#you could just mock up a conversion method and call it good

[askshivanulegacy]

Reblogging a sourced version.

It's worth remembering that this has nothing to do with the normal person's normal gameplay. Your campaigns are safe, your characters and stories and mods are just fine. It goes without saying that anything and everything you do in your private lives and personal spaces with published or free content is completely legal and no one will know or can tell you to stop.

This does not affect players and you can continue playing with whatever and however you like, regardless of how this thing goes, with zero impact to you.

It's only going to be relevant to people trying to profit significantly from D&D stuff. Obviously not great if the change holds, but also not something that affects your games.

So, what is the OGL and why are DnD creators thoroughly screwed?

Tumblr has not been doing a great job at talking about this, but:

With OneDnD, Wizards of the Coast has decided to update the Open Game License (OGL). Said license is what allowed people to create homebrew DnD content and sell it, and even larger companies to use certain sorts of content. Pathfinder, for example, is built on said OGL. This also allows streamers and artists to exist and benefit from said content.

With OneDnD (sometimes called “dnd 6e”), WOTC wants to create a much more restrictive OGL, which will, amongst other things:

Make WOTC take a cut for any DnD-related work (according to Kickstarter, a whole 25% of the benefits)

Let WOTC cancel any project related to DnD up to their discretion

Let WOTC take ANY content made based on their system, and re-sell it without crediting you, or giving you a single cent

And most importantly, revoke the old OGL, which will harm any company or game system that used it as a base, such as Pathfinder. And it means they GET ownership over any homebrew content you may have done for 5e in the past!

It’s important to note that OGLs are supposedly irrevocable. They were planning to use it for OneDnD initially, but they want to apply it retroactively to 5e, somehow. Which is illegal, but lawyers have mentioned there’s a chance they may get away with it given the wording.

This means that anything you make based on DnD (A homebrew item? A character drawing? Even music, according to them?), can get taken and used as they deem appropiate.

These news come from a leak of the OGL, which have been confirmed by multiple reputable sources (including Kickstarter, which has confirmed that WOTC already talked with them about this), and was planned to be released next week.

So, what can we do?

Speak against it. Share the word. Reblog this post. Let people know. Tumblr hasn’t been talking much about this matter, but it’s VERY important to let people know about what is WOTC bringing. 

Boycott them. Do not buy their products. Do not buy games with their IP. Do not watch their movie. CANCEL your DnD Beyond subscription. (Btw, they ARE planning to release more subscription services too!). They do not care about the community, but they care about the money. Make sure to speak through it. 

And maybe consider other TTRPG systems for the time being, Pathfinder’s Paizo has been much nicer to the community, their workers are unionized and are far more healthy overall

[evalevaeva]

rival | yeon sieun

warning : death

Yeon Sieun wasn't just a schoolmate. You wouldn't have considered him a friend or someone you hate. The two of you acknowledged each others existence, knowing that the other person existed simply because of one piece of paper that was pasted on the signboard of Byuksan Middle School's notice board every few months.

"First : Yeon Sieun," That was what the board would read every month from the first year of school, but somehow by the third test of the fourth year, yeon sieun's name was not first.

"Did you hear? Yeon sieun got knocked off first place!" Students began gossiping as yeon sieun stood in front of the noticeboard, face blank, but his eyes showed anger.

To say he was angry would be an understatement. He aas furious, his heart pumped faster and he could hear ringing in his ears as he walked back to his seat, acting as he would on a normal day as the students in the class looked at him, muttering and whispering to each other.

"Congratulations! I can't believe you did so well for the mock exams! You'll definitely ace the exams by CSAT year!" The sound of female students congratulations caught Sieun's attention as he raised his head to look at the window in the corridor.

You were walking with four other female students, a large smile plastered onto your face as you shook your head at your friends' words, shy from their compliments.

For the first time in a long time, Sieun felt the feeling of inferiority creeping up his neck like a silent monster. His grip on his pen became tighter as his eyes were glued onto the notebook in front of him, not wanting to think about the result slip on the noticeboard.

"Sieun," You called out his name as you held your tray of food. The boy looked up from his English textbook as he looked at you, his earpieces still in his ears as you exhaled, feeling the awkwardness creeping up your arms.

"Could I sit here? I wanted to talk to you about certain subjects because I'm still not at my best," You asked until you realised that he was ignoring you, eyes glued back onto the text on the book in front of his face as you sighed, turning to walk back to the table with your friends.

That was over a year ago, and by the actual examination, sieun was back on top, with you being in second. That didn't bother you. You weren't aiming for the top, just high enough to get into a good school later on in life.

By the last year of school, the teachers saw that both of you were high academic achievers, which led to their decision to make both of you seatmates.

The air was tense at first. You never knew if you should talk to him or wait for him to start a conversation. You chose the latter, thinking back on your only other encounter with him the previous year.

Over the course of half a year, you were still struggling with Additional Mathematics, and you could never really understand it. You would've asked your classmates but only one other student took Additional Mathematics with you, and that was, lo and behold, Yeon Sieun.

It was break time, and on a usual day, you would've been at the snack bar with your friends deciding what to eat, but today wasn't the case. You had to figure out how to do the hard questions before the exams, and you were still struggling. The teacher was no help, simply telling you to check with Sieun. If you could, you would've.

"The shoelace method."

You lifted your head up from the paper as you turned to see sieun still writing in his notebook, despite you having just heard his voice.

"The shoelace method...?" You questioned him again as he turned to you, his face with his signature cold look, but he was offering help, who were you to reject that?

Sieun adjusted his seat as he moved slightly closer to your table, his chair slanted in your direction.

"I assume you already know the formula?" Sieun asked, not looking at you as his head was tilted slightly, reading the question carefully as he clicked his pen, writing down in blue ink as he explained.

"Take the points in the anti-clockwise direction. The first point chosen must be repeated..." Sieun explained as he wrote down the formula and numbers for the polygon.

You should have been focused, but somehow... having yeon sieun so closd to you made your heart jump. You gulped as you blinked, hard, focusing on the problem at hand.

"You can use the numbers in the motion of a shoelace, x1 with y2, so on and so forth, and eventually, you'll get this answer," Sieun wrote down the final answer as you looked at him, feeling starstruck.

Everyone knew he was smart, but getting to experience his academic ability first-hand made you feel a newfound respect for him. He knew his work, and he made sure he did.

That single event with both of you led to a more comfortable atmosphere as the days passed. Sieun didn't act like you didn't exist, and you could talk to him easily, most of the time.

A simple 'good morning sieun' and a nod back was a more usual occurrence between the both of you and the teachers were more than elated by that.

On that particular day, you didn't seem yourself, even sieun could see it. You didn't speak nor look at anyone in the class as yoj entered, head hanging low as you sat in your seat. You took out your books and placed them on the table, placing your head on them as you closed your eyes, feeling the lack of sleep beginning to seep in.

Your situation at home led to your current state, but you couldn't tell anyone. It's normal academic pressure, it was nothing to worry about ; you chose to believe it. Your grades were beginning to slip, slowly like a snake creeping up with its venom. Your parents weren't happy, a screaming match ensued the moment you arrived home at the start of the week and it was already Friday. You were exhausted. Emotionally and physically, you were done.

"Wake up. The teacher's here," Sieun muttered as he tapped on your shoulder, causing you to flinch as you woke up from your five minutes of sleep.

"I'll be announcing the winner of the additional mathematical olympiad competition that was held recently," The homeroom teacher spoke, but you were to busy beginning to doze off as the teacher's sudden mention of your name caused you to wake up once again.

"Congratulations, this prize is awarded to this student for achieving first place in the additional mathematics olympiad." The teacher announced as you stood up, walking to the teacher to receive the certificate, before plopping down on your seat once again.

"Yeon Sieun, second place," The teacher announced as loud gasps were heard around the room.

You opened your eyes as you saw Sieun at the front of the class, taking the certificate half-heartedly as he gave you the same glare he had given you a year ago, over the mock exam results.

"Now, now, settle down class," the teacher shouted over the muttering and chatter in the class while you were trying to grasp a few more minutes of sleep.

Everyone had gone for their lunch, and it was just you and sieun in the classroom.

"Was it fun?" Sieun suddenly asked, he was seated, facing the board as you turned to him, confused and exhausted.

"What?" You questioned back as sieun turned to you, his eyes glaring at you ad he continued, "Did you just want help because you wanted to surpass me? To get first place?"

You were too tired for this. Everything was becoming a blur in your head.

"Look, if you wanted to win that math olympiad, you could've said so. I didn't even want to take part in it, the teacher in charge signed me up," you muttered as sieun suddenly slammed the desk with his arm, causing it to turn red with each second that passed.

"You're lazy, and all you do is leech off of others. You ask me for help in everything, but can't even do such a basic concept like polygons." Sieun scoffed as you turned to him, eyebrows furrowed at his sudden aggresiveness.

"What is wrong with you? Just because of a stupid math competition, you're attacking me? Watch your mouth yeon sieun," You spat back at him as he turned to face you, his anger reaching its limits.

"You're pathetic," Sieun stated heartlessly as you stood up, grabbing your textbooks, shoving them into your bag, not caring if the covers or pages were bent. You made your way out of the class, walking down the hallway as you made your way to the main office.

"I'm not feeling well. I need to go home," you told the receptionist as she handed you the form to fill out to leave school early.

Sieun's words were echoing in your head as you thought about his harsh words. He was just like everyone around you. Your parents, always telling you to work harder, unsatisfied with everything that you did for your academics.

You walked down the path from the school gate to the bus stop as you quietly wiped away the tears that were threatening to fall. Floodgates were about to be released, but with the many people at the bus stop, that would be embarrassing. Your vision was still blurry from the lack of sleep, but you kept repeating in your head that it was nothing to worry about.

That was until your legs gave out, and the next thing you knew, you were on the floor, your head facing the road as you felt people calling out to you. They sounded mumbled, as if you were underwater. The world seemed to become a whirlpool as you inhaled deeply, before blacking out, the last thing being the sound of the ambulance.

The next week came, and Sieun walked into the classroom, waiting patiently with a box of milk, patiently waiting for you to arrive. He had thought about his actions over the weekend and realised he had lost his cool over something minor, and he had definitely hurt you. He tried to convince himself that he did the right thing, but he couldn't. Remembering how you looked at him, face full of hurt and hands trembling, he couldn't.

The bell rang, and the boy looked up from his notebook to see the seat next to him empty. You didn't arrive. Maybe you were late? He told himself as he placed the milk under your desk for you to see when you arrived.

"I have news to share with all of you," the teacher started as she walked into the classroom with a vase of white flowers, the atmosphere becoming heavy. The teacher was barely ever serious unless something bad happened, and that wasn't a good sign to sieun.

"Our classmate has passed away on Friday. I would like everyone to remember our dear friend as someone who was hard working and could be relied on."

Sieun's ears seemed to ring. A high-pitched ring with a buzzing feeling in his head as he turned to look at his classmates. Only your seat was empty.

"Sieun," the teacher called him as he snapped out of his daze, realising she was standing beside your table.

"I hope you're alright. I know the sudden news shocked you seeing as the both of you were quite close," The teacher said as she placed the flowers on your desk, leaving it as sieun couldn't help but stare at it.

You were gone, and the last thing he called you was 'pathetic'. He was so caught up in his inner turmoil that he was so blind as to not see you suffering right in front of his two very eyes.

Sieun reached out his hand, his hand grazing the clear vase as he thought of when he'd pat your head when you'd sleep in class. He didn't expect that the next time he'd see you, you would be in a casket, with a large potrait of your school photo in front of it.

"You must be yeon sieun." a voice called out as sieun turned to see an old woman in a black hanbok, a chief mourner badge around her arm as sieun nodded.

"You were always spoken highly of. My grandchild would always come home and excitedly tell me about how she talked to you more with each day that passed." the old woman told sieun as he looked to the ground. He felt ashamed, as if he shouldn't have been there. Even in death, you'd still find a way to clench his heart.

Sieun sat at his desk at home, staring at the wall. He felt as if his soul had been removed from his body. He always felt void of emotions, but somehow, he felt like there were too many emotions.

One drop, two drops.

Sieun felt his tears running down uncontrollably, not being able to keep himself together. Sieun never had many friends, but somehow, he always found you sneaking into his heart as someone dear to him, as someone he'd want in his life.

But it was too late. You were no longer a rival, but a friend.

---

MY ASS BRUH I WORKED ON THIS FOR 2 HOURS AND IT TURNE DOUT LIKE SHIT IM SO MAD AT 4:38AM AND ITS JFJFJRWBWJ

also the math part was kind of entertaining to write other than the fact i couldn't write the formula in so pls imagine it

[broken-clover]

Since it doesn’t look like I’m gonna be finishing this year’s Mermay fic on time as I had hoped (still working on it though! Just gonna be late) and I still wanted to do something, I’m gonna just toss some miscellaneous bullets and whatnot for Illyria Aquarium that I either are so small haven’t found a way to bring them up in a plot yet or have changed because of Strive’s continuing narrative (esp regarding Asuka being released). Just a little fun grab bag of stuff!

-Asuka still visits Henry (Happy) in prison from time to time. Part of him genuinely still believes they can come to an understanding someday, but Henry only mocks him for his sentimentality. 

-It doesn’t help that as the years pass Henry only seems to become more unhinged from his time in jail. He happily embraces it, and Asuka can only reflect upon how his old friend and mentor could have turned into something like this

-Asuka has also started to try reaching out to Aria again as a friend after taking in Elphelt and Ramlethal. She has been very hesitant so far, but she can at least stand a short phone call every once in a while.

-Faust, like many seahorses, can make popping sounds by rubbing together parts of his skull. It is very good he wears the hats because watching him do it makes children cry

-Sin loves Dizzy, and nobody has any idea why. Sure, Dizzy loves and cares for all the mer, and some return that affection in varying ways, but as soon as Sin sees her visit he’ll swim headfirst into his tank wall and not even care that he gave himself a concussion. Her visits have to be carefully scheduled to keep him from doing it again

-Bedman was recently renamed as part of a fundraiser/charity drive for the aquarium. People who donated were allowed to submit and vote for name ideas, with the winning name being ‘Romeo.’ I-no assumes it was picked for irony’s sake.

-Despite his disdain for most other mer, Sol doesn’t seem to mind Bridget as much 

-Asuka’s main method of attempting to work through his problems is talking to himself in a mirror and pretending it’s a conversation. Raven has walked in on his doing it several times now.

-Mer can’t speak in the same way that humans can, nor can most fully understand human language, but May has the ability to make sounds that are very close to words.

-Needless to say, this has caused problems.

-Technically she didn’t say ‘fuck’ right in front of a middle school field trip, but it sure as hell sounded like it, and the parent chaperones were very unhappy.

-Sol, May, Millia, Baiken and Leo have all almost accidentally killed the staff members at least once, however Answer and Romeo are the only ones with the prestigious honor of trying to do so on purpose

-I-no became a marine biologist entirely out of spite

-Raven has been declared clinically dead seven times and legally dead twice. If you ask him about it he just shrugs and says he has ‘overdramatic organs.’

[grayintogreen]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Hello, hello. Since there won't be an update for a bit, I COME BEARING GIFTS. A little snippet from the unfortunately massive Chapter Seventeen, featuring the Tether Twins.

“I don’t like him,” Molly snapped as he stalked side by side with Lucien through the Firmaments. The perpetual night meant always being in Catha’s glow no matter what the time and it should have made every trip out bliss for him, but Essek’s shadow seemed to hang over everything, leaving him constantly vigilant, like the Shadowhand fully intended to pick them all off to isolate them from Caleb, whom he seemed to have the most interest in.

“Careful,” Lucien said, biting into a sweet plum he’d managed to talk a fruit vendor into giving up for less than it was worth for how rare it was. Molly hadn’t even gotten irritated about it. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

He was poking him in the ribs. He had to be. But when Molly looked over at Lucien, juice on the corner of his lips that he licked off with an unforked tongue, he wasn’t teasing. “I don’t want you to be me. I’m me. You’re… The cast off bits I didn’t want.”

“Why Lucien, that’s as close as you’ve come to reconciling me as a person out loud.” The anger didn’t stop Molly’s sarcasm from coming out like melodrama. He clasped his heart. “I’m gonna get the vapors.”

Lucien rolled his eyes. “There you are. Now stop pouting just because your sweetheart is having his intellect tickled by a pretty wizard.”

“I’m not jealous.” He wasn’t. He didn’t get jealous. He and Caleb didn’t have that kind of possessive relationship because neither would thrive in it. Molly would run as fast as he could if Caleb tried to make a cage of his arms around him, even after Molly swore up and down that he’d given himself over to him when they shared blood during the ritual. The fact that he knew Caleb would never take advantage of him was why he could do it.

Conversely, Molly knew that Caleb had methods of dealing with problems that might lead him to… well, whatever he was doing with Essek. If it led him to Essek’s bed, that would be fine if Essek weren’t a fucking wizard, whom they had notoriously bad luck with, or one of the most powerful figures in the Bright Queen’s court and Yeza’s jailer, and he was both.

He knew why Caleb was doing it. He knew he could trust Caleb. He didn’t know anything about Essek and no way of learning more since the bastard kept refusing to meet anywhere but at the Quavein Estate when the rest of the Nein were out save for Molly. It was an obvious ploy, but Caleb was certain his was better, and all that left Molly with was an impotent fury that he could do nothing but wait and watch and hope.

“You know, there’s a simple solution.” Lucien paused to finish off his plum. “Think of what I could do with a body like his.”

Molly almost choked. “I thought you wanted to keep this one.”

“Yellow’s not my color,” Lucien shrugged, throwing his own words back at him. “Might be nice to be the one with all the power at my fingertips again.”

The worst part was Molly was deeply considering it, which meant it was a bad idea. Lucien could do a lot of damage with that kind of power and that was with Molly trusting him not to go completely evil on them. Calling him the cast off bits of his soul he didn’t want might as well have been a flat admittance that he didn’t want him anymore and therefore had no reason to turn on the Nein unless his dignity was worth avenging. It also meant that he was rejecting all the good he could have had in him, which was sort of a step backwards. “We would have to kidnap a political figurehead who knows Dynasty secrets. What d’you think happens in that scenario?”

Lucien sighed in mock-whimsy. “I set everyone on fire and it’s wonderful.”

“I think you dream so much it fucks up how you see reality.” Molly shook his head. “You have to keep your feet on the ground sometimes.”

“That’s a laugh. Advice on staying on the ground for the whimsical, untethered circus clown.” Lucien’s cackle alarmed a couple of small drow children playing ball on the cobblestones and they darted away lest the scary yellow tiefling eat their hearts the same way he ate that plum.

“There’s a difference between knowing what’s real is shite and making it better and dreaming it away, Lucien. When you wake up, it’s still shite. D’you ever think that was what your problem was the whole time?”

“We’re not talking about me. We always talk about me and what my problems are.” He scoffed, bitterly. “You think you don’t have any worth talking about and I know that’s a lie. Maybe you’re not jealous, but you want to break that wizard’s neck because he’s fucking up your plans and holding you all hostage. You like having control over things just as much as I do.”

“Not just as much.”

Lucien made a noncommittal hmph noise and licked the clinging plum juice from his fingers where they stained the yellow skin purple. He drew them back a bit, studying the hue, his tail swishing a bit in clear agitation. This body wasn’t right either and every now and then it seemed to hit him- a glance in a mirror, the horns not responding right, the tail having the wrong shape.

Stain from a juicy plum on his fingers turning the topaz flesh to lavender.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and changed the subject, lest they both banter analysis of each others’ mental states back and forth like a shuttlecock. The worst part of the tether wasn’t the risk of bleedover or influence or unwanted shared memories but the mortification of having every single bit of emotional turmoil being right there for perusal through the tether to be thrown out as a smokescreen to avoid difficult conversations. “I’ve done some research into this consecution business.”

Molly whipped his head towards him, so shocked that he forgot he still had plenty to be annoyed by. “Why?”

“Well for starters, everyone forgets I haven’t been here for all of your little adventures.” Molly wanted to say, flat out, that of course everyone remembered that Lucien wasn’t there and those times were better, but found he couldn’t for a reason he didn’t want to examine. He was fine with badgering Lucien, but somehow actively hurting his feelings was where his line hit now. He deserved to be pestered, not bullied. “And if I want an explanation that isn’t inane, I have to find it myself.”

“For starters,” Molly repeated, just in case Lucien had designs on keeping the other reasons secret.

Lucien went silent for a moment, his stained fingers flexing like he wished he had something to do with them. “If DeRogna was doing studies on this Luxon Beacon, then maybe she used that knowledge to botch the ritual.”

Molly stopped walking abruptly. “Lucien, why would you want to know that?”

Lucien stopped too and eyed him. He could see it in his head, a series of thoughts that weren’t performative the way his words always were. Unschooled, unpracticed, and left to roam, they were explosions of sharp indignation and little pinpricks of fear and revulsion. Without that little insight into his motivations, Molly wouldn’t have believed him when he said, very seriously, “I want to know what was done to me, so it won’t happen again.”

What could Molly say to that? He was well within his rights to want to know. Even if he wanted to recreate it to inflict it upon someone else, he would have still had a right to figure it out for his own peace of mind. The Nein weren’t his masters. He was free to do what he wanted so long as it didn’t hurt anyone in the group or put them in danger and every time Molly believed that Lucien might be thinking of putting them in danger, he felt that sharp explosion behind his eyes of Lucien’s indignation, like he was trying to stab him with it.

He can’t change if we don’t let him.

Molly just shook his head and sighed in defeat. Some days it was easier to remember Lucien wasn’t the monster he’d made of him in his head, just someone disillusioned enough to cause harm while trying to do good and jaded enough to believe good alone would never be efficient enough to fix a broken age. He was still that person, hiding behind an armored shell of necessary evils and slowly peeling back the layers and every single time Molly or anyone else saw an opportunity he might latch onto to pull himself out of his bad situation and braced themselves for it, he slipped further and further from grace. Eventually, he might not even think about it happening at all and just stay there, rather than begrudgingly pull himself back.

“No one’s gonna let it happen to you again, Lucien,” Molly blurted out before he could stop himself from getting too schmaltzy with his intent. “Nothing like that is gonna happen to you or anyone else. If you want to understand it, fine. But we’re not going to let anyone hurt you like that again, so you don’t have to worry about it..”

