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fortheloveofwonderland · 1 year

Note

🎵 But if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all? And if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like you’ve been here before? - Pompeii by Bastille

Hi can i request and spencer reader for scarlets concert please

# milestone celebrations

Hello lovely Anon! Kind of a rewrite of 15.04 Saturday I guess. Artistic liberties were taken in that the Jeid confession never happened (like we all wish it hadn’t). Also the way Spencer talks about Pompeii is actually how the lead singer of Bastille described the meaning of the song in an interview.

I am still taking song lyric requests for my milestone celebration 🎵

Pompeii

Gif does not depict the appearance of the reader.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary - Spencer Reid is stuck in a rut, bored by his mundane life. But one conversation with a stranger prompts his whole life to change. And he knows he’ll never be bored again.

CW - slightly miserable Spencer, therapists, a lot of talk of Mount Vesuvius eruption and death, Spencer and his uncomfortable info dumps, self depreciating Spencer, one swear, mostly silliness and cute dog interactions.

WC - 4.3k

Spencer Reid was, for a lack of a better word, bored. Unfortunately for him, given his incredibly high IQ and his brain's need for constant stimulation, it was easy for him to feel this way.

For a long time now he’d felt like he was living a Groundhog Day. His life became a series of tedious events that seemed to recur over and over again in the exact same way.

His days started with coffee and the newspaper, whether he was at home or away on a case. He showered, towel dried his errant hair and dressed in some version of the same outfit everyday.

Then he went to work, taking the metro at the same time everyday he was in DC or jumping into one of the SUV’s, always in the back seat, if they were away.

The cases always seemed much the same as each other these days. People were being murdered, it was their jobs to stop the unsub.

Time and time again Spencer found himself in front of a map working the geographic profile or he was utilised if there was a lot of literature as he was the only one who could get through it fast enough.

He spoke to Garica over the phone, sometimes watched interrogations through the two-way glass, rarely conducted them. And when they had a suspect, he got on his Kevlar and piled into the SUV with the rest of the team.

Whether they stopped the unsub before it was too late or not meant very little to him these days.

And then he’d crawl into bed, sometimes his own, sometimes a random hotel bed in whatever town the team found themselves in. It didn’t much matter, they were all equally as lonely.

And Spencer was just bored of it all.

When he closed his eyes, it almost felt as if nothing had changed at all; like he’d been here before. The monotony of his days was getting him down. His impressive brain wasn’t being used to its full capacity and he felt it withering away inside of his skull.

He didn’t feel challenged in any aspect of his life. His job had grown stale and maybe if he had something else to keep his mind occupied it might be ok. But climbing into an empty bed was by far the most soul destroying part of this perpetual deja vu loop he’d ended up in.

How was he supposed to be optimistic when life kept giving him reasons not to be?

Along with the boredom, Spencer started spiralling into a vicious pit of misery. It’s not that he was necessarily depressed, but he certainly wasn’t happy.

He became snappy with the people he called his friends. He was easily irritable, quick to anger. Everyone had noticed. It didn't take a profiler to see Spencer wasn’t himself.

But much like they always did, they buried their heads in the sand, busy enough with their own lives so they didn’t have time to worry about the youngest member of their team. It was a pattern he’d grown used to, another mundane facet of Spencer’s life. They cared, he knew that, but maybe they didn’t care enough.

His days off were always the same too.

He spent the mornings with coffee and a newspaper, showered and dressed before leaving his apartment. The home he’d once loved, his fortress of solitude, had grown so impossibly lonely that he couldn’t bear to spend more time there than he had to.

Those four walls in which he’d lived for close to two decades now seemed hell bent on provoking him, reminding him how isolated he’d become.

So he went out, to coffee shops, bookstores and museums; always in that order. He hated the rut he’d found himself in but he couldn’t for the life of him snap himself out of it. As much as he hated it, repetition was something he was good at.

But something had to change. He had to find a way to banish the grey clouds that rolled over the hills, shrouding him in a constant darkness.

And that was how Spencer Reid ended up on his day office in a therapist's office.

His first three sessions went exactly the same, a constant theme in his life. His therapist would ask him what brought him here and what he hoped to achieve; in response Spencer would pretty much clam up instantly.

In their fourth session, things played out a little differently.

Doctor Santiago didn’t have her notebook on her lap when he entered her office like she had the other three times. Her hands were laced in her lap, her glasses pushed up on top of her head. Her expression was less amicable than usual.

“Spencer,” she spoke before he’d even gotten comfortable. “I don’t mean to sound callous, but is it really worth wasting your money and what precious free time you have, coming here when you aren’t going to talk about why you’re here?”

He looked at his shoes, one of which was tapping against the carpet, then he looked at his hands. He didn’t look back at Doctor Santiago when he spoke.

“I’ve been reading a lot about Mount Versuvius and Pompeii.” He drummed his fingers against his thigh in time with his foots rhythmic tapping,

“Ok…” Doctor Santiago frowned a little but hoped if she didn’t say too much so he would continue.

“All those people who were just going about their days, lost in their own vices and then boom, it’s all over just like that. Posed forever in time as the dust settles around them. Do you know that approximately sixteen thousand people died in Pompeii?” He glanced up at her, his own expression contorted in confusion.

“I didn’t know that.” The Doctor shook her head. “So you’ve been thinking about death?”

“No.” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “Although I suppose that would be the more obvious trail of thought. But once you get to know me you’ll realise my trails of thought are anything but obvious.”

“I’m not sure I understand where you’re going with this then.”

Spencer huffed out a breath, frustrated even though he was used to people never understanding him.

“I’ve been thinking about stasis.” He mused and he watched as his therapist's brow furrowed. “Just imagine it, how boring must it have been, emotionally speaking, in the aftermath? Just stuck in the same position for hundreds and hundreds of years.”

Doctor Santiago’s brow was furrowed so deeply her eyebrows were practically in her eye sockets.

“But they were dead.” She stated the obvious.

“Logically I know that. But for some reason I just can’t help thinking about it. I keep having imaginary conversations in my head as if I were one of those people. Stuck in some kind of like, tragic death pose and having a conversation with the other people also resided to the same fate.” He frowned himself now as he spoke it out loud.

It sounded even more ridiculous hearing himself say it. Was he really so bored that these were the kind of thoughts he spent his time nurturing?

The doctor leant forward with her knees on her elbows, it was her job to quickly make assumptions about the things her patients told her and to read between the lines.

“You feel like one of those people. Stuck in time while the rest of the world continues to move around you.” She stated it is a fact, didn’t ask.

Spencer winced a little at her summation but nodded nonetheless.

“People always see my IQ as a blessing, but actually a lot of the time it’s more like a curse. Boredom is so much easier for me to fall into, if my brain’s not being stimulated enough.” He ran his fingers over the crease in his slacks, hoping it would work to distract him from talking about himself.

“And you feel like you aren’t getting enough stimulation?” She narrowed her eyes on him.

“Not anymore. Not for a long time.” He agreed. “I love my job but it’s just not challenging me anymore. I feel like…let’s say the BAU is a city, like Pompeii. I used to love that city, but now it just feels like all the walls are tumbling down and I’ve been left covered in rubble, left in this monotonous death pose for all of eternity.”

God that sounds morbid and very over dramatic, what is wrong with me?

“You’re stuck in a rut.” Doctor Santiago didn’t seem perturbed, she’d probably heard a lot worse.

“Undoubtedly.” He agreed.

“You’re going to do something for me today.” She sat back in her chair, a smile toying at her lips which Spencer wasn’t sure he liked. “You’re going to go somewhere you wouldn’t ordinarily go, not a bookstore, not a museum. Somewhere new for Spencer Reid.”

“That’s all?” He frowned sceptically.

“No,” Santiago chuckled with a shake of her head. “I want you to have one conversation with someone you don’t know. Don’t talk about work, or your routine. Definitely don’t talk about Pompeii or death poses.”

“See, here’s the thing with that,” Spencer swallowed. “In case it wasn’t clear, I am exceptionally socially awkward. I can’t just talk to a stranger. How about I come up with some conversation topics and next week we can discuss them and then-”

“Spencer,” she cut him off. “Today. It’s time to break you out of your rut, ok?”

Goddamnit, why did I ever come here?

***

The park was just about the least Spencer Reid place to hang out that there was, aside from maybe the beach, and he felt inherently uncomfortable.

He was a middle aged man in a suit jacket and shirt, wandering a park on a Saturday afternoon, alone. He actually found himself willing his cell phone to ring and being called into work rather than go through with this.

One conversation with someone he didn’t know. It was at its core a simple enough task. At least it would be for most people, people unlike Spencer who didn’t feel paralysed at the thought of talking to strangers.

It was different at work, where part of his job was to talk to people all the time. He had some sort of authority in those situations, his presence was helping catch a killer. In the park he was out in the wild, thrown to the wolves. He was so far out of his comfort zone it made him feel nauseous.

But for the first time in months, he wasn’t bored. And maybe Doctor Santiago had been onto something.

He scanned the area as he meandered down the tree lined path that cut through the park, in search of someone who looked normal enough for him to strike up a conversation with. Most people weren’t alone, with their families, partners or kids or both. The only other people he noticed on their own didn’t look what Spencer would deem as normal.

He spent almost an hour wandering with the bright DC sunshine beaming down on him. Eventually he started to feel sweat gathering at the base of his neck and at his temples and ambled to the nearest bench.

He shucked off his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. Feeling dejected and slightly fed up, he pulled his book on Mount Vesuvius out of his satchel and started reading it for approximately the seventy-sixth time.

When Spencer was reading, his brain blocked off everything else that wasn’t directly on the pages in front of him. He couldn’t hear the sound of people chatting and laughing in the park, he could no longer feel the heat from the sun. He was lost somewhere in Pompeii.

It was because of this that he didn’t notice the large, fluffy mutt running directly at him, or hear its owner calling for him to stop. It wasn’t until he felt something heavy pressing against his knees and his book being snuffled out of the way by a wet nose, that he looked up from the pages.

The dog with its piercing blue eyes and a soft, fuzzy face stared at him, paws on either of Spencer’s knees and its tongue hanging dopily out its mouth. Spencer stared at the mutt for a moment or two, somewhat perplexed, before it dribbled on Spencer’s slacks and Spencer groaned in frustration.

“Gross,” He grumbled, giving the dog a soft push. “Get down.”

The dog dropped back to the grass, but continued staring at Spencer while he found a handkerchief in his satchel and wiped his pants.

“Beau! Beau, what are you doing?” A panted voice caused Spencer’s eyes to snap away from the dog and up to a woman running his way.

Spencer felt his chest tighten as he watched the grace with which you chased after the errant dog.

“I’m so sorry.” You fought to catch your breath as you stopped in front of him and the dog. “He’s so much faster than me.”

“He dribbles.” Spencer tucked the soiled handkerchief away.

“Yeah, dogs will do that.” You laughed, clipping the leash to the husky’s collar.

“I could have been allergic.” Spencer stood up from the bench.

“Allergic to dogs?” You cocked a curious eyebrow at him.

“Dog saliva. A study showed that dog saliva contains at least twelve different types of allergy-causing protein bands.” He told you, stuffing his hands in pockets.

“Right, odd thing to say to someone you just met, but sure.” You shook your head.

“It was reported that a seventy year old woman had a severe infection of bacterium called capnocytophaga canimorsus, which likely came from her Italian Greyhound’s saliva.” He continued despite himself.

“When was the last time you talked to an actual human being?” You pulled a face, patting Beau’s fuzzy head and causing him to mewl happily.

“I talk to human being’s all the time.” He frowned, not understanding the question.

“About dog saliva?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Never about dog saliva actually.”

“Maybe don’t make a habit of it, it's kinda weird.” Your lip started to slowly curl up into a small smile.

“Duly noted.” He shrugged awkwardly. “Does, uh…would you say this counted as a conversation?”

Your brows knitted together, almost immediately wiping the smile from your face.

“What would you class as a conversation?”

“An informal talk between two or more people, in which thoughts, feelings and ideas are expressed.” He quoted the dictionary definition of the term.

“Well, this seemed pretty informal. I shared my thoughts about you coming across as weird, as you shared your ideas about my dog’s saliva and my feelings towards it are discomfort. Seems like a conversation.”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry.” He sighed to himself. “My therapist wanted me to have one conversation with one person I don’t know today and I guess I achieved that so please, don’t feel like you need to stand here and humour me any longer.”

“I’m your homework?” The smile spread back to your lips.

“I mean, that makes it sound clinical.”

“This was kinda clinical.” You chuckled and Spencer’s heart felt lighter than air at that sound. “Why don’t we try again. Hi, I’m Y/N and this is my dog Beau.”

Beau barked happily at the sound of his name, his giant front paws tapping on the grass in excitement.

“Spencer.” He nodded with a tight lipped smile. “I’m sorry if I offended you or your dog.”

“Luckily for you, neither of us are very easily offended.” You smirked, sidling past him and sitting down on the bench.

Spencer faced you with a soft frown.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting, isn’t that obvious?” You crossed one leg over the other and unclipped Beau’s leash again. “Off you go boy.”

Beau did as he was told and joyfully bounded away, but made sure to stay in your field of vision. Spencer looked between you and the husky as he started exploring trees with the use of his nose.

“You aren’t worried he won’t come back?”

“He’s very well trained. And besides, I have his favourite treats.” You patted your pocket.

“Fair enough.” Spencer nodded and reached down for his things. “Well it was nice to meet you I guess. Have a good day.”

“Where are you going?” You stopped him before he could walk away.

“I, uh, was going to leave you to it?” He cradled the book and his satchel under one arm.

“You said you needed to have a conversation, so I sat down so we could have one.” You chuckled again and it was quickly becoming Spencer’s favourite sound.

“Oh. Oh. Really? You want to have a conversation with me? After I talked about the bacteria in dog saliva?”

“Yeah, I don’t really understand it either. But you seem…” You trailed off, unable to find the right word.

“Lonely? Creepy? Pathetic?” He tried, again causing you to laugh.

“Oddly endearing.” You corrected him.

It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever been called, and he’d take what he could get. He slid back down to the bench, ensuring to keep a comfortable amount of space between you and placed his bag and book in his lap.

“Uh, just as a forewarning, I am not very good at small talk.” Spencer raked one hand through his hair.

“Oh don’t worry, I already gathered that.” You glanced away from him towards Beau briefly before looking back at him. “So, can I ask why your therapist is making you have conversations with strangers?”

“I’m stuck in a rut, I suppose.” He confessed, finding it strange how easy it was to want to open up to you. “My job, my personal life; it’s the same thing day in and day out. I’m just a little bored of it all.”

“What do you do?”

“If it’s ok with you, I’d rather not talk about it. I’m trying not to focus all of my energy, all of my personality into what I do for a living.” He rolled his lip between his teeth.

“Ok.” You shrugged. “What are you reading?”

Spencer looked down at the hardback in his lap and turned it over to display the cover. He ran his fingers over it remembering Doctor Santiago’s specific instructions.

Definitely don’t talk about Pompeii or death poses.

“It’s about Pompeii and the eruption of Mount Vesuvius.” He blurted out.

“Oh, just some light and cheery reading then.” You laughed and if you kept doing that Spencer may very well fall in love with you.

“It’s…meditative in a way.” He shrugged. “I was told

I shouldn’t talk about it.”

“Your therapist told you topics of conversation?” You raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“More like she told me topics of conversations to avoid. Specifically, my thoughts on the boredom that must have been felt by these people trapped in these perpetual death poses after the eruption.” He mentally scalded himself as the words tumbled out his mouth. “Yet here I am, talking about it anyway.”

You glared at him, noting your dog nearby out of the corner of your eye, but focusing on Spencer. He drummed his fingers awkwardly on the book cover.

“Wow,” you inhaled sharply. “That’s gotta be one of the most depressing things I’ve ever heard.”

“Probably why I was advised not to talk about it.” He sighed.

“You’re a pretty dark dude.”

“In my line of work it’s hard not to be.” He shrugged, he’d already gone against one thing Santiago told him not to do, he may as well go for broke. “I’m an FBI Agent. A profiler. I use psychology to track down serial killers.”

Your expression didn’t change much, something which surprised him. You quickly glanced over at Beau again who was now making friends with a much smaller dog, before looking back at him.

“That’s the same thing day in and day out?” You frowned.

“Not physically but mentally I guess. I, uh, I’m pretty smart…no that’s not true, I’m a certified genius. And that means I can grow bored easily. I guess I need a higher level of stimulation than most people.” He shrugged, noticing the way your eyes started to sparkle.

“A higher level of stimulation, huh?” The smirk adorned on your lips and the way you spoke the word stimulation made his ears turn suddenly red.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, his mouth dry and he had to look away from you. “Mental stimulation. Jesus Christ.”

You smiled to yourself at his obvious embarrassment, enjoying the way you’d made him blush. You decided to change the subject, as much as you enjoyed it, you didn’t want to make him too uncomfortable.

“So, a certified genius?”

His eyes snapped back to you and he swallowed with a nod of his head.

“Yeah.”

“Well I can’t be very stimulating for you then? Mentally speaking of course.” You couldn’t help yourself.

As predicted his blush spread to his cheeks and neck and he fidgeted with his bag on his lap. What you didn’t know was that he was trying to conceal the fact your words were causing a bulge in his pants he desperately wanted to hide.

“Are you trying to fluster me?”

“Is it working?” Your eyes sparkled again.

“Very much so.” He confessed. “For the record I find you utterly stimulating. Mentally speaking of course.”

“Good to know.” You nodded, looking back across the park and spotting Beau staring at you. “Beau, heel!”

The large and playful dog immediately started in your direction, bounding delightedly towards his owner. When he reached you, he slumped down on the grass by your feet and you popped a treat in his waiting mouth.

“So usually after our walk I take Beau to a little cafe where they sell doggy cupcakes and I grab a coffee, unwind.” You pushed yourself to your feet and clipped Beau’s leash in place once again.

“Oh, ok.” Spencer nodded, tucking his book inside his bag. “Have a nice time.”

You narrowed your eyes on him, trying to ascertain if he was really this clueless or if it was just an act. You were quick to realise it was the former.

“It was an invitation, dummy.” You chuckled. “Do you want to come with me? I love my dog but he’s not exactly…stimulating.”

Spencer had to take a moment to compose himself before he stood as his legs trembled a little. He inhaled sharply and pushed himself up.

“You want me to join you?” As asked by way of clarification.

“Correct.”

“Even after I talked about Pompeii and death poses?”

“Even after that.” You nodded with a smile.

“You don’t have to invite me. I was only strictly required to have one conversation so I think you’re off the hook now.” He slung his satchel over his shoulder before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Are you really so naive that you don’t understand when a girl is asking you out?”

“You are?” His eyes widened dramatically.

“Yes!” You laughed. “Surely you’ve been asked out before?”

“No, never. I mean, I didn’t know you were asking me out so maybe I have and I didn’t realise it.”

“You are utterly precious, Spencer.” You shook your head. “Come on, let’s go. Unless you want to go back to your rut?”

“No, no. I am happy to be rut-less.” He nodded and the two of you, plus Beau, fell in step with one another.

He let you lead him through the park, stealing glances at you as he did so. He’d never felt more outside of his comfort zone before and it was exhilarating.

So many of his days had fallen away with nothing to show for them. Days upon days of the same, tedious tasks again and again. Nothing had changed for so long, every had felt the same, every time he closed his eyes.

But finally things had changed. Letting you into his life would bring with it a shake up of his previously monotonous routine.

He didn’t know it at the time, but his future would hold walks in the park whilst learning to enjoy the company of a dog. Random two am phone calls when you couldn’t sleep. Waking up next to your sleeping form, deep, meaningful debates in the middle of the night which would end up with lips silencing the other and body parts entwining.

He had to look forward to your surprise visits to his office with baked goods and coffee. Sending flower arrangements to your work just to say he was thinking of you. Unplanned weekend trips to New York or Baltimore or wherever the two of you ended up. Spur of the moment date nights and spontaneous adventures, just you, him and Beau.

But all of that was yet to come, the great unknown unfurling before him. All because he had one conversation with one person, and finally Spencer’s predictable life didn’t seem so predictable anymore.

Much like the citizens of Pompeii, who had to grow and adapt to their new city in the wake of the eruption that had destroyed so much, now it was his turn to embrace the new and uncharted.

