#MENU ? IVORY WRITES

[bunberiii]

11. fam (family tree/oriented google template)

introducing "11. fam", a pastel flower/korean-style aesthetic in-depth google docs oc template for the planning and documenting of information for families within roleplays and creative writing. with many custom drawings such as icons, menus, a customisable family tree and much more, this document includes space for individual family members, collective family history, name meanings, fun facts, heirlooms and more (section names can be changed to fit your needs). this template is also available in four colour options: ivory/white, persona/pink, lilac/purple, and serenity/blue. feel free to edit this as much as you wish as long as you do not remove my credit.

notes/rules

editing and modifications are welcome once you purchase the template.

all drawings and images in this document are custom created (or in the case of the pictures, edited) by me. If you would like to take elements from this document, you will need to credit me as an inspiration or the creator of that element(s).

resizing or moving objects/images can throw off the document, so be careful.

do not remove my watermark/credits!

please like or reblog this post if you use my template!  ♡

how to use

click the source link above

purchase the template via my payhip

follow the instructions on the downloaded note

once you receive access to the template, go to file  →  make a copy

how to edit

in order to most easily put in your own images, go to replace image then choose how you wish to replace it (either uploading a file or via the image's URL).

this document includes drawings. Double-click the drawing/image on the bottom left or top right corner, then click the edit tab. this will take you to a page where you can replace, edit or delete features of the image

for the custom-edited photos, I've linked a tutorial to how I created them in the zip file you'll receive after the purchase

#google doc #google doc template #google docs template #template #discord rp #family template #family tree #writing resources #creative writing resources #white aesthetic #flower aesthetic #blue aestheitc #pink aesthetic #purple aesthetic #aesthetic #pastel #pastel aesthetic #bun: original #bun: google docs

[forever-fixating]

Some Sentences Monday?

Tagged by the ever-awesome @priincebutt

Okay, so I know this is meant for Sundays, but ya boi was destroyed from work and completely overstimulated so I had nothing in the tank. But after hibernating most of today, I am emerging ready to share a new project I have in the works. Getting such amazing response for Love on the Menu has really invigorated my desire to work, and now my mind is running with ideas. I've been toying with the idea of writing a historical AU for a while now, so allow me to introduce:

I don't have an official summary for it yet, but to overhype myself, this story has everything: childhood sweethearts separated by tragedy, rivaling nations full of political intrigue, magick because I've been dying to write a fantasy AU as well so por que no los dos, a tournament where the grand prize of the joust is the hand in marriage of our sweet Henry, a cliffhanger that I am so excited to write but that I know will enrage everyone that reads it...get ready, yall!

Below the cut is a massively long teaser. Forgive the roughness of it. I am just so geeked to share it, but just know I'll be working on it until it's ready. Enjoy! (If you'd like a soundtrack for this, might I suggest Surrender by Natalie Taylor?)

The air was perfumed with the scent of springtime blossoms. Beneath the shade of a great willow tree were two young lovers. One was flaxen-haired, his ivory skin rosy from the sun and littered with constellations of freckles. His body and limbs were slender and knobbly, still in that awkward phase between boy and man. His light blue eyes studied his companion with unguarded adoration. The other young man was shorter in stature, but rigorous exercise had already defined his physique. Atop his head was an untamed mass of sable curls, still wet from swimming. His unblemished skin gleamed a rich russet shade that his fairer companion couldn't stop touching. The pair had completed their lessons for the day and decided to take a refreshing dip in the lake near their school. They were naked, hidden among the willow branches, like two woodland nymphs from a fable and not two princes from separate nations. The dark-haired boy Alex lifted his lover Henry's hand and kissed the signet ring on his pinkie finger. The ring's face held not a family crest but their initials. A promise.

"When we are married-"

"You mustn't say such things!" Henry laughed even as his stomach fluttered at the very prospect. "It isn't proper."

Alex leaned down to press a kiss against rose-petal lips. "A man must state his intentions plainly, and mine are to marry you, cariño."

"You are not yet seventeen, cariad," Henry said as Alex trailed kisses along his jaw and neck. In this sacred space, it was easy to get lost in the rose-tinted fantasy of their future together. He tangled his fingers in Alex's curls, tugging at the roots. "Our parents would say it is unwise to speak of such things at our age."

"Why," Alex hissed as he climbed over Henry's body, "are you mentioning our parents when I am trying to ravish you?"

Henry arched his body into that of his beloved, gasping, "You have ravished me twice already this afternoon. Is that not enough?"

"Never."

As the twin suns began their steady descents into the horizons, the young lovers got dressed and made their way back to the school. Fireflies glowed in hues of pink, orange, and yellow as the pair discussed their plans for the following day. Given their disheveled states of dress, they were wary of running into Headmistress Beaufort or one of their professors as they made their way back to their dormitory. Unfortunately, fate was not on their side, and they rounded a corner and nearly crashed into Professor Wagner. He was a squat toad of a man who taught history and hated Alex for his frequent interruptions during lessons. His face held a perpetual bitter expression, as though he had just sucked on an unripen lemon. He berated them for looking and acting beneath their station and gave them detention for the following fortnight working in the stables with Gerald the groundskeeper. (It wasn't the punishment the man thought it was. They enjoyed Gerald's company, especially when he was joined by Julian, the music professor. Henry was convinced they were in love, but Alex said he was delusional.)

They scrambled upstairs to their shared dorm room to change. Dinner was already in progress when they joined their social set in the dining hall. Alex's older sister June was discussing a novel with Henry's twin sister Beatrice while their best friends Percy and Nora played cards. As Henry took his spot between Bea and Pez, his sister poked at the poorly concealed love mark Alex had gifted him earlier and teased, "My dear brother, it would appear you have been mauled by pixies. Should we alert Gerald of a possible infestation?"

Alex, seated across from him between June and Nora, snorted into his goblet, and Henry kicked his skin beneath the table. Giving his sister a tight smile that told her he knew exactly at what she was playing, he said defensively, "It was only a single, annoying pixie. Hardly cause for alarm."

"Annoying?" Henry's stomach filled with regret the moment the words left his mouth at Alex's fallen expression. He looked away from Henry. "Perhaps the pixie will direct their attention elsewhere if they are such a nuisance."

Alex would not meet his eye for the remainder of the meal. Once Headmistress Beaufort dismissed the students for the evening, Alex was up like a shot. Henry felt the disapproval of their friends and loved ones as he stood and trailed after Alex like a lovesick puppy. When Henry reached the common room of their dormitory, he found Alex chatting with Liam, the son of a nobleman from his home country. While he knew there was no danger of them forming an attachment, jealousy sparked in his chest, hot and ugly. He strode over to them and said, "Alex, I wish to speak with you."

Alex's expression was that of cool indifference. "Yes?"

Ignoring Liam and tugging on Alex's arm, Henry insisted, "In private."

Alex rolled his eyes but stood, shoving past Henry to their dorm room. Henry didn't look at Liam but hurried after Alex. He passed some of their classmates roughhousing in the hallway. Alex's ire was quick to be provoked, but Henry hoped he could dampen it with gentle words of apology and a gift. Their dorm room was on the far end of the hallway to the right. When Henry entered, Alex was sitting on the window seal. Henry closed the door.

"Cariad-"

"You would be wise not to call me that right now," Alex snapped, not looking at him.

Henry bit his bottom lip. Pushing away from the door, he crossed the cross to retrieve a parcel he received earlier that day from his bedside table. Though he protested Alex's pure words down by the lake, Henry's heart ached at the very thought that Alex thought himself alone in this affection. Henry was naturally cautious when it came to matters of the heart. While his parents had a romance for the bards to write neverending songs about and supported his inclinations, his grandmother Queen Mary still held final sway over who her grandchildren would marry. While Alex's country was a rising power, full of untapped resources and potential, Mary looked down her nose at their progressive politics and rising status among the nations. But despite the perceived impossibility of their future together, Henry found himself desperately in love with Alex all the time.

Henry knelt in front of his wounded lover and placed the parcel in his lap. Alex finally looked at him before glancing down and asking, "What is this?"

"An apology and response."

Alex picked it up and tore away the plain brown paper. Revealed was a red velvet bag. Henry's heart raced as Alex opened the bag and pulled out a small golden key on a silver chain. The bow of the key, intertwined in delicate filigree, was their initials, much like the ring that rested on Henry's hand.

As Alex studied it, Henry said, "My words earlier were foolish and hurtful. The truth is that I am afraid of the end of term. Things as they are now seem too perfect and golden. I...I fear once we are parted, reality will make you realize I am not worthy, that you will find someone more suitable for-"

"You believe me to be easily swayed?" Alex snapped. Henry looked up to see frustration and sadness in his eyes. He reached down to yank Henry's hand that held the signet ring to eye level. "Is this not proof enough of my love for you? Is it not enough that I say I love you? If this is an apology, it is a very poor one, Henry."

Henry climbed on the window seal with Alex, desperate to be understood, tears in his eyes. "It is an explanation. I am scared, Alex. I know we are young, but I know in my heart I will never feel for another what I feel for you. But when my grandmother finds out about us, she will stop at nothing to keep us apart. Does that challenge not give you pause?"

"Cariño," Alex whispered, cupping Henry's face, the necklace dangling from his fingers, "I would slay a thousand dragons, cross the Great Salt Desert, and brave the bitterest frozen peaks if that's what it took to make you mine. You may fear your grandmother, but I do not. There is no one else for me but you."

Henry took the chain from Alex's hand and placed it around his neck. Pressing his hand over the key, Henry said, "As you are for me. I want to be brave like you. I want you to know you are not alone. This key is a symbolic gesture, the key to my heart. My promise to be true."

Two young lovers, bathed in moonlight and their love for one another, making a vow as true as the gods had ever heard. Perhaps it was their youth that gave them pause, or the sincerity in which the vows were given. Whatever it was, the gods took note and, in their mercurial way, decided to put that devotion to the test.

The skies were clear that night as Alex and Henry clung to each other, but they could not see the storm brewing on the distant horizon. A challenge.

Tagging @dragonflylady77 @onthewaytosomewhere @theplayfulfairy and anyone else who scribbles and is interested.

#yall are not ready #a tournament for his heart #some sentence sunday #tagging game #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #rwrb #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #WIP

[onceuponmyanime]

OBEY ME DEVILDOM

*I've always wanted to write about little Fluffy segments on the side about how MC felt in a new place like the Devildom with all these people she should be afraid of but finds an odd sense of belonging.

So this is my small take on it.*

The Avatar of Gluttony...

"Thou shall not crave..."

It was 3 in the morning when I found myself wide awake.

A week had gone by and I was finally feeling homesick.

This place was just as horrible as my hometown.

The only difference was the other students wanted to eat me whole or piece by piece.

Just thinking about being eaten made my tummy rumble, only just remembering I'd barely eaten anything at dinner.

Sitting at a table around people that didn't really want me there was a real appetite killer.

Knowing I should stay in my room and try to sleep through my hunger, I heard my stomach growl a little louder and realized there was no way I was going back to bed on an empty stomach.

"Okay I'm getting up." I muttered under my breath.

Donning one of my hooded sweatshirts over my pajama bottoms and sliding into my slippers, I moved quietly to my door and opened it a fraction.

Seeing no movement in the dark hallway, I quickly scuttled my way through the House of Lamentation in search of the kitchen somewhere downstairs.

Even though the place looked eerie during the 'daytime', the nighttime made it look much scarier, with shadows moving like actual living creatures...

But even my fear couldn't keep me away from what my stomach craved.

The stomach wants what the stomach wants.

Entering the room I assumed was the kitchen, I reached for the wall in search of the light switch.

With a click, a bright light illuminated the room with a yellow glow, revealing the large ivory fridge on the other side of the room.

I moved toward it as fast as my feet could take me.

As I was just about to open the refrigerator, the door was yanked roughly from my hand.

"If you're looking for something to eat then you're out of luck. Everything in this fridge belongs to me."

Beelzebub towered a head over me, making me feel small and insignificant in his presense.

I couldn't help but shrink back in fear.

"I thought..."

"I know what you were told, but know that everything that is uneaten and put in to this fridge becomes mine unofficially."

Unofficially?

My stomach chose that moment to growl in protest.

Both of us looked at each other in shocked surprise.

"I guess I'd better get to bed."

I would rather starve to death then fight with a demon over food.

But before I could turn away to go, I heard him slightly clear his throat.

"I wouldn't like it if I was sent to bed hungry."

Knowing that that was maybe one of the hardest things for him to admit, I turned around just in time to see him pull something out of the fridge before he closed the door.

Sniffing at the container, he placed it in front of me along with a fork he pulled out of the top drawer.

"You can have this." Thinking he was being kind, he undid all his good work by mentioning. "It's Mammon's spicy noodles so it's fair game."

A little unsure I should be eating anybody elses food, Beelzebub shrugged his shoulder carelessly.

"Don't worry. He'll think it was me who ate it anyway."

Reluctantly I began eating it, the bite of spices already heating my tongue.

It was a good thing I loved spicy food, so it was no surprise I continued to devour it with each bite.

After a moment of silent eating, I felt the dining table begin to rumble under me.

Thinking it was a small earthquake, I looked up and saw the hunger on Beelzebubs face.

"You look good enough to eat."

Suddenly I realized that the rumble wasn't an earthquake, but the sound of his stomach grumbling.

Which was my queue to leave.

"Thanks for the food." Without bothering to clean up my mess, I rushed out of the room before he decided that I was the next thing on his menu.

#obey me! #obey me game #obey me devildom #obey me mc #obey me shall we date #obey me otome #obey me rad #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me headcanons #obey me hc #obeu me fanfic #devildom #om! beelzebub #anime

[unisexobject]

Chapter VII. Closer

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Summary: A callous run-in with a certain someone leads you and Eddie to grow closer, but are your enemies more dangerous than they seem? Trigger Warnings: Violence, blood, past trauma, ptsd, exposed skin, idk Author's Note: I know it has been a hot minute since last, but life has been seriously roundhouse kicking my ass. Next chapter, a character that rhymes with sissy goes snap, crackle and pop...

Having Eddie in the same classes as you was not as enjoyable as it sounded.

He would always grab your arm and start drawing all over, creating little but many illustrations of old rickety houses, lightning bolts, bats, cemeteries and wyverns across your supple skin. It lead to you furiously scrubbing his artwork off during lunch just before you got home, sick of your parents questioning you over your impromptu sleeve and the curly haired metal head who barely left your side.

Eddie also couldn't be quiet, as the constant tapping of his ivory Reeboks or the clinking of thick metal rings practically drove you insane. Let alone his constant whispering of absolute nonsense into your ear - whether it be the melodic tune of his latest hyperfixation or completely inappropriate comments about Mrs. O'Donnel - that nearly made you burst into laughter every lesson.

But the worst of all, was that he needed you to explain practically everything from class to him. Not satisfied until his thousand "but why" 's were answered. Despite his subtle intelligence and unabating creativity, Eddie still needed a little hand here and there. And God was he annoying. 

On today's menu, creating original poetry. Great, you thought.

You groaned across the cafeteria table after Eddie had pestered you about helping him write.

"I'm going to see Robin at Family Video first after school, so come over a little later." 

Your best friend flashed his pearly grin. 

You hadn't seen Robin over the last few days, apparently she was caught up in some business with Nancy and Steve. You hoped that she would be there this afternoon to help you pick out something to watch later tonight. 

"Why is Jason Carver looking at you and Y/N like that?" Dustin asked. 

His comment pulled you out of your reverie.

The whole table turned their head in unison toward the infamous Jason Carver, or to the balls-and-laundry-basket table as Eddie so imaginatively coined. 

It was true. Jason's expression was a little unsettling. His face was hard and stern, like he was in the midst of taming his blazing rage. He barely broke away his piercing gaze from Eddie.

"Maybe he's still pissed about Y/N dunking a big fat bowl of punch on his stupid head." Gareth mused. 

His comment earned a light chuckle from the table. You and Eddie smiled in earnest.

"Don't forget how she threatened to fight him too." Dustin interposed. 

"Yeah. He's probably like, super embarrassed." Mike added. 

"Embarrassed that Eddie has Chrissy wrapped around his little finger." Jeff retorted teasingly. 

The whole table laughed, except for you and Eddie.

Your smile dropped along with your gaze. You scratched the back of your neck sheepishly, attention returning to your carrot sticks. They no longer were as appetising as they were when lunch had started, the slender orange now suddenly a nauseating sight.

Eddie remained still and wary - and unbeknownst to you - death staring Jeff for his flippant comment. He didn't have Chrissy wrapped around his finger. It was obvious from the moment that she flashed her wide smile and innocent eyes and asked Eddie if he had "the stuff" that she wasn't interested in him. At least not in that way. Sure Chrissy showed Eddie genuine kindness, but she was more concerned with what he had to offer.

Eddie didn't understand why the thought of him and Chrissy spoken aloud made him so uncomfortable. He had a crush on her not too long ago and felt free enough to share the desires of his heart to you. In fact, it was something he still ruminates on, groaning to himself as he tosses and turns late at night. He wanted to go back in time and smack his past self in the face for acting like such a love sick fool.

But ever since his fire for her fizzled out, he became incredibly anxious at the thought of you thinking that he still liked her. 

The second Jeff teased Eddie about it, his heart quickened. He couldn't hide his immediate shift in demeanour.  Eddie couldn't understand why he even felt concerned about the whole thing to begin with.

"I do not." Eddie snapped. 

Everyone went silent, his sudden change in mood earning confused looks from a sea of naive eyes.

"I mean..." He continued in a much calmer tone. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

You started to bite your nails absentmindedly, desperate for something to distract you from the unpleasant conversation that seemed to encircle you. 

"Don't you meet her in the woods outside of school all the time?" Gareth asked humourlessly. 

That's our spot. 

You met Eddie's gaze, a twinge of sadness growing in your chest. Its weeds wrapped around your heart when Eddie stayed silent, his doe eyes boring into yours. 

After a moment, he continued on. 

"I told you not to mention that out loud Gareth. It's not exactly public knowledge." Eddie seethed, briefly looking around to ensure no one in the busy cafeteria heard. 

You looked away from Eddie, unable to decipher the all encompassing distrust that suddenly emerged.

You didn't really have much reason to doubt Eddie, his heart bold and honest on his sleeve. Yet, for some reason you did. These feelings of almost jealousy made you wary. 

"I help her take the edge off, that's all. If Jason knew, who knows what he would do to the both of us." 

Gareth and Jeff hummed in response, willing to drop the whole thing out of boredom. Like they were a dog playing with a chew toy whose piercing squeak were no longer entertaining. 

So, you and Eddie finished your lunch in silence, whilst the rest of the boys returned to mindless chatter. But your mind - as usual - would be consumed by thoughts that your best friend was growing dishonest with you. And soon enough, would learn the dreadful yet all too true past which followed you everywhere. 

-

It was afternoon now and you were at Family Video, hoping to catch Robin to help you rent a film for your post writing session with Eddie. You wandered the aisles, waiting to discover something that would please the both of you.

Eddie adored anything scary and filled with gore, whilst you enjoyed the likes of a good story or some German expressionism. Although, getting Eddie to enjoy a silent film was a terribly hard task. He had never been one to focus and needed dialogue to really capture his attention. 

You hoped that whatever weird funk you were in at lunch would dissipate by the time Eddie arrived. You hoped even more, that watching a movie together would put your mind at ease, allowing you to fall into sync with your best friend effortlessly. 

You were tossing up between Frankenstein and Nosferatu, hoping for Robin to pop around and help you decide.

"Hey." Steve beamed.

His voice caught you off guard, causing you to drop Nosferatu onto the carpet. 

"Shit." You muttered, crouching down to pick it up. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Although, based off the looks of it that's what you're after?" 

He motioned toward the films in your hands and smiled convivially. 

"Yeah, I have a thing for vampires and reanimated corpses it seems." You shook your head, playfully ashamed.

Steve smiled wide and leaned against the shelf, stumbling a little when his elbow missed the surface. 

He cleared his throat. 