The filigreed cleaver-end of Lucien’s tail flicked back and forth. There was shock behind his eyes before he closed it all off and started walking again. “I’ve heard that before.”

And just like that, Molly’s irritation was back, as if it had never left. A cloud passed over Catha as if to reflect it. He yelled after him, “You make it really difficult to do right by you, you arsehole.”

[digitalalphamedia]

The Step-by-Step Guide How to Design Location Landing Pages That Increase Leads

A location landing page is a powerful tool for any business with multiple locations. When designed and executed well, a location landing page can help boost your SEO, increase conversion rates, and improve customer satisfaction. In this article, we'll walk you through the key steps to designing and launching a successful location landing page.

What are Location Landing Pages?

Location landing pages are those that are designed to appeal to a specific geographic area. They typically feature content that is relevant to the location, including information on local attractions, businesses, and events. A well-designed location landing page can be a powerful tool for driving conversions, as it allows you to target a specific audience with relevant content. When designing a location landing page, there are a few key elements to keep in mind. First, the page should be designed to load quickly and be mobile-friendly. Second, the content should be relevant and engaging, with a focus on attracting the attention of the target audience. Finally, the page should include calls to action that encourage visitors to take the desired action, such as making a purchase or signing up for a newsletter. By following these tips, you can create location landing pages that are designed for conversion success. Consult With Location Landing Page Experts

How To Write Perfect Location Landing Pages

You have one chance to make a first impression. And when it comes to location-based businesses, that first impression happens on your landing page. It’s essential that your landing page accurately reflects your brand and entices visitors to take the next step—whether that’s making a reservation, signing up for a tour, or even just learning more about your business. The good news is, with a little planning and forethought, you can design a high-converting location landing page that will help you achieve your business goals. Here’s a step-by-step guide to get you started.

- Title Tag The Title Tag is made to contain the product’s or service name, and the location of the business offering the product or service. Say for instance we intend to create a Location Landing Page for “Tandoor Manufacturer,” the primary way to build this for most SEO professionals would most likely involve creating a Location Landing Page with the product and its location made conspicuous. For example: “Tandoor Manufacturer in Delhi”. There’s no harm done with this practice and it sure will provide appreciable results.

- H1 (Header 1) The first header is usually made similar to the Title Tag in many SEO practices. In the case of the example cited above, the H1 tag could be “Best Tandoor Manufacturer in Delhi.” - H2 (Header 2) The second header allows for the use of more keywords. But quite often, most SEOs do not utilize their H2s. A fitting example for the mock service above would be: “Looking for tandoor manufacturing company in Delhi”? - Content (particular to the Location) The grave error most SEOs make in this regard is that they generalize their content. For a Location-targeted Landing Page, the content on such a page must reflect and provide adequate information about the location. In our  example, the content will become very applicable if it talks about other important features of the location ranging from the weather to the economy, population, important dates, beautiful spots for sightseeing, etc. Further streamlining of the content will include facts about the tandoor/oven industry in that location (e.g. Delhi). Providing streamlined/boilerplate content that changes on each location automatically can help scale when creating a massive amount of Location Landing Pages. Often this method is called the Smart Content Method and involves the use of Smart Content SEO Tools. Let's Talk About Deeper Steps While Creating Perfect Location Landing Pages The basics of building a Location Landing Page have been carefully highlighted above. But those who want more than just the basics, you can do much more with Location Landing Pages. We are about to delve deep as promised — here are the points you need to know: - Images (Relevant to the Location) SEO professionals are often guilty of channeling all their SEO efforts towards other aspects of their SEO campaign, but they often forget the importance of images. Failing to optimize images is usually heavily reflected in a Location Landing Page that lacks a unique image. Local Search Marketing endeavors require unique images on your Location Landing Page. A unique image in this sense should have no prior presence on the internet. It must be related to the topic and must resonate with the target audience To suit our example above, we will need to make sure that the image selected will have elements related to, for example “Tandoor/Oven” and the location “Delhi”. - Display a physical location to represent the service The location of the business can be essential to running a successful Location SEO campaign. A Local Search Optimization will be more useful for Google if there a physical address on your Location Targeted Landing Page. Google has many capabilities that will allow it interpret your address from the content on your Landing Page. - Google Map With your address on your Landing Page already, many people would tell you that it is important to embed a Google Map on your Landing Page. However, that’s exactly what you shouldn’t do in 2022 in our experience, anymore.

Benefits of Location Landing Pages

If you're running a business with multiple locations, then you know how important it is to have a strong online presence. One way to achieve this is by creating location landing pages for each of your locations. Location landing pages are designed to help improve your search engine ranking for specific geographic areas, and they can also be used to target local customers with special offers and deals. If you're not sure how to get started with designing location landing pages, don't worry - we've got you covered. In this article, we'll walk you through the process step-by-step, so you can create landing pages that are both effective and attractive. By the end, you'll have all the tools you need to start driving more traffic and conversions from your local customers. Let's get started!

Location landing pages bring many benefits to businesses in all industries as well as to consumers. Searching for area-specific keywords helps consumers decipher what local companies provide the products or services for which they’re searching. People want convenience, and one of the most convenient things is finding a company that fulfills a demand and that’s close to home. Search engines may increase rankings of websites with properly optimized location landing pages because these pages, when optimized for local users, improve user experience with search engines and tailor the experience to users’ needs. Search engines strive to make their sites user-friendly and beneficial to the consumer more than to businesses. Location landing pages do pose some advantages to customers, but their main benefit is better, more effective search engine optimization. Search engine optimization is a process that increases visibility and, ultimately, impressions and conversions for a business’s website. Creating location landing pages is mainly for SEO purposes, as it helps the business target location-based customers and service areas. Location-based keywords offer much more obtainable rankings than broader terms. Targeting smaller service areas and locations increases the chances of finding a customer who will become a conversion. Targeting long-tailed keywords means you can rank more quickly for search terms and achieve more visibility with people in your service area. Appealing to a more succinct target audience is one of the most beneficial changes you can make to your website for SEO. Consult a professional, trustworthy SEO company to find and research the best key terms to optimize your website. It can also be beneficial to have your SEO company create your location landing pages so that they’re explicitly built for optimization and uniqueness. Copy-and-pasted content on every single location landing page may appear as spam to search engines and hurt optimization rather than help it.

Where To Publish Location Landing Pages On Your Website

If you're running a business with multiple locations, it's important to have location landing pages on your website. Location landing pages help customers find the information they need about a specific location, and can be a powerful tool for driving conversions. There are a few things to keep in mind when designing location landing pages: 1. Make sure the page is clearly labeled with the location name and address. 2. Include key information about the location, such as hours of operation, contact information, and directions. 3. Use images and videos to give visitors a sense of what the location looks like. 4. Use persuasive copy to highlight the benefits of visiting the specific location. 5. Include calls-to-action (CTAs) that encourage visitors to take action, such as making a reservation or scheduling an appointment. By following these tips, you can create location landing pages that are designed for conversion success. Need Help In Creating Location Landing Pages Competing with Google Local Results/ Google My Business Results If you're trying to get your business to show up in Google Local results (or Google My Business results), you're going to need to design a location landing page that converts. Here's a step-by-step guide to doing just that. 1. Know your audience. Who are you trying to reach with your location landing page? What are their needs and wants? What kind of language do they use? Answering these questions will help you better design your page to appeal to your target audience. 2. Make it easy to find your location. Your page should have prominently displayed maps, directions, and contact information so potential customers can easily find and get in touch with your business. 3. Use engaging visuals. People are more likely to remember information that is presented visually, so make sure your page includes images and videos that showcase your products or services. 4. Highlight special offers and deals. If you're running any specials or discounts, be sure to mention them on your location landing page! This is a great way to entice potential customers to visit your business. 5. Use testimonials and customer reviews. Social proof is powerful stuff - use testimonials from

Conclusion

To maximize your search results and lead generation, make sure that you design separate landing pages for each city that you’re targeting and attach a Google+ local page for your physical address. Above all, create unique, location-specific copy for your landing pages.  Building a local landing page requires an investment. It could be the investment of your time, money or both. However, it’s become a lot easier these days, because of the plethora of landing page creators and landing page templates. Landing pages don’t have to stand alone. They can be attached to your blog posts or corporate website. When marketers think of a landing page, they’re thinking about a page that helps them capture an audience and begin the relationship process. A lot of marketers are more concerned about the aesthetics of the page, a clean design, and a good visual user experience, rather than its functionality. But, Google views landing pages differently. If you study your Google analytics carefully, you’ll discover that Google defines landing pages as any page on which search users entered your site. For example, if people discover and come to your site through the about page, Google will treat it as a landing page. But you (as the marketer) may not have viewed your about page that way. Here’s how to strike a balance: Treat every page as a landing page. This is a game-changer, it means that you can start considering CTA buttons on your web pages, that you study landing page templates to see how you can take those ideas and apply them to your web site, and that you start to think outside the box when it comes to conversion rates and lead gen across the board, even right down to your social media sites. There are good reasons why people should visit your web site, starting from the about page, service page or even the contact page. It’s your responsibility to optimize these pages for mobile, make them insanely fast, and add relevant calls to action. Read the full article

[rowaelinismyotp]

The 50-yard Line

Masterlist

written for day 7 of @elorcanweek2022

a/n: not edited, sorry if it sucks- i’m trying to get back into the groove of writing. i had this sitting in my drafts for months and elorcan week finally pushed me to finish. also side note cause i just wanted to tell someone: i actually wrote this on paper to get the ideas flowing and it kinda worked!! but it was a pain in the ass to type so i don’t know how i feel about the method. anyways, hope you enjoy :)

wordcount: 2.8k

~ ~ ~

“Salvaterre! Whitethorn! Get your asses on the line!”

Lorcan Salvaterre rolled his eyes at the senior screaming instructions: Erawan Valg. The guy had it all: the ladies, the popularity, the money, not to mention he was the captain of the football team (but did it count if it was because his dad was the coach? Lorcan didn’t think so). But, Lorcan mused to himself, he’d rather be a broke virgin loser than be stuck with a personality as vile as that.

Lorcan wobbled as he stood up from where he was taking his water break between sprints, feeling like a newborn fawn on a ship caught in a storm. Fuck, he would definitely need an ice bath when he got home. Erawan was not taking it easy on the rest of the team today. Maybe he had some issues with his daddy dearest, the coach. Seeing how hard it was considering it was only week two of the season, Lorcan couldn’t say he was particularly excited for the rest of the season, no matter how much he loved playing.

Football was his way out of this small town. Rowan may have had the brains but for Lorcan, he honestly couldn’t give a shit about academics. That was definitely not his calling, as made evident by his grades. People would always say he couldn’t amount to anything, a foster kid bouncing around in the system, house to house. At least Rowan had a future, they said. Well, he was determined to prove them wrong. 

Rowan and Lorcan had been adopted together at 10 after staying together in the system since they were 6, both boys facing traumatic childhoods with Lorcan and his substance-addicted mother and Rowan with his emotionally and physically abusive aunt. Gavriel had adopted them. They would mock him, asking how much of a family could they be, a real family anyway, but Lorcan didn’t give a shit what people thought. He was happy, Rowan was happy, and his little family of three was happy, the third being Gavriel, their adoptive father. Apparently, the man had grown up in foster care as well and after the death of his wife and son, he decided to comply with his late wife’s wishes for him to adopt a child to give them a loving home and family, things both she and her husband didn’t have growing up. Gavriel saw Lorcan and Rowan and had seen himself in them, at least, that’s what it said in his journal. Lorcan hadn’t meant to snoop one day, he was just looking for a spare notebook he could use, but the juicy tidbit of gossip was just too good not to share with Rowan. Though Rowan pretended to be dismayed as to how Lorcan got the information, he knew that on the inside, the little gossiper would be having a field day at the minefield of information. They knew they could talk to Gavriel about anything, it was just more exciting this way.

That had been 6 years ago when little Lorcan’s biggest concern was if Gavriel would return them to the foster home like an ill-fitting pair of jeans. Now, his concerns were football and college. Bemoaning the hour of ‘optional’ practice they surely had left, Lorcan turned towards the bleachers, suddenly distracted by the recognizably familiar pair of blood-red converse. There was only one person at this school with those shoes. Shaky legs and exhaustion forgotten, Lorcan jogged up to Erawan and his right-hand man Duke Perrington to ask for a break to use the bathroom. Sent off with a careless wave and some crude joke Lorcan didn’t care to hear, he turned with a huge grin that was an accurate representation of how his heart felt at seeing Elide Lochan. 

They had met at one of Aelin Galathynius’ birthday ragers, Lorcan only tagging along for his brother Rowan, the hopeless idiot crushing on Aelin. Lorcan had been in the corner, ignoring the piss-poor beer he was handed and lamenting his decision in letting Rowan drag him along when that bastard had left him for Aelin after she batted her lashes at him. Elide had been looking for a way to avoid Erawan, landing herself on his lap with a hurriedly whispered ‘Please play along’ before pressing her lips to his. They kissed awkwardly for a while, Lorcan only putting his hands on her thighs when she placed them there before Elide was sure Erawan had gotten the message. They escaped to one of the spare bedrooms upstairs to further cement their lie for Erawan with an explanation from Elide and they’d spent the rest of the night talking to each other. They had had more in common than Lorcan had originally thought when passing her in the halls. She was sharp, funny, and so unbelievably gorgeous. Elide had asked that they take it slow and casually after Lorcan accidentally blurted out a rushed ‘Willyoubemygirlfriend?” but Hellas damn him if it wasn’t the hardest thing in the world for him. He should’ve known then that he was falling hard, and fast. 

Lorcan ran behind the bleachers as fast as he could when he left the captain’s vision and was rewarded by a short but sweet kiss from Elide. They were quickly cut off by Lorcan’s breathless pants, something he swore was from the running, not from seeing his crush. Elide took one last hit of her joint before putting it out, all too aware of Lorcan’s aversion to all drugs and substances after both of his parents died of accidental overdoses. Granted, it had been crack, not marijuana prescribed for her bad ankle, that Lorcan’s parents had taken, but Elide never wanted to do anything that made Lorcan uncomfortable. She was developing a soft spot for her fuck-buddy, actually. 

“Hey sport,” Elide muttered in a husky voice that made Lorcan lose his mind every time.

“Hi, El-” Lorcan started to greet her before being cut off by the taste of her cherry lip gloss on her lips as she pressed them to his. A scent of cinnamon and elderberries that was so uniquely Elide enveloped him. The hour that had felt so long when he was conditioning now was over with a blink of an eye as Elide and Lorcan lost themselves in each other. Hot and sweaty from their make-out session and the late August heat, they were startled back to reality with the clattering of cleated feet plodding up the bleachers. Lorcan raised his head in alarm before cursing as he clonked his head on the bleachers. Elide let out a small giggle at the comical sight of a 6’5 (and growing) Lorcan squished under the bleachers with her 5’1 self. 

Lorcan stepped out from their secret make-out spot and offered his hand to Elide to help her up when he was met with the leering grins of Erawan and Duke. Those fuckers. Elide led Lorcan away with a scoff towards the two seniors when Erawan’s voice echoed after them.

“Wow. That’s real slutty of you ‘lide. First that cheerleader witch, now the junior loser? What’s next, the trash? Seems that you’re getting pretty damn close to getting there.”

Elide growled, the sound intimidating yet sexy to Lorcan. “Fuck off, Valg. I don’t want to have to tell you again.”

“You could find yourself a real man here, Elide,” Erawan ignored her, digging deeper into his little stupidity pit. “I’ll be waiting for the day you regain your senses. We could rule the school.”

She rolled her eyes in response before continuing to drag Lorcan away with her, a storm cloud gathering above the both of them. Elide didn’t deserve the shit she got for not wanting to hook up with the biggest douchebag at their school, Lorcan thought. Unfortunately, Elide ran in similar circles with Erawan because of her friends, the icy head cheerleader Manon Blackbeak, the aforementioned ‘cheerleader bitch’ as well as Aelin Galathynius, her cousin and the rising freshman star of the soccer team from what he had heard. Combined with her status as a senior and a reputation for being one of the hottest yet hardest to get with girls at their school, according to a poll taken by the newspaper club at least, that meant she frequently ran into Erawan often at parties and therefore came face to face with his horrid attempts to woo her by talking down to her. Like Lorcan said earlier, he’d rather have nothing in the eyes of Erawan than have a personality like his. 

Elide pulled Lorcan off to the side into an alcove between buildings where no one could see them. As a habit, she frantically pulled out a pre-rolled joint to weed before taking a long puff. Lost in his detailed imagining of revenge against Erawan (beating the shit out of him) on Elide’s behalf, not that she needed him to, Lorcan was startled back to reality with the smell of weed. With a groan, he pulled the joint out of an unsuspecting Elide’s hand before smashing it under his foot. Already braced for the harsh feedback, he was  not surprised when the verbal lashing started.

“What the fuck was that for, asshole?”

Lorcan narrowed his eyes. “I asked you not to smoke that shit around me, El, and you agreed. Besides, you’re welcome for helping you not drop dead.”

“Oh my gods. We’re not doing this again. I’m not going to fucking die. It’s prescribed you big gargantuan moran. Mind your own business,” Elide muttered in a tone akin to the growl from before as she balled her fists up.

“Hell, I’m sorry for caring about your well-being. I thought we were friends. Or a thing. Or whatever?” Lorcan was met with Elide’s dick shriveling glare, as he liked to call it. Oh shit. 

“Well then don’t fucking care about me. We’re not friends, we’re fuck-buddies. That’s all it is,” Elide spat out, the escalation of their argument surprising both of them. “I’ve had enough of this toxic male bullshit for today. Leave. Me. Alone.”

Lorcan scoffed bitterly, hurt by her sudden outburst. He hadn’t been trying to fight her, he genuinely was concerned for her but maybe this wasn’t the best way to show that. Whatever, he wasn’t about to cave now. “Well if that’s what you want, I’ll see you around.” Lorcan turned and walked out of the school towards where Gavriel’s car was waiting, forcing himself not to look back at the girl he had fallen in love with as he took each step. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───

It had been about three weeks since ‘the incident’, as Lorcan liked to call it, and Elide still hadn’t called or texted. Or even looked in his general direction. Lorcan was more ashamed of himself than anything, trailing her like a lost puppy and taking long detours from class to class just to get a glimpse of her. He suspected the silence on her end had something to do with him labeling their relationship rather than their argument, especially with her known aversion to relationships. But then again, he could be wrong. Fuck, he just wasn’t sure anymore. 

Miraculously, as if summoned by his tortured thoughts, Lorcan’s phone lit up with a text from a number he knows all too well. 

my uncle left last night- come over and talk?

Lorcan typed, deleted, and re-typed different responses too many times as he tries to formulate a response that says ‘I wasn’t obsessing over you or chasing you like a lost puppy but I did think of you a little” while still being cool and suave. He gave up eventually and just settled on a simple ‘k’ before sending it off. Lorcan sighed. The things you do when you’re whipped for people. 

Jolting out of bed to put on a pair of sweats, Lorcan jogged through their one-story house to the key rack. He cursed when he found the keys to the Range Rover he and Rowan shared missing. As Lorcan heard the unmistakable sound of an engine starting, Lorcan cursed again, letting out a few choice words. Today was Whitethorn’s date with Galathynius. Lorcan normally loved Aelin, Rowan’s girlfriend of 4 months after he finally brought up the courage and balls to ask her on a date. The ‘bitch queen’, as he nicknamed her affectionately, could give insults as good as she got and the two quickly became as thick and thieves after a short period of mutual antagonizing. Aelin made his brother happy and she was like a sister to him but Hellas be damned if she didn’t have the worst timing. This was his chance to finally confess to Elide how he felt after three weeks of agony and he was stuck with no ride to Elide’s place after an invitation there.

There would be no other choice than to run. Gavriel took his own car to work and he refused to ask Rowan to come back and drop him off. Now that he remembered, the bastard had been so excited for the date today, fucking humming some love song that had pushed Lorcan deep into his wallowing in misery. No matter how desperately he wanted to see Elide quickly, he couldn’t do that to his brother. 

Half an hour, 2 bottles of water, and a lot of breaks later, Lorcan was finally at Elide’s grandiose house (or was it called a mansion?). Lorcan shot a text out to let Elide know he’s here so she doesn’t attack him thinking he’s an intruder before lifting the potted plant next to the door to find her spare key. As he walked up the familiar stairs where he had fucked Elide when her parents were away, he grinned at the memory before refocusing to find Elide and talk about whatever she wanted to talk about. He peered through the rooms he thought she would be in, before poking his head through Elide’s bedroom door last. Bingo. 

Elide is furiously texting someone with lightning-fast thumbs as she’s hunched over her phone when Lorcan found her. He knocked on her door to let her know he was there and her head snaps up so quickly that he heard her neck crack. Lorcan winced. That had to hurt. Elide ignored the painful feeling of her back protesting her strained position to tell Lorcan the three words weighing on her since the day he walked away from their argument. Granted it had been because she told him to, but Elide knew it would kill her if he walked away from her like that again. Her heart was too involved for her to not care. 

Lorcan began to speak, the words coming out too quickly to be actually considered words when Elide interrupts him.

“Lorcan, just please let me get this out. I know you care for me, and I care for you too, but I want more. I- I love you. A lot. I couldn’t stop thinking about you after our argument. I’m sorry for what I said that day, I didn’t mean a single thing I said. We are more than fuck buddies. You’re my best friend, and I love you. I felt so bad about how I lashed out but you were really pissing me off, but all I could think about as you left was the fact that I don’t care if you piss me off every single day for the rest of our lives. I just want to spend it with you.”

“Lochan. I don’t know what to say..” Lorcan trailed off, pouting before he grinned. “You stole my dramatic love confession. I’ve only loved you since the day we first met. I realized it that day during practice when I saw your converse from the 50-yard line. I’d never been so excited to see someone as I’m excited to see you every single day and all I could think was ‘Damn, I could do this for the rest of my life’. I’m sorry for the shit I said too, and for walking away. I promise you that I will never walk away from you again. We’ll always solve shit before leaving from now on, okay?” 