And quite honestly, he’d never been more excited.

You glanced at him as you walked, a soft smile on your features and you boldly reached out and took hold of his hand in your free one.

Spencer felt his chest explode at your touch and he already knew he never wanted to let you go.

“So, tell me,” you asked as you strolled hand in hand. “Are you still bored, Spencer?”

He couldn’t help the chuckle that left his lips and he gave your hand a soft squeeze.

“I can honestly say, I’ve never been less bored in my entire life.” He sighed in content, slightly disbelieving how much his world could change just from a simple conversation.

Today was one kind of Groundhog Day he would happily repeat over and over for the rest of his life.

#milestone celebration #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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smilingangel582 · 6 months

Text

Heey, I wanna write another lee!lyney and ler!wriothesley. I delayed that because writing my grizzly's -ahem Wriothesley's name is a bit lazy for me, hehe . anyway, I like to see them in bonding more, hehe

Spoilers for fontaine

Cure for boredom

I love the way they both pose so well... ehehehe

Once more. Lyney sighs, trying to build another trick with his cards but fumbles a bit as he tries.

He's been in the fortress for too long. After all the wallets haven't been found yet and recently only has the traveller helped him in various deeds.

"Ah, Mr. Lyney... I see you've gotten quite the good arm for tricks. " Lyney almost fumbles with his cards because of all people. He didn't expect Wriothesley to make a visit to his cell. Freminet and Lynette have taken it themselves to work in the production zone, so he's taking a day off today now here the Duke himself in front of him.

"Wrio -ahem your grace" Lyney greets politely, slightly awkward since he has been on bad terms with him, somewhat guilty for the commotion he caused. However they had tea once and seem to have build a better neutral relationship. Still... guilt is a funny thing...

"No need for titles, I always come around to see how prisoners make a living, so I was curious why didn't you back for tea"

The taller man's reply caught Lyney off guard. He seems confused to why Wriothesly is implying this "I... didn't see any reason for me to come back though?"

Too late... it came wrong. Lyney stammers back now stepping towards him "I didn't mean tk be rude"

The black haired guy chuckles now, waving it off. "Water under the bridge, honestly, I was teasing... I kind of liked it when you were fierce, or maybe when you are the confident magician"

He adds playfully. "To think you have a soft side like this..."

Blushing, Lyney might have become too nice. Sighing he gives a smile "Well... I'm honoured that you came to see me... I'm sure you have other pressing matters to attend to"

Wriothesley smiles "Are you trying to chase me away Mr. Lyney?"

Lyney widens his eyes, his new found confidence deflating "W-what no... I though..."

The cryo catalyst user is closer to him now leaning forward and making leaning, stumbling back and grabbing the wall "I must say that's quite the shame..."

Lyney growls a bit, turning away instantly, his arm still raised to grip the wall, "for someone who addresses me so formally, you are too touchy, your grace"

Wriothesley laughs. Of course, he loves the magician more when he's this snarky and honest. Seeing his eyes lower, he slowly wiggles his finger under Lyney's armpit, making the latter squeak and stumbled back, clutching his shoulder "h-hey!"

"I apologise but... Its rude to put your backs against your superiors, Lyney" dropping the honorific means business.

Lyney backs away when he see the tall figure slowly advance.

"W-What do y-you m-mehehehean hehehey why hehe are you tihihickling mehe!" Lyney stumbles back but Wriothesley catches him swiftly and still tickles his sides with the intention of making him squirm against the wall.

"Goodness, the little fatui member from the house od the hearth is actually ticklish?"

Lyney shrieked when he felt larger arms tickle his delicate armpits. "NOHOnoho! Ihihi am nohot!"

"Hm, very convincing... but you know the truth yourself Lyney"

"HAhaha why haha Wriothesley!"

The Duke shrugs. "Maybe because I'm a little upset thar you didn't come for to have some tea tea me... Ms. Lynette and Mr. Freminet offered me the liberty to do so."

"Eehehe whahaht? Ihihis thahahat ihihit?" Lyney squeals when his ribs began to be tormented and he squirms more to escape the playful touch "ok! Ok hahahaha PLEHEHEASE haha ill hehe stohohop by hehehe any time ehehe"

Satisfied and also seeing Lyney's red face, he stops and then pats his shoulder "there are people I'd rather have tea with... and one of them is you Lyney... I hope I'm not too forward... you must apologise but you should lighten"

Lyney sigh straightening his hat "Well I suppose I could come by and do dome magic tricks... offer our grace some entertainment..."

"Wpnderful..." Wriothesley gleefully place his hands together. Somewhat happy.

Lyney also mentally noted to extract his revenge along with that menu.

Short and sweet, but I hope it's ok, hehehe. Thanks for reading

#tickle lyney #lee!lyney #ler!wriothesley #lyney #wriothesley #genshin impact tickling #genshin impact #tickle fic #cute

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uglypastels · 1 year

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Hello:-) please for your Spotify event can I request footloose with Eddie please? I was listening to a similar song today and thinking about Eddie being goofy in a cowboy hat at someones cowboy themed party and reader starts flirting with him by taking his hat and dancing with it

Cause the cowboy hat rule, right? If a lady is wearing a guys hat at the end of the night, it means she's going home with him? Idk I just picture Eddie drooling her cause of the boldness of it all

Sorry if you're not a fan of this, I just saw an opportunity to share my daydream

i am obsessed! and this gives me an excuse to write more "cowboy"!eddie so i am sooo here for it. took a little bit of creative liberty here but i hope you like it <3

no explicit warnings. small sexual reference. drinking.

Spotify Wrapped Blurb event > send in a request! (masterlist)

‘No. Absolutely not.’

Now, when you came up with the idea, you expected Eddie not to be very excited, but he had declined it before you could even finish explaining.

‘Oh, c’mon, Eddie. It could be really fun!’ You sat down next to him, eyes as big and innocent as you could make them, making your best friend feel some gnawing guilt in the pit of his stomach. But he kept strong.

‘It sounds just as fun as clawing my eyes out with a plastic fork.’

‘Ouch,’ you winced at the imagery, ‘no need to be dramatic. It’s only a hoedown.’

Eddie glared at you as if to say, ‘that’s exactly the reason to be dramatic.’ A fucking hoedown. You had thought it could be a great night out, dress up, dance, drink, what’s there not to like, but Eddie saw it a bit differently.

‘Forget it, I’m not doing it– no,’ as serious as he wanted to be, he cracked a smile through his determined words, seeing your face. ‘Seriously. No.’

‘Since when have you becomes such a stick in the mud?’ You crossed your arms.

‘Since you came here and are forcing me to get all dressed up like John Wayne or something.’ He could not keep a straight face at all.

‘I was thinking more like John Travolta- Urban Cowboy’ you immediately saw the lack of amusement on Eddie’s face, ‘ok, ok, I get it. Sorry. Look, you wouldn’t even have to dress up. We could just go and hang out– maybe dance a little…’ you added in the last part softly, but he heard you.

‘I don’t dance,’ Eddie was quick to remind you. And you knew that. Eddie Munson was not a dancer. Not because he couldn’t, the guy had great musicality to him, you were sure he could do some steps, but he simply refused.

‘Fine, then you can sulk in the corner?’

‘I hate you,’ was his response, to which you replied with a big and tight hug.

‘I love you too, Munchie.’

—

A week went by, and each day passed with you being sure to see Eddie walk up to you or call you up at home and wiggle his way out of the arrangement. Even on Friday, the night before the party, you expected him to make some excuse after Hellfire. Then on Saturday morning, you were sure to wake up to him telling you he had to cancel last minute.

But none of that happened. Instead, he arrived at your door 5 minutes early, giving you the shock of your life when you saw him standing on the porch. Here’s what the notorious metal freak Eddie Munson looked like that night, more or less:

His hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. He was wearing a dark red flannel, which you had almost not recognised given that, instead it being worn in its usual state of being thrown over a black band t-shirt, he had it buttoned up. He had also exchanged his ripped jeans for some bootcut denim to fit… yes, the black leather cowboy boots. All of that was pulled together by the worn-out cowboy hat on top of his hat. And, of course, his classic handcuff belt buckle, because, at the end of the day, this was still your Eddie.

Before you could ask him where he got the boots and hat from, Eddie explained: ‘Wayne let me borrow them.’

‘You look great,’ you said genuinely.

‘You don’t look too bad yourself,’ he smirked, and you looked down at your cherry-red boots and skirt. Eddie then added, ‘alright, let’s get this over with.’

‘Glad to see someone’s excited,’ you rolled your eyes. ‘Seriously, try to tone the excitement down a notch, huh?’ did a tiny part of you break at seeing just how much he hated it? Yeah, but did that break also heal at the thought that, despite him not enjoying it himself, he was still here for you? Absolutely. So, you grabbed him by the hand, squeezed it, and walked towards the car.

—

‘Sorry for being a dick,’ Eddie said, to your surprise, when he stopped the car in the parking lot, ‘I still want you to have a good time, and don’t want to ruin that, sorry.’

‘It’s alright,’ you said, straightening out the material of your skirt. ‘I appreciate that you went through the trouble of getting dressed up. It means a lot. And you do, it.’

Eddie scoffed, never being great at taking compliments from you. He then got out of the van and ran across to your side to open the door for you. The little action but the biggest smile on your face, and one you couldn’t quite explain.

You walked together to the community centre that had been redecorated to resemble an old barn for the party theme, including, somehow, the smell of hay.

When you got inside, you saw some people dancing already, attempting a line dance and failing miserably. Not that that ruined anyone’s fun.

‘It’s official,’ you heard Eddie mumble under his breath, ‘this is my personal hell.’ He chuckled, and you nudged him in the ribs as a warning.

‘C’mon, Grumpy, let’s get something to drink.’ and so you pulled him, right through the dancefloor, to the makeshift bar. Eddie got both of you a beer, and he leaned against the wall as he drank. He was settled, both physically and in mind. He wasn’t going anywhere, and for sure not to dance.

Naturally, as always, hanging out with Eddie was great, but you were a bit disappointed. Because, of course, there was a reason why you dragged him out there. A part of you had thought, that maybe once here, he would give in and share a dance with you. And maybe it was the too many fairytales you read as a kid; you thought that during or after that dance, something between you would click. Maybe he would realise something. Something you had felt for a long time about him…

Someone called out your name.

Your friend Louise popped up in front of you, waving frantically. You waved back to her, then glanced over to Eddie, noticing he had taken off his hat. Well, if he wasn’t going to wear it… and so, you quickly snatched it away from him. He just smiled and sipped his beer.

‘I’ll just go say hi to Louise,’ you explained.

You had thought you had overdone it with your outfit, but it was barely anything to compare to what Louise was wearing. A large and puffy dress, matching the size of her teased and hairsprayed blonde hair.

‘So glad you came!’ you grabbed you by the hand, involuntarily making you jump along with her enthusiastically. Yeah, it might have been her idea for all of you to attend this event. ‘And I see your cowboy showed up too,’ she looked over your shoulder at Eddie.

‘He’s not too happy,’ you frowned, ‘where’s Jack?’ and then asked after Louise’s boyfriend.

‘Of he had to get back to the car, forgot his glasses.’ She rolled her eyes at her man’s forgetfulness. ‘Should be back in a jiffy. But tell me– did anything happen yet between you and–’

‘No, and I don’t think anything will. Honestly, I was silly to think that he might feel the same way.’

‘Oh, honey,’ Louise pouted at your defeat.

‘It’s fine, I swear. Probably for the better, too. We’re good as it is.’

Something in Louise’s expression seemed to indicate she wasn’t too convinced, but then her smile quickly came back at the sight of another familiar face.

‘Marie!’ she shouted out, recognising one of her friends. ‘I told you about Marie, right? Honestly did not expect her to come– Hi!’ she wrapped her arms around the girl, who seemed slightly shell-shocked at the abrupt embrace. Once Louise released her, Marie shyly waved hello to you, an action you reciprocated.

The three of you talked a bit, joking around and checking out the people in the room. You constantly checked up on Eddie, who seemed rather content in his little corner. He always felt better away from the crowds.

Everything seemed fine for a while. You had made peace with the fact that the boy you had crushed on for the past who knows how many years had possibly no chance of liking you back, and you were having fun with your friends. Jack had finally returned (con glasses), and it all seemed just fine.

And then something happened. The whole interaction lasted perhaps less than a minute. A guy walked over to your little group. Introduced himself as Milo to Marie. Not to you, not really. Besides a polite smile, he had barely acknowledged you. And just like that, he had whisked Marie off to the dancefloor. A moment later, another guy walked up to chat up Louise, as if her boyfriend wasn’t right next to her! Yet you, single and most definitely ready to mingle, were considered invisible.

You tried to ignore it, pretend it didn’t affect you, but after the fourth person came to talk to Louise in the span of 10 minutes, you had had enough, and it showed all over your face. Not that you would admit it.

‘Are you alright, honey?’

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.’ you bit at the inside of your cheek. Louise, having been your friend ever since both of you could remember, immediately knew that your words were not true.

‘What is it?’

‘I just didn’t realise all men were such jerks– not you, of course.’ you quickly turned to Jack, who smiled understandingly, but awkwardly. You quickly glanced back to Eddie, just to see he had found some of his own friends. They were all teasing each other’s costumes, so it seemed.

‘Oh,’ your friend got it, and her reaction pulled you back to where you were standing. ‘Don’t take it personally. They just all think you’re taken.’

‘Bullshit, you are literally here with your boyfriend and everyone’s been chatting you up.’

‘It’s the hat.’ Jack said, rather matter-of-factly

‘I don’t understand.’

‘When a girl were’s a guy’s hat, it’s kind of like a code that she’s taken.’

‘Claimed, so to speak, a sign to all the other fellas to back off,’ Louise said.

‘Oh.’ you reached up to touch the rim of your hat, but didn’t take it off.

‘I honestly thought you knew,’ your friend smiled.

‘No… sorry, can you guys give me a minute–’ and before they could respond, you made your way back to Eddie. He immediately smiled at your side.

‘Hey, having a good time?’ he asked.

‘Uh, yeah, yeah. Look, can we talk?’ You reached for his hand.

‘Sure,’ he turned to his friends, excusing himself. The two of you walked a few feet away.

‘You let me take your hat.’ You didn’t say it like a sentence, but it didn’t feel like a statement, either. To be honest, you weren’t sure where you were going with this conversation, and clearly, neither did Eddie.

‘Yeah, well, you took it, didn’t feel like it was worth to argue. Besides–’ he tipped the rim up with his knuckle, ‘you look good wearing it.’

The nice words immediately rushed to your cheeks, and you found yourself unable to keep eye contact with Eddie for a moment. Once you regained the ability, however, you continued your non-inquisitive interrogation.

‘You know what it means, though? When a girl wears a guy’s hat.’

‘I’m not a complete novice to cowboy etiquette.’ He chuckled.

‘So you just knowingly let me go out there and be ignored by every guy in the room.’ you didn’t know why that idea made you so angry since you were literally standing in front of the one man whose the attention you wanted.

‘Is this why you brought me here?’ he crossed his arms, an amused smirk on his lips, ‘to make me jealous?’

‘No, of course, not,’ you rolled your eyes before his words properly processed through your mind. ‘Wait– why would you be jealous?’

‘It’s not so nice to see guys constantly chat up the girl you like, is it?’ He pouted, and it only seemed to emphasise the sweet glimmer of his big brown eyes. You were dumbstruck for words, not sure what to say or do.

While you kept fighting your mind to say something coherent, Eddie closed in on you. His hand found your waist, and he slowly leaned in. Your body worked automatically in-sync, closing that final gap between your lips. It was soft, sweet, and simultaneously mind-blowing. You felt like you were spinning and turning upside down; the only thing helping you from floating away was his gentle hold on you.

Your, well, Eddie’s, hat got tipped to the side, so he straightened it out for you, smiling as he looked at it. Almost as if he was reminded of some kind of inside joke.

‘What’s up?’ you poked his shoulder.

‘Well, you know the saying, right?’

‘What saying?’ You blinked slowly, and so did Eddie at hearing you were unaware of what he meant.

‘The hat rule?’

‘Yeah, I know the hat rule. It’s a guy’s claim over the girl that wears his hat?’

‘Not exactly,’ he brushed some hair out of your face before bringing you back closer to him, chest to chest. ‘The saying goes something like this,’ he kissed the corner of your lips, ‘don’t steal a cowboy’s hat unless you’re prepared to ride him.’ And he continued his kisses down your neck.

‘Oh.’ Was all you could say, the shock being amplified by the feeling of Eddie’s lips on your skin, ultimately making you forget that you were still standing in a dance hall full of people.

‘Yeah, oh,’ Eddie chuckled. ‘So, how about it?’

‘Is this just an excuse for you to get out of here and not dance?’

‘Never,’ Eddie gasped, clutching at his heart. ‘But we don’t want to break the rules, do we?’

All you could do was laugh at his antics. ‘You owe me a dance, cowboy.’ And so, you let him lead the way back to his van.

the end.

thank you so much for reading!! please let me know what you thought and don't be shy to comment and reblog <3 or leave an anonymous review behind here :)

eddie taglist:

@spiderrrling @theglitterymess @dorianelizabeth @theletterhart @niyahwhoreworld @chatnoirfangirl1624 @fopdoodle1624 @pastel-abyss-x @ghoulsgraveyard @prettytoxix @lovesickollie @xbreezymeadowsx @ssanjuniperoo @nxrdamp @meaganjm @yourmommilf @mischiefmanagers @roseyykris @capybergara @brother-lauren @h0sh1verse @ghostlyreads @croweaterr @ladyapplejackdnd @bilesxbilinskixlahey @kbakery @sleeping-willlow @lizzylynch1 @liltimmyst @hellfire-state-of-mind @escape-in-time-blog @miscelaa @sweetpeapod @the-a-word-2214 @eddiemunsonbby @wh0re4munson @eddiesdingus @zoeyquinn94 @munsonmunchies @overthewhiteclouds @wroteclassicaly @groupies-do-it-better @stitchity @celestialsxturn @hoe4eddiemunson @inanausomewhere @witchyrivers @scoops-harrington @fluffyharrington

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hollybell51 · 3 months

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Without you

^I would do anything for him

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Philip Pearson x fem!Reader

Travelers (2016)

Word count: 9.6K (I'm as shocked as you dw)

Summary: things come to a head between you and Philip after a close call.

Content: SMUT smutty smut smut. Gratuitous smut. Bit of angst, bit of blood (not too graphic dw), arguments and all that fun stuff. Swearing, cannon typical tomfoolery, making out, hickeys, making out on a table, and a bed, drug references (guys it's Philip), mentioned weird Traveler number names (I made one up just fyi don't bother googling it), blowjobs, bit of dirty talk, bit of hair pulling, vaginal sex, safe sex (yay! Trojan please sponsor me), a little fluff at the end. Philip could possibly be a little ooc I actually can't tell but I did try.

Notes: ok so I've done it again, disappeared for weeks and then popped back up with a new obsession for a stupid little dude in a stupid little show and I've gone and written some stupid smut about it. Philip makes me insane. I cannot tell you how insane he makes me. Like... he is objectively mid. I know this. But he's also so hot??? Like do you get what I mean??? Also WHERE is all the other content for this dude like come on guys I cannot be on my own here. I need some support. Anyways, niche market n all, so I hope you enjoy.

This takes place at the end of episode 3 after Philip got shot, so I've taken some liberties with the timeline (ironic, innit). There's a few extra hours in there, and I know he was awake when everyone was talking after they got back but this is fanfiction and I am God here so you just have to trust me. I wanna blow him so bad it hurts.

Philip was stable. Stable and asleep and breathing evenly on the table, thanks to Marcy. You could see his chest rising and falling out of the corner of your eye from where you were leaning against another table beside the medic, eyes fixed on the floor just in front of MacLaren’s pacing feet, idly picking at your bloodied hands. It was uncomfortably sticky as it dried, and beginning to crack and flake around the creases of your skin. It was going to be a pain to get off.

No one was looking at MacLaren, you realised as you raised your head. Your team leader’s face was serious, dead serious, and you really couldn’t blame them for not wanting to meet that look. You kind of wished you hadn’t, and, as Marcy nudged your arm with her own, you realised that you had not heard a word of what he’d been saying with such gravity.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “Come again?”