"You doing okay? After Friday, I mean. Thought I'd have to call the cops to haul you away." He mused teasingly. 

You genuinely laughed, somehow coming around to the humour of the previous Friday. 

"I don't know what you put in that punch Harrington, but it really got my wires mixed up." You replied playfully. 

He scratched his chin and flaunted his pearly teeth.

"And here I was thinking that they were already like that." 

"Hey!" You chided. 

You smacked him on the side jestingly and chuckled at his antics. When he recovered, he took a deep breath.

"So, what are you doing here?" Steve asked, leaning the side of his head on closed knuckles. 

"You know, looking for something to watch tonight. I'm just waiting for Robin to help me out." 

As if saying her name had spoken her into existence, she magically appeared next to you.

"Nosferatu? I mean it's not bad, but The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is way better. Might relate to it a bit more considering you aren't sleeping these days." Robin remarked, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

You and Steve exchanged knowing glances, glint of humour dancing around in your eyes. 

"Hello to you too." You replied sarcastically.

"Wait, you're not sleeping?" Steve questioned with a furrowed brow. 

Before you could clarify, Robin did.

"Yeah dingus, she keeps having these awful nightmares and crazy nosebleeds. The other day her headache was so bad that she didn't listen to her walkman because the headphones hurt to be on her head." She explained animatedly. 

Your eyes widened in embarrassment. It wasn't a big deal and Steve didn't need to know. You were afraid that he would worry or look at you as if you had some serious psychological issues. Not like it would be such a terrible fate, but you didn't think something so odious could be easily digested by someone like Steve. 

"Thank you for the suggestion Rob, but I think that's my cue to leave." 

You gently squeezed Robin's shoulder to soothe her and hopefully discreetly inform her that she had overshared. 

Steve forced a placating grin as he ran a firm hand through his swirly mane. 

You waved a kind hand to Harrington as you walked out of Family Video, hoping to God that this weird tizzy of a day would draw to a close soon.

-

The warm Indiana afternoon faded into a raven sky, set aglow by tiny speckles of constellations. Sprawled across your fuzzy rug still in the same clothes, worry ate at you when Eddie still hadn't arrived. 

It was 9pm and you were coming to the conclusion that perhaps he never would. You were slightly worried, yet mostly annoyed. He had pestered you at lunch about helping him with his poetry. But maybe he ended up with Chrissy? The thought kept pervading your mind, never allowing you to rest. 

Desperate to get comfortable, you slowly rose from your languid position in hopes to change into something more agreeable. 

After you discarded your shirt and jeans onto your bedroom floor, leaving you in just your underwear and white singlet, you slowly pulled on some great sweat pants and woolly socks. 

Just as you pulled them on, a sudden yet light tap from your bedroom window garnered your attention. You snapped your head in its direction, heart almost going asystole at the intrusion, until a familiar head of curls came into view. 

Clutching at your chest in fear, you watched as Eddie gave a small wave through the window pane. You let out a relieved breath and slowly stalked your way over. 

The window opened with a click. 

"Eddie." You breathed, voice a little raspy from fright. "What on earth are you doing? You were supposed to be here hours ago." 

Eddie hoisted a jean clad leg over the frame and slid into your room with practiced ease. 

"Was a little caught up." He groaned in response as he tried to shut your window. 

"I was getting changed, you could have just come through the front door."

"Don't worry, I didn't see nothing." Eddie remarked unconcerned, turning around to face you. 

As your warm bedroom light hit his pale face, you noticed a shattered mosaic of deep blues and purples across his right eye and cheek. A bright crimson stain trailed down his Helfire shirt that was now soiled in what seemed to be blood. His plush bottom lip had an angry slit in it, revealing layers of tonal reds amongst vivid pink. Eddie looked like he had just come back from hell.

"Jesus fucking Christ." You muttered, taking his injured head into your hands. 

"Gentle, sweetheart." Eddie replied, wincing as your hands came to rest on his battered cheeks. 

A million thoughts ran through your mind all at once, as if each one were a train colliding directly into one another. Your eyes nearly burst out of your skull as you took in Eddie's injuries, making note of each indigo splotch and dots of dried blood. 

"Who did this to you?" You asked incredulously. Eddie swallowed the lump that had magically formed in his throat.

"Jason." He replied, sore lips grazing the inside of your palm. 

Eddie gripped your wrists gently and pulled them away from his face.

You remained silent as he skulked around your room, taking a liking to the end of your plush bed. He patted the spot next to him, motioning for you to come sit.

You held your arms over your chest and joined him. 

You might have appeared calm albeit shocked, but on the inside you were fuming. 

How the fuck could Jason do this? You wanted to stride over to his house and set him alight. You could barely wrap your head around it.

"Eds...why did he do this to you?" You asked softly, still bewildered by his injured complexion.

Your question made Eddie think back to this afternoon. 

"Hey freak!" Jason called, cornering Eddie in the school parking lot. 

Jason and his posse waited until late, the time of day where it was deserted and when Eddie had finished writing his newest campaign for Helfire in the drama room. 

Eddie turned around with a whoosh, only standing mere centimetres from his van. He barely had any time to register what was happening, falling to the ground with a thud. 

"Think you could get away with it freak? Hanging around Chrissy. Your little slut threatening me?" 

Jason started punching Eddie over and over and over. His rage unleashed and untamed. 

Suddenly Eddie was laughing, a wide smirk growing across his busted lip and bruised cheek. Jason stilled his vicious movements, brows furrowed in hesitancy.

"That's it Carver?" Eddie taunted. "I thought you were a tough guy, but you punch like a girl." 

Jason blinked in shock and stepped back, before throwing an even harder punch. Eddie rolled to the side and spat out some blood. 

"Maybe a little harder this time and you might actually leave a mark." He groaned.

Eddie tilted his head back in roaring laughter, smearing blood across his face with the back of his palm. 

Jason took the incentive and hit him harder and harder, growing ever more frustrated. Eddie was becoming battered and bruised, yet he didn't lose the fight. 

When Jason stepped away, conceding to Eddie's taunts and the feeling of humiliation, Eddie laughed even harder. 

"Come on champ, thought you were trying to prove me wrong." 

After several more punches and groans of frustration, they left a manically cackling Eddie in the parking lot, peeling away in Jason's car and driving off into the late afternoon. 

"Wait, he did this because of me?" You asked disbelievingly.

Eddie turned to face you, grabbing both of your wrists to anchor you to him. 

"No, absolutely not. He's had it out for me ever since middle school. This has nothing to do with you, okay?" Eddie soothed, absentmindedly running his thumb over the back of your palm 

You hung your head low, trying to listen to his comforting words. They were failing in their effectiveness. 

"There's a first aid kit in the bathroom, I'll be right back." You remarked, slowly slipping out of his reassuring grip. 

When you returned with swabs and gauze, you disinfected his many wounds. The sight of deep burgundy against sharp white made your stomach curl. You kept gently dabbing the cut above his eye, mesmerised at how a protuberant head of blood kept returning after several attempts at blotting the skin.

"What's the prognosis doc?" Eddie questioned sarcastically, momentarily breaking his trance from your worrisome complexion. 

You huffed, tucking a loose coil of hair behind his ear. You didn't want specks of dried blood to be caught in his mane.

"Well, you're going to be okay. Just a little swollen and bruised, but still beautiful." 

Eddie quietly crooned.  

"Did you hear that? My little Florence Nightingale thinks I'm beautiful." 

"Shut up." You warned, lightly smacking his arm. 

You placed all of the soiled swabs and gauze that were still slick with blood into a plastic bag. You closed the lid of the first aid kit from the bathroom and placed it on your night stand. 

The soft incandescence of your lampshade casted a warm glow in your room, subtly highlighting Eddie's battered complexion. He looked vulnerable in front of you, an elusive reminder that he was not impervious to pain or brutality. That Hawkins was a terribly violent place and people like Eddie, people who were different were a constant target. A source of retribution.

Just like in the past, people who you care about can be taken from you without warning, without any proper reasoning at all. And in the grand scheme of things, you are forever powerless to stop it. 

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Eddie queried, nudging his jean clad knee with yours.

Your silence worried him. 

"Nothing." You replied instinctively. 

Your reply was thoughtless and even Eddie couldn't understand why you even attempted to lie at all. He knew you too well. 

What Eddie didn't know, was why you always kept him at arms length. Sure he had an idea that it had something to do with the enigmatic Matt, or your distant relationship with your parents, or even your past life before Hawkins (whatever that consisted of). But he could never really be certain and the weight of that speculation had started to become impossible.

Yet, he let it go and hummed softly in response.

"So um, you're gonna get mad at me for bringing this up but, when I saw you getting...getting-"

"Changed?" 

"Yeah, changed. I noticed a little something around your uh...hip area." 

Your eyes widened and you shot up from the bed. 

"Eddie! You said you didn't see anything!" You practically shouted. 

Eddie roared to his feet to join you.

"I know! I know! I didn't want you to feel...violated. I swear I didn't look on purpose!"

You turned to face him, groaning to yourself that Eddie had probably seen your half-naked form. Not just you in shorts and a singlet, but part of your bare things and hip bone. 

"Christ, Eddie." You muttered, relaxing back into the mattress. 

Eddie joined suit, mirroring your movements out of fear of your wrath for seeing you in such a vulnerable and compromising way. 

Another silent moment passed.

"So, is it uh, a tattoo?" He asked quietly. 

You turned to face him as his he cast his gaze toward his feet sheepishly. 

You let Eddie's question linger in the air, deliberating what to do next. It was a tattoo, but it wasn't done on a whim or for a stupid bet or dare. It was important, a part of something larger, something you hadn't shared with Eddie. Something that even the thought of sharing had you petrified. 

"You want to see?" You asked, barely above a whisper.

Eddie now turned to face you, fashioning a delicate expression of caution. He knew his abrasiveness could land him in some deep shit sometimes, but he didn't want this to be one of those times. Eddie had taken notice of how your mood would suddenly shift or how the air would carry something heavy at the drop of a pin. He had never really known what caused it, but he learnt that it was specific to you and he shouldn't push if he could help it. But he knew that moments where you would pull back the curtain even for a mere second were precious and worth savouring. 

"Okay." 

You cleared your throat before pulling down the right side of your waistband, slowly revealing an inky spot saddled on your hip. The whole thing felt so inglorious, revealing a strange part of skin that Eddie wouldn't have ever seen typically. It didn't feel sensual, it felt deeply pregnable. 

Suddenly, the small tattoo was completely exposed, the rest of your waist hidden by the fabric of your singlet. 

Eddie's breath hitched. Seeing a tattoo on you did something to him. What that something was, he wasn't quite sure yet. 

"It's a butterfly." You remarked, noticing his tacit silence. "A monarch more specifically." 

With your statement Eddie chuckled lightly. 

"I never would have expected you to have a tattoo." He replied, looking up to your orbs with a mischievous grin.

You hummed sardonically in response.

Before you knew it Eddie ran his thumb over the butterfly, sending sharp shudders down your spine. 

"You give me so much shit for my tattoos and the whole time you had one and didn't tell me." 

Eddie was smiling to himself, tracing the small orange inking, running his finger tip along the fanned out wings.

"I didn't get this so girls would think that I was hot Eddie." You chided, his hand still resting on your waist. 

"You think I'm hot?" Eddie asked, devilish smile growing.

You turned away, desperately wishing for respite from his grin, his burning touch, his all-encompassing proximity. The whole thing was a little too much for you all of a sudden. 

Eddie must have noticed, pulling up your waistband for you and shifting away nonchalantly. You couldn't hide anything from him. He was too terribly perceptive and it killed you.

"So why'd you get it?" He asked inquisitively.

You pulled your knees to your chest, attempting to compose yourself. 

"My brother always liked them." You replied, resting your elbows on your pale knees. "There used to be a whole cluster of them back home."

Eddie nodded in response, savouring the fitful acknowledgement of your past. 

You stood up from the bed and moved to the other side of your room. Opening the cupboard doors, you pulled out a crocheted blanket. 

"I don't think you should go home to Wayne looking like that, you should call him and tell him that you're staying here for the night." You mused as you placed the blanket gently into his lap. 

Eddie watched in awe as you moved around your room so effortlessly. He hadn't ever been treated with such kindness, softness or sentimentality in his entire life (apart from Wayne) until he had met you.

The way you always thought ahead, about little infinitesimal details that seemed to escape him so frequently, rendered him overcome with wonder. It was this moment that he wanted to cry, not because he was sad or fearful, but because he felt seen, cared for and loved. Even if it wasn't the kind of love that could be articulated in an overt way, it was the kind of love that surfaced so subtlety, yet always in complete abundance. 

-

“How do you even like this movie?” Eddie asked with a sigh. Mock annoyance dancing off his plush lips. He had already grown tired within the first few minutes, struggling to read the German that presented so boldly on the screen. 

You turned to your left, studying Eddie’s profile, or more distinctly his nose. You made note of its slanted descent and bulbous tip. You watched how the lowlight of the tv reflected off his pale skin, illuminating little mousy spots that peppered his complexion.

“I don’t know.” You started, nudging your shoulder with his as you laughed.

You looked to the raven words that flashed on the screen.

Does this word not sound like the deathbird

calling your name at midnight?

Beware you never say it - for then

the pictures of life will fade to shadows,

haunting dreams will climb forth from your heart

and feed on your blood. 

“You can’t ever deny death. But maybe you can commemorate sacrifice. Right the wrongs dying causes, even if it feels hopeless to do so. Even if you’re depleted of willingness to try.”

Eddie stilled, shock very much evident in his rigid features. You on the other hand had been consumed by heavy and existential ruminations. 

He studied the faraway look you possessed within your glowing black irises, drinking in your despair like crisp water in the middle of a dark night.

“And here I thought it was about a hairless vampire.” Eddie remarked jestingly.

It made you chuckle and turn away shamefaced. You hadn’t intended on growing so experiential.

But the movie had eventually ended, leaving you laden and dreary eyed on Eddie’s firm shoulder. He watched you breathe in and out slowly, consumed by the rise and fall of your heavy chest. 

He didn’t dare move - despite the stinging pain on the side you rested - afraid you would stir and wake. Even with the absolute shit beaten out of Eddie, he always thought of you in the way he thought of no other.

After gazing at your form as if you hung in the deep walls of the Uffizi like a Botticelli painting, Eddie drifted off into sleep. His body directly craned into yours, with calloused fingertips barely touching, the space between singing to the infinite. The two of you molded together so sweetly, naturally, like two small children unaware of the world's failings and frailty. 

#eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x you #eddie x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson #eddie my love

[kuromitos]

Special Order: Vanilla Latte with a love confession on the side

Megumi Fushiguro x Reader (ft Toji Fushiguro)

Summary: Local high school romance between cafe barista and regular customer.

WC: 1k

Content: Crappy writing towards the end, Bad Grammar, Cafe Au, Mutual pining, Toji being an noisy parent.

Three blocks away from your school, there's a shopping district that you felt kinda indifferent towards. Coming from a more popular and busy area, the small district that only has 2 clothing stores, a bookstore that never has any new books,  a rental DVD store that really just takes up space, and a Bunch of vacant spaces, you never had any interest in going there ever.

Until a month ago. Walking home after school, exhausted and a little cranky, you passed the shopping district and noticed something...different. Towards the end of it, you see a group of girls,all of different ages, huddled around one of the vacant store spaces. They look too happy and excited to be hanging out there just for fun so you decide to investigate. When you got there, you quickly found out what the common was about. A new trendy coffee shop opened up and seems pretty popular but why? You wondered and quickly got your answer. 

The storefront door opens up to reveal the prettiest boy you've ever seen. An teenage boy with navy blue eyes that compliment his long lashes, pale ivory skin that has no acne or blemishes on it, and the wildest hair you ever seen that manage to both stand out and blend in with his features. He held the door in one hand while also holding a clipboard in the other. "Asami ,Party of 5. Your table is ready. Three hot chocolate and one bagel for Makoto are ready to be picked up and one triple foam latte for Kei are ready to be picked up." He said while checking the clipboard to be completely sure he got the right names. 

The group of girls started to decrease in numbers til they were all gone except for you. Frozen in place near the window because you were mesmerized by that boy. Already walked back inside, He didn't ask if you were going to come in and order, He didn't even notice your present, probably because he was busy working, but you didn't even care about that. You didn't have to be a genius to know why the cafe was so popular. When you get people that look like models working there,it's bound to be a hit with young folks. 

Sadly due to the fact you only had 50 cents to your name currently, you couldn't go inside and see the pretty boy again. But you did visit the next day when you had enough for one item, A vanilla latte. You weren't a big fan of coffee but needed to order something on the menu (You also wanted to hear them call your name like they do on TV.) 

For about three months since that first technically second visit you followed the same routine, you order the same drink, at the same time after and you try to do the same thing,Start a conversation and get to know the pretty boy, and fail the same way every time. If it wasn't cold feet it was the fact he was so one note. Only answering in short response to the point you start to think he hates you.

"How has your day been?" "Fine" "Do you have any hobbies or interests?" "Not really." "Do you like animals at all? I like any kind of animal ``''I like dogs." "Really!? I love-" "Hey Lady! You're holding up the line." "Oh. Sorry. I'll have my usual"

Not really a talkative guy. But you still got some info in the end. His name is Megumi Fushiguro and the cafe is actually his family,his father's specificity, and he has two dogs. So you making progress...kinda

Even so, the same routine of short responses is starting to get to you. You try not to listen to the nagging voice in your head that's telling you he actually thinks you're annoying for bothering him every day with questions but the damn bitch got a mega phone and wont shut up. Sure there's moments when the voice goes away like when he remembers how you like your drink or when he notices when your appearance is different than usual. The highlight for you was when he got you a free cookie, it was because he messed up your drink by accident but it is the thought that counts, but when the moment is gone she comes back with vengeance.

You start to get worried and sometimes consider not going for a while but you decided against that. Nice atmosphere and great place to study, which is what you need today. Got a big test coming up and you might need a nice vanilla latte pick me up. With that in mind, you head straight to the cafe. Since you were studying for a test this time and had to get your textbooks and everything, you took a little longer to get there than usual. Which is evident in the cafe itself.

For some reason everything felt different and a little odd. For starters Instead of the usual early to late teens demographic , it's mainly college age to middle age women here. ONLY women here. The atmosphere is usually nice and refreshing now it's more dampened. The biggest change is the person behind the counter; instead of the quiet, distant, pretty boy Megumi there's a 6ft guy, with bulging muscles that barely fit his shirt and has the face of a killer. Definitely a big change from Megumi.

"Hello there,honey. What would you like today?" Your face starts to heat up from hearing that for multiple reasons. Being called a nickname like that from an older guy, the casual way he said it like it's normal. And his voice! So nice and deep. Sounds to be no older than thirty. "Umm.. I'll just have my usual." "Your usual? Haven't heard anyone say that in awhile. Must come here often to say that with confidence." That's right. I only come here when Megumi is working, of course he doesn't know.  

"Sorry about that. I only came here earlier in the day. When it's this other guy-``''You mean Megumi,right? He got off early today because he got school work." He seems to know alot about him. I remember Megumi saying something about his family owning this place. He must be a family member of his. Too young looking to be his dad. Maybe an older brother? Uncle? Cousin?   

While you were trying to figure out the family tree, the older man was starting to get impatient. "Hey kid. Do you still want that drink or not?" "Huh? Oh right. I'll have a vanilla latte please. That's all." "Okay. And the name for the order is?" The moment you give him your name, the man behind the counter starts looking at you a little odd. It starts to give you the chills. "You wouldn't happen to be y/n from Jujitsu tech?" With a confused look on your face you nod your head to him. "These Y/n? Vanilla Latte y/n? Wow I can't believe I finally got to meet the actual y/n in the flesh." Huh? What is this dude talking about? You think while looking at this guy like he grew a third head. "The actual y/n? What are you talking about?" "My son talks about you all the time with me. Seems to be pretty smitten with you. You're cuter than he said." "Your son? Who are you talking about?" And the answer wasn't what you expected. "Who else? Megumi."

