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reiderwriter · 2 months

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For some reason my comments don't come through on your posts, but I want to first say I absolutely love your writing and I'm so happy your requests are open!! 🥰😭 So I've had this idea of a fluff mixed with spencer angst where reader is maybe interning at Diana's facility (not a dr yet, studying) and becomes close with Diana by reading, chatting, etc and Spencer over hears it from time to time and the dialogue between spencer and reader gets too close for Spencers comfort, but Diana wants her around more. Thank you again for your hard work okay bye!

A/N: I've never written a fic with Diana in it before, so this was a bit of a challenge for me, bit I enjoyed writing it a lot! Hopefully, this is somewhat like what you wanted!! ❤️

Warnings: Spencer is a bit dense (real) and puts his foot in his mouth (metaphorically, of course).

Diana Reid's son was exactly the way she described him, down to the tiny curls at the base of his neck and the glimmer of intelligence in his eye.

After four weeks interning at the care facility while working on your medical degree, you'd spent a considerable amount of time with your favorite patient, and her stories about her son were legendary.

At first, you weren't sure whether to believe the woman when she said her son was a genius with an IQ of 187, three PhDs, and a job in the FBI. She wouldn't be the first schizophrenic patient to muddle up her facts, but she certainly was the sweetest.

So when you recalled your conversation with the head nurse later that day, she laughed and confirmed every story about Doctor Spencer Reid. Your mouth hung open in shock because surely nobody that incredible could just be out walking the streets.

Another month of conversations about the man, and you were half in love with him. He wrote his mother letters every day - hand wrote them, even - and she's shown you a few. He'd talked about his friends, his team, his jobs, and how he was saving lives. And when one of the latest ones dropped in the news that he'd be free for a visit soon, you found yourself overflowing with anticipation.

Of course, you felt like you already knew the man. You knew what his first words were, what his favorite toy was growing up, and even about the exploits of his first date, as pitiful as it was. What you didn't know was if Diana was passing along similar information about you.

The day Spencer Reid finally showed up, he took your breath away. You were mostly in awe of Diana's ability to describe her son perfectly, though you'd grown fond of her perfectly professional English Lecturer tone of speaking over the last few weeks. She was practically lyrical when talking her son into existence.

“His hair curls beautifully. He's my little adonis. He keeps it too long though, I'm always telling him he needs to cut it because it hides too much of his face,” she'd told you one day before picking her book up and ignoring you for the next half hour.

“My Spencer is delightfully tall. He's a little bit spindly like a spider. He's not the most grateful, that's for sure, we used to call him crash because he was always bumping into things. Poetic, right?”

You knew from the second he walked through the door that this man was him.

Tall, slightly hunched, clutching his satchel strap in his hand, terrifyingly handsome and making your hand jump into your throat. Definitely him, and definitely a problem. You'd have to check the code of conduct about falling hopelessly for a patient's beautiful son.

If you had any doubts, this was Spencer in front of you though, when he bumped into a chair just as he was about to reach his mother, it was confirmed.

“Diana, I believe your Crash is here,” you smiled and giggled, watching her turn quickly to greet her son.

You, too, gave him a warm smile, but he seemed a little hesitant to return it, instead greeting his mother softly and sitting with her while you retreated slightly to give them some privacy.

You hovered in the space, as Diana had been talking about introducing the two of you all week, and you didn't want to distress her if she couldn't find you close by.

But though Spencer was closely attentive and soft with his mother, he took brief pauses to stare almost frustratedly at you. You weren't sure what it was, but something about you was setting Spencer on edge, and that in itself was unsettling you as well.

“Oh, Spencer, you must meet our Y/N. Y/N, come here, this is my son, Spencer.”

Slightly more apprehensive now, you held out your hand to shake his, “I've heard so much about you it's nice to finally be seeing you in person, Doctor Reid.”

He didn't shake your hand, though, but awkwardly waved it off quickly, leaving you to awkwardly replace it by your side.

“Nice to meet you. Are you a new attendant? I asked all updates about my mother's companions to be confirmed and passed on to me, patient and carers included.”

His tone was business-like and clipped, and you could see a gentle annoyance settling on his features.

“I'm sorry, Doctor Reid, I thought Diana would have told you in a letter, or the administration would've passed it on. I'm a medical student on an internship.” You felt like you'd been chastised by an irate parent though he'd at no point raised his voice or indicated in his words any sense of anger at all. His eyes burned across your skin, though, and you felt a flame heat your skin under the weight of his stare.

“You're mother has told me a lot about you though, she reads me your letters sometimes, between our discussions of Marjorie Kempe.”

