#I’ve drawn something very similar before but okay hear me out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

morganas-pendragons · 1 year

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Haven’t We Given Enough? | Joel Miller

Okay, so hear me out. I've known about this game for years but have been exclusively an Xbox kid since like 2004 so I've never had the opportunity to play it. I heard Pedro was cast as Joel and I was shocked that I actually knew the actors playing Joel and Ellie. Saw the trailer, watched the entire first game gameplay, and now I'm here.

Whoops.

I will say this though: I'm really bothered that I could find like nothing but hardcore smut in the tag for this character. I aim to change that. Enjoy some hurt/comfort!

@ironmandeficiency

This is meant for a fem!reader. There are themes of past pregnancy in this that may come back into play later (reader had and lost a child) so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, read at your own risk.

***

It’s remarkable how similar he is to the very thing you’ve thought him to be since you met. While Ellie is like a summer fire burning across empty, barren fields, Joel is the vengeful, unrelenting snow storm that threatens to pull you apart.

He becomes increasingly good at it the longer you know him. Those dexterous, strong fingers wrap around the rungs of your ribs and pull them apart until the fragile beating thing you call a heart is exposed.

That fragile beating thing has simply endured too much. It’s endured heartbreak, and loss, and pain, and it’s somehow still keeping you alive despite having lived through the beginning of the Outbreak and twenty years into it.

Sheer determination has kept you alive. Not love, not your little sister, just a culmination of all the things you’ve endured that have turned into anger.

It’s not like his anger though. Yours is calm. Methodical. Purposeful.

Joel Miller’s anger is exactly like him: Vengeful, unrelenting, terrifying. It’s only once you meet that your anger begins to temper down into something he has never quite known. Not in this life anyway.

Gentless. Compassion.

Peace.

And well, Joel Miller finds that the longer he knows you, the more he aches to learn what that really means.

It’s weird. You know it’s a weird habit, but you’ve been doing it since you were a little girl and have a difficult time not falling back into old habits. People have often accused you of being aloof. Bashful.

At the very least, people-watching is resourceful and educational. It really teaches you about what to expect from the ones you don’t quite know yet.

People watching was how you found yourself drawn to Joel Miller.

It started whenever Marlene sent Tess and Joel to smuggle the two of you out of the city. You were Ellie’s older sister - born before the Outbreak, almost fifteen years her senior - and her solely remaining blood family since your parents deaths. Your mother’s dying wish had been whispered into your ear with her final breath: Look after your sister.

So you did.

“I will be damned if you even think I’m not going to follow that girl,” You snarled, jabbing your thumb into Marlene’s chest. “That’s my sister. My blood. My promise. You will not take that away from me.”

The Boston QZ was, as to be expected, a literal hell. The only way that you and Ellie were going to survive was if you joined the ranks of the Fireflies. You did. You did, and it ruined you. Any remaining semblance of innocence that you had died years before.

You didn’t want to think about that. It was past, it was gone, just like that part of who you’d been at that point.

All gone. Just like the rest of the world.

Marlene knew better then to argue with a Williams. Where you lacked, Ellie made up for it. It was comical how a fourteen year old girl, in certain situations, had more diplomacy then you did.

She was the one who talked when Joel came into the room for the first time.

“Be careful with that one,” You warned afterward. Marlene snorted as both Williams sisters simultaneously crossed their arms over their chests and leaned into the counter as Joel left the room to confer with his partner. “He’s a storm.”

Ellie knew of your comparisons. She knew of your uncanny ability to read people, to see people, and she’d never doubted you. Not once.

“Funny. First time you told me this, you said I was a fire. If he’s a storm...” She nudged her head uncertainly in the direction Joel had left in. “Then what kind of storm is he?”

Your eyes flutter closed. You’d been able to gauge a lot just from those few minutes of conversation. “Winter,” You reply quietly. “One of those blizzards we got caught in the winter you turned four. Mom and Dad had us hunker down. We didn’t leave the bank we were in for well over a week. Stayed in the safe.” You pause. “If we had even threatened to step into that storm, we would’ve been obliterated. That’s the kind of storm Joel is. Unyielding, vengeful.”

“Your comparisons never fail to amaze me, kid,” Marlene commented. “You’re right on the nose. Watch out for Joel Miller.”

He’s nothing if not ruthless.

***

For the first couple of months you’re forced to travel across the country with Joel, you hate him. You hate how dismissive he is of you and you hate how he continues to act like dragging Ellie to the Fireflies who will then make the cure is the worst inconvenience he can possibly experience.

You hate him. You hate him so much because he seems to be able to see right through you. No one has done that since-

Not since him.

Ellie knows who he is. Joel doesn’t. He doesn’t ask why you sometimes wake up with a cry bubbling in the back of your throat, or why your hands always subconsciously drift toward your ring finger when there’s nothing there.

He also doesn’t ask why your hand is almost always lingering on your stomach when he sees you through the cracks in the doors of the rooms you and Ellie sleep in.

He doesn’t ask.

So you don’t tell.

***

You remember the first time he ever saved you from a clicker on your way through Pittsburgh with Joel, Henry, Ellie and Sam. It’s another one of those instances where you can recall things most other people can't: the details people cannot be bothered to remember.

The smell of the tunnel. Damp. Dark. The smell of infected wafting through your nose, a familiar smell now just like the burnt bodies you so often found permeating the air in the QZ.

The click of the shotgun. The desperate shout of Joel’s voice as he tackled that creature to the ground before firing once, twice, three times into its face while you struggled to regain your breath.

The way that, afterward, he’d tossed the gun into Ellie’s arms to take your own into his hands and survey your skin for bites.

“You good, darlin’?” He’d asked, and your brain short-circuited because this was not the same man who'd spent the last several weeks showing you and your sister nothing but utter disdain and contempt.

“Yeah, yeah... I’m good.” You murmur. “Thanks Joel.”

The most memorable part of that particular day - aside from the sunlight and the way it reflected just right against the grey and white of Joel’s hair and his eyes - was the way you had learned that, underneath the rough exterior, he had the same bleeding heart you did.

***

Jackson is nice. It’s clearly the beginnings of what’s meant to become a larger, thriving civilization somewhere down the line, but it’s the first place you’ve been in the last twenty years that feels calm.

Joel’s entire demeanor changes upon arrival, and it’s not until the gates open that you realize why: The man who steps through - and is clearly one of the few in charge - bears a remarkable resemblance to him.

You and Ellie later find out that it’s Tommy. His younger brother.

The details of that newly made memory are astonishingly clear: The curve of Joel’s smile, the feeling of the sunlight, the laughter that echoes as the three of you are led inside.

For once in the last two decades, you have finally met someone who doesn’t have malicious intent.

“So who’s the older girl, Joel?”

“Kid’s sister,” Joel replied curtly. “That’s it.”

Tommy clucked his tongue and shook his head as they entered the water plant. “I know you better then that,” He argued. “Way you look at her? Not just her sister. You’ll figure it out sooner than later even though that thick skull of yours.”

The plant is attacked by the bandits who have been trying to infiltrate the compound for the last couple of months. Your illusion of peace is shattered as you again are forced to take, take, take, until there’s nothing left but bodies to deal with.

That’s when you find out Ellie is gone. You find out Ellie is gone and for the first time in quite a while, you are properly afraid.

And fear fuels you. Just like anger.

Joel knows anger, but he doesn’t know your anger until he has the gall to tell your little sister she doesn’t know what loss is. It’s unfortunate you manage to hear the entire conversation through the bedroom door while staking out the house to ensure you’re in the clear.

She’d run away from Jackson. Why, you don’t know, but you had been more panic then anything else because it was the first time Ellie had ever attempted to do something like that.

You really just wanted to know her reasoning.

“What do you want from me?!” Joel snaps, harsh and sharp, as he storms deeper into the room.

“Admit that you wanted to get rid of me the whole time! Admit that my sister has been nothing but an inconvenience to you and you’ve felt burdened by us both!”

You can’t see Joel’s face. You can’t see his face, but you see the way his body reacts to that statement. He’s trying really hard to keep himself under control. It’s admirable.

They argue for what feels like years. Ellie calls him out, again and again, only to be stonewalled by Joel’s incessant need to keep everyone at arms length and provide as little information about himself and his feelings as possible.

What causes you to storm into the room is the statement that makes the whole world grind to a stop.

“I’m sorry about your daughter, Joel... but I have lost people too.”

“You have no idea what loss is.”

Ellie’s entire aspect shifts into something akin to both horror and shock as you storm into the room, fury radiating from your features, to only then whip Joel Miller around and slap him in the face.

Your handprint burns against his cheek as he stares at you slack jawed, raising his own hand to cradle him jaw. Joel’s seen you do a lot of things. He’s seen you kill, and he’s seen you comfort, but he’s never bore witness to the heart of the storm itself.

He immediately regrets provoking the argument now.

“El,” You say quietly, fury dripping from your words as you grip his shirt with tight fingers. “Go downstairs and join Tommy. Now.”

Ellie doesn’t argue. She never has because she knows better. With a curt nod, your little sister evacuates the room like a flood has just fallen upon it to leave you - the gentle storm versus the vengeful one - alone with Joel.

“Sunshine-”

“Don’t.” You snarl. “Don’t you dare. You don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to telling her she doesn’t know what loss is, you sanctimonious egotistical-” Your hands pound against his chest, once, twice, three times. Every hit makes you just a little more tired. “We all know what loss is, Joel! You’re not the only one who’s had to deal with the funerals!”

Funerals.

Huh.

Snatching your hands with his own, Joel’s response is quiet and extremely unnerving as he murmurs, “We didn’t have funerals. We just burned them.”

You don’t have time to reply. There’s people in the house, and you’re left to slip back into your mask as you remove your gun from its holster and flick the safety off.

You don’t spare Joel a second glance.

***

It’s another dead end. Another dead end full of questions and no answers that leave you asking more that no one seems to be able to give you. There might be nothing here but bodies and unanswered questions, but it does give you one thing that makes it memorable.

The way that Ellie has smiled more now than she has since your parents and Riley died. You don’t try to intervene, to make yourself apart of what are undoubtedly her memories to carry, so you watch.

It’s enough.

It’s pretty straight forward into the University - nothing, nothing, and more nothing - until you’re ambushed by another group that has you and Joel fighting hand to hand for the first time in a while.

You’ve only just managed to incapacitate yours when a resounding crash sounds from outside, and you just barely see the telltale salt-and-pepper hair go careening over the edge of the balcony.

Seeing Joel like that.. That’s the second time you’ve known the same fear in such a short amount of time: Fear of loss.

There’s me, the fool with the slow heart who dared to think I could love someone else again.

***

The storms feels like it’s dwindling now. Like it’s simply the kind you get in the early hours of the morning in December, where the clouds are thick and gray and cover the entire sky as snow slowly falls to stick upon the chilled earth.

Joel Miller has been this unyielding, fierce storm that threatens to tear everything apart from the moment you met him in Boston. He’s cold. Calculating. Sharp. You’ve seen what he’s capable of - and reacted quite violently the first time, you hadn’t realized the human body held that much blood - and have experienced the ramifications of what such things can do.

The nightmares, the abrasiveness, the need to push everyone away because it’s simply easier than allowing yourself to love something that death can touch.

You’ve always known Joel to be a storm, but since Ellie - and you, though you just don’t know it yet - have wormed into his heart, the storm has dwindled. It’s gentler. Softer. More willing to listen to reason, to fight for something other then himself.

The rough exterior that turns so many people away is slowly giving to show who’s under the surface.

You were almost positive that your heart was going to give out when you watched Joel fall from Ellie’s horse. You’d barely been able to do anything about the wound he’d obtained from the rebar at the university, using what meager means of medical supplies you had in your saddlebags to pack and dress it so the bleeding stopped.

Ellie had watched you from the top of Callus as you carried him to the horse and slowly eased him into her arms.

“Do you think he’s gonna make it?” She asked you later, long after you’d lost sight of the school over your shoulder.

“I hope so, El.” You reply quietly. “I don’t know what we’ll do if he doesn’t.” It’s half a truth with a confession hidden in between of your true feelings toward the matter. You’d spent so much time watching Joel - learning about the inner workings of a man your heart aches to know, to heal, to love - that you weren’t sure what you’d do if his steady, sure presence wasn’t around anymore.

The three of you have made your home inside a garage in an abandoned neighborhood when the snowfall hits. Ellie volunteers to take care of the horses while you situate yourself and Joel into a crude attempt of a sleeping situation inside, pushing two of the remaining mattresses together and scrounging up blankets for you to shield yourselves from the cold.

You don’t like how pale he is. His wound isn’t infected, which is good, but his heartbeat is too weak and you can’t help yourself from feeling somewhat responsible.

“Joel Miller,” You whisper, long after Ellie is gone and it’s just the sound of uneven breathing and the pounding of your heart from where you lay curled around him on the pair of mattresses. “You’ve gone and gotten yourself into my blood stream. You’re not allowed to give up on me. On us. Do you understand?”

Joel doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t answer. You don’t expect him to, but part of you wishes he’d open those dark brown eyes and gaze up at you with all the longing and desperation you’ve felt towards him since... since.

The bitter cold that settles in your bones is an alarming reminder that you need to curl around Joel to preserve body heat. Last thing you need is him dying of hyperthermia.

“Don’t leave us,” You whisper again, curling your fingers into his hair as you tuck your body around his own and press your chin against the top of his head. “Don’t leave us.”

We can’t take another funeral.

***

The first time Joel wakes up is the day before Ellie leaves for another hunting trip. She’s scrounged up a meager amount of supplies through the houses in the neighborhood, just enough for you to get by, but you can’t help but feel the weight of the guilt settling in your stomach when you hear Ellie’s stomach growl halfway through the night.

It’s not like you’re sleeping anyway.

Joel’s sudden state of awareness is brought upon by the fingers raking through his hair and the warmth that touches his skin from the body wrapped around him. It’s odd, foreign. After so many years of isolating himself from other people, he hadn’t realized how much he craved physical contact.

And the burn that follows is enough to make him groan.

“Joel?” Immediately your hands are at his sides, Ellie’s face just above his head as his vision swims. The pain is muted. Numb. He’s barely feeling is because he’s far too distracted by your hands. “Can you hear me? I’m going to check your wound again. If you stay awake enough, I want you to eat.”

Ellie has taken his head into her lap before he can protest. Joel is awake just enough to say your name, low and hoarse, before his vision swims with black spots and the last thing he can remember is the burn.

He can remember the burn, and he can remember how you made him feel in the midst of it. Peaceful. Safe.

Joel Miller has never known peaceful or safe. Not since her. Not since Sarah.

And as he succumbs to sleep, he finds that he wants to know it more.

***

Ellie’s been gone for too long. You know she’s been gone for too long, and you haven’t heard from her on the walkies the two of you had found a couple of weeks before.

She’s been gone too long. You need to go find her.

That’s the second and final time Joel wakes up.

You’re halfway through loading his shotgun when he finally comes to, wide eyed and alert as his hands scramble for purchase on the closest weapon to him. “Easy, Joel,” You chide gently. “It’s just me.”

Something settles in him. He seems at ease with your answer.

“Where’s-” Joel grunts as he sits up, pressing a hand to his side as he does so. You ease the shotgun to the side and kneel down to his level to meet the worry in his gaze. “Where’s Ellie?”

Your frown deepens. “She went out to hunt too long ago,” You reply. “I was just about to secure this place and then go look for her.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You fidget nervously with your hands as your gaze drops into your lap. “I didn’t want to leave you alone, Joel.”

He wants to scold you. Joel wants to chastise you for such a foolish decision when your sister’s life is on the line, but he can’t find it in him to do so because your gaze is so genuine. He’s not used to that.

Joel Miller is not used to real.

Pressing a gentle thumb to the divot in your chin, you’re captivated by the way the condescension and hostility in his demeanor is gone as he slowly moves his fingers to cup the curve of your jaw. “Thank you,” He murmurs gratefully. “But now we need to go find Ellie.” A pause. “Are you ready to do what we need to do, if it gets bad?”

He always asks you this. Right before he has to embrace the side of himself that scares you, that you’ve tried so hard to keep at bay, Joel warns you about it.

“Yeah. Yeah...” You pump the shotgun in response and press it against your hip. “Yeah, I am.”

It’s uncanny how quickly you’ve learned how to slip into your masks. The mask of the gentle, compassionate woman that Joel had only just gotten to know disappears in the face of the violence he’s so accustomed to - shifting into something darker, more apathetic, more willing to do what needs to be done.

Even for the sake of one life.

You don’t even flinch when he starts torturing two of the men patrolling the neighborhood you’ve called home for the last few days. Not when the screaming starts. not when the blood pours.

“Now, the girl. Is she alive?”

“What girl? I don’t know no girl!”

The poor idiot doesn’t start talking until Joel has driven his blade clear through his knee. According to his endless rambling, your kid sister has become the newest pet to someone named David.

And that makes you see red.

You don't blink twice when both bodies lay motionless on the ground.

“Hey Joel?”

“Yeah, sunshine.”

“When we find this David,” You drag your fingers across the expanse of his shoulders to rest them on the exposed skin of his neck. His pulse thrums steadily under your touch. “I’m going to be the one to put the bullet in his face.”

***

The storm has died down to a newly fallen December snow. The temper has eased, and the anger has dissipated - only to be directed toward the people who are most deserving of it - into something that searches, that yearns, for something.

Snow melts. Snow melts and reveals what lays beneath it.

You’re just inside of the Salt Lake City limits when it happens. You’re the one who volunteered to take watch while Joel and Ellie slept. The three of you were nearly in the endgame now being so close to the Firefly hospital. Once your sister was taken there, the world would finally be saved.

And you could finally settle. No more running, no more existing.

Chewing absently on the inside of your cheek, you fiddle with the edge of your rifle from your lookout point over your camp. You’re almost too deep into your thoughts to hear him scream.

But he doesn’t just scream. Joel screams Sarah’s name, and everything becomes astonishingly clear as to why he has been the way he is. Ellie had told you about Tommy trying to slip Joel the last photo of him and his daughter before the outbreak. How he’d refused it. How he, to this day, remained adamant that his departed little girl would never be a topic of conversation.

No one warns you about the loss of a child.

“Easy, Joel,” You warn, shouldering your rifle as you climb down from the tree to sit beside the bed. His shaking fingers are wrapped tightly around the hilt of his blade. “There’s just a couple of hours until the sun comes up. You thirsty?”

Dark eyes flicker to the next bedroll. Ellie is still sleeping.

“No,” He replies gruffly. “But thanks.”

There’s a long moment of companionable silence that passes as you sit beside him, finally feeling courageous enough to spill your heart at his feet, “For all those months when we started this, I hated you. I hated you because you clearly hated me-”

“First off,” Joel interjects sharply. “Never been a time in which I hated you. Don’t know what gave you that assumption.”

“So if it wasn’t hate, then what was it? I’m not an expert at reading Joel Miller,” You shrug. “At least not yet.”

The sun is just beginning to creep over the edges of the three line in front of you. The sky above is shifting from the deep black to a soft, gentle blue that will shift into the golds and oranges of dawn.

You’re running out of time.

Joel swallows the knot in his throat as he contemplates his answer. Giving the real answer means being real and vulnerable. He’s not sure if he’s ready for that yet.

He’s not sure if he’s ready for that but with the open, earnest way you’re looking at him? He’ll get there eventually.

“Sarah was my daughter,” Joel says quietly. He can’t look at you. If he looks at you while he says this he will come apart at the seams. “She died at the start of the epidemic. Longer that goes by, more I’m almost.. grateful.” The words are sour on his tongue. It sounds so wrong. “She was too good for a world like this one. Too pure. Any kind of innocence I had was gone a long time ago. I was made for this kind of life,” His eyes slowly shift to meet yours. You haven’t taken your gaze off of his face once. “You and Ellie weren’t.”

You smile. “That’s sweet, Joel. Really. But you could not know-”

“I do know. I know because you have something that doesn’t exist anymore.’’

You tip your head to the side in confusion. “Which is?”

“Goodness. Compassion. You’re real,” Joel pauses, running his tongue along his teeth. “That’s why it looked like I hated you. I hated you because I was afraid of how real you are. How gentle you are.”

“Why would that be something you’d fear?” You ask softly.

“Because I don’t deserve that kind of thing, Sunshine. Goodness? Compassion? All the soft things that died with my little girl?” He shakes his head. “Those aren’t something you give to someone like me.”

You’d noticed over the last couple of months that every time you touched Joel, he recoiled like he had been burned. You’d seen that before too. It was the look often accompanied by the quiet desire to seek more of something you’d been deprived of: The look of a touch starved man.

It was why you’d been more deliberate in starting slow. Cheek touches, chin touches, gentle fingers raking through his hair to scrape across his scalp and kisses to bloodied knuckles on the nights things were bad.

If he wanted real, if he wanted peace, you were more then willing to give it to him.

“I had a son,” You whisper. This is not something you are ready to divulge to Ellie. Not yet. “He was born around the same time she was, though she never knew it,” Something akin to realization flickers through his eyes before he’s opening his mouth to apologize, most likely, but you hush him with a raised hand as you continue. “He died before he ever turned one.”

You didn’t want to continue. It was still too fresh. Too raw. He would’ve been fifteen soon.

Joel took your hand into his own and spread your fingers apart, dragging the tips of his own fingers across the back of each of yours before lifting them to his lips to kiss all your fingertips.

“They have a word for someone who’s lost a spouse. What do you call someone who lost a child?”

And there it is, that quiet understanding you share that makes you ache to pull back what remains of his walls and finally reveal the man who lay underneath.

You hum thoughtfully as you then lean forward to just barely graze your lips against his cheek.

That’s also the same time Ellie decides to wake up. She sees the way your silhouettes cast across the grass as the rays of early morning light emerge from over the trees. She sees the way Joel leans into you like he’s seeking something, and she sees the way scarlet dusts your cheeks when you finally pull away.

Hm.

Seems like you’ve finally found what you’re looking for.

***

Everything finally feels right. You’ve finally started down a path that ends with Joel realizing that you love him, with Joel realizing that he’s deserving, and with you hopefully realizing that he’s been reciprocating for quite some time.

The three of you are at the hospital in Salt Lake after being caught in the flood. You’re the one who took the most damage. Battered and bruised, Joel is left to watch helplessly from your bedside as you sleep. He’d only just woken up himself in the same state.

Marlene comes in much, much later to tell you what’s going on with Ellie. What the real cure is, what it will do to her.

And suddenly, again, everything comes screeching to a halt.

This is the story of how, despite everything between you and Joel going right, everything begins to go wrong and you’re left with a decision that will inevitably cost you your sister.

All of those lives, for the sake of one.... is it worth it?

Haven’t I given enough?

part two??? :D

#The Last of Us #tlou #tlou1 #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x Reader #Joel x Reader

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itsahotminuteinbetween · 9 months

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AAAAANNND here are the OCs I’ve been drawing all week every single day! Posting this early without the third character cuz I got tired and impatient. I’ll probably add him in later though, so don’t worry bout him just yet :)

(Also, yes these are fnaf ocs because I'm not original...)

Soooo this is Loup Doop, Otherwise known as Loop de Doop/ Loop to kids. (She doesn’t like her name much, but it’s what the company branded her as and she can’t exactly change it.) I have a few bullet points about her: *pulls out list and clears throat*:

She’s 6”7, a tall one!

Her hands are not attached to her body, they’re more 3d holograms you can feel (don’t ask me how it works, I dunno either). it does take some conscious effort to have them out, so she doesn’t usually unless she’s with someone or needs to convey something. If you grab her hands, though, she can feel it and it does have a similar effect as pulling a real connected hand: if you’re strong enough, you can drag her along with it. (And yes, she has four fingers and they're never properly drawn, I'm sorry I can't draw real hands...)

She doesn’t have a voicebox. She communicates with sounds and simple pictures (you’ll see what I mean if/when I post comics of her).