 'One answer' megumi. Mr. Serious and focused. He likes me? Like actually like me?? I know this alot to take in but remember you're talking to your crush's dad. But after hearing your crush like you back unexpectedly like that. I understand your awkwardness "Umm actually I don't want the drink I just remembered something back home so I'll be going now. Bye. Nice meeting you, sir" with that said, you left the cafe and decided to study at home. You also thought about getting to the cafe earlier to try talking to Megumi more. Might even tell him about today.

A/n: I wrote this pretty late and just did it on a whim. So if this sounds weird I'm sorry

Tagging: @yuuta @daynada

#anime #jujutsu kaisen #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fluff #jujutsu kaisen megumi #jujutsu toji #toji fushiguro #megumi x y/n

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Can you write something where a Supervillain was an absolute jerk to hero, but when she finds him, tortured, sick, and left to die, she helps him anyway?

Thank you!!!

Sure thing! Sorry this took a while. I had a million ideas for this and had to focus in on one.

Dear Diary

Warnings: fevers, delirium, left to die, betrayed, Stockholm Syndrome (implied, not directly stated), fungal infection, exposed bone, broken ribs and nose, starvation, implied neglect, bathing, stripping of clothes (non-sexual), blood, crying

~

Hero sat down at her desk, illuminated by a small lamp and pulled out her worn, leather notebook. She opened the first thirty pages to an empty one, taking brief notes of the way the pages were clearly, neatly filled out top to bottom.

Then, she took her pen- an object of sentiment, nearly as old as her, and gifted to her by her late grandfather- and wrote, as neat as the previous pahlges, in her cursive sign:

Dear Diary,

Then she stopped writing and glanced over at the sleeping figure in the nearby bed. His brown hair tousled, but neat. Old injuries securely bound by more bandages than Hero cared to admit. His once flushed and feverish skin, now placid and evenly moist, was completely neutral with no signs of that agony that brought screams that still haunted Hero at night.

Smiling, she changed her writing to a more easy going print and started writing.

I apologize for not writing recently. It's been so hectic that I think I need a vacation. So, before I tire my hand out complaining, let me tell you about the past couple weeks...

Two weeks ago:

Hero drove smoothly over the recently tarred road. It was night and the sky was absolutely glamorous with stars and constellations of all sorts of celestial bodies. She sighed, contentedly, and aimlessly tapped her fingers against the black steering wheel. She hummed no song in particular as cheery eyes scanned the long, expansive track in front of her.

Until suddenly, the monotonous road was broken by a Ford stranded across the center. Thankfully seeing it immediately, Hero flashed the lights on top of her patrol car, and stepped out with her gun in hand.

A F250, manual with only two seats, but it was empty. Hero raised her gun again and stalked to the other side. Nothing, just an eerie, sporadic vehicle in the middle of a county road.

She whisked open the door. The acrid smell of tobacco and liquor plummeted into her nose and she grimaced. But, like the exterior of the whole truck, there was nothing in the cab.

"Hmm." Hero shrugged, and slammed the door shut, slightly annoyed. She was about to call it in when she heard a tiny, pained whimper.

She tensed, bringing her gun back up again, and spun around. Nothing. Not even a deer or a racoon.

Then, the whimper sounded again.

"Who's there?" Hero asked, but she was starting to think it was just a young fawn or a toad or something.

But it sounded so human.

"Help."

The plea, the breathless plea, sounded the still air. Hero, now completely able to locate it, bounded to the bed of the truck and looked in.

To find a man, bloodied and bruised, with sweat glistening across his dirtied face. He seemed to be conscious- at least awake enough to call for help, as weak the call was- but his eyes were half-lidded and dazed. Blood, still fresh, streamed from a very broken nose.

"Sir?" Hero asked, lowering her gun and putting it in the holster.

The man's eyes opened slightly and he looked at Hero with wonder. A small smile formed on parched, ruined lips. Tears seemed to flood his eyes and he started to cry.

Baffled, Hero climbed into the truck and gathered the man into her arms, mindful not to hurt his neck or spine.

"Hey buddy," Hero cooed, concern evident in her voice. "Are you okay?" No, obviously.

"She-she left me," Supervillain rasped. "She left me here." He started to sob, clawing at Hero's shirt. "Villain left me."

Wait Villain? The stuck-up, obnoxious, feminine bastard that acted as if the world bowed down to her? Hero looked down at the shivering man. Villain, as arrogant as she was, wouldn't hurt a person to this grave extent, unless...

Unless it was...

"Supervillain?" Hero asked. The man turned his head and only then did Hero recognize the sharpness of his jaw and those dashingly handsome golden brown eyes. He let out a hoarse whine and pressed his face back into Hero's leg, chest rattling with broken ribs and mucus.

It was him.

Hero pushed the man off her lap and scowled. He didn’t deserve comfort, or love. Heck, he deserved whatever catastrophe Villain wreaked upon him.

But, after that cruel shove, Supervillain started to scream from the pain of both his horrific injuries and the fresh feeling of betrayal again. He curled his battered form into himself and started a nonstop crying session.

Feeling awfully guilty, Hero laid her hand on his hot shoulder and sighed. She took it back, no matter how mean or terrible a person is, they didn't deserve this.

Before Hero knew it, Supervillain was asleep in the back of her car. As she drove home, night shift forgotten, she thought of her plan. He needed a bath to wash the injuries out and to see the full extent of them. And then he probably needed stitches and a few bones set.

She glanced in the rearview mirror at the limp body. He was breathing, but very subtlety. If it wasn't for the periodic moan or a distressed cry here and there, one might've mistaken him for dead.

Hero shook her shoulders out and looked back at the road, slightly paranoid that she would stumble across another hazardly placed truck. Specifically a manual F250 owned by a certain woman named Villain.

But of course, she didn't. She arrived at home safe and sound, turned off her car, and gathered the now unconscious supervillain in her arms.

"Okay bud," she whispered, hauling him in a bridal carry as she made it to the door. If he wasn't so starved and lightweight, he would've been a big problem to lift.

She opened the door, then immediately in a sudden instinctual rush to hurry, locked the door. She took Supervillain to her bedroom and laid him across the floor. Then, she took off his shirt to reveal a whole menu of wounds.

He had, across both his sides, large purple- nearly black- bruises around his ribcage. They greened at the edges, leading to his torso where cuts and puncture wounds made up a revolting soup. His broken ribs barely had anything in the terms of flesh or muscles on them. Only skin.

His abdomen was sunken in, remnants of days without food, revealing high, pointed hip bones. Hero winced, running a finger lightly across a particular large cut. It was so deep that it revealed the ivory bone beneath. Supervillain, even in his unconscious state, stiffened and whimper pathetically.

Sleep was not an escape from the pain.

Hero stripped the rest of his clothes off. Even his legs and lower body were covered in those red and purple marks. She picked him up again and carried him to the bathtub where she delicately showered the dirt and grime out of infected wounds and off his face.

When it was over, Hero was dumbfoundly shocked at the lack of color in his ghostly face. He didn't wake throughout the process; he was throughly exhausted and sick. Fever raged behind those closed eyelids, appearing in his hot breaths and lolling head. Hero put some old shorts of her's that she bought at a garage sale a couple months ago. They were way too big, but maybe a bit of foreboding told her that they may be necessary one day.

Then she scooped him back up and carried him to her room, laying him on top of the bed, and got to work on stitching and bandaging the wounds.

Supervillain stirred when the needle accidentally pricked a bruise. The second his eyes opened, he screamed and tried to thrash away.

"Leave me alone! Leave me alone!" He yelled. "Villain? Villain! Help me, please!" He started to sob, pressing his cheek into the pillow. "Please... V-vill...ain."

"Shh, shh," Hero laid a hand on his shoulder. He tensed and made a blubbering sound. "You're safe, okay?"

"No, no... I-i want Villain," he sniffled, tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. "I-i need her."

Hero felt her heartbreak at the desperation taut in Supervillain's voice. She gently placed her hand on his forehead in an attempt to comfort and check his fever. He was hot, super-duper hot.

Supervillain pulled away from the touch, watching her with wary eyes. Hero gave a small smile and stepped away. He didn't trust her and her presence might freak him out more. So she stepped away and went to her desk, back facing him.

After a while, his sniffles ceased. Hero took the risk and glanced at him to find him asleep. She sighed, the poor guy was so sick and hurt and tired...

Hero walked back over and went to work again. She applied some antibiotic ointment on some of the more severe wounds, hoping the infection wasn't too deep.

She was about to get to work on tending to his legs, when something in his hair caught her eye. It was a tuff.

Curious, she went over and gently pulled on it to find that it just fell out. A feeling of nausea rose in her throat as more and more hair fell loose. Crunching her brows together, she cleared a hole spot on his scalp to reveal reddened, puffy and dry skin.

A fungal infection. She recognized this from when she took zoology classes in high school. They went on a field trip and the staff gratefully allowed them into the vet area.

Hero rummaged through her medical supplies and found an antifungal cream for athlete's foot. She hesitated, not knowing if something for feet would be good for scalp.

But it was all she had, and something was better than nothing.

So she spread the cream on Supervillain's head, watching as the rose colored flesh glistened with newfound moisture.

Then, she went back to work on stitching and cleaning the wounds of his lower body.

When that long feat was done, she went into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of frozen peas. She wrapped it in a towel and placed it on Supervillain's forehead. Even unconscious, he whimpered and relaxed into the new, relieving sensation.

Hero started to pace. As the minutes ticked by, his breaths seemed to get shallower and shallower and then would increase in a sudden gasp. Periodically, his eyes would flutter open, but only for a moment before he passed out again.

She ended up sitting on the other side of her bed, far away enough to not scare him if he ever regained consciousness enough to be aware of her, but close enough to monitor him.

Hero felt herself dozing as she watched Supervillain's chest rise and fall, but suddenly he awoke fully. She started backwards, then froze. Maybe he would fall asleep again...

But he stared crying, mucus filled lungs heaving. Then he started sobbing, then wailing.

"Villain!" He cried, loudly. "I-i need you." He pulled his legs into himself and Hero did nothing to stop it- too petrified about him hurting himself if he got too spooked.

"Please," he mumbled. "Please, please, please. Don't leave me. Leave me... please no. I don't want you to, I love you please."

Hero's heart broke at that.

Supervillain went silent, apart from nonstop screams of fear and incoherent begging. It got to the point where Hero had to roll him over and gather him into her chest.

"Hey, shh, shh," she cooed, rubbing his back. "It'll be okay. It'll all be okay. Deep breaths... that's it. Breathe in, breathe out. Good job."

Supervillain calmed down and clutched at Hero's shirt. He buried himself into her and fell back asleep.

#supervillain whumpee #hero caretaker #villain whumper #tw blood #heros and villains #hero x supervillain #fungal infection #implied stockholm syndrome #stockholm syndrome #feverish whumpee #feverish supervillain #delirious whumpee #delirious supervillain #delirium #left to die #betrayed #betrayal #crying tw #broken bones

[biggest-stupidhead]

Second Chance

This was so much fun to write! I enjoyed participating in this collab so much and I’m so excited to read all the other fics as well. Congrats again @horseanon--simpforall ! Without further delay, here is my piece Rach’s 300 collab! I struggled on finding a trope that I liked, and I just kept crawling back to reincarnation. 

Summary: He finds his way back into your life on a rainy day

Word Count: 1.4K

__

You weren’t in a hurry to settle down. All through high school and the first few years of college, you expressed little to no interest in relationships. You instead focused on school and work, of course, there were suitors, but none that intrigued you enough to pursue anything serious. Now that you were a senior in college, most of your friends had found boyfriends or girlfriends, meanwhile, you were still working at the same bakery that you had been employed at for the last three years. 

The sky was dark and gloomy, holding promises of rain. You sighed, the bakery you worked at was small, and usually, it only required two people to run the counter. But your coworker called in sick, leaving you to man the register and serve the customers. The morning rush had just passed and you were basking in the few moments of peace as the first raindrops splattered against the sidewalk out front. 

A soft rumble of thunder echoed off of the skyscrapers and you craned your neck to look out of the front window. The sidewalk was mostly empty since it was already past the rush hour. Another loud clap of thunder shook the windows and you sat up a bit straighter. The lights flickered and you found yourself hoping that the lights wouldn’t go out. If that happened then you would have to scramble to save the goods that needed refrigerating. Your thoughts were interrupted by the door opening, the wind howled and a few damp leaves blew in. The stranger wore a hood and was just finishing folding up his plastic umbrella. 

“Man, it looks bad out there.” You chuckled as he sauntered up to the register, pulling his hoodie off of his face. Your breath caught in your throat as his features were illuminated, damp raven locks, pale ivory skin, and piercing grey eyes. He was beautiful

“Its… not ideal.” He hummed, his own eyes scanning you with skepticism as you straightened up behind the register. You noticed how his brows seemed to ease into a relaxed expression and his shoulders seemed to loosen as well. 

“No, certainly not. But my plants were starting to get a little brittle if I’m being honest.” You tried to keep up the casual conversation, admiring the way he pushed a stray strand of hair off of his face. The action brought your attention to his ear, which was pierced, with a dangling cross earring. You swallowed thickly as he turned his attention off of you and onto the menu behind you. 

“I’ll have a cup of earl grey and a croissant.” He said, digging into his pocket and holding out his card for you. 

“Name for the order?” You asked, and he cocked his head to the side, shooting you a look of almost disbelief. Oh god, you hoped that he wasn’t some dicky celebrity that expected everyone to know his name. 

“You….don’t know my name?” His expression seemed to fall and your own face twisted with confusion as you tried to place his face. It was familiar, but you were certain that you didn’t know his name. Had you gone to high school with him? Or maybe you went to the same gym and met in passing? No, you would remember a face like that. He sighed and averted his gaze, cheeks puffing out momentarily before deflating. 

“Levi. Just...Levi.” You felt like you’d been shocked, the name stirred something deep inside of you. A memory? No more like a feeling. You fumbled with the paper cup as you scrawled his name onto the side. He remained at the counter, watching you prepare the water and pop the pastry into the microwave. 

“You said something about plants?” His voice startled you, and you jolted, nearly spilling the boiling water in your hand. 

“Yes, I have a small garden on the roof of my apartment building.” You clarified as you dunked the tea bag into the cup of hot water. 

“Hm, whatcha growing?” He asked and you felt the heat accumulate in your face. 

“Mostly herbs...I tried tomatoes, but the pigeons got to them.” You chuckled and he nodded in understanding as you passed him his order. 

“You never were one to shy away from filth.” He huffed, a faraway look in his eyes as his hands reached for the food. Your fingertips grazed his and a painful vision played across your vision. A memory of a bloody hand holding yours as rain obscured your vision. You could barely hear what the person was saying, but you could make out your name. 

You were brought back to the present as he slowly pulled the bag from your grasp, an almost hopeful glint in his eyes. 

“W-What was…” You shook your head and clutched at the side of your face, he remained still, waiting patiently for a response. 

“What do you mean…” You looked at him with frightful eyes as his expression knotted into one of concern. 

“I mean...you haven’t changed,” Levi said, eyes soft as you steady yourself on the counter. You weren’t sure if you should be calling the police, or an ambulance to admit you into the psych ward. 

“I-I don’t understand.” 

“Tch, do you seriously not remember yet?” Levi sounded disappointed as he watched you rub the side of your face dejectedly. 

“No, am I...supposed to?” You stammered as he stared intensely at you. 

“I suppose not….but I do.” He looked sad and you felt guilty, you found yourself rounding the counter and gesturing over towards the small seating area, a makeshift collection of antique furniture near the large window. He shrugged and sank into one of the loveseats and even patted the space next to him. You fell into the spot next to him and he still looked at you with a deep sadness. 

“I’m really sorry...but I just don’t understand.” You apologized, another flash of lightning illuminated the street, followed closely by a clap of thunder. The building rattled with the force of the storm and the lights flickered before sputtering out, leaving you and Levi in near darkness. He seemed unbothered as he shifted on the couch, his knee brushing intimately against your own. 

“I can’t explain it myself, but I know you. You’re (Y/n), you look the same as you did the last time I knew you, only...now we’re in this lifetime.” He shrugged and reached into his pocket, fishing out a lighter, which he flicked, a flame sputtered to life. The warm glow illuminated the small space and your breaths both threatened to blow the tiny spark out. 

“You...do seem familiar.” You admitted as he cupped the flame in his hands, this admission seemed to please him as he hummed thoughtfully. 

“You aren’t just saying that now are you?” He chuckled a bit remorsefully and you waved your hands in an attempt to comfort him. You found your hand resting on his bicep, another memory washing over you with the action. This one was less morbid than the previous one. In this memory you were in some medeival looking mess hall, your cheeks were flushed and you held up a mug of ale to knock against Levi’s. His face was the same, although the clothing he wore was odd and unfamiliar. 

You were shaken from the memory as Levi gently shrugged your hand off of him. A small sting of rejection made your chest clench but you tried to ignore it. 

“No, I’m not...just saying that. I think that-I know this sounds crazy but… I think I remember too now.” You smiled a bit anxiously at him and his brows lifted and eyes widened slightly. 

“Really?” He seemed hopeful once more, and you found yourself feeling the same. This was what you had been waiting for, him. It had taken you entire lifetimes to find him, and the search had proved successful at last. His shoulders sagged and he allowed his head to fall a bit limply back onto the sofa and you laughed breathlessly. 

“Yeah...I remember now.” And you were telling the truth, you remembered him. From your previous life, one where he had been the only light in such a dark reality. A life that you hadn’t gotten to spend together, but now you had been blessed by the universe with a second chance. And you’d be damned before you passed that up. 

#rach's 300 collab #collab #Levi fanfiction #levi #LEVI ACKERMAN #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman x you #levi x reader insert #levi x y/n #Levi x You #levi x mc #levi x reader #aot fanfiction #aot fandom #reincarnated au #soulmate #soulmate au #modern au #bakery au

[fleckcmscott]

Coffee & Donuts

Summary: Arthur’s thrilled to be part of a crowd. Though the evening doesn’t go perfectly, Y/N’s flirtations make it sweet.

Warnings: Smut

Words: 4,602

A/N: Alright. After the heart wrenching angst of my last piece (which I love, by the way; don't get me wrong! 😂), I had to write another story in which Arthur and Y/N are happy and together. It's inspired by one of Arthur's visions during their kiss. I hope you all like it! Special thanks to @jokerownsmysoul for beta-ing!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Parties and celebrations weren't foreign to Arthur. He'd worked plenty, enough to make him realize what he'd been missing out on. He was well-versed in pin the tail on the donkey, musical chairs, and balloon animals. But as an adult, those activities didn't satisfy. He wanted to be included rather than paid. Connect with people, introduce himself. Discuss his experiences and pursuits. Feel sufficiently at ease to loosen up a little and have a good time.

Now he was a guest - a certified guest - at Patricia Gorman's fifty-sixth birthday party. The first party he'd been invited to since being the weird kid in class who'd rotated between three worn out sweaters and could never afford a gift.

He'd been a tad apprehensive about going to Burnside. Gotham's nicest borough had a reputation for high rents and low tolerance. When Y/N and he had entered 2E, however, Patricia's greeting ("You made it!") and the apartment were thoroughly welcoming. Crocodile brown walls and forest green shag carpet made the spacious living room a cozy hideaway. Marigolds leapt across the polyester of the T-cushion sofa and its easy-chair companion. The floor lamp's amber, crimped glass shades cast the spacious living room in a glow borrowed from warm autumn days.

Patricia's husband, Robert, was out on an emergency call. An HVAC had gone haywire in a residential building in Hinckley. Her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson had been by for lunch. That meant the only other guests were Matt - Y/N's old boss - and a bottle-blonde in a black halter dress and spike heels, who Y/N introduced as Laura. ("She's Matt's ex-wife," Y/N later disclosed. "He's been trying to win her back since I moved to Gotham.") Both shook Arthur's hand when he offered it, and he felt a little thrill whirl his stomach when Y/N laid claim to him by telling the woman, "This is my husband."