“My letters? Mom, we've talked about this. Those are private.” You looked at the quiet disappointment on Diana's face and felt protective over the woman all of a sudden.

“Please, I'm sorry for overstepping, but your mother is just very proud of you. She talks about you a lot actually, and your job-”

“With all due respect, Y/N, the last time my mother talked to a new friend about me, he traveled to Virginia and shot one of my friends, so this really is a conversation I'd rather not be having.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as he turned back to his mother and started talking to her gently again about personal security, effectively dismissing you from the conversation.

You'd had stupid hopes for Spencer Reid, and that's all they would ever be.

Reid talked on, and you left him alone with his mother, though she seemed distracted by your departure.

“Spencer, that wasn't nice. Look at that poor girl. She's close to tears.”

“What? Mom, are you even listening to me?”

“No, and I likely won't until you go and apologize to Y/N. She's a pretty girl, Spencer, and she was very excited to meet you.”

“Pretty…. Mom, please.”

“What, do you disagree? You think I don't know you well enough to know when a girl would suit you well? Or do you think I'm blind to the fact that you were stealing glances at her before she introduced herself.”

Spencer went quiet at having been caught, and he hated to accept that maybe his mother was right.

It was true as well that the care facility had informed him of medical interns coming and going in the next few months, and really, she wasn't to blame for his mother being fond of him.

He was glad, though, that neither of them had noticed the ten minutes he'd spent just outside the large sitting area watching them talk. He'd been obviously taken aback to see someone new so close to his mom and his mom similarly comfortable. He felt even worse for the fact that for a solid minute and a half, he'd stared at the girl with no other thought in his head than the sound of his heart skipping a questioning beat.

He'd pulled himself out of it eventually, but only when another nurse had come along to ask him if he'd actually be visiting his mother today or just dropping in to check on her.

And then he'd bumped into that infernal chair when he was so fixated on getting to them, and she'd opened her mouth and called him crash, and his heart had sank.

He reminded himself it was neither of their faults and inwardly cursed himself for being so unfriendly with someone who'd taken such good care of his mother recently.

He promised himself that he'd talk with his mom and then go and find the woman, and apologising for being such a brute.

“Spencer, are you listening to me, or are you busy daydreaming about my nurse?”

“Mom!”

“You're plain as day, kiddo, you'll never get anything past me. Now please, leave me be, I'm reading. Come back later if you must, but for now, take this to Y/N for me, please. She left it with me to read this morning, but I'm not in the mood for Medieval Romance right now.”

It was a blatant lie, but a dismissal nonetheless, and Spencer quietly took his chance to search for you in the halls.

The head nurse humorously pointed him in the right direction without him asking, much to his annoyance, but he persisted and lightly tapped on your shoulder to greet you.

“Oh, Doctor Reid, hello again.” You smiled a little smaller this time, still polite, but he watched the way it didn't reach your eyes and felt like a jackass all over again.

“My mom told me to come return this book to you.” He held out the book, and you quietly took it, folding it into your arms and hugging it tightly against your chest as you both stood there silently after the exchange.

“I'm sorry, as well. I wasn't exactly very friendly back there, because-”

“It's okay, Doctor Reid, you really don't have to explain. I overstepped, it's my fault and it won't happen again.”

“Are you kidding? My mom hasn't looked that relaxed in years. Please keep overstepping.”

Your smile widened slightly at the compliment, and Spencer's tongue kicked into hyper drive immediately at the sight, even as his brain powered off.

“You're pretty,” he blurted out, stopping only as his brain caught up with his tongue before firing off again. “My mom said you're pretty. I agree as well, though, you have a nice smile, and it's better when you don't force it. Not that I'm telling you how to smile, though. I don't know why I'm telling you this, but my mom made me come over here and talk to you, even though I'm pretty sure that's her book and not one you loaned her.”

He took a moment to catch his breath as you blinked at him in confusion, heart beating rapidly even as you heard the blood rushing through your ears.

“If you're free now, would you want to grab a coffee? Unless you have a boyfriend. Or husband. Or girlfriend or wife, I guess, I don't mean to presume. But if you're free, as in time, and free as in, like, relationship wise, I'd like to buy you a coffee to thank you for listening to my mom.”

He finally stopped, and you stared wondrously at the reddened skin of his cheeks as he held his breath, waiting for your reply.

“You want to take me out for coffee to thank me?”

“Yes.”

“And on a separate note, I'm pretty, and you want to know if I'm in a relationship?”

“I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me, I'll just see myself out. It was a stupid idea anyway-”

“No, wait, Spencer! Let me… let me grab my coat. My lunch break is in half an hour, and I'm sure it'll be okay to take it early.” You held his arm for a second, stepping slightly too close for comfort before realising yourself and taking a tiny step back.