She used to belong to a different company before being sold into Fazbear in some merger between the companies. (which comes in later, hehe…)

She was originally built with an outgoing, extroverted personality, but it developed into something more meek and quiet.

Her lil orange cheek things get bigger or smaller depending on her emotions.

She doesn’t usually hang out with the main star animatronics because they treat her badly. She prefers chillin with the mapbots, staffbots and wet floor bots, or the DJ if she has the chance. Because of her affiliation with the staffbots, it leads a lot of members of staff and guests to believe she is one, and they treat her as such often.

She is a bit of a people pleaser, and feels there's something wrong with her when she gets told off for not 'wiping the floors and doing her @$#% job'.

She cannot curse, by the way, it carries into her speech pictures as signs, sorta like the smurf comics. She doesn't like cursing much anyways, so it's not something that usually happens.

When kids come up to her on occasion (because she is sort of a performer), she'll ask them for their autograph on a picture with them, then print two. One for the kid, and one for her personal collection. She remembers every kid she's ever talked to before.

Her charging port is in the 2nd lil ball on the left side of her head.

The balls aren't anything special, just some soft, styrofoam-like material for kids to enjoy.

She doesn't interact with other animatronics, as said before, but is occasionally forced to by Bloo (see his description below) and puts up with it. On that note:

- She doesn't like Monty or Roxanne very much, but she does interact with Monty the most. Although most wouldn't call 'grabbing your younger brother to keep him away from the big scary bot he sees as an idol' an interaction.

- She's never actually met Freddy before, but she hears that he's nice from the Wet Floor bots. She personally doesn't want to meet him, either, assuming he's just like Monty and Roxy but worse because he's the face of the company.

She's seen Chica around, but...Chica means well, but she treats Loup Doop more like a kid than like an equal.

- She loves the DJ. They're best buddies in her eyes. They'll do remixes together, she'll ride on his back, babysit the minis, anything.

-She...doesn't really know what to think of the Daycare Attendant. The yellow one seems okay, just a bit too loud for her liking. The dark one, on the other hand...she's heard the stories from the STAFFbots and decides to steer clear of him if she can.

-Unfortunately, she can't stay as far away as she'd like cuz her brother in bolts has to look up to the strangest role models.

She actually meets them before Bloo does.

Thiiiiis is Bloo! He's a slightly newer model from the same company that Loup Doop is from, also from before the merger.

He's Loup Doop's lil brother.

He's around 3''4, depending on the shape of his droplets. The body itself is maybe 2''10.

He's mentally about 8 years old.

He's...not really sure what his job is. Neither does staff, so they just let him do whatever. He's pretty sure he was just supposed to be a sign to encourage kids to stay hydrated, but he tries not to think about it too much.

He doesn't have a voicebox, either, so he also communicates through pictures.

The droplets on his head move without conscious effort, but he can move'em around if he wants to as well.

His left hand has a bubble shooter, his right is his charging port or USB drive.

His left hand can also serve as a tazer, but Loup Doop won't tell him why he ccan't see his own blueprints, so he doesn't know about that.

No incident has ever happened where he finds out thus far.

He's very social, loves messing around with kids even though he isn't an actual featured attraction. He does push out a ton of bubbles for kids 'like him' to pop and play with.

He reaally wants to play with other kids, but he doesn't see much of them too often.

He likes being in the spotlight.

He, like Loup Doop, hangs out with the STAFFbots and Wet Floor bots. Unlike her, however, he doesn't mind hanging out with the other animatronics.

- He thinks Chica's great, he doesn't mind being treated like a kid. They paint nails together and play with dolls sometimes.

- He doesn't talk to Roxy much, only when he's with Chica.

- He thinks Monty is super cool, despite his sister's discouragement. He snuck into Monty's room to try on his glasses once and got caught. Turns out Monty didn't really mind, he liked having another fan. He tries to teach Bloo to play bass when he's not busy.

-Bloo hasn't seen Freddy much, either. He's watched all the performances, though, so he's pretty informed. He thinks that Loup Doup's a bit too cynical towards Freddy. He's sure Freddy's just as nice as everyone else.

- His relationship with the DJ is sort of like how kids talk to their friend's parents. He'll say hi, give all the pleasantries...and then immediately go off to mess around with the minis once he's finished talking.

He loves engaging in harmless pranks, so anyone else who does is a solid bud in his book.

He's the reason Loup Doop ever sets foot in the Daycare at all. He loves Sun and Moon, thinks they're very cool. He collects candy wrappers, keeps old worn plushies he finds in storage, drew the poster to hang in his 'room'...

-He doesn't get to see Sun much, mainly cuz Sun's busy with the kids and he can't be in there with them for fear of Management raising complaint. If he goes in real quick before closing, though, he might be able to pop in and say hi. Maybe a quick game of checkers if he's lucky.

- He sees Moon much more often because he catches him on his night patrols. Moon doesn't mind the company, apparently, because he actually engages with the kid when he talks to him. It's been a while since he was able to take care of kids...

Bloo likes cheerleading.

He wishes he could eat. He wants to try the cupcakes and cookies at Chica's bakery, she talks them up and he wants to know for himself. She's not really supposed to eat, either, but he's good at keeping secrets.

Aaaand I think that's all for now! I'll update this if I come up with more, but here's that.

#sorry to bother #don't mind me #crappy doodles #uhh how do i tag this #ummm #ocs #Loup Doop #Bloo #personal #well not personal but you get the idea right #uhhh what elseeeee #fnaf sb #i guess?#is that enough tags i dunno #me posting this bc i wanna share my lil guys with everybody

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hopefulfuturenovelauthor · 2 years

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Can you do an Eddie Munson hc where the reader finds out she has aspbergers (form of autism’s symptom is obsessing over everything) and Eddie reassures her that everything will be okay? An: It’s been rlly difficult for me lately bc I keep obsessing over stuff that I can’t control and ppl bully me I love ur writing so much!

Hi, I’m so sorry that people bully you. I have a brother with autism and it kills me how some people react to him sometimes. I hope your situation gets better, no one should have to handle any form of bullying. Thank you also, I’m glad you like my writing so much! Also, sorry for the wait, I’ve been a bit busy.

Eddie Munson x Fem!reader (I only refer to readers gender with her once though I think)

Please don’t copy my work. Also I had another request very similar to this so I will post it twice. Also, I haven’t checked grammar or anything, sorry.

Head cannons for the reader finding out she has Autism:

The news came as a surprise. It’s not that you thought you were normal, I mean, the person you are closest with is Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson. It’s just that you were caught off guard.

While your family knew once you did, it was up to you and your decision to tell your friends. You knew they would take it well, you just didn’t want them acting differently or weird around you, fully knowing they would only ever try to help you, but you couldn’t stop thinking about how everything might become more awkward than it already was.

There was one person you wanted to tell, but at the same time didn’t strictly because you didn’t want your dynamic to change. Not that Eddie would ever want to make you feel uncomfortable, you just only imagined how he might start watching his steps around you, changing his carefree actions entirely, and becoming the sort of person that carefully calculated and even overthought every interaction with you.

You waited to tell Eddie until you convinced yourself that he wouldn’t act any differently around you. You knew exactly where your best friend would be. If he wasn’t selling drugs or playing dnd, he was practicing guitar and learning new songs.

You knocked on the door to his trailer a couple times since you knew he couldn’t hear you over his guitar. You waited for the music to stop, which it did, and watched as the curtain was drawn back in Eddie’s room as he peered out the window curiously. Eddie’s face instantly brightened when he saw you. He made his way to the door as fast as he could, but you heard him trip and fall over something, before reaching you.

“Hi,” he said once the door opened.

“Hi,” you said back smiling, “you look like you just face planted. It sounded like you just face planted too”

“Haha,” Eddie said, moving aside and letting you in, “maybe I did, not that it matters after all I am perfectly fine, especially now that the wonderful Y/n L/n has graced me with her presence.”

“Very funny, Munson, very funny,” you said, finding your way to his couch before sitting down on it and fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. You had been doing that a lot lately, and it was really bugging you how the stitching would become frayed if you messed with it too much.

Eddie noticed your somewhat nervousness at the moment, “hey, everything alright?” He asked, sitting next to you.

“I-um, yeah, yeah I’m alright, I just, I just need to tell you something,” you look up at him, while he sat there attentively waiting for you to continue. “Recently, recently, I was told that I have Autism, and I’ve been waiting to tell people, but I just really wanted you to know.”

You continued to watch Eddie carefully, “I um,” he cleared his throat, “I already knew.”

“What?!” Your voice raised a bit, not that you meant it too, it was just unexpected.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Eddie began to ramble, “I should have told you, it’s just when I went to pick you up for school that time you woke up late your mom and I talked and she told me how she was so glad that I was such good friends with you and very supportive with everything going on and how she knew you were stressing about what the doctors had told you and you hadn’t said anything yet so I just nodded and I wanted to wait until you were ready to tell me and I’m realizing now that it was stupid not to say anything and-“

You cut him off with a hug. Eddie slowly hugged back, both of you knowing that you weren’t huge into physical affection or interaction. But you always enjoyed his comfort. “Thank you,” you said into his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” his voice was soft.

“I wanted to tell you sooner, I really did, I just didn’t want things to change,” you told him before leaning back so you could see his face.

“It’s okay, really, you told me when you were ready, and I’m really glad you did,” he looked like he wanted to reach out again, you could tell by the way his hands were gripping his jeans. You took one of his hands in yours as you changed to sit cross cross on the couch. You started to fidget with one of his rings, just twisting it around his finger, playing with the complex and pretty looking piece of metal.

Eddie stared as you played with the ring in his hand, if you had looked up at him instead of the ring you would have noticed the faint blushing that dusted his cheeks.

“It’s been kind of hard lately. With this being my senior year my stress and anxiety has sort of increased out of my control, with the diagnosis it definitely didn’t get any better. I’ve been fidgeting more, stimming too, not that I knew that that was what I was doing before all of this. It’s just been kind of hectic. One minute I’m listening to my favorite song on repeat and the next I’m covering my ears because all the noise is too much. I’ve started baking more just because I find control in measuring all of the ingredients perfectly. It’s just, it’s just a lot that is all starting to make a lot more sense now that I know, but at the same time it’s difficult to know because it makes me feel different, but I can’t help being different and so it worries me when I’ll have even more stressors in my life like college and finding a career and stuff. I just don’t want anything to change.”

“I’m not going to change, and you haven’t changed either. You're still Y/n, you still have an awesome laugh and you have a good ear for music and you can tune my guitar by ear still and you still read and reread your favorite books over and over and you are still the most amazing and incredible person I have ever met.”

“Thank you,” your voice cracks as tears fill your eyes.

Eddie’s smile turns into a frown, “hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” you say wiping your eyes and letting go of his hand, “these are happy tears, these are happy tears because you are the best friend in the world and you are so supportive and I love you so much.”

“Aw,” he said, getting teary-eyed, “I love you too.”

After that, it was much easier to tell your other friends. Nothing changed with Eddie all that much other than he let you fidget with his hands, let you borrow his rings, ‘steal’ guitar picks, and had a tape with your favorite song on repeat in his van.

In fact, unbeknownst to you, Eddie found your need to be doing something with your hands really cute. At campaigns he would instantly smile when you fiddled with your character's figure or your dice. He also secretly loved that you would spin one of his rings you had put on a necklace.

Eddie would rock out with you to your favorite song, and as always he continued to introduce you to new music too.

He had already been learning to play your favorite song, but when you guys would hang out at night you would lie on his bed beside him while he played his guitar for what felt like hours. On nights you felt up to it, you would even rest your head on his leg while he played. Each time you always had one of his guitar picks in your hands, moving it between your fingers in the bliss of the moment.

You even ended up making him a necklace with a guitar pick similar to the one that spotted one of his rings.

Eddie hung out at your house just as often as he always had and even helped you bake, which wasn’t always the best idea since he was messy, a little uncoordinated, and loved to throw flour everywhere.

You and Eddie didn’t change all that much other than your affections for each other becoming a little more obvious. But you were okay with that, it was nice, everything was oh so very nice.

#eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things season 4 #stranger things x reader #requests #stranger things imagine

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kikixreverie · 3 years

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Hi- may I ask for an angst-mix with Bucky x reader: she had her share of abusive/toxic relationships in her past, but it was nothing she spoke of, and not now when she had James. It wasnt like she thought she was gonna be triggered again, not by him, any other guy- buy not her Bucky! Some tiny bickering evolved to a large dispute, and before she knew what was happening, she shied away from him, making herself small, awaiting the blow - that never came... And instead she was overcome by shame...

Pasts and Apologies

Bucky x Fem!reader

Word count - 3k

Warnings - Mentions of domestic abuse from ex, some descriptions of abuse, angst, trauma

A/n - Okay I definitely went hard on the angst for this one. I kinda just went off on one so not so much bickering and more just a full blown argument but I've been feeling kinda angsty lately so I kinda accidentally made this darker than I expected. Please read the warnings and do not read if you think this could trigger you.

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Love had not been kind to you before Bucky. Every decent memory of your ex was clouded with uncertainty, you would walk on eggshells around him, terrified that saying the wrong thing would set him off and you'd be calling Sam again, sobbing down the phone, cradling another bruise at the hands of your 'partner'.

You were together for years, devoted to and unconditionally in love with the man that you had met in high school. Childhood sweethearts.

He always was quick to anger and he wasn't shy about that. He never had any issues with shouting at you when you pissed him off, just as he never had issues with shouting at his mother or younger brother, but at the time, you had always stood up for yourself and defended the poor woman, making him apologise, and he let you, he always let you clean up his messes.

The first few years were spent in ignorant bliss, you constantly ignored the fear that would creep up your spine when he got angry, but you could manage a screaming match or two, you could manage it all because you loved him, you depended on him despite that he wasn't at all dependable.

The arguments were tough, but you never expected it to go further than that, but eventually, it did.

The first time he was physically aggressive was on his 22nd birthday. He had insisted that he spend his birthday with his friends, calling it a guys night, and you were fine with that, you knew how handsy he got when he was with his friends anyway, so you spent the day with him instead, making sure to keep him happy and spoilt rotten.

As the night crept on, you had tried to wait up for him to return, just as he had asked, but as it passed 3am you decided that he wouldn't mind you going to bed since you had work the next day, so you crawled into bed and fell asleep, a mistake, at the time, you didn't know you had made.

When he returned half an hour later to see you unconscious, he woke you up with his shouting, angry that you hadn't stayed up for him, convinced that you were ruining his night on purpose. The loud awakening was enough alone to trigger your fight or flight but when he threw the duvet off you and grabbed your ankle so tightly you knew a bruise would form, you were terrified. He dragged you off the bed and pushed you towards the door, telling you to fuck off, and you did, tears streaming down your face as you laid awake on the couch till morning.

It only got worse from there, when he realised that he could hurt you and get away with it, it became his favourite past time, he'd look for reasons to shout at you, make you do things that would piss him off just so he'd have a reason to be cruel.

When Sam started noticing dark bruises on your skin, he was livid, and despite how often you'd try to convince him that it's just clumsiness, Sam knew better.

There were rare days that you would have long conversations with Sam, you'd talk about how you'd lost all your friends and distanced yourself from your family but you didn't blame your abuser, you blamed only yourself, and Sam would beg you to leave him but you'd be sobbing in his arms, telling him that you still loved the man who hurt you, that he didn't really mean to hurt you and you'd feel even more guilt if you ever got him in trouble for it.

It was a long and hard journey, but the moment you told Sam that you wanted out, he was there for you, offering you to stay at his place and helping you call the cops. He gave you all the resources he could possibly find through the VA and set you up with an amazing therapist and eventually you were living in your own place, talking to old friends again, and filing a restraining order against your ex.

It was nearly two years later when you met him. Introduced through Sam, you met the love of your life on a Sunday. He was quiet and focused, with hard eyes scanning the room, looking for escape routes, analysing people's faces.

You smiled gently at him when you met, opting for a small nod in greeting instead of a handshake. You stayed near him for the remainder of the gathering, not pressuring him to speak to you, just sitting in silence. You were drawn to him, his behaviour was so similar to yours.

You knew what it felt like to want to just blend into the corner, to stay unnoticed, you understood the need to know how to escape a room, and you saw the way he hesitantly returned your smile and then struggled to chase his smile away once you had sat down beside him.

You and Bucky soon became each other's rocks, always there for the other on the hard days, days that you would spend just walking or reading together in calm silence. There was no doubt that the two of you loved each other, and after months and months of trying to hide longing glances and blushing cheeks, you finally confessed to each other, and the rest was history. You trusted him like you had never trusted anyone before.

As your relationship progressed, Bucky started to notice some strange things in your behaviour, how you'd always ask his permission for you to go out with friends, how you were always quick to apologise in any situation and distanced yourself from him when he was the slightest bit irritated.

He had tried to ask you about it, but you always changed the subject as soon as it was mentioned, ensuring him that it was nothing to worry about.

To tell the truth, you were embarrassed, you were ashamed that your ex still had this effect on you, and no matter how many times you told yourself that he would never, that your Bucky would never, your brain refused to allow you to believe it and you continued with the odd behaviour that you used as a defence mechanism when in the abusive relationship.

You never spoke out of line, you never asked him where or who he was going out with, and you never let small bickering escalate.

It was only after you had overheard Sam and Bucky in a heated conversation, Sam scolding Buck for being reckless and stupid during a mission, that you had your first argument with him.

You had called Sam while Bucky was at the store, convincing him to tell you what had happened and after a few minutes of guilt-tripping, Sam finally confessed that Bucky had practically ran into open fire, endangering himself in an attempt to shut down a Hydra base, it could've very easily been fatal, and it wasn't the first time something like this had happened.

You knew it was wrong, you knew you should've just asked Bucky about it, but you couldn't help yourself, and you knew that Bucky would've downplayed the whole situation.

When he returned home you were pacing up and down in the living room, chewing the inside of your cheeks and your nails to pieces because you could've lost him, Bucky could've died and he was acting as if it were nothing.

"Doll?" You could hear the worry in his voice as he placed the shopping bags on the kitchen counter and walked over to you, standing in front of you to stop your movement, pulling your hand from your mouth and kissing your knuckles.

It was supposed to calm you, and it almost did, but as his soft lips grazed your hand, and his eyes met yours, your mind kept wandering to the fact that he could've died.

This moment could've never happened, instead, you'd have Sam or Steve at your door, trying to deliver the news of their best friend's death, your lover.

"Honey speak to me" He looked utterly confused, but the look only made you feel angry.

How could he be so reckless?

"I just got off the phone with Sam."

He froze, eyebrows furrowing and taking a step away from you, waiting for you to explain.

Your gaze didn't move from the floor, trying to even out the anger and worry rushing through you, settling like a heavy rock in your stomach.

"He told me about the missions, about how you've been acting."

"What do you mean, how I've been acting?" He scoffed, sounding offended, and you sighed.

"How reckless you've been acting. Sam said that Tony's considering pulling you out of missions! How many times have you endangered yourself like this? How many times is it gonna take for you to realise that you could fucking die out there, James."

Your voice was stern, and the tone felt foreign against your tongue. Bucky's kept his face hard, refusing to show any emotion, but you could see the way his jaw clenched harshly, eyes glued to the corner of the room, ignoring your fiery glare.

"Were you ever going to tell me? I thought that all the injuries you got were fairly normal for the jobs you do, but when I hear that you run into open fire, that you make decisions on your own before talking to your team, that you've gotten fucking stabbed in the past, and you never told me, how do you expect me to react?"

He sighed heavily through his nose, jaw ticking in annoyance towards his friend, angry that he had told you even though it wasn't his place.

"I told him not to tell you." His voice was gruff, the words spoken harshly under his breath and you felt your anger flair again.

"What and you think that's okay?!"

His gaze shot to yours, looking at you incredulously.

"Bucky we're partners! You're supposed to tell me this shit, you're supposed to tell me when you've nearly died on a mission, you're supposed to trust me."

"You think I don't trust you?!" His voice was slightly raised and you felt your annoyance spike, "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry."

"Of course I'm gonna worry, James. This is a big deal, I can't believe you've been getting seriously injured and not telling me."

"Well, I don't think it's that big of a deal, Sam shouldn't have fucking told you. This wouldn't be happening if he had just kept his mouth shut, but no! Of course not!" Bucky's eyebrows were drawn in tight with annoyance, wishing you'd just drop the subject, "I'm not stupid, I know what I'm doing."

"What the hell do you mean 'You know what you're doing?' You know that you're not supposed to endanger yourself to complete a mission, yet you do it anyway. I'm glad Sam told me because otherwise, I doubt I'd ever find out!."

"I don't see how what I do on missions is anything to do with you. Sam is exaggerating. I'm fine!"

As Bucky's voice raised, you started to lose focus, flashbacks of your past echoing in your mind and in his annoyance, Bucky didn't notice the way your eyes had gone distant, losing sight of the man in front of you, the man you loved, and forming the image of the man you still see in nightmares, the man you're so terrified of seeing in the street that you haven't stepped foot in Queens since leaving him.

You could almost feel the sting of his palm against your cheek, the burn of his hand, tight around your wrist, and you tried to remind yourself that it wasn't real. It had been months since you'd had an episode, and your steps to control them were hard to find with the false image of your abuser so clear in front of you.

"Are you even listening to me?" The statement dragged you back to reality and you felt yourself calm when your eyes focused in on Bucky, reminding yourself that your ex wasn't here, that Bucky wasn't like that, he would never, but as he raised his arm to push his hair out of his face, everything flew out the window and in the moment, you were 21 again and you were sure he was going to hit you, your exes face flashing behind your eyes again.

You flinched, a gasp falling from your lips as your eyes squeezed shut and your head ducked down, breathing heavily through your nose as you awaited the hit.

Time slowed.

Bucky froze completely, his eyes wide and frantic as he quickly stumbled away from you, shaking his head as self-hatred ran through his veins, disgusted at himself for making you think even in the slightest, that he would ever hurt you.

"Doll?" He sounded absolutely broken.

Your head shot up, panic flooding through you when you realised what you had done and pain replacing the feeling when you saw the agony on Bucky's face.

"Y/n, I- I would never-" He kept his voice at a pained whisper, not wanting to scare you further as he stayed at a distance.

You collapsed to the floor, sitting on your knees as the weight of the situation pulled you down. Your hands raised to cover your mouth as a sob threatened to tear through you, so fucking ashamed of what had just happened, so fucking ashamed that your ex had done this to you, and you had let him for so long, ashamed that he still haunted you.

"Babydoll I-" He struggled to find the words, terrified that he had just lost you, wanting to reach out and hold you but scared shitless of hurting you more than he already had, "I don't know what- I'm so fucking sorry y/n, I can't- I can't even fathom the thought of-"

His voice trailed off, unable to even say the words and you felt your guilt tenfold.

"N-No Bucky, I'm sorry I thought-" You struggled to speak through your crying, hot tears flowing down your cheeks as you rocked yourself gently in an attempt to self-soothe.

"Why are you apologising honey? This is on me, this is-"

"No, it isn't, I promise Buck this isn't you, it's.." You couldn't get the words out, you couldn't tell him, "Just come here, please."

You wanted him to wrap his arms around you, you needed him to know that it wasn't him, you know the way his mind works and you knew that by now he would already be drowning in guilt and self-hatred.

"I don't think that I should. I don't want to hurt you, I can't- I can't hurt you" You smiled at him gently through your tears and your chin wobbled as you saw the tears running down his cheeks too.

"It's okay. I'm okay Bucky, I just- I-I need you over here, I need you - I need you to touch me. I need you."

He was over in an instant, falling to the floor beside you and letting out a huge sigh of relief when you instantly wrapped yourself around him, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and crawling into his lap, needing to be as close to him as possible, to rid the memories of the pain, to remind yourself that his touch is good, his touch is safe.

Arms enveloped you and he held you as tight as possible, the both of you crying.

After the two of you had calmed down and a comfortable silence enveloped you, Bucky knew he would have to break it.

