touch with the other stations all around the world and file a report for each shift.

At first, there were many of us, all in some way believing that we would help save humanity by observing trends and giving out warnings. Instead, we just became the chroniclers of it's decay.

Many didn't even fully witness the first month. The virus was cruel, but at least it took you fast.

You could leave your house feeling great in the morning, only to collapse coughing on the sidewalk before arriving at your bus stop. Or you could get up to make tea in the isolation of your own home, all doors closed and windows shut, and grasp for air on the kitchen floor minutes later. There was no cure, no vaccine, no distancing measure that helped. The virus cut through us like a scythe through a field of weeds, and it soon was more than clear that no amount monitoring would change that. Some volunteers quit. More died. But through a weird twist of fate, I stayed alive.

And I kept going to work, day after day after day, even after the government that had hired me stopped existing, the subway train I used to take became a fighting ground for rats and my shadow was the only one left to walk beside me in the once busy city streets.

And so did the others, who, when I called in "here Berlin, please respond" answered me with "here Warsaw" "here Seoul" "here Mexico-City" "here Tel Aviv". And the less we were, the more we talked. About our lives before. About the people we had loved and lost, about the places we had called home and the dreams we had dreamed, about our favourite books and movies and dishes, about god and fate and about which birds who saw outside their window.

Mostly, I think, it wasn't about what was spoken. It was about hearing another human voice, and the reassurance that you weren't alone that came with it.

And so, we were there to witness as one by one, more of the blinking red dots disappeared. Just like one by one, someone else among us started to cough. It was an unwritten, unspoken and yet unbreakable rule that none of the rest commented when it happened. Some decided to ignore it until their last moments. Most said goodbye. One of us, Alexey, fircely insisted the air in his office was simply too dry when he got the cough. Of course, we all wanted to believe that it was. But only minutes later, the transmission from his channel ended, and one of the at this point 5 remaining red dots in Kyiv vanished.

Like all of theirs did, eventually.

And yet.

"Here Berlin, please respond", I whisper. For the protocol. For the false, poisonous hope that there has been some kind of bug in the system and that someone might still answer. Of course, no one does.

And even though I expected it, the following silence crushes me once again. A lonely tear rolls down my cheek as I rip the headphones off. Just like the voices in them used to be the undeniable proof that I wasn't alone, the static in the channel now is the undeniable proof that I am.

To distract myself, I get up and open the window. It would be easy to jump onto the empty street and make a final exit like that. All things considered, it's a miracle I am still sane enough to not consider this opinion. Even though… probably at this point death would be the sane choice. But something in me still wants to keep going, wants to hold out for as long as I can. It might be irrational, but I feel like this is what I am owe them. All 8.9 Billion.

Unaffected by my dark thoughts and humanities decay, a small sparrow lands on the window stil. It must have flown over from the tree across the street, where a family of them has build their nest.

Diah would have loved to hear that their little ones are now learning to fly.

Diah. She was last one to leave, and the pain of loosing her still feels like a fresh wound. It had only been us for quite some time, and we had stopped logging out or even taking off our headphones. We even, of course disguised as jokes, had started planning how we could meet. We could find a still functional high-speed train and somehow make it work. We could both steal cars. We would just start walking towards each other and meet in the middle between New Delhi and Berlin.

But of course, we wouldn't. And when her time came, the virus didn't even give a warning. One moment, I was listening to her beautiful voice. The next, there was silence. And only one blinking dot left on the monitor. Maybe she didn't even notice that she died. Only I did. Like I noticed so many deaths before. Maybe that is the only advantage of my situation now. The only death I still will have to witness is my own.

Before I can sink deeper into my thoughts, suddenly, I see them. Or to be precise, actually, I hear them first. Voices. Human voices. "I still can't believe it's only been two years since we left," one of them says, "Just look at this mess. Good thing we got out of here early." "Right?!" the other one responds laughing. "And I thought the time on board was stressful, especially towards the end. But it's nothing against whatever the hell happened here."

Humans. Walking, talking, joking humans.

This can't be real. I rush to look at the monitor. Still only one lonely dot. I must have finally gone insane, not being able to stand the thought that I was last anymore. But when I lurk outside again, they are still there, and now close enough for me to recognize more details. Black uniforms with a silver star, black face masks and both carrying a PreciseWeapon. Space-link personal.

Days ago, Diah and I both saw what we had believed to be a small meteor. Instead, it must have been their shuttle entering the atmosphere. I am not insane. This makes sense. This is real. I know that probably should feel relief. Or happiness. Or pride. It surely would make sense to feel that way. After all, I just learned that humanity might still prevail despite everything.

This should be a triumph, or least salvation. And yet, all it feels like is betrayal. "Two years since we left" the man had said. Two years ago, the omega variant hadn't even been discovered. Or at least so I had thought.

'Thank God we got out of here early.'

They knew all along, soon and well enough to "get out early". If the earth had been a house on fire during the last years - as often depicted in political cartoons back when there were still people who drew such things and other who looked at it- they had always known the fire would come. But instead of warning the rest of us, they had snuk out of the house at night, watching it go up in flames from a safe distance. And now, where the dust had settled, they had come back to inspect the ruins and dig through the remains. Only that I was still here. A living dead, covered in ashes with burns on my skin. Still breathing, but surely not nice to look at. So why would they come to pick me up now?

Suddenly, the dominos cascade in line and I sink back into my chair as the realization hits me. They are space-link. The satellites are space-link. They don't show up on the monitor because they are not supposed to. And the PreciseWeapon is meant for me. I shiver. That's why Diah died so sudden and silent.

The virus didn't get her. They did, with one precise shot in the back.

For a moment, I consider running. But just a moment. They could easily track me, and I don't want to spent my last moments being dragged out of a hiding place, nor do I want a bullet in the back.

No.

I want them to look me in the eye. And I want them to know that I know.

I get up from my desk and turn away from the black monitor with the lonely red dot. The door swings open, and the black uniforms enter. They look just like you would think they'd look. Painfully ordinary, with faces reddened by excitement. For just a moment, I see a hint of surprise in their eyes. Then, the uniform on the right nods at the uniform on the left, who reaches for his weapon. If he feels any doubt, he is good at hiding it.

"Go ahead." I say. My voice is calm and firm. I can't say much, not in the short time it takes him to charge, aim and fire. But what I say, I mean. "I already died 8.9 billion times. One more won't matter."

I feel a numb pain as the projectile hits my chest, and then the edge of my table as I stumble backwards against it. And then, just before I hit the ground and my senses fade, I hear it. A cough. A familiar, dry cough. A cough I heard more times than I could count. And that is now coming from the direction of my shooter.

My name is Sophie Smith. I am the last human on earth. And this concludes my final report.

[lil-ms-darkness]

Distance and Doughnuts - Goldilocks Fem!Reader x Bigby Wolf [Part Five]

A/N: Okay, finally part five is out. Whoo boy, this was meant to be out so much sooner. First it was the end of December, then it was beginning of January, then the 11th of January, and I swear this was arguably the hardest chapter to write. Between writers block, work, and more personal life events, the universe was determined to delay this part. But I managed to get it done. Better late than never, oh and one of my darling readers asked me about the rating of this story, so from now on I will be including a rating just above the page break so if any of you would like to know what kind of contents will be contained, there will be a rating as well as any content warnings.

