#I LIKE TO IMAGINE SHE ADDRESSED HIM IN A VERY CASUAL TONE

[taintandviolent]

Like Right Now? ; Peter Maximoff x Reader

summary: Part 2 of this fic! Peter waited as long as he could - which wasn't very long. He wants round 2 and you do too. Like.... right now.

word count: 3.3K words!

w a r n i n g s: shameless smut, smut with a little plot, unprotected sex, couch sex, sex while parent is in the same vicinity dry humping, kissing, neck kissing.

a/n: not beta-read. by popular request... aaaah I'm still as nervous as I was posting the first part of this! anyway, I hope it's good and satisfies the peter craving! as always, sorry for any clunky weirdo writing!!!

full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! /

With a contented sigh, you opened the door to the house you shared with your mother. Even though you were technically an adult now, you had decided to stay with her, helping her around the house. A child of divorce, you’d always been a little overprotective of her, and couldn’t imagine her alone. 

“Did you have a good skate, honey?” Your mother asked, watching from the living room as you hung your skates on the hook by the door. With your thumb, you furiously rubbed off a scuff mark off the shiny surface and nodded. Boy, did you. Best skate you’d ever had. Using your heels to slip your sneakers off, and kicking them towards the rest of the shoes, you laughed. “Yeah, I went real fast tonight and–” 

The phone interrupted your next words, ringing shrilly. You practically stumbled towards it, reaching out for it like a parched man reaches for water. Your insides wound themselves in knots, just knowing that it was Peter on the other end. 

“H-hello?” 

“Hey cutie.” He’d waited. As long as he could without losin’ his ever loving mind. Which, he wondered if he already had, considering how bad he was aching to hear your voice again. Maybe he’d already lost it. 

“Hi,” you hummed, turning away from your mother. You brought your tone lower, hushed. 

“Did you just get home?” 

“Yeah, Peter, I did.” 

“Dang, slow poke. I’ve been home for a while.” 

“Okay, well,” you laughed. “That’s not fair.”

“When do we get to uh… hang out again? Huh? I’m already jonesin’ to see you again. With or without skates.” Peter adjusted the phone against his ear, waiting. 

You peeked around the corner. Your mother was busy with her program, no longer paying attention to your conversation, likely assuming that it was just one of your girlfriends. How wrong she was… 

“Hang out? Is that what we did?” 

“Yea’, er… somethin’ like that.” 

“Whenever you want.” 

“Aw, man, don’t say that…” 

“Why not?” You ducked around the corner and plopped down on the third step of the staircase, winding the cord around your fingers. You knew why. You heard the way that Peter’s breath hitched in his throat, even through the phone. 

“Like… now?” 

“...Right now?” You asked back, almost in a teasing tone. “Like right now?”

“Yeah!” His tone was bright and excited, and it sounded like he was already out of breath.

“My house?” The suggestion was brave, but you knew your mom would be going to sleep within the half-hour. If you stayed quiet, she wouldn’t hear you over her bedroom TV. 

“Yeah! I mean…” He cleared his throat, trying to act casual. Way more casualness was needed - he was acting super lame and way too into you. Maybe you liked that. Maybe you didn’t. He couldn’t risk it. “Sure. If you want.” 

You began whispering your address, your eyes flitting to the living room. Your mother rose from the chair and went to the kitchen, none the wiser. You continued, knowing Peter had already committed it to memory. Your mother leaned down to cup your face as she went up the stairs and mouthed goodnight, and you covered the receiver with your hand.

“Night, mom. Love you.” 

“Be there in a flash.” You heard him say. 

You wanted to tell him to wait, but the line was already dead. As you moved, your hands shook and fumbled the receiver, dropping it once before getting it back on its cradle. Your mother had hardly gotten up the steps, and he’d be there any second, if he wasn’t already. You heard the door click shut and heaved a sigh of relief. 

“Mom?” You said, testingly. She didn’t respond, so you launched your body up the carpeted stairs, running up them like a four-legged animal. Her door was shut, nothing but the dull glow of her bedside table seeping through the crack at the bottom of the door. You raced back down the stairs, your socks padding quietly down them, despite the speed.

Your bedroom was down the hall, past the kitchen. You’d never been gladder to be on the bottom floor. You crept into your room, edging the door shut until the latch clicked into place and as it did, paused to laugh at yourself; you were doing everything so sneakily, as though you were a child acting out. You were a grown woman, albeit still in your mom’s house, but the point remained. Pushing aside the curtains, you carefully maneuvered the window up. It was a warm summer evening, there was no reason why you wouldn't open your window - perfectly normal, if your mother heard it. You stuck your head out. No Peter. Surely, he’d have been here by now. You breathed, looking at the base of the tree outside your window. A squirrel skittered up into the branches. Just as you were about to pull your head back inside, Peter’s head comically poked out from the corner of the house. He had clearly been standing by the front door, which horrified you.

“Took so long, I was about to knock – .”

You shushed him, and whispered harshly for him to get inside. He stuck one leg in, climbing in carefully – the last thing he needed was to be a total klutz and eat it on your bedroom floor.

“You’re crazy, you know that? The front door!?” 

“Cool your jets, babe. You didn’t tell me which window was yours. Where’s your mom?” 

“Upstairs, hopefully sleeping.” 

“Good,” he murmured into your lips, suddenly in front of you. He’d caught you off guard with his speed, but like everything he’d done from the moment he’d complimented your skates, he was so frustratingly cute. The kiss was warm and soft, you were in no position to resist it. He kissed you back towards the bed, his hands cupping your breasts, thumb tweaking your nipples over your shirt. Which reminded you… you were still in your skating clothes. There was far too much fabric in between his thumb and your nipple. 

“Lemme’,” you murmured sloppily into his lips, before finally pulling back. “Lemme’ change first, okay? It’ll look less suspicious. Who needs to cool their jets, huh?” 

“Sorry, sorry.” Hands up, Peter took a step back, watching you as you sauntered off towards your small closet. Your hips swayed back and forth to a song that wasn’t playing. Probably something you’d heard at the skating rink. You could admit it, you were putting on a bit of a show in hopes of arousing him. 

Still though, you hurried, sliding the doors open and pulling your shirt over your head. You reached around and undid your bra, glancing back at him cheekily. Woah, jackpot… he thought, hoping, that at that point, he wasn’t drooling like a cartoon dog. He was watching you intently, a crooked grin plastered on his face. Neck turned, you held his gaze, daring him to look as you slid your shorts and panties down over the curve of your ass. He looked, but it was so fast of a peek that it was impossible for you to notice. Now finished with your impromptu strip tease, you pulled a sleeping shirt from the shelf and threw it on, spinning on your heels to face him. 

Clad in nothing but the oversized t-shirt, you marched back to Peter, who had taken a seat on the edge of your bed. You climbed behind him, sliding your hands up the round muscle of his shoulders. On your knees, you were just taller than him and decided to take advantage of that by kissing his neck, slowly. You nipped here and there, suckling in other places while your hands explored the front of his shirt, ghosting over the faded print. 

Peter started sweating, and the stiffness between his legs got worse. Much worse. There was no hiding it, or ignoring it and he could’ve sworn that he heard you giggle behind him. His expression was a melange of pain and pleasure, and as your hands neared his crotch, he couldn’t really tolerate much more of your tender kissing… 

“Babe,” In a blur of motion, your back was pressed against your mattress, and he was back to tweaking your nipples again, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. The action made you squirm. “Your foreplay is bitchin’, but you’re driving me crazy. Loco. I feel like I’m gonna’ bust.”

“Okay, so now what?” 

“Now what?” He repeated, almost mockingly. “It’s my turn.”  

His hand trailed down from your breasts over the curve of your stomach to the soft mound between your legs. You felt a buzzing directly on the sensitive bundle of nerves and looked down, equal parts confused and aroused. It was his hand, and not a vibrator, but instead of seeing his fingers move back and forth, you saw a flesh-coloured blur. Everything you’d learned about fingering… in the span of a few hours, he’d completely shattered. So, he could finger-fuck you at super-speed, and he could literally vibrate your clit. Of course he could. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned, an intoxicating lilt to your words. Peter groaned, and ground his hips against the side of your thigh. His finger dipped down, collecting some of your warm, slithery wetness and pulling it back up, smearing it around your folds.

You clapped your hand over your mouth, legs quivering. The pad of his middle finger continued tapping your clit and you felt the very rapid climb of your orgasm. Without warning from him, Peter’s hand drifted away from your pussy, his slick fingers gripping your thigh. “Babe, I’m thirsty.” 

“Wh-what?” Breathless and sweaty, you quirked a brow at him.

“You got a soda or something?” 

“Uh, yeah, in the kitchen. Y-you’re really thirsty right now?” 

Before you could protest, you stood in the kitchen. He had opened the fridge, popped the tab on a can of Coke, guzzled it, and tossed it into the bin. You blinked. “What… Peter…!” You sniggered, covering your mouth to muffle the sound of your own voice. Your mother’s bedroom was right above the living room, and the last thing you wanted was her to wake. 

He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t wait any longer. He’d gotten you downstairs, and now it was time to up the ante. Wrapping his arms around you, Peter zipped to the couch, and could’ve fucked your wet little cunt right there on the sofa. In the span of a few seconds, Peter could’ve drilled his aching cock inside of you, just long enough for you to feel it, just long enough for him to bust inside you and just long enough to make you quiver. Instead, he hovered over you, looking deep into your eyes, chest heaving. 

“What’re you so nervous for, babe? You know that the second I hear footsteps, we’d be back in your room.” 

“Peter, we can’t… my mom is right above us, dude!” 

“You’re no fun, c’mon.” He craned his neck down, pressing a few teasing kisses along your exposed collarbone. “C’mon, babe.”

You whimpered, rolling your lips inward and your eyes upward. For being such a top tier goof ball, he was unnervingly good at making you feel like your entire body was on fire. That electric current that you felt at the roller rink was back, buzzing through you at a high voltage.

“Peter…” you begged, hoping he’d change his mind because the reality was that he’d get his way if he didn’t. You were too turned on and too into him to say no. 

“C’moooon.” Another kiss. Internally, he was ripping stuffing. His confidence was outrageous, where did he get the balls? He wished you were holdin’ his – no. Stop right there. You ran your tongue along your teeth, and Peter watched the wet muscle as it swept across the enamel, glistening. 

“You promise?”  you asked. 

He nodded, too eagerly, his silver hair flopping with the motion. “Scout’s honour, or whatever. She won’t know a thing.” 

With a little huff, you spread your legs, allowing him in. Peter wasted no time in letting that wet, aching monster free, immediately pulling his gray boxers down over his balls. You pressed your hips into the couch cushions, backing away from the heat that met your groin and Peter followed them, pressing his hips right back into you. He groaned breathily, rutting his hips. You were soft and warm underneath him, and felt so soo good. The shaft of his cock met your wet folds, and he immediately found a rhythm, humping you in long, steady thrusts that had you curling your toes. Every time the velvet plush head of his cock bumped into your swollen clit, you whimpered. Ecstasy deluded your senses, eyes rolling back in your head.  

“Peter, oh my god…!” His hand clamped over your mouth, his dark eyes widening in a warning. 

“Shhhhhhh –” 

You nodded underneath his grip, remembering the threat of the situation. Peter kept his hand on your mouth, pressing tightly against your soft lips. He reached down, taking hold of his cock and pumped it in and out of his own fist a few times before lining up with your entrance.

“Ready?” 

With lusty, half-lidded eyes, you nodded. 

Peter pushed his leaking tip inside of you, then with a shaky breath, sunk the rest of the way in. The sensation of your walls stretching to accommodate his thick cock was indescribable; hot, tight pleasure coursed through your body in waves as Peter found his rhythm. Fast. Fast rhythm. He fucked like a teenage boy, and you liked that – his bunny humps were deep and intentional, like the crimson head was trying to find the deepest point inside of you. Peter pressed his lightning-bolt patterned socks against the armrest of the couch, using it as leverage to push himself inside of you.

His cock made slick by your arousal, his hips moved against yours rapidly, hammering your cunt in a way that you physically thought impossible. In the darkness, you saw Peter smirk crookedly, pleased with the visual below him. Your tits bouncing underneath the shirt with each thrust, your eyes wide and lust-blown. His gaze dropped to them, watching, entranced. With your free hand, you reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up to your collarbone and letting your breasts fall free. 

“Oh fuck,” he whispered. 

Skates fast. Fucks fast. Cums fast. You thought, watching as his face contorted, his eyebrows knitting together, jaw dropping. His breaths came out in hurried little huffs as he pumped inside of you, filling your cunt with sticky, white heat. 

“Honey?” 

He froze. You froze. Stiffly, you turned your head towards the staircase, looking up into the darkness, petrified. 

“YEAH! YEah, mom, just… getting a drink!” You tried to keep your voice level, but there was something so inherently naughty about having a guy on top of you, his dick inside of you while you spoke to your mother. Your stomach was tight, muscles burning with the contraction. 

“Oh, okay! I thought I heard - I don’t know. I love you!”

“I love you too! Goodnight!”

Once the door clicked shut, and your head snapped back in Peter’s direction, who was still panting on top of you. Slapping his pectoral muscle hard, you mouthed go go go go! Naturally, before you’d finished the last ‘go’, Peter had pulled out and you were back in the safety of your bedroom before a drop of cum had time to leak from your swollen cunt. Back on your bed, your hair splayed out on the satin pillowcases. Peter was at your side, drawing circles on the exposed flesh of your stomach. 

“Did you uh -”

“No… I didn’t have a chance.” 

“Oh, uh… sorry about that. That happens a lot, y’know? Part of the whole speedster thing, I can’t always –” 

“Peter… shhh… it’s cute. It means you like me.” 

He pointed a finger at you, pushing his bottom lip into his top. “That… that is true. Hey. I have an idea.”

In the darkness, only illuminated by the moonlight that filtered in through the window, you saw Peter sink down to his stomach, resting between your legs. He moved both legs atop his shoulders, pulling you forward.

You felt a hot breath against your thighs, and whimpered. When a warm tongue licked between your wet folds, you moaned out, grinding your head back into the pillow. Peter slipped a single digit into your cunt gently, twirling his tongue around your clit as he did. He pumped it in and out a few times, feeling the way your cunt squeezed around him. Your wetness coated his finger, dripping down the length into his palm. 

You felt your cunt clenching, uncontrollably. Peter did too and withdrew his finger. His tongue flicked at your clit rapidly, the wet, slick sounds filling the quietness of the bedroom. His dark eyes flitted up to yours, watching every minute expression that flashed across your face. 

“S-slow down…” you whispered, not loud enough for him to hear. It was more of a desperate breath in the shape of the words. He didn’t hear you, and even if he had, he was far too busy burying his nose in your cunt, tasting your sweet fluids. His tongue lapped at your entrance and curled back towards his throat, swallowing. He groaned into her, the sound resonating through your core. 

“Peter… Peter!” You whispered harshly, gripping his head on either side. He didn’t budge, and his eyes drifted shut in ecstasy. Moving up to take a fistful of silver hair, you yanked him off your cunt, his reddened lips glistening and open, confused. His inky orbs looked up at you, dazed and desperate. 

“Whaaat?” he asked, a hint of annoyance tainting his usually upbeat voice. 

“Slow… down….” 

“Sorry but that’s not really… my…” He paused, looking at your weeping cunt again. “...thing. She doesn’t really look like she wants me to, either.” He reached forward, sweeping a single digit along the length of your pussy. You jerked, sensitive.   

“I can’t stand it, I’m gonna’ cum too quickly.” 

“Quick is in the name, babe.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if telling you that you were shit out of luck.

He dove back in, and picked up licking her again, from bottom to top. He was slightly slower than before – maybe he’d decided to have mercy on you. Or maybe he was just savouring the feeling of your cunt as it practically fluttered on his tongue, your clit throbbing with the sensitivity. You rocked your hips against his mouth, humping his pretty face with reckless abandon. It was the only control you had, because as soon as you started that, his tongue had returned to the speedy flipping of your clit.

You were going to cum – so fast that you hardly had time to process it. 

“Ffffuck… oh god,” you whimpered. Your cunt pulsed over and over again, and Peter was right there to feel it. He speared two fingers into her. Curled them upwards, feeling the clench of your orgasm as it came. He fucked you with his fingers until the throbbing stopped, and the first hint of overstimulation came – you whined, too loudly. 

Peter grinned, his slick fingers slipping from your pussy. With a mischievous little glimmer in his eyes, he observed them, watching as the thick, clear strands strung apart between his digits. 

You wanted to ask him on a date. He wanted to ask you on one. But neither of you said a thing. Neither of you said a thing, and just watched each other breathing, chests heaving, heavy with lust. Lookin’ cuter than she ever has… Peter thought, watching you in your post-coital state; sweaty and blushing. 

You knew you were going to be obsessed with him – were already obsessed with him. The high that you chased with skating was nothing compared to what you felt being around this silver dork, and all his little quirks.  

“So uh… same bat-time, same bat channel?” 

You chuckled. “Yeah, Peter. Yeah.” 

#Peter Maximoff #Peter Maximoff x reader #Peter Maximoff x you #Quicksilver x you #Quicksilver x reader #myfics #X-Men Movies

[doctorwhocreations]

Human Nature

This is a long one but proud of it! Written by both me and my lovely bestie @whodoyoudo Enjoy!

When I agreed to travel with the Doctor, I expected adventures through space, to distant planets and to time periods that I never could have imagined. Yet here I was scrubbing floors in a Victorian school with my fellow companion, Martha Jones. Now the once, wonderful Doctor I had known, has now gone into hiding as a human, he calls himself Dr John Smith in this reality. For some reason the TARDIS crash landed us in a small english village in 1913, it was as if the Doctor never existed. 

In the 9 months that I have been travelling with the Doctor and Martha, it never once occurred to me that I would ever develop feelings for him. I kept my feelings to myself, since it seemed that Martha liked him too. Occasionally she would say how he fitted well in his suit, or casually comment on how the Doctor’s hair looked nice enough to run her fingers through. I never agreed with her… but I never NOT disagreed with her.

The bell had just rung and students had all finished for the day, while me and Martha were left to scrub the floor with brushes. I heard the door creak open and John Smith carried his books with him, as he dodged our soapy area on the floor. John Smith seemed to carry a different demeanour, he was strict and not the happy go lucky Doctor we once had known. I had to shake the thought away, this was a different man, it was as if I was grieving for the person I once knew.

I looked up as John Smith walked by, “Good morning Sir!” I said in a bright upbeat tone, whilst smiling. 

For a brief moment, he turned his head towards me in slight confusion as if to say, “why is this maid addressing me?” With the same expression he responded in an emotionless tone, “Good morning.” 

The Headmaster quickly walked through, looking down at me and Martha. He frowned at how dirty the floor was that we were scrubbing, thanks to the rugby teams not cleaning their muddy shoes before coming in. 

“Better get a move on you two! I want this floor spotless.” The Headmaster yelled.

Mr Smith waited behind for the headmaster to leave then continued to walk by.

I lowered my head, Martha looked over to me, “Hey, just ignore him.” “I don’t care about him.” I sighed, as I scrubbed the floor even harder, “How much longer do we have to stay here for? Did the Doctor even say anything about that?” Martha sighed, she was getting fed up with me asking, “Until those aliens that are tracking us back off. The Doctor has a plan, we have to trust it and keep an eye on him.” “How can we do that if he doesn’t even acknowledge my- Our existence!” Martha raised an eyebrow, “Right… Well he didn’t exactly say how long he would be in hiding for…” I felt a lump in my throat, “What if we are stuck here forever? It’s been nearly 3 months, Martha!” 

Martha put her hand on the brush I’m holding, “Y/N! Calm down, it’s not going to help any, is it? Let me finish this, you go make yourself a cuppa.”

