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it-was-summer · 19 hours ago

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... And Fall In Love Whenever You Can.

A/N: This fic genuinely had me tearing up as I wrote it. Therefore, it shall hold a sweet place in my heart. As a kid, I used to say, "If something makes you feel, then it is good." I still believe that today. If it makes you happy, sad, flustered, ANYTHING! To feel something while reading is such a beautiful reaction to media. I often cry at movies, I cry when I read romance novels, I cry when I read poetry, and I laugh when I do, too. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you feel something, Em <3 (I also apologize for vanishing; I got sick, and it made me feel brain fog)

Link to the Ao3: ... And Fall In Love Whenever You Can Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Grief support group, mention of death(s), loss of romantic partners, struggling with mental health, tears, the rise and fall that is nonlinear healing, fear of forgetting a loved one, falling in love after tragedy, Spencer sounds like he had therapy, Maeve mentioned, guns mentioned, she/her pronouns for reader used at like one point, Reader's POV for the most part, Reader is in extreme denial and feels guilty, a secret other thing??, lightly proofread tehe!

Genre: Light Angst, Some? Hurt/Comfort, Fluff! Pairing: Season10! Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Plot: Meeting Spencer at a grief support meeting might be the best and the worst thing to ever happen to you- but it's all relative in the eyes of love.

Word Count: 9,791

You were pacing a dimly lit parking lot outside of the funeral home. It had been eleven months, two weeks, and three days since Alexander’s death. The grief meetings occurred every third Wednesday, and everyone was lovely enough. You just couldn’t find it in yourself to go inside this particular Wednesday. Because it was on this date, two years ago, Alexander had gotten on one knee at the aquarium and asked you to marry him. It was two years ago that you had said yes, not knowing that a little over a year from then, he’d be dead.

Your feet kept making strides to the double door entryway, only to slow to a stop when your hands reached the door’s push handle. Then, you’d shake your head and turn around to circle the parking lot once more. With your luck, the meeting would be over before you even got the courage to go inside.

A groan escapes your throat as you firmly put your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the Summer sky. “I’m sorry,” Your voice is raw, barely a whisper as you struggle to keep yourself from crying. You knew everyone said not to keep it in, to express your grief freely. It minimized stress. At least, that’s what the grief counselors say.

The worst part was no longer knowing who you were apologizing to— yourself or Alexander.

You were walking around one of the parking lot’s street lamps when you saw someone standing at the doors, frozen in place. It was like watching a mirror of yourself—rigid shoulders, twitching hands, shaking head.

You approach the man slowly, your image warped in the reflection of the glass doors. He turns to face you before you can speak, and he looks like you did eleven months ago. His eyes have dark circles around them, tinted with a red water-line and dull cheeks. That doesn’t stop you from gracing him with a gentle smile, “Are you going inside?”

His eyes meet yours for a second, looking away to glance back at the doors. “I’m not sure.” His voice is quiet, scared. He sounds like he is still on the fence. You nod, drawing your lips into a tiny line as you drop your hands to your sides. “Are you?” He asks, stepping out of the way for you.

You feel your mouth open to say you are going inside, but the words never come. Instead, you shake your head side-to-side timidly. “I’m not sure either,” You laugh out feebly. He nods, a dull smile gracing his delicate features for a millisecond before looking off with a forlorn expression.

“I was thinking about walking around the parking lot again… to try to gain the confidence to go inside. You’re,” you pause, wondering if it's a good idea to offer the man an invitation, “You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

The man looks at you again, his eyes widening for a second. You’re sure he’s about to decline, return to his car, and drive away, but he nods. You feel yourself smiling. It’s a little subdued, but it’s real. You mouth a silent ‘okay’ as you move your hands to your pant pockets, stepping away from the doors with this mourning stranger. You figured you didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to, so everything was quiet as the two of you slowly walked around the large parking lot.

Eventually, your quiet stranger speaks, “Thank you,”

You shrug a little, sniffling, “It’s daunting, especially the first meeting.”

He frowns a little, watching your eyes flit over to him and then back to the night sky. “That obvious?”

“Only a little, but that’s not a bad thing.” Your voice is gentle as your feet slow to a stop, a light smile appearing on your face as you stare into the night. Spencer tilts his head to look at the stars, silently hoping that what makes you smile will make him smile, too. “Do you see her yet?” You ask, voice like honey.

He feels like crying as he says, “No,” He doesn’t even know who you’re looking at.

Your right hand is coming out of your coat pocket as you point to Cassiopeia slowly, tracing the stars with your index finger. “Cassiopeia, she’s a little low right now, but in a few months, she’ll get higher. You see her?”

And Spencer does. He feels his body relax, just for a moment. “I do.” He feels himself smiling a little at the sky, and the feeling feels almost foreign. His gaze falls back to you as you stuff your right-hand pack into your pocket, “I’m– I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m Spencer.”

“That’s alright; I didn’t introduce myself either,” you sigh before you tell him your name. He nods at your response and follows you once your feet start moving again.

“Have you—” He motions to the funeral home in the distance, “ever been inside?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m a funeral home grief support group regular.” You joke lightly, though the soft chuckle you let out sounds like a sad one.

He nods, nervously adjusting the beige cardigan on his chest. “Is everyone—I mean—” He draws his lips closed as he tries to gather his thoughts. “Do you like it?”

Your feet slow for a second as you think about it. Sure, everyone was friendly, and the support was more helpful than harmful. But did you like it? You give him a little nod when you answer, “Yeah, it’s been nice. Less,” You tilt your head slowly like you’re choosing your words carefully. “Less Lonely.”

Spencer lets out a relieved-sounding sigh as he mutters a gentle “Right.”

“I just,” You swallow carefully, “I’m having a hard time going in today. My fiancé proposed two years ago today. I just— I mean everyone inside knows, I just,” You trail off for a second, sniffling lightly as a cool breeze brushes against your watering eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer didn’t know what to say to that. With Maeve, he had barely met her in person before she was murdered in front of him— the future pulled out from under him. Nowadays, he spends his time rereading books, remembering conversations on the phone, and mourning her silently in his apartment. Sometimes, he didn’t know which would be worse: losing her when he did or ten years down the line. Nonetheless, there is no Maeve to help him answer that question.

He struggles to find the words for a second before he nods, slow and unsure of himself, “It matters.”

You grin at how scared he sounds, the sound of a man holding on to the memory of a face that keeps fading away in his mind. “I know,” you can feel the ghost of the engagement ring on your left hand, a ring that now lies in a coffin.

As the two of you get close to the building once more, you ask, “Are you going to go in?”

Spencer swallows hard, the knot in his throat making it difficult for him to breathe. “Maybe next meeting,”

You nod, “Me too.” You stare at your car in the distance before you feel yourself standing in the parking lot with Spencer— unmoving. “I know it’s not a lot, and I know that I can’t help that much, but,” You pull your phone out of your pocket, opening the keypad cautiously before holding it out to him. “If you ever want to talk about it, or anything really, I’d be happy to talk with you.”

Normally, Spencer would decline such a kind gesture. He would thank you, drive home, and find solace in something familiar. His fingers twitch lightly as he reaches out for your phone, staring down at the keypad for a second before he puts in his number. He doesn’t know why he wants to talk with you. He thinks it’s because talking with a stranger about Maeve seemed less daunting than talking about it with his coworkers— his friends. You barely know him, and that makes your offer seem safe. No preconceived notions, pity, or gentle promises of being there for him, just a stranger talking to another stranger.

Two weeks go by like usual— no text from your stranger named Spencer, coffee for one at the café that was Alexander’s favorite, taking his mom to dinner on Thursdays, and so on. Sometimes, the days blur into a muddled painting filled with muted tones, and you try your hardest to remember when everything had a vibrant hue.

Most days are easy, easier than most, at least. It’s not that you forget about him. You remember him when you see a couple holding hands or golden retrievers going for walks, you think about him with everything you see, and it feels good to remember him. You’re happy to have known him so well, loved him so deeply. But all the love inside you has nowhere to go, so you go to his grave on Saturdays, hoping you can pour all the love in your heart onto a tombstone with his name on it. It never works, of course, but it helps.

You're running late this particular Saturday morning. You have two coffees in hand—one of which always goes untouched—and you’re stuck on the metro. That’s when you see him again, your stranger sitting in the fluorescents of the railcar.

Pushing through a small crowd, you approach him, slowly taking the empty seat next to him. Spencer doesn’t look up at first, his eyes glued to the book in his hands. That is until you’re leaning over to him to say a small “Hello,”

He jumps at the sound, head snapping to look at you with wide eyes. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised you remember him, but he is. “Hello,”

Your eyes meet his, “Do you remember me? I-I’m sorry I shouldn’t have invaded–”

“No! I mean, yes, I remember you. You’re not invading my space. You’re fine.”

You let out a relieved sigh, looking away from him for a second to look down at the cups in your hands. His eyes follow your gaze, and he offers you a shy smile, “Are you meeting someone?” Small talk was never his strong suit.

You look at him, eyes lingering on his polite smile. “Oh,” you laugh like it's funny. “No, it's just me.” Spencer gives you a confused look, and you quickly answer his silent question. “I visit Alex’s grave. He loved black coffee. It was the most unsettling thing about him.”

Spencer doesn’t know how you’re smiling so wide as you say it. How could you talk about someone you lost and smile so wide talking about them? Would he smile like that one day? Would he even have things to smile about, or would what-ifs haunt him until the day he dies?

You find that you hate the silence that follows, the lack of sound creeping over your skin, making you itch to say something more. “I’ve always liked cemeteries too, so bonus, I guess.”

That gets you a sharp laugh, “You’ve always liked cemeteries?” Spencer’s eyes seem slightly brighter now, less red than two weeks ago, and they’re laser-focused on you.

You happily nod, “Always thought they were beautiful. It’s a creation of love, a way for your love for someone to live on.”

“Not sure everyone thinks about them that way,”

“Well, I guess they wouldn’t, and that’s alright with me.” You hum softly as the intercom announces in a static-filled voice that the railcar will be moving soon. “It’s quieter that way.”

Spencer glances towards the intercom for a second before turning back to you, “I suppose you’re right— about the quiet thing, not sure I agree with always liking them.” And he’s smiling at you, a real smile.

You feel yourself smiling back, wide as ever, “What’s your opinion on cemeteries then?”

“I’d like to say I don’t have an opinion on them, but if I had to form one, I would say they’re…” He trails off for a second, thinking about it more now. He laughs for a second, “Well, I suppose I find them rather serene.”

Your eyebrows raise for a second as you study him. How he seems to be relaxing in the conversation, and you can’t help but consider extending him an invitation to your weekly visit with Alexander. The longer you stare at him, the more you think the worst he can say is no, so you ask. “Would you like to join me?”

Spencer reels back slightly at the invitation; it feels intimate, yet he doesn’t want to say no. He wants to see what you see, to understand your mind, “I–” He looks away for a second, staring at the still-opened book in his lap. “If you’ll have me.”

Once you are on the street, you hum lightly while walking beside him. Spencer doesn’t seem to mind very much, his fingers fiddling with the edges of his book that now resides closed in his hand at his side. He’s nervous for some reason. He doesn’t understand why you invited him, nor why he said yes. He thinks maybe he should announce that he has other plans, turn on his heel, and book it in the other direction.

But when the two of you tread closer to the cemetery gates, you start talking again. “I hope you don’t find it strange that I invited you. It’s been a little under a year– well, a year next week– and I know it might seem weird, but I’d like to think he’s happy about me having a new friend.”

He knows it is a coping mechanism, and he knows Alexander cannot feel anything anymore. Spencer’s a man of science, but hearing you say that makes him feel at ease. His shoulders unwind slowly, “He sounded like a nice person,”

You let out a playful hum, “Sometimes. If he didn’t like you, he made it pretty obvious.” You pause for a second, glancing over at Spencer. “He was tall, kind of like you, and nerdy. But he was so funny; no one knew how funny he could be. They never listened hard enough, you know? I hated that people would talk over him in a crowd. To me, he was the only person worth listening to.”

Spencer finds him smiling at that, following you as you take a left. He sees that you're smiling, too, and when the two of you get to his grave, you’re still smiling. You let out a happy sigh as you talk, introducing Spencer as “Your new friend.”

For a while, you tell him stories—memories from when Alexander was still alive—and he finds he doesn’t mind listening to them. He sees them as a great distraction from his lack of happy stories with Maeve. You’re laughing a little as you tell him of the time that Alexander’s mother wouldn’t stop sending him a massive, bulk-sized trail mix every time she sent him a care package in college. He had so many bags that they lived under his bed for the better part of four years.

“Did he even like trail mix?”

“Honestly? Yes, but he only liked the chocolate and peanuts. It would just be massive bags with an abundance of raisins inside.” You shake your head a little as you stand next to Spencer.

Spencer lets out a slightly amused hum. His mind keeps going over how good you are with everything. You talk about Alexander openly. You don’t hold your feelings back. You smile so wide, even when you look at his headstone. He wants to know your secret— some secret to grief that he has yet to uncover.

His mouth opens briefly, closing quickly as he shifts his weight awkwardly beside you. He sucks in a nervous breath as he tries to muster up the courage to speak. “How do–” He sighs heavily, “I mean, I’m sure you struggle–” He licks his lips nervously, your eyes meeting his slowly. “When does it stop hurting?”

You’re silent for a second, your soft smile fading as you stare at him. He’s scared that maybe that’s the wrong question to ask as he watches you turn your head to look down at Alexander’s grave. He is about to apologize when you whisper, “It feels different now.”

Spencer’s mouth snaps shut as he waits for more, his eyes scanning your side profile slowly for some sort of sign that you’re uncomfortable. “Last year, it just felt like–” A pause, your free hand rising to your chest slowly. “It felt like someone had plunged a dull knife into my chest and left me for dead.”

Spencer’s chest tightened for a second, his own heart feeling painfully dull as he listened to you.

“But, I’m not the one who died. Alex did. I was so angry— disappointed that he had the nerve to leave me when we were about to start the next chapter of our lives together. I had–have– all this love inside my heart for him, and he’s gone. It took me a long time to understand that, to be okay with it.”

Your words catch in your throat, and you clear your throat quickly. The familiar burn of tears threatens to build in your eyes as you force yourself to look at Alexander’s grave. “He was so kind, and once I got past that feeling,” your voice sounded thick. “Life kept going, and so did I. He wouldn’t have wanted me to stop living my life. When you love someone, you only want them to be happy– with or without you.”

You sniffle lightly, relaxing your shoulders slightly, “It never stops hurting, I guess, but days get better. I’m happy that I got to be a part of his life. I find some comfort in that. Somewhere, in the story of him, I’m there.” Eventually, you find the courage to look over at Spencer. When your eyes meet his, you find that he’s staring at you with a compassionate expression. You can see the understanding in his eyes. You swallow hard, pushing the emotional lump down your throat.

“It does get better.” You whisper, your voice warm.

Spencer nods quickly, mouthing a little ‘I know’ before his eyes trail away from you for a second. A cool breeze passes between the two of you when he says, “Just needed the reminder,”

The next time you see him, it’s the third Wednesday of the month, and he sits right next to you. You find yourself smiling a little when he does, nudging his shoulder playfully as more people fill the space. He scoffs playfully, the silent gesture letting you know he’s happy you’re here.

The meeting passes like usual: New members share their stories, grief counselors hand out business cards with their phone numbers, recurring members offer kind sentiments, and then, just near the end, your seat partner stands up.

Your eyes widen for a second as you watch Spencer stand, his eyes laser-focused ahead as people turn to look at him. You watch how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. A shaky breath leaves him as he tries his hardest to start talking. His hands flex for a second, pressing against his pants to wipe off what you can only assume is sweat.

He stutters for a second, his confidence creeping away from him. You’re surprised when he turns his head to look at you. His breathing steadies as he watches you. “I’ve been having difficulties sleeping again. After,” His hands move a little as he speaks, his eyes periodically looking towards the rest of the group before trailing back over to you, “I just– I used to have a hard time sleeping, and lately, it’s been happening again. Every time I sleep, I see her, and I feel so–” He used to dream of her after her death, dreamt of touching her, but these were different. Dreams that constantly left him waking up feeling devastatingly alone.

He shakes his head a little, “It’s been seven months, and I keep dreaming of everything that could have been.”

The confession is met with comfortable silence and sympathetic looks, but not from you. You’re nodding, an encouraging smile spreading across your face. For some reason, he likes that better. “I don’t like leaving her when I wake up.” The admission feels like a weight lifting off his chest when he says it.

There’s a pause of silence before he sits down, unsure of what else to say besides his admission. As one of the counselors begins to talk to Spencer, he finds himself listening intensely. Seven months, and he’s finally willing to take some much-needed advice.

After that month’s meeting, Spencer has back-to-back cases. He’s keen on keeping in contact with you, which you’ve said he doesn’t have to do if he doesn’t want to, but he insists. He likes having someone to update, a friend waiting to see him when he’s free.

The next time he’s free, it’s a rare Saturday. He’s been awake since five and can’t seem to go back to sleep. He does keep dreaming of Maeve, but they’re a little different now. This time, he was in a cemetery with you. It was freezing, the kind of cold where you could see your breath, and you were laughing about something when the two of you bumped into her. Maeve’s not angry. She just laughs and glances at Spencer before hugging you. You hug her right back and say something– and that’s when he wakes up.

Spencer doesn’t like the feelings that stir inside him with that dream: confusion, curiosity, sadness, something else. The feeling is warm, tinged with an overcoat of sorrow, and he finds himself needing a good distraction.

However, reading isn’t helping, nor is the crossword. So eventually, he finds himself getting ready to go out for the day in the search of a good distraction that will get his mind off his dream.

He doesn’t know why he thinks about the cemetery where Alex’s grave is on his way to get coffee that day, but he does. A part of him feels that a nice walk will do him good, so, coffee in hand, he finds himself walking… then taking the subway… then ending up in front of Alex’s grave… alone.

Spencer’s lips slightly pout when he sees no coffee cup on the headstone. He knows that you have yet to visit your late fiancé today. He doesn’t exactly know why he’s visiting your late fiancé today; without you, it feels… strange.

The longer Spencer stares at the letters etched in stone, the more he feels a realization dawn on him. He feels guilty… guilty for dreaming of you, guilty for craving your warmth right now, and guilty for a million different little reasons.

Spencer feels his lips part for a second, a sigh escaping his lungs, before he whispers, “I’m a mess. " He knows he’s talking to thin air, but he feels lighter, admitting it to himself.

“I don’t know what I’m feeling. All I know is that I shouldn’t be, and it won’t do anyone any good, and secretly I think–” He sucks in a cold breath of air, “Secretly, I think I don’t deserve it.” The grave is silent, of course, but Spencer smiles anyway.

For a while, he thought his future had passed him by. A brief image graced his vision before leaving him blind. He can see now. He sees that he still has things to do, goals to accomplish, people to meet. Then he’s walking away.

Two meetings and four coffee ‘dates’ later, you’re rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet as you watch Spencer laugh over something with one of the grief counselors. It’s a strange feeling to see him laugh so openly. It's heartwarming if you’re being honest. It’s hard to explain it, and the feeling is too intense– too raw. It’s a feeling you dimly remember, and suddenly, you’re nauseous.

You have a crush, which is incredibly laughable because you’re an adult. The last time you had a crush on someone was three years ago, Alexander. This almost feels cruel. The longer you stare at him, the more real it becomes.

Spencer catches your eye for a second and excuses himself from the conversation in his polite Spencer way. When he reaches you, he smiles warmly: “Somebody’s all smiles.” You hum with a playful roll of your eyes.

Spencer pouts for a second, good-natured and playful, as he mutters a little, “When did smiling become a crime?”

“It isn’t. I’m just being observant, and you have a nice smile.” You try to keep your voice calm and level, but he seems to catch on anyway. Spencer’s eyes seem laser-focused on you, studying you carefully. Internally, you’re beginning to pray that his profiling skills fail to notice the classic signs: your sweaty palms, wandering gaze, and too-tense shoulders.

And if he does notice… you hope he doesn’t say anything. That’s not Spencer’s way, and you know it. “Everything okay?”

You nod quickly, “I’m good, sorry, I was just thinking about… bills.” You know he catches the lie the second you say it; you can see it in his amused smile.

“Bills?”

“Bills.”

“I’m not sure I like this story you’re going with, but if you’re sticking to it, I won’t pry.”

You nod, letting your shoulders relax as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Thank you,”

“I was thinking,” Spencer starts as he grabs his messenger bag, following you out. “We could get dinner together Friday night.”

“Why?” Your tone is a little flatter than you’d like it to be as Spencer walks you to your car. You'll admit the idea of being alone with him is nice, but the admission feels strange— still too raw, surreal.

“Because…” He trails off slowly, hoping to find a better reason than it being because he wants to have dinner with you, but the longer he sits with the ideas, the more he feels like you’ll turn down his idea. He feels self-preservation take over, and for the first time (and what he hopes is the only time), he lies to you. “My teammates are having a get-together.”

“Oh!” You say as the two of you reach your car. “And you want me to meet them or?” The idea seems less daunting. Yes, Spencer and you had been to get coffee together, but that was just coffee. Dinner seemed too intimate, but dinner with friends? Now, that was less scary.

“Yeah! Yes, I think it’d be nice!’ Spencer’s voice cracks slightly before nervously clearing his throat in a weak attempt to control the anxiety that creeps into his tone. “Would you… like to meet them?”

You’re leaning against your car door, and the air smells sharp with the promise of snow, and Spencer’s sure you’ll decline. You grin, nodding slightly, “Sure, I mean, it’s just dinner with friends. What time Friday?” Your arms fold over your chest, pulling your coat closer to your body.

“Six.” He doesn’t know how his fake dinner has a time, but he’s surprised at how easy it is to come up with one. “Nothing fancy. I’ll, um, text you the address.”

You watch him for a second, trying to read him the way he reads you. His voice seems higher in pitch, and his eyes keep glancing at yours. You chalk it up to him being nervous. The combination of two groups already frying his nerves before it even happens. “Can’t wait. See you Friday.”

Spencer stuffs his freezing hands in his pockets as he watches you enter your car and drive off. Then, the panic sets in.

He’s tailing Derek desperately, “Listen, I know it’s rushed, but–”

“I don’t see why you can’t just text her the address and ask her out. Straightforward.” Derek says as he takes the left towards Penelope’s office. “Or you could say we canceled and make it just the two of you.”

“Considering I already lied to her once, I’d rather not lie twice. And–” He fumbles with his words for a short second. “It’s not a date. I just thought she thought it was one, and I panicked.”