He stood and blinked in your direction, as though wondering seriously for a moment what your lunch break had to do with him.

“Are you going to stand there staring at me, or are we going to go out?”

“You're serious?”

“I guess…. I guess I am.”

“And you're… you're single.”

Your mouth went dry as his skin finally completed its transformation from vampiric to tomato red. You desperately hoped your own embarrassment wasn't equally as readable on your face.

“Quite single. Medical students don't have that much time to date.”

“Neither do FBI agents.”

“Perhaps a subject we could talk more about later?”

“Definitely.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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lumosandnoxwriting · 3 months

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look at you || Fred Weasley

Title: Look at you Pairing: Fred x Reader Summary: distance really does make the heart grow fonder. Warnings: NSFW - minors DNI! This contains, vaginal sex, female receiving oral, breeding kink, mentions of cum marking, dirty talk, praise, mentions of sex toys/sexting and pregnant sex. A/N: hockey!fred could hit me with his car and I would say thank you. Anyway as always this is dedicated to @darthwheezely b/c she always encourages my shenanigans.

The away games are always the hardest.

Fred is usually gone for a week, and between traveling, playing multiple games and the time differences they mainly communicate via text and maybe a phone call if they’re lucky. At first the lack of communication bothered Y/N. They moved across the country after Fred got drafted and it felt isolating to have the only person she knew in Washington unavailable most of the time. But now that Fred’s in the fourth year of his contract Y/N is a pro at handling the distance. Her and a bunch of the other WAGS always get together to watch the games at someone’s house, and usually do dinner or brunch on some of the days the guys are gone. And now that she’s working and more involved in the area she’s got plenty of friends and activities to keep her busy while Fred is away.

She figured this season would be just like the others, that it would suck while Fred is gone but she’d just keep busy until he was back home in their bed.

Until those two little pink lines stared up at her from the bathroom counter the night before training camp started. She wasn’t totally surprised at the result, considering her and Fred had been together for a decade, married for half of that and regularly relying on the pullout method as their main form of contraception. And of course they’d talked about having kids, but their general consensus had been that they would start trying once the season was underway, hoping to time it just right that their baby would be born at the beginning of the off season, so they could spend the first few months as a complete family unit before hockey took over Fred’s life again.

But of course life decided to say fuck their plans, and now Y/N is due to give birth just before playoffs begin in April.

Y/N had thought that having Fred gone during her first trimester would be the worst part of it, having to deal with morning sickness and those first few doctors appointments by herself. But the nausea and vomiting left her feeling so gross she was glad Fred didn’t have to see her like that, and they were able to work with her doctor so that Fred didn’t miss a single appointment.

It’s now, with Y/N into her second trimester that Fred’s absence seems to be hitting her the hardest. Her bump has finally popped, and she can barely keep her hands from stroking over the smooth skin at all hours of the day. The baby has started to move around too, starting off as gently flutters she assumed was gas that have now grown into distinctive pushes against her belly. Not to mention the nausea and vomiting that plagued her first few months of pregnancy have faded away, and Y/N finally understands what people say when they talk about pregnancy glow. Her skin is the clearest and softest it’s ever been, and her hair and nails look amazing thanks to her prenatal vitamins.

And just as she passed the five month mark her newest, and most annoying to deal with on her own, pregnancy symptom started.

She’s unbelievably horny every hour of the day.

Her newly filed out breasts constantly ache, and some days her nipples are so sensitive just the material of her bra sends a shiver down her spine. Her pussy is almost constantly slick, her clit throbbing and her cunt aching to be filled. Once the seam of her maternity jeans pulled so deliciously against her as she was driving that she nearly crashed the car as she came from that brush alone.

Everything seems to turn her on these days, no matter how inconvenient the time or place is.

Like right now, the guys are on the last leg of their longest away game stretch, the final game of a two and a half week trip, and her cunt is dripping as she watches Fred punch the other team’s center in the jaw. Not only is it inconvenient because she’s sitting on Melaine, the goalie’s girlfriend’s couch, but because Fred isn’t due back home until tomorrow afternoon and she passed out last night before she could put her vibrator back on the charger. And her own fingers will never live up to the memories of how worked up Fred gets after a fight, and how the only thing that seems to calm him down is taking Y/N from behind as he growls in her ear.

She tries to shift subtly as the ref throws Fred in the sin bin, his mouth still moving wildly as he throws insults at the other team, but when Rachel throws her a look Y/N knows she’s been caught. Rachel is the wife of one of the defensemen, and had been heavily pregnant for most of last year’s season, so Y/N figures she knows exactly how she’s feeling right now.