He blew a breath out hard between his teeth, taking a step back and raising his eyes to the ceiling. “I was just asking,” he said slowly (oh, ok. So he was pissed pissed), “whether there was anything else anyone wanted to tell me.”

“Oh, right. No.”

MacLaren nodded. “Are you sure, (Y/N)?”

“Yes.”

“Ok. Cause I don’t know and I do not want to know what the hell is going on between you two, but I want you to sort it out. Sooner rather than later.”

“Yep,” you nodded, looking back at your hands. You had no doubt that “you two” was you and Philip, and it made you want to sink into a hole. You knew you hadn’t exactly been calm and rational when he’d been shot, how could you be? But it hadn’t been that bad. You’d done what Marcy had told you to. You hadn’t broken down or frozen and maybe there’d been a fair bit of whispered pleading with him to just hold on and just keep breathing, that it was only going to be a few more minutes and he just had to listen to me, keep squeezing my hand. But that had nothing to do with what was “going on” and more to do with the fact that he’d been bleeding out in your lap in the back of a van. Anyway, if you’d freaked out a little, that wasn’t MacLaren’s business.

Marcy’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Hey, Earth to (Y/N).”

You sighed and offered her a small smile. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s fine. I was just saying that I need to get back to David. Are you–?”

“I’ll be fine,” you interrupted her, glancing at Philip. “I guess someone should stay with him anyway, huh?”

A tiny crease appeared between her brows as she studied you, then nodded after a moment. “Yeah, might be a good idea. It was pretty straight forward, didn’t hit anything major, but still.”

But still. It was still a bullet wound, and as mad at Philip as you were for dragging you all out there in the first place and getting himself shot, you didn’t want him to wake up alone and in pain and craving those goddamn drugs with no knowledge of whether he’d saved the boy, just that he’d killed the kidnappers.

“What about you?” Marcy was saying, and if she hadn’t been using that measured, even tone she took when she was treating or assessing someone, you’d have said it was gentle. “Are you gonna be ok?”

You shrugged. “I’m fine. I’m not the one that got shot.”

Another measured look, then she nodded and stepped back. “Alright. I didn’t want to put anything on the wound too fast, and it’s sealed for now, but it’ll need a dressing if he’s gonna be moving around or anything. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

She nodded again. “Don’t let him do anything stupid. And don’t do anything stupid yourself.”

Despite the anger and residual panic still heavy in your stomach and the blood crusting your hands, you shot her a smile and waved. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” You thought you saw her roll her eyes before the door clunked shut behind her, and you were alone.

You let out a slow breath, sagging further against the edge of the table. You had to wash your hands. You had to scrub Philip’s blood off your skin before it legitimately drove you insane. So, with a groan as your bruised knees protested the shift of weight into them (you probably didn’t have to drop and slide quite so hard to Philip’s side when he’d fallen. That, you could admit, had been excessive), you walked stiffly to the shitty sink and began scrubbing.

Your skin was raw by the time the water finally ran clean, or at least not bloody, and while there may have been flecks of blood still hiding under your nails, your hands were cleaner than they had been in days. Maybe weeks. You really didn’t know if your host had washed them before she was supposed to die.

You glanced over your shoulder as you dried your hands, wincing a little as the rough fabric of your jacket scraped against over-scrubbed knuckles. Philip hadn’t moved and was still breathing, which you were taking as a good sign. You crossed the room after a moment, gingerly lifting his shirt to peer at the spot on his stomach where the bullet had gone in. It was raw and red and far from pretty, but it wasn’t a gaping hole anymore. It wasn’t bleeding, even if it was still covered with blood. Sighing, you grabbed a pair of scissors from the kit Marcy had left lying open on the table, snipping neatly up the centre of the bloody shirt and pulling it (not uncaringly) from his shoulders. You didn’t let your eyes linger on the pale chest, the track marks in his arm, the faint chafing around his bicep. Instead, you turned away and walked quickly and quietly to the adjoining room where he slept, rifling through the pile of blankets and sheets and clothes and god knew what until you found a shirt that didn’t reek.

You ran a clean corner of the ruined one under the tap, spongeing and wiping at the mottled russet stains on Philip’s skin until it was passably clean, the streaks of it on his face from your hands in the back of the van, then wrestled him (again, not too roughly) into the garment and stepped back. He could have been sleeping, really sleeping, instead of passed out from the drugs and blood loss and pain. Maybe you should move him. But then again, he was probably too heavy for this body to lift. Maybe not.

He didn’t really look like himself when he was unconscious, you decided. Even in an unfamiliar body, there was something of the man you knew behind his eyes. You could recognise him past the strange face, make out your Philip in him when he was awake. Like this, with his eyes closed and his face slack, it wasn’t the same. It was like looking at a real, true, genuine stranger. A stranger who wasn't exactly bad to look at (in fact, you quite liked looking at him), but a stranger all the same.

Hesitantly, you raised a hand and brushed at a strand of hair hanging across his forehead. His skin wasn’t icily clammy as it had been in the van, but was still cool to the touch. Softer than you’d expected, though you didn’t really know what that was. You let your fingers trail across his forehead, smoothing a tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows, down over his cheek to his shoulder. You felt the expansion and contraction of his lungs through his body’s movement, regular and deep and alive and you knew what MacLaren meant.

You and Philip were… complicated. That’s how anyone would describe you. He was too reckless, too hasty, felt too much too fast and didn’t think enough (and yes, you were aware of the irony there). And you understood, you really did. It was hard to look at it all objectively, and you couldn’t imagine how it must be to walk around with all that just floating around in your head. All those deaths, when they’d happen and where, and not be able to stop it. But you could also see the bigger picture. What you were doing was important. You had the protocols for a reason and the director for a reason and getting bogged down in the details and the individuals and the humanness of it only ever ended badly. Case in point.

You really should have seen it coming, and now, in the aftermath, you wondered how you’d missed it. His disillusionment. The discomfort when you’d reminded him of the protocols. The discontent and grumbling and (very understandable and reasonable) grievances he’d raised around the whole protocol 3 thing. And you really did get it. It sucked, and the whole reason you were in this was to save people so why couldn’t you do just that? But at the end of the day, you also understood that you didn’t have all the information. Good things could lead to bad things. It might be superstition, but the butterfly effect was all too present in the forefront of your mind.

And that was where you differed from Philip. He didn’t believe in “just letting someone die because someone else decided they’re not worth saving” (a recent and quite heated argument that still rang in your ears) and you… Well you wouldn’t say you did, but you didn’t not either. Maybe that determination and righteousness (“pig-headed”, you’d shouted at him not too long ago) was part of what drew you to Philip, too. It had never not been like that as far as you could remember, and so you butted heads. A lot. And as soon as you had one fight, one of you was rushing back to the other with an olive branch and you were both trying to not bash into each other so often and so hard, then before you knew it it was happening again.

But this hadn’t been a fight. It hadn’t even been an argument. It had been Philip rushing into something his conscience told him was a good idea, lying to everyone else and dragging them all along and then getting shot and almost bleeding to death in your arms in the back of a van. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what you were going to say to him when he woke up.

Pull your head in.

What the fuck was that.

I’m so angry I could punch you.

I wish you’d told me.

That was stupid.

Don’t ever do something like that again.

You almost died.

You fucking idiot.

You fucking idiot, you almost died.

Don’t go and almost die ever again.

I don’t want you to die.

I can’t take it if you die.

You blinked, hot tears prickling in your eyes. Before you could even really think too much about it, you bent and pressed your lips to Philip’s cool forehead, straightening almost immediately. You took a slow breath in, held it, released it with a hiss and set your shoulders. There was shit to be done besides hovering over him, and standing here waiting wasn’t going to make anything better. It was going to make you worse.

“Ok,” you whispered, and turned away.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour when Philip stirred. A soft groan had you turning your head from the disassembled gun you were cleaning, watching as he tried to sit up, winced and lay back down.

Maybe you should have started with a nice, simple, normal, “how are you feeling?” You supposed you could have at least smiled at him, even just nodded or raised your eyebrows. And you could admit that the snort had been a little out of line. Still. You’d been festering – that was the only way you could describe how the last vestiges of panic and adrenaline had cooled and settled low in your gut, right beside the simmering anger that just refused to go away. No matter how much you told yourself to cut him some slack and just wait until he was actually awake to hear his side of it. Don’t do anything stupid, Marcy had said, and you were determined to abide by that.

“What…?” he started, then groaned. “(Y/N)?”

“Yep.”

Another groan, and this time you raised your head. He’d swung his legs over the side and had managed to sit up, breathing heavily and gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles were white. As you watched, he pulled up the bottom of his shirt and frowned at the spot where the bullet had gone in. It didn’t really look like a gunshot anymore, thanks to Marcy’s attention, but there was definitely some bruising around the edges.

“Marcy said to put something on it if you’re gonna be… doing stuff,” you said.

He looked up, dropping the shirt and eyeing you warily. “Ok.” He turned, reaching towards the open kit at the end of the bench, face tight with pain. It scraped along the rough surface as he dragged it closer, the scissors you’d left resting on top of everything sliding out and onto the floor with a clatter. Philip paused, glanced at you, then kept pulling.

“For fuck’s sake,” you muttered, slamming down the gun in your hand and crossing quickly to him. You slapped the scissors back on the bench, turning the kit to face yourself and rifling through the neatly compartmentalised packets of first aid supplies until you found a wound pad that looked big enough.

“Up,” you said, gesturing to his shirt as you withdrew a roll of tape. Then, with a ‘turn around’ motion, “down.”

He got the idea, swinging his legs back onto the table and lying flat, watching as you tore open the packet and laid the pad against his skin, placed his hand over it with a simple command to “hold it” and cut a piece of tape. He drew in a sharp breath as you smoothed the tape down the edge of the pad, perhaps a little harder than you’d meant, and you paused.

“It’s still…” He trailed off, looking away.

“Sorry.” You were gentler this time, glancing up at him as you stuck down the dressing. You may have been pissed, but actually hurting him was the last thing you wanted to do. It wasn’t as neat as you’d seen Marcy do it, but it was functional. That was what mattered. You lingered a moment, scissors and tape in one hand, the other resting gently by the slightly puffy white square. He’d warmed up, here at least, which you supposed was a good thing.

“(Y/N),” he started, and you quickly withdrew your hand. You were still angry at him, no matter what else was now causing that deep, tight feeling inside you. Like someone was pulling on a string attached to the very centre of your being, right behind your sternum.

“How’s that?” you asked as you stepped back, crossing your arms.

“It’s fine, but–”

“Good.” You turned away, stalking back to the guns on the table before he had a chance to finish. He groaned again as you sat down, not out of pain this time. And ok, you could definitely have been nicer about it all, but you were determined not to be the one to take the first step. He’d gotten himself and everyone else into this bullshit, he could at least be the one to bring it up.

“How long was I out?”

“An hour. Give or take.”

“The others…?” A soft grunt, the rustle of fabric and the sound of feet hitting the floor.

“Gone.”

There was a pause, a few hesitant footsteps, and when he spoke again his voice was much closer. “Not you?”

You didn’t look up as you grabbed another gun and began the smooth, practised movements of dismantling it. “I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”

He gave a noncommittal little hum, and this time you did raise your eyes. He was leaning against the end of your table, watching you. It may have just been the dimness of the room, or the clouded haze of thoughts and feelings swirling in your own head, but there was something in his face that you couldn’t quite pin down. That wasn’t usually a problem with Philip, he was the kind of person who you could always tell where his mind was. And he always knew yours.

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest once more as you swivelled to face him. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, his brows pinching together and his arm tensing as the movement tugged at his wound. He cursed softly and glanced down.

“Are you in pain?”

His eyebrows rose incredulously. Ok, yeah, dumb question. Of course he was in pain. You’d be more concerned if he wasn’t. Wordlessly, you rose and crossed to the first aid kit again, withdrawing an almost empty packet of painkillers. You handed them to him as you sat down, and didn’t watch him swallow two. You just heard it.

The silence stretched between you, the occasional clunk of the guns and the quiet ticking of the clock the only sounds in the building. Outside, someone was shouting and the traffic roared.

After what felt like ten minutes but was probably only two, Philip blew out a breath and shifted. “Ok, just… spit it out,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

Wow, ok. That was a loaded question if you’d ever heard one. You stopped what you were doing, cooley and slowly placing the gun you’d been about to slide apart onto the table almost soundlessly. “What’s wrong?” you echoed, turning to face him.

He either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the frost you couldn’t have kept out of your voice if you'd tried. “Yeah, cause something clearly is.”

God, where did you even start? He’d lied to you. He’d gone directly against protocol, protocol that could be stupid but was ultimately there to protect you and everyone else. He still hadn’t even actually addressed any of it. Hadn’t checked if you were alright, hadn’t checked if anyone else had been hurt (and ok, you couldn’t really blame him for that, but that was besides the point.) In the end, you decided on starting with the elephant in the room. “You almost died.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again. Looked away, back to you. “I didn’t.”

You shook your head. That wasn’t the point. “You could have.”

“And?”

Now it was your turn to open your mouth, only to find no words. You floundered for a second, then, “And? And? Philip what the fuck do you mean and?”

“It’s not like people aren’t dying every day, huh?” He pushed off the table, standing up straight and tapping the side of his head. “Huh, (Y/N)? You get this worked up about them too?”

You shook your head, rising from the chair so fast it skidded backwards. “That’s different. You know it is.”

“Oh, so now you’re–”

“This is not about that.” The words were tight, forced between your teeth as you stepped around the corner of the table to face him. “This is about the fact that what you did was reckless and stupid and you got shot.” You lifted a hand, poking him squarely in the chest hard enough that he swayed. “What part of that is not getting through your head?”

“He was a kid, (Y/N)! A little kid! You saw the place, they’d already killed one. How can you just sit and let that shit happen?”

“It’s not our place, Philip. Bad things happen every day. People die. We wouldn’t be here right now if people didn’t die! I know you're–”

He didn’t let you finish. “You don’t. You don’t get it. If you knew, you wouldn’t be standing there saying what you’re saying. You’d be on my side.”

“Your side?” You raised your eyebrows, incredulous. “There isn’t a your side and a my side. We’re trying to do the same thing! We’re a team, for fuck’s sake!”

“Well you sure as hell don’t act like it.”

“Oh my fucking God.” You could have screamed. You’d really wanted to avoid this. Hadn’t wanted to get into a shouting match when he probably wasn’t even supposed to be walking around, no matter how many dressings you taped onto his stomach or how many painkillers he downed. “You’re being insanely stupid. Insanely fucking stupid.”

“At least I stopped a kid from dying.”

You slammed your hand down on the table so hard it went numb, then burned all the way up your wrist. You ignored it. But still, even through the haze of anger and whatever else, you recognised the words for what they were. He was trying to confirm that he actually had managed to save Aleksander. As pissed as you were, you weren't cruel enough to leave that unanswered. “Ok, fine, you did. He's being reunited with his mother and they're riding off into the sunset and they're gonna live happily ever after. But you could have died, Philip! How many times do I have to say that?”

You didn't miss the tiny flash of relief — or something close to it — at your words. “This shit isn’t exactly risk free. Do you know how many others die on missions?”

“I don’t care.” There were tears in your eyes now, hot and prickling and you couldn’t even care enough to wipe them away. “You were bleeding out on top of me in the back of the van. And it could have been any one of us, too! What if it’d been Trevor? MacLaren? Carly? What if Marcy had taken that bullet and fucking kicked it, huh? Where would that leave us?”

He hadn’t stepped back as you’d pressed closer, and for a moment you wondered if this was it. If you should just walk away now before either one of you did some real damage. Then he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Guess it’s lucky it was me, then.”

You half stifled your sob (an actual sob, which you were not proud of), raising your hand again to slam into his chest, press to your face, run through your hair. “What can’t you understand? Why can’t you understand?”

His own hand moved, slowly and hesitantly towards your arm. He paused and thought better of it before it got past waist height, searching your face. “What’s this really about?”

“I…” You stopped, breathing hard. He was right. It wasn’t just that he’d lied about the messengers or dragged you all on an unsanctioned and ill-prepared mission. It was more than that. It was, when you got down to it, his head in your lap in the back of the van. His blood coating you. His hand in yours. His eyes unfocussed, his breathing too shallow and the possibility that that was the last time you’d ever get to see him. When you spoke, each word felt like you were vomiting up a bowling ball.

“I don’t want to do this without you.”

There was a pause, then, “Fuck. Fuck, (Y/N).” And his arm was moving again, his hand coming to rest behind your head, and before you even realised what was happening his lips were pressed against yours.

It only took you a moment to melt into him, to step that little bit closer and tilt your face towards his, your hands settling on his chest between the two of you, fingers twisting in the material of his shirt as his tangled in your hair. He kissed you like you belonged to him, like he wanted you to be his and his alone. A tiny, involuntary sound slipped from you as his tongue slid between your parted lips, searching and exploring your mouth like you’d been dreaming of doing to him for far too long now. You pushed back against him, sliding your hand up to caress his neck, brushing over the stubble littering his jaw and cheek. The hand that wasn’t in your hair had settled on your waist, pulling your body flush with his, fingers digging into your flesh enough to send heat coursing through your whole being.

You moaned softly, your hold on the back of his neck tightening ever so slightly as you pulled him down further towards you. He was growing hard against you, you could feel it, his own choked hum of pleasure reverberating against your mouth as you moved your hips. You did it again, and this time it was a sharp breath sucked through his nose.

And God, you wanted him. You wanted him so badly it almost hurt, but as soon as you had the thought another one rang through your mind like an alarm through a good dream. You relaxed your hold on him, drawing back even as he chased your lips.

“Protocol 4,” you murmured, the tears that had slipped from your eyes already crusting dry on your cheeks.

“We’re not reproducing.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing down to where his hips pressed against your own. You watched his hand move from your waist, down over the front of your hip to where your leg joined it. Your stomach swooped, desire pooling low in you as his fingers traced over your inner thigh, soft and teasing.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, your hands already back in his shirt and pulling him to you, lips crashing against his once more.

He gave a little grunt of surprise, the hand that had stayed close to your hair sliding back into it. But you were moving now, turning and sweeping one hand across the table behind you before jumping up onto it, parting your legs for Philip. He fit perfectly between your thighs, his hardness now flush with your clothed core in a way that had you arching shamelessly into him. His hand trailed down your neck, over your shoulder and down over your ribs, your waist, fingers curving there once more and pulling you closer. You didn’t think you could get any closer, but you needed to feel his skin on yours, touch him and have him touch you. You could feel his heartbeat through his shirt where your chest pressed against his, but it wasn’t enough. You needed all of him.

You managed to wriggle your hand into the tiny space between your bodies, fingers searching for the hem of his shirt and pushing unceremoniously under it. You had your tongue in his mouth now too, stroking and tasting every inch of him just as he’d done to you, and this time you were sure your lips were going to be bruised. Somewhere between your hand on his skin and his shirt being bunched up to his chest, Philip got the hint and broke away just long enough to shrug it off, dropping the piece of fabric on the table beside you.

“Tell me you changed that,” he said, voice low.

You nodded. “I threw the other one out.”

“Mhm.”

“It was so bloody it was starting to go stiff.”

“God, just stop talking.”

You smiled at that, and this time when he kissed you it was less… urgent. Still thorough and firm, still fraught with want and need, but less like a man starved and more like a man who was determined to enjoy a good meal. And hey, you were more than happy to provide that. You were barely sitting on the table anymore, your own wriggling and Philip’s hold on your waist to blame for the edge of it digging into your ass.

Without his shirt, there wasn’t anything for you to tug Philip by as you shifted backwards. He hummed softly when your hands slid up his bare chest, over his shoulders, pulling at him to come closer, come here. He stumbled a little as he leaned against the table, his own hand moving smoothly from its place on your waist down over your hip, along your thigh to your knee and back up again. You lifted the leg slightly, hooking it behind him and squeezing. There wasn’t much muscle to work with, not what you were used to anyway, but his breath still hitched in his chest as you did it again.