I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, I wasn't sure how much more of this I could take. I pondered at the memories of the Doctor, whenever the Doctor did notice me it wasn’t very often.. we be so caught up in running away from aliens or the Doctor searching for clues, seeking information from a computer or robot or local on a abandoned spaceship. But sometimes we’d have intimate moments, sometimes he’d look at me with a slight sparkle to his eyes, in a different way from usual.

For example, there was a time before we went to the Lazarus Laboratories launch party, as I left my room, I noticed the Doctor stare at me a little longer than usual, since it was the first time he saw me in a formal dress.

I loved how his hand felt in mine. Whenever we were running away from danger, I was too busy feeling scared to savour the moment.

And now all I had of the Doctor was his empty TARDIS and his jacket that was left behind on his seat. Now and then I managed to get away from the school, I would sit in the TARDIS alone and cling onto his jacket and cry into it, as if it was the last remains of my Doctor.

“Are you sure you don't want to give Mr Smith his breakfast? I don’t mind, I’ve been doing it every morning so far.” Martha asked as she was about to head out.

I tied my apron over my uniform and looked in the mirror, acting as if I was fine. I had to remember this is what the Doctor had to do, he had no choice. He would want me to be strong, but my patience was wearing thin.

I sighed, “No you do it, Martha. I give up trying to get to know this Mr Smith.” Martha shrugged as she left, “If you insist. See you later.”

My forced smile dropped as the door closed. As I combed my hair, the thought of seeing the Doctor, aka John Smith in his pyjamas, did appeal. But the aching in my chest outweighed any other emotion, the feeling of being in the same room as someone I once loved.

Martha knocked on the door, then proceeded to walk in carrying Mr Smith’s breakfast. Her eyes widened as she noticed him wrapping his dressing gown over himself. “Sorry Sir! I can come back when you are properly dressed.” Martha said as she looked away trying her best not to stare. 

“No no it’s quite alright.” Mr Smith said in an upbeat sort of manner.

 “Very well sir.” Martha then continued to walk in, placing his breakfast down and beginning to brew the tea. “You know I had the funniest dream last night. I had this dream that I was some kind of adventurer, this daredevil, a madman! The Doctor I’m called and last night I dreamt that you were there.” He said in such an excited, curious voice. “Your friend, colleague was there too…Sorry what is her name?” 

“Y/N Sir, that’s her name.” 

A bright smile appeared on his face, lost in thought as he continued with the story of his dream.

“Well you were both there as my companions.” He continued. 

“The teacher and the housemaids, sir?” Martha shook her head as she smiled, “That’s impossible.” 

“I’m a man from another world.” John Smith counteracts. 

“Well then it can’t be true because there’s no such thing.” Martha finished as she continued to make Mr Smith’s tea.

“Well it was a fascinating dream, we traveled together and saw the most exotic of places.” Mr Smith continued, Martha handed him a newspaper, he read it as he sipped his tea. “Dreams are called dreams for a reason, sir.” Martha smiled.“I guess so.” His eyes looked sad for a moment.  He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece, “Oh before you go, Miss Jones.”

Martha raised an eyebrow, “Yes?” “Is that friend of yours avoiding me? She hasn’t served me tea once!” “What? No, of course not, sir.” She lied.

Mr Smith nodded, “Sure..” He seemed unconvinced. 

Later on, Martha had told me what happened as we tidied up the other rooms, I cringed slightly. I didn’t even realize how it must have seemed, I’ve been working here for over a month. I assumed Mr Smith was too busy, keeping his students in order, marking papers, to even take any notice that one maid hadn’t interacted with him much.

The following day, I was dusting the top shelves of Professor Piers' room (He was an old man who very much enjoyed putting a woman in their place, but then he would be quick to comment on my uniform being nicely tight fitting.. creep). 

I heard a voice from the doorway, “It’s very unprofessional you know.” I wobbled slightly from the stool I was standing on, “Excuse me?!” At that moment I realised it was Mr Smith, I cleared my throat and approached him. “Sorry i didn’t mean to- You almost fell I-” He stammered, this Mr Smith was not as good with his words, compared to the Doctor.

“Yes, Mr Smith?” I asked a bit too abruptly.

“I mean, it’s unprofessional that.. It seems.. That you don’t like to be around me.” He attempted to explain, “Have I done something to upset you?”

“Sir, I must really carry on with my duties or I will be told off by Pervy- I mean Professor Piers.”

My cheeks turned red, he chuckled, “Is that your nickname for him? Pervy Piers?” I looked away, “He is inappropriate at times, yes. Now I must go-” He blocked the doorway, “You didn't answer my question.”

“Sir! Please, I don’t want to be yelled at-” He took the feather duster off me and entered the room, “I know, I will help you dust and we can chat.”

I stood unable to react, he smiled back at me, “Come on then, maid!”

I hesitated for a split second, then thought for a moment it was as if the Doctor was saying those words, not Mr. John Smith. 

John Smith stood on the stool, I was once on, reaching for the farthest corners I was unable to reach. I realised I was staring for too long, I abruptly took my eyes off of him and proceeded to pick up a few books that had been left lywaing about on the side.

 I broke the silence and said, “You haven't done anything wrong by the way, I didn’t mean to avoid you.. It’s just that you look like someone I used to know.” “Oh.” He squeaked, he stepped off the stool and handed back the feather duster, “Is that a bad thing?” “In some ways yes…” I said with my head hung low, as I held books close to my chest. 

“What do you mean? If you don’t mind me asking of course?” Mr Smith turned to face me, carrying a book in hand. 

“It’s just.. I had a friend, we used to travel together but now… he’s um.. He’s gone.” I said. I passed along the books and Mr Smith slotted them into the shelf, “I’m sorry about that.” Mr Smith continued, “But it’s best not to judge a book by its cover.” He said in a serious yet reassuring manner. 

“Well that’s about as clean as Pervy Piers’ room is going to get.” Mr Smith said with a smirk.

“Thank you for helping me, sir. You really didn’t have to.” “It’s fine, I had a free period anyway. Also call me John, when I’m out of hours.”

I could feel my cheeks beginning to heat up. As he got a tad bit closer to me. 

Suddenly the headmaster cleared his throat, “Mr Smith what are you doing in Mr Piers room.. Talking to a maid?”

“Sorry sir, I was just having a word and I-” “I don’t want to hear it, don’t let it happen again.” He warned, Mr Smith passed by me quickly and disappeared down the hallway. 

The Headmaster looked over to me, “You better know your place, madam.” I lowered my head, “Yes sir.” I said leaving immediately.

That evening, I told Martha what had happened with Mr Smith as we ate our evening meal. “That headmaster is rude to everyone.” Martha reassured me.I folded my arms, “I know but he made it sound like we were having an affair or something! What if he says something to someone, or I lose my job? Where am I meant to go if I lose my job!?”

Martha placed her hand on my sholder, “Y/N, it won't come to that, okay?” 

I could feel the tears beginning to well up in my eyes. Getting up quickly I brushed my apron down. “I-I just need to be alone with my thoughts.” When I made my way to the door, as I opened it, I found Mr Smith standing in the hallway . 

“Oh, I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” Martha looked toward me for my reaction, I was frozen. Martha sighed and quickly stepped in front of me. “Is there something you need, sir?” 

“No, well I just- yes actually. I wanted to apologise for earlier. I shouldn’t have just walked off like that. I do hope you didn’t get into any trouble because of me, Miss Y/N.” Mr Smith said in a worried tone. 

“What’s done is done, Mr Smith. There’s no point worrying.” I said before leaving the room.

Mr Smith gave Martha a look, before going after me.

“Miss L/N!”

I couldn’t believe this was happening, the human version of the Doctor, following me through an empty school at night. I wanted to go to the TARDIS, to my safe space and cry, but I couldn’t, not here. I hated crying in front of the Doctor, so the thought of crying in front of Mr Smith was the last thing I needed. “Leave me alone, please!”

Mr Smith stopped in his tracks, “I’m sorry I was just trying to-”

“I’m fine really. After all, it wouldn't be proper to be seen with a maid after hours.” I replied back harshly.

I continued to walk out in the courtyard to retreat into the TARDIS, as Mr Smith was left behind to ponder with his thoughts. 

I woke up the next day to find Chrysanthemums in a vase near my bedside table. Martha was up and dressed, doing her hair and gave me a smile, “Found them outside the door this morning, it came with an envelope with your name on it.”

“I hope it’s not from Pervy Piers.” I sighed. Martha teased, “Ooo! A admirer”

“Ew! Pretty sure Professor Piers is old enough to be my grandad.. Wait, maybe even my great grandad!” I laughed.

“At least he has good taste.” Martha commented.

It was like any other day in this dull boarding school, the only thing that would make my day would be a cup of tea or falling asleep, to have dreams that I’m back with the Doctor in the TARDIS. Then I wake up to the reality that was now my nightmare, a world without the Doctor. 

As I was cleaning the windows, a ball came hurling my way from a nearby field. I managed to duck in time, but it smashed the window I was cleaning. The shards of glass came raining on me, I laid motionless for a moment. 

I could hear angry voices in the distance, telling the lad off who kicked the ball. I felt a sharp pain on my face, then I noticed blood drip onto my uniform. 

“Are you okay, Miss L/N?” 

I rose to my feet, I smiled trying to leave, “Just a little cut.” Mr Smith grabbed my arm, “You’re bleeding. I will escort you to the First Aid room.” “I will dab it with a cloth, it will be fine.” “Y/N, does it hurt?”

I quietly nodded, he had a serious look on his face, he handed me a clean handkerchief, “Put some pressure on it.”

Mr Smith led me back inside, I placed the cloth on my bleeding face, “But you have students to watch.” “There’s more than one teacher on duty, it’s fine.” He insisted, he broke into a little smile, “I guess I will have to send you more flowers after this.”

“Wait.. those flowers were from you? I thought they were from Professor Piers.”

“PERVY PIERS!? No, I sent them, for getting you into trouble yesterday. I went out my way picking them out for you!” 

I blushed a little, “I’m just a maid, sir.” “You’re not just a-” We reached the first aid office, a nurse gasped at my face and rushed me into the room, I turned back to Mr Smith, “Thank you.” I tried to hand back his handkerchief, he shook his head.

“You can keep it.” He lingered for a while before going back outside.

Maybe this Mr Smith wasn’t so bad after all.

Although it was November, it was a sunny Saturday afternoon, which meant it was my day off! It was a relief to not wear that dull awful maid uniform. I sat on the bench in the park in the village, it was nice to not be seen as someone’s servant or maid. Just a woman who could be of any status. 

I wore a long red coat with a matching hat and a checked scarf. In moments like this, I felt elegant in this time period and became quite accustomed to it (if you ignore the racism, sexism and so forth..).

I read a book I borrowed from the TARDIS library, “Pride and Prejudice?” A voice questioned.I blushed to see Mr Smith, wearing a grey coat with a black hat, he smirked, “Interesting choice.”

“Oh er-” I wish I picked something that had been published after 1913 now, not thinking Mr Smith would even know about. But I guess I didn’t want to cause any disturbance by choosing a book from the future, well my present. 

He sat beside me, "You have bewitched me, body and soul.”

“Excuse me?” His eyes widened, “Oh it’s a quote!” “Oh yes, I have not reached that part yet, Mr Smith.” “John, on my days off, remember?” He reminded me, “I could lend you a book if you want?” I nodded, not knowing how to respond, he  was close now, if the Doctor ever say this close to me, I'd probably melt.. which was hard not to, he had the same face. 

There didn't seem to be anyone about, anyone passing by would think we're a couple or even a reserved married couple.

"Y/N I don't know what it is, but I feel very drawn to you."

I smiled, "Really? I'm just a maid."

"You're not just a maid." His voice was low and serious.

He kissed my cheek, he got up smoothly, his face was bright red, “Right, I shall leave you to your reading. Good day, miss L/N.”

He left hastily, I gave an awkward wave, trying to process what just happened.

I noticed in the distance, a girl holding a red balloon staring in my direction, she sniffed, a shiver went up my spine, I closed my book and walked away.

 quickly, as the scarecrows fumbled away as I escaped out of their grasp.

“How could such a sweet little girl look so… menacing at the same time?” 

Shaking my head of my thoughts I carried on walking away, still sensing her presence I began to speed up my walk a bit more. 

Then suddenly out of nowhere some idiot dressed as a scarecrow jumped out at me. I was startled for a moment, then began to feel a sudden anger wash over me.

“Oh very funny!! You think it’s funny to jump out at people and try to scare them? And as for you!” I quickly turned around to face that little girl…But she had gone? So fast? How is that possible? I turned back to the scarecrow, and more of them appeared! 

In a panic I lashed out at one of them, grabbing it by the arm only for it to fall to the ground. “Straw?!  B-But..” Realisation hit me as they got closer ready to grab hold of me. They were aliens! They had to be!   

I managed to duck out of the way

I ran all the way back to the school through the woods, I nearly collided into Martha in the hallway, as she was brushing up. “MARTHA! They’re here, the family of blood, we need the Doctor!!” I shrieked. 

“No! Where?”

“In the village, they are controlling the scarecrows!”

Martha quickly cleared her throat, as a teacher called Mrs Berry walked by.

“Ladies, lower your voices.” She hushed, then a young boy ran past her, “Timothy come on, no running!”I leaned closer to Martha, “We should talk about it in our room.” “Or at the pub?” She smiled. I sighed, “I’m not sitting in the cold again, Martha!”

Martha pointed to her uniform, “Well as you can see, I am still working, so go get that watch off Mr Smith and open it!” I frowned, “What? I can’t just go into his room.” “Why not? He seems to like you.” Martha smirked. I shook my head, “Martha stop it! Why can’t you do it?”

“I think he’d prefer to see you over me… So make something up.” I blushed recalling the kiss on the cheek,I wouldn't repeat that outloud. I thought of another excuse, "He is supposed to be lending me a book…” “There you go!” Martha urged as she gave me a little shove, “I will keep a lookout for anything unusual, now go!”

My heart was fluttering, the thought of having the Doctor back.. MY Doctor! But first I had to face the reality that Martha was maybe right, that this Mr Smith may somehow like me? 

I took a deep breath as I stood outside his door, how do I snatch a watch without him noticing? Well the Doctor did say he had a blocker on, so the human version of himself would take no notice of it.

I entered the room, not expecting Mr Smith to be back yet from his walk, but there he was with a woman draped over him. I froze, it was Miss Berry.

“Aren’t you the maid?” Miss Berry asked in an arrogant tone, “Don’t you know how to knock?”

I forced a smile fighting back the tears, “I.. I am sorry for intruding.”

Mr Smith’s eyes were wide, “Y/N it’s not what it seems.” I ignored his words and closed the door behind me. I felt my chest ache, I was wrong. So wrong. To think the Doctor or even this John Smith was capable of ever returning my feelings. 

“Y/N! People are in danger! You walking in on Mr Smith with some woman doesn’t matter! We need that watch asap!”

Martha started storming towards Mr Smith’s room, I followed her frantically, “Wait! Martha you can’t just-” “Y/N! Snap out of it! People have died, my friend Jenny… She’s not who she was.” Martha yelled. “Jenny?” I recalled, Martha used to go to the pub with her and she was a fellow maid. My heart sank, how could I become so oblivious?

Martha barged into Mr Smith’s room, he looked startled, “Miss Jones what did I say about knocking?!” She pointed to the watch, “We need that watch, and you’re not John Smith, you’re the Doctor!”

I lowered my head, as he approached, “What is she going on about Miss L/N!?”

I sighed, “The dreams you’ve been having.. They are all true.” He shook his head,“Is this a prank? Is this because of what happened earlier, a weird way of getting back to me, to convey your jealousy?” He blushed as he locked as with me, “Nothing even happened, I don’t like her in that way!!” I frowned, “No! Of course not! Ioff Mr Smith and open it!” I frowned, “What? I can’t just go into his room.” “Why not? He seems to like you.” Martha smirked. I shook my head, “Martha stop it! Why can’t you do it?”“I think he’d prefer to see you over me… So make something up.” I blushed recalling the kiss on the cheek,I wouldn't repeat that outloud. I thought of another excuse, "He is supposed to be lending me a book…” “There you go!” Martha urged as she gave me a little shove, “I will keep a lookout for anything unusual, now go!”

 don’t care about that, it doesn't matter anymore!” 

“Whatever do you mean!?” 

I stepped forward closer to him, “Mr.Smith people have died, a great deal more will, if you don’t open that watch!!” 

He laughed in disbelief, “How many of those stories have you been reading Y/N? This is completely barbaric!” 

John Smith stood hands on his hips, the most confused and angry I have ever seen. 

I groaned as John wasn’t taking in what me or Martha have even said. 

I began frantically looking around for the watch. “Martha have you found it!?” 

On the other side of the room Martha goes through a bunch of letters and documents. “NO!! ARGH!!” She lashes out, kicking the papers into the air. “MARTHA!! What on earth are you both doing? No wait- Those are the students' reports! Isn’t the point of maids, that they tidy up, not wreck havoc!” Mr Smith shrieked.

Looking back at John with sorry eyes I tried to get him to see reason. “Please Doctor, you have to understand this is important!” 

“Wait..Did you say people have died!? Who!?”

I looked back at him, getting closer in a comforting manner. 

Martha whipped her head over our way and frantically yelled. “It’s not here!!! We’ve looked everywhere, I’m going to look elsewhere!! Come on you two!!”

“I’m going to stay here for a moment, to calm him down.”

Martha shrugs and leaves the room to carry on her search.

I turn back to John, as I looked in his confused brown eyes,  I’m sorry but this life you have here.. It’s not real! This isn’t you.. This is 1913!” 

He placed his hand on my forehead, “Is there an illness going about amongst the maids? The things you and Miss Jones are going out with! It’s madness!” I snatched his hand away, “No I’m perfectly well!” I freeze as I look out the window, “Remember that blue box you dreamt of?” He nodded, “How did you know about that?!”

“Martha may have mentioned it.. But look, it's out there, it’s real.”

John walked towards the window and saw the TARDIS outside, the Family of Blood surrounding it.

“It can’t be.” He uttered, his skin turned pale, he couldn’t bear to even look at the TARDIS, he turned away, “I have never seen it in my life!” I gripped his arm, “Please, Mr Smith. John. We need the Doctor or things are only going to get worse.” “So this Doctor.. He's an alien.” I nodded, he sighed, “And those people who have been killed.. They were killed by aliens as well?” I nodded, “They are looking for you.” “Oh.” He pulled out a watch from his pocket, “So this.. This will bring back the Doctor.. And I will cease to exist?” I noticed his eyes becoming watery, “So none of this was real, not even..” “Yes of course it was real!” “And does this Doctor have feelings for you, does he care for you like I do?”

My cheeks turned red, “I’m not sure..”

“What kind of man is he then?” He gripped my hand, "I could love you better than him, please.."

He clutched onto me, about to embrace me, I pushed him away .

"NO! Stop it! It doesn't matter!! We need the Doctor!!"

He looked sad, "You really do love him."

My heart throbbed, I hate to see him in so much pain. But I had to put those feelings aside.

Suddenly there's a crash through the window, a laser pings off the walls. 

"Come out Doctor!!" A voice bellowed below, it was one of the students, at least what it used to be.

I looked back to Mr Smith, "I will distract them, now go with Martha!! Please!" 

Martha stood in the doorway, Mr Smith turned back to me, “So this is it, then it’s decided? I have to be executed so this Doctor can replace me?” “I’m sorry.” I told him and kissed his lips quickly before running out, “Please open the watch."

Why did I kiss him on the lips, was it a spare in a moment, just in case it all went wrong and it could be my last chance to kiss the Doctor?  His lips felt lovely.. so soft. No that wasn't cool, I should have asked for his permission. I kissed the doctor without his consent, he probably wouldn't have minded. I didn't know for sure.

Anyway I was willing to put myself in danger, in hope John Smith may come to his senses and do the right thing. What if he ran off in fear and Martha didn't find him in time?