Part six will have some backstory/flashbacks, so look forward to that. Until then, happy reading!

Lil_Ms_Darkness

Rating: Mature (MINORS DNI)

Content Warnings: Sexual themes, implied arousal, dead bodies, murder investigation

The room is dark, only a pale moonlight peers through the window pane as she opens the curtains. 

It's not her apartment in New York, not her treehouse in the homelands, it's somewhere she's never been before. A vast garden of trees and the smell of the woods creeps through the glass. It's home. A home she's never been to before or yet. 

Arms wrap around her middle- strong, hairy, large hands resting on her belly. She thought she was alone, but she isn't afraid. She doesn't know who it is, but at the same time she does. His chest presses against her back and she leans back into him, her eyes falling closed as she relaxes. He lets out a low sound, something like a mix between a growl and a groan. It's delicious.

One of his hands raises to cup her jaw and turns her face towards her right shoulder. His fingers tighten against her skin, and she lets out a quiet gasp. His breath fans against her exposed throat as his other hand wanders over her body. 

She lets out a soft gasp as the tip of his tongue grazes her throat, feeling herself throbbing already. His hand moves higher, ghosting over her left breast, but he doesn't touch her. He lets her jaw go and she turns with his help to look into his face. Despite the moonlight that reflects his face, she can't make out who he is. His face is a puddle of rippling water and smoke, only blurry lemon yellow eyes peek down at her. She sees stained teeth appear in the strange visage before he lunges for her. 

Her eyes open quickly and she blinks away the sleep. Her heart is racing in her chest and she looks around. It's not her apartment and it smells like cigarettes and wet dog. She crinkles her nose before a voice catches her attention. 

"Bad dream?"

The Sheriff

Was it a bad dream? She can't remember. But the sticky feeling in her underwear suggests otherwise.

She looks over at him at the table against the far wall, a little further down from the TV set. He's not looking at her, focusing on his file on the table. 

She realizes she's in his recliner, a blanket over her. When had she fallen asleep? She blushes at the thought of him laying her in his recliner and covering her with a blanket. 

"I don't really remember. It's...kinda blurry." She rubs her eyes, "may I use your restroom?"

"You don't have to ask." He motions loosely towards an open door. 

She nods, "right, sorry. Thank you." she makes her way into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. As she pulls down her pants and panties, she blushes at the mess. Grabbing some toilet paper, she gets to cleaning it up. 

And that's when an even more embarrassing realization hits her- Bigby is a wolf. A werewolf, now. He's used his sense of smell to track down many things, connect dots, find her. There's no way he didn't smell this. Her face is red and burning as she flushes the evidence, her mind racing with thoughts of what he might be thinking. He hadn't reacted to it, hadn't shown any kind of reaction. Maybe he didn't smell it? But what if he's-?

Does it matter? It's normal. Animals do it, humans do it, Fables do it. Hell, even Mr. Toad has a son. Unless TJ was the product of magic, he had to- oh jeez, why is she even thinking about that?!

It's normal. Bigby doesn't care, so why does she? Is it because she's worried about his perception of her? Because she wants him to like her?

She looks at her reflection.

That's silly. She washes her hands and pushes the thoughts back, walking out into the apartment.

Bigby’s attention doesn’t leave the file, a few pages littered about. As he jots down notes on a notepad, she moves closer, noticing the square of his shoulders, the wrinkles between his thick brows, and the cigarette that hangs from his lips. She stands beside him and glances at the papers beside him. It’s names she recognizes, The Woodsman, Amelia Star, FlyCatcher, Riding, there's more, and she realizes it’s a suspect list. 

Other pages with various information, suspect statements, and, based on the near calligraphy cursive, follow ups that look like it was penned in by Snow. She can see his notes, and the scrawly thick writing has piqued her interests, as if she’s reading his mind on a page.

“Wow.” she murmurs as he grabs the ashtray near the notepad, moving it to the other side, away from her, before plucking the cigarette between his fingers, flicking the ash into the tray with rehearsed ease. 

“What?” he asks, “disagree with something?” 

“No, it’s just interesting to see how you think,” she answers, looking through the notes and files. “It’s amazing how you can keep track of everything. You don’t get overwhelmed?”

“No,” he writes another note down, acknowledging that there is a possibility that Riding could have lied about Flycatcher being with her, and that [Y/N] alerting her to his suspicions may have created an issue. She frowns to herself, unsure whether he’s intentionally writing the note as she’s reading so she will see it, or maybe she’s reading too far into it. Neither option makes her feel better. 

The pit in her stomach expanding and the need to leave arising, to avoid her mistakes screaming to life. Should she apologize? Should she leave it alone? 

“[Y/N],” she blinks and looks over at him, finding pools of detachment searching her face, “what is it?”

She shakes her head in confusion, “did I say something?”

“Your face.”

“Right. You’re a Detective,” she hesitates, knowing she can’t lie to him, but she doesn’t know how to approach the subject, either. She looks away from his debilitating eyes, but can feel his eyes linger as he waits. She half expected him to ignore her and go back to reading. She awkwardly points to his handwriting.

There’s a moment of silence, and she assumes he’s reading it. The feeling of uneasiness grows, she doesn’t dare to check, words fumbling out of her mouth. “I did it, again. I really didn’t mean to, I just thought…no, it doesn’t matter.” She wants to hide in her hair, wants to explain that she was certain that telling Red why she’d brought Bigby, was the right decision. If her friend felt [Y/N] had betrayed her, would she say anything the Sheriff would have needed? Somehow, she knows he’d find a way to get the information.

“You know why it’s an issue, right?” Why did he sound so…calm?

“Because she could lie, and I’m biased in trusting her.”

“Well, yes, but if she’s the one doing it, which I have no solid evidence that denies her involvement, aside from…” he moves one page and she can see the note from the Mundies’ body. She shakes her head in confusion, looking over at him. He takes the chance to explain, “at her apartment, the shopping list. The handwriting doesn’t match. If that was her handwriting in the notepad, then she either changed her handwriting to deliberately throw me off the trail, or it isn’t her.” [Y/N]’s eyes widen, he takes another drag from his cigarette before he stops her, “that doesn’t mean she’s no longer a suspect, [Y/N], it just means it’s less likely. But,” he shifts and stands to look at her, “I mean it, do not do that again. Because if she is the killer, you just gave her reason to cover her tracks and make it harder for me to solve this case.”

She nods and looks down. She fidgets a bit and looks around his home, trying to find any way to make the tension disappear.

“Sheriff, why do you live in such a dump?”

He snorts and looks at her, “it’s small, but I don’t get visitors, so it makes no difference.”

“Do you even have a bed?” she follows behind him as he makes his way into the small kitchen.

“Don’t need one. Got my recliner.”

“That I slept in last night, so where did you sleep?” 

Silence

“Sheriff, you did sleep, right?” 

“Are you hungry, or what?”