“Tomorrow afternoon can’t come soon enough,” Rachel teases, voice low enough so only the two of them can hear.

Y/N snorts in laughter, nodding in agreement. “You have no idea.”

Fred throws a middle finger over his shoulder as he rushes towards his truck, causing his teammates to laugh even harder. The bus had barely stopped before he was up out of his seat and making his way to the front, far too eager to get home to Y/N. Because the texts she’s been sending since he got off the ice last night have had him perpetually hard in his pants and the only thing on his mind is getting home to his wife.

He drives well over the speed limit on his way home, praying to whatever deity that exists out there he won’t get pulled over, since he’s pretty sure his urgent need to fuck his wife is not a good enough excuse to get out of a ticket. The car is barely in park as Fred throws the door open, hockey bag left behind in his haste to get inside. In a matter of a few seconds he’s barreling through the front door, taking the time to lock it behind him before he heads for the stairs.

“Baby?” he calls as he climbs, ripping his shirt off as he goes. He pauses to kick his shoes off, just letting them tumble back down as he continues up.

“Hi,” Y/N greets breathlessly when Fred appears in their doorway. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the way his jeans hang open, his cock clearly fighting against the material of his boxers.

Fred groans as he takes Y/N in, cock throbbing at the way she kneels on their bed in nothing but his jersey. The curve of her bump is visible even in the oversized garment, and Fred almost can’t believe that this is his life. He makes a living playing the sport he loves and every night he gets to come home to the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen who’s beauty has only grown as he watches his child grow inside of her.

“Fucking hell,” he practically growls as he steps into the room, his complete focus on Y/N. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are, wife? That picture of your pretty pink pussy all wet and begging for my cock has been driving me crazy. I couldn’t sleep knowing you were all alone in our bed, desperate for my cock wearing nothing but my jersey.”

Y/N practically pants as Fred stalks toward her, hands clenched in fists at her sides to try and resist the urge to touch herself. She had to give herself a pep talk before taking the photo she sent, so to see Fred’s reaction to it here in the flesh makes her cunt throb with want. Before falling asleep Y/N had managed to work herself up to a few weak orgasms with her fingers, but those are nothing in comparison to what she knows Fred is about to give her.

“Sexy?” she asks teasingly. Fred has finally made it to the edge of the bed, and she runs her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, resting her palms against the sides of his neck. “Even with my big old bump in the way?”

“Especially with your big bump in the way,” Fred practically purrs. He finally gives in to his urge to touch his wife, one hand hooking around her thigh while the other fists the front of her jersey, yanking her closer to him. “Just knowing that you’re full of my baby, that I did that to you is enough to make me cum, something I know you’re well aware of.”

And she knows Fred isn’t lying. He’d always been possessive in the bedroom, and it only intensified when she got pregnant. Once her bump popped Fred was like a man possessed, needing to have one hand on it at all times. He’s finished on her bump more times than Y/N can count, rubbing his cum into her skin so he can claim her fully.

Instead of responding Y/N lets Fred pull her into a kiss, her fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his skull as he nibbles on her bottom lip. He claims her mouth with his, crawling up on the bed so he can get even closer. The hand he had on her jersey makes its way up to cup her jaw, angling Y/N’s face so he can kiss her deeper, while the one that was on her thigh starts to travel further up.

“Fuck,” Fred moans into her mouth as his hand brushes her bare hip. “No panties? Dirty girl.” He lets his hand cup the swell of her stomach, thumb slowly brushing back and forth in a sweet gesture that is the total opposite of the way he kisses his wife.

“Please,” Y/N pants as Fred’s mouth finally leaves her’s, starting to press kisses into her neck. “Need you to touch me, Freddie, only feels good when it’s you.”

“Well how can I deny my wife when she asks so nicely?”

Fred kisses the juncture of her throat one last time before pulling away just enough so he can pick her up under her thighs. He positions her back on the bed just how he wants, her back flat against the mattress with her legs spread wide, a hand on each thigh to keep them open for him.

“You’re fucking cunt,” he groans, his eyes drawn to her slick pussy as he bites his lip. He sinks down on the bed so he’s resting between her thighs, thumb and forefinger spreading her pussy apart to put her clit on display. “This pussy is going to be the death of me.”

Y/N gasps as Fred finally puts his mouth on her, hips nearly lifting off the bed as he sucks her clit between his lips. Her toes curl as his tongue flattens against her, thighs already quivering as Fred’s thumb presses against her entrance. “God, please, Fred.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs to fuck into her with his index finger, curling it to press against the front wall of her cunt, right against the spot that has her moaning his name. His cock twitches as Y/N’s hand tangles in his hair, curling his tongue around her clit as she tugs.