Elide’s face went from worried to euphoric in a second. She threw her arms around him and hugged him with more strength than Lorcan thought she had. As Lorcan let out a booming laugh, Elide shrieked in surprise as he spun her around like she was his queen. Lorcan had never been so fucking happy in his entire life. The moment she told him that she loved him, it was like a missing puzzle piece in his heart finally clicked into place.

Maybe that 50-yard line when Lorcan had realized he loved Elide had something to do with all the magic he was feeling. He’d have to plan something there to commemorate it. Maybe a promposal? That was hilarious, Lorcan thought to himself. If you had told him a year ago, hell even a month ago, that he would be excited to go to prom, he would have laughed at you. But now? Now, he’d be ready for anything with Elide by his side.

~ ~ ~

tags

@perseusannabeth

@backtobl4ck

@autumnbabylon

@swankii-art-teacher

@cretaceous-therapod

@themoonthestarsthesuriel

@vinylcryes

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Sorry for your lost - Part I “I will grieve”.

Serie Masterlist here || Part II|| Read on AO3 

Summary: When your wife Natasha passes away in a car accident, a part of you dies with her. It takes a few months of mourning for your psychiatrist thinks the best alternative is for you to join a grief group. And there you meet Wanda Maximoff, and learn to live again.

Warnings: (+16) mentions of death, panic attacks and anxiety, grief, self sabotage, mentions of abusive family background, mutual attraction, explicit consent, therapeutic conversations about death, self-deprecation, healthy methods of coping with grief, possible triggers about anxiety, hurtful behaviors, domestic wanda.

Chapter warnings: Heavy angst, death.

Author’s notes:  Hello readers! I'm finally back to posting something, but I disappeared for a good reason, I was writing three new series. And here is the first of them. I really enjoyed this work and it's something I've been trying to write since I watched WandaVision, and only now I've managed to put it into words. I am not finished yet, but there is only one chapter left, so your reading will not be affected. Pay attention to the warnings, and good reading!

Tag list (let me know if you wanna be tagged) 

@mionemymind​ / @abimess​ / @stephanieromanoff​ / @yourtaletotell​ / @tomy5girls​ / @justagaypanicking​ / @thegayw1tch​

//-//

Chapter One - I’ll grieve.

You wished you could go back to sleep as soon as you opened your eyes. The sound of your alarm buzzed loudly throughout the room, and after putting it on snooze mode at least four times, you finally got annoyed enough to grab it and throw it across the room. But the sound continued.

Letting out a grumble of dissatisfaction, you pushed the comforter off you, and sat up in your bed. Your room was a mess, but you just skipped through the clothes on the floor to reach the phone, turning off the alarm through the new crack you made in the screen.

"Honey, are you up?" you heard your mother's distant voice calling you through the door, probably from the living room or the kitchen. "Don't forget your therapy today."

You sighed impatiently, running your hands through your hair. The damn group therapy. 

Grumbling lightly, you forced yourself to take a shower, not wanting "poor hygiene" to end up on your progress report card. 

A while later, when you were finished, you went into the kitchen. Your mother was using her laptop on the counter, and just waved at you.

"Are you going to take me?" You asked her with your hands in your pockets. Your mother took her eyes off the screen to evaluate the sweatshirt you were wearing, and you rolled your eyes at her disapproving expression. 

"You know, you could try driv-"

"Mom" You cut her off in earnest, your heart racing momentarily. You don't drive. An she knows. Your mother sighs, putting her hands up in a sign of surrender.

"It was just a suggestion dear." She retorts as she stands up, reaching for her car key on the key rack exiting the kitchen. "But I'm busy with the store, you'll need to take the subway next time."

"Thanks for the support." You grumble as you step out in front and your mother lets out a wry chuckle.

You frown and let out a dissatisfied exclamation as you step outside feeling the sun's rays on your face.

"You're not a vampire, cut the drama." Mocks your mother by pushing you lightly to get you out of the way. 

You grumble  as you walk to the car. And when you are sitting on the seat, your mother is starting the vehicle and she asks:

"Are you sure you're not going to eat anything?"

Looking out the window, you just mumble that you're not hungry, and she shakes her head in disapproval before you back the car up. You don't speak any more on the way.

//-//

Your mother dropped you off in the parking lot of a gymnasium where the therapy group would be meeting. You sighed as you got out, and thanked her for the ride and the money she gave you to eat, even though you probably weren't going to use.

Resisting the urge to run away, you forced your feet to walk toward the place.

There were a few people at the door, but you didn't smile at any of them, entering the place with your head down and your hands in your pockets. 

And then a woman greeted you, and put a little sticker with your name on your shirt when you gave her your papers. 

Then she signaled the way you should go, and you ended up on the gymnasium court, where there was a wheel of chairs, and a table with food and drink, and several people scattered around, who you thought were part of your therapy group. 

Sighing impatiently you made your way to the bleachers of the venue, hoping to be alone until the session started and you could leave.

Fortunately it wasn't long before the leader signaled for everyone to sit in the circle, and you sighed as you stood up. You ended up with one of the chairs on the far left opposite the therapist, which could be bad since he would see you clearly.

"Thank you very much for coming." Said the therapist smiling gently as his gaze roved over everyone in the circle. You kept your gaze on your shoes. He made a noise with his throat. "Who would like to start today?"

The silence lasted for a few seconds, but then someone was speaking. You forced yourself to come back to reality and pay attention.

"[...] and this is my fourth week around here." Said a woman in a leather jacket. You noticed the army lanyard around her neck. She was talking about an accident when you got distracted again. Lightly poking your eye with your finger, you tried to focus again, letting out a low sigh. And then the therapist was talking again.

"We have new faces today." He said and you felt your heart speed up. You absolutely did not want to talk in front of strangers. "Why don't you share with us, miss?"

You raised your gaze to meet that of the therapist, smiling gently at you. The rest of the group looked at you as well. Taking a deep breath, you began to wiggle your fingers on your leg.

"I don't... I've never been in a group." You say clumsily. "What should I say?"

"Whatever you wish to say." He answers with a smile. You swallow the urge to tell him you didn't want to talk at all. Realizing your lack of response, he is quick to add. "Why don't you tell us why you are here?."

You let out a dry laugh. 

"I really didn't have much choice." You retort wryly. The therapist looks slightly surprised, but makes no mention of interrupting you. You let out a sigh before clarifying. "My psychiatrist, she...she didn't approve of my social ratings. She wanted me to talk to other people. People who... went through the same things I did." You count staring at the floor. When you look up again, the group still waits for you to continue, and you sigh, running your hands through your hair. "I haven't... I... I haven't talked to other people outside of my family in six months. Not since..."

You move your head, sniffling slightly as you straighten your posture. The therapist clears his throat.

"You just need to share whatever you are ready to tell us." He says gently, you nod slightly feeling extremely vulnerable. "But remember that this is a safe space. There is nothing to fear here."

And then he is talking about methods of easing the guilt, and dealing with the pain and you were distracted again. You would like to go back to bed. It must have taken a while, but the session is finally over.

The group dispersed around the room, and you went toward the therapist's desk to have him sign your schedule. He smiled as you approached.

"Miss Y/N/L, I was happy to hear that you would be joining us today." He said greeting you with a handshake. You nodded, taking the paper from your pocket. He chuckled, but accepted it. "You know, I'd like you to try to have a partner in the group, it's recommended for cases like yours."

"What do you mean cases like me?" You ask snidely, but he doesn't care.

"Doctor Harkness gave me your chart." He explained as he signed the paper you gave him while you frowned. "Extreme Social Anxiety in the first few months of treatment. Tendency to complete isolation, introverted..."

"Yeah I know my problems, buddy." You interrupt him with irritation. "You don't have to list them for me."

The therapist gives a lopsided chuckle, and holds out the signed paper to you. But he adds with a serious look:

"I'm here to help you, Y/N." He says. "Don't forget that."

You don't respond and take the paper, turning toward the exit. 

//-//

Your week passes slowly and tortuously. Which is surprising because you barely get out of bed. And then it is group therapy day again, and you are making a new crack at your cell phone screen.

Your mother greets you with a pat on the back as you enter the kitchen, and she is walking past you toward her own room.

You know you have to take the subway today, and you are trying not to think about it too much. As you are walking out the door, your eyes pass quickly over your car key, and you think you have a flash of memory, but you shake your head quickly, pushing the thought away. And then you walk forward.

And you are late for the session, because you can't take the bus to the station, since your feet simply didn't obey you. But that's okay, you don't really care.

You weren't the only one who was late. When you went to enter the door, a red-haired woman bumped into you, also running to get in. She smiled slightly as she apologized, and you just made room for her to enter first.

"Sorry Stephen." She said to the therapist as soon as you two entered the gymnasium, "I had an emergency with the kids."

The man just shook his head with a smile, and waved for you both to sit down.

"And why were you late today, miss Y/L/N?" He asked you. You shrugged your shoulders.

"I didn't wanna come." You retorted and the group giggled, and the sudden sound startled you slightly, but you just sat with your arms crossed. 

"Do you want to try again?" He retorted with light humor in his voice. And you bit the inside of your cheeks. And then you looked down at the floor.

"I couldn't get on the bus." You confessed next. Stephen looked at you tenderly, though, and you didn't like the feeling of your chest heaving slightly.

"And why do you think that happened?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable. 

"I don't know. I... There were too many people." You said embarrassed. And then you started twiddling your fingers, feeling all eyes on you. "I just... I knew I'd have to say hello to the driver, and the conductor. And then I would pass strangers in the hallway, and one of them would sit next to me. And I just... I couldn't."

Stephen nodded slightly in agreement.

"It's okay, Y/N. " He stated. "No one is judging you here."

You let out a dry laugh, and Stephen blinks in surprise, which spurs you to explode.

"Everyone is judging me, Doc." You say through gritted teeth, swinging your leg. "It's as if I can hear the gears in people's brains forming opinions about me." You state with a sigh. "Like my mother for example. She...she...acts like I'm past the time of mourning." You explain with tears in your eyes. "Like there's a limit, and I'm extending her goodwill. Because it's been six months, and she doesn't want me to be sad anymore. But guess what? I don't know how to move on!" You state angrily. "I can't! If I don't miss her, what's left for me? If I don't... God, I can't do this."

And you stand up, wiping your tears away, and walk out of the gymnasium, heading for the restrooms. You feel your heart racing, and it's hard to breathe. 

As you rest your hands on the sink, your brain starts to wander back to the day of the accident again. You choke, because it feels like you're sinking again. You see the water rising through the metal of the car. Your hands on the steering wheel, and then on the seat belt. You shake your head, pushing the images away, and rush to turn on the faucet in front of you and pour the water on your face.

You take a deep breath, trying to stop the tears. And then there is someone entering.

"Are you okay?" Stephen asks and you nod lightly, ignoring the trembling in your hands as you stare at him through the reflection of the mirror. "I gave a break to the group, wouldn't you like to walk with me?"

"I'm not good company right now." You grumble but he smiles, nodding slightly as if to repeat the invitation. You take a deep breath before turning around.

You walk silently and slowly to the outside of the gymnasium, and then he is speaking again.

"You were very brave today."  He comments, and you let out a dry laugh. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I panicked today." You say. " It doesn't sound very brave to me."

Stephen smiles guiding you through the gymnasium entrance toward the parking lot.

"You talked about a trauma to a group of people." He says. "That takes a lot of courage, even if you don't believe it."

"I don't believe in anything." You grumble, but Stephen doesn't mind your hostility. He stays with his friendly posture.

"I would like you to accept my request from before." He said after a moment. "About a group partner."

You let out a sigh.

"I don't even know what that means." You retort with slight impatience as you reach the edge of the parking lot. You notice the garden a few feet ahead of you.

"It's like a therapy buddy." He explains with a smile. "We encourage socializing here. That's why Agatha recommended this group to you."

"Oh, of course you do. Agatha is a bitch." You wryly wipe your hands across your face. Stephen laughs lightly. "How does that work anyway? Do I have to hold someone's hand? Exchange friendship bracelets?"

"No, it's much better." He says with a chuckle. "You talk to that person. You exchange experiences with them. You learn to trust somebody else again."

"My god, it looks like a fucking Disney movie." You retort with irritation and Stephen lets out a laugh. And then you let out a sigh, shrugging your shoulders. "Okay, I'll do it. I have nothing to lose, and it seems that neither you nor Agatha will leave me alone if I don't agree."

"We want you to feel better. Don't take this as a punishment." He says, guiding you back to the gym. You nod slightly, thinking that it really does feel like punishment anyway.

//-//

You see Agatha the same week. Your appointments have been switched to monthly meetings instead of weeks as they were at the beginning of treatment, and while you appreciate the familiarity of seeing her, you can't help but feel irritated with her.

"Someone's grumpy." She comments as soon as you sit down on the couch in the room, to which you roll your eyes.

"You are always so very tender, Agatha." You mock as you cross your legs, hoping the time will pass soon.

Agatha laughs lightly, finishing tidying up a few things on her desk. And then she gets up and sits down in the armchair a few feet in front of the sofa where you are, carrying a small notebook in her hands.

"So, why don't you tell me how your your first two sessions in group therapy went?"

You let out a dry laugh.

"Like Stephen didn't tell you everything." You sneer and Agatha just smiles, waiting for you to speak. You let out an impatient sigh, before stating wryly. "It was amazing, doc. It only took two sessions for me to have a panic attack, so thank you for that."

"Why do you think that happened?"

You squeezed your eyes.

"I have no idea." You retorted. "I'm not the doctor here." Agatha laughs lightly, and then opens her notebook and starts writing something. You sigh impatiently. “Really, you're going to start that again?”

"If you don't talk, I write." She states simply, and you roll your eyes, shifting on the couch uncomfortably.

"Agatha, I just... I couldn't get on a bus, okay?" you tell her, and she closes her notebook to look at you attentively. You take a deep breath. "There were a lot of people. I don't mind walking anyway. It helps me think."

"You don't mind walking eight blocks?" She asks with a slight irony. "That's pretty athletic of you."

"It's weird that you know my address off the top of your head." You play lightly, and she just laughs, straightening her posture. 

"Why don't you just tell me what you want to tell me?"

"Why don't you ask me what you want to ask?"

Agatha blinks slightly in surprise, and then she shakes her head slightly, opening her notebook again. You sigh.

"Okay, sorry." You say, and she looks at you for a moment before closing the object again. I... I thought I was drowning again.”

"Are your nightmares back?" She asks seriously, and you deny it with your head.

"I feel too anxious to sleep." You tell. "And then I black out from exhaustion in the night or in the morning. I don't dream anymore."

"Have you been taking your medication?"

You sigh.

"Of course I have."  You say. "I don't... I'm having trouble keeping my mind still. Like the first few months, you know. Everything seems so noisy now."

Agatha nods slightly, becoming thoughtful for a few moments. 

"I know it may sound strange to hear that, but that means you're getting better." She declares and you frown in surprise, then let out a dry laugh.

"How is my peak anxiety a good thing?"

She opens the book again, but before you can ask what you said wrong, she is reading.

"The first day you were here, you said you felt like you were empty." She narrated and you swallowed dryly. "During your first two months, you continued to describe that you felt like an empty shell. And that you no longer had any dreams, thoughts, or opinions. Without your wife, you said you were no longer here."

You felt your eyes fill with water at the mention of her. But you swallowed your emotions. Agatha turned a page, and read for a few seconds, and then looked at you.

"With your history of anxiety, your mind was remarkably quiet after the passing of your wife." She says. "But now that you're on medication, and therapeutic treatment, plus you're socializing even superficially with the world again, you're starting to feel things again. That's progress."

You look away from her, nodding slightly, trying to believe her words, and trying not to be so terrified at the thought of learning to live again. Without Nat.

You choke slightly, holding back a sob, and then Agatha hands you a box of tissues, but you refuse with a nod, wiping away the tears that have slightly escaped.

"What do you want to talk about now?" She asks after a moment. You take a deep breath, still trying to calm yourself.

"Last week I took a cold bath." You count. "It was snowing."

Agatha blinks in surprise at the information and then lets out a giggle.

"You want me to write it in the book don't you?"

You laugh, wiping away the last of the insistent tears. You just hope Agatha could help you.

//-//

You hate coffee. But you barely slept last night, and now you need to stay awake during the group meeting, so instead of walking to the chair in the corner like you used to, you detour your way to the food and beverage table as soon as you arrive at the gym.

There are a few members around, but you don't look at them, just sidestepping as you extend your arm to the coffee bottle. You pour some, and as you touch the cup, you notice. It's cold.

"Hey sorry about that." Said a girl you thought was named Val or something, as soon as she saw you touching the cup. "We mixed up the shifts yesterday and nobody made new coffee."

You rolled your eyes, picking up the cup and throwing it in the trash. Then you forced a wry smile on the girl and walked outside. 

It was cold, but you are boiling with rage. It was just a damn cup of coffee, you thought as you closed your eyes and tried to reduce your anger. Just coffee. 

You stumbled with fright when Stephen called out to you.

"We'll get started in a minute." He said looking at you curiously. You just nodded, following him after a few seconds.

You bit the inside of your cheek when you noticed the same coffee girl as before, now sitting where you usually sat. The universe was testing you today. 

You just sighed, twiddling your fingers inside your pocket, and walked over to one of the free chairs.

After Stephen gave the briefing, he asked if everyone was all right, and the group lied in unison. You were almost asleep when he called your name.

"I would like to choose your partner today." He says and you feel your heart racing as you straighten your posture. "But I want to know if you have any preferences."

You blink in confusion, and roll your eyes.

"I don't know anyone here, but I'm sure they will all hate me equally, doc." You tried to joke, but Stephen only looked at you with concern.

"No one does or will hate you." He says and you swallow dryly, looking away as you mumble that it was just a joke. Stephen pauses momentarily before continuing. "You know that everyone here has their own experiences of loss and they are unique in their own way, even if they have similarities." He begins and you just wish he would speak soon who your partner is at once. "Usually we don't put new members together, but with the release of one of our members, the number ended up getting odd." He explains. "Anyway, I'm sure you and Mrs. Maximoff will get along very well together."

You frowned slightly at the whole explanation. Then you looked around the group, and realized that this Maximoff woman was the late redhead from the previous session who looked at you curiously. You looked away from her to Stephen.

"Thank you, doc." You said with a slight irony and Stephen just nodded smiling.

"Partners are grieving companions ladies." He says. "We will assess your progress at each session, and then switch partners once the necessary improvement has been achieved."

You grumbled in understanding, and looked away to your lap. When Stephen began to ask about the stories, your mind wandered to the departure time.

And when the session was over you wished you could go to sleep. But Stephen made a slight movement of his head in Maximoff's direction, and you understood that you should talk to her.

Ignoring the urge to show Stephen the middle finger, you just sighed as you got up from your chair and lazily walked over to the woman at the exit. She was talking to a man, and you were even more anxious to address not one, but two strangers.

"Hi." You greeted awkwardly, and both of them turned to you with mild curiosity. 

"Hey, you're Y/N, right?" Said the man with a smile as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bucky. James Barnes actually, but everyone calls me Bucky." He said and you shook his hand, smiling awkwardly. Then he quickly pointed at the woman.  "And this is Wanda Maximoff, your grief partner."

"Hi." Wanda said shyly as she offered her hand to greet you. You accepted as clumsily as she did.

"Sorry, I don't know how this works." You say. "Should we exchange numbers or something? Or is that just a therapy thing?"

Bucky gives a little chuckle.

"Oh believe me, they'll know if you're not making it work." He counters. "My first partner was Sam Wilson and we wanted to jump on each other's necks whenever we saw each other. And then Stephen asked us to move in together." He says and you blink in surprise. "We're married now, but that's not the point. I guess I'm getting off topic..."

"Bucky." Wanda interrupts with a smile, and he smiles half-heartedly as well. You frown, annoyed by Bucky's story. You didn't want to marry anyone. "I guess we'll make it work, I hope you don't mind having the company of two tiny restless creatures on our walks."

You look at her with confusion and then you understand, smiling shyly.

"No, it's okay." You say. "I like children."

"Really?" She asks in surprise.

You nod slightly. "Unlike adults, they tell the truth."

Wanda seemed to be thoughtful, but then Bucky lets out an exclamation.

"As group guide, I have to pass the to-do list to you ladies." He says pulling a small notebook from the back pocket of his pants. He pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to Wanda. "Partners need to develop these habits of socializing and coping with grief together. And yes, there is a test."

You sigh impatiently, tucking a loose string behind your ear. 

"That sounds fun." You mock lightly making them smile. 

"Anyway, good luck to you two." He says tenderly. "And Wanda, call me if you need help with Tommy. I know a good therapist."

You frown slightly, not understanding what he is referring to, but you prefer to stay out of matters that are none of your business. And then Bucky kisses Wanda on the cheek in farewell and waves to you smiling before leaving. You switch foot weights when you are alone with Wanda. Talking to other people is not exactly your strong suit these past few months.

"So..." You start clumsily when she turns to you. 

"So." She repeats equally embarrassed. You then clear your throat and rush to pull your cell phone out of your pocket and hand it to her.

"Give me your number." You say. "That way we can arrange...whatever this is." 

Wanda smiles weakly as she accepts the device, and you ignore the curious look when she notices the cracks in the screen. A moment later she hands the cell phone back to you.

"I gotta go." She says. "I need to pick up my kids from school."

You nod slightly and force a smile to say goodbye, and Wanda copies your movement before leaving.

You stare at your cell phone next, noticing the slight anxiety in your stomach as you read the contact "Wanda Maximoff" on the screen.

//-//

By the weekend, you are miserable. Just like the first few months.

You spilled some tea under your bed, and when you went to clean it up, you ended up taking the objects that were lying there. And then you found a crumpled piece of paper.

It was your farewell speech. The words you wrote down to speak on the day of the funeral. The paper you pulled out of your pocket when you got home from the ceremony and probably fell under the bed when you collapsed on the floor from crying so hard.

Suddenly your chest tightened and you couldn't breathe. But you didn't want your mother to worry, so you concentrated on remembering the exercises your therapist had taught you.

And when the room started to get too small, you left.

But because it was cold and rainy, you had just taken a hot shower and had decided to brew tea before you finished putting on a sweater, you had bent down to pick up your socks, and the liquid fell on the floor. 