Her brows knit in confusion, “What?”

“Hungry. You know, eating food? Are you hungry?”

“I mean, a little bit, but that’s not-” 

“I’ll make us something if you sit down and don’t break anything.” 

She folds her arms, but she doesn’t miss the smirk on his face. Asshole but she smiles a bit, unable to help herself.

“There’s not much to break,” she walks back to sit down on his recliner. On the other side of the wall, she can hear him rummaging through his fridge and his cabinets. She looks out the window, leaning back in his chair. With a quiet sigh, she relaxes into the worn leather, running a hand over the arm. The thought that this is where Bigby sleeps both gives her a sense of safety as well as melancholy. She wonders if it’s really that comfortable for him. Sure, he can lean back, but really, what does that do? It doesn’t make much of a change. 

She hears the sizzle of eggs, the scent filling her nose. She remembers how she’d make eggs for herself alone in her kitchenette before her shifts at the Trip Trap, what felt like an eternity ago. As she recalls the fond memories, her eyes widen slightly in realization.

MY ORDERS! HOLLY!

“Sheriff, I need to go home. I have orders I need to get ready.”

“I’m still in the middle of an investigation and need to keep an eye on you,” he calls from the kitchen.

“Okay, so let’s relocate to my apartment, you can do your Detective thing while I complete my orders, and after that I need to go in for my shift at the Trip Trap.”

“I’m not welcome at the bar,” he comes around to be able to see her for a moment, folding his arms.

She huffs, “please, Sheriff? I still need to make money in order to keep up with my payments, and I need to be able to save for my Bed and Breakfast. Every cent helps.”

He examines her eyes, and shakes his head, “What happens if someone were to break into your apartment?”

“While we’re there? You arrest them.”

“If someone is breaking in, [Y/N], it’s not to snoop around. They won’t just lay down and let me arrest ‘em.” He walks back into the kitchen to move the food around the pan, preventing it from burning before he comes back.

“Then let Woody come with me, something. But I’m not willing to sacrifice my means of making ends meet because you’re as stubborn as a…mule doesn’t quite fit, but wolf doesn’t make sense. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. What difference will it make where you look at those folders?” His expression is even, unphased, and she sighs, her shoulders slumping. “Please, Bigby?”

His steady gaze meets her pleading expression, wrinkles between her brows more pronounced and the gleam in her eyes hit him like a silver bullet in the heart.

“Are you giving me puppy eyes?”

“Depends,” she juts out her bottom lip a bit, “is it working?”

“Hardly.” He walks back into the kitchen, and this time, he stays in there. She frowns and slumps into the recliner, suddenly feeling very antsy.

Bigby comes into the living room again, carrying two plates of eggs and sausage in his hands. He offers her one plate and, as she takes it, she murmurs a soft thanks. He walks over to the table, lowering himself to sit and starts to eat in silence. As he looks at the files, his mind drifts from conversation to conversation he’s had with each of the suspects. He doesn’t believe Riding is guilty, but that holds no weight. He can’t risk Fabletown or its citizens on a feeling, he needs solid evidence. But what evidence could he use? 

The crunch of sausage and the taste of the fatty flavor erupting on his taste buds is pleasant as he scours the papers for anything he hadn’t seen before. He has to go see Riding again, and Flycatcher. If he can see them at the same time, he stands a small chance at getting inconsistencies. Even so, [Y/N] gave them the chance to establish their alibi’s. He lets out a small huff of annoyance and a soft graze on his hip catches his attention. 

He looks over, finding [Y/N] sitting on the ground beside him, plate of food in her lap as she eats.

“What’re you doing?”

She looks up at him with her warm eyes and shrugs, “just felt weird being on my own in your home.”

“You were less than five feet away.”

“And?” 

He snorts, but it’s not in annoyance much to his own surprise. He uses his foot to push the other chair out, “at least sit on a chair.”

She hesitates for a moment before she pushes herself up to move and sit in the chair, “it’s really good, by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“The eggs and the sausage,” she reiterates, “thank you for making breakfast.” He can’t help but smile, just the slightest bit at that.

“Well, it’s not as good as yours, but it works.” There is another silence, a comfortable one, but Bigby can tell she has something she wants to say. “You have something you want to say?”

She looks over at him, then looks at her almost empty plate. “I think you already know what it is.”

“Say it anyway.”

“I need to go and complete my orders, and go in for my shift at the Trip Trap tonight. What can I do for you to let me go?” 

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, “it’s not a matter of me letting you go, you’re your own person, but there are dangers and it’s my job to make sure that the Mundie victim stays the only victim. They glamoured her to look like you for a reason.”

“I know, which means we have no way of knowing whether I’m a target or not, but I can’t fulfill my orders here. The smoke will get into the fabric and will stink everything up.” 

He looks over at her, as she pushes the last piece of sausage around her plate with her fork. Just like he takes his role as Sheriff seriously, she takes her job as bartender and entrepreneur seriously. He can't blame her for that, but he still has to find a way to keep her safe.

“Maybe having your own time will be best, and I’ll continue investigating in the meantime.” [Y/N]’s eyes light up at his words, “but that doesn’t mean you are free to be reckless, you need to have Holly or Grendel walk you home from your shift every night, and to work every morning. Or, you call them while you take a taxi. When you’re home, you keep the music low so you can hear, doors and windows stay closed and locked, and the Business Office stays on speed dial.”

“Of course, I promise,” she reaches out without thinking, her hand covering his. He can see her cheeks flush for just a moment before she pulls her hand away, “sorry, I just got excited. Want me to wash the dishes?”

“No, just put it in the sink. We’ll catch a taxi and we’ll drop you off at your apartment, then I’ll continue on to see Amelia Star.”

“Again?”

“Yes, I have some follow up questions.”

[Y/N] adjusts her emerald dress as she carefully steps down the concrete steps to the entrance of the Trip Trap. She just barely had enough time to finish most of her orders and leave them to cool and set while she went to shower and get ready for her shift. The last four orders should be easy to complete, and she still has two dozen more muffins to make for one of the other orders, but at least she got the most urgent ones out of the way. 

The bar is a quiet hum of soft, familiar voices and, as she rounds the corner to get a full view of the bar, Holly lifts her gaze from the glass she was drying and freezes. Her eyes wide, muscles tense. Gren notices from his spot at the bar and looks over his shoulder, his normally pissed expression softens in equal surprise, and relief. 

“Hey, guys, what’s wrong? You act like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

Holly lowers the glass to the counter and walks around, “[Y/N]? But, the Sheriff told us you were…” 

[Y/N]’s eyes widen as she realizes she forgot to call, “OH! Holly I’m so sorry, it was,” Bigby’s words fluttered in her mind, “it wasn’t really me. After everything happened, the Sheriff came by my apartment and I stayed with him so he could make sure I wasn’t really going to be killed. I completely forgot to call you, I’m so sorry.”

She doesn’t miss Gren’s face sour, “you just forgot to call, leaving us to mourn you? That’s a hell of a way to show your appreciation.”