“What’s wrong with it being a date?” Derek asks, knocking on the door gently before entering Penelope’s office.

“Date?” Penelope echoes back as she turns in her chair.

Spencer holds out a hand defensively, “It wouldn’t— it’s complicated! Please say yes. You’re the first person I’ve asked.”

“Asked what? Am I going to be asked?” Penelope chirps as Derek hands her a coffee.

“Pretty boy here,” Derek motioned to Spencer with a light wave, “Lied to one of his ladies. Invited her to a team dinner that doesn’t exist.”

“A team dinner would be fun! With a new addition, too!” Penelope said with a sip of her coffee. “When?”

“Friday,” Spencer mumbles, avoiding her gaze.

“Friday, as in, tomorrow Friday?” She sucks in a breath of air, “Spencer…”

He frowns and mouths a little, ‘I know’. He looks at them, pleading, “Please, even if it’s just the two of you…” He trails off slowly, watching Penelope and Derek share a look.

“I’ll text the rest of the group.”

“Not the whole story,” Spencer adds as Penelope pulls out her phone. “Please.”

“I’m already doing you one favor, boy genius.”

Spencer is surprised at how many of his team members agree to dinner. JJ, Penelope, and Derek all promise to bring their respective partners. Rossi and Hotch politely decline, but given his sudden plans, he doesn’t blame them.

However, by the time five-thirty rolls around, he can see that he’s been played. The first text comes from JJ, claiming that Henry is sick and that she can’t make it. Derek follows, saying that he accidentally double-booked and cannot cancel his reservation with Savannah. He can feel himself sending a silent prayer to Penelope before she, too, is texting him to cancel.

So now, he stands outside the restaurant in a long brown trench coat and purple scarf tied tight around his neck. When you arrive, adorned with a cream sweater and rosy cheeks, you ask him the inevitable: “Where’s the team?”

Spencer's throat tightens as he answers, “They’ve canceled, so it’ll be just us if that’s alright with you?”

He can see your smile falter momentarily before you nod, “That’s fine, another time.” You shiver a little, glancing towards the restaurant. “Should we…?” Spencer, silently elated that you aren’t leaving, nods and hurriedly rushes over to open the door for you.

Once seated, you are greeted by a slightly uncomfortable awkward silence. You’re sure that it will soon resolve itself, but Spencer seems too lost in his thoughts, and it becomes clear that if you want this long silence to end, you’ll have to speak first.

“I’m sorry every–”

“Do you–”

The two of you stare at each other briefly before laughing softly. Spencer’s eyes crinkle a little when he’s laughing, a feature you seem to be adoring silently before he says, “I’m sorry that everyone canceled.”

You push out a little breath, your gaze falling to the menu on the table. “That’s okay, I’m sure everyone has busy lives.” You shrug a bit before glancing up at him, “I do have a question for you, though,” You watch as Spencer’s back straightens, and he gives you a small smile as the ‘go ahead.’

You flatten out the front of your sweater nervously, “Do you think it’s weird that I was supposed to meet your friends— the team?”

Spencer gives you a slightly confused look before you quickly add, “I don’t think it is, but I was talking to my coworker about tonight, and she said it seemed like an excuse for a date. Then I explained it, and she called it weird, and I don’t know—Do you think it’s weird?”

Spencer can feel his cheeks heating up against his will, and his head shakes from side to side, “No! No, it’s not weird.” he pauses, thinking about it for a second. “Well, maybe a little. But not for you, for me. You’ve never expressed an intense interest in meeting them, but they mentioned bringing someone, and I thought—” He motions to you with a shaky hand, “Thought you’d be a good person to bring to dinner. You’re lovely, and my friend, and I—” he feels the rest of his words die in his throat. He wants to tell you that he wants the team to meet you. He wants everyone to see how wonderful and kind you are.

He feels his mouth dry, realizing he wants you to meet the team now. He wants a third party to witness your calming effect on him, and, most importantly, he wants them to like you because he likes you.

A slow ringing grows in his ears at the full realization of his feelings for you. Your smile, usually calming, has his heart leaping in his chest. He finds himself leaning closer when you say, “I didn’t think it was weird either,”

Spencer lets out a little huff of relief, “Good, that’s good.” His heart was beating fast in his chest. He knew he had feelings for you but was unaware of how deep they ran.

“Though I will say, it is strange that they all canceled.”

He feels awful lying to you. He can count two lies now and doesn’t want to tell a third. “Yeah, I can’t explain that one. They all did it at the last minute. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind, though I was scared this was all a set-up for a date.” You laugh as if it’s the silliest idea you’ve heard.

Spencer can feel his heart in his throat, his breathing quickening slightly. “Would it be bad if it was?” he can’t stop the words from spilling out, his eyes widening at his sentence.

Your surprised face stares back at his, breathless as you look at him. You’re about to say something when the waitress comes by to take your order. You manage a slight, polite smile as you order before you’re staring off at Spencer. His nervous eyes flicker between the waitress and you as he orders quickly.

When she’s gone, you stare at each other with bated breath. You draw in a slow, calming breath when you say, “I don’t know,”

“You don’t… know?”

“I just, I haven’t thought about—” You pause, knowing it’s a lie. “I have—” You correct gently before you let out a frustrated sigh. “I thought we were friends.” Your voice cracks slightly.

Spencer draws his head back at that, “We are friends. We are. I didn't know if you ever thought about—” He doesn’t know what he’s saying. What is he aiming for here?

“Anyone dating you would be lucky, Spencer.” You say, sweet and gentle. You don’t know how to save this situation. Your love for Alexander will always be in your heart, strong and genuine, but… looking at the man across from you.

You watch his fingers nervously trace patterns on the glass of water in front of him, how he’s looking at you with such a sweet expression. You just didn’t think this would happen to you. You were sure that Alex was it. He was all you would ever know— you had resigned yourself to it.

Would you be a bad person if you fell in love again? After everything, it feels… selfish, dirty, wrong, terrifying. “I’m not sure I’m your best option.” Is what you settle on.

Your heart silently breaks as you watch Spencer’s face fall. His nervous fingers slow their movements until he whispers a sad, “Right.” There’s a pause, like he’s deciding what to do next. He then nods, like he’s coming to terms with something.

“Right, I’m not saying I’m looking–” His brown eyes scan your face, “I’m not even sure I want something like that. I don’t know why it sounded like I was. I just want you to know that I—” He swallows thickly, “I like being your friend.”

“Me too! I like being your friend, too.”

“Good!”

“Great!”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “So we’re on the same page?”

“Same chapter and everything.”

Spencer lets out a huff of a laugh at that, nodding slowly.

The rest of the dinner seems normal; the interaction from earlier seems to be brushed under the rug, and you’re grateful it is. However, the topic kept worming its way into your train of thought. The nagging thought of ‘What if…’.

It's not a terribly horrible idea to date Spencer. If you were honest with yourself, you had thought about it before—not obsessively, just in passing. A little whisper of an idea, lovely and new. It was nice to fantasize about love, but it was just a fantasy. You had a great love, and you were grateful.

Wanting more than that was greedy.

After dinner, Spencer insisted on walking you home. He wouldn’t listen to a single one of your protests and simply convinced you with a firm, “I’ve seen what happens to people when they go off alone late at night,”

The reminder made you readily accept his company on the cold December night. Walking by his side, watching how your feet started to sync in step, your mind began to wander. What did a date even feel like? It had been so long since you’ve had a date… you weren’t even sure you would know if you were on one unless it was explicitly said.

The thought makes you chuckle, earning the interest of one Doctor Spencer Reid. “What’s on your giggling mind?”

“Nothing,” You sigh, glancing over at him. “I was just thinking about how long it's been since I’ve been on a date. I don’t even think I would know if I was on a date if I was on one. Someone would have to sit me down and explain it to me,”

Spencer’s lips quirk upwards at the idea, listening to you. The sweet look he’s giving you is not lost on you as you continue to ramble, “I mean, I’m not even sure I remember the last time I tried to look for a date.”

“Care to take a guess?”

“Uhm,” You draw out the sound as you think, your tongue wetting your lips. “Six months ago, maybe, kind of, sort of?”

Spencer’s clever mind quickly realizes that this failed dating experience happened a month before he met you, and then he notes that it also happened ten months after Alexander’s death. “And.. What do you mean by that? How does someone, kind of, sort of, maybe look for a date?”

You roll your eyes, “It wasn’t really my idea. My friends convinced me to go on some dating apps, and I tried!” You laugh lightly, “Well. I pretended to try. I just didn’t like it. It wasn’t what I expected.”

“What were you expecting?”

Your feet falter momentarily before finding their pace next to Spencer again, “Something from a Nora Ephron movie, maybe? Something like You’ve got Mail.” As you say it, you see the strange look on Spencer’s face, and it makes you grin. “It’s a romantic comedy.”

He mouths a soft ‘oh’ and feels awkward because he still doesn’t know what you mean. You’re quick to explain, “It just means I had high expectations. Alexander and I were friends for a while before we,” You trail off before you wave the sentence off with your hand. “I just didn’t like it. Felt too forced.”

Spencer understands that part, slowly taking a left with you. “Haven’t tried that yet.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

He grins and nods, “What do you recommend?” His curious mind was getting the better of him. His left hand slipped out of his coat as he waited for your answer, his knuckles dangerously close to yours.

“In a world seemingly becoming increasingly dependent on technology for everything? I’d recommend shooting your shot with every pretty stranger you see.” It's a joke, but the idea of Spencer asking for the numbers of every pretty person in DC made your chest feel strangely tight— a light reminder that your crush was still going strong. And you’ve already turned him down.

“I’m not sure you’ve been paying close attention to me these past four months,” He jokes lightly.

“Oh, trust me, I have been.” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself, and you can feel your cheeks growing impossibly hot.

Spencer’s quick to tease, “You have been?”

You nod, trying to act like it's nothing but friendly, but your nervous breathing might give you away. You take a steady breath, happy to think that if he sees red on your cheeks, you can blame it on the cold weather.

Instead, he slows to a stop just steps away from your apartment complex. You stop, turning to look at him, and when you see him, all composure leaves you with one little glance. Spencer’s ears are red, his hazel eyes glued to yours, and his hands nervously fidget with his long purple scarf.

He draws in his lower lip nervously, his brow furrowing in the way that lets you know he’s meditating on something in that beautiful brain of his. His hands move as he begins to talk, “I have been too,”

With that, you feel all the air knocked out of you, and your trembling fingers hide in your pockets. You’re not sure what he wants you to say or do. It feels like a confession, making your heart pound in your chest. His sweet eyes study you, “I’m not sure what I—” He steps closer.

“Not sure what I want. All I know is that I feel something—” He makes a weird motion with his hands like he’s trying to shape his feelings with his hands. “Hopeful? I don’t know! I just,”

“I know.” You rasp out, nodding quickly. “I know.” You repeat it because you do know. You know what he’s feeling, that dangerous feeling of tentative hope, the sense that something is beginning again. The world shifting into focus and becoming colorful again.

Spencer’s gaze softens as that, and then the two of you just stare at each other for a moment. Guilt seemed to creep into your chest, invading your heart the longer you stared into those pleading brown eyes. Some part of you wanted to give it a shot, take him in your arms, and just let go. The stubborn part of you couldn’t let go of what you once knew.

What would you say to your friends— or worse, Alexander’s family? Thinking about being happy with someone else again felt like a betrayal.

Spencer could see the shift in your demeanor, the way your eyes glossed over with emotion, your back rigid, and he knew you weren’t ready. The feelings you were feeling were ones he wrestled with weeks ago after visiting Alexander’s grave. “I visited his grave without you a few times.”

Your brows knit together at that, stuttering gently as you manage a soft “Why?”

“I felt guilty about how I feel about you. I thought visiting his grave would make me back down, but it didn’t. I visited Maeve’s grave and thought about my feelings there too. She would have liked you.”

“Spencer, don’t–”

“You told me once that he would’ve wanted you to be happy with or without him. Why can’t you let yourself be happy? I know it’s uncharted territory; it is for me, too, and he knows you don’t love him any less–”

“You didn’t even know him!”

Spencer's lips draw into a tight line at that. You can’t stop yourself before saying, “You don’t understand the love I had for him. It was different from how you felt about Maeve. It was special.”

Your breathing is heavy, and you're trying to stop yourself from crying. The second you say it, you regret it. Your rigid posture slacks, and you step towards him quickly, but he steps back once you get closer.

“You don’t get to say that,” his voice is colder, his eyes cast down to his hands. Then he takes a sharp breath and looks up at you; his warm hazel gaze turns cold. “My love for her was just as special as yours was for Alexander. I can see that, even if you can’t. But at least I can see when something exceptional is right in front of me. Unlike you, I didn’t want it to slip through my fingers again.”

Your mouth feels dry as you try to respond, anger and guilt fighting an internal war inside you before Spencer turns on his heel and says, “Goodnight,”

The snow starts again as you watch him walk away, blinking flakes out of your lashes, cheeks red from the tears falling as you watch him disappear around the corner.

The conversation is still fresh in your mind at dinner with Alexander’s mom Tuesday night. She lives just outside the city in Maryland, so whenever she made her way into the city, you made it a point to meet up.

She watches the way you’re staring at your sandwich. The intense look you’re giving the meal almost makes her laugh. “Don’t be upset with the club. We can always get you another sandwich, dear.”

You raise your head slightly at that and let out a nervous laugh, “No, the sandwich is fine. I’m just thinking. I’m sorry, Shannon.”

Shannon lets out an understanding hum, waving you off with a simple flick of her wrist as you apologize. “Is it work?”

You give her an easy smile, “Ah, no. It’s… confusing and probably boring; don’t worry about it.” She gives you a little look that says, ‘Come on, really?’ and it makes your smile widen.

“When you retire, everything is confusing and boring, so lay it on me.”

“Shannon, please, I promise you don—”

“I will make you pay for this meal; do not force my hand.”

“I am paying?”

“Exactly. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”

You slump in your seat and nod in defeat. “Alright, well,” you wet your lips nervously, trying to figure out the best way to tell her. “You remember last time I mentioned that I had that friend from the group? The genius—Spencer.”

Shannon nods, motioning for you to keep going slowly, “Well, lately, he and I have become aware of some feelings for each other, and I–” You can feel your legs trembling, “He just doesn’t get it. I can’t do that to Alex or you. He just doesn’t understand—”

“Sweetheart, slow down.” She held up a hand, an amused look on her face as you rambled at the speed of light. “Start over.”

You let out a little huff, trying to calm your growing nerves. You roll your shoulders back, gaining some composure, “I have feelings for him, and I thought it was just a passing crush, but now it’s getting so messy. And he told me that he has feelings for me too, but I told him off, and we haven’t talked in four days– which would be fine if we didn’t fight, but we did— and I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“He’s really sweet and great, but I just… I keep thinking about my love for Alex and don’t want to let go of him.” Your voice gets quiet with the admission. “I’m happy loving just him, only him.” Your voice shakes lightly, forcing your gaze down, your eyes filling with tears.

You hated telling her this— hated telling her that your stupid heart found itself attached to someone other than her son. You mentally prepare yourself for something, anything, yet you still cringe when you feel her hand rest on yours.

“He’s dead–”

“I know–”

“No, listen,” Shannon says sternly, watching as you lift your gaze to meet hers. “He’s dead. Every day, I have to remind myself he’s dead. I know you do, too.” She frowns for a second before she gives you a weak smile. “But, you? You’re alive. You’ve experienced a loss no one should have to experience at your age, and yet here you are. Would he be ecstatic over you falling in love with someone else? Not quite, but I know my son. He wouldn’t want you to be alone. Or worse, unhappy.”

You blink away tears, your bottom lip trembling, “I don’t want to forget him,”

“Who said you’re going to?” Shannon jokes lightly, giving your hand a light squeeze. After a moment, she whispers, “Knowing Alex, he probably sent Spencer your way.”

You laugh at the idea, but the sound dissolves into a little sob, “He would.”

Shannon brightens momentarily, “He was always jealous of how good you were at trivia night. Maybe he wanted someone to beat you for once?”

“Spencer can!” You laugh harder than you should, but you can’t help it. You picture Alex’s face, joking about how you have too much useless knowledge in your brain.

As your laughter dies away, a wave of anxiety rolls over you. “I was awful to him last Friday.”

“Then make it up to him,”

After much deliberation, you knew you would, or at least, you would die trying. The next meeting was in two weeks, which seemed too far out. After three texts, two calls, and one voicemail, you decided to go to him.

You had been to Spencer’s apartment once before and were sure it was on this block… maybe. It was early Saturday morning, and you could only hope he would look out his window and see you pacing the sidewalk.

But an hour passed, and the cold wind forced you into a coffee shop down the block. Shivering as you waited for your coffee, you glanced at the unread texts you sent him one last time before stuffing your phone back into your pocket.

Clearly, he didn’t want to see you, much less talk to you. You chewed on your bottom lip, lost in thought until you resolved that seeing him at the next meeting would have to do if he didn’t text you back before then.

And so, two weeks and no texts back later, you sat in your usual foldable seat and waited. But he never showed. Your eyes watched the doors patiently, and you counted every last participant, thinking that the next one had to be Spencer.

But they weren’t. He was nowhere to be found. You had sat on your feelings for him for weeks, sat on with nasty comments and behavior for two weeks, and found yourself still waiting. He didn’t have to attend every meeting, but you felt even more desperate than before. Hating the feeling, you left halfway through.

It wasn’t like you could force him to talk to or forgive you. But it hurt knowing just how much you had hurt him. Were you being selfish for wanting a chance to confess to him again? Was it selfish how you looked for him in every crowd?

The unfortunate reality of your pain was that you were so scared of falling in love again that you pushed love away before it could even touch you. You found yourself driving to Alex’s grave that night. It was out of your way, but you didn’t want to go home just to wait by the phone again.

After parking in a nearby parking lot, you found yourself standing in the middle of a very dark, isolated cemetery. If Spencer were here, he would say how dangerous this was, maybe even throw in a statistic just to solidify his point.

You smile, eyes adjusting in the moonlight as you look down at your dead lover’s grave. You crouch, touching a bouquet of almost-dead flowers at the foot of his grave. “Was I bad at this with you, too?” Your fingers trace the brittle petals of a dying rose.

You can hear the crunching of gravel and slush approaching you, and a part of you freezes. As the sound gets closer, you can hear panting, your head turning cautiously to look for your rapidly approaching company.

When you see the silhouette of a man not too far down the trail, you tense. How stupid were you to be in a secluded area in the middle of the night? You curse under your breath and stay crouched, hoping it’s just a late-night jogger passing through and that he won’t see you if you stay low.

Your eyes stay on the figure, and you mentally go over possible escape plans when you see it— a messenger bag. What kind of serial killer or jogger wears a messenger bag? Your tense shoulders briefly relax for a second at the thought.

Then, a hint of moonlight illuminates your huffing stranger— messy brown hair and a crooked tie. You stand, “Spencer?” You say his name when he approaches you, the moonlight letting you get a glimpse of his soft eyes for a moment. “What are you… How’d you know I’d be here? What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t at the meeting,” He huffs, leaning over to rest his palms on his knees.

“I–” You scoff, slightly amused. “I left early. Did you show up?”

“No,” he admits, his tone becoming sharper as he catches his breath. “No, I–” he hesitates for a moment, “I saw your car on my way home, and I got worried, and I–” He roughly drags a hand through his curls, “You shouldn’t be in isolated places like this late at night.”

Your shocked expression melts, and your lips quirk into a slight smile. Spencer sees this and responds sharply, “I’m being serious!”

You hold up both hands, “I know, I—” You sigh, a slight chuckle following the sound before you say, “I knew you were going to say that. I could hear your voice when I parked across the street.”

“Maybe you should listen to it sometime,”

You nod, and then a moment of cold silence follows. The two of you stare at each other for a long moment before you feel your lips moving against your will, “You never called,”

Spencer can feel his heartbeat quicken, “Wasn’t aware I had to.”

“You didn’t have to. I just would have–” You cut yourself off, nervously licking your lips. “I wanted you to.”

Spencer stays quiet before he replies with a soft “I’m sorry,”

You find your smile returning as you shake your head, “That’s my line,”

He lets a little chuckle at that, ready to tell you it’s okay, when you quickly add, “I’m sorry for how I acted three weeks ago. I shouldn’t have been so cruel or close-minded, and I should have been honest with you about my feelings. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry for implying your love for Maeve wasn’t special. Oh, Spencer,” You let out a heartbroken sigh, “I feel terrible. I was such a bad friend, and these past few weeks, all I’ve wanted to do is make it up to you.”

You can feel the tears threatening to fill your vision, your cheeks burning in the cold as you let out a meek, “Tell me there’s something I can do to make it up to you,”

Spencer can see your pleading eyes in the moonlight, and his chest tightens at the sight. Ignoring your calls and texts wasn’t easy, but he was convinced that it was the right thing to do. You weren’t ready to move on, and neither was he— not completely, but he didn’t want to try with anyone else. He only wanted to try with you.

He swallows thickly when he says a sweet “You’ve already done it,” Then you’re beaming at him, and he’s right back where he was three weeks ago. As you dry your misting eyes, he softly confesses, “I watched You’ve Got Mail.” He pauses, smiling lightly when you give him a surprised look through your tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I–” He nervously moved his hands as he talked, “I watched any Romcom that I could get my hands on because I—”

You smile as he trails off, his hands twisting together in that nervous way that tells you he’s scared to say the rest of his sentence— he’s too afraid to say he missed you. “Me too,” You confess, “I missed you, too.”

He nods, a grin on his face as he looks at you. He can feel his confession rising in his throat, his lips moving awkwardly as he tries to gain the confidence to confess to you again.

But, before he can say anything, you’re speaking, “I don’t know if you still feel the same as you did three weeks ago, but I–” You swallow hard, clearing your throat softly. Your hands move with you as you speak, the cold making them feel slightly stiff. “For the longest time, I couldn’t imagine myself happy with anyone other than Alex.” You blow out a sigh, glancing back at his tombstone. “I thought one great love was enough— I only deserved one. I was happy with that, and I felt lucky for it.”

You can feel yourself trembling, and you don’t know if it’s the cold or your nerves getting the better of you; nonetheless, you keep going, “But lately, I’ve been thinking— hoping really— that you’re the expectation.” You squeeze your eyes tight at that last bit, trying to calm your breathing as you wait for his response.

“If anyone deserves more than one great love, it’s you.” Spencer’s voice sounds closer, soft.

When you open your eyes, you realize he is closer, inches from you. You gaze up at him, giving him a light smile when he whispers, “We can take it slower,”

“I like slower.”