A collection of appetizers served as dinner, a fun and novel menu. The slow cooker meatballs Y/N and he had lugged over on the subway were a bit tangy; he still couldn't believe the recipe called for grape jelly. The deviled eggs with paprika, a pleasant mix of savory and sweet, was a dish he'd heard about on television. Cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches were light and airy, a good match for his iced tea. Only the artichoke and spinach dip gave him pause. Its beans and hot sauce made his taste buds wince.

That unpleasant flavor was quickly forgotten when Y/N pulled him to sit next to her on the sofa, so Patricia could open her presents. She proudly showed off the orange, clay ashtray her grandson had made for her. Arthur, having successfully kept the secret of her light smoking from Y/N, chuckled at Patricia fibbing she'd put candy in it. She thanked Matt and Laura for the champagne, wrapped in a silver bow with a simple "Happy Birthday" tag. The bottle wasn't popped. Upon peeking into the large giftbag Y/N placed on her lap, she made a soft sound. The Dazey whirlpool bath, which attached to the side of the tub and had three strength settings, was a hit. She announced her plans to try it in the morning. The dark blue Rexbuilt briefbag was intended to replace her cracked, leather briefcase, Y/N explained. Patricia ran her fingertips along the expanding inner compartments, the personalized planner that included the credential "CLA" after her name, and flipped through the included steno pads, eyes brimming.

She sipped at her cocktail and put an arm around Y/N. Melancholy tinged Patricia's voice. "At my age, the people in your life tend to stay the people in your life. Whether you like them or not." She reached further and patted Arthur's knee. "I'm glad an old dame like me gets to call you all friends." His throat clenched in gratification, though he wasn't daring enough to squeeze her hand and thank her for deciding he was a friend.

Still on top of the world an hour later, Arthur sauntered to the red and white enamel dining table to serve himself a second slice of upside-down pineapple cake. The evening had gone well, better than a guy with a natural inability to mingle could've expected. He bobbed his head to the beat of "Come Fly with Me." It was a happy coincidence that Patricia's taste in music aligned with his. She'd regaled him with tales of seeing Sinatra and Count Basie on her and Robert's honeymoon in Vegas. Arthur took a bite absentmindedly, wondering how long it would take for him to save the money to surprise Y/N with plane and concert tickets.

The daydreaming didn't last long. Matt's plodding footsteps preceded him, followed by a long sigh as he propped himself on the beige stone of the dining area's accent wall, across from the u-shaped kitchen. He held out a Budweiser and smirked. "Marriage is a hell of a lot of work."

Pleased that he was being treated like one of the guys, like a regular husband with a regular relationship who got to speak about his regular wife, Arthur accepted the beer and considered the comment. Matt's sentiment was hard to grasp. Dr. Sally had said marriage could be difficult, and Y/N's first hadn't survived the ripples of her life. But it didn't feel like work with her. Their arguments were minor. Her nagging him to find a primary doctor for annual check-ups, even though he'd survived this long without one. Or back in Missouri, when he'd told her to stop shielding him and trust he could take anything she had to give.

Arthur adopted a similar nonchalant posture and jutted his hip against the table's edge. "I like it. It's easy to take good care of her." He wasn't able to completely erase the smugness of success from his tone.

"You're what? Two years in with the most headstrong woman in Gotham? She's great and all, but she spikes my blood pressure." Matt slapped Arthur's back and let out a hearty guffaw. "Give it five more and you'll be in my office trying to avoid alimony."

"Don't. Say that." Arthur crinkled the can in his grip and glared up at him.

"Hey," Matt started, withdrawing even as he tried diplomacy. "It was just a joke. I didn't mean anything by it."

Flinching, pulling at the cuffs of his red sweater, Arthur fought the surge of anger in his veins. It wouldn't do to lose control and cause a scene. Of course Matt's comment about them splitting up was supposed to be a joke. But Arthur didn't find it one bit funny. Even with his complete faith in her and his firm belief that they were meant to be together, the possibility that she'd stop wanting him hurt. It didn't occur to him that the implication of the punchline could be that he'd get sick of Y/N.

With a muttered apology, Matt walked to the others in the kitchen. Arthur glanced over to see her laugh tipsily, until she grabbed her stomach and swatted Patricia's shoulder, a stark demonstration of how much he and Y/N differed. She always knew how to respond to people, the right comebacks. Appropriate timing and levels of interaction. It seemed she was in her natural element, the loveliest swan on a lake. Whereas after years of therapy and practice with her, he was still a fish out of water, flopping around on the shoreline in hopes some stranger would take pity on him and throw him back into the sea.

Maybe that was the real punchline. Eventually their contrasts would no longer complement each other and instead become a chore.

Scowling, he ambled towards the record player stationed before two double-hung windows. Increased the volume to drown out the intrusive notions. It didn't really work. He settled on a grounding technique he'd practiced, all the while lamenting that he couldn't handle a party without needing it. His attention went to the spinning LP, the needle following its grooves. The bright blue album cover, where Ol' Blue Eyes beckoned him, the scuff marks on the cardboard's corner edges. He acknowledged the spider plants sat on the windowsill, worried a papery leaf until it broke off. He stared out the window, taking in the whole of the city. Pinpricks of light dazzling in the darkness.

"Gotham's beautiful at night," Y/N said from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to watch her approach. Her cheeks glowed with alcohol and good cheer, the collar of her ivory blouse unbuttoned. "There's a life behind every light out there. Ten million of them. Here. Try this." She offered her hurricane glass, filled with an off-white slush.

He sipped the pina colada with cautious skepticism and grimaced as soon as it hit his tongue. The blend of pineapple and coconut tasted of cheap sunscreen and tropical imitations, the kind advertised in smudged brochures for bad cruises to islands with made up sounding names. "No, thanks."

Snorting, she shrugged and embraced his back at the waist. "How are we doing?" she asked, curling into his side. After a few seconds, she prodded him. "Had your fill of Matt?"

"He was just joking." Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.  She set the drink next to the record player and brought her hand to his, trailed it over the inside of his wrist, up his forearm. She pecked his chin and nudged him until he turned to her. As soon as their gazes met, the concern in hers told him she'd continue to pepper him with questions. But he wasn't about to let his misplaced doubts spoil her evening. And he knew the perfect way to distract them both.

A new song started. An oldie that sang of Jupiter and Mars, playfulness among the stars. He cupped her cheek, thumb sweeping the corner of her mouth. "Dance with me," he said. Before accepting his proffered palm, she laid a sloppy kiss on him. With a flutter of her eyelashes, she grinned, and his smile grew to match her own. As he held her side, led her in a slow, swaying circle, he marveled at her. At her ability to soothe every molecule, every lingering ache. Self-assurance welled in him, chased away his earlier dejection. He cradled her to his lanky frame, trembled and felt himself blush. She was the only woman for him. That was as certain as his cigarette habit.

Despite Patricia's reassurances she was fine, that Robert working late wasn't unusual, Y/N insisted on staying until he got home. Though Arthur would have preferred they take their leave an hour earlier, being allowed to smoke inside blunted his grumbling. The disarming flirtations she bestowed on him also didn't hurt. She'd pour herself a drink (four in total, if he counted correctly), help Patricia make a plate of leftovers for her husband, then throw him a wink. Whisper and cackle while cleaning, then kiss his temple.

Around midnight, Patricia put her foot down. Ushered them out with a promise to call and a hug fierce enough to crush his ribs. She raised a brow at Y/N's unsteady gait, grasped Arthur's arm, and said with a wry, tired smile, "Make sure you put that woman straight to bed." His dark brows shot up and held. Had she intended a pun? Or had Y/N's spare caresses caused the interpretation? Either way, he liked being trusted to take care of her. And the hint of arousal that flared in his belly.