"Why did you think that I would hit you?" He asked, his voice tentative and gentle and you sighed, knowing that it was time for you to tell him.

"I didn't, I don't, I promise."

You lifted your head from his shoulder but still stayed on his lap, instead, resting your forehead against his.

"Then why-?"

"I thought I was better, I-I thought it was all over but I just- I lost myself again. Everything got all foggy and I lost where I was and I just, I thought I was there but-" The floodgates opened again and you knew that Bucky had no clue what you were talking about but the words just kept coming.

Bucky's eyebrows were furrowed tightly and when your vague, confusing explanation only made his worry grow, he felt himself pulling you even tighter against him.

"Doll, Did someone hurt you? Is that why you're always walking on eggshells around me? Is that what the nightmares are about?" He struggled against the words, not wanting to say them because he didn't want to believe them and he watched in agony as you swallowed hard and nodded slowly, your hands coming to rest on the back of his neck as you continued to hold your forehead against his.

He refused to let his anger show, he wouldn't do that to you, especially with you so fragile, but he couldn't hide the pained shaky breath he let out at your confession, "Fuck, I'm so sorry. God, I'm so sorry that that happened to you. Was it your ex? Did he hurt you?"

You nodded again, doing your breathing exercises, and calming yourself so that you could explain your situation fully to your partner.

"I should've told you, I know, I just, I'm so angry that I'm still like this, I just wish it would all go away and I could forget about what he did. I thought I was better. I can't stand that I'm still so haunted by that asshole" Bucky nodded along as you spoke, brushing his fingers up and down your back to help calm you.

"It's okay, Doll. Things like that don't just go away. Believe me, I wish they did too, but things will get better, I promise you that. Thank you for telling me."

You scoffed in self-deprecation, "I should've told you ages ago."

"That doesn't matter, you've told me now, and I'm sure it wasn't easy, so thank you for sharing" His voice was so gentle, his hands caressing your back almost making you feel sleepy.

"And Buck?" He hummed in response, letting you know that he was listening, "About the mission thing, I'm just worried about you. I can't lose you, I need you, and I need you alive."

A gentle smile lifted his frown and he nodded in understanding, feeling bad for getting mad in the first place, and you leaned back, looking down at him, your hands playing with his hair.

"I know. I'm sorry for being an idiot, It's just so hard to look at them and remember what they did to me and know what they've done to so many innocent people and I just lose it, all rationality out the window" You nodded at him, understanding how painful some of the missions must be.

"I'm sorry I got so upset with you, and I'm sorry I went to Sam instead of talking to you. Don't be mad at him, I kinda forced him to tell me" You gave him a sheepish look and he breathed out a small laugh, his nose crinkling like you always loved.

"It's okay doll, I'm sorry for being so careless and hiding the stuff about the missions, I promise I'll be more careful, I gotta make sure I always come home to my sweet girl. And don't worry about Sam, you deserved to know and I know what you're like."

You tutted at him and he smiled in response, the adorable, loving look on his face making you pull him into the sweetest, softest kiss which he instantly returned.

After sitting together in each others embrace for a while, the yawns eventually started. You were both positively exhausted from all the emotions you had both just experienced so Bucky wrapped your legs around his waist and lifted you both from the floor, discarding the groceries still left in bags in the kitchen and carrying you to bed, holding you as close as physically possible as you both drifted off to sleep.

#bucky oneshot #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #james buchanan barnes #bucky requests

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frostedfaves · 3 years

Text

Naive (3)

Masterlist

Pairing: demon!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: You pick up on the lies in Wanda’s life and she decides to show you the truth.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, dark!fic, demon things™️, more hints at dom/sub because I’m a whore for demon!Wanda

A/N: I can’t believe that it’s been a month since I posted the last one 😭 I have some things planned for the next part and so on but I also kinda wanna take requests again??? idk we all know how I get overwhelmed easily with that so we’ll see what happens there. anyway tell me your thoughts on this please!

Previous part

Waking up feels like gasping for air after being trapped underwater. You aren’t sure how long you were asleep, but the mid afternoon traffic quickly alerts you of how much of the day has passed.

Despite your head feeling like it’s made of cement, you manage to stand up, slipping off thin pajamas as you walk into the bathroom and stop at the mirror. Your skin seems tender in places and you’re a little bit startled when there isn’t a single indication of the bite marks and scratches you feel, even after rubbing your eyes a few times and turning in every direction possible. Deciding to let it go for now, you reach for the shower stall to turn on the water, detouring to the bedroom instead when you hear your phone ringing.

“Hello?”

“You didn’t save my number, did you?”

“Wanda?” You pull the phone away long enough to quickly clear your throat. “I mean hey, Wanda! What makes you think I didn’t save your number?”

“You answered like you didn’t know who was going to be on the other end.”

“Okay, you caught me,” you admit after a moment of silence. “I promise I’ll save it as soon as we hang up. Anyway, what’s up?”

“Remember that pet adoption center you pointed out to me?” You acknowledge her with a hum. “I was thinking about getting a cat…Wanna tag along?”

“Absolutely! I was just about to shower though so I can be ready in an hour or so.”

“Perfect! I’ll text you when I’m outside.”

The two of you say your goodbyes and you keep your promise of saving her number, typing in her name and hesitating on the emoji keyboard. Realizing you’d spent far too much time contemplating this, you simply save what you have and hurry back to the bathroom, something in your brain urging you to not keep her waiting.

Within an hour, she sends you a text in all caps and a smiley face that tells you she’s arrived, and you can’t hide the fact that you’re surprised when you come outside and she’s waiting on the passenger side of the car.

“Hey! How are you?” she greets cheerily as she approaches you with a hug, and you shiver when her hand touches your lower back. “Are you cold?”

“No, I’m okay.” You smile and thank her when she opens the door for you, attempting to collect yourself as she crosses to the driver’s side again. “I’m really happy to see you again.”

“You are?”

“Yeah,” you admit quietly as she pulls away from the curb. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No no, I just didn’t want to assume you were enjoying our time together as much as I was.”

She places her hand over yours while she glances at you, smiling as she squeezes your fingers and thigh lightly. You feel a rush of something traveling from the places she touched to your brain, only slightly aware of the fog settling in your mind.

“Well I didn’t want to be too enthusiastic about it and scare you away if all you wanted was friendship,” you clarify, meeting her eyes when she reaches a red light.

“I suppose you’re looking for more too, then.”

“I am now.”

The light turns green and she breaks eye contact, but the little smirk that follows tells you everything you need to know. At least, you hope it does.

“I think he’s the cutest one we’ve seen yet,” you comment about the kitten that hasn’t looked away from Wanda since you approached his area. “He seems really drawn to you, too.”

“How did he get the name ‘Baby Satan’?” Wanda inquires with an employee, who approaches you with a chuckle.

“It’s actually Baby Stan, because we used to have an adult cat named Stan as well and needed to tell the two apart. We were going to give him a new name but decided to leave that up to his new family.”

“It says ‘Baby Satan’ though,” you cosign with Wanda, gesturing to the extra A mixed in with the magnetic letters that spell the kitten’s name.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I don’t know how that got there,” the employee apologizes as she reaches over to fix the sign, and you watch her freeze as Wanda touches her arm.

“Don’t be sorry. Keep it; I want to adopt him.”

“Okay, right this way,” the employee mumbles as she turns awkwardly and stumbles over to a desk, and as the two of you follow her, you look back to see Baby Satan still staring at the woman beside you.

“What was that about?” you speak up finally once you’re in the car with her new furry friend, and Wanda frowns at you while fastening her seatbelt.

“What?”

“Why did that employee react to you like that? You touched her and she started acting really weird after.”

“Oh, Kim’s fine!” she assures you as she fixes her mirror before pulling out of the parking lot. “I actually asked her about that while you were looking at scratching posts and she said I’d overstepped her boundaries and made her uncomfortable. Don’t worry, I apologized and everything’s good again.”

“She told you her name?”

“She was wearing a name tag, babe.”

Babe...that’s new. Still, the sudden nickname doesn’t completely distract you from the fact that you’re certain there was no name tag on Kim’s uniform. You’re debating with yourself about bringing this up when you notice her heading toward Lane County.

“Are you taking me to your house?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” She glances at you and over her shoulder toward Baby Satan before turning back to the road. “I figured I could introduce both of my kittens to the place they’ll be spending a lot of time in.”

Her fingers brush over your knee as “my kittens” leaves her lips, and you’re almost embarrassed when your hips involuntarily buck slightly. Noticing the small change in your behavior, she takes advantage of your head turned toward your own window and allows her instincts to continue driving while she stares at you, placing her palm on your thigh and rubbing circles on the fabric covering it that brings her closer and closer to your core.

“Home, sweet home,” Wanda announces as she pulls her wandering hand away to park the car, jumping out a second later and grabbing her furry son from the backseat. “Hey there, Baby S.”

You step out of the car in a similar fashion of pulling yourself out of a swimming pool, taking in the fresh air and trying to relax yourself as you follow her into the apartment building. The hallways reflect the quiet and clean neighborhood as you make your way into the elevator and up to the 6th floor, suddenly entering the most empty apartment you’ve ever seen.

Of course there’s furniture: a couch with a TV mounted on the nearest wall, a dining table with a set of matching chairs, a few stools placed at the island and kitchen appliances that are shiny and new. But there isn’t any personal artwork, posters, books or even just a lamp that you could tell Wanda purchased herself with one glance.

“Are you staying in an AirBNB or something?” you ask as she carefully places Baby Satan’s carrier next to the couch, and she chuckles.

“I guess technically it was one before I moved in, but I’ve been here for two years.”

“Okay...so where are your pictures?”

“What?”

“Where are your pictures?” you repeat, maintaining a steady voice despite the expression she gives you as she faces you again. “Pictures of your family, friends, you as a child?”

“If you knew my family, you’d understand why you don’t see them here.” She startles you by practically growling her words but you press further.

“Okay but you also said you love plants and we’re the only living things in here.” You step back to put more space between you while quiet shuffling noises are heard inside the carrier. “What’s really going on here?”

You can easily spot the shift in Wanda’s emotions: going from defensive, arms crossed and eyes glaring to resigned with slightly sagging shoulders and a defeated sigh.

“Fine, you got me.” She bends over to pick up the carrier again and passes you on her way to the door, stopping a few feet away. “If you’re serious about pursuing a relationship with me, then I should probably show you my real home.”

“I don’t know...”

“Come on, love.” She comes just close enough to bring your hand into hers and a tingle spreads through your body, causing you to pull away but her grip only tightens. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you, and this is the only time I’ve lied.”

You find yourself being drawn closer to her, and an almost familiar feeling washes over you when her thumb begins rubbing gentle circles into your jaw. The metal on her ring is so cold it almost burns upon contact, yet you nuzzle into her more with each pass along your skin.

“Don’t you want to be good for me without being forced to your knees first?”

If the fog surrounding your consciousness wasn’t so thick, you might’ve been shocked by this side of her, so calm yet demanding you serve her. But the hand on your jaw seemed to cover every inch of your body and sink into your nervous system, forcing you to fall into her and let her lead you back to the car with a simple arm around your waist. You’re buckled into the passenger seat again and a slightly blurry grin greets you from behind the wheel seconds later.

“I can’t wait to make you mine.”

Your head falls against the car window as she drives to the edge of Lane County, and your altered vision picks up on businesses turning into isolated suburbs into grassy fields into forests. You travel along narrow, winding roads past the tallest of trees with very few spaces in between, and your hazy state of mind prevents you from panicking when Wanda turns onto a dirt path that doesn’t even seem to be safe for bicycles. The wheels bump along the forest floor until she comes to a stop just outside of a two foot dwelling, similar to a cave.

Once the two of you are out of the car again, she holds your hand with her free one until you reach the cave, instructing you to sit in front of it while she does the same. She places her palm on the door, and her rings seem to come alive as they interact with it for a few moments before it swings open and the three of you are sent flying through a tunnel. You land with a groan on the hard floor and dust yourself off as you carefully stand, any questions dying in your throat as you face Wanda again, now standing before you in her true form.

“Welcome home.”

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda maximoff x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #frosty's dark!fics

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

Photo

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Osborn’s 5✩ Inspiration: Black VS Black [黑色对峙] Date Translation (END 6: Heart-throb)

“Do you really think that I think there’s no helping you?”

*Light and Night Master-list | Osborn’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 5✩ Inspiration has 6 Endings!! *Osborn’s tag will be #For Night, For Freedom *Requested by anon! You can check my on-going requests and more here!

✥ Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

The cat caused an incident! What should I do?

⊹ Check the fallen model ⊹

I didn’t think too much about it, instead, hurrying over to where the car model had fallen.

I picked it up and inspected the damages.

There was a long crack in the middle and several parts had broken off, scattering compartments all over the floor.

MC: Can this… still be saved…?

Just as I was thinking of how to break this bad news to Osborn, his low voice sounded from behind.

Osborn: What a big commotion.

Osborn: What? Did Mitt get into an accident?

I steeled myself and stopped covering the scene of the “car accident” that had occurred. I got up and handed him the car model that I held.

MC: The “culprit” knocked this car model down and fled.

Osborn frowned, reaching me in a couple of long strides.

He took the model and turned it around a couple of times, observing it with an indifferent look on his face.

MC: Is it too damaged to fix?

Osborn: I can just send it for repairs over the next few days. Let's go look for the cat first.

He calmly placed the broken car model back onto the shelf, taking a “let’s talk about this later” stance.

This model had been placed together with many other car models that looked new, pristine, and without a scratch. Not to mention, the glistening trophy that had been right next to it. A wild guess entered my mind.

MC: Do all the car models here hold some sort of commemorative meaning?

Osborn: Hm? Why do you ask?

MC: I mean, if they are some sort of special memento to you, then they should have been subjected to routine maintenance, right?

MC: If so, then you should also have the tools for it along with any part replacements, yes?

Thoughtfulness slipped into his eyes.

Osborn: You want to help me fix it?

MC: Yeah! That cat was just spooked real bad, and it wouldn’t do us any good if it got a bigger fright the next time and reacted even worse to it if we continued chasing after it.

MC: So, why don’t we leave the cat hunt for later and fix the car model back up first?

MC: Plus, I’m pretty dexterous with my hands. Wanna give me a chance to show you my prowess?

He raised an eyebrow, his pale green eyes glinting.

Osborn: Okay. Here's your time to shine.

Osborn stretched his arms over my head. For a while, all I could see was his broad chest. I felt my breath hitch.

Then, he suddenly lowered his head. His face was incredibly close to mine.

The scent of black cedar assaulted my nose. I blinked. My brain was lagging.

MC: Oh, okay.

Osborn: Take it.

My gaze slid to his hand. Turns out that he’d just been fetching the toolbox that had been in the cabinet above the display shelves.

Osborn: I'm waiting.

I took the toolbox from him and opened it.

I was greeted by a multitude of components in all shapes and sizes. Some of the tools in it were similar to the ones I used when making my designs, but there were also some that I’d never seen before.

I picked up a tool that looked like a cross between a pen and a knife, looking to Osborn for advice.

MC: What's this?

Osborn: An exacto knife. It’s used to cut off excess parts of the joints when required.

MC: Mmhm, okay. I've remembered it.

Osborn: This is a cutting plier, screw sanders, tweezers...

Osborn picked out a couple more tools from within the box and introduced them to me.

Osborn: Anything else you can't recognize?

MC: Not for now.

Osborn: Okay. Then let's remove the damaged compartments first.

MC: Okay.

First, we used a screwdriver to remove the damaged compartments. Then, we replaced them with brand-new spare parts.

This race car model was really different from those being sold out in the market. It was made with exquisite craftsmanship, and its internal makings were far more complicated than I'd initially thought.

When it was time to add colours to it, Osborn prepared the required paints and set them out in measured portions onto the palette with ease and finesse. He smoothly handed me a brush.

Osborn: Do you know how to touch up the paintwork?

I hesitated.

MC: I've painted outfit designs before for design needs, but I'm sure it's completely different from actually painting a model.

MC: I don't know if it works the same…

Osborn: See my demonstration first then.

He dipped his brush into the red paint, carefully painting it onto the model. It came out very uniform and smoothly layered.

I'd stared at him, watching him do it a couple more times. But, no matter how much I watched the same process, I couldn't quite grasp it. Even if I tried mimicking his actions, my paintwork always turned out patchy and uneven.

Osborn laughed, placing his hand over mine and directing the brush I held.

He directed my brush, guiding me on how I should be painting the compartment with a focused look on his face.

It was all serious and business, except… My focus was inevitably drawn towards his movements and breaths.

Osborn: Get it?

MC: Mmhm...

I tried my hardest to remember the way he did it and followed suit. The end result was much smoother than what I'd been accomplishing before.

After the finishing touches were in place, I raised the model and showed it to him.

MC: Like… this? This should be done now, right?

Osborn: Not bad. You've got standard.

My spirits soared at having received such direct praise from him.

MC: Since I'm such an apt learner, how about enlisting my help again the next time you make another model of a race car?

Osborn slightly raised a brow as he contemplated my paint-stained hands.

Osborn: I'll think about it.

MC: Does this even need to be considered?

MC: I'm pretty quick to pick up hands-on skills, not just fixing up models of racing cars! So I'm a fast learner no matter what it is!

MC: You can test me again if you don't believe me!

Just as I was boasting about my assets in an attempt to make myself appeal to him, Osborn's calloused fingers suddenly brushed against my cheek.

The rough texture of the pads of his fingers made my heart skip a beat.

MC: What's wrong?

Osborn: You got something on your face.

I doubtfully touched my face. Suddenly, I pulled my hand away to find my fingers stained with red paint.

Astonished, I look at Osborn's hands, only to find even more red paint on them…

MC: Don't tell me you drew something on it!!

Osborn: What gives?

MC: Hey! You're biting the hand that feeds!

Osborn: Whatever do you mean by that?

Osborn: I'm just adding some blush and colour to your face. Makes you prettier.

I was taken aback, nonetheless.

MC: Okay. Then, I'll add some colour to your cheeks for you!

Osborn: Whoa, hey! Easy!

MC: Nothing you say now is gonna stop me!

I swiftly picked up the brush and dipped it into the paint set out onto the palette, rushing straight for his face.

Osborn quickly reared back, but I subconsciously followed right after his retreat.

And this was how I toppled him down to the ground with him doing nothing to defend himself.

Osborn was astonished. He'd attempted to get back up, only for my other hand to immediately dart out to pin him down by the shoulder.

MC: No moving!

Surprise flashed through his eyes, as his usual impish smile crawled its way back up his face.

Osborn: Wow, what an aggressor.

MC: That's right. Now's my time to retaliate!

MC: No use trying to escape!

I circled the air with the brush, purposefully observing his face to make my mark.

MC: Hmm, what do you want me to draw on you?

Osborn seemingly accepted the fact that he was going to be an inevitable victim of mine since I already had him "pinned" down. He folded his arms behind his head, giving my question some serious thought.

Osborn: An air drawing?

MC: Dream on!

Osborn: Mercy, please. I beg you.

MC: It's too late to be begging me for mercy.

MC: Hmph. Just watch me improvise on the spot~

Just as I was rummaging through my brain for a glimmer of inspiration, a light bulb suddenly lit in my head.

I had an image now: Mitt as it was fleeing.

❖☆———————————★❖

I leaned down, supporting myself on Osborn's shoulder.

Following the curve of his jaw, I applied colour to his skin, drawing a colourful cat.

Osborn had his guard down, seemingly content to watch me work my "artistic talents" with him as the canvas.

The surroundings lapsed into silence.

I was drawing it on with such rapt concentration, yet I was still able to notice his long black lashes and hear his familiar steady breathing ever so clearly. I could somewhat feel the slight rise and fall of his chest.

I vaguely registered our close proximity to each other. My heart seemed unable to settle with the fact that we were so close to each other that our breaths intermingled, clamouring loudly within my chest.

I blinked twice, finishing off the last stroke before getting up and putting some distance between us.

❖☆———————————★❖

Osborn: Done?

I nodded.

Osborn: What do you think of your work of art?

Huh? Is he asking me to rate my own work?

I quickly gave him a once over, only to realize that I'd been distracted at the end, so it'd turned out a little funky. I nearly laughed at it right then and there.

MC: Ahem. I think it's not bad! You've got a big kitty on you now!

He waggled his brows, lazily raising his body halfway back up. His features were suddenly enlarged before my eyes once more as he leaned closer.

Osborn: Happy now?

MC: Mmhm… Pretty happy.

Osborn: Then let me tell you something that'll make you even happier.

He moved even closer, his words gently flowing with the air, wrapping themselves around my ears.

I shuddered as a scalding heat started creeping up my neck.

MC: ...What is it?

Osborn: The other kitty's right behind you.

Mitt: Meow~ Meow~

The last of his words were drowned out by the sudden meowing that sounded.

I snapped out of the trance of the moment, much to my embarrassment. Mitt had actually slinked behind me somehow without my knowing!

MC: Right, we should hurry and catch it before it gets up to no good again!

I quickly climbed off Osborn, flushing red as I fled.

A light chuckle sounded behind me in response.

❖☆———————————★❖

By the time we found Mitt, it was already sprawled out beside the TV cabinet with its paws stuck underneath, fiddling with something in the gap.

Recalling the layout of his living room, I quietly tip-toed and whispered my idea into Osborn’s ear.

MC: I’ll take left, you take right. We’ll pincer it.

Osborn: It’s already here, so there’s no need to go through so much trouble.

MC: Huh?

Osborn: Just wait and see.

Osborn took a couple of long strides forwards in the direction of the cat.

I followed after him, quietly approaching the black cat. However, my attention was suddenly caught by the photo frame that the cat had just been playing with.

Picking up the frame, I carefully observed it…

In the picture were Osborn and a couple of familiar-looking teammates. They’d all had an arm around each other’s shoulder, beaming as they held the same trophy.

Their faces all look much younger… Is this a photo from years ago?

The race car in the background had a red and white body with an orange rear spoiler, similar to the car model that Mitt had batted off its perch earlier.

MC: Don’t tell me… Was that car model made based on this race car?

I was lost in thought when a sudden meow broke my train of thought.

Osborn: Still wanna run?

❖☆———————————★❖

I raised my head to see Osborn with both arms raised, gently holding up the cat in question.

The bright and warm sunlight shone in through the window, carefully outlining his chiselled side-profile and the contours of his muscles.

Although Mitt had already been caught, it still glared daggers at Osborn. It was as if a cat and a human were engaged in a silent battle with each other.

After a while, Mitt seemed to register the fact that it’d lost, meowing pitifully in that soft cry once more.

❖☆———————————★❖

Osborn: Oh? You know how to beg for mercy now, don’t you?

Osborn carried Mitt to the little corner we’d set up for it. Mitt seemingly gave up on the game of chase, lowering its head to eat the cat food that we’d prepared for it since the very beginning.

Watching it eat its food so obediently, I couldn’t help but kneel down and stroke its round head.

Mitt cast a doubtful glance at me, but turned its head, indulging nuzzling itself into my palm.

MC: !

MC: I touched it! How cute…

Osborn: You’re that excited from just being able to touch it?

MC: Yeah. It looked so naughty that I thought I wouldn’t be able to touch it today.

Osborn: It’ll come running up to you for a lick or two so long as you have food.

MC: Then I MUST let it try the wet cat food! Maybe it’ll get closer to me!

I sped towards the sofa and picked up the packet of wet cat food, purposely waving it before its nose.

It couldn’t resist the offered temptation after all. Its soft fluffy paws batted at my wrist as it opened its mouth and cried its pleas.

MC: Okay, okay. Any more and you’ll end up a piggy.

I recalled something after putting away the remaining food. I picked up the photo frame that I’d set down earlier and handed it to Osborn.

MC: Oh, yeah. By the way, this was the photo frame that Mitt was batting with under the TV cabinet earlier. I don’t know where you normally display it.

He took the photo frame from me and glanced at it.