His hands were firm on your legs as he broke from your lips, staring at you with that same look you couldn’t quite pin down. Gently, you moved your hand up over his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you cradled the base of his skull. It was so different to how you’d held him in the back of the van, your fingers leaving bloody stripes across his cheeks and neck and forehead, his gaze unfocussed and wandering until his eyes had just closed and you hadn’t been able to get him to look at anything, much less you. But somehow, it was the same. It was still Philip, warm and conscious and standing between your legs, face clean and eyes clear, lips kiss-swollen and just begging to be touched.

You swallowed, tearing your eyes away from his mouth and curling your fingers in his hair as you ground your hips into his. A muscle in his jaw twitched, his grip tightening on your thighs, his face still only inches from your own. His eyes, as they flicked down to your mouth, were dark with want.

“God, (Y/N),” he whispered as you did it again, your lips curling into a smile. He bent his head, breath warm against your neck as he kissed under your jaw, down the muscle at the side of your neck, sucking gently at the spot.

“Philip,” you sighed as he did it again, harder this time. Fuck, you hoped he left a mark. You cursed as the thought that that was probably a bad idea hit you, pulling gently at his hair to raise his head.

“Is that…?” he frowned, uncertain.

“No, no I like that. A lot. I just…” You stopped, reaching for the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, dropping it beside his. “I think here is better?” you offered, pointing to your chest.

“Oh, ok.” His smile was quick as he bent once more, overtaken by a wince as it pulled at his side.

“Are you alright?” you asked quickly, ducking your head to meet his eyes.

“Fine,” he said tightly, leaning forwards once more.

“No, wait a second. You got shot, Philip. You’re not… Jesus, I don’t know if we should even be doing this.”

A pause as he searched your face. “I want to. I want you, (Y/N), if you want me.”

“I do. I really, really do. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a small smile. “You won’t.”

“You’ll tell me if I do?”

“You won’t.”

You huffed and crossed your arms, covering your chest. “Promise.”

“Ok, fine,” he sighed. “I promise I’ll tell you if you hurt me.”

“Ok.” You smiled again as you closed the little distance between you, unfolding your arms to run your hands over his chest. “Bed,” you murmured against his lips. Then, when you felt him hesitate, “it’s better than the table.”

He barely pulled away, even as you slipped from your perch and followed him to the door in the corner, through the mess you’d rifled through earlier and towards the bed. You turned, pushing him gently onto the edge of it, your hand resuming its place in his hair as you bent to kiss him again. His own hand had settled once more on your waist, and as you licked lightly at his bottom lip it slid up your side, hovering over your ribs. His thumb skimmed the skin just shy of your breast, where your bra sat, and you smiled even as you mapped the inside of his mouth with your tongue.

“Off,” you muttered, still kissing him as he undid the clasp behind your back (albeit with a little difficulty) and slid the piece of fabric from your shoulders. You raised your free hand, placing it over his and moving it those last few inches to your breast, squeezing your fingers over his. He drew a sharp breath and you squeezed your own breast for him again before dropping your hand to cup his jaw. You tilted his head gently further upwards, stepping between his legs as his thumb swiped an arc over your skin. Then he squeezed – just as gently as ever – and you let a moan slip from you. He took that as encouragement, pulling you even closer with his free hand as he moved, kneading the soft flesh, moving his hand until his finger brushed over your nipple and you half moaned, half gasped against his mouth.

He paused, then when you pushed harder against him did it again. You whispered a breathy “yes,” hardly drawing back at all before you were sinking to your knees between his, Philip following until he couldn’t, simply staring at you.

“What are you doing?”

Oh, you liked the view from here. You smiled as his fingers spread over your jaw, turning your face to place a kiss on the palm of his hand as you slid your own up his thighs. You paused when you reached his hips, nodding to the now very noticeable bulge in his pants. “Can I?”

You thought there might have been a faint flush dusting his face, but it was really too dim to tell. Either way, he nodded and watched as you undid his pants, lifting his hips as you pulled them down to pool around his ankles. His cock strained against his underwear, and your mouth watered as you looked up at him. His cheeks were definitely pinker than usual, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, not looking away even as you removed the last piece of clothing between you.

“Fuck, Philip,” you breathed, glancing from his face to his dick and back again.

He frowned, unsure. “What?”

You grinned. “I can’t wait to put that in my mouth.”

His thigh tensed under your hand, breath hitching in his chest. “Jesus, (Y/N), you can’t just say shit like that.”

“What?” you asked, bending forwards to place a kiss on his stomach, your thumb moving in slow circles on his skin. “That I’m gonna take you until I choke? That I’m gonna ride you so hard you’ll see stars, let you fill me up and fuck me six ways into next week?”

Before you could look up again, his hand was under your chin and he was raising your face for you, fingers careful where they gripped your jaw. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he said softly.

You raised an eyebrow, finally reaching out and gently taking hold of his cock. “Don’t I?” you asked as you moved your hand, want surging hot through your whole body as he moaned low and deep. You shifted closer still, settling yourself between his legs before you bent your head and kissed the tip of his dick, licked it, relishing in Philip’s quick hiss of breath.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped as you sank your mouth over him, heavy and hot and already salty with precum. “Oh, fuck, (Y/N).”

You drew back, glancing up at him. Holy shit you never wanted to forget the look on his face – pure want, and directed entirely at you. “Ok?” you asked.

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Shit, ‘s more than ok.”

“Good,” you smiled, licking a long stripe up his shaft and sliding your lips over the head once more, tongue soft and pliant against him. Your hand worked what wouldn’t fit in your mouth, slow strokes to match the slow bobbing of your head.

His stomach twitched as you hollowed your cheeks, another groan reverberating through his chest. You’d wanted to be gentle with him despite what you’d said, and were all too aware that he was still injured and maybe this had been what Marcy had meant when she’d told you not to do anything stupid. Not to let him do anything stupid. Well, it was too late now. What the medic didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, or anyone else.

You snuck another glance at Philip, the sight that met you sending a fresh bolt of heat shooting down your spine to pool between your legs. His head was tipped back, neck and jaw barred to you, his nose ring glinting in the dim light, chest heaving and hands tight where they gripped the sheets. You wanted to memorise him, here in this moment, and never let it go. You clenched your thighs, shifting in your search for a little friction, any relief at all.

Philip cursed softly, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he lowered his head to look down at you. “You’re so fucking hot,” he breathed, one hand trailing over your upper arm, your shoulder, weaving through your hair. He didn’t pull it, as such, but the pressure and the praise together was enough to make you moan around his cock. His hips jerked with the sound, fingers tightening and a muttered “fuck,” slipping from his lips.

“Hm?” You didn’t stop, eyes watering as you sped up your movements, his dick slick with your spit and only getting messier. Maybe with anyone else it would have been gross, but not with him. Never with him. His hips bucked up again, followed by a quickly gasped apology and a loosening of the grip on your hair. You rubbed your free hand over his thigh, squeezing gently. It’s ok, it said. I’m fine. Then, as you squeezed his cock and relaxed your throat even further, please.

“Yes,” he gasped. “Please, (Y/N), that’s—”

You hummed again, pulling your head back and sucking at just the tip, tongue flicking over the sensitive slit across it. He cursed again, loudly, your name falling from his lips once more. He thrust up into your mouth, hard enough that your eyes watered and you wondered if you were going to gag. You hoped not.

“Don’t stop,” he practically pleaded. “Shit, don’t stop.”

You wouldn’t dream of it. You sped up again, sucking hard and sagging over him, mapping every inch of his cock, every ridge and vein and sensitive spot. God, you could stay here forever, the warm weight of him in your mouth and his hand in your hair, listening to his moans and grunts and uneven breaths.

“I’m— shit, fuck, fuck, (Y/N) I’m so fucking close.”

That sent a thrill through you, the wet heat between your legs almost unbearable now. You took him deep, a gentle squeeze to his thigh the only reassurance and confirmation you could offer as you looked up, your vision slightly blurry, blinking rapidly to clear it. There was no way you were going to miss this.

Then he was groaning deeply, hand tightening in your hair and head thrown back, dick twitching in your mouth as he spilled hot and thick down your throat. His chest heaved as he said your name like a prayer, repeating it over and over again until it blurred into one sound. How many times had you wondered what he’d sound like? What he’d taste like? What he’d look like here, like this? It was better than anything your mind could ever conjure.

You swallowed, slowing your movements as he rode out the high, only drawing back when his breathing had slowed and he’d ceased trembling. You licked over him gently, cleaning up the worst of the mess of spit and cum, wiping the corners of your mouth delicately. You sat between his legs, tracing little arcs over his skin with your thumb.

“Alright?” you asked softly.

He took a long, shuddering breath and looked down at you, nodding. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. You pressed your cheek into his palm as he slid the hand that had been gripping your hair down over your face, turning quickly to kiss it.

His brows creased, and he paused. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shook your head, rising on stiff legs and taking his face between your hands. “You could never,” you said softly. Then a thought occurred to you. “It wasn’t… too much?”

He huffed a laugh at that, shaking his head. “No. You were great. Better than great.”

“Mm, good.” You smiled as he raised his hand to cup the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and into a gentle kiss.

“Off,” he murmured against your lips, free hand running along the waistband of your pants.

“Magic word?”

He just rolled his eyes. “Please.”

“Say it again,” you grinned.

This time he paused, drawing back ever so slightly, searching your face.

You just shrugged. “They’re not coming off if you don’t ask me nicely.”

His hand dropped from your neck, skimming over your chest and stomach to rest on your hip. He held your gaze as he leaned closer, large hands firm and warm against you, then dropped his eyes to your skin as his lips met your stomach. You felt your insides turn over as he kissed you there, your teeth digging into your bottom lip hard enough that it almost hurt.

“Philip,” you started, then hissed as he did again, his tongue soft and hot where it touched you – so quickly you wondered if he’d even meant to do it. But no, there it was again, the sensation sending more electric heat shooting through you. You moaned outright when he sucked at the spot, hand flying to his hair, fingers curling in it. God, you’d never get tired of that, and from the way he hummed against your stomach neither would he.

“Philip,” you breathed again. “Philip, that’s not asking nicely.”

He glanced up at you, and you could have come undone from that alone. His tongue darted out over his lips. “Then can I please take off your pants?”

Oh you really didn’t want to give in that easily. A few kisses and half a hickey on your stomach and you were caving? Really? But then he was whispering “please” and his breath was raising gooseflesh all over you and you were tingling all over and his voice was so soft and husky like this and–

“Yes.”

“Yes?” he echoed, frozen as he waited.

“Yes, Philip. Sí, ja, oui, just—” Your breath caught as he pulled you close before releasing your hips, making quick work of your fly and easing your pants down over your hips. Your underwear followed suit, pooling around your ankles before you kicked both pieces of clothing off to the side and stood, completely bare, between Philip’s legs.

“God, (Y/N),” he murmured almost reverently, stroking down over your hips and thighs, around behind your knees and up to your ass. And wow that did something to you.

“Can I?” You motioned to his lap, already bending your knee at the edge of the mattress.

Philip nodded quickly, already inching backwards to make room for you on the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.”

You smiled, bringing your lips to his for what had to be the millionth time as you straddled his thighs and draped your arms around his shoulders, his lips parting easily under yours, his tongue dancing alongside your own as if he’d been born to kiss you.

“I wanna touch you,” he said softly into the space between your mouths. He was all over you, kissing along your jaw and neck and under your ear, touching your back and sides and legs and hips and ass, pressing flush against you. The only part of you that hadn’t touched him yet was, ironically, where you wanted him most.

“Please,” you replied almost immediately. “I want you to.”

A breath of laughter hushed over your chest as he ran his hand up over the top of your thigh, along the spot where it joined your hip, tantalisingly close to the throbbing heat between your legs. You bit your lip, watching his face as his fingers crept ever closer.

“Philip,” you warned.

“Hm?”

“Stop teasing.”

“I’m not, I’m just… taking my time.”

“Well— fuck.” The word was torn from you as his hand moved that last tiny distance, fingers sliding easily through your wetness.

“Jesus, (Y/N),” be breathed. “You’re…”

“Really fucking wet?” you suggested, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it. I didn’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Didn’t think I did anything that special.”

You snorted, shifting closer still. “It’s you, Philip. I just really, really, really, want you.”

He stilled for a moment, studying you like he was trying to memorise every cell making up your face. Then he stretched up and kissed you, stifling your moan with his lips as his finger slid over your clit. He did it again, a small, precise movement that had you grinding against his fingers as your own tightening on his shoulders.

“There?” he asked, barely breaking away from you.

“Oh God, yes. Yes, right there.”

His eyes didn’t leave your face as he circled your clit, your breathing ragged and your body arching into his of its own accord. You bit your lip hard enough that it hurt, trying desperately to stifle another embarrassingly desperate moan. God, how was he so good at this?

“Don’t do that,” he muttered, leaning forward to kiss along your collarbone.

“What?”

“Try to be quiet. I wanna hear you, wanna hear everything.”

“Shit, Philip,” you panted.

“Ok?”

“Ok. Ok, I— fuck.” He’d sucked hard at a spot on your chest, the faint pain cutting through the sharp pleasure spiralling from his hand. “Fuck,” you whispered again, your own hand flying to his hair as you scrambled for purchase.

“Mhm, that’s it.”

You felt the praise, something about the quiet huskiness of his voice and the way he gripped your hip making you squirm. “Philip please,” you gasped. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“I want you inside me. I need you inside me, now.”

He cursed, fingers leaving your clit to circle your entrance, almost tentative. Double checking.

You shook your head. “No, that’s not what I mean.”

He frowned, raising his head.

You let go of his hair, brushing a stray piece from his forehead as you slid your other hand down his front. You glanced at the tiny remaining space where his cock sat, hard again between you. You spat into your palm before wrapping your hand gently around it, moving your fist slowly. “I mean here, Philip.”

“Oh.” He swallowed hard, searching your face. “Are you sure?”

“Mhm. I’m sure. Are you?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Fuck yes, I’m sure. Just—” He pulled away, reaching for the overcrowded nightstand (which, now you were looking at it, you were pretty sure was just a small filing cabinet) and rifling through the first one. When that didn’t turn up anything, he reached for the second.

“What’re you looking for?” you asked as he moved on to the third.

“Condom,” he grunted, then withdrew his hand triumphantly to show you a square of faded red foil.

“Jesus, how’d you know that was gonna be there?”

He shrugged. “Seemed like the kind of place to put one.”

“Yeah. Yeah, ok.”

“Ok?”

“Mhm.” You surveyed the package as he opened it, placing the foil pieces on the filing cabinet. “They don’t just… stop working, do they? If they’re a bit old?”

He frowned. “Don’t think so. It’s only a month out of date, anyway. Less, actually. And it wasn’t open.” He looked up, meeting your eyes. “We could get more?”

“No, no it’s ok. I trust you.”

“Trust Trojan.”

“Fine, I trust Trojan.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he rolled the piece of latex over himself. The dressing on his side gleamed eerily in the dimness, and you silently cursed yourself. How had you not thought of that?

“Is that gonna be alright?” you asked, gesturing to it.

Gingerly, he ran a finger of it. “I think so.” Then, as if it explained everything, “Painkillers.”

“Ok, just—”

“Let you know if it hurts,” he interrupted. “I will.”

You rolled your eyes as you lifted your hips, bracing yourself on his shoulders. “Alright. Ready?” At his nod, you sank down slowly onto him, pausing as you adjusted to the stretch.

“You ok?” he asked, breath unsteady, grip firm around your waist.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Gimme a second.” A soft moan slipped from you as you lowered yourself the rest of the way down, glancing at Philip. “This ok?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes dark, lips parted. “Uh-huh. You?”

“Yeah. Can I move?”

“Yes. Please, (Y/N), you can—” He broke off with a groan as you rocked your hips over his, slowly at first, finding your rhythm. It may have been a little tight initially, but now as you moved atop him you slid easily, Philip’s uneven breath and your own soft moans mingling in the space between your faces.

“Fuck,” you panted. “Fuck, Philip you feel fucking amazing.”

“(Y/N), oh, you— you feel amazing.”

You brought your lips to his, messy and uncoordinated and hardly a kiss by any stringent definition. You moaned into his mouth as you took him deep inside you, the delicious friction of his cock lighting every inch of your insides on fire. You needed him, needed to go harder and faster and—

“Harder?” he half asked, half offered. It was like he’d read your mind.

“Yes,” you whispered, lifting and lowering your hips with a little more of the desperation filtering through every fibre of your being.

“Oh, yes, fuck yes—” His hips jerked up into yours, hands almost rough on your hips as he guided your movements. “Used to dream about this,” he confessed to your neck. “Having you like this.”

Oh shit. You hadn’t been expecting that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. What you’d look like. Sound like. What you’d— ah— feel like.”

“What do I feel like?” you breathed, then cursed loudly as he reached down between your bodies and rubbed at your clit.

“Like Heaven. You feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I—”

You cut him off, tilting his face to yours and kissing him so hard you thought he was about to overbalance. But he held you tight, lips and teeth and tongue clashing against yours, swallowing your increasingly desperate moans and whines — because yes, you’d gotten to the point where you were almost whimpering.

“Philip,” you practically sobbed, pleasure coiling tight and hot and hard with every push of his cock inside you, every movement of his finger on your clit. “Philip fuck don’t stop—”

“Yeah, no, shit (Y/N), keep doing that.”

“I’m gonna cum,” you managed. “Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum—”

“Me too, you’re gonna— again—”

“Yeah, Jesus Christ 33— Philip—” And then you were crying his name over and over, white hot bliss flooding out through your body, back arching and legs spasming as Philip continued to move you. You were vaguely aware of his arms tightening around your waist and his face pressing into your neck, his chest heaving against your own, your name and what you thought might have been your number — both familiar and strange and so deeply tied to home it almost shocked you — mixed with his deep groans as he too climaxed. You hovered, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, breathing heavily as the aftershocks faded from trembling limbs and your heartbeats slowed to normal.

After what felt like an age, you turned your head and kissed Philip’s temple, combing your fingers gently through his hair. He hummed appreciatively, raising his head from where his spit and your own sweat mingled at the joining of your neck and shoulder. He rubbed the spot softly, placed a featherlight kiss there and drew back to look at you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured.

You smiled. “Mm, I think I have some.”

His laugh was little more than a huff of air. He shook his head and he lifted you carefully off his lap, turning on the tiny mattress and pulling you close. You frowned at the sudden empty feeling inside you, but then he was tying shut the condom and dropping it on the nightstand, wrapping his arm around you and wriggling impossibly closer. You slid your hand up over his side, pausing when your fingers brushed the tape you’d used on the dressing. You were tempted to check it, make sure you hadn’t disturbed the wound at all — you’d never hear the end of that from Marcy.

You drew back just enough that Philip’s face came into focus, cheeks still faintly flushed, nose ring gleaming dully. He was already looking at you, his thumb moving in tiny half circles on your back, something close to awe shining in his eyes.

“What?” you asked, smiling.

“Nothing.”

“Come on. What’s going on in that super brain of yours?”

“Super brain?”

“Yeah. Your big historian super brain.”

His lips twitched up into a smile, soft and a little confused and all for you. “Not much,” he replied. “You, mainly.”

“Wow, ok.” You snorted, relaxing your neck and letting your face fall against his chest. He didn’t exactly smell nice, but something about it was incredibly comforting. There was that little breath of laughter again, his body moving with it and jiggling you.

“At least now I know you think I’m smart,” he said.

“Of course I think you’re smart. I think you’re a goddamn genius. The things you think of…” You trailed off, shaking your head. When you continued, it was in a whisper. “I think you’re amazing.”

He stilled, and for a moment you wondered if you’d said the wrong thing. Then, “I think you’re amazing, too.”

You lifted your head again, stretching up to brush his lips with yours. You shifted, but groaned as your thighs rubbed together. Your wetness was cooling between them, uncomfortable and slimy now that you weren’t moving with Philip anymore.

“I’m gonna clean us up,” you said softly, already drawing away.

“(Y/N), wait a second—”

You turned as he caught your wrist, watched him sit up with a faint wince. “What?”

“Nothing just…” He shrugged, still watching you.

You smiled, reaching up under his chin with your free hand as you stepped closer. You leaned down, and this time when you kissed him it was soft and tender and slow and careful. His lips parted, his hand still gently holding your wrist as he kissed you back with just as much care and deliberation. You could have stayed there forever, tongues and lips locked in a slow sort of dance. But the air was cooler when you stood, and the mess between your thighs really was uncomfortable.

