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brimbrimbrimbrim · 2 years ago

Note

Can you combine 38 and 13. He’s posing. 🥰

Nice combo! Here’s my attempt at a short Eddie thing. :D The prompt list is HERE for anyone else interested. <3

Title: Art School

Words: 3k

Tags: nudity, pinning, mutual pinning, jealousy, crop tops, eye-fucking, flirting, UST <3

Summary: 38. posing nude for art and 13. "Wipe that smirk off your face!"

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It’s mid-summer, on a Saturday, and the AC is out at the Munson trailer where you and Eddie would normally be lavishing your attention over the miniatures you both bought on Friday from the Neptune Comic Shop in the next town over. Instead of that, however, as stimulating as it was and would be, you’re at your place where the house is empty on Lover’s Lake and the air is chilled—though Eddie hasn’t changed back into his hellfire shirt and vest like you assumed. Seeing him throw down on the paisley sofa in the living room, a gaggle of pale skin and wild (slightly damp with sweat) brown hair, made you pop the question.

“Wouldn’t it be weird if I drew you? No… I should totally draw you. Let me draw you, okay?”

How could you not think about it when his threadbare DIO crop top, with the sleeves ripped off, was just… riding up his stomach like that??

“Like…” Eddie extends the word, frozen mid-chill over the cushions with an unlit joint perched between his lips, “… draw me how?” Did you detect a hint of suspicion in his tone as well?

You shrug, fanning yourself with the hem of your loaned Ozzy tank, having totally forgotten your long sleeve back in his room where it’d been declared a bodily hazard in the heat an hour ago; now you’re here—home—but why is it still warm in here?

“The regular way?” You supply suggestively.

“So, I don’t have to do anything?” His posture relaxes, the joint leaning against his bottom lip as he sinks into place. Saturday Eddie, especially post-graduation, part-time record store worker on a Saturday Eddie, preferred to move as little as humanly possible; hence the joint wetting against his tongue and the kicked-off Reeboks on your floor, his ankles already folded on the armrest.

“Do anything? Oh, no… I mean, you can literally lay there and touch the sky, in fact,” you rub your thumb under your chin, looking at his figure in the pale afternoon light spilling in from the bay windows, “… yeah, in fact, I would have to insist you be as stoned as possible; otherwise, you’ll just mess it all up with your jitters.”

Eddie makes a face that suggests he thought about being offended but is already bought and sold by your stoney encouragement. He fishes for a lighter out of his pocket and does as he’s told. When you make a sound in your throat, Eddie pauses, big ol’ browns aimed your way across the living room.

“Uh-huh?” He mouths.

“Sorry, just…” you lift your hand in a gesture that’s basically a raised pointer finger crooked awkwardly at his unlit spliff, “… if you could take all your clothes off first, that’d be great.”

Both his brows lift. Eddie blinks, eyes going wide in delayed surprise, and—endearingly—the joint slips off his lower lip to his chest as he swallows thick and loud.

“You… want me to…”

“Then again,” you backpedal quickly, “… I can always wait for the community center to start up their life drawing classes again—or I could ask Steve—or we could-“

“Harrington?!” Eddie bolts upright on the sofa, fumbling with the tender joint that nearly falls to the floor until he’s got it fisted in a death grip against his exposed stomach, glaring over at you in peak natural lighting that throws beautiful shadows into his horrified face, “Please don’t tell me you’ve already asked him?”

Is that jealousy in his voice?

“What? No…” You force a little laugh, remembering the absolutely shocking amount of chest hair on Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington back in the Upside Down. That would have been a bitch to draw…

“I mean, can you imagine? I might as well draw Bigfoot.”

Some of the tension in Eddie’s body dissipates as you fiddle with the hem of your tank, picking at a stray ink chip on the ‘O’ in Ozzy only to freeze, forgetting it’s not yours… but borrowed, worn on the regular by Eddie with some of his sweaty essence still hanging around the collar. A good, comforting smell that’s ripe with stale nicotine and whatever aftershave he uses (old spice, maybe) settles your nerves a little, at least enough to continue living in the sudden summer silence.

After a thick second, Eddie shifts and stands up, still staring with those doe-dark eyes swimming with blown black pupils and a gleam against the sunlight, “This is part of your portfolio, right? That… uh, the thing you’ve been working on for college?”

You nod, biting down a wry reply because if it’s not theories about the upcoming second edition of D&D, or whether Black Sabbath was better with DIO or Ozzy… or if the record store was going to finally sell some of Eddie’s Corroded Coffin tapes then it was about your portfolio. Eddie’s already posed for you before, albeit usually when he was scratch-writing in campaign details for Hellfire or passed out fetchingly on the floor after indulging in too many peanut butter and marshmallow sammiches mixed with whatever new drug he was selling that month. It won’t even be the first time you’ve drawn him shirtless, having found him sitting on the bench out back a while ago. He’d been in just his jeans after Steve accidentally squirted him with kerosine while trying to light up a barbecue…

You slow blink as a blush fills your cheeks at the memory; it hadn’t been long after spring break ended and his last year in high school began again… with the wounds from the demo bats still fresh enough to pull his skin taut in places that looked terribly painful, but also… metal as fuck.

Your gaze travels down his stomach to the hem of his jeans, where a shiny pink and puckered scar starts around the cut of his hip bone, disappearing past the handcuff belt buckle. That one had infected early on, and you’d often see him with his jeans low around his hips, adjusting fresh gauze with sharp-smelling antibiotic creams.

Lost in memories, you barely hear Eddie clear his throat. He does it again, louder, snapping your eyes back up to his. Oh, shit… you’ve been caught… staring… there… again…

“Is this where the fair maiden confesses her undying love for me after all this time?” He’s wearing a wide-lipped smirk, the joint pinched between his lips as his ring-decorated fingers rapt obnoxiously—erotically—against the front of his cuff-buckle.

“Don’t get cute, Munson,” you admonish, but it’s flimsy, and you both know it.

It’s been a year since Vecna and the bats—the Metallica show in the Upside Down that won you over as if you weren’t already in love with him before then. It’s been just as long since you kissed him, falling with his arms wrapped tight around you—falling right side up in his trailer on that stained mattress, with blood still on his lips and old tears on his cheeks… you’d grabbed him by the puffy vest collar, sobbed in stark relief and kissed him so hard Eddie laughed before fisting your nape in a shaken grip, sticking his tongue down your throat.

You haven't kissed anyone since then for fear it’ll wash away the memory of Eddie messily making out with you on the mattress as the rush of stolen life lowered both your inhibitions. It must have just been the heat of the moment—all that adrenaline needing an outlet somehow. Eddie never brought it up again… though, neither did you.

“You know if you wanted to get me naked, there’s way easier ways to do that, sweetheart.”

“That’s… not,” you rub your blushing cheek bashfully, “why do you have to say it like that?”

Eddie shrugs, looking handsome and lazy and glad to be here with you, “You blush when I flirt with you. Looks good on you. Real pretty,” his relaxed gaze widens as you look away, “... uh, n-not that you’re not always pretty… but prettier. Blushing. That is.”

You glance back, willing your cheeks to cool, but Eddie lifts the crop top over his head, throwing it on the coffee table with a brazen, nervous smile, and your soul turns into a forest fire of biblical proportions. He toes off his socks and then moves to his belt, and it’s then that you turn around—cheeks ablaze—and beeline it to your room at the end of the hallway.

“Where’re you going?” Eddie calls after, sounding like he did something wrong. Far from it, you think.

“N-need my stuff!” You squeak, slipping into your bedroom.

The gloomy, familiar contours of your bedroom do nothing to ease the burn in your face or the gallop of your heart. You’ve got about ten seconds before Eddie gets fidgety and follows you back here, so… where the fuck is your charcoal tin?! Where did you put your mother fucking confidence?! You pace, fingers in your hair, willing your breathing to settle, and as you’re on the cusp of hyperventilating, you kick something halfway under your bed with a woodsy rattle.

Your charcoals?! Yes!

“Come here, you stupid fucking-“

“Being bossy with the inanimate objects, huh?” Eddie leans against your door jam, shirtless, covered in salmon-silver testaments to last year's spring break with a light dusting of chest hair… not to mention the soft-looking line of fuzz that runs from his navel to the unbuckled belt hanging off his hips.

Fucking fiddle sticks…

“Why are you-” you freeze, bent over at the waist with your gray-tin case of charcoal in one hand and your bare thigh in the other. With eyes dialed in—narrowed at the slow, almost debauched leer splitting Eddie Munson’s kindly angular face—you huff, “Look, I told you, Eddie. It’s nothing like that, so don’t make it a big thing.”

Eddie’s grin turns to shit-eating delight as your own words ‘big thing’ sink in. Your flush returns ten-fold, realizing the innuendo you slid into the air between you without coaxing from him.

He’s good at that, you grumble, gathering your supplies off the floor to just… do something with your hands other than squirm. You give him a pursed-lipped look over some messy bangs and immediately regret your decision, nervous energy boiling over hard enough that a clean, cool sweat breaks out over your face. How can he do this to you with your own words and that charming Munson smile?

Should be criminal…

“Look, are you gonna help me with this portfolio, or are you gonna use this to mess with me? Cause, you know… I’m sure Steve wouldn’t mind dropping his stupid khakis if I asked nicely.”

Usually, that would get you a pout or some sort of ‘come on, don’t be like that,’ but all Eddie does is drop his chin, gaze steady on yours beneath unkempt bangs… and pops the button on his jeans. You swallow as he peels down the zipper and hooks his thumbs under linen and denim and…

You bite the tip of your tongue to hold down the whine as Eddie kicks off his jeans and boxers, standing stark naked in your doorway, tapping his fingers against his thighs restlessly, still wearing that fucking smirk despite the way his cheeks grow rosy and stained.

“I-I um… okay. T-thank you, Eddie.”

Holy shit. It hurts to keep your eyes above Eddie's downward-cut hips, but… you just gotta get him back to the living room and posed, and then you can look—you’re gonna need to look. Why didn’t that thought cross your mind before, like… really cross your mind?! Right now, if you get a glimpse of whatever Eddie Munson has been hiding behind dramatic hip twists, thick denim, and weighted belt buckles, you’re gonna-

“This would’ve been more impressive back at my place. It’s so fucking cold in here…”

“Uh,” Eddie actually sounds a little nervous despite the canary grin, eyes tracing around your room and settling on your messily-made bed, “Where do you want me?” Why does that sound like such a loaded question?

You double fist the paper pad and tin box just so you can point behind him down the hallway because what even is a voice box anymore? Your whole heart is stuffed in your throat at this point, and speech feels rather impossible… He hesitates for a moment before giving you twin finger guns. What a dork… He gives those fingers a wag before turning around and casually walking down the hallway, you following close behind. The logic being, the closer you are to his naked back, the less inclined you’ll be to look at his bare ass.

Just don't look, and all will be well...

This mantra follows you with each breath until your toe catches a raised floorboard in the middle of the hallway, the bane of your early morning routine, but this time it draws your attention to your feet and then back up, but your eyes don't stop, instead locking on Eddie's butt where a beholder's eye tattoo stares back above his right cheek.

“... oh, my god,” you breathe, suddenly staring right at Eddie’s sweetly pert ass as it bounces gently with each step forward. Talk about paralyzing...

“Hmm?” He moans, sending you a half-glance over his shoulder where his dark curls kiss the red splattering his cheekbone. Despite the lackadaisical flare, it doesn’t help that he seems just as flustered as you.

“I said... umm, just get back on the couch, like… whatever position you find most comfortable. I need like… an hour at least so… so, yeah, get comfy, Eddie.”

Inside, you’re melting, dying, screaming, and gnawing at your own brain, but Eddie just snorts gleefully and walks his bare fucking ass back to the paisley sofa where you’ve both shared joints, haunting silences in the wake of the apocalypse and air shredding solos from the Maiden to the Lizzy.

You avoid him and his everything as he drops back to the sofa just like before—only super fucking naked—and snatches the joint and lighter off the coffee table before you drag it across the floorboards. He gets himself situation outside your peripherals, just a long line of pale skin and long limbs painted in inky bats, dark iconography with shiny scars and dimpled bite wounds… and…

You throw some pillows from the opposite sofa on the ground in front of the coffee table and sit down with your sketch pad with an open charcoal case, knees lifted up to your chest and face covered in fresh, pulp-smelling paper.

“Pretty sure you’re gonna have to look if you wanna draw me unless you’ve thought about this so much your imagination’s just as good.”

You scoff behind the sketch pad, “You’re the Dungeon Master, not me; if anyone could draw each other naked purely from perverted daydreams, it’d be you.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, and it’s the silence that finally gets you lowering the pad, peeking over the edge as he tongues the end of a damp joint between his lips. His knuckled fingers are threaded over his stomach, rings of skull, pig, and cross, throwing up sharp pins of light across his knuckles. He’s staring with that same obscured, bang-dusted look, but his eyes are cast downward, glued over your naked legs in the denim shorts….

Your eyes wander as well, feeling less shy as his eyes trace down your calves and bare feet—you, however… Your gaze is so much less innocent… slipping down his navel where his breath rises and falls, past the trail of scattered brown hairs to the grove of wispy curls that frame the half-hard sight of Eddie Munson’s cock, leaning all pink-tipped and thick over his fuzzy thigh with a delicate sack of hairy flesh cradled beneath. He’s got one leg raised, bent up against the back of the sofa with his heel in the cushions, the other hanging off the side where his foot touches the floorboards.

Immediately, your fingers go white—death gripping your sketch pad—as a silky gush of moisture wets your underwear.

He’s… big… why is he so big?! Are they supposed to be that size?

You think back to your limited experience with men and come up overwhelmed by Eddie just laying there naked, not even fully hard on your fucking sofa waiting to be sketched like some classy french girl, but…

Oh, fuck. You can’t do this. Why did you think you could-

Your eyes widen and a little gasp leaves your lips as Eddie’s cock twitches, stiffening… growing ruddy and swollen… the sweeping lines around the tip flaring with blood. Suddenly, without thought, you lick your lips and picture shoving his hips into the sofa while sucking and slurping, licking and drooling as you blow him—siphon his soul through his dick until he’s a blubbering mess with fingers tugging in your hair and hot, salty cum shooting down your throat.

You gulp, blink and look up only to find Eddie fucking Munson with the biggest, most asinine grin on his face—the look of someone who knows he’s being ogled like… like he knows how badly you wanna worship his stupidly, perfect, fucking dick.

“Ugh, wipe that smirk off your face, Eddie! It’s not…” you bite your lip as he flicks the lighter to a hot flame, “… it’s not helping.”

Eddie lights up the joint in the corner of his insufferably attractive smirk, bends an elbow, shoves a palm behind his head, settles deeper into the cushions with a bounce of hard dick, and says on an exhale of weed, “Come over here and make me.”

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You can find me on AO3 and you can read my huge Eddie Munson/Reader fic Fortune Teller too. If ya want. <3

#prompt list #ask #<3 #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things s4 #metal head boyfriend #writing #fanfiction

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relaxxattack · 3 years ago

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Someone's probably asked you this before but how long did it take you to plan out the plot for knifetrick? What did you do to come up with everything and do you have any tips for other writers who are struggling to put together their own fics?

after checking out my history lol,

it seems i did serious brainstorming and research for about a week before i started writing.

what happened first was that i had in my head the funny idea of ran failing to kill jackie and them getting tax-benefit married (to make ran feel guilty and admit his plot)

and once i realized i wanted to make it into an actual story, i had to change some of it and come up with plot and reasoning.

the first thing i did was ask my followers for song requests, lol. i asked specifically for “songs about futuristic settings or being married to/loving your assassination target”

i listened to a lot of that music to get my brain juices flowing. i had to put together a couple of Reasons for why things happened. i also knew i couldn’t just write the fic on the assassination alone, or else ran would have nothing to distract him and be the overarching plot, lol

the music helped me picture scenes and concepts. i then just jotted down a bunch of stuff i thought would be interesting to happen (possible scenes)

a couple thoughts on this image— for one you can see that i originally wanted to name my fic after a movie. i looked up ones where assassins grow endeared to their targets and fail to kill them. but i realized i didn’t want to name the fic after a movie in case it was controversial or something, so i ended up going for a song instead. ALSO, as you can tell, some of these points got dropped! again, this was just brainstorming for things i wanted to include

the next thing i did was ask for ranjack classpects, lol. for those unfamilliar with classpecting, it’s sort of like personality types for really sad nerds (/lh). aka, hogwarts houses but more complicated.

@dyketubbo wrote some INCREDIBLE classpects for ran and jackie. it was based off what we knew about their personalities (which wasn’t much) but it also helped us infer a lot MORE about their personalities by figuring out where they could go or how they probably think in their minds.

if you don’t know classpects you can probably do this with personality types. or, just, figure out your characters personality some Normal way. i wouldn’t know.

there was a lot more brainstorming i did (where i came up with ms. laramie, scoots, and clementine) and tried to come up with a basic plot of what would happen and what they would do. during this i did some research on a proper three-act story structure so my plot would hit just right.

during all of this, i watched a bunch of spy and futuristic flicks (not too intensely, just had them on in the background to absorb the vibes).

i then made a plot map once i figured i knew what was gonna happen

(the last few chapters are on the other side of the paper, so you don’t get to see them haha)

a lot of this stuff got switched around or dropped completely as i was writing. honestly, the details don’t matter too much— the FLOW of the story is what’s important.

i’m very flexible with my scenes— literally what happens in a chapter is completely up in the air until i FINISH the chapter. sometimes they’re entirely different from my original ideas. it’s not too important to me what exactly happens, as long as it makes sense and i like it and it fits in with the rest.

in my mind, the events themselves are not as impressive as the characters in them. as long as i’m still developing the characters the way i need to throughout the story, and they eventually get to the plot points i need them to, i don’t worry too much about the specifics! as long as they’re fun.

i also didnt write chapter-by-chapter— i mapped the plot first, and then drew little dividing lines where i thought it would be good to end the chapter after. chapters are useful to me as pacing tools, but i didnt want the plot to seem too episodic by Planning it as chapters.

after i wrote the plot map, i did research on deserts, cities, and fantasy politics for DAYS. (i also watched videos on how fantasy militaries should work.) i ended up not using most of that information i came up with, but the parts that do leak through into my current writing do wonders to make the world feel real and alive. each character has a personality and a life, they aren’t just there to be background characters for ran and jackie.

then, i re-read a few books by authors who really inspire me. to get their narration voice fresh in my mind and feel really inspired

eventually we got to where we are now— i write the chapters and i post them!

as i’ve mentioned, i’m very flexible with my plot— so while i’ve foreshadowed certain things since the beginning, some parts of the story have only come perfectly together towards the end. and i have @shrugofgod to thank for that!

my wonderful editor is always willing to chat with me about what scenes and bits work and are most satisfying story-wise. of course lyssie also EDITS my chapters after they’re drafted — to make them more polished, and also ask me questions about things that are going on to clarify them.

many thanks to lyssie shrugofgod for making the story so much better :D

because my chapters have a tendency to get away from me and do whatever they want, if there’s certain plot things i need to hit in a chapter, i’ll outline the chapter before i write it.

also, recently, (after coming up with one too many REALLY COOL scenes and lines in my head while cleaning, but then completely forgetting them later) i’ve implemented a protocol for myself to jot down anything that comes to mind WHEN it happens so i don’t forget.

these are unprofessional and have spelling errors and all that, because i just wrote them really quickly, often while doing the dishes or laundry, lol.

so in conclusion:

um yeah that’s how i write knifetrick! i’ve never done this much work for any other fic though, so don’t feel like YOU have to. i did so much research for knifetrick because it was very out of my wheelhouse.

at most all i think is necessary for a good story is a plot map, and a hell of a lot of inspiration. (i got mine from music, movies, books, and drawing ran and jackie a lot, haha!)

make sure you’re having fun with your plot. writing won’t always be fun, but you should at least like your PLOT. because if you don’t then you won’t be inspired or enjoy it at all!