MC: And on that note, I realized that the car in the background looks very similar to the model we just pieced back together. Are they the same?

Osborn: Oh. The model was made according to this race car.

Suddenly, I recalled having seen the highlights of all his races before.

The year and month in which he’d won his first racing championship seemingly coincided with the time that this photo was taken.

My guess had tumbled out of my lips before I could stop it.

MC: Is this the car you drove when you won your first championship?

He quirked a brow.

Osborn: Why, you know me so well.

MC: Then… Is that car model something of a memento from that race?

Osborn: You can say that.

MC: I heard somewhere before that that car’s engine had to be changed out every two races. It shouldn’t be in use anymore, right?

Osborn: The engine exploded on me during that race, so it was only my companion once.

Osborn spoke lightly of it, but thinking of how exciting and terrifying it must have been back then, I couldn’t help but feel my heart sink a little.

MC: I’m glad the car model’s alright. Otherwise, it’d be such a pity for such a meaningful memento to get damaged like that.

Osborn: So I should thank you properly. Is that it?

MC: Huh? Thank me?

He chuckled lightly, his eyes sliding from the photo to my face. He had a slightly flippant look on his face.

Osborn: Weren’t you the one who made that car model more meaningful?

MC: ……

I was taken aback for a bit. I looked at him in surprise, only to find his gaze calm and gentle. There was a smile glimmering within his eyes.

Osborn: You were pretty clever when fixing the model. Why so stupefied now?

As his words sank in, I felt my heart flutter as I realized what he’d meant by having made it more “meaningful”. Something seemed to have filled my heart. It was a little flustering, yet also a little sweet.

I worried my lip and gathered my courage together before looking up to meet his eyes.

MC: Then, that makes me happier now…

MC: Although I didn’t get the chance to sit in on the race of your first championship and cheer you on…

MC: I was still able to piece the model back together and play a part in that precious moment of memory.

Inexplicable emotions surfaced in Osborn’s eyes, and in the next second, his big hand ruffled my hair with a vengeance.

Osborn: There’s really no helping you, is there?

I shyly ducked my head, but I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from rising.

At this moment, the sun had enveloped us both within its warmth.

The cat quietly ate by our feet, letting out a purr of satisfaction every once in a while.

Slowly but surely, unspeakable feelings started to bloom and spread within the confines of my heart.

I hope, from the deepest points of my heart, that time would always be eternally frozen in this beautiful moment.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 5 | Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

END 6 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Freedom⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Prologue)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #For Night For Freedom #黑色对峙 #Black VS Black

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hewhofightsbythesword · 3 years

Text

scotch or irish? tommy shelby x reader

warning/s: underage drinking, swearing, violence, and slight smut

inspired by disco pigs (2001)

A/N: I was really high when I came up this idea. Even wrote it while I was high, but I couldn’t find it the next mirning. Wasn’t sure if I really wrote it or if it was a dream. Either way, it’s here lol After like two weeks. Sowwyy

Tommy and y/n. y/n and Tommy. For as long as the pair can remember, that’s the way it has always been. Born only a few months apart, the two created an instant bond so strong that Aunt Polly said it would transcend through many lifetimes. And of course, Aunt Polly was never wrong in the matters of the heart. This was a friendship full of heart, romantic and platonic love for there was not one without the rest. Tommy’s mother would say to Polly, “That boy... it’s his cleverness that’ll kill him.” Martha found herself confiding in her more, so she continued, “As long as Tommy and y/n have each other... I am not worried.” And everyone knew. Everyone except Tommy and y/n.

The two had very similar minds. What one was thinking, the other was already mentally processing and vice versa. It would be almost adorable if it wasn’t so weird, as Arthur Sr. would call it. It was only weird because they were so smart. Against everybody else (even Polly at times, although she would never admit it), they were always two steps ahead.

From a young age the two understood their natural connection. For example, at the age of seven, Tommy and y/n planned to swear a vow of silence together that was planned to last a total of ten days. At first, y/n was met with slight worry from Tommy.

“We need code names! What should I call you if I need you?”

“You won’t have to need me, silly. That’s the whole point! I will already know, and so will you.” The logic was missing. They were both aware of this but none cared.

The goal was set for ten days. Not a single word was uttered between the kids or anyone else for that matter, aggravating the living hell out of those around them, especially Arthur who would’ve done anything to be a part of the joke. However, by day five, y/n broke the vow, rushing her feet as fast as they allowed a few houses down on Watery Lane.

That day she had heard a few of the older Lee boys, around Arthur’s age, speaking down on the Gypsy Shelby’s. y/n just had to tell Tommy or she was sure she would burst. It was also on day five Tommy came to two realizations: (1) He too would break their vow of silence. There was nothing worth doing if it meant he couldn’t do it with the person who understood him the most. (2) Tommy decided that same day that y/n, in her own right, was a Shelby too.

“Shelby,” he whispers to himself, only for him to hear.

At age 15, y/n was able to convince Tommy to steal a bottle of whiskey from the local pub. Her little hands shoved a piece of a paper with instructions in his direction. “Meet me here,” was all she told him with big eyes before he could even get a word in, running back to whatever held her short attention span. Unfolding the paper, Tommy could see a drawn out map of where to find the only girl who could keep young Tommy on his toes.

If anyone asked him, he would tell them all this was something he had to do. Many nights Arthur and Tommy had to go in all hours of the night looking for their father in pubs. One night in a drunken haze, Arthur Sr. takes his second born by the shoulders, causing him to be dragged onto the floor next to his father. He takes his boy by the face, shaking it a few times to show how serious he was trying to be.

“A man is meant to provide, always. Be a man, Thomas.”

y/n asked and Tommy planned to provide.

Seeing the large “X” marking the destination, it matched the location right before Tommy’s eyes. It was a beautiful far away, empty place from Watery Lane with lots of surrounding nature. It had just finished raining. y/n always did like the way the rain made the earth smell.

She notices her friend right away and runs up to him. y/n takes him by the hand. “I found my favorite tree here. Come on,” she says very nonchalantly.

Tommy shakes his head behind her. “Of course you did, Shelby. Of course you did.”

y/n often thought the world moved too slow for her liking. She always liked to be out and about. Always wild, never to be tamed. She figures that’s why she likes the Shelby’s so much. She was blessed to find a family early in her life that matched her soul. Except, she knows why she likes Tommy so much. He liked to be wild too. He moved just as fast as y/n, and he thought just as fast as her. So there was no doubt in her mind once she tasked her best friend with the alcohol that he'd deliver.

“I just took the first one I saw and ran like hell.” He presents y/n the bottle.

“Scotch whiskey,” y/n reads the label out loud before opening it. Tommy at this point began to see the trouble that she carried within her starting to stir. Confirming this intuitive feeling, y/n goes to make a quick toast like the kind she has seen her father make with Tommy’s. “To your Aunt Pol who would kill you if she ever knew, Thomas Shelby,” she groans out as she takes the first large swing with the most confidence. Even from when they were children, Tommy always wondered how so much confidence could fit in such a small body.

He takes the bottle from her to mimic her actions. “To my Aunt Polly who will find out by the week’s end.” They both laugh before Tommy takes his sip, but when he does, he takes it differently than y/n. “What the fuck, y/n. How can you even drink that shit?” He spits and coughs as he attempts to recover.

“What? I like it.” She shrugs while going for another.

At age 18, Tommy realized he loved y/n. By the time Tommy turned eighteen, it came to no surprise to anyone that he was already turning out to be a ladies man. Girls turning into young women were quick to notice his dark hair and hypnotic blue eyes. He was different than any of the factory worker boys that took after their fathers. He was ambitious. He wanted more to life than what dirty old Birmingham could offer, and the young women knew this so in some way, it even made it seem okay that his last name was Shelby. Almost as if Tommy was being pardoned for being a Shelby. And he hated that feeling.

y/n never made Tommy feel that way. She was always the first and the last one to defend her friend since birth. Crowned by Tommy all those years ago, she was Shelby. What else could have made her break her vow with Tommy all those years ago? Tommy didn’t realize exactly what he was realizing at the time. How could he? They were kids being kids. He couldn’t have known it was loyalty. If it wasn’t clear to Tommy then, it was now.

“You need to get out of here. Go get Arthur and John. This is no place for a woman,” Tommy warns y/n one night out, sensing trouble.

The two found themselves cornered by a group of boys around their age. The Peaky Blinders were gaining respect, notoriety, and fear from those around them. Things were changing for the Shelby’s, but not everyone agreed. Most certainly not the three boys looking for a fight. “Run!”

“No!” She hisses back. She tightens her fist and holds them up.

“There is no fucking way I’m letting you do this.”

“Either I leave to get the boys and we come back to your half-dead body, if we’re lucky or I stay and fight and we may actually win this.” Truth be told, y/n wished she could listen to Tommy and go get his brothers. But more than the fear she felt for herself, it was tenfold for Tommy.

“Damn you, Shelby.” he tells her as the fight breaks out.

No words were exchanged on the walk to The Garrison. It seemed like all of the day’s events were forcing Tommy to think about the vow they made when they were seven. Only this time, Tommy could see the logic she proposed. He did know what she was thinking because he was so sure she was thinking the same as him.

“Whiskey, Harry,” was all Tommy said, not bothering to spare the man a glance. y/n goes to sit at a table like they always do but was stopped by Tommy. He latches onto her hand, careful with the cuts and bruises that were beginning to form. “No,” he tells her, “We’ll be in the snug.” And no one protested. They may have wanted to but at the sight of blood on their clothes and on his razor blade, no one dared to speak out against the Blinder.

Not long after Harry delivers two glasses of whiskey through the snug’s window. “Give the toast, Shelby,” he gives the cup to y/n.

Her eyes never leave his. Even with exhaustion hijacking them, y/n could not name a more beautiful sight. “To you, Tommy. To the best and worst pal in the world.”

In his state of shock, Tommy failed to clink their glasses together, so y/n did it. The sound pulls him out of his own swirling thoughts, and they down their drink in an instant. Like the siamese twins they are, a look of disgust and twinge of horror overtake their faces.

“Scotch.”

“Irish.”

They both spit out like venom but were quick to laugh it off. “You gave me the wrong cup, Thomas!”

“Hey, come on now. I’m still Tommy. I’m just a bloody idiot for not knowing the difference.”

Only a few moments later, the laughing winds down a bit. The atmosphere still remains light only to be shattered. “Why don’t you love me?” He blurts out to y/n. “Like the way I love you?”

y/n’s content smile never falters. “I believe you have been too busy to notice me, Tommy. I’ve been right here. Because if you would have just asked, I would’ve said I loved you too. And I do... love you too.”

He smiles at her. “The best and worst pal in the world.”

y/n could feel her heart begin to hammer against her chest. She no longer felt like she was sitting down but floating. With the adrenaline from the fight gone, she should have been able to feel her wounds mark their place on her skin. But that’s not true. All she could feel was a warm, tight feeling in her chest. The boy she loved, loved her back. And no amount of irish whiskey could ever compare.

“Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.”

Tommy’s eyes searched y/n’s for any trace of hesitance or fraud but found none. All he could see were the eyes of the girl he loved the most. And most importantly, the girl loved him back.

He stands up to speak to Harry through the snug’s window and comes back shortly after. “Come here, Shelby.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to kiss the only girl in all of Small Heath that I love.” At that, y/n had no protests.

Their kiss was nothing less of what the two expected. It wasn't awkward. Nerve wracking, sure, but not awkward. Many nights y/n dreamt about this very moment. She dreamt how Tommy’s lips would feel against hers. She often wondered what kind of lover he was. And now she knows, leaving her with no more thoughts to wonder about.

She is the first one to pull away. “I have loved you since we were seven and you called me “Shelby” for the first time.” She places desperate kisses onto his lips, cheeks, and neck. Anywhere they would fall, really, leaving traces of pure love behind.

Tommy feels like he is starting to lose control once her pillow soft lips attack his neck. “Tell me again, y/n. Let me hear you.”

“I love you,” She reminds him in between her kisses.

“Shelby... if you keep doing that, I’m not sure how much gentleman will be left in me.”

She looks up from the spot on his neck she was loving on, having found his sweet spot. “This one? Right here?” She asks, feigning innocence as she lightly bites down. When she hears his soft moan, her tongue laps at the spot relieving it only to finish off with a few kisses.

Before the last one can even land, Tommy’s hand finds her neck to take control once more. He doesn’t squeeze nor does he have a rough hold. He merely wraps his fingers around the neck he will one day dress in the biggest jewels. Tommy guides y/n to the edge of the table and pushes her to lay on it.

“Here, Tommy?” She giggles watching her best friends crawl on top of her

He shushes her with more wet kisses. “No one will come in. It’s just me and you.” His hands caress, squeeze, and tease whatever he can.

“It’s yours, Tommy, my heart. It’s all yours.”

He wraps his hand under her hair that was sprawled over the table into a makeshift ponytail. “Mine,” he proves when he finally feels all of her. His eyes never hers, wanting to sear the memory of the exact moment she became his. Pain overtakes her face but her hands on his lower back right above his ass lets him know she was okay. After a while, y/n signals Tommy to start moving once more and pain starts to transform into a pleasure y/n never thought was possible.

All the sounds the two were making were sure to be drowned out by the ruckus made by the drunk men just outside the snug. Tommy was sure to tell Harry that no one else was allowed in under any circumstances. In his moment of euphoria, Tommy was ready to wet his razor blade for the second time that night should anyone dare barge in and take a look at what belonged to him.

This wasn’t Tommy’s first time but it was the first time he realized all what sex could be. All the men in his life were wrong. He was wrong. It didn’t have to be all what they said it should. All he ever needed was y/n. Now that he had her, he had no intention of ever letting go.

Basking in the momentary afterglow of his best orgasm, he says, “You know what, Shelby? I don’t think I mind scotch whiskey all that much anymore,” his thumb traces y/n lower lip, even getting it slightly moist, “Not when the taste comes from your lips. My lips.”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby imagine

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Note

Rach could you please do something soft like it’s maxwells birthday and you and alastair plan a small birthday party ( just the three of you) and he is so overwhelmed with love he can’t believe he got so lucky after everything ❤️ then you tell him you’re pregnant.

Also no pressure to write you can totally ignore this 😊

Birthday Surprise [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader]

Warnings: pregnancy, allusions to sex, food mention, mention of infidelity/cheating, mention of poverty

Word Count: 3200>

A/N: It’s April 1st which means it’s officially Max Lord’s birthday! <33 Thank you for all the Max requests people have sent in over the past week. They’ve truly been a joy to write. & Thank you @supernaturalgirl for this lovely request. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Once upon a time, Maxwell Lord had these big, extravagant parties to celebrate his birthday. He’d host at fancy venues and it would be formal, strictly black-tie, and only the elite were invited. But the truth was, he was incredibly lonely. He had no friends, only colleagues and business associates. His wife would hang on his arm, wearing real fur, and Chanel couture earrings, parading around the room, flirting with other businessmen who might’ve been more successful than Max.

He didn’t like his birthday. Growing up, he didn’t celebrate much either. The Lorenzano family could barely afford to buy Maxwell new shoes or clothes that fit, so expecting gifts and parties was the last thing on his mind. Every year though, without fail, his mother would cook him a small cake and light a candle. “Make a wish, Maxwell.” she’d whisper. It was funny how things turned out.

And when he married for the first time, it was his wife who insisted on these big, luxurious celebrations with balloons and music. The attention was nice, sure, but it always felt like it was more for her than it was for him. He’d never say anything though. Just smile and nod. As long as she was happy. She sure seemed happy when Maxwell caught his wife with her tongue down another man’s throat at his 32nd birthday party. Thankfully, that marriage soon ended, and whilst Maxwell swelled with heartache for a good few months, better things were soon to come.

Like meeting you.

About a week before Maxwell’s birthday, Alistair was... hyper, to say the least. It was way past his bedtime, and yet he was bouncing up and down on yours and Max’s bed, clearly trying to get his father to leave the room.

“Daddy, could you go make me some french fries?”

Maxwell peeked up from his newspaper and furrowed his eyebrows together. His son’s question even ruffled you slightly, as you looked up from painting your nails and tilted your head slightly.

“Alistair, it’s eleven at night. No french fries.” Maxwell sighed before looking back down at his newspaper.

Alistair hummed, looking around the bedroom.

“Daddy, did you remember to feed Lady her evening biscuits?”

Maxwell looked up from his paper again, and stared at his son.

“I fed her this evening,” You said, trying to work out what kind of mischief Alistair was getting up to now. “Ali, is everything okay?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” The six year old replied, and well, it was a fair response. You and Maxwell exchanged a glance before getting back to your business. About ten seconds passed.

“Daddy, can you make me some warm milk?”

Maxwell sighed, this time dropping his newspaper completely and rubbing his tired eyes. “You don’t need warm milk Alistair.”

“But I’ll struggle to sleep without it.”

“I’ll go get you some,” you told the child, but Alistair quickly extended his arm, stopping you before you could get out of bed.

“No mommy, you’re sick. Besides, I asked daddy.”

You blinked, taken slightly aback. Alistair was a sweet child with wonderful manners, that much you knew, but even his decorum right now took you by surprise. He was speaking like a fully grown gentleman. Processing his words, you simply shrugged your shoulders before shuffling back into bed and getting comfortable.

Yeah, you’d been throwing up the past few days, in the mornings mostly, but you’d drawn it down to food poisoning. It was sweet how Alistair was seemingly looking out for your health. Maxwell’s gaze flicked between you both but, in defeat, he got out of bed and padded downstairs, into the kitchen to prepare his son’s bedtime beverage. Once he was gone, and you could hear him begin to steam the milk, you snapped your fingers to get Alistiar’s attention.

“Alright Ali,” you sighed, folding your arms across your chest. “What’s going on? Why have you been trying to get your dad to leave the room for the past...” you checked the time on the alarm clock which was positioned on Max’s nightstand. “Half an hour.” Gods he was persistent. Just like his father.

“We need to do something special for daddy’s birthday.” Alistair announced, and as he uttered the words, you already knew that there was no room for questioning him. He and his father were similar in that sense too.

“What do you have in mind?” you wondered out loud. You knew Maxwell’s birthday was approaching, despite your husband never talking about it. You hadn’t even thought of what to get him yet, which was a problem.

“A party. But not like the ones daddy has for work,” Alistair explained, referring to the many galas Maxwell had hosted in attempt to gain sponsorship and investments for his company. “Like, a small tea party. Just us. All his favourite snacks and the birthday cake granny used to make him when he was a kid. I know it’s his favourite. And balloons and banners and streamers. I can draw a picture. And music. And—“

“Okay okay baby slow down, I see where you’re coming from,” you smiled, pulling Alistair into your lap. “And I like the idea. Do you know if your dad has ever had a small party like this before?”

“I don’t think so.” Alistair replied softly and you nodded in understanding.

“Well, we’ll have to make sure it’s perfect. We can start planning tomorrow morning when he goes to work, okay? But keep your mouth zipped tight Ali, it has to be a surprise.”

———

The day of Maxwell’s birthday started like any other. He left for work at 7:30, his driver waiting for him outside. He graced you with a quick peck on the cheek and told you he couldn’t wait to see you tonight. Now, Maxwell hadn’t uttered one word about his birthday in the past week, but even today, he hadn’t mentioned it. You’d planned on giving him his present this morning when he woke up, but your nerves got the better of you.

You’d waited to give him this gift for a week already, you could at least wait a few more hours until he got home from work.

At 9am, your best friend arrived with an abundance of helium balloons, birthday banners and streamers. At 9:30am, you tried to help Alistair pick out a smart outfit, although he was begging to wear one of his new Star Wars Ewok costumes.

“How can you eat all the cake if you’re dressed as a massive teddy bear?” you asked the boy. He sighed, knowing that you had a point.

Alistair looked adorable in his button down shirt and pants. You even fished in Maxwell’s closet to find a bow tie, hoping it would complete the look.

“I look like dad.” Alistair mumbled, fiddling with the wonky tie that you’d haphazardly wrapped around his neck.

“Exactly. You look wonderful.” you grinned, enveloping him into a massive hug.

At 12, you figured it was the best time to begin baking the cake. But to do that, you needed the recipe. When you called Ms Lorenzano, your heart blossomed upon hearing the excitement in her voice.

“Oh darling! Hello! It’s so lovely to hear from you.” she spoke into the phone, and you could just imagine her smile on the other end of the line. It was identical to Maxwell’s.

“Hello Ms Lorenzano,” you greeted, nervously curling the telephone wire around your finger. “How’ve you been?”

“I was just packing away my groceries. I got the bouquet of flowers you and Maxwell sent me yesterday. They look beautiful on my dining room table. Thank you, darling. They really lighten up the room. How is my son? Is he there?” Ms Lorenzano quizzed.

“Max is great, actually. He’s working at the moment but we were thinking about flying out to see you this weekend. If you weren’t busy? Alistair misses you very much.”

“Oh that would be wonderful! I’ve missed my little cherub so much. Let me guess, a big party planned tonight for my Maxwell’s birthday?” She beamed.

“Not quite. It was Ali’s idea to plan something small - a tea party of sorts. He was telling me about this vanilla frosting birthday cake you used to bake when Max was younger? And I was hoping you’d share the recipe with me. I’d love to try and recreate it… although my baking skills are nowhere near as good as yours.” you giggled.

“That recipe has been passed down our family for generations,” Ms Lorenzano explained and you felt your heart sink into your chest. By neither law nor blood, you weren’t family. Would she really not give you the recipe? You’d been dating Maxwell for years now. And Ms Lorenzano did always say you were like a daughter to her… “Of course you can have it.” she smiled and you felt a wave of relief wash over you as she began to list the ingredients.

“Thank you Ms Lorenzano, it was so lovely to speak to you. Max is gonna give you a call tonight. Take care, okay?”

“Okay darling. I send my love. Give Alistair a kiss from his ol’ granny. I will see you Saturday.”

Now, the smart thing would’ve been to call over the house chef and have her prepare the birthday cake. At least then, it would be void of any errors. But this was strictly a Lorenzano family recipe and the last thing you wanted to do was to disrespect Ms Lorenzano and immediately give it to the house chef. So, you figured you’d give it your best go. At least then it would be sentimental.

Maxwell was a fussy eater, only eating the most delicious and well presented foods. You weren’t sure if he’d even step a foot near this cake. As you stirred together the ingredients, something wasn’t right. It was lumpy and bubbling and -- no matter what, you just couldn’t seem to fix it. You called Alistair in, who had been colouring in a family portrait he’d drawn, to take a look, but of course, he didn’t know any better.

When the cake came out the oven, it was lop-sided and slightly burned. You figured it would be okay if you just covered it in the vanilla frosting and placed the sliced strawberries intricately on the top. But no. Luck wasn’t on your side today. The strawberries slipped off and the icing was uneven. At least you managed to put the cake on one of the fancy ‘special occasion’ plates. You could just tell Maxwell that it was made with love.

Ali helped you decorate downstairs, which proved to be a challenge. The rooms in Lord manor were extensively sized and tall, but you did your best.

“Ali, I’m going to quickly get changed okay? Would you do me a favour and bring down your dad’s presents from upstairs? You could place them on the dining room table.”

Alistair nodded obediently and did as he was told. You went up to yours and Maxwell’s shared closet and looked around, trying to decide on what exactly you should wear. You opted on a beautiful, fitted champagne coloured dress that glittered in the artificial lighting. It was one of your favourite gowns and you had worn it last summer at one of Black Gold Cooperative’s charity fundraising events. You knew how much Maxwell loved it too. If Alistair was dressed in his father’s bow-tie, and Maxwell always looked presentable, there was no reason you couldn’t make an effort to look good too. Besides, you didn’t know how long you’d have left before you wouldn’t be able to fit into these dresses anymore.

You didn’t have long before Maxwell was due to finish work. You quickly style your hair and adjust your makeup, before padding downstairs and into the dining room. Just like you had requested, all of Maxwell’s presents were neatly piled on top of the table, courtesy of Alistair.