So many thoughts swirled round my head, but I didn't have time to be scared, I had to trust that the Doctor will show up in time. And if he didn't… well you can't say I didn't try.

Martha had a lot going on in her head too, as she tried to persuade Mr Smith to open the watch. She thought back to what the Doctor told her in his step guide video for being human, "And finally, 23.. Please look after Y/N, she won't find this easy and she means a lot to me. Of course you both mean a lot to me, but she.. well.."

Martha hadn't always paused it at that part, she knew what he wasn't going to say without hearing it. She never wanted to admit it, but the Doctor never looked at her the same way, it was painful. 

But these last few weeks, she accepted that her crush was nothing compared to the feelings the Doctor and myself had for each other.

"Where has Y/N gone?" Mr Smith asked Martha, as she waited outside his door.

"She has gone to the family of Blood." 

She looked down to Mr Smith pulling the watch out of the pocket, "If the aliens want this, they can have it!!"

"No!! They can't!!" Martha yelled back, as she tried to snatch the watch from him, Mr Smith fought back and accidentally opened the watch a little, "Martha! Why did you let her do that!?!" The Doctor's furious voice came out of Mr Smith.

He closed the watch again, Mr Smith looked spooked, "That was.. that was the Doctor wasn't it?"

She nodded, "Yes. Please, John. I know it is difficult to understand, but without the Doctor.. more people will die, including Y/N."

Mr Smith collapsed onto the floor, tears poured down his face, "So my life is for nothing, meaningless.. And that Doctor gets to have Y/N, not me."

Martha touched his shoulder and sat beside him, "I'm sorry."

He took a deep breath, "If it means.. Y/N is safe, then I guess I have no choice."

On a green glowing spaceship, I awoke to find myself sat on the floor, hands tied behind my back. There they were… the very people who the Doctor was hiding from, the Family of Blood.

“You have his scent on you, what are you hiding?” An old man asked.

My chest tightened, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, maid! We know you travelled with the Doctor!” The dark haired one bellowed.

I shivered, a once normal student, now taken over by this alien form. That is why the Doctor was in hiding, so that same thing didn’t happen to him. 

“She talks about the Doctor to Martha. I’ve heard.” Jenny said, or at least what used to be Jenny. 

I whipped my head round to see John Smith standing there, “Oh gosh this is a real life spaceship!?” He stumbled a little causing himself to tumble and fall onto a row of buttons, pressing them all down. 

My heart sank, “John what are you doing here!?”

The Family of Blood’s all grin, the farmer beamed, “That means the watch hasn’t been opened!” 

“He’s still human though, we need a time lord!” The shell of Jenny said. 

The young boy was growing impatient and yelled “COME ON OUT DOCTORRR!” 

John Smith looked to the young lad with a glint of fear in his eyes. Frantically searching his pocket for that pocket watch. “Here!!! Take it! I don’t want it and I don’t want him!! You can have it!” 

John took the watch out and the family of blood all gathered quickly the young lad snatched the watch from John. I bolted up, unable to believe my eyes, “NO!!” “Shut it, girl!” The moustached leader shoved me down to the ground.

I glanced up at John, “How could you!? We need the Doctor, I need the Doctor! What have you done!?”

John remained quiet as he glanced over to me, there was a different more determined look in his eyes, one I hadn’t seen for a long time.

Whilst the family of blood all pondered at the pocket watch and made a fuss over it, the Doctor quickly rushed over to me untying the knots of rope binding me to the ship. 

I look into his eyes with confusion as he untied me, the Doctor gave me a wink with a slight smirk which made my heart flutter and skip a beat. He’s back, my Doctor is back! I thought to myself. 

The family all intake a quick breath. “The watch is empty!!” The little girl cried out, they all  looked toward me and the Doctor. The Doctor tried to keep up the act, and  looked confused, “W-What do you mean?” 

“You tell me!!” The young lad threw the watch over to what he thought was still John Smith.

The Doctor caught it with ease, “Oohhhh I think the explanation is you’ve just been fooled by a simple old factory misdirection, a little bit like ventriloquism of the nose, but it has got to be said I don’t like the look of your hydrocolometer.” 

The Doctor stood with usual confident style, he whipped his glasses on, “Oh yes not looking good at all… Also you really shouldn’t have let me hit all those buttons.”

A red light illuminated the ship, “I think you should really run!”

Next thing I knew the family were in a panic, the Doctor swiftly gripped my hand as we dashed out before the ship exploded into flames. The family of blood were knocked to the ground nearby us.

The Doctor held me in his arms as we fell due to the impact, my eyes met his, “You’re really back.”

He grinned, “Oh yes!”

As the Doctor sorted out the suitable punishments for the family of blood, I began to readjust to my life back in the TARDIS. It was surreal to be back, a part of me began to ponder, did the Doctor know about anything that John had said to me? We’re they the Doctor’s true feelings coming through or just solely Johns’? Was he really a separate person altogether from the Doctor? The answer of course was yes, in the sense of his personality… but in the end, John was brave, terrified but brave.

 I grew to like him very much. Then my eyes widened, the KISS would the Doctor even remember that? 

I was lost in thought that I hadn’t even heard the Doctor and Martha come into the TARDIS, as I sat at the end of my bed.

“You in here, Y/N?” The Doctor called.

I poked my head out of my room and walked towards the console room, Martha smiled, “See I told you she was here!”

The Doctor gave me a gentle smile, she looked at the both of us, “Right I am going to have my first hot shower in months!” 

Martha gave me a little wink, wait was she rooting for me? No she liked him too, why would she?

My brain had been a mess, I just needed normality and that involved not telling the Doctor I kissed him.. but then a part of me feels he didn’t consent to it, so I should tell him right? 

“Doctor I-“

The Doctor stared up from the console screen, “It’s okay, Martha filled me in… on what happened with John.”

I blushed, “She.. She did? W-What exactly did she say? I mean, well…” I scrambled to find the right words to say. The Doctor meanwhile had a completely blank expression on his face, which made me feel even more anxious at the thought of him being cross with me. 

“Well.. She told me that you and I.. technically John Smith that is, shared a kiss.” The Doctor answered robotically. 

My heart raced, “I’m so sorry! It just happened and I know you couldn’t have consented-”

The Doctor started to smirk which turned into a smile. “It’s okay, I mean…well..” A blush forms on his face, “I’m quite jealous actually.”

I raised my eyebrow unable to connect the dots, “Jealous.. Of John Smith?”

“Clearly you preferred him over me.”

My face brightened, what the hell had Martha said to him!? My palms grew sweaty, as I stepped back, “No NO! That’s not true at all! Whatever Martha said isn’t true and the kiss didn’t mean anything. I mean it did, but it was a spur in the moment because I was worried I was not going to survive or not.” “Y/N.” The Doctor interrupted, “I get it, it’s fine.” He looked at the console screen, a sad look in his eyes for a moment. Did I respond in the wrong way? What did he expect me to say? “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, it’s just I knew John liked me and-” “I’ve heard enough.” The Doctor snapped. I froze, wait did the Doctor believe I don’t want to kiss him and preferred John? I walked off back to my room in a huff.

Martha had her arms folded as she emerged back in the console room, she raised her eyebrow, “Realy? You’re jealous.. of yourself?!”

“Well technically it wasn’t-“

“Your body, your lips! The whole time I spent with Y/N she missed you, she wanted you to come back! She didn’t want John Smith, John Smith was like a loved up puppy for Y/N!”

He blushed, “No I’m not-“

He froze realising he slipped up on his words, Martha nudged him, “I said John Smith…”

“Now go kiss and make up! Literally or not, that came out wrong.”

The Doctor hugged Martha, “Thank you for keeping Y/N safe and looking out for me while I was gone.”

Martha shrugged and smiled sadly as the Doctor walked away to find me. “No problem..”  

The Doctor walked to my room and gave the door a gentle knock. Changing back into my own clothes, I was trying to process all what had happened and been said. “Just a minute” I said whilst putting on my socks. Opening  the door I look up to see the Doctor with a serious yet saddened look upon his face. 

“Y/N I’m sorry for how I may have reacted back there. May I come in?” He gestured to the little sofa I have in my room. (everything seems little in this Tardis!) 

I let out a subtle sigh “Okay, you can come in.” 

He stepped inside my room, the Doctor seemed timid, awkward. Well he isn’t really the best at social situations.

 “I really am sorry, I just thought that you liked the John Smith version of me, over the real me.” The Doctor looked to me for an answer. I slowly walked closer to him. 

“Why would I like him more?? He’s not you.. No offence to your chameleon machine thingy..” I pointed out my bedroom to the console room in the distance where the chameleon mechanism hung above. “But John Smith was a little boring, especially in comparison to you, Doctor.”

 A large grin slowly formed on his face. “Well…” He said as he ran his fingers through his lovely brown hair. Then came to a sudden stop when he paused to study my blushed expression. “But seriously Doctor.. Do you know how hard it was to see the man you love walk around acting like you don’t exist?” His eyes widened, realisation spread across my face. 

“I-I mean-“

The Doctor was now closer than ever, his brown eyes gazed into mine, “I missed you.”

His lips melted into mine, this is what I always wanted, no needed. Although they felt the same as John Smiths, my heart fluttered even more knowing this time, they truly belonged to the Doctor! It grew deeper and felt like time had frozen, the passion the Doctor held back for so long became unravelled before me. He wrapped his hands around my waist, nothing felt so right in my life.

Then a voice clearing brought us back to reality, it was Martha, how long had she been standing there?

“See you two have both… erm.. sorted things out.”

The Doctor cleared his throat, “Martha maybe knock next time.”

His cheeks were red and hair slightly ruffled, oops I must have done that.

Martha huffed, “Just drop me off home and I will give you both some alone time!”

Me and the Doctor locked eyes, then we bursted into laughter. 

He held my hand as we walked out into the console room together. It was good to have my Doctor back. 

Thank you for reading!!!!

#doctor #doctor who #bbc #10th doctor #doctor who imagines #whovians #10th doctor x reader #human nature #doctor who fanfic #fanfiction #please enjoy!

[bluemidnightmelody]

lover/fighter - my favorite moments

[Little snippets from my Finnick/OC longfic that are stuck in my head]

From Chapter 38 - What's in a name?

"I do care," Rhea replies with renewed vehemence. "I didn't expect to ever say this, but I think you should value yourself a little more. Accepting hurtful words from others just like that indicates that you are not doing that." And it's actually surprising how stark the actual contrast is between what the public sees of him and the truth. "In any case, it does matter," she says clearly. She really has a talent for hitting his weak spots. Finnick has to laugh softly as he thinks back to how she sounded just half a year ago. With a deep chuckle, he replies, "And this from the same person who once asked me how I fit through the door with my huge ego. Do you remember that, Princess?" Rhea can hardly tell what is actually the reason for the throbbing in her chest. Maybe it's the fact that she remembers that night very clearly. She remembers how he whisked her away to the dance floor completely unexpectedly, and how outstanding he was as a dance partner. She remembers how surprised she was when he made her laugh for the very first time that night, more than once actually, and even more times he made her blush. She also remembers surprisingly vividly how it felt to find him there so unexpectedly. Maybe it's because it's only now, such a long time later, that she suddenly realizes that in this scene, where they could do nothing but stare at each other across the ballroom, they had a "moment" of sorts. That's what some might call it, and even more shocking is that it might have been the first, but not the last. Perhaps, and this is just as likely, the fact that this is the second time in just one evening that he has addressed her with such a term of endearment, just like that, also plays a role. "You're doing it again, calling me princess," she mumbles cautiously, unable to ignore it once more. Finnick looks into the darkness in surprise. Honestly, he didn't even realize he'd done that. He uses pet names like that all the time, every day, without giving it much thought. "Have I?" he asks quietly, even though he's already aware that he obviously has. Apparently more than once, without even realizing it. Maybe it's because he also remembers the victory party very well. He has to admit to himself that he really thought she looked like some kind of fairytale princess back then. He clears his throat briefly and then replies, in an attempt to sound casual, "Well, you like fairy tales so much. I thought it was kind of fitting." Now that he has the link in his head, there's no way to undo it. He makes a mental note to himself not to call anyone else Princess ever again. Looks like that name is now taken. "Stop it," she replies quietly, and he can hear the sulk in her tone. And then she curses Finnick Odair and his damn mouth. A mouth with which he could convince anyone that the sky is green, that stone is gold, or that pain is pleasure if you just listen to him long enough. Or he suddenly gives a silly pet name a meaning. A satisfied smile spreads across Finnick's face as he imagines her expression right now. "I'll stop," he replies playfully. "Provided you can promise me that you'll forget all about that awful nickname I've been branded with since I became the new victor. You must never mention it again, not even think about it," he continues, amusement in his voice. Rhea snorts in disbelief and replies, "I can't make promises like that, my head doesn't work like that." Finnick bites his lower lip with a grin at her slight agitation. "Well then, I guess it'll just be Princess from now on," he purrs provocatively. "You're the most stubborn princess in the whole Capitol. Probably no dragon would have the patience to drag you off because you'd be far too much trouble," he continues and laughs heartily.

Links to all the chapters: lover/fighter - Chapter Index

fanfiction on ao3 and wattpad

#finnick odair #finnick odair fanfic #the hunger games #hunger games #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair x reader #finnick x oc #the hunger games x oc #fanfiction #ao3

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Confessions of an Imperial Concubine

Chapter Four: The Seventh Night

AO3 Author’s note/glossary/info one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven epilogue

All my work is 18+.

Leave me on the tracks to wait until the morning train arrives; don’t you dare look back. Walk away, catch up with the sunrise. ‘Cause this is torturous electricity between both of us. And this is dangerous, ‘cause I want you so much, but I hate your guts.- Daughter, Landfill

Sera wasn’t hungry. She hadn’t been hungry over the past week, and she hadn’t had the motivation to do more than sleep with occasional breaks for reading. As it turned out, there was a pretty substantial library not too far from her room, and she’d piled her arms high with books after her dinner with the Emperor.

He’d summoned her to dinner again the following evening, though she’d declined with the assumption that, based on his wording the night before, she wouldn’t be punished for her refusal. Even if she were, though, what did it matter?

On Beakkal, she had purpose. Her siblings needed her. Well, alright. Her older brother, Ronan, had two children of his own and most certainly didn’t need her to look after him, but her six younger siblings relied heavily upon her for their survival. Who was teaching Adair to read? Who was making sure little Sorcha ate more than just bread?

What purpose did Sera serve here? She wasn’t about to jump into bed with the man who’d caused more deaths than she could count, so what good could she be to him?

On this evening, she was sitting in a chair in her room with a book in her lap, the soft, sheer fabric—lace, it was called, so she had learned—of her nightgown bunched up around where she’d tucked her feet under her. It didn’t exactly leave much to the imagination— in fact, it left nothing whatsoever to the imagination, but that didn’t matter. No one bothered knocking on her door to disturb her anymore.

Except, she suddenly recalled at the swift raps on the other side of the painted wood, the nightly dinner messenger.

Every night, the messenger knocked on her door and told her she’d been summoned for dinner. Every night, she declined without opening the door, and the messenger left.

On this night, however—her seventh night—, there was no voice accompanying the knock. Instead, the door opened, and before Sera could voice her very strong objections, the Emperor stepped through, looking somewhat agitated as his eyes searched the room for her. Once his gaze found hers, however, he suddenly seemed… concerned?

No, of course not. Of course he wouldn’t be concerned. Never mind the fact that he barely knew her— she’d tried to kill him, which she assumed would prevent him from developing any concern for her well-being.

When he strode over to her with a sort of arrogance she’d long since come to associate with nobility, she was very grateful indeed that the room didn’t have enough light for him to see her properly, because he would’ve seen entirely too much of her for her liking, thank you very much.

The Emperor stopped in front of her, snatched her book from her hands—he didn’t even let her mark her spot, the absolute bastard—and said, “Get up. You need to eat. And bathe.”

Sera frowned. “What business of that is yours?” she demanded sharply. He was silent, though she could feel his gaze prickling her skin, so she spoke again. “I’m not hungry and I’ll bathe whenever I please. Anything else, your Imperial Majesty?”

She addressed him by his title, but with none of the reverence that usually came with it, so she wasn’t terribly surprised that this seemed to irritate him.

“Alright then.” His tone was suspiciously casual, and Sera might’ve been more concerned if she were able to muster up enough motivation to care about anything, which she neither could nor would. She most certainly should have been concerned, however, because it was at that moment that the Emperor apparently decided that the best course of action was to yank her out of the chair and throw her over his shoulder, which was precisely what he did.

“What are you—“

He wrapped an arm firmly around her legs, paying no mind to her frantic kicks or to the rough scratches she tried to dig into his back with her nails. He carried her through the room’s small archway into its attached washroom, and before she knew it, the sound of running water was echoing off the beautifully painted tiles. As the bathtub faucet ran, the Emperor kept Sera in his grasp and walked around the room, ignoring her objections and grabbing things to, from the way it sounded, toss into the bathtub. 

He turned the water off, and Sera was still shouting at him to stop whatever the hell he thought he was doing and put her down immediately when she found herself being unceremoniously dropped into the full bathtub. She didn’t take the time to appreciate the sweet-smelling water or how deep the large, sunken tub was below the floor, instead staring up at the Emperor in furious shock.

He wasn’t looking at her face, but rather below it, and she wondered at that, glancing down at herself to see what he was so interested in that might bring out the small dusting of red that had spread across his infuriatingly high cheekbones. To her absolute horror, the white lace of her nightgown was now entirely transparent and the normally loose, billowing fabric was clinging wetly to her skin, her breasts right there for him to see.

Humiliated beyond all measure—the man she hated more than any other in the far corners of the Universe, both Known and otherwise, was staring at her body—, Sera covered her breasts with her arms. Unfortunately for her, her arms did not adequately cover her, as her bust had always been on the larger side. Thankfully, her lower body was completely hidden under the copious amount of soap bubbles that sat on top of the water. She lowered herself deeper into the water so that only her head was visible.

For reasons unknown, this seemed to amuse the Emperor, which she found both perplexing and infuriating.

“Alright,” he finally said once she’d obscured her body from his view, kneeling down and reaching out to her, “let’s get that nightgown off of you.”

“Excuse me?!” Sera demanded sharply, scrambling further away from him, pressing her back against the wall of the tub. 

He shrugged. “Either you take it off or I do. Your choice.”

“No! Stop looking at me!” she demanded shrilly. 

“I said I wouldn’t touch you until you wanted me to,” he reminded her. “I never said I wouldn’t look at you. I’m not a monk.” She gaped at him in horror, and he added, “And anyway, it’s only natural for me to look at the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, don’t you think?”

Her face reddened at his disgustingly lecherous degeneracy. “No! Get out!”

This seemed to irritate him. Likely because he was a spoiled brat who hadn’t been told ‘no’ in a very, very long time. She was just starting to enjoy the fact that she’d annoyed him when he said, “If my memory serves, this contract between us binds you to me, not the other way around.”

She froze, knowing what he meant by that: I don’t take orders. I give them.

What was he going to do to her? Had she annoyed him so much he’d force her? The others had insisted he’d never done that and never would, true, but how many of them had made their hatred of him abundantly clear, refused all interaction with him, and demanded he leave their presence? Maybe he was now offended enough that he felt the need to prove he was better than her.

Sera was fairly certain she’d forced all the fear from her face and voice when she said, “Will you at least turn around, please?”

A slight quirk of his lips followed by a soft chuckle—more of an exhalation, really—, and he said, “I can respect your wishes.”

He turned around as she’d requested, though he chose to sit cross-legged on the floor by the tub. 

“I wish you’d leave me alone,” she muttered as she reached into the water to find the lacy hem.

“What was that?” the Emperor asked. She could most definitely hear the grin in his voice, the smug prick. 

“Nothing,” she grumbled in annoyance, the word holding more bite than it really ought to if she were to get him to do what she wanted. It was difficult for her to be manipulative when he was so damn infuriating. She kept losing her head around him and forgetting herself. 