#knifetrick #writing process #tutorial #og post #sorry for rambling so much this probably wasn’t very understandable ^^;;

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leahseclipse · 4 years ago

Text

Battle of knowledge

Pairing: Spencer Reid x male!reader

Summary: When a battle of knowledge abruptly occurs as the two known doctors meet at a case, everyone is partially amused by their hate towards the other, as they both differ their problems in quite a unusual way afterwards.

Warnings: Mentions of case, usual cm stuff…, slight sex allusions (rated T just in case the mentions happen to be something that’d be rated like that)

Word count: 1.7 k

A/N: Hey everyone!! I hope you guys are well!! I took this request from @imagining-in-the-margins as she didn’t want it, so here I am :) that fic is kind of dedicated to @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff , I thought a lot about you as I wrote this fic :)! Hope everyone enjoys. (yeah the dialogue is ehhh in the first half to me, sorry for that)

When Spencer had gone all the way from Virginia to Arizona for a case that had yet to upset the rest of his team, he didn't actually expect another person to upset him as much as the authors of the crime themselves.

The other person was known as the genius of the team, another "version" of him, except that he was in Arizona, with a slightly different rank.

He didn't think badly of him at first, he appreciated the fact of having another person similar to him, which meant that he didn't have to explain the terms he'd use to someone else, he could talk without complications.

He’d usually have to pause in his lecture to explain some stuff, but he didn’t feel like he’d need to do it with him.

"Arizona's genius, y/n y/l/n. It's nice to meet you all. I heard there's another genius here. As much as I'd like to have a nice chat, killers are on the loose, so, eventually, at the end of the case."

The way he had talked was completely fascinating to him, even if he wanted to, he couldn't draw his eyes off him as he talked.

The first words had completely convinced them, and he really felt like he could have a correct interaction with him.

It wasn't everyday that he'd had the occasion to meet another mind similar to his.

This happened to be quite relieving considering the complicity of the case, and it would be much faster for everything to be answered as they'll be two.

"No, he's not that type of guy! Look at what he did, especially at the third victim!" He yelled.

"We have all reasons to think he could be like that, I didn't say it definitely is, but it could be." Spencer argued, pissed off by his words.

"The M.O you just described doesn't really fit, something is missing, and none of what you said makes it right."

"It's the closest thing we have, it's that or we completely start from scratch, as if it's "wrong" to you."

"I don't think it's only to me, and it's better to try to start again than continue with what we have and possibly launch into a wall because that wasn't right. Okay, that's going to take time, but might as well get it right."

"When I expected for the case to go smoothly, I didn't come all the way for this, since when are you so annoying?"

"Oh, now I'm annoying? I'm just doing my job, and you're the one acting offended. So," He paused, as he gathered papers before walking away. "If you excuse me, I have to catch the ones doing this, instead of wasting time. Come back to me when you're in a better mood to work correctly." Y/N said, as another coworker of his approached Spencer not long after he had left.

"Um...I doubt that'll make the situation better, but he acts like that, sometimes. It may seem that he's not going to work, but don't worry, it's mainly so he can...get himself back in the right head space." He explained. "Don't try...get pissed off at each other too often, none of our unit chiefs will be happy with that."

"He could have been less...like that."

"It's just y/l/n being himself, 'can't do much about it. Anyway, let's get back to work, and try to get better you two, at least till we wrap the case."

"Trouble's around." Derek chirped to JJ.

"This case is going to be...fun. Let's hope we at least get to have a distraction."

"Oh, don't worry JJ, we'll have one. They're not done fighting. Definitely not."

"Do you think they're gonna make up and become friends, or yell at each other until the end?" Emily asked.

"A mix of the two. They'll kinda hate each other, but not enough to resist having a conversation between geniuses." Garcia answered.

"True. It's not every day that the both of them get to talk with someone that understands their stuff." Derek pointed out.

"Let's hope that we'll get to see some animation in between work."

"Are you here to yell again or try to have a calm conversation?" Y/N asked, as soon as Spencer entered.

"I don't get why you're directly attacking before I get to say anything." Spencer protested.

"Just in case."

"Okay, do you have something against me or what? Because I can't work if you keep being angry all of the time."

"I'm not angry." He answered.

"Then I'm a clown if I can't even read your face. It's written on your forehead that you are, you're literally an open book." Spencer closed the door, having a slight feeling that the conversation would possibly get louder.

"I thought you weren't supposed to profile the people you work with, no? I'm not your coworker, but we're working on this case together, so don't profile me unless I ask, which will never happen."

"I don't get you."

"What is there even to understand? You're the one I don't get."

"It's you that I can't figure out. I just can't stand you right now."

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid you'll have to calm your nerves till we finish that case. Because I'm not wasting twenty minutes explaining what is there to "understand" about me." He spit back, glancing at Spencer.

"I can't keep talking with you if you act like that."

"I'm not a cute puppy in case you haven't figured that out. I'm not going to be nice just for you, especially when you point out that I'm not how you like to be talked."

"I didn't specify anything."

"Didn't you, doctor?" He focused on the last word, raising his eyebrows.

"Damn it." Spencer walked up to him in a snap, glancing at him for a split second before suddenly taking in his face in his hands as he roughly kissed him.

Not even one of them expected that it'd just take a single argument to let the pressure out.

They were just kissing each other, like that. Spencer was the one who started it, not even wondering if he'd return it or walk away, but turns out that y/n had been the one to take the lead after that, as he gripped his hair, slamming him against the wall.

Nothing really mattered in that moment, they didn't even think about the others possibly walking in, all they both needed to do was to let out of all the frustration contained since this morning.

It wasn't quite only anger, but also because they had both wanted each other, in their own way.

As much as Y/N was afraid to admit it, he did imagine it, slamming him against the wall, even if he wouldn't be strong or even courageous enough to do that.

Spencer did imagine gripping his jaw, especially after he walked out in fury, he was so upset about him that all he wanted was to kiss him to let him know what he felt.

He didn't want to admit it, but he hated it whenever someone raised his voice at him, he needed to do that to calm himself, in some way.

If they weren't in some police station, their shirts would have already been on the floor, the layers of clothes between them were more than infuriating as they tugged at the other's shirt.

And even when they stopped for a moment to breathe again, it didn't take much for their lips to link again after a short glance.

Spencer quickly flipped y/n the other way so he'd be the one against the wall, and to his surprise, his face quickly gained another tint.

He caged him in with one arm against the wall, gripping his chin with the other, as y/n tugged at his hair again, not knowing where else to put them.

Things went fast so quickly, they didn't even think about what they'd do, they just went with the flow.

What they forgot to think and pay attention about, was that they weren't alone in the place.

Literally all of the people working at the station were there, and could possibly start to look for them.

They really didn't care about it, none of them broke the kiss to point it out, it was just four walls, them, and their mixed feelings.

"I still can't stand you." Spencer said in between when they briefly broke the kiss.

"Me neither." He blurted out.

As one of them probably guessed at some point, their inattention cost them when they didn't even hear the lock of the door over their breaths.

"Hey, we found…" JJ walked in, stopping in the middle of the sentence.

The door kept itself open, as the noise of the outside drew in, causing them to break away as both of their eyes were wide open.

Spencer's hair was a mess, strands going everywhere, which would need to be at least fixed with his hand for him to be presentable.

Only the back of y/n's hair was messed up as he was against the wall most of the time.

Both of their shirts had a few buttons out, although, y/n's was the closest to being on the floor if someone hadn't come.

By the time they had begun slowly walking away from the other, she had definitely just seen them making out.

"...something." She ended the sentence, not quite knowing what to say after witnessing the event.

"Oh, uh...we'll uh...meet you in just a sec." Spencer said.

"Right. Okay." JJ responded, closing the door in a hurry.

"I hate to say this to you, but I think we're screwed." Y/N pointed out once she was gone.

"They'll definitely be able to tell from the look on her face and ours when we'll get out."

"Yeah, we should have…done it elsewhere."

"It's a bit late for that."

"You're the one who started, you should have at least chosen another place genius."

"I have to admit it but, true."

"They'll definitely figure out you're the one who started, you basically entered after me."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't. You just don't like me." He corrected Spencer, as he opened the door to walk out, walking out of the room.

It didn't take much for some of their coworkers's eyes to lay on them as they entered their vision.

Spencer discreetly approached y/n after Hotch began talking, making sure the attention was elsewhere.

"I'm going to show you how much I 'just don't like you' when we're out of here, you're gonna see."

"Deal."

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Spencer Reid #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #cm fic #cm spencer reid #spencer reid #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer Reid fic #matthew gray gubler fic #cm male reader #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #male reader

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andypantsx3 · 4 years ago

Text

statistically significant | 3 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

The next Monday found you anxiously nursing a coffee, carefully looking over Bakugou’s latest results.

You’d let the model retrain overnight, just to get a more up-to-date picture of Bakugou’s work, and you’d barely slept a wink while it ran, fretting over your first meeting with him. After waking up earlier than ever, you’d found yourself restless all morning, so you’d made your way into Miruko’s agency well ahead of schedule and had spent your time since sucking down coffees and eyeing Bakugou’s assist and rescue scores warily. They still sat well beneath his kill and capture scorings, and you mentally braced yourself for the near impossibility of getting him to prioritize those aspects of his work.

With Mina’s help, you’d been able to con him into working with you. But just because he’d agreed to your bet, you were not stupid enough to think that meant he was going to make anything easy for you.

Bakugou, for his part, seemed the very antithesis of nervous when he met you in the surveillance room. He barged into your makeshift office mid-morning, looking well-rested if annoyed. The door banged loudly off the opposite wall and rebounded closed with a slam that rattled the AV equipment.

“Let’s get this over with,” Bakugou growled, throwing himself down in the seat opposite you. He was dressed in dark training clothes--simple athletic fabrics that suggested that he meant to book it to a training room the second he was done with you. His whole manner suggested you should keep things short.

You sat frozen, fingers paused over your laptop keys. “...Good morning to you too.”

He looked at you incredulously, blonde eyebrows raising. “I didn’t fucking come here for small talk. Get on with it, nerd.”

You suppressed a twitch of irritation, looking away from him where he sat in an agitated pile of strong lines and tense muscle. God you hoped this was all going to be worth it, at the end of things.

You sighed and clicked into the model results screen, knowing it was only going to work him into a lather if you pressed him on social niceties. “Okay, so I did some analysis--”

“Big fucking surprise.”

“--and,” you continued loudly, “as you well know, you need to adjust certain priorities on the field.”

A scoff issued from his direction. “I don’t need to adjust shit.”

It took everything in you not to roll your eyes. He was literally here to discuss adjusting shit. What was the point of him being so defensive?

You eyed him speculatively, taking in the oppositional slant to his broad shoulders, the thin slash of his mouth as he regarded you irritably. Your observations from last week floated to the forefront of your mind, that this was a man who would not easily do anything he didn’t want to do. And it was clear he did not actually want to do this--he had only been baited into it by the grace of his meddling, pink-haired friend.

You mentally resolved to play as nice as you possibly could, to minimize the amount of fussing from his side of things.

“As I think I explained last year,” you began carefully, “the model I train relies on a set of weights, and you’re ranked on that. Your work is divided up into categories: public perception, kills, captures, property damage, rescues, and now assists. Some of those categories are weighted more heavily than others, so if you do well in them, you’ll outperform your peers in the rankings who do just as well in other categories.”

Blood red eyes darted up to a monitor as you projected your laptop screen onto it, the model results translated into neatly organized and color-coded graphs.

“You are unmatched in kills, fairly unmatched in captures as well, and you’ve kept property damage to a surprising minimum in the last few years considering your quirk. You’re also wildly popular, particularly with young people, according to public polls.”

You glossed over the fact that his appearance probably had a lot to do with it, considering the tidal wave of interest from the female bracket of respondents. The fact especially did not bear thinking about when he was alone in a tiny office with you, bare arms and the hard planes of his chest displayed prominently in his training gear.

“Just fucking---out with it,” Bakugou demanded, turning to glare at you again. “I don’t have all damn day.”

The tiniest hint of smoke and sweetness hit your nose as he leaned closer, and you pushed away from him, baring your palms in the universal gesture for peace.

“Okay, okay. So you’re good at those things, but your rescue scores need work, and your assist score puts you in the top ten least cooperative heroes in the entire industry,” you explained, watching as a muscle in his jaw jumped in obvious irritation. “Rescues are the highest weighted category in the rankings model, and assists are the third highest. So no matter how good you are in other areas, you will not surpass anyone who performs well in these categories.”

Bakugou made an annoyed sound, his brows drawing together. “Quit fucking talking to me like I’m a baby. I fucking know--tell me exactly what your fucking nerd-ass model needs me to do and I’ll fucking do it.”

You breathed out of your nose very slowly, quelling the rising tide of annoyance within you. Everything out of his mouth was so abrupt and demanding.

Software engineers, picture the software engineers.

“Okay so I ran deeper analyses on those two categories and compared your movements with generalized results from the top ten heroes from each category,” you continued.

“The thing that stood out in terms of rescues, is that you were almost twice as fast as other heroes to leap into combat with a villain. This means you’re spending less time assessing the situation than other heroes, and therefore spending less time processing victims. So if I had to make a recommendation here, it’s that you should actively look for civilians before jumping into a fight. You might still find that the smarter thing to do is leap into the fight instead of evacuating them, but you at least need to slow down before you do.”

The crease between his brows erased itself and he leaned back in his chair, tension bleeding out of him somewhat, which was--unexpected. You’d have thought he’d get more defensive as you explained his shortcomings to him.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “What else?”

You pulled up two videos and projected them side by side, bright little clusters of dots collected over the location of each hero. “For assists, it looks like when you’re in range of other heroes, you actually do help, at least a little. I only found an issue when I generalized results from the top ten in this category and ran calculations about their movements in comparison to yours.”

You let the videos play, watching Bakugou’s eyes track the movements with unblinking precision. He said nothing as you let the loop repeat, the tense lines of his body inexplicably unravelling even further with each loop. He looked as close to relaxed as you had ever seen him.

After a few loops, he finally let out a scoff. “Those needy fucks stick closer to other heroes,” he concluded gruffly. “That’s what the dots are tracking.”

You nodded. “On average, you move three times farther away from other heroes on scene than the top ten heroes do. So you’re less likely to be in range to help.”

He rolled a powerful shoulder, unwittingly drawing your eyes straight to it. You gave your leg an annoyed pinch under the table, forcing your gaze back up to his face once you realized what you were doing.

“So I have to look for weaklings and stay closer to these b-list fucking clowns, that’s what you’re telling me?” he prompted, running a hand through his mess of blonde hair. It looked unexpectedly soft under his fingers.

You drew your eyes away from him again, focusing hard on the relief you were feeling that he seemed to be processing and internalizing your feedback. “Yeah, you need to assist civilians and stay in range of your team. Those are the only areas in which you really need help.”

There was a sharp crackle, and tense movement caught in the corner of your eye. You turned to find that all of Bakugou’s unease had suddenly returned, a snarl riding his mouth.

“Help?” he demanded. That scent of smoke and sugar suddenly pressed in on you again, sharp and dangerously hot.

You blinked at him in confusion. “...Uh, yeah?”

His gaze darkened and he leaned over the table between the two of you, a calloused hand catching the collar of your shirt to yank you towards him. The corner of the table dug into your ribs, and his fingers were hot where they brushed the skin under your collar.

“I don’t fucking need help,” he spat, crimson eyes boring into your face like a drill. Your hands came up to grab his, trying to untwist it from your shirt, but his fingers only tightened, unyielding.

“What--? Yes you do?” you garbled, fingers scrabbling over his. “What do you--?”

He pulled you further across the table, so that his face was scant inches from your own.

“Fuck you if you think I need anything from you,” he growled in a low tone, voice almost dangerously soft. Your blood iced over in your veins, limbs freezing. He stared at you for a long, heavy moment.

Then, in the next second, you were being shoved backwards into your chair, and then Bakugou was gone, door slamming behind him with a force that shook the walls.

You stared after him in shock, mouth gaping open. He had been fine up until a couple of seconds ago, even seeming to relax under your analysis. But then his temper had suddenly flared for no fucking reason.

What….what the fuck was wrong with him?

You spent the rest of the morning in a state of restless agitation.

What the literal fuck was wrong with Bakugou? Why had he just stormed out like that? What had flipped the switch for him in the space of mere seconds?

You replayed the conversation in your head nonstop all through your next few meetings and over your lunch break, where you furiously wolfed down a bento without tasting any of it. Your frustration carried you all the way into the afternoon, when a head of wild pink curls poked itself through your door.

You looked up into Pinky’s dark eyes and brilliant smile.

“Y/N!” she chirped happily, closing the door behind her and sprawling into the seat across from you.

You returned her friendly smile. “Ashido-san,” you greeted her politely.

She laughed and waved a rosy hand, leaning forward over the table. “I would never ask stats girl to be formal with me. Call me Mina!”

You huffed an embarrassed laugh. That was sweet, but the nickname stats girl needed to die a brisk and fiery death.

“Mina, then,” you amended, pulling up her model results on your laptop, trying to tamp down on your embarrassment. She was almost overwhelmingly friendly.

Her dark eyes flickered over you curiously and a cautious smile played about her mouth. “Heard it didn’t go well with Katsuki this morning.”

You looked up at her in surprise. “He told you?”

She laughed. “No, I just saw him annihilating a training room. I know him well enough to know when he’s throwing a tantrum.”

An awkward, hot sense of shame welled up within you at the thought that you’d pushed him to that, though you didn’t know how. You got the sense that you’d taken one step forward but two steps back. So much for your promotion.

“Uh yeah, he kind of...stormed out? He’d been listening, actually, and I thought things were going weirdly well. The bet was a good idea, so thank you,” you said. “I just…somehow I screwed it up, I think.”

Mina rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, splaying out flat in her seat. “God, you know what? I’m just so tired of my best friends being guys. They’re so dramatic and so fussy about their tough guy image. And take themselves so seriously, for no reason, even fucking Denki. I have sat every single one of them down and forced them into make up so it’s absolutely baffling to me that they still stomp around like they’re so serious and so tortured.”

Your mouth dropped open as what she’d just said caught up with you. Take themselves seriously...when she’d forced them into make up? “No. Even…?”

Mina smirked. “Oh yeah, even Katsuki. No idea why he thinks he’s such a tough guy when all it takes is a couple of tears and boom, he’s working a smokey eye and tiny little pigtails.”

You choked on a laugh, trying to dispel the horrifying image in your mind of Bakugou in mascara and lipstick. The idea of him in make up was somehow even more intimidating than his usual appearance. You did not want to know more.

It certainly did beg the question, however, why he was such a difficult jerk if it was that easy to get him to acquiesce to something that horrifying. Maybe the answer lay in Mina’s powers of manipulation. She’d known to make the bet with him, after all. And if she knew how to get him into eyeliner and lipstick, then she might know how to get him to agree to let you help him.

“Wow,” you murmured. “That’s...terrifying. How did you even convince him though? I can’t get him to spend more than two seconds around me without blowing his top like a volcano.”

Mina grinned conspiratorially, leaning over the table. “You just have to know how to work him. Trust me, you might have good numbers sense, but I have pretty good people sense. Katsuki is all smoke and fire until you dig underneath.”

You almost did not want to know what was underneath. “That’s--but he’s so volatile. I can’t predict any of it.”

Mina's grin widened. “Actually, it’s pretty straightforward. He’s actually super in control all of the time, even when it seems like he’s lost it. He’s only really sensitive about one thing.”

“For example,” she leaned forward, her smile morphing into something dark and leery. “I heard he burned through your dress at the Hero Awards.”