“He’ll be home any second Ali,” you said, handing Alistair a party popper and adjusting the cone shaped party hat on his head. Alistair was absolutely beaming, his big brown eyes twinkling like starlight as he anticipated his father coming home from work. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Alistair grinned.

“Okay. Good. Let’s go find a place to hide.”

Ducking down behind the stack of gifts, you waited for about five minutes in silence, until you heard the front door unlock. Alistair squeaked excitedly, hearing his dad come home and you bit your lip, quietly shushing him but unable to contain your own smile.

Maxwell was surprised when he came home. He wasn’t greeted like he expected to be. Normally, every evening after his shift, you and Ali would run into his arms and envelope him into a hug. The lack of running and hugs concerned Maxwell. The house was dead quiet, and he even found himself wondering if either of you were home.

When he padded into the dining room and switched on the light, you and Ali jumped out and screamed in unison; “Happy birthday!”

Maxwell froze, his jaw dropping open and his eyes going comically wide. He was presented with an abundance of gifts, a decorated dining room, his son and girlfriend all dressed up, and a questionable looking cake with a wax candle stuck in the top. You and Alistair ran into Maxwell’s arms and hugged him tight.

“Daddy! Daddy! It’s your birthday! Look! We planned a surprise tea party all by ourselves!” Alistar squealed, tugging on his father’s arm.

“I- I- wow!” Maxwell gasped, genuinely speechless. You bit your lip and swayed your hips as you lovingly gazed into his brown eyes. You didn’t know what it was, maybe the fact the whole day was leading up to this moment, or perhaps just an imbalance with your hormones, but you had missed him so much. Just seeing him again made you want to weep in his strong arms. You loved him so much.

“Happy birthday.” you whispered, raising your hand to cup his face. He nudged his nose against yours and you kissed him sweetly.

“You did all of this for me?” He asked after reluctantly pulling away, still in genuine shock.

“It was Ali’s idea.” you replied, letting your body lean against his. You rest your head into his chest so much so that you could hear the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You look… breathtaking, darling.” Maxwell hummed, his hand resting on the small of your back.

“Come sit down,” you said, taking his hand and guiding him over to the dining room table. “You have all these presents, and we have cake and music…”

“The cake…” Maxwell pointed and quirking an eyebrow. “Is that… it can’t be…”

“It is, I called your mom for the recipe.” You confirmed with a nervous smile.

“I-- don’t believe it. I haven’t had this cake since--”

“I know. Again it was Ali’s idea,” you informed him. Alistair looked bashfully proud as he anticipated the cake cutting. “I know it doesn’t look the best…”

“Are you kidding?” Maxwell asked, cutting you off. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Would you like to try some?”

“Would I like to try some?” Maxwell repeated incredulously. “Of course!”

You lit the candle and held hands with Alistair and Max as the two of you sang happy birthday. As Maxwell blew out the candle, you told him to make a wish.

“I don’t need to wish for anything. I already have everything I could ever want. Right here.”

Maxwell got a variety of miscellaneous gifts for his birthday. A porcelain statue of a dog, a small desk flag with his company logo on it, a basket filled with biotin supplements, and of course the artwork that Alistair had created earlier in the day. It was a beautiful crayon illustration of you, Max, Ali, and of course your cat, Lady Lord. Maxwell promised to frame it and put it on his desk at work. Little did he realise though, the best gift was yet to come.

Once Alistair was tucked into bed, you and Maxwell decided to settle down and have an early night. All the eating and dancing had exhausted you both.

“Thank you for today,” Maxwell mumbled, pulling the zipper down your dress. His warm breath fanned over the shell of your ear and you immediately felt butterflies in your stomach. “Why don’t we go to bed, hm?” he asked, peppering kisses down your neck and along your shoulders.

You knew what he was hinting at, and you wanted it too. Of course you wanted it too. But there was something you had to deal with first. You were so nervous but you knew it was now or never.

“I didn’t give you your birthday present.” you announced, turning around to look your boyfriend in the eye.

“Wh-- what do you mean? You didn’t need to get me anything. This was enough. You-- you, my love, are enough.”

You smiled, rubbing his bicep and finding yourself once again getting lost in his eyes. You took a deep breath and pulled him into the en-suite bathroom. Although confused, Max didn’t say a word, and instead, he watched you in silence as you unlocked the drawer under the sink. It was where you usually kept your cosmetics, but Max’s gift had been waiting in there for the past week, wrapped up in tissue. You took it out and handed him it.

You anxiously watched as he unravelled the tissue, only to be presented with a positive pregnancy test. Your positive pregnancy test. His eyebrows knotted together and you watched his Adam's apple bop in his throat as he swallowed. But then, only seconds later, his face softened and his eyes became glazed with unshed tears. “You’re… we’re…”

“We’re pregnant, Max.” you confessed, confirming his thoughts.

Maxwell choked up and wrapped his strong arms tight around you, squeezing you hard. “Oh my God, we’re really pregnant?”

“Mhm.” you giggled, as Maxwell pulled away and cupped your cheeks with his hand. He kissed you passionately and when he pulled away, his grin was ecstatic.

“How long have you known?” He quizzed.

“A week.” you admitted.

“A week?!”

You swatted his arm playfully and shushed him.

“I wanted it to be a surprise. We have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, to confirm it and everything. But with the sickness and… I can feel it, you know?” You took his hand and placed it against your stomach. “I can really feel it.”

“I love you so much,” Maxwell smiled. “I love you so, so much.”

“Happy birthday my dear.” you replied, guiding him back over to the bed. “I love you too.”

--------x---------

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

169 notes · View notes

atlabeth · 3 years

Note

Can I get a Fluff with scenes 12 , 19, and 20 for Sokka x fem reader. They plan a date and get ready for it. Sokka and the gaang are amazed on how Y/N looks for their date.

you look perfect - sokka x fem!reader

a/n: this was such a cute request ive been writing so much angst lately that i needed some fluff lol. i played w the request a little and once again i wrote way too much but i hope you still like it!!

wc: 1.7k

warning(s): only a little bit of insecurity on the reader’s side but the rest is all fluff :))

12. “It looks good on you.” 19. “How did I manage to get you?” 20. “Maybe I’m just lucky.”

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

“Are you guys sure that this goes with the dress?” Y/N looked at herself in the mirror uneasily as Suki finished up her eyeshadow, fiddling anxiously with her hands in her lap. Katara was working magic on her hair, styling it to perfection, and Toph was sitting on a beanbag in the corner of her room to offer moral support. She had called her girls over to help her get ready for her date with her boyfriend; they had been more than happy to help her out and gossip together, but nerves were once again getting the better of her.

It had only been a little over a year since she had been silently pining for Sokka — ever since he had walked into the lecture hall on their first day of classes, she had been drawn to him. It didn’t help that he had chosen a spot right next to her — this was a class essential for half the majors at the university, so he didn’t have very many choices coming in right before the clock — but that easy smile he shot at her before taking out his laptop made her feel some kind of way.

They ended up getting paired together for their first project, and they became friends in no time. Doing projects together turned into studying together, and they had been spending a lot of time together at various cafes and libraries in preparation for their midterm. Y/N had been wanting to ask Sokka out for a while, but she was so scared of messing up their friendship that she just settled for it. After all, he was an amazing friend and had become one of her closest ones, so it was hardly settling. Luckily for her, she ended up not having to make the first move.

“Hey, Y/N.” She hummed in response to let Sokka know she had heard him, but didn’t look up from her laptop. “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tomorrow?”

“Oh, I think that would be great! Our midterm is on Wednesday, so if we fit in another long study session tomorrow we’ll have Monday and Tuesday to take it all in and do some last-minute preparations.”

“No, no studying.” That got her attention and she stopped her rapid typing, being met with that same easy smile he gave her the day they met when she looked up. “Just.. the two of us, together. I could take you out to lunch, and you could have something that isn’t coffee for once.”

Now Y/N was really paying attention. She almost couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and she was unable to stop the wide smile playing on her lips. “Sokka, are you asking me out?”

He laughed and nodded, giving her a similar smile but with a hint of nervousness in it. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Y/N set her hand on the table and Sokka set his on top of it, intertwining his fingers with hers. “You don’t even know how much I’d love to go out with you.”

“For the thousandth time, yes!” Suki nodded, pleased with her work, and started to clean up the palettes that she had laid all over the floor. “You know I would never do you wrong.”

“I know that Suki, but.. This isn’t something that I usually wear, what if he doesn’t like it? What if he thinks I’m trying too hard? I usually don’t even do makeup, but I really wanted—”

“Y/N, stop!” Her eyes snapped over to Toph, who came over and put her hands on her shoulders. “Remind me what you’re getting ready for, again?”

Toph’s brutal honesty was one of the things Y/N appreciated most about her, and bringing her back down to Earth was something she needed desperately right now. “A date with my boyfriend?”

“Yes, and what is that date celebrating?”

“...our one year anniversary.”

“Exactly!” Toph clapped her on the shoulder a lot harder than she needed to, and Y/N let out a surprised laugh. “You’ve been dating him for a year, this man is totally and completely whipped for you! You literally have nothing to worry about.”

“I know, but still! What if he doesn’t like this shade, or you’re all lying and this actually doesn’t bring out my eyes, and—”

“Y/N, please. Look at me.” Katara’s voice interrupted her ramble, and Y/N met Katara’s eyes, finding a lifeline in the ocean she carried within them. She started playing with the ring on her finger again — it was a promise ring that Sokka had given her half a year into their relationship, and she never took it off. It was one of her most treasured possessions, and just holding it helped her worries fade away a bit.

“I know my brother, and I know how he feels about you.” Katara finished off Y/N’s hair and took a seat on the floor in front of her. “After that first day in class with you, he told me about this beautiful girl he met in his calculus class. He said, ‘something about her seemed so inviting, so I sat next to her. I even lied about forgetting my pencil so that I would get to talk to her, even just for a second.’”

Y/N smiled to herself, already feeling her cheeks heating up. Sokka had told her about that on their first date, and she remembered how shocked she was that he had thought about her when they first met in the same way she did. “I remember that. He told me how nervous he was to ask me out, and that was just crazy to me. He carries himself so confidently and he’s just so smooth in everything that he does.. The thought of him getting nervous over me is so cute.”

“Everything is going to be fine, okay? You look absolutely fantastic in every way possible. I’ll be surprised if he’s even going to be able to take his eyes off of you. Everyone is going to be looking at you when you look like this.” Suki patted Y/N on the cheek and smiled, and her nerves finally settled, but only for a moment. There was a knock on the door and Y/N took a deep breath, shaking her hands out as she gave her friends a desperate look. She felt the same way that she did the time he came to pick her up for their first date — childish joy and excitement all playing together to form some very big butterflies in her stomach.

“Go get your man, Y/N!” Toph hit her on the shoulder and Y/N laughed, running out of her room so she could get to the door. She took a second to compose herself before opening the door, revealing the image of her boyfriend in a simple sports coat and slacks — it was one of the most basic combinations, but Sokka made it look like he was walking out of a luxury store. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, and he perked up when she opened the door.

“Sokka! You have perfect timing, I just finished getting ready.” She opened the door wider so that he could come in if he wanted to and gasped. “Are those flowers?”

Sokka didn’t say anything, his mouth parted like he wanted to say something but just couldn’t find the words. His wide eyes traveled up and down, looking at her makeup, her hair, her outfit, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked, and that gorgeous smile that had drawn him in from the start. She was completely and utterly perfect, and it was like his brain was shutting down trying to think of how to communicate it to her.

“What?” Y/N looked down at her outfit and pulled at the fabric, mentally kicking herself and already starting to walk back to her room. She was convinced he didn’t like it. “You know, I wasn’t really into this anyways, I can change if you just give me a second—”

Sokka grabbed her wrist and pulled him back to her, stopping her rambling with a heated kiss. Y/N practically melted as she returned it, and was completely breathless when she pulled away.

“What was I saying?” She asked, slightly dazed.

“Your dress,” he said with a chuckle. “It looks good on you. You look so good, so.. perfect. I just forgot how to talk for a while there.”

Y/N smiled shyly and rubbed her arm, all the insecurity from before dissipating. She always wanted everything to be perfect for her boyfriend so that he would understand how much she loved him, but Sokka loved her, not the clothes she wore or the way she did her hair. Of course, she looked drop dead gorgeous tonight, but to him, she was always perfect. “How did I manage to get you?”

“I ask myself that every time I look at you.” Sokka grinned and held out the flowers, his eyes following her as she set them in a nearby vase. He then pulled her into the hallway with him, allowed Y/N to close the door before they started walking down the hallway together. “And the only thing I can come up with, the only reason that someone like you could fall into my life, is that maybe I’m just lucky.”

“I think it was fate. I truly believe that we were meant to meet because.. I just can’t imagine my life without you. I’ve loved you since that first bad joke you made to me during class, and this has undoubtedly been the best year of my life,” Y/N mused.

“I knew it was only a matter of time before you fell for me after I pulled out the comedy.” He laughed and gave Y/N a cheeky smile as he held the door to exit the complex open for her, the cool night air doing nothing to help her flushed cheeks.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Y/N. Happy anniversary.” Sokka’s eyes softened as he looked at her, leaning in to give her a kiss on the lips before they continued. “I can’t wait to celebrate so many more of these with you.”

And as they walked into the parking lot towards Sokka’s car, hands intertwined together, his thumb rubbing against hers, and her lips still burning from where he kissed her, Y/N wondered what she had ever been worried about.

#sokka #sokka fic #sokka x fem!reader #sokka x reader #atla #avatar #atla fic #avatar fic #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender fic #sokka x you #writing #blurb #one shot #sokka blurb #atlabeth 100 followers #sadie writes

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dana-chan-the-control-brain · 3 years

Note

Hey, did you saw the film theory on Invader Zim on Membrane that Low-key makes sense

NO. IT. DOESN’T!

Okay, maybe this is my personal bias shining through, because I really don’t like Mattpatt sometimes... No. Okay, I have nothing against the guy personally. More frankly, I don’t like his fanbase or the way he structures his videos.

The way Mattpatt words and structures his videos acts like he’s the first person who thought of this idea, it’s the main contributor to why I stopped watching his videos a long time ago.

He speaks in a lot of rhetorics and strawman arguments rather than just saying what he wants to say. Like “If you don’t believe me... look no further then...” and that’s the one thing I ABSOLUTELY HATE on theory videos.

And some of Mattpatts own theories he doesn’t take seriously, but this is what you get when you base your INCOME off of youtube ad revenue and browse the reddit forums for new ideas. A completely monopolized way of theorizing. (and this is why there are several paragraphs in my current chapter of Tech Support of Zim’s Computer complaining about the concept of youtube entertainment in general.)

Sure, I don’t think Mattpatt will run out of theories... but I really hate the structure of his videos follows along strawman arguments, acting like he’s always arguing with an imaginary audience for entertainment value rather than just say what he wants to say.

That, and people will often cling to theories of someone with good editing software and a youtube channel then Their own opinions.

Something that I learned was incredibly dangerous to do. I learned my lesson with “That Guy with the Glasses dot com” and I don’t plan to act like I know something or am better than someone else cause I agree with someone who said something on youtube once.

I do watch Internet reviews and theory videos for entertainment, but that’s all they are to me. I don’t like to watch youtube videos to give me opinions on how I feel about things. And I seriously think a wide margin of his subscribers lack critical thinking skills at times, as well as a majority of the youtube audience, or from what I’ve seen in the comment section.

However, remember... These are just my thoughts on the matter... My thoughts are not law and I never claim them to be.

Like when I first joined the fandom and posed my GIR analysis questions... I even said:

“I don’t know if the fandom has talked about this in depth or not... I just got here... or if someone put it into this many words before but...”

Also... the thing that bothers me about his Invader Zim theory...

A lot of Mattpatt’s sources are just..... Wrong...

(for the next few minutes I will be talking about this video, feel free to watch or don’t)

Okay.. “Membrane is an Irken” this has been a popular fan theory since before I even entered the fandom and there are old fics about this. I have read Irken Membrane stories before.

It’s not personally my cup of tea, but it’s fun to think about.

But the straws Mattpatt grasps in his video.... Really upset me because there is some thought to the theory back in the day.. ... Like back in 2002??? but like.... NOW?!

Okay, I’ll pick apart this a little... bit by bit...

He says that Membrane takes a hard stance against anything paranormal.

Kinda... but no.. Membrane never outright denies the existence of aliens. (except in ETF... which he mainly says out of frustration...) This is what Membrane says about “there are no aliens” in the show:

Membrane just says that there are no “intelligent” aliens...None that are able to travel the massive distance to Earth, anyways... If aliens existed at all, (like the cryptoids Dib talks of) they would have traveled the distance to the planet and communicated with them by now.

However, this is a nitpick of a minor issue. One that a majority of the fandom tends to overlook when viewing Professor Membrane and Dib’s relationship in general.

And I do find it weird that he used this for evidence when he cut out the most important snippet from the full lecture he gives Dib here.... JUST to support his claim... as if he’s intentionally leaving that part out.... hmmmm

However, I can let this slide, because it’s a nitpick and really doesn’t change anything that Membrane is very dissuasive of Dib’s alien-hunting hobbies. (I have a theory as to why and I explain it here in my own way)

The point is, Membrane is dismissive of anything alien... maybe because he’s an Irken...okay, good, yes. fair.

A lot of Mattpatts claims from then on are pretty solid, and I won’t bunk them with “But in my headcanon/Fanfic verse...” Because what he is saying is all true.

Membrane denying the existence of aliens even after being taken to space jail doesn’t have much of an explanation and is played for comedy and there are many ways you can go with this, and I am not going to bring up my fanfics or my own headcanons to argue with him here.

Because there is no explanation, and he is going with the “Membrane is Irken” theory... So that’s very solid when he’s talking about Membrane denying the Hallucinations.

Mattpatt claimed that Membrane wore his face covering at all times and had been dressed this way since he was a child.

I will not deny this. This is true.

However, isn’t bringing up Membrane’s childhood kinda put a hole in your own argument?

MEMBRANE WAS A CHILD.

He had been shown to have childhood memories in the comics and the show.

Irkens don’t really have a “Childhood” per say, at least not in the way that humans do. They are a smeet, then elite, then Invader..

If he’s claiming that Membrane came to earth as an Irken SMEET....How, why, and when?

That kinda raises more questions than it answers.... What are you proving by bringing up Membrane’s baby pictures on Earth exactly? It kind of works against your own argument?

Saying that they’re Irken because they all have the same hair.... that’s just stupid... and he’s citing the Invader Zim wiki on this .... oh boy.

Yeah, Like before I watched the show I thought Dib and Disguised Zim were the same character or brothers...

But I don’t think character design here is a solid enough reason in this case... At least not when it comes to the hairstyles... That’s a stretch.

“Hmmm Membrane’s hair forms an M shape... What could the M stand for? Mirken?! SUSPICIOUS!” (this is just a joke)

Also... the lack of ears thing... He did say it would be hard for Membrane to hear if his headpiece was covering his ears, but not necessarily... The entire thing is a headset and he is the man of science, he can really do whatever the fuck he wants cause Science is like magic in a show like this. So if Membrane wears a headset that doesn’t obstruct his hearing at all, I can buy it... Also.. it’s equally possible his ears got blown off in a chem lab accident or he’s legally deaf and that headset acts as a hearing aide and HELPS him hear...

Actually, I always noticed how in Membrane’s original design from the show, the headset looked a lot like a hearing aid. Specifically one with a head clip, It’s one of the things I first noticed about his design in the show.

And it’s just something I always assumed because he’s a scientist who deals with explosions in his face on a daily basis... (in fact he experiences one in episode 2B) So on first viewing, I thought that his headset served as a hearing aid as well as prescription glasses and a communication device.

I’m just throwing out possibilities because the “lack of ears” is also kinda a stretch.

Mattpatt complaining about “lack of nose” however... Okay, yeah I’ll give him that one. It’s a character design choice that is a little odd for Professor Membrane, but it does fit with the Irken theory, since a majority of human characters, in fact, all have noses. So, Yes the “lack of nose” does fit more into the Irken theory.

However.... Florpus anime Membrane DOES have a nose...

Meant to be drawn in a more semi-realistic artsyle, you can clearly see the bridge of his nose here.

And he looks very similar to anime Dib... Sooooo... Shrug-city...

It’s likely that Membrane not having a nose in the show is simply a stylistic choice than anything else. Basically, the bridge of the nose is there... we just don’t see it.

Especially since Nightmare Membrane has a nose as well..

Membrane is like Home Improvement’s Wilson. We will never see his face, and that’s part of the gag. The man probably sleeps in his labcoat honestly...

I also find the voice pattern thing a bit of a stretch. Membrane and Zim are just eccentric characters who yell to emote or emphasize a point or emote stronger. And Membrane’s inflections are never the same as Zim’s.

Remember, no other Irken TALKS like Zim. Professor Membrane doesn’t really go around screaming: “I AM PROFESSOR MEMBRANE” either.....

If anything... it just kinda proves both characters have auditory processing issues or hearing problems more then anything.

And there is a lot of screaming on this show.... Screaming from Dib, screaming from Membrane, Screaming from GIR, screaming from Zim... Screaming is funny... and characters scream so much that the characters with their mouths wide open is somewhat a staple of the show.

This is more because of Johnen Vasquez’s voice direction...

Especially since no other Irken really talks like Zim..

Zim’s manor of Speach is strictly a Zim thing and not an Irken thing.

Professor Membrane’s manner of speech is simply a Membrane thing and not a human thing.

I will give Mattpatt that. That a lot of tech in the show looks similar to Membrane’s. I feel this is mostly a stylistic choice, but it really does fit in with the Irken theory.

Like that Zim just so happens to use the same operating system as Dib is played off as a joke. But it does add some small credence to the theory here... I need to point out when he does get it right... some pats on the back.

These are very good points and does follow through with what he’s trying to prove by the end of the day.

(even if Membrane was lying about the destruction of all mankind with the beans thing, but that’s a minor nitpick here)

But his entire paragraph comparing Membrane’s tech to Irken tech is a really good one. Props there.

This whole paragraph about there being only Tall or short irkens cause their society is height based and there are no “medium-sized” irkens....cause they were “dealt with”

Okay.

....

Sure Mattpatt. Let’s just entirely ignore the existence of the Frylord and this entire character even though you mentioned it in the synopsis at the start of your video... Showing that Taller irkens are in positions of power against the shorter, also... Zim is a tiny irken... there are many Irkens that stand taller then Zim.

Being tall in Irken society is a rarity, and Almighty Tallest Purple said that he and Red “became” the Tallest. How? We don’t know, but we do know at one point the current Tallest looked like this:

How do Irkens get that Tall? Body modifications? Maybe... it’s never explained, but considering the Frylord is super big and probably eats a lot of snacks might have something to do with it. We don’t know.

It’s safe to say that being Tall in their society is a rarity and Tallests are either born or made special from the cloning chamber from the get go.

Not to mention, Membrane is Taller than the current Tallest are already...

and you said earlier in the video that Membrane would have gone to Earth as a child...

When he was no taller than a wrapped Christmas box of socks...

So why would Membrane take refuge on Earth at this point? Mattpatt says that Membrane was sent on a mission to Earth because the Tallest felt threatened by his rule...

BY MEMBRANE’S RULE?!?

HE’S THE SIZE OF A CHRISTMAS BOX OF SOCKS!

What do they have to be threatened by?

Because... Mattpatt DID bring up Membrane as a child earlier in the video... meaning Membrane came to earth when he was about the same size as Zim.

SO THEY HAD NOTHING TO BE WORRIED ABOUT AND HAD NO EVIDENCE TO BELIEVE MEMBRANE WOULD GROW TO BE TALL ORE EVEN VIEW HIM AS A THREAT

You bunked your own argument. Congradulations.