[Y/N] frowns, but knows Gren is right, nor is he trying to be mean. She looks over at Holly again, stepping up and tenderly takes the troll’s hand, “I really did mean to call, there was just so much happening. I had to convince the Sheriff to let me come here alone for my shift.” 

Holly’s brows furrow and her nose scrunch at the idea of Bigby stepping foot in her bar. Even if it was to make sure her friend is safe. What a shitty situation.

“Just,” the silver haired woman starts with a sigh, “get to work. There’s a table over there that I haven’t had a chance to clean yet.” 

[Y/N] frowns, but nods as she walks around the bar to set her bag on one of the shelves underneath. She heads over to the table with mugs and a small saucer with squeezed lime wedges. She gathers the items, acutely aware of eyes on her. A lump forms in her throat, and she halfheartedly reassures herself that giving them their space will make things go back to the way they were.

“[Y/N],” Holly calls, and the blonde pauses in mopping the floor to look over at her. The troll approaches, stopping just in front of her, and [Y/N] feels her throat tighten in worry. “I’m glad to see you’re safe.” The blonde lets out the breath she’d been holding.

“I don’t know if I’m safe, but I’m alive.” 

Holly nods, “just try to keep me more in the loop, I don’t need to plan another funeral.” 

[Y/N] frowns but nods in understanding, leaning the mop handle against the pool table, gently wrapping her arms around her boss and friends slender waist, hugging her tightly. It feels so nice to feel familiarity again, after what felt like years. Holly hugs her back, and Gren rolls his eyes at the sappy display, keen on pretending he isn’t just as relieved to see their friend breathing.

[Y/N]’s feet ache from standing in heels all day, and she can’t wait to get home and rub her aching feet. All of her orders have been completed, and as she gathers the trash, she feels her muscles relax. Almost done, then I can get out of here She wonders if she has enough ingredients leftover to make herself some doughnuts. If she does, she could probably save some for the Sheriff, too.

She wonders how he is doing, it had been three days since she had heard from him. Three long days, and she found herself missing his company, no matter how distant he could be. Hoisting the trash bag over her shoulder, she makes her way to the back door wondering how his days had gone. She finds her mind returning to the dream she had in his recliner, how the hands felt so real and pleasantly warm. 

As she opens the door to the dark alleyway behind the bar, the asphalt is shiny like inky pools from the damp New York rain. Making her way to the large dumpster, she feels the light sprinkle of the rain on her skin, the humidity hanging in the air like a wool blanket, and for a split second she lets out a sigh of dread, knowing her hair is going to be insufferable. 

As she lifts the lid, she thinks back about the Sheriff’s hands, the dream fluttering to life again. How could so many people be afraid of him? He’s aloof, and kind of mean at times, but she can’t imagine him hurting anyone. 

Wait, as she drops the trash into the dumpster, dropping the lid closed, turning to walk to the bar, she wonders to herself, is he a virgin?

The toe of her heel hits something and she falls forward, stumbling and barely managing to catch herself, but the heel of her shoe slips on the asphalt and she falls, trying to use the fat of her thigh and her forearms to catch herself. She grunts as she lands and pushes herself up, looking over to see what she tripped over. A massive pale and calloused hand lays on the ground in the damp puddle. 

Her mouth dries and she shakily crawls closer, reaching into her dress pocket to pull out her phone. Turning on the flashlight, she raises it to the space beside and behind the dumpster, her eyes widen and tears well up in fear. Her heart falls into her stomach and she screams out in sadness, fear, and disbelief as she looks at Woody’s body stuffed haphazardly behind the dumpster. Three large slashes across his chest as if some animal had cut him open. 

As her tears fall, she screams again, more like a howl this time.

[carduelism]

Making RDR2 characters into bagels: Charles Smith

Hyperfixation is evil but also great so. Ever wanted to take a bite out of charles?yeah me too. So have this recipe for a herbal sweet savoury gingery bagel

(Recipes for Arthur and John are made and coming, just need to get photos ❤️ Expect the rest of the camp too)

Results:

Recipe:

Usually I'd be batch making bagels, but I'm just going to make 2.

1 cup of plain flour

Bloom 1/2 tablespoon of yeast in warm water (wait 10 mins) then add water as needed til dough comes together

(I don't like measuring liquid as it may over hydrate the dough and that's uncomfortable to work with)

2 tablespoons maple syrup

Pinch of salt

2 tablespoons of ginger

1 tablespoons of thyme

1 teaspoon of nutmeg

1/2 table spoon of cinnamon (because I’m evil and really like cinnamon)

You can also just measure seasonings with your heart if you are brave enough

Half your dough for the marbling. Add a teaspoon of blue food dye and the slightest dash of red

Knead each dough for 10-15 minutes. Put a cute video or music in the background as you knead if you want. And yes im sorry for making there be two doughs, you will need to knead separately for a combined time of 20-30 minutes 😞

Let doughs rest for an hour, or however long your ADHD brain deems an hour. The doughs should have doubled in size

Start working on the water you are going to boil the bagel in, I put a gulp of molasses in my big pot, turn the heat up and put the lid on, get it boiling! You can use other sweeteners too; honey, brown sugar, maple syrup.

Also preheat your oven to 180C/350F (fan-forced)

Third each ball of dough and then sandwich them randomly together. Mush the dough around for a bit to make sure there stuck to each other but not enough for the colour to start mixing. Then you can half the dough again and begin making the bagel shape via this method:

make a dough ball by rolling it around on your surface. Puncture your finger through the middle to make the hole (HINT: the hole will close in during the second rising and possibly during boiling, so make the hole bigger than you think it would need to be!)

Let the bagels rise for 10-15 minutes on some baking paper. I like to cut the baking paper underneath it into squares, it helps with placing it into the boiling water (as a guy with nasty burns from baking I get Very scared) and just falls off.

Once they've risen for the second time, place those bad boys in the water! Air lift them by the sides of the baking paper and drop them in carefully please I don't want anyone getting burnt. Now here is where you get to decide on texture;

Boil for a minute minimum, this gives the shiny effect and sets the bagels size but keeps a fluffier texture. If you like your bagels chewier and tougher like me, I go with 5 minutes lol.

Consider what texture you want!

Put the bagels on baking paper in a tray but before putting them in the oven, add an egg wash. Mix a whole egg together and brush that shit on top, makes the bagel brown nicely. If you don't have a brush, just use paper towel; dip it in the egg and brush it over the bagel.

For the decorative effects I put poppyseeds and chia seeds on the pale dough coloured side, and used the clean flat end of a texta (bit less than 1cm) dipped slightly in egg and then in flour for the dots.

OVEN TIME!!!!!! Put them in for 35-45 minutes (I accidentally under baked mine at 35 mins and they were a bit gummy…)

I would serve with well marinated meat though I Am pescatarian and fold salmon slices worked quite well too, of course veggos can use tofu too. used some stronger herbs instead of a salad, like rocket ect 😗

Enjoy!