Sera didn’t take her eyes off of his form as she peeled her nightgown from her body and threw the dripping ball of fabric onto the floor. Before he could react and turn back around, she sank into the water again, gathering the bubbles up to cover her body. Some of them had popped with all of her movement, however, so while she managed to get them to cover a decent amount of her form, the tops of her breasts were still visible. If only the damn things wouldn’t float.

He turned back around and examined her face closely, a slight frown marring his offensively beautiful features. After a few seconds of her waiting for him to attack her and him staring back at her pensively, he said, “I’m going to arrange for you to visit Beakkal.”

Sera’s eyes widened in shock. “W— what?”

He nodded.

“Why?” she asked slowly, her voice laced with suspicion.

He shrugged one slender shoulder. “You’re unhappy.” When she did nothing but stare at him in response, he went on. “I have no desire for you to be unhappy, Sera.”

Sera doubted very much that he actually gave a damn about her happiness, so she lifted her chin and said, “And what do you ask for in return?”

A slow smile spread across his face, and her stomach dropped at the sight.

“That you return after no more than two weeks.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s it?”

He shook his head. “I would like you to have dinner with me when I ask unless you are genuinely ill, in which case I’ll send a doctor to look in on you.” A pause. “I’d also like for you to take better care of yourself, and for you to spend time with me.”

“Spend time with you,” she parroted back.

He nodded. “I will request it of you on occasion.”

Sera narrowed her eyes at him again. What the hell was he trying to pull?

“I don’t have to do anything else?” she clarified. 

He shook his head again, his hair falling in his eyes. “Not if you don’t want to.”

She considered this for several seconds. The benefits appeared to outweigh the drawbacks.

“Alright,” she finally agreed. Then, very reluctantly, she added, “Thank you.”

He smiled at her then, and although it was a rather small one, it occurred to her that his beauty was greatly amplified when he smiled. “If you ever want anything,” he told her softly, “all you have to do is ask.” She stared at him in shock that was only intensified when he said, “I’d give you anything you wanted, anything you asked me for.”

Before she could respond, the Emperor stood and walked out of the room, leaving her alone in her bath.

Upon hearing this news, the other women were shocked, to say the least. Contrary to the casual manner in which he had proposed it to Sera, it would seem that an Emperor letting his concubine return home, even just for a visit, was simply unheard of. As she prepared to leave, she tried not to think too hard about how he had been giving her special attention over the others. Or about the sincerity that had replaced the usual smugness in his smile when she thanked him.

Beakkal was already doing so much better than it had been when Sera saw it last. The incompetent officials had been replaced with better ones, the infrastructure was being worked on, the streets were being paved. Paved streets! Paved streets in her very own hometown!

Perhaps most noteworthy, however, or at least most noteworthy for Sera herself, was the fact that her family had been relocated to a large, fancy house in the upscale part of town. Moreover, they’d been given a great deal of money. They had servants, their own rooms, clothes made of fabric they hadn’t woven themselves, and all the food they could ever desire.

Sera was so glad to be home. There was now enough space for her father to do his woodwork, her mother to… do whatever it was she did when she wasn’t bothering Sera (and there were now more than enough places for Sera to run off to when she needed to escape), and for the five of her siblings still living at home to do whatever they wished.

She spent most of her time reading and being with her family. They wanted to know all about the new Atreides Emperor and the life she now had in his home. She was honest with her father and her sister, Maeve, who was closest to her in age by only being a year younger, but any of the others would be worried for her, and they were too young to hear about such things anyway. Instead, she just told them that she was living with the Emperor, who had become her friend and had made it so that their family could afford a new house and all the things that came with it. 

The two weeks were flying by without Sera’s notice. One afternoon, she was sitting on the playroom floor with her one-year-old sister, Sorcha, in her lap as she read a children’s book to her and her nephew, Kye, who was Sorcha’s age, and her niece, Brianna, who was not quite three. Sera’s older brother, Ronan, was most relieved to have her home; he lived next door to their family—now in an estate instead of a tiny house with crumbling walls—and felt much better leaving his two children with her instead of their recently hired nanny.

Sorcha was leaning back against Sera, and Kye was nestled into her side while Brianna clutched her arm. She wasn’t sure if she’d missed them more or if it was the other way around.

She wasn’t paying attention to the door, so she was very surprised indeed when Brianna glanced up and exclaimed, “Wow, Auntie Sera! You were right!” Sera looked at the little girl and was about to ask what she meant when she pointed at the door and said, “He is the most beautiful man ever!”

Sera turned to face the door with wide, horrified eyes, only to see none other than the Emperor himself standing there, clearly trying very hard not to laugh.

“I— I never said that,” she stuttered out nervously, stunned.

Unfortunately for Sera, there was nothing Brianna disliked more than lies. “Yes you did!” Brianna insisted, frustration lacing her voice. “You said he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen in your entire life!”

This was very regrettable indeed because Sera had most definitely made that exact remark to her siblings earlier. In her defense, however, Brianna had asked point blank if the Emperor was handsome.

The man in question was still trying very hard not to smile, his lips twitching when he addressed Brianna. “I have to take your Auntie with me for a while, okay?”

Brianna stood, walked over to the Emperor, and stared up at him in an attempt to discern his intentions regarding her aunt.

“Okay,” she finally said decidedly, nodding slightly.

“You can come back in another few months,” he told Sera softly as they left the room, one of the servants coming to look after the children in her place. “Or they can come visit anytime you like.” She looked at him skeptically, outright raising her eyebrows at him when he added, “For as long as you like.”

Sera packed her belongings and said her goodbyes, ending every hug with a kiss on the cheek. She didn’t address her mother at all, only nodding at her once and walking out the door.

She and the Emperor were making their way towards his ship when he said, “You think I’m beautiful?”

Sera bristled, her face reddening, and she snapped, “Shut up,” while steadfastly refusing to look at him.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he told her cheerfully.

Her blush intensified enough that she likely invented a new shade of red. She walked faster, doing her damndest to ignore him.

Once back at the palace, she was settling back into her room and sorting through the various finger paintings she’d been given by her youngest family members, when the Emperor knocked and entered.

“I just wanted to check on you.”

She nodded, examining five-year-old Aisling’s strange idea of a flower.

“Thank you,” she told him quietly without looking up at him. “I don’t know why you did that for me, but…” A slow, deep breath. “I am grateful.”

Footsteps.

“I’m glad it made you happy,” came his voice from right behind her.

Sera stared at the flower—its stem and leaves were bright pink—and still didn’t look at him.

“Was there anything else you needed, Your Majesty?” she asked, finally lifting her gaze to his, only to find him smiling down softly at her.

“No, but…” he trailed off briefly. “I don’t like it when you call me that.”

Sera frowned. Had she done something wrong? Was she going to be punished for using his proper title? She hadn’t even been using sarcasm that time!

“It’s… what you are,” she said slowly, confusion permeating her voice.

He was looking at her very strangely, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, gentle. “Not to you.”

Ah, she thought in realization. There must be an official title concubines are supposed to call him.

“Very well,” she told him patiently. “What should I call you, then?”

“You’ll have to keep calling me that around the court,” he admitted, “but when it’s only the two of us, please just use my name.”

Sera stared up at him. Up, up, up. He really was a tall bastard, wasn’t he?

“Your name,” she parroted back at him incredulously.

“Yes.” Then, with a mischievous grin, he added, “It’s Paul, in case you didn’t know.”

“I did know,” she told him, unsure of what else to say. It was such an odd request that she didn’t know how to react to it.

“You’ll use my name, then?” he persisted. “When we’re alone?

In an effort to shut him up, she quickly said, “Yes, yes, alright, Paul.”

He appeared not to notice her dismissive tone as he grinned at her.

“Much better.”

Oooooo development! What’re your thoughts?

Tag list: @meetmyothersouls @ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence

To be added, please ask 💗

#fem!oc #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #dune mini bang #dune #dune movie #dune 2021 #dune film #dune fanfiction #original character #original female character #ofc #paul atreides #paul atreides x original character #paul atreides x ofc #paul atreides x original female character #paul x oc #fem oc

[desertfangs]

Vamptember Day 16 - Phone Call

Prompt: "Phone Call" | Armand/Daniel | 1012 Words

Still very early in the chase years, Daniel realizes he's missed an important appointment re: the Interview with the Vampire book.

----------

Daniel stood in the phone booth as the snow started to fall, listening to it ring. It was after hours but he’d only just remembered the date in the taxi on the way from the airport. Or rather, he remembered why the date sounded significant. 

He willed someone to pick up. Short of that, he’d have to leave a message. 

He leaned against the booth, exhaustion starting to wear on him. Normally he slept well on planes. These days, it felt like the only safe place to sleep. Once the cabin door was locked and the plane was at cruising altitude, there was no way his vampire stalker could get to him (or so he hoped). But he’d felt uneasy for the entire flight from London, chugging ginger ale between gin and tonics, hoping something would help. Nothing had. 

“Hello?” 

Daniel straightened. A live person, even after five. Lucky. Daniel told the woman who he was. He heard the shuffling of papers. Sounding annoyed, she told him the courier had gone to the address he’d provided but he wasn’t there to receive the manuscript. She admonished him for missing the delivery. “We can resend it tomorrow, but the editor really wants these proofs back by Monday.” 

“Sorry, there was a family emergency,” Daniel lied. “My grandmother died and I had to leave the state.” He winced. His Irish heritage made him faintly superstitious and speaking someone’s death into existence was a no-no. He knocked quietly on the wooden box beneath the phone that held the phone book. 

The woman from the publishing company apologized. Assured him they could give him another week given the circumstances. Asked when he’d back in New York, or if they needed to send the manuscript somewhere else.

An unhinged laugh bubbled up out of him. Where would he be in a day or two to accept a delivery? The devil only knew. The devil who haunted him, following his every move with supernatural cunning. 

The woman seemed to mistake his laughter for a sob and told him how she’d lost her grandfather the year before. 

“I can be in New York the day after tomorrow.” It was only an hour flight. He could get some sleep here and then head back to the airport in the morning. He’d be there in time to get the proofs the following day with more than enough time to spare. 

The woman made a note, verified the address where he’d be—a hotel where Daniel had stayed once before—and then apologized for his loss again before hanging up.

Daniel put the phone back on the receiver and leaned his head against the cold glass of the booth. Daniel had never been punctual but he never used to miss entire appointments. 

Something tapped against the glass.

Daniel looked up, startled, his heart slamming into his ribs. Armand’s face was on the other side of the glass, ghostly pale, his amber eyes locked onto Daniel. He was smirking. 

Daniel opened the phone booth door, trying to ignore the blood thrumming in his ears. “I’ve been in Boston less than hour,” Daniel said, forcing his tone to sound casual. “That’s impressive, even for you.” 

Armand’s smirk faltered. He looked faintly surprised, which made him look younger, more human. Daniel loved when he could catch him off guard, even momentarily. It took some of the edge off of his terror. 

Daniel started walking down the street. If he couldn’t find a hotel and get some sleep thanks to the vampire’s sudden arrival, at least he could find a bar. 

“You’re going to New York?” Armand asked, falling into step with him. 

Daniel wanted to lie but it was no use. Not only had he likely overheard, but he could read his thoughts and hear his pulse, like walking lie detector. 

“I have business there. You can’t come.” Imagine if it were as easy as that! Sorry, All-Powerful Immortal, you’re not allowed to stalk me until my work in Manhattan is complete. 

“I’m not all powerful,” Armand said. 

Daniel grunted. Might as well be.

“It’s about the book?” Armand asked.

Something in his tone made Daniel stop, ice flooding his veins. He’d wondered if Armand would actually let the book get completed. Armand had known about it from the start, of course, but now that it was coming to fruition…

Armand watched him with a sinister, almost playful gleam in his eye. “If I killed you now, would it stop the book from being published?” 

Daniel swallowed. His mouth felt very dry. “I doubt it.” He didn’t need to proofread it. It was basically a courtesy, and his final chance to make sure they hadn’t left anything out, to see if they’d made any changes, and maybe try to fight them if they had, for whatever that was worth. The book could be printed tomorrow if they so chose. 

Armand stood unnaturally still, staring at him until Daniel thought his heart might explode. And then he smiled faintly. “I don’t care about the book. As I said, no one will believe it.” 

Daniel relaxed slightly, but his pulse still raced. 

“Go to New York, do your business.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Just don’t take too long. If I get bored, I may decide to end this little game.” His smile widened in a way that showed his fangs, which sent another jolt through Daniel, a mix of fear and, god help him, desire.  

Armand pivoted on his heel and continued down the sidewalk. Daniel stared after him. He had the strangest urge to run after the vampire, to chase him down and continue the interaction. Ask what he thought of the book, what might happen when it was out. Did he hope it might lure Louis out of hiding? Or Lestat? Did he intend to kill Daniel once it was done? 

He forced himself to remain planted to the spot as snow fell into his hair and dotted his glasses, until the vampire was long out of sight. 

Then he went to the closest bar and ordered a very stiff drink.

#vamptember #daniel/armand #daniel molloy #armand #queen of the damned #devil's minion #vc #vampire chronicles #the vampire chronicles #fanfic #my fic #mortal daniel

[tlacehualli]

@atrappedwolfwill “...Jimbob Klansmanski will undoubtedly be a loss felt nationwide for as long as internet-forum weirdos see fit to keep repeating his name. Nothing in his life became him like the leaving of it.” Could that be humour? It’s delivered in such a dry, professional tone that it might genuinely be hard to tell for at least a moment. Emily, to her credit, isn’t dressed like this is some kind of clandestine meeting at all. She has sunglasses, but they’re tucked into her front pocket.

“And... yeah. I’ll readily admit that even if this town were twice the size it probably wouldn’t get any more international than an IHOP. I’m as ready to leave as you are, believe me. Stationing overseas has kind of spoiled me, I’ll admit.” All told, Emily’s doing a shockingly good job keeping it casual considering the state she was in when last they spoke.

It doesn’t even seem like she’s imagining jumping over the table and cracking Sombra’s head open against the floor. She smiles and nods to the waitress, briefly gesturing for her to stick around a moment after Sombra asks for a drink. “French press for me, thank you. And the house reuben as well.” She waits, then turns her eyes back to the hacker. “I would say I’m surprised you’re not more concerned about an operational failure, but if I thought you would have a real interest in keeping him alive I wouldn’t have extended an olive branch.”

The hacker (very delicately, mind you) snorted and covered her mouth. Shit, okay, that was pretty good. Where she not paying attention, the dry tone would have made her miss it. She leans back into her seat away a little bit, averting her gaze as she listens.

It makes it easier for her to focus, sometimes looking at folks was too intense. And her neurodivergency made it easy - there was a fly buzzing over the next table, the young man at the counter looked exhausted due to an upcoming English Literature exam (he had a C, yikes), and there was a chip in one of her nails that wasn't there before. Shit.

She looked up when she was addressed again and she was going to be so happy to bury the weirdness for another four months. Sombra's expression was incredulous. "So you managed to track me in Zacatecas but you didn't catch anything of my earlier work?" The hacker's voice was low, waiting until the waiter was just out of earshot. "Look, I-" A pause, then annoyance with herself, and she averted her gaze again. 30 years old. Grown as hell. "Sometimes I have to do things I don't like doing. But I don't think I could really live with myself if some Nazi was alive because of me."

It was probably the most honest thing she'd said so far.

#atrappedwolfwill #can you believe Tumblr crashed my first poat #post #fucker

[villain-in-love]

your father's day post has me curious! does katarina like to do anything special with undertaker to celebrate father's day? do they like to visit somewhere together, or does she perhaps give him gifts instead? also does she have any silly nicknames for him, or does he have nicknames for her?

dad!undertaker is so funny and endearing to me, i can imagine him constantly cracking dad jokes at every opportunity he gets.

i would love to ask more about your black butler and twst s/is but don't want to flood your inbox XD but please feel free to share anymore facts about them here if you want, i'd love to hear them!!

Undertaker definitely cracks a lot of awful dad jokes, sometimes because he genuinely thinks that the jokes are funny, sometimes because seeing Katarina frustrated is funny.

Anyways, it made me research if Father’s Day was even a thing in Victorian England. Aaaand it wasn’t. This holiday was invented in 1909, which means that they most likely won’t celebrate Father’s Day.

By the way, I’m not sure if I can answer your questions in a way you probably expect – I’m one of the least sentimental people one could possibly meet, so nicknames and celebrations, doesn’t matter if it’s platonic or romantic, is something mostly foreign to me.

Undertaker and Katarina don’t “officially” consider themselves to be a family, even if they act like a father and his daughter, and mostly it’s just something they joke about often, seemingly not treating it seriously. Though gradually Undertaker starts to realize that he does care about Katarina as if she was his own child, he just doesn’t say it directly.

Katarina, on the other hand, internally decided that Undertaker will be her new dad right from the start but said nothing about it because she didn’t want to bother him even more, since she’s already lucky that he took responsibility for her at all.

(She got isekai-ed from our world, not because I actually think it’s a good way to start a story. I mean, it’s something I came up with when I was eleven, but for certain symbolic reasons that are very important to me, I decided to keep this part. Plus, it's precisely because she's from another world that she will develop some issues, and it's the thing that will lead to her eventually becoming the abomination currently known by the name “Death”.)

…

Though if Father’s Day did exist at that point in time, they would definitely pay some attention to it.

Katarina, throwing a funeral wreath at Undertaker: "Congratulations for adopting me."

Undertaker would also try to use Father’s Day as an excuse to throw some of his work at her to do instead (well, only if he’s sure that she can handle it) because heeey, it’s his holiday. Which means that his only daughter should appreciate him and at least try to do something nice once in a while.

I’m not the type to give nicknames, but you know, I remember when I watched "Katekyo Hitman Reborn" years ago, Fran would obnoxiously draw out vowels when calling Mukuro “teeeaacheeer”, and I imagine Katarina would often address Undertaker the same way. In the most annoying tone she can manage.

Whatever nicknames Undertaker tried to give Katarina at first did not stick, so apart from her name, sometimes he just address her as “kid”.

Well, she’s a “late teenager” going on “young adult”, but for someone as old Undertaker, he would obviously mostly see her as a kid. Especially since she has very little idea on how to function as an adult, so now Undertaker is kind of “fixing” the mistakes of her actual parents' and tries to push her towards independence more. He's not particularly protective (or doesn't allow himself to be) and implements casual approach: if she has to deal with some trouble, he will give advice, maybe provide a bit of help, but she has to figure out the most by herself.

I had an incorrect quote somewhwere...

"Katarina: Hey teeeacheeer...What would you do if I was kidnapped?

Undertaker: Oh, nothing. I'd just wait thirty minutes until they let you go voluntarily."

...but surely Undertaker is a fun dad. That's the entire thing, I always wanted a father who would understand me instead of judging me for every wrong move, and Undertaker seemed to be much more similar to me than my actual dads are. He's eccentric, morbid, understands the value of information and entertainment, and is also smart and capable of thinking deeply and broadly, even if he might be just a bit insane.

...

Well, that's a messy wall of text I got here, maybe it got a bit personal, but I don't really care at this point. I didn't think too much about what I'm writing for the sake of being able to answer while it's relevant.

#p!ship: putting “fun” in “funeral" #p!f/o: the eccentric mortician

[yoduro-d-aluminio]

Chapter 4: Tomorrow became today

John meets Olivia - An Olivia's Prague Adventures Subseries

Olivia hopped on the tram that would take her to the city centre, to her lifelong crush, to John. She had spent the last 24 hours in a state of excitement that made her feel like a teenager. At times she would only be able to make scenarios on her head, once again imagining what it would be like to kiss him, how he would hopelessly fall in love with her the moment he saw her... But she was also freaking out. She tried on different outfits but nothing seemed right: she didn't want to look too casual, after all, she had to impress him to make him think of her as the woman she now was; at the same time, she didn't want it to be too obvious that she had spent hours thinking about what to wear. In the end, she chose some dressing pants and a blazer, toning them down with a very simple strappy tank top, her loafers and simple makeup. It was undeniable: she looked amazing.