You put your face in your palm. “Yes. This is what I’m talking about--I thought he was gonna fry me to a crisp.”

Mina snorted, raking a hand through her mess of curls. “Maybe I only see it because my acid is similar--but it’s pretty hard to only burn through a tiny strip of fabric and not touch anything underneath, even if you’re not out of your mind with anger. It requires some precise control. Wouldn’t you say?”

You froze in your seat, staring at her. Implications began to creep over you like a dark shroud. “What?”

She grinned. “He didn’t touch you, right? Only the dress?”

You gaped at her. “Yeah--only the dress.”

She cut her dark eyes to you, looking like she was trying to suppress a laugh. “Very interesting that he managed to sear straight through your dress, then, without burning you. One might think he did it on purpose.”

You floundered. “But I--but he--! I told him to do better and he got all worked up and intense!”

Mina laughed out loud. “I bet he did. Katsuki’s a total control freak but he loves a challenge. That’s why he took your bet, and that’s why your meeting didn’t go as poorly as you thought it might at first, and that’s why he was so fixated on you after the Awards.”

Your face heated. “Don’t put it like that.”

She chuckled. “I don’t know how you feel about him, but I can guarantee he’s very interested in you. He loves girls who don’t take any of his shit. Why do you think he signed with Miruko? It’s actually kinda gross,” she made a face.

Your face was on fire. A hot wave of embarrassment washed through you and you resisted the urge to dive under the table and hide. This is not the turn you thought the conversation would be taking.

“Uh, so,” you managed, fingers fluttering. “So--um, why did he freak out earlier then? I did tell him everything he was doing wrong. But then he lost it, I think when I told him I would help.”

Mina’s grin settled back into place. “He’s so fucking predictable. He hates being looked down on, and the word help implies that you think he’s weak enough to need it. I’ll bet you anything that’s why he totally flipped.”

You considered this. “But I didn’t mean it like that--”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s got a very specific way of looking at things. He’s way better than he used to be but that’s the one thing he’s still sensitive about.”

You mulled that over. It did explain, then, why he’d reacted so poorly when he’d seemed to be fine with your critique. “Does he really need to be seen as strong that badly?”

Mina picked idly at the fluff on her costume’s jacket, thin fingers tangling in the white strands. “He has insane expectations for himself, and he’s only comfortable when everyone else has those too. It’s like if you think he can’t live up to those standards, that you don’t truly see him.”

So that was it. The mystery of Bakugou’s volatile nature explained--a weirdly deep-seated inferiority complex wrapped up in layers of crankiness and--you blushed--an interest in girls who gave him shit. You quickly buried any considerations on his romantic inclinations, and focused on the inferiority complex.

Whether you’d intended to or not, this morning you had managed to convey to him that you thought he was incapable, and not in a way that personally challenged him like the bet had, or your demand he do better at the Hero Awards. It was so ridiculous, you thought, but then so was he. And if you wanted to make any progress on your promotion, then you were gonna have to suck it up and work within those constraints.

You sighed. You owed him an explanation, maybe even an apology.

Mina regarded you approvingly from across the table. You also owed her a drink. Maybe several.

“Got it,” you acknowledged, clicking back into your model results and pulling up her ranking analyses. “And thank you--I owe you a ton. Now let’s get to what we came here to do which is to talk about how you can kick even more ass.”

Mina grinned, leaning forward in delight. “You’re welcome. And hell yeah, this conversation was so not passing the Bechdel test.”

You snorted, suppressing a wild smile. Oh, you really liked her.

You would apologize and get things back on track with Bakugou. And once Bakugou netted you your promotion, you were gonna turn back and rocket Mina up the rankings to give him a run for his money.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #tw threats #tw gendered violence

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twdeadfanfic · 4 years ago

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St. Patrick’s night III

Murphy MacManus x Reader

Summary: You’re left alone on St. Patrick’s night, the people you were supposed to hang out with seemingly having forgotten you, but what seemed to be an awful night turns into something completely different when you meet the MacManus twins.

Another chapter for this thing that was supposed to be a one-shot but got out of hand...

The next day at work, you were once again distracted thinking about the MacManus twins. You wondered if they meant it when they’d said they’d pick you up from work that day, you were a bit worried that they wouldn’t, but you couldn’t see them lying like that…maybe they’d forget, though, or something else would come up… You knew it was better not to overthink it, though, and you tried to focus on doing your job.

It wasn’t easy, though, as you kept wondering about Murphy, and how he hadn’t said anything about having kissed you, and he hadn’t kissed you again either… You knew it was probably because he’d kissed you only because it was St. Patrick, but, what if he thought you didn’t want to kiss him? That you weren’t interested? Maybe you should have said something when he’d kissed you? You wouldn’t mind kissing him again…

You wouldn’t mind taking time to get to know each other either, see if you both wanted to go on dates or something…your cheeks heated up at the idea, feeling nervous already and it was just an idea in your head…and Murphy might not even be interested. He hadn’t said anything about it after all. Maybe you should try to gather the courage to actually ask him yourself…it sounded intimidating, though…

Focusing on your job was proving to be hard, even if you tried your best, and you couldn’t stop counting the hours until you were done, barely managing to eat your lunch. Once the clock marked five, you and your coworkers began to clean up your desks and put everything into place before gathering your own stuff and leaving.

You walked in front of a group of your coworkers, who were talking and laughing together, ignoring you, but you didn’t care anymore, you were better off without them. As you walked outside, you saw the MacManus waiting for you, and you couldn’t help your smile. Yes, you were much better with the twins as your friends than trying to socialize with the assholes you worked with. The brothers smiled too when they saw you, approaching you to greet you.

“Hi, lass.”

“Hi, you came.” You didn’t mean to sound like you had thought they might stand you up, but you did sound a bit surprised.

“Of course, love, we told ye,” Murphy said, frowning.

“Yeah, yer a woman of little faith, lass,” Connor teased you, but he frowned when he saw your coworkers walking out of the building too, stopping at the door to chat and say goodbye to each other without even giving you a glance. “Don’t blame ye, considerin’ the kind of pricks yer surrounded with,” Connor said, didn’t seem to mind if your coworkers hear him or not…you were a bit afraid of their reaction if they did…but no, Connor was right, they were pricks.

Murphy was looking at your coworkers too, but he wasn’t frowning like Connor, instead, he smirked as his eyes filled with mischief, and you barely had time to wonder what he was up to before he’d stepped even closer to you, reaching to cup your face, and then he was kissing you.

It wasn’t as tentative and soft as the St.Patrick’s kiss, neither as brief, and you felt your brain sort of melt as butterflies seemed to flutter in your belly. Your hands found their way to Murphy’s shoulders almost by their own accord, but he didn’t seem to mind, as he placed a hand on your waist while the other kept cupping your cheek, even when he pulled back.

You could only blink at him in silence, your brain still feeling a bit numb in the best way, and Murphy smirked at you.

“Better than the St.Patrick’s kiss, love?” He asked, loud enough for your coworkers, who had gone silent, to hear. You nodded, still wordless, and Murphy’s smile went bigger.

“So…should I kiss the lass too or…” Connor said, and it was obvious that he was joking, but Murphy frowned nonetheless, scoffing as he shoved his brother, who chuckled.

“Come on, love, let’s go.” Murphy smiled at you, offering you his arm, and you felt a bit shy but hooked your arm with him, smiling bashfully when Murphy smiled at you. Connor smirked and walked to your other side, hooking his arm with yours too, and Murphy rolled his eyes. “Will ye quit?!” He complained, trying to hit his brother, and so you ducked your head.

“Hey, not fighting while I’m in the middle…” You joked, chuckling.

“Sorry, lass,” both twins apologized as you three began walking, Connor letting go of your arm.

“So…do you have plans?” You asked as you walked.

“What if we get somethin’ to eat and go to our place before goin’ to doc’s?” Connor suggested.

“We live right in front of the pub,” Murphy explained.

“Well, that’s convenient,” you chuckled. “Okay, sounds good.”

The Irish neighborhood wasn’t close to your work, but you went walking anyway. You didn’t mind, and neither did the twins, who kept arguing about what to get for dinner. Murphy wanted pizza and Connor Chinese, and both twins were trying to win you to their side, but you didn’t mind, you liked both.

“Come on, ye have to pick one,” Murphy told you. “And sure ye know pizza is better, aye?” You didn’t know how Murphy could look like trouble one second, then the next he could give such convincing puppy eyes, but you were about to cave and pick pizza even if ye were leaning more to Chinese.

“We literally had pizza yesterday,” Connor complained, rolling his eyes at his twin before looking at you. “Seriously, lass, we’d only eat pizza if it were up to him.”

“Ye weren’t complainin’ that much when ye ate a whole pizza by yerself…” Murphy grumbled.

They both looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to choose, and you tried not to give in to Murphy’s puppy eyes. “Well, if you had pizza yesterday, then I’d say it’s fair that we have Chinese today.”

“Aye!” Connor nodded, looking at his brother with a smug grin, and Murphy scoffed.

“Can’t believe ye betrayed me like this, love,” he pouted, but then he was smirking, and so you knew he didn’t mean it.

“We can have pizza any other day,” you offered, smiling.

“Aye? Ye wanna eat with us another day?” Murphy asked, grinning in that way that lighted his face in such a pretty way that gave you all the butterflies.

“Yeah, sure.” You nodded, looking down shyly. “If you wanna.”

“Sure we do, love,” Murphy said with that pretty grin and Connor nodded, smiling.

“Okay..okay, great.” You smiled bashfully, glad that it seemed they did want to eat with you any other day and hang out with you.

The brothers hadn’t been kidding, they did live in front of the pub, in an old building that didn’t seem quite fitting for housing… You didn’t know how you expected their place to be, but certainly not what you saw when you walked in, and you blinked as you looked around.

It was…it was illegal lofting, that for starters, you were sure of it, and the distribution was…peculiar, so to speak, especially for people not living alone, considering that there were no rooms. Not even a bathroom, there was no wall or anything at all hiding the toilet, neither the row of showers against the wall. You get that the MacManus were twins and all that but…they really did not seem to care for privacy. You really hoped that you didn’t have to pee while you were there, because you weren’t about to do it in front of them.

The place was small, and there wasn’t much there. On one side, there was a couple of mattresses on the floor, separated by a nightstand table in which you saw a couple of mugs and bottles of beer, a small table with some more empty bottles of beer and empty packages of pizza, and a couple of ashtrays full of smoked cigarettes, and some mismatched chairs around it. Against the wall, there was a tattered sofa that seemed about to die, a small tv on top of an even smaller table, and for some reason, the fridge was between the sofa and the tv, with a lamp on top of it…peculiar, but the whole place was…peculiar.

On the other side, there was a small, old stove, an older sink, and a small worktop which surface was almost covered by bottles of booze, some still full but most empty. If you had any doubt that the boys liked to drink, it was gone by now.

You didn’t want to seem rude or shallow, or judging, or anything like that, and so you stopped looking around like that. The brothers hadn’t seemed to notice, though, or to care, they walked in and took off their rosaries, hanging them on a couple of nails on the wall next to the door, and then Connor left the Chinese takeaway on the table.

“Ye hungry, love?” Murphy asked you and you nodded, since you had barely been able to eat your lunch as you wondered if the MacManus might forget that they had made plans with you, which now sounded silly, you shouldn’t have doubted them.

“Let’s eat,” Connor said as he began to take the food containers out of the bag, the smell making your mouth water already.

You stepped closer to the table to help him with it, and your eyes landed on an open notebook under a beer bottle, spotting some drawings and doodles on it, though before you could get a closer look, Murphy snapped it, almost making the bottle fall, and he closed the notebook and threw it to one of the mattresses.

You frowned, confused, but Connor snorted. “Murph likes to get all artistic sometimes,” he said, prompting Murphy into hitting his twin’s head as he snapped at him to shut up.

“You draw those?” You asked, looking towards the notebook on the bed before looking at Murphy, who to your surprised, seemed almost shy. For how cocky and smug he seemed to look more often than not, it was strange to see him looking almost embarrassed, and you didn’t like it. You hated that you had made him feel like that.

“Yeah, he drew our tattoos in that notebook of him,” Connor said, nodding.

“Told ye to shut up,” Murphy snapped again and this time Connor was quick to stop his hands before he could hit him.

“I think that’s really nice!” You rushed to say, and you meant it, you were impressed. “Seriously, it’s great!”

“Aye?” Murphy looked at you like he thought you didn’t mean it, or even like you were trying to make fun of him, and so you nodded eagerly, smiling. He still seemed a bit embarrassed, but he smiled at you. “Connor draws too, he tattoed all mine,” Murphy said, gesturing to his neck, and before you could say how impressive that was, Connor spoke.

“You did all mine better.” Connor shrugged, reaching to grab Murphy’s arm and frowning at the tattoed cross. “Parts of this look wonky.”

“I think it looks great!” You said, impressed. “Both his and your tattoos, it’s so impressive, seriously!”

“Aye?” Murphy asked you, his smile bigger now.

“Yes!” You nodded. “Seriously, you not only draw your tattoos but you tattoo them too?! It’s amazing! If I ever want a tattoo, I know who to ask!”

“Ye’d ask me?” Murphy asked with a smile that made you feel all funny and smile too, and you nodded.

“Sure, why not?” You shrugged, and Murphy gave you that pretty, bright smile, that made you consider if he might mind it if you kissed him again…

You barely noticed Connor as he began fumbling with the food containers again, focused as you were on Murphy and that damn smile, but when you finally looked at Connor, you noticed that he seemed amused at Murphy and you. You felt your cheeks heating up a bit, and you tried to kick your brain into working again, helping with the food.

You three decided to settle on the sofa for dinner instead of at the table, since Connor suggested that you could watch a movie, even if you weren’t sure that old thing would hold you three without falling into pieces, and so they dragged the tv in front of the sofa. Connor had a small stack of what seemed old action movies, and once again you had the final vote on what to watch, since the twins kept arguing about it, Murphy complaining that they’d seen the movie that Connor’d picked a million times already while Connor retorted that it was classic worth watching another million times.

You didn’t give it much thought, you didn’t care much and you didn’t want the food to go cold while the boys argued. Since you had sided with Connor on what to eat, this time you voted for Murphy’s choice of movie. He smiled smugly at his twin, but Connor didn’t complain much, since he liked that one too.

It was so much fun, to eat and watch the movie while the twins kept commenting on it, usually Connor saying details that you hadn’t cared to notice before, things that he liked, and Murphy just making fun of it until they both hit each other from time to time, but you knew they didn’t mean anything bad by it, so it was fun too…you didn’t know what was more entertaining, to watch the movie or to watch the MacManus…they had a way of moving in sync most of the time that was hypnotizing, even if it was just to bring food into their mouth, but when they began bickering they were so endearing and funny…you loved it.

At some point, though, once you three had finished your food, you started to find it hard to focus on the movie, as you felt Murphy’s fingers playing with your hair. You froze for a second before looking at Murphy, who was sat down between Connor and you. He smirked at you and you felt your cheeks heating up but a smile tugged at your lips too, it seemed that every time that Murphy smiled, you couldn’t help but smile too.

Murphy’s smirk went wider at that, and his fingers caressed your hair again before he casually placed his arm around your shoulders. It felt nice, to have him so close to you, almost kind of holding you, but you couldn’t stop your shyness and nerves. You tried to relax, though, you didn’t want Murphy to think that you were uncomfortable or that you wanted him to move away from you…not that there was much space left on the small, tattered sofa though.

“Ye both ain’t lookin’ at the screen, yer gonna miss the best part of the movie,” Connor complained, and you looked away from Murphy and to the tv, a bit embarrassed at being caught by Connor staring at his twin, but also part of you was kind of glad to escape Murphy’s intense glance, that made you feel shy while also making you feel twirls in your belly…

“The whole movie is the best part of the movie for ye,” Murphy scoffed, chuckling.

“It’s a damn good movie,” Connor said as he shoved his brother, pushing him closer to you…not that Murphy seemed to mind, and honestly, you didn’t either, even if it made you shy.

You still wondered what was Murphy’s deal, though, if he wanted just to mess around and have fun, kiss you sometimes, hold you while you watched tv it seemed too, and that was it, or if it meant something else, more. You still didn’t know how to bring it up, how to ask, you knew you should, so as not to obsess, thinking and wondering about it all the time, but the idea of asking him made you feel so awkward… You decided to just enjoy whatever it was, at least for that night.

Once the movie finished, and Connor’s monologue about it finished too, you three made your way to the pub. No sooner had you stepped inside, you excused yourself and rushed to the bathroom. You had been needing to go for a while now, but since there was no walls or anything hiding the toilet at the MacManus’ place, you had been waiting until you were at the pub, no matter neither of the twins had seemed to have any qualms about it while you were there.

Once you left the bathroom, you noticed that the brothers had sat down on one of the tables instead of at the bar counter, and you liked it more. They were sat down next to each other, and when you approached them, Murphy smiled at you, pushing a pint towards the seat in front of him, while Connor looked at you seeming amused.

“We ordered ye a pint, love, hope it’s okay? Murphy asked you.

“Yes, it’s perfect, thanks.” You nodded as you sat down, but you frowned at Connor, wondering why he seemed so amused, and he noticed it, smirking.

“So, lass…I was tellin’ to my brother that ye were too shy to take a piss at home and that’s why ye ran to the bathroom like that,” he said, and you almost groaned aloud, mortified and beyond embarrassed. Your cheeks burned and you almost hid your face on your hands. “See…told ye.”

Connor chuckled, looking at his brother, and you felt like hitting him in the head like Murphy sometimes did…they both seemed to enjoy embarrassing each other, and you hoped Connor, or even both, hadn’t decided to extend it to you too and try to embarrass you too.

“What…but lass, ye got nothin’ to be embarrassed about!” Murphy said, which just made you feel more embarrassed. “We all gotta piss!”

“Can we just…talk about anything else at all? Please?” You begged, feeling your face so hot that you wouldn’t be surprised if it caught fire.

The twins seemed to take pity on you, letting it go, and they began telling you about one day at work in which Murphy got himself locked inside the bathroom of the meatpacking factory. and Connor had to “throw the door open to rescue him, lass, we had to pay for it, ‘cause Murphy was an idiot,” he explained, earning a shove from Murphy.

“I ain’t an idiot, the lock was not openin’ no matter what, I promise, love,” Murphy insisted as if it was a matter of life or death.

“I believe you,” you assured him, laughing, and as the brothers began bickering again, you couldn’t help your grin looking at them, they were just so fun to be around, that soon you had forgotten your earlier embarrassment.

Unsurprisingly, the MacManus finished their drinks before you, and so Murphy went to the bar counter to order a couple more. The waitress was busy waiting tables, Murphy had been right when he told you that the pub was busier at the weekends, there was almost the double of people than you had seen before, and so the twins didn’t want to bother the waitress.

You looked at Murphy as he waited for Doc to get him the drinks, getting lost in thought again. You had tried to, but you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to what Murphy thought of you, of this thing that seemed to be going between you and him, whatever it was…

You heard Connor chuckling and when you looked at him you felt your cheeks heating up at his amused smirk.

“Do I wanna know what are ye thinkin’ lookin’ at my brother like that…or don’t I?” He teased you, arching an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you murmured, looking down, and judging by Connor’s chuckle, he didn’t believe you.

“He’s been all corny and givin’ ye the heart eyes since St. Patrick’s too, it’s made it easier to mess with him, gotta thank ye for that,” Connor chuckled again.

You felt as if your heart had done a summersault while butterflies decided to flutter in your belly…Murphy gave you the heart eyes? Really? Connor knew his twin, so it must be true, right? Unless Connor was just messing with you…it didn’t seem like so, though.