Membrane conquered the world through his inventions. In a way, sure. Membrane Labs does own a lot of stuff. But he doesn’t own everything. A majority of the Corporations that keep the population stupid usually don’t have anything to do with Membrane Labs and aren’t affiliated at all.

But this does fit into the “Membrane is an Irken” theory so I will give him that one.

However, Membrane being an evil corporate dictator is a hot take I never really appreciate at all and I can never get behind it.

It hits too close to home in the real world, and I always like to view Membrane as a self-made man and a World loving hippie at his core who just wants to make the world a better place, much like his son, but he actively does something about it. (which can also be why he encourages Dib with real science so much cause he knows Dib wants to save the Earth as much as he does)

Just calling Membrane a capitalist billionaire that doesn’t care about the little guy kinda seems disingenuous towards his character for me.

Especially when Membrane in “Ten Minutes to Doom” created a machine (foodio) that completely end world hunger... which was in BETA in the unreleased episode...

but by the time the movie rolls around... Foodio exists... past his BETA, meaning that he’s probably no expensive than a common household microwave and can materialize food from nothing:

Yeah. Membrane completely ended world hunger off-screen. thanks. (something no capitalist would ever do...)

Membrane also does appearances for charity (in the comics), and often takes funding for sponsorships when he is low on funds and he had to find a cure for pig mouth.

Sure “Membrane conquered the world” fits the Irken theory...

But I never appreciate that take on his character and that is admittedly, very personal bais.

I just wanted to say my peace a little bit here about how I 100% don’t vibe with the “Membrane capitalist/billionaire scum” especially since he ended world hunger...and invented a cure for the un-common cold.

Works for the theory, so good on Mattpatt for that one, but I personally don’t vibe with it.

Mattpatt compared Zim and Dib’s head shape as something to argue... Like because Dib has a similar head shape to Zim... that Dib has to be an alien... Okay... But If you look at the Invader Zim artbook (which I own)

The show has a very distinct look on how they draw characters’ heads. It’s a very distinct stylistic choice and there are pages upon pages in the artbook describing the style and how it looks in motion, and many revision notes to the Korean animators.

There are lots of pages on the artbook describing in detail the differences between the main characters’ heads, what to do, and what not to do.

It’s a difficult style to replicate, and Dib having a big head was mostly a joke from the showrunners to the showrunners, cause they kept drawing Dib’s head slightly bigger to make him look more appealing.

A majority of the audience doesn’t really notice because all the children in the show have big heads. All the kids are like 3-4 feet tall and have huge heads.

Also... Dib’s head is far more rounder then Zim’s in the comics and the Movie... comparing their head shape as an arguing point, when Dib’s head shape changed midway season 1 when the designs got slightly more streamlined is just... bad form..

Dib and Zim’s heads never really look the same from the early episodes as they do later on.

Comparing this character design similarity just because of the artstyle is really stupid.

This is the most infuriating thing about the video... because Mattpatt disproves his own argument with his own footage not a few seconds earlier.

He claims that Gaz sarcastically mentioning she has a squeedly spooch is a canon fact...... but ... hmm.. Mattpatt... can I rewind the footage of your video, please?

Where’s her squeedly spooch?

IS IT BEHIND HER CLEARLY HUMAN ORGANS?! I DON’T SEE IT?

And this isn’t just a stylistic choice... here’s a picture of another human’s organs for comparison.

Mattpatt literally disproved his own argument and ignored the fact that we saw an X-ray of Gaz’s organs in the very same episode...

Gaz doesn’t have a squeedly spooch and she literally was being sarcastic.

and the whole thing is disproved very easily.

Everything Mattpatt says in between those two points, about Dib being taken aboard an alien ship as a baby, and that there is no mother, and the Clone theory... That is all good stuff and this is what the theory video should have speculated and focused on, because there is some digging to be had here... I feel he focused a lot on the wrong points in his video...

And this is the most outrageous point he makes in his video. It’s the thing that pissed me off the most... and lead me to write this essay in the first place.

He claimed Eric Trueheart himself confirmed the clone theory and had story plans where Dib would discover his clone origins.

HE DID NOT!

IN FACT, Eric Trueheart himself published Volume One of the Invader Zim script book AND THIS IS WHAT HE SAID:

Eric neither confirmed nor denied the rumor.

But for Mattpatt to blatantly say that Eric said that Clone Dib was a planned thing by the screenwriters?!

He is BLATANTLY putting words into a Screenwriter’s mouth! Something that you should NEVER do.

Because it is 100% a lie.

He had no source for this claim. He probably just read the same rumor on the wiki and has no source.

This is the reason why I don’t trust videos like Mattpatt. The truth is often stretched for entertainment value, or information is just made up to prove “they were right” about whatever the topic of the day was. He doesn’t even bother to cite the source he got “Eric Trueheart’s word of mouth” from... because it was wrong.

Sorry if this whole thing is more hostile than it intended to be... But Mattpatt was looking at the ENTIRELY wrong evidence for this show....

Irken Membrane is a fun theory... but Mattpatt picked the entirely wrong topics and points of discussion, even to the point of hiding the truth and straight-up lying to his audience about his sources.

It’s kinda like saying “Birds eat ghost peppers because they’re part dragon and dragons can handle spicy food”

While, yeah, Birds are descended from dinos, it’s kinda missing the full story there and it’s not the reason why birds can eat spicy food.

Irken Membrane is a fun fan theory... do what you want with it. I am not here to dissuade Irken Membrane headcanons...

I’m just here to encourage critical thinking, and perhaps NOT put words into content creators' mouths when there is no credible source for it just because it benefits your argument.

#Invader Zim #Film Theory #Mattpatt #danachan's rants #lol sorry i went off but he really needed to cite his sources more on this one

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marvelsbanner · 3 years

Text

The Little Things

Summary: What happens when shy, oblivious Bruce Banner takes an interest in the new Avengers recruit.

Pairing: Bruce Banner x y/n, you

Warnings: None!

Word Count: ~1300

A/N: This is my first ever fanfic I’ve put out onto Tumblr, please let me know what you think! Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much welcome!! All mistakes are my own. :-)

It started with little things- minuscule really, things you never would have noticed if you were not a trained spy who was paid to notice the little details.

The way there was always a new pack of gum bought for you when the groceries came,

The way someone kept buying jam until they bought one you liked,

The way the blankets seemed extra warm after you would come inside from your nighttime run, despite the rest of the house being cold,

The way the coffee pot was already brewing by the time you managed to crawl out of bed,

Yes, someone was noticing you. But you didn’t know who.

Bruce was never really the observant type. Numbers and graphs, those he could interpret. He never did have much luck with human emotions and behaviors. Someone could have walked up to him and flirted right to his face and he would have been none the wiser.

That is, until y/n joined the equation.

She was the newest Avenger, none of the team knew much about her besides Fury. She was somewhere between the age of Wanda and Natasha, he imagined. She had gone through a similar training to Natasha, the organization was only recently infiltrated and y/n was the only one they were able to recruit back to SHIELD.

He didn’t want to know what happened to the others.

She was smart, incredibly smart. Quick-witted, with a very dry sense of humor. Her guard was always up- not unlike the rest of the team when they first met each other in New York.

She mostly kept to herself, never quite giving him or anyone else besides Natasha a second glance. So he couldn’t explain why he was so drawn to her.

Maybe it was her soft features, a contrast to the muscles she’s built over years of training. Her eyes- soft under the sharp stare of a built assassin. There was more to her than what she showed, and boy did he want to know more.

And so he tried, to know more that is. He observed her more closely than anyone he’s known before.

He noticed she was constantly chewing gum, whether it helped her focus or it was a force of habit he would never know but he did notice the gum, and so he maybe sort of might have added a pack of spearmint gum into the online shopping cart Pepper was making one week.

And he maybe sort of might have been adding a pack of gum each week they ordered groceries.

He noticed when you made a retort about preferring jam over nut butter, and realized that they actually didn’t have any jam in the house. So naturally, he maybe sort of kind of might have added a jar of jam into the online shopping cart each week until he found one she would use.

It took three tries: not strawberry, not grape, but raspberry was her drug of choice. He found it endearing.

He couldn't help the feeling of pride and something else that swelled in his chest when he saw the smile that crept onto her face when she saw the jam in the cupboard.

He noticed you got cold quite easily, usually opting for a thick jumper over your training uniform. Especially after your evening runs when the sun had set, when you would come home shivering and bundle in the blankets for the next half hour.

So he might have started throwing your favorite blanket into the dryer to warm up around the time you would usually return. Nothing much, just anything a friendly coworker would do- right?

He ran into Pepper one night and she gave a vow of secrecy, knowing if she blabbed to Tony about Bruce's little crush he wouldn’t be able to keep his big fat mouth shut.

He noticed you were the second person to awake after himself (and he would sometimes not have gone to bed at all) and the first to make coffee in the morning, so he decided it would only be considerate to turn the coffee pot on to brew so you had one less thing to worry about in the mornings.

And he also noticed that you didn’t seem to notice all of these things, acting as if it was all part of a normal day. And for that, he was grateful, because he didn’t know how you would feel if you knew it was him.

Wouldn't know how to explain why he was doing all these things for you. Deep down, he knew that he knew, but he also knew he couldn't afford those kinds of feelings with his job.

It took a month. A whole entire 31 days before you realized that the only one who woke up earlier than you was Bruce, the only person that would be making the coffee for you in the morning.

Once you noticed that, it all started shifting into place.

Bruce lounging in the living area when you got back from your runs, sitting in the kitchen making sure you were properly fueling yourself for your workouts (even though he didn’t eat half as often as you did), always making sure you were okay after a rough mission and feeling included when the team is talking in meetings and you could not believe you missed the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t looking. Then again, apparently up until now you weren’t.

You wanted to confront him, but were unsure of how to do it, pacing around the hallway in front of his room on your joint floor.

That's when you heard the shower start from his bathroom, and it clicked.

You ran to the laundry room, grabbing a thick, fluffy, green towel and throwing it in the dryer for a minute before returning to Bruce’s room. You heard the water still running and took that as your okay to enter.

You gave a heavy rap on the door so that he could hear over the stream of water, and you heard him give a confused shout of “Uhh... I’m... kinda busy right now. Unless Tony spilled flesh-eating chemicals on himself I’ll be out in a few more minutes.”

You gave a slight chuckle before opening the door and throwing the towel on the sink counter, hearing him give a slight yelp at the presence of someone else in the bathroom.

He peeked his head around the curtain, red flush running up his neck onto his cheeks, water dripping from his mess of dark curls. He really was handsome..

“Y/n.. what are you-“

“I heard the water going and thought you might need a towel. I threw it in the dryer for a bit, should be nice and toasty for ya. Just repaying the favor” and you gave a small wink as the realization hit him and he ducked his head, flushing even more-if that was even possible.

You think the red flush suited him much more than green, and decided you would do anything to see more of that lovely shade on him.

You turned to go out of the door before turning your head over your shoulder to say “You know Doc, if you ever wanted to actually talk to me- you could always just ask me to dinner. If that’s something that interests you.” You gave another wink before closing the door and swiftly leaving the room.

Bruce’s heart was beating rapidly even after you had left, letting his head rest against the cold tile and thinking about how on earth he was going to approach you after THAT.

Maybe there was one thing that he didn’t notice, that you did notice him. Maybe just as much as he noticed you.

343 notes · View notes

specialagentsergio · 3 years

Text

wish i were

summary: Emily’s back where she belongs, but she’s learning that you can’t come back from the dead the same as you were before. Spencer’s reeling from betrayal and broken trust. Then there’s you—their safe port in the storm. But you’re not okay either, and you have a choice to make.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader (unrequited), emily prentiss x f!reader

category: angst

content warnings: lots of swearing, mentions of/implied sex, mentions of vomiting (nothing descriptive), fighting, negative feelings towards other team members, bittersweet ending

a/n: it’s finally here. thank you all for your patience. i wasn’t planning on posting angst and unrequited love on valentine’s day, but i don’t want to wait another day to post this; i’m kinda sick of looking at it tbh. anyways, i hope you enjoy it and it lives up to your expectations. sorry it’s so long. apparently i have a lot to say.

word count: 8.7k

series masterlist || masterlist

Ten weeks ago.

“Absolutely not,” Emily croaks out. Her voice is rough and broken from the breathing tube, and it hurts her throat to speak, but she ignores it. “No. I won’t do it.”

She can hardly believe what she’s hearing. She’s only been awake for a few hours and she’s already fed up with the bullshit the world is throwing at her. Right now, it’s in the form of her boss asking her to fake her own death. “You can’t seriously think this is an acceptable solution.”

Hotch is unreadable, his unit chief face firmly in place. “It’s for your own safety.”

Emily scoffs, then immediately winces at the pain that shoots through her midsection. But she continues. “So put me in a safe house or something. I’m not making my friends bury me.”

“It’s for their safety as well,” he replies. “Doyle’s still out there. He’s targeted them before. You know he’ll do it again to get to you if he finds out you’re alive.”

“Then let them in on this,” she argues. “They can keep a secret.”

His expression slips—just a little bit, but she sees it. It’s hesitance.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” she asks, a feeling of dread settling over her. “I want to see her. I’m not making a decision like this without her.”

Hotch folds his arms over his chest. “It’s not your decision to make, Emily,” he says quietly. “It’s already done.”

Her breath catches in her throat. She looks him up and down, searching desperately for any sign that he’s lying, that this is all just some cruel joke, that any second now you’ll be walking through the door, a smile on your face—

There are none.

Her lungs burn and she’s forced to take in a breath. “You son of a bitch,” she whispers. “You... son of a bitch. How dare you? How dare you.”

He doesn’t so much as flinch as her voice increases in volume, which only serves to make her angrier.

“How fucking dare you! You let me see (Y/N) right now, you bastard!”

The door opens—her heart leaps—

It’s JJ, who, if Hotch is to be believed, is the only other one to know about this. JJ hurries to her side and reaches out, but Emily yanks her arm away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she snarls. “You—” Her eyes land on the water pitcher on the table in front of her and she lunges forward, the searing pain it causes barely registering. She seizes it and throws it with all the force she can muster.

Hotch doesn’t move out of the way, letting it hit his chest and soak the front of his clothing. Its accompanying cup follows, then the TV remote. It’s not until she grabs the vase of flowers that he ducks out of the way. The glass shatters on the floor. All the while, she’s screaming obscenities at him.

JJ tries in vain to calm her down, holding up her hands placatingly. “Emily, please—”

“Don’t talk to me!” she yells. “You have the audacity to come in here and speak to me when you know I’m alive and my girlfriend doesn’t!”

“Emily!” Her voice is stern. “I understand you’re upset—”

“Don’t use your fucking mom voice on me, Jennifer, I’m not a fucking child—”

“What’s going on in here?” A pair of nurses enter the room, no doubt drawn by the commotion.

“She’s bleeding,” JJ answers immediately. “I think she might have aggravated something when she sat up.”

“She’s not supposed to be sitting up at all. What did you two do?” one of the nurses scolds.

“She just got some bad news—”

“Well, isn’t that a nice way to put it!” The nurses are trying to coax her into laying back down, but Emily resists it. “A really great way to describe the two of you trying to force me into letting my family and girlfriend think I’m dead!”

“I think some of the stitches tore,” the second nurse says.

“Go get the doctor,” the first one instructs an orderly standing in the doorway.

Movement catches Emily’s eye and she looks towards it to see Hotch taking a step backwards.

“Don’t you dare leave!” she screams. “I’m not done with you, you motherf—”

“Agent, please, you need to lie back.”

“And you two need to leave,” the older of the nurses says.

Then there’s a third person at her side. Judging by the white coat, it’s the doctor. “What’s the problem?” he asks them.

“She’s agitated and we think some stitches might have burst.”

“Damn right I’m agitated!” Emily cries. “They’re trying to—I—” She looks past the doctor to find that JJ and Hotch are gone.

“Emily, we’re going to give you something to help you relax,” he tells her.

Her vision goes blurry and she can’t figure out why until she feels the tears sliding down her cheeks. She lets the nurses push her back now and her head thumps against the pillow. “Please—” she chokes on a sob. “Please, I want to see my girlfriend.”

“What’s her name?” the doctor asks kindly.

“(Y/N). We’ve been together for almost a year. I need…” Her limbs are starting to feel heavy. “I need to call her, or—or something. She thinks… she thinks….”

“Shh, you’re okay,” one of the nurses soothes. “You’re going to be okay.”

Emily blinks slowly and shakes her head. “But she won’t be. She…”

The world fades to black.

---

There are tear stains on your pillowcase.

That’s the first thing Emily notices when she walks into your bedroom. She recognizes them so quickly because similar ones were on her pillows in Paris.

“Sorry, I’ve been meaning to run the sheets through the wash,” you say when you notice her looking.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” She sets her bag on the bedside table, careful to jostle Sergio as little as possible. He’s in her arms, pressed against her chest and purring loudly. He definitely remembers her—she’d been a little worried that he wouldn’t.

Emily is absolutely exhausted. It has been a very long day. Doyle is dead, Declan is safe, and now all she wants to do is take a nice, hot shower and curl up in bed with you. But you haven’t been able to keep eye contact with her for more than a few moments at a time.

She expected something like this to happen. She knew once the relief of seeing her alive wore off, there was going to be a heap of more, uglier emotions surfacing.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

You glance up at her just briefly, busying yourself with stripping off the pillowcases and replacing them with a clean set. “I don’t know what to say, Emily,” you sigh. “I just… I don’t.”

She strokes Sergio’s back a couple of times to calm herself before replying. “You can say anything. You’ve been through so much, and I… I’m not going to hold what you’re feeling against you.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”

It confirms her suspicions. “(Y/N), you’re allowed to be mad at me,” she says. “Hell, you could even yell at me if you wanted to and I’d be okay with it.”

You snort. “I don’t want to yell at you. But, um, could I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Okay. Well…” You shuffle from one foot to the other. “I’m… not really sure how to ask this, but, how… how did this happen?”

Your voice is hesitant. You’re holding back, but Emily can read between the lines. “You mean, how could I let you think I was dead?” she corrects softly.

You breathe in sharply and wrap your arms around yourself. Your eyes are wet when you look up at her and nod.

Emily tries not to let her next words come out too fast, lest it seem like she’s dismissing your feelings or making excuses. “I didn’t get a choice.” Her voice cracks and she clears her throat. “When I came to after surgery, the funeral had already been held.”

Your mouth drops open. You stare at her for a few seconds, then blink several times. Your eyes move around, focused on nothing in particular as you try to process what she’s just told you. Eventually, they settle on the bedroom door behind her. “I’m gonna punch his face,” you whisper.

Emily can’t stop the genuine laugh that bubbles out of her. “Yeah, Hotch heard similar things from me.”

“Oh my god, Em,” you breathe out, and her heart skips a beat at the nickname. “That must have been awful.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t fun,” she admits. “But at least I knew you were alive and that I’d see you again someday. It can’t come close to what you went through.”

You shake your head. “This isn’t the suffering Olympics. It was harder for you in some ways than it was for me, I’m sure. Like, if I was waking up after being stabbed, I’d want my girlfriend there holding my hand.”

Emily’s eyes prick with tears as she listens to you, remembering how it felt to be at the hospital without you there to hold her hand through all the scary bits. But you? You had buried her, and now you’re here considering how Emily had felt throughout all this. She’s not sure if you’re actively trying to make her fall even more in love with you, but if you are, you’re succeeding.

“I can’t promise to never be mad at you about this,” you continue, “but I’ll take being mad at you for actually being alive rather than being mad at you for dying.”

“That’s… really mature of you,” she observes.

“I started seeing a therapist a few days after the funeral,” you say with a shrug. “Can you put Sergio down and help me change the bed sheets?”

She nods and places him gently on the floor. She’s about to ask why you’re wanting to change them right now, when you’re clearly just as exhausted as she is, when she finds a tie wedged between the top and fitted sheets at the foot of the bed. She frowns as she lifts it up—it’s not one she recognizes as yours or hers, but she does think she’s seen it before.

“Oh, so that’s where that went,” you say.

“I don’t remember you having a tie like this. Is it new?”

“It’s Spencer’s,” you clarify.

“Oh. What… what’s it doing in your bed?” she asks hesitantly.

“He would stay over sometimes when I couldn’t sleep and he’s too long—“ you spread your hands apart “—for either of the couches.”

“I see.” Emily smooths out the wrinkles in the fabric and crosses the room to put it on top of the dresser, trying to tamp down the sting of jealousy. The other side of your bed is supposed to be hers.

“Nothing happened,” you say and she realizes she’s frowning.

“I know,” she replies, and she does—she just wishes it had been her in the bed with you. But you’ve at least given her a good lead-in for her surprise. “Anyways, you wouldn’t have even had the time with the amount of online Scrabble you were playing.”

Now it’s your turn to frown. “How do you know about that?”

The corner of her mouth turns up. “I was there for every game, sergio2010.”

It takes you a moment to put it together. “You’re cheetobreath?” you ask. “I thought that was JJ.”

“It was her idea,” Emily says. “And that’s what you were supposed to think.”

Your reaction delights her—you start laughing. “That’s ridiculous!”

“I had to stick it to Hotch somehow,” she defends, barely holding back her own laughter.

You shake your head fondly as you finish tucking in the fresh sheets. Emily helps you spread the comforter back over the bed and return the pillows to their spots. She isn’t sure what to do after that, though, and nervously clasps her hands in front of her. You’re silent for a few seconds, watching her from across the bed.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” you say eventually.

“Um, okay,” she replies. “But you know, I could go stay at a hotel instead if you’d prefer.”

You shake your head. “You’re gonna join me.”

“Ah.” Emily swallows, part nervous, part thrilled. “That’s… I mean, yeah. Okay.”

You hold out your hand in invitation; she circles the bed and takes it.

After, when you’re both clean and settled into bed, she pulls you as close to her as she can. “This is so nice,” you sigh into her skin. “You’re so soft, Em.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Um, thank you?”

“Spencer’s bony,” you explain.

Emily snorts. “Yeah, I know. I fell asleep on his shoulder on the jet a few years ago and it was painful.”

You giggle. “Did you know he talks in his sleep?”

“Morgan’s mentioned it. You learn anything else when you were snuggled up with him?” she teases, running her fingers through your damp hair.

“It wasn’t like that,” you protest. “We didn’t snuggle. I’d just kind of… press my forehead on his arm and one leg against his.” Your voice lowers as you continue, “I just really missed being close to someone.”

“I did, too,” she whispers back. “I wish it had been me, but I’m glad you had him.”

You nod against her in agreement. “I love you, Emily,” you say, briefly tightening your grip on her.

“I love you, too,” she replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “So much.”

You drift off to sleep quickly, and she’s not far behind.

It’s the best sleep she’s had in months.

---

Spencer’s barely heard from you since the hearing last week.

He’d gotten plenty of texts from Jennifer (all of which he ignored), but only a few from you. That’s probably normal for most adult friends, but not for you two, especially so when the fact that you were the only two people not to apply for reinstatement to the BAU is taken into consideration. He thought that he’d be able to seriously talk about it with you, to share his feelings and maybe work it out together. But all he had gotten was a brief message:

Emily was reinstated, so I’m going back, too.

It left him frustrated, but when it came down to it, he understood—he was the same. Since you were going back, so was he.

On Monday morning, everyone’s first day back together, he gets off the elevator and is immediately confronted with the last person he wants to see.

“Hey, where have you been? I wanted to do brunch this weekend,” Jennifer says.

Spencer barely resists rolling his eyes, instead keeping them fixed on the file he’s holding. “I had to deal with some stuff with my mom.” It’s not a lie—he did have to check in with his mom. It just didn’t take as long as he’s implying. “Have you seen Garcia?”

“Uh, she’s with Rossi,” Jennifer answers, and she sounds startled by his behavior, but he doesn’t care. You’re at your desk, and as he passes by, he takes your arm.

“Wha—Spencer?” You’re taken aback, but you let him pull you along and into a file room.