“I’ll be back,” you whispered as you drew away.

He just nodded, eyes following your every movement as you swiped the used condom and wrapper, wrapped yourself in a blanket and stepped out into the main area. You were quick to find a towel, wet it, wipe yourself down, dispose of your rubbish inside an empty chip packet and pad back into the bedroom.

You slid onto the edge of the bed, glancing to Philip for permission before gently cleaning around his crotch. You wished there was a shower. You just wanted to stand under a flow of hot water (one of the things you’d been looking forward to most about the 21st century), maybe with the man currently watching you like you’d personally hung the stars, and not think about anything.

“Still just thinking about me?” you asked, half joking, as you dropped the towel over the edge of the bed and draped yourself along Philip’s side. You could hear his heart directly under your cheek, feel the expansion and contraction of his ribs on your front. You shifted closer and hooked your leg over his.

“Mm, pretty much.”

“What else?”

He paused, then, “Did you almost call me 3326?”

It was your turn to hesitate. “Maybe. Almost.”

“Thought so. Wasn’t sure if I was just hearing things.”

You looked up, frowning. “You hear things a lot?”

He just shrugged, then muttered an apology as you moved with his shoulder. “A bit, yeah.”

“Ok.” You weren’t sure what to do with that information, so you just turned your face and kissed his chest. “I could have sworn I heard you call me 3430.”

“Maybe.” You could practically hear the smile in his voice. “Maybe you’re hearing things too.”

“Maybe, Philip, but I don’t think so. Leave the future in the past.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I know.”

You squeezed him gently, and his arm tightened around you momentarily in response. You could get used to this, you thought as you closed your eyes. Your body was so heavy, and Philip was actually warm now. Warm and firm and real and very very comforting. “Can I stay?” you whispered. “Here? With you?”

When he answered, his voice was just as soft as your own. “Yes. I don’t want you to go.”

“Mm, I’m not going.”

He stroked your shoulder, the movement almost hypnotic. “Good.” You were vaguely aware of his arm moving, then something thick and a little itchy was being dragged over your bare body and his other arm was coming to rest over your waist, hand heavy and so warm on your back. The last thing you were aware of was the faint brush of stubble and a kiss on your forehead.

Note: obviously don’t use expired condoms that’s stupid. Anyways I binge read acotar like a few weeks ago and I genuinely think my writing skills have gone downhill because this is NOWHERE NEAR some of my other stuff. Not to toot my own horn and like I know I'm not the most amazing writer in the world but I am usually decent as far as smut goes. This is not on the same level. Also I had no idea how to address the host thing or the names thing or the numbers thing so I chose to simply mention it and hope for the best. I apologise (there really isn't much about this show floating around, huh). Also I'm only just realising this is weirdly similar in a lot of ways to my Ethan Hunt x reader one, but I really like this specific trope so yeah... deal with it lol

#travelers netflix #philip pearson #philip pearson x reader #philip x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #fem!reader #philip x you #philip travelers

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snobgoblin · 11 months

Text

ok last night I said I'd elaborate on what I think Ace's taste is here we go

I'm going to be using these two images as a basis for my headcanons and I'll explain why in a second (these are really all we have as far as like? indicating his possible tastes? haven't really read the comics anyway I should get around to that)

(I mean I guess there's this panel but I wouldn't consider this "his taste" I consider this "he's trying to win a competition and he's putting on an act to flirt with anyone to get audience approval- see: manipulating)

ANYWAY BACK TO MY ORIGINAL POINT

uhhh yeah the first image let's explain that

so the first image is what I think his taste in women is. he likes like, 50s style pinup girls, there's one behind him and heck he's got them printed all over his shirt. judging from these two women some of the traits he finds attractive, at least in women, are long to medium wavy/curly hair, and I guess beachy themes? idk man just 50s pinup girls are his vibe. gotta be one of the tamest forms of objectification. he likes femininity BUT ALSO, this is going off the rails this is based on nothing I really think he's attracted to characters like Jessica Rabbit and Betty Boop you know. just very cute, elegant women. of course this isn't the only kind of woman he'll date he just Loves Women but this is what he gravitates toward

ok now for the second image, he was actually body swapped with a teenage girl here right? but then theres... WHY WAS THERE A TEEN MAGAZINE IN THEIR SHED? I'm gonna take a liberty here and say it's his. now based on the boat drawn on the magazine and Ace saying "oh Leo! what a dreamboat!" I'm gonna go ahead and assume he means Leon*rdo D*Caprio, one of the stars of Titanic. now back then he was known for being kind of a pretty boy so actually his taste in men and women are pretty similar. he just. likes things that people consider pretty... and using this I'm gonna say that for nonbinary people it would be something similar, things that are pretty in a sort of old-fashioned sense

and of course I am aware that the examples used are overwhelmingly white and to any non-white Ace simps ACE LOVES YOU!!! he does the writers just suck and only gave me white people to work with. Ace loves everybody and he loves you happy pride

#ace copular #ace ppg #ace gorillaz #undescribed

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randomreadingtimewithtsuki · 11 months

Note

good morning, you box says request are open but if they are not you can ignore . . .

Noé x afab reader who comes from a noble family like the De Sade's but isnt noble-like at all. They just kinda do their own thing. They dress more androgynously and are loud mouthed and sarcastic and aren't ladylike and because of that, they dont get courted very often and get really flustered when Noé courts them.

Hello! Good day, afternoon or morning!

Thank you for requesting!

Please let me know what you think.

Tsuki's note: I wrote in HC format, hope that's ok?

I also took liberty to do some additions, hopefully that's ok.

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

• You were born in one of the most noble vampire families.

• The only female child to be born, all of your family members around your age were all boys.

• That doesn't mean you weren't close! On the contrary.

• You were always together, playing around the mud, playing wrestling and climbing trees and other high places.

• Those activities were frowned upon when you tried them - you were the little princess, you shouldn't get dirty or hurt or crawl around.

• But you always managed to run away and play around.

• To be more comfortable you took out your cute dresses and wore pants or shorts with a dirty and ripped shirt.

• You met Noé when you were kids.

• You were running around a castle during a party and bumped into him.

• Domi came forward to complain about you running around, but you just shrugged it off and asked if she wanted to climb the tree too.

• Thus you, Noé and Domi were climbing a tree with your cousins.

• You grew up to be a beautiful young lady that despised wearing dresses and skirts.

• You were always seen with shorts or pants, suspenders and a blouse.

• You had your hair short, never passing ear length.

• Many tried to woo you - both because you were gorgeous and because of your status.

• But you always rolled your eyes to them, be it men or women, doesn't matter.

• You always had a stock of sarcastic comments for them.

• Some family members asked if you would be the cat aunt - never marry anyone - it annoyed you a lot.

• Whenever you were upset by those comments, your white haired childhood friend always seemed to have the right words to cheer you up.

• He would say how lovely and gentle you were.

• How he loved your adventurous side and how you stand up for yourself.

• How you would find someone that loved you very much.

• And everytime he said such sweet words you blushed.

• You blushed and sent a snarky comment his way, something like " I could almost believe it if you didn't always had something good to say".

• To your surprise he would always comment how your snarky self had charm too - " see? Even that dry attitude is quite lovely!"

• You scoffed and rolled your eyes, but you had a smile on your face.

• You felt so stupid and small whenever Noé said something sweet and kind to you.

• At moments like those you wished he would scoop you up and take you away.

• That wish made you want to dig up a hole and hide there indefinitely.

• You wondered why he kept babling like that whenever you were put down.

• Little did you know that Noé noticed how happy you got whenever he talked to you.

• He knew that under that husk of sarcasm you had feelings too.

• What he didn't know was that those feelings were pointed towards himself.

• You were told by you cousins to just be honest to your feelings, but you could never bring yourself to say it.

• To say how much you adored being pampered by him and to have his hand holding yours.

• To say how much you hoped he would twirl you around during a party.

• How you wanted to keep him safe from people, people he did not noticed that wanted to hurt him.

• He was that much of a good soul.

• Always looking for the good in people, including you.

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

Thanks for reading! I feel like this is short and very ooc.

I am sorry. I hope this could at least help a bit?

#vanitas no carte x reader #noé vnc x reader #vnc x reader #vnc #vanitas no carte #noe archiviste x reader #noe archiviste

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operafantomet · 1 year

Note

Hi Anéa, I hope you're well! I've been taking a look at Meg's final lair outfit as an easier way to get into Broadway costuming. Are there any specific patterns/fabrics you recommend for the vest? It looks like the breeches are corduroy fabric, and I planned to hunt for a close enough dress shirt to modify lol. Thank you so much for your time and being such an incredible resource all these years 💖💖

First of all, thank you so much for your very kind words. I have gotten some amazinly kind messages around the Broadway closing, I feel like the POTO grandma (in a good way).

As for Meg's Final Lair costume, I am tempted to show you the variety in vest patters and fabrics, so you can choose your preferred style. Note too that the pattern of the shirt + eventual contrasting details in the collar tends to vary quite a bit. So Meg's Final Lair costume is basically choosing a red/brown/greyish/black palette, with a playful combination of patterns. Textures seems to be the goal, to work in the fairly dim scene. And interestingly, most costumes seen on stage to an opposite colour combo than seen in Maria Bjørnson's design. She suggests a golden vest and red breeches, but it's more common to see golden, brown or grey/black breeches and reddish vest.

So OK, Janet Devenish in the original West End production 1986-1987. Alas a b/w photo, but comparing to smaller curtain call photos we are talking a reddish/golden vest, brownish velvet breeches and a fairly plain light blue shirt:

Her second costume in 1988 feature many of the same details, but the shirt now has cuff and collar, and the vest is darker with a rose pattern. At this point she had alo gone from a red wig to a blonde wig:

Broadway look, with red brocade vest, black trims, black breeches and a stripy tan shirt:

A rarer colour combo from Toronto, with greenish small-patterned vest with cream collar, orange/brown velvet breeches and a greyish checkered shirt:

Hillay Reiter could be seen wearing a big-patterned paisley red vest with black brocade collar and pockets, brown corduroy breeches and plain light blue shirt in the last World Tour. The vest was previously used in Brazil, Argentina and Mexico:

A vest pattern seen in many different productions (hereunder West End, Copenhagen, the World Tour and South Korea) is the burgundy one with vertical floral stripes. But the exact execution and combos varies. First photo shows Cho Ha Rin in the current South Korean production, where the vest has a stripy red/yellow collar in West End style, a remarkably patterned shirt, and dark brown velvet breeches.

A different take on the same vest pattern, but here with a collar made of the main fabric, and combined with a dotty cream shirt and brown corduroy breeches. This costume was worn by Amelia Palmiro in the last World Tour:

A general look in many European productions in recent years has been reddish paisley vests and velvet breeches. Here's Lindsey Wise in West End wearing a reddish paisley vest, brown velvet breeches and a stripy/floral tan shirt:

A last variation for now is Brianne Kelly Morgan's fairly brown costume in Las Vegas. She wore a brocaded brown/grey (?) vest, stripy brown/black velvet breeches and a plain light shirt:

This is not a complete lit of different vest patterns and their respective combos. But it gives a sense of a fair deal of liberty when you want to put together your own costume. Breeches are usually of velvet and dark, but can be black, grey, darker brown or more golden, and also both plain or corduroy/stripy. Vests are often of reddish brocades, but black, green and golden versions can also be seen. And the shirt comes in different light colours, with dots, stripes, a combination of patterns, or they are plain.

In addition to this meg usually wears thick knitted stockings, black lace books and a knitted cap to hide her hair when she first enters the lair. And of course massive harness underneath, but this is rarely if ever seen and also maybe not something you would have to reproduce for a cosplay, heh!

Best of luck with your costume adventures!

#meg mask #final lair #meg giry #maria bjørnson #phantom of the opera

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icanbeyourjedi-writes · 10 months

Text

Dear Frankie Chapter Nine

Summary: The longer you are with Frankie the harder the baby talk becomes, even harder is the deployments. Distance is never easy but the homecoming is the sweetest Words: 5406 Rating: 18+ SMUT please don’t read if you are under 18 Warnings/Triggers for series: Frankie is active duty military, deployment, death, Adult language, themes, and SMUT

A/N: So I don’t really know anything…ok I know nothing about Fayetteville, North Carolina. I am taking my own liberties on what it’s like there. Names of places may exist, but I have no idea if they are real or not as well as some of the events I have. But it's fan fiction and there are no rules. While the reader may have some descriptions, I am doing my best to leave out physical characteristics. Just try to have a little imagination while you're reading this.

A/N/N: Sorry its been so long since an update. Work got a bit crazy, and with the lack of engagement on writing its been hard to find motivation to want to write. If you like the story please reblog.

**Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. **

The warmth radiating from beneath you, the slow steady beat of his heart under your ear, the rough calloused fingertips gently brush over your spine sending shivers down your arm. You stir just a bit, Frankie’s lips press to your temple, “Good Morning Estrellita” his voice still raspy from sleep. You groan and nuzzle your face into his chest. It was good to have the house back to just the two of you…and Benny. Frankie’s Moms one day stay turned into a week. As nice as it was hearing stories of Frankie as a kid, you wanted nothing more for it to just be the two of you. It sounded bad, you know it did. But you wanted Frankie to yourself, you wanted to be selfish. His fingers stop moving up and down your spine, one hand moving to your chin, tilting it up so you face him. He looks down at you, his hair a mess from the shenanigans from the night before. He gently pulls your chin towards him and you take the hint, meeting him halfway in a tentative kiss.

“Good Morning…” you sigh “I thought you had Flight Training this morning” he starts to frown “no…no I am more than happy to wake like this, but it was unexpected”

His hand wraps around your neck, thumb running along your jawbone, “too windy, training stuff moved indoors. Not needed till noon” his hand grabs your bare ass

You move your leg, slowly starting to straddle him. Brushing some hair behind his ear, “oh…” you lean down, lips almost touching his “and what exactly do you plan on doing till then?”

“I’ve got a few ideas”

The countdown on your phone seems to be moving in slow motion. The test sitting on the counter. It wasn’t readable, and you were glad you bought more than one. You sat on the edge of the bathtub, Heather was there holding your hand. Frankie was still working out, or whatever it was he did for training. Your legs bounce as each second that passes feels like a lifetime

“Fuck, what the fuck is taking so long?” You shake your head

“Hey…hey, it’s ok. We’ll find out soon” Heather is calm, calmer than you “have you talked about it yet?”

“No…his Mom just kept going on and on, and I don’t know. I feel like I just, it was like everywhere I looked when I was with her was babies” you look up at her “I’ve been avoiding the talk, the way he talked about it with his Mom. I don’t think he wants them”

The alarm on your phone sounds, scaring you a bit. You jump up from the tub, grabbing the test off the counter, positive “Fuck…” you groan. Hand covering your face. Heather takes the test from your hand, confirming that it said positive.

She hands you the bottle of water, “we’ve got two more tests” you take the bottle of water and down it as quickly as you can.

A baby…a baby. Was this something you wanted, I thought about it. But now, I’m terrified. We aren’t ready for a kid.

It was getting dark, Frankie still wasn’t home. You had made dinner and extra plates for the boys were in the fridge. After finishing the dishes you find yourself in your PJ’s curled up on the couch. Looking out the big picture window in the living room you watch as a little girl rides her bike down the street, her parents not too far behind. The woman, pregnant as the couple walked hand in hand. Could that be the future for you and him, is it even something he wanted. You had put off the conversation long enough and you knew it was now or possibly never.

You didn’t hear him come in, you didn’t hear Benny yell a ‘thank you’ as he took his plate of food down the hall to his room. Your eyes were fixed on the blank screen, playing every possible way the conversation could go. You were so focused you didn’t even realize that he had been upstairs and taken a shower. You finally notice he’s home when you feel the cushion dip.

“You ok?” He asks

“We need to talk…” you say, tears already threatening to fall

He groans sitting up from the couch “what?” It must have been a bad day

“What would you say, if I told you I was pregnant?” This wasn’t how you wanted to bring the subject up, but with all the talk of babies, and Frankie getting to ‘know you’ again it was totally possible. When Frankie had left in the morning you felt sick to your stomach, calling Heather panicked and unsure what to do, she was there with no questions and stayed with you. The last two tests were negative, you have a doctors appointment next week to confirm, but the test that was unreadable finally came back as a negative test.

“Fuck…are you?” The tone of his voice was something between anger, shock and panic “I…I leave in a few weeks. Shit, you can’t be…” he gets up, racking his hands through his hair, he was starting to pace.

“Not exactly the reaction was I was expecting” you cross your arms, “and seeing as you…we don’t exactly use a condom every time, it’s not impossible”

“I’m not the one that complains about how they feel” he retorts

‘Oh so it’s my fault?” you yell at him, standing up from the couch “maybe if someone didn’t want to go second and third rounds every time”

“You don’t seem to complain when I do…” he rolls his eyes

“You know what fuck you Francisco, this is just as much on you as it is me” You shove him and make your way to the stairs, he reaches for your arm put you pull away, running up them to your shared room. Slamming the door closed you walk into the bathroom, the tests staring up at you from the trash can. You blink away the tears, Frankie was always careful with his words, he never yelled at you. He never made you feel so small, and unloved until today. Until this moment. “I guess we didn’t need to have the talk, that right there answered everything” you say quietly.

“Shit…” he sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

Benny had just emerged from his room with his dirty plate, seeing Frankie sitting on the bottom step. Tears threatening to fall, elbows on his knees and his face in hands. Benny taps his foot and he looks up and the blonde hair man “you ok?”

Frankie shakes his head, “I think I fucked up, she told me she was pregnant…” he rubs the back of his neck, “I told her she couldn’t, I’m leaving and I was mad. And now she’s up there and I don’t know how to fix it”

“Tell her the truth, she loves you Fish. I don’t know why, but she does. The only way to fix it, talk to her.” Benny rubs his friend's shoulder. “It’ll be ok”

You can hear him calling your name from the other side of the door “please…I’m sorry. Please, open the door” his voice now quiet. You could hear him knock on the door again, groaning as he pushed his back against the door and sliding down. “Well, I’m just gonna sit here…and wait. You know how hard it is for me to talk…but I’m gonna talk now…I had a shitty Dad, if you can even call him that. He left me and my Mom a few days after I was born, and having a kid scares me because I don’t want to fail. I don’t want to be like him” his voice grows quiet, “I don’t want to fail you”

You crack open the door, he doesn’t look up. He was sitting on the ground, looking down at his hands picking the hangnail he had. You sit next to him, even after all this time Frankie still hated talking about his feelings. He was always one of few words, he would rather his actions speak for him and he knew he always ended up saying the wrong things. He finally looks towards you as you go to open your mouth “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. I love you so much, and I am just…”

“Kiss?” you ask, you cup his cheek thumb brushing over the cheekbone

He shakes his head no and he can see the sadness in your face “we…we, need to talk about this…are you pregnant?” he wraps his fingers around your wrist, bringing your hand to his lips.

‘No” you pull your hand away swallowing hard “I thought I was, all the baby talk…and I took a few tests. I was late and I was scared”

“Do you want kids?” He asks

“I don’t know…I really don’t know” you lean your head back

It wasn’t the way I had expected the conversation with you to go. Before I had met you I think the answer to kids would have been overwhelmingly yes. But it changed when I met you, learning that you were in the Army changed my mind on having kids. I didn’t want them to go through the thing that I had to. Having you not there for things, having you miss milestones in their life. I don’t see us with the white picket fence and red brick house…2.5 kids running in the yard with a dog and us sitting on the porch swing watching them as the sun sets…that’s not you and me. That will never be us.