By the time they stumbled into their apartment, that arousal had reduced to a dull exhaustion. She kicked off her heels on the way to the bathroom, calling a slurred "night!" as she closed the door. Yawning, he put dish soap and hot water in the crockpot, scrubbed burned bits of sauce from its rim, turned it upside down on a towel to dry. Once he'd brushed his teeth for one minute rather than the recommended two, he tossed his sweater, trousers, briefs, and socks in the hamper, and went to the bedroom. He found his blue pajamas in their usual spot, the chair in the corner, and slid them up his skinny but toned legs. Tucked in next to her, he was carried to sleep on waves of fatigue and her quiet, wet snoring.

~~~~~

A tickle threatened to rouse him. Whispers along the waistband of his bottoms. Heat snuggled his back. Delightfully drowsy, he cuddled deeper into cozy, cream-color sheets, already returning to a pleasant, dreamless slumber. But a rumble of exhaust, likely from a bus that needed a new muffler, dragged him to consciousness. Arthur grumbled and tucked his arm under his pillow, not ready to transition to a world of overcrowding and concrete, commotion and bad jokes.

Yet, Y/N's insistent grazes continued, luring him with promises of placid pleasure. Her toes wiggled at his heel until he made space for her to slip her foot between his ankles. The corner of his mouth quirked. He was reminded of last night's playfulness, her endless teasing. The way he'd held the crockpot as a shield to fend off her advances on the train home, her forwardness to the point that he would've preferred having a laminated card to present on her behalf. Forgive my wife: she has a condition. It causes frequent and uncontrollable displays of affection.

Nimble fingers edged lower, loosened the tie of his pajamas before dipping beneath the loose elastic to lace through his dark brown curls, darker than the chestnut hair on his head. Her knuckles ran over him, lazy caresses full of intent. Up and down, up and down. Delicate. Deliberate. The blood racing to his groin, the pleasant swelling, made his abdomen twitch. Soon full and heavy, the sensitive tip straining the cotton seams, he pressed his lips together. When she skimmed the tender skin resting on his inner thigh, he flexed the muscle at the base of his erection. It bobbed and hit her wrist and she let loose a girlish giggle, more intoxicating than wine.

With her left leg draped over him at the knee, she undulated against his rear. Plush lips brushed the boney knobs of his spine, damp breath fanned the nape of his neck, labored, needy. Pebbled nipples grazed his back through the thin nylon of her nightgown, taunting and compelling. He made up his mind to throw an arm around her, to yank her on top of him. To eagerly take part in her seduction.

But she withdrew from his bottoms to palm his stomach and plant a gentle kiss to the shell of his ear, whispering, "Sleep tight." The mattress shifted and she rolled away from him. He furrowed his brows. She rarely relented this easily - other times he'd awakened, hard and aching, enveloped by the captivating wetness of her mouth. What was she up to?

Covers rustled. Her calf bumped his. And the opposite of what he'd assumed occurred. Instead of light footfalls leading out of the room, there was silence, silence that seemed to stretch on and on...

Until a hitched gasp gave her away.

Touching herself. She was touching herself. She'd just been all over him, acted like he was some sort of model on the cover of Vue magazine, and now she was touching herself. Right beside him! Ecstatic to have inspired such brazenness, he grinned and fisted the pillow. Her fleeting, stifled moans tangled him in knots, implored him to give her what they both burned for.

He flipped in her direction, his hand shooting under the sheet to grab hers. "Gotcha."

Eyes wide, she gaped at him in surprise. But adoration softened her expression as she entwined their fingers. "How long have you been awake?" she asked.

"Long enough."

He stretched to rewind the shades, the diaphanous curtains staying in place. Sunlight diffused over them, wrapped around her face, lent her disheveled hair a warm luster. He twirled a feathered lock and pecked her eyelids. "Finishing what you started on the subway, hm?"

"Me?" Y/N brought his knuckles to her mouth.  "You're the one who came to bed without any underwear."

"Well, it was a late night." The pad of his thumb tugged at her bottom lip to reveal the pink tip of her tongue. He bent to claim it. "I was lucky to find my pajamas."

Chuckling, she broke their connection. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah. The cake was good. And the music. Everyone was nice."

"Patricia loved having you there. She thought you were very sweet." A pause as she mapped a dimple. "Matt said he'd upset you. Something stupid about breaking up?"

Vague shadows of discomfort flashed through Arthur, a frustration he'd mostly moved on from. He did his best to ignore it, waving her concern away. "Don't worry about it."

"He was just jealous, you know." Her nails ran along the small of his back. "He wants Laura to look at him the way I look at you."

Arthur had spent so much of his life yearning for change, to understand his purpose in the world and improve himself. The idea that a man with a good education, a successful career, and no disabilities could ever be jealous of him was, frankly, bizarre. But he didn't correct Y/N, instead locking her praise within his heart, preserving it for when he needed it most. He boosted himself on his forearm and fiddled with her V-neck, traced its button loops as he slipped the plastic knobs through them. "And how's that?'

A hint of scandal glimmered in her irises. She arched into him as he eased a strap down her upper arm to reveal her shapely breast, the lilac fabric momentarily catching on its taut peak. "Like I can't get enough of you."

He huffed at that, fondled her faintly before his lips met the velvety skin of her chest. A tonic comprised of the musk oil she'd dabbed on before the party and distinct sexual wanting wafted to his nostrils. He licked at her nipple, the bumps on her areola, and drew it between his teeth. She whined softly and lifted the bottom of her nightdress to her waist.

Hurriedly, he yanked on the waistband of her cotton panties, pushed them past her knees. She kicked them off while he knelt to lower his bottoms. Straddling her, he pumped himself back to hardness and opened the drawer of her nightstand. He searched haphazardly until he retrieved a small, glass bottle of lubricant. (She'd ordered it from a mail catalog, both of them a bit too bashful to walk into an adult shop, even together.)

She snagged it from him and poured half a teaspoon in her hand, then palmed herself. He moved between her legs and she grasped his length, coating him with the warm, slippery liquid. He pushed forward into her. Gradually, slowly, savoring every millimeter of her enticing heat. He noted the stretch of her mouth, the jut of her jaw, the lifting of her upper lip. "Mmm..." she breathed and begged him to keep going. When he did, her head tilted back into the pillow, eyelids falling shut. A smile cut across her cheeks as she purred her satisfaction. "Arthur, I love you."

His touch wandered down the curve of her thigh. At the sight of her subtle writhing beneath him, the sway of her slightly uneven breasts in time with his languid thrusts, he pushed her knee into the mattress, splayed her wider. He grunted lowly. "Look at me."

Their gazes met but didn't hold for long; hers dropped to where they were joined. She caressed right above his pubic bone. "I love seeing you like this." Her fingertips walked a line up his sternum to his chest. "And touching you like this." She wrapped her arms around his middle and drew him to her, locked their lips in a greedy kiss. "And making love like this."

He snorted. "I think this is the only reason you married me."

"Well, not the only reason. There's your good hair, too."

"I've been thinking about cutting it. Trying something new."

"Don't you dare." She tugged at his loose curls, wore her best pout. "What else would I hold onto when we're doing this?"

Laughing lightly, he bumped his nose to hers. Falling into her was like falling into his old fantasies, the ones that'd sustained him through years of isolation. Dates at diners, at comedy clubs, at donut shops, at home. Their shapes had changed as he'd matured, his role in them, his aspirations and infatuations. But they'd remained a warm comfort nonetheless, a place that felt like belonging. And now he belonged with her. Hunger filled him. Happiness. And love. So much love, more than he'd ever believed he'd carried in him. He bucked a little harder. "You feel so good," he murmured. "You make me feel so good."

A strained cry left her and her pelvis answered his steady rhythm with demands of its own. Her calves rose to squeeze him closer, encircle his narrow hips. They were pressed together so tightly; it felt like they were one flesh. He never wanted it to stop. But a dizzying euphoria had ignited, one that eclipsed the romantic yearnings of his heart, twisting his desire to last all morning into the desperate drive to possess her. Gasping, Arthur raised himself to his knees, delving deeper with each push. Their foreheads met and he grit his teeth at the scald of her, the texture of her walls. She fit as though she'd been made for him.

He supposed she was.

Pressure began in the base of him, building and building in terrific torment. The muscles of his inner thighs contracted inward. Tingling climbed his shaft, his tailbone, his spine. He wove his fingers into the sheet, his grip a vise that wrested its corner from the mattress. She kissed the spot where his jaw met his neck, all the while murmuring encouragements for him to let himself go.

Bliss shot through him, from the tips of his toes to the follicles on his scalp, and his back stiffened as he whimpered and poured into. Fever engulfed his frame, sublime in its frenzy, leaving him in a heady stupor. Aftershocks made him tremble. Once, twice. Until, sated and spent, he landed on top her. He closed his eyes, ribs rising and falling as he forced air into his lungs.

A minute later, he swallowed and looked down at her. "You didn't come."

She carded through his sweaty locks. "It's all righ-"

"Shh." He slid out of her and settled at her side, reached between her legs to swipe at her core. "I'm not done," he declared, tracing the edges of her entrance, slick and swollen. One of his favorite things about getting her off was demonstrating his prowess in bed, how well he'd learned with her. His thumb met her plump clitoral hood, and he felt her throb beneath his ministrations.

Nails biting his bicep, she rocked upwards. A bewitching blush crept up her breast, her neck, spread across her cheeks. Shallow pants hit his face, short puffs suffused with high-pitched whines, utterly irresistible. He circled her nub at a steady cadence, tapping when she'd shiver, and she clasped the back of his hand. He swirled his tongue around her nipple, sucked the pretty peak, and lowered the other strap of her nightgown to bare her completely. A hushed plea fell from her lips. "Please, please..."

Suddenly, her vulva grew white hot and she seized, her hips stuttering with each flutter of his touch to her folds. She thrusts her breasts towards him, a sharp moan caught in her throat. Liquid pooled against his fingers, proof of her rapture that made him wish, with mild amusement, that he could be an unmedicated young man again. He would've gladly taken her a second time.

Giggling and rubbing her temple, she released a long exhale and opened her eyes. He brushed her hair back and grinned, completely smitten, like the first time he'd heard a joke and understood the punchline. The light brown picture frame on his nightstand caught his attention, and he regarded the wallet size photo in it, one of the shots of Y/N from the booth at Amusement Mile. The last thing he looked at before turning in each night. He lay his head her shoulder and hummed, listened to the drum of her heart.

She smooched his hairline and wriggled out from beneath him to stand. Her nightie had been reduced to a crumpled stripe of lilac cinched about her waist. It felt tawdry and shameless and he wanted to see her in it for the rest of the weekend. But she peeled it down her legs, wrinkling her nose when it got stuck on her thighs, and stepped out of it one foot at a time. She dropped it on the floral bedspread and retrieved her bathrobe from the closet. "Meet you in the kitchen," she said, opening the door.

The sun had risen higher, its beams slanting across the covers. He basked in it, catlike, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pulled on his pajamas, got a new pair of socks from their dresser, and made his way to the kitchen. He washed off the remnants of Y/N's arousal from his fingers, popped open a prescription bottle and took a tablet. He poured water into the coffeemaker, grabbed the can of grounds from the second shelf, added three scoops to the paper filter. Their three-tone brown mugs sat in their spot next to the machine, waiting to be filled.

When the glass coffeepot was half full, Y/N emerged from the bathroom, chuckling to herself. She opened the breadbox on the opposite counter and took out a wax paper bag. "Do you have any idea how dull this morning would have been if we'd never met? I'd have read the Sunday paper, had a drink. Probably worked on a file." He handed her a couple dessert plates, watched her put a donut on each one. "I wonder where you'd be. What woman you'd have breakfast with, what jokes you'd be writing, what magic tricks you'd have learned."

"Um..." At first he wanted to ask where this speculation had come from, if Matt had let her in on exactly what he'd said. But the confident slant of her smirk told Arthur she was teasing. He tried to play along but winced. No matter how appealing, how extraordinary she found him, his gut told him there wouldn't have been another woman. There'd be no more stand-up routines, no more Carnival. He certainly wouldn't be taking care of Penny. He'd likely be locked up in the hospital, maybe even dead. Without an anchor, his life would have lost what little sense it had.

Y/N was one of his anchors now, hooked into the sand alongside his material, treatment, the ability to pay bills. He seized her hand and squeezed it tight, unaware he was squishing her fingers. "I don't wanna think about it," he said quietly.

She sidled up to him and pulled him to her side. Rubbed his flank soothingly and pecked the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry." She took his chin and guided him to look at her. The intimate comfort of her smile helped him believe her next words, even before she spoke them. "I'll always be here."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @fakestreet​ @ralugraphics​​ @iartsometimes​

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck smut #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

[blackacre13]

Do you write Carol fics? If you do,,, mommy kink belivaird please 🥺

I don’t have any on AO3/haven’t written them before but I love me some Carol x Therese so I had a go at it for you! Hope you enjoy!

The cab ride home between them was quiet. Carol suspected that Therese was a bit resentful they’d risked dinner out tonight. It was still a delicate balance of fitting Therese into Carol’s friend group and vice versa and somehow, talk of her and Abby’s decades past relationship had been brought up which Abby teased Carol mercilessly about, forgetting a certain younger brunette woman who may have found it uncomfortable.

Carol paid and tipped the driver, leading Therese up the walkway and into the house, her gentle hand on the small of the other woman’s back.

The blonde closed the door behind them and flicked on the entryway light.

“Darling, I get the feeling something about tonight made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine, Carol,” Therese deflected, physically waving her off.

“Now, see, I don’t think you are, Therese,” the older woman frowned. “Please tell me what’s wrong? I want to make it right. I want tonight to be perfect for you.”

“Tonight?” The brunette asked, looking up at her quizzically.

“Our evening is far from over, dearest,” Carol smiled. “Surely you didn’t think I’d send you straight to bed without some fun first, did you?”

“I honestly wasn’t sure what to think,” Therese frowned. “Sometimes I feel l get lost in the shuffle of dinner menus and cigarettes and talk.”

“However do you mean?” Carol asked sympathetically, sitting down on the couch. Therese maintained her standing position and the blonde could see she was attempting to physically distance herself to keep her tone and strength as she revealed the truth to her partner.

“With Abby there, it’s like I’m invisible.”

“Darling, I promise you have nothing to worry about,” Carol sighed. “Whatever Abby and I had, I’ve told you, it’s long gone. She’s one of my dearest friends and I can’t erase that part of history, but I promise you I don’t see her like that.”

“It’s not even that,” Therese groaned. “I trust you and I believe you. It’s the way she looks at you. The way I don’t even bother her at all. She can just go on talking about you like you’re still together, paying no mind to me. It makes me—it makes me—“

“Jealous?” Carol smirked. The older woman smiled to herself as she stood up from the couch.

“It’s not funny, Carol,” Therese sighed. “It’s a bit infuriating actually. She doesn’t understand that we’re together and you’re—“

“Mine?” Carol tried, meeting Therese in the archway of the room, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind the curve of her ear.

“Yours,” Therese whispered. “But Carol I—“

“Let me show you,” Carol whispered. “Let me tell you all the ways that you’re mine in kisses and touches and more. Let me prove it to you.”

“I just need to get out of my own head,” the younger woman admitted, biting her lip. “Abby has driven me a bit mad, and I need to relax. I know it’s not you, but I’ve gotten myself so worked up.”

“I think I know what’ll help, love,” Carol smiled. “You want me to show you you’re mine?”

“Of course I—“

Carol looked at her sharply, suddenly.

“Yes, Carol. I do.”

“No names tonight,” the blonde whispered. “Let go of the thoughts in your head. It’s just you and me. Showing you I’m all yours and you’re all mine.”

She offered out a hand that Therese took as she led the brunette towards their bedroom.

“Yes—“ Therese paused. “Carol, what should I call you?”

The blonde woman thought for a moment. “What feels natural to you?”

The younger woman looked down at the floor, her ivory skin quickly turning scarlet.

“Mommy,” she mumbled.

“Mm?” Carol probed, pretending it hadn’t been fully clear and sent heat straight to her core that doubled with the shy brunette already so submissive for her. “You’ll have to speak up, darling, so I know what you want, Therese.”

“Yes, mommy,” Therese smiled, bashful eyes looking up into Carol’s own.

Carol’s painted lips curled into a devious smile. “Well, aren’t you a naughty girl?”

“I’m sorry, I just thought—“ Therese stuttered, second guessing herself.

“You’re sorry, what?”

Therese gulped, realizing this had turned into a scandalous game of cat and mouse and that Carol wasn’t offended by her suggestion. She was completely turned on by it and was already using it to her advantage, creating levels of power and struggle between them without laying so much as a finger on Therese. It made her stomach flip wildly.

“I’m sorry, mommy,” Therese finished as Carol rewarded her with a nod and a smile.

“Come here, darling,” the blonde whispered, patting the bed beside her. “Lay on your back for me, love.”

Therese nodded silently before crawling from the foot of the bed to the center and waiting on her back, her chest in her throat in anticipation. A moment later, the blonde was hovering over her, making Therese antsy in the most thrilling of ways.

Carol started to unbutton her blouse, meticulously slow, Therese trying to follow cream fingers and pearl buttons as each one was released and she could finally see the blonde’s matching pearl white bra, the swell of her breasts prominent as she leaned forward. She left her skirt on for the moment, but the brunette didn’t miss her pushing the panties down her thighs and calves before throwing them to the ground behind her in a little ball.

“They were too wet to keep on,” Carol whispered in the younger woman’s ear. “You see, while you were sitting at dinner being jealous and angry and whatever it is you were. I was thinking about taking you home and enjoying you as my meal. I mean, darling, you taste so much better than dinner or dessert.”

Therese’s eyes widened as she moaned lightly. Carol leaned into kiss soft lips, her hand on the brunette’s chin, the other reaching under Therese’s dress to feel for her panties.

The blonde started to rub them as she kissed Therese feeling the younger woman start to search for friction of any kind as she rubbed against Carol’s palm.

“So naughty, my darling girl,” Carol Tsked. “You want mommy to take care of those wet panties?”

“Please,” Therese whispered as Carol slithered down her body. She pushed the skirt of the dress up and licked over the cotton of the underwear, Therese crying out.

“Ask me nicely, baby.”

“Please,” Therese panted. “Please mommy, make me come.”

“Of course, dearest,” Carol smiled against the brunette’s heat. Red fingernails found the waistband of the underwear and tugged it down, Carol’s tongue licking a wide stripe through the wetness before Therese could even adjust to the gush of cold air the room brought with it once she’d been exposed.

The blonde reached an arm up through the dress and started massaging one of Therese’s breasts, her fingers rolling the nipple between her fingertips until it hardened under her touch.

She kept licking at Therese, teasingly and gentle, making the woman’s legs squirm frantically, wanting more and too sensitive at once. Only pausing to tell her, “you taste so wonderful, darling. I can’t wait for you to come on my tongue.”

“Fuck,” Therese panted, her hips bucking.

“Keep these down for me, my precious girl,” Carol warned.

Therese bucked into Carol’s mouth again against her will, too close to her orgasm to control her hips, but she let out an “I’m so sorry, mommy” that made Carol moan into her pussy as she licked, Therese groaning at the vibrations in response.

“Can you be a good girl and come for me, Therese?” Carol asked, removing her tongue and lips for a moment.

“Yes, mommy,” Therese moaned as Carol dove back in, her tongue at full force and speed, two fingers sinking into Therese and pumping fast as Carol’s tongue lapped at her clit.

“Fuck, fuck, Carol!” Therese cried out.

Carol didn’t even care about her own rules in the moment. She was thinking about how she couldn’t wait to kiss Therese so she could taste herself and have Therese come again but on her fingers alone this time and she couldn’t tear her eyes from the brunette’s quivering lip and shaking thighs and eyes closed tight at the sensation, hands gripping the sheets.

“Come for me, angel,” Carol whispered, “you’re so beautiful, darling.”

#queue sera sera #prompts ask #ask me #ask me things #answered #carol movie #carol 2015 #carol aird #carol Ross #carol x therese #therese belivet #carol and therese #abby gerhard #carol (2015) #abby x carol #prompt ask #writing asks #writing idea #blackacre13 #my writing #request #writing request

[tsarisfanfiction]

Choke

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Virgil, Scott, Tracy Brothers

Can’t be bothered to come up with a neat title and summary for this right now, so calling it one of my drabbles even though it’s 2k words and longer than a bunch of my published fics, oops.

Was not what I had envisaged writing - I was actually poking through my inbox to look at prompts - but the idea stuck in my head and wanted writing, so I let it happen.

Sound was an important part of Virgil’s life.  Strains of music, ivory piano keys, needle on vinyl.  Machinery roaring, murmuring, humming along as oil stained his sleeves.  His brothers, too many of them for silence to ever be an option, and even the quietest loud enough to fill his life.

He was familiar with so many sounds, could tell from the first vibrations what sort of attention it deserved, so when a throttled squeak sounded from next to him, he was moving before any of his other senses had registered the cause.

“Scott!”  His brothers, all gathered around the table, added to the cacophony as they too scrambled to their feet, ingrained instincts pulling them towards their eldest brother like moths to a flame.  Virgil was closest, and had moved first, so he was the one that won the dubious prize.

The throttled squeaking didn’t stop, somewhere on the wheezing scale, and hands were wrapped around his brother’s neck in an instinctual desperation Scott would never normally let show.  Not if he had any real control over his actions.

They were first aid trained, and something like this was right in the heart of the basics, taught at school, let alone Rescue Scouts or on their professional courses.  From the heaving of his brother’s shoulders, Scott still remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

It just wasn’t working.

“I’ve got you,” Virgil promised, muscles straining against flannel as he tugged the stool Scott was perched on backwards, away from the table.  Dimly, he was aware of the others hovering in his periphery, not crowding the two of them but there if needed.  “Let’s get you on your feet.”

Hands still around his own throat, body taut as he tried and failed to cough up whatever had jammed itself in his windpipe, Scott didn’t fight Virgil as he pulled him upright.  Already, his lips were changing hue, gaining a tint of blue that suggested it wasn’t going to be as simple as just coughing up the obstruction.

At least they were all trained first responders.

Virgil nudged Scott until he was leaning forwards, at least partially propped up by Virgil’s own strength as his hand supported his brother’s chest.  There was no point in standing on ceremony; Scott was still conscious enough to know what was going to happen.  He gave a warning out of habit; almost before he finished speaking, his free hand was moving, the heel of his palm driving into Scott’s back.

No change.  Scott was still scrabbling at his throat, his lips still changing colour.

Virgil did it again, and again when all he got was a strangled noise that was clearly Scott trying his best to dislodge the obstruction.

Two more hits continued to be useless, and out of the corner of his eye he saw his brothers moving away – dispersing to get more equipment, he vaguely registered with the little concentration he had to spare.