“Such a good girl,” Fred praises as he presses another finger into her slick cunt, letting his thumb rub small circles into her clit. “I love this pretty pussy so much, wife. Gonna eat it every fucking day of the week.”

He takes her clit back between his lips as he fucks her with his fingers, needing her to cum before he can give her what they both desperately need. His cock aches as Y/N grinds down against his face, the feel of her taking control of her pleasure only turning him on more. Fred’s tongue flicks at her clit as his lips suck, and he can tell by the way her cunt grips his fingers that she’s close.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my hand so I can have you cumming all over my cock.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Y/N babbles as Fred licks her, fingers tugging him even closer into her as she grinds against him. Waves of pleasure are swirling in her core, electric shocks radiating all down her spine as Fred brings her closer and closer to the edge. He makes her feel like she’s on fire, completely erasing the few weak orgasms she had last night from her memory.

Fred wraps his arm around her thigh to keep Y/N in place as her orgasm takes over, his fingers and mouth still working her through the pleasure. Y/N’s toes curl as pleasure consumes her, thighs quivering as a cry of Fred’s name leaves her lips. Aftershocks of pleasure send shivers down her spine, and Y/N has to use her grip on Fred’s hair to separate his mouth from her cunt as she comes down.

He doesn’t say anything as he crawls back up the bed, letting Y/N catch her breath before he leans down to kiss her softly. Her legs wrap around his hips, the need for Fred to be close overwhelming her need to get off for a brief moment.

“Need you inside me,” Y/N murmurs against Fred’s mouth, her legs tightening around him.

“Needy girl,” Fred teases, nipping at her jaw. But with one final kiss to her lips he pulls back, climbing off the bed so he can rid himself of the rest of his clothes. Who is he to deny the needs of his wife, the woman growing his child?

Y/N makes a move to pull the jersey she’s wearing up over her head, and Fred grabs her wrist, shaking his head.

“No, the jersey stays on.”

Fred’s pretty sure he hears her mumble something about him being a possessive idiot, but he doesn’t even care. Settling on the bed, back against the headboard with his cock leaking against his stomach, he beckons Y/N closer. “Come sit on my lap and make yourself cum on my cock, baby.”

Under normal circumstances she’d make some joke about how he’s making her do all the work, but her cunt is already aching again and if she doesn’t get Fred’s cock in the next three minutes she may die. Y/N crawls up the bed, shivering at the look in Fred’s eyes. It’s full of nothing but pure desire, and she can feel her heartbeat pulsing in her clit. At one point she feared that pregnancy may change the way Fred looks at her, and now as she straddles his waist Y/N can’t believe what an idiot she had been.

One of Fred’s hands lands on her hip, the other on her bump and the contact sends a shiver down her spine. It takes a little bit of finesse with her bump in the way, but as soon as Y/N has Fred’s cock pressed against her cunt she’s sinking down. She’s slick enough from Fred’s mouth and her previous orgasm that she presses down until she’s fully seated in his lap, and her eyes flutter shut from the pleasure coursing through her veins.

Fred is so thick and full inside her, and Y/N just sits there in his lap, eyes closed and her head tilted back as she appreciates the feel of him inside her. Y/N’s cunt pulses around him, and with how desperate she’s been to feel her husband like this, she already feels embarrassingly close to her climax already.

“Fuck you are perfect,” Fred groans as her hips start to gently rock. He fixes her jersey so the hem rests on the top of her bump, wanting to see it in all of its glory. With one hand squeezing her thigh, Fred places the other on her stomach to help keep her balance. “So fucking full aren’t you, wife? So full of my cock and my baby, hm? Love being full of me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she responds breathily, leaning back to brace herself against Fred’s thighs. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, and a sharp gasp falls from her mouth at the sensation. “Always wanna be full like this.”

“With my baby or my cock?” he teases.

“Both,” Y/N hits back truthfully.

“Fuck,” Fred growls, unable to keep his hips from thrusting. The moan that comes from Y/N spurs him on, and he continues to match her movements with his own. “Whatever my wife wants my wife gets. Gonna keep you nice and full with my cock and my cum and my babies until we’ve got a whole fucking hockey team, baby. And no one will ever doubt who you, who this fucking pussy, belongs too.”

Her cunt clenches even tighter at his words, encouraging Fred to keep talking.

“Look at you, my pretty little wife, fucking herself on my cock. Bet you thought about this the whole time I was gone, didn’t you, love?”

“Fuck, yes,” Y/N moans. She’s inching closer and closer to her orgasm with each of her movements, thighs quivering from a mixture of the pleasure swirling in her core and the effort it’s taking to fuck herself on Fred’s cock.