“What?” you repeat when he turns to you after closing the door.

He tucks the file into his bag, the folds his arms over his chest. “I barely heard from you last week.”

Your eyebrows scrunch together. “Well, yeah, I’ve been busy,” you say. “Emily’s moving in with me so we’ve been taking her things out of storage and to my apartment to unpack.”

Spencer glances away, trying to ignore the stab of jealousy in his chest. Just two weeks ago, he was in your bed and he’s quickly been replaced. And sure, he knows you don’t feel that way about him, but it was easy to pretend you did when you were asleep right next to him. “Not busy enough to make a decision about work,” he points out.

“So?”

“You’re the only other one who didn’t apply for reinstatement to the unit,” he replies. “You’d think that would be something for us to talk about.”

“You never said you wanted to,” you say, giving him a little shrug.

He doesn’t resist the eye roll this time. Does Spencer know he’s being a bit unfair? Yes. Does he care? Not particularly. No one bothered to seriously check in with him last week. He wasn’t expecting everyone to, but he was expecting it from you. He’s only been at work for five minutes, but his emotions are already running high, and he doesn’t care to reign them in. “I didn’t think I’d have to.”

“You should’ve. I can’t read your mind.” Now you’re getting defensive. “And what does it matter, anyways? You’re not my boyfriend; I don’t have to run my decisions past you.”

“I know that,” he snaps. He really could have done without hearing you say that. “I’m just there to warm up your bed when you’re lonely is all, huh?”

You’re shocked for only a moment before pivoting to anger. “I didn’t make you do anything. You could’ve said no. And I certainly don’t owe you anything from it.”

“Clearly,” he mutters.

You heave an angry sigh. “Look, I know you’re mad about the whole thing, but don’t take it out on me. I don’t know why you’re so surprised that I wanted to spend the past week catching up with my girlfriend after thinking she was dead for ten weeks. If you wanted to talk, you should’ve said so. Stop being such an ass.”

Spencer doesn’t answer. You’re right, and he knows it, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to admit it. He just looks down at the floor, avoiding your glare.

When it becomes clear to you that he has no intention of responding, you mutter, “whatever” under your breath and duck behind him, walking out of the door and leaving him alone again.

---

The case has been miserable.

In rural Oklahoma, their unsub is burning his victims with acid. Not the worst they’ve seen, but not pleasant, either—this job never is.

You’re still mad at him, which is bad enough, but he’s also had to watch you be far more… touchy with Emily than you ever were before. It’s not super apparent—you still keep it professional at the local P.D. and when you’re out on work assignments, but you’re going out of your way to find any excuse to touch her that you can outside of that.

Then there’s the motel they’re staying at and its thin walls. He heard a few things last night from your room next door. It was quickly followed by shushes, but he heard enough to infer what was going on. So he’d dug his noise-canceling headphones out of his bag. It had been a good solution at the time, but then he’d fallen asleep with them on. As a result, he’d slept with his neck at an odd angle. It’s midday now and it’s still aching.

To top it all off, there’s Jennifer. He’s been trying to keep his distance from her, and had thought the snide remarks he hadn’t been able to hold back might encourage her to stay away. But she keeps pressing the issue, and when she tells him she thinks he’s mad about micro-expressions, he can’t hold it back anymore.

“You think it’s about my profiling skills? Jennifer, listen, the only reason you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

She protests, so he brings up Dilaudid. He knows it’s a low blow, and that she still feels guilty about them splitting up all those years ago, leading to his abduction and subsequent problem, but he doesn’t care. He just wants her to hurt like he is.

The team is staring and Emily says his name, but he just tells Jennifer that it’s too late to be sorry and leaves without another word.

Outside, he sits on the curb in front of one of the SUVs and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to calm himself down. He’s not alone for long, though. Just a few minutes later, he hears footsteps coming from behind him. The sound that involuntarily comes out of his throat can only be described as a growl.

“God, Jennifer, what do I have to do to get you to understand that I want you to leave me the fuck alone!” he nearly yells.

But it’s not Jennifer that answers. “It’s me,” you say softly.

Spencer sighs. He drops his hands from his face but doesn’t open his eyes. “What?”

“Can I sit?”

He’s not sure he wants to be around anyone, but it’s hard for him to say no to you. “Sure,” he says dully.

You join him on the curb, but keep a few feet of space between you. You don’t say anything, though, just sit quietly, letting him make the first move.

“How are you okay?” he asks eventually.

“What?” You sound incredulous. “I’m not sure where you got that idea. I’m so mad at Hotch that I can barely breathe when I’m in the same room as him.”

Spencer considers this for a moment, recalling when everyone’s been in the same room during this case. He realizes that since he’s been preoccupied with you touching Emily and trying to avoid Jennifer, he’s missed how you tense up whenever you see Hotch, and that you keep him out of your eyesight whenever possible.

“But you’re fine with Emily,” he observes. That does honestly confuse him, because he’s mad at Emily as well. And if it had been you in her place? He’s not sure he’d ever be able to forgive you, even without you knowing the way he feels about you.

“For the most part,” you say. “I still feel a little mad at her sometimes, but it helps me to remember that it wasn’t her fault.”

He finally looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “Being alive in Paris and not telling you isn’t her fault?”

“She didn’t really get a choice. When she woke up after surgery, the funeral had already happened,” you explain. “Hotch made the decision without her.”

“Hmm.” He files that information away to think over later. “And Jennifer?”

You shrug. “I can’t be too mad at her, since she did so much for me during those weeks.”

He snorts. “Yeah, out of guilt.”

“Probably, yes,” you concede. “But not having to pack up Emily’s things and take them to storage myself, feeding Sergio and bringing him to stay with me, bringing me hot meals when I was surviving off of cereal alone because I could barely get out of bed, let alone cook for myself… it went a long way.”

On the one hand, it’s a bit comforting for him to hear how Jennifer helped the woman he loves. On the other, she could have ended your pain with three words—Emily is alive—but she didn’t. She let the woman he loves suffer the pain of the loss of a partner.

And she sure didn’t bring him hot meals.

This shouldn’t surprise you, Spencer. You’ve always been the afterthought. The burden. You should be used to this by now.

He clenches the fabric of his pants in his hands. “That doesn’t make me any less angry,” he mutters.

“That’s fine.”

“You can’t expect me to just—wait, what?”

“That’s fine,” you repeat. “I’m not trying to tell you to just get over it or whatever because she was nice to me. Like Em told me, you’re allowed to be mad.”

Spencer bites his lip, resisting the urge to ask you to stop calling her Em. You’re the only one that calls her that—or rather, is allowed to call her that, and it’s obvious why. It’s also similar enough to you calling him Spence that he’ll always start comparing himself to Emily when he hears it, and he’s been trying to stop doing that for months.

“Maybe you just, I don’t know,” you continue, drawing him out of his thoughts. “You could just try to be a little less passive aggressive with JJ?”

He opens his mouth, about to flat-out refuse, but before he can, you tack on, “For me? Just a little bit?”

God damn it.

“Only if she stops bothering me,” he says bluntly.

“Yeah, she, um… she was crying when I left, so I think she’s got the message now,” you say quietly.

He feels a bit guilty upon hearing that, but not enough to apologize, or even really regret it. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it, he rationalizes to himself. She’s the one who decided to push it anyways.

After a few moments of silence, you reach out and pat his knee. “I love you, you know.”

He knows what you mean, knows that you don’t mean it like that, but his heart still skips a beat. He responds to you with a nod.

You push yourself to your feet, tell him to take all the time he needs, and you’ll see him when he’s ready to come back in, then walk away.

When he’s certain you’re out of earshot, he whispers back, “I love you, too.”

---

Emily sits down across from him on the plane, and Spencer is immediately reminded of the morning after he caught you and her together. That time, Emily had folded her hands in front of her on the table. This time, she slides something across it to him. He looks up from his book and sees his missing tie, wrinkles ironed out and folded neatly.

“It was in her bed,” she explains when his brow furrows.

Spencer wonders if that made Emily jealous.

He’s not a good enough person to not hope it did.

“Thanks,” he mutters, putting it away in his bag.

Emily’s quiet, but she doesn’t leave. She must have something else to say. He sighs. “What is it?”

“Are you going to Rossi’s house tomorrow night?” she asks.

He looks back down to his book. “I don’t know. I’m not so sure I can make it.”

“Okay. Well, Reid, you can be mad at me for as long as you need to. I’m okay with that.”

Spencer frowns. He kind of wishes she wasn’t being so nice and understanding. It makes it harder to be upset with her, and he wants to be upset with her.

“I’d like to say something to you, though, if that’s okay,” she says.

He reluctantly looks back up. “What?”

Emily holds his gaze. “Thank you,” she says earnestly.

He blinks. “Uh, for what?”

Her voice wavers slightly with emotion as she speaks. “For looking out for her when I couldn’t.”

His eyes drift away from Emily and to the couch where you’re sleeping. “My pleasure,” he replies quietly. When he looks back at Emily, she has a curious look on her face.

For the first time, instead of panicking over keeping his secret, instead of shying away, Spencer looks right back at her. A few seconds later, he thinks he sees a flash of realization in her eyes, but it’s so quick he can’t be sure.

“Well, thank you,” she repeats, and takes her leave. He watches as she leans down and tucks the blanket closer around you. He closes his eyes, leans back in his seat, and imagines a world where he was the one adjusting it instead.

---

“You’re gonna go weeks, months even, feeling fine. And then you’re gonna have a bad day.”

Emily can barely get the hotel room door open, her hands are shaking so much. A bad day. What Hotch called it, she thinks, was a bit of an understatement.

She’s just come back from taking a witness statement to help wrap up the piano man case—or rather, she was trying to take one.

“I was told that you would only give your statement to me.”

“Why didn’t you let me pull the trigger?” Regina asks.

“Because you would be in prison.” Emily understands why Regina is mad at her, and she’s fine with taking the brunt of it. Lying to her to stop her from shooting the unsub was the right thing to do. “I know it’s hard--”

“No, you don’t. You have no idea what it’s like…” Regina pauses briefly, anger radiating off of her. “When the monster from your nightmares comes back for you.”

Emily breaks eye contact and looks down. She knows exactly what that’s like.

Regina recognizes it. “Wait--”

Redirect, redirect, redirect. “Look, I’m here as a courtesy--”

“Something happened to you.”

“So do you want to give me your statement or not?”

But Regina is relentless. “What did you do to him, huh? Did you arrest him like a good FBI agent? Or did you kill him?”

Emily sits down heavily on the spare bed, drawing your attention away from packing up your things for the flight home. “Em?”

She just shakes her head, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and closing her eyes. “It was the right thing,” she whispers to herself. “It was the right thing. I did the right thing.”

You sit down next to her and place your hand on her back. “What happened?”

Emily swallows hard, feeling sick to her stomach. Her hair is sticking to the back of her neck; she tilts her head to try and dislodge it. You catch on and pull it to the side for her.

“Talk to me, baby,” you urge gently. “Just something, anything I can do to help.”

She takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm down enough to speak. “I—I think,” she stutters. “I th—think I just ruined a woman’s pe—peace of m—mind for good.”

You start rubbing circles on her back and ask, “How?”

“You know, when they talk about victims getting revictimized by the system, they mean you.”

Emily shudders involuntarily. “I… you know how we found the unsub with a—a victim?”

Slowly, in sentences fractured by gasping breaths, swallows to hold back the nausea, and even a few sobs, she recounts what Regina said to her.

You murmur something under your breath that she doesn’t catch, then, ever so gently, you pull her into your arms.

Emily Prentiss isn’t one to break down, not in her own home and especially not in front of others. She controls any “negative” emotions as best as she can, her feelings only displayed through a trembling voice, misty eyes, or run-down nails. Screaming, tears, and nervous gestures were not befitting of an ambassador’s daughter, after all, and those habits formed in childhood have stayed with her until this day.

But there’s one person who’s the exception. There’s one person with whom those walls just don’t seem to exist. That person, of course, is you.

You pull her into your arms, and Emily Prentiss breaks down, because she can. She can because she knows you’ll be there to help put her back together again.

“You never had a chance to mourn your own death, did you?”

She hadn’t understood what her therapist meant when she said it yesterday morning, but Emily thinks she does now. This time last year, what Regina said would have unsettled her, and she would have felt sorry for her, but she probably wouldn’t have dwelt on it much. It’s not last year, though. It’s this year, and she’s coming undone in your embrace over Regina’s words, words she knows will never leave her.

“I didn’t pull the trigger.”

“Still… your monster’s dead. I have to live with mine. That’s my statement.”

Emily has a promise to keep, so she boards the jet early. A few minutes later, Hotch slides into the seat across from her and waits. It still takes her a few moments to collect herself enough to say the words.

“I’m having a bad day.”

---

Spencer’s not sure if you’re going to be able to keep doing this job. He became very familiar with your nervous tics and outward signs of stress during those weeks, and now he can notice them almost immediately.

You seemed okay for the first few months. A few habits cropped up now and then—biting your lip, tapping each fingertip to your thumb in turn—but that was fairly normal. It’s a stressful job.

But then your bottom lip starts getting chapped again, and during conversions with anyone other than Emily, you’re quiet; you often have to be prompted to share your thoughts.

He tries to find out what’s wrong, but when he asks, you shut it down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he says quietly. “But, um, you probably should talk to… somebody, you know?”

You barely look up from your paperwork as you respond. “I appreciate the concern, but I’ve been seeing a therapist since this whole shitshow started. I’ve got Emily, too. If anything, I should be telling you to go talk to a professional.”

Spencer just says “okay” again, then a few minutes later he excuses himself to go hide in the bathroom and nurse his hurt feelings. He knows you weren’t trying to be mean. Flipping around the suggestion to him most certainly came from a place of love. But he’s not interested in receiving any kind of psychiatric care—he’s actively opposed to it. So being told anything of that sort upsets him and often makes him angry.

Today it’s just salt in the wound, though. The wound itself is Emily. And god, does he ever feel guilty about the resentment that crops up every time her name is in your mouth. She was dead, and every day she was gone, he wished she weren’t. He cried countless tears over her and would’ve given anything to at least be able to say goodbye.

Then the impossible happened—she came back. He didn’t have to say goodbye at all. And sure, there was the initial relief and happiness, and the warmest hug ever, but now he finds himself resenting her. He’d never wish for her to be gone again, but he can’t stop the jealousy, no matter how hard he tries.

Recently, when Emily was shot during a case in California, he held back your hair as you leaned out of the door of the SUV and threw up upon receiving the news. Spencer Reid would never deny that he’s a germaphobe, but he wants that. He wants to be the one taking care of you, the one whose shoulder you fall asleep on, the one going home with you at the end of the day.

He doesn’t want Emily gone, never, ever again, but he wants you back. Those ten weeks, as awful as they were, weren’t the worst he’s had, because during that time, you were always seeking him out. He knows you didn’t want him that way, but if Emily had really been gone, he thinks one day, that might have changed. The thought always brings tears to his eyes.

Still, he would settle for having you the way he did during the years before he fell for you. Things just haven’t been the same since Emily came back. You don’t stay up late talking anymore. You haven’t a movie night in months. You don’t ask about the books he’s reading or what he did over the weekend. This is it: this is exactly what he was afraid of happening when he found you with Emily.

Spencer doesn’t think it’s personal. He thinks it’s because you’re barely hanging on these days, and just don’t have the energy anymore to do things like you used to.

It still hurts, though. He wonders if it’ll ever stop hurting.

---

Respite can come at the strangest of times and in the oddest of ways. Today, it comes to Emily in the middle of a hostage situation at a bank, in the form of a job offer.

The team is trying to find the I.D. of the Queen of Hearts, one of the robbers, when she gets a surprise call from Clyde Easter, her old Interpol Unit Chief, who gives her the information he knows about the unsub. He doesn’t know her name, but he reminds her that she’s seen the unsub before, at a robbery in Paris while she was living there. Then when the team learns that their unsubs want to fly out to Chad, she calls him back.

“Well, unfortunately Interpol doesn’t have many assets in that particular region in Africa. Maybe that’s something you could help me with when this is over.”

Emily scoffs. “Work for Interpol again? That’ll be the day.”

“Not work, darling. Run,” he corrects. “You see, I’ve been promoted. So, the team’s yours whenever you want it.”

“It’s a hell of a time to bring that up,” she says, ignoring the questioning glances she’s getting from you, Reid, and JJ.

Clyde asks her to think about it, but there’s no time to do that now. She pushes it to the back of her mind and goes back to work.

By the time the day is over, she’s tired. Just tired. You both narrowly survive the explosion in the bank thanks to the alcove you were in, trying to help two elderly patrons. Then a mere hour later, you scare the shit out of her by finding Will strapped to an active bomb and deactivating it yourself. So Clyde’s offer doesn’t come up again until the next morning, when light is spilling through the curtains, illuminating the bedroom with a soft, warm glow.

You face each other in bed, legs twined together under the covers. “What was that about working for Interpol again?” you ask softly, tucking your arm under your head.

“Clyde was promoted,” she replies just as quietly, as to not disturb the peaceful morning feeling. “He offered me his old job. He wants me to run the London office.”

Your eyes widen. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you feeling about that?”

Emily blows out a breath. “I’d like to at least… consider it.”

You reach out, finding her hand in the sheets and lacing your fingers between hers. “What’s stopping you?”

“I’m sure you can guess,” she replies, squeezing your hand back.

“Well, then I think you’re more than just considering it,” you say. “You wouldn’t bring it to me if you didn’t want to take the job.”

Emily thinks for a moment, then admits, “I… I do want to take it. But I have to know what you think, honestly.” She was already robbed out of making one life-changing decision without you in this past year. She has no interest in that happening again.

“Honestly?” you repeat, shifting a little. At her nod, you continue, “I think it’s a good option for us.”

“Us?” she asks, eyebrows raising.

“Yeah, us,” you affirm. “What, you think I’m just going to stay here if you move away?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe. This is the first time we’ve talked about something like this.”

“Fair point,” you say, then sigh. “We’re… both struggling here in D.C., Em. I know it and you know it. This place, this team. It used to be my home, but now, I just… it’s not like it was before.”

“You don’t trust Hotch anymore,” Emily says quietly.

You let out a small, broken chuckle. “I’ve tried. I’ve been trying so hard. I know he did what he thought he had to, but I just… I can’t.”

“It’s okay to feel that way,” she points out. She lets go of your hand to reach up and wipe away a tear that breaks your lash line. “In fact, I’d say it’s reasonable, with what you went through.”

You close your eyes and nod, putting your hand on top of hers to keep it on your cheek. “I know it’s been hard for you, too.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I wanted to come back, and at first, I felt like I was home. But I just can’t go back to my old life and pretend that nothing happened. The only time I feel at home now is… well, it’s when I’m alone with you, just like this.”

“Emily Prentiss, I had no idea you were such a romantic,” you say, cracking a smile.

“Oh, stop,” she says, but she’s blushing. When your giggles subside, she speaks again. “I would love for you to come to London with me. But I don’t want you to forget what you’d be leaving. There’s still a lot of good here.”

You nod. “There is. I’m just not sure it’s enough anymore,” you say softly.

“I understand. You can think about it. I don’t need an answer now.”

So you don’t give her one, not right away. But you do a few hours later. So Emily picks up her phone and dials Clyde’s number.

---

JJ’s a beautiful bride, but Spencer’s eyes keep drifting over to you. The dress you’re wearing tonight is wonderful; from the cut to the color, it suits you perfectly. But that’s not what’s really got his attention. It’s the way you’re carrying yourself. You’re smiling, and you seem truly happy, without any reservations. But there’s also a bit of sadness clinging to you, and he can’t tell what’s causing it.

The party has been going on for a while by the time he finds himself dancing with you. You’d asked him, and now you’ve steered him a little ways away from everyone else. “There’s something I have to tell you,” you say just as he’s about to ask what’s going on.

To his dismay, he doesn’t have a clue what it’s going to be. He doesn’t like not having at least an idea. He swallows, then says, “Okay.”

You can’t meet his eyes; you look down to the floor instead and watch your feet move in time together. So whatever it is, I’m not going to like it, he thinks, and his anxiety spikes. “What is it?” he asks, tightening his grip on you without really meaning to.

You take a deep breath, then look up. “Emily and I are leaving.”

His heart drops and he stops in his tracks, causing you to stumble a little over his feet. “Oh, shi—sorry,” he says. “I just—you’re leaving the BAU? But you’re still going to be in D.C., right?”

You sigh, then guide him off the dance floor and to a quiet spot not too far away. “You remember what Emily said about working for Interpol again yesterday?”

“Interpol?” he repeats, his voice pitching upwards. “You mean, like, overseas?”

“London, to be specific.”

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know what to say. Things were a little rocky between you and him when Emily came back, and for a little while afterwards, sure, but recently he’d started to feel like he had his best friend back.

Apparently he couldn’t be more wrong.

Spencer’s used to people leaving. First it was his dad, then Ethan. Elle was next, quickly followed by Gideon. JJ was forced out, and although she ended up coming back, it didn’t erase the pain he felt in her absence. And then there was everything that happened with Emily.

So, Spencer’s used to people leaving. In a way, he almost expects it.

He just wishes it would stop hurting so damn much.

What is it about me? he wonders. What is it that makes people run away? There’s clearly something wrong with--

“Hey!”

He jumps, startled out of his introspection. When his eyes refocus on you, you put your hands on your hips.

“I don’t appreciate people being mean to my best friend, you know,” you tell him seriously.

“Uh…” He blinks a few times. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“That includes him being mean to himself,” you continue. “I know what you were thinking.”

“What? No, you don’t,” he protests.

“Don’t I?” You put the tip of your finger on your chin. “Was it or was it not something along the lines of, people always leave me, why do they do that, there must be something wrong with me?”

He hates that you’re right, so he doesn’t answer, just scowls and looks away.

“It’s not true, you know.”

“Sure,” he mutters. Sure it isn’t. You’ve only just added your name to the list.

“I mean it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Look at me.”

Spencer doesn’t, and your resulting sigh sounds so frustrated, and then he thinks, Oh, great work, Reid. (Y/N) tells you she’s leaving and what do you do? You piss her off. Honestly, it’s no wonder--

And then your hands are on his face, cradling his cheeks, and he’s too surprised to resist your gaze anymore.

“It’s not your fault, Spencer,” you say, your voice equal parts firm and gentle. “You didn’t drive me away. Not even close. There’s nothing inherently wrong with you, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He sniffs, trying to hold back the sudden onslaught of emotions you’ve just caused. “Well, I could have gone without picking a fight with you on our first day back at work,” he says, sniffling again.

“What’re you tal—Spencer, that was almost a year ago.”

“Nine months.”

“Whatever. The point still stands. You’re not why I’m leaving, okay? You’re…” you trail off and he’s alarmed to see your eyes grow wet. “You’re the opposite, actually. You were the only thing keeping me here when Emily was gone. And now, you’re why it’s so hard to leave.”

“I am?” he whispers before he can think better of it.

“You are,” you affirm. “I think Emily’s actually a little worried you’re gonna talk me out of it.”

It gets a laugh out of him, but right after a little sob escapes him and he squeezes his eyes shut. When you hug him, he immediately reciprocates, wrapping his arms around your middle tightly.

“Hey, this isn’t the end, okay?” you say, and he can tell from the way your voice is trembling that you’re crying, too. “I know you like to ignore it, but we do live in the digital age, and I’ll be hounding you to talk to me at least once a week. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I’d certainly hope not,” he murmurs, resting his head on your shoulder.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just holding each other, trying not to cry too much. Eventually, you pull away. “Besides, it’s not like I’m leaving first thing in the morning. Our flight isn’t for another ten days. I’m gonna be around.”

Spencer nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, then swipe at your face, clearing away the tears. “Um, we should head back. You still owe me a dance.”

And dance with you he does, swaying gently from side to side with his hand resting on your waist. A look over your shoulder shows Emily and Derek dancing in a similar manner; judging by the way he’s holding her, she told him the news as well.