He laughs and nods, “Me too,” he holds out a cold hand for you to take, “Let me walk you to your car?”

You stare at his palm, watching your cold fingers intertwine with his. The sensation makes the tips of your fingers buzz with anticipation. You feel his hand gives yours a slight squeeze before guiding you to the parking lot across the street.

It’s not the last time you walk side-by-side, holding hands in the middle of the cold East Coast winter, and he’s determined to make sure it’s not your last.

And whenever anyone asks how the two of you met, Spencer lets you tell the story, his hand slipping into yours as you say, “Well, it’s a bit of a long story.”

#fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #spencer x you #spencer reid fanfiction #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #dr reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #...and fall in love whenever you can #it-was-summer

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trippinsorrows · 7 hours ago

Text

without you + four

authors note: damn. it's been a minute. wanted to at least update this story for ya'll before christmas. i'll try my best to not make the next update take as long.

warnings: none

song inspo: be without you by mary j. blige

one + two + three

words: 5k

“Ooooh, this some nice white people shit.”

“Alexis!”

Leave it to this girl to always say some out of pocket shit at the wrong time. You offer an apologetic gaze to the workers who cast her an almost strange look at her outburst before elbowing your best friend. “Bitch, would you shut the fuck up.”

She sucks her teeth, offering an excuse versus an explanation. “What I say?” She gestures around the backyard that’s just about fully decorated. “You know black people. We usually got that one nice centerpiece of them big ass balloons and a Sam’s or Costco sheet cake for baby showers. That’s about it.” Rolling your eyes, she just has to add on. “It’s like when we have a funeral, and they done put Grandma Rose in them ghetto ass clouds talking about some sunrise to sunset.”

At that, you have to laugh. “Okay, you not wrong there.”

“I’m never wrong. Duh.”

“Whatever.” You take in once more just the opulent display that Alexis and Kaylah have been working on over the past few weeks. Initially, they wanted to find a venue to rent, but considering this baby shower will only include close friends and family, a venue seemed like too much. Not to mention that Joe has been adamant about trying to keep this pregnancy as private as possible. Not necessarily from a place of wanting to hide it. No, if that was the case, he wouldn’t have shared some of the maternity pictures you took not even two weeks ago to his Instagram.

Or even some faceless photos of Callie.

But, that’s something he can control. A sharing he has autonomy over and full say in. Paparazzi crashing your baby shower is not, thus the two of you deciding that the shower should just take place at your home.

And given the massive size of not only the actual house but your backyard, it’s a great decision.

“It’s all looking so nice.” Kaylah’s voice enters the conversation as she walks over, clipboard in hand and a smile on her face. “How you doing, mama bear?”

Rolling your eyes, you answer honestly, “feeling big and pregnant.”

“Well….”

“Shut up, Lex,” you mutter, rubbing your belly. “These babies have definitely been kicking my ass with this back and breast pain.”

Granted, being five months pregnant with triplets, it’s an expected sort of discomfort. It’s helped immensely to have a fiancé that’s home and attentive and always willing to do whatever he needs or rather, whatever you need. He’s taken over Callie duties on the evenings where you just feel tired. He cooks most nights, partially because he knows your feet hurt and are swollen usually. But also, that little traitorous little girl of yours has made it clear she prefers daddy’s food over mommy’s food. He’s even gone as far as calling your mom and asking for tips on how to do Callie’s hair, as your ever growing belly has made that a little bit more difficult.

Put simply, he continues to be the perfect man. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner in life.

Kaylah moves closer, hand on your stomach. She, along with other close family and friends, never need to ask. It’s just the strangers who you don’t know that need to stay six feet away at all times. “I can’t believe we’re only four months away from meeting them.”

Alexis shakes her head. “Earth, Wind, and Fire truly have no idea what kind of big ass, loving, chaotic family they’re about to be born into.”

Blowing out a breath, you scold her, “girl, how many times I gotta tell you to stop calling them that?”

“Would you prefer Thing 1, 2, and 3?” No answer is all the answer she needs. “That’s what I thought.” And, of course, she has to just sneak on in there another attempt. “If you would just tell me the sexes—”

“Ain’t happening.” You shut that shit down real fast. “Joe and I already made it clear. We’re not revealing that until the shower.” A special thing kept between yourself, your fiancé, and the child you already share, as Callie was present for your last checkup appointment where you were able to find out the sexes.

“Bitch, the shower is literally tomorrow.”

“And you, along with everyone else, will find out tomorrow then.” Alexis is visibly, playfully annoyed, as Kaylah only laughs.

“I understand. We’re just excited. That’s all.”

And, you get it. The farther along you get in your pregnancy, the more excitement you feel at getting to meet your babies. All the shopping, the setting up of the nurseries (you and Joe decided on two rooms), even the deciding of the names. Even more, it’s been so special to have a partner in all of this. You might not have gotten that with Callie, but you’re damn sure getting it now, and it feels good.

—------

“I don’t know if I should take her to Disney by myself.”

Joe’s seemingly random statement takes you by surprise. Turning to him with a frown, you ask, “what?”

He sighs, also angling his body to you while his focus remains on your belly. “You’re so far along in your pregnancy. Anything could happen.”

“But, it won’t,” you stress, reaching up to palm his cheek. “Joe, I’ll be fine. My mom will be here with me. Both Kaylah and Alexis are less than 15 minutes away. I won’t be alone.” Because that seems to be what he’s thinking. “I want you guys to go. She’s really looking forward to it, and not just because the kid lives and breathes Disney.” Largely thanks to yourself and your mom. “Plus, that’s what she wants for her birthday.”

“Or a puppy.”

“I swear to God, if you or your mini me bring up that damn puppy one more time.”

He chuckles and moves to kiss your temple. “Just don’t want to not be here if you need me…”

“I’ll always need you in one way or another, Joe.” The God’s honest truth. “But, our daughter needs you more, and I want her to get in as much one-one-time with you before the babies arrive and she suddenly has to share you with three siblings.”

He eyes you, recognizing the unspoken concern in your statement. “You still think she’s going to get jealous?”

“I know she is,” you answer, matter-of-factly. “She’s a little kid. A mama and daddy’s girl. It’s natural. We’ll just have to make sure we reassure and look out for any signs.” Though you know not everything can be caught, and kids are sometimes good at hiding what they don’t want their parents to see. Granted, Callie has always been pretty open with you, so you hope that doesn’t change.

As the two of you move back to folding clothes, you find yourself changing the subject, “also, not related, but before my baby brain kicks in, I was thinking, what if I applied for a job at her school?”

It’s something you thought about when you and Joe toured the private school that Ellie attends, a nice, expensive but safe option considering sending Callie to public school in the fall doesn't seem like the best or smartest move.

Working at your daughter’s school is also just something that would make you feel a little better. A new school. A new educational milestone. You wanna support her and be there for her as much as you can.

However, the less than thrilled look on Joe’s face definitely takes you by surprise.

“You’re gonna work?”

It’s such a simple but silly question that makes you scoff quietly, “of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugs, grabbing another item to fold. A part of you is wondering if you’re even going to have room for the gifts you’ll receive at the baby shower tomorrow. You two have already gotten so many things, clothes especially. “Maybe because we’re about to have three newborns.”

Rolling your eyes, you calmly counter, “No shit. I’m not thinking of going back right away. Maybe next fall. They’ll be one. Callie will be starting first grade, so it would be nice to be working at the place where she, and they, eventually, will be at.”

When he doesn’t say anything, you’re inclined to prompt a follow up when he finally breaks his silence. “I don’t know how that’s supposed to work.”

Frowning, you ask, “what do you mean?”

Joe sighs, an edge in his voice. “You seriously want to go back to work when we’ll have three one year-olds?” And before you can respond, he continues. “Who’s going to stay with them, Y/N? You’ll be working. I’ll be on the road—”

“It’s not like we’ll be working 24/7, Joe. And we’ve got a huge support system here. Your family. Kaylah. Alexis. It’s not like we’re alo—”

“You don't need to be working.”

Silence.

It’s a good minute before you speak again. “Excuse me?”

He blows out a breath, running a hand through his hair that’s down and hanging. “I want you to stay home with the kids full time—”

“Joe.” Cutting him off isn’t the best thing, but your emotion is starting to get the best of you. “You know me. You know damn well that I’m not the stay at home wife type. I’ve worked consistently since I was sixteen years-old, and I’m not about to stop just because you want me to.”

You love what you do. Teaching might be a stressful career, but it’s always been more rewarding than anything. And truth be told, you can’t imagine a life for yourself where you’re not doing it in some capacity.

Joe’s voice is even, his expression stern. “It’s not about me, Y/N. It’s about what’s best for the kids.”

“And if what was truly best for them is for me to be here full time, then I would do that, but it’s not necessary—”

“And that’s where I disagree with you,” he pushes back, angled completely toward you, arms crossed. He shrugs. “I think it is.”

Partially taken back by his stance on this, it still doesn’t prevent you from standing your ground. “Well then, I guess we’re not on the same page here then.”

“Not at all.”

It’s a strange thing, being on such opposite ends of the spectrum. Joe has always matched you so well, and unfortunately, that can include the level of stubbornness. He is never one to back down, but neither are you.

So where does that leave you two?

“Mommy.”

Callie’s quiet voice breaks the intense impasse. Clearing your throat, you turn to her and force a small smile. “What’s up, sis?”

She moves her hands behind her back, teetering up and down on the heels of her feet. “Will you color with me?”

An easy answer if it will get you out of this room that’s suddenly filled with an uncomfortable amount of tension.

“Callie, mommy and I need a few min—”

“Of course, I’ll color with you, baby.” Again, you fully recognize that cutting him off is rude and not the best way to handle this. A petty way, certainly. But, he also knows that when you get pissed off, it’s best to just give you some space.

Even if it’s not the best thing overall.

Not even bothering to look back at him, you walk over and take Callie’s hand, escorting you both out the room with another word.

Left alone with his thoughts, still irked at the conversation as a whole, Joe quickly and easily realizes telling you what he wanted you to do wasn’t the right approach.

He knows he has good reasons for his preferred plan regarding the whole work thing, but he also knows you, or should know you well enough, to know that trying to tell you what to do has never and will never end well.

It’s just he definitely wasn’t expecting your approach and outlook on this job thing, even if it makes sense for your character and what he knows about you. There was just this part of him that was thinking you’d maybe take a couple years off before returning to teaching. Wait until the kids are a little older. That makes most sense to him, and he’s sure if he maybe responded better and was cleared on his reasoning, you’d have been a bit more receptive.

Maybe not have walked out.

Joe’s phone dinging in his pocket prompts him to pull it out.

Megan: Hey there! Just wanted to follow up and let you know the housing and travel arrangements are all finalized.

Megan: Though I’m curious, you requested a house instead of an apartment?

Megan: That’s a lot of room for just one man. 😉

Joe does find the added emoji a little strange, maybe unprofessional by some standards, but it’s the least of his worries right now.

Joe: Thank you for the update. My fiancée and daughter will be coming to visit when I have to stay for a few days for filming. Need the room for them.

And, it’s not set to happen very often, his management working with the film execs for a schedule that’s pretty flexible and allows him to be back home the same day for most of the filming. It’s just those few instances where he has to stay overnight, a couple days even, that he and you decided would be the times where you and Callie would stay with him.

Megan: Oh.

For some reason, Megan's response rubs him the wrong way, which is strange because up until this point, he’s had no issues with the young woman. She’s been professional, helpful, and informative.

Megan: I think it’s so cool how family oriented you are. So freaking sweet.

Joe truly has no idea how to respond to that, because it’s not inherently wrong. If anything, it’s just a compliment, but there’s something about it…

Megan: Anyways, won’t keep ya! Hope you have a great rest of your evening, babe! ❤️

It’s that message, however, that crosses the line, prompting him to reply and remind her of his boundaries.

And her place.

Joe: As you said, I’m very family oriented, so I’d prefer if you didn’t call me that. The emoji is also inappropriate and makes me uncomfortable.

Someone never uncomfortable with setting a boundary, he feels nothing when he sees the typing bubble appear and reappear several times before her response slides in.

Megan: I am SO SO sorry. I’m so used to working with women, so my dialogue is sometimes women coded. Again, my apologies. Have a great evening, Joe.

It’s a response that he appreciates and doesn’t feel the need to respond to. He said what he needed to stay. She apologized and made it right. It’s all water under the bridge.

Joe goes to lock his phone and put it away when a thought crosses his mind.

You have his passcode, are free to go through his phone, not something that you’ve ever done but something he doesn’t care about regardless. However, if you were to go through it for some reason, seeing this exchange could most definitely make you feel some type of way.

And, it’s not that he feels guilty, Joe knows he handled it appropriately and accurately. But, he doesn’t want you getting upset, doesn’t need you experiencing any kind of unnecessary stress.

Something he’s already inadvertently contributed to by not handing your argument a few minutes ago correctly.

None of that is good for you, and especially not for the babies, and when it comes to this pregnancy, he's not taking any risks.

Especially not with you as far along as you are.

Joe ultimately decides to delete the last three texts, letting the conversation stop at the “family oriented” comment from Megan.

Again, he doesn’t need a situation that’s not even a real situation being an issue.

It’s just better this way.

—------

You’re touching up your makeup, about to apply another coat of mascara to add the finishing touches to the complete look for the baby shower when you take a moment to appreciate your appearance. The white dress is beautiful against your melanin, and your mom did the damn thing with your hair. Ultimately deciding to wear your hair natural, mama opted to put it up in a beautiful, fancy updo that perfectly frames and highlights your beat face.

The final product is something stunning and perfect, the ideal look you wanted and were aiming for on this big, special day.

A knock on the bathroom door prompts you to lift your gaze to the mirror where you’re met with the lingering stare of your handsome fiancé.

Taking in his outfit, a white, short sleeved button up shirt, khaki shorts, topped off with white and gold Nike Freeks, a small smile falls on your face. It’s the perfect look for him. So Joe.

He walks in and closes the door behind him, coming to stand behind you. Your eyes shut as he holds you, hand on your bump, head in the crook of your neck.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments with a kiss pressed against your moisturized skin.

“Thank you, baby,” you murmur, reaching up and caressing the back of his head. “I’m sorry….”

“Naw, I’m sorry,” he interrupts in an equal voice, carefully turning you around as looks down with an apologetic countenance. “It wasn’t right for me to try to tell you what to do.”

“Maybe, but I wasn’t exactly trying to be receptive.” Sleeping on it helped you arrive at that realization that with all of the glaring, embarrassing clarity. “I think I’m so used to doing things my way that I forgot it isn’t just about me and what I want, it’s about us and what works for my family.”

“I don’t want to take away from your autonomy, Y/N.”

“I know that, Leati.” Hand moving to palm his face, you remind, “but these babies mean we’re all going to have to adjust one way or another. I might have to take some time off from working full time.”

Because as much as you love what you do, Joe was right in that your kids might need you to be home more. Full time, even. And while it would definitely feel a little off going into a school year and not having a classroom to call yours, taking care of your children and making sure they’re straight would more than fill that void.

“And, I’m going to see about making my part time schedule permanent,” he shares, moving his hand to your hip, giving a gentle squeeze when you open your mouth to protest. “It’s what I want, babe. I told you before, I don’t want to miss anything else.” He leans forward and kisses your forehead, suggesting, “maybe you could do something part time?”

“Maybe.” You shrug, reassuring, “regardless, we’ll figure it out and do what’s best not for you or for me but for our family.”

Because that’s what most important. Doing what’s best not for one but for all of you.

“We will,” he agrees, brushing his lips against yours, “I don’t ever want to go to bed not on good terms again, you understand me?”

Your thighs shouldn’t clench together the way they do at his commanding tone. It’s a serious thing that you agree with, but it’s the combination of his hard body against yours, his cologne invading your senses, and his minty breath against your face that has you pushing back….something.

“Yes, daddy.” A cheeky, double entendre that has his eyes narrowing.

There's something so innocent yet downright filthy as he promises in a darkened voice, “you know Imma fuck the shit out of you when all is said and done today, right?”

Fuck.

More fluttering, even if it’s something you already know. Because it’s been three days, and that’s far too long to go without your favorite pastime.

Hand moving over his crotch, you palm his dick through his pants. “Good, cause mama needs her fill.” Licking your lips, you add, “if we had time, I’d suck your dick right now.”

Because five months pregnant or not, so long as you can find a way to have this man inside of you, that’s exactly what you gon’ do. You both love sex too much to go too long without it. And, you both know the window in which you can realistically be sexually active during this pregnancy is waning, so you’ve gotta make the most of the time you do have.

Joe’s glare is light and teasing. “You such a nasty lil’ thing, you know that?”

Smiling and moving your arms around his neck, you cheekily remind him, “but that’s part of why you love me, ain’t it? Because I match your freak. Because mama loves when daddy puts her in her place. Ties, whips and bondage included….”

“Fuck, Y/N, you tryna make me hard?” A rhetorical but also serious question as he drops his hand to your backside, taking a handful of your supple ass in his big hands. “Want daddy to fuck his pussy with all them people down there and outside waiting for u—”

Several hard knocks on the door followed by a familiar voice. “Mommy! Daddy!” A smile breaks on your face as he closes his eyes, clearly trying to settle himself. “Grandma says it’s time!”

Laughing quietly, you call out, “okay, baby. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

And, of course, your forever inquisitive child has to ask, “what are you guys doing?”

Joe chuckles and slaps your ass before moving to open the door, a grinning Callie smiling even harder as she looks up at her favorite person. “Daddy!”

Reaching for him, Joe doesn’t hesitate to lean over and pick her up. Your smile grows at the sight of Callie dressed in her adorable white and gold dress, your mom also styling her curls into two big pom poms.

She looks so much like Joe in this moment.

Callie gasps and compliments, “mommy! You look so pretty!”

“Thank you, Callie Bear.” You move over and kiss her cheek, deciding your current look is good enough.

It’s time to celebrate your growing family.

—------

The Baby Shower is something out of a dream.

Beautifully decorated, whites, blues, and pinks spread across your backyard, the aesthetic is very Pinterest aligned and everything you could have imagined for a day meant to celebrate the three lives you’ve created.

Guests including several members of Joe’s family like his mom and sisters, Jon and Josh and their families. Alexis, too, of course. Jadah was invited but unable to make it due to work obligations. Regardless, it’s a wonderful outcome, being surrounded by all the people you love the most here to be with you during this great time in your lives.

It’s a lot of laughter, a ton of great food, a tremendous amount of gifts, and an abundance of love that's felt from the moment you, Joe, and Callie walk out to the sound of Baby by Ashanti playing. Continues as there’s a damn near mass chorus that’s formed when When I See You by Fantasia comes on.

And the classic dances such as the Wobble and Electric Slide to Candy by Cameo that you most definitely get your big and pregnant ass to partake in.

But, one of your favorite parts has to be the photo station, several photos taken of yourself and Joe, various shots of his hands placed protectively over your stomach. Callie joins you for a couple photos as well, though it’s not missed upon you when she makes a face after one of Joe’s sisters jokingly makes a comment to her about “not being the only kiddo in the house anymore.”

It’s something you’ll certainly circle back around to at the end of the party, and it’s a time that’s nearing as the three of you start to kick off the moment everyone has been waiting for.

Joe’s deep voice travels across the spacious yard as he keeps an arm around you, Callie holds onto his shirt and stands on the other side of him. “We just want to thank all of you for taking time out to be here with us today.”

“You already know we weren’t about to miss this,” Trinity shouts.

Jon laughs and adds, “hell no. Can’t remember the last time we had a set of triplets join the family.”

“That’s cause it don’t happen a lot in general,” Alexis chimes, sipping on her Henny. “But Big Di—”

“Like Joe said,” you cut her off, already knowing where that was going. “We’re so happy and blessed to have you all in our lives, and it means the world to us that our children, the babies and Callie, have so many people who love them just as much as we do.”

Because knowing these amazing, wonderful people love your kids, even the ones that haven’t even arrived yet, as much as you and Joe do, truly is the best thing ever.

“But, we all know what ya’ll really wanna know,” Joe chuckles. “You wanna know the genders.”

A round of agreement prompts laughter with someone shouting out “hell yeah!” and Josh saying something about “winning the bet.”

As one of the workers brings over the three sets of balloons and pins, you and Joe make sure Callie has the right one before you take over. “Alright, is everyone ready?”

“Girl, would you hurry up? The new season of Baddies drops tonight!”

“Alexis, shut the hell up,” you laugh, shaking your head before turning to Joe. With a head nod, volume increased, you start with an excited tone, “the first baby is…..” And a small second of intentional delay before you pop the balloon, revealing blue confetti.

More rounds of applause and cheers as Joe proudly announces, “a boy.”

“I knew it!”

“The Tribal Chief got a tribal heir!”

“Whew, sis, start them kegel exercises now!”

When the celebration dies down, Joe and Callie focus on you for your turn. You lift up the balloon as he kicks off this time, “the second baby is….” Another intentional delay followed by a pop, revealing more blue confetti.

Eyes watering, you share loudly and proudly, “another boy!”

The pure excitement on everyone's face, including your mom who has silent tears streaming down her face, has you blotting at your eyes. This moment couldn’t be anymore perfect.

Joe moves to pick up Callie, kissing her cheek, asking, “you ready, Callie Bear?” She nods with excitement, you and Joe speaking in synchronization as you stand close to him with your hand on his stomach, “and the third baby is…..” Callie counts to three, closes her eyes, and pops the balloon.

And as pink confetti blends with the blue, she shouts with all the happiness, “a baby girl!”

The crowd of family and friends is the loudest during the last and final reaction, deepening your happiness, mimicking that of which was felt when Dr. Young revealed the sexes to you at your last appointment.

Two boys and one girl is literally perfect.

Your little family truly is truly going to be complete.

“And,” you cut through the cheers, one glance at your fiancé and daughter before you continue. “We have another surprise for ya’ll.”

“Don’t tell me there’s a fourth!”

Rolling your eyes at Jon, you cut right to it, “we’ve decided to share the names we’ve picked out.”

Gasps and excitement go around, Joe once again being the one to start off. “The firstborn boy will be named Iosefa Anoa’i.”

Iosefa.

The Samoan variation of the name Joseph.

Gaze on Joe, it fills your heart with so much love to see and hear the pride in his voice and on his face. Having one of your sons named after him is the least you can do for this man.

It’s what he deserves.

Clearing your throat, you provide the second name. “The second baby boy will be named Isaiah Anoa’i.” A strong, Biblical name. A name given in honor of your mom who has always loved said name. A moving gesture she clearly recognizes given the way she places both hands over her heart, mouthing ‘thank you.’