As she headed out, she sprayed on her signature perfume and got her earphones on. She was no longer a child, she didn't have her iPod anymore, but out of the earbuds and into her brain Black Sabbath sounded once again, transporting her to a different time, not exactly her years in camp, but to the countless dates that teen Olivia had imagined.

As she approached the National Theater, one of her favourite locations in the city, she panicked at the thought "How do I address the fact that we know each other? Will he remember me? Should I pretend like I have no clue who he is and just start over again? Or should I confide in him that I spent most of my teenage years having a huge crush on him?" She was however interrupted by his message letting her know he was there. She looked up and, indeed, there he was: even more handsome than she remembered. She approached him and, as with every person she was introduced to, she expected to go through the awkward moment of confusion between a handshake and her accustomed two kisses. But he just hugged her. God. He smelled amazing.

As they separated, he just asked "How have you been?" And she once again freaked out, unsure whether to act as if she was clueless about who he was.

— Oh, I've been great, I am really enjoying the city

— No, I mean, I remember you from camp

She sighed in relief. Masks off.

— Oh wow, I didn't expect you to remember me. I have actually been great.

And so their date started.

In a small, warm and cozy bar, over two glasses of beer that turned into four and then six, they talked for hours about their lives, about camp and their fond memories of it, about his music band, which she already knew about but had honestly never listened to; about her bachelors' and her love for Prague and her decision to move back after the summer for her master's; about his failed attempt to become a uni student as a rebellious young man and his settling down in his parents' business as a stonemason making restorations of historical buildings — at this point she couldn't help but stare at his hands in detail, noticing how strong and beautiful they were, his long fingers able to relentlessly carve the hardest stone and at the same time to play the softest melody on his guitar. He told her he had actually taken up the bass in the band, though he still played the guitar. She wondered if he kept the black instrument that was almost an appendix when he was younger, inseparable from him, part of his identity, of his essence.

The date went on and on for hours. Every now and then, he would go outside for a smoke and, resisting the urge to take up smoking that same moment just to get the chance to be close to him, she always refused. While he was outside, she would update her friends, who were following the encounter as if it were a football final.

Yes, it's going great.

No, we haven't kissed yet

I don't know, I literally have no clue, I mean, we have been together for hours so it is obvious he's not having a bad time but I have no idea if he is going to kiss me. I have no idea what is going to happen.

And she was not lying, she could not tell for sure what was going to happen. She did not know whether he was going to kiss her. Whether we would like to take her home. She was so nervous and all she was sure about was that she didn't want the date to end.

[out-of-context-batfam]

Injustice Gods Among Us: Year 2 #4

#BABS JUST CASUALLY CALLING UP THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES LIKE A BOSS #SHE JUST DID THAT AND ACTED LIKE IT WAS NO BIG DEAL #I LIKE TO IMAGINE SHE ADDRESSED HIM IN A VERY CASUAL TONE #HER ABILITY TO DO SHIT LIKE THIS IS WHY SHE WAS BELOVED AS ORACLE AND A CHAMPION FOR THE DISABLED COMMUNITY #dc comics #batfam #batfamily #out of context #injustice gods among us #year 2 #oracle #barbara gordon #hackerbat #funny #dammit babs #this is so badass #she did not need to become batgirl again #disabled not helpless

[valdomarx]

“Geralt. My dearest friend. My closest companion. Light of my life, fire of my-”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Jaskier?”

“Seeing as how I’ve made you famous, and I flatter myself that this has eased you path somewhat, why, this very inn not only took us in but even offered us a discounted rate-”

“What do you want, Jaskier?” Testier this time.

“Ahh. Well. Let me put it plainly: I’m in need of a favour.”

Geralt raises one eyebrow, in an expression he knows speaks volumes.

“I need you to come with me to Lettenhove this winter and pose as my fiancé.”

Geralt nearly drops the sword he’s sharpening. A million thoughts whip through his mind, but one is most pressing: “Why, for Melitele’s sake?”

Jaskier waves a hand in a vague and non-descriptive gesture. “It’s a court thing, you know how families are, and my mother has made it abundantly clear that it’s time for me to settle down and this year I’m to return affianced or else she’ll select someone for me. And I can’t get hitched to some local lady, Geralt, I simply can’t, it’ll ruin my bardic appeal, not to mention my employment prospects, and of course I won’t be able to travel with you, and it’s-”

Geralt holds up a hand to ward off the wall of words. The idea of no longer travelling with Jaskier is unconscionable, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. And they spend so much time together they’re practically married anyway. How hard could it be to pretend for a few days?

“Fine,” he says gruffly.

“Oh, Geralt, you are wonderful.” Jaskier beams and throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt growls, but secretly, it’s actually rather nice.

-

“Mother, this is Geralt, my fiancé.”

Cold, clear eyes look him up and down, assessing him, and pinch into an expression suggesting he has been found wanting. Geralt decides against opening his mouth and further cementing that opinion.

“A witcher.” Her voice has the familiar twang of Jaskier’s, but with the flat, expressionless cadence he associates with the higher echelons of the aristocracy.

“A witcher!” Jaskier confirms in a cheery tone. “Isn’t that exciting?”

She sniffs in a manner which makes it clear that exciting would not be her first choice of word. “I see. He will be joining us for this year’s Yuletide?”

“He will.”

Her face draws back into the impassive mask of the well-bred. “Very well. You will stay in the east wing.”

“Thank you, mother.” Jaskier executes a stiff bow which Geralt copies and they beat a hasty retreat.

-

“That went rather well!”

Geralt blinks. “Jaskier, I’m fairly sure your mother means to have me killed in my sleep.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s always like that. She’s actually softened up a lot since dear old dad died, gods rest the grumpy bastard.”

Geralt struggles to imagine how such staid, cold people could possibly have produced a son as bright and warm as Jaskier. They might as well be a different species.

Jaskier pushes open a door to a grand suite, all plush velvets and gold ornamentation, a thick woven rug underfoot. It’s the most opulent room Geralt has ever seen, but Jaskier pays it no mind and throws his bag casually on the bed.

“We’ll have to stay here together,” he says apologetically, not looking Geralt in the eye. “But the bed is plenty big, or I can sleep on the sofa if you’d rather -”

Geralt is still taking it all in: The space, the furnishings, the frankly enormous bed which looks divinely comfortable. And there, through the next room, that looks like-

“Is that a copper bathtub?” he asks, eyes wide. Such luxuries were a rarity indeed.

Jaskier grinned. “It is. Let me get some food sent up and I’ll wash your hair?”

Geralt grumbles, just for the effect, and decides that putting up with tedious aristocracy might have its benefits after all.

-

Yule festivities in Lettenhove are, mercifully, a mere matter of days. First there is the fitting for formal attire, which Geralt scowls through but Jaskier promises will be made up for with plenty of good food and wine. Then there are several deeply tedious aristocratic parties, which Jaskier sails through and Geralt spends mostly hiding in dark corners, as is his wont.

Occasionally, Jaskier will grab him by the hand and introduce him as, “Geralt, my husband-to-be,” and something funny will flip over in his stomach which will require several drinks to settle. When he returns to his dark corner he’ll find his heart pumping a little faster as his eyes track Jaskier flitting around the room. It’s probably just indigestion from all the rich food.

Then there is the formal family Yuletide dinner, a spectacularly awkward and singly unpleasant evening spent around a long, cold table with Jaskier’s mother and various cousins, who regard Geralt with expressions ranging from bland disinterest to active hostility. The food is heavy beyond measure and the conversation cruel and bland by turns.

They cover the need for raising taxes, the many failings of the servant class, and the petty squabbles over jewels and titles that seems to be the bread and butter of these people. With each hateful line, Geralt feels his blood rising. If it weren’t for Jaskier making pleading eyes at him, he’d take great pleasure in explaining some hard truths to them.

When a cousin begins expounding on useless lazy peasants in the estate, complaining that they can’t work because of plague, but we all know they’re simply idle, Geralt grits his teeth so hard that he swears the sound must be audible.

Beneath the table, Jaskier takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Staring down at their joined hands, Geralt detaches from these awful people and their awful conversation and focuses on the simple warmth of Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his own.

-

They make their escape from dinner as soon as can be considered polite, and Geralt takes a second to lean against the door to their room, breathing deeply.

“You did well not to throttle anyone,” Jaskier says with a reassuring smile. “If we’d had to listen to cousin Edrick for a minute longer, I might have launched over the table with a carving knife myself.”

Geralt reaches for him without thinking, and once again Jaskier’s hand slips into his own. It’s grounding, to feel something genuine in this place surrounded by artifice.

“Come on,” Jaskier says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Geralt doesn’t even ask where they’re going before nodding.

-

They sneak away from the estate out of the servants’ door and follow a winding path toward a cluster of lights in the valley below. The path into Lettenhove town is quiet and calm, and as they walk the snow begins to fall in soft flurries, covering the ground in a peaceful white blanket.

The town looks picture perfect when they arrive, a charming jumble of thatched cottages and a small, cosy inn from which bright light spills out into the snowy night. When they enter the barmaid runs over to hug Jaskier and the proprietor slaps him on the back, and Jaskier has a kind word and a waved greeting for every person in there.

Geralt feels something unwind in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was tight and twisted until now. Seeing Jaskier in his element, among people who love him for who he is, instead of among that cold, hateful family, he feels right in a way he hasn’t for days.

Jaskier is already buying drinks and passing them around, and he excitedly waves Geralt over. “Bree, Geoffrey,” he addresses the couple behind the bar, “This is Geralt.” A shy smile sneaks over his face. “My fiancé.” The couple gasp in delight and congratulate Jaskier, then they’re embracing Geralt like old friends and pushing a drink into his hands.

“Come on, Geralt, join us!” Bree smiles warmly. “It’ll be the ten o’clock bells soon, and we must have Jaskier lead us in a song.”

The evening is a whirl of music and dance and loud, terrible singing, which the entire town seems to join in. For once there is no corner for Geralt to hide in, so he stays by Jaskier’s side, basking in the reflected glow of these people’s clear adoration of his bard.

-

When the midnight bell chimes and Geoffrey turns them all out for the night, the revelers wend their way home still singing and drinking. As the place empties out, Jaskier slides over to Bree to press a kiss to her cheek and a bulging purse into her hand. She tries to wave him off but Jaskier tucks the money behind the counter all the same, and Geralt watches, a deep wave of fondness sweeping through him.

The snow is still falling when they step out into the now-quiet street, soft, fat flakes drifting lazily from the sky and sticking in Jaskier’s hair. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair falls in an messy sweep over his eyes; without thinking Geralt reaches out to brush it away behind his ear. Jaskier’s blush deepens as he does so, but he shivers in the cold.

“Here.” Geralt unclasps the thick cloak from around his neck and sweeps it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier’s mouth forms a little o of surprise and he looks up at Geralt, something tender in his eyes.

Geralt’s gaze is caught by the snow flakes settling on Jaskier’s lashes; he’s so focused that he almost jumps when Jaskier reaches out to take his hand. The sky seems to glow with a soft orange light as the clouds reflect the last few fires in the town below; everything is warm with Jaskier’s hand in his despite the chill in the air.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says softly. “For being here with me.” And leaning in, his breath caressing over Geralt’s face, he touches his lips to Geralt’s cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

Suddenly it occurs to Geralt that this will be it, tomorrow they’ll head back on the path like none of this ever happened, no more holding hands or being close, no more being introduced as Jaskier’s betrothed. And despite the hellish parts of this experience he really doesn’t want it to end. He likes being Jaskier’s person, and he likes Jaskier being his.

They are still standing close together, mere inches between them, and it’s no effort at all to lean in, slowly, cautiously, to find Jaskier’s lips with his own, to place a tentative kiss there. And then Jaskier’s hands are fisting in his shirt and tugging him closer still, and his arms go around his waist and Jaskier is kissing him back like he’s been waiting for it, their mouths slotting together like they were made to fit each other, and everything is blazingly bright like the white of the snow.

When they pull apart they stay with foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, and Geralt can see a smile cracking wide over Jaskier’s face.

“I like being engaged to you,” Geralt says quietly, unable to keep it in.

Jaskier’s smile widens even further. “I like being engaged to you too,” he says. He kisses him again. “Fiancé.” Another kiss. “Husband to be.” And another. “Partner.” One more. “Beloved.”

“I like the sound of those.” He suspects he may be wearing the same dopey grin as Jaskier is.

“Then let’s make it official.” Jaskier bites his lip. “Marry me?”

Jaskier is a picture of perfection, eyes gleaming and cheeks ruddy, snowflakes in his hair. Geralt’s heart has always been right here.

“I’d be honoured.” He considers for a second. “But not in Lettenhove.”

Jaskier’s laugh sparkles with joy. “Anywhere but here.”

#PLEASE ENJOY THIS HOLIDAY ROMCOM NONSENSE #i am feeling festive and also sappy #geraskier #the witcher #my writing

[lipstickstainz]

true lies - s. r. (14/15)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Series Summary: Spencer is furious, when you rejoin the team after a year and after you left him, when he got arrested. Little does he know, that you leaving him was the only option to ever get him out of prison.

Chapter Summary: Leaving is the only option - right?

Warnings: angst, blood (but not much), break up, drug addiction (mentioned), alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: hello lovies. I'm back and my mind is full of ideas! I hope you like it! gif not mine.

Series Masterlist

previous chapter

You watch the coffee in your cup as if it has all the answers for the future hidden in the caffeine. It's eight o'clock in the morning, and this is already your third cup of the sacred liquid, and you're sure it won't be your last. The shadows under your eyes are a sign of your nightmares that haunted you last night. The fact that you have them doesn't bother you, after all, you've been going through the procedure for months. What bothers you is the fact that you couldn't wake yourself up this time. You've gotten in the habit of pinching yourself when it would get too painful, but something stopped you last night. And the fact that you don't know what exactly bothers you the most.

"Y/N." Emily's voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you have to tear your gaze away from your coffee. "What do you think?"

All eyes are on you and out of nervousness you'd like to slide around in your chair, but suppress the urge. You haven't been listening for the last few minutes, too busy with your own thoughts and problems that you can't answer her. The case is supposed to be your last, and you're trying hard to enjoy it and value the time with your friends, but really you're just waiting for it all to be over. Most of all, you want to pack your things and leave.

You barely noticeably shake your head for Emily to continue, and turn your attention back to your coffee, which must be cold by now, but that doesn't stop you from drinking it down to the last drop. Without saying anything, you get up from your chair to get another one, paying no attention to Emily's annoyed look. As you fill your cup in the precinct kitchen, she stands right next to you.

"You're not being very helpful, Y/N," she says coolly as you take a sip. You know her manner is all pretense, because in reality she's incredibly concerned. She only needs to look at your face once to know what's going on in your head, but she doesn't address it. She knows you'll talk to her when the time is right. But you're not sure that will ever happen. "I've already assigned the tasks. You stay here and work with Spencer to gather all the important information that may be relevant to Penelope's research." The look on your face says it all. You don't want to spend any time with Spencer, and certainly not alone, but Emily gives you no choice. Before you can say anything back, she disappears out the door with the others.

With your coffee, which you now wish had a strong shot of vodka in it, you make your way back into the conference room, where Spencer is bent over the table, passing pictures and notes back and forth. You stop in the doorway and watch him for a brief moment, and only then do you notice the narrow, red scratch on his face that stretches from his cheek to his neck. You squint your eyes. It hadn't been there yesterday after all.

"What happened?“, you ask as casually as you can as you sit down and set your cup down on the table. As Spencer looks at you questioningly, you point to his face. "Looks bad." Indeed it does, though it's just a scratch. There's bloody crust in a few places, contrasting in color with his pale skin. Something really got to him.

"Cut myself shaving“, he replies curtly, glancing again at the pictures in front of him. You haven't seen him in two years, don't actually remember who he is exactly, but you still know when he's lying. And when to stop asking and let it go. When Penelope calls, you discuss some stuff and you see Spencer scratching over the wound until it bleeds, which he doesn't seem to notice, which is why you stall Penelope on the phone and grab his hand as soon as the line goes silent. Astonished, he looks at you before looking at his fingers.

"Come with me“, you say briefly and don't even wait for him to follow you. You approach an officer and ask for a first aid kit, which is immediately made available to you. Spencer follows you uncertainly into one of the washrooms, where you already put on the disposable gloves from the box - you don't want any bacteria to get on the wound - and wet a towel from the towel dispenser. Reluctantly, Spencer leans against one of the sinks, waiting for your instructions.

"Tilt your head to the side a little, please." You take the damp cloth and gently dab along the scratch to remove the dried blood. Spencer has to swallow at the touch and you see his Adam's apple bob, and really it shouldn't be that attractive, unfortunately it is anyway. You have to concentrate because this is the closest you've been to him in years. You breathe in his scent, feel his warmth through your gloves, and can barely stifle a deep breath.

"How do you know how to do that?“, he asks softly as you disinfect the wound, and Spencer has to pull himself together to keep from reacting to the burning from the alcohol.

You look at him briefly before turning your attention back to the scratch. „Experience“, you reply, spreading some wound healing ointment over it before taking off your gloves and disposing of everything in the trash can. You then put the first aid kit back together. As you turn around, Spencer is standing right in front of you.

"You didn't tell me you were having nightmares“, he whispers, and confused, you look at him. There's concern in his gaze, and if you're not mistaken, a little affection too, but you push the thought aside, not letting yourself have hope. Hope has only harmed you lately you have not moved forward a bit.

You look once more at the scratch, and then into his warm eyes. "You didn't cut yourself shaving“, you count one and one together and clench your jaws. He doesn't need to answer. You did this to him, you just don't remember. The reason you didn't wake up is Spencer. He was probably holding you, reassuring you so much that your body turned off its protective mechanism. It had certainly been the last time he did that, and you hadn't been awake to enjoy it.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?“, he asks, wanting to reach for your hand, but you take a step back. You don't want him to touch you. You'd prefer it if you weren't in this situation at all. You'd prefer that you hadn't come back at all. None of this should have ever happened.

"It's none of your business anymore, Spencer." Your tone is cool and something in his face changes.

"I thought we were friends."

You have to suppress a laugh. Two years ago, you could have lived well with being friends with him. You were prepared for it then, wished it on him, and meant it sincerely. Only lately you've been through so much that you can't even imagine it anymore. The two years had been hell, but you are sure that you can't live next to him without being able to be with him. You can't watch him and Max be happy together, and even though his happiness is everything you want, you'd rather he be happy with you. But you can't tell him that, it would be unfair and selfish. So you just look at him.

Then you reach for the small suitcase and push past him towards the exit.

-

You're glad when the case is over and you arrive back at Quantico. It's been a week since you and Spencer spoke, and luckily for you, you've continued to be spared nightmares, for which you're quite grateful. Not that Spencer is going to join you in bed one more time to calm you down.

As you walk from the airfield back to the building, you fall back a bit, watching the team joke and laugh with each other despite their fatigue. Most of all, you'd like to leave right now without saying goodbye. Rip off the band-aid, without anesthesia. Short and painless. But your plan is foiled when Emily suddenly walks up beside you and puts a hand on your arm.

"We're going for a drink." She raises an eyebrow expectantly. Apparently she's waiting for you to decline the invitation, and all too gladly you'd like to meet her expectations, but it's almost certainly the last night you'll see each other, at least for an extended period of time, and short and painless wouldn't be fair to her - your best friend.

You smile at her. "You're paying for the first round."

Her eyes widen in delight, but before she can say anything back, Luke, who has overheard your conversation, interferes. "We're going out for drinks?" A grin spreads across his face, almost reaching his ears, and suddenly the rest of the team pricks up their ears. Luke's gaze is fixed on you. "I bet I can drink you under the table by now, Y/N."