“Fuck you look so good like this, baby,” Fred praises. “Not gonna be able to take you like this much longer, am I? I swear everytime I look at you, your belly is bigger. It’s not long until you’ll be too big to ride me like this, isn’t that right, love? But that’s okay, because you look so fucking good all full of my baby. Seeing you like this, knowing I did this, makes me feel fucking feral, baby. You’re doing such a great job, growing our baby. Gonna be such a good Mama.”

The combination of Fred’s cock stretching Y/N to her limits and the constant stream of praise coming from Fred pushes Y/N over the edge, and her back arches as she comes. Shocks of pleasure jolt out from her cunt, her clit aching and her toes curling as her orgasm washes over her in waves.

The feel of Y/N’s walls pulsing around Fred’s cock as she moans his name pushes him to his own climax, his hips just barely pushing up into her as he empties himself into her eager cunt.

“Taking it so well, baby. Fuck.”

He places a hand on her lower back for support as they both come down, the hand he has on her bump rubbing soothing circles into the skin. When having her in his lap starts to get uncomfortable, Fred carefully lifts her off, maneuvering so he can lay Y/N next to him on the bed without jostling her too much.

Finally feeling satisfied, Y/N watches Fred move around their room through her barely open eyes, too tired to try and stay awake any longer. She lets him move her around too clean up, a soft whine coming from her lips when he pulls the jersey up and off over her head. But she’s immediately placated when Fred helps her into one of his old t-shirts, and she doesn’t even fight him as he pulls sleep shorts up her legs.

He disappears into their bathroom then, and Y/N is practically asleep by the time he reemerges and gets into bed beside her. But instead of Fred pulling her into his arms like she expected, her eyes open in surprise as Fred pushes up the hem of her shirt just enough to expose her bump.

“What are you doing?” she murmurs, tone laced with humor.

“What does it look like?” Fred responds as he pours lotion into his hands, rubbing them together to warm it up. He cradles her stomach carefully, slowly starting to massage her skin. “I’m taking care of both of my girls.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x reader #harry potter #fred weasley imagine #fw #golden

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tarjapearce · 5 months

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Crimson Crown (Pt. 6)

Royal AU! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Thanks to @pinkiemme for the amazing cover ✨

Summary: You beat Miguel to take the first step.

A/N: Thanks for the patience 🥹❤️. Hope you enjoy ~

The heavy footsteps echoed through the dark alleys of the city, lost into the forever echo of Arachne's capital. Stony roads lead to different places, but the cloaked figure's path lead to a tavern. More to the underground facade of the place, to a secluded and exclusive area.

The oak door was knocked with a characteristical bang, A little slot within was slid open, just to reveal a pair of beady eyes. The cloaked figure smirked upon hearing the locks turn and pull until the hefty door was open, allowing them in.

"You're alone."

"Yeah" the cloaked man removed his disguise and downed a pint of beer before reuniting with the others, that like him, were awaiting for his presence to start their clandestine reunion. Dressed up to mingle with the shadows.

"The king has increased the security in the east prison."

"That's a problem if we want our mercenaries out."

"What about Fisk? Tell him to send some of his men undercover to scout the area."

Another man grunted in response.

"He also is a king with responsibilities. Getting an audience with him alone takes time."

"Then what the fuck are you waiting for?"

The other man scowled as he pulled a knife out of the many pockets his suit allowed him to carry. And that unleashed a domino effect as the rest either pulled guns or more knives.

The dark and makeshift reunion was made with five men and a young boy, that didn't pass his sixteens.

"Hey! If you wanna fight someone, save those energies for the king-"

"The king has been too busy to care. His new toy has him quite preoccupied."

A brow was quirked, "New toy?"

"A princess."

"Well, ain't that wonderful?"

"Great. Now we have to remake our plan."

"No, no. What are you talking about? If we don't attack now, our chance will be for naught."

"You truly want to go ahead with a plan when we're missing our most important associates? I'd love to see you try to take on the king yourself."

The jeering words flew constantly between some members of the little gathering.

"Seems like you forget why he is called The Red King."

A roll of eyes and a dismissive gesture made the man to keep interrogating.

"So what about the princess?"

"We need more information about her."

The youngest cleared his throat and spoke.

"She's a Thelerian."

There was a collective round of not so surprised and bored 'ahs' from the men.

"No wonder why there is Arachne's soldiers in the West Passage and the borders."

"Borders? Through the city. Even within the castle!."

"Guess the old trick of 'I sell my daughter to you for protection' always works."

"She wasn't sold. Their wedding is a month and a half away."