The next stage, then. He bundled Scott into a pseudo-embrace, biceps pinning him in place as his hands arranged themselves, palm over fist, just below his brother’s ribcage.  This was going to hurt.

In and up, a fluid yet sharp moment that jarred the entirety of the body in his arms.  He got a faint wheeze in response, still nowhere near good enough.  Scott’s weight was increasing against him, and Virgil knew he didn’t have long before he passed out.

Another thrust, powerful enough to raise his taller brother onto his tiptoes momentarily, failed to dislodge the offending blockage, and Virgil started mentally running through the steps he’d have to take if this failed.  Steps that Scott would hate with a passion.

He pulled back sharply again.

The noise it pulled from Scott’s lips was painful, but a relief all the same as something resembling a strangled cough was accompanied by a chunk of something black and charred dropping onto the table in front of them.

“Th-” his brother wheezed. He was trembling slightly, adrenaline coursing through his body, and Virgil immediately guided him down to the floor – less of a distance to fall if he lost his balance.  Scott’s hand was back at his throat, but fingers massaged rings into the skin, rather than clutching desperately.

Virgil didn’t let go.

“Water?” John offered, face still pinched with worry as he carefully knelt down in front of Scott, plastic cup in hand.  Scott’s hands were still trembling as they massaged his throat; if they needed a sign to tell them how shaken their big brother was, it was in the way John held the cup to his lips for him, tilting it just enough for a few drops at a time, and Scott accepted it.

Behind him, next to Virgil, who still had both his arms firmly wrapped around Scott for support, Gordon crouched down.  A tanned hand ran lightly over the site of the back slaps, making its own tracks up and down and round and around in another gesture that was supposed to be comforting. Scott didn’t make any moves to pull away, so Virgil assumed it was giving him what he needed.

“Alan’s gone to get a scanner,” John explained after a moment.  Scott gave a miniscule nod of acknowledgement as Virgil lightly rested a hand over his abdomen, hoping the thrusts to clear the obstruction hadn’t done any more damage, but knowing Scott would definitely be at least bruised.  He hadn’t had the luxury of holding back his considerable strength.  “How are you feeling?”

Slender fingers rested on Scott’s shoulder, not far from where Gordon was still rubbing his back lightly.

“’M okay,” Scott rasped, his own hands finally falling from his throat to rest in his lap.  “Thanks, Virg.”

As though Virgil would have done nothing while his brother choked.  “Don’t make it a habit,” he warned, and was rewarded with a slightly pained chuckle.

“Don’t plan to,” Scott promised.

“So, which part of Grandma’s cooking was it, anyway?” Gordon asked, leaning forwards a little as if he could make out the culprit if he squinted hard enough.

Scott gave a shrug, his whole body shifting.  Virgil saw the warning for what it was and tightened his hold on his brother before he could try and clamber back to his feet.  With John and Gordon both joining in as well, Scott’s bid for freedom was scuppered before it began.

“There’s no rush,” Virgil reminded him pointedly.  “Stay put until Alan gets back with the scanner.”

Scott groaned, but surrendered.  Against three brothers he had no chance, and they all knew it.

“He won’t be long,” John reminded him.  “More water, Scott?”  The plastic cup was offered again; this time Scott took hold of it with his own hands, no longer visibly trembling.  John obediently let go, but his hands hovered in catching range as Scott took another drink.

Alan appeared just as he lowered the cup again, medscanner clutched in one hand.  He looked openly relieved to see that Scott was breathing again, but still deployed it as soon as it was in range.

The light flickered over their brother, and a moment later a holographic representation of Scott was hovering in the air in front of them.  Superficial bruising, it declared, but to Virgil’s great relief there was nothing more serious than that.

All in all, Scott had escaped more or less unscathed, and with the scan proving it, they had no reason to keep Scott pinned to the floor.  Virgil still insisted on helping him to his feet again, to a fond eyeroll that said Scott was humouring him, and as a unit all of the brothers returned to the table.

None of them were particularly keen to continue eating dinner.  The black lump sat innocently on the table, a reminder of what their grandmother’s cooking was capable of, and after a moment of staring at their half-finished plates they unanimously decided not to risk any more of it.

“Takeout?” Gordon suggested.

“Sounds good to me,” Virgil agreed, pushing the plate in front of him away.  The rest of his brothers followed suit.

“I’ll go get pizza,” Scott volunteered, making his way to his feet.  Virgil’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist before he could take a step – on Scott’s other side, Gordon had apparently had the same idea.

Opposite, John had already brought up a menu and started placing an order.  “It’ll be ready for pickup in fifteen minutes,” he said.  “It’s the usual place, Alan.”

Scott made a noise of affronted protest, but their youngest brother beamed and darted out of the kitchen with an “F.A.B!”

“Give yourself a bit longer to recover before you break the sound barrier,” Virgil told Scott, amused. His eldest brother huffed at him, but reluctantly conceded the point and sat back down again.  “So, who’s clearing this up?”

John and Gordon looked at each other warily.  For his part, Virgil pressed his shoulder against Scott’s, making it perfectly clear that he was needed on observation.  Just in case.  Neither of his other brothers seemed particularly pleased with the silent declaration, but didn’t argue.  Instead, they sprung into a game of rock-paper-scissors.

John won, and settled back smugly where he sat, tablet seemingly taking up all of his attention as Gordon whined.

“It’s not so bad,” Scott told him.  “Look, I’ll help.”  He was halfway to standing by the time Gordon clutched at his shoulders and pushed him back down again.

“No, no,” he said.  “It’s fine.  You need to stay put, otherwise Virgil’ll get grumpy.”  Virgil rolled his eyes; he wasn’t the only one that would protest, and they all knew it.

As Gordon started gathering up the abandoned plates, the blast shutters slid across, shutting out the retracting pool before the silver rocket launched into the sky.

Virgil saw the longing glance Scott sent his ‘bird as she rapidly vanished from sight and squeezed his shoulder.

“Food’ll be here soon,” he promised, knowing full well that that wasn’t the reason behind the look. They all got angsty whenever someone else took their ‘birds out instead, after all.  “Try not to choke on it this time.”

Scott swatted at him as Gordon barked out a laugh.

“We’ll make sure to cut it up nice and small for you,” the aquanaut grinned.  “After-”

In one swift motion, Scott scooped up the now-empty cup and hurled it at him.  Gordon lunged to the side as it sailed past him.

“Hey!”

“Just helping you clear the table,” Scott said sunnily.  His hand crept towards one of the plates and Gordon jolted forwards with another yelp to snatch it up first, even though they all knew Scott wouldn’t actually throw something breakable.  Grandma would kill him if he did.

“I don’t need help from someone who couldn’t swallow his food properly,” Gordon retorted, ducking away from the swipe that comment earned him.  “Why don’t you go sit by the pool for a few minutes?  We’ve got half an hour until pizza.”

“Sounds good,” Virgil chipped in, taking hold of Scott’s elbow.  “Let’s leave him to it.”  Scott smirked in agreement and stood up, leading the way out through the once-again open shutters.  Behind them, John muttered something about burning, and Virgil surmised that he wasn’t planning on becoming as crispy as whatever Scott had choked on.

Scott sprawled onto one of the loungers, and Virgil would have thought it nothing particularly out of the ordinary for the times Scott did use them, except for the hand that briefly rubbed at his throat again in passing.

It seemed to be a subconscious gesture rather than a point for concern, but Virgil pointed the scanner at him again, just to be on the safe side.  Scott jumped as the light flickered over him again, and sighed when his eyes focused on the device.

“Didn’t you already do that?”

“No harm in checking twice,” Virgil pointed out.  The result came back the same as before, to his relief.

Scott hummed at him, but didn’t dispute it.  Then again, the result was in his favour, so he had no reason to.  Content that his brother would be fine soon enough, Virgil let the conversation lapse into silence.  In the kitchen, Gordon was grumbling about clearing up by himself, and every so often John sniped something in return.  Normal sounds, at least when John was dirtside.  Beside him, Scott was also silent, seemingly content to listen to their brothers without interrupting.

There really was no such thing as silence in their home.  As long as it didn’t herald something worrying, Virgil wouldn’t have it any other way.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #drabbles #thunderwhump #thunderfluff #choke

[pers-books]

Here, have a teaser from the birthday fic I’m writing for @corvidden​:

The taxi drops Serena off at the bottom of Old Market Street a few minutes before seven o’clock and she carefully makes her way up the cobbled street to the Tavern. As she gets close she sees a tall blonde-haired figure standing with her back to Serena and wonders if it’s Bernie. Moments later her breath catches in her throat as the woman turns, revealing that it is the former Major. She’s clad in navy blue tailored trousers, an ivory coloured tailored shirt, and a navy blue waistcoat, and she looks utterly stunning. The fact that she’s put her hair into a sleek updo and is wearing slightly more make up than usual just adds to the striking effect of elegance and Serena’s almost speechless with delight at the thought of being seen with this gorgeous woman. 

“Hello, you,” Bernie says, her eyes warm and her smile wide. “You look lovely.” 

“So do you,” Serena manages to say, still gazing in wonder and admiration at Bernie’s transformation. She’s slightly startled but delighted when Bernie leans in to press her lips against Serena’s cheek. Then she holds out her arm, elbow crooked, and a teasing look in her eyes. 

“Shall we?” 

“Let’s,” Serena agrees, slipping her hand through Bernie’s elbow and allowing her to lead her into the Old Market Tavern. 

Once they’re seated they peruse the menu and settle on fish and chips served with a side salad. They don’t have any Shiraz, so Serena opts for a glass of Pinot Grigio, while Bernie asks for a Corona beer. Serena is determined not to drink too much this evening as she wants to keep her wits about her. 

They talk about the week they’ve each had, Serena regaling Bernie with the tale of a man admitted onto AAU with a bath tap in an unmentionable place, which sets the blonde off laughing – an utterly astonishing goose honk sound that Serena finds both endearing and infectious. After they’ve calmed down again, Bernie tells her of her favourite customer of the week, an older man who frequently visits in search of sailing antiques. 

“I found him an actual intact ship’s wheel last year,” Bernie says. “He was ecstatic! You’d think he’d won the Lottery, he was so overjoyed.” 

“Is he, or rather was he, a sailor himself?” Serena asks curiously. 

“I believe so, but he hasn’t outright admitted it to me so far. He’s been coming in every other week for the last two years. He’s a lovely old boy, full of the joys of life despite being eighty eight and half crippled by arthritis. If I’m not busy when he comes in, I usually make us both a cup of tea and we sit in the kitchen drinking tea and munching on chocolate hobnobs while we chat.” 

“I’m almost jealous,” Serena teases. 

Bernie’s eyes seem to darken as she gazes at Serena across the table. “Don’t be,” she says, her voice lower and huskier than usual. The sound of it makes Serena tingle in all the right places. 

“Really?” she asks. 

“Really,” Bernie says. “I’ve only got eyes for one person and an eighty eight year old man isn’t the one.” 

Serena swallows down a gasp at the way Bernie’s looking at her, her gaze smouldering.

#Work in Progress Wednesday #Berena #Bernie Wolfe x Serena Campbell #Fanfic #My Writing #Holby City

[henrycavillobsessed]

Porcelain

Characters: Henry Cavill x Anwen Evans (fictional fiance)

Summary: Henry and Anwen’s life was perfect. Until one day, one phone call, changes everything.

Words: 3,444

TW/CW: Death, car accident, description of injuries, hospital, grief. Slight mention of implied sex; some bad language. 

Notes: So here it is, my latest fanfic. It’s been a while, due to a bit of a mind block. The idea for this came to me, after being inspired by the song Porcelain by Emarosa (link below in case you’re interested). This one is different to my other fics, for one it’s not the usual Henry x reader narrative. I have created a character this time to act as his partner. Also this one is LONG (3,444 words). I have enjoyed writing a longer and more complex story and I hope you enjoy reading it. (As a warning, it’s SAD. I am not ashamed to admit I cried just writing it.)

Link to song: https://open.spotify.com/track/7rk8cH53nI8ffb5ZccjfpT?si=QMVvEmA3TK-3WuQXJanMmQ

“Oww! Shit!”

Henry looked up from the book he was reading in bed. Anwen was rubbing her forehead and looking very wounded. She’d clearly just walked into the doorframe. Again. Henry laughed out loud.

“Don’t laugh at me!” A pillow flew through the air and missed its target of Henry’s face by a considerable amount. He laughed again. 

“I can’t help it. You are so clumsy!”

Anwen climbed into bed, still massaging the sore spot on her head. She scowled at Henry. “If I remember correctly Mr Cavill, it was because of me being clumsy that meant we met for the very first time.”

“Hmm,” Henry reached over and gathered her up in his arms, leaning back against the headboard. He kissed her gently on the faint bruise that was blooming on her pale skin. “I do remember,” he said fondly. 

          It had been over five years ago now. Henry was out with his friend and colleague Simon Pegg, drinking their way through some of London’s best nightclubs. It had been a great night so far, with both men enjoying their freedom; they’d recently finished filming their latest movie and were celebrating. Henry was feeling happily tipsy, and when Simon offered to go to the bar for another round, he didn’t refuse. 

“Get some shots too!” he shouted at Simon’s back as he left their table. Simon waved a hand in response; Henry took that as a yes and smiled. He was just checking his Instagram on his phone when something- someone- crashed into him and he felt the cold wetness of a spilt drink over his shoulder and down his shirt. He looked up incredulously. A woman was stood there with an empty glass and an equally shocked expression.

“Oh, my go- I am so sorry!” she said in a very attractive Welsh accent, Henry thought. He felt his annoyance dissipate immediately. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it, accidents happen. How much have you had to drink anyway?” he asked cheekily. 

The woman’s ivory skin blushed, contrasting prettily with her ebony hair, which was cascading around her shoulders in thick waves.

“Um, I actually don’t drink,” she admitted. “I have just shown you how uncoordinated I am; I really don’t need to throw alcohol into the mix.” 

“Very wise. Hi, I’m Henry Cavill.”

“Anwen Evans, nice to meet you.” They shook hands and were making pleasant small talk when Simon returned with the drinks.

“What on earth happened to your shirt?” he asked Henry. 

“Anwen happened. Anwen, this is my friend Simon Pegg.” 

Anwen’s face lit up. “I love your movies! Hot Fuzz is just hilarious!” she said to Simon, who smiled widely and they spent the next few moments quoting lines from the film. Simon looked sideways at Henry, and saw the way he was looking at Anwen, and cleared his throat.

“Well, it’s been lovely to meet you, but I must get on. Henry, I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, winking at his friend. Henry mouthed a silent thank you, grinning. 

After Anwen explained to her girlfriend’s that she was going to continue the night with Henry, prompting a lot of excited giggling and whispering, she sat herself down at Henry’s table. The hours flew by as they got to know each other. Anwen was an up-and-coming chef, who’d recently opened a new restaurant nearby in London. She told Henry about the restaurant’s menu, and Henry promised to try it out soon. In return, Henry told her about the films he’d been in. He was mock-outraged when Anwen admitted she’d never seen a Superman movie, let alone Man of Steel, and laughing, she promised she’d check it out soon. Conversation naturally flowed between them, Henry felt so at ease with her, and it turned out they had quite a bit in common. As Henry told Anwen about his akita Kal, Anwen told him she also had a dog, a golden retriever named Ciri.

“Ciri?” Henry had asked. “As in Ciri from The Witcher?”

“Yeah! I’m such a huge fan, I’ve read all the books, and I’ve played all the games!”

Henry laughed. “You are never going to believe who I’ve just been cast as for my next job…” Anwen’s jaw dropped to the floor when he told her. 

The night ended with Henry walking Anwen home to her nearby townhouse, and they shared their first kiss on the doorstep, swapping numbers with the promise to meet up again soon for a date.

          Now back in the present, nearly six years later, Anwen had moved into Henry’s penthouse, with Ciri who Kal adored. Both dogs were curled up at the end of the bed now, fast asleep.

In Henry’s arms, Anwen cuddled in close. “Yes, so if it wasn’t for me tripping and drenching you that night we wouldn’t be here now, so stop taking the piss!”  

“Okay, okay!” Henry laughed. “I do worry though, you know. You’re like… like porcelain. So easily broken. Be more careful, I’d hate for something to happen, for me to lose you. I love you so much, my Annie.”

“Don’t be so soft! I’m not going anywhere, not for a long time. And I’ll love you until the day I’m gone, and if I can love after, then I will then too. So shush,” Anwen replied, placing a kiss on his lips.

“Anyway, I’m not that breakable, I don’t think. Wanna test this theory?” 

Swinging her legs around Henry’s waist, Anwen straddled him and seductively removed her top. She was braless underneath. Henry whistled low, and licked his lips.

“Yes ma’am.”

          Henry and Anwen’s life continued in perfect bliss. Both had never been as happy as they were with each other. Anwen was now an established celebrity chef, having opened many more restaurants worldwide, written a few cookbooks and even been on television a couple of times. Henry’s career as an actor was skyrocketing, his role at Geralt in The Witcher making him a household name. This meant that he had to travel all around the globe for work, however this didn’t impact his and Anwen’s relationship in the slightest, as she regularly went with him, using the time to research new recipes for her business. When they had spare time, they enjoyed exotic holidays, and it was on the white powder sand of the Maldives that Henry proposed. Anwen had burst into tears and accepted immediately, and they’d spent the rest of that holiday on their private island mostly naked, enjoying each other as an engaged couple.           Their home life was refreshingly normal however. Behind closed doors, they were just Henry and Anwen, not the famous actor and the celebrity chef. They both took in turns to cook dinner, did the housework together and spent the evenings cwtched up on the sofa watching old movies. Laughter was a staple in their home, in fact they only ever rowed when England played Wales at rugby during the Six Nations. Life was indeed bliss, and it seemed nothing could burst this content bubble they were living in.

            One average day in late autumn, Anwen was sat at the kitchen table, with her laptop open in front of her and Ciri snoozing quietly at her feet. Dressed in a pair of comfy sweats and a loose off-the-shoulder jumper, her hair piled artfully messy on top of her head and holding a large cup of coffee in her hands, she was looking at wedding venues online, finally making a start on planning their special day. A huge binder was also open on the table with multiple sheets on paper sticking out of it. She’d made plenty of notes and had lots of ideas; it was now time to put them into action. Henry walked into the kitchen, looking very stylish in back jeans and a tight black t-shirt. He was holding Kal’s lead and the akita was tip-tapping on the tiles behind him, clearly very excited about going for a walk. Ciri didn’t even raise her head, happy enough to stay in with her mum and continue her nap. 

“I’m going to take Kal with me to the meeting with my manager,” he said to Anwen. “Then do you fancy meeting me after with Ciri and we’ll take them for a walk in the park?” 

“Yes, my love, sounds lush. How long will you be do you think?”

“Not sure, I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“Sounds like a plan!”

“What are you up to today?” Henry asked, walking over to Anwen and kissing her on the top of her head. “Wedding stuff?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna send off some emails now this morning and then go to this bakery and try out some wedding cake samples,” Anwen smiled.

“Well, I’m jealous! Have a great day honey, I’ll call you later. Love you!”

“Love you, bye!” she called as he walked out the front door.

          Henry’s meeting was going well. His manager had quite a few prospective roles lined up for him, and Henry was interested in the majority of them. His mind wandered to Anwen every so often; he still missed her when they were apart. As the meeting was coming to a close and Kal started getting excited again at going for another walk, Henry’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID- withheld number. 

“Hello?”

“Is this Mr Henry Cavill? I’m a nurse here at London hospital. We have you down here as Miss Anwen Evans’s emergency contact.”

Henry paled. “Is she okay?”

“I’m afraid Miss Evans has been involved in a serious accident. We have her here at the emergency department. Can you get here straight away?”

          Henry had never moved so quickly in his entire life. After giving his manager a hurried explanation and asking him whether he’d look after Kal, he’d gotten in his car and sped through the streets of London, not caring that he was breaking the speed limit. He parked illegally, jumping out of the vehicle and sprinting into the hospital. His mind was in overdrive, all sorts of scenarios going through his head. He felt sick with fear and exertion. Flying into the emergency room, he looked around wildly, finding a nurse sat at the front desk.

“Anwen Evans? I’m here for Anwen Evans, I’m Henry Cavill,” he cried desperately. The nurse didn’t hesitate.

“Come with me.”

She explained to Henry what had happened on the way. “Anwen was crossing the road at a zebra crossing when she tripped halfway, according to witnesses. There was a speeding car, who didn’t see her. He… he ran right over her. He didn’t stop. There are police looking for the car and driver as we speak.”

The flash of anger that Henry felt was so severe that his steps faltered for a second. But then he pushed it away, to be dealt with later. All that mattered now was Anwen. 

“Mr Cavill, Anwen is in a bad way. She has a serious brain injury, and multiple body fractures. The trauma team managed to get her stable, but it’s touch-and-go. The next twenty-four hours are critical,” the nurse said gently. “Prepare yourself before you go in.”

She opened the door to the dimly lit room. The sound of machines beeping dominated the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. Henry moved closer to the bed, his mouth dry, hands shaking. His Annie was lying in the bed, connected to the machines, wires snaking out from every part of her it seemed. Her beautiful black hair was covered by thick white bandages wrapped around her head, and every part of her skin was purple and blue bruises. Her striking green eyes, usually so full of love and sparkle, were swollen shut. Henry had never seen anything so heartbreaking; tears coursed unbidden down his cheeks.

“Can I sit by her? Hold her hand?” he choked to the nurse. 

“Of course, pet.”

He pulled up a chair to her bedside and ever so gently took Anwen’s hand in his. It was reassuringly warm. He could do nothing for a moment but stroke it slowly. Worry filled every part of his being. 

“I’m here Annie. It’s your Henry. Come back to me, you can get through this,” he whispered, and then as sobs wracked through him, he added, “you said you’d love me until you’re gone and I’ll be damned if you’re going anywhere yet.” 

For the next few hours, Henry didn’t leave Anwen’s side; he didn’t let go of her hand. He held onto hope that she would get better. After all, porcelain could break yes, but it could also be fixed. And he would do anything to fix her. 

          As it approached eighteen hours since Anwen’s accident, a nurse came into the room and caught Henry fighting not to fall asleep. She softly tapped him on the shoulder.

“Mr Cavill, go and get some rest. You’re more than welcome to use the family room just next door. Freshen up, get an hour or so sleep. If anything changes, I promise I’ll come and notify you immediately.”

Henry considered this, torn between not wanting to leave Anwen’s side and the need to at least wash his face. 

“I’ll be half an hour, tops. Annie, I’ll be right back.” He put her hand down, and exited the room, rubbing his tired eyes as he went. 

He hadn’t been gone five minutes when a terrifying beeping screeched out from Anwen’s room. He ran out of the bathroom still with wet hands, his heart in his mouth. He halted in the doorway, petrified at the scene unfolding in front of him. 

A team of medics were working hard on her, the unrelenting beeping just adding to the frenzy of the situation. Anwen’s heart had stopped; someone fired up a defibrillator. The shock that went through her echoed in Henry. He just didn’t know what to do. He was vaguely aware of someone trying to lead him away but he just couldn’t move, couldn’t tear his eyes away, panic rising, threatening to overspill. His Annie, his Annie was there dying on that bed, and he couldn’t do anything but watch. And then suddenly, the most sinister sound yet. A flatline. Followed by a voice.

“We’ve lost her. Time of death, eight fifteen AM…”

Then silence.

The sound that tore its way up and out through Henry’s throat was that of a wounded animal. He screamed, the feeling pure agony.