You went outside without your shoes, and your mother let out a worried exclamation when she saw you standing outside, staring at nothing.

"Honey?" She asked walking out the door after seeing you through the kitchen window. "Honey, what is it?"

You didn't answer. Your face was wet. Your mother's hands wrapped around your shoulders, and she gently pushed you inside, worried that you would end up getting hypothermia.

"I'm fine." You gasped as she led you inside, but she just shook her head. "I'm fine."

"No, honey." She retorted making you frown. "You're not."

"Mom."

"Sit down." 

And then there were blankets around you, and socks on your feet. And your mother was in the kitchen, on the phone, but everything seemed stuffy. You began to be absent again. Thousands of memories flashing through your eyes.

An image of yourself on that living room floor, laughing while your girlfriend had her arms wrapped around you. Your mother was pouring a glass of wine for each of you, and you were happy to tell her about your engagement.

Then an image of you running across the room, trying to dodge the tickles your father tickled you while you laughed.

Then a puppy in your hands on the floor. You looked at it fondly, laughing at how cute it looked. 

Looking down, you saw a hand on your thigh. It was your wife's, the ring on her finger. She smiled at you. You were happy because that was the day you told your mother about the house purchase.

You gasped slightly when you felt someone's hand on your shoulder suddenly.

"I need you to tell me three things you can see." It was Agatha. God, you should have been out of reaction long enough for her to get here. Wiping away your tears, you took a deep breath, trying to reason straight.

"I... I..." You started, but your brain didn't seem to obey you. You took another deep breath. You could see the carpet, so you told her so.

"Two more." Agatha asked tenderly, her hand caressing your back from top to bottom. 

"The... table." You replied crying. "I can see the table."

"That's right, honey." She said. "Just one more now. Tell me what else?"

"My feet." You add breathlessly. "I can see my feet."

"Now breathe with me, okay?" She asks. "Like I taught you."

The exercises help you to calm down again. You apologize for scaring your mother, and for making Agatha drive to your house, but neither of them is upset with you. You feel exhausted, but the doctor wants to talk to you after she accepts the cup of coffee your mother offers her.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" She asks as you sit on the covered porch, fluffy pillows around you.

You lower your gaze to the floor, sniffling lightly.

"I found my grief speech." You count. "Under my bed. The next minute I was outside."

Agatha sighs.

"You ready to talk about the accident."

You raise your eyes quickly, frowning, because it wasn't a question.

"W-what?"

She takes a deep breath, crossing her legs.

"It's suffocating you." She clarifies. "You need to talk or these attacks will happen again."

"I-I don't..."

"It won't be today." She interrupts with a tender smile. "Tonight you need to sleep. But we won't prolong this any longer. You need to talk about it, even if it’s only to scream."

Clenching your jaw, you hold back your tears as Agatha takes one last look at you before getting up. She murmurs that she will see you on Monday, but you don't look at her.

//-//

You don't sleep well on Sunday. And it's definitely because you can't stop thinking about your appointment.

And it goes well for the first twenty minutes. Agatha doesn't pressure you, and agrees to hear about your week, without mentioning the incident on Thursday.

There is a pause after you have told her about the dog barking noise in the early morning and then you know it is time to speak up.

"I was driving." You say softly suddenly, ignoring the feeling that your throat wants to close up. Agatha has her hands folded in her lap as she listens to you. "She...she was sleeping in the passenger seat." You swallow dryly, trying to count and not get caught up in the memory again, your heart racing. Talking is almost like going back there. "I looked at her for a moment and I got distracted... and then... we just..."

You only realize that you are crying because tears fall on your hand. You blink, sniffling. Taking a deep breath, you continue.

"We fell into the water, and Nat...she just...I couldn't get her belt off." You gasp breathlessly. "The water just...kept coming up around us. And she looked at me, and... she just shook her head like she knew what was going to happen." You tell between sobs. Agatha's eyes water, but she doesn't interrupt. "I just...she pushed me. She pushed my hands away and she told me she would follow me. And god... my dumb brain believed her!" You confess angrily. "She told me she was right behind me! And I swam out and when I came up she wasn't with me."

You shut up, not being able to tell anymore through the sobs. You can't even see the office clearly because of the tears.

It takes a moment for you to speak again, your head down.

"When I swam back, the car was completely covered with water everywhere" You recount. "I...I was going to dive again.... I wanted to get her out of there. But the people who saw the accident jumped in after us. And they pulled me out of the water. And I kept thinking that if I hadn't been distracted, she...she would be...."

"No." Agatha interrupts by offering you a tissue. "Natasha had a stomach injury, don't you remember?" She counters and you gasp, the words echoing in your brain. "That's why you couldn't remove the belt."

And then you were remembering clearly now.

Soft music echoed in the car as you hummed the tune and drove to your friends' house. Your wife mumbled softly beside you, making you smile as you watched the sleeping figure. The red hair in front of her face.

"Hey sleepyhead." You called softly, looking away from the track for a moment. "We're almost there."

Nat muttered in agreement. You bit your lip, thinking she looked beautiful. And then you heard a noise, and a white light in the window. You barely had time to frown when the impact threw your car off the road.

Your body tensed immediately as you sat up, looking around with desperation. The car was sinking fast and you turned to Nat.

A wound on her forehead was bleeding, and she was clearly disoriented as you touched her hands. You hurried to unbuckle her belt, but it was jammed tightly in her waist, and you gasped in shock at the wound.

"N-no." You grumbled, trying to move the metal, but Nat gasped in pain, pushing your hands away. You could barely breathe in desperation. Your feet were freezing, because the water was already at your ankles. "Babe, move please. We have to get out."

Nat advanced toward you, taking off your belt. You tried to touch her, but she pushed your hands away again, intending to guide you out.

" Sweetheart, go! Open the door! " she commanded and you shook your head, the water on your knees. Nat forced a smile, the tears in her eyes made your stomach turn. "Don't worry love. I'm right behind you."

As you opened the door, the water moved all the way into the car, and you held your breath Nat repeated the words "I'm right behind you" one more time. And then you swam out.

When you reached the surface, you were alone.

Sobbing, you couldn't say anything else to Agatha, and she proceeded to stroke your back, trying to soothe you with words of affirmation.

"I need you to remember some things honey." She says tenderly. "You couldn't have helped Natasha. She got stuck. You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened." Agatha whispers to you, and you sob. "Remember the investigation, okay? The police said that the driver of the truck was drunk and hit your car after he fell asleep. It wasn't your fault." Agatha says trying to remind you. You gasp, countless memories flooding your head at once. "Say that for me, will you?" She asks and you gasp. "Tell me it wasn't your fault."

You sob, burying your face in your hands. It takes a moment, but you repeat the words.

"It wasn't my fault." You whisper breathlessly. "It...it wasn't my fault."

When you leave therapy that day, you feel different.

You think that it is the healing process that is beginning to work. You still have a long way to go, but you have the feeling that a weight has been lifted off your back, because you have started to believe your own words. You could not have saved Natasha.

There is still a deep sadness in you, but you still buy your favorite drink on the way home, and try to stay in the living room for a few hours before going to your room when you are inside.

[peachpanlong]

‘Horny Blond Twink Fucks Himself on Strap-on After Being Teased For Hours’

Naoya Zenin x reader, 18+

cw // arranged marriage (mentioned once), submissive! Naoya, pegging, exhibitionism, degrading kink, use of sex toys while driving, use of sex toys in public, untouched orgasm, public sex, overstimulation, edging, oral (m. receiving), brat taming

word count: 2.4k

this is part of the jujutsu hub collab! Thank you @suna-reversed for letting me participate ♥️

(Do not repost my work unless you have permission to do so, reblogs are fine)

Going shopping with naoya would usually be considered a task close to impossible. The constant nagging and snarky comments made you want to strangle him on multiple occasions, yet you somehow held yourself back to avoid unnecessary drama with the higher ups. After 5 unbearable months of living with him due to an arranged marriage you had found various methods of shutting that pretty mouth of his. Your favourite method including the help of your trusty friend, a vibrating cock ring.

He knew that if he opened his mouth to remark on your choice of clothing a shaky moan would follow. There is nothing more he hated than being looked down on, the fear of people glancing in his direction with a disgusted look convincing him to just stay quiet.

“I have been invited to a social event with the Zenins. I will take you shopping for a dress today so you can look half decent.” Ignoring the spiteful remark you responded.

“Okay, on the condition you wear the cock ring.” An audible scoff followed. He turned his heels to walk towards the kitchen. Filling up the portafilter with coffee grinds he let out a soft ‘fine’, refusing to let his eyes meet yours. You held back a laugh by biting down on your cheeks.

“I’m starting to think you enjoy this…” you breathed out. “I’m only doing this because I know you’ll be a complete bitch to me if I don’t.” Humming in agreement you inhaled the nutty aroma coming from the coffee machine. While frothing the milk with one hand he used the other to place two mugs down onto the drip tray.

“Get a dress that hugs your figure and flaunts your tits. I want to show you off to the bastards I have to call relatives.” He places down a mug of coffee with a marshmallow next to it, just the way you like it.

You sunk the marshmallow into the coffee while continuing small talk with him.

“You’re an asshole.” He whined, groaning at the feeling of the vibrations on his cock. You let out a small chuckle knowing he’s all bark and no bite. You played around with the settings of the cock ring before settling for a low vibration that would be sure to give him some sort of attention but not enough attention to chase his sweet release.

“I will get you back for this shitty stunt, whore.” He snarled yet his words only fueled you to torture him more. With a hum leaving your lips you pulled his boxers and hakama pants up, hearing a groan come from him in response.

“You’re lucky the pants cover your erection.”

The car ride felt like hours, if not days, to the blonde man. Shaky moans fled through gritted teeth while his nails dug into the steering wheel. Your eyes were glued to his face. The way his nose scrunched when the vibrations increased was for some reason incredibly entertaining to you. When the car came to a halt in the store’s parking lot you groaned. You were having fun messing with him.

“Does this ‘flaunt my tits’, Naoya?” You said in a mocking tone while twirling in an emerald green mermaid dress that had a deep v-neck travelling down to your abdomen. All he gave you was a curt nod and a groan when his eyes focused down to your chest. You changed back into your clothes and gave the dress to naoya.

“Pay for this, I want to look around still.” He rolled his eyes and turned his body towards the cashier. The way his legs trembled from the cock ring was incredibly entertaining for you. Rather than paying attention to the dress hung up on the clothes rack your gaze landed on the way his hips twitched to find some form of friction. Your hands snuck into your pockets where the remote was being held. Without warning him, your fingers turned the dial to the maximum setting only to swiftly spin it back to the lowest setting. If he hadn’t been holding onto the cash register counter he would have fallen from the shock. A very loud moan escaped his lips as he shot an unpleasant glare in your direction.

“Sir, are you okay?” Concern was laced in the cashier’s voice. Naoya responded with a quick ‘yeah’ while giving some pathetic excuse for his accidental noises. After he had paid for the dress he grabbed at your arm. You let out a pained gasp “Ow! what the fuck, Naoya!”

His clutch on your shoulder only became harder after hearing your aggravation. The second his car door closed was the second a desperate moan left his lips.

“You’re such a bitch for doing that to me. Do you not understand your place, woman?” His shaky breathes made it difficult for you to focus on what he was saying. He looked so much better when he was malleable and timid.

He avoided any conversation with you the entire trip home, occasionally letting out a pained groan from the still vibrating cock ring. Your husband was obviously pissed off at you yet you found it difficult to care; especially when his face looked so fucked-out.

The way he angrily stormed into the house was a sight to see. If it hadn’t been for the painful grip on your arm you would’ve laughed. “I hope you’re ready to be punished. Because I’m not holding back.” His words sounded as if they were growled, a weak attempt to intimidate you. Your hands shifted down to your pockets.

“Don’t you dare-!” His words were cut short by not-so-subtle whimpers and moans. Your fingers turned the dial randomly and without a rhythm, driving him mad. Various curses left his mouth like venom.

“I’m starting to think you talk big just to get your brains fucked out. Tell me, my little slut, is that true?” If he wasn’t already busy palming himself through his pants he probably would have replied with a snarky comeback. You clicked your tongue in annoyance, “Get your pathetic hands off your cock. Do you have any manners?” He gritted his teeth and halted his movements.

“Good puppy. Maybe if you’re good I’ll let you cum.” The smile on your face was far from sincere and he knew that. It was ridiculing- degrading even. The only thing keeping him grounded was his back pressed roughly against the wall. His nose scrunched as the sound of your footsteps came closer. You reached your hand out to touch his cheek. He was such a waste of a pretty face, a shame really.

Naoya’s footsteps followed behind yours as you both walked towards the bedroom. Pushing him down across the end of the bed, you spread his legs to get between them. With your face centimetres from his cock you began to unzip his pants showing you the outline of his erection against his boxers. Your fingers looped against the elastic, letting it tug backwards. A wince left his lips as you let the band snap back against his skin. Finally indulging in his desires you pulled down the material, letting his cock out. A soft ‘please’ left his mouth when you began stroking him.

A sardonic smirk plastered your face. “Be patient, you whore.” You earned a weak excuse for a glare in response. You soon realised that it wasn’t just the cock ring that was vibrating.

“Naoya, your phone.” Letting out a disappointed sigh, you bagan to take the toy off his cock. He mimicked your expression when he saw the contact name.

“Naoya Zenin speaking, what are you calling me for?” An irritated grimace followed his words. Awkwardly, you stayed between his legs not really knowing what to do. You looked between his thighs to notice his dick was still painfully hard despite needing to take a job call.

“Do you get off to the thought of being caught acting like a slut?” A look of fret and arousal shot through his eyes when he heard your words. Your hand started to stroke the bottom of his shaft while you pressed your tongue against the slit on the head. His jaw was clamped shut as his Adam’s Apple involuntarily trembled.

“Sorry, slight migraine. Could you repeat what you said?” He uttered trying to excuse his moans. “That’s fine, sir. I was explaining how…” The man on the phone once again went into detail on his previous statement yet what he told was the farthest thing on Naoya’s mind. Your tongue traced the vein along the underside of his cock before ever-so-slowly letting it sink into your mouth. When the head hit the back of your throat you gave a harsh suck before rising your head again. You knew he hates a slow pace so that’s exactly what you gave him.

“Thank you for your time, sir. It’s greatly appreciated.” Naoya hummed in response and let out a quick ‘yeah’ before hanging up the call. “You whore! Do you know what you’ve done?” You gave a hum that only sent more vibrations to his dick. His hands tangled themselves into your hair. Eventually you began to notice the way his twitches became more frequent and the way his breath hitched. An anguished groan fell from his lips when you lifted your head from his cock, denying him of his release. “What the fuck? Make me cum.” You let out a sadistic giggle. “Nuh-uh. I wanna play, bunny.” You could almost see the steam coming from his ears and to be quite frank, you found it hilarious. Standing onto your feet you walked yourself over to your wardrobe.

“What do you think of trying this one out?” You presented a rather large dildo. “Will that even fit?” His nervous eyes scanned the 8 inches of silicone. “You always manage to make it fit, slut.” You strutted back towards the middle of his thighs while lathering the dildo in lube.

“Hands and knees.” Without hesitation he flipped himself over onto his stomach and raised his ass in the air.

“You’re such a whore.” Your tone sounded like sweet candy in contrast to your words. After you had strapped the harness to yourself you attached the dildo onto it. Aligning yourself against his ass you slowly sunk the strap-on into him. Placing one hand on his hips and the other hand on the mattress beside his head, you leaned onto his back. Starting a very slow pace you began to suck love bites against his shoulder blades. His lips were trembling against the mattress, occasionally letting out soft whimpers whenever you moved a bit too harshly. Using your strong grip on his hips you dragged your hips back until only the tip of the dildo was in his ass. A pleasured scream flooded from his mouth when your hips slammed against his.

“Dumb bitch can’t keep his mouth shut? Do I have to fucking gag you?” Tear stained cheeks struggled to shake left to right, begging you to let him stay in this position. “Fine.” You quickened your place, digging your nails into his skin in the process. You moved your other hand from the mattress to the back of his neck, securing him to the bed as you continued your fast and hard thrusts. His breath hiked as he felt his release creeping up on him. “Please… Touch my cock.” Your chortle was sadistic yet it somehow made his cock twitch. “Oh, but puppy… I wanna see you come undone without being touched.” A choked sob left his lips. His hips began to move against yours as he tried to fuck himself against the strap-on. You let out a disgusted sigh. “Needy whore.” And with that he felt himself going over the edge. You rode him through his orgasm while leaving his cock untouched.

It was almost cute how pathetic he acted for you. Cum saturating the mattress with his head still pushed against the pillow. It took a few seconds for him to snap back into reality and when he did a growl escaped his lips.

“You can get rid of it now.” His face was turned, eyes glaring back at yours. You slowly pulled your hips back, admiring the crescent indents marking his hips. His asshole tightened around the bigger tip of the dildo and when you noticed you couldn’t help but unexpectedly thrust back in. A startled moan left his mouth and when he realised his loud noise, he bit down harshly against his lower lip.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dildo fully inside him you responded with “having fun.”

Your hands reached to the edge of the bed frame, grabbing onto the vibrating cock ring. You tossed his body over so his back was against the mattress. Your fingers traced against the prominent vein on his overstimulated cock. The cock ring slid back onto his dick, making him once again vulnerable for you. The rhythm of your thrusts was relentless, only giving him time to let out soft whimpers covered by his palm. His face looked dazed with his eyes half lidded in ecstasy and his cheeks decorated with an obvious blush.

At that moment Naoya’s thighs began to quiver. “Gonna cum again? Greedy slut.” His hips bucked up against the strap-on, meeting your forceful thrusts. With a broken moan of your name he came on the mattress.

“You did well, my husband.” Slowly, you pulled out the dildo from his used ass. He winced slightly at the feeling of the tip stretching his rim. Turning onto his back, he moved his eyes to look at your figure. In his eyes you were a goddess who, for some odd reason, decided to put up with his bullshit. His eyes lowered to stare at your ass as you left the room. When you came back he noticed that you had detached the strap-on and had a towel in your hand to clean him up with.

No woman but you could make his heart flutter this much.

[wheelsup]

the taming of the shrew | one

he is more a shrew than she

penelope reveals her plan to get you and spencer together. unfortunately, her plan has a few hitches. 

A/N: again, big thanks to @homoose for being my helpful beta reader, and to YOU for reading it now. 

category: fluff, spencer reid x fem!reader, series

wc: 4.1k

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Penelope came back to your place the following night, bearing a new bottle of wine and a collection of materials she mentioned were integral to executing the plan.

Very quickly into Penelope’s explanation of this Genius Plan –– her words, not yours –– you remembered what it was she did for work. Officially, she was some sort of technical computer-y person for the Federal Bureau. As you knew her, she’s a danger to society and anyone with a traceable digital presence.

She managed to construct a comprehensive list of every place in D.C. and Virginia that her friend liked going to, along with the approximate times in which you were most likely to find him there. Approximate meaning, exactly which days he visits and the roughly time of day, down to a mere one hour margin of error.

You scanned the list over, shocked at its detail. Where he cut his hair, got his coffee, bought his books. His favorite restaurants, the chess clubs he’s a member of, his local hospital.

His local hospital?!

“I’m not going to need to know that, am I?” you paused.

“Probably not, but it comes in handy with this job,” she shrugged with a nonchalance that was rather alarming.

There had to be a dozen more places on the sheet –– ranked, in order of his (assumed) preference for them. Penelope calculated it based on the frequency of his visits, their average duration per session, and how often he’d mentioned about the place.

“What?” she tossed her palms up, taking offense when you asked her if she had evil plans to take over the tristate area. “Hang out with him long enough, you tell me if you pick up a knack for researching or not.”

Researching. Mining private data through questionable methods. It’s a small difference to Penelope.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side, Penelope,” you muttered under your breath, flipping the sheet back and forth. “You could ruin my whole life with ten minutes on a computer.”

“I wanted to be thorough,” she defended, shrugging. “And I’d only need five.”

You laughed through your nose, giving the paper one last scan. “You left out one important thing, though.”

“No, I put his home address on there,” her brows wrinkled together as she pointed it out on the sheet with one hot pink polished finger.

“His name,” you berated. “Jesus, you think I’m going to show up at his home?!”

“Again! I’m thorough,” she cried at your accusatory tone. “His name’s Spencer. You’ll like him when you meet him.” 

_

You didn’t doubt that Penelope’s friend was a likeable guy, but you weren’t exactly dying to go out of your way to meet him. You told her that you’d get around to it when you had a chance and left it at that.

And two weeks later, you found yourself in need of a caffeine fix that your tea kettle wasn’t strong enough to satisfy. You started on a new piece late the previous night, and midnight rolled into four in the morning, which pushed you into the arms of seven o’clock. Reinforcements were needed.

Throwing on a large sweater to cover up your messy clothes and grabbing the closest pair of shoes you could find, you originally planned on heading to your usual spot just around your street corner. Just as you were leaving, the list, still sitting untouched in the exact spot that Penelope left it in, caught your eye.

It’d been a while since you told Penelope you’d help her out. Enough time had passed that you now felt like there was an invisible deadline over your head.

Maybe it won’t hurt to try something new?

Besides, meeting someone at a coffee shop seemed like an easy, foolproof way to go about this. From all the movies and romance novels, you knew that cafes are the pinnacle of meet-cute situations. Or, in your case, a meet-forced.

Regardless, it should’ve been simple enough, and it would’ve gotten the favor off your shoulder.

You scanned the sheet for the cafe Spencer would be at on a Thursday at 8 a.m., and got there with barely five minutes to spare before he was expected to show.

It was just your luck that he had to pick a cafe practically as far from your home as he could get, and the transfer train had to have a delay that made you walk the last three-quarters of a mile there. Call it crazy, but you didn’t expect to actually have to put in work for this. You expected it better be worth the hassle.

You took a seat in the back of the cafe to catch your breath as you waited for him to show up. Sitting in the booth, with your head down so you coudn’t be seen, the plan started to feel stupid all over again. You were running around the city, spying on this stranger, and for what?

The silver bell hung over the door frame interrupted before your thoughts could travel down that path of questioning. It rang each time a new patron enters, and within the next twenty minutes it rang only eight or nine times. None of them appeared to be Spencer.