You mouth, 'I love you, too' back as both yourself and Joe redirect your focus to Callie for her big moment.

She giggles when Joe tickles her stomach before yelling, “and my baby sister will be named Moana Anoa’i!”

Deciding on names was such an intimate, thoughtful, moving process, and while they may not be as alike or even common as most triplet names, they mean something to you, Joe, and even Callie, who both yourself and your husband decided to let name her sister.

Callie is your firstborn, special to both of you in ways that you can’t describe, so giving her that only felt right.

And as you re-enter the group of friends and family who have gathered here for this special occasion, you can’t help but imagine what that’s going to be like when it happens again. On a different day. For a different reason. A year or so away, when you stand before them and God and take the man who completes you as your better half.

A beautiful day indeed, even if it’s more for show and aesthetic anyway.

Because unbeknownst to most of the guests, outside of Callie, your mom, and Joe’s mom, you have an appointment at the courthouse tomorrow morning at 10am sharp.

Because after tomorrow, not only will you and Joe Anoa’i share children.

You’ll share last names.

Because tomorrow is your wedding day.

You’ll officially be Mrs. Y/N Anoa’i.

#roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x black!reader #arisnotebook

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bunnwich · 5 hours ago

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HELLO! Do you have a summary of how you portray Leona's personality in your stories? I'm a big fan of your Leona and Yuu stories and I've read them multiple times www /gen I always feel like you just nail how he would act and say things and you inspire me to work on my own fics and get better at writing scenarios with him. Than you in advance ily🙏 🦉anon

How I Portray Leona in General and in Romance

HI ANON! So I've gotten this question a few times and someone in my discord asked me basically the same thing so I'll share with you what I wrote a few months ago about Leona and the general way I write him. (it's quite funny bc a lot of these things come up in Chapter 7 when we see his dream. I AM CURSED WITH APOLLOS'S GIFT OF PROPHECY WITH THIS MAN ISTG)

I hope this is helpful?? I would like to point out that the way I write Leona is fully based on my biases and life experiences. And that a big part of fandom is projecting what you wanna see in characters while still making them feel like the same character we know in canon, yk? Good luck with your fic writing! And thank you!! mwah mwah.💚 --

So Leona takes himself as a direct person, BUT he hides A LOT. He purposely misdirects ppl to get a reaction out of them. (Ex: pretending to be incompetent to anger someone) or he's playing with them. HE LOVES GAMES. Everyone is a chess piece, he has to feel in control bc that’s all he has ever had over everyone else; his wits. He’s a dickhead. He will say offensive shit to scare people off.

It’s a test to see who sticks around. He has no reservations when it comes to this. You take him as he is. And despite how some people write him he’s kinda silly? Like dad jokes. Why does he joke so much about eating people, who knows? (He says shit like Namby-pamby ffs) Why are you a 40y/o in a 20 y/o body?

I HC he purposely talks casually and gruff to distance himself from his upbringing. (I like to mix proper language and slang with him bc it feels right? Also lots of animal puns, and nicknames. HE'S CORNY AF)

In general I don't think Leona is an entirely romantic person in canon, however in my timeline, I do HC that he, like Scar has this “want vs need problem” with connection to others. He thinks it's just praise he wants (or to be king) BUT he NEEDS TLC. What was Scar MOST jealous of at the end of the day?? Mufasa’s connections, a ✨queen✨, a family! BEING KING DID NOT MAKE SCAR HAPPY!! He needs to be needed and in Chapter 2 novella, he admits he HAS to numb himself to not care. I feel like this is something he constantly battles with. Yeah, he's lazy but it's partly bc he’s tired. He’s burnt out.

On the surface, he projects 100% nonchalance. He wants you to think everything he says is just "off the cuff", but it's not. He plans everything!!! He’s a mentor, big bro, caretaker. He is not the best at comforting words but he enjoys being a leader bc people appreciate him and look uo to him. Something he never got at home.

Leona and ✨Romance✨

He fools himself into thinking he has the upper hand at first and keeps his distance keeping an eye on the object of his affection. Why would you catch his eye? Well, his greatest strength is picking up on OTHER STRENGTHS. Chessmaster. He is a mentorrrr and caretaker lowkey, he wants others to NEED him and rely on him. HE WANTS YOU TO NEED HIM.

At first, he would place himself in your path, trying to be helpful in a very tsundere type way. But he would still be causal and keep ruffling your feathers to gauge how you feel for him. He guards his heart pretty heavily. And more and more he is slowly collecting info about you he would find more ways for these meetings to happen until he realizes: "Oh shit, I’ve caught feelings." This one is the winner. He’s the king of nonchalance but also...he’s a very overly sensitive person. No doubt he’s freaking out a little, he doesn't wanna screw this up. But, he’d never show it.

I do think he wants to be challenged and given some pushback (insert manga panel about "something being harder to get and therefore is better"), He wants to WORK for it, to prove himself to you that you SHOULD choose him. He wants to impress you. It makes him feel alive. A person who keeps him on his toes.

And once this ”game” of cat and mouse starts to happen. He might start to let his guard down if you are shown you can be trusted with his VERY VERY delicate feelings, that you DO accept his flaws, treat him differently than all others, and see past his gruff demeanor. It is a test of sorts. He is testing that you can “handle” him. MORE GAMES.

He’d let you set the pace though. He won't be the first to give in. To kiss you or confess first. But he would fall first HARD. He’s not been given much one-on-one attention in his life so he would crave that time with you. Physical touch is a big one, but he would not be pushy. He'd tease your boundaries and become addicted to your time together.

But yeah, this push and pull goes on for a while, all the while he’s gauging how you react to this. Memorizing it all.

He’s def one of those texters who erases their sentence like 5 times when they are nervous bc he is cookin' up the RIGHT response to endear you. (Not in a sappy way of course more in a: “I know you miss me, mouse.” snarky sorta way.) Though he can be self-deprecating on bad days. He’ll act confident, though soften up behind closed doors.

I think once he realizes that you have picked up on his simpery and there's no going back...all bets are off. He doubles down, no longer ashamed of hiding it. (Assuming at this point the person has reciprocated these feelings too!) He wants to be yours and he’s not subtle. Someone to be by his side.

Then you get the REAL simp Leona, who lowkey mumbles the sappiest shit to you in his native language when he holds you, (bc he’s still embarrassed to be vulnerable, though this will fade over time) He’ll be your biggest supporter, and wants you around him as much as you can be.

This just keeps going until you're married. Congrats you now have a lion to take care of forever.🦁 Hope this helps!✨

#twst #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #leona kingscholar x yuu #twisted wonderland #bunnwich writes📝#lion talk🦁#ask #anon

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wandasaura · 1 day ago

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okay but what was R’s best orgasm that happened last Christmas? 👀 from your latest fic

this is from two months ago… i have no idea what fic we’re talking about so i’m just gonna tell you about ducky’s best orgasm… so… i hope thats okay with you

well to start, it’s somewhat of a competition (war) in the maximoff-romanova household. natasha claims that from her perspective, she gives you the best orgasms. she will analyze the patterns in your behavior over the course of months, just so when the conversation gets brought up again — which it inevitably always does — she can clap back at wanda with admissible proof that physically, she provides the best orgasms. she will also never shy away from bragging about how you turn to absolute mush in her arms after a scene, how you come undone so beautifully and give yourself to her entirely. because while she’s trying to factually assert her superiority, she’s also just a lesbian fucking her girlfriend really good… like really good (verbatim what she screamed across the living room at wanda during one rehashing).

wanda doesn’t even bother to bring her own facts to the discussion despite knowing natasha will pry at her like she’s on the stand for murder, she’s so confident in herself that she lets natasha just argue at her, sometimes natasha’s been going at her with facts for something close to three minutes, and wanda will just get so fed up with her wife that she sets her glare on ducky, accent thicker than all hell, and simply remind ducky of her title, of how she’s mommy. poor girl folds instantly every time and natasha just stomps away in frustration, although she’s literally thinking about wanda gives her some of the best orgasms of her life… which then prompts her to think that she really couldn’t pick between ducky or wanda.

this is natasha’s roman empire actually. she’ll randomly be sending emails and will just sit there and contemplate how ducky and wanda give her pleasure in such different ways. in the soft moments she steals with ducky, ducky always gravitates towards her thighs, while wanda will take her time up top. and then she gets horny and ends up texting wanda, which then just leads to them all teasing each other and pissing each other off because all three of them are meant to be doing their actual jobs… i’m telling you it’s literally all in good fun though. they’re lawyers… i think they just have a fear of losing their skill if they stop arguing and rebutting… poor ducky actually, sometimes they’re just so… in it… she knows she’d never survive actually seeing them in action

but ducky! she is just like natasha when it comes to organizing the facts and fantasizing about fucking her girlfriends on the daily . she will tell you when the best orgasm of her life occurred specifically (because she’s the only one who actually knows how to directly answer a question, or rather, the only one who didn’t endure like seven years of law school and cannot be bothered with stupid banter), but she has three categories and events.the first category is natasha, the second category is wanda, and the third category is the orgasms when they do it together.

natasha’s best orgasm was in the winter time the semester after they extended the contract. ducky was stressed, exhausted, overworked, honestly you name it, the poor girl was it. she was at the point where she had so many things going through her mind, and she was so tired that she was energized. she was staying on campus because the workload was getting to be too much to balance with a commute and an internship, and in a few weeks she’d somewhat stopped communicating with wanda and natasha. they talked on the phone, sometimes they’d go up to visit ducky whenever their breaks aligned with a gap in her schedule, but she was so preoccupied with a million other things that she just couldn’t give them a piece of her. she barely was herself with the sleep deprivation and the stress. she turned up at the house at eleven, searching for wanda. she was an absolute brat to natasha, huffing and rolling her eyes, getting annoyed when she kept being told that wanda was busy — which she was. there was a major issue in a contract that needed immediate attention. definitely not the kind of thing they could delegate or allow to sit on a desk — but ducky just wasn’t getting it. natasha was full on daddy mode at that point, and after an hour of teasing and edging and spanking, she finally let ducky cum as wanda walked into the bedroom.

wanda’s best orgasm is on the shore. they’d both been woken up around the same time in the middle of the night and been unable to fall back to sleep before tourist season, and so they’d sporadically decided to make a trip down to the shore to make the most of their early start to the day to see the sunrise. all they brought was a towel… which it is not ducky, nor wanda’s, proudest moment that they got so caught up in a makeout session that wanda fingered ducky on a towel in the middle of a public beach (granted it was empty) at 3 in the morning. it wasn’t even the most physically overpowering orgasm, but it was the way wanda somewhat collapsed on top of her afterward and nuzzled her face into her neck, giggling and mumbling about they’d just acted like horny teenagers. it was a rare moment where it was only wanda with ducky. it’s so hard for wanda to let go of everything, of mommy, of lawyer, of dominant. she craves the control, the discipline, and she panics when she doesn’t have it, so she’s always compensating for something, trying to mask the vulnerabilities she doesn’t want known. ducky just felt so loved in that moment, she doesn’t care that wanda’s also eaten her out until she passed out… but it’s also definitely up there.

and the best together orgasm was on her birthday. they’d been teasing her all fucking day. like all day. wanda woke her up by fingering her, natasha then insisted on showering together and washing her body for her, which was just a lot of lingering touchy feely, and then wanda had laid her accent on thick all through breakfast, uttering the most sickly sweet near condensing praise out of nowhere. thats what really got ducky, was how they’d be having a conversation and wanda would just… absolutely melt her brain. and then at lunch natasha snuck up behind ducky, hugging her tight, and not so subtly grinding her strap into ducky’s ass. and then wanda AND natasha had been touchy feely annoying teases during dinner and the drive home. and then took turns fucking her when they got home. to the point where she was basically mush until the following afternoon? yeah ducky thinks about that a lot

anyways ducky’s actual answer is wanda. she refuses to admit this tho. wanda literally knows tho

#[ 🪩⊹ ] — aura’s mailbox!#yail: asks #a: anon #answered.#minors dni ৎ୭ #brought to you by highura 🍃

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sebastianstangirl01 · 2 days ago

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✧˖° lifeline | rafe cameron

pairing - rafe cameron x routledge!reader

warnings - violence (jj decking rafe), language, pregnancy (audrey’s pregnant instead of sarah), almost drowning

summary - after rafe, who just so happens to be your baby daddy, offers you and your friends a boat ride to Moraco tensions rise between the untrusting group. when an intense storm hits out of no where you get swept off the front of the boat by an enormous wave and rafe has to make a decision. save the woman he loves and mother of his child or ride out the storm to find groff.

authors note - well…..i’m back! kinda. sorry for literally dropping off the face of the earth, i’ve been more activish writing wise on wattpad lately. so sorry for not writing any on here! since buzzcut rafe and just drew in general are literally daddy i knew i had to write for him! i’m sure you’ve seen this trope like a million times, but that’s because it’s such a bomb trope and never gets old! at least in my opinion! with that being said, because it’s so popular it’s inevitable that these types of fics will probably be similar but i’ll try my very best to be as original as possible!! oh, also since i hate having to write y/n as the name i’ll be using is audrey since that’s my name and who doesn’t want to imagine themselves as rafe’s girl?? but for real, feel free to imagine any name you want! i hope you enjoy!!

not proofread!!

✧˖°

when rafe showed up and convinced shoupe to let you all track down groff, you thought you were dreaming. but here you are sitting on a container of god knows what stuck on a boat with your older brother (by 9 months), best friends, and ex/baby daddy who you haven’t spoken to since you found out you were pregnant 2 weeks ago.

you paced circles around the large bathroom, chewing on the side of your finger anxiously. the timer winding down on your phone seemed to be taking a lot longer than 3 minutes and the test flipped upside down on the sink seemed to be haunting you.

it all started about a week ago. you noticed some unusual changes in your everyday routine, starting with the fact that you found yourself bending over the toilet seat every morning puking your guts up.

the thought of being pregnant didn’t even click in your mind until you realized the last time you had your period was so long ago you couldn’t even remember the exact date. panic involuntarily filled your mind when you thought about your situation.

you and rafe have been off and on for as long as you could remember. him using and smoking all the time was one of the main reasons why, he wasn’t the same when he was high and he honestly scared you. when peterkin was killed you thought there was no way you’d ever be able to look at rafe the same again.

but there’s just something about him that keeps drawing you in, he’s different around you. even more so now that he’s quit abusing drugs, he makes you feel like the only girl in the world. the issue still stands though, he treats your brother and friends like the scum of the earth and nothing you say changes his behavior.

it’s exhausting having your boyfriend and friends hate each other to the point where you can’t even bring rafe around your home without someone starting a fist fight.

that’s what caused your breakup this time, you couldn’t stand the animosity between everyone and what sealed the deal was jj starting a brawl with rafe that ended with both of them having to get stitches. you felt responsible for them getting hurt and put your own feelings aside to do what you thought was best for everyone as a whole.

you and rafe broke up. but no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t stay away. which led to your current predicament.

the timer finally went off, snapping you out of your thoughts and stopping you in your tracks. you’re heart was beating so fast you thought it would burst from your chest and land in the claw foot tub across the room. biting the bullet you grabbed the test and held it tightly in your hand, not having the heart to turn it over yet.

“hey-” rafe pushed open the bathroom door making you jump in surprise

you had thought he left for work already but here he was standing in front of you with furrowed brows as his gaze landed on the test in your hand.

“rafe.” you started but he cut you off

“what the fuck is that?” rafe snapped in shock

“i uh, i’m late.” was all you could mutter as you bit your lip nervously, recognizing the cold look on rafe’s face

“and?” rafe raised his brows waiting for your answer impatiently

“I haven’t been able to look.” you admitted and rafe huffed walking closer to you and yanking the test out of your hand

the tension in the room was suffocating as rafe flipped the test over, you were terrified as you studied his face closely looking for any sign of what the test read.

“fuck.” rafe whispered before dropping the test to the ground his hands immediately coming up to press against his forehead as he turned away from you

you slowly bent down and your hands shook as you picked the test up, flipping it over your heart dropped into your stomach.

pregnant.

tears filled your eyes and your chest filled with panic, you had truly never been more scared in your life than you were in this moment. how were you supposed to raise a baby? you only just turned 19 and your home is about to be swept out from under you by greedy kooks. and you aren’t even with the father of your baby at the moment.

“holy shit.” rafe’s voice broke you out of your thoughts and you looked over at him

he was standing with his hands squeezing the counter top harshly, the veins in his neck looked like they were about to burst.

“rafe?” you whispered

“i cant do this right now.” rafe shook his head before storming out of the room

the front door slamming downstairs startled you making you jump, then it hit you. you were pregnant and alone and the tears slid down your cheeks.

that was the last you had seen or heard from rafe. when you told your brother he was less than thrilled, it took everything for you to keep him from tracking rafe down and killing him. but john b eventually realized that you needed him to be there for you so he put his feelings aside and focused on you and his future niece or nephew.

your friends were about the same story, especially jj who has always been a loose cannon. but at the end of the day they rallied around you and you knew they would be there for you and be the best aunts and uncles to the baby.

but right about now you wished you had just gone with shoupe because you were being hit with motion sickness to the extreme and felt like you were about to throw up everywhere.

“hey, what’s up?” kie frowned kneeling down in front of you, sarah immediately following

“you ok?” sarah placed her hand on your knee

it took you a second to answer having to take a few deep breaths until the nausea subsided before you blinked down at the pair.

“just nauseous.” you held a hand to your stomach

“maybe there’s some ginger ale or something in the kitchen.” kie said and you nodded the thought of the fizzy drink sounded appealing

before she could stand to go searching for anything a hand appeared in front of your face holding a can of ginger ale. you knew that veiny hand and gold ring anywhere but still looked up and saw rafe looking at you in concern.

that was the most concern he had shown you since you found out you were pregnant.

“thanks.” you smiled softly and he just nodded before disappearing back inside

you saw the look exchanged between your two best friends but ignored it as you eagerly cracked open the can before humming in delight as you took sips of the drink.

“ok, so I think it’s time we talk about the elephant on the boat.” jj started making everyone exchange confused looks. “rafe, guys.”

“what about him?” sarah furrowed her brows

“what do you mean, what about him? do we really trust that he’s not going to screw us over? shit, i wouldn’t be surprised if he was working with those psycho mercenaries and was leading us to our deaths.” jj rambled

“come on jayge, you know none of us trust him but he did save our asses. as much as i hate to admit it.” kie reminded her boyfriend who just rolled his eyes

“and that automatically excuses everything he’s done?” jj scoffed

“hey, she’s not saying that. you know i’d love to just chuck him into the ocean but so far he hasn’t tried anything. i say we play it cool then ditch him the second we dock.” pope spoke levelheadedly and the others reluctantly nodded in agreement

“but until then, what do we do?” sarah crossed her arms over her chest and leaned into john b’s side

“you know him best, aud. can we trust him to keep his word?” john b turned to his sister who had stayed quiet for the whole conversation

“i believe he’ll keep his word.” you answered after a second and john b studied you for a moment before nodding

“ok, we’ll just stay cool for now.” john b looked between everyone who reluctantly nodded

well, that didn’t last long. one second you were moving inside the cabin to get out of the sun and the next you were kneeling on the ground cradling rafe’s unconscious form after jj sucker punched him in the face.

“what the fuck jj!” you exclaimed in shock

“what? we can’t trust him, i know he’s your baby daddy and you two have some weird relationship thing but i’m not taking any chances.” jj shrugged as he grabbed a rope

“if he didn’t do it i was going to.” pope commented

you just signed and rubbed your forehead at their stupidity and stubbornness before gently stroking rafe’s cheek that was already bruising.

“i’m surrounded by idiots.” you mumbled to yourself

john b and jj carried rafe down into a small utility room after tying his hands together, shutting and locking the door behind them.

knowing there was nothing you could say to get the group to change their minds about rafe, you and cleo got to work in the kitchen looking around for something edible that could be fixed for dinner.

“what about this?” cleo turned to you holding a box of spaghetti noodles

“i guess you can never go wrong with spaghetti.” you shrugged with a small smile

you also knew that spaghetti was a safe food for you, it was one of the only foods that didn’t make you sick at the moment.

john b and pope were out on the deck trying to catch some fish, but you knew you’d be having spaghetti for dinner regardless since you don’t like seafood. jj and kie were up in the cabin making sure the boat was on course and sarah was sunbathing since there wasn’t really much else to do. of course she had offered to help cleo cook and let you relax, but you needed a distraction right now.

while cleo started boiling water, you started working on the sauce. surprisingly the kitchen was pretty nicely stocked and you were able to find a jar of marinara sauce and a bunch of different herbs and seasonings.

humming to yourself you stirred the sauce in the pan in front of you, listening to the playful banter from your friends.

after everyone ate they all agreed that it would be safest for you to be the one to bring rafe dinner. even though both jj and pope voted on letting him starve, everyone else agreed that it wasn’t right. you were nervous to approach him one on one, unsure of what he would say or do when he saw you.

getting your nerves under control, you took a deep breath before shifting the tray of food so you could push open the door. rafe blinked up at you lazily, the image brought you back to the mornings when you woke up together.

“hey, i thought you might be hungry.” you spoke softly closing the door behind you

you stepped forward and knelt down beside him, sitting the tray of food in front of him. rafe looked down at the tray in distain before looking back up at you.

“you gonna feed it to me? or am i supposed to just shove my face in it like a fuckin animal?” rafe snapped making you flinch, which he noticed and immediately took a deep breath. “baby, untie me. please.”

“don’t call me that, rafe. not when you’ve spent the past few weeks ignoring me.” you frowned in frustration

“i’m sorry. i just don’t know what to think, this is a really big thing.” rafe mumbled pulling uncomfortably at his restraints

“i know it’s a big thing rafe, trust me. i’m the one waking up every morning at the crack of dawn to puke my guts out.” you couldn’t help but snap, your emotions from the past couple of weeks overflowing

you had been so upset since finding out you were pregnant and you hate it. you hate that your first thought about your own child was a negative one. you’ve always wanted to be a mother, it’s something you dreamed about since your next door neighbor had a baby when you were 6.

so knowing that you have felt like your baby is a burden for the first part of your pregnancy makes you feel so incredibly guilty. and it’s all because of rafe, of the way he reacted to the news by up and leaving you all alone.

you want your child to have a father, and as much as you hate to admit it you want that father to be rafe. because regardless of everything, you love him.