„You can’t“, Matt replies, and you see Rossi smile to himself. "Last time you did that, you almost passed out after four shots."

"JJ got the drinks. Maybe she mixed something in“, Luke tries to defend himself, but the blonde raises her hands.

"I'm not responsible for your kindergarten drinking. But I'd love to see you try to drink Y/N under the table." She smiles at you and winks, and you can't help but grin. It feels good to know that all is well between you and the team, even though they know with a high probability that you won't be staying. You'd understand if they were mad at you, but that doesn't seem to be the case. JJ looks at Spencer, who is being less than forthcoming. "You coming, Spence?"

He risks a quick glance in your direction before adjusting the bag on his shoulder. He knows this will be your last night. And that you won't see each other again after this. "I think I'll sit this one out“, he replies curtly, but JJ nudges him and he gives her a dirty look.

"You can't avoid it, Spence."

You'd rather he'd gone home.

The first drinks are on Emily, as promised, and the ones after that are on Rossi, and it's actually not long before Luke is sitting at the table with a glass of water, wishing he'd slowed down. You grin at him from the dance floor where JJ and you are swinging your hips, and he sticks his tongue out at you before putting his head in his hands and sipping water through the straw in his glass.

JJ reaches for your hand and pulls you close before wrapping her arms around your neck. "I'm going to miss you“, she almost yells so you can hear her over the loud music. You smile weakly at her. There's a glint in her eyes, probably from the alcohol, and only now do you realize how much you're really going to miss her.

"I'm going to miss you too“, you reply, risking a quick glance in Spencer's direction. He's sitting next to Luke, looking completely out of place. You look back to JJ and without further ado, she puts her hands to your cheeks and presses a kiss to your mouth. When she pulls away from you again, she just grins at you. "What was that for?"

"I want you to know that we love you. We all do. Remember that when you're lonely, and call if you need anything. You are and always will be a part of our weird family."

You wait a brief moment before pulling away from her and disappearing into the ladies' room. As soon as the door slams shut, tears stream down your cheeks and you have to hold onto the edge of the sink to keep from breaking down. You were aware of how much the others would miss you, but hearing it from JJ only makes it more real. By leaving, you're not only leaving Spencer behind, but everyone else as well, and that's so selfish of you that bile rises inside you and you almost throw up. You wish you hadn't had those last two drinks.

"Y/N?" You don't have to turn around to know it's Spencer. You recognized his voice and can see him in the mirror above the sink.He's standing behind you, unsure of what exactly to do, which is why he buries his hands in his pants pockets and looks at you silently.

You wipe the smeared mascara from under your eyes before turning and leaning against the basin. "This is the ladies' room, Spencer. You're not supposed to be in here.“

"I'm right where I'm supposed to be“, he replies, but doesn't move from the spot. He watches you brush your hair out of your forehead and wipe at your hot face to get rid of the tears. "You don't have to go. You know that, right?"

You look up from your shoes, straight into his eyes. "Yes, I do."

You want to leave the washroom, but his fingers curl around your arm, holding you back. "Y/N ..."

"I can't stay, Spencer. I can't look at you without knowing that someone other than me is waiting for you at home. I can't watch you be happy without me. It's okay, really. It's just that I don't have the strength to watch it anymore." The words just bubble out of you, and for some reason you can't stop. But it feels good to say it out loud, even though you certainly shouldn't. "I love you, Spencer. I'll always love you. But I'm at the end of my rope." You shrug in exasperation. "I have to think about me. I can only think about me." Spencer's face contorts painfully, but you can't stop. "To think that you're about to go to Max's and do God knows what ..." You shake your head, as if it might drive the thoughts from your mind. "I feel like I - I - I can't breathe. Like I'm going to die. And I just can't take it anymore."

Spencer's hand comes away from your arm at your honesty, but only to grab your hand and pull you against him. You bounce against his chest, wanting to pull away, but he holds you tight and presses you to him with his other hand. Carefully, he places his palm against your cheek and gently strokes your skin with his thumb. "Please, don't go."

You look into his eyes, which have filled with tears. "Why not?"

You can practically see him struggling with himself. He wants to say something, but can't find the right words, so he presses his lips together and lets his forehead sink against yours. All he has to do is say it, and you'd throw all your plans out the window and stick around. Just a few words. But he doesn't say them. "I can't ..."

You take a deep breath before pulling away from him, disappointed. „Goodbye“, you whisper, before leaving him alone in the washroom.

-

Spencer sits uncertainly at the kitchen table, watching the tea bag with lemon balm in the cup in front of him. He doesn't actually like lemon balm, but he needs something to calm his nerves and get the trembling of his hands under control as he sits there searching for the right words.

The last time he had felt this helpless, Emily had just left his apartment and he had been about to make some phone calls. The first call would have been to a man who would have given him a different number. The second phone call would have been to a woman who would have transferred him. And the third number belonged to someone who would have given him what he was only too happy to get.

Many years ago, he had sworn to himself that he would never resort to it again. That he wouldn't need it. He would be stronger than the desire to feel nothing more. The only thing that had stopped him was that you would never wish that for him. That you had helped him then, had stood by him. He didn't want it to be in vain.

Spencer hates feeling so helpless, even though he actually knows exactly what he has to do now. That's why he sits in the kitchen in the middle of the night, cup of calming tea in hand, not daring to look at the woman sitting across from him. But he doesn't need to say anything either. She knows why he was at her door at such a late hour. They sit in silence, neither quite knowing what to do. Neither of them has been in this situation before. Spencer is glad she's the first to speak.

"So that's it." It's more of a statement than a question. Spencer nods silently, whereupon she purses her lips. "Because of her?"

Spencer looks up from his cup and looks directly at Max. Then he shakes his head. "No, not because of her."

She raises an eyebrow. "But what? Don't you dare give me that 'it's not you, it's me' tour. I've heard that one before."

Spencer has to think for a moment, find the right words, before he answers. "I've lost her so many times. I wouldn't survive it another time."

The two have known each other long enough. Max knows he's not exaggerating or meaning it metaphorically. He has told her about his addiction, and she had been very grateful at the time that he was so honest with her, even though they hadn't known each other long. Spencer knows that all of this is not healthy and psychologically quite far from reasonable and Maxine knows what she has gotten herself into. But no one could have guessed that it would end this way.

"I'm sorry." Spencer's voice sounds hoarse and raspy. He stands up and makes his way toward the apartment door.

"I hope you make it." There's so much honesty in her voice that Spencer has to smile sadly over his shoulder.Maxine doesn't deserve this. None of you deserve this.

The walk to Emily's apartment is short, but to Spencer it feels like an eternity. The train is late, which is why he actually starts running, afraid of missing his chance. He runs until his lungs are burning and his bag is banging painfully against his ribs.The few people left on the streets look at him askance, but he doesn't care. He's panting, barely getting his breath and wishing he was a little more athletic, but as he sprints around the next corner he can already see the building where Emily's apartment is located.

For a brief moment he considers taking a break, catching his breath, but he can't wait another second. Hopefully he's not too late.

He's not surprised that he can just walk into the building, even though he doesn't have a key. He sprints up the stairs, and runs down the hallways until he's gasping for breath and standing in front of the right door, his head high. He bangs on the door with a clenched fist, hoping it will open and he won't be too late. He can't be late. He can't be late.

Finally, the door opens, and for the first time in years, he can take a real breath.

"Y/N."

- taglist closed -

@obsssedwithjustaboutanything // @ashwarren32 // @slytherinbth // @rexorangecouny // @candlemouse // @lexymoniqu // @m3sml // @username2002 // @calliecookie // @haylaansmi // @thehuntresswolf // @skyslowalking // @padsfirewhisky // @criminalminds4days // @criminallyoddsocks // @takeyourleap-of-faith // @vladsgirlxx // @justdianaz // @x2moonlight2x-blog // @countingthestarsinfinitely // @box-of-fandom-stuff // @sergeantbuckybarnes // @princesssmooshie // @sassiest-politician // @ littledm2000 // @a-broken-pact // @strawberry-tea // @sassy-hades // @danrad-rdj4ever // @takeyourleap-of-faith // @smell-my-twisted-shadows // @poeticsassandtrash // @wintrrrsoldier // @peaceluvnirvana // @jemimah-b99 // @lokislilslut // @advicefromnixxxx // @panicattheeverywherekid // @my-guilty-pleasures--of-life // @itsdars @pjmjams // @imagine-this-motherfucker // @sasbb23 // @fivedicksinatrenchcoat // @missyoumaybank // @blameitonthenight21 // @s-r-16 // @knee-coall // @hamlewis // @twodirtymindedgirls // @peoplejustcanthandlemywierdness // @imdefinitelyfloating // @crazyloca06 // @gardenroses1 // @saspencereid // @enchantedlove90 // @sizzlingclamturtlesludge // @moondustmemories // @bambi-is-my-name // @beg0neth0t420 // @william-shookespeare // @pancake2603 // @ayo-cowbelly // @herbstmelody // @frnks-stuff // @mimischaos // @lilxnvm // @archiveofadragon // @burnin-passion // @oddobsessionbutotay // @chaoticdreamsss // @ghostly-ginger // @knittingstudyblr // @gorbagreb // @biafbunny // @ayo-cowbelly // @ellyseveronica // @saspencereid // @takethee // @ethereal-stark // @shirayuki1204 // @spencerreidspp // @jesuswasnotawhiteman // @stinkykay // @exzidss // @ifuckinghatepinapples // @youhaveabadconnection // @kaseyjohnson04 // @vampiracontessa // @princesssmooshie // @gardenroses1 // @r0s3mm // @willyoulovemeinthemorning // @rrtxcmt // @softpeteparker // @littleiswhattheycallme // @hoeyadoingbitch // @emmariexx // @oops-all-ajs / @reidemandweep // @oliwisstephhh // @g0lden-cth // @measure-in-pain // @amesandpineapples // @spencerreidat3am //

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #spencer reid true lies #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #Emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #Jennifer jareau #luke alvez #Matthew simmons

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Eighteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: a short update while i try to find my writing rhythm again :))

***

Nesta hasn’t danced in over ten years—yet her body still remembers how to move fluidly and create shapes as if she never stopped. Pole dancing is different, of course: most of it takes place in the air, and she doesn’t have the right muscles developed to support her weight that well. Damn, she should really ask Cassian for help if she wants to keep doing this.

Still, Emerie and Gwyn are gaping by the time Nesta lands on the floor after trying out a basic spin.

She cracks her neck. “What?” she says at their stares.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Emerie demands.

She shrugs indifferently. “Eight years of ballet. Push-up challenges with Cassian.”

The instructor, an overly energetic Australian woman, comes up just then and claps Nesta on the shoulder, making her jump. “That was beautiful,” she praises. “Really, you have the balance of a cat. What’s your name again?”

Nesta introduces herself obediently, and Gwyn and Emerie follow.

The instructor nods. “In that case, Nesta, you keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t worry about your upper body strength yet, it’ll come around with time. You, the redhead,” she addresses Gwyn.

Gwyn straightens.

“I’ve never seen someone with your height and grace at the same time,” the instructor says. Gwyn beams with pride. “Unfortunately,” she continues, “I’ve also never seen someone so prone to hurting themselves on the pole.” Gwyn hangs her head.

“And the pretty girl.” She turns to Emerie last, who looks like she already knows what she’s about to hear. “Well, we can’t all be naturals.” The instructor grins broadly. “Feel free to keep using the poles after class is over.” She nods to their group and moves on to some other students.

Emerie sticks her tongue out and groans. “My tights keep giving me wedgies on the pole.”

“This was your idea,” Nesta reminds her as she reaches for her water bottle.

“Yet you’re the only one reaping the benefits,” Gwyn grumbles. “You never told us you had the body of a dancer and the balance of a gazelle.”

“Cat,” Emerie corrects.

“Guys,” Nesta says firmly. “This class is important for all of us. We won’t look this good,” she gestures to all their bodies, “forever. Gwyn is already pushing thirty.”

Gwyn’s jaw drops. “I’m turning twenty-seven, not getting menopause.”

“Same thing,” Emerie mutters. Gwyn shoves her hard and goes to pack her gym bag, leaving Emerie dramatically rubbing her shoulder. Nesta follows after Gwyn while the rest of the class begins gathering their things, too.

“How’re you feeling?” she mutters lowly as Gwyn packs. They haven’t brought up the conversation in Gwyn’s car since it took place, but Gwyn seems returned to her usual self now, if not even sunnier.

Gwyn’s lips twitch up as she glances sidelong at Nesta. “Perfect,” she says smoothly. “I can’t even remember what I was so upset about.”

Nesta is glad, even though she knows the nightmare isn’t gone. Knows that anytime from the next hour to the next year, it could reappear in full force and drag Gwyn down again. But hopefully it won’t hit as hard as it did before, now that Gwyn has her.

After class, they all pile up in Emerie’s car, a handed-down hunk of metal which Emerie insists on calling “vintage”. Gwyn sticks her head between the driver and passenger seat from the back and wrinkles her nose. “Get me home quick, it smells like a dead banana back here.”

“Oh, is that where I left it?” Emerie starts to turn around, but Nesta stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “I need a shower and a nap,” she pleads. “Let’s go.”

Emerie begrudgingly assents, sticking the key in the ignition and turning it. Nothing happens.

Frowning, she turns it again, but the engine doesn’t so much as choke. She slaps the dashboard like it’ll bring her car to life.

“Amazing,” Nesta mutters.

***

Cassian has imagined more times than he’d like to admit what it would be like when Nesta finally introduced him to her friends, but he never imagined this.

Three tired and hungry girls sit in his truck, alternating between arguing and laughing with each other. He can’t keep up with all of their personalities at once, so he just hones in on Nesta while he drives. Nesta, who Cassian has never seen so carefree or witty with people other than himself before. It both fascinates him and freaks him out, the realization that there’s so much to Nesta he doesn’t know yet. It gives him all the more excuse to spend the next several years getting to know her.

“Don’t tell me what to do with my car,” the dark-haired girl, Emerie, is snapping from the backseat. “Mr. Madani,” she abruptly says, sticking her head forward to look him in the face. Cassian nearly jumps. “Do you know how to change a car battery?”

Nesta shoves Emerie’s face back through the gap between seats from where she sits in the front. “You don’t need a battery change, you need a lifestyle change,” she says. “And don’t call my boyfriend by his last name, he’s not a middle-aged dad.”

Cassian bites back a laugh at that.

“Oh, but if I’m twenty-seven, I’m on the brink of menopause,” Gwyneth speaks up.

“Really?” Cassian says, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror for the first time all drive. “You’re the same age as me?”

He remembers what Nesta told him about Gwyn’s discomfort around men, so he tries to keep his tone casual, distant. If he scares Nesta’s friend away, he’ll never forgive himself.

Gwyn looks stunned to be directly addressed by him, seeming to lose all her sass. “Uh...my birthday’s in a few days,” she says, suddenly awkward.

“That’s right,” Emerie interjects eagerly. “We’re having a rager.”

“We’re having a sleepover,” Nesta corrects. She throws Cassian an exasperated look. “Drive faster, will you? I can’t share a car with these girls any longer.”

“Don’t be fucking rude.” Gwyn flicks a hair tie at Nesta, making her cry out.

Cassian does not understand this dynamic at all, so he shuts up and does as he’s told.

After Gwyn and Emerie have been safely dropped off, Cassian throws his keys into the bowl at the cabin entrance and tosses off his shoes. “I think I finally know what it’s like to be you,” he tells Nesta as they meet the warmth of the house.

“What do you mean?” She unzips her windbreaker, revealing the form-fitting athleticwear beneath. God, he hasn’t even gotten a chance to look at her since he picked her up.

He redirects his eyes to her face. “You know,” he says. “On the outside looking in. I feel drained.”

Her lips quirk up as she hangs up her jacket. “That scared of a couple of girls, huh?”

“They’re your friends. I don’t know what else I expected.” He follows Nesta deeper into the living room, kicking at the ground. “So…” he trails casually. “How was class?”

Nesta responds by rolling her eyes. “I was wondering how long you’d take to crack.”

“What do you mean?” he says, indignant.

“I mean…” She steps up to him and takes his hands, dragging them up her waist to settle on the bare skin beneath her black crop top. “You haven’t said a word about pole-dancing since I told you I was starting it. One would almost think it didn’t affect you at all, and yet,” she tilts her head, “I get the feeling you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Especially at night, when you’re alone.”

Cassian’s breath goes thin. She knows him too well.

“Cunning witch,” he breathes. Nesta’s smile is slow and winning, which he takes as invitation to slip his hands around her back and pull her in. Her chest is pressed flush against his.

She stares at his mouth, the place she always stares when her mind is five steps ahead of reality. Like she’s already imagining how he’ll take her. “Dreaming about a private performance, are you?”

“Hopefully not right now,” a low voice says from above them.

Nesta jumps, spinning around in Cassian’s arms, but Cassian just closes his eyes and sighs. He opens them to find Azriel sitting in the reading nook that overlooks the living room, various work reports scattered about him.

“Have you been there this whole time?” Nesta demands.

“Unfortunately,” Azriel says at the same time Cassian grumbles, “Of course he has.” Remaining unnoticed is all his brother is good for.

Nesta sighs and rubs her eyes, the mood effectively killed. “I need a break.”

Cassian considers going up to Az and pushing him over the second floor railing as Nesta wiggles out of his arms and heads for the stairs. “And a back massage,” she calls over her shoulder.

“I’ll be right there,” Cassian tells her. But he waits to hear their bedroom door click shut before he also goes upstairs, not towards Nesta but to the reading nook.

“Hey, bro?” He tries to sound lighthearted as he approaches Az. “Do you mind not cockblocking me in my own house?”

Az doesn’t look up from the report he’s reading, flipping a page. “It’s rude to be horny in public spaces.”

“My house is not a public space,” Cassian growls, struggling to keep his temper. “Before you moved in, it was a very, very private space.” For him and Nesta alone, he doesn’t add.

Azriel finally looks up, question in his eyes. “So what?” he says. “You want me to leave?”

Never, is the automatic assurance that nearly comes out of Cassian’s mouth. Of course he’d never want his brother gone, especially when he’s clearly going through… something. But he bites down on the word and takes a seat in the chair across from Az. “I want to know how long you’re planning on staying. For real. You can run from your problems as much as you want, but that doesn’t mean I can provide you with a hiding place forever.”

“Wow.” Azriel’s eyes widen in mock-disbelief and he clasps a hand to his chest. “So cold, brother. I think you caught some of your girlfriend’s iciness.”

Cassian narrows his eyes seriously at Az. “Or maybe I’m being the only adult here.” Cassian now has responsibilities to a person who isn’t part of his traditional inner circle. A person he can see himself making long-term plans with, a person he plans on keeping around. It changes the course of his future in a way that the rest of his family probably haven’t realized yet.

Though maybe Azriel does realize it, because he looks away and murmurs, “No need to rub it in.”

For the thousandth time that month, Cassian wonders what caused Azriel to run away from Velaris. It’s a secret Az refuses to share with even him.

“I’m trying,” Azriel says. His words are slow, unsure. “I’m trying to create space between me and that city, but I’m going to need more time. I can’t tell you how long it’ll take until I can go back. But if you can’t keep me here, I’ll find someplace else to stay.” He shrugs. “It’s not that hard.”

Cassian exhales, feeling sympathy twist deep in his chest for his best friend—and he doesn’t even know what the sympathy is for. “Then take your time,” he says sincerely. “Stay here forever if you want. We can Photoshop you into all our pictures. But don’t think I’m gonna make it easy on you,” he warns.

“You already don’t make it easy on me,” Az mutters. “I can hear you and Nesta fucking all the time.”

“First, don’t ever talk about Nesta and fucking in the same sentence ever again.”