“I don’t want to miss those things either” he wraps his hands around yours, “I think I want them…at some point, but I want to be there. I want to be here. For soccer games, and bike riding, and loosing their first tooth and first heartbreak”

“I don’t know what the future holds, I don’t know if it’s an apartment in the city” Frankie scoffs “or a house in the countryside…I just know I want you in it. If it involves kids, great…if it’s just you and me, great. Whatever it is, I just want it to be with you”

“Really?” He asks, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand

You nod, “really…I’d go with you anywhere. I love you Francisco Morales”

“I love you”

December 2013 Saying goodbye to you was never easy, saying goodbye to you and not knowing when I will be able to hear your voice again, to see your face again is nearly impossible. Never knowing where you are, never knowing if you’re safe or not terrifies me…

The steam from the shower fills the room, the mirror completely fogged, you try to find something along the tiled wall to hold on to. Moans of his name fall from your lips, while he pants in your ear, his chest pressed against your back thrusting deeper into you. His hands gripping your waist, making sure you can remember him while he’s away. “Shhhit, mmmm Fraaaaaaank, I’m I”mmmm” you head lolls back against his shoulders

“All right baby, come on” his expert fingers work you until you are clenching around him, your legs shaking. His nose runs along your cheek “that’s is baby, I love you” he says as his teeth grab your earlobe

You reach behind you, hand wrapping around his neck, his lips on your neck… “mmmm do you have to go?” You close your eyes, fingertips massaging the nape where the curls use to be at the base of his neck.

“I wish I didn’t” he sighs, slowly slipping out of you and spinning you towards him, “you know I’d stay if I could”

You gently pull him towards you, lips searching for him again. The warm water falling on to Frankie’s back, his hands wrapped around you bringing your bodies closer together. “I don’t have much more time”

“I know…” your voice cracks “…I can think of a few ways to spend the time”

“Ehhh Fish…Stella, Look I’m glad you two made up and all but if I get punished for you making us late, I’m gonna be pissed Cat you hear another rasp at the door and Benny’s voice.

Laughing into Frankie’s shoulder you pull your head back, looking at the cheeky grin on his face, water dripping down his perfectly shaped face, another knock and Benny’s pleading voice you can’t help but match Frankie’s grin and laugh. “We’ll be out in a minute Ben” he shouts

“You think you can finish that quickly, hmm?” You lean into kiss him

“I never back down from a challenge”

He let you drive his truck, his baby…you pulled up next to Will and Claire watching them say their good-byes. Killing the engine Benny hops out of the truck, you weren’t late. You were perfectly on-time. You didn’t want to be, you wanted to be late, you wanted to keep him from leaving even if that meant he could lose his status. You watch as he puts his hat on before getting out of the truck, his eyes focused ahead. His head reaches for the door handle pulling it open ready to grab his stuff and finish the job he had reluctantly taken because of Tom.

You meet him at the back of the truck, he flips the tailgate back up and drops his bag on the ground quickly replacing the bag with you in his arms. Wrapping your arms around his neck, breathing him in one last time. Tears threatening to fall, he pulls back thumbs quickly moving to wipe away the tears. “Hey…hey…” he whispers, “it’s gonna be ok. We’ve done this before”

Sucking in your bottom lip, trying to not let more tears fall “yeah, but I knew where you were going then…and when you’d be home”

He brings your lips to his, he didn’t want to say goodbye anymore then you did. You were right, this time was different, the location was a secret even to him. He wouldn’t be told where he was going until they landed, he didn’t know how long he was going to be away, and he hated the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to talk to you.

“Do you have to go? Can’t you just tell them your sick or something” you place a quick kiss “Please, stay with me”

“I wish I could…it doesn’t work like that” he sighs, pulling back. His hands move back to your waist, he slowly is drifting away. Drifting back to combat Frankie, the Frankie that shuts off his humanity “do something for me?”

“If you say live my life and if something better comes along go for it, I swear to God Frankie”

He cracks a smile and a small laugh, a small bit of Frankie was still there, “I was gonna say take care of my baby”

You look at him, “but I’m not…”

He taps the tailgate of the truck, you shake your head “I meant the truck” he laugh

“Oh that’s right your a comedian…” you push him back “I love you” you say hugging him tightly one last time

“I love you too”

“Love you Stella” Benny shouts as he begins his walk towards the hanger

“Love you Benjamin” you laugh…“Come back to me, ok”

“Nothing will keep me from coming back to you” his arms tighten around you, breathing in your scent, committing the strawberry smell of your shampoo to memory “I love you” he whispers kissing the top of your head before moving to your lips.

“Catfish…time to go” Tom shouts

“I love you” you say, he pulls away. Reluctantly bending down and grabbing his bag, and you watch as he walks away for you don’t know how long.

The ringtone is loud, the screen light filling the room. You have no idea what time it is, and no one has called you in weeks. You hand fumbles for your phone on the nightstand before you finally are able to grab it and bring it to your ear.

“Hello” your voice groggy with sleep, rubbing your eyes trying to wake up.

“Hey baby” the voice crackles on the other end

“Frankie?” You question.

Six months of sleeping without him. Six months of missing him. Six months, you’ve been through this before but for some reason this time was so much harder. His side of the bed no longer smelled like him, you used his body wash a few times just because you missed it. The bottle was close to empty, you’d stand in the shower and open the bottle bringing it close to your nose, just to try and remember what he smelled like. But it was never good enough.

“Frankie?” You question again

“Yeah…hey” you can hear him smile “what are you wearing?”

“Mmm a cute pair of lacy underwear….one of your button downs…barely buttoned, laying in bed…wishing you were here” you roll onto your back looking up at the ceiling

“What color?” He asks, his voice lower…raspy

“What color do you want them to be?” You grin, trying to sound flirty

It was good to hear his voice. You close your eyes, imagining that he is lying next to you. You move your hand slowly unbuttoning the few that you have done to keep the shirt closed as you sleep. Sleeping had been hard, you didn’t realize how much you needed him. How accustomed you had become to sleeping next to him. You had recently bought some toys, but nothing felt as good as he did.

“You know exactly what color I want them…on the floor” his voice goes lower as he growls the command.

Are we really doing this, you think. You slide them down and toss them to the floor “what are you wearing?” You ask seductively

“Now or when this call started?” He asks and you can’t help but giggle

“I really fucking miss you” you sigh, trying to not let him hear your pain of missing him

“I miss you too” you can hear gunfire in the background but Frankie continues to talk to you. The gun fire increases and you hear an explosion. Screaming voices muffled, yelling out orders

“Frankie…Frankie” you say this time you don’t hide your panic

He doesn’t speak, all you can hear is the chaos in the background, “Morales, we gotta go” says a man “MORALES” he yells when another explosion sounds

“Frankie…” you cry.

You can hear the phone fall from his hands, the sound of boots hitting the sand. You sit up, screaming his name. One more explosion, and the line goes dead leaving ringing in your ears. A white flash and your eyes snap open. Clutching your hands to your shirt, your heart racing and tears slowly falling from your eyes. You shake your head into the pillow “it was just a dream, he’s ok…it’s ok” you say to yourself. Rolling over to Frankie’s side of the bed you find him laying next to you. A small smile creeps on your face, “Frankie” you sigh.

Your hand reaches out to touch his face, as your fingertips begin to touch his cheek, his skin is ice cold. You blink a couple times and watch as his skin begins to turn to ash under your touch. You quickly withdraw your hand, you try to scream but nothing comes out. Your heart feels like it is about to beat out of your chest, tears flowing like a river down your cheeks. You try to scream again, and still nothing comes out.

“FRANKIE” you finally manage to yell looking at the pile of bones now next to you

Your body jolts you upright. Rubbing your eyes as you look next to you, the bed is empty and cold. Frankie was never there. You're still in the hoodie and shorts you had fallen asleep in, you hadn’t slept in weeks and it was taking its toll. Throwing your legs to the side of the bed, you grab your phone off the nightstand before standing up. The screen illuminates under your touch. A photo of you and Frankie, his arms wrapped around you, chin resting on your shoulder. His smile reached from ear to ear, your eyes were closed with a smile on your face. His scruffy facial hair tickled your shoulder. It was small moments like this that you missed, moments like this that you cherished.

Your hand stops just before you are about to knock. Why were you here, she has a baby, she has bigger problems to deal with. You complaining about a nightmare was something she A) doesn’t care about B) doesn’t have time for and C) she doesn’t even really know you despite Tom and Frankie being on the same team.

May 2014 It started a few weeks ago. It was always hard to sleep without you, but I never had nightmares as bad as these. It’s always the same, hearing the last moments of your life, hearing the screams and the gunfire. I don’t want to close my eyes, I don’t want these dreams to become reality. I don’t know what to do

“Hi, I…I’m sure I’m the last person you want to see but I need your help” you ask when the door opens to Molly standing there cradling the baby against her. It was 6am and she was the only person you knew that would be up.

She steps aside “come on in…” she says softly and you nod slowly stepping past her, “what’s wrong?” she asks closing the door as carefully as she can to not wake the sleeping newborn.

“Do you ever have nightmares?” you ask sitting down on a small chair, “about Tom?”

“I’m married to him…everyday is a nightmare” she sits down on the couch across from you, adjusting the baby in her arms.

You don’t know how to respond, you look at her confused, silent. Scratching your head looking for the right words to respond to her. “It was a joke, you can laugh at that. I know how he is to some people” Tessa, the small baby on her arms starts to stir, “shhh baby, shhh it’s alright” she coos

“I just can’t stop them, every night they happen. It’s always the same dream” you sigh and lean forward. Your face falls into your hands “I haven’t slept in weeks”

You look up, realizing the words you just said to her. She’s been by herself with the baby. Feedings, changing, everything she’s had to do alone…guilt begins to wash over you. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean I…”

“It’s alright, I get it. I’ve had dreams worrying about Tom too. It’s normal, it happens” she says “you just have to find that happy place when you want to sleep…”

July 2014 That happy place…easier said than done. ‘You need to pleasure yourself if you want to sleep well’ she told me, Frankie I’ve tried that. It doesn’t work and the nightmares, they keep happening, they feel all too real. ‘Get new toys," she said Frankie, I hope I get a chance to tell you things before you get stopped at the gate, because you’re gonna have fun with Officer Collins…sorry about that. I did what she said, it took way too long and I am sure the guy at the store thought there was something wrong with me. Holding up the boxes measuring the thickness of them but nothing compares to you. I laid in bed that night, pretending my fingers were yours. Thinking of how you tell me you love me, how you work me to just the edge before you fill me. But it didn’t work, I couldn’t get the speed right, I couldn’t hit that spot that you have so masterfully found

I had to find a way, I needed to figure out how to find that spot, that happy spot so the nightmares would stop. You close your eyes, hands on the edge of the tub you were straddling. Pretending it was Frankie below you, you lift up just enough before sliding back down on the purple silicone dildo, sucking in your bottom lip “Pretend it’s him, you need to imagine him” Molly’s words from earlier enter your mind. “Frankie…mmmm” you start to pick up your pace, softly moaning each time you slide back down.

“That’s it, yes…” you sigh

“Come on baby, come on” you imagine him grunting, his hands wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly leaving his fingerprints that you would happily find in the morning

Your moans grow louder, imagining his encouraging words, telling you how good you felt, how perfect you felt with him. Your legs begin to shake, toes curling, the first orgasm you were able to have since he had been gone. You slowly ride it out, opening your eyes to the tub below you. A tear from missing him falls, a good moment comes to an end when you remember you are alone. Shaking your head you slowly remove the dildo, and turn on the water. Rinsing it and yourself before you crawl into the empty bed. One of his shirts and a pair of boxers that you had given him to replace some of his old ones that he refused to throw away. You curl into a ball, pray for the nightmares to stay away before you close your eyes.

October 2014 Molly was right, from that night on I did the same thing. It never felt as satisfying as you, the way you would kiss my neck. The way you would hold me after. The way your fingers would travel up and down my spine. The fingers that were so rough and so capable of killing, but when with me…they were soft, tender and caring. The nightmares had subsided. But in a sick way, I missed those dreams

It had been a long week, planning for the haunted house and fall festival the radio station put on was grueling work. Sure the promotion meant that it wasn’t you stuck at the booth for the early mornings or late nights, but it did mean that it was up to you to schedule and plan. It was hard to think, it had been just about a year since he had been gone and all you could think about was him.

Finally getting home, taking a shower and putting on a pair of leggings and hoodie you made yourself a TV dinner. Cooking for one all the time was hard, and sometimes you just didn’t have it in you to actually make something. The microwave beeps letting you know the food was done, and you plop on the sofa with the chicken nugget meal on your lap. Finishing dinner you put the empty tray on the coffee table and lean back, closing your eyes and glad it was Friday night. Your phone vibrates in your hoodie pocket, pulling it out it’s a number you don’t recognize with a DC area code.

“Hello?” You answer

“Hi” he responds, his voice soft. A voice you haven’t heard except for in your mind

“Frankie?” You ask

“Hey Estrella” and you can sense a smile “What are you doing Sunday?”

You don’t answer, you blink a few times. Shaking your head, a dream had never started like this, this has to be real right? You pinch your leg “Ow…” you say

“Are you ok, what’s wrong?” He asks quickly, unaware that your ‘ow’ had been heard

“Yeah, yeah I’m good…Frankie, sorry. I’m fine, I just, I’m not doing anything…are you in DC?”

“Yeah, I’m coming home” you hear those three words and you can’t help the sudden smile. “I land at 1430…”

“I’ll see you then” there was no hiding the excitement in your voice “I really fucking miss you”

“I missed you too, I’ll be home soon. I love you. Oh one more thing, being my baby”

“But I’m not…oh wait you mean your truck. Yeah, yeah of course. I love you Francisco”

Was it real? Was my mind just playing a trick on me.

You were running late, the parking lot was already full. It was just a dream, you think to yourself. Finally finding a place you pull in. Grabbing your purse you lock his truck and run to the waiting area. The crowd of people greeting their loved ones and you can’t see a thing that is happening. Finding an empty bench you step up and look over everyone. Trying to find Frankie, maybe he really was just a dream.

You cross your arms over your chest, holding yourself together so you don't fall apart. You’re so focused on watching the people in front of you that you don’t feel the presence of the person next to you. “Whatcha waiting for?”

“My boy…” you turn to look at the person standing next to you “…FRANKIE!” You shout his name and launch yourself at him, nearly knocking the two of you off the small wooden bench. Wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Hey” he says as you knock the wind out of him for a moment and he wraps his arms around you.

You pull back, arms still wrapped around his neck. You grab his face and lean in to kiss him with as much passion as you can muster with tears starting to fall. He returns the kiss, arms tighten around your waist. If it was possible for two to become one you know Frankie and you would have morphed into one body.

“I love you, I love you, I love you” you say in between peppering his face with kisses

He grins, giving you one quick kiss, “I love you too. Let’s go home”

Frankie throws his bag into the bed of the truck. He gets into the driver's seat before you can stop him. “What are you doing?” he asks

“Move over, I wanna take you somewhere”

“Baby, I’m really tired. I just wanna go home”. He looks at you for a moment seeing you aren’t going to move he reluctantly slides over. You grin getting into the truck.

“You’ll enjoy this, I promise”

It was fall, and the sun was already beginning to set as you pulled out of the parking lot. Frankie leaning his head back, waking up the minute he hears the tires hit a dirt road. Pulling up to the same spot you and Frankie shared a dance under the stars.

“What are we doing here? Officer Powers is gonna kill us if he catches us here” Frankie looks out the back window to see if there’s anyone behind you

“Isn’t that part of the fun?” You ask sliding closer to him “I’ve never made out in the truck with my boyfriend before”

He turns to look at you, shaking his head a small smile tugging on his lips “that’s a lie”

You shrug “when I’m sitting in the driver's seat?” You cup his face, thumb brushing over his jaw. He looked so good in the twilight. Sometimes you couldn’t believe he was real. That he was yours.

“I love you” he whispers softly, slowly closing the distance between the two of you.

His lips catch yours before you can reply. His hand finds your thigh. It may have been fall, but you were in his favorite red summer dress. The halter top, that had little white specks, scattered all over. A cute jean jacket completed the look. His hand slide higher up your thigh, pushing the fabric back while your hand moved lower, gripping his shoulder tightly when he found out you weren’t wearing any underwear.

“Really?” He has his fingers slowly sliding between your folds. Clearly he wasn’t mad about it either

You nod your head against him, “I had hoped…” before you can finish your sentence he scoots closer to you, he grabs your leg and moves you to straddle his lap. Leaning in, you continue to kiss him. Slowly at first, intensifying as the minutes continue.

One wrapped around his neck while the other slides down his chest. Fingers brushing over his name tag, moving lower and lower finding the buckle to his pants. Lips never parting as you work contraption open. “Frankie?” you sigh

“Mmm”

“I need you”

Looing for other great work by me check out my Masterlist

-or-

Looking for more Pedro Pascal Character fics be sure to check out @littlemisspascal library for all things Pedro including their fics

#Christina Writes #Dear Frankie #Triple Frontier AU #Pedro Pascal #Frankie Morales #Frankie x F!Reader #Pedro Pascal Characters #Pedro Pascal Character Fan Fic #Francisco Morales

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milli0n-dollar-fool · 9 months

Text

spoilers

since mr gaiman said we could maybe write our notes as we watch each episode i’m going to start doing that because i need to understand what happened the whole season LMAO im so distracted by ep*s*d* s*x

Episode 1 – The Arrival

The thing Crowley is holding looks like the thing he used to stop time

His hair is GORGEOUS

He’s so bubbly and wholesome

Aziraphale didn’t know he was helping to make the stars

This is why Crowley wanted so badly to go to the stars with Aziraphale last season

Crowley sort of refers to Aziraphale as kind of below him? Like rank-wise (note Aziraphale is a cherub?)

Aziraphale looked so hopeful introducing himself to Crowley then he doesn’t even tell him his name LMAO

HIS EXCITED SQUEAL

Is this how he wanted to watch the world go in season 1? From space with Aziraphale?

Not aziraphale thinking Crowley was referring to him with the “look at you, you’re gorgeous”

“and I think you’ve done an excellent job” shoot me now

So this is what Crowley is like with a will to live (JOKING)

“stars everywhere” didn’t he say that in the “what are they putting in bananas these days”

Help the music sliding down when aziraphale breaks the news I didn’t notice that before

Crowley’s face

‘call it a nebula’ HE’S SO PROUD OF IT

‘if I was the one running it all’ *immediately looks around nervously*

‘how much trouble can I get into just for asking a few questions’ honey you’ve got a big storm coming

THE STARS RAINING AND THE WING AHHHHHH

Love David tennant getting his name before Michael sheen in the credits

We didn’t see the blimps or raining rabbits in this season – s3?

Switched little sign thingies

THE SIGN CROWLEY WROTE ABOUT CLOSING TIMES AHH

“hello Maggie” HIS VOICE IS SO GENTLE

“what if I were to take these Shostakovich records without paying for him” HE SAYS IT SO MISCHIEVIOUSLY

Also I love some of shostakovich’s pieces

“I’m very good at forgiveness, it’s one of my favourite things” PARALLEL TO “I FORGIVE YOU” RAHHH

I like how you can see crowleys eyes behind his sunglasses

“frozen peas” he’s not letting down his man aziraphale

She has her order memorized AHRIOAA

Head empty no thoughts goob intro

HELP ME THE BARE HUG SQUEEZE I WOULD RATHER DIE

STOP LOOKING UP AND DOWN AZIRAPHALE

‘near one particular person’ ‘no certainly not’ bffr

Was the something terrible thing heaven hunting him down

His smirk at “his royal smugness is in trouble that’s so sad” AHHHH

“you’re funny. I love you” hello?