"This is bad."

There was another pregnant silence before the teen spoke again.

"She's a doctor."

"Of course she is. Damned Thelerians. Always meddling with our affairs one way or another."

"They're strangers."

"Oh?"

The boy spoke as everyone's eyes settled on him.

"What do you mean strangers, boy?"

"They don't get that much along. King just talks to her when necessary."

The interest shone in the many pair of eyes. One face contorted into a smirk.

"Of course he does. I'd be surprised if he'd still get his cock functioning after being so inactive."

There was a combined titter and malicious giggles from them as the joke was told.

"There will be a meeting soon. With the council. I'll take my guess that he's introducing her to it."

"Told you this boy would be useful."

"Of course, it was my idea."

"Hey, you filthy rats... stop playing and listen. Is there anything else you can tell us about this princess?"

The boy shrugged.

"What do I get in return?"

"What did you just say, boy?"

The eldest man mumbled, clearly vexed by the plucky and defying attitude of the boy.

"I said, what do I get in return? All of you have something to win over this plan. And so far I've been used as a spy. I think it's fair if I get something back."

"And what would you possibly want?"

"I'll take it when I see it."

"Right."

"Anyways, Let Fisk know we need him. We gotta get that big brawn twerp before The King gets to him first."

"Oh god, not Rhino."

"Shut up. As much as I hate him too, he's useful. We need him."

"Stay in the castle. Find out where he was last seen."

The man spoke to the boy, that only stared back with a piercing gaze.

"Even though the princess is a new addition to the plan, it only gives us a new advantage. Political marriages are a thing, so we gotta make the most out of it."

"She recently visited her parents. Apparently the king fell ill after his mistress tried to poison him."

Another laugh.

"See? This is why exactly I've been telling you that Theleria will fall by it's own king's hand. We don't even need to meddle with them."

"True that."

"What about Prince Gabriel?"

A solemn silence fell on the stony and secluded room.

"Keep that fool busy. If we can make he gets sent away even better. Less to worry about."

"And the princess?"

"Keep an eye on her."

-------

Nervous and anxious was an underestimation on how you really felt. You were sure the insides of your cheeks were nearly chewed raw as you waited outside the grand wooden doors, just as Peter had instructed a few moments ago. Your knees trembled underneath the layers of your dress, palms became sweaty and your breaths a bit more shallow.

The day to finally meet the council, had arrived. The past two days were spent solely on your studies about Arachne and the current situations surrounding the kingdom. You tried to cram up as much info as possible, but what truly would be judged was your criterion on things and how well you could adapt to the situations.

Royalty expected so much, and hopefully you'd pass this evaluation. It was unavoidable to not feel curious as to why councils held almost the same amount of power as The king himself. Back in her kingdom, councils remained as an extra help, and as much as a mistress indulging your father, King Blanchard was, he took his ruling seriously.

Councils were summoned when your parents needed to keep updated in the things that needed to be done. But again, different kingdoms, different customs.

The doors slid open to reveal none other than Miguel himself, motioning for you to come in. The room was large and so was the war table, as people gathered around it. A total of six, you and Miguel made eight in total.

There had never been another chair at the top of the table, cause there was no need for another one. Until now. You sit next to Miguel. Eyes settled on you.

Some with hardened expressions you couldn't quite pinpoint as to why of their sudden and implicit hostility, others regarded you curiously.

Jessica, Ben and Peter joined not long after.

"Now, that we're all in, let us begin."

"Your majesty."

Everyone bowed to Miguel and soon an elder lady spoke.

"As you may know, the nether lands are asking for an audience with you ever since some months ago. They will not stop until you've listened to them, apparently."

Her tone was tired, a little annoyed but respectful nonetheless.

"What is it what they want anyways, May?"

"For you to lower their taxes on seasonal products."

"Can't do if they charge as twice for imports that are brought out of time. And recreating their things is proven to be even more expensive."

Miguel sighed while resting his cheek on his knuckles.

"Lower them a two percent."

"But, my lord! You lowered them already last month!"

Another man spoke, pointing at the outside lands out of Enethor. Your eyes frowned upon seeing the distance to travel and import. Miguel looked at you from the corner of his eyes.

"What do you think, Princesa?"

"W-Well, taxes are quite important for the kingdom, and so are the seasonal products the merchants offer, naturally, they'd ask to lower the taxes"

Some scoffed at the obvious information, but you kept talking.

"Why don't lower the taxes in the plot of lands they use?"

"Care to explain that?"

"Look at it this way, the cheaper the land, more opportunities they have to create more jobs"

"So basically making the rich, richer."

You frowned at the tempting words from another man.