Az blinks in surprise, likely remembering the way they would talk about their hookups before Nesta came into the picture. “Damn, she’s got you bad.”

“Second,” Cassian continues, “I will not hesitate to make you sleep outside if you get on my or Nesta’s nerves.”

“With that attitude, I’ll be out of here by next week,” Az snorts. He crosses his feet and picks up his report again, clearly done with this conversation.

Seeing no hope in rubbing the point in further, Cassian leaves Azriel to his work.

***

Nesta is stripped down to her underwear and getting ready to shower when she notices a missed call from Elain on her phone.

She hesitates at her sister’s name on the screen, wondering what could possibly have encouraged Elain to call while Nesta was at dance class. What happened to the times that Nesta could go weeks without a single person checking up on her?

Looking toward the bedroom door as if Cassian will come in and save her from having to call Elain back, she waits a solid minute before giving up.

Elain picks up on the first ring. “I’m surprised you called back,” she greets.

“I’m full of surprises these days.” Nesta settles onto the bed. “What did you want?” She doubts Elain called just for a check-in, not with the stagnant bitterness that’s been between them lately.

“To have a normal conversation with my sister for once.”

Nesta tries not to roll her eyes all the way back into her head, even though no one is around to see her. “Go on and have it then.”

“I heard from Rhys that Azriel moved into Cassian’s place,” Elain says in her honey-sweet voice. “I’ve been meaning to ask how that’s going for you.”

Nesta’s brow furrows at that voice, the one that Elain uses whenever she wants to give her best first impression—or wants to pry something out of someone. “It’s going fine,” she says flatly. “Az and I get along great.”

That’s a bit of an exaggeration, but…

“You’re calling him Az now?” Nesta can hear the way Elain tries to tamp down on her curiosity, but she’s never been as good at affecting apathy as Nesta is.

“Yeah,” she answers. “Why? Do you miss him?”

Elain nearly chokes over the line. “Why—why would you say that?”

“I thought you guys were friendly,” Nesta says, leaning back into the pillows. “Doesn’t everyone miss him back in Velaris?”

“Oh.” The relief in Elain’s voice is palpable, piquing Nesta’s curiosity. “Yeah, we miss him.” She clears her throat. “He left without telling anybody.”

Nesta fiddles with the band of her panties. “You don’t know why he left either?”

Elain is silent for several moments. “No.” Her answer is quiet, truthful. “I don’t know.” She adds, “Keep an eye on him, will you? I would do it myself, but I’ve been iced out.”

Nesta finds this very suspicious. She can’t bring herself to be interested enough to keep snooping, however, not as the door creaks open and Cassian enters the room. “Will do,” she promises Elain, and makes a quick goodbye. When she hangs up, Cassian asks, “Who was it?”

“Elain.” Nesta frowns at her phone. She wonders if someone like Cassian would be better at reading between the lines of the strange conversation she just had. Maybe he could put his finger on the mysterious relationship between her sister and his brother. But since there are no creeks nearby for Azriel to be shoved into, and it isn’t any of Nesta’s business either way, she decides to give him and Elain time to sort their own shit out.

“What did she want?”

Nesta refocuses on Cassian, who leans against the door appreciating her half-naked form stretched out before him. Without words, she holds her arms open.

He shoves off the door and approaches her on the bed, letting her envelop him into a hug. It isn’t the warmest or most comforting hug, and her arms are stiff as stone, but he melts into her either way. There’s a weariness in his broad shoulders that spikes concern in her.

When Cassian pulls away, she traps his face in her hands and scans it closely for answers. “What’s wrong with you?” she asks. “You fell asleep early during the last two movies we watched and you’re half-asleep now.”

“What are you talking about?” He throws his signature smile her way, but it lacks alertness. “Do I look like there’s anything wrong with me?”

“You tell me.” Nesta shifts so she can slide her hand over the smooth plane of his back, resting her palm on the warm spot between his shoulder blades. It’s her best imitation of a soothing gesture, and it makes Cassian’s lips quirk up lightly.

He hangs his head and sighs. “Is it possible to have growing pains at my age?”

Nesta is confused. “Like, physically?”

“No,” he says. “Just… growing up.”

“I don’t think we ever stop growing up,” she answers honestly. Maybe she’s biased because a part of her is still trapped in that childlike state, and she has more growing to do than most people. “I think it hurts a little every time we have to shift and become someone older. What’s hurting you now?”

Her hand slides up to the nape of Cassian’s neck, gently massaging the muscles there. His head droops even more under her touch. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that when I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” he huffs. But he doesn’t look very inclined to argue.

Nesta squeezes the back of his neck. “I can be the stable one, too, you know. I can take care of you.” She should’ve defeated this misconception sooner.

“That’s not what I meant,” Cassian says, shaking his head. “I meant that I promised you a massage.”

Oh. She nearly forgot about that. “If you tell me what growing pains you’re having, I’ll let you join me in the shower,” she promises. “You can do whatever you want there.”

He looks up at that, dragging his gaze over her mostly-bare figure, and Nesta knows she’s won. “Tell me,” she demands one final time.

Cassian inspects her face, likely deciding how much he should reveal or not. “I’ve been thinking about the future,” he finally says. “It was never something I cared much about before, but now it keeps me up at night.”

Nesta is slow to realize—he’s talking about their future. “You really never thought about the future before?” she asks. At one point in time, Nesta had her life planned out to the age of forty. Her plans hadn’t included this, though.

Cassian shakes his head. “There was nothing for me to think about.”

She runs soothing fingers across his scalp, her heart rate unexpectedly picking up a beat. “And what do you think about now?”

Hazel eyes meet hers with wariness. “Stupid stuff,” he says. “Cars, taxes, insurance.”

At the look on her face, he pulls away from the hand that’s gone still on his neck. “Okay, let’s get you in the shower before I scare you away for good.”

Nesta feels herself being scooped into Cassian’s arms, but she doesn’t quite register it. It’s not until they’re in the bathroom that she remembers words. “I’m not scared,” she says from the cradle of his arms. “I was just surprised.”

Regaining her senses, she squirms until Cassian puts her down on the floor. She straightens. “I’ve never... pondered on the small things like that.”

Except they aren’t really small or stupid, are they? They’re big, inevitable facets of sharing a life with someone. She clears her throat. “The way we live now is already so nice. I guess I forgot things won’t be like this forever.”

Which isn’t the most assuring thing to say from the way Cassian’s face becomes carefully still. But in a blink he’s smiling again, his hands going to unclip her bra. “Don’t worry yourself with that shit,” he chuckles. “I was only dreaming.”

Guilt turns Nesta’s stomach into sludge. She made Cassian share what was weighing on him only for her to brush it off. She wants to talk through it with him until he’s giving her a real smile, but she doesn’t know where to start or what to say. So she lets her bra drop to the floor and steps close to wrap her arms around him.

His breath hitches against her ear, and one of his broad hands comes up to rest on her bare back. “Two hugs in one day?” he says, his amusement covering up some deeper emotion. “I’m either doing something right or doing something very wrong.”

“No. I’m just feeling appreciative.” Her hand returns to that space between his shoulder blades, the spot that seems to disarm him, and pats him there. She gives herself a solid moment to luxuriate in the warmth and size and hard strength of him before saying, “Get undressed, will you?”

One of his hands squeezes her butt. “You need to get off me first.”

She hums in agreement but doesn’t move—hoping he can feel everything she doesn’t know how to tell him.

***

a/n: i bought my eid dress and it’s so pretty yall 🥺

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes

#ncssianwrites #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #a favor #nessian fic #nessian au

[cherrybracelets]

I’ll Take You On

bucky barnes x f. reader

18+ / drinking mentions, heavy smut (unprotected s*x, oral s*x (m receiving) )

inspired by: ill take you on by brockhampton 

For your whole childhood, as long as you could remember, you wanted to be a veterinarian. You had loved animals, and couldn’t imagine a better way to spend your days than caring for them. But, as you grew up and the harsh realities of adulthood and capitalism dawned upon you, your dream was becoming less likely. 

Vet school was way over you and your mom’s budget. It was just the two of you, and she wasn’t exactly bringing in buckets of cash at her teaching job. So, you had to get a bit more realistic. 

After graduation college with a business degree, you set forth into the world hoping for a lifetime of amazing opportunities. But, a job didn’t come as easy as you’d hoped, and you were getting desperate. So desperate, in fact, that you called your estranged father begging for a job. 

Your father left your mom when you were nine. You didn’t care much, as he wasn’t around a lot anyways. He was some big shot lawyer in Miami, and he was always traveling for work. It was honestly easier on you and your mom once he left. He didn’t make much an effort to connect with you after that, only calling every few months and sending wads of cash on Holidays, hoping to make up for his absence. 

So, as you pushed aside your pride to call and ask for his help, it was really the least he could do. And lucky for you, his firm’s office manager had just quit. It didn’t sound like an incredibly difficult job and the pay was beyond what you wanted. Your father was most likely overcompensating with the salary. But he could afford it. 

He also promised you a place to live, rent free. He owned multiple properties around the city, most of which he never used. It was kind of the perfect situation. A little suspiciously perfect. 

But there were no other options. You needed a job and he desperately needed to feel like he wasn’t the worst father in the world. It was a win-win for both of you. 

And obviously, Miami wasn’t the worst place you could be. You didn’t know anyone besides your father, but you didn’t care. The idea of relaxing on a beach alone soothed you way more than a group of screaming drunk girls. 

After a week of settling into your apartment and the city, it was finally time to start your new job. You had met up with your father multiple times already, getting prepared for the job and visiting a few of his favorite spots around the city. He was actually really kind, but it was slightly uncomfortable talking to him.

You walked into his office on your first day, shaking in nerves as you prepared to meet your new coworkers. Would they treat you kindly, or did they catch up on the obvious nepotism that was lingering through this entire situation? 

But your fears were quickly buried over as his staff welcomed you with open arms, talking highly of you and about how “proud” your father was to have you working here. You rolled your eyes at his obvious attempt to show a warmer side to his staff, but you let it slide. You had a job and place to live because of him, so it was the least you could do. 

You spent the morning learning the phone and computer system, battling intrusive questions from everyone in the office and trying to learn how to work the damn coffee machine. But all in all, it wasn’t a bad job. 

You never really knew what kind of law your father practiced, and maybe that was something you should’ve asked before, so you were a little less shocked. His clients were mega rich and famous. And your father was just mega rich. It kind of pissed you off, seeing how well he lived and how you and your mom never saw a penny of it. Part of you wanted to scream at him, break all the expensive glasses in his office and storm out. But what was the point? Caring about him was more energy than it was worth. 

Your father met with his clients throughout the day, and part of your job was welcoming them to the office, getting them something to drink, and telling your father when they arrive. And today, at 2:12 PM, twelve minutes late for his appointment, he walked in. 

“James Barnes. I’m here to see Henry,” he commanded, not bothering to look up from his cell phone and pay you an ounce of attention. 

“Of course. Can I get you anything to drink?” You asked kindly, trying to keep your voice from quivering. He stood towering over you, his large frame blocking the light above, casting a shadow over your desk. He was one of the most beautiful and intimidating people you’d ever seen. You felt like you were going to choke if he looked directly at you. 

But he didn’t. He walked cooly over to the sofa in the waiting area and sat down, mumbling “Scotch…”. 

You stood up and walked away quickly, desperately trying to catch your breath. You slipped quietly into your father's office, smiling as you closed the door behind you. 

“James Barnes is here. And he mentioned something about scotch, which I’m not sure if I’m authorized to give…” 

Your father chuckled and stood up, walking over to a small bar cart in his office and pouring two drinks. 

“Everyone calls him Bucky. He’s a good friend. Come on, i’ll introduce you.” 

You followed behind your father in a daze, not ready to face him, not ready for his eyes to meet yours. Your skin felt hot and the room was spinning as your head, his loud voice greeting your father in excitement. 

“Bucky! It’s been too long!” Your father yelled, handing him a drink and smiling sheepishly. 

“Yeah, I had to be in New York a bit longer than I thought,” he trailed off, taking a sip of his drink. You were hiding behind your father, hoping he would forget about you and you could sneak away without a word. But of course you wouldn’t get away that easily. 

“Bucky, I have to introduce you to my daughter. Today is her first day working here! (Y/N), come introduce yourself,” he instructed, turning towards you and ushering you in closer to Bucky. 

“(Y/N)...” he whispered, the sound of your name in his mouth making your whole body light up. You had never heard it sound so beautiful before. He reached his hand out towards you, and you grabbed it lightly. His hands were soft and cold, shocking your skin as he touched you. As you shook hands, he leaned towards you, the smell of mint and tobacco pouring from his skin. 

“Why don’t we head to your office, Henry,” he frowned, dropping your hand and turning towards your father. You brought your hand back to your side, confused and dizzy as you found your seat. 

“Can… can I get you anything, Henry?” You stuttered, realizing awkwardly that this was the first time you’d addressed him, and you didn’t say dad. There was an uncomfortable silence between the two of you, and you cleared your throat awkwardly. 

“Sorry, thought that would be more professional. Totally awkward, right?” You laughed, trying to ease the tension. You didn’t think your father would care if you called him Henry, but maybe he wanted you to play into the sweet daughter character at work. 

“No, sweetheart, this is actually a private meeting. I don’t want any interruptions, unless someone’s dead. Okay?” He said in a serious tone, pushing aside any awkwardness. He hadn’t said this with any other clients he’s seen today, so it gave you an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach. 

You turned towards Bucky, looking for some sign of a joke with him. But his face was carved of stone, his eyes locked on your father as if he expected Henry’s devout secrecy for any conversation they had. 

The two walked quietly into his office and shut the door, leaving the image of him to only exist in your mind. You were curious who exactly this beautiful  mystery was, so you did what you always did. Googled him. 

You searched for a while, under both of the names he went by. But nothing. You couldn’t find him anywhere. Nothing on Facebook, Linkedin was empty, Twitter and Instagram were farfetched. It was like he didn’t exist. You even unblocked your father on facebook to stalk his friends and see if he existed there, but nothing. He was a ghost. 

You got frustrated after a while, sitting back angrily in your chair, realizing you had three voicemails. Yikes, you were not very good at this job. 

You finished all your work quickly, hoping it would distract you from him.

 They spent the next two hours locked away in your fathers office, leaving you to wilt away in boredom. It only took about 30 minutes to catch up on calls and emails, and then all you could do was scroll aimlessly on your phone hoping someone would bother you. 

But everyone seemed very quiet here. Beyond the initial excitement of meeting you in the morning, everyone stayed at their desks all day, focused intently on their own work. It was one of the quietest offices you’d ever been in. Maybe they were just trying to show off on your first day, or trying not to bother you… but it was odd. 

At 4:15, your father loudly exited his office, Bucky following behind. He was smiling, something you hadn’t seen before. It was almost god-like, his perfect smile, radiating warmth and happiness. You wanted to be close to him again, missing the sweet smell of his lips…

“(Y/N), I have a request…” your father interrupted your daydreaming, making you jump as you stood up to help him. 

“What’s up?” You asked casually, refusing to take your eyes off Bucky. 

“Bucky and I are grabbing dinner tonight, and we’d love for you to join us,” he said quickly, Bucky finally turning towards you and meeting your glance. 

“You… want me to come?” You asked quietly, Bucky still staring at you. He smirked slightly as you spoke, but refused to break your gaze. 

“Well, Bucky would really love to get to know my daughter. You know how… proud I am of you. The light of my life!” He said, smiling intensely at you. You finally looked away from Bucky and towards your father as he spoke. 

It was disgusting, the way your father was obviously using a fake relationship with you to get in good with his clients and employees. But you would’ve done anything to see Bucky again. So you agreed reluctantly, wondering why a man like Bucky would care about his lawyer's daughter… 

“We’re going to a nice place so… dress up,” your father instructed, eyeing your clothes. You had noticed you were the least dressed up at the office. 

“Um… I don’t really have a nice dress…” you whispered quietly, wondering how “nice” you needed to dress…

Your father pulled out his wallet, handing you a thick black AmEx card. 

“I’ll have my driver take you downtown to some shops. Get whatever you want,” he instructed, pushing the card in your hand. 

You didn’t refuse, why would you? Free shopping spree and dinner with some hot mystery man sounded like your perfect day. 

You spent the next few hours in and out of shops, spending more money than your father most likely anticipated. But you needed a new wardrobe anyways, most of your old clothes were too warm to wear here. 

You picked out a gorgeous light blue silk dress and some strappy white heels to match. You were maybe a little ‘under’ dressed for dinner with your father, but all you could focus on was Bucky. You felt high whenever he crossed your mind, your body unable to focus on anything except the feel of his cool skin touching yours.

By the time you were done shopping, it was almost time to meet them at dinner. The driver promised to bring the rest of your bags home and drop you right off at the restaurant. It was all the way across town, and you’d most likely still be late even if you left now. So you hopped in the car quickly, your new outfit looking perfect. 

The drive to the restaurant took just as long as the driver said it would- maybe even longer. You were getting impatient as the time went by, wondering if he was thinking about you the way you were thinking of him. 

It was unlikely. You still weren’t sure who exactly he was, but you knew he didn’t spend his time with ordinary girls. 

But why did he want you to come to dinner? It was odd of him to take such an interest in you. None of your fathers other clients seemed to look twice in your direction. But then again, Bucky was the only one that required privacy. 

As you got lost in your thoughts, your mind tumbling through expectations and excitement, your driver pulled swiftly up to the front entrance of Paterro’s. 

Upon walking through the doors, you were taken aback by the overwhelming fanciness of this restaurant. Your father definitely undersold how nice it was. You felt slightly underdressed, but no one seemed to look twice at you. You were used to not turning heads, being able to walk through a crowd without notice. 

That changed when you got to your table. Your father wasn’t there, most likely in the bathroom or at the bar. It was just him, looking just as beautiful as you pictured he would. 

He wore a navy blue suit that hugged his skin tightly and left very little of his body up for imagination. As you walked towards him, his head lifted from the table and his eyes lingered towards your body. He gave you a soft smile, but he was obviously distracted by how much of you he was seeing. 

“Your… Henry ran to grab a few cigars for later…” he mumbled, standing up awkwardly and pulling out a chair for you. 

“Thank you…” you whispered, sitting shakily down in the chair as he pushed you in towards the table. 

You were in between Bucky and your father’s seat, but much closer to Bucky. Your father came back less than 30 seconds later, which was ideal, since you couldn’t think of a single word to say to Bucky. 

Your father greeted you kindly, a wide smile that read as ‘You better be good tonight.’ It clearly wasn’t normal for him to have guests attend his business dinners. He seemed just as put off as you did, but the two of you kept your thoughts to yourselves and made small talk. 

“This is one of my favorite restaurants, (Y/N),” your father smiled, handing you a menu to you. 

“I’m excited to be here. Thank you for having me,” you responded kindly. 

Bucky and your father started talking about business, leaving you to your own thoughts as you scoured the menu. The prices were insane, but obviously you weren’t footing the bill. You had half a mind to order the most expensive thing on the menu, for the hell of it, but you settled on a nice glass of red wine and pasta. 

You weren’t included in much of the conversation, wondering why exactly you were invited in the first place. It seemed that the two of them barely even knew you were there. You sipped at your wine angrily, wondering how you could get Bucky’s attention. 

It was then when you decided to make one of the riskiest decisions of your entire life. But, high risk, high reward, right? 

Bucky cracked a joke with your father, and you laughed loudly and girlishly, forcing him to draw his eyes towards you. You then gently placed your hand on his knee, dragging your fingertips on his thigh lightly as you smiled at him. For a second, you forgot your father was even there, lost in the delight of finally having your hands on Bucky. 

But you quickly drew your hand back, afraid of how far you’d go if you didn’t stop. Luckily your father didn’t seem to notice, or care. But Bucky did. 

In fact, he was glaring at you. His fists were clenched on the table, his breath shaky and his stared. His face started to relax and he looked away, a slight smirk on his face as he grabbed his drink and gulped it. 