The fly in the box heh

Aww his face after ‘what box’

I will die for Muriel

TONE OF VOICE

“go back a long time’ ok

‘because there’s a naked man there?’ JEALOUSSSS

“is it something I can help you with?’ JEALOUSSSS

So like we were right about Crowley eating/drinking really fast

“purely selfish action’ not very angelic of you

I wonder what the rest of his keys are for

HIM PUTTING HIS GLASSES ON THE HORSE LMAO

“ask him properly” I jumped

“I am dusting” HE JUMPED LMAO

Dartmoor sherlock reference I see you

Arguing 25 minutes into the show I see

‘precious, peaceful, fragile’ man

‘if you refuse to help me you’re at liberty to go’ paralleling ep*s*d* s*x is gut wrenching

“no, I would love you to help me” im crying he really is picking up the pace

How long was that blue car out there for

Ngl him smiting everywhere was kinda

“you’re misunderstanding me uriel” “im understanding you very well. You think somebody should be giving orders and that someone is you” PARALLEL TO THE END

I unironically love Michael

Crowley looks so tired in his Bentley :(

For a sec I thought we were going to get traitor traitor Crowley

The way he sprawls lmao

Beelzebub trying to find the man theyre down bad for lmao

The way they converse comfortably instead of Crowley being afraid of Beelzebub

Aww Maggie being sheltered :(

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY

“theres only room for one of us in this lane and it’s not you” crying

I love how nina remembers people based off their coffee order – That’s Mr Six Shots of Expresso

“my bad” aww

The way he was listing when he did the I was wrong dance WHAT HAPPENED

Were those the years of the flashbacks I’ll check later (1650, 1793, 1941)

I love the dance I need the backstory

“very nice” rolling

“together” im crying

Parenting is going well

‘it would barely move the dials’ okay

They look so determined

Their smiles when they thought they did the miracle right aww

And theres the end of the episode folks what do we think

#this is for my use lmao #might be interesting for other people to see as well #please tell me your thoughts i can't hold this in forever #not me being the only friend with prime none of my other friends have watched it :(#i have a class tomorrow with my favourite teacher who's already watched it can't wait to lose our minds together #good omens show #crowley good omens #aziraphale good omens #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #spoilers #go2 spoilers #ready to marry anyone who diligently tags spoilers

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dreamtydraw · 11 months

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Back to ask for a character ramble! Character of your choice~! (And feel free to let this message sit until you feel like it :) )

-💚

OK HI HELLO YOU ARE AWESOME !! I’m taking this card to talk about my oc for the game Touchestarved, Eleanore

First off I gonna start by saying that a lot of things about her as a character in terms of story or design will depend on the canon of the story. I am taking a lot of liberty and her character will for sure be changed once the game is fully out and we get to learn more about the world-building and the backstories.

Starting with her symbolism: Eleanore is a metaphor for reincarnation and rebirth. One of her associations with reincarnation is her design linked to spring.

Her name Eleanore originates from Ray of light / shining light but her surname Eostre is a direct reference to the deity of reincarnation but also the deity of spring and light.

Her original design was inspired by paintings of medieval maidens mainly those:

You can sort of see it in her hairstyle when I take the time to draw her well.

Eleanore being associated with spring can also be noticed in the color palette of her design: Green and orange. Green is both a color associated with life and death nevertheless it’s a spring color, the color of a new nature, of grass and trees. However, green is also associated with the concept of jealousy, toxicity, and envy.

Orange is a warm color associated with energy and positivity, it’s also a color you’ll see associated with fruits or flowers. However orange is also a warning color, it grab your attention and can lead you to signs to be alert, it’s a warning. A red flag is here to stop you, an orange flag will warn you of a danger approaching.

She is also inspired by a parasite, the Cuscuta, an orange parasite flower that grow over other plants and drain them. This parasite is referenced with the shape of her marks taking over her body but also the dual color green and orange of the parasite on the host. This is the same reference as another parasite the Aphidoidea.

I think you can already start seing it from here, but her design is based on a lot of contradiction : in danger but safe / toxique nature.

Her backstory :

This part can be skipped but is really important to understand her as a character and some of her design choices

This part contain trigger such as child abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, ptsd

Eleanore never got to see what genuine affection is. As far as she can remember her life started when she was already a child, living with her teacher. She knew she was to be studied and so she was, her teacher knew what was best.

She wanted to impress her, make her proud by reading all the books she had in the basement, by being grateful for every minute she was allowed in the garden, not crying when she was stabbed with needles, not being too noisy, not complaining, not refusing. All was for the best, even if she cried and begged to be let out, it was childish tantrums, the days she spent in the cage were simply deserved for all the mess she could cause. Her body was for science, her mind was for knowledge and her feelings were worthless.

Her teacher could be as cruel as she was kind, warmly smiling, dressing her up, taking good care of her. She was so good she even found a way to lift the curse of the young child, or so she was told. It was partially lifted, she was still ill, she still needed to be fixed.

“Tomorrow you’ll be free” “Soon i’ll let you out”, she counted the days with excitement. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and months faded into years, so many years that her hope died with what used to be her childhood.

She had let it happen for so long, passive to her feelings, to the pain in her wrists and the rotting of her body. Her beautiful green hair slowly growing with a golden light of orange, everything was changing and looking at what she left herself became hurted. All the magic she had supported changed her, influenced her curse and slowly grew alongside her body.

Marks started to appear on her body and her eyes hurt for so long she thought she was turning blind until it all calmed and she could observe a reflective glow of orange settling on her pupil.

All of this changement scared her, but it couldn’t compare to the fright she felt toward her pleased teacher. When she begged for reassurance all she got was lies she heard thousands of times before. Eleanore realized that she would die in that basement. If she stayed here her curse would never be lifted, worse it would be increased. So for the first time she listened to herself and tried to save her life, Eleanore escaped.

Outside she was like a newborn taking her first steps, failing to grasp the reality she was in, incapable of doing anything by herself. She met people there and there, some kinder than others, toying with the naive girl.

One night she was asked to spend her night with a nice man charmed by her looks. She felt special, never in her life did she experience so much pleasure, so much love and adoration. It was all new and to her standart it was all she could ever ask, be special to someone. She tried to run after the feeling, obsessing with how she could silence the void of her worries when someone was next to her. Why look after yourself when someone else can do much more, when they can make you forget and give you the pleasing affection you cried so much for. Sadly her intensity was not met, it was scary, unhinged, it made love slip like sand between her fingers. She tried, she desperately tried, she felt like death was less painful than being abandoned again. So she continued, running after people to earn crumbs of affection, kneeling, begging for even an instance of love, she took everything she was given, she didn’t deserve it after all.

Love was painful and she would stab herself if it meant she could be loved.

Still with me ? Yay good !

Deep dive into her design then !

As stated before her marks are inspired by the thing orange plant parasite that is the Cusuta but some of the shapes are insect-inspired. The lower back shape is inspired by stag beetle horns, where the shape on her shoulder is a visual reference to a beetle opening its wings.

Her eyes are of two separate colors to show she has tapetum lucidum, the layer of the eye that some animal specie which helps them see in the dark but also have a phosphorescent effect that makes the eyes shine in the dark when facing light.

About her hair :

Eleanore’s natural color is green, she realized very late that her green hair will never grow back and this terrifies her. She is scared of letting it go and dosen’t cut her hair anymore wich resulted to the absurd length of her hair. Cutting it would mean letting the past go and she’s too afraid to do it, so she avoid it by improvising. She has a layer of braid under behind her neck to make the volume of hair lighter and more manageable. The green hair that never turned orange are worn in a half crown braid with multiple knots inspired by European medieval folklore hairstyles.

About her clothes :

The belt is here to make the silhouette of her top looks like the torso of a beetle with a clear separation of the two side, the up and the down. It has a butterfly design at it’s center and beetle design on the top. She wears a blouse inspired by old medical blouse that covered from the tip of the arms to the up of the neck. Her little cape is shaped as to fall like two butterfly wings. She has a perfectly symmetrical design again referencing a beetle top. She wears earthy tones and as much closes possible to hide her marks and limit contact due to her curse.

In conclusion :

Eleanore’s design is entierly based on being a symbole of reincarnation while also being stuck. Just like a butterfly she went trough a long process of physical change that hurted ( caterpillars body melt inside the cocon so they can reconstruct their body as butterfly ), sadly she’s still in her shell.

Incapable of moving on, on accepting the process of moving forward and starting new, she dosen’t let go of the past and still hold into it without confronting it ( keeping her green hair, chasing people’s affection, fall in abusive relationships ).

She has the potential of being the stray of light that will open the new season of spring, but her light is kept hiden under all the suffering she refuse to admit, creating a word of désillusion where she believes her way of acting is normal.

FeW that was long-

Thanks you for taking the time to read all of character explanation about Eleanore. I tried my best to explain the complexity i aimed when working on her, she was based of the concept of life draining parasite and this is how the idea got developed. I am very exited for the game to come out so i can apply all of this into the word building and or adapt my lore, and until then i will play with my little blorbo.

Lot of love ! Hope you’ll have a good day ✨

#my oc #oc analysis #dreamty’s ramble #Character design #Touch starved #touch starved mc #red spring studios #my art #green anon #Anon ask

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mentalbreakdowngobrrrrr · 2 years

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(aight so its like 2 am but spiderman hyperfixation go brrr and this came to my head while trying to sleep.)

Mj and Ned stare in awe at the two Peter Parkers standing in front of them.

Ned decides to try one final time.

“I wish we could see Peter Parker!” he makes a circle with his hands and a portal opens

instead of gracefully stepping through a masked figure comes crashing through, landing on top of Peter with an oomph.

There is a scary looking woman on the other side, about to jump through when the portal abruptly closes.

The four people in the room stare in Silence at the figure.

“Can you get off of me?” Peter asks.

The figure lets out a gasp and scrambles up, offering a hand to the fallen Peter.

Peter takes the figures hand and is hoisted into the air as if he weighs nothing.

They take time to look at the person.

it appears to be a woman in a spiderman suit.

“You’re not Peter Parker.” Ned mumbles.

“Yeah no shit. I’m (y/n) Parker. Friends call me Peter to piss me off. Inside joke.”

she looks around at the people in the room.

“Thanks for saving me. I was getting my ass handed to me by that chick. She was kinda fine tho.” The woman reached a gloved hand up to her mask and yanked it off.

Long curly brown hair falls out. except its not graceful like you would think. Hair is everywhere and the woman sputters as hair gets in her mouth.

She finally gets her hair under control and chocolate brown eyes are revealed. The woman has a young looking face, albeit with some scars. She has light freckles dusting across her face.

“Looking around I assume you two are Spiderman. Or a version of me. Now what the fuck is going on?”

“Uhm about that, you’re from another universe. We’re currently looking for our Peter. The other two are also Peters from other universes.” Ned mumbles looking down.

“No shot?” She looks at the two. “Damn if I wasn’t into women I’d tap me.” She mumbled lifting a hand to her chin.

“Are you not phased by the multiverse?” The Peter who she hadn’t fallen onto asked.

“Nah. I’ve had weirder shit happen. There was that time in New Jersey with the Ferret and those two guys. Shit was wild.”

“….Ok. Well we still need to find our Peter. He needs us right now. We’re all he has left.” MJ looks at the three spidermans around her.

The woman’s face softens.

“Is there a place he goes to like,”

“Get away from it all?” The Peters ask.

“Mine was the Chrysler building.”

“Top of the Empire state.”

“Thats a nice view.”

“Lady Liberty’s tit.”

The room went quiet as everyone stared at the girl who had spoken.

“Excuse me?” Ned asked.

“I don’t know its hard to be sad when standing on the tit of a 305 foot tall lady.” She played with a strand of her hair.

“Moving on.”

“There is.” MJ mumbled.

(Aight calling it for now. Will make part two semi soon.)

#spiderman #spidermannowayhome #spiderman no way home #reader insert #marvel #spiderman reader insert #genderbent #peter parker #fluff #MJ #ned leeds #MCU #marvelinsert #spidermanxreader #spiderman x reader

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youcantwaitforsnow · 1 year

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12.27.22

#December Posts

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musings-of-a-rose · 2 years

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I'll Always Wait For You - Chapter 6

Pairing: Francisco "Frankie/Catfish" Morales x F!reader (eventually)

Word Count: 6392

Rating: M- Mature. 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: I am pulling from a personal experience in describing the setting (albeit for different circumstances). I did some research on the specific medical situations, but so little is known about some of them that I took some liberties in recovery and such. It’s my fic and I do what I want. Also, I’M SORRY PLEASE DON’T HATE ME!

-I know the picture in the middle of the mood board shows a female with the iv’s. This is not a clue or hint. I just simply couldn’t find a photo where the genders were flipped that fit the aesthetic! As always, reader is YOU so ignore any stock photo bias.

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<<Chapter 5

I'll Always Wait For You Masterlist

Main Masterlist

-------

“Santi - is everyone ok?”

He pauses, staring up at you with tears in his eyes.

“It’s Frankie.”

A lump forms in your throat and suddenly your chest is too heavy, causing you to start to hyperventilate.

You croak out “Is he -”

“He’s alive- “ you audibly exhale “-but he’s in a coma. Smith Memorial, room 480.”

Every feeling that you thought you were over, every look that’s passed between you and Frankie, going back to that kiss he gave you before leaving on tour, all of the stolen almost moments, the words deeply felt but never spoken, all of it comes rushing back to you, no longer waiting in the shadows of your mind. It overwhelms you and you start to crumble to the floor as a wail escapes your lips. Santi manages to catch you but crumbles to the floor with you, grabbing you and holding tight, crying tears of his own into your hair.

Eventually, your heaving sobs die down and you sit up, pulling away from Santi.

“What happened?”

“I’ll tell you on the drive. Pack a bag - I’m taking you to him.”

Without hesitation, you pack a bag with basic essentials, grateful for the little bag of travel bottles you keep pre-filled as it makes packing lighter and quicker. You grab your laptop and chargers and shove them in a backpack along with your purse before you head to the door. “Wait,” you say, turning around to grab your plants. You bring them outside with you and set them on your neighbor’s welcome mat. Santi gives you a puzzled look. “She loves plants. I know she’ll take care of them for me.”

-------

You get settled in Santi’s car and start the drive to Smith Memorial. Your mind is racing with a zillion thoughts, and, as if he can hear them all, Santi starts to talk.

“Are you ready to hear what happened?”

You nod, then realize he’s watching the road. “Yeah - yes.”

“He...he’s-” Santi swallows and you put your hand on his arm, rubbing little circles into it for comfort.

“He’s not been doing well, Hermosa. Ever since you left he… he seems like he lost a part of himself. Don’t get me wrong, he loves Aurelia and is a great dad, but-” he sighs. “You know, Elizabeth. She’s...difficult. And when you left it’s like she had nowhere to put her displaced anger. So it shifted to Frankie. I think he took so much because he was afraid she’d take it out on Aurelia. Not that she would actually hurt her, but..well you know Elizabeth. Anyway, she kept getting on him about making more money, getting a better job, he doesn’t do enough for Aurelia, doesn’t do enough for her. He works himself to the bone trying to provide for them, to give them everything but it’s never enough for her.” He reaches a red light and stops, turning to look at you.

“Hermosa, what I’m about to tell you I really shouldn’t be, it should be from Frankie, but you need to know.”

You look at Santi and nod “I understand.”

The light turns green and Santi looks back at the road, continuing to drive.

“About a year or so after Aurelia was born.. Damn her first birthday party was so cute but Elizabeth was just so.. Insufferable - “ he grits his teeth on that last word, barely choking it out. Your heart squeezes at the thought of not seeing Aurelia, Frankie’s daughter, grow up. “Anyway, it was shortly after her birthday party when he started. I think he may have a contact at work. A lot of the pilots have problems with it too - “

“Santi - what do you mean by “it?”

Santi shifts nervously in his seat, obviously not comfortable with the idea of telling you something that would betray his friend’s trust.

“Santi, if you don’t want to or can't tell me, it’s ok.”

He nods gratefully and continues. “Thank you, Hermosa. I - I don’t feel comfortable telling you any more specifics. At least, not right now.” He pauses, taking a few breaths. “A couple nights ago, he went for a drive. It’s not uncommon for him to go for drives to..clear his head. He was driving and someone swerved from the opposite direction and hit him head on.”

You gasp audibly, putting your hand over your mouth.

“No one else was in the car, just Frankie, and he hadn’t- cleared his head yet. But the force of the impact ejected him from his car. He’s...Hermosa, he’s severely injured, has multiple broken bones, scrapes, bruises, and on a ventilator, and a ton of other stuff I won’t pretend to understand. He’s in a coma and...they don’t know if he...if he will…”

Tears start pouring out of Santi and he pulls off into a parking lot. The second the car is in park you reach over and pull him to you, returning the favor he’s done for you so many times. You cry along with him, knowing that what you’re about to see must be horrific to make Santi cry like this.

You switch with him, demanding he ride as a passenger and allow himself some time to process and mourn what’s happening. You have no idea where the strength to do this and not crumble apart, comes from, but you assume it’s from seeing Santi like this, coupled with your fierce protection of the boys.

-------

You make it to Smith Memorial and park. You turn to Santi and cup his cheek, making him look at you.

“Do you want to stay here a little longer?”

Santi moves his hand to grab the one you have on his face and holds it for a moment before moving it off his face. “No, I’m good. Let’s go see him.”

You grab your purse and leave the rest in the car. Santi stops you before you enter the hospital.

“Thank you, Hermosa.”

You smile at him and squeeze his arm. “Anytime.”

-------

Santi leads you through the labyrinth of hallways, each looking exactly like the last until you reach the door to Frankie’s room. Before you enter, Santi stops you and calls your name to have you look at him.

“Hermosa, I want you to be prepared. It’s...it’s not like the movies. This is not going to be easy to look at. Are you sure you’re ok to handle it right now?”

You think for a moment and really appreciate that Santi checks in on you, making sure you’re ok. But nothing will stop you from seeing Frankie. You nod at Santi, “I’m - I need to see him.”

Santi nods and opens the door, following behind you as you walk inside.

At first, you don’t see Frankie clearly. There is what you assume is a bed with so many tubes and wires running out from various points in the center, each plugging into a separate machine. The machines and monitors all pump, beep, and make random soft noises that are deafening in the near silent room.

You take a few tentative steps towards the bed, intending to look around the mess of life saving equipment to find Frankie. Your Frankie. About halfway to the bed, you see him. He’s covered nearly head to toe in some form of bandage or cast, the tubes and wires all wound around them on their way to their destination. Tears obstruct your vision and you wipe them away furiously with the back of your hand.

Santi nearly whispers, but it sounds like yelling “Hermosa, are you ok? You can step out if you need -”

“No.”

You close the space between you and Frankie’s bed in 2 quick steps. Your eyes scan the bed from where you assume his feet are, over the cast on one leg that goes up to his hip, the other leg has a pressure cuff on it that slowly massages his muscles with a faint whirr whirr. You continue your visual assessment, your eyes gliding over so many tubes and wires, most of them you haven’t a clue what they’re for. He’s got a cast on one arm and the opposite wrist, and you see they have his torso in a splint of some kind. You can’t see through his hospital gown, but you see the puffy outline of various gauzes, bandages, and wraps. His whole torso is covered in them, some areas thicker than others. The tears start to fall again and you repeat your furious wiping away. His hands, his beautiful hands, have IVs placed in them and several tubes running out connecting to a few different machines, each with their own bag of medicine. His arms match his covered torso in that they’re nearly covered in bandages as well, some of them a little pink in the middle. You get a peek of skin on his shoulder and it’s not the beautiful golden tan skin you know. It’s angry, a dark purple and red spewing its hate across his visible skin, disappearing under his gown.

Finally, your eyes land on his face. His beautiful face that you fell in love with so many years ago. There are some bandages here and there, the bridge of his nose has a tiny butterfly stitch on it. Scrapes and cuts are randomly scattered across his face, dark circles appearing around each eye, one more puffy than the other. His head is wrapped in some kind of gauze, a few tufts of curls peeking out from around it. A small, clear tube is inserted into his nose and is attached to one of the bags around his bed. His lip is busted but that’s not what you notice first. A giant blue tube is fixed over his mouth and continues past his lips, presumably down his throat, and is attached to probably the loudest and most important machine in the room, breathing air into his lungs to bring life into his broken body.

You look down at his hand and bring your right hand to it, carefully winding your fingers around the various tubes and splints to apply some gentle pressure, gripping him softly. You look back up to his face and gently place your left hand on his exposed cheek, careful to not apply any unnecessary pressure. You hold him like that for a few moments before leaning over him to speak softly into his ear.

“Frankie, it’s me. Your Hermosa. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You pull back to look at him, past all of the scrapes and bruises, past the tubes and wires, past all of the bandages. He’s still so...beautiful. Without thinking, you lean over and place a kiss on his forehead, careful to not bump any injuries or equipment. You let your lips linger for a hair longer than you intended and when you pull away, you feel tears on your face. This time, you let them fall and they fall hard, weeping for the man who still held your soul after all this time.

-------

“What is she doing here?”

“She’s his best friend. She deserves to be here.”

“He hasn’t even seen her in 2 years! She ditched him when Aurelia was born. What kind of a best friend does that?”

“You know exactly why!”

You’re not sure how long you were standing there holding Frankie, but you were suddenly aware that it had just been the two of you in the room. Santi had left at some point but was now outside in the hall arguing with...Elizabeth.