“look, we can talk about this ok? let’s just talk about it, but first untie me.” rafe held his hands out to you

“i can’t rafe, they don’t trust you and i can’t say i blame them. you’ve never given them a reason to.” you shook your head

“i talked shoupe out of arresting all of you, i got you on this boat.” rafe scoffed

“you also beat pope, shot sarah, strangled kie, framed john b for murder, and started how many fights with jj? not to mention how you’ve continued to terrorize them in general. why would they trust you rafe?” you shook your head moving to stand

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry, audrey. ok, i’ve been a shitty guy, a shitty brother and boyfriend. i know that, but i’m getting my shit together alright? for you, i’m getting my shit together for you and the baby.” rafe rambled and you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered at his words

especially at his mention of the baby, this being the first time you’d ever heard him acknowledge it.

“I hope you are rafe, and i’m happy for you. but you need to change for yourself too, not just me and not just our baby.” you said casting him one last look before leaving ignoring his calls from behind you

things changed so fast. one second, you were sitting next to pope trying to ignore your guilt at ignoring rafe while everyone ate and the next there was a huge clap of thunder.

the night sky was black but the swirling clouds and flashes of lightning were alarmingly clear. the ocean became harsh and unforgiving, aggressive waves slammed into the side of the boat sending it rocking back and forth wildly.

john b, accompanied by pope and jj immediately ran for the cabin to try to get control of the boat while the girls held on for dear life.

you felt a wave of fear overcome you, not just for your own life, but for the lives of everyone on the boat including the baby in your belly. of course, john b and sarah had survived sailing into a storm, but it wasn’t anywhere near as intense as the storm they are in now.

after a particularly harsh wave collided with the side of the boat, you were knocked out of your seat and hit the ground hard.

“shit!” you exclaimed trying to balance as you pushed yourself to your knees

“are you ok?” sarah grabbed your hand and pulled you to her protectively

“this isn’t good. we’re fucked, aren’t we?” you gulped holding sarah’s hand and the bottom of the table tightly

you looked around at the girls, who all had similar looks of fear on their faces, even cleo who was always calm and collected. pope rushed back down to you guys, explaining that they decided there was no way of outrunning the storm. that they just had to go through it.

sarah and kie went off to find jj and john b, not wanting to be too far from them which left you, cleo, and pope in the small sitting area to hold down the fort.

“hey! let me out! audrey! sarah!” your head suddenly snapped towards the door across the room that led to the room rafe was being kept in

you couldn’t leave him in there all alone, there was no telling how scared he was trapped in there having no idea what was going on. only being able to feel the way the boat thrashed back and forth.

pope, recognizing the look on your face after so many years of friendship immediately shook his head in protest.

“no! no, audrey you can’t let him out!” pope reached for you but you shrugged him off as you ran towards the kitchen area

“audrey! come on, girl! don’t!” cleo exclaimed

“i can’t just leave him there to die! he’s the father of my child, and i still love him. i’m sorry!” you gave them an apologetic look before grabbing a knife out of the sink and running tot he door ignoring your friends shouts from behind you

your legs shook from the effort it took to stay on your feet, the boat rocked back and forth harshly as the enormous waves tossed them around like a pinball.

you practically busted down the door and fell against the sink, somehow miraculously you managed to not stag yourself in the process. rafe was pulling on his restrains and you saw water had already leaked into the room making your eyes widen.

“baby, cut me loose.” rafe broke you out of your trance

“i got you.” you rushed over to him and cautiously began cutting the ropes

“careful!” rafe scolded when you accidentally nicked the skin on his forearm

“i’m trying! just, stay still i’ve never done this before!” you fired back

finally you were able to cut through the ropes and rafe waisted no time pulling you into his arms holding you tightly. you melted into his chest, momentarily forgetting the terror of the situation.

“thank you.” rafe sighed into your hair

“i’d never leave you.” you mumbled squeezing his waist

the two of you pulled away and looked at each other, silently promising to have a long conversation, when you weren’t battling a dangerous storm of course.

“i need to get to john b. sarah’s with him, come on!” you abruptly pulled away, now that you knew rafe was ok you had to find your brother

you ran out of the door hearing rafe curse before following behind you, calling your name. the unfortunate thing was that to get up to the cabin from your position you had to first go across the deck.

the wind was so strong it almost knocked you off your feet as you stepped onto the deck, the rain pelted down onto you mixed with the water that had been sloshed over the edge of the boat.

“john b!” you exclaimed, shielding your eyes as you tried to walk forward

“audrey!” john b yelled with wide eyes as he took in your small figure in the storm he, followed by sarah, jj, and kie rushed out onto the upper deck right outside the cabin.

just as you made a move towards them a large wave came out of no where and slammed into the side of the boat knocking you to the ground. your skin scuffed against the ground and you yelped at the feeling of a jagged piece of metal slashing your hip.

rafe had just burst onto the deck when he saw you on the ground, as he was about to run to you he heard sarah scream your name.

“audrey!” sarah screamed in horror as the lightning in the sky revealed a monster wave approaching them

you screamed, knowing there was no way you’d be able to make it to safety in time and tried your best to clutch onto something. before you knew it you felt your body being hit hard by a wall of water, sending you skidding across the ground. your hands slipped and slid as you tried to grab onto something, but it was no use as you felt yourself suddenly falling off the back of the boat.

you didn’t even have time to scream as you’re body collided with the harsh and unforgiving ocean water, your body was pulled underwater by the rough current. you had been swimming in the ocean your whole life, yet you had never experienced something quit like this before.

it felt like there were hands gripping your body trying to keep you underwater, but you fought as hard as you could. when you were finally able to break the surface you did so with a big gasp, eagerly sucking in air as you fought against the waves.

“help! rafe! john b! jj!” you screamed thrashing in the water

when rafe saw you fall overboard his heart stopped and it was like his body was in autopilot. he ran forward and grabbed the lifebuoy that was hanging on the side of the boat.

sarah locked her teary eyes on her brother, her heart pounding out of her chest at the thought of losing her best friend, and now she sees rafe holding the lifebouy and knows exactly what is going through his head.

“rafe!” sarah yelled not wanting to lose someone else

rafe didn’t hesitate, his mind already made up as he ran to the end of the boat.

“audrey! i’m coming!” rafe yelled before diving into the water

the pogues watched in terror as the two disappeared from their sight, john b dropping to his knees in agony at the potential loss of his sister. the only family he had left. while sarah was in the same position, you were her best friend and now sister in law and rafe was the only family she had left and she had just lost them both.

rafe gasped as he broke the surface, holding onto the bouy tightly he looked around frantically trying to spot you when he saw you clinging to a piece of wood.

“audrey!” rafe yelled before swimming towards you

your head snapped up when you heard rafe’s familiar voice and couldn’t help but sob in relief as you saw him swimming towards you.

“rafe!” you started swimming to meet him halfway

when you were within arms reach, rafe pulled you into his arms and held you against him and the bouy as tight as he could. you cried as you clung to him and rafe tried his best to push his fear aside for your sake.

“you came for me. you came for me.” you gasped kicking your legs to stay above the water

“i’ll always come for you. always. it’s going to be ok, baby. just don’t let go.” rafe demanded and you nodded

the storm raged around you and the boat disappeared from your sight, nothing around but the vast stretch of the ocean leaving you with nothing but fear and anxiety. but at least you had rafe, you knew he would do whatever he could to protect you and that’s what kept you going as the two of you clutched onto each other tightly and rode out the storm.

the first thing you recognized was how quiet it was around you, the next was the body laying beside you. you blinked your eyes open and coughed feeling some of the water you inhaled trickle out of your mouth. hands grabbed your face and you blinked up to see rafe’s soaked face hovering above you.

“there she is, wake up for me baby.” rafe sighed in relief as he pulled you into his arms

“are we alive?” you asked clutching onto his arm

“yeah baby, we’re alive. we’re ok.” rafe chuckled kissing your forehead

you sighed leaning against him lazily, as exhaustion filled your aching body. you have no idea how the two of you survived the storm, but you were grateful.

“you saved my life.” you looked up at rafe with teary eyes before grabbing his hand and placing it on your stomach. “you saved us both.”

rafe felt his emotions overpower him as a lone tear slid down his cheek, it was just now hitting him how much he had to lose. if he had been even a second too late he would have lost you. he would’ve lost you and the baby.

he had spent so much time being an idiot, being a terrible person when he could’ve spent that time loving you. no more, he made that vow to himself right in that moment. he made a promise to himself that he would do right by you and this baby, nothing else mattered. not money or kooks vs pogues, nothing. only you and the future the two of you had together with your child.

“i will always save you. i love you so much, audrey, and i and so sorry for the way i have treated you. for the way i have treated your friends. for everything. this has made me realize that you are the most important thing to me in the world and i am going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you and to our child. if you give me a chance, i swear to you that i will be the best man i can be.” rafe cradled your face in his hands

as you looked into his eyes you saw nothing but love and sincerity, and it was what you had been wanting from him for as long as you can remember. seeing him in this moment you know how serious he is and after he literally risked his life to save you, you know that he is the one.

“i love you too, rafe. i want to be a family.” you leaned your forehead against his nudging his nose with yours

“i want that too. more than anything.” rafe said before leaning forward and connecting your lips

in that moment you knew that no matter what came out of this new treasure hunt that you would always have rafe by your side and that your child would grow up with a father. and that’s all you could hope for.

#outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x routledge!reader

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doodler16 · 8 hours ago

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sinsmas nutshell: remember kids, cheating is ok as long you're gay no need for divorce or talking with your partner about it just sleep with others behind your partner's back, all straight people are evil and you're good and free from consequences cause you like men and anyone who criticising your actions is homophobic 😃👍, assassination business suddenly have morals and decides when killing is bad and when is good so I am not going to kill your cheating husband for sleeping with another man and killing him is bad cause he's gay ! ,this show is pro queer guys! Gay men become gay when they marry a woman so please don't judge them for cheating!!! We love queer representation and anyone who says the representation is wrong is homophobic!!!!

I am starting to think that vivziepop have "man cheated cause he suddenly realised he's gay" fetish, also this show is if it was made by right wingers believe in lgbtq stereotypes and tried to spread their anti-lgbtq nonsense, I am telling you: if stolas married a man but slept with a woman cause he realised he wasn't gay the fandom would crucify him left and right but nah only gay people are allowed to cheat

I know what Vivziepop was trying to do with this episode’s client. It being a parallel to what is happening to Stoliz currently. But the way it was executed was not only dumb but hypocritical and highlighted the double standards between how the straight families were handled compared to the LGBTQ family in this show.

This is the second time, Blitzø suddenly cared about morals out of nowhere. First, all the way in season 1, Cherubs and now out of nowhere in season 2, Sinmas. The only reason Blitzø is getting cold feet is because he sees himself in that gay couple. Bro did not care about Moxxie’s morals or feelings when it came to hesitating to killing a straight family.

So, Why should the rest of the group care about how Blitzø feels about this gay couple. They have a job to do, have done this multiple times, and remember 2 episodes ago Blitzø wasted the teams’ money on stupid shit and haven’t paid them in a month or two. Loona and Millie should’ve pushed Blitzø and Moxxie back into the portal then killed the gay couple and their children.

Also, this isn’t character development. It’s just Blitzø being wish-washy with his morals when it’s convenient for the plot. If Vivziepop wanted Blitzø to have a change in heart or a hint of regret regarding divorced families, it could’ve been conveyed throughout different missions or through the other characters.

#vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #anonymous #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism

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the-universal-sun · 2 days ago

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How do Little Ford and Stan handle bathtime? Do they have a favorite type of bath toy? I can personally see Little Stan loving plastic dinosaur figurines, and maybe Ford having one of those Crayola chemistry bath sets! I can also see them having their own towel with a hoodie!

I did briefly write something small about Stan and bathtime a couple of months ago, and this gave me the opportunity to expand on that! Thank you so much for your ask! And sorry it took so long to get to it, I hope you're still here.

I hope you like the head canons I created, that your vision was met. Please let me know!

I'm always open to helpful advice or to just chat!

Happy Holidays if you're the celebrating type!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

-Little Stan loves bathtime! You wouldn't think it, he hated bathing as a kid, but now that he gets unlimited bath time? With actual hot water? Ford has a hard time getting him out of the bath

-Stan likes his baths scalding hot. It soothes the aches of his joints and old scars and he gets cold easily and will shiver when the water goes lukewarm, so scalding hot water will make it so baths last longer and are all around more pleasant for both Stan and Ford

-Ford has to convince Stan that Poindexter will be safe sitting and keeping watch on the sink, that he can't be in the water with Stan because the he could get sick. The thought of his friend getting sick is what does it for Stan (though somewhere in his grown up mind, he knows it's because Poindexter is an old plush, so no matter how well maintained he is, he shouldn't be getting wet), compromising and letting him keep watch from the toilet, where he can see Stan better

-He has so many rubber duckies, and they're the kind with cool and novelty designs. Pirates, whales, mermaids, some that are just straight up fish shaped instead of patterned like a costume. He plays make believe with them while Ford's washes his hair, just making sound effects to their adventures

-I like your thought on dinosaur toys. Ford got him specific dinosaurs sets, one for bath time and the other for daily play. The daily play is just an assortment of all different kids of dinos from different periods; land, sea, air, bugs, just so many types of dinosaurs. His bathtime set is only marine dinosaurs; some are bought from online and some Ford made himself, those being the more obscure species that he's studied

-I mentioned this before, but Stan has a toy boat with a rudder that will paddle through the water when wound up. He deemed it the "S.S. Stan" and named Ford as his first mate. He loves splashing it through the water and getting Ford's sleeves wet, sometimes spraying him with the little cannon on the ship, giggling and looking away when Ford gives him that look

-The first time he accidentally splashed Ford, early on in Ford caring for him, he got upset and started apologizing with little murmured "sorry's", hoping he didn't upset Ford or ruin his sweater. Ford, of course, wasn't mad at all, and stuck his sweater clad arms all the way down in the water to prove so, showing Stan that it's okay to have fun and splash in the bath

-Ford learned very quickly that he shouldn't wear sweaters during his brother's bath time

-Stan has some of those crayons that can color on bath tub walls and come off easily with water. He'll draw his boat and his dinosaurs and the dinosaurs attacking his boat. He splashes at Ford to get him to see his pretty pictures on the wall

-The only way Ford can get Stan out of the bath is to let the water go cold so he doesn't want to stay in. When that happens, Ford is quick to wrap Stan in his special towel, drying him off before slipping the hood, adorned with lamb ears, over his head and drying off his hair. Ford ignores Stan's pouting about the lamb ears, he's just too cute!

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

-As a kid, Ford used to love bathtime, it was his time away from the world around him. As an old man with the last 30 years having to go without being clean for weeks and taking short only 5-10 minute scrub downs? Stan has to basically bribe him to bathe when he's little

-Stan gets Ford multitudes of bath chemistry sets, from bathbombs to a water lab that isn't necessarily for the bath, but will work anyways. Anything so Stan can wash his stinky brother

-Like Stan, Ford has to have scalding hot water, it helps soothe the aches of his old body and helps him remember that he's home and with his Buddy, not in some scary dimension all alone. He's safe and warm and he's with his brother

-Ford will leave Dr. Mittens outside the door, terrified of getting his handmade plushy wet and having it fall apart. Stan has to reassure him throughout bathtime that Dr. Mittens is dry and okay and right outside the door, which is cracked open so the plush toy can peak inside

-Beyond all the science kits Ford has for bath time, he also has some aquatic animal replicas and he'll reenact the animals hunting rituals with them, pretend to hunt them himself, and tell Stan every detail he knows about each one. In that order. Every bathtime. And Stan is more than happy to sit there and listen to Ford talk, not only is he genuinely interested in hearing his thoughts, but it also distracts Ford enough for Stan to get him clean

-Unlike Stan, Ford will let him know he's finished bathing simply by stopping what he's doing and saying "I'm done now" and attempting to stand and get up

-Sometimes, Ford will most decidedly not be done, shampoo still in his hair. So when that happens, Stan will have to get Ford talking about something, the chemicals in his soap, the anatomical structure of Beluga Whale, anything so he can finish bathing Ford

-Ford has a towel with cat hears on the hood, matching Dr. Mittens, that he'll only wear after he's completely dried off. He wants to match with Dr. Mittens, but he can't get him wet, so Ford'll wear the hooded towel after Stan towel dries him and his hair, so he just sits in that hooded towel and relaxes after his bath

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

Bathe these stinky boys

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thefandomsfervent · 2 days ago

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Viktor x Reader Personal Pigments(Part 17) - Prussian Blue

This is a jayvik x reader fic now but it'll still be labeled as a Vik Fic until it's fully implemented. Ft. JayVik and wine, drunk Jayvik, it goes 18+ here (masturbation). Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom. It's late, I was on a roll, and I didn't proofread this a whole lot, I'll edit it later.

Planning on writing as much as I can this weekend to post in bulk before Christmas week, I'll be traveling a distance away and can't bring my laptop with me.

stay tuned and Thank you for reading <3

╔═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╗

It only took you thirty minutes to find your way back to the lab. Although, those first few minutes had you stressed and embarrassed. You and Mel had spent almost two hours walking and talking and you thought she had taken you all over the Academy, but she really had you both walking laps. You were closer to the dining hall than you thought, from there you were able to find your room, and then the lab. Just as you walk up to that heavy door it swings open.

“Zlato, please, use your feet.” It’s Viktor, doing his best to keep Jayce above the floor. You rush forward without thinking and get under Jayce’s other arm to prop him up. You have to drop your pouch and your sketchbook. It gets kicked behind you into the lab once you’re able to stand taller.

“What happened?” You’re asking as you shift Jayce between yourself and Viktor. He’s laughing to himself at the situation. “Oh my gods. He was drunk. Jayce Talis sensible golden boy was drunk.” You remember the wine that Mel had gifted them. But it had only been two hours. Three and half maybe?

“The wine was stronger than we thought.” When you look at Viktor you see his hair is tousled, his cheeks red from exertion or his own drinking you aren’t sure.

“Did he have the whole bottle?” You’re laughing and trying not to. The shaking of your shoulders makes it hard to keep Jayce up straight. “Hun you have to help us help you okay?”

“Mmm you’re both warm. ‘S nice.” You were not letting him live this down tomorrow, if he wasn’t suffering a raging hangover.

“He had four glasses, too close together I think.” Viktor is adjusting his cane straighter with one hand and moving his shoulders around to get a better grip on Jayce’s back with his other.

“And you?”

“I also had four, but I am much better with alcohol than he is.” He thinks back to the first time they had drank together. Some whiskey that was spiced heavily at a cocktail lounge many many months ago. Viktor had enjoyed it, nursing a glass for the first thirty minutes. But Jayce? He slammed it and immediately gagged. Coughing and sputtering. That one drink alone had almost knocked him clean on his ass ten minutes later. He’s laughing at the memory. Especially when he remembers that Jayce made the exact same mistake another ten minutes after drinking a seltzer and they had to sit on the curb outside nursing water. Since then Jayce had learned how to pace himself, learned that he preferred drinks that did not burn his throat and were easier to sip on. Wine was hit or miss. “The wine was sweet, so he was not as cautious as he should have been.”

“WE ARE CELEBRAATING!” The sudden input from Jayce surprised you both. Despite his jelly legs his arms are strong, squeezing the two of you closer. He wasn’t yelling, as much as he was whisper screaming.

“Oh! Congratulations, a new development?” You’re following Viktor’s lead as you take patient steps down the hall. Viktor looks down to Jayce, whose face is flush from all the wine, who has a smile so bright it could be seen in the dark, and who is actively starting to fall asleep in their arms. They needed to move him quickly before he was dead weight. At that point it would be impossible to move him even with your help. There was no time to explain what they were celebrating.

“Yes, a new development.” He can’t help the gentle grin growing on his face. It was so warm. This endearment blooming in his ribs, the wine finding its place throughout his body, feeling your arm against his as you help him haul Jayce down the hallway. He can see their rooms. His was closest and Jayce’s was a couple doors down. There were many reasons he was thankful for the proximity of their moved rooms, but now more than ever. His hand using his cane was starting to go numb from the pressure, a pain shooting up his arm into his shoulder. “Here, to the left. Can you get him to the wall?” Jayce is heavy but you manage to move him to the wall by yourself, needing a breather as you slump against it with him.

He looks sleepy. Eyes struggling to stay open, his mouth parted, his usually perfect combed back hair disheveled.. “Pretty boy indeed.” You’re brushing it out of his face when he leans into your hand. He’s smiling, white teeth and happiness blinding even in the dim light of the hall. “You alright?”

“Neveerr betterrr.” It’s a slurred breathy reply and he slots his head against your shoulder. Viktor is glancing at you while also fiddling with a ring of keys. The clinking sound of metal against metal echoing in the hallway. He finds the one for Jayce’s room and starts unlocking the door. He nods at you to try and get Jayce to his feet.

“Hey big guy, you ready to get up again?” Jayce just hums, pushing the back of his head against the wall now. “Don’t you want to lay down all cozy in bed?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay then I’m going to get up and I’ll need you to come with me. Can you do that?” Jayce gives another hum of agreement and Viktor watches how gentle you are with him. Helping him stand gingerly, holding onto his waist with one arm, and pulling Jayce’s arm over your shoulder again. Intertwining your fingers with his golden partner’s as you try your damndest to get him through the door. He watches as you give Jayce affirming words and praise for just moving forward with you. It pulls at his core, at all the things him and Jayce had discussed tonight. At all the moments that have been shared. “I’m a sappy drunk,” he thinks as he directs you to Jayce’s bedroom. Viktor pulls the covers back on the bed and lets you set the man down before he sits with him. Helping him take off his shoes.

“Thank you for your help. I am sure he will apologize tomorrow.” Jayce is leaning against Viktor, whispering something you can’t catch.

“I can’t say I won’t give him a hard time.” You laugh at the thought, then again when Jayce’s hand is slapped away from Viktor’s tie. It almost dies in your throat when you watch Viktor’s slender fingers work at Jayce’s. You know it’s to help Jayce get ready for bed, but after all that you’ve seen today it was an image you weren’t sure you were supposed to be burning into your memory like you are. “Goodluck. I’ll be in the hall if you need help.” Viktor just nods, trying to get Jayce to sit still as you leave.

You can hear Viktor talking to Jayce, instructing him as you close the bedroom door. Jayce’s apartment is neat but lived in. It smelled a little of oil? And baked spices. A jacket tossed over a couch, shoes neatly lined by the front door. A table with notes and blueprints that looked similar to how he kept his own room. Stacks of books filled with sticky notes. There are a few plants around. A guitar? So much information about a person in one space. It made you wonder about Viktor’s room. If it was neater than this knowing that he barely spent any time there. As you make your way into the hall you remember that Viktor had a key, on his own key ring, to Jayce’s place. So intimate, the care they had for each other. So sweet in its normalcy. A feeling brews in your chest as you wait by the door. Overwhelming and unknown, something akin to wanting.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“You are drunk Jayce.” Viktor is trying his hardest to not laugh at the man in front of him, struggling to unbutton his own shirt.