Connor looked at his brother, who was coming back with their drinks. “Don’t go breakin’ my brother’s heart, though, lass.” His voice let you know that he was joking, but anyway, you didn’t plan on doing that, you were more concerned about the opposite…still, the sight of Murphy’s grin as he sat down in front of you, had you smiling like an idiot again, despite the mess of feelings in your heart and the mess of thoughts in your head, despite any concern about what was going on between you and him.

Well, we got kisses.

If you liked this, reblogs and comments are more than welcome, thanks.

As always, excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

Murphy MacManus taglist, let me know if you want to be (un)tagged:

@pancakefancake @mychemicalimagines @lilythemadqueen @theteaset @hells-mistress @coffeebooksandfandom @phoenixblack89 @soraitmnt @sourwolf-sterek32 @hopplessdreamer

@huffledor-able541 @browneyes528 @princessxpunk @easypeasyweasleywheezes

@bitchynicole

@crustyrose @dazzledamazon @pittbull-enthusiast @elodieyung @leej2468 @angelofthorr @pulplorrd @collecting-stories @sapphire-angel

#murphy macmanus #murphy macmanus x reader #murphy macmanus/reader #murphy macmanus fanfiction #murphy macmanus imagine #murphy macmanus & reader #murphy macmanus fanfic #murphy macmanus fic #the boondock saints fanfiction #the boondock saints imagine #murphy macmanusxreader

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antiloreolympus · 3 years ago

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10 Anti LO Asks

1. You know the header image placed at the beginning of every episode (portrait of P on the left, black and white sketch of HxP in the middle, portrait if H on the right)? The full image of the sketchier version of the black and white drawing (the version used in older episodes) is actually smut (you can see it on 4chan)… You’d think RS would at least make a minimal effort to hide her agenda to sexualise everything but nOoOoO

From OP, not Anon: Ngl, that shocked me when I first found that out

2. the same-face syndrome in this series is something else, I swear. legitimately couldn't tell Apollo and Eros apart for the longest time. all male and female characters are drawn with the exact same faces. it gets really annoying honestly

3. I don't know if this bothers anyone else (maybe it's just me) but it seems like the characters' facial expressions can be really... off at times? Like, characters will be drawn smiling in situations where it'd make no sense for them to be smiling? And be drawn with vacant expressions in inappropriate times?

Like how (spoiler) Daphne is drawn with a smile when Apollo turns her into a tree (?) when she should have looked terrified???

As an artist who specializes in facial expressions, the ones in LO legitimately throw me off at times.

4. Something that kind of weirds me out about LO is that both Hades and Persephone are kind of awful people (like literally. Slavery, murder, greed, etc.) but it's not portrayed as a bad thing?? at all, really??? Other than a "That's terrible!" here and there, the full weight of what these two characters do doesn't get addressed and is even excused?

And we as the readers are still supposed to believe these two are the good guys? Hades is the king of the underworld, he can do horrible stuff and get away with it. And we already know Persephone won't have to face the consequences of her actions -_-

Imo, this whole story would make more sense if these two were villains/descending into villainy, but that's obviously not what RS is planning.

5. This isn’t a critique I just wanna know if something went over my head, but when Zeus tells Hades to go be king and take Kronos with him Demeter shows up and Zeus and Demeter walk away. Was that suppose to be about Hera getting torn in half or just something we don’t know yet

From OP, not Anon: Maybe something we don’t know about since Demeter and Zeus don’t have a good relationship.

6. After reading the latest chapter where Hades drones on and on to a crying Persephone about how he'll take care of her and get her everything she needs and she'll have a footman waited on her, a apartment with a great view, etc etc.

It really puts into perspective how spoiled she actually is. Like, that chapter was almost hard to read.

7. Why does RA draw so much porn? It’s so uncomfortable how most of her fans are underage yet she doesn’t even bother to hide the fact that she makes NSFW content

From OP, Not Anon: Tbf, RS did have her nsfw behind a paywall. I don’t expect creators to hide that they make nsfw, especially since they don’t have much control over their audience. Nsfw is how a lot of webtoon creators make money after all. RS already stopped using patreon though so I haven’t seen her post nsfw or anything that couldn’t be considered artistic nudity in a while.

8. Anybody else notice how Persephone is always portrayed almost as a poor, lower class god who's worked in the fields instead of lived in luxury? "Oh, poor her!"? BUT we have, if my memory serves me, NO actual lower class characters at all?

I don't know if I'm making much sense, but basically the only reason Persephone seems like such an underdog is because RS hasn't introduced a character who has it worse than her. Despite that there are people living in literal slavery while she's living it up?

From OP, not Anon: Nymphs, satyrs, and other mythical beings are lower class in LO. The gods would be considered middle/upper class so yeah.

9. wasnt the original hymn about the power of women and a mother defending her daughter from a cruel marriage by standing up to men and bringing the world to its knees until they finally took her seriously? like thats feminist to me, not claiming persephone loved her kidnapper and demeter is a big bitch for trying to stop it. im not saying making hxp not full of sexual assault is bad, i'd much rather read that, but demonizing demeter for the sake of a man and a heterosexual romance aint it, chief.

10. I love how lo fanart always depicts hades as some young male model as if rachel isnt very open that she designed him off mads and his depiction of hannibal? like maybe they know if they drew him like a 55+ year old man like rachel intended they might realize hes a creep for wanting to bang a baby faced 19 year old.

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

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kassies-take · 4 years ago

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The Whipped and The Jealous

Love your stories! They're cute! May I please request Lena x reader where Reader looks cool but have a massive crush on Lena and hides her crush really well but whenever Lena does anything she go soft. Kara finds it cute and points it out to reader. Unknown to both of them, Lena have a huge crush on Reader too and gets jealous every time she see Reader and Kara talks because she thinks Kara likes reader too but they're just friends. Thank you so much!! Happy new year!!

A/n: I think this would be interesting to write. Thanks for requesting this

Warning: Jealous Luthor, Dumb, Dumber and Dumbest

Lena Luthor x Reader, Kara Danvers x Reader

Word Count: 1561

The wind that blew around you began to slow down as you turned into the underground garage to Kara’s apartment complex. You recognized three silhouettes walking towards the elevator and immediately honked the horn past them.

You rolled to stop at the designated parking, then killed the engine and pulled off your helmet. Another motorcyclist rolled to a stop next to you.

“A little slow Danvers.” You teased as Alex rolled her eyes.

“You literally drove through a stop light.”

“It was a yellow light, not red.”

You both dismounted and turned toward the trio standing near your motorcycles.

“Catco North Trio!” You hugged Kelly, followed by Nia and Kara.

“You guys are just in time!” Nia smiled. “Miss Danvers over here was about to steal the potstickers.”

“I bought a whole order for myself.” Kara frowned.

“Let’s get to the apartment before the food cools off,” Kelly reminded as Kara led the way.

The food was set on top of the aluminum Chafing Dish Buffet. Chow Mein, tri-tips, pork belly, potstickers, egg rolls and of course wine. There were a couple of snacks centered on Kara’s coffee table. Scrabble, Uno, You’ve Got Crabs and the classic Pictonary were stacked under the coffee table.

J’onn, Brainy and Lena arrived shortly after. You were stealing some tri-tips when she walked through the door. She was beautiful, honestly she looked beautiful in anything.

“You’re staring,” Kara whispered next to you.

“I can’t help it,” you glared at her. “It’s like you with potstickers. Every time there are potstickers you just gravitate towards them.”

“Aw and you gravitate towards Lena.” Kara pulled you into a side hug. “Just ask her out and if you get rejected continue to do sweet things for her.”

“Like William with you?”

“Ahh uhh, okay maybe don’t do that.”

“I can barely sting together a sentence whenever I’m around her, let alone confessing.”

“What are you talking about? You and Lena seem to have long conversations.”

“Dude I have a list of 10 questions I ask her. Then I just ask her to elaborate more.”

“Hey! Get a plate of food or stop eating! Get your butts over here!” Alex frowned at the two of you.

Lena glared holes into Kara’s head, that is if she had heat vision. She sat the furthest away and no one saw her gripping the carpet to the point it would rip.

You both grabbed a plate and a little bit of everything. You looked over at Lena once again. She didn’t have food or a drink. You grabbed a smaller plate, placed everything on it and grabbed a wine glass from Kara’s cabinet.

“I thought you didn’t drink?”

“I don’t.” You said pouring the wine for Lena.

You walked over to the living room balancing the two plates on your right arm and the glass in your left hand. You handed the glass to Lena as she smiled at you, you also gave her the small plate.

“Anyone still want anything while I’m up?”

A number of ‘no thank you’ echoed around the room. You sat and began to eat.

“So I found marbles the other day. And they’re perfect for choosing teams! Reach into the bag and pick a marble the person with the same color will be in a team.”

The bag went around the room, the teams were Alex and J’onn with red, Kara and Brainy with blue, Nia and Kelly with green and you and Lena with yellow.

Brainy and Kara won scrabble, Nia and Kelly took second, J’onn and Alex took third and you and Lena took last. You both didn’t mind though, you were both still eating and didn’t have the appetite to be winning at the moment. You’ve always expressed how you’d rather have a good time than win, although winning did help.

Playing Team Uno was a bit different. Instead of the usual seven cards each team got 12 cards and could only draw once. If you called uno at the wrong time you’d have to take a card from someone on your left. Lena was counting cards and by the looks of it so was Brainy. But where Kara just wanted to play you were planning. You had taken all the special cards in your hand while Lena played. Only if a special card was placed would you place down a special card. Alex has called uno th round before.

“Sorry guys,” Nia pulled out the draw 4 wild card and placed it on the deck.

You and Lena smirked as another draw 4 was placed. Alex and J’onn drew before Brainy placed another draw 4 wild on, Nia and Kelly placed another and you and Lena placed another calling uno. Alex groaned.

You and Lena won uno, Brainy and Kara took second, Nia and Kelly third and Alex and J’onn last.

“For our sign I think we should make it really specific.” Lena thought.

“Running your right hand in your hair then resting your chin on your right hand?”

“Running your hand through your hair is your thing?”

“You’ve ran your hand through your hair like 5 times tonight.”

“How about only resting on your right hand?”

“Okay,” you agreed quickly.

Everyone had switched seats so there weren’t any secret signals. You sat next to Kara. Everytime it wasn’t your turn you stared at Lena.

“Did you ask her out?” Kara whispered.

“Will you relax,” you frowned.

“Are you okay? You’re shaking?” Kara grabbed your hand.

“I’m just nervous, okay. You’re putting a lot of pressure on me. Trust me when I say want to do everything right for her but I’m just scared.” You were mumbling so only Kara could hear. “Lena’s got crabs!”

Lena got a crab token. Kara wrapped her arm around you and this pissed off Lena. She was getting really annoyed. Were you just treating her nicely so no one would be suspicious of you and Kara. She couldn’t handle this, she was feeling hot from the alcohol and she needed air. Normally she would handle her alcohol just fine, but tonight she was also angry.

“I’m going to head home, I’m not feeling so great.” Lena stood up.

“No, you can’t go.” You pouted.

“We still have Pictionary!”

“It’s been a really long day.” Lena started.

“Let me give you a ride,” you stood.

“No I can’t keep you from having a good time.”

“Well at least let me wait with you until your driver comes.” Kara patted your leg to encourage you.

It pissed Lena off. “That’s okay he’s already here.” Her heart pounded but she remained stoic on the outside.

“Let me walk you out then.” She couldn’t say no when you were already heading towards her.

The elevator ride down was quiet. You kept rolling back and forth on your heels and toes while Lena held her hands together.

“Do you/Are you” were spoken respectively by you and Lena at the same time.

“Go ahead.” You smiled at her.

“Are you... are you Kara together?”

You frowned. “Where did you get that from?”

“You don’t have to hide it. I can see that you two love each other.”

“Wait what?” The elevator dinged.

Lena walked out as you followed her. “Lena, Kara and I aren’t together.”

Lena turned around to face you. “(Y/n) stop trying to hide it, I can see the looks on her face every time she looks at you, and how you two act around each other.” She continued to walk.

You ran in front of her to stop her. “I’m not with Kara, she’s just teasing me because every time you walk into the room, I get star-struck, I fall head over heels for you every single time I see you. I’m in love with you.”

“You’re not just being nice to cover you in Kara?”

“For you it’s love, everyone else is a cover.”

Lena grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you towards her lips. You didn’t even have time to respond when she pulled away. You did however pull her back into your arms to kiss her properly. Lena smiled after the both of you pulled away.

“Do you want to go on a date with me next Friday?” You asked.

“I don’t know, I have a game night with my friends.” Lena teased.

“Let’s ditch and go somewhere else.”

“Will Kara like that?” Lena smirked.

“Stop with the whole Kara thing.” You frowned. “So... Lena Luthor was jealous then,” you smirked.

“I was NOT!”

“Yeah right. Where is your driver exactly?” You looked around.

Lena’s eyes widened, she was so caught up on leaving that she never actually called her driver. She pulled out her phone with a faint blush and kept her gaze down. You looked over at her phone as she scrolled through her contacts for her driver. You grabbed her phone before she could dial.

“I give you a ride home.” You reached out to grab Lena’s hand.

“I don’t think your motorcycle is in Kara’s apartment.”

“It isn’t but my keys and helmet are.”

“Oh it isn’t because you want to say goodbye to Kara.” Some venom spilled.

“It’s so I can take my girl home.” You pulled Lena into a hug as you rested your cheek near the top of her head. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

#lena luthor x reader #lena luthor imagine #lena luthor imagines #lena luthor #kara danvers x reader #kara danvers imagine #supergirl #supergirl x reader #supergirl imagines #supergirl imagine

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theonlygamergost · 4 years ago

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A tattoo for a lost bet - Fd!au (1/3)

This fanfiction is based on the Family Dynamic au made by @antarctic-bay if you would like to know more, go check them out!!!

Also please bear in mind that the things written in this might not be canon!

This fic was corrected by the lovely @im-default

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

Techno and Skeppy bet on stupid things, and sometimes their bets can have very severe consequence if lost.

If you want to, look at what Minetra’s desing of Techno tattoo

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

Tw! Betting, swearing. Btw, this is very long

Next part --->

Enjoy~

Childhood friends usually have that one thing they used to do or say when they were young, maybe even a habit they caught together and never got rid of. Techno and Skeppy used to bet on the stupidest things when they were young… Well, they still do bet on the stupidest things, but there is a difference from when they were young: they have some money now.

It was very normal for them to bet a couple of dollars on the stupidest things.

“My bus is going to arrive earlier than yours” Bet

“I’ll finish my homework before you” Bet

“I’m betting that you can’t finish your burger before I do” You’re on.

And these are just some examples, they really betted on everything, and Techno won half of them.

That’s why Skeppy stopped betting too much money when playing with him, literally half of Techno’s income was his won bets against him.

That’s why Techno barely stepped down from a bet coming from Skeppy, he was so confident that he also would bet the stupidest things to gain some dollars.

They didn’t bet only money though, they bet other things like objects or small things they had to do if they lost.

And honestly, Techno was so confident he could win a 1v1 in Minecraft against Skeppy, even though if he lost, he had to get a tattoo.

He hadn’t played in a few days due to all-nighters for last-minute tests, but Skeppy was worse than him anyway, it would have been fine… Right?

“You should get something edgy... like a skull!”

“I hate you”

Skeppy laughed as they stood in the waiting room of a tattoo place in town, Techno had lost the bet, and now, he had to get a tattoo.

“Look, you’re lucky I didn’t specify what tattoo you had to get” Techno took off his glasses and allowed his head to fall into his hands, “I know, if it was for you I’d have a dick tattooed on my forehead” Skeppy laughed again, Techno just exhaled in exasperation, out of all of the times he had to lose a bet, why this one?

The customer before them got up and entered what they guessed was the studio, Techno tensed up a little bit

“Do you already have an idea of what you’re getting? I’m pretty good at suggestions” He announced proudly placing his hands on his hips, gaining a death stare from Techno. “You are the last person I’d ask for a suggestion” Skeppy whispered “Ouch” before both of them smiled.

“To answer your question, yes, I do have something in mind”

I mean… after passing an entire night up, looking at tattoo ideas, he had an idea of what he could get, he just couldn’t find a photo or a drawing of what he wanted.

“By the way… “ Skeppy slipped his phone out of his hoodie, “... did you tell Phil about this?”

He froze

Skeppy noticed

“Don’t tell me… “ The boy with the light blue hoodie didn’t finish the question, scared of the answer.

Techno sighed…

and nodded.

“OH MY GOD TECHNO!!!” Skeppy bounced out of his seat, “ I THOUGHT YOU TOLD PHIL ABOUT THIS!!!” Techno gestured at him to be quiet, Skeppy sat back down.

“Phil would have never agreed to this! I had to do this without telling anyone” The customer and the Tattooist came out of the studio, “Plus, I’m doing this somewhere I can hide it pretty easily” he reassured, but mostly himself.

“Dude, you sound like you’re getting it on your butt” Techno pushed him lightly in response.

As the customer left, the tattoo artist came up to them and asked who of the two were here to get tattooed, Techno took a deep breath and got up.

No turning back now

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

“I applied a layer of petroleum jelly and put on a bandage, you’ll have to keep it for about twenty-four hours” Techno carefully listened to the tattooist after stepping out of the studio, “To avoid getting an infection, wash it with an antimicrobial soap and water, you can find it in any store, I recommend patting it dry instead of scratching it, put vaseline on it and keep it moisturized,” Skeppy was comfortably sitting on the couch, half-listening to what they were saying.

“For how long do I have to do this? Techno gently placed a hand on his left shoulder, “It’s a pretty big tattoo so...about four weeks” Skeppy’s eyes widened, p-pretty big? Four weeks? What in the hell did Techno get?

“Remember to do the whole process two times a day and don’t expose it to the sun, if you ever have any questions or insecurities, come see me kid, no worries.” Techno politely thanked him and gestured at Skeppy to follow him out, oh boy did Skeppy have questions for him.

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

“THERE WAS NO NEED TO GET IT THAT BIG!!!” Skeppy freaked out when Techno had told him the tattoo went from his left shoulder all the way to his elbow, he could have just gotten a letter or a dot and it would have been fine for him.

“To be honest, I was thinking of getting it smaller, but then the tattooer showed me a design he drew and… “ Rubbing the back of his head, he explained to Skeppy what happened in the studio while he was deciding what to get tattooed. Skeppy calmed down hearing his friend happy about the choice he had made, hoping that he wasn’t going to regret it later.

“By the way… can I see it? Now you’ve made me curious!” Techno shook his head and Skeppy frowned in disappointment.

“I can’t show it right now, the bandages are on it and I can’t take them off for a day, maybe tomorrow at school” Techno smiled subtly, he will never admit this but he couldn’t wait to show Skeppy his tattoo.

Making their way to the bus stop, they shared earbuds to listen to some music, right now they were using Techno’s phone meaning that Monstercat was playing it their ears, specifically, “Call me” by Subtact.

But the music was just a background to fill in an eventual moment of silence, they had been talking since they left the coffee shop and the tattoo argument never left the conversation.

“Would you ever get a tattoo Skeppy?” Techno asked curiously, walking side by side with his best friend, his hands were casually placed in his hoodie’s pockets.

The brown-haired boy had his hands behind his head in a very anime-like pose, “Maybe, I think it would be way smaller than yours though” the sky over the city was grey, the sun’s light was barely able to pass through the immense stretch of clouds, summer was ending and school had already started.

The two young boys arrived at the bus stop and kept chatting until their ride home arrived, Techno’s bus arrived first so they waved their goodbye’s and went their own way.

While looking outside of the window, he started thinking about how to avoid any possible questions about the bandages in the bathroom that his brothers could find.

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

He opened the front door to find two brothers playing cards on the coffee table, both of them too absorbed in the game to greet him.