"No. A mutual help, sir. By lowering the prices, there will be no need for them to travel such great distances, and subsequently they won't raise their prices on the market. Because they'll produce what they can here."

May seemed to consider your words as the rest discussed.

"Do you use this in your kingdom, your highness?"

Another man, Ben Parker spoke with genuine curiosity.

"We do. Since Theleria produces medicines, we cannot be picky when it comes to import the finest materials for it. We want to help others. Not monopolise health."

"How... benevolent of you. Though I'm quite surprised you allow such thing, when your kingdom is the tiniest among the continent."

Another man, Darko D'Angelo spoke.

"Yet, with all due respect, none has taken our place as the main supplier of medicines in the continent, sir."

Miguel smirked as you took a discreet deep inhale. It was unavoidable to feel angered when someone tried to belittle Theleria.

"Now, now, let's get our attention focused on what truly needs to be discussed."

The council expanded on various topics, even though the start was a bit rocky, there were times where you actually felt included and taken in consideration. May Parker seemed on a neutral line. And so was Ben Parker. Another amusing thing, was to know that there were so many Parkers and Ben's within the ranks.

They all seemed connected to the need to fight for what was good, and Miguel slead them all on. It made your heart to leap a bit in your chest as your eyes settled on him, discreetly.

For a dark king everyone assumed him to be, he had been one of the kindest, wisest and considerate man with a deep love for his kingdom you've ever met.

Jessica couldn't help but elbow Peter to witness the look you were giving him. An absolutely fascinated one. That turned into a blushing stare the more he spoke about the revamps he wanted to do into the esthetics ways of Arachne.

The council had discussed many things he had neglected, like arts and other needs revolving around them. You were so temped into taking his hand and ask him personally to let you handle it. That you would help him and not disappoint him.

But the same man from before changed the mood and the conversation's route so quickly fast it had cut you short to prepare yours and the rest's replies.

"I think your highness should focus in producing heirs, instead of feeding the needs of a little bunch that hold no productivity besides entertaining momentarily the rest."

"Ser Darko."

May warned but another man spoke.

"Baron D'Angelo is right. You see, we are at the verge of war-"

"Against who, my lord?"

You questioned and if the men could kill with their looks, you'd be a cold body by now. Their subtle and not so discreet disdain over your ideas an opinions hadn't go unnoticed, specially by Baron D'Angelo, who seemed fixated into getting any sort of negative reaction from you.

"Against who?! How preposterous of you to believe we are in times of peace, when outside the continent there is so many enemies that want to invade us, princess."

If it wasn't for the warning glare Miguel shot him, he could've kept rambling about how naive you were.

"My apologies, ser. Has anything been done to appease their intentions?"

"It's not something you can't just fix by talking to them, princess. That it has worked for you and your people means it will work for us."

"But have you tried dialogue? Know the cause of their-"

"Again, we've tried anything.-"

"Not to sound disrespectful, ser. It's clear I need to know more of Arachne,-"

"Indeed."

Your brow quirked at what he had just said

"And I know that some kingdoms reject dialogue or any peaceful solution before it's has been offered," You took a breath, testing carefully your words., "But it does seems odd their stance of attacking, remains after the supposed peace offerings."

"We've known these realms for so long that a pacific solution has been discarded eons ago."

You blinked, but it was a good chance to put the spotlight on the both. It was clear that they loved to engage in war. Which concerned you.

"So, you're assuming they want war, and you're ready to engage without giving a chance for real words to be treated?"

"With all due respect, princess. Thelerian pacifist and foreign outlooks towards Arachne's belic conflicts are everything but helpful."

Miguel's jaw clenched, and so did Peter's. Tension in the room was heavier and denser than a black hole. He was set to make you angry, and it was hard to not bait into his game, but like your mother, you kept it calm and composed, even though you wanted to put a little datura into his drink.

"Quite ironic how roles invert here, ser D'Angelo."

"Beg your pardon?"

His voice came a bit louder and annoyed than he had intended to.

"Even though I do agree that I must know more about Arachne, I believe you must expand your knowledge in Theleria. Not the one you all now know. But the one before being The Fallen Kingdom."

Darko scowled but remained quiet, letting his haughty look to speak for him.

" What about it?"

"Theleria has been one of the most ancient lands of this continent, ser. And the one that has the most antique monarchy lines through Enethor."

"So?"

"It happens that we turned into a fallen kingdom by being exactly as you voice your opinion."

"And how is that?"

"Closed to any other option that wasn't war. And look at us now, ser. May the creator above forbid this land to fall under the same curse we have."

"That's... That's not gonna happen."

"It might happen if you keep refusing what you have overlooked