“No! NO! There must be something you can do! My Annie! Annie…”

The doctor looked at him with sadness in his eyes. “I am so sorry, Henry. So sorry. Please, everyone, give him some space.”

The rest of his team followed him out; the nurse that had told Henry to go get some rest was crying silently. 

Henry stood rooted to the spot, in a state of absolute denial. Only a day before they’d been in their kitchen together, making plans to walk their beloved dogs, she was planning their wedding. Their wedding. Agony ripped through his chest, sobs wracked his body, his breathing erratic, his heart shattered, never to be healed again. Broken, like porcelain. 

          Henry didn’t know how he got through the funeral. He’d been to the funeral home, and dressed her in her favourite dress and shoes, and spent a long time brushing out her hair; he’d done that when she was alive, but the familiar act did nothing to ease his pain. When he got to the church, he walked down the aisle with her coffin on his shoulder, his heart heavy because he should have been watching her walk down the aisle in a white flowing dress towards him, he should be becoming her husband, not burying her. When it came to reading her eulogy, he was overcome with emotion, for the first time in his life not able to talk in public. His mother helped him down from the podium; his father continued the speech. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

At the wake, he got blind drunk. No one saw him for a week afterwards.

          The news of Anwen’s death was plastered all over the newspapers and online. Headlines such as “HENRY CAVILL FIANCE KILLED IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT” and “CELEBRITY CHEF ANWEN EVANS DEAD AT 27” accompanied photos of the both of them. The hole in Henry’s chest got bigger each time he saw it. He threw himself into his work; being someone else for at least 12 hours a day was easier than dealing with real life. Because the grief was all consuming, terrifying, never-ending. When he got home to his cold and empty penthouse, he couldn’t escape it; Kal and Ciri looked at him sadly every night, the question in their eyes: “where is our mummy?” Henry had no answers for them. He spent each evening sat in the dark, in silence. There was no laughter, no enjoyment in life since she’d gone. 

          A few weeks later, Simon came to visit. He’d been dropping in regularly, terribly worried about his friend. Henry looked, quite frankly, awful. His hair was long and the curls unkempt, he’d let his beard grow out and he had deep purple bags under his eyes. He’d lost a lot of weight too, although he hadn’t stopped working out. Simon sat down next to Henry on his sofa, nervously voicing the question he’d come round to ask.

“Henry, it’s the awards ceremony tonight. Will you be going?”

Henry looked at him like he’d gone mad. 

“Look,” Simon continued. “You’ve been nominated for Best Actor. It’s highly likely you’re going to win. Remember how she… how Anwen was really looking forward to going.” This was true. The red dress she’d been planning to wear was still hung up on the back of the bedroom door. “If you don’t want to go for yourself, why don’t you go for her?”

Henry thought it over. He hadn’t been out, apart from work and the gym, since before the accident. The thought of going to such a high-profile event caused panic. Yet… an image of Anwen, smiling before him in that red dress suddenly entered his mind. She had been so excited; she’d even helped him write his acceptance speech in case he did in fact win Best Actor. Go for her, Simon had said…

          And that’s how, just hours later, Henry found himself back on the red carpet, surrounded by flashing lights and crazed shouting as paparazzi tried to get his attention. He posed for a few photos before hurrying inside and taking his seat. He ate the extravagant three-course meal without really tasting it, drank the wine without really feeling it. Simon sat by his side, a welcome support; a truly great friend. Then, finally, it was time for the awards to be given. 

Henry clapped and cheered as each person won their nominated categories; showing his support for his fellow actors and actresses. Seeing them so happy actually lifted his spirits for the first time since… before. Then it was time for the winner of the Best Actor award.

“And the winner is… HENRY CAVILL!”

Henry sat in shock as the cameras and spotlights panned to him. Simon was on his feet, screaming “I knew he’d do it!” and then he was helping Henry up. “Go on mate, to the stage. You won, you bloody won!” 

In a daze, he walked towards the stage, then across it, accepting his award from the host. The applause was tumultuous; it took a few moments for it to die down, and then everyone in the audience was waiting expectantly for his speech. Henry drew a blank; he had no idea what to say.

“You can do it, handsome!” a heartbreakingly familiar voice whispered in his ear. He looked to the side and his breath hitched in his throat. Anwen was stood there, a wide grin all over her face, looking devastatingly beautiful in the red dress she’d planned to wear tonight. 

“I’m right here with you. I love you.”

Tears welled and spilled from Henry’s eyes as he turned back to face the audience. 

“This award,” he started. “is for my Anwen. My Annie. I couldn’t have been the actor who deserved it without her love and encouragement. She was my everything. She still is. I owe this, my entire career, my entire life to you, my angel. I miss you more than words can describe, and I love you even more.

As he left the stage to even louder applause and cheers and flashing lights, he looked up, seeing the love of his life again, smiling, tears sparkling on her cheeks, blowing him a kiss as she faded away.

“Goodbye my Annie,” he whispered. “Goodbye.”

#henry cavill #henry cavill fan fiction #henry cavill fan fic #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill angst #henry cavill sad #henry cavill obsessed #HenryCavillObsessed

[tmngoose]

Cause for Concern: an OC one-shot

Alternate Title: Hurt/Comfort Characters: Rikki, Red Fox, Jupiter Jim, Clem, Rikki's mom (mentioned) Tags: ANGST, Anxiety, Distress, Poor familial relationships, Abuse, Minor Injuries/bruising/scabs, Hurt/Comfort, Blanket forts, Lots of comforting, Additional Tags to be added... Summary: Rikki gets a letter in the mail and Red has a right to worry. Word Count: ~1,799 -x- A/N: I know what you're thinking. "Goosey! This isn't any of the updates you promised us >:C what's up with this OC baloney?" -- Ok, yes, but listen; I wrote this mainly to practice writing Red Fox and Jupiter Jim since I'll be (ahem) writing them very soon for a certain somethin'-somethin' (Also? I need to update Let's Make a Deal and this was good practice to get back into writing for Rikki). I won't be uploading this to my Ao3. Read Cause for Concern under the read more:

It started with a letter—a small black envelope that came in with the rest of the mail: the bills, the take-out menus, and the weekly Stock and Shop circulars.

It was addressed to Rikki, which was odd to Red since Rikki never received mail; at least nothing intimate.

"Hey, Rikki! You got mail today!" Red said as soon as the mongoose returned from her shift at Clem's. She presented Rikki with the black envelope, her tail swishing excitedly.

"That's for me?" Rikki raised a brow.

They settled down at the kitchen table. Red sat across from Rikki, who examined the mysterious piece of mail. There was no return address, and the envelope was perfumed with something that made Rikki's nose wrinkle. She turned the envelope over, and that was when she saw it; the ivory wax seal depicting the image of fang—her family's crest.

Red's grin shrank as Rikki tensed, the color draining from her face, "Well? Who's it from, Rik?"

"It's… ah…," Rather than answering Red, Rikki reached for their salt shaker and unscrewed the metal cap. She poured a perfect circle onto the wooden surface, then dropped the envelope into its center.

Suddenly, it burst into a column of purple flames.

"Oh, my stars!" Red gasped. Her red banded-tail morphed into a giant hand and reached into the cabinet under the sink for the fire extinguisher.

"Don't worry, it'll put itself out," stated Rikki, unbothered by the phenomena. "It's a hex message."

"A 'hex message?'" Red furrowed her brow as the flames flickered before them, contained within the circle of salt. "I've heard of chain letters cursing folks, but this is just plain rude! Who would do such a thing?!"

"My mom."

"Oh," Red's tail twitched. It was a touchy subject they never discussed, mainly because Rikki avoided any conversation regarding family relations—especially if they were about her mother.

When the purple flames disappeared—embers and all—a scorch mark was left behind; Rikki buffed it out with the sleeve of her hoodie. Now that the letter was 'cleansed,' she sliced open the side of the envelope with her claw and emptied a folded piece of parchment into her hand.

The apartment fell silent as Rikki read the letter. Red knew better than to pry, even if the suspense kept her at the edge of her seat.

"Mom wants me to come home—for a visit, not to stay," Rikki grimaced, "She wants to 'talk.'"

"When?" Red asked while Rikki calmly tore the letter into tiny squares.

"A-sap," Rikki brushed the bits of paper into her palm and stuffed them inside the pouch on her hoodie. She went over to the tiny coat closet by the front door and retrieved an old backpack that would suffice as an overnight bag.

"W-wait, you're leaving now?" Red pushed back her chair. Her stomach twisted, and a feeling of dread penetrated her bones. She had no idea where the influx of anxiety came from, but it was enough to get her fur to stand on end.

Rikki shrugged, "I can't keep the lady waiting."

"What about work?"

"I'll tell Clem somethin' came up. Besides, that's what PTOs are for..."

"Is everything alright?" Red's ears flattened, perturbed. "You're not in trouble, are you?" Why would she think Rikki was in trouble? Maybe Rikki's mother always communicated via hex messages. Perhaps that was just how yūrei's spoke to one another; a cultural thing.

Rikki didn't answer. She quietly stuffed her toiletries into a plastic baggie, then went into her bedroom to gather a change of clothes. The silence between them only told Red that she was right to fret about her roomie's well-being.

"… It's nothing, Red," Rikki answered, slipping her headphones around the back of her neck. "Don't worry about it. I'll be fine."

Red's unconvinced by the string of reassurance; they sound a lot like empty promises, "Rikki…."

"Red, I'll be fine," Rikki crammed her chargers and electronics into the small pocket of her backpack. "I should be back sometime soon-ish. We'll order sushi and throw ourselves a little party, ok?"

"… okay," Red stepped out of Rikki's way, reluctantly letting the mongoose pass by. She escorted Rikki to the elevator down the hall and playfully elbowed her in the arm, "Call me if you need back-up, yeah?"

"Whatever floats your goat, space ace," Rikki snorted as she waited for the elevator's arrival. She slung her bulky backpack over her shoulder, "And speaking of goats, I better call Clem…."

Rikki forced a smile as the elevator doors slowly closed. Red saw past the mongoose's attempt at feigning confidence; the distant, fearful look in her eyes gave her away. Red suppressed the urge to summon the elevator and prevent Rikki from leaving.

Red told herself that it was all in her head, the idea that nothing good would come from Rikki's trip to her mother's. She knew Rikki could take care of herself.

Rikki will be back before you know it, Red thought to herself. It'll be alright. I'm sure her mother's a lovely person...

__________

Rikki didn't come home the next day. Or the following day. Or the day after that. When Red tried reaching Rikki on her cell phone, her attempts led her directly to the mongoose's inbox.

Not even Clem heard from Rikki, although he was instructed to 'use her sick days if she ran out of PTO.'

Red kept herself busy with menial chores to steel her nerves and stop her imagination from crafting worst-case scenarios. When she wasn't cleaning the apartment, the yōkai volunteered at the community theater, ran errands, and hunted for Scor-Pion with Jupiter Jim.

"Why so blue, Red?" Jupiter Jim asked during one of their stakeouts atop the eccentric actor's apartment building. "You mustn't let Scor-Pion get you down. The elusive fiend will show himself soon enough!"

"It's not that," Red sighed. "It's my roomie/friend! She's been gone for almost a week, and I've lost all forms of direct communication with her! And even if I wanted to go searching for her, I have no idea where she could be!"

"Hm, that is quite the predicament. I wouldn't be surprised if Scor-Pion is behind your friend's mysterious disappearance!"

"I doubt it…," Red peered through her binoculars and scanned the city's skyline, hoping to spy Rikki. She perked up when she felt Jupiter Jim's hand clasp onto her shoulder, "Sir?"

"Have faith in your friend," Jupiter Jim consoled. "The universe is a vast place, yet we all find our way home sooner or later. We must welcome the weary when they return, but to do so, it's crucial to keep our spirits high."

Red smiled weakly at the profound piece of wisdom, "Thank you, Sir."

The mood was ruined when Jupiter Jim mistook an old lady with a green skin complexion as Scor-Pion. Fortunately, Red's prehensile tail was strong enough to hold the space adventure back from ambushing the strange senior citizen.

If only Red used her tail to keep Rikki from leaving...

_____________

It was Wednesday night. Red had finished washing the dishes and was now standing at the kitchen counter, prepping vegetables for dinner. She was so preoccupied with peeling potatoes that she failed to notice someone unlocking the front door.

And that someone was Rikki.

"Hey, I'm back," Rikki announced as she closed the door behind her.

"Rikki!" Red exclaimed, dropping the potato peeler and spud into the sink. She ran over to Rikki and hugged her tightly, "Leaping light-years, you have no idea how worried I was! You didn't call or text, and Clem said—"

Red froze. Her eyes darted from Rikki's black eye to the bruise on her cheek. Several small knicks speckled the side of her brow. They were scabs now, but the implication that Rikki had bled was still there.

So this was the kind of relationship Rikki had with her mother: a bad one.

Rikki isn't put off by the horrified look on Red's face, "Honestly? It's not as bad as it looks. In fact, I think things went better than I expected." She tried maintaining a modest tone, but it faltered.

I knew I shouldn't have let you go, Red frowned. Hesitantly, she tried reaching up to touch the bruise on Rikki's cheek.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," Rikki said as she casually ducked away from Red's hand. "I had to take the long way back, and I'm kinda gross. Do you need the bathroom?"

"N-No, you go ahead. I'm making stew for dinner. Would you like some?"

"Naaah. I'm not that hungry…."

Red nodded, "Copy that." She watched Rikki's bushy tail drag across the floorboards on her way towards the bathroom.

The universe is a vast place, yet we all find our way home sooner or later…

"Hey, Rikki?"

"Hmm?"

"Welcome home…"

It's such a warm, simple greeting, yet it meant so much to Rikki. She got as far as the hallway before she grabbed onto the wall for support. She sank to the floor and curled in on herself, trembling.

In a split-second, Red's beside her. She held Rikki close, protecting her by wrapping her striped tail around her body. She never heard Rikki cry before; the mongoose is quiet with the occasional whimper that breaks Red's heart.

Red held her tighter, "… We can still order sushi if you want…."

Rikki sniffled, "Yeah, I-I'd like that."

"Heh heh, good! Honestly, I was getting tired of peeling all those potatoes!"

_____________________

Stacks of aluminum take-out containers are left on the kitchen table with empty plastic cups of soy sauce. They make good on their promise to throw themselves a party. So Red and Rikki dragged their mattresses out from their bedrooms and constructed a blanket fort around them.

Once their nightly bathroom rituals are completed, they pile into their fort. Red noticed a few more bruises on Rikki's forearms that were previously hidden by the mongoose's hoodie.

"Clem said he'd give me the day off tomorrow," Rikki said as she slid her phone underneath her pillow. "I told him I had a rough trip. He understands."

"Aw, that's nice of him," Red yawned as she rolled onto her side, facing Rikki. Goodness gracious, who would've thought all this worrying could be so exhausting...

"Hey, Red?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," apologized Rikki, her voice hoarse. She stared up at the canopy of mismatched blankets and bedsheets, "I'm sorry I didn't keep you in the loop..."

"Don't worry about it, Rik," Red scooched over towards Rikki, "I understand."

They nestled against each other, their tails entwined--another layer of comfort. Red felt obligated to ensure Rikki fell asleep and didn't stay awake to think about whatever cruelties she endured at her mother's. Only when Red was sure Rikki was fast asleep did she finally allow her eyelids to shutter.

#rottmnt oc #Rikki #rottmnt Red Fox #Jupiter Jim #rottmnt Clem #(not a shipping fic! they are just roomies who care about each other I swear to pizza supreme in the sky) #tmngoosepost #tmngoosefic

[houndin-around]

Covenant | Maul

warnings; slight age gap? I guess, can’t remember if there’s cursing oops, boss-employee relationship

a/n; First ofF I’M DROPPING THIS BC IT’S A SPECIAL SOMEONE’S BIRTHDAYYYYY!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY KENNA ILY<3 @hxldmxdxwn 

- I’ve been avoiding dropping this because I’m super self conscious about my writing but oh well here we goooo! This is a more modern AU even though I use a lot of SW terms/lore but i’ll probably branch out as we go on throught he chapters. Takes place in coruscant and reader is 23! Maul ios around 30-31 haven’t fully decided yet. Uh hope everyone enjoys this!!

Summary; Getting an opportunity at a reputable company, you’re eager to show everyone what you’re made of. The only odd part is...no one knows who the owner is. 

not my gif

Curses rolled off your tongue as the silence was disturbed by the raucous alarm emitting from your phone. Hurriedly you tried to silence it, avoiding waking up your partner that is sleeping next to you. The clock read 4:55 am and the sky was still pitch black. Yet the lights of Galactic City never died, it was hard to get rid of the illumination in your room. Even some curtains weren’t enough to block the livelihood, something you still have yet to get used to. Staring up at the ceiling, the dread of leaving the warmth that consumed you whole was winning the battle lulling you back to sleep. Another ear-piercing song flowed out of your phone causing you to jolt upright. Rubbing the back of your neck, a sigh escaped your lips before you tossed your legs over the side of the mattress. From the second alarm, your boyfriend grumbled before turning over, aggressively pulling the sheets over himself.

Today was the day of your brand new job. Anxiety nestled in your gut the more you thought about it so you tried not to. Two years ago you were leaving Naboo and your family after school. It was one of the hardest things that you had to do, and being an adult wasn’t easy or all that it was chalked up to be. Living on Coruscant was a totally new experience. Everyone dressed so differently-- obsessing over the latest fashions, erasing the idea of modesty as well. Luckily for you, that’s when you met Kenth Madon. Upon arriving, your ship was having difficulties, and you needed a mechanic. Out of all the shops around you, you chose his almost as if it were fate. Due to frequenting his shop, Kenth got the courage to ask to see you outside of the permanently grungy, gas smelling establishment. It wasn’t your first relationship, although it has been quite a while. It was nice to have someone give you the type of attention Kenth did.

Since he grew up on Coruscant, your boyfriend claimed to know what real fashion was. Hinting at the fact yours was a little outdated. So,  he helped you restyle your wardrobe as you lacked any type of pizazz when it came to fitting in. At least according to him. During your outing, you still were drawn to rather lackluster choices of apparel, but at least it was slightly updated. Slipping on a white puff-sleeve shirt, you quickly tucked it into the black dress pants you were insistent on getting. The reality of putting on this outfit made your palms sweaty, your heart lurch up in your throat. with the realization of starting this new chapter in your life. Grabbing your white one-button jacket, you scanned your room one last time before placing a feathery kiss on Kenth’s stubbled cheek.  

—————————

“Next stop: Galactic Square. Please, refrain from getting up early and blocking the exits. Thank you.” the feminine voice echoed throughout the subway train.

You rubbed your hands up and down your thighs, staring out of the viewport of the train. The job itself was competitive and the position wasn’t guaranteed. Nineteen other candidates were presenting their brand new prototypes for QuanCom, as well. The business that created the HoloNet, the Holocomms, comlinks, and much more. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This job could start you down a successful track, but you didn’t care. It was honestly only for the good-paying credits, since it was hard to find a job degree or not.

With a sudden stop shoving you against the seat, you quickly checked the time on your iPhone. 6:00 am. “Kriff!” you hissed to yourself. You were told work began at 8:00 am, so what in the hell were you going to do for an hour and a half? Being early helped ease your anxiety, though being this early only fueled it-- making it a lose-lose battle. Waiting for the other passengers to exit, you soon rose to your feet, swiftly leaping off the train. Examining the underground tunnels, your eyes shifted all over trying to locate the staircase leading upwards. It was crowded in the subway, yet it didn’t compare to the hustle and bustle that hurried by on the streets of Galactic City.

Humans, Rodians, Twi’leks, and species that you could swear you’ve never encountered before shouldered past you, as if you didn’t even exist. One long blink and an exasperated sigh later, you began to move your feet in the direction of QuanCom. The directions on your phone were confusing. The arrow rotating every once in a while was unable to read your location. Regardless, you continued hoping it was the correct way. The sudden smell of caf penetrated your nostrils, causing you to scrunch up your nose.

“If they sell caf, they probably have some deychin tea and maybe some food…” you trailed off hurriedly toward the small shop named “Caf Project ''.

Inside, it was cozy, brick-lined walls with a large sign hanging over the counter. Swallowing thickly, you stood back just far enough to show you were thinking of what you wanted, but really you were trying to stifle the anxiety welling back up as your mind kept going blank. A jingling sound interrupted your inner battles, and so did the voice of who was walking in.

“I don’t care. I told you to get this done yesterday. Not an hour before I arrived at the office. Is it really that hard to follow through? Do you not realize the utmost significance of this report? I swear I’m dealing with a bunch of imbeciles. Sith give me strength…'' Sucking in a breath, he glanced at you, brow raised. “Shut up for a second, Tannis.” He demanded before turning to you. “Are you in line?”

Your face went completely blank, just a second ago it sounded like he was about to murder whoever he was speaking to. But while speaking to you…his voice was smooth like silk, endearing actually. Swiftly shaking your head “no,” he stepped forward and flashed a warm grin at you, incisors slightly visible. Once again he continued yelling at someone, the barista not even batting an eye. His order was briskly made, though he didn’t even give any notion to what he had wanted. You couldn’t help but examine this stranger before you, attired in a charcoal grey suit that was paired with a very light grey dress shirt with two buttons undone. On his feet were freshly polished black Oxfords, his outfit so simple yet so suave. Once he handed the cashier some credits, you noticed a glimmer on his wrist, by the looks of it one kriffing expensive watch.

Adjusting the lanyard around your neck that holds your ID for QuanCom, the stranger with geometric tattoos all over his face turned to face you. You noticed a shiny stud piercing on the upper cartilage of his left ear. Maintaining some eye contact, you couldn’t help but feel a knot in your stomach. He was quite handsome, and his ivory horns…wow, you thought to yourself, cheeks running hot. “Get yourself together...you’re with someone,” You reminded yourself.

Lips parting, he studied you up and down.

“Good luck.” The words were quietly mumbled as he continued listening to what you assumed to be an employee, on the other line.

“Thank you,” you mouthed back, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips as you continue to fidget with the lanyard.

Maybe, he had heard of the big job offer at QuanCom? Advertisements were flaunted everywhere; it was hard to miss them. Shaking your head lightly, you step forward, showing that you’re ready to order.

“I���ll have a small deychin tea please and…uh- um..a croissant?” Everything on the menu food-wise wasn’t too appealing, but you needed something in your stomach to satisfy the beast. “Uh..how much, sir?” you inquired, pulling some credits from your spotless white jacket.

Shaking his head, the cashier's lips opened to a wide grin, “No need, miss, the man before you covered your order. You’re all set!”

There was that wave of nausea again. Why would he do that? Who even was he? Was it just his generosity for the day? Or did he think you couldn’t afford much based on your attire? Sighing, you frantically think about what you’ll be expecting for this job, continuing on your path toward the QuanCom headquarters. Getting closer to your destination, you glance over your phone, once more checking the time. 7:50 am. Finally, what felt like forever was finally here, and you were so eager to start on a positive foot.