“ ‘know that.” An irritated huff, an uncommon sound for his partner. “ ‘m trying.”

“I know you are, let me help.” It takes a few minutes to get Jayce set up for bed. Viktor leaves him in his undershirt, let’s Jayce take care of his pants despite the struggle. There’s a want brewing in him. He wants to stay here, to hold him til he sleeps, be there with water and maybe a pain reliever when he wakes up. But he doesn’t. He ignores the whine in Jayce’s throat when he goes to the kitchen to get his partner water. When he returns Jayce is out cold. Snoring softly under the covers. He leaves the water on the bedside table, watching the even breathing that moves Jayce’s chest. A hand moves to cup his cheek, rubbing a circle into the apple of it. Viktor’s heart swells when he feels the weight of Jayce push into it unconsciously.

He joins you in the hallway shortly after. You were staring at the wall in front of you, zoning out when the closing of the door snaps you out of it.

“Hey, he alright?” You’re leaning forward, hands by your side as you face him.

“He will be fine. Embarrassed, but fine.” Viktor was tired, the wine making him sleepy and warm. He starts walking towards his room and you follow.

“Didn’t think he’d be a lightweight. It’s kinda-” cute. You don’t finish the sentence but it seems like Viktor agrees with you, laughing softly as his cane taps against the floor.

“Unexpected. I did not know either when we first met. He will deny it though, if you ask it. Blames it on anything else.” He likes hearing you laugh. He likes knowing he caused it. He frowns when he realizes how short the walk is to his room. You would be leaving now. “Goodnight Ms. L/N. We shall see you in the lab tomorrow, yes?”

“Yes. Goodnight Viktor.” Your voice is so soft, so sweet. Viktor watches as you walk down the hall, flipping through all the keys he has before finding the one for his door. He hadn’t gone to bed this early in a long time. It wasn’t even ten o’clock and he was already in his room getting ready to shower. Discarding clothes, finding ones for tomorrow. Brushing his teeth as the shower heats up.

When he steps in it fogs up the window over his sink. The warm water soothing the aches of his body. He goes over today’s events as he lathers a shampoo through his hair. How Jayce’s teasing of you led to teasing him. And now they were… together. Officially. Finally declared as two parts of a whole, and that they both wanted you. He thinks about the wine. How it was sweet and rich and strong. How it was sweeter on Jayce when he kissed him again. How pliant Jayce was in his hands, the heat of those broad shoulders in his palms. The sounds of their kissing, teeth clacking, lips hungrier after every glass.

He should be rinsing the soap out of his hair, he should be washing his body. The routine of putting soap to a washcloth, rubbing it between his hands to form suds lingers in the back of his mind as he continues to think of those kisses. How he could taste fermented fruit and cinnamon and Jayce. A different familiar memory cuts through the haze, much stronger this time. Of release, of teasing touches from past lovers. His imagination taking over. When Jayce tried to bed him would he touch him the same way? The shower is getting hotter, the wine on his breath despite having brushed his teeth. When he tried to bed you, would you react like he did? Would you feel the same that he and Jayce did, would you want them together?

His hand was moving lower, lower, lower. He could feel it happening, the blood moving down, the water against it but he is surprised at how hard he is. When he moves his hand down, the tip moving past the opening of his fist he imagines your lips. How would they feel on him, would you be experienced enough to wet them before starting. The image of you on your knees alone has him moving faster but then his thoughts wander. Would you start slow or would you try to take him all at once? Could he fist both of his hands in your hair and hold you there so could he fuck your mouth. Or would you take the lead, bobbing your head up and down. He imagines your hands holding it or maybe braced on his hips, fingers digging into the flesh. Would Jayce talk you through it once he knew what worked for Viktor?

He can feel it building, all too quickly. It's been a while since he indulged himself like this. A raspy breath falling from his chapped lips. You were so soft. Sweet. Your voice. Quiet and gentle. Would it be honeyed with a returned lust or would it be strained? Dazed like that morning he woke you? "Viktor?" It’s your voice. It’s Jayce’s. The intensity almost knocks him off balance, free hand bracing on the tiled wall as he finishes. Shooting forward onto the handles of the shower. A long burst followed by several short ones as he slows his hand. Twitching when he lets himself go.

And then the only fog he's left with is the steam of the shower. He felt faint, the shower water was too hot and he hadn't been taking full breaths. He turns a handle to make the shower cold and his hand is sticky with his release. Shame. Regret. Oh. What did he just do? He wants to blame it on Jayce’s teasing today. On the glass of wine that warmed his chest. But he knows that's not it. That it's his own depravity.

Well, he could blame all of those things. Embarrassment burns his cheeks more than the water, more than the wine. He hadn’t indulged in that in so, so long. And the realization that there would be something with Jayce in the future settles in his chest. That Jayce wouldn’t be upset with him for this. He takes a deep breath.

More thoughts for later. Exhaustion is deep in his bones now, it had been a long day despite coming to his room early. He needs to sleep, to clean up. He lathers the rag on the hook and enjoys the rest of his shower. Tomorrow will be a new day. A good day.

╚═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╝

--.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙-Part 16-.-Next Part will be linked here.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .--

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#chat he jorked it #fanfic #fanfiction #arcane #viktor arcane #x reader #viktor league of legends #viktor lol #jayvik #jayvikmel #jayce talis #mel medarda

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vulpixisananimal · 5 hours ago

Text

[A:3 C:60] (Odile)

(. . . . . .)

(You had kicked everyone else out of Ramos’ room as Dr. Gina Joy did his work. Your group had probably been giving him more work than he had all week, gems. . .)

(You stood nearby as the doctor checked every part of Ramos’ body. You had your notebook out, taking notes whenever Gina talked. But, in honesty, you were more looking at your past notes, to calm yourself.)

(. . . . A couple months ago, your notes on mind craft started. Your notes on Ramos. It was your distrust of Ramos.)

(Why would you trust them, back then? You had met them just that day, and you had seen what happened to Siffrin because of what they did. You remember the first thing you ever said to them. You found them when they were recovering, and you had a moment alone.)

(“Do you know how to hide a dead body, Ramos?” You had asked. And they answered honestly, “No, I don’t. Why?”)

(And you replied simply. “I do.”)

(It was a simple threat. If they harmed your family, your people, those who you would give the world for, they’re dead.)

(. . .)

(You regret it, now.)

(Gems, that makes two then. Two people who you thought would backstab you, and two you were wrong about. And now they're dating! Ha!)

(. . . Ha. . .)

(. . . Once Ramos was better, you can apologize.)

>>>

(Bonnie)

(Soup n’ sandwich. You couldn’t get more boring with your brunch, but the doctor said so, so here you are. Boring old soup n’ sandwich. . .)

(. . . You nibble at the sandwich. You weren’t hungry.)

(Is ‘Oz gonna be okay?)

(You dunno, they said something about a fight in ‘Frins brain, right? And, and ‘Oz. . .)

(. . . You remember when you first met ‘Oz. You were going to where ‘Za used to work, met ‘m, seemed okay, smelt weird. You ran off for mint, few minutes later. . .)

(No that wasn’t it!)

(Huh?)

(It was th’ market!)

(Oh, yeah. ‘Oz was disguised, took you, but they weren’t in control, was bein’ controlled. They apologized a lot for that)

(. . . You wish you met ‘Oz a nicer way.)

(Yeah. . . You wanna know more about their gardening. They knew a lotta ‘bout gardening, and you wanted to know to get nice, big, juicy veggies! Getting all dirty and finding worms!!)

(Heheh! Yeah!! You could also ask about, uhm, uuuuh. . . Oh!!! What ‘Za was like!)

(Boooooriiing you KNOW what ‘Za is like. No you could ask about uhm, uh. . .)

(Heh, outta ideas?)

(Shut up!)

>>>

(Isabeau)

(You tried not to bounce your leg as Siffrin lay curled up, head down in your lap. They were hidden beneath one of their many hats. Who knew who was fronting, but you don’t think it really mattered at this point.)

(. . . Complete ego death.)

(That’s what Gina and Odile hypothesised anyway. The doctor had gone back to the medhouse to do what he could, but apparently all Ramos needed was, time. Time to rest, recover, and to piece themself back together.)

(Ha. . . Funny thing about time, huh. You gently pat Siffrins hair. A very, very funny thing about time. You found Sif not long ago chucking their dagger out the door. They tried to loop back. They DID loop back. But, whatever kinda checkpoint system they had, it was too late. After that they curled up on you. . .)

(. . . Your buddy. . . And your partner. . .)

(Why couldn’t life be simple again? You liked just swapping jokes with Sif, letting him take all the blankets when you shared a bed, eating together. You liked studying for the big exams with Ramos, always so anxious, always getting great grades. You liked going on jogs, you’d be done after a few miles and they could go for more. You liked wrestling with them, even though you always won.)

(. . . That's what Change is about huh, breaking something, killing something. You both changed. You returned to Jouvente to find that yourself and Ramos were, different. You were more confident in who you are, and Ramos has changed into who they wanted to be.)

(You really wish you could have been there, though. You should have seen how anxious they were about doing good, always asking to study and train with you. You should have helped them with more inside stuff than outside. You should have said a proper goodbye. You should have done a lotta things. . .)

(And someone else took advantage of the fact you didn't. Reach. Out.)

(So, you, reached out.)

(You talked to them, asked what was going on, why they were doing this. . . You were worried for them. And, you got through you them! They felt terrible, and wanted to fix things but. . . But for that fucking archeologist in their head!)

(Seeing your buddy, your best friend, your bestie, morphed into a sadness. Seeing them hurt, seeing them trying so hard, reaching out to you. You couldn’t imagine what it must have been like. . .)

(. . . You hold Sif a bit closer.)

>>>

(Mirabelle)

(You breathe in. . . And, out. . .)

(It was the next day and you had gone on a walk. You know it’s a bad idea, you know it’s reckless, and unnecessary, and, and just stupid. But, you needed to go on a walk. A walk out of the city gate and into the woods.)

(You breathe in. . . . . And. . . Out. . . . .)

(That’s where you are now. A small clearing, away from the city, looking at a little rabbit sniffing around the clearing. You were here because you were still afraid. You were afraid of not being good enough, strong enough, brave enough. Perci could read minds and was an ace with those swords. Merlon could explode waves of sadness with a snap. With Ramos, Ramos like they are right now. . .)

(. . . You looked at the little rabbit. It’s, it’s alright to do this, right?)

{. . . IT WILL NOT HURT. IF IT FEELS WRONG. BRING TREAT NEXT TIME.}

(O-okay, okay. Okay. Okay. You breathe in, and, hold out your hand sign, staring down the rabbit! You used SOOTHING RESTFUL SONG!)

(The rabbit was frozen in time.)

(You let out a breath, you smell sugar, c-change. . . O-oh that. . . You felt a surge of cold within you, that took a lot of energy, but, it worked. . .)

(. . . Does, d-does, it get, easier?)

{. . . YES.}

(Thank you. . . You, walk towards the rabbit, and clap your hands, unfreezing the rabbit. It bolts off into the woods.)

(. . . You sit down in the grass. You could do it. If you met them again, you could do it.)

(. . . Oh Ramos.)

(Once everything calmed down in Jouvente, you just had to talk to them. To tell them just, how proud you were. They made mistakes, but, they’re working to fix it. They got the confidence to change their body, and the next thing was to change their mind, to get more. . . Confident.)

(This kind of change of mind was. . . Not what you had envisioned.)

(. . . Ramos is going to be okay. They had to be okay, they will be okay! So! Since they're going to be okay, you needed to train up to fight historians! Right?)

{RIGHT. IT WILL NOT BE EASY.}

(Yeah. You know. You stand up. Will frozen time be enough, you think?)

{JUST FOCUS ON YOUR TARGET. CHANNEL YOU EMOTIONS FOR THE STRONGEST ATTACK.}

(. . . That's why sadness like you can do that easily, right?)

{. . . YES.}

(Hehe. Maybe you should fight instead.)

{. . .}

(. . . S-sorry, that was a joke.)

{HA. HA.}

>>>

(Pétronille)

(It was the next day.)

(And you were feeling more useless than ever.)

(Ramos went under two days ago, and since then everyone had been doing their part. Be it moving their limbs so their body doesn't get crabbed up, helping them eat, drink, all that. Right now you were doing your part by staying home while the others went out for supplies.)

(. . . Change, dammit.)

(You were making yourself busy, cleaning the place up, dusting, all that. There were a bunch of random trinkets. Pictures, a compas, binoculars, random bits of brass, candles. . .)

(And the urn.)

(You paused for a second, staring at it. . . Change, you hope that wherever they are, it's a nice afterlife. You woulda loved to meet Eri, someone who'd defend the city in their old age. Someone who'd take a random kid like Ramos off the street.)

(. . . You wish you had someone like that back then.)

(Holding onto that little boat for dear life, little sibling still asleep, waves throwing you around. Finally making back to shore, and stumbling into Bambouche.)

(The people there were all so kind to you. But it was still just you, and Bonnie. You got a job, and Bonnie got a school. You got a house, a small house, more like a shack, but it was yours.)

(. . .)

(. . . Will, this house not have an owner, soon?)

(When Ramos recovers, you gotta give them a big hug. They helped save Bonbon, they asked a god for help AND IT WORKED! They helped reassure you. Crab that's not even mentioning they saved your mind at the inn.)

(From now on, if someone messes with Ramos, they mess with you. You're welded. No getting out that, Rams.)

>>>

(Siffrin) {Mal Du Pays} <Null> |Asterion| [Loop] [(Saffron)]

[. . .]

[Your room. Your own headspace. Up the favor tree, past the canopy, and there you were. A treehouse. Looking out to the distance, the sights of the black sand beach were instead replaced with the house. That same house, still frozen in time.]

[(. . . Well?)]

[What.]

[(Do you feel proud?)]

[No! I don't feel blinding proud!]

[(But isn't that what you wanted?)]

[(The single sound mind in an endless sea of idiotic sailors. You who guides them to a happiness that you can never reach. Who reaches out, yet flinches away.)]

[. . .]

[(Tongue tied? Let me.)]

[(You regret it, but you know it was right. You know even if you didn't mean it, you finally have the trainee out of the way. You could finally rest easily knowing they don't have the host under their claws.)]

[(Because really! Who would believe that the host just falls in love with the trainee so fast! At the drop of a hat! At one little comment! No, no no no, the trainee is using him to get accepted in, obviously.)]

[(That's what you think, isn't it?)]

[. . . . . .]

[I don't want to think that anymore.]

[(So you'll join the idiots?)]

[YES! YES I'LL JOIN THE IDIOTS!!]

[I'LL JOIN ALL THE IDIOTS AND BURY MY HEAD IN THE SAND! I'LL LET RAMOS LIVE THEIR LIFE. KISS MY STARDUST. I'LL LET ASTERION DO WHAT HE WANTS EVEN!]

[AND THEN WHEN WE'RE STABBED IN THE BACK I'LL JUST TELL STARDUST I. TOLD. YOU. SO.]

[(wow, you really-)]

[Shut. Up.]

[I'm leaving.]

[(Leaving?)]

[Yes. Leaving.]

[And I'll come back when everyone's sane again.]

[(You know that'll never happen.)]

[Good.]

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local-dragon-haunt · 8 hours ago

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PSA to my fellow artists!!!

With the holidays fast approaching it appears this specific commission scam is making its rounds again.

Below is a conversation I will be posting to help you all know what to look out for:

So this account reached out to me under one of my recent posts. My first safeguard against scams like this (and just so I know the preferences of my ACTUAL clients) is to check the account that is messaging me:

FIRST RED FLAG: No posts. No description. Default background, generic, probably stolen pfp. Robot City (But you all know this by now)

Now, I was like, 99% sure this was a scam right here. (shout out to that one twitter thread I read a few months ago. It helped me clock this account immediately)

But I decided to humor them on the off chance that this person just doesn't understand Tumblr culture. (please, please do not do this. I am petty and insane)

RED FLAG #2: Notice the lack of references: asking me to draw something and then not sending any reference materials (something I explicitly state on my commissions spreadsheet).

This is a topic they will try to avoid (as you will see below), and ultimately what made them realize that I wasn't worth the effort. Always, always, always require references and style guides for any commission you get. Scammers' main goal is to spend as little energy as possible. they will not bother giving these to you.

Now onto Red Flag #3:

Notice how they immediately aim for the most expensive option (which, for my commissions, happens to be fully rendered furry content). This is a red flag because not ONCE did they mention this was going to be anything other than a portrait. This is when I knew 100% it was a scam.

RED FLAG #4: Asking for personal information. I am begging you. I am begging, never EVER, EVER give out your personal information online. ALWAYS use a pseudonym. Change the subject. Do literally anything else. just DON'T. GIVE. THAT. INFORMATION. AWAY.

AND RED FLAG #5: Offering WAY more than I am asking for my services. Remember, kids: if something is too good to be true, it probably is!

it is here that you are going to want to block and report this account. Do Not Be Me. I am begging you. I am doing this for educational purposes. However. I have one more red flag for you guys:

RED FLAG #6: Now, this very generous (/s) person is offering me $300 WHOLE DOLLARS just to draw a furry for them! That's so incredibly thoughtful!

...so why do they not care about the species, color, accessories, pose...ANYTHING about it? (It's because they don't care. They're not gonna pay you the money.)

Look, I can understand how flattering it is to be given full creative freedom on a commission, but you have to understand that this will almost never, EVER, happen to you. I'm sorry. It's the truth.

Anyways. That's all I got for you. Do me a favor, go ahead and block/report @mlaurel any any other cronies they're affiliated with. Also reblog this post if you feel so inclined. Keep your information safe. Get that bank! And Happy (safe) Holidays!

#ignore my typos it was like 3 am ok #scam alert #scammer #artists on tumblr #commissions #furry art #psa #fanart #digital art #traditional art #internet safety

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noxturnalmoth · 3 days ago

Text

Literary Service

Life is a cruel mother but a great teacher. In Noxus, where life is but an afterthought, war raises its people with an iron fist. Whether they like it or not. So when one is courageous enough to escape, they learn to take all that life has to offer, even if it has to be by the skin of their teeth. What would happen if the scholarship that provided you with an escape made you encounter a man as great with his words as he is with hiding the festering wounds in his heart? And what if he was your teacher?

Chapter 2: The Art of War

"You can call me Mr.Marlowe or Professor Marlowe, no casual naming shall be used when talking to or about me. I will be your literature professor this year, and should you find yourself unlucky, for the remainder of your years in this major aswell." His voice no louder than the noise of the chattering surrounding you, yet commanding silence as soon as its gravelly drawl bounces in the large room. High ceiling carrying his voice, the sound wrapping around each student and inspiring total obedience. His gait was slow, deliberate like a predator waiting on its prey, and with his gaze on you it certainly felt as if you were his next meal. You remember his warmth the day prior, although his pale skin was as cold as fine porcelain, and the gentleness of his touch. You also remember the burning orange eye, scalding as the flames that destroyed your home long ago, the bright iris glowing in the middle of a sclera as black as the obsidian freezing the rolling rage deep below your skin. He was an entirely different man in the class, all traces of softness gone, instead stood a comandeering presence; a relaxed and practiced straightness elongated his spine, prolonged by strong squared shoulders.

His eyes leave you as he drags them lazily over the rest of your class, a hand caressing his desk as he walks around it, sitting himself nonchalantly in his chair as he fishes a flash drive from his briefcase. When he turns the class computer on and turns the projector on, showcasing a list of titles, you brighten up. When you arrived in Zaun and were cradled back to health by your benefactors, you couldn't move for a month and searing pain took you as you walked for the next two. So you decided to use the time you had before class to do some research, entering your name in the Zaun Tech site and entering the student space. There were displayed your name, origin, major, and some messages from the board and teachers were in your message box, mainly congratulating you and welcoming you to the school. One was out of the ordinary though.

First year litterature students,

And if you find this to be a hassle, do not come whining to me about being unable to follow my class as I will not wait for you. You should read at least one book to spare both yourself and I some extra work.

as I do each year year, I have compiled here titles that you can, if you so wish, browse through at your leisure. The mind, like a blade, needs sharpening and the long summer break leaves it dull. So hone your reading lest you wish to complicate your back to school with warming up the slow inner mechanisms of your heads.

Welcome to the Zaun Technical College,

S. Marlowe.

And attached to it was a list of ten books ranging from classical litterature, to science-fiction, horror, gothic romance, young adult, poetry and even military strategy. The last one was no stranger to you, and although the other books had been delightful reads from the depth of your bed with your left leg and back surrounded by braces, your thoughts compiled into your notebook, something about the Art of War brought an uneasy sense of relief to you. It was waters you had sailed through before, and reading through the book felt more like gazing at memories you'd rather forget, with all its words engrained in your head, the book quickly discarded before you devoured what remained.

Mr. Marlowe walked back in front of his desk, leaning against it with his hips held by its edge as his wiry form crossed both arms and legs. "Although the list was not mandatory I hope you have read from it. Who amongst you has read through at least half of it?" His voice all but sneers, a dark irritated edge hardening the curve of his eye as he looked to the handful of hands spearing the air. "And I don't suppose anyone has read all of them." He says, words clipped and cold, rattling through the rest of the young people surrounding you. But his face tenses into a surprised frown as you raise your hand, his eyebrows softening in the early afternoon light. His tight sneer calming into a relaxed slight smirk, his head tilting to the side. "Did you now? Then I suppose I will hear a lot from you in this class?" He croons teasingly, his eyes disbelieving, the tumultuous seas of his stormy ocean eyes softened by the glow of something fonder. And as you place your arm back on your table and fiddle with your fingers at the sudden attention from everyone in the amphitheater, you nod a single assured shake of the head that has him huffing. Although from how he relaxed, it was something more akin to a genuine laugh than a mockery, but this man didn't seem to be the type to do the former so you could only theorize.

The class falls into complete silence as he snaps his fingers towards the first title, The Divine Comedy, an echoing sharp sound that sends your atoms in a frenzy as you straighten. A couple of classmates scramble to explain the book's plot, its genre, its author Dante Alighieri, and its publishing date in a messy and unstructured heap of words. An almost bored nod shakes Mr.Marlowe's head as he listens to the rushed and simplified explanations from students that either read through an explanation of said book, or simply skimmed it. Another snap of his fingers rang, slicing through the meek scrambling voices like a seamstress' scissors through silk. The next title, The Mask of The Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe, was described by mumbled answers forced out of students' mouths followed by yet another snap. The Shining, snap. The Hunger Games, snap. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, snap. Again and again, until the last book. Your face screwing in discomfort at obvious fallacies and poor research or reading comprehension as your classmates presented the tomes compiled in the professor's list. The atmosphere became heavy as the last snap rang, students looking at each other and whispering in rushed and scared voices from the display of power from the tall, lithe and commanding man. His dark clothes sucking up all the light in the warmly lit cream colored room, wordlessly ordering attention towards his form, eye lidded, body relaxed yet seemingly ready to pounce, although at what you had no idea.