[babyjakes]

forever and a day | 53. accident.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

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summary | a story in which america’s favorite captain gives a new life and family to a five-year-old girl who has suffered well beyond her years at the hands of hydra.

characters | dad!steve rogers, girl/willa rogers (original character)

warnings | AU similar enough to OU to include spoilers to many Marvel movies (Age of Ultron and beyond). action and fight scenes with violence and killing. injuries/mild gore. mature themes related to and semi-graphic depictions of child abuse/neglect, past CSA and CSM, and their aftermath (emaciation, wounds, scarring, etc). medical abuse (including sterilization) and experimentation. ptsd/trauma symptoms in a child (developmental discrepancies, de-humanized behavior, detachment, extreme fears). medical treatment of CSM and other aftermath of abuse.trauma-informed therapeutic treatment of ECT. minor mentions of disordered eating. themes relating to abuse of power/authority and immoral interrogation tactics including SA (with brief depictions.) evil!Tony Stark.

[Bucky]

The sound of the doorbell ringing in the middle of the night rouses me from my usual restless slumber. Grunting as I twist from my side to my back on my mattress, I stare at the ceiling as my mind takes several moments to adjust to being awake again. Who the hell could that be? I think to myself, my heart beginning to pound lightly in my chest as anxiety builds in my throat. I don't know who would come knocking at an hour like this, but given my past, I'm heavily inclined to be skeptical.

Forcing myself up to a sitting position, I glance over at the red numbers of my alarm clock glowing faintly in the dark. 2:49am. What on earth?

Dragging myself out of bed, I switch on my bedside lamp, fumbling around on the ground to find an overshirt and throwing it on over my pajamas before walking slowly out of the room. I make my way up to the front of the apartment slowly, putting on as few lights as possible for myself in an attempt to minimize the amount that can be detected from outside. By the time I reach the front door, my whole body is shaking. Cursing the fact that I have no peephole or window to see out easily, I clear my throat, asking firmly through the thick wood, "Who's there?"

Almost too quiet to detect, a muffled voice responds, "Bucky? I-it's Willa. C-can I-... c-can you-... sorry, sorry for b-bothering you." Realizing who it is, my entire body relaxes as I let out a sigh of relief. I immediately undo the locks and open up the door to find the poor thing shivering out in nothing but her light blue teddy bear pajama shirt and undies, carrying a mess of bedsheets at her feet. Her cheeks are bright red and stained with tears, her big green eyes glancing up shamefully towards me.

"Willa- hi," I murmur, a bit stumped by her appearance. "Hi sweetheart, are you alright? What're you doing up so late, hmm?" I ask, ushering her in the door. Closing it behind her and kneeling down to her level, I look over her once more. Noticing that her underwear are soaked through, with her matching pajama pants balled up along with the mess of sheets, the dots start connecting in my head; she probably had an accident in her sleep. I still don't know, though, how or why she ended up at my door.

"'m sorry. D-did I wake you up? 'm so sorry," she mumbles, her head hanging lamely as she sniffles.

"It's okay, bunny. Don't worry about it," I tell her gently, unsure of what to do or say. "Are you okay, sweetie? What're you doing here? Does Steve know where you are?" At the man's name, the girl flinches slightly, shaking her head.

"'m sorry. Tried t-to do it by m'self but c-couldn't reach," she rambles as a few more tears make their way down her flushed cheeks. "Please don't tell D-Daddy. He'll be s-so mad."

"What do you mean, doll? Couldn't reach what?" I ask, leaning my face in a bit closer and raising my brow sympathetically at her.

Keeping her gaze on the floor, she whimpers, "Th-the machine, to wash m-my sheets. W-wet them... while I was s-sleeping. H-had a nigh'mare. Don't beat me, please. Please don't." More tears drip down her nose and onto the floor as she quivers, my heart breaking at her pleas.

"No sweetie, I won't beat you. You're alright, doll," I soothe warmly, reaching out to rub her back lightly. Jumping, she sniffles as she eyes my arm warily, clearly not trusting my gentle touch. "It's okay to have accidents, Willa. No one's gonna hurt you for it; I certainly won't. You need help cleaning up your sheets?" I ask. She nods defeatedly. "Okay. We can wash them in my machine, okay? Your pajama pants, too, and your undies. And we can get you cleaned up too, kiddo. How does that sound?" I offer.

"Y-yes please," she agrees quietly. Giving her a smile, I carefully take the contents of her hands from her.

"Alright missy, follow me," I tell her as I rise to my feet, walking back through the apartment to the washer and dryer, which are tucked in a closet by the bathroom. Willa trails behind me silently with her head still lowered, a stray tear still making its way down her face every once and a while.

Opening up the folding closet doors, I load what the child gave me into the top machine before crouching down again at her height, asking softly, "Could I get you a big t-shirt to wear while we wash your clothes? That way you can still keep covered up," I offer, not wanting to ask her to give up the underwear until she has something else to cover herself with. Receiving a nod, I stand again, going into one of the baskets of clean clothes I've yet to put away from my last cycle that sits in the closet beside the stacked machines.

"Here, how about this," I try, pulling out an old maroon shirt that seems like it'll fit her somewhat like a dress. She nods as I hand it to her, suggesting, "How about I cover my eyes and turn around while you get changed. Is that okay?" I ask carefully, not wanting to cross the little girl's boundaries. She nods warily as I give her a comforting smile, covering my eyes as promised with both of my hands and turning around.

I can hear quite shuffling as the child gets changed. After a few moments, she tells me, "'m done."

"Okay bug," I hum as I turn back around and uncover my eyes, taking her soiled clothes off the ground and loading them with the rest in the machine. Measuring out some detergent and popping it in the washer as well, I hit the button to start the cycle, the cheery chimes of the machine sounding as the water begins whirring inside. Turning back to the little girl, I crouch down again to her height, my heart aching as she winces slightly. "If you want, you can use my bathtub to get cleaned up. I don't have baby wipes, but I can give you a washcloth and some soap and you can use the tub's faucet. Does that sound alright?" She nods silently as her wide eyes gaze into mine, seeming relieved that she'll be allowed to do it on her own.

"Alright bunny, this way," I tell her as I rise back up to a standing position, guiding her over and into the bathroom. Switching the light on, I make my way over to the tub and get the water running, making sure it's a comfortable temperature for her before stepping back over to the cabinet under the sink and pulling her out a clean washcloth. Willa stands sheepishly in the doorway, watching my every move as I prepare the things for her, grabbing a big fluffy towel and setting it down right outside the tub. "Here's the soap I have; it's some really nice hand-made stuff I got at the market," I tell her as I place the bar down on the edge of the tub along with the cloth. "Okay sweetheart, how about I go back out into the living room and let you get cleaned up, and you can come join me when you're done," I propose.

"N-no beating?" she mumbles quietly, still frightened that she might be punished for her mistake.

"No babydoll, no beating," I promise her. "You did a good job, coming and asking for help," I add, remembering something Steve had told me about her therapy and exposure work. While it would've made a lot more sense for her to seek out Steve instead of me, the fact that she asked anyone at all is progress. "Willa, can I ask you a question?" I ask slowly, not wanting to overwhelm her or make her fears escalate. Her eyes widen slightly, but she nods. "Honey, why didn't-... why didn't you ask Steve?" I question softly. "If you're worried that I might beat you, too, then... what difference did it make?"