“He’s my husband, Santiago!”

“And where have you been? Certainly not here.”

A quick scoff. “I have a child to raise. And now I don’t have help. Or did you forget?”

Before you could hear his response, you feel a little tug at your pant leg. You look down and take a quick inhale of breath - a small pair of eyes nearly a carbon copy of Frankie’s stare up at you from behind a mess of deep chocolate curls.

You let go of Frankie and turn to look at the little girl, whom you haven't seen since she was born, squatting to get eye level with her.

“You must be Aurelia.”

A shy smile and a nod. Shit, she even smiles like him.

You tell her your name. “But your daddy calls me Hermosa, so you can too if you like.”

Aurelia chuckles like she knew something you didn’t. “Mosa?”

“You’ve been talking to Uncle Benny, haven’t you?”

Laughter erupts from her little mouth and it’s so adorable you might combust. The laughter eventually dies down and she fixes you with a purposeful look.

“See Dada?”

“Oh, you - you want to see your dada?” That’s still so weird for you to say about Frankie. “I - are you allowed to see him?”

She nods vehemently. “I want Dada.”

You glance towards the doorway, hearing the argument between Santi and Elizabeth continue.

“Ok. Can I pick you up?”

Aurelia nods and holds her arms out to you. How does she trust me so quickly? You realize with a pang to your heart that it must be because he told her all about you, hoping that one day you’d meet. You called her name to look at you and she did.

“I’m going to pick you up but if you get scared, I can put you down. There’s nothing to be scared of. If you have questions, you can ask me and I will tell you what I can. Deal?” Aurelia gives you a look as if she’s studying you before she nods.

You pick her up, slinging her onto your hip as you jut it out slightly to accommodate her weight. She wraps one arm around your back and the other hand she uses to hold your arm. You watch her face for any signs of distress, but you find none. Her expression changes from concern to questioning.

“Dada sleep?”

“In a way, yes. He’s sleeping so he can get better.”

She nods. “Dada has lots of ouchies.”

“Yes, he does.”

She looks at him more and points to the ventilator. “What is that?”

“You know how Dada has a lot of ouchies? Well some of them are inside and you can’t see them without a special camera. That machine is helping Dada breathe because his lungs-” you touch her ribs “-have ouchies.”

She nods again in concentration and proceeds to ask you about every single thing going in or coming out of Frankie, pausing to discuss the lack of cartoon characters on his bandages. You answer them as best as you can, admiring her thirst for knowledge at such a young age. Just like her dad.

“I hug Dada now?”

You give Frankie a quick look over. “A hug might be hard with all of the help he’s getting. But you can hold his hand here-” you move her hand to mimic how you had been holding his earlier “- and you can give him a kiss on his cheek if you want.” She nods without looking at you, pushing out her lips in a kiss position. You help hold her up off the cords while she plants a wet kiss on Frankie’s cheek.

“Te amo mucho, papá!”

A tear falls from your eyes when she says that, as if you’d only realized the entirety of the situation. But you don’t have a moment to do anything before -

“What do you think you’re doing with my daughter?”

Elizabeth had stopped fighting with Santi and had stormed into the room, apparently just noticing Aurelia wasn’t waiting by her side.

“I - hi, Elizabeth. She came in and I didn’t want to interrupt -”

“So you thought you’d pick her up?”

“She asked to see her Dada. And I did ask her if it was ok with her-”

“She’s 2! She doesn’t know what she wants.”

A little voice speaks up. “Mama! I tell Dada I love him! He has many ouchies so he sleeping to get better. Some ouchies you can’t see because they inside, but it ok. Those - “ she excitedly points to the tubes and wires “-help Dada get better on inside too!”

Elizabeth blinks down at her daughter, clearly taken aback. “Oh really? How do you know all of this, sweetheart?”

“ ‘Mosa tell me! I ask and she tell me.”

Elizabeth looks at you, the anger from a moment before dying down to the basic simmer she always held for you.

“Thank you for explaining that to her. I wasn’t….I didn’t know how to explain it. But don’t ever touch her again unless I say it’s ok.”

You open your mouth to retort, but close it and give her a single nod.

Elizabeth walks over to Frankie and looks at him for a moment, the look on her face unreadable. She awkwardly pats him on the head. “Bye, Frank. Aurelia, say goodbye. It’s time to go.”

“No! I want to stay with Dada!”

“It’s time to go-”

“No!” Tears streak down Aurelia’s face as she starts to heave little sobs, snot threatening to bubble out of her tiny nose.

“Aurelia-”

“Elizabeth,” When did you get so bold? “Can I talk to you for a moment? In private?”

Surprised, Elizabeth nods. “Aurelia, you have 1 minute.”

You both walk to a corner of the room. Elizabeth looks at you, annoyance on every feature of her face as she crosses her arms.

“Well?”

“I-... first off, I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You surprised her again. “What?”

“I’m sorry for..” you gestured towards Frankie, unable to bring yourself to say the words.

“Oh. Yes, very sad. Is that all?”

This fucking bitch right here.

“I also wanted to say, I know we haven’t always gotten along,” Understatement of the year. “But if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

She studies your face and decides that you're telling the truth. “What could I possibly need from you?”

You take a deep breath, calming the anger inside of you. “If you need me to stay with Frankie, I can. It won’t disrupt my job as I can work from anywhere with wifi, and I don’t have a child to care for. I know you must have other... responsibilities, so I am here to help. I would also be happy to babysit Aurelia here for you if you need some time to run errands or...process.”

Elizabeth seems genuinely surprised. “You… you would stay? With Frank?”

“Of course.”

“He’s not awake.”

“I realize that. But I would love the opportunity to stay with him.”

She nods. “And you would take Aurelia sometimes? If I need someone to watch her?”

“Absolutely.”

“For free?”

You look insulted. “Would I ask you for money?”

“Just checking.”

She looks conflicted. On one hand, she could be a total bitch and prevent you from being around Frankie just to fuck with you, but on the other hand, she won’t have to sit here bored AND she gets free babysitting.

“I could make that work.”

She extends her hand and you shake it, choking back the taste of bile at having to make a deal with her to see Frankie. And Aurelia, if you’re being honest.

Elizabeth turns to Aurelia. “Come on, sweetie. It’s time to go. You’ll see dada, and ‘Mosa, again soon.”

Aurelia turns to take her mother’s hand and is nearly out the door before she yanks out of her mother’s grip and runs to you, slamming into your legs and nearly knocking you off balance.

“Fanks.”

You smile at her. “You’re welcome.”

-------

A couple weeks pass and you settle into a routine. The first few days and nights the nurses tried to convince you to go home and get some rest, but you stood your ground and refused. Once they realized you weren’t going anywhere, they started bringing you little things - an extra blanket, an extension cord so you wouldn’t have to stand at the window while you worked, and an extra bed on wheels so you could roll it around the room and sleep right next to Frankie if you wanted to (you had been sleeping curled up in a ball on the couch or in a chair holding Frankie’s hand). One nurse started bringing you in home cooked meals. She insisted it wasn’t any bother as she always made too much food, but then you overheard the nurses talking about you one day and how the love you obviously have for Frankie is so overwhelmingly beautiful that they don’t feel like they can do enough.

Your work continues nearly uninterrupted. You start talking to Frankie from the moment you had seen him and never stopped. You told him about your clients, the weather, how amazing Aurelia is, and about his favorite hockey team. You spoke about Benny and how his fighting was progressing and how Liam has gotten so tall. You narrate almost everything you’re doing, just talking to him. You read up on comas and read several anecdotes from people who had been in comas that said they could hear everything going on, so you doubled your efforts to speak to him. The boys chuckled at you at first, but you caught them each talking to him when they came by to visit.

The minor scrapes and cuts peppered across Frankie’s skin heal. Bruises progress in their healing, some turning yellow, some healed completely. His more severe wounds heal much slower, but that’s to be expected.

3 weeks passes before you see Aurelia or Elizabeth again. Elizabeth walked in with barely a hello, as if she had always been there. She walked up to Frankie and patted him on the leg, looking forced. She turned away and finally acknowledged you.

“Watch Aurelia for a few hours.”

Your jaw drops open at the sheer balls on this woman.

“I- I- yes of course.”

Elizabeth thrusts a small backpack at you and turns to give her daughter a hug. Aurelia gives her mom a look, but gives her a hug anyway. Is that sarcasm on a 2 year old? I love her. Elizabeth stands up and walks past you, telling you she’ll be back tonight.

The second she leaves, Aurelia’s entire presence shifts. She’s no longer withdrawn but cracks a smile and runs to hug you.

“I miss you, ‘Mosa!”

“I missed you too!”

She then grabs the backpack and proceeds to take every single item out of it, diapers included, to tell you what they all are. She had brought along some various books and toys. She saves one toy for last - a tiny helicopter.

“Dada give me.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah! He fly hewi..hewee...coppers before!”

“You dad is so cool!”

“Yes, he is!”

She stops talking then, a sad look filling her eyes. She fiddles with the toy helicopter in her hands.

“I miss Dada.”

You heart breaks into a zillion pieces, and you open your arms to offer a hug. She looks at you and runs into your arms, without hesitation.

“I miss him too, Aurelia. But I’m glad I get to spend some time with you!”

She looks at you and smiles. Shit, she smiles just like Frankie. “You happy with me?”

“Of course! You know, I was there the day you were born.”

You swap stories then, you telling her about babies and her as a baby and her telling you about her toys again. She eventually asks if she can tell Frankie about her toys and books. You wheel your bed over next to Frankie’s bed and place Aurelia on it, putting her toys and books next to her. You scoot the bed as close as you can and lock the wheels. You tell Aurelia she has to sit on her bed so she doesn’t move Dada. She nods and launches into a long winded explanation of her toys to Frankie, opening each book and reading him her version of the story. She then spends time just talking to him, telling him about the house and her friends, and whatever else she's talking about because you don’t always grasp what she’s saying.

One of the nurses brings you some snacks and you get on the bed next to Aurelia, who refused to leave Frankie’s side. You sat and ate apple slices together, her pretending to feed some to Frankie.

“Dada like apples.”

“He would love whatever you gave him.”

She looks at you, those familiar eyes scanning you as if she can see straight through to your soul.

“Mommy says you're mean. You not. You nice. You nice, ‘Mosa.”

The fact that Elizabeth has been bad talking you, probably in an attempt to get Aurelia to distrust you to make your time together miserable makes you mad. But you smile at Aurelia “Your mommy and I just have different thoughts on things. But I’m glad you think I’m nice. I think you’re nice too.” She smiles wide, showing off her little teeth. “I wike you.” “I like you too.”

The rest of your time passes and eventually, you put the bed back against the wall so you can have a dance party. Aurelia says that she and Frankie have dance parties all the time, but mostly when mommy isn’t home. The music makes her mad. You both dance and sing to whatever the toddler song of the moment is, laughing and swaying around.

It’s evening by the time Elizabeth returns, firmly telling Aurelia to gather up her toys, quickly.

“If you want, you can send me a text next time when you’re on your way and I can have her packed and ready to go so you don’t have to wait.”

Elizabeth scans your face. “No, she can learn to clean up quickly or she won’t have her toys.”

A nurse walks in and asks to speak to Elizabeth, saying something about insurance. She steps into the hallway and you turn to Aurelia.

“I loved hanging out with you! I hope you get to come back soon!”

She runs to you to hug you and you nearly fall over from the energy and force. “I wike you!”

She glances at the doorway, seeing the back half of her mom talking to the nurse. She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out the tiny helicopter. She walks over to Frankie’s bed and tries to reach up. You walk over to her and pick her up. She gently lifts Frankie’s hand and places the helicopter under it, softly putting his hand on top. “Dada, you need. Help you feel better.” She then has you help her get close to his face again to plant a very wet kiss on his cheek.

“Aurelia, it’s time to go.”

You place her back down on the ground and help her fix her coat, handing her bag to Elizabeth. Aurelia flashes you a small wave and smiles while Elizabeth guides her from the room.

-------

About a week later, 4 weeks into your stay, Santi comes to visit. He takes a good look at you and demands you go to his place to shower and eat a real meal. You protest, saying the shower here is perfectly fine (it never runs out of hot water). You eventually agree, but only if Santi stays with Frankie - you don’t want Frankie to wake up to an empty room. Santi agrees and gets comfy in a chair he’s pulled over by Frankie’s bed, flipping on the tv to the game. You gather up most of your belongings and head out the door with Santi’s keys, hearing him talk to Frankie about a bad move made by a beloved player.

On your way, you stop and get some healthy food to bring back to Santi’s. When you arrive at his place, you notice that he’s cleaned up a bit. He knew I would come. You smile at the thought of Santi caring enough to clean up a bit. You sit on the couch and eat, watching whatever crap you can find on the tv. Eventually, you decide you need a drink before you take a shower and grab your bag. There’s a bar at the end of the street. You’ll go for one drink and then back for a shower before returning to Frankie.

You enter the bar - it’s long, a bar taking up one side and booths on the other. A handful of tables and booths scattered in the back. You sit at the bar and place an order for a rum and coke. Nothing fancy. You scan the bar as you take a sip and nearly choke. At the back of the bar, in a booth, is Elizabeth. She’s sitting next to some guy, his tongue down her throat and his hand on her exposed thigh. Your vision blanks for a moment as you blink, sure you’ve mistaken this woman. But as your eyesight clears, you see that you’re not wrong. Searing white hot anger flows through you and you stand up quickly, nearly knocking over the bar stool. But then you freeze - if you confront her, she may prevent you from being in the room with Frankie or she’ll stop bringing Aurelia by. You take a few deep breaths to steady yourself and snap a few pictures before you head back to Santi’s. Just in case.

You take a shower and sit on Santi’s bed in your towel for nearly 15 minutes trying to finish processing what you had seen. Eventually, you shake yourself out of it and move to get dressed. When you return to the hospital, you pull Santi into the hallway and tell him what you saw. His anger rips across his beautiful face but you stop him before he storms off, bringing up the points you brought up to yourself. He clenches his fists but realizes you’re right.

-------

Elizabeth starts to bring Aurelia more often, which is totally fine by you. You read and play, talking to Frankie and telling him about everything important to a 2 year old. You dance and sing and she is over the moon excited when you bring out your guitar. Santi had gone back to your place to check on it and brought it back with him. “Frankie always loved your singing and playing.” So you had started to sing and play to Frankie and now Aurelia. Sometimes Aurelia would stay the night and she would curl up on your bed that you had wheeled next to Frankie, winding her tiny hand into Frankie’s big one and falling asleep.

A few weeks later, and it’s time for Aurelia to leave. She starts her routine of saying bye to Frankie, wanting you to pick her up so she can plant one of her infamous wet kisses on his now healed cheek. But this time, she stays close to him and says in his ear “I love you Dada. Nap time all done. You wake up now.” She holds his face in her tiny hands and gives him a look, fully expecting him to wake up because she demanded it. He doesn’t and she sighs. “It ok Dada. You be ok and wake up soon.” You set her down and give her a hug before she walks out the door with her mother. The second they’re gone, you slump down in the chair next to Frankie’s bed and cry.

-------

The doctors notice that Frankie is improving quickly for someone with his injuries. They’re not entirely sure why, but it’s still good news. You continue to talk to Frankie and sing to him when you can. Santi had brought you your plants and you had them in the windows. Something to brighten the room. You take up knitting, just wanting to keep your hands busy, and have since knitted Frankie an entire blanket, placing it over his legs when you finished, triumph in your eyes. You knit Aurelia hats and doll clothes, tiny blankets for her stuffed rabbit that she always has with her.

After about 5 months, Frankie has no more casts and his skin abrasions have all healed nicely. They leave him on the ventilator, feeding tube, and other various things that are necessary if you’re in a coma.

Elizabeth brings Aurelia by and thrusts a couple extra bags at you before saying goodbye to Aurelia. She had stopped patting Frankie awkwardly months ago, hardly even acknowledging him anymore. She said she would be gone for a few days and then left. It was normal for her to just drop Aurelia but you’re still surprised when she does it.

Nearly a week passes before Elizabeth comes to pick up Aurelia and the little girl was beside herself. She didn’t want to go home, she wanted to stay with Frankie. Elizabeth had to pick her up and carry her out. You offered to help but were waived off.

-------

About 2 weeks pass since you had last seen Aurelia. It’s around lunchtime and you’re sitting next to Frankie on his bed, placing his hand on your thigh, careful to not disturb the iv’s running out of it. You sit like this often, working, singing, laying back, and watching tv (and sometimes sleeping). Most of the time you hold his hand, lacing your fingers with his as much as best you could, but when you needed your hands, you moved his hand to your thigh. Your thinking was, if he wakes, he can move his hand and you’ll feel him. You tell him this often, just in case he can hear you.

You’re talking to Frankie about how you’re treating yourself and ordering a cheeseburger and fries from your favorite place. You order and proceed to play on your phone, reading out whatever you’re scrolling past to Frankie. A short time later, there’s a knock at the door and you look up, assuming it’s your delivery guy but instead you see a man in a suit. He looks at you while saying your name. You move to stand up but the man puts his hand up to stop you. He walks over to you and hands you a thick envelope.

“I was given written permission to hand these papers to you directly.”

You take the envelope, confusion bringing your brows together.

“And this is?”

“Have a good day.”

And with that, the man turns and walks out the door, leaving a wake of confusion.

You look down at the envelope in your hands, seeing “Francisco Morales” written across the front. You toss a look at Frankie, holding up the envelope “Mind if I open this? He did say he had permission to give it to me.” You wait a few moments, listening to the machines whirr and beep, as if Frankie would answer. Open it, Hermosa. You take a deep breath and open the envelope.

A folded piece of notebook paper falls to your lap and you grab it without looking, as your eyes are completely glued to the main document - divorce papers.

Words escape you and you sit there, jaw open and gaping like a fish. You scan down the document and see Frankie’s name has been signed by a court-appointed proctor, since he’s unable to sign himself.

“She…. she’s divorcing you? I-” You stammer for a moment. “What a fucking BITCH.” You yell the last word before calming yourself. If you’re being honest, this isn't surprising considering how little she came to visit Frankie and how it was always a forced and awkward moment. If you’re being honest, she probably hasn’t loved Frankie for a long while and saw this as a way out. If you’re being honest, a part of you, ok most of you, is thrilled. When Frankie wakes up, you won’t have to deal with her shoving a wedge between you and Frankie every chance she got.

Then you remembered, with a slap to your head, Aurelia.

Quickly scanning the document, you find the part about “assets and issues”. She gets no military compensation, his money going to him, aside from insurance benefits. Good. However, she gets virtually everything else, minus the house because it was only in Frankie’s name, due to the fact that she was granted sole custody of Aurelia. Your heart stops beating momentarily as you read that line over and over. She gets...sole custody of Aurelia?? How is that fair?? You cry then, tears falling onto Frankie’s hand as you babble incoherently. Angrily wiping your tears from your eyes, you continue to read the document and see there is a clause - if Frankie wakes up and is able to care for Aurelia, he can petition for custody. Well, that’s something anyway.

You slam the papers down, avoiding Frankie’s hand, and the small folded notebook paper slides off your leg, sandwiching itself between you and Frankie. You wipe more tears from your eyes and pick the paper up, unfolding it. Your eyes scan the letter, handwritten from Elizabeth.

Frank-

It’s no secret that I never really loved you. Maybe, in the beginning, I liked you, but after a while.. When I got pregnant, I felt stuck with you. Aurelia is great but she reminds me of you so much and it kills me because….I hate you. I hate you for trapping me with you with Aurelia, I hate you for making me marry you, I hated every second living with you. You never really loved me either, and you’ve made that perfectly clear. When you started the drugs, you were definitely more tolerable and I started to make peace with my life. But then this accident and this coma and I just can’t bring myself to care. When I got the call that you were in an accident, I thought the worst had happened and I felt relieved. No longer burdened by you, by your presence. When they told me you were hanging on, in a coma, I felt all that relief slip away. I simply don’t care if you stay in a coma or not.

I’ve got full custody of Aurelia and I hope she forgets you. I tried to keep her from you in the hospital, but that whore was there, shoving Aurelia in your face. It’s like she does things purposely to piss me off.

Wake up or don’t. I no longer care.

—----

Chapter 7>>

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