"The Art of War by Master Sun Tzu, sir." His head tilts as a heavy exhale leaves his lungs and a small rictus makes its way to his sneering lips, slicing through his face like a butcher's cleaver saws flesh and bone. Dissatisfied nonchalance replaced by something akin to patient curiosity, nothing but the slight shift of his shoulders and the light unclenching of his hands and jaw to prove the change. "The Art of War or Sūnzǐ Bīngfǎ, was written approximately in the 5th century by Ionian born Noxian commander Master Sun Tzu. It contains 13 chapters, each devoted to a certain skillset or as he called them 'arts' and their applications in military strategy and tactics. Another Ionian born Noxian warrior, Sir Shenzong of Song, used The Art of War to create his anthology: the Seven Military Classics. The original is mostly known for the quote 'know thy enemy' although one of those most revered amongst Noxians is: 'When the enemy is relaxed, make them toil. When full, starve them. When settled, make them move'." You recite, words flowing from your mouth before your brain could follow, it was an easy yet impossible task to speak those words that were carved into your flesh many years ago. But as you look back up, your ashamed gaze heavy and dragging your head down into a bow, your eyes find Mr.Marlowe.

His face had relaxed, jaw unclenched, arms holding him in a backwards lean against his desk as the teal of his iris drinked in your form, like small sips from a tumbler full of expensive whiskey. The intensity of his gaze was akin to a sandstorm in the burning deserts of Shurima, but it was not violent. No, it was inquisitive, your words had been too smooth and calculated, as if repeated time and time again, your body had stiffened in a strained familiar manner, eyes blank; and you knew it. Just like he'd uttered his commands yesterday, your body reacted to the book similarly, bone deep obedience dripping from your very being yet no weakness in sight, a perfect little carved wooden soldier albeit worn by time and use. Your lips purse. "Piltovan priest Jesuit Jean Joseph Amiot translated it and published the final version in 1772, although it was republished in 1782. The Demacian Lionel Giles also published his own annotated version in 1910." You trail off, hands cupping over one another in an attempt for comfort as your classmates eyes pierce through you like poisoned daggers. The acrid taste of what feels like bitter judgement slowly pooling in your stomach before being soothed by three, slow methodical claps coming from the man at the front of the room. "You lot should take notes into how to properly present literary works like.." He tilts his head at you and you reveal your name, voice tight at uttering it around so many people whose attention was placed solely on you. Mr. Marlowe nods and repeats your name, using it to end his sentence, finality ringing like a blacksmith striking his hammer onto glowing metal.

The rest of class is spent with the svelte man describing the syllabus, his office hours and explaining what his teaching method entailed. He was harsh, expectant, refused to push deadlines unless catastrophic events struck, but he would never refuse to help and re-explain as many times as needed and was just in his grading. Soon came the time to leave and as you stood up, one hand holding your table and the other your crutch, you felt the throbbing pain of earlier's rushing make its way through your weary bones. A quick look at your phone showcased the hour, your next class would be in quite a while but with how unfamiliar you were with the campus and your limp you knew it'd take longer than it would've, had you been able bodied. Your spiral notebook and pencil case were soon back in their place in your messenger bag as you made your way out of the room. "Could I steal you for a moment before you get to where you need to be?" The gravelly yet deceptively soft voice of Mr.Marlowe made itself known as you turned. Eyeing the now sitting man, one hand elegantly holding a pen as he wrote down notes while the other held his head up, at his words you felt a pull and, unable to resist it, one foot stepped forward.

So you made your way towards him, body reacting before you could even process the words, like a sailor succumbing to a siren's song. Yet again the man had puppeteered your body, it was vexing and terrifying. A heavy weight in your stomach as you struggled to figure why he had such control over you. Were you such a well trained beast that you obeyed orders blindly even from a stranger, or was it just him. But if it was, why was it that he could wipe your mind of all the constant, loud, parasitic noise; how did he do it, and most importantly why did it look like, albeit he was in control, he was as surprised as you were. Maybe it was his gentle touch and patient words from yesterday? It couldn't be that, at least not entirely, because he had broken you out of your violent, monstrous rage before that. Your face sours in thought as you lose yourself in the noise yet again, body straight from your feet to your head as settle into the classic Noxian stance, body searching for any familiarity to comfort itself from your confused train of thought.

"At ease." And yet again, all the tension in your muscles ebbs away like seafoam on jagged boulders, piercing the saltwater surrounding them. Your eyes trail to the sitting man who was still preparing his notes, his handwriting an elegant cursive flowing from his pen with practiced ease. "You seemed to want to correct a lot of what your classmates said." He sighs as he leans back, pen settled on the ink covered paper, arms draped over the arms of the chair, and his eye staring at you with a calm curiosity you were not used to. "Well a lot of their facts were shallow, and I suppose they just didn't organize their ideas properly at times and it felt messy. They also got some informations false. For exemple The Mask of the Red Death is a gothic novella, not a fantasy. And Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone was published in 1997 unlike what they said, the movie though was indeed released in 2001." Voice steady yet almost meek you explain the reasons of your tension during class, one hand rubbing at your nape as a hum vibrates the air around you. Mr.Marlowe was softly swerving to side to side on the office chair, right elbow planted on one of the arms as his hand holds his chin, eyes pensively staring through you, a small smile making its way on his scarred lips. "You did read them all then. Something I have stopped expecting after some time as a professor. There is chance for us yet." He nods absentmindedly and leans forward, elbows on the desk as his hands fold together to hold his chin, the crows feet cornering his eye slowly erased as a sigh pushes its way from his throat as if it was escaping his lungs, rushing out of him. "How have you been fairing since yesterday? I hope rest came easy after such an episode, gods know the remnants of inner demons can still drag you back to hell." Your eyebrows furrow at that, not only had he helped you but he also took it upon himself to oversee your state afterwards. It was strange being given such attention, and although kind people took you in when you arrived in Zaun and nursed you back to health, you still couldn't trust such gentleness blindly; the voices in your head growling and hissing in distrust like a pit of starved vipers. But even through the loud fussing, you still couldn't find it in yourself to lie or hide such informations from him, at least out of respect for his earlier kindness.

"I immediately caved in to sleep, sir. Unfortunately it seems I exhausted more energy than I believed and slept through my first two classes." You hear a sharp intake of breath and, looking up, see his eye narrow, eyes raking up and down like clawed beastly paws trying to rip at your carefully crafted façade. One which showed more control than you could actually execute over yourself, your life, or others. "Then I believe I should be glad you've decided to show up to mine. Another class of uninterested young adults would have frayed the last of my patience for the day." His voice almost purrs, dark and playful, like the slow rumble of thunder under rolling black clouds, a flash of chipped teeth in his smirk serving as the lightning punctuating his sentence. His gaze was analytical, each part of you picked apart and pulled back together but from the twitch of his eyebrow it felt like he didn't find whatever it was that he was looking for. "I have also taken the liberty to contact the board about yesterday, you will not be held accountable for your episode as I have made it very clear that what happened was beyond even yourself." It was your turn to inhale, a sharp hiss leaving you as your lungs expanded and your spine strained at the movement, eyes narrowing at the man sitting in front of you in question. Lips pursing in thought as he threw you off yet again, why was he doing all of this, what were his intentions and what did he want in return? "I don't wish to sound ungrateful, but why sir?" His eye closes as he shakes his head, two strands of tar black hair spilling over his forehead like ink in water. "People like us are rarely seen in a good light when our demons take a hold of us and twist us into a monster. If we do not have each other's backs, who will?" His hand rakes through his hair, placing the strands back in place. Your heart was heavy, as if the blood pumped through it was lead, your stomach churning as one piece of the puzzle was revealed to you, people like us. He was like you, different yes, but he knew the horrors of the world as well as you did and came out alive, born anew. Before you could let your train of thought bring you back to the recesses of your mind you look at the clock and wince at the time that has passed.

"I will not keep you any longer, do not rush to class you'll need your energy for it. I will see you on thursday." And with that, you leave, only answering with a nod as you grip your crutch and bag tighter, your throat too closed up for any words to leave your mouth. The rest of the day goes by fast after Mr.Marlowe's class and luckily you can rip your mind away from the thoughts of him. It may have been hidden, but you shiver at the thought of the eye beneath the eyepatch, the scars marring his face like paths leading to the gates of hell. It was as if it still looked at you, through you, even through the thick leather it pierced you like a hunter's bullet pierces his prey. At home later, a boiling shower akin to the ones you were given in Noxus cleared your mind of the nagging curiosity slowly growing stronger. Food was simple and rest was back to the usual terror filled nightmares, cold sweat carving into your skin like water eroding stone. So instead of going back to sleep, you read, preparing homework that you had weeks to finish to occupy and cool your frenzied mind. You were not late for or missed any class that day and the day went quite well, a soft and gentle smile stretching across your lips at the prospect of your life being so tranquil now as you walked to the college's grand library. A beautiful carved stone building topped by a glass dome, the inside showcasing rows of tables and immense bookshelves stretching for what seemed like miles on end. By the time you left to return to your dorm, all of the homework you were assigned was done, neatly pinned together in small files. In thursday's literature class you gave back the homework given on monday as you entered the room, hands brushing Mr.Marlowe's as he hummed in surprise, taking the neat file. "I didn't expect anyone to be so dedicated, yet it's no surprise that if someone had to be it would be you." A twinge of delight colors his dark voice, brightening it enough for you to hear it. And somehow, and without your consent, your body preens at the praise, as if you were a cat being pet lovingly by its master. The mere thought bringing both discomfort, and something bitter and unknown, it was envy but not in a way you knew. It was more raw. "The grand library is the prime working environment, I finished my homework before I knew it. It was as if I was possessed." You chuckle softly, remembering how after entering the library everything felt more like a blur as you excitedly worked over your assignments, finishing them quickly yet not rushed. The man nods softly. "I'm glad it felt that way, the library is indeed a beauty and it's a shame not more people see it the way we do." You agree quickly before making your way to the same desk as last time, crutch laid on the ground and necessary material set on the desk as more students poured into the room, the class soon beginning.

"As explained monday, our first semester will be focusing on Demacian literature from the previous century, its themes and its growing influence over the mentalities in its homeland and all over Runeterra." The man says pacing as the presentation is projected over a blank screen, his long fingers holding a remote and pressing to change slides whenever Mr.Marlowe finished explaining it and its contents. "We will begin reading The Stranger by Albert Camus in class, but I expect all of you to have it by monday to facilitate all the aspects of our work together. You are also encouraged to get the rest of the books annotated in the syllabus list for the semester so you don't need to worry about getting them later." His voice drawls, eyes raking through the crowd lazily before he opens the book and starts reading. Voice spearing through the warm air of the class like the blades you held once upon a time ripping through the flesh of your enemies, innocent or not. Minds compelled and coaxed into listening by the dark velvet of his tone, like children entranced by the pied piper, leading them to the ends of the world. He was focused, not a word fumbled, pacing guiding you through the words with impeccable timing, voice changing just a smidge when he needed to voice a character, different yet still very much him. Sometimes his eye would trail off, mouth still speaking the words etched onto each page as if he carved them in the bedrock of his mind. And sometimes, you would catch him, nodding in what could only be described as reverance, a certain admiration at his perfected reading; as if he channeled the very essence of the author through his being and offered it to his students, wrapped up with a bow made of his voice.

And you took the gift, cradling the words in your heart and drinking in Mr.Marlowe's timbre as he uttered the sentences inscribed on the pages. As he comes to a stop the slow tap of his closing book resounds through the room, sounding more like a bomb than a pile of pages bound together by a string. "What can you tell me about this book that makes it so different than usual Demacian tomes?" He leans against his desk, legs and arms crossed like on monday, teal eye tracing a line through the class like the horizon separates the sea and the sky. "Demacia is known for being a nation of strong morals and honor, which could be a good thing but their pride also serves as a fault. They see themselves as judge and jury more often than not. But Mr.Camus, in this book, describes a man lacking any passion, any grief, any honor or morals. He is empty, some thoughts even make him seem nearly despicable. He is flacid, takes no initiative, he's like driftwood in the ocean, impassible and flowing wherever the waves bring him, he seems more like an object than a human." You say, voice strong yet a slight waver concludes your explanation and Mr.Marlowe nods an appreciative hum coming from his throat. "Indeed. Whereas traditional Demacian behavior is usually confident, morally strong and leaning towards an almost impossible sense of self-righteous justice, Camus here depicts a man at the complete opposite. It doesn't mean he is actively trying to do wrong, no, that would require effort that our protagonist has no intentions of giving. Whether he can or cannot is something I will let all of you theorize. He is indeed empty, a shell with human shape but lacking anything that would make him remotely human in a philosophical sense. He does not even grieve his deceased mother."

You absorb every word, pen gliding on paper as you write all that is discussed. "While his lack of grief could possibly be explained by depression or any other psychological cause of the like that could hinder his emotional response, he also shows no contentment. None at spending time with his friends, none at doing anything at all, no motivation whatsoever in seeking contenment either. He seems to be in a stagnating state of disinterest at everything in the world, even more so towards himself, albeit self-centered at times in his reflection." Teal eye cuts to you, dragging you to the depths of its self contained ocean. "What do we call this lack of motivation and drive, this lack of want or need to feel anything pleasurable or good?" His voice questions, voice seemingly darker, hands braced on each side of his hips against the desk. "Anhedonia, sir." His chest grows in a heavy, quick breath, that almost sounds like a hiss as he releases it. As if a vicious serpent crawled out of his body, but no bitter venom came at you, only the vision of his stiffened shoulders and hands clenching a little more over the edge of the desk. "Indeed." His voice is back to its usual controlled drawl and his body relaxes as class continued, ending just short of 2 minutes after the appointed time. As students rush out, you take your time, not wanting to get pushed and trampled as you limped your way out, you've learned the hard way since becoming disabled that not many care for proper etiquette and you would have to look out for yourself alone.

"Not only are you extremely well versed in military strategies and tactics, able to recite excerpts of ancient manuals with practiced ease and explain them clearly and in their entirety. You are also very attentive at every new project you are given. I applaud you for your dedication." A soft gasp escapes you as Mr.Marlowe's voice shakes the empty room, stopping your slow walk to the exit. "You must be one of the more passionate students I've had the chance to teach." Your back screams at you as you turn towards the man, slowly pacing towards him as he talks, and a small smile stretches on your face. Your heart once again warming at his praise, drinking it like a drunkard does alcohol. "I am here because I love reading and writing, I love thinking, I love seeing all the ways we can show our humanity through literature, the good and the bad. Why would I not pay attention? Why would I not want to dig deeper within the pages until I can find the hidden meanings?" He chuckles, a short soft sound leaving his throat before he can wrangle it into submission. "The Noxian determination is without limit I see. Maybe your ethic will spur on your classmates into taking less time to wake up from their holiday filled stupor. I, for one, would appreciate that very much." His legs cross in his chair as he writes down, notes and pages filled with cursive shaped black ink. He sighs softly and a page turns, his eye tracing over your face pensively before he clasps his hands together in a relaxed manner. "I would like to make an inquiry. It would be an indulgence for me to ask, but I figured that it wouldn't hurt to try." You tilt your head at his words. "What is it, sir?" Clasped hands tighten and cheek twitches almost lost to your keen eye had you blinked.

His hands separate and he holds his pen again, writing a succession of words on the blank page, the cursive becoming intellegible as he turns the paper your way.

The Odyssey by Homer

You bend softly, a wince stopping your descent, and grasp the paper. "I would like you to, if you wish, read this book and come to see me during office hours to discuss it. Take the time you need, do not rush yourself, I am simply asking you to indulge me. Not many students have your passion, or at least they hide it quite expertly, so it is a refreshing sight. I would like to share some time sharing knowledge with a like minded individual rather than simply entrusting it upon someone." His words sink in, he only wished for someone to be as interested in litterature as he was? Coming from a man with such a strong, comandeering aura, it felt almost childish. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to refuse, the books you were given in the list were nothing short of great and if they were anything to go by, you'd guess the rest of his picks were just as pleasing to read. "Of course sir, I'd be honored. I've finished all of my assignments for the moment so I'll try to read and analyze this book over the weekend. I could come.." You trail off, thinking about how you wanted to make good of your free time to read and maybe read again the book he proposed to give a discussion worth his expectations. "Next friday, at around 5 p.m?" He caps his pen and tidies his desk. "That would be perfect. I'll be expecting great things in your report, but especially that you enjoyed my recommendation." His voice is soft as he places his books in his briefcase. Coat plucked from the back of his chair as he rose up. "If it's anything like what you put in the summer list, I know I will." You nod a respectful goodbye and wish him a good weekend as you walk out, heading to the library to get the book so you could read it in the comfort of your bed.

At home, before sleeping, you slip in the comfort of your bed and open The Odyssey, notebook and pencil next to you so you could take pauses and note your thoughts and ideas. Falling asleep after hours of reading as your eyes trace the words written on the pages. Nightmares waking you in the dead of night and making it impossible to fall back asleep. You decided to continue and opened your book back up, realizing that reading will at least soften the anguish provided by the nightly horrors you face. Friday wasn't anything special, and at night you tucked yourself into bed with your books again. The epic of Odysseus, king of Ithaca, and the trials and tribulations he had to face exciting you, pulling at your heartstrings and lulling you to sleep. Saturday and sunday were spent all day reading, book clutched in your hands as you ate and did your daily chores, even taking it for grocery shopping or to get the books Mr.Marlowe wanted for class. Monday's class went fast. "I am done with the book but I want to read it again to see what I might've missed." You utter to the tall man as his fingers click on a laptop's keyboard and he hums. His face lifting a bit to look at you. "Be careful, you'll make me raise my expectations." He teases, voice light and you huff out a laugh. "Whatever expectations you throw at me I'll put all my might into exceeding." It was his turn to chuckle as you smile. "I know you will." And with that you leave, evening routine continuing until friday.

The whole day was spent pacing in your dorm, you sat in bed, then in one of the chairs near your small kitchen, then back on your bed. It was as if you were a starved, caged lion, the prospect of discussing the book with your professor warming you from the inside out. You were making someone proud, and it was not by accomplishing deeds of great violence and being a glorified mass murderer in an army originating from the depths of hell itself. No, he was proud solely because you were passionate about the subject he was teaching. It was as simple as that. So when the time came to leave, you went to the building his office was set in with a metaphorical pep in your pained step. After asking around at the reception you walk towards the left corridor, stepping in its empty space while windows let in the golden light from the setting sun. You straighten and knock three times, a hummed "come in" making you turn the doorknob and shuffle inside. The smell of tobacco immediately hitting your senses as you close the door behind you. Turning around you see Mr.Marlowe at a big mahogany desk, decorated with carved mythological figures, pouring over files as he smoked a cigar. The window was wide open, probably to not to imbibe the room with the smell, although it seems that was too late. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with books of all sizes, some thicker than others, and to your left were a small coffee table and a maroon velvet covered couch, the same maroon velvet that was on the seats and backrets of the chairs facing the grand desk.

"Needless to say you liked it?" You nod as you drink from a water bottle he handed you and he chuckles. "A life of violence can do multiple things. Leave you dead, leave you unable to move on, or leave you with a thirst for all that humanity has to offer. I'm glad to see you are the latter, as am I." Your eyebrows furrow and your head tilts, eyes appraising the man in front of you. His teal eye, the other being similar to a topaz cushioned on black velvet, the scars on his face, the grey hairs caressing his temples, the black shirt, slightly opened at the top. He wasn't acting any different than usual, but maybe it was the proximity or the fact you were alone with him in his office that made his words ring so much louder. The remnants of the class' energy not here to protect you from the comandeering aura of the man in front of you, who looked to be observing you just as much as you were observing him. Two predators in the wild, but one was always going to be the prey, and as his eyes picked you apart yet again, you realized it was you. It was terrifying, someone wanting to know and see you, because no matter what he had seen you knew he'd probably turn in disgust and shun you if he knew and saw everything that you were. A monster. Your nightmares never failed to remind you that fact as they stopped you from getting more than 5 hours of rest per night.

"Ah, there you are. I will not lie that I've been expecting you, even since before the appointed time. Take a seat." Your body obeys him again, slowly setting yourself on one of the chairs you sigh at your unwilling reaction before setting your crutch down andfishing for your notes in your bag, left leg stretched to the side of the desk. When you came back up, his papers had been discarded in neat piles on the side of his desk and one of his hands held up his head, his eyepatch discarded. "I won't lie that I've been pacing all day too, sir. I read the book three times in the span of a week so I could be as thorough as possible and I couldn't wait to get to you." Your voice softly declares with a smile as you open your notebook and he chuckles, waving his hand for you to begin. Words fall from your lips, at first hesitant and unsure but at his gentle stare, the burning eye somehow coaxing you with warm kindness instead of burning you with scalding anger, your voice turns more confident and, with time, even excited. He nods and quips as you decribe all your notes, lending them over to him, your hands accompanying your words in frantic movements. It was as if your mind turned off, his approving gaze, encouraging words and small smirk enough to spur you on. By the time you're finished, almost panting after gods know how long, you notice just how satisfied Mr.Marlowe looks, almost proud. And your insides shiver in delight at that, his approval causing reactions in your body and mind that you didn't even know you could have.