“I have to run and make a quick phone call,” Bucky said abruptly, not waiting for a response before leaving the table. 

You turned awkwardly to your father, not sure what to say to him at this moment. Thankful for you, he clearly felt the same, and buried himself in his phone. That was the nice thing about your father, he never forced you to talk. 

Bucky was back quicker than you’d expected, looking relieved as he sat down. 

“Sorry about that,” he smiled, clearing his throat. “Where were we?” 

The three of you started chatting again, a feat that only lasted about five minutes, before another interruption. Your father’s phone started ringing loudly, much to your embarrassment. 

“One sec,” he whispered, jumping out of his chair and answering in a rush. 

Your heart dropped as you realized you were alone with him for the first time. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him after you nearly groped him under the table. You felt a lump in your throat as you stared intently at your fathers empty chair. 

“Do you wanna talk about what the hell you’re doing?” Bucky growled at you, making you finally turn your head and face him head on. 

“I don’t know what you mean…” you whispered innocently. 

“Oh, shut the hell up. I’m not gonna fall for your sweet girl act. Your father might, but I see right through it…” He snickered, taking a large sip from his third drink of the evening. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve done something to upset you, James.” You could see him cringe at the sound of that name. You couldn’t help but to get under his skin. Something about him so angry made it hotter. 

“Listen, if you wanna fuck me, just say it. I’m not here for all these little games.” 

“You truly think every girl in the entire universe wants to have sex with you? Seems like somebody has a little ego problem,” you retorted, rolling your eyes and looking away. 

“Oh, baby,” he laughed, touching your cheek lightly with his thumb. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t get under this table and suck my cock if you could?” 

The thought of your mouth around him made you quiver, which was very evident to Bucky. He laughed coyly, before tightly gripping your chin. He brushed his thumb lightly over your lips, your body aching at his touch. 

He dropped his hand quickly as your father approached the table, looking distraught. 

“I’m so sorry guys... My client just called, major emergency. I’m gonna have to run… Bucky, can you make sure (Y/N) get’s home safe? I’m gonna have to take my car…” 

Bucky chuckled quietly and nodded at your father, enjoying the obvious win. 

“I’ll take good care of her, man.”

Your father thanked Bucky, throwing his credit card to you for dinner and running off in a hurry. You felt sick to your stomach, all the red wine dancing around in your body. You felt Bucky’s hand on your thigh, rubbing circles on your skin. 

“You ready to go?” He winked, tilting his head for an answer. You could only nod, unable to think of any words to say. 

Bucky tossed three one-hundred dollar bills down on the table, taking them from a large wad of cash hidden in his jacket. You felt dizzy at the sight of all the money, wondering where it could possibly be coming from. 

The valet pulled Bucky’s car around, which was obviously something beautiful and fancy and nauseatingly expensive. He opened the passenger door for you, helping you up into the seat. He leaned towards you after you were sitting, pulling your face to his. He kissed you intensely, not giving you a second to think, or breathe. You melted into him, allowing his body to do whatever he wanted. 

But he quickly broke away, closing the door and getting in the driver seat. He didn’t speak to you the rest of the ride, just casually glancing in your direction every few minutes. You wondered if you should tell him where you lived, or if he already knew. But you quickly realized you weren’t going home.

You pulled up to a large white house on the beach. The gates opened promptly as you arrived. They closed quickly behind you, making you finally realize the intensity of the situation. You were here now, locked inside, with a complete stranger. A very, very hot stranger. 

Bucky opened the door for you, clearly picking up your awe at the size of the house. 

“I’m just renting it. I don’t usually stay in one place too long…” he explained, a hint of sadness in his voice. 

“What exactly do you do?” You asked, instantly regretting it as you noticed the distaste in his voice. 

“You don’t need to know that, yet,” he snapped, emphasizing the word ‘yet’. What the hell did that mean? 

He ushered you through the front door, offering you a glass of wine as you entered. You accepted happily, staring at his wide wine collection that was much nicer than the box sitting in your fridge. 

You sat down on his couch, sinking into the soft cushions, realizing just then how tipsy you were. As he walked back towards you with your drinks, you felt a wave of excitement and spontaneity wash over you. Fuck wine, man. The worst and horniest decisions you ever made were because of wine. 

Bucky set your drinks done and you didn’t waste any time. You jumped up towards him, pushing your lips onto his and dragging your hands down his body. He didn’t fight you, unbuckling his pants quickly. He began kissing your neck, pulling down the straps of your dress. You hadn’t worn a bra, giving his lips easy access to your breasts. He sucked your nipples lightly, grazing his teeth. 

You pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a perfectly sculpted body that at this point, you had expected. You brought your hand down to his dick, already hard and poking out through his boxers. You pushed him off of you as you got down to your knees, removing his boxers and taking his length into your mouth. 

You flicked your tongue across his tip, making him shake under you. He grabbed the back of your head and pushed himself deeper into you, hitting the back of your throat. He moved in and out of your mouth, his hand holding your hair out of the way. 

Finally he pulled out of your mouth, beckoning you to stand up. You did as you were told, getting off your knees and following him to the catch. He sat down and dragged you onto his lap, feeling his cock under you. He kissed you for a while, but you never got bored. You could’ve kissed him forever. 

But you felt him twitching beneath you, begging to be inside. You positioned him to your opening and slid down gently, adjusting to his size. He moaned slightly, throwing his head back as he went in. 

“Don’t move for a second…” he commanded, sitting up and taking your face. He was inside of you, not moving, just holding you. 

“You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen,” he whispered, the scotch spilling from his breath. He didn’t give you time to respond before he grabbed your hips and began to rock you on him.

You let him move you for a few minutes before you started moving yourself. You felt the overwhelming rush of pleasure take over as you got close to cumming, speeding up your motions. 

“Shit…” you squealed, riding out your high as he kissed your neck. 

“Keep going… I wanna cum inside you…” He whispered into your ear, his lips tickling your jaw. 

You kept grinding your hips, moving faster as he got closer. He gripped onto your hips, digging his nails into your skin as you felt him twitch. You felt him fill you up with warmth, claiming you as his in that moment. The ultimate trophy of male dominance. 

You felt sick to your stomach after you got off, feeling him drip down your thighs as you rolled to the other side of the couch. The fun of the wine had worn off into an annoying headache, and you were dreadfully thirsty.

For some reason, you wondered if you had dreamed the whole thing, before you looked over and saw a naked Bucky, staring blissfully at you. 

“Can I get you anything?” He asked, kindly. 

“Water.” 

He smiled graciously, standing up and putting his boxers on. He walked down a hallway, presumably to the kitchen, and your fight or flight kicked in. You quickly grabbed your shoes and bag, bolting out the front door, unable to face him. 

You were greeted by the fresh air, happy to be back in the realm of normalcy. And then you remembered. The gate. 

“Fuck…” you exclaimed, dropping your shoes on the pavement. 

“I’ll take you home.” You heard, seeing an uncomfortable Bucky standing in the doorway. 

You got back in his car, staying uncomfortably silent as he started the engine and opened the gate. 

“Do you regret it?” He asked. His voice snapped through the quiet like a whip. It made you jump. 

“No. I don’t.” You answered. It was the truth. 

“Good. We’ll talk soon, then.” 

He dropped you off without another word, and you realized you never actually gave him your address. 

Who the hell was James Barnes? 

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #tfatws #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #james buchanan barnes

[hb-writes]

Like the Leaves

Summary: Set in the Little Lady Blinder universe in 1914. In the wake of Greta’s passing, Tommy’s little sister offers him some comfort.

Featuring: Tommy Shelby, Clara Shelby, Greta Jurossi (mentioned)

Clara had been awake for close to an hour, woken in the middle of the night by an unexplainable bit of strain clenching her chest, a distinct tugging and compression somehow working at her heart at the very same time. She’d experienced it before, a slight twinge, a bit of tenderness she’d come to understand as a warning that something wasn’t quite right.

Finn snored heavily in the bed beside her, not at all noticing his sister’s anxious movement, so Clara knew it was late. And beyond that, silence had settled on the street below and throughout the house, a quiet that only came when the streets of Small Heath emptied and the cool evening wind died down, most people safe at home, tucked away in their warm beds. 

Well, silence had settled. And then Tommy came home, and once he had, there was a slammed door and a burst of short words followed by some stomping up the stairs before the silence returned.

Clara saw a bit of light through the open bedroom door, dim as it filtered down from the room at the end of the hall. Her brother had not stopped at their door on the way to his. It was his passing by without stopping that finally forced Clara up from the bed, spurred to action after close to an hour of looking up to the ceiling with nothing but her thoughts and the strain in her chest to occupy her. Tommy always looked in on them, always checked to be sure they were asleep, and sorted whatever it was keeping them up if they weren’t. 

Tommy’s room was just down the hall, only a few steps, and even at six years old, Clara had already mastered getting there while making the least bit of noise, able to avoid the creakier floorboards even in the limited light. 

She pushed open her brother’s half-closed door without knocking. 

“Just fuck off,” Tommy said at the intrusion, nearly adding on a desperate ‘alright?’. He was unable to in the end, so certain his voice would break on those two extra syllables, the strain already there in the slow but sharp words he’d already said.

Clara shuffled her feet. Most people would have done as he had said, would’ve left Tommy to himself, especially with that tone, those words, but Clara wasn’t most people, and even when her brother frightened her, he didn’t, and the same push and pull active in her chest was working on her feet, nudging her on towards her brother’s anguish while also holding her back from the anger. 

Sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, Tommy hadn’t even bothered to look up, assuming it was Polly coming in to make some attempt at comfort after he’d brushed her off downstairs, but it wasn’t Polly that had come to his door. Polly would have spoken by now, and in the quiet, Tommy found himself missing it, longing for the words and whatever comfort he’d just been so eager to shoo away. He glanced up, prompted by the lack of retreating steps and his sudden yearning, to see Clara, wide-eyed and frozen in the doorway. 

She was used to hearing bad words, and had heard just about every variation of the word “fuck” tumble from her brothers’ mouths, and Ada and Polly’s, too, but Clara wasn’t used to Tommy’s tone or his directing those types of words at her. She stared back at her brother, taking in his red-rimmed eyes and the unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, and Tommy felt like in just those three seconds, the kid had seen more of him, and knew more of him, than anyone else ever had. And that was saying something.

Because Tommy usually was himself with his little sister, and gave himself to her more completely than he did to anyone else, aside from maybe Greta, which was a different thing altogether, but there were still things Tommy liked to keep for himself. Grief and pain, for one. A six-year-old had no need to hold any of that for him. Clara would have a whole lifetime to collect her own.

Tommy took a deep breath, guilt seeping into his chest and swirling about with the grief that was already there, stretching him to exhaustion, everything in him tired and weary from holding it together, but the girl at his door, the duty he felt to her, and even the swirling guilt he felt for shouting at her was a reprieve from the grief, a welcome excuse to set even a portion of it aside. 

Tommy set the cigarette down on the nightstand before running a hand over his face and taking another breath to reset himself, clearing his throat to rid his voice of the hurt. 

“What is it, Clara?”

A nightmare, Tommy assumed, or a burning question, some grand moral dilemma his little sister couldn’t stifle or hold until the morning. It wasn’t beyond Clara Shelby to address that type of thing at three am. 

“I don’t know,” she answered, shoulders heaving in a shrug, and she placed her hand over her chest. “You know when something hurts right here and you can’t sleep?” 

“Come ‘ere,” Tommy answered, and Clara crossed the floor on bare feet, allowing him to pull her up onto his lap. 

Tommy slipped off his boots and leaned back against the headboard, taking Clara along with him, her head already resting against his chest by the time he settled.

“You and Finn were sleeping just fine when I got home,” he said, though he hadn’t known for sure, only knowing that the room had been quieter than the stomping of his feet as he’d gone by.

“How do you know?”

“Your door’s on the way to mine.”

“But you didn’t look,” Clara answered. “I was awake.”

“And why’s that?”

Clara shrugged again, absently playing with the buttons on Tommy’s shirt, the gentle cadence of their conversation soothing them both though Clara was still carefully studying her brother, a series of casual glances cast upwards whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. 

Polly was always saying how aware their Clara was, curious and perceptive and persistent just as he had always been. Clara and Tommy Shelby were far too much of those qualities for their own good was actually the sentiment Polly liked to portray, a bit of an insult wrapped in a compliment, because Polly was proud of her niece and nephew, even though those things were the source of her headaches more often than not. 

Tommy leaned his head back against the wall, looking up to the ceiling as Clara continued with her fiddling. He wouldn’t wish being like him or the depth of his feelings and thoughts and perceptions on anyone, but especially not on the little girl sitting with him now. 

“Is she okay, Tommy?” Clara mumbled.

“Is who okay?” he asked.

“Your Greta.”

Tommy could feel that Clara’s head was still resting against his chest, her fingers picking at his shirt button, so he let a single stubborn tear fall, his face turned towards the door so it didn’t fall on his sister’s head. 

She was uniquely perceptive for such a young child, something which Polly attributed to some wild, roaming heart she was always claiming for the two of them, but it still surprised Tommy when Clara picked up on something she had no business picking up on.

He hadn’t told her Greta was sick, had barely spoken of it to anyone except Polly, but he figured Clara had overheard something. She and Finn were always somewhere they were meant to be, hearing things not intended for their ears, and if she was calling her his Greta, a term of endearment Tommy couldn’t imagine his Clara willingly coming to on her own, she’d heard it first from Polly.

“No, Clara. No, she is not,” Tommy answered after a shaky breath and a pause.

Clara sat herself up, a determined frown on her face, a fresh wetness in her eyes threatening to spill on her face. She reached out and wiped away the tear on her brother’s cheek.

“No more tears, Tommy. She wouldn’t want you to be sad. She’s like the leaves now.”

It was the same sentiment they had repeated to the twins any time they’d asked about their mother’s death, some sentimental words he’d given them about people leaving, like leaves on autumn trees. 

And Tommy hadn’t even told her that Greta had died. 

Clara just knew. 

Eyes closed, Tommy shook his head, more in disbelief than anything else. He hadn’t wanted to smile, didn’t think he’d be able to, but at Clara’s words he couldn’t help himself. 

“You’re a good girl, Clara,” Tommy said. “A good girl who needs to get some rest.”

“But you still hurt?” she asked, resting her hand flat over Tommy’s heart. “Right here?”

Tommy nodded. “That’s why I need you to help me get some rest.”

“To heal the hurt?” 

Tommy nodded. “Can you do that?” he asked, his question rendered unnecessary by the fact that Clara had already gone for the end of the bed, retrieving the blanket left there and pulling it over them both before reaching across him to put out the light.

“You sleep now, Tommy. You need to rest.”

--

Little Lady Blinder Masterlist

--

🏷:

@beautycinders​ @buckybluebarnes @cecii22me @hannahrahan​@lovemissyhoneybee​ @marquelapage​ @midnight-dreams-23​ @mo-onstarrs​ ​@ohhersheybars​ @pollyrepents​ @unicorndetective22 ​

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #shelby!sister #shelby sister #tommy shelby #greta jurossi #clara shelby

[lithemochi]

⥇ scared of falling in love | draco malfoy. ™

↬ summary: destiny can transform someone with an empty past into one with emotion and affection.

↬ featuring: draco malfoy x fem!reader

↬ recommend song: radio by lana del ray, or ava by famy.

Draco never learned to love, always told that love was a sign of weakness. From a father that wants him to be a perfectionist. To a mother, that became absent. They deemed something that is worth showing affection unnecessary and ineffective. Until he saw you. You were new, a modest but attractive transfer student; in the same year as him. One day, you spun around in potions class to talk to Ron. Draco turned to tell something to Goyle when he locked eyes with you; the feelings manifested themselves.

There at that moment, his bitter expression grew softer and a light pink shade imprinted on his face. Those few seconds felt like hours, a magnificent millisecond that translated into an unforgettable interaction. The world paused, and everything seemed unreal. Your eyes painted an image of pureness, innocence, and most of all, beauty; that Draco could imagine in his mind.

After that incident, you kept appearing in Draco’s life. When going to class, the atmosphere, your aura, would illuminate and get rid of the dark cloud hanging over people’s heads. Or when visiting the Hog’s Head, awaiting his friends to show up, you’d walk in. The same smile that flourished on your face, copied and pasted onto his.

Lunch and dinner were his favorite time of the day. Draco would look at you from afar and admired your delicacy. The way your hair curls in a specific way; or when you’d tilt your head to the right when puzzled. His eyes would linger upon yours. The bags under them would be very noticeable. Some days, more than others. It induced to him you are a hard worker. Maybe someone that pulls all-nighters or maybe you’re very sleep-deprived.

He would also recognize patterns of yours. The way you covered the mole; one of your cheek; shielding it from society. It could be with makeup or a hand being there. His favorite habit of yours would be when your hair would get in the way and you’d blow it aside, making the hair flick in the opposite direction. His favorite element of you would be the freckles and beauty marks scattered around your face, creating a masterpiece.

Draco realized deep down he was a hopeless romantic, but he never revealed it. All those so-called emotions never stuck with him. He’s never cared about someone so much besides you. You are the light to his darkness. You are the queen of his kingdom. He would do everything to protect you and honor you. Nurture you, even though he never experienced it.

Whether or not it’s crucial to tell you right now; Draco knows it’ll all be worth it in the end.

The sound of laughter: the sweet sound that could be construed as a lullaby, soon interrupted his thoughts. He leans on the cement wall, head down, arms crossed at his chest. Something told him to look up. 

He did, and Draco made eye contact with you. The same notion of sympathy and hospitality filled his pallet. This time, he waved and smiled back; chuckling when realizing your face flustered. You wandered with delight, grinning.

Pansy nudges him. “Are you going to talk to her? Or do you think Blaise can take her for himself? I heard he asked her out-”

Draco ignored the comment and peeled himself off of the wall and away from the howling that his friends were making. He couldn’t grasp the idea of you being with someone else. Walking endlessly, trying to get his mind off of you. He made it to the astronomy tower, cold and windy on a Saturday evening.

why blaise, out of all people. why not me? i knew i should have asked her earlier! ; echoing the phrase in his mind. Draco created a sort of doubt in his head; reminding himself that what he’s doing is poor and uncalled for. As if a devil and an angel were hovering over his shoulder, he needed to do something. You have him wrapped around your finger without you even knowing. You were the only person who could make him feel this way. The only person who made him feel loved. Even though he didn’t know you personally, he knew the image of you and how you portrayed yourself. Which is the only thing that mattered.

Draco walks over and sits on the rear bench, parallel to the stair and the globe in the center.

He lies there constructing scenarios in him that would fit the situation that he is in; overthinking it.

Maybe I should just talk to her. I don’t know what I would say, should I be casual or should I go with a more flirty approach. She doesn’t even know who I am. How should I address myself “hi my name is Draco. I’ve been admiring you for the past seven months.” -no, that’s weird. Maybe just “hi my name is Draco, what’s yours.”

He shielded his eyes with his hand, his fingers grazing on the side of his eyebrow. He sweetly whispers “Oh Merlin, why can’t I say what I feel.”

“Draco?”

Quickly Draco got up and pulled out his wand. “Who’s there!” delivered in a forceful tone. Angry an emotion he knew how to express boiled inside. He wasn’t in fear of his life; felt as though something has invaded his privacy.

There, a figure stood in the corner, slowly walking towards him. Like any normal person, he backed up, hitting his back on the railing. With the wand positioned at the said person, he spoke again, yelling, “Who are you and why are you here?” He can make out two hands raised as the shadow came to light.

They spoke, enchantingly, “I finally found you.”

to be continued. heheheh

#draco #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco imagines #draco malfoy fic #draco fuckingmalfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco angst #draco fluff #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter x reader #draco drabble #draco oneshot #slytherin #draco x female reader #harry potter imagines #harry potter headcannon #Draco Malfoy