You were prepared to call this one a failure and leave, when you realized your colossal mistake. You only had his name, and no idea what he looks like. So unless he happened to wear a name tag around you could’ve already missed him. You realized then that there were more than a few flaws in this plan.

Keeping an eye on the door, you dialed Penelope’s contact as a swarm of new patrons flooded in.

“How am I supposed to know what he looks like?” you whispered into the phone, failing to cover it with a hand cupped over the speaker. Penelope was confused for only a second by the apparent lack of context.

“Oh! He’s tall, has mousy brown hair but he cut it recently. It’s like… missing on the sides, but it’s all there in the front!” she explained.

What the hell does she mean missing?

“Pen, brunette? That’s like all the guys in here…” You took a look around the full cafe; various men typing on computers, taking calls. All of them looked the same, from their brown hair to their khakis and puffer coats. “You’re going to have to give me a little more than brown hair.”

Penelope struggled to explain and with each new feature she gave you, your mental picture of him got more clouded. “He’s skinny! Dresses like a vintage teddy bear!”

“Does he have kind of like… a hot English teacher vibe?” you quirked your head, spying a man approaching from the sidewalk and drinking him in with your eyes. Tall, brunette, clad in corduroy head to toe with a plaid sweater vest underneath. Vintage Teddy Bear F/W 1978 collection.

“Yes! He teaches sometimes! And you think he’s hot?”

Your mouth gaped even though she couldn’t see you. “No, I - I didn’t say that. I said he had the vibes of a hot teacher.”

“And how different is that from saying he’s––”

“Pen, I gotta go. Your guy’s walking in.” You put the phone away before she could pick apart what you said.

The bell on the front door rang as he came in and you stared intently at his face. If this was like the movies, he’d turn his head right then, at the perfect time, and make eye contact. He’d fall madly in love from the first look, and your work would be done. You sat at the edge of your seat, burning holes into his skull, waiting for that moment.

But alas, he never looked up from the linoleum flooring as he walked up to the counter. With a groan, you slid out of your booth and quickly hopped into the line before anyone else could claim the spot behind him.

New plan: eavesdrop, order the same coffee as him, and pretend to go for the cup at the same time. Laugh about the coincidence, how if you share the same coffee order you must certainly have a lot in common, and have him fall in love with you.

But you overheard him rattle off his order and were absolutely horrified. Black coffee, extra sugar. Like, extra, extra sugar.

You were going to need a second change of plans.

You eyed him up and down, searching for something you could approach him about. He was donning black converse under a fitted pair of dark brown corduroy trousers, with a blazer to match, and a deep green plaid vest underneath. On paper, this outfit shouldn’t work. In practice, it… really did.

A little too well, given how good he looks in it. More fashionable than a federal agent ought to be as required by dress codes, right?

“Can I help you?” you heard, and it poked the bubble of your thoughts. Your head shot up to meet his for the first time, eyes wide as heat crawled up your face.

“Uh. No ––” Shit. You didn’t even realize how long you were staring at his legs. Long, long legs. And shit, why did you say no? That was your opening to talk to him.

The man –– Spencer –– nodded his head slowly, uncomfortably, and turned away with a forced grin. He grabbed the coffee cup placed on the counter and you thought now was the time to say something. But by the time you thought of it, he’d already picked up his cup and made his way to the door.

The stupid silver bell mocked you as he left.

__

The first attempt left you slightly jilted, but a few days later you found yourself in need of a few grocery items. You just happened to be in his neighborhood that day, and though it was very much out of the way of your own, you didn’t plan on it being a problem. He’d never see where you lived anyways, and he’d never need to know how unlikely this chance encounter really was.

You had Penelope text you the address of his regular grocery store, and upon arrival, felt immediate concern. It was not a grocery store. It was a convenience mart slash liquor store at the corner of the street, below a building of worn apartments.

As you walked through the aisles, the only things you found were a large assortment of wines that took up half the small store space, an aisle of candy packets and chips, a section for household supplies, and one measly aisle for canned and boxed foods.

Cereal, instant noodles, soup cans, pancake mix… nothing very fresh.

Spencer seemed like a pretty scrawny guy. You now believed it might’ve been from the fact that his food choices were so off-putting that he simply didn’t eat. It wasn’t your place to be concerned, but you decided that if you ever ended up taking him out, a farmer’s market might be good for him.

You loitered around for perhaps longer than necessary. The inquisitive shop attendant asked if you need help –– as in, why are you still here, get out of my store –– and you told her you were just really conflicted on which detergent brand you needed. Finally, the man you were after arrived at the scene.

“Hi, Dolores,” he greete with a small wave. The attendant, Dolores, greets back with a positivity that she sorely lacked when talking to you. Dolores has favorites, apparently.

An unexpected panic settled in your stomach and you quickly turned back to your selection of fabric softeners. You weren’t hiding, you just didn’t want him to catch you staring again. You picked up your two props, pretending to read the labels on the back and compare the chemical formulas on each of them, when you saw him out of the corner of your eyes.

He went into the aisle in front of yours, and over the short shelves you saw the back of his head sweeping over the modest food section. He turned around to inspect the other side of the aisle, and you ducked your head even lower. It was in vain. He spotted you anyway.

You fixed your eyes even harder onto the bottles, afraid to look anywhere else. He shuffled out of his aisle and turned the corner into yours. You started sweating a little.

“Uhm. Excuse me,” he said.

“Yeah?” You looked up from your bottles, putting on your best caught-off-guard face. Like you were a girl in a movie, reading a book on the beach (not detergent labels in a liquor store) and your romantic interest just noticed how beautiful you looked doing it, deciding he had to introduce himself.

“Can you… can you move…” he asked, gesturing to the section of cleaners that you’re blocking.

Never mind.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry.” You burned up, moving out of his way. He reached for what he needed and you peeked down to inspect the contents of his basket. Organic whole wheat bread, cream of mushroom soup, and somehow, he’d managed to find the only two apples this place must carry. At least there was light at the end of the dark, dark tunnel.

He tossed a bottle of Snuggle fabric softener and you raised your brows. Given that he was “grocery shopping’’ in a three-piece suit –– a good one, too, black trousers, vest and blazer with an eggplant purple shirt and lavender tie –– you would’ve expected him to simply send his clothes out for dry cleaning.

“Snuggle, huh?” you said. He gave you a confused look. “Oh, uh. I was looking at these. Couldn’t pick between the two.” You raised your two bottles of softener; Snuggle and Tide.

You needed him to know you weren’t just saying Snuggle to insinuate that you would like to do that to him. You remembered Penelope telling you he had a degree in chemistry or some sort of science field, and asked, “Is… is that one like, more organic? I was trying to read the formulas but I don’t… I don’t recognize the chemicals,” you trailed off. You could see yourself losing his interest the more you spoke. He barely looked at you as he grabbed whatever else he needed.

“I don’t know… I just like it,” he bristled. You looked down at the bottle and flipped it over to the front. It had a drawing of a teddy bear on it. How fitting.

You go to comment on it but yet again he’d made an escape, already at the checkout counter and unloading his basket by the time you looked up again. You rolled your eyes, wondering if it’s even worth it to follow him into line and see if he sparks up a conversation this time.

You could tell that he wouldn’t. So you gave him the space to buy his items and leave.

You didn’t really need the detergent, but Dolores gave you a pointed look before you could even think about putting it back on the shelf. You ended up buying the detergent, a loaf of bread, and two packets of sweets out of guilt.

As you took the train home, digging into your packet of sour peach rings, you began to doubt if you can carry out Penelope’s request.

_

After two failed attempts, you were prepared to tell Penelope that this just wasn’t going to work out. You didn’t expect it to be this difficult to talk to Spencer nor did you see yourself getting closer to him anytime soon. It would be best if she just found someone else to do it.

You caught her in the hallway, leaving her apartment just as you came home from the store. It seemed like as good of a time as any to let her know how unsuccessful your escapades were going. With your tail between your legs, you approached her with the intention of breaking the plan off.

But the second she saw you, it was like she could read through you. She clocked what you were about to say and before you could, she gave you a warm hug. It was the first one you’d ever received from her, actually. And she thanked you for trying.

It didn’t make you feel guilty, per se, but it definitely made you feel weird about telling her the news. So you bit back on telling her what you were really going to say. She didn’t need to know the details of your failure, or the fact that you were seconds away from giving up on her friend.

Maybe you didn’t need to give up right away.

After all, you did only talk to the guy twice. Don’t they always say the third time’s the charm?

You left the conversation at just that –– letting her know that you’re happy to do this for her, even if you aren’t really –– and slinked back into your apartment. The list, buried under the magazines and paint tubes and half-full cups of cold coffee on your table, called for you.

If by any stroke of luck you happened to share one interest with this guy, you promised yourself to give it one more try.

According to the list, that overlapping interest was the wonderful world of Gatsby Books –– a small, locally owned bookstore residing in the heart of D.C. ’s arts district. That neighborhood was smack in the middle of your’s and Spencer’s, and it was where the gallery you showcase at was.

You’d been meaning to get down there for a while now, anyways. It really was the cutest bookstore in the world; inside it lived a white, bushy-furred cat named Gatsby, and he was always there. After all, it was his bookstore.

It wasn’t such a burden to make your visit fit Spencer’s schedule, really. And it would make Penelope happy if you did. So on Saturday afternoon, you took a lovely walk through the sunny arts district of D.C., a smile on your face and a tote in hand for all the books you were planning on hauling back.

The smell of paper and coffee greeted your nose at the door, and you practically fell into a trance, letting it lead you through the aisles of the store without much thought of where you wandered. Not that it mattered, you could’ve roamed the shelves aimlessly all day long.

In the mystery and thrillers section, you found Gatsby. He jumped down from his perch on a step stool and weaved between your legs, greeting one of his long-time regulars. He was such a good shop owner.

“Hi, Mr. Gatsby.” You smiled and bent down to give him a little head scratch when he started running off in the other direction, taunting you into following him.

He rounded the corner and came to a stop at a pair of boot-clad feet; your eyes moved up to find your favorite employee (after Gatsby, of course) restocking the shelves.

“Miles!” you whispered, but he still jumped out of his skin. He turned around, hand still over his chest, and sighed when he realized it was just you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” you laughed.

“Hey, long time, no see. Back for some more recommendations?” You ‘ooh’ed at his offer.

“I was just gonna say, the ones you gave me last time were so good. I finished them in, like, a week.”

“Really?” He smiled, brows happily up his forehead. You nodded in assent. “Okay, well I’ll give you more this time, see if the list’ll last you a little longer than that.”

You grinned eagerly, following him to the shop counter where he pulled out a stack of bright green post-its and a pen.

“I’ve actually been waiting for you to come in, I already had these in mind for you,” he mumbled, scrawling across the paper quickly. He handed the note over, and it took a moment to decipher the chicken scratches.

“Okay, first you gave me Al-Shayk and Bradbury. Now you’re giving me Chaucer, Dickens, and Doyle,” you recited the note, giving him a teasing look. “Are we just going through the alphabet, Miles?” you joked.

“Honest mistake. But I’d be happy to give you all the other twenty-two letters of the alphabet if needed.”

“I might hold you to that.” You nodded, folding the post-it in your palm to prevent the sticky backing from gunking up. It’d make quite the good bookmark for later. “Thanks for these!”

“No problem, just a part of the job.”

Nonetheless, you thanked him again before disappearing back into the aisles. You found Miles’ books as well as a few of your own and nearly lost yourself in the rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, until you made a turn. Standing in the middle of the next aisle was Spencer.

A week ago, he was the whole point of coming to the store. That day, you completely forgot about it, and it stopped you in your tracks to see him there. He was just standing in the middle of the walkway, staring blankly at the shelf in front of him.

“Excuse me,” you grinned, “Could you move?”

You thought it was a cute reference back to the laundry detergent fiasco, a chance for you to turn the tables, but he had no reaction to it whatsoever. His face was straight as he merely pivoted his shoulder out of your way as you reached for the book you needed; The Narrative of John Smith.

His eyes narrowed at you and his nostrils flared, and you wondered if it was called for because you grabbed the last copy they had in stock.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want this?” you asked, waving the book in his face. He was just standing there for so long, you didn’t think he actually wanted anything since he never picked it up.

“No,” he said coldly.

Contrary to Penelope’s review, he didn’t actually seem that warm of a person. But you smiled tightly at him, letting a forced laugh fill the stale air.

“I… I swear I’m not stalking you,” you laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. Technically it was a bit of a lie, but he didn’t need to know. It’s just something people say when they have the happy coincidence of running into a stranger so often.

“What did you say to me?” he bit. His tone was sharper than you felt like this conversation deserves.

“I mean, I’ve just been seeing you around a lot… it was, like, a joke? Like, ‘ahh watch out, I’m stalking you!’ you know?” With each second he stared you down, you felt your throat dry out, getting more flustered as you felt the need to over explain yourself.

“Maybe you should work on your comedy routine,” he barked, his voice just faintly cracking. He shoulder-checked you as he rushed out of the store in long strides and a brisk pace.

What in the absolute fuck.

You couldn’t stay in the shop for another minute. You dropped your stack of books at the counter with Miles, giving him a rushed apology for leaving them behind as you stormed out of the shop and headed in the opposite direction of where Spencer ran off to.

The air outside was now frosty as the sun disappeared behind the horizon; the wind nipped at your hot cheeks as you charged home. There weren’t enough words to quantify the anger you felt. Your mind ran rampant with how much you now hated this man.

Not only did he bite your head off for no good reason, but he publicly embarrassed you at your favorite place and had gone so far as to bruise your shoulder to make a point. And you know what? If he really wanted you out of his way, you were more than happy to leave him the hell alone for the rest of your life.

You reached into your jacket pocket for your phone and dialed Penelope.

“Hey! How are––” she cheered.

“It’s off.”

“What?”

“It’s off. I’m not dating your fucking friend.”

“What happened? I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding––” she started in a panic. She pleaded that you overlook whatever went wrong and promised that she’d have a talk with Spencer about it. She’d try to encourage him into the direction that you need.

None of that registered in your brain, hot blood filling your ears instead of her words.

“He’s a fucking ass,” you spat. “The more I see of him, the less I like him, and… I’m pretty sure we’d rather kill each other than date at this point. So yeah, I’m done.”

☆

☆

☆

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[bellasweetwriting]

RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN COWORKERS

spencer reid x f.reader

(not my gif)

masterlist

plot: After months in the BAU, Spencer and you still don’t seem to get along.

prompt: “if I was in a room with Hitler, Napoleon and you, and I had a gun with two bullets, I’ll shoot you twice”

warnings: enemies to lovers, hate, angst, everything you can think of

note: it’s the fact that I went into a mental breakdown for almost a year and I hadn’t wrote anything... hehehehe

It was no secret Spencer and you never got along.

It all started when you first got in. You guys seemed to bond about music and movies, yet when the work started, you guys had complete different versions of what was right.

You were spontaneous, Spencer was calculated. You weren’t much of a talker, Spencer couldn’t shut up. You followed your instincts, Spencer followed data. Both of you had good ideas, but you never agreed with each other.

The whole BAU could see it, so you guys weren’t hiding it. This whole messed up organization in work killed any chance of you and Spencer ever becoming friends outside of it. The team was your family, and you love family... doesn’t mean you have to like them.

Spencer and you didn’t like each other, but both of you still cared for the other.

Sometimes, as you yell «I hate you», you don’t mean it, but when you say «I love you», you are completely joking. You don’t mean any insult, but you definitely lie in every compliment. You care for each other, but you are not friends.

You are like an old married couple that has to put up with each other, and for some reason, Hotch loves to team them you guys up in every case, maybe because the team gets entertained every time you guys have to do something together.

It’s not common to see Spencer Reid getting angry, and he always gets angry with you.

"Okay, Y/N, Reid, I need you to stay here. You got victimology. I need you guys to find a connection between this three girls."

You looked at them. They had nothing in common. Not even their eye color. Why would a serial killer have such a messed up victimology? It wasn’t a type.

You and Spencer were left alone in the police station, in the conference room where the team had set up. While Spencer was reading every bit of information about the victims, you were bouncing around, thinking about the three girls.

"Would you stop?" Spencer asked you and you paused your bouncing. "I’m trying to read... and actually work."

"I’m working, Doc," you argued before placing your index finger against the side of your forehead. "I’m using this to figure out the connection between these three girls. What are you doing?"

"Reading about the three girls and not waiting for a divine signal from the sky!" He snapped before looking down. "You are so difficult."

"You are so boring!"

Spencer has never hated someone as much as he hated you.

"Look, my mom told me to never be rude to people, but I just have to say this: If I was in a room with Hitler, Napoleon and you, and I had a gun with only two bullets, I’d shoot you twice."

You scoffed. "No, you wouldn’t. I actually save people by stopping serial killers. You’d be letting two of the worse dictators in history alive so they can kill..." But you stopped yourself before sitting next to Spencer. "Hand over the files..."

Spencer followed your request and you opened them in a hurry, taking out the class schedules for each girl.

"They all are into this tutoring program," you started reading. "They get personal classes. Brittany, the first victim, was written up from History Lessons, and the other two got English classes from the same tutoring program. These girls didn’t know each other, but they—"

"Could have the same teacher," whispered Spencer. "It’s the same tutoring couch, this guy..."

"We need to call Hotch," you mumbled. "We may have our unsub. Call Garcia, check if he fits the profile."

Hotch not always pairs you up so he can get free entertainment, but because he knows you guys do a great team. By annoying each other, you get out your best qualities into the light. You push each other to be better profilers. And you don’t realize it as you guys keep bickering each other, but if it wasn’t for the other, you wouldn’t be as good profilers as you are now.

After the case, more likely after Spencer and you cracked it up in almost fifteen minutes, you were sitting in the jet ride back home, reading a book as you were trying to stay awake.

The fact that you were reading something caught Spencer’s attention. The way you kept pushing your hair away from your face so you can read better, or how you would yawn, but refuse to sleep. He imagined you were arriving to an interesting part.

Spencer stood up, walking towards you. "I love that book. Did you arrive—"

"Shut up, Reid," you cut him off before yawning a bit. "Don’t ruin it for me like you did with The Phantom of the Opera."

"That ending was obvious. You’re a profiler!"

"How to Kill a Mockingbird?"

"Okay, that one was on purpose," he admitted as he sat down, you toes almost touching his leg from under your blanket. "I won’t ruin it for you this time."

You smirked before closing the book. "We did well today, catching that unsub."

"If we hadn’t bickered at each other like we did, we would have taken longer," pointed out Spencer. "Maybe, someone else would be dead."

You couldn’t help but to smile. "Are you calling us «superheroes», Doc?" He rolled his eyes. "I’m definitely a superhero, like Batman. You’re the other guy."

"I’m definitely not Robin."

"I know that! You’re my butler, Albert."

"Alfred," he corrected and you smiled.

"So you agree... I’m Batman and you’re Alfred."

He let out a sigh. "I’m out of this conversation."

You liked to make fun of Spencer, it was actually one of the things you liked about the job. You cared about him, even if you didn’t like him.

And that’s why sometimes you doubted. If you hate someone... why care about their well being? Is it like caring for someone of your family when you don’t actually like them? Was it like that with Spencer?

The next day, as you arrived to the office, you noticed how in your desk there’s a box with chocolates and a bouquet of flowers, and for a second you wished it was from Spencer’s.

That thought went away as fast as it came.

"Someone got their Valentine hooked already," mocked Derek as he noticed the present on your desk. "Who’s Cupid’s victim?"

"No one," you replied before reading the note. "Their from Alex, that guy I dated."

"Why is your ex boyfriend sending you flowers?" Asked Spencer as you tossed them in the bin before opening the box of chocolates.

"Because I’m unforgettable," you answered quickly before letting yourself fall on your chair.

Derek scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"It’s true!" You argued. "I date them for two weeks, give them the best sex they’ve ever had, get them hooked and then, before I catch feelings, I remember I have the busiest and most tiring job that exists and can’t date them. So... they stay in love with me knowing... I’ll never have time for them."

"Everything you just said makes me think that you have commitment issues," snapped back Spencer and you rolled your eyes before sticking out your tongue. "How matured," he mouthed, mocking you.

You turned to look at Derek. "I need to date a guy I can see every day without it affecting my work."

"So... date someone from work," offered Derek before walking away.

You thought about it for a sec before scoffing. "That’s a terrible idea."

"Actually, most successful couples—"

But you stopped him. "Don’t «actually» me, Reid, I’m not interested in your facts."

"I was just going to say... dating people that you work with or that have the same career as you increases your chances of a successful relationship. You share with someone that understands what you do. Simple logic."

You glanced over him. "So, you’re suggesting I should date someone from work?"

Spencer stood up from his desk with files in hand. "I’m saying... the statistics would be in your favor if you decide to do so."

And with that, the young genius left, leaving you with a lot of doubts.

• • •

The team and you were staying at a hotel that night for the new case they were involved in. You were quick to get in your room and toss your suitcase on the side of the bed before jumping on it, closing your eyes.

You were tired, you wanted to sleep, you wanted to rest so you could scream at Spencer the next day with the biggest amount of energy possible.

But your mission was interrupted by a knock on three door.

"Coming!" You yelled before opening the door of your room, looking at Reid standing there. "You got the wrong room. This isn’t the entrance to Dorkland."

"Very funny," he said sarcastically. "I just... About the whole... two bullets, Hitler, Napoleon... I... I didn’t mean it."

"What?" You asked in confusion. Was he apologizing for a joke?

"I wanted to make sure you knew that I didn’t mean it, that’s it, don’t read much into it."

"Yeah but why are you making sure I know you didn’t mean it? You’ve never done that before."

He exhaled. "I feel like... back at the office, we had a conversation when we didn’t insult each other hurtfully. It’s the first time we’ve had one and I kinda enjoyed it... don’t make fun of that."

You smiled. "Spencer... just because we don’t agree in work method doesn’t mean we have to hate each other till death, you know? I think... discussing our points of view could actually makes us better profilers if we stop degrading the other. Don’t you think?"

"Yeah, you may be right," he whispered. "Can I come in?"

"Why?" You asked in confusion.