Her gaze falls to the floor as she trembles in the doorway, swallowing hard before revealing her answer. "D-don't... don't want Daddy to beat m-me," she whispers. "P-pounded that guy's face in... h-he could hurt me really b-bad." My heart breaks at her revelations, but they make sense, so I nod. She does have a point. While I was mutilated to be a super soldier like Steve, it's no secret that he's the stronger of the two of us. If Willa's train of thought was that either way she would be beaten, and she was just trying to avoid as much damage as possible, her choice makes sense.

"Little dove," I breathe sadly, not even sure where to begin. "Sweetie, Steve would never hurt you; he'd never beat you. He loves you so much, so, so much, and he'd never do something like that," I tell her, but I know that her worries are deeply engraved in her brain, and that it'll take a lot more time and experience than just simple words to put them at ease. "Everyone has accidents, honey. Everyone does when they're little, especially when they've gone through as many scary things as you have," I reason. "Steve knows that; he would never be angry with you for it. He'd do the same thing I'm doing, help you clean up and wash the sheets. That's all," I coo, wishing I could prove it to her. "Bunny, you're always welcome to come to me for help. I'll always do my best to help you. But Steve wants to help you too, Willa. That's what he's there for; that's what Daddy's are for."

Willa sniffles and I sigh, deciding that at this point it's probably wisest to just let the poor thing get clean before pursuing any further discussion on the matter. "Here, I'll let you wash up," I tell her as I step past her out into the hallway, closing the door over behind me before heading back out into the living room.

As I continue to listen to the water run faintly from the bathroom, I pull my phone out from my pocket, unlocking it and pulling up Steve's contact. As much as I hate going against Willa's wishes, I think the smartest thing to do would be to have him come down here and address the situation as soon as possible. Besides, I don't want him to wake up and find her missing; that would scare the shit out of him. Letting out a deep sigh, I hit his number, a call popping up and ringing only a few times before there's an answer.

"Buck?" Steve's sleepy voice calls.

"Hey pal," I greet lowly, taking a seat on the couch. "You're probably gonna wanna throw on some shoes and come down here."

[Steve]

"She what?" I exclaim as I throw on a sweatshirt, making my way quickly through the apartment to the front door to slip on my shoes.

"Yeah, she showed up in nothing but her pajama shirt and underwear, carrying all her sheets at her feet. Said she had a bad dream," he explains.

"Oh god," I breathe, brushing my hair back anxiously as I make my way out the front door, being sure to lock it behind me. "I'm so sorry, Buck. I had no idea she would do something like this. I should've guessed something might-"

"No, no, it's okay, Steve," he tells me quickly. "Really, it's no trouble. I'm glad she felt safe enough to come to me about it. It's good that she came to someone, anyone."

"You said she was begging not to be beaten?" I repeat what he had said, making my way across the porch to the stairs.

"Yeah. She's still pretty worried that she's going to be punished for stuff like this. I told her that neither of us would ever do that, of course, but it's just gonna take time," he replies.

"Yeah- we're working on it with her therapist, but I think you're right," I agree as I make my way down to Bucky's apartment. "I'm outside," I let him know.

The front door to the home opens up before me, and I switch my phone off, shoving it in my pocket as my friend lets me in. Closing the door behind me, he offers me a sad smile. "Hey, punk," he mutters, patting me lightly on the shoulder.

"Hey, thanks again for everything," I say sincerely, still feeling incredibly guilty for all the trouble he's gone through for the little girl.

"No problem, pal," he waves it off as I step into the apartment, hearing water running back from what I'm guessing is the bathroom. "She's getting herself cleaned off right now. I have her sheets and clothes in the washer, and she's got a big t-shirt of mine to wear in the meantime."

"Okay. Thanks Buck," I thank him again. "Does she know you called me?"

"Uhh... no," he admits, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "She begged me not to tell you, but I figured it would be better for you to come and get the situation addressed." I nod, thankful for his decision. Hearing the water shutting off, Buck looks behind him before turning back to me, suggesting, "Maybe we should meet her at the bathroom, so she doesn't try to run back through the house or anything."

"Sounds good to me," I agree, doing my best to mentally prepare myself for whatever kind of reaction the little girl might have to my arrival.

"I'm gonna let her know you're here, and then I'll let you take over," he decides as he leads me back to the closed bathroom door. The light from inside peeks out from under the wood as faint shuffling can be heard from the other side. "I don't wanna overwhelm her with both of us in a small space like that, so I'll just let you handle it," he tells me, earning a nod.

Turning and knocking gently against the door, Bucky calls, "Hey Willa? You doin' okay in there?"

"A-a'most done," she calls back, the shakiness of her voice causing my heart to break. The whole situation in general is incredibly saddening. While I think Bucky is right in that it's an improvement for her to have sought out any help at all, it still makes me feel unbelievably guilty that she's so scared of me, apparently even more scared than she is of Buck. "O-okay," she says.

"Alright," Bucky says opening up the door slightly. From where I'm standing, I can't quite be seen yet by the child. "Sweetheart, while you were getting cleaned up, I had to call Steve and let him know what was going on," he tells her slowly. Though I can't see her, I can just picture her beginning to dissolve into a mess of anxiety. Soft whimpers can be heard from inside the room, making my heart tighten in my chest. "Shhh bunny. it's okay. He's not angry, not at all. He's just happy you're here and safe," he murmurs soothingly, stepping aside and motioning for me to join him.

Taking a deep breath, I shift over into the doorway; the sight before me breaks my heart. Willa stands trembling on the bath mat in one of Bucky's old t-shirts, her eyes overflowing with tears as a look of pure terror and betrayal makes its way onto her face. She flinches back at the sight of me, bumping up against the wall behind her and letting out a frightened sound as she realizes she's trapped. "I'll let you two have some time alone," Bucky sighs as he steps away, heading back into one of the rooms at the back of the apartment and closing the door.

"Willa-bug," I coo, keeping my voice as soft and low as possible. The poor child's knees begin to wobble underneath her as she stares at me, her bottom lip trembling in fear. Stepping a bit inside the bathroom, I bend my knees in hopes of coming off as unintimidating as I can, though my efforts seem to do little in helping the girl relax. "Hey sweetheart- it's okay, Willa. You're not in trouble. I'm not here to hurt you," I tell her softly.

The little girl's chest rises and falls erratically as tears continue pouring down her cheeks, a soft whimper rising in her throat before she opens her mouth, barely able to make any sound at all. "P-... p-p-..." she tries, her eyes widening in fear as she struggles to speak. "P-please," she finally manages, adding, "'m sorry, 'm so s-sorry. Didn't m-mean to. D-don't beat me, please don't beat me."

"Willa, Willa, shhh," I soothe, inching myself a tiny bit closer to her as she shakes feverishly against the wall. "Shhh, sweetheart- I'm not gonna beat you, doll. No beating," I tell her reassuringly as I bend down onto my knees before her, causing her to jump again. "I know you didn't mean to, sweetie. I know. It's okay, doll. You're not in trouble. Bucky said you had a nightmare?"