Entering the monstrous building, people were hustling all around you-- confused, lost, and eager to get their days going, as well. You had to remind yourself that you were here as competition and not as a friend for anyone. Though right now, you could really use a friend and some directions as this place was large and filled to the brim. Inspecting the environment, you noticed a few flimsies posted. Maker’s sake, it made things easier by telling you where to go. Padding toward the nearest elevator, you crammed yourself in amongst the other bodies seemingly all going to the same exact floor. Not being able to help it, you held your breath midway until the doors opened on floor 18. Exiting, you followed the tall, skinny woman down the hall to meeting room 1804. To your amazement, it was already quite full, so you took a seat nearest to the door, pulling out some flimsy and a stylus so that you’re ready to jot down any information. The room was white-walled with very little decor besides a large glass table in the center. This is where the fun begins, the long drawn out rules and regulations.

“Alright! Now that we’ve gone over the workplace protocol and the prototype expectations, I will pair you up into four groups of five.” Her voice was raspy, though flat enough to make your eyelids heavy. Everyone around you was also struggling to fight the sleep that tried overpowering them. Names being called brought you back to attention every now and then, but you couldn’t stop thinking about him. “I’m sure Kenth sees more attractive women daily anyway…” you try to convince yourself.

“(Y/N), Fox, Steela, Hardcase, and…Finn. You five will make up group three.” The grouping continued slowly, but the names rang in your mind over and over. “Alright, now that groups are established, get to know one another and start some planning. Each member in your group has a very different degree path; this will help you all utilize one another's skills to create the best results for QuanCom. You have three weeks until you pitch your prototypes to Dooku, the COO.. Remember, 5 pm concludes your workday, so get to it.”

Sitting around your new coworkers, you fumbled around with your stylus, afraid to make the first move for introductions. It seems that you weren’t the only one being fidgety;  the gentleman named Hardcase was bouncing his leg vigorously. If you were correct, he and Fox were clones. After the bill was granted clones rights and citizenship, they ended up all over the system. So many felt that cloning was unethical, especially for the fact they were treated similarly to droids. Though it was nice to see the two making something of themselves.

“Guess I’ll start! The name’s Hardcase. Yes I’m a clone, and--yes--I’m perfectly capable of thinking for myself. I’m great with my hands and can assemble anything together. For a short while, I was working as a mechanical engineer for the GAR.” The clone oozed with excitement and enthusiasm, which was quite entertaining. Clad in a pink-hued dress shirt and a blue suit, which matched his facial tattoos. On his feet were freshly polished loafers still tapping the ground.

“Well, I’m Fox. My skills are geared toward CAD and any type of 3D rendering. Once I devote myself to something, I see it through. You can trust me on this project; I assure you that,” he barely showed any type of emotions compared to his counterpart. His attire was dark-- suit, shoes, everything. It said a lot about him and which made you anxious.

“Well, I’m Steela! Researching is my speciality. Problem-solving is also a breeze. I’ll be able to find the answers in order to help us advance to a whole other level! I enjoy leading projects like this, since I know I can keep us on track one hundred percent!” The excitement radiating from her was encouraging. She seemed like a strong woman ready to lead this team to success. She wore brown high waisted dress pants with a matching blazer, and white blouse. On her feet were suede, caramel heel booties.

“I’ll go next…” the young Twi’lek’s voice was soft and elegant, soothing to everyone in the group. Just as she was about to speak the double-doors swung open.

“Asajj, we have a problem,” her voice hushed but full of urgency as she glanced around the room. “Tannis was fired. We need to fill her position. Now!”

“Gods, I knew this was going to happen. I told her she wasn’t ready for this position. Now he’s going to take it out on me,” Asajj let out a long sigh, arms folding across her body. The woman that just emerged looked similar to her, though her face was more relaxed.

“(Y/N), can you come over here for a second please?”

Everyone in the room glanced up at you before continuing their tasks.. Rising from your chair, you crossed the room sliding past everyone with ease. Asajj acted like she was presenting the finest delicacy in the galaxy; arms held out at you.

“I think she’ll do. A tad on the quiet side, but I’m sure Mr. Crimson can work with it,” Her response was more of a question, as both women had their eyes upon you.

“It’s not like we have much of a choice. You cannot run this and take on two secretary positions. You’re going to need the help,” The woman’s pale grey eyes burned into you.  

“Fine. Take her to Mr. Crimson. You better hope he approves,” Asajj warned, giving you one last glance.

Quickly grabbing your belongings, the conversation you just had replays in your mind.

“Tannis,”

Why did that name sound so familiar? Who’s Mr. Crimson and why did you have to go see him.  Your mind whirled around, anxiety eating away as you set foot in the elevator. It felt like a full rotation cycle before reaching floor twenty. Being led out you walked down a hallway that was decorated lavishly. The flooring was a beautiful dark marble. Each step you took echoed off the walls. Nearing the end of the hall, both of you walked through another set of tall glass double doors. Entering the spacious room, you can’t help but notice the viewport walls. Also catching your attention were two long black desks. They were set across from one another stacked with datapads and pieces of flimsy. Towards the middle was a closed black door that had a frosted glass panel. Without a doubt this room was breathtaking and even though it lacked decor compared to the hallway, the view of Galactic City made up for it. Light knuckles hit against the panel three times, waiting for a response.

“What is it now?” The aggressive tone was enough to send a chill down your spine.

Slowly opening the door to peek her head in. A few words were exchanged before she fully opened the door, motioning for you to follow right behind. Inside was a long glass desk, the legs were black; matching some of the furnishings or complimenting them. In front were two rounded leather chairs, the area rug underneath a bright white. Paintings and picture frames hung on the right side of the room, though you were too afraid to really gawk at them as a gruff voice began erupting again. There he sat, his black leather chair facing the viewports behind his desk seeming to be amidst another phone call.  Something about his voice was all too familiar but the fear bubbling inside you made it difficult to pinpoint. Soon enough he swung his chair around slamming the phone down, right hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What was so important that you had to interrupt yet another phone call, Leys. If it’s not about numbers, you know, the job I pay you to do? Then leave. I’ll fire you too. I’ve had it with everyone’s complacent behavior. Any fool could be my financial officer, so if you as so step out of line again, you’re done,” The snarl erupting from this man was horrifying, bringing you back to the Caf shop.

It was him! The same eerie tone used then too, and yet he was able to turn it off so quickly when addressing you. Your hands began to clam up, eyes not even daring to meet his.

“Yes sir, I understand I’m very sorry. I just wanted to bring you Tannis’ replacement,” voice quivering, Leys bowed her head and hurriedly left Mr. Crimson’s office leaving you behind, alone and defenseless.

A satisfied chuckle was released from Mr. Crimson as he watched his employee scatter from his office. Brow raised in your direction, his stare intense, a sneer presenting itself. “Well. Take a seat.”

His hand motioned to the smaller round chairs, eyes never leaving you. Pushing his seat back just a smidge, a polished shoe crosses over his left thigh and his hands fold against his stomach. Releasing the breath you were holding in, you padded over to the seat in front of his desk sitting as straight as humanly possible.

“It seems I’m in need of another secretary. But it’s not an easy job-- I need someone reliable, someone organized, and to understand the urgency of when I say to do something, they do it,” Towards the end of the sentence, his voice dropped a little lower, eyes narrowing. “It is a permanent job that is until mistakes are made. Pays reasonably well especially for dealing with...someone like me. Seems Asajj and Leys picked you and they’re typically alright when it comes to the judgment of character.”

Something about the way he spoke to you made your heart skip a beat. Even the way he stared at you had your arms lined with goosebumps. Trying to compile a coherent sentence was no easy feat with his eyes burning into you.

 “I-I, um..” fumbling over your words caused your cheeks to run hot. “Well...first off I wanted to thank you for this morning. You really didn’t have to pay for me...but I greatly appreciate it. As for my work, I am quite organized and pay attention to directions given, but I don’t exactly have the experience in being a secretary, which would probably be important…” trailing off, you broke eye contact with him to glance at a red light blinking on his phone.

He barely acknowledged your thanks, just giving a small nod. A deep hearty laugh left his lips, “Any fool could be a secretary, but you don’t seem like a fool. No, just the way you speak and hold yourself exudes intelligence. Normally a secretary is chosen from within the company, as an outsider could be one that would leak vital information about QuanCom to its competitors. Someone that has worked their way up the ranks, whom I could trust. However, due to obvious circumstances here we are. If you so choose to take this job you will have limited access to certain databases as I need you to earn that trust. Understood?” The sneer plastered itself once more upon his face, incisors visible this time.

“Yes sir, I understand. I’ll make sure I do this right Mr. Crimson!” a little bit of enthusiasm worked its way to you, eyes lighting up like Coruscant itself.

“Please, call me Maul.” he pleaded, followed by a half-smirk.

Rising to his feet, he outstretched a hand that you mirrored. His callused hand engulfing yours in a gentle embrace. Just this morning you were going in ready to compete against nineteen other candidates, and here you are sealing a deal with the CEO of QuanCom to be his second secretary. Breaking the handshake, he opens up his desk drawer pulling out a datapad, handing it to you.

“That will be yours. You’ll need it for all the paperwork and emails. You’re free to take it home, just don’t lose it. Asajj will send you some emails tonight that will need to be completed before you come in tomorrow morning at 6 sharp. Once you do that you’ll be set up in our system and able to begin your duties. You’re dismissed for the day, but you will be paid for a full day. Just a small token of gratitude.”

Taking the datapad in your hands, you gave a curt nod, ensuring you understood the importance that was just given to you. Getting yourself together along with your things, you exchanged a few words expressing how grateful you are for this new position. Heading toward the door, you outstretch a hand to grab the handle. Just as you’re about to open the black door, his voice cuts the silence.

“Oh, one last thing, don’t mention our little encounter this morning to anyone. Some may think... I’m beginning to play favorites.” his voice honeyed paired with a smirk and eyes ogling you, trying to take in one last visual before you leave.

---------

taglist: @maulfrk​ @honestlystop​ @pinkiemme​ @idiotonastar​ @nawpitynopenope @maulieber​ @rishi-moon​ 

#maul x reader #darth maul x reader #Star Wars fanfic #star wars #Clone Wars #The Clone Wars #star wars clone wars #userlilylils #ceo!maul #maul

[crinkle-eyed-boo]

@disgruntledkittenface @kingsofeverything and @fournipplesau tagged me to share random things I’ve learned because I wrote/read it in a fic. Maggie can DEFINITELY attest that I can get fixated on minutae and accuracy, so I’ve fallen down a lot of research rabbit holes. Here are a few: 

- What a speed high feels like

- What happens when you mix speed and alcohol (It’s not good!!)

- How long it can take to bleed out when you sever an artery

- How long it will take a drug to hit your system after snorting it

(The FBI agent monitoring me must have been VERY CONCERNED about me when I was writing Own the Scars)

- Bars, restaurants, and coffee shops in Charlottesville, VA and Boston (All the places in OTS are real and I consulted their menus!)

- The driving distance between Charlottesville and Boston

- The Admissions process for Boston University School of Medicine

- Fancy Restaurants in London in the 1800′s

- Abidjan, the commercial capital of the Ivory Coast, means “Pearl of Lagoons” and Gulay means “rose moon” in Turkish. I thought the combo was PERFECT for the first place that Louis took Modern Harry to in the Doctor Who AU. 

- When NYC started phasing out Subway Tokens

- How to make an old fashioned

- The process of painting an oil portrait (I watched so many youtube videos)

- How to mix paint and load it on your brush

- Which art galleries in NYC are the most friendly to up and comers

I tag @a-brighter-yellow @uhoh-but-yeah-alright @evilovesyou @hazzabeeforlou

#I know there's more! #this was all off the top of my head! #writing stuff

[flwrpotts]

hands down

or: seven times jughead didn’t confess he loved betty and one time he did. some tooth rotting fluff to get us thru quarantine. the structure and concept of this fic is inspired by this. enjoy!

1. 

He knew that Archie’s bachelor party was going to end badly for him. It had started with Archie pressing a tequila shot into his hand before they had even gone to dinner, c’mon, Jug, it’s the only bachelor party I’m ever going to have! while Reggie and Moose had cheered in the background. He took the shot, lukewarm citrus and a rubbing alcohol bite. They drank steadily through dinner, boisterous and loud, and now they’re in a packed strip club, sweaty and bright with flashing lights.

He hasn’t been this drunk since college, five years at least, and he can feel himself slurring as he talks to Archie, everything hysterically funny all of a sudden. Betty texts him, a selfie of her and Veronica in a sleek looking bar, holding up their glasses of wine. Hope you’re having fun! she sends, and Jughead tries to formulate a text back, si goood i miss yoi so mughc, followed by a truly horrendous string of emojis.

Betty’s contact info lights up on the screen with an incoming call, and Jughead stumbles outside, away from the boiling music of the club. The night air is sharp with cold, and he sucks in an inhale, trying to clear the spinning in his brain.

“Hello?” he slurs into the phone, leaning heavily against the brick wall. Betty laughs, amused, and he misses her terribly, misses her even though he saw her that morning.

“Hi, Juggie,” she says. “Having fun?”

“I’m never doing tequila shots again,” he says, vowels blurry around the edge. “Not even for Archie.”

She laughs again, tinkling and amused, Veronica’s tipsy bright voice in the background. “You’re going to be okay getting home?” she asks, the faintest slip of concern in her voice.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, and suddenly the last round of shots catches up with him, any facade of sobriety gone. “I miss you so much,” he whispers into the phone, the words mushy and almost indiscernible. “Love you.”

There’s a quick, sharp intake of breath Jughead is almost too inebriated to catch.

“I’ll see you soon,” she says before the call clicks off. They don’t discuss it.

2. 

Jughead hauls Betty up onto the counter, his teeth already against her collarbone. This is something they indulge in rarely, when neither of them are seeing someone, or when work gets particularly stressful. Betty moans, and he gets a hand up to cup the back of her head, keeping her from knocking her head against the kitchen cabinets.

“Jug, Jug,” she says into his mouth, yanking up his shirt and getting her hands onto his stomach, nails sweeping low over his waistband. He has goosebumps running down his spine, and his blood rushes hot through his head, leaving no room for intellectual thought. He undoes the button and zipper of her jeans, his fingers clumsy with anticipation.

She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, hard, and Jughead doesn’t know what to do with his hands, his brain is detached from the rest of his body. He hikes up her legs around his waist, pulling her even closer, and his vision is blurred with the flyaways of blonde hair and the sound of his name in her mouth. Her heel is pressed into the small of his back, keeping him pressed hard against her.

Betty moans again, louder this time, and Jughead’s hand flies to her mouth, remembering too late the thin walls of their apartment. Her breath is hot against his wrist, and his thumb dips against her bottom lip, mouth open. Her eyes open, a clear bright green, and it’s easily the hottest thing he’s ever seen, his pulse wired to hers.

“Fuck me,” she whispers into his palm. He wants to yank on her ponytail, wants to lick the cherry chapstick off of her mouth, wants to stay inside this moment forever, suspended by the longing.

He presses his mouth to the fragile, ivory skin of her neck as he fumbles to unhook her bra, and he exhales iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou, fervent and sticky hot, like a prayer, lost in the press of their mouths against one another.

3.

Jughead waits for Valentine’s Day to arrive with the dread of a condemned man facing an executioner. The days of February tick by, and he waits patiently for Betty to mention a new romance, a guy she’s been seeing or a surprise hot date for the most romantic night of the year, waits for the Jones luck to really kick in. Finally, it’s the morning of, and she pads into the kitchen, startlingly beautiful in an oversized t-shirt and socks, glasses perched on her face, no mention of any plans.

“Dinner tonight?” he asks, all casual, heart in his throat, and Betty hums her agreement, absentminded and pouring coffee.

“Yeah, sure,” she says. “I get out of class at six, so six thirty?”

He makes reservations at a nice restaurant, dresses up in a nice shirt and yanks at the collar, feels awkward and out of place as the hostess guides him to the table, watching the elegantly paired up couples around him. The menu is definitely out of his price range, but he figures if he’s going to tell her he might as well make the grand gesture, give her the sort of romance she deserves.

Betty walks into the restaurant and for a single second everything in his head goes blank. It’s a secret phenomenon Jughead wouldn’t even know how to explain, the way she numbs everything out, makes everything better.

She folds herself into the seat in front of him, wearing a breezy, careless lavender dress and that familiar smile, ponytail falling in a perfect twist.

“God,” she says, picking up the menu and flicking through it mindlessly. “You won’t believe what happened in the coffee shop today. Is there anything more cliche than confessing your love on Valentine’s Day?”

He freezes.

4.

Jughead gets home to the apartment late, cranky after being stuck in a social for the MFA students in his program. He yanks at his ill-fitting tie as he walks in the door, feeling some of the tension starting to seep out of his shoulders.

“Betts?” he calls, taking in the warm yellow glow of the hallway, light left on despite the lateness of the hour. Remnants of Betty’s evening are scattered through the apartment- dishes in the sink, a neat plate of leftovers in the fridge with a post-it note stuck on top, bolognese if you’re hungry <3

He steps into the living room, and Betty is passed out on the couch, surrounded by a stack of freshly graded papers, the sharp elegance of her  handwriting crawling across the pages in bright red. She’s slumped at what must be an uncomfortable angle, legs tucked up underneath her and her head propped on her shoulder. The fondness pangs in Jughead’s ribs, sharp with longing. He just stares at her for a moment, the fine curl of the baby hairs at her temple, her mouth just a little bit open with sleep, all the lines in her face smoothed.

She’s so relaxed that Jughead doesn’t want to wake her, potentially kickstart the insomnia he knows gets to her when she’s stressed. So he picks up an old quilted afghan off of the other edge of the couch, tucks it up around her shoulders. Betty sighs in her sleep, shifting into the blanket and kicking one leg out.

I love you, Jughead mouths. I love you. Betty turns in her sleep, eyelids fluttering, and Jughead shuts the light off behind her, head full of the things he wishes he could tell her.

5.

It’s Friday night, and the two of them are tipsy from the shared bottle of red wine, sprawled out on the living room floor with a Scrabble board between them. Betty sits cross-legged, flushed high in her cheeks from the wine and her hair loose around his shoulders. Jughead is raggedy in an old pair of plaid pajama pants and a threadbare t-shirt.

It’s his favorite kind of evening, Chinese takeout for dinner and easy conversation, laughing as Betty struggles with the wine bottle opener.

Now Betty is staring at her Scrabble tiles with intense concentration, a line between her eyebrows that he wants to smooth out with his finger.

“If you try to pass off a word that you made up again-” he warns, only half joking. Betty gasps in mock outrage, one hand to her chest. “I would expect someone getting their Masters in Psychology to have a more refined sense of ethics.”

“I would neve cheat at Scrabble,” she says imperiously, laying out her tiles and spinning the board back over to him. Zale reads the word in front of him. Betty, for her part, tries to look impartial and doesn’t quite manage it, the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Jughead feels the warmth burn inside of his chest.

“I love it when we do this,” he blurts out suddenly, awkward and out of place. Betty smiles at him, presses her hand to his from across the board.

“Me too,” she says. “And that will be twelve points for me, if you please.”

He loves her, but not enough to let her get away with such a stunningly illegal move. The night goes on.

6.

Dear Betty,

I am writing to you now because I’m too terrified to tell you in person but I also can’t keep going on this way. Maybe a letter is the coward’s way out, but I prefer to think about it as romantic. To quote the genius herself (Jane Austen)- if I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more. And I do love you.

I don’t know if it was at first sight, but do I know that the first time I saw you in that terrible freshman English lecture, it felt like something was beginning. Like some part of me knew that I was going to fall in love with you, my brain just hadn’t quite caught up yet. In some ways it still hasn’t. The way I feel about you has nothing to do with logic.

You’re my roommate and my best friend and my fellow true crime obsessee and the best fucking person I know. Having you in my life is one of the things I’m most proud of, and I’ve been so scared to ruin what we have, because in a lot of ways I think you’re the best part of me. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t there anymore. But I also can’t keep swallowing it down anymore. I guess I just have to trust that we’ll find a way to be in one another’s lives, no matter the capacity. Even if you don’t feel the same way.

Well, now you know. I love you. The ball is in your court, and it’ll really be okay if you don’t feel that way. I just need to know. So- come find me?

Yours,

Jughead

He sighs at the piece of paper, and balls it up with a groan, tossing it into the trash can with a faint thud.

7.

It happens so fast Jughead barely has time to react.

They’re crossing the street of their apartment to get to their favorite overpriced but delicious coffee shop, chatting idly about Betty’s thesis advisor and her obsession with Lorrie Moore, and then the taxi comes out of nowhere against the light, inches away and Betty a step in front of him.

Jughead grabs her by the elbow and yanks her back in the nick of time, all adrenaline, moving before he even has time to process the danger, clumsy and fast. The taxi swerves past, a flurry of horns from the surrounding cars, and they stumble in an awkward, half time waltz back onto the sidewalk. Betty’s eyes are huge when she looks at him, shocked, his hand still fisted in the material of her coat.

“Holy fucking shit,” he swears, tongue a jumble. “Are you alright?” He begins to pat her down over her wool jacket, searching for potential injuries.

Betty laughs, still in shock at the suddenness of it all. “I’m fine,” she says, pressing a hand against her forehead. “I’m totally fine. You grabbed me in time.”

Jughead sighs out a shuddery, terrified exhale. The closeness of the encounter is still racketing through him, fear and relief pulsing through the veins in his wrist. His hands are shaking, and Betty squeezes one tightly in hers, reassuring.

“That was scary,” she remarks, and Jughead nods, for once beyond words. “The drivers in this city are ridiculous.”

“No kidding. I’m- I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, squeezing before he releases her hand. Betty smiles at him, easy and fond. It’ll take twenty minutes and two cups of decaf for his heartbeat to slow down.

8.

They’re brushing their teeth side by side in the bathroom, seeped with the laziness of Saturday morning. There’s coffee percolating in the kitchen, and Jughead knows without asking that Betty will scramble the eggs so long as he makes waffles, that they’ll sit at the tiny kitchen counter for an hour, sipping at their lukewarm coffee and talking about nothing. It strikes him, quite suddenly, that this is how he’d like to spend the rest of his life.

Betty is wearing just one of his t-shirts, her hair knotted into a bun at the top of her head, talking to him through the foam. Jughead, blue toothbrush in hand, turns to her, deliberate and suddenly unafraid. “Betty,” he says, and she turns to him, gaze curious, and he looks for a moment at their reflection in the bathroom mirror, a portrait of exactly where he wants to be. “I love you.”

“What?” Betty asks, and there’s toothpaste smudged on her cheek, eyes wide.

“I love you,” he says, heart in his stomach again. Betty grins at him, slow and wide and perfect,

“I love you,” she says, like it’s the easiest, most natural thing in the world. He ducks down to kiss her, and her mouth is chapped and minty, and their teeth click together in his haste, and it’s pretty much the best moment of his life.

#mine #quarantine prompts #bughead #bughead fanfiction #Betty cooper #jughead jones #riverdale #riverdale fanfic #this shit is so sappy I'm-