"I studied more about relationships between coworkers and I want to talk to you about the upsides and downsides about dating between—"

But you interrupted him. "Spencer, is there any other reason besides apologizing that you came to my room?" But he shook his head. "Okay... let’s pretend I believe you."

But you didn’t believe him. You didn’t believe him at all.

Spencer was hiding something.

• • •

After a week of you and Spencer hanging out a bit more, you started realizing he wasn’t so bad after all. That all of that hating turned out to be more about your work rather than each other.

You realized you worked better together rather than apart, and stopped complaining every time Hotch assigned you with each other. That stopped entertaining the team.

But it was at Rossi’s game night when it changed for the first time.

When you say Reid as more than a colleague, or even a friend.

As something else.

By the way he would make Emily blow on his hands when he had the dices in between them before tossing them on the board with excitement, or when he knew the answer to each and every question, because he had memorized the entire game. By the way he would get excited every time he had something right, and angry every time the other team got something correct.

You liked Spencer Reid.

It took you long to figure out.

The next day, you approached his desk in a hurry, holding that study about relationships between coworkers between your arm and waist.

You were ready to date Reid.

[isthemedia]

Wait…PokémonHitmanHacker Cyrus WATCHES security footage of Giovanni? Does he get off on it?

I wanted to write something for this PokeHitman!AU...might as well start it off with a bang.

(Cut for content-NO UNDER 18)

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

It was sick. He knew it was. Watching this again and again-on loop. But he couldn’t help it. For as much as he teased and mocked the older man-seeing him work in the “field” was truly mesmerizing. That smirk, and that glint in his eyes. Even though there was no audio, he could tell when his tone darkened...when he was deathly serious.

Cyrus was certain if there was audio captured, he’d be watching this even more. Letting the words burn into his memory—

Maybe it was a good thing. He doubts he’d ever be able to have a normal conversation with the other without remembering this.

His specialty is hacking and deleting security; be it footage or codes to disarm locks-he could do it all. It was how the future was going to be. Everything technological-machine based. There was no need to stick to the “old ways”.

He couldn’t stifle the gasp he made as the footage showed the other man being able to deal a blow so hard to one of his would-be captures’ face, that he could see the small trickle of blood oozing out. And that smirk turned a bit darker.

“Gio...vanni,” Cyrus’ voice came out as a hushed whisper as he watched.

It was a small mistake on the older man’s part. Getting caught. Or maybe he wanted to be caught? It was hard to tell. But that was what this footage was. The arrest of Giovanni Sakaki. Several officers surrounded him, trying to apprehend him.

Secretly, it was Cyrus’ favorite footage. He saved every delete bit of footage or code. There would be a use for it in the future. Possibly.

However, he never considered this as a use. What was it about Giovanni that made him-feel- like this? Certainly Lysandre or even Maxie would have been more suitable. Lysandre and him shared many ideologies and both had troubled family issues...so naturally it would have made sense?

But, ugh, the Kalosian was far too haughty. His ego was massive. Sure he had a very controlled flair to his own methods-Cyrus couldn’t believe he was ACTUALLY going say it-they were almost, beautiful really.

As for Maxie...he did have to admit his intelligence was quite impressive. Too bad his anger would cloud his usual razor sharp judgement. Really, Archie was always going to be the better fit for Maxie.

There was a flash on the screen, and Cyrus found himself needing to shift in his seat. Heat pooling in the pit of his stomach as he continued watching. Giovanni had just let out his Persian, things were just going to keep escalating.

His breath was coming out in short pants as he felt his face heat up. “Giovanni,” he murmured as he watched. When it cut out, he rewound it, and watched it again. He already couldn’t recall what number viewing it was for this session. Third? Maybe the fourth? Either way, he knew he was going to watch it again. And then maybe once more after that-no maybe twice-or maybe the rest of the night.

Eyes focus on how Giovanni’s upper lip curled back into a sneer as several men approached him. Trying to corner the older man. To trap him. Oh, they had no idea how dangerous Giovanni could be if he was trapped.

Cyrus couldn’t help but lick his lips slightly. Giovanni’s face was surprisingly expressive. Despite his cool and collected demeanor, his face was always a clear giveaway as to how he truly felt.

Cuffs were pulled out. Though Cyrus knew they weren’t going to be used. He wondered, what would Giovanni look like if he was cuffed?

A sight that he could only fantasize about.

He made another small sound as he shifted in his seat. The heat was getting to be a bit too much. It was embarrassing when this would happen. But, there was something about Giovanni that made this feel, almost natural.

Those dull blue eyes focused on the screen, one of his hands trailed down…covering the slight bulge straining against the zipper of his slacks. Biting back a soft moan as he rubbed in just small circles.

The footage showed Giovanni seizing one of the officers by their wrist. Forcing the drawn gun and pointing it away from him, and down at the ground. The older man knew how to disarm a person with the barest amount of force. However, that wasn’t the goal this time.

That smirk. He said something to the officer. Cyrus couldn’t figure it out-he wishes he could read lips-but whatever it was seemed to have enraged the officer. They struggled against Giovanni’s hold. Cyrus’ eyes trained on how Giovanni’s hand nimbly shifted it’s hold. How one finger managed to position itself just right-

Then the sudden look of complete and utter pain replaced the irate look. The footage played as the officer fell over…his own gun shooting him in the foot.

Though the gun itself was now in Giovanni’s hand. Another shot, and two more officers had their own guns drawn. Yet Giovanni didn’t seem unnerved at all. In fact, that smirk just stayed on his face.

His eyes slipped shut for only a moment as he rubbed a bit at the bulge. Giovanni always knew how to turn any odds in his favor. It didn't make any logical sense as to how-but Cyrus saw it enough times to no longer question it. Perhaps Giovanni was never meant to be figured out.

His fingers finally working the button and zipper-undoing them. He shuddered slightly, a wet spot was forming on his briefs that was straining against his now erect cock.

The video ended...and once again Cyrus replayed it.

Biting his lip to stifle any sound as he continued watching. His hand stroking up and down...up and down. Breathe coming out in hot little puffs.

He got back to the part of Giovanni letting out his Persian. He didn't even need to give a command, just a snap of his fingers, and the classy cat Pokemon pounced.

A flurry of gunshots, blood spraying about. Leaving behind one last officer. Down on the ground, holding his bleeding leg as the Persian drew near.

The look of fear on his face was captured so clearly on the video. Watching those eyes grow wider-the skin going paler as Giovanni knelt in front of them. Again he said something, but Cyrus was beyond the point of caring what it was.

His mind was buzzing pleasantly as he continued to work his hand over his leaking cock. A moan slipping out through his pressed lips. It was building even faster now. Eyes barely opened, but he still watched.

Giovanni called back his Persian, as he still stood over the officer. He said something, and ended the offier's suffer--

Cyrus moaned as his hips bucked up sharply as he came.

How did he never notice it before?

How clear Giovanni spoke for that one moment. Making sure that even with his inability to read lips, Cyrus would know what he said.

'This is for you, amore.'

He was still panting as the video ended. Screen fully black. Letting his mind come back down to Earth from wherever it went off too in it’s orgasmic haze.

Those last few moments replayed in his mind. Cyrus couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him. That bastard. He knew about this habit of his, didn’t he? Of course he did.

“Giovanni…” Cyrus mumbled softly to himself with another chuckle. His heart rate was slowly back down. His body suddenly felt so much colder than it had just moments ago. He also felt so very tired-but on instinct he just hit ‘replay’.

Maybe it was sick. Twisted. Definitely something wrong with him. But he didn’t care. Not anymore. Not when he could just keep watching Giovanni.

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 25: Prima Materia

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Five Months Later

Friday, November 13th, 1998

“I can’t believe you,” Scully hisses as they exit Skinner’s office. “We’ve discussed this, Mulder. Multiple, no, countless times. You can’t just accuse someone of being a supernatural entity based off a… a wild hunch!”

“A hunch? Scully, we have concrete evidence. It’s literally documented in the folder you’re holding right now.”

“That ‘evidence’ is obviously subject to interpretation,” Scully retorts, stomping down the hall in an attempt to keep pace with Mulder’s long strides. “An interpretation I thought we’d agreed upon before going into that meeting. And I don’t appreciate you abandoning a solid hypothesis, that we discussed at length, in favor of whatever the hell that just was.”

Mulder stops outside the elevator, turning to her. “That was the truth, Scully. It’s out there, if you would just open your mind a little and accept that there are things science still can’t explain.”

“But science can-” She reaches out and punches the button for the elevator, “-explain it. You just like the sound of your own theories and ideas better than fact. Fox Mulder, the champion of truth, the only man willing to consider the extreme.”

“You know you like it,” he says in a low tone.

Scully’s eyes go wide, and she grabs his elbow. “Do not-”

The elevator doors open, and they scurry into the lift. Mulder presses the button for the basement.

“Do not use my weaknesses against me at work, Mulder, that’s not fair,” she says as the doors slide closed.

“Weaknesses?” Mulder asks casually. “Am I your weakness, Dr. Scully?”

“I’m serious. We’ve have a few close calls in the past few months; if we’re not careful, we’re going to be found out.”

“How, by arguing? We did that before we started fu-”

She gives him an imploring look.

“-working after hours,” he corrects. “Besides,” he continues, angling his chin downwards to reach her ear, “I happen to know arguing turns you on.”

Scully licks her upper lip. “I’m just saying we have to be more careful,” she insists, staring straight ahead.

“Then I guess this isn’t the best time to invite you out for a drink,” Mulder says.

Scully glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “It’s Friday the thirteenth,” she notes with a twinge of a smile. “Don’t you think it’s a little risky?”

Mulder shrugs as the elevator doors open into the basement. “Historically, the thirteenth is my lucky day.”

-

“You know, it’s been nine months since our first date,” Mulder says conversationally. They’d walked to Casey’s Bar from the Bureau and are now perched on stools at the far end of the counter, nursing a beer each.

Scully furrows her brow, obviously doing some quick mental math. “February… that was a date?” she says, somewhat amused. “You should have told me at the time. I wouldn’t have waited so long to put out.”

Mulder raises his eyebrows. “Dana,” he says in mock surprise. “I thought you were a good church girl.”

“What gave you that idea, my penchant for kneeling?” she mutters into her glass.

Fuck, she’s good.

They’ve been together for six months now, and it’s surprising how little has actually changed between them, in the practical sense. They’ve been pretty good at keeping their relationship a secret, Mulder thinks. It helps that everyone in the Bureau already thought they were crazy, codependent, and tanking their respective careers. Apparently, bad reputations make the best cover.

He and Scully arrive at the Hoover building in separate vehicles, squabble over conflicting viewpoints, have lunch together almost every day. He rests a hand on her back, guiding her through the halls, and she gives him withering glances and dramatic eye rolls when appropriate. From the outside, they’re still the same Mulder and Scully.

And then they go home to one of their respective apartments and tear each other’s clothes off.

Well, they usually make it home. That quickie in the office annex was an outlier.

Nine months seems significant somehow. The length of human gestation, Mulder thinks absently. It seems like a length of time worth celebrating.

“Would it be terribly corny of me to propose a toast?” he asks.

“A toast to what?”

He’s suddenly shy. “Us,” he says softly. “How far we’ve come. And how much,” he adds, giving her a nudge with his elbow. She rolls her eyes at him, and it feels overtly fond.

Scully lifts her glass. “To us,” she says warmly. “And to spooky shit.”

“You remember,” Mulder says as they clink glasses, recalling that first toast in Casey’s all those months ago.

“Mm,” she replies, sipping her beer. “I do. It was a… notable evening.”

“What made it notable for you?” he asks.

“We had an actual conversation, for one,” Scully muses. “About our personal lives, attraction, about how we relate to the outside world; and by extension, how we relate to each other. I remember very clearly feeling like we were close to something.”

“So did I,” Mulder admits. “So what happened, on your end?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “The spell wore off, maybe? When I got home that night I remembered all the reasons it would be a mistake to let myself feel. And then Mark happened, and you know the rest of that story.” She turns on her stool to face him more fully. “What happened for you?”

“I took you on a very cold, very dark picnic,” Mulder reminds her.

“Which was wonderful,” she offers.

Mulder nods. “But then when I asked you out again, you had a date. I don’t know, maybe I was going too slow, being too subtle. But when you started going out with that jackass it felt like… in a way, you were saying that what I had to give wasn’t enough.”

Scully doesn’t say anything, just stares down at her glass.

“And I realize that it’s selfish of me to project that onto you,” he amends. “Your choices aren’t about me. But fuck, I wished they were.”

“You’d be surprised how many of my choices actually were about you,” she says softly. “I surprise even myself. You told me before that you didn’t think I’d last a full year working with you, remember? There was validity in that. This job… it’s the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. So much is at stake for us, so much has been taken. But I chose to continue because I believed in you, and in our work. We have different methods and come to different conclusions, but we’re working towards the same thing. That’s what I believe.”

He reaches over beneath the cover of the countertop and takes her hand, clasping it atop his knee. They sit in silence for awhile, taking sips of their drinks, palms pressed together.

The truth hides in many places, Mulder is learning. Places more secret and sacred than dusty file folders or abandoned warehouses, more mundane than the locked rooms of the Pentagon or trapped beneath thousands of years of ice. The greatest truths are scattered pieces he stumbles upon every day; reflected in his bathroom mirror, scribbled on post-it notes in their office, hidden under Scully’s warm tongue. He knows he’s an obsessed man, prone to irrationality and impulse; but in quiet moments with his partner, he finds small fragments of peace he never thought he could reach.

“Where are you?” Scully says softly, drawing him back into the present. A dim barroom, a sweating glass, her soft hand in his. He wonders if the day will come when his mind wanders too far for her to follow.

“I-I know how crazy this is going to sound, Scully but bear with me… do you ever think that we’re… that we’re bonded somehow? Like we were always supposed to end up here. Together.”

“Like here, here? In this bar?”

“Maybe. Maybe less specifically this bar and more generally this time and place on earth. This universe, this dimension. With each other.”

She shakes her head gently, smiling. “Mulder, it’s been a long week. If we’re going to talk about the metaphysical I need to either have more to drink or be under the influence of a postcoital surge of oxytocin.”

He leans closer to her. “Do you have a preference as to which, because I’d gladly provide either.”

Scully pushes her half-empty glass away from her, eyes dark and soft. “Take me home, Mulder,” she whispers.

His heart squeezes. “Will you stay?” The night, the rest of our lives, until our boat drifts over the edge of the earth?

She nods, and another piece of the truth slides into place.

[sofwrites]

Each other's biggest ally

Polin Week Day 1: Favorite Quote

“No, his method of attack was a lazy smile, a well-timed joke. If Colin ever lost his temper...

Penelope shook her head slightly, unable even to fathom it. Colin would never lose his temper. At least not in front of her. He'd have to be really, truly—no, profoundly —upset to lose his temper. And that kind of fury could only be sparked by someone you really, truly, profoundly cared about.” - Romancing Mister Bridgerton, pg. 64

The one where Colin profoundly cared and had no choice but to lose his temper.

Type: One-shot, angst, sentimentalism, protective/mywife!Colin, protectective/myhusband!Penelope

Length: 3.3k

Read on ao3! Or continue under the cut

In the late months of the year 1825, Penelope Featherington Bridgerton published her debut novel titled The Wallflower. And in the early months of the year 1826, she relished in the praise of her work and suffered in the consequences of her now-public identity.

The response to her book was generally positive. Whether or not they were willing to admit it, the members of the ton were eager to uncover the scathing details surrounding Mrs. Bridgerton’s former pen name. They devoured the secrets hidden between the lines of the pages- forming their own conclusions and theories of what was fact and what was fiction.

It seemed that after many years of Penelope appearing to be invisible, the gravity of her voice was finally truly understood.

But as in all life, there were complications as well.

One gentleman in particular was quick to make his discontent known, and it was all due to just one short excerpt.

Although Beatrice did not befriend even half of the ton, she had made the acquaintance of nearly everyone at one point. And though they never realized, she scrutinized them almost as much as they disregarded her.

Even with her close examinations, she generally liked the people she met. There were bores, many in fact, as well as those with whom conversation could rarely be carried, but most were reasonably pleasant. There were exceptions, however, as there always are. One such exception was as follows:

It is an earlier season for Beatrice, one still full of wonder and disillusioned hope. She looks at the dancefloor with wistfulness in her eyes, dreaming, praying that her prince charming will notice her from across the room and ask her to take his arm.

He does not, of course. His mind is still focused fully on the small group that surrounds him, drawn to him like a shining star amongst the thinly veiled candlelight. Although the music is certainly too loud and the conversations too many, our heroine can perfectly hear his laughter through the crowded ballroom. She can hear it because she knows it better than she knows her own.

Later that evening, he’ll ask her to dance. He’ll remember her minuscule presence in his life, likely prodded by a sharp finger to his spine and a voice carrying a gentle reminder. And even though she knows why he will do so, knows that it is due to a kind sense of duty rather than true desire, she will cherish it all the same.

Right now, however, Beatrice remains at the edge of the dancefloor, her silent woes interrupted by the familiar voice of her mother.

“Beatrice, dear, this is Mr. Wetherden. Mr. Wetherden, I present to you my daughter, Beatrice Harpenton.”

Another bachelor, this one ranking second-tier rather than third. Her mother seems to have given her more credit this evening, Beatrice thinks as she looks at the familiar face.

The introduction is an unnecessary formality, of course, as are many of their rules; they were made acquaintances during her first season. Nonetheless, society calls for her to curtsy and give a gracious smile, and she obliges.

At the same time, he assesses her similarly to how he did so a few years before. And she sees it immediately, the dismissal that passes over his eyes even before he fully bends into his low bow.

Her mother leaves them to it- the stifled conversation in an even more stifling ballroom. The unfortunate girl in the canary-colored dress stands on the sidelines, trapped in conversation with yet another uninterested bachelor who is just as much forced upon her as she is on him.

He speaks endlessly, unquestionably more for his benefit than hers. He spends fourteen minutes explaining the difference between rugby and football. She suppresses three yawns and is interrupted twenty-six times throughout the topic, clearly expected to be an audience member rather than a participant.

At this time, she thinks this is Mr. Wetherden’s worst offense. Later on, when she is years older, Beatrice discovers that she was sorely mistaken in her youth. That without the cautionary lights of London (albeit often cloudy and forgiving), he is much worse.

She later on learns about his propensity to unwilling women. To frightened young housemaids who are often not given the options that women of a higher class are granted.

Our heroine also finds out later exactly how commonplace such a tendency is. And with it, her vision of social seasons- the one with balls and picnics and musicales- begins to splinter.

Penelope hadn’t named him, of course. She hadn’t named anyone directly.

She couldn’t publish a memoir, not really. Even though she was related to a fine variation of important characters in society, she couldn’t put such a strain on her family, and particularly not on her husband. Her husband, her lovely, amazing husband who supported her through the entire process even despite the fact that so much of their own private history was laid out in the pages of her novel. Penelope had written the truth, which hadn’t been entirely pretty. But Colin had agreed with her that the truth was more important than sheltering their secrets.

But even though she couldn’t publish a direct recounting of her life and experiences with the ton, she’d been unwilling to just hide behind fabricated stories.

Penelope’s telling of that night at the ball wasn’t completely factual. She did not know how many times Phillip Cavender interrupted her during their conversation, nor whether or not Colin had even been present that evening. But the details of the matter weren’t as important to her as shedding light on the entire situation.

She’d been young and naive during her first few seasons, believing that a few nasty comments and looks were really the worst of what society had to offer. Later on, she’d found out that she had been wrong, and that there was much worse than she’d ever known. And when her sister-in-law, Sophie, had recounted the night she and Benedict had met (well, met again), Penelope knew that she had to shed light on the matter. She had to make it clear what happened outside of the fancy dresses and giggling parties.

But as mentioned, such decisions did not come without their objections.

“Thank God, they’re leaving.”

The words came from just a few feet behind them, full of indignancy and bitterness. The couple had been walking together, arm-in-arm, towards the door, quite eager to return home for the evening.

They’d been attending an intimate house party at the request of the gentleman’s mother. She’d been unable to make her attendance that evening and had asked that her son and his wife go in her stead. They hadn’t been particularly excited about the prospect, but they’d agreed for her.

The party itself hadn’t been bad. The food was good, the music was pleasant, and almost everyone in attendance had offered the woman praise for her work. Though they hadn’t exactly been excited to attend, the evening hadn’t been at all poor.

That was, until they’d been nearing the exit and heard the troublesome remark behind them.

Colin glanced down at his wife, who grimaced, her nose scrunching as her eyes closed. They’d been met with a number of sneers and snide comments in the last few weeks, but they never became easier to hear.

With a small sigh, he turned them both around, looking directly at the man holding a glass of port too large and wearing a lip too curled.

Colin gave him a smile, the familiar one he used whenever he was looking at something that both irritated and mildly amused him. “Didn’t see you there, Cavender. So nice of you to offer us a sendoff.”

The opposing man’s mouth turned downwards, a stark contrast to the grin still on Colin’s face. Penelope swallowed, quickly cutting in. “We really must be getting home.”

With a pointed look directed towards her husband, she began pulling him back towards the door. Though Penelope would have loved to see Phillip Cavender get put into his place, she knew far better than to spar with a man holding a petty vendetta.

But before they’d even fully turned around, there was a mocking bark of laughter, followed by a slight slurring of words. “You do everything she tells you then? Follow her around like a lapdog?”

This time, Colin’s brow lifted ever so slightly, the same half-smile still imprinted on his lips. Penelope felt an uncomfortable heat rising up her neck as she reluctantly turned from the door again.

“If it means getting to share my life with this incredible woman,” Colin sent her a small wink before shrugging, “Then, by all means, call me a lapdog.”

There was some tittering around them by the small audience they’d attracted. With a quick glance, Penelope could see the angry lurch in Cavender’s throat, the narrowing of his eyes, the twitching of his fingers as they tightened around his glass.

Please, just let it go. Let us just leave and go home.

But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

“I know what lies she’s spread about me.”

“Oh?” Colin’s face took on a thoughtful expression, one that might have been convincing in any other circumstance. “I don’t recall ever hearing my wife mentioning you.”

Cavender’s glare deepened. “In that bloody book of hers.”