She nods, swallowing down her sobs as I soften my expression for her, murmuring, "Oh honey, that's alright. You couldn't help it that you had a scary dream." The look in her eyes tells me that she's skeptical of my words, but I continue, "It's okay, accidents happen. You're still little, sweetie. No one's mad at you. And you did a good job, you asked someone for help. That was really brave of you, darlin'. I'm so proud of you."

Willa's eyes widen at my words, and she asks, "P-p'oud of me?"

Despite her confusion, I just nod, explaining, "Yeah baby, you were really scared, but you came to Bucky for help anyway. You didn't do it all by yourself. That was good, Willa. You did such a good job." The child blinks, still appearing perplexed at my words. "Next time, it would be good if you could come to me," I add. "I know you were scared that you were going to be beaten, and that you would rather be hurt by Bucky than me. But no one's gonna beat you here, Willa. Never. I'll never hurt you or punish you, no matter what you do."

Willa's eyes gaze warily into mine and I open up my arms for her, earning a soft flinch. "Here sweetheart, you want a hug?" I offer, wanting nothing more than to wrap her up safely in my embrace. A pitiful look of longing forms on her face as she takes in my position, letting out a quiet whine of want. "It's okay doll, Daddy won't hurt you. Just wanna hold you."

And to my surprise, despite all the fear lingering in her big green eyes, Willa slowly steps forward, her face tucking itself away into my chest as I wrap her up softly and lift her off the floor. Carefully, I rise to a standing position, holding her safely against me as her tears begin to soak through my sweatshirt. "Hey- shhh," I soothe, rubbing her back tenderly as I sway her gently from side to side. "You're okay, Willa-bug. I've got you, it's okay."

"N-no beating, please no beating," she begs quietly.

"No beating," I repeat back to her, "no beating, baby. Just soft. Just safe." For several minutes, the little girl continues to cry silently into the damp fabric of my sweatshirt as I keep rocking her, offering quiet shushes every now and then in hopes of soothing her fears. Eventually, her breaths start to even out, and it occurs to me that she must be exhausted after all the night's events.

"You tired, sweetheart?" I ask, stroking down her hair gently as she shifts weakly against me, her head completely limp on my chest. She nods silently and I stroke her hair again, telling her, "That's okay, honey. It's pretty late, and you've had quite the night. I'm gonna thank Buck again and let him know we'll come get the sheets in the morning, but you can close your eyes if you want to, okay? I'll hold onto you," I soothe.

"H-have to sleep in th-the cold?" she whimpers, catching me slightly off guard.

"In the cold? What do you mean, baby?" I ask as I head out of the bathroom, shutting off the light behind me.

"N-no sheets, n-no blankies," she pouts.

"Oh," I say with a slight chuckle, now understanding. "No baby, of course not. You can sleep with me in my bed. How does that sound?"

"Daddy's bed," she hums lovingly, her thumb having made its way up into her little mouth. "Big. Lots'a blankies"

"That's right," I agree, "big bed, soo many blankies, baby. Plenty of room for both of us. And that way, if you have another scary dream, Daddy'll be right there to make it all better," I add.

"All better," she mumbles sleepily into her thumb, her eyelids fluttering as they fall shut.

"All better, sweetheart," I coo, rubbing her back lovingly as she falls asleep right in my arms.

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[dualdeixis]

[Image description: Two digital drawings featuring Strelitzia as an adult. Both scenes are enclosed in a circular border with four nodes. In the first, Strelitzia wears the true Dandelion cloak. She stands tall, the toe of her boot extending past the border. She has an immense halo around her head, which begins with a shock of white before bursting into many bright colors. Her left hand is raised in a beckoning gesture, showing that she wears a rose-shaped ring on her scarred middle finger. With her right hand, she points at Vanitas, who kneels before her in his sleeveless yukata and raises his hands as if to either defend himself or swear fealty. Both of their faces are cast in shadow, revealing only their eyes. Vanitas's eyes are wide with terror as he stares up at Strelitzia, but hers are calm and gleam with an unnatural light as she looks at the viewer. A Chrono Twister, Archraven, Red Hot Chili, Prize Pod, Blobmob, and Spiderchest are gathered behind Vanitas, while a small, wine-colored Flood latches onto his side, as if trying to help him. The background is a pattern made up of dots and the letter X; there are some gaps in the pattern which are filled with streaks of bright red, resembling wounds.

In the second drawing, Strelitzia stands in a dark ocean with Kingdom Hearts as a blood moon framing her head. She wears Sephiroth's Dissidia outfit. She extends her right hand to the viewer, while her left hand rests on the guard of Kingdom Key D. To her right stands Vanitas in Sephiroth's KH2 outfit, and to her left is Ventus in Cloud's KH2 outfit. All three of them have their faces hidden by white haloes; Vanitas and Ventus's mirror each other and resemble a partial solar eclipse, while Strelitzia's halo combines the two into a total eclipse. Paine, Yuna, and Rikku float above them with celebratory expressions and poses. The background is a pattern of blue arabesques with interspersed pink dots. End image description.]

seven demons (GLORIOSA) / mistress of martyrs (GENEROSA)

happy birthday @maverickflare !!

[th0rns-n-r0ses]