He has an eidetic memory, but Spencer makes the effort to commit this moment to his brain all the same. He wants to remember the way you’re holding him, resting your head on his chest and running your thumb over the back of his hand every so often. He wants to remember how your skin feels against his, the texture of your hair. The lighting in the backyard and the way it makes you glow. The words that you said, telling him that it’s not his fault, that nothing’s wrong with him. He’s not quite sure he believes it, but you’ve never lied to him before, so he’ll try to accept it.

The song ends, and tears threaten to fall again when you pick up your head and take a step back.

“Hey, no more crying tonight,” you say. “Because if you start crying, I’ll start crying, and I don’t want to cry any more tonight. Save it for my grand exit at the airport terminal.”

That makes him break into a smile and he’s able to blink back the tears. “Okay.”

“Do you mind if I take this dance?” It’s Emily, and she’s looking at him, head tilted in your direction.

“Oh, um.” He clears his throat. “No, um, go—go ahead.”

He passes your hand to her, and what he feels is silly. You’re not some prize to be won; you don’t belong to anyone other than yourself. But he feels like he’s passing you off to Emily, almost… entrusting you to her. The look Emily gives him makes him think she understands this.

“Wait,” you say before she can properly take you into her arms. You lean towards him and press a kiss to his cheek.

Spencer doesn’t stay around to watch you two dance. He retreats back into the house, fingertips on the spot you kissed. He lets them sit there for a moment, then forces himself to drop his hand. It’s far past time for him to try and move on. He doesn’t want you to leave, but it might be what he needs.

Maybe, just maybe, with some distance, he can begin to heal.

---

On the first day at work without you, Spencer finds a small frame on his desk. He immediately recognizes the picture inside of it—it’s the one you’d kept as your lockscreen for months, much to his dismay.

It’s a picture from the relatively early days of your friendship, well before he felt anything that wasn’t platonic towards you. You’d dragged him out on a weekend off to a nearby amusement park, because, “you can’t die without having ridden a roller coaster at least once, Spence.” He had no desire to do so, but he didn’t have any other plans, so he went along with it.

The roller coaster ended up making him vomit, and the picture is from shortly after that. You’re holding up the camera with one hand and making a peace sign with the other, smiling from ear to ear. He still looks a little queasy, only managing a small smile, but he still looks somewhat happy. And he was, that day. Other than the nausea, he’d had a lot of fun with you.

He picks up the frame and feels something on the back of it. He flips it over and finds one of his lilac colored post-it notes, displaying your handwriting.

“When it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.”

Tears blur his vision. Doctor Who. Of course you picked Doctor Who. And you’ve written something else, too, in smaller letters:

If you don’t answer my calls at least twice a month, I’ll tell JJ you’ve been stealing from her Cheetos stash for eight years. Love ya.

He laughs out loud, a little wet giggle that he has to follow up with a sniffle. He slips the note under the frame’s felt backing to keep it safe, then rearranges his things until he settles on the perfect spot for it to sit on his desk. He retrieves a fresh sticky note and scribbles down a reminder to himself to call you when he gets home, sticking it the cover of one of his books. After all, he can’t have JJ knowing about his thievery. The team’s good at what they do, but he doesn’t think anyone would be able to find his body once JJ’s done with him.

His eyes drift back to the photograph, coming to a stop on your face. He misses you already. He even misses the ugly bits, when you’d snapped at each other, when you were crying on his shoulder. When he saw you with Emily that first time. It’s an odd mix of emotions. Longing, nostalgia, grief, happiness, safety. Belonging.

Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.

Spencer couldn’t agree more.

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

tell me what you thought here!

oh my god, i can hardly believe it’s over. there’s still going to be a small epilogue, but it’s optional. thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who read and supported this series and your enthusiasm for it. you’ve made me so very happy. and if you relate to spencer in this, i want you to know you’re gonna find your someone someday. if that’s what you want, i believe you’ll find it eventually. much love to all of you. 💖

series taglist: @sobereinstein , @zizzlekwum , @goldensatine , @closetedreidstan , @afuckingshituniverse , @uswntxx , @johnmulaneyslut , @90spumkin , @mcntsee , @zhuzhubii , @shadyladyperfection , @mggbler , @eva-cadeau , @esmesisle , @anothergayinthelife , @wecouldbreakthedistance , @zozoleesi , @calm-and-doctor , i think that’s everyone?? so sorry if i missed you.

#spencer reid x reader #emily prentiss x reader #spencer reid fanfic #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #angst #spencer reid #emily prentiss #my fic #my god this took so long #i also referenced im3 twice in this i am a tony stan first and foremost lol

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ksqwildwest · 3 years

Text

Bookworm

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

William looked up from wiping down the counter at the sound of the door. Connor gave him a two finger salute and a lazy grin as Mason and Jack filed in behind him.

"Good fucking mornin Will," Jack greeted as he grabbed the nearest item to him, a cleaned pig skull, before putting it back down. Like an asshole.

"Language," the shop keeper scolded as he went back to scrubbing down the counter, "and my name is William. Not Will."

Mason sat up on top of the counter, the one he was cleaning mind you, and slung an arm around his shoulder.

"Come on Willy, we're all good friends here," the bandit paused to snicker at the death glare he received for the nickname, "and good friends never call each other by their real names. They call each other fun shit like Willy."

"Language May."

Mason almost went to correct him before pausing. "Alright," he said with a shrug, sliding off the counter, "Fair enough."

The three bandits mess around for a while, grabbing and examining most of the stuff in the store but never buying any of it. Sometimes they even taunted William, calling him nicknames or cursing at him. Eventually Connor pointed at the pile of books in the corner of the store.

"Hey Will, wasn't that taller last week?" He asked.

William let out a huff of laughter, "Yah it was," he told them, "I swear that city boy is eating the books I sell him. I've been selling him about a book or two a day and he still hasn't slowed down."

Jack snapped to attention from where he was messing with a couple of colorful rocks. "Do you mean Karl?" He asked, perking up at the mention of the newest resident.

"If you know of any other city boy's that are reading more books in a week then some of us in town have read in our life times, let me know so I can double the order for new books." William retorted with a roll of his eyes.

He had moved on to wiping down some of the objects that the bandits had put their grimy hands on. Every object he cleaned was systematically grabbed again and passed around by the three bandits, dirtying them all over again.

"I don't know where he's getting the free time to read these things. Full length novels read all the way through with in a day. Two days if I'm lucky. I'm gonna be out of books in another two weeks now!"

Jack got a bit of a dreamy look in his eye's before mumbling out, "he can read?"

William raised an eyebrow and blinked before responding with a slow drawn out, "Considering he's been talking my ear off about each one he reads, yes, I think he can read."

Mason asks,"What kinda things has he been reading?", sounding genuinely interested in the answer. After a few moments of staring from Connor and William, Mason defended himself, "What? I don't read books but that doesn't mean I can't be interested in em. Just, what were they survival guides, romances, cook books?"

The sound of the door opening caught everyone's attention as the subject of their conversation walked in with his nose buried in a heavy looking book. The brim of his hat hovering above the book pages and obscuring his face from view. He cautiously shuffled over to the pile of books in the corner and reached down for one while never taking his eyes off the page. It wasn't until he basically walked straight into Jack on the way to the counter that Karl finally looked up from the book in a daze.

"Oh," Karl blinked and took a look around the store, "um, are you breaking the law right now?"

William looked at Mason with an evil smirk, "Nah they're fine. But Mason here was meaning to ask you something. Go ahead Mason. Ask him."

Mason sent a cold hard glare at William. William gave him a thumbs up. Karl looked over to Mason with a face similar to a curious puppy.

"Sure, I guess," Karl shrugged, dog earing the page he was on and putting his books down, "quick question of my own first, should I be trying to arrest you three right now or...?"

Jack cackled at the question, "Nah," he answered, "We ain't doing anything right now so why put in the effort?"

Karl looked a bit skeptical but brushed off Jack's comment, turning back to Mason.

"Okay then," He said suspiciously, "what did you want to ask me?"

"Nothin' he's lyin'."

"No he ain't," Connor corrected with a smug grin, "You were askin' William 'bout it but I think Karl would have a better answer for you."

Jack was shaking with barley contained laughter as Mason looked ready to put a hole in Connors head. William was blatantly giggling at this point and Karl was very confused.

"I mean if you really don't want to ask the question you don't have too." Karl offered.

"No, it's- I mean," Mason quickly flipped from deadly angry to shy blushing in a few moments, "Books."

Karl's face lit up, "You like to read too! Have you read this one yet?" He gestured to the book he had been buried in when he first walked in, "I quite like the characters in this one but the scene descriptions just seem to fall a little flat for my taste."

Mason had never read a single one of the books in the store before. He had certainly never read the book Karl was talking about. The only thing he ever read since coming to the town was the signs and posters around town. So he said the only thing he could have said in this situation.

"No Yah, it's a good book. I just, uh, haven't read it in a while so, um, yah."

Karl some how got even more excited. Grinning like an idiot, "That's fair. My favorite character is Robin. His story is so sad isn't it? Between being an orphan and watching one of his father figures get accused of murdering his other father figure, Ah! Brilliant writing, right!?"

Mason nodded slowly as the other three inhabitants of the store were all barley holding back their laughter, if only because Mason would definitely shot them for it. Mason dug this hole himself and he fully intended to stay in it.

Karl continued to ramble on and on about the different characters and the plot while Mason listened attentively. All the while the other two bandits and the shop keep enjoyed the show.

After a while, Sheriff Thompson poked his head into the shop.

"Karl," he sighed, "You're late for training."

"Am I?" Karl seemed surprised as he pulled out a fancy looking pocket watch and checked the time. "Oh shoot, so sorry." He grabbed the two books before sliding a few coins towards William, "Sorry I couldn't stay and finish our chat today Mason. Maybe we could continue it on Sunday?"

Mason blinked a few times before his brain caught up, "Yah, sure, sounds good."

Karl gave him a smile and a wave as he fled out the door. Hurrying off to learn whatever skills it was that he needed to be a sheriff.

The store settled into silence before Jack piped up with, "Books? Really."

"HE'S CUTE AND I PANICKED WHAT DID YA WANT ME TO DO!"

As the two argued loudly, so loudly Karl and Thompson could hear them down the street, Thompson asked, "I've read that book before Karl."

Karl started giggling a bit, "Oh, have you?"

"Yah," the piglin drawled, "and I certainly don't remember anything I heard you talking about happening in that book."

"I know," Karl said smugly as he looked back towards the shop, "It's the plot of a book I'm working on. Wanted to get an unbiased opinion."

The sheriff paused at that, turning to Karl, "that was the most biased opinion you could have gotten. You know that, right?"

"Well now I do, but hey, beggers can't be choosers!"

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

The book characters are based on The Village That Went Mad.

What do you all think?

#tftsmp #tftsmp wild west #tales from the smp #karlnapity #karl jacobs #tftsmp mason #jack kenoff #tftsmp connor #tftsmp william #sheriff sherman thompson #writings from lazarus

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andypantsx3 · 4 years

Text

conspire | 2 | first date

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

The next morning, your classmates wouldn’t shut up about it.

The rumor of your rendezvous with Shouto had spread like wildfire through the school, and you were assaulted by a wave of questions the second you turned up to modern lit. “Is it true?”, “Is he your boyfriend?”, “How do you know him?”, “Is he a good kisser?”, all blended into a cacophony of sound that nearly bowled you over as you stepped through the door.

You felt your face grow hot under their scrutiny and quickly stuffed yourself into your desk. “Yes, we’re dating. No, I won’t answer other questions about it.”

“Come on,” Miko--the girl in the desk closest to you--begged. “You’re dating Shouto Todoroki, the cutest boy in school, and you won’t even tell us how you know him?”

You wracked your brain for something close to the truth. “We, um, got along really well on that support item project last month. It’s nothing special.”

Miko’s mouth opened to fire off another question, but Mr. Cementoss cut her off with his arrival, launching immediately into his lesson plan. You sent up a silent thank you to whichever patron saint of fake dating had been listening.

The rest of the school day passed much the same way, and you wondered several times if the price of your senior project was perhaps too high.

You’d known that Shouto was something of a celebrity due to his parentage, supreme good looks, and incredible power--even outside the walls of UA--but you hadn’t really thought through how that would affect the people who stood closest to him. Knowing what celebrity looked like and actually experiencing it for yourself were two very different things, you found. You’d never been subjected to attention like this before and you weren’t sure that you liked it.

By the time Saturday rolled around, you’d started to wonder if you shouldn’t just call this whole thing off.

The sight of him that morning, however, immediately robbed you of your resolve.

He’d asked you to meet in front of your dorm mid-morning, and he showed up looking unfairly handsome in well-fitted jeans, a grey scarf, and a dark jacket with a high collar that framed his sharp jaw. He looked good, way too good for this early in the morning. You felt a shiver go through you, and not just because of the cold.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he greeted you, the corner of his mouth curling. He gestured with something in his hands and you found your eyes drawn to two takeout coffee cups from the cafe just outside the school gates.

Okay, he was a literal angel and forgiven for everything you had been through this week.

“I didn’t know how you liked yours, so I got all the extras,” he said, handing a cup over to you and turning out a pocket to unveil a mound of sugar packets and tiny creamer containers.

You smiled, feeling warm. “Thanks, Shouto. Pretty sure every support engineer has bypassed the need for modifications at this point and just mainlines straight from the coffee pot. Black is perfect.”

He grinned down at you. “Too many late nights?”

You groaned at the tidal wave of memories. “Support items should just build themselves.”

He laughed and gestured you to follow him, leading you out of school grounds and to the nearby train station.

“Where are we going?” you wondered as he ushered you onto the train. He herded you into a corner and stationed himself in front of you, one arm extended to hold the bar over your head. You wondered if it was something like a natural instinct at this point for hero students to assume a protective position, as Shouto’s choice had the effect of shielding you from the rest of the train car.

“I...asked around about you,” he admitted, looking a little embarrassed. “I’ve been told that your interest in quirks and support items doesn’t just end at the classroom door.”

You flushed. You were kind of a nerd, he had your number.

“I’m taking you somewhere I think you might like,” he said. He took a sip of his own coffee, varicolored eyes glinting down at you over the rim of his cup.

You nursed your own coffee as the train rolled into the city, resisting the urge to close your eyes and lean into him. It was something you might do with an actual boyfriend, and as cute as it was that he was taking you out on a real life fake date, you didn’t think he would appreciate you putting the moves on him.

He led you out of the train at the city center and down a few blocks, finally pulling you into a building with a very modern glass facade. You recognized it at once.

“The Support Museum!” you chirped happily, your interest picking up. They had an interactive exhibit going on right now that you and some classmates had talked about coming to see. Your fingers suddenly itched with the need to test out some of the items.

Shouto looked at you from the corner of his eye, a flash of curious blue. “This is okay?”

“Hell yeah,” you intoned, picking up the pace to get in front of him. “If you’re cool with being bored to death for the next six hours while I have a great time, then this is perfect.”

He gave you a dry look. “I care about support items.”

You scoffed. “You have like, one.”

A slow smirk overtook his features. “Maybe you could convince me to add more.”

Something hot flashed through you and you gave yourself a hard pinch through the fabric of your jeans. His tone seemed laced with insinuation, but you knew better than to buy into it. It was just hard when he was looking at you the way he was.

Damn him for having a face like that.

“Careful,” you said, trying to reroute your brain, “you’re signing yourself up for a whole lot of wild rambling and weird tangents.”

That soft smile pulled at the edge of his mouth again. “I’m used to it. Midoriya, my best friend, is a lot like that.”

You’d been in the room with Izuku Midoriya before and didn’t doubt it. The boy could certainly give you a run for your money. If he wasn’t equipped with the wildest quirk you’d ever seen, he would have made one hell of a support engineer -- you were probably lucky you didn’t have to compete for grades with a mind like that.

“Treat me like white noise,” you said as he shouldered past you to pay for tickets.

You let out a noise of protest when you noticed what he was doing, but he pressed you back from the ticket counter with a strong arm you couldn’t get around. It seemed only too easy for him to hold you off and pay for tickets at the same time, and it was slightly offensive. Maybe you needed to put in more time in the support course gym.

“I asked you out,” he said by way of explanation after you complained all the way through coat check, only shutting up when you were distracted by the sight of him in a soft tee shirt and blue button up. “I should pay.”

You made a dismissive noise. “It’s not the nineteen thirties anymore, dude. I can pay for my own stuff.”

He turned to you with a wry look. “Are we fighting about money already? Not something I’d thought we’d get to at this stage, to be honest.”

You laughed. “Our first fight as a couple.”

He pinned you with an interested look, something in his gaze growing hot. “Should we kiss and make up?”

Your face instantly went up in flames, like he’d lit you up with his quirk. Jesus Christ, he was a teaser? You’d thought he was just the quiet and thoughtful type -- who knew that he hid an ironic sense of humor underneath all that? This was going to be bad for your health.

“Cute,” you quipped for something to say, marching in front of him quickly so he couldn’t see your face. “Uh, where to first?”

He let you lead the way around the museum, and in minutes you’d pretty much calmed down from the heat of the moment, distracted by the halls filled with the forefront of quirk theory and the corresponding support equipment.

As someone who’d been born without a quirk of their own, the concept had always been fascinating to you, leading you into the support track at UA in your efforts to study quirks and their applications. It was incredible how genetics determined which people had none, and whose ranged from benign improvements like seeing slightly better through fog to more deadly power that roiled just beneath the surface of one’s skin like Shouto.

The deviations in power manifestation stretched the genetics of each human further from one another than they had ever gone before -- sometimes by a full 0.1-0.2% of their DNA structure -- and it was crazy cool. While your speciality was more applied science, you couldn’t deny the biology of it was equally as interesting.

At the rate it was going, people like you could share more genetic similarity with a banana at some point than someone like Shouto. Well, after a couple more millennia of evolution.

Shouto chuckled and you realized with some alarm that you had been babbling all of that out loud.

“Should I be concerned that our children might come out as bananas?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You gave him a sour look. “You know that’s not how it works.”

He flashed you a cheeky grin and followed you easily as you led the way through the other exhibits.

He listened attentively as you oohed and ahhed over the different displays, asking very pointed follow up questions like he was actually interested in what you had to say. You fell into a very involved discussion about most of the displays, and you realized with some surprise that plenty of time had passed without you realizing it, and that you were having an incredibly good time.

Shouto paid for lunch at the museum cafe as well, affecting hearing loss over the sounds of your protests, and kept up the easy conversation all the way through the meal.

After lunch, you two queued up for the interactive exhibit that you’d initially wanted to see, eventually being let into the exhibit hall in a small group. You immediately lit up like a kid on Christmas.

The hall was studded with actual support items that had been developed for the top twenty heros, ranging from real costume pieces that had been retired to replicas of items currently in use, supplied by the same companies as had built them. The items were free for testing with the caveat that the user had to be careful.

You spent a fair amount of time over pieces of Edgeshot’s costume that had been made from strands of his own hair, allowing it to fold and reshape with the changes to his body, and more time over Ryukyu’s size-changing suit that mechanically adapted to her dragon form.

Shouto stopped over a flame-resistant gauntlet from his father’s previous costume.

“Think you can melt it?” you asked with interest. You wondered how fast they’d eject you from the museum if he succeeded.

Shouto shook his head. “My flames are hot but I doubt it.”

You perked up. “How hot?”

“I haven’t actually measured,” he admitted and you groaned.

“Your super cool quirk is totally wasted on you,” you said. “You have to let me do tests.”

His mouth twitched again. “What kind of tests?”

“Anything you’ll let me,” you said. “Temperature gauges, cryogenic structure analysis, body scans when you use both energy sources. I have my theories as to how your quirk is actually scientifically possible but I need more data.”

“Body scans, huh?” he asked.

Of course he’d seized on that one. God, he was such a boy.

“Yes. We’ll get you all strapped up in wires and those little sticky nodules. It’ll be super sexy, trust me.”

He chuckled, and set a hand to one of his father’s boots that was also on display. “Fine, but later. Want to test this out now?”

You leaned in, nodding, and he let a flame grow in his hand, pressing it to the fabric of the boot. The cloth activated instantly, channeling the flame across the surface of the boot in the customary style of Endeavor’s flaming costume.

“Fuck, that’s so cool,” you breathed, leaning over to read the description of how it worked. “You need something just as obnoxiously showy on your costume. You’re letting your own dad upstage you.”

He laughed again and let the flame die down.

You wandered companionably through the rest of the exhibit, thrilled when it ended in an arcade-like simulation of Wash’s quirk that let you rig up and shoot water around at various targets. Shouto immediately targeted you instead.

“You're supposed to be a hero,” you whined, whipping around to aim your water cannon at him in revenge. “How could you target a civilian like this?”

His hero training had clearly paid off, as he was too skilled at dodging to get caught up in any of your attacks. Your time was called without you able to catch him once, but you left the exhibit with your own shirt sticking wetly to your body. You tried not to wince, thinking of the wintry weather that would no doubt invade the confines of your jacket once you made it outside.

Shouto immediately pulled you to the side of the coat check, however, his eyes trailing down your shirt where it clung to you. You tried not to feel self conscious.

“Let me,” he said quietly, placing a hand against your shoulder. Searing warmth washed over your skin under his hand and you tried not to arch up into the pleasant heat. You stood incredibly still, hardly daring to breathe as he passed his hand lightly over your shirt, taking care not to touch you anywhere too scandalous, though some traitorous part of your mind almost wished he would. This close, you could catch the scent of some light cologne, minty and fresh, and the smell of it made your head spin.

It took just under a minute for him to fully dry out your shirt, each second passing like a small eternity.

You were able to gather your wits just enough to laugh about his bright future in steam cleaning as you tucked back into your coat, then followed him to the train back to campus.

It was nearly dark by the time he walked you back to your dorm, the sun dipping low to kiss the horizon, sunset orange fading into the deep blue of an evening sky. You realized that you’d spent all day with him and had hardly noted the time passing -- he was a very, very good date. Some girl in the months after graduation was going to find herself very lucky with him.

The dorm was quiet as you approached, which was unusual for a Saturday evening, and you realized with a growing sense of horror that your classmates must be waiting quietly, watching for your arrival from inside to see what he’d do. Shouto must have realized the same thing almost the same time that you did, as he stepped into your space at the doorway, catching the sleeve of your coat to pull you close to him.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, face dipping close to yours. His features were somehow even more symmetrical up close and it was overwhelming to look at. “I quite liked today, so I thought…”

Your heartbeat kicked up in your chest and the tips of your ears went hot as you panicked, tangling your own fingers in his dark jacket like a lifeline. “Y-yeah,” you answered. “This is g-great.”

He smirked, leaning in even closer to you. You held carefully still as you had in front of the coat check, all the nerves in your body straining with anticipation. Then a hot mouth pressed softly to yours, and every neuron in your brain misfired.

The next thing you registered, your arms were around his neck and he was pressing you gently up against the door, his tongue in your mouth and his large hands on your waist. You arched up into his touch, desperate to get closer, twining your fingers in his soft hair.

He gave a low groan and pressed you harder into the door, a hand coming up to cup your face as he did something absolutely criminal with his tongue. So much for his career as a hero.

A muffled shout came from within your dorm and you jerked apart, panting. Your face flamed in embarrassment.

“Wow,” you said dumbly, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Wow indeed,” he teased, stepping back from you.

You shook yourself as he did. Right, fake dating. The kiss had been hot but it was only for show--and the show had been successfully executed. You had to resist the urge to drag him back for another.

“I’ll text you?” you squeaked out and he agreed, looking weirdly satisfied as he bid you good night.

You watched him for a long moment as he trudged back down the path to campus, heart beating a frantic staccato in your chest.

Shouto Todoroki was the most dangerous boy alive and it finally dawned on you just what you had agreed to for the next few months. You were so absolutely fucked.

#bnha #bnha x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #fanfic #todoroki x reader #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto

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