Penelope cringed inwardly as she felt the twitch of Colin’s hand in hers. Her eyes darted around the room as an overwhelming sense of dread engulfed her. The ballroom was small and the guests were bored, and a public row was certainly enough to draw a crowd- one that was full of prying eyes and listening ears.

Colin’s face remained the picture of serenity even though Penelope could sense the angry heat rising from him. It was something she could feel in him that others always missed, a secret fire that he did so well in masking.

Looking at the other man, Colin let out a sigh, one that was forcibly tired, as though he were speaking down to an overly emotional child. “I can assure you that all the characters in my wife’s novel were fabricated. And if you saw yourself in one of the less attractive personages, then I’d venture to say that such is simply a reflection of your own self-image.”

The whispers around them grew, and Cavender sputtered for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the easy taunt. But his surprise only lasted a moment before he hardened once more.

A man with a petty vendetta did not often allow himself to be diverted.

His eyes flickered to Penelope before they returned to Colin and he sneered. “You realize that she’s made you out to be an ass, don’t you? You can act high and mighty, Bridgerton, but the wife you so proudly boast has fashioned you into the biggest fool in all of London.”

It was at this jab that Penelope frowned, feeling her own prickle of anger. And for the first time in the nasty exchange, she turned directly to their shared foe, a hard, determined look set on her face. “Excuse me, Mr. Cavender, but I must ask that you don’t speak to my husband that way.”

She could almost see his eyes flash in fury as they set themselves on her. But before he could give the biting retort that was no doubt resting on his tongue-

“And I’d suggest that you consult a dictionary to properly understand the concept of fiction.” Colin’s tone was relaxed, just a sprinkle of mocking mixed into it. But Penelope could feel the tension in him, the protective edge that mirrored her own.

Cavender’s gaze shifted back to Colin, his rage appearing a bit more controlled as they listened to the snickering that surrounded them. Slowly, his mouth thinned into a tight line, and he took a step closer to the couple. By instinct, Colin angled himself in front of Penelope as her grip on his hand tightened.

He was just a few feet away from them when he finally spoke, a voice so low that it was barely audible over the murmurs. “And I’d recommend that you consider taking yourself and that bitch of a wife,” his eyes darted to Penelope for a moment, “out of town.”

And it was this comment that wiped the smile completely off of Colin’s face, along with any attempt of levity.

It was as if a chill had passed over, one that was both icy and burning at the same time. He stiffened like a board, a wave of unmistakable anger coming over him. And when his words came, they were low and even, colder than anyone had ever thought possible from Colin Bridgerton.

“You would do well to avoid threatening my family, Cavender.”

Though there was a slight tinge of red on his face, Phillip Cavender did not retreat. Instead, he took another step forward. “And why is that, Bridgerton?”

Penelope could see the muscles in Colin’s jaw moving from where she was angled, could practically feel the heat radiating off of his body. She’d seen him angry before, furious even, but this was different. This was so much more.

She wasn’t frightened, not by Colin nor by the man standing across from them. Fright was not why she wanted this to stop.

She didn’t want her husband’s anger to be made into a form of entertainment at a party. For him to have to serve the role of gallant protector whenever she upset someone. So, she attempted to silently will him to calm down, running a featherlight thumb across the surface of his hand.

But Colin wanted to finish what they’d started and instead let go of her and took his own step forward, almost shielding her completely.

“I think we all know that I have more than enough relatives to run you out of town,” he said, eyes locked on Cavender.

There was a flash of worry that crossed his face, but it was quickly forced away by a snort. “Is that meant to scare me? The threat of a duke and a viscount?”

Colin didn’t falter. Instead, his head tilted as he considered the man, considered the shaking fingers and the smell of alcohol on his breath. He’d never been a violent man by nature, even having grown up with two older brothers. He preferred words when he fought, and they almost always gave him his victories. He wasn’t opposed to physical repercussions, but he knew that a private gathering was not the place or time.

He looked Cavender directly in the eyes, speaking in a low, clear voice. “I will ensure that you are ruined, that is a promise.”

And because he couldn’t help himself, “And if that is not enough, be rest assured that we will do worse. My only qualm in doing it myself is that my brother would be disappointed he wasn’t able to help.”

There was a silence in the room that followed as Cavender glowered at him. His eyes darkened in fury as his face reddened, trying to figure out how far Colin could really go.

But there was something in Colin’s threat that didn’t allow for any consideration that he might have been exaggerating. Perhaps it was the definitive and resolute tone in his voice, or the strength behind his gaze, or the tight set of his jaw.

Or perhaps it was because Colin Bridgerton wasn’t the type to quicken to anger. Wasn’t the type to have a temper or even hint at unpleasantry.

Whatever it was, it made Cavender finally break eye contact and step back. He turned away, taking another large swig of port.

Colin could hear the pounding in his ears as he looked at the pathetic man, anger still coursing through him. But then he felt a warm hand lace through his, and the red glare of the world began melting away. Penelope was whispering something, her voice calm and soothing. He squeezed her hand in understanding but kept his gaze on Cavender.

There was a familiar casualness when Colin spoke this time, but it was threaded with venom. “Do not forget what I’ve said.”

And with that, he turned to his wife and pressed a kiss into her hair.

“Good night,” Penelope nodded to the remainder of the crowd, who finally had the decency to look away.

A few minutes later, when they were finally in a carriage returning to their home, Penelope sighed. With her eyes glued to her skirts, she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Colin.”

He looked at her thoughtfully, taking in a deep inhale of breath.

He’d been scared after the reveal of her identity, terrified even. There were evenings where he’d lie awake in bed and imagine all of the awful things that could happen to the person who was his entire world. And though they never spoke of such worries aloud, he knew that she was just as aware as he was.

Italy had been like taking a deep breath after being underwater for too long. There, no one cared or knew, and the only threat they faced was the harsh sun.

And then Penelope was pregnant, and a new light was added to his life, one that shifted his fears elsewhere.

Then they became a family of three, and Colin was thrilled. He still worried, of course, but his joy outweighed everything else.

Old wounds had been reopened in the recent weeks, that was for certain. But it did not mean that he blamed Penelope for them.

So, Colin pulled her into his side and tucked her head under his chin. “You have nothing to apologize for. We both agreed that you did the right thing.”

For a few moments, she said nothing, just listened to the sound of his heartbeat and the wheels on cobblestones. And though he couldn’t see her, Colin could sense in the silence that she was crying. Wordlessly, he handed her a handkerchief.

Penelope dabbed at her eyes a few times before leaning back to look at him. “I didn’t want to force you into this position.”

He smiled and lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, feeling the familiar warmth of her skin. “I watch you every day with nothing but awe, Penelope. I love you, I’m proud of you. And I will gladly stand by you through anything.”

Her eyes moved slowly as they crossed his face, searching for any hesitance. There was none, not even a hint of resistance.

Instead, there was so much love that it overwhelmed her, struck her with the same shock that it had years before. It was a love that mirrored her own, a fierce desire to protect and support another with as much reverence as one did for themself. It was one that never faltered even in the most difficult of times.

Her eyes were glossy when her hand reached up to meet his, and the smile on her lips was weak but true. “I love you so much. And I can’t believe that I’ve become so lucky in my life to have you by my side.”

And with that, they settled into their drive home, sharing whispered conversations and watery chuckles.

They still had a long road ahead of them, of that they were sure. But they knew that they would cross it together.

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 8)

Previously on LBitR

“For the record, I still say Disney World would have been far safer than this insanity.”

Lena does her best to ignore Kara’s muttering. While this may be one of the more insane schemes she has ever concocted in her life, the truth of the matter is that she would have never, ever suggested it if she didn’t honestly think they could pull it off.

“Maybe,” she concedes, squinting at the drugstore compact sitting on the nightstand as she readjusts the wig. “But it certainly wouldn’t be as productive.”

She turns to Kara, who’s still frowning, and fluffs the strawberry blonde locks cascading from her own head. Maybe she should just bleach her hair and be done with it.

“So, what do you think?”

Kara’s frown deepens considerably. “You still look like you, Lena. I’m not sure about this.”

“Wait, hold on; I’m missing a crucial piece,” Lena retorts, reaching for a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses sitting on the nightstand. “Ta-da,” she says flatly, pulling them on. “Unrecognizable, I’m basically a different person.”

Kara pulls a face, and Lena mentally kicks herself, rushing to pull the frames off.

“Kara, I didn’t mean...”

The blonde raises a hand, stopping her in her tracks. “I know,” she says, though she does so through clenched teeth. “I still think this is a monumentally bad idea. Explain to me why I can’t go with you.”

Lena sighs. “Because you’re supposed to be dead, Kara--it’s far less risky if I go in alone. Even if I get caught, you remain a secret. Plus-- I know the building. I used to own it, once upon a different Earth, remember?”

Kara crosses her arms over her chest, looking entirely unconvinced. “I still think we should wait for Alex. She’s going to respond soon, Lena, I know it.”

“Maybe she will, maybe she won’t. Call her again tomorrow,” she says, as evenly as she can. “But I’m doing this, Kara. I can’t just stand by while you go without powers for another day--who knows when Alex will actually be able to help? I need to do this.”

Kara stares, pensively and worriedly, not saying a word for a long time. She looks at the wig Lena’s wearing, at the outfit they bought a few towns over to make her look like some intern--button-down, dark jeans, oxfords, at the medical supplies they’ll use to take a sample of her blood and transport it to LuthorCorp tomorrow. Her gaze lingers on the glasses Lena’s still holding, and she releases a sigh, sounding more than defeated--she sounds afraid.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” she waves a hand over the considerable space between them, seemingly at a loss. “There’s nothing to... atone for, or whatever.”

Lena smiles, knowing it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree there.”

Kara looks anguished, seems to be grinding the gears in her head, like she knows that at this point she’s just grasping at straws.

“Is it too late to find a vet lab somewhere?” she tries, with no conviction behind her tone.

“No, but LuthorCorp will have the equipment for much faster, and more accurate results. I can do this, Kara. I promise.”

Kara visibly deflates, and Lena knows the matter will be dropped, just like that. “Fine. I concede. I’m never talking you out of this, am I?”

Lena feels her smile twitch a little, but she reaches over the gulf between them, putting the glasses back on the nightstand.

“No, darling, I’m afraid not.”

Kara’s responding sigh seems to echo in the motel room; it lingers in the air, heavy with a fear Lena knows she’ll try to brush off.

“Alright, fine. Now please take off that wig--you as a blonde is freaking me out.”

Breaking into LuthorCorp is quite simple, in a manner of speaking: all one needs to make it through the main doors is a swipe card. If she had the necessary materials, Lena could easily clone one with her eyes closed, but as it is, she needs to acquire one from an actual employee.

That is easily accomplished; Kara, decked out as tourist (complete with a neon-orange fanny-pack of her choosing), distracts a low-level minion having his lunch break on the public plaza right across the street from the main building, and Lena just walks right past them, disguise in place. His entry card and lab-coat are in her hands in less than a second, and in the other, she’s already crossing the street.

With any luck, Lena will be in and out of the building before the card is ever reported missing.

The problem, however, lies in getting into a laboratory. Any of the more equipped labs, those working on secretive (and likely illegal) projects, would lie behind layers and layers of security Lena has neither the time nor the tools at present to even try to break.

To their luck, Lena doesn’t actually need to try to sneak into any high-clearance labs--all she needs is a solid thirty minutes with a mass spectrometer of her own design; a handy not-so-little piece of machinery that had become standard in all L-Corp labs in their previous Earth, and, because Lex cannot resist stealing a good idea, LuthorCorp.

Still, even to access a simple, run-of-the-mill lab at LuthorCorp, Lena needs to go through biometric sensors--retina scanners, to be precise.

And maybe, just maybe, Lena had neglected to mention that little detail to Kara when they discussed the plan for the umpteenth time that morning while she methodically took a sample of Kara’s blood, but that’s neither here nor there.

Once she’s through the main doors-- Kryptonian blood sample packed into a Thermos full of ice in her purse (I am amazed and disturbed at how easily you were able to get medical supplies like these, Lena, seriously), it’s easy enough to make her way through the  elevators, carrying a stack of papers to look the part of an intern--no one even bats an eye.

The cameras on the third floor are exactly where Lena had expected them to be, so she walks down the corridor to where she knows is a supply closet, and swipes in with no problem. The layout of the building really had not changed at all since she last worked there, even if that had happened on a literal other reality.

Once she’s in, Lena only has to wait. She counts the seconds in her head in French, both to keep track of time, but also to calm her racing heartbeat, because this--this is the biggest gamble of her plan.

Since she obviously does not have a way to bypass the biometric scanners, Lena’s only option is to get someone to do it for her.

She lies in wait in the supply closet for about two and a half minutes, and then she hears it: the sound of footsteps, two sets of them, and idle conversation, coming down the corridor directly her way. Lena takes a deep breath, counts the steps as they approach--she only has one chance to do this right.

When the steps are right in front of the closet, she swings open the door with force.

“Ow!”

The hit is a good one--whoever’s on the other side blocks her from opening the door all the way with dull impact, and her papers go scattering all over the place.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Are--are you OK, did the door hit you?”

Lena’s holding a hand over her right eye, moaning and doubled-over in mock pain as two young men--both looking to be interns-- look her over with concern. One of them is already on the floor, gathering her papers.

“Ow, no, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have opened the door like that--oww” she cries, maybe a little too dramatically. One of the interns, tall and lanky, steadies her as she fake-wobbles on her feet.

“Ouch, did you hit your head? Let me take a look at your eye, take your hand---yikes!”

Lena removes her palm, previously dusted with the finest blush powder she could find at the drugstore yesterday, and makes a big show of blinking away her tears. The make-up gives her an instant shiner, and the fine powder has the added benefit of irritating the shit out of her eye--so the swelling and the tears are 100% real.

“I’m fine, really, thank you,” she says, waving them off and taking the sheets the other intern dutifully picked up. “I’m so sorry, I was in such a hurry--are you guys OK?”

“Better than you,” the first one, laughs, though he still looks concerned. “Are you sure you’re OK? Your eye looks pretty bad, do you want to go to the infirmary or something?”

“No, no, it’s fine -- I just got to run some stuff, then I’ll get some ice. I’m fine, really,” Lena waves them off politely, touching the skin around her supposedly injured eye.

The two men exchanged a worried glance, but the first shrugs his shoulders. “OK then, take care. Sorry again.”

“No worries,” she laughs, a little too high, but she’s so close, so so close... “I’m just a klutz--my fault, totally.”

She’s already walking away towards a lab, one she had checked during her walk from the elevator to the supply closet. The interns linger by the closet door for a moment, before slowly making their way to the elevator, still sending worried glances her way.

Lena swipes the stolen card, and immediately the panel by the side opens up, revealing the retina scanner and prompting her to scan her credentials. She leans towards the scanner, and the red light makes her blink; the machine buzzes and flashes red, and a robotic voice filters through the side-speakers.

Unable to scan. Please try again.

Lena huffs, audibly--she hears the interns’ steps pause someway down the corridor. She stomps her foot, and leans over the scanner again. It buzzes.

Unable to scan. Please try again.

“Shoot! You’ve gotta be kidding me right now!”

The steps grow closer, and for a moment Lena’s a bit worried she may be overselling her frustration, but before she can try scanning her retinas again, the tall and lanky intern is by her side.

“Did you try your left eye? Seems to be in better condition,” he jokes--his smile is genuine and friendly, but Lena puts on an impressive grimace of alarm.

“I never registered it,” she bemoans, feigning panic. “God, I meant to, but then it was just one of those things--oh my god, my boss is going to kill me--”

“Hey, relax,” he quips, raising a hand to stop what was going to be a rather dramatic tirade. He smiles, and swipes his card at the door, leaning over the panel and scanning his own eye.

Scan complete. The voice drones. Access granted; Montgomery, Jason.

The panel lights up in green, and the door unlocks with an audible hiss. Lena lets out a little squeak of delight that is barely faked--she can’t believe it worked.

“Oh my god, thank you, you’re a saint!”

She pushes the door open, but is barely a foot inside when an arm blocks her entry--she almost screams, body frozen in sheer terror as she turns to look at the intern the door panel just identified as Jason.

He’s smiling broadly. “Say, I’m sorry about your eye. Can I make it up to you over some coffee, later?”

Lena can barely contain her sigh of relief, but she puts on her sweetest smile and bats her eyelashes (though she’s not sure how good the effect is with the eye that is actually stinging quite painfully--what the hell was in that powder??). “I think you just did, Jason.”

His blush would have been cute, if Lena had not been on a very tight schedule. “Oh, I insist. When does your shift end...?”

It takes Lena a second to register he’s waiting for her name; she slowly maneuvers under his arm, dragging her fingers over the sleeve of his labcoat--she can practically feel the poor guy’s shiver as she leans in closer.

“Liz,” she whispers, close to his year. “And my shift ends at seven. The café across the street alright with you?”

He visibly swallows. “Yes, ma’am. See you there, Liz.”

Lena gives him a wink--with her good eye-- as he steps away. As soon as the door clicks shut again, she exhales with relief, leaning against it so she doesn’t just fall to the floor. Her knees are trembling.

She knew she could pull it off, but she also cannot believe she did.

With no time to waste, Lena practically bolts to the nearest spectrometer, quickly uncapping the Thermos with Kara’s blood sample and getting to work. It’s almost refreshing to be in a lab again, even under these circumstances, after weeks on the road. There is an innate sense of calm that falls over her when she’s working like this, like this is her element.

Like this is where she is meant to be.

The spectrometer whirs to life with Kara’s sample--Lena only needs twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes with it. She is tempted to stay for as long as she possibly can--there is so much equipment here that would be helpful... if only she brought a bigger purse, maybe she could have stolen some without detection, since there are no cameras in the labs.

The screen begins to break down the analysis, and Lena’s barely seeing it; she’s copying everything by hand onto a notebook--once the machine is done, she will make its history unrecoverable, and she doesn’t want to print anything through LuthorCorp printers.

Lena works quickly, annotating in her shorthand and trying to work as fast as the machine gives her results. She is barely processing what she sees; there will be time to read and figure everything out later, but now, she needs all the information she can cram into this little notebook.

She can feel her own eyes widening at some of the results, has to check them twice before writing them down--her pen furiously scratches across the paper, but her brain is already elsewhere, trying to reverse engineer the method of synthesizing what she’s seeing in Kara’s blood, trying to figure out ways to get it out of her system, trying to...

The spectrometer slows down and stops--the bar on the screen reads analysis complete. Lena releases a sigh of relief, hand cramping as she writes.

And then there’s the click of a gun right behind her.

“Fancy seeing you here, Lena.”

Lena shuts her eyes--the right one still throbbing, and raises her hands, still clutching the notebook as she slowly and deliberately turns around. She never even heard the door hissing open. She opens her eyes to meet a flinty, furious glare.

“Hello, Alex.”

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

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[stardust-kenobi]

Let Me Help You

Obi Wan x Reader

Summary: Obi Wan isn’t very tech-savy, and he wants you to help him with his computer while you two sit in the Jedi Temple library. You offer your assistance, and decide to help him in other ways, too.

Warnings: smut, dub-con!!, male oral receiving, public oral sex

Word count: 2k

A/N: ⚠️please DO NOT read if you’re uncomfortable with dub-con. It’s not for everyone. (In this specific plot it’s used because Obi Wan is trying to be a good Jedi) Consent is slightly more clear right before the act.

This was requested by anon! Thanks lovely, hope you enjoy 💕

(my gif)

Obi Wan’s face became more frustrated by the second. You sat across from him in the Temple library. You’d joined your friend today because he wanted the company while he completed some tasks undoubtedly related to his Jedi duties. 

“You alright?” You inquired, attempting to withhold a giggle at the sight of a man who is so usually calm becoming annoyed at technology.

“This datapad is going to drive me mad” he huffed. His fingers furiously tapped away at his attempted tasks.

“Sounds like a user-error” you teased him while continuing to stare at him. He looked up at you, obviously trying not to smile back. “And it’s a desktop computer, so, not technically a data pad” you jokingly corrected him.

“Well, whatever it is, it doesn’t like me very much” he remarked and returned his attention to the illuminated screen.

“What exactly are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to navigate the archives here but it keeps telling me I’m typing in invalid coordinates” his voice grew more annoyed.

“Would you like my help?” You offered kindly

“No, that’s not necessary.” He politely declined.

You waited, not responding, knowing he’d change his mind after another failed attempt. His eyes shot upward at you across the table and quickly looked back down, but then hesitantly returned to your gaze.

“Maybe I could use your help, y/n” he finally admitted.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought” you rose from your seat and headed around the table. You observed the room, and no one was around. You hadn’t seen anyone in the library since you walked in. You could probably hear a pin drop in the vast silence. You came around behind his chair and leaned down next to him. Obi Wan’s eyes could not have been less discreet as they peered over to your chest that was now at his eye level. Your shirt was low cut, and perhaps a little too tight, but nothing you wouldn’t normally wear. You noticed but said nothing to Obi Wan, just flattered that he wanted to look.

“Let me try and enter the coordinates. What were they?” You inquired. He gave you the same numbers he had been typing in. You unfortunately found yourself having the same issue he was having. Obi Wan laughed, mocking you for thinking it was his fault.

“User-error, was it?” He teased you. You shook your head and giggled.

“Let me try something else” you said. You attempted other methods in order to make it work. 

“Why don’t you pull up a chair?” He suggested.

You looked around, there were no chairs close, except for your chair on the other side of the table.

“Oh no, that’s alright” you shrugged, but then an idea crept into your devious, sexually deprived head. You checked your surroundings again, no one was in the library. It was late, anyways, so it wasn’t unusual.

Obi Wan’s lap sat there, open and empty, legs spread open, as if it was waiting on you to fill the space. You slowly moved your hips downward and over onto his thighs. He didn’t say a word, protest, or even make a sound, until you were fully seated on his unprepared lap.

“Oh, um...alright then” he stuttered, unsure what to say, but didn’t reject you either.

“Sorry, I saw a perfectly good seat and took it. That okay?” You clearly played innocent.

He roughly cleared his throat and breathed out hard. His built up sexual tension was obvious, and you preyed on it guiltlessly.

“No problem at all” he chuckled, finally responding to you. Continuing to work at the computer in your new found seat, you rotated your hips side to side subtly, pressing more firm into him. Hardly any time had passed before you felt him grow aroused under your ass. You smirked, loving the effect you were having on him.