slow dance ~

axl rose ~ fluff ~ female reader ~ 1024 words ~

~~~~~

On New Year’s Day for a celebration, you’re at the record label’s New Year’s party. You really have no reason to be there, but plus-ones are allowed, and how could you say no to your boyfriend when he offers things like this?

You’re casually talking to a few people from the label, smiling and laughing. You then feel someone grab your hand and drag you away. You’d normally yelp out of surprise, but this time, you know exactly who’s hand it is. A little bony, slightly cold and much larger than yours, you know right away it’s Axl’s hand. You nearly stumble to the ground, but you feel his other arm catch you.

“Don’t trip and fall on me now, beautiful.” Axl gives you a bright smile. Oh, God, that smile. It’s such a pretty smile that looks like the bright crescent moon that always makes your heart beat faster and your entire body go warm. You simply chuckle at his sweet comment as he stands you back up on your feet.

“I found something cool. Want me to show you, honey?” Axl holds your hand while smiling at you, his bright blue eyes blazing like icy fire.

“You think I’m gonna say no? I always love what you have to show me, Axy.” You set your mostly empty glass of champagne down on a tray full of empty glasses and follow him as he drags you along by your hand. You scan his body up and down. It’s a little odd seeing him in such formal attire like a suit, but he always looks so dashing when he dresses up like this. It just makes your heart flutter!

Axl pulls you outside and into a rose garden. Your eyes wander around, taking in the scenery. There’s a gazebo in the middle of the garden with rose vines wrapping around it, little rosebuds dotting it, partnered by fully grown and bright red roses. There were colors all around. Orange, white, pink, red, and burgundy. Your jaw falls open as you look around at the place. If it was a completely sunny day, it would’ve taken your breath away more than it already did. But it isn’t, it’s a cloudy day at 11:00 PM. Yet, it still looks so incredibly beautiful and gorgeous, the dim lights spilling out of the windows and onto the roses.

“Oh, Axl, this is just beautiful..” You move your eyes away from the roses to his face. His ginger hair was done and slicked back, and he has those glasses on. God, he always looks so adorable yet handsome in those circle glasses he wears from time to time.

His eyes travel up and down your body, taking in your figure in the long red dress you have on. How it flows around your body, and that cut up the side that goes to your thigh.. Axl’s head is in the clouds. You’re just so pretty to him, and every little thing you do makes his heart beat a little faster.

“God, you’re so pretty. I just..” One of his hands moves to your waist and snakes around it a little, holding you by the small of your back. The other hand travels down your arm and to your hand, holding it in his. “I just love you so much.”

Your free hand instinctively moves to his shoulder, and your other hand moves up a little, still holding his. You give him a gentle smile, and he gives you a smile back. His eyes just look like a calm sea shore right now, and how his soft lips curl into that smile.. God, he’s adorable. He looks down at you with love in his heart and your eyes making contact. You both begin to slow dance together, your bodies moving with each other. The whole outside world feels blotted out now, and it’s just you and Axl in that rose garden dancing together, your eyes never moving away from each other.

About a minute into dancing with him, you feel little raindrops in your hair and one on the tip of your nose and all over your arms and body. But you don’t dare stop dancing with him, as this moment is just too perfect to let go of. You both dance your way deeper into the rose garden as the rain falls harder. The few people who were outside before rush inside quickly, seeking cover from the rain. But not you and Axl, no, you two just keep smiling at each other and slow dancing. He twirls you, smiling down at how your dress moves, even as it’s sopping wet from the rain. You two continue to dance and the rain pours, drenching his suit and your dress. Axl’s hair, which was slicked back before, is now falling in front of his face and clinging to his skin. You move your hand off of his shoulder and brush the hair away from his face and rest your hand on his cheek for a moment, and he leans into the palm a little. Your smiles only grow wider, and you move your hand back to his shoulder. The rain sticks to your skin, making you look all shiny and sparkly. Your hair is dripping and drenched, but you couldn’t care less. The fact your dress might be ruined doesn’t even cross your mind, as all that you care about at this moment is just Axl. That’s all you can even conjure in this moment, your boyfriend and how your heart beats for him.

You dance out in the rain for what feels like about 3 minutes, but has been around nearly 15 minutes. Axl’s hand moves away from yours, and both of his hands travel to your waist. He hoists you up, holding you in the air as he spins the both of you in circles. A moment or two later, he sets you back down and his hand moves to your cheek, cupping your face. He pulls you close, and the two of you close your eyes and kiss as the rain pours on the two of you. ~~~~~

[The opportunity was too perfect, I couldn't not use this photo]

[thetistaboveall]

Lawrence’s Fantasy Hotel

Famous actors Benjamin Affleck, Ian Bohen and Jamie Lomas are honor guests at the opening of my brand now one of kind hotel experience to bring your deepest fantasies to life. They are paying me to entertain as they stay at my Fantasy resort with their choice of celebrity slave pets.

Benjamin Affleck is the first time honored guest to arrive as the limo is pulling up to the curb the door pop open and he steps on to the red carpet and even though he hates the celebrity.He can’t stand these events yet the camera set up is flashing so brightly, clicking so very loud at the sound of it all and the sexy smile of his crept on to his face spreading wildly in everyone’s face.His mind goes completely blank propelling his feet to move forward on to the cherry red carpet and a male escort guides him to the swinging double doors as they enter in to the room.

“Mr Affleck! Welcome to the event! Please do follow me.”

“I can’t help but do that”

“Our owner is awaiting us”

“I feel so weird”

“You feel perfectly fine “

“Yeah! I feel fantastic “

“Obviously! Thank you “

“Go inside the room”

“Yes! Thank you “

“What is this place?”

“Hello? Oh! He left “

“Anybody here?”

“Actually! I am the only one here”

“You are in another space and time”

“I’m sorry! Excuse me! Who are you?”

“Mwahahahahaha! Follow the path with your eyes.”

“That’s it! You see the red dot “

“YES! My eyes are fixated on it”

“Precisely! You are my project “

“I choose you to be the main guest tonight “

“I don’t understand “

“Stop trying to be some hero”

“You are not Batman”

“You are a burly chump “

“Ouch!l

“Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Maybe! It was kind of a turn off”

Something is off in the air as the dot grows it explodes covering the entirety of the wall shooting to cover over the other three walls and soon ceiling and the floor all of the color flows off.Forming a ball in the air the ball penetrates every sense in existence leaving him to his core shaking and eventually in a massive shambles. Ben is falling forward on to ten ground.The room begins to spin swooshing around and around till he faints everything goes in to spiral like situation and when he woke up he is now standing in the middle of my hotel room with a sexy smile and breaks out in a dance.

“Hello Sirs! Happy Birthday Jack. Let’s dance baby. I am about to strip!”

Ian Bohen does not know why or how he is now ending up next to Ben Affleck on stage hosting and presenting for a birthday party but yes he felt at home like he never wanted to be excited.The door soon lock surrounding us as the cool air from the vent sharply swooping all over the room hits Ian head on sending him flying on to the floor and his clothes strip open.He rises up unable to comprehend what is going on but Ben helps him up ripping off his clothes and Ian cannot do anything to stop it or help himself up as he wraps his arms over him.

“Ssshh….Command Prompt”

“Command please “

“It’s time”

“Everyone strip show”

“Pump the music”

“Dance off”

“Fuck yeah”

“Watch my ass “

“You see how it jingles “

“I feel enthralled “

“I am HOT”

“Mind if I join you babe?”

Ian can’t help himself bouncing on to the wall of the room doing a sexual sliding down the aisle moaning in pleasure in between my man Ben doing a back flip as the crowd Is roaring in excitement.Ian jumps up in to the backward forming a cannon ball landing before belting a note into the air and spinning in to the birthday boi Jack himself and sits on his lap with a wink.He does an unbelievable display of flirtatious then sits forward, placing his hand wrapping on is neck and doing a sexual lunges forces his cock to strengthen and grow forward a it presses on his pants.

“Hey babe!”

“Happy Birthday “

“Lay back”

“God! You are full and thick”

“How do you like my ass?”

“Kiss me”

“Lick my face “

“Mmmmm”

“Call me a good boi”

“Mmmmm”

“You say it so well”

“Fills my slave heart “

“FUCK!”

“YES”

“Fuck me!”

“So excited to be here bros”

“I’ve waited for my chance “

“Here we go”

“Stop flashing that in my eyes mate”

“Mate! I said “

“Mate!”

“Will you join me Jamie ?”

“Okay! Why not?”

“Great! Sleep”

“Command me”

“Showcase”

“Dance off”

“Party man”

“Yo bros!

“Want to see these pecs”

“My body is a toy”

“You mate come and feel them”

“I knew you love these guns”

“These are my guns “

“Kiss them”

“Ooohhh! Lick them “

“Take a deep breath”

“Inhale me”

“My every scent “

“My swerve”

“I smell good”

“Manly and musky “

“I bet you want “

“Bounce with Me”

“On my lips “

The end