“What are you guys doing?” Techno passed next to them to go leave his bag into his room, “Waiting for you to get home, dinner is ready and Phil won’t be coming home until later” Wilbur spoke up, eyes fixed on his cards, “Don’t disappear Technoblade, I just need to heat the food and we can eat” Techno nodded and entered his room, opening his backpack to grab out the bandages and soap he bought before parting ways with Skeppy, he knew there was vaseline somewhere in the bathroom and Will had a moisturizing cream he never admits he has and uses, there was no point in buying them since they were at home already, he could just borrow them.

After taking his shoes off and slipping in his slippers, he exited his room to sit at the counter to eat with Wilbur and Tommy, placing his glasses by his plate and rubbing his tired eyes before taking his first bite.

There were about two or three minutes of silence before anyone started talking.

“Tubbo said that he, Nikki and Eret are planning on a movie night next Saturday, they invited us” Tommy broke the silence, the Berry siblings loved doing movie nights, they had a small projector which served as a monitor and a big ass couch where them plus the Pandel could all fit if squished a bit, reason why they usually invited them.

“I already said I’m going, you guys coming too?” He looked at his older brothers, but his gaze fixed on Techno’s left shoulder… was it just an impression or…?

“I don’t have anything to do so, yeah I’m down” Wilbur replied after taking a sip of water, “You Techno?”

Now both of their gazes were on the pink-haired brother, who was currently munching on a vegetable. “Yeah sure,” he shrugged it off, “Have you asked Phil yet?”

Tommy’s eyes were still fixed on Techno’s left shoulder, “No… I was thinking of…asking him when he came- Techno wh-why is your left shoulder bigger than usual?”

He almost choked on his salad.

“What are you- Oh… yeah, you’re right” Wilbur also looked at his shoulder, welp, fuck.

“I… uh…” Techno almost stuttered, he had forgotten how vigil and attentive to details Tommy could be… what could he tell them…

Saying that he got in a fight was the worst idea ever, knowing his brothers they would have asked him the name, grade and address of who did this to him, so that idea was out of the question.

Eh, just deny it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he took another fork of his salad, trying to play it cool, “But I swear it looks-”

“Maybe it’s this hoodie” he quickly interrupted him, he had to get the attention somewhere else, fast.

“This hoodie is pretty fluffy and I didn’t use it for the entirety of summer so… “ He trailed off, leaving Tommy very suspicious.

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

The day at school wasn’t too different from others, the only “unnatural” thing he had to do was go get a violin and carry it from one side of high school to the other, thank god he usually carried stuff mostly on his right shoulder.

Speaking of carrying, he had to carry his backpack on only his right shoulder, a thing he despised and never did, but placing any type of weight on the new freshly-made tattoo stung a little bit, hopefully in a couple of days he could go back to using both shoulders normally.

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

“Bandages… vaseline… the soap is already in the bathroom… “ It had passed twenty-four hours from when he got the tattoo, it was time for him to change the bandage, and to do so, he wanted to be a hundred per cent sure he had everything he needed before going to the bathroom.

He grabbed all of the necessary things and peaked into the living room, Wilbur was in his room and Tommy wasn’t home yet so he took a deep breath and silently DASHED to the bathroom.

First thing first.

Lock. The. Door.

He wasn’t about to get walked in on by one of his brothers, so he locked the door and took another deep breath, he was now partially safe.

Underneath his hoodie, he had changed after arriving home into his only tank top, aka Wilbur got gifted one but he didn’t like it, so much that when doing laundry he had placed it in the stack of Techno’s clothes, so now it was his.

He didn’t want to do the whole operation shirtless so I guess the tank top was pretty convenient.

Stripping out of his hoodie, he looked at the bandages wrapped around his arm and the deep bags under his eyes: if someone else looked at him, they would think he was part of a gang or something.

Carefully peeling off the bandages, he realized that the skin around the tattoo was pretty red, the bits that were getting exposed to the air felt hot, it was going to be a big problem if he had gotten an infection.

As the last part came off, Techno looked once again in the mirror, the beautiful floral tattoo that he had seen drawn on paper by the tattooist look way better on skin, his skin.

Techno was afraid of regretting his decision, getting a tattoo this big from a day to another was careless of him, but god it looked pretty, he loved it.

Realizing that he was smiling at his own reflection, he shook it off and got back into a more concentrated state.

As the tattooist said, with a glass, he poured over the black ink cold water, his shoulders loosened up at the welcome sensation of chill washing over him.

He took the soap he bought and started making slow and soft circular motions, pressing as little as he could-

The sound of the handle trying to open the door made him jump, oh no no no, please…

“What do you want?” he recomposed himself and spoke with his usual unbothered voice, “Did you lock the bathroom Techno?! Why the fuck would you do that?!”, a high voice came from the other side of the door, Tommy must have arrived home from practice and he usually takes a shower right after entering the apartment so…

“It’s called privacy Tommy, plus I just got out of the shower, and no, I’m not rushing, I’m taking my sweet time” A loud groan could be heard right before footsteps walking away, Techno sighed, close one.

He continued taking care of his tattoo with extreme caution, washing away the soap, applying the vaseline, and wrapping it back up again. He threw everything in his drawer ( who usually only had the gel he occasionally used and his trusted comb), put on the hoodie again and shouted at Tommy that the bathroom was free.

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

After that, he went straight back into his room to work on the unusually low number of homework, unfortunately, it was French, so it didn’t matter how much stuff he had to do, it was going to take a long time either way.

He finished around the time that Phil got home, the older brother had the habit of greeting every brother one by one, so when a “Hello Technomate~” arrived from the slightly open door, Techno smiled and replied with the least dead-inside voice he could make: “Welcome back home Phil”

He was about to close his textbook as Phil’s voice in the distance asked him a question he wasn’t expecting.

“Hey Techno… Why do you have bandages in your drawer?”

Time stopped and Techno froze, a shiver shot up his spine. Why did Phil open his bathroom drawer?

“Uh… Well… Tommy sometimes comes home with cuts and bruises so I bought bandages in case he ever needs them” It wasn’t a lie, Techno would always patch up Tommy if he got hurt when his protect-the-weak vigilante moves failed him and he got some bruises, his voice was a little shaky but he was so far away from Phil that he probably didn’t notice.

“Huh… That’s… awfully empathic of you… “

Techno stood completely still for a couple more seconds waiting for him to find the antimicrobial soap and the vaseline, but it never happened.

He exhaled after taking off his glasses, throwing himself on the bed, turning to face the ceiling.

He didn’t regret getting this tattoo, but for how long could he keep it hidden from his brothers? For how long would he be able to lie to his brother?

Only time could tell.

#technoblade #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #ph1lza #the eret #nihachu #tubbolive #my writing #my fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #fd!au #fd au #mcyt #mcyt fanfiction

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janekfan · 4 years ago

Note

IF you are still taking prompts...would you consider something precanon with Jon and Tim? tim's been trying to befriend an isolated/lonely researcher jon that no one's a fan of, sees him sick or being bothered by someone or any one of our usual terrible scenarios and is immediately like 'is anyone gonna take care of this man??'

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650999

Tim flipped his pen around in his fingers, internally cheering when he executed the trick shot over his thumb, and kept an eye on Research’s newest recruit. The tiny man, stuffy and pompous and peculiar, had only been with them a little over a week and from day one Tim marked him as a challenge.

He would become this angry and diminutive fellow’s best friend, so help them both.

Currently, one Jonathan Sims was balanced on the tips of his patent leather brogues, stretching up for a volume he could never hope to reach and Tim, seeing his moment of opportunity, allowed his shadow to fall over him as he easily retrieved it for him.

“Tim. Tim Stoker.” He gave over the book along with a beaming grin and an introduction, holding a hand out for him to shake and lifting a brow when all Jon did was glare skeptically at his open palm, arms tightening around his prize.

“Sims.” Imperiously, with the slightest lift of his chin. “Jon. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Stoker.” If Tim had been quicker on the uptake, he would have replied with the customary that was my father, but as it was he found himself faced with the stiff line of his back as he walked swiftly deeper into the stacks.

He was awkward and prickly, for sure, there was no getting around that, but knowledgeable and worked hard at his job, harder than Tim currently was anyway with this quest to focus on. Jon kept his head down, literally, at his desk he was nigh folded in half for most of the shift, not even stopping for lunch most of the time unless something broke his hyperfocus and he caught sight of the clock. No wonder he was so scrawny, just skin and bone beneath his crisp starched shirts and prim jumpers. So Tim began leaving snacks behind; a piece of fruit, bottle of water, cereal bar, a bit of chocolate, and it gave him no end of amusement each and every time Jon noticed. Feet up on his own desk, Tim would watch Jon glance around, ignoring the irritated looks of their coworkers while he tried to puzzle out who kept doing it and the first time he actually took a bite tasted of sweet, sweet victory.

Time passed, Tim finally convinced Jon to call him by his first name and was soundly told off for attempting to call him Jonny. He learned of his preference for tea over coffee, that he was raised by his grandmother, and feared spiders absolutely, having been the unfortunate recipient of a harmless office prank. It was no secret that Jon was not well liked and didn’t seem to care. He became the butt of many a joke and impersonation. That posh accent, put on or not, was too good to pass up and his lack of social acumen didn’t help his case even though he was smart as a whip and picked up any slack by virtue of staying late.

“Bags under your eyes are looking heavy today.”

“Hm? Oh, Tim.” Jon rubbed a knuckle under the rim of his glasses. “Yes, I. I haven’t been sleeping well.” He dropped into his chair heavily, pressing fingertips against his temples and massaging them.

“Take a sick day. You’ve put in enough over time.” Jon craned his neck, blinked up at him with a confused look, as though he were trying to figure out a difficult puzzle.

“M’alright.” Mumbling, the wood grain suddenly seemed very interesting. “You should get to work though.”

“Whoa! Not my boss there yet, Jonny-boy!” It elicited a familiar, nettlesome response and put Tim’s heart at ease. Jon probably was just tired.

“Oi, you daft twit, watch where you’re going.” Tim turned the corner on his return from lunch to find Jon scrambling amongst a sprawl of papers, frantically trying to collect them up.

“S’sorry, I’ll help--”

“Done enough, sod off.” Jon froze, muttered another apology and handed off the pages he’d gathered together.

“You alright?” Sidling up to him, Tim did him the favor of ignoring the trembling line of Jon’s mouth. “Guy’s just being a prick ‘cause his wife’s leavin’ him.”

“Fine, m’fine, Tim.” And in a moment he was, back at his desk and pointedly thumbing through a file and pretending to cross check his notes.

The next morning was no better and Jon arrived under the wire, hair unkempt and tie just slightly crooked. Very unlike him and this time he watched as Jon let his head tip forward for a few seconds, bracing himself on the arms of his chair before retreating into the forest of bookshelves. If left to his own devices, Tim was sure he’d end up ticking the librarians off again. He tended to leave a mess in his wake when searching for what he needed and when he didn’t reappear by noon, Tim went off in search of him, expecting to find him leafing through some manuscript or another and instead discovering him cross legged in the shadows, eyes closed, head tipped back and resting on a shelf. There was a short stack of books pertaining to his research by his knee but his hands were empty and still in his lap.

“What’s wrong?” Jon made a vague gesture. “Headache?”

“Mm. Didn’t mean to, to...uh.”

“End up on the floor?”

“Mm.

“You should go home.” The very suggestion drew his features into a frown and he cracked open dark lashes just enough for Tim to catch a glimpse of glassy brown.

“I’ve barely worked here a month, I. I can’t. I can’t skive off.”

“You’re ill, Jon. That’s not--Look, look.” Tim crouched beside him. “It’s okay to call off sick.” It had the opposite effect, and Tim had to steady Jon after he struggled to his feet with his armful of books. “Jon.”

“No, no. I’ll be over whatever this is by tomorrow.”

Tim sighed. Jon was, in fact, not over whatever he’d come down with, and was now stifling a series of wet, breathless coughs in the crook of his elbow, unaware of the dirty looks the other researchers were throwing his way. The harder Tim tried to make him see reason, the harder Jon resisted, insisting that he was fine, it was allergies or something else but he wasn’t feeling ill enough to miss work.

“I’m holding you up as we speak.” Sluggish, Jon’s eyes tracked Tim’s arm from where it was attached to his shoulder all the way down to the firm grip he had on his bicep to keep him from listing even further.

“Jus’...bit dizzy…”

“Yeah, that’s not a good thing.”

“I can, I can still do my job.” And Tim wasn’t quite sure who he was trying to convince. “I can.” Tim allowed him his arm back, not commenting on his barely controlled fall into his desk chair or the soft groan of pain that ended in another fit, weaker than the last.

“I know you can, I just want to see you take care of yourself.”

“Why?” Bloodshot eyes narrowed in suspicion and Tim didn’t know what to make of it.

“We’re friends?”

“We’re not.” Tim didn’t let it discourage him or take it personally. Clearly, Jon wasn’t well, was trying to convince himself that he was, that he didn’t need help. Besides, Tim looked on the bright side, Jon didn’t sound completely sure.

“Alright. Well, as your not-friend, I’m advising you to at least make yourself some tea.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

“Christ, Sims!”

“I, I’m sorry, let me, let me help.”

“You’ve done quite enough.” It seemed to Tim that wherever Jon was lately he was in some sort of trouble and when he veered into the breakroom to check on the situation his heart went out to the Lilliputian researcher. Jon had dropped and shattered a mug full of hot water, apparently splashing the man currently yelling at him. Tim took in his trembling hands, the flush high on his vacant face, and the unbearable vulnerability, feeling those big brother instincts rise like a tide. He caught him up again by the arm, drawing him away from the mess and the mumbling.

“You’re like a furnace, buddy.” Gently, with a cupped hand, Tim lifted his jaw and tried to catch his slippery gaze. The heat cradled in his palm was scorching.

“M’not.”

“Now you’re just being contrary.” He led him away with his fingers just at the small of his back stopping at their desks long enough to gather up his things and call for a cab. He balked, hesitating before stepping in and Tim encouraged him with another careful push, helping him back out again when his knees threatened to give. Guiding him inside the flat he dropped their stuff by the door and looked around with a pensive hum. “Next time we’ll go to mine.” Under his breath. Jon’s was cold and not well lit, sparsely furnished with a second hand couch and mismatched tables. It was clean if spartan and somehow very Jon.

“Tim?” Thready, tired, sinking into the couch where Tim deposited him.

“Hey, there. Back in a tick. I’m gonna get you that tea.” Assuming he had any. Assuming he had anything at all. But there was a bottle of paracetamol on the kitchen counter beside an open box tea and a bottle of honey. “Take these, drink this down.” Dimly, Jon followed his instructions, tugging at his buttons and Tim shooed him away to change, surprised when he returned in soft, overlarge clothes. For as prim and proper as he tried to be at work, Jon was a complete bum at home. “Should go to sleep.” Petulant, Jon shook his head, flopping back on the couch and wrapping himself up in a knitted throw like a burrito. “Why not?” This side of his coworker was so soft and unexpected and Tim couldn’t stop himself.

“M’not tired.” Soft, unexpected, and childish.

“Uh huh.” Tim ordered in, something spicy and brothy, and praised Jon’s progress before tugging him, cajoling him into lying his head in his lap. Bad telly droned on, half lidded eyes blinked slow, and Tim was reminded painfully of nights and weekends and mornings spent this exact same way with someone else. Someone gone.

“Why’re you doing this?” Tim dug his fingers into unruly curls, grinning stupidly when Jon melted like a scruffed cat.

“We’re buddies, buddy.” Jon laughed, just an exhale between parted lips.

Mid afternoon the following day Tim proclaimed his work done, confirming it when Jon’s cactus like demeanor made a reappearance with all his fussing. After inputting his number into his cell phone himself, he ruffled already sleep mussed hair, smirking at Jon’s futile attempt to set it right.

“Call if you need anything.”

“I will.” Tim knew he wouldn’t, but it made him feel better anyway. It was the weekend. Jon looked miles better, and he was set up for success with all his tea and meds and snacks within easy reach. Leftover soup waited in the fridge for him to heat later. “Stop fretting, Tim.” But he could hear the thread of affection buried under all the exasperation.

And if he was imagining it, well. He was ever an optimist.

Monday. And Tim was sat on the corner of Jon's desk shoving chocolate digestives into his mouth and rifling through his notes having already ignored one request to leave off.

“You don’t have many friends, do you Jon?” Jon pushed his glasses up from where they’d slipped down the bridge of his nose and selected a biscuit for himself.

“Never needed many.”

“Do you have any?” Jon snatched the pages out of his hand and brushed away any stray crumbs, offering Tim a shy smile.

“I’ve you, don’t I?”

#TMA #the magnus archives #jon sims #tim stoker #precanon #pre season one #sickfic #sick jon #fever #makin frens #the power of friendship!#TMAfanfic

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rhosyn-du · 3 years ago

Text

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Chapter Eight

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321 Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3 , Tumblr Master Post

Chapter Eight

“If you’re taking me to a strip club, I’m walking out and crashing Magnus’s bachelor party.”

“Dude, have a little faith.” Jace grabbed Alec’s elbow and helped him out of the car.

“And stop scrunching your nose to try to see through the blindfold,” Izzy said from Alec’s other side. “We can see you doing it. Besides, do you really think there aren’t going to be strippers at Magnus’s party? Have you met Catarina and Ragnor?”

“Yes, and I trust their taste in strippers more than I trust yours.”

“I think I’m supposed to be insulted,” Izzy said, opening a door so Jace could usher Alec through, “but honestly, I kind of just want to ask Cat if she knows any good strip clubs I can take Clary to for our next date night.”

Alec made a pained sound. “Can I request a moratorium on anything that involves strippers and any of my siblings?”

“You can request it,” Jace said, “but it doesn’t mean we’ll listen. Mind the gap; you’re about to step into an elevator.”

“Isn’t my bachelor party supposed to be about things I like?”

Izzy pushed the button for their floor. “No, it’s supposed to be about doing things with your friends and siblings before you get married and forget all about us.”

“Iz, I meet you for drinks literally every week. I’m not going to stop just because Magnus and I are married instead of engaged.” A slow smile spread across Alec’s face. “I’m marrying Magnus tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you are.” Jace patted Alec’s shoulder as the elevator doors slid open. “Almost there, buddy.”

They led Alec out of the elevator and down the hall.

“Okay stop,” Izzy said when they reached their destination. “You can take the blindfold off now.”

Alec made a show of keeping his eyes squeezed shut as he pulled off the blindfold, opening one eye slowly as though bracing for something horrible. Jace saw the moment Alec recognized where he was, his shoulders relaxing all at once.

Alec glanced between his siblings, unimpressed. “This is the door to our loft. I live here.”

“I told you I was going to plan you the perfect bachelor party,” Jace said. “Did you really want to spend your last night as a single man somewhere else?”

“Your party awaits, big brother,” Izzy said, swinging the door open.

“Alexander!” Magnus met them at the door, smiling broadly. “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to show up.”

“We had to drive around enough that he wouldn’t know where we were going,” Jace explained. “You know what his crazy sense of direction is like.”

Alec gave his fiancé a questioning look. “What happened to separate bachelor parties being an important part of the tradition?”

“Ragnor and Catarina reminded me that some traditions really aren’t that important,” Magnus said airily. “Especially when breaking them would make you happy.”

“He means he sulked and whined about having to spend all night away from you until we suggested a joint party,” Catarina said, handing Alec a martini and Izzy something dark and fruity with far too many cherries. “And then he pretended like it was all our idea.”

“It was pitiful, really,” Ragnor added. “At one point, he actually languished on my couch to moan about it like some discount gothic heroine.”

“And on that note,” Magnus said, taking Alec’s arm, “my fiancé and I will be going to join our friends who don’t intend to spend all evening mocking me.”

“That’s really sweet, you know,” Alec said as he let Magnus lead him away.

“Well,” Ragnor said, “it’s my duty as Magnus’s co-best-man to make sure he is sufficiently mocked this evening, so I suppose I must follow.” He looked at Jace and Izzy. “I believe Clary and Simon are in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the cupcakes.”

Jace threw Izzy a questioning look. “Cupcakes?”

Izzy shook her head. “Must have been something Ragnor and Catarina planned. Let’s go see.”

The cupcakes, it turned out, were dick-shaped. And because it was Clary decorating them, they were very accurately dick-shaped.

“Oh yeah,” Izzy laughed, “this was definitely Cat’s doing.”

“Cat was in charge of baking, I’m in charge of decorating,” Clary confirmed, eyeing the cupcake she was working on critically. “Devil’s food cake with a chocolate-and-whiskey ganache filling and a variety of different icings. We’re calling them cock-cakes. Simon, pass me the lemon buttercream?”

“You got it, boss,” Simon said, grabbing one of the many pastry bags lined out on the counter and handing it to Clary before stepping over to Jace and greeting him with a warm smile that made Jace’s insides melt. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.” Jace couldn’t help his answering smile, couldn’t help drawing Simon into a soft kiss that felt easier than it probably should. “If I knew you were going to be creating culinary dick art without me, I would have made Iz drive Alec around on her own.”

“I’m mostly just assisting.” Simon leaned into him, stealing another quick kiss. “Clary’s the real artistic genius behind this masterpiece.”

“It’s true, my girlfriend is a genius,” Izzy agreed happily, walking over to wrap her arms around Clary’s waist from behind.

“Right now, this artistic genius is being distracted from finishing her cupcakes by too many people in the kitchen. You two,” she gestured at Simon and Jace, “take that finished tray out to the table.”

“Wait, how come we have to be the ones to leave?” Simon wondered. “Izzy’s being way more distracting than we are.”

“Because she’s cuter than you are,” Clary said without looking up from her cupcakes. “Go.”

Jace looked at Simon. “The lady has spoken, I guess. Come on, let’s go watch Alec pretend he doesn’t think these cupcakes are hilarious.”

~~~

Jace couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy. He wasn’t sure he ever had been this happy. The joint bachelor party had been a rousing success—cock-cakes, a stripper who was definitely not better than he would have hired, and all—and Jace was so glad he and Izzy had been able to help do this for Alec. And it had been amazing to see Alec so joyful and so obviously in love, to see Izzy and Clary and how happy they made each other. To feel the possibility of a love like that for himself every time Simon took his hand, to see it every time Simon smiled at him, to hear it every time Simon said his name.

It was enough to make him want to be a little reckless. Maybe even reckless enough to tell Simon that he was more to Jace than a fake-boyfriend-with-benefits, that Jace wanted them to be more. It was hardly a new thought, but Jace thought that maybe he was finally ready to say the words out loud.

“Hey, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” Simon said, as if reading his thoughts. “When we get back to the hotel,” he added, throwing a pointed glance at their Uber driver.

Jace smiled at him. “Sure. I actually wanted to talk to you, too.”

“Cool.” Simon sounded nervous. Jace could relate. Now that this was actually happening, he felt like he had an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies in his chest.

Jace’s butterflies hadn’t calmed down any by the time they made it back to their room, and he could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off Simon as he kicked his shoes off and started pulling out his clothes for morning.

“So,” Jace said, leaning against the wall with an affected casualness, “what did you want to talk about?”

Simon squared his shoulders, turned to face him. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Jace’s whole world rocked sideways. “What?”

This was not how this conversation was supposed to go.

“This whole fake dating thing. It was a mistake. I probably shouldn’t even have suggested it in the first place, but I thought—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I was wrong, and I can’t keep pretending with you, so.” He took a deep breath, obviously steeling himself. “So, this is has to be it. After the wedding tomorrow, no more pretending.”

“Oh.” It was all Jace could find it in himself to say. He reached for the bravado he would normally wrap around himself in a situation like this, but it had deserted him entirely. “I can’t keep pretending with you.” It had all been pretend for Simon. And Jace didn’t even have any right to be hurt by it, because it was what he’d agreed to.

“It’s just,” Simon continued, “seeing Alec and Magnus so happy tonight, and seeing the way Clary and Izzy are together, and even the dumb text Becky sent me earlier about how excited she is to see Maia tomorrow, it all made me realize just how much I want that. I want it with someone I love who loves me back, and you—”

“And I’m not a relationship kind of guy,” Jace finished for him. He didn’t actually need to hear all the reasons that would never be him. He was aware of his own failings.

“Right.” Simon’s voice was barely above a whisper, all his nervous energy having drained away.

“I get it.” Jace forced a smile. Maybe he couldn’t be someone Simon wanted to really be with, but he could at least pretend he wasn’t devastated by that fact. “You deserve that kind of happiness, maybe more than anyone I know. I hope—” He drew in a sharp breath. He would not let his voice tremble. “I hope you find someone who can give it to you.”

He turned away, unable to maintain the facade any longer. “I’m going to hit the shower before bed.” He wasn’t proud of having to hide the bathroom with his feelings, but he couldn’t stay here with Simon, not now.

Jace spent a long time under the shower’s spray. Until he was sure Simon must have fallen asleep. Until he was sure all his tears had washed away.

~~~

Best man duties were almost enough to distract Jace from his own problems for most of the next morning, and he threw himself into making sure everyone in the wedding party was where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be, keeping Max away from anything flammable, and keeping Maryse and Robert away from each other. In the thankfully rare moments of downtime, he forced himself to put on a lighthearted demeanor. He wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of Alec having a perfect wedding, especially not his own stupid feelings.

He should have known that Alec would see right through him.

“You okay?”

Jace glanced up from the mirror he was using to fix his bowtie. Everything was set, everyone was in their proper places, and Jace had nothing left to do but keep Alec company and wait for the ceremony to start.

“I’m fine. I’m not the one getting married in,” Jace checked his watch, “twenty-three minutes.”

“Don’t deflect. You’re doing that thing you do with your eyebrows when something’s really bothering you, and I’m not doing anything for the next twenty-three minutes if you want to talk about it.”

“What I want,” Jace told him, “is for you to stop worrying about other people and get your ass married.”

“Fair enough,” Alec agreed. “But I’m here when you do want to talk about it. I know I’ve been completely wrapped up in wedding stuff for a while, but you’re still my brother and my best friend, and I don’t want you to think you’re any less important to me now than you always have been.”

Jace walked over and put a hand on Alec’s shoulder. “The only complaint I have about you being wrapped up in wedding stuff is how sappy it’s apparently made you.”

Alec chuckled. “Oh god, that was really sappy, wasn’t it? Shit.” He wiped at his eyes. “I think I might actually cry out there. You’re not allowed to make fun of me if I do.”

“Buddy,” Jace said gravely, “as your brother and best man, it is my solemn duty to make fun of you for it for the rest of our lives. But I’ll wait until you’re back from your honeymoon.”

Alec didn’t cry during the ceremony. Jace noticed a few moments when he had distinctly watery eyes, though, and filed those away for future teasing. Then Alec and Magnus were kissing and the ceremony was over and Jace had absolutely nothing left to distract him from his thoughts.

Especially when the subject of those thoughts was waiting for him in the reception hall, looking as hot as Jace had ever seen him in a perfectly tailored black suit. Jace had managed to avoid looking for Simon during the wedding, and seeing him now hit like a punch to the gut. His emotions were still too raw to deal with what had happened the night before, and there was only one way he was going to make it through this. Luckily, it was the thing he was supposed to be doing. Namely, pretending his ass off.

So he greeted Simon with a warm smile and a kiss to the cheek before settling into his seat. They were at a table with the rest of the wedding party, along with Clary, and it was all so familiar that Jace had no trouble falling back into his role, teasing the hell out of Alec and congratulating the happy couple. Simon made it easy, not acting any different than he had before their conversation, never hesitating to offer small touches and gestures of physical affection, even moving his chair closer so they could lean into each other once they were done eating. It would have made Jace a little sick if he let himself think about it, which he pointedly did not.

Jace let himself get lost in it. It was stupid, and probably a little selfish, but if this was the last time he would ever get to be with Simon like this, he was going to enjoy it.

“Dance with me.” He didn’t mean to say it, but apparently he’d had enough champagne that he wasn’t quite thinking before speaking anymore. He knew as soon as he said it that he’d overstepped. After all, look what had happened the last time they’d danced together.

“Oh.” Simon looked genuinely shocked by the suggestion. “I, uh...”

“I mean,” Jace backpedaled, “if you want to.”

“I believe I might fancy a dance, myself,” Ragnor said. He extended his hand to Madzie, the flower girl and Catarina’s daughter. “Might I have this dance, young lady?”

“Can we do the twirls?” Madzie asked, jumping up from her chair and spinning around to demonstrate.

“Obviously,” Ragnor told her seriously. “After all, what’s the point of dancing without twirls?”

Madzie didn’t bother to give a verbal answer, just grabbed Ragnor’s hand and skipped off toward the dance floor.

“With any luck, that will help her work off some of the sugar buzz from all that cake.” Catarina gave Magnus a long look. “I can’t believe you gave her a second slice.”

“My dearest Catarina, it’s my wedding day, and I will spoil my goddaughter if I want to.”

Catarina scoffed. “You say that like you don’t spoil her every day.”

“It’s true,” Alec agreed. “We might need to give her a third slice if we want to spoil her extra today.” He managed to keep a straight face right up until Cat’s napkin hit him in the face.

“I think I might need to dance off my own sugar buzz,” Izzy announced, grabbing Clary’s hand. “Come on, hot stuff. Let’s go shake our booties.”

Clary laughed. “I can’t exactly say no when you’re offering to shake your booty for me.”

“You know what?” Simon said suddenly. The look he gave Jace was challenging. “I do want to dance.”

It was Jace’s turn to be shocked, but he recovered quickly. “Okay.” He met Simon’s challenge with a smirk. “Let’s dance.”

Jace’s bravado was shaken slightly when the music transitioned to a slow love song right as they made it to the dance floor. But Simon didn’t hesitate, stepping onto the dance floor and drawing him close.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke, rocking gently to the music. They danced close enough that Jace could hear Simon’s breaths, feel them against his cheek. It was too much and not enough all at once, and Jace had to say something or he was going to go crazy.

“Thanks, by the way. For, you know, all of this. I don’t think I ever said that.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for.” Simon’s voice was low and intimate. “This was as much for me as it was for you.”

Jace wanted to say that it couldn’t possibly be, that if any of this meant half what it did to him for Simon, then he wouldn’t be able to give it up so easily. But that would have been deeply unfair, no matter how true, so instead he just said, “Well, thank you, anyway.”

Simon pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, and Jace didn’t understand why he looked so sad. “Thank you.”

And then they were kissing, slow and gentle, and Jace didn’t even remember moving, but he must have or how else could they have gotten here? All the longing and heartbreak he’d been pushing down all day rose up, threatening to break him open and spill out all over the dance floor. The only things holding him together were Simon’s arms around him, Simon’s body pressed against his as they swayed to near-forgotten music, Simon’s mouth on his.

When the song ended and Simon pulled away from him, Jace stumbled and had to force himself upright.

“Come back to the hotel with me,” he said urgently. He couldn’t just let Simon go, he realized, not without at least trying. They could go back to their room, and they could talk, and Jace would somehow find the words to convince Simon to stay. “Please.”

Simon closed his eyes and visibly steeled himself. When he opened them again, Jace knew he’d lost before he even had the chance to put up a fight.

“I already made plans to hang out with Becky and Maia tonight. You know, sibling and sibling’s-maybe-girlfriend bonding. Maia’s going to give me a ride back to Boston in the morning.” He took Jace’s hand and lifted it to his mouth to place a gentle kiss on his knuckles, then pressed something small and metal into his palm before letting go.

Jace couldn’t do anything but watch him walk away, the weight of his father’s ring heavier than it had any right to be in his hand.

~~~

The apartment was quiet when Jace got home, and he was both relieved that he wouldn’t have to face Simon yet and disappointed because, as much as he hated that he would have to box his feelings away, he missed Simon, even though it had only been two days since they’d last seen each other.

He found the note pinned to the refrigerator, held in place by the Spider-Man magnet that he’d gotten Simon as a “congrats on surviving a horrible lab partner and not failing chemistry” gift last year.

Staying at Bat’s for a while. -S

That was all. Nothing about why Simon had left or when he was coming back. If he was coming back. Jace’s fingers almost itched with the need to text Simon to find out exactly what the hell was going on, but the fact that Simon had left a note instead of texting suggested he didn’t mean for this to be a discussion.

Not that Jace actually needed a discussion. Simon had made it very clear that things were over between the two of them, that he didn’t feel the same way about Jace that Jace did about him, and instead of accepting it and moving on like a good friend would have, he’d kissed Simon at the wedding. He’d been on the verge of begging Simon to give him a chance. Of course Simon didn’t want to see him right now. He wouldn’t want to see him, either.

For half a second, Jace considered taking Alec up on his offer to call if he needed to talk, but Alec was on his honeymoon, and Jace might on occasion be a self-centered asshole, but he didn’t want to be that much of a self-centered asshole. Instead, he grabbed his half-empty package of Double Stuf Oreos and took them to the couch, where he turned on Return of the Jedi and bundled himself up in the fleece blanket Simon always used when his feet got too cold in winter.

When the movie was over and the Oreos were long gone, he dragged the blanket into Simon’s room and curled up on his bed, on top of the covers. Sleeping on top of Simon’s bed wasn’t as pathetic as sleeping in Simon’s bed, he reasoned. Especially if no one was there to see it. And if the fleece blanket kept any tears from getting on Simon’s comforter, then he wasn’t really crying.

#shadowhunters #shmb2021 #jimon #jimon fic #jace wayland #simon lewis

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ryuichirou · 4 years ago

Note

I really love the way you draw anatomy - you are literally perfect. Would you mind one day if you make a simple tutorial on how to draw anatomy, particularly hands and just keeping things in proportion. Sorry if this sounds like a demanding ask - u can definitely decline or not answer no offence taken x

First of all, thank you so much! <3 I’m so happy to hear that you think my anatomy looks good. I’m not sure if I can teach you anything, but I’ll try! And sorry it took me so long to reply.

I wouldn’t call this a tutorial, more like an outline of what I usually do (maybe with some tips here and there). Hope it’s at least a little bit helpful 🙏

I’ll start with how I draw the hands. Well, as you’ve probably seen on my previous post about this topic, I used to have a hard time with hands because I didn’t understand the logic behind them + my only reference was my own small and blobby hands. Practice helps a lot, but imo mostly because as you draw more hands, it becomes easier for you to break them into simpler shapes (this is important!) and imagine them in 3d in your head or as you draw.

When I draw hands, I start with a rough sketch. Basically I just draw a fingerless block first. It’s a bit illegible right now, but bear with me.

After this I add fingers. Once again, they’re all broken into shapes: a finger is just 3 short tubes connected to the block we just drew. Sometimes some parts of the “tubes” aren’t visible because of the perspective of the hand, sometimes you can clearly see all of them. As I already said, it’s all about learning how to imagine these things in 3d.

Since my sketch is so rough, I tried to make the shapes more clear here. I hope it makes sense.

After the sketch is done, I basically just… draw hands. Remember that this is skin and meat, there are going to be folds (??? Idk if this is the correct word) and stuff. And nails, oh nails… I scream when I remember the times when I used not to draw them lol They help to convey the perspective and the angle of the fingers, so for me it’s better to have them than not. I’m not drawing them the exact correct way, though, but still.

And once again, it took me a long time to start drawing hands more or less properly, and I still fix them all the time. For example, a thumb of the first one on the left is too short. In fact, I’d make all the thumbs bigger…

So yeah, something among the lines. It’s not perfect, but this is the basic idea of how it works, at least for me.

About proportions… Well, I’m one of those artists who like to make 1000000 sketches before I move on to the inking phase, it’s just more comfortable to me. This way, I give myself more control of the pose and proportions and have a lot of time to adjust and fix whatever feels off to me. Many good artists don’t do that because they don’t really need it.

First, I make a very quick sketch just to grab the “feel” of the pose I’m going for, plus it helps with the overall composition of the drawing. It isn’t detailed at all, so it takes about 5-10 minutes to draw, even less if I’m confident about what I want and don’t try to find the pose that would work the best. At this stage I try to keep the proportions in mind, but I don’t think about them too much.

When I’m more or less satisfied with the basic idea, I draw my first sketch. At this stage I’m err building the body. There are a lot of ways to do that, I’m drawing something similar to a mannequin that is made out of meat. Oh no, that sounded horrible…

As you can see, this time I pay more attention to proportions and sketch all parts of the body properly. I make sure that both arms are the same length, both legs are the same length, that the shoulders are on the same level, stuff like that. At this stage I don’t think about the character, just about the body: I’m trying to make it make sense lol

Also you might’ve noticed, but I changed the position of the arms on this sketch because my initial idea didn’t really work (I tried to sit in the same pose and it was uncomfortable lol)

And then I draw yet another sketch. Sometimes this can be the last stage and I ditch the inking altogether and just colour this sketch instead, but more often than not it looks too messy and I have to make another sketch… (This is also where Katsu usually tells me to chill because we were planning to draw something simple and quick and I’m already making it complicated lol)

Here I’m adding more details, like face, hair, clothing, anything else that I need to sketch before inking/colouring. After this sketch is done, I look at it again and see if anything looks off. If it does, I try to fix it, adjust it, sketch it again, whatever works and whatever makes my sketch less stiff and more proportional. It doesn’t have to be super realistic proportions-wise though.

Things that I pay attention to when I check the proportions on my drawings:

Shoulders: they should be the same size (although the perspective can create a distortion, but this is a whole other can of worms) + ideally they should be able to fit two heads in them length-wise.

Arms: I check if they’re the correct length (the hand part should start ~at the crotch level). If the arm on the drawing is bent, I try to visualize how it’d look like if they were straightened up. If it’s difficult to imagine, I just sketch it.

Oh, and the size of hands. I always check if they’re the correct size by comparing them to a face of the character: they should be about the same size (of course some people have larger hands and some of them have smaller hands).

Legs: same with arms, I try to make sure they are not too long and not too short. Also, when drawing arms or legs, you can draw this thing. The shoulder/hip and the hand/foot have the same distance from the elbow/knee. This… sounds confusing, I hope it at least looks understandable lol

There are a lot of ways to check if everything is correct: sometimes I just put my fingers on the screen to check if all of the lengths make sense lol and sometimes I draw these lil lines to check if the lengths of the parts that are supposed to be the same match.

If your drawing looks off, just create another layer and sketch the body (the meaty mannequin thingie) over it again. It might help you see some obvious mistakes if there are any. Some people might say it’s too much work, I call this practice lol

There are instances when I redraw some parts of the body completely. There are situations when it’s easier to do it all over again than to fix the existing sketch.

Another thing that I do is flip the image as I draw. Not very often though, you need not to get used to the flipped version of your drawing, it should be somewhat new to your eyes, this way your mistakes will be more visible to you. At least I think so…

It also helps to pay attention to details as much as you can, they make a huge difference. I still have a lot to learn about how the abs work, but like a year ago I knew nothing about them aside from “err I think there are 6 or 8 of them?? And they start below the boobs” (my boobs were also more square). After I started drawing them more often and learning how they actually work, my drawings changed accordingly. I think the right one is at least slightly better haha

So yeah, this is more or less my process. It isn’t necessary to draw 10203100 sketches and to go through all these stages, but I personally feel much more comfortable doing that because this way I can be sure that I would’ve noticed if there was a major fuckup somewhere.

To be honest, if we’re talking proportions, this image is literally the only thing you need to know.

Just keep in mind how many heads are in the human body length, how many heads can fit inside one’s torso, etc. Compare body parts to each other accordingly. Just make a habit out of checking if the proportions on your drawings are correct: make a shoulder bigger, make sure that the legs are the same size. It might be too much at first, but it’ll literally become a subconscious thing very soon, and you won’t have to actively think about all of this every time you draw. I google this image from time to time just to make sure that I’m fixing everything correctly lol

You don’t have to be exact with these proportions, but they still need to have some logic behind them. Like here, if we look at Osomatsu, who is clearly very stylized, we can still see that his body is proportionate. His shoulders are too small for his head, and his body surely doesn’t have 8 heads in its length, but he still doesn’t fall apart because there is logic behind his stylization: his arms are still long enough for him to put his hands in his pockets; they aren’t too long or too short. Hope that makes sense…

Sorry for the long read. Once again, I hope it was somewhat helpful or at least interesting. If you have any more questions, please feel free to ask!

Although I’m still learning myself of course, so there are things that I probably don’t know or forgot to mention…

#replies #ryuichirouart #tutorial #of sorts #about drawing

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doctenwho · 4 years ago

Text

Lured Desire

Hello! Thank you for the prompt! I’m glad you liked Not a Cat Person! Sorry this took a bit, you caught me in the process of moving! This was alot of fun to write when I finally figured out how to make it work! I wrote this three times; it got deleted once, I forgot what I was doing once (that one’ll probably be made into something else), and then there was this copy!

Hopefully it’s close to what you’re looking for! I tried to follow your prompt as best as I could, so I hope you like it!

Summary: Check out the prompt!

Warnings: I don’t think there really is any for this one.

Word Count: 6,524

*Gif is not mine, credit to the creator*

The landing was rough. Unexpected. It was enough to rattle both you and the Doctor to the floor.

You lost your footing, falling backwards. You managed to catch yourself on the guard rail behind you, but it didn’t really offer much as a way to balance. Not when the whole of the TARDIS was quaking with the rails. The Doctor had been flung from the console as well, but he was quick to get back to his feet and start pushing buttons and pulling levers to try and steady the TARDIS.

You pulled yourself to your feet, keeping a strong grip on the railing. The TARDIS was still moving, shaking and plummeting. You didn’t need the Doctor to tell you that the TARDIS was crashing, you’d been in enough TARDIS crashes to know when it was happening.

Besides, even if you did attempt to talk to the Doctor, he probably wouldn’t even acknowledge you. He did really have better things to be worried about if his TARDIS was crash landing. There wasn’t much he could do, but there was always something that could make things easier—less messy.

It took a few minutes for it to stop feeling like you were dropping right out of the air, and for the floor to stop vibrating and settle on solid ground. The Doctor still didn’t seem pleased, a foul look on his face as his hands shot out to fidget with different parts of the control console.

You let him work in silence for a few more minutes, waiting in case anything more happened that could result in you falling on your arse, before cautiously making your way towards the man doing stressed circles around the TARDIS console.

“What happened?” you asked as you approached him. He barely paused in his movement. His hands were still busy, like the time and space ship was still falling, which you were quite sure wasn’t the case. He glanced at you briefly, then turned his attention towards the screen he’d pulled away so you couldn’t see. “Did we crash?”

“No,” the Doctor replied sharply without so much as a glance in your direction. “We didn’t crash, we fell. We fell a bit and then settled. There’s a difference, (y/n).”

“Okay,” you frowned, moving closer to him so you could see what he was doing. A crash was a crash to you, falling usually resulted in a crash, but you weren’t about to go against the Doctor when he was already so riled up.

“We fell, and it doesn’t make sense,” the Doctor muttered, but you weren’t too sure whether he was talking to you, or just speaking aloud to himself, “it doesn’t make sense. How could we have...”

His voice faded off, as he hunched into reading whatever was on the screen. Most of it was in what you assumed was Gallifreyan—something the Doctor would do when he didn’t want you to see what was happening. The TARDIS wouldn’t translate her mother tongue, so it was a failsafe for the man to revert things to Gallifreyan instead of English so you couldn’t read along.

With him completely distracted by the screen, you moved towards the doors. He didn’t seem to notice you, and if he did, he didn’t bother saying anything. You don’t know what overcame you—you never acted before the Doctor explained more.

Alien planets, or different time periods weren’t to messed around with. Especially without the Doctor’s incite. You’d never just gone to open a door, but something was pulling you towards the doors. Towards what was on the other side of the doors. Whatever was out there...

The doors opened easily, and you peeked your head out to see what was around you.

“Uh, Doctor?” You blinked, taking a step out to gaze around you. You could faintly see the man’s head look up from the screen inside the TARDIS out of the corner of your eye, but you were too busy studying your surroundings to really take note of the complete alarm in his eyes.

“(Y/N)!” the Doctor’s voice called, when he finally took notice of your absence. The man’s eyes shot around the room hurriedly, before falling on the open doors. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together, your absence in the TARDIS console room and the open doors.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled as he shot around the console to pull you back into the TARDIS. “We’re floating through--” the man froze when he reached the doorway, hand locked on your elbow with a tight, protective grip. He looked around, studying everything with an expression of disbelief and utter confusion, “we’re... we’re landed in a hallway?”

You glanced back to the man holding you securely, though you weren’t so sure it was needed when you were stood on solid ground, before looking back down the hallway.

It was a long hallway; you couldn’t even see the end of it. It was beige walls, with lines of white trim leading down along the bottom of the floor. The floor was carpeted, a neat tan that matched perfectly with the beige and white trim. There was a line of circular light fixtures spread about five feet apart, leading down the center of the ceiling, all the way down the hallway as far as you could see.

The walls were lined with large photo frames, they were wooden; a sturdy looking wood, that had been carved to the smallest detail, stained dark brown and completely identical all the way along the hallway.

Everything was completely symmetrical, lining up perfectly with an exact copy on the wall across from it.

The frames were empty, from what you could see where you stood. There was a blank sheet of canvas, or cardstock, or maybe even a blank photograph from a polaroid. None of the frames in your line of sight had anything more than a blank center.

“What is this place?” you question quietly, managing to draw your attention away from the walls and frames before you, to glance back at the Doctor’s attentive eyes sweeping over everything. You couldn’t place any of the emotions crossing the Doctor’s face, it was a flurry of multiple—

“Noh,” the Doctor said softly, more to himself. He took a step back into the TARDIS, pulling you in with him by the grip on your arm. When your feet were back on the solid TARDIS flooring, the Doctor released his grip on you and took another step back, “no, no, no.” He moved quickly back to the console, pulling the screen towards him, “that can’t be right. That’s not... it can’t be right. It’s impossible.”

“What can’t be right?” you asked with a frown, following behind the Doctor. The screen was back to English, but to be fair, you still needed the Doctor to explain things to you. To you, it was all science-y mumbo-jumbo—which was barely a step up from Gallifreyan.

“We’re in orbit still,” the Doctor pointed out on the screen. “The TARDIS is currently in orbit. We’re not... we can’t be landed. That,” he gestured wildly to the open TARDIS doors, “shouldn’t exist, we’re orbiting space, (Y/N), there aren’t corridors and, and photo frames in space.”

The Doctor stepped away from the control panel, letting out a groan-growl as he carded his fingers through his mussed hair roughly, “it’s impossible. We literally aren’t landed on anything. The TARDIS says we’re still moving, that we’re still orbiting.” The Doctor paced back and forth, anxiously, “what’s out there doesn’t exist—shouldn't exist. We’re caught in orbit, on some sort of platform that doesn’t exist. On something that the TARDIS, who recognizes everything, doesn’t recognize.”

“Are you sure the TARDIS is right?” you asked softly, leaning to look out the doors. The Doctor turned to glare at you, opening his mouth to defend his TARDIS, but you continued before he could, “it looks pretty real to me. I was standing out there before, and it was... it was like walking on carpet. Didn’t feel space-y at all.”

“The TARDIS isn’t wrong.” the Doctor scoffed on the time and space machine’s behalf, “the TARDIS has never been wrong. We’re in orbit, (Y/N). We’re stuck in orbit on... on whatever it is out there. I don’t even know what that is.”

“It seems alright to me,” you really had no idea where that came from, “we should look around.”

“You want to look around a strange space platform that the TARDIS says doesn’t even exist?”

“Uhm... yeah?”

“And you’re alright?” the Doctor asked carefully, taking a couple steps towards you. You raised a questioning eyebrow and frowned at him. “You’ve been traveling with me for ages and not once have you been so sure about a planet—about anything like this. You’re hesitant about planets I assure you are completely fine, but now, when I tell you something’s not right, you want to explore?”

“Of course I’m alright,” you scoffed, “I just want to explore a bit, what’s so bad about that? It looks like earth, like some kind of weird earth museum, or something. Besides, don’t you want to see what’s at the end of the hallway?”

The Doctor studied you for a moment, then studied the open doors of the TARDIS for a moment as well, before he looked back at you. He really didn’t like disappointing his companions, and he was always up for an adventure.

The Doctor seemed to be seriously debating it.

“We really should leave, we don’t know this place, or who or what inhabits it,” he huffed, “but I'm intrigued now. You’re right, I do want to see what’s out there. A hallway in the middle of space, orbiting on its own—and not only that, a hallway that drew in the TARDIS. It’s impossible, completely impossible, but brilliant all the same!”

The Doctor paused, seeming to shake himself from his excitement, “are you completely sure you want to go? I have no idea what’s out there, or what’s at the end of the hallway. This is here for a reason; space doesn’t just make random corridors for no reason.”

“I’m sure,” you nodded. “I wanna see if any of those frames have any actual pictures. Maybe there’s like stolen earth museum masterpieces—something by Picasso or Van Gogh or somethin’. There’re so many things that’ve gone missing through the years.”

“Aliens stealing earth things?” the Doctor muttered with a frown, “not unheard of. It’s possible.”

There was a moment where neither of you moved, then the Doctor was moving towards the doors. “Right then,” he cleared his throat, he was looking at you as he marched towards the doors, “you need to stay close to me. I don’t know this place, or planet, or whatever it really is. We’re not staying long, just a quick peek around and then we’re leaving, alright?”

The Doctor paused in the doorway, leaning out, to glance around without stepping out of the TARDIS, despite the fact you’d already stepped out once. He frowned, still uncertain before he stepped out. He reached his hand in, an offering to you, which you moved to grab.

“Sounds good to me,” you smiled, gripping his hand and following him out. The TARDIS doors closed behind the two of you, since the Doctor had stepped out too and no one was inside.

“It looks very earthlike,” you mumbled as the two of you started walking. Slow and hesitant.

“Indeed it does,” the Doctor agreed, “I seriously don’t know what this is, or how it’s doing what it is. Be careful, and stay close.”

“I always am,” you laughed good-naturedly, which drew a small, fond smile from the man.

The two of you walked for a while. The TARDIS could no longer be seen behind you, but the hallway before you were still going. It was a very long hallway. You’d dropped the Doctor’s hand a while ago, in order to walk closer to the frames and gaze inside to see if you could see any differences between them all.

He was doing his own studying, watching everything like the frames would jump out at him, which you could understand given what he’d seen and done in his many years of life. He muttered things to himself, and periodically glanced your direction to keep a tab on you.

It was almost cute how protective the Doctor was of you. How protective he was of his select few companions he’d travel with. The ones he chose out the billions of people on earth.

The Doctor stopped every few frames to bleep them with his sonic screwdriver, but nothing came up. As far as you, the Doctor and the screwdriver knew, they were just ordinary frames. You could almost see the deep, unsettling confusion clouding the Doctor’s eyes.

But, you kept walking, almost as if something was pulling you along. Like you were tethered to something and you just had to find it.

----

The Doctor wasn’t sure what to make of this place. Not when neither his TARDIS or his sonic screwdriver could track or source anything regarding it. It simply shouldn’t exist. Some sort of spurious world that he’d never heard of, or seen.

Something that shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t the right make to even be orbiting like it was, and it certainly shouldn’t have been able to draw the TARDIS in. It was impossible. He couldn’t think of a single way that this could be happening.

The Doctor followed along a few steps behind (Y/N), who continued on without much thought. It was rather odd that (Y/N) was more excited and adventurous about this strange place than the Doctor was. Maybe because she was had a fresh mind, she still hadn’t completely figured out that things in space couldn’t be trusted.

There was a difference between being hesitant to jump right into things, and being critical of things before even thinking about taking a step out. Like earlier, when (Y/N) had stepped right out. The Doctor hadn’t even noticed her doing it, too busy trying to figure things out. As far as he’d known, they’d been stuck orbiting space—she could’ve stepped out into nothing. Nothing but space, because that’s what the TARDIS said they were doing.

The Doctor was far older than (Y/N), hundreds and hundreds of years older. He’d seen so much. He’d been trapped so many times. He’d been left with nothing more times than he could count. He’d put his companions in danger way more than he’d even dare to think about. He’d been around for practically forever at this point, and he knew when to be cautious.

As much as he tried though, he couldn’t figure anything out about this place. It was getting irritating at this point. He was confused, and irritated, and maybe even a bit pissed off that (Y/N) had been so reckless when they’d first arrived.

The man sighed to himself, drawing his hand through his hair again. He dropped his hands down, stuffing them in his trouser pockets as he followed behind his companion. He didn’t even know how long they’d been wondering about the hallway for, and he was about to make the decision that they’d spent enough time here when he heard it.

It was soft, like a whisper.

A collection of soft whispers, faint and unintelligible. Unintelligible, but inviting. Drawing him closer. It was not a language he knew, and the TARDIS hadn’t translated it for him. But he was curious.

Was there something here? Someone else beside him and his companion?

The Doctor’s eyes dropped down to the floor for a moment before he looked up and around. It felt like the whispering was coming from everywhere at once. He took a couple more hurried steps, the whispers growing louder until he turned suddenly. He didn’t remember thinking about turning, it just happened. He wasn’t even sure his brain had commanded the action, but when he looked up, he was met with a picture frame.

This one, unlike the ones across from it, or on either side, had an actual image. It wasn’t a blank frame like the others. And it wasn’t a picture at all. Not really.

It was moving.

It was... more like a television show, than a picture.

He was instantly engrossed in the moving photo.

It was... it was (Y/N). She was in a garden; it was a beautiful garden. There were multiple types of flowers, and it was sunny. It almost made him smile. Her eyes were watering, but she was smiling, holding a bouquet of flowers. She was older than the (Y/N) he was currently with, but it was undeniable that this woman in the photo was his current companion.

She looked good, perfectly fine, but maybe a little sad. He instantly wanted to make her happy again, to jump into the picture and hug her, or give her a kiss on the cheek. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of her sad smile.

It wasn’t terribly sad, she still had the same brightness about her, the one that had attracted him to her in the first place, but she looked as if she were reminiscing an event from prior. Maybe a memory from a passed family member, or something. Remembering happy things, but sad that they weren’t around anymore.

He wondered for a moment where he was in this picture. He’d never really thought about leaving her, not really. He wanted to hold onto her for as long as he could, but he could understand if he’d needed to leave her behind for whatever reason. He’d had to do the same for all his companions at one point or another.

The thought of his companions growing old and leaving him made him physically ill, but he knew it was bound to happen eventually. How he’d just regenerate and leave them in the dust—continue on with his life when they were aging and dying like the humans they were. He’d always end up alone in the end, as it had been for hundreds of years.

In the photo, (Y/N) was walking, the flowers cradled in her arms. The path she walked on was days away from being completely overgrown, like it wasn’t travelled much. Where ever she was going, she didn’t go often.

He waited, watching closely until she paused in the photo, her eyebrows furrowing as a tear trailed down her cheek. The Doctor leaned towards the picture, squinting to see what she was seeing. He wanted to reach out and touch it... touch his companion, but he didn’t.

In fact, he took a step back in surprise when his eyes landed on what she was now kneeled in front of, the flowers set on the ground before it.

It was the TARDIS. The blue Public Use Police box parked in that garden. It was covered in overgrown plants, vines reaching up along the paneling of the TARDIS. It didn’t... look much like the TARDIS anymore, old and unused like a real London Telephone box, but to him, it was unmistakably his precious TARDIS.

(Y/N) was sitting now, knees pulled up to her chest, with her arms wrapped securely around them. Her chin rested on the indent between her knees, and her attention was focused on the TARDIS. Her eyes were sad now, much more so than earlier, and she was crying again. Tears falling from her face and dripping down to the ground beneath her.

The Doctor didn’t understand for a moment. His TARDIS was there, obviously had been for a while. But he was nowhere to be seen. (Y/N) was visiting his TARDIS, hidden away in a garden and covered by overgrown plants that would’ve taken years to crawl up the length of his little blue box. He’d abandoned his TARDIS?

Then, it clicked.

He hadn’t abandoned his precious TARDIS intentionally. The answer was literally in this picture; from the overgrown garden, to the TARDIS standing withered and old without him, to the bouquet of flowers placed before his TARDIS, all the way down to the soft tears falling from his companion’s face.

It was all there.

He was dead.

He’d died somehow and left behind his TARDIS, and his companion.

He was dead.

He was strangely accepting of this. His companion outliving him for the first time since he’d first picked up a human to travel with him. It was... a nice change of pace. He wasn’t the last one left anymore. He was... gone.

The last Time-Lord in existence, and he was gone. His whole race put to rest with him. He wasn’t put off by the idea. He almost... liked it. That he wasn’t the one to be losing someone this time. He still felt terrible that his companion was bringing flowers to his, what he assumed was his, resting place with his TARDIS, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad, or upset.

It was almost... freeing. He wanted to touch; to run his fingers across the photo. To place a finger over his companion staring sadly at his TARDIS, or maybe even touch the TARDIS. His hand hovered over the picture, and it almost... rippled like he could just hop right in.

This was a... a desire he hadn’t known he’d had.

The man turned away from the frame abruptly, using all his willpower to draw his hand away and turn away from the picture. He’d almost touched it. Had been close enough to see it ripple. What would’ve happened had he touched the picture?

What would’ve happened had he reached for that desire he’d had hidden within him?

The man whipped out his sonic screwdriver, bleeping the frame he’d just been staring into quickly. For a second, one single second, the screwdriver detected something, but in the next moment, the Doctor was watching the colourful canvas, (Y/N), the garden and the TARDIS included, fade back to the identical blanks surrounding it.

In a matter of seconds, it was like the photo he’d seen hadn’t existed at all. Like he hadn’t been drawn to a desire he hadn’t realized he had.

With the picture gone, the Doctor carefully let his fingertips brush along the surface of what had been that picture. Nothing happened, there was no ripple this time. It was like touching any other sheet of canvas.

It didn’t make sense. It really didn’t make sense. Nothing about this place made any sense.

“We’ve been here long enough,” the Doctor spoke firmly, suddenly afraid of what this place was capable of. He turned to look down the hallway at his companion, “let’s head--” the man froze, “(Y/N)?”

She was gone. The hallway around him was empty. Nothing but blank picture frames. “(Y/N)?” he called louder, in case she’d continued on while he’d been distracted by the picture. The Doctor turned back the way the two of you had been coming, but you weren’t that way either. “(Y/N)!”

He was sprinting down the hallway before he even realized he was. He needed to get to her before anything else got to her. Before she got hurt, or was put in danger. Or worse, before one of the pictures spoke to her like they had to him.

He’d barely been able to draw himself away from the photo, a human wouldn’t stand a chance against it. No human would have the willpower to pull away from a desire like the one he’d been shown. And, as much as he cared for (Y/N), she really was no exception to that fact.

The man ran as fast as he could, passing hundreds of picture frames in just minutes before someone came into view.

Just as he’d feared, (Y/N) was staring into one of the photo frames, mesmerized by whatever was happening. The Doctor barely managed to stop himself from running into her, as he reached hurriedly for her arms and tried to pull her away from the picture.

To him, it was blank. It looked no different to any of the other canvases on the walls. He bleeped the canvas with his screwdriver when you barely budged, and to his surprise, he was getting all kinds of feedback from it this time. Something more than a simple photo frame was hung on this wall, and it was quickly drawing his companion in as it had to him.

He bleeped you as well, frowning thoughtfully at the reading it got off your head.

“(Y/N),” the Doctor pleaded, taking your hands into his own, “I know it looks ideal, whatever it is you’re seeing, but it’s not real. Please, come back to me, whatever you’re seeing, it’s not there. It doesn’t exist. Don’t touch it, alright? Don’t touch, it’s not safe.”

You made no movements, but you still didn’t draw your attention from the photo. The Doctor chewed his bottom lip, thoughts flying faster and more anxiously than he was sure they ever had. He had to do something. He wasn’t sure what would happen if you touched the picture you were seeing, but he wasn’t about to find out.

With no other way around it, the man pushed you back carefully, just enough so that he could come between you and the canvas. You didn’t react, eyes wide and unseeing, but so focused on the blank canvas in front of you. The Doctor reached up to cradle your jaw in his hands for a moment, thumbs brushing along your cheeks.

You moved to look around him, back at the picture, to which he gently tightened his hold and directed your gaze back onto him. You didn’t move again after being corrected.

He drew in a breath, pulling his hands back for a second to see if you’d move (you didn’t) before he lifted his hands and settled his fingertips to your temples. He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on accessing you mind. He couldn’t see what you could looking at the picture, but he could through your eyes.

----

You’d lost the Doctor somewhere along the hallway. He’d stopped and... even if you’d wanted to stop and see where he’d gone, or perhaps even wait for him, something inside you directed you along.

The whispered were calling to you. They’d started a while back, and you’d been following them. You didn’t understand them, but they were inviting. They were calling you over, trying to show you something.

You followed them, step after step, going exactly where the whispers directed you. Or, maybe you were following they’re volume, since you couldn’t really understand them.

Everything went quiet suddenly. You glanced around the hallway, before your eyes caught sight of a splash of colour. One of the frames had an actual picture in it.

You reached up to rub your eyes, in case you were seeing something, since it had been nothing but whites and browns all the way down the hallway, and now suddenly there was this one single picture with colours.

When you blinked again, the colours were still there. You stepped towards the picture—it was like nothing you’d ever seen before. But... at the same time it was familiar.

It really wasn’t anything special, a small house with a white picket fence surrounding the property. There houses on either side, ordinary and uniform, but each with personality. A cute little neighborhood.

The closer you looked, the more you could make out. The small windows on the house were full, detailed beyond imagination. But all of them... there was a little you in there.

One of the windows featured you with a pet—a cat or a dog, you couldn’t really make it. Possibly even a rodent, or a reptile, or something else along the lines. It was hard to see, but you could tell you adored whatever it was.

Another featured you with small children, possibly your own children, but you couldn’t be sure. They were cute, playing on the floor with you, showing you objects and giggling. You’d never really thought much about kids, but it was weird seeing some in the perfect little house the picture had.

One of the other windows was dimly lit, a living room or something in the late hours of the evening. You were cuddled up with someone, a significant other, on the couch, both watching a film, talking and laughing.

The last window housed you, and your friends and family all sitting together and laughing. The friends and family you had barely even spoken to since meeting the Doctor. The ones who left messages on your answering machine, and invited you out, despite not knowing you were adventuring in Outerspace with a literally alien.

They were all so domestic. So ordinary. It was... normal life. You assumed each window was a different representation of something. A pet, wanting children, a perfect significant other, and to be closer to those you love. It was cute, a cute concept.

You didn’t see the Doctor though. He was nowhere to be seen. He, and the TARDIS. Not so much as a glance at the Doctor.

The picture changed in the blink of an eye, and you were walking. In the picture. A different scene, the house was gone, and it was just you. You were just... walking down the street. And it looked nice. A relaxing walk. Nothing like exploring an alien planet with the Doctor, but you weren’t sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing.

You passed a blue police box, and barely batted an eyelash. You strolled passed a man sitting on a bench, which, when you looked closer, realized was the Doctor. He made no effort to speak to you, and you breezed right by him like you’d never even met him.

And... maybe you hadn’t in whatever this picture was showing you. It was hard to imagine never meeting the Doctor, and never seeing the things you’d seen in your travels. But this imagery the picture was supplying... it made it easier to think like that, not that it was really possible.

Everything the picture showed you was normal. Ordinary. It was relaxing. You could just... go for a stroll at any point, or get in the car and visit your friends, or your parents. You could step out of your door without being afraid.

There were no aliens, or potential death threats, or kidnappings, or strange creatures trying to get you, or to chase you around. You weren’t a part in trying to destroy the universe (unfortunate timing really), and you also weren’t a piece to the solution to said problems. You were just there, one of the regular people down on earth.

You weren’t afraid for your life, or for the Doctor’s life on some strange planet... it was just earth. Normal earth, with normal people and normal activities. Normal everything.

You’d never met the Doctor in these... whatever they were. Possible futures? Alternate universes?

You’d never met him and... your life was normal. You lived a regular life, like everyone else. You weren’t one of the special few the Doctor selected to travel with him and... that didn’t bother you.

It felt kind of nice actually, to be normal. To not be following the Doctor around on strange planets like a puppy, or to not be fearing for your life in a TARDIS crash landing. As much as you liked the Doctor, and your travels, you wouldn’t be disappointed or upset if... well, if none of it happened. If you’d never met the Doctor at all...

Your life looked like it would’ve been good, great even. Normal. Ordinary. Black and white. Vanilla.

You’d been in some dangerous situations, had actually thought yourself dead on a couple of occasions. You relied heavily on the Doctor to keep you safe. It was a lot. All of it was. And... it would be nice to have it be calm. The calm after a storm.

The whispering was back suddenly, louder than ever and urging you to reach up and touch the picture. It was promising things—a perfect life, a family, or a pet, anything your heart desired. It was promising to take away the pain of your traumas, and wipe your mind from all that caused you harm... the Doctor included.

And you... you couldn’t help but reach up to touch the picture.

It all sounded wonderful. Ideal, and perfect. A second chance without having to miss the Doctor because, well, you never would’ve met him in this timeline.

Your hand was hovering by the picture, rippling what you’d thought was a canvas. The whispers were growing louder, urging and begging you to touch. You wanted what it was offering. Something deep inside you wanted to touch the picture, and get the life it had showed you.

Your fingers got closer, and your mind started getting fuzzy and--

And everything stopped.

Your hand froze in place and the Doctor’s face came into view. He was blocking the picture; all you could see was his face. And... you could feel his fingers on your face, gentle and careful. The whispers were getting softer, further away.

“Please,” you heard. It was the Doctor, you thought. You knew his voice. He was pleading, voice tight and nervous, something you’d never heard before. “You can’t go, not yet. Please, it’s not real, (Y/N). You need to come back to me.”

You wanted to tell the Doctor that it looked pretty real to you. That you were so close to forgetting it all, and being normal. So close to a quiet life, without the hassle of a space and time machine, and a regenerating alien.

“I know,” the Doctor interrupted your thoughts as if he’d heard you. His voice was soft, maybe even hurt, “I know it seems perfect, but it’s not real, (Y/N). You need to snap out of it. You’re giving it what it wants, you’re feeding into it... You can’t. Don’t touch it, focus on me, alright? Focus here.”

You focused on the Doctor, on his soft pleads and appraisal. The whispers faded off to nothing and the colours behind the Doctor started fading away too, taking your quiet life away with them.

It was a sharp shock that really woke you up though. You blinked your eyes shut, an intense stinging from them being open for so long. You fell forwards, your body finally relaxing after being lured away. You never hit the ground though, you fell right into the Doctor, who caught you and held you close. “You’ve done it,” he whispered, “good job, (Y/N).”

“What... what happened?” you asked carefully. You remembered it clearly. The want to be taken away. The need for a normal and quiet life without the Doctor. The pull the canvas had to it. Even the ripping in the supposed canvas. “I almost fell in a canvas.”

The Doctor gave a laugh, not nearly as bright as it usually was. His eyes were sad, and he was holding you longer than he usually did when the two of you escaped danger. “You resisted,” the Doctor replied quietly, “I’m quite proud of you, that’s no easy feat.”

“The picture was luring me in,” you blinked, “what even was that?”

“It... it showed you your deepest desire. One you... may not have known you had—or maybe you did. Whatever it was, was feeding off the dopamine in your subconscious with seeing the desire fulfilled.”

Deepest desire. A quiet life was your deepest desire. Your life without the Doctor was your deepest desire. You felt terrible that that’s what you subconsciously wanted, even though you hadn’t known it.

“Did you see it too?” You asked calmly, looking back at the now blank frame. It was completely gone. No trace left behind of your deepest desire.

The Doctor hesitated for a second. A second longer than he usually did, “no,” he looked down, “I didn’t. It was just a white canvas for me. Only you can see your deepest desire, it’s just a blank canvas for everyone else.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, believing the Doctor’s words, but not really believing him. It sounded completely logical, but Time-Lords were incredible creatures, and you really had no idea whether or not he could actually see. You wished he couldn’t, that he hadn’t seen. You truly do love traveling with the Doctor... it just gets overwhelming at times. And... everyone wishes for a quiet life at some point, right?

“Let’s... let’s get back to the TARDIS. I think this has been enough excitement for the day, eh?”

The walk back was quiet, no whispering, or speaking. The frames on the walls did nothing. All uniform and identical just as when you’d come in. The TARDIS was further back than you remembered, but when you got to her, the Doctor ushered you in quickly.

You were taking off before you really knew what was happening.

“Do you think... all those frames had someone’s deepest desire in them?” you asked from where you were stood beside the console. The Doctor gave a shrug, pushing some buttons. He’d been quiet. Quieter than you could ever remember him being.

“It’s possible,” he answered shortly. “I’d assume yes though. Curious travelers like us are the perfect target for something like this.”

“Oh,” you frowned, “what would’ve... what would’ve happened if you touched the picture?”

The Doctor finally looked over at you, eyes sad, and lips curved down in a frown, “I think it would’ve absorbed you and given you what it promised. It would’ve fed off the dopamine being created like it had been doing, and it would’ve kept you happy in your desire.”

“I’m glad you got me out then,” you replied, looking down at your feet.

“Are you?” the Doctor asked without looking up from the console. You were sure he was purposely trying not to look at you. He was hurt. Now, without the lure of the picture, you could tell. He was sad, and hurting.

You frowned, thinking of something to say. You really didn’t believe he hadn’t seen your desire. Not with the whole kicked puppy look. He’d obviously seen something, and it hurt you that you made him feel like this.

“Did you hear the whispers?”

“I did.” He gave a nod, still not really looking up from the console. You were flying again, away from this orbital pull, “I saw my desire, but I was able to pull myself out of it.”

“What was your desire?” You asked quietly.

The doctor turned to you with a sad smile, “it wasn’t important,” he brushed off.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking down to hide his frown, and when he looked up once more, all traces of emotions were gone. All the sadness, all the fear. His frown replaced by a bright grin.

“Right then!” He chirped like the two of you hadn’t almost been lured into alien picture frames, “how about a visit to earth, huh? We can... let’s go meet your friends!”

<><><><><>

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and please feel free to leave me prompts! They’re very welcome, and very appreciated!

#Tenth Doctor #doctor who #10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x you #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #reader insert #TARDIS #angst #sad #david tennant #doctor who 2005 #prompt #fanfic #fanfiction

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harrysgloves · 5 years ago

Text

Let Your Hair Down (chapter xxviii)

Get caught up with the Let Your Hair Down Masterlist!

word count: 1,764

story summary: Harry gets more than he bargains for when he falls not only for you but your little girl as well.

chapter summary: Harry’s in over his head.

warnings: Language // mentions of injuries

a/n: Remember the good times? Yeah, they’re over. xx

>>><<<

Harry stared after your car. Eyes filled with tears as Mitch walked up behind him. He didn't know what to say to Harry to make it better, to comfort him, so he just stood there along with Sarah. All three of them looking at the road you had just torn through.

"She'll be okay." Mitch sighed, hand coming up on Harry's shoulder.

"You didn't 'ave to see it. I don't think she'll ever be okay after that." Harry jerked away and started towards his own car. His hands fishing around for the keys in his pocket.

"Don't follow her." Sarah yelled after him, making him pause.

"How am I supposed to jus' let her go after that? Huh? I'm jus' supposed to let her leave? Not check on her?" Harry's voice was laced with anger and hurt. Eyes filled with tears, he didn't know what to do. Didn't want to push you but he had to check on you. Had to make sure you were okay.

He loved you too much to leave you now.

"He's right. We should go check on her." Mitch piped up making Sarah raise her eyebrows at him.

"This is a bad idea. If she wanted us to be involved she wouldn't have run away." She sighed, shaking her head at both of them. She knew you well enough to know you wouldn't want anyone barging in and forcing you to talk.

"Fuck that. I care too much 'bout her to let her go through this alone. I'm goin' to her apartment, if she doesn't want me there she can tell me herself." Harry turned back and started walking to his car, Mitch and Sarah running after him.

"I'm coming with you." Mitch yelled after him but Harry ignored him. He didn't care if Mitch tagged along. He just needed to make sure you two were okay and make sure you got to a hospital. There was no way you didn't need to go to a hospital.

"No, Mitch, she didn't even want you to touch her. She's not going to want us trying to force our way in." Sarah pulled on his arm to get him to stop walking.

"She has been my best friend since we were kids. I can't leave her. And what about Thea? She wasn't just crying like that cause she saw her mom roughed up and you know it." Mitch's words made Harry stop in his tracks. Eyes closing as he took in a deep breath to face them.

"He hit her too. She ran in front 'f me when we went t'go lookin' fo' her. I was only a few seconds behind her but…" He trailed off, eyes looking away from both his friends who looked shocked.

"Jesus." Sarah sighed, hands running through her hair. "Fine, but only Harry goes to the apartment. She'll close up if we all show up."

Harry sat in your apartment for hours. Pacing the floor as he tried to call and text you over a hundred times. His hands running nervously through his hair as his mind went wild with all the possibilities of what happened to you two.

He called every hospital in the area, none of them could give out any information to him about any patients. Every nurse he talked to suggested getting a hold of you directly but you weren't answering your phone.

He even stooped low enough to have Mitch call your parents, trying to see if maybe they had talked to you. He even stalked your Instagram account to find your sister and messaged her to see if she had heard from you.

She hadn't.

And as he sat on your coffee table in your empty apartment, his heart felt like it was in pieces. He ran out of options and he was starting to wonder if he'd ever see you again when the front door opened.

"Y/N?" He asked, his head shooting up but when he saw the man walking through the door his heart fell.

"You must be the boyfriend." Your dad sighed, closing the door behind him.

"Uh, yeh, I'm her boyfriend, Harry. Who are you?" Harry asked, getting up from the coffee table, hands nervously clenching by his side.

"I'm Leo, Y/N's dad." He said, walking into the kitchen, rummaging through your cabinets.

"Oh. Have y'heard from her? How are they?" Harry asked, eyebrows pinching together wondering what the hell your dad was doing going through your shit.

"Ah, should have known she keeps it where I keep mine. Like father, like daughter, I guess." He smiled softly as he pulled the whiskey from the cabinet above the refrigerator.

"Figured you'd need this before I told you how she was doing." He sat a glass in front of Harry, filling both of them up.

Harry's eyes darting from his glass to your dad. Wondering how bad it had to be in order to need alcohol to hear it.

"I'm serious." He nudged the drink closer to Harry before taking a swig from his own glass.

"Right." Harry took the glass drinking the whole thing down in one go. Cringing from the burning sensation.

"She has a concussion, mild, so that's not too bad but the broken nose is going to have to have surgery to fix and her fractured eye socket is making her left eye swell shut. They had to stitch up her eyebrow that he split open and her hands have to be bandaged up for a while." He rested his hands against your kitchen counter, sighing as he looked at his half full glass.

"Jesus..." Harry said, biting the inside of his cheek. "How's Thea? She's okay, right?"

"Thea's good. Just a bump on her head. The welt on her cheek looks terrible but it'll go away."

Silence filled the room as Harry took in all the information. You were at least alive and talking to your parents which made his anxiety calm down a little bit. Knowing you both were okay made him feel slightly better but he couldn't understand why you didn't shoot him a text or call, hell he'd settle for smoke signals or pigeon at this point.

"Why isn't she answering my calls?" He sighed, hands covering his face, trying to not go crazy with all the questions he was asking himself.

Why did you run from him?

He loves you. Why couldn't you let him help you?

"Y/N's good at pushing people away." Leo sighed walking around the counter and pulling up a seat next to Harry. His hands and eyes fixed on his glass of whiskey.

"Yeh, I know." Harry scoffed, pouring himself another glass. He had a feeling he'd need it if he had to talk about how much you seemed to want to push him away.

One second he felt like he was finally breaking through. The next you were literally running away from him.

"She gave you a key though. I can tell you she doesn't do that for just anyone. I don't think Mitch has a key and he's the only friend she's managed to not chase off." Your dad smiled slightly, thinking back to all the shit you and Mitch used to get up to when you were kids.

There wasn't a house in the neighborhood safe from your TPing days.

"I don't understand how I can be there for them when she's constantly running away." Harry sighed, staring a hole into his drink. Lips pursed as he debated how he could convince you he'd always be around if you let him.

"You know, her mom was like that too when I met her. She was in this really bad relationship before me. I think Y/N was a little bit older than Thea when I met them. Her biological father was exactly like Ryan. Except stuff that happened today well… that was their normal. It took her a long time to get over it." He paused, staring off at your refrigerator before taking the last drink from his glass.

"History has a fucked up way of repeating itself, I guess." He sighed, head hanging down.

"Wait, y'not her real dad?" Harry asked, turning to your dad. He'd never asked you much about your family. He knew the basics but beyond that, he never asked anything else. You just always said you had great parents and an annoying but pretty cool when she wanted to be, little sister.

"Oh no, I am her real dad. Maybe not her biological dad but I'm her dad." Leo smiled, looking over to Harry, turning on his chair to get a better look at him.

"Oh." Harry's eyebrows pinched together tightly. He didn't want to offend him but he was so confused. Why had you never told him about any of this?

"Being a dad is more than just genetics. Thea will figure that out just like Y/N did." Your dad smiled at Harry which just confused him more. His bright green eyes fixating on the glass in front of him.

"And Y/N, she runs away from people who love her. She'd rather be lonely than vulnerable but I got a feeling that she'd open up to you if you'd give her time."

"Y'think?" Harry asked as he finally looked up from his glass to your still smiling dad. He looked like someone who had something figured out way before everyone else, so pleased with himself.

"Yeah, I do. Pretty sure they already chose you. You just don't realize it yet." His hand clasped on Harry's shoulder, shaking him gently back and forth.

"Whaddya mean?" His brows seemed to be permanently knitted together, so confused about why your dad looked so pleased in the middle of a terrible situation.

"That's a nice picture on the fridge Thea drew." He gestured towards your refrigerator, Harry's eyes darting across the room landing on a picture Thea had drawn for you.

It was you, Thea, and Harry all holding hands. A big heart encapsulating all three of you.

"Notice how it has you instead of Ryan? And how that's on her fridge along with all those pictures of you three? But not a single photo or drawing of him?" Your dad asked, Harry's eyes widening like he finally was seeing for the first time.

You'd let him in all along, just in the only way you knew how.

"It's 'cause they've already picked you." Your dad hummed out, pleased with himself as he stood up from your kitchen counter, leaving Harry to stare at all memories you guys had made.

#Harry Styles #Harry #Harry Styles x Reader #Harry Styles x Y/N #Harry Styles x You #Harry Styles Fanfic #Harry Styles Fanfiction #Fanfic #fanfiction #writing #minesona #LYHD

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