“Oh, there we go, it worked!” you announced suddenly. The screen displayed the archive location that he searched for, after tweaking with the settings for a bit.

“What worked?” He breathed out, clearly more flustered than the last time he spoke. It was as if he was snapped out of a trance. He was incredibly distracted and couldn’t even recall for the moment what you were even helping him with.

“The...computer?” You stated the obvious, turning around sharply to meet his eyes.

“Right!” He shyly remembered.

His erection was continuing to grow and he wondered if you could feel it against you.

“Something wrong, Obi Wan?” You asked him, Both of you were fully aware of what was happening, but the lack of direct communication refused to acknowledge it plainly.

“Oh, I’m fine” He replied, clearing his throat again.

“You sure? You seemed flustered” You pushed the conversation further.

“Y-yes I'm, uh, I’m sure” he stumbled over his words.

“Seems like you’re having a hard time with your words there, Master Kenobi” you purred, wasting no time dancing around the idea. “Well, something is hard” you smirked, getting close to his face while sitting sideways across his thighs.

His breath hitched in his throat when he heard your voice turn sensual. Obi Wan said nothing because he wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted you, that you could tell, but a man that lived so strictly by the Jedi code would be hard to crack. And in public? He’d be insane to let you seduce him.

“Y/n...” he groaned deeply. His body language communicating how hard it was to restrain himself.

“Yes?” You whispered while moving your lips to his bare neck. You placed your lips at his supple skin and pecked slowly and lightly.

“As lovely as this is, I can’t” he protested. “It’s forbidden for me to engage in this, y/n, you know that”

Regardless, your lips continued working at his neck. A hum, almost resembling a moan, crawled from his mouth.

“You’re telling me, that if I got on my knees, right now, right here in front of you, that you wouldn’t want me to suck your cock?” You purred so softly directly into his ear. You observed the chills that cascading down his body and you smiled against his skin.

“Stars, y/n, I’ve never heard you talk like this” He avoided the question, his breathing still tense. You felt his hips buck slightly up into your weight.

“I know how stressed you are, Obi Wan, let me help you” you offered. He looked into your eyes for a moment. Desperation was hidden deep in his gaze. He wanted a release, but had to make a decision of his morality and his loyalty to the Jedi Order.

“You want to do that to me...here?” He inquired the absurdity of your offered actions and especially there in public. His tone was so innocent and clueless to your attraction to him.

“Oh, Master Kenobi, it’d be my pleasure” you called him by his formal name yet again, even though you’d only ever called him Obi Wan. You assumed it might turn him on. You were right.

You softly press your lips onto his. He received your lips hesitantly, but then eagerly. You moved to straddle him, placing both legs on either side of his hips. You pushed your hips forward, curling them into his bulge. Becoming more comfortable with your touch, Obi Wan’s lips danced with yours passionately.

Butterflies fluttered in your belly as you finally acted on your eager built up desires for him.

“But, y/n, the Council -” he began again, breaking the kiss, and still worried for his long list of ethical restrictions on his life.

“I don’t see them here...do you? And we both know Anakin doesn’t follow the rules, does he?” You persisted.

“Well, no. I suppose you’re right” he whispered back, laughing quietly at your comment. He was nervous, but it was impossible for him to hide his new hunger for your lips around his cock.

“Allow yourself some fun, Master”

“Y/n, I want to, but I’ve never done anything like this before” He admitted casually.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you” you sweetly assured him.

“Okay, darling, but I do believe we must make this quick” he finally fully accepted the idea, but looked quickly around the very large room to confirm you were alone together.

“Oh it won’t take me long at all” you winked at him.

Removing yourself from his lap, his eyes never left you as he was unsure of your next step. You got on your knees in front of him, as you promised. His hands eagerly fumbled to pull his trousers down. You met his hands halfway and took over.

His cock begged to be let free from its restraints. Once the cloth passed his full length, it sprung out and met your eye level. He was so adorably nervous. You released a moan at the sight of him exposed to you.

You wrapped your hand around him and the contact made him twitch. He breathed out heavily as he’d never been touched like this by another person. Your eyes met his lustful gaze. You raised your eyebrows, non verbally asking If he was ready. He nodded his head, and you proceeded.

Your lips parted widely to bring him into your mouth. Your eyes locked as you lowered your mouth completely down his length, taking all of him into you. A feeling so unfamiliar to him caused Obi Wan to grip the arm rest of the chair. He breathed in sharply, and exhaled the sweetest moan. Using the moisture from your mouth, you glided yourself up and down slowly.

“Oh my stars, y/n” he whispered. You two knew you still needed to be quiet, in case someone was close.

Obi Wan was so sensitive and touch starved beyond belief. No matter how hard he tried to muffle himself, he was unsuccessful. Your ears were graced with the delicate sounds escaping his lips as you brought him more pleasure than he’d ever experienced before.

“Fuck” he cried, already so close to his climax from your skilled motions. Vulgarity flying from him was a new sound to you and it earned a warm sensation inside of you.

An aching formed between your legs, a feeling of pleasure that was all too familiar to you. You wanted him to take you right then and there, but you’d surely get caught. Another time, you thought.

Removing your mouth to rest your jaw, you pumped your hands around him. You looked up at him, his eyes had still not broken contact with you while you created a euphoric form of pleasure for him for the first time.

“Y/n...” he whimpered

“Yes, Master Kenobi?” You cooed and smiled at him. He formed a grin down at you that quickly turned back into his O-face as you pumped him faster.

“I’m...oh my” he started, his body couldn’t stay still.

“Are you gonna cum for me?”

“Oh, yes, y/n. I’m so close. I’m gonna cum” he whined.

You returned the moisture of your mouth back to his cock and sloppily, yet rhythmically, sucked him continuously, responding to the way his body moved and the sound of his moans. The veins in his length twitched and his hips shifted.

Obi Wan threw his head back in ecstasy and just then you felt your throat become coated in his hot cum. The suppression of the growls that formed from his climax was intense and deep, somehow loud and quiet simultaneously.

You swallowed him up and removed your mouth from his sensitive parts. Obi Wan’s head was still laid back, you watched as his chest rose and fell with the effort to catch his breath.

“Was that alright?” You asked, giggling, knowing the answer already.

“Well, I...darling that was...incredible” he finally expressed in between his deep breaths.

You helped him pull his trousers back up and plant a kiss on his cheek as you stood.

“Glad I could be of some assistance for you tonight” you winked.

He was blushing, still in disbelief that you two just engaged in such an act. He was so precious and shy about the whole thing, but enjoyed every single second of it.

“Perhaps maybe I can help you next time, hm?” He suggested. You bite your lip, already growing eager for the next time you’d be alone with him.

Kinda wanna make a part 2??

[parkersbliss]

Press Week | T. Holland

Pairing: Tom Holland X Famous!Actress!Reader

Warnings: no-no words maybe?? sexual innuendo, lots of fluff, lost of dialogue, a lot of 1D references but you probably won’t see them

WC; 3K

synopsis: just three times you and Tom were too adorable during press week

a/n: I had too much fun with this, tbh these are all based of actual interviews so don’t come for me

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

—

"I'm Tom Holland."

"That does not sound like me!" Tom protests, mock offense displayed on his face.

"You're right, you're right, my bad. Okay, let me try again," You said, coughing you slap your chest a few times. "I'm Tom Holland!" You said using your best British accent and high pitched voice.

Tom smacks his lips together, rolling his eyes, "And I'm (Y/N) (L/N)!" He said, making sure to do an over the top impression of you.

"And we're answering the internet!" You announced, lifting a jar full of paper slips to the camera. You pull out the first piece of paper, reading it over yourself, thinking over an answer before saying it out loud, "What's your guy's go-to date night?"

You and Tom both look at each other before turning back toward the camera, "Netflix and cuddles."

"Not chill," You clarified, "this is a family-friendly show, Netflix and cuddles."

"Although," Tom objects, "sometimes we chill," he winks at the camera. You slap his arm for the comment and he yelps in pain, "Kidding!"

"Moving on." You hand the jar to Tom and he rummages around a bit before pulling out a random slip of paper.

"What's the worse feeling in the world?"

You pause, tapping your chin as you think. "Oh! Do you know when you're like really excited to get an apple and you go and get it and you're expecting it to be all crisp, juicy and sweet and instead you bite into it and it's kind of soft and a bit dry?"

Tom bursts out laughing next to you, burying his head in his hands as his body shakes with laughter, "oh my god, I love you," He spoke.

"I love you too?" You said although it came as more of a question. You weren't quite sure why Tom was laughing so hard, you were being serious.

He gathers his composure, wiping a few tears from his eyes, "Okay, so now that my girlfriend gave her ridiculous answer."

"It's not ridiculous! You asked and I answered," You interrupted, crossing your arms. Tom rolls his eyes, patting your knee gently.

"The worse feeling in the world for me does not have to do with food," He makes sure to give you the side-eye at the comment, "It’s when (Y/N) gets mad and I'll tell her to 'calm down, baby' I made that mistake once and I never will again."

You nod your head, giving the camera a serious look and pointing a finger, "Seriously don't tell your girlfriend or boyfriend that or they will strangle you."

"I've experienced it firsthand," Tom backs you up, "It's not my preferred method to be choked."

The whole room goes silent and you can feel your cheeks burning up in embarrassment at his comment, of all the things that come out of his mouth he had to say that? Tom glances at you, scratching the back of his neck, he mumbles a sorry and quickly hands you the jar of paper. You’re quick to pull out another question to change topics, "I simp for Tom's biceps any day."

Tom wiggled his eyebrows, flexing his muscles at the camera and you giggle, wrapping an arm around the muscle, "Honestly, me too."

Tom smirks, flexing a bit more and you gasp, making dramatic camera motions as he goes.

"What's the next question, lovie?" he asked.

You dig into the jar pulling out a slip, "How can I die for Tom Holland without being dramatic?"

Tom blushes, letting out a soft chuckle, before looking down at his converse and back toward the camera, "I don't know, maybe just don't die for me?"

You pat Tom's shoulder, flashing an apologetic smile at the camera, "Sorry, he gets flustered easily."

Tom scoffs, swatting your hand away, "do not."

You quirk an eyebrow at him, but say no more and read the next question to yourself, laughing.

Tom looks over your shoulder, before you fold the paper up again, "What? What is it?"

"How can I be (Y/N)'s new boyfriend?"

"Absolutely not!" Tom screams, ripping the paper from your hand, crushing it as you laugh, almost falling off your seat.

"She is perfectly happy with me!" He huffed, chucking the piece of paper offset as you continue to giggle next to him.

"Position already filled," You told the camera, leaning over to press a quick kiss to Tom's cheek.

"I think I’ll be picking the next question." Tom takes the jar from you and pulls out the next one, "If you guys could date anyone else in the world, without offending the other, who would it be?"

"Louis Tomlinson," You said, not missing a beat. At the same time, Tom says, "I wouldn't."

"oh shit," You giggle, biting your lip as you look to Tom.

His mouth falls open as he tosses the paper aside, "Of all the people and you pick my favorite member of One Direction?"

"Well, he's your favorite for a reason, no?" You counter.

"The man's got great hair, I won't lie. He's funny as hell, but I'd like to think my girlfriend prefers me than an ex-boy band member."

"It was a hypothetical question," You reassure him before adding, "but Louis if you're watching this my number is-"

Tom slaps a hand over your mouth, "Don't even think about it."

You stare at Tom, looking back down at his hand and he catches on quickly, "babe," he warns.

You giggle before licking his hand and he retracts it quickly, wiping it down, "Babe," He whines as you laugh.

"We're very professional," You point toward the camera, smirking as Tom continues to wipe his hand on his jeans.

"That's why they put us in this interview together," Tom said, still wiping his hand.

"Anyway," You take the jar back from Tom. "While my boyfriends freaking out because I licked his hand and I literally kissed him this morning, let's move on to the next question." You slip your hand in the jar, mixing up the paper a bit before picking out a random one, "PLEASE bring back the bed selfies."

Tom laughs, "See here's the thing, I would, truly, but (Y/N) doesn't like when I post myself shirtless and I quote, 'looking like perfect boyfriend material.'"

You scoff, "Priorities, Tom, Priorities. I'll let you post them when I get to be cuddled in your chest as well."

Tom shrugs, looking into the camera, "that can be arranged."

...

"We have some very special guests here with us today," The host said, causing all the fans to clap and cheer. "You might know him as the fishbowl man, but ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Jake Gyllenhaal!"

The crowd claps as Jake jogs onto the stage, he stands arms open as he accepts their applause. He makes a more motion with his hands, to which the fans obey. He laughs, taking a bow as he takes his seat on the far end of the table.

"Next up we have the man, the legend, the one who plays your favorite sixteen year old from Queens, Mr. Tom Holland!!"

The crowd loses their mind as Tom strolls onto the stage, he stands, blushing, mouthing thank you as he bows repeatedly, blowing a kiss to the crowd while flexing a muscle. He takes his place next to Jake, tapping his microphone, "I'd like everyone to give a warm welcome to our other new member, you may know her as Eva Rose, but to us, we call her (Y/N) (L/N) or as I like to say, my lovely girlfriend," he winks.

The fans cheer, clapping and screaming as you take the stage. You smile, waving back at them and blowing a kiss, doing a little shimmy to your seat, where Tom pulls you down for an innocent kiss that makes the fan scream.

"I'd like to welcome our next guest, my best friend, and a walking goddess Zendaya!" You said into the mic. She struts onto stage, doing a little twirl as the fans cheer. She waves, grinning as she bows and takes her place next to you.

"And finally, we have, everyone's favorite, the only reason you want to see this movie, Jacob Batalon!" Tom grinned, waving his best mate on stage. Jacob runs on, fanning himself in mock excitement, laughing as he takes the last seat.

"Hey, guys! How is everyone?" The interviewer asks.

"We're good!" Tom said, waving to all the fans, "happy to be here."

"So this your second movie and obviously the cast has changed a bit, can you tell us what it was like working with them?"

Tom nods his head, looking toward Zendaya and Jacob, "Um, I think it was a really cool experience working with (Y/N) and Jake. It was kind of surreal to be working with such big names in the business, ya know? I met the love of my life on set too, so that was kind of a big plus."

You shrug, leaning into the mic, "it was just a big plus, that's all it was."

"Trust me, you didn't want to be on set when (Y/N) wasn't around. All Tom would do is gush about her for hours on end. I thought my ears were going to fall off," Zendaya pipes up, laughing as Tom goes red in the face.

"He got the girl, didn't he?" Jake asked.

You nod your head, "I think he did, not quite sure."

Tom swings his arm over your shoulder, "No I definitely did."

You look up at him, taking the chance to press a quick kiss to his lips and he hugs you a bit closer. Jake rolls his eyes as Jacob and Zendaya fake gag.

"You should've seen them on set, it was horrific."

The interviewer laughs, "I assume that means you guys have some embarrassing stories to tell?"

"Plenty."

The interviewer goes around asking questions about the movie-making process, filming, stories from the set, and questions from fans. You unscrewed the lid to your water bottle, taking a sip and Tom uses the opportunity to gently tilt it upwards, causing more water to come out. You cough, wiping down the water that drips down your chin as you glare at Tom. He smirks, giving you a coy smile and you have to resist the urge to slap it right off his face. A few fans had noticed the interaction and were pointing to you two, giggling. You lean over, whispering in Tom's ear, "I'm going to get you back for that."

He turns toward you, covering his mic, "I'd like to see you try."

"If you could play any other character, who would you want to play?" The interviewer asks.

Tom uncovers his mic, leaning in to answer, "Um, I think I'd like to play-"

You poke him in his cheek and he turns his head toward you, "yes?"

"Nothing carry on."

"As I was saying I think I'd like-"

You poke him again.

"Babe."

"Nothing."

He continues speaking and this time you let him go a bit longer before yet again, poking him in his cheek, this time he continues, swatting your hand away, only restoring in you poking him more as he continues to try and speak.

"I'm sorry," Tom said, "My girlfriend is making it very hard to answer."

You smile sweetly, "No one cares what you have to say anyway. I'd love to play MJ."

Zendaya laughs, "I'd like to play maybe... Shuri could be a lot of fun."

The interviewer moves on to some fan questions, handing them mics so they could talk to you.

"Hi my name is Isaac," One of them said.

"Hi, Isaac!" You all chorused.

"I'd like to first say I love you, (Y/N)."

You place a hand on your hear, "I love you more."

Isaac laughs, cheeks tinted a fair shade of pink.

"Seriously," You add.

Tom sits beside you, pointing to himself, giving the audience a quizzical look, "look like she's moved on already," He pouts.

You roll your eyes, "I'm sorry, Isaac. Tom's quite clingy."

Tom grabs your hand in his as if to prove your point. He kisses your hand softly.

Isaac chuckles, "my question is, do you ever get jealous of Tom and Jake's marriage?"

Jake bursts out laughing, slamming his fist down on the table as he regains his composure, "That was the best question ever."

"Um, no, no, I don't get jealous. It's hard to when you're just the side chick," You replied.

Tom's head is buried in his hands as he and Jake laugh.

"See what I mean? There was never a competition, Jake already won."

...

Tom held a small bin in his hand, full of tiny slips of paper, "So it's like charades, but with words?"

The interviewer nods, "Right, so there's something on the paper and you have to describe it without saying anything on the card, you have five minutes."

"I can do that," Tom muses, "can we start?"

The interviewer nods and Tom pulls out the first piece of paper, reading it to himself, Your first date.

"Um, it was you and me," Tom starts, "we were on set, in my trailer and we ordered some crappy pizza-"

"Our first date?" You asked. Tom nods throwing the paper away.

"I thought the pizza was quite nice," You mumbled.

Tessa

Tom makes a barking noise, not even looking up from the paper as you immediately said, Tessa.

Tom breaking his nose

"Okay, this happened to me once on set this year. It has to do with my facial structure, it happens more often then I'd like."

"Face fillers!" You said.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that. I've done this about three times, it normally involves blood and bruises, the directors hate when it happens..."

You think about it for a bit, staring at Tom's face, "Oh, you breaking your nose!"

He nods, grabbing the next paper. (Y/N)'s iconic premiere look.

"You do break it a lot, your poor nose."

He shrugs, "'s fine now, hospitals work magic."

"It's actually my kisses that heal his nose," You corrected.

Tom nods his head, smiling up at you, "Okay, um, my girlfriend, she went to a thing and was dressed in like a-"

"My red carpet look?"

He crushes the paper, "You did look gorgeous, lovie."

"I know."

"I don't know why I even bother with compliments."

First kiss

Tom thinks about it for a bit, before tapping his lips gently and holding up his pointer finger. You tilt your head to the side, before leaning in to kiss him softly. You pull back only for Tom to grab the back of your neck and bring your lips against his again.

"Wasn't asking for a kiss, baby, but I won't complain."

"What is it then?"

He taps his lips again, "We were on set, having a funny face competition and you made a duck face and I thought you wanted to do a thing and so I did a thing."

You burst out laughing, "our first kiss?"

Tom grins, cheeks dusted pink, "yeah."

He grabs another piece of paper, Tom spoiling movies.

"Marvel hates me because of this."

"You spoiling movies."

(Y/N)'s strange love for apples

"We were in an interview and I asked a question and you immediately replied with the most ridiculous answer ever-"

"Apples."

When (Y/N) stepped on a snake

Tom laughs, taking a minute to calm down as he remembers the vivid memory, "We were in Australia, on our way back from the beach and there was an ssssss."

You stare at Tom as he does an impression of a snake, making a hissing noise and moving his hands and head in a (what you assumed) was a slithering motion. If you were being honest, you knew exactly what the card said but you quite liked Tom doing an impression of a snake, "when I stepped on a snake."

He snaps his fingers, "yes!"

"In my defense, the snake was the same color as the sidewalk and It didn't make any noise, but uh, it was pretty scary, it hissed and I ran."

"I've never seen her run so fast in her life," Tom added, "I almost couldn't keep up with her."

Tom's fear of spiders

"It's ironic, I'm terrified of what I am."

"Your fear of spiders."

He pulls the next card, "You for some reason think this guy is better than me-"

"Shawn Mendes? Harrison? Niall Horan? Dylan O'Brien?" You list off on your fingers.

Tom hides his face in his hands, "oh my god."

"Oh! It's Jacob!"

"I don't know why I bother with you."

You giggle, grabbing one of his hands to hold, squeezing it gently, "Is it Louis Tomlinson?"

He tosses the paper to the side and you kiss his cheek, "I only think he's hotter."

"Gee thanks, babe."

"I love you," You whispered, making a kissy face. He sighs, leaning in to press your lips together, noses brushing.

"M'kay, sure you do," He mumbled, grabbing the last few pieces of paper.

"You guys have five seconds left," The interviewer announces, startling you both.

Tom blinks, looking down at the few pieces of paper in his hands, "I shouldn't even bother, should I?"

You shake your head no and he looks to the interviewer who gives him a thumbs up to keep going.

"My best mate, he went to go get us something and he came back and managed to make a mess."

"That's extremely vague, but I'm guessing when Harrison spilled coffee all over himself?" You inquired, Tom tosses the paper in which you take a sign that you were right.

Tom nods, grabbing the last piece of paper. He gets down on one knee, gently taking your hand in his.

"Oh! You and Jake’s marriage."

He nods, getting back up and sitting next to you. He tosses the now empty bin behind him.

“Man, you’re so lucky to be married to such an amazing guy.”

Tom shrugs, smirk playing on his lips, “I guess he’s alright, would’ve preferred someone else though.”

You gasp, bringing a hand in front of your mouth, clearly displaying the diamond ring on your finger. Tom looks at it, shrugging as he turns to face the camera. You wink, blowing a kiss, making sure the diamond reflected in the light, “oh really, who’s the lucky person?"

Tom winks, holding up your interlocked hands, two rings set on each, "Who knows?"

— End —

🏷 Tom Holland Taglist: @honeybittersweet @cams-lynn @runway-to-my-aid @peterspideyy @yoinkyourheart @t-monosapiens-h @hollandsamor @quaksonhehe @imanativeofswlondondahling @jillanaholland @keenmarvellover @lexysclubhouse

strike through- can’t tag you