"You left." His voice takes you away from the spiral of your own mind. "What do you mean, sir?" Your voice shakes and he sighs, stubbing out his cigar as the smoke escapes his mouth. "I look at all of my first year students' profiles, it helps me decypher their motivations, ways to push them to do their best. You are from Noxus, and gods know leaving this hellish place is hard if you aren't a noble. Actually, you would know too, wouldn't you?" The bottle crinkles as you hold it tight, fighting off a sneer as you look away in shame. "What if I do?" "Then I'd say your crutch is a consequence. And that the episode you had that day was but the surface of the deep painful abyss left behind by the war, filling every crack of your broken mind with unfathomable darkness." Breath stuttering, your eyes find his, but you don't find disgust, no you find gentle understanding. "And what do you want from me then, sir?" His eyebrows furrow and he leans forward. "For you to see that you can and deserve to heal." He rises, chair creaking at the loss of his weight as he walks towards one of the bookshelves, perusing the selection until his long fingers grasp a tome. Your body is tense, shaking slightly as he approaches you from the side, gently placing a book in front of you as he leans back on the table.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

"Why?" You try as hard as you can to keep your voice from cracking while looking down, in confusion or from the whirlwind of emotions currently clashing in your heart you do not know. And although your voice stays steady, the grit in it is unusual enough for Mr.Marlowe to sigh as his hand finds your chin and turns your face to him gently. "So you can indulge me some more, I enjoyed our discussion today and would love to have more if you'll have me." His voice purrs low, a softness to it that you would think impossible to be directed towards you. "That's not.." Your voice chokes out, that's not what I meant, was what you meant to say. But it seems like he knew with how his grip on your chin slightly clenches, bringing you back to Earth before your mind sunk back down into the ocean of self-hatred that was your soul. "You will come next friday, same time. If you haven't finished the book by then, we'll read it together, but I will still listen to what you have written about it." His grip leaves your chin with what almost felt like a caress as you grab the book. Heart pounding, head turning and stomach churning. Who was he, and what did he want? Your mind yells at you against following him in the dance he wishes to lead, warning you about bad intentions, about darkness both your own and his, about violence and pain. But as you look into his eyes and remember his praise and gentleness, your mind and body separate, the latter operating without a pilot as it itches to answer. "I'll do my best not to disappoint you, sir." Is what you utter, obedience bleeding into the inner hatred you hold towards yourself, burnt into every fiber of your being. And as he brushes his hand over one of yours, brows furrow, tears almost threaten to leave your eyes and your throat closes up.

"I don't think you ever will."

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wexhappyxfew · 3 days ago

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hey shannon!!!! from prompt list 3 & the action category - “intervene” with kennedy and bucky, but kennedy is the one doing the intervening/defending him????!!! HELP - @softspeirs

KATIEEEE!!!!!! @softspeirs i am *here* i am *back* and we are here with a kennedy x bucky prompt that had me lowkey losing my mind w/this piece half-written months ago and me now just finally having the time to finish it up. the pure EXCITEMENT of this prompt with kennedy and bucky, kennedy's reactions, bucky's reactions and their dialogue....oh i was absolutely losing it. definitely one of my longer ones i think, but it came out just as i was hoping (and probably better). also the scene inspo for this hit me even before your prompt and when you sent this in - oh i was SO EXCITED. so i sincerely hope you enjoy!!! :D

flak-happy

(a/n): kennedy x bucky (pre-stalag, pre-anything-that-happened-in-the-stalag lmao). i fear we enter bucky: the definition of yearning, and kennedy: the definition of miss-repressed-emotions and oh boy does it make for the absolutely perfect combination, especially in a moment of time where things are turning rather dark and dreary and sad. oh kennedy farley you are so seen!!!! please enjoy my-return installment in the silver bullets universe!!! <3333 (he'll make it up to her, he swears)

"5-0," Kennedy said quietly, the tiny bit of newspaper in her hands something she was half-way between scorning, ripping into a million pieces, and lighting on fire, "they're trying to kill me."

"It's a baseball team, Kenny," Margie said from beside her, "the only thing actually trying to kill you are the Germans."

"But I have a helluva lot more emotional involvement to this team than the Krauts, Margie, that's the difference." Kennedy said, flipping the paper over and grumbling under her breath, "Fucking Danny Doyle - at this point, just say he's in left field 24/7, even when he's actually in left field. Can't even hit the goddamn ball."

"Okay," Vivian Ratcliff said quietly from beside Kennedy, plucking the newspaper clipping that Lieutenant Montez had gotten for her this morning from her fingers and neatly folding it up, "you need a drink. A stiff one at that." Kennedy sighed and crossed her arms between the two as they continued walking forward towards the flying club and bit back her lip.

"And I'm going to have to hear all about how the Yankees won their game," Kennedy mumbled, "please say we can open a tab?"

"Or!" Margie butted in, "Better yet, someone will already have a tab started for us." Kennedy glanced at Margie, gaze burning into the side of Vivian's head, who was currently running a hand through her short, dark curls in the hand-held mirror she was carrying with her.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Kennedy asked her and Margie chuckled.

"Ev Blakely." Margie offered with a grin, "He's always putting his ViVi on his tab."

"Oh, screw off, Margie." murmured Vivian, brushing her bangs that lay wilted against her forehead, back a bit - the entirely noticeable blush that had sprung across the waist gunners cheeks and the smile poking at her lips evidently hard to ignore.

"I am not, and I repeat, not his 'ViVi', he's just a sweet thing, a gentleman," Vivian offered with a shrug of her shoulders, wiping at a smudge of her red lipstick at the corner of her mouth gently, "honestly." Margie chuckled as Kennedy sent her a glance.

"Whatever you say, Viv, but he's a real charmer that Ev Blakely," Margie said, grinning, "especially that you're ViVi to him, hm?" A small smile quirked onto Vivian's lips as she snapped the hand-held mirror shut and slid it into her pocket and offered them a slight smile.

"Shall we head in?" she asked them with a smile and a nod before stepping inside, cheeks still flaming, "It seems like we're all in need of a stiff drink." Kennedy watched as Vivian then stepped inside, nodding and smiling to a few pilots that had stepped passed her. Slowly, Kennedy glanced towards Margie who simply smiled.

"What?" Margie said with a chuckle, "It's clear Blakely's sweet on her."

Heading inside the flying club, the atmosphere was alive with both a gentle, slow song by Ella Fitzgerald, the quiet chatter of voices still about the place and the mixture of smells which combined two of the finest things on Thorpe Abbotts - cologne and alcohol.

"Beer?" Vivian offered glancing back at both Kennedy and Margie stood in the small opening between the bar area and the dance floor.

"Yeah." Kennedy said quietly, following behind Vivian with a sparing glance towards the dance floor where Judy was, more probable, to be forcing Carrie to dance than anything it seemed.

A large group of some of the pilots had gathered in front of the wooden bar, a few backs turned their way, with a few pairs of wandering eyes meeting her own. At the moment, she made rather quick and inherent eye contact with Bucky Egan. Who was staring down Colonel Harding in front of him.

Kennedy glanced at Margie and Vivian, who sent her sparing looks as she stepped closer, curious to both listen in and figure out why the look in Bucky's eyes made her stomach twist.

"Now-now who's flak happy?' Bucky asked, leaned up against the bar, a morose look drawn on to his features, eyes peering into Colonel Harding's persistent and demanding. Kennedy stepped closer, her eyes looking to Colonel Harding's face - it was a mixture of sadness, grief and evidently being somewhat drunk, but it was somewhat a sorry sight.

"Who?" Colonel Harding seemed to challenge.

"You are." Bucky said with a nod, his eyes frozen on the Colonel's gaze. There was something slightly unsettling in that split second of time - this almost far-too-large group surrounding a somewhat bitter conversation. Flak-happy; what a word. Enough to stir thoughts of death in all of them. How much it surrounded them, consumed them. Buck's half-crescent glance towards Bucky was enough for Kennedy to catch Buck's gaze and see the unfurling repent growing.

"You are." the Colonel said firmly back.

"No, you are," Bucky said, before giving a quick tap of the back of his hand on the Colonel's front pocket, "sir."

For a moment, the low drone of the music seemed to dim to a distant hum as they all stood there, eyes darting back and forth, waiting to see the reaction of the Colonel, to someone like Bucky. Notorious for his outbursts at this point, it seemed.

Kennedy watched for a moment longer, before she bit the bullet and stepped forward, directly placing herself in front of Bucky and looking right up at the Colonel, hands placed behind her back, heart pounding in her ears, praying to God above that she didn't look a fool in this moment. Whatever conversation it had been, friendly or foe or whatever other words could've been tossed around - she was having none of it.

This was for Captain Dye, to celebrate 25 missions, for people to relax a bit. Not to think about what tomorrow or the coming days could bring.

Then, the Colonel began to laugh, eyes not fully connected to the bright laughter from his lips, reaching up to place his cigar to his alcohol-laced lips. Kennedy mimicked her best impression of a laugh that she could muster in this moment without feeling in-genuine and watched as the Colonel's eyes brightened a bit.

"Good to see you, Sergeant Farley." he said and she nodded, saluting as well.

"And you, Colonel." she said and he grinned, before turning away and pointing to the guys - 'Single fillies!' he began to yell and point, people clambering and murmuring amongst one another as the rather large group began to slowly disperse.

She watched, predictable as it was, Blakely saunter up to Viv and Margie seemed to drop to her knees immediately at the sight of a tail-wagging Meatball.

In the midst of this all, Kennedy seemed to only just remember now that she had stepped between the Colonel and Bucky in this very moment and that very same Bucky Egan was now stood just behind her.

And if anything, she knew he had a shit-eating grin on his face and would poke fun at her little heroic moment of relief. She really didn't know what had compelled her to do such a thing - to step in between people that had far higher ranking than she probably ever would. But there was something on his face, that look in his eyes. Like he was distant, in a completely different time zone and realm than where he actually was.

And she couldn't remember a time when Bucky had ever looked like that.

Kennedy found that she was bracing herself as she turned around, but by that moment, as she was turning, Bucky was already watching her. It looked like a mixture between an attempt to smile on his face, and the struggle of an onboarding cold front. And her heart sunk a bit.

Maybe she was a bit stupid for that.

They barely knew each other past their Yankees and Red Sox feud and those few times they'd had conversations together - about what, she wasn't sure - she had spent the greater part of the time noticing every bit about how his eyes lit when he laughed, the crinkle of his grin, the pure sound of his voice.

For what reason she was stockpiling those images and feelings in her brain, she'd never know.

But, standing here now, it felt completely different.

Bucky was different.

"Hi, Farley." he said, voice more exhausted sounding than intended it seemed.

"Hi." she said back, noticing their closeness to each other and the eager smell of his cologne, taking the opportunity to step back.

Then she stared at him - she had no clue what to say.

For the first time in months, she didn't have a clue what to say to him - to explain whatever that had been, to try and chalk it up.

Yeah, she had no clue.

"You alright?" she said him, before scratching the back of her neck.

"Doing the best I can, yourself?" He was bored of this conversation already, he was done with it - say something, say something. But when she took the chance to actually go to open her mouth, she noticed his eyes were far-off, looking past her shoulder.

Slowly, she took a glance and noticed all he was staring at were the people - the couples, the duos - dancing with each other. Kennedy looked back towards Bucky again and found his eyes trained on her again.

"You dance at all, Farley?" he asked her, leaning back up against the bar, the broad stretch of his shoulders enough to fill her entire birds-eye view, enough to make her cheeks tint to annoying pink.

"I regret to inform you that it is quite possibly the last thing you want me to do."

"Really?" Bucky asked with a wry chuckle, smirking at her, "Well, isn't this new. Thought Kennedy Farley was good at damn-near everything." Kennedy looked at him an tilted her head.

"Well, I don't know whether to take that as an insult or compliment, but I'm afraid that growing up my mother put me in ballet and in turned into a complete mess of me on stage - so no, I don't." she said, crossing her arms, suddenly wanting to get herself out of this conversation as quickly as possible.

"I'm intrigued," Bucky said, tilting his head slightly and nodding to her, "tell me more. Ballet, huh?"

"It was like a chicken on a balance beam, alright? I'm sure you could've done better than me-" Bucky chuckled at her mid-sentence.

"Were you really that bad?" he asked her, "I don't believe you."

"Wouldn't be the first time." she murmured and he raised a brow, "This typically would be the time where I ask the same question back, but I've seen you dance and well….clearly know you dance so…." Bucky let out a barking laugh and hung his head for a moment before looking back up at her.

"Well, Kennedy Farley, dancing is a whole lot more than just some stupid ballet classes your Mom put you in when you were a kid, alright?" he said, pushing off from the bar counter and stepping forward. Kennedy look up at him as he stepped closer and equally stepped back.

"What are you doing?" she asked him as he stepped in front of her, managing a small smile.

"Dancing." he said, "With you."

"You can't be serious-"

"Oh, I'm serious!" he said, reaching forward to take her right hand in his, adjusting his other hand to her waist. It was honestly a mixture of feelings, intoxication and his cologne that suddenly made her feel slightly insane.

"Bucky-"

"Nah, nah, you're fine, look at you," he said as they slowly started to sway back and forth, "you're a natural." Kennedy looked up at him, feeling every inch of her hand pressed into his, his other hand on her waist.

"Well, if we're doing this, then you oughta tell me what Colonel Harding was talking about when I came up to you all." she said, watching as his eyes darted to hers and his grip tightened.

"Maybe another time." he said tilting his head to the side, to which she raised a brow.

"Oh, no, no, no, I saw that look on your face-"

"Farley-"

"Major Egan." she said, pausing and looking up at him expectantly. It seemed to work. Bucky watched her, his grip tight on her hand and pouted his lips a bit.

"The war. In the air." Bucky said quietly, tilting his head to the side, "Guess you can say it's making people go crazy."

"Quite the observation." Kennedy murmured and Bucky let out a huff, "Well, why was he addressing you. I mean….sorta front and center there-"

"He thinks it's starting to get to me." Bucky said quickly, pausing as she peered up at him again, watching his eyes under the dimmed yellow lights of the flying club.

Kennedy felt her heart stammer for a moment as she looked up at Bucky - there was still that distant look in his eye, but something else that craved and yearned for touch and connection and possibly something else she couldn't quite decipher. She believed that was all anyone in this war wanted - when the battle was done, when the flight crews were back at base, sweat and grease-stained faces, eyes hazy and glazed. All people wanted was someone else to get it, to understand them and hold them and tell them that maybe things were going to be okay.

But, with Bucky, with their separation of rank and about a million other things, she quite honestly, was at a loss for words.

"You?" she instead asked quietly. Bucky watched her, face unchanged.

"Yeah." he said quietly, almost ashamed, "A trip to London would probably do me some good, don't you think?" Kennedy watched him - he wanted this. He agreed with the Colonel. Bucky wanted this.

"If that's what you want-"

"I think the Colonel was really onto something, Farley." Bucky said, stopping her mid-sentence, "Doing those missions. Over and over. I feel like I'm going crazy." Kennedy felt like she couldn't even hear the music anymore, she didn't even realize how close they were into each other's hands and arms, she didn't even realize the tick of desperation in Bucky's voice. Like he was alone in the dark, trying to grasp onto something.

"Bucky." Kennedy said quietly, watching as he sighed and shook his head, dropping her hand, removing his, rather warm, hand from her waist and stepping back.

"Sorry." Bucky said, reaching up to run a hand through his hair before turning back to the bar and finishing what was left of his drink, before looking at her again, "I shouldn't have said a damn thing. Freak you out when you're trying to relax. I'll…" Bucky watched her and sighed, before stepping around her, "I'll see you around."

Kennedy stood there, the flash of his body disappearing from in front of her, the hint of sweat, beer and cologne trailing as she turned to look over her shoulder and found him moving right out of the room.

Kennedy's heart was in her throat - a mixture of feelings of not knowing what Bucky would do next, especially being alone and if this was making her suddenly want to do anything she could to help him.

So, she did the only thing a Farley would do. She hurried after him. She kept her eye on his form as he hurried out and into the cool night air.

Stepping outside she looked over and found him stood at the edge of the road, against the lick of grass that spread between the barracks and looked towards the dark airfield.

"You know, it really isn't the nicest thing to leave a girl hanging on the dance floor," Kennedy started, walking towards him, a slight smile on her face, "especially if she just told you how much she really didn't like dancing." She tried to joke about it, but she just watched Bucky's shoulders drop the slightest bit instead as he ran his hand again over his hair to hang on his neck.

"Sorry, Farley," Bucky said quietly, "I just, I don't want to rope you into this, right now." Bucky said, motioning to himself. Kennedy raised a brow.

"Rope into what, Bucky, I'm right here." Kennedy said watching his back and crossing her arms, "Quite frankly, you just told me you think you're going crazy from it all and downed the rest of your drink. And probably are slightly buzzed. So. I will rope myself into this." Kennedy eyed the few newer airmen walking by them. "Sir." Bucky glanced over his shoulder at her and she simply stared back.

If he wanted her to be scared of this side of him, it would have to take a whole lot more for her to disappear, for her to run.

This Bucky she almost liked. Where he wasn't putting up the facade, the mask, the strong-front that showed he was fine.

Because no one was fine when their job was trying to just beat the odds and survive.

"Farley-"

"Bucky." she said and she watched as he stared at her. He grew quiet.

Slowly, she stepped closer and moved to stand there beside him. Glancing upwards, she found him, looking far off again towards the darkened tarmacs with B-17s.

There was something about standing there in damn-near total silence with him. It was so unlike any other version of the Bucky Egan she'd met, but in this moment, she hoped that this was exactly what he needed.

Someone to be there, but to stand in this silence with him.

Away from the music and the drinks and the B-17s and the bullets.

Away from it all.

All to simply realize he was alive, and on the ground and standing on his own two feet.

"To get in one of those planes again," Bucky started quietly, "I can't….it's hard. To do that. Again and again." Kennedy looked up at him, her face drawn into one of concern and worry.

"I know." she said quietly, watching his eyes as he glanced at her, "It scares me. Every time without fail. After what had happened with Birdie and then Margie those few months ago. The thought? Jesus, I didn't want to have to leave solid ground." Bucky watched her for a moment.

"You don't give off the impression that you're scared, Farley," Bucky said quietly, "always thought you were one of the strongest we got." Kennedy managed a genuine smile up at him.

"Thanks, Bucky." she said - genuinely - she figured people didn't see that often, so she could appreciate when someone like Bucky told her that. He managed a slight smile at her words.

"Would you go to London?" he asked her and she felt her face change into one of slight surprise and near-joking. She offered him a look, one where she almost burst out laughing.

"Me?" she asked him and he nodded, "No, no….probably not." She looked at him again and almost nervously laughed.

"Silver Bullets needs me. And for the moment, despite everything, I'd rather let that trip go to someone else, who needs it more." Like you, she thought quietly. She looked at him and found his face saddened a bit and offered a shoulder bump.

"Go to London. Take the trip." she said softly, "Take some time to relax." Bucky looked at her, his eyes aching to watch hers it felt as she stared at him.

In another world, she would've said she'd loved to go to London - she always heard about London as a kid; Buckingham Palace, the guards in their uniforms, the city streets, all of it. But for now, she didn't need it. She was fine.

"Well….I only asked because…" Bucky cleared his throat, "Buck sorta denied my offer and I figured, well, since you and just about everyone else also need a break, figured I'd offer to come. With me." Kennedy looked up at him, her cheeks flamed in the darkness and she hoped the fact the moon was covered by clouds, covered her obvious shyness.

"Oh." Kennedy said quietly, her eyes wanting to leave Bucky's but whole-heartedly refusing. In her mind, she told herself that he could tell something was most definitely wrong with her, with her blubbering and lack of words and shock and nervousness. But instead he offered a slight smile her way.

"I mean," she started, a small laugh escaping her lips, "you're….you're a Major, Bucky, and I'm just, I'm a Sergeant. And we're from different planes. And it'd be…I don't know, people, they'd say stuff-"

"Farley," Bucky said, "we're…..friends, ya know, it'd just be us two. As….friends." And even she wasn't convinced of his words in that moment and suddenly she felt hot all over and the thoughts in her mind were enough to force her to look away from Bucky in an instant. She looked forward again over the field of B-17s in the darkness and swallowed her shaky breaths.

"Farley, I…" Bucky started, before clearing his throat, "I just…I think I'm drunk. Just, ignore me-"

"Okay." Kennedy said quickly, looking over at him and nervously meeting his gaze with a nod, swallowing sheepishly as she looked up again to his eyes, "I-"

She really couldn't get herself to speak properly at the thought. Of Bucky. Her head felt light, her cheeks hot, her body hot, her thoughts a jumbled mess.

He was drunk, she told herself, he was drunk and wouldn't remember this and she could go back to being brazen and bold and stubborn with him.

Not this mushy, genuine and sweet part of herself that she rarely showed a soul.

Looking at Bucky, suddenly her mind went into a frenzy at the thought of the two of them, in a room together, in London - how awkward it would be!

She'd take the bed closest to the window, he'd take the one closest to the door and she'd have to hear his every breath as he fell asleep and his snores through the night.

And she'd have to wake up and he'd see her exhausted and barely awake and exceptionally grumpy.

And then he'd say something about how she reminds him of the pigeons on the streets in the city and she'd launch her shoe at him.

And then she'd feel embarrassed having to get ready and knowing he's right in the other room.

And - no, it was too much. Because what if they just happened to ignore it all and she allowed herself to feel these feelings that made her feel sick to her stomach - no. She looked away from him and suddenly wanted to be alone.

No, let him go to London - get the drinks, get the girls, and she'll keep her mouth shut.

Because he was right - they were just two people, barely even friends, who happened to know each other and have strong opinions about baseball. No, she wasn't going to say a thing.

"I'll make it up to you then someday, Farley - the dancing," Bucky said before patting her shoulder gently and letting out a low whistle, "I'm off to barracks. Figured I need to shut up before I keep letting my mouth yap, ya know?" Kennedy slowly looked over at him, sticking his hands in his pockets and giving her a wide smile - one between a forced and slightly buzzed grin and a genuine one.

"I'll let you know how London is, okay?" he said and she nodded, tying herself directly to where she was standing so she wouldn't convince herself to follow him again.

"Okay." she said and he smiled wider and then mock-saluted to her before turning away.

"I'll be seeing you, Farley." he said and as he staggered down the path, her own heart thumping inside her chest she shut her eyes and let out a breath before crossing her arms tighter across her chest.

She couldn't have said anything better? Come up with better words? A better send-off and good-bye? Should she have taken the offer?

No, no, no, no. Nope.

And with that, Kennedy turned and moved right back into the flying club and ordered as strong a drink she could get at this time of night.

#i fear they were both INSANE for this energy but honestly.....#it really kickstarts EVERYTHING FOR THEM?!?!?!?!#like SURPRISE. i actually feel *emotions(?)* for you that i should NOT feel?!#like damn okay #these two are honestly everything and i was so excited to finish this piece for this prompt #not a full-on crazy intervention but enough to get this convo rolling to say the least #and just yes....i can't with kennedy's emotions and thoughts at the end!!! poor girl she wants some love! and thinks she has found it!#but is not sure! and CAN she feel these for this dude?!?!!#GAHHHHH #kennedy u are so real!#kennedy farley #john egan #bucky egan #bucky egan x oc #silver bullets #mota #mota writings #masters of the air #WE ARE SO BACKKKK #(also peep the viv x blakely mentions here yall they are *adorable* i tell you...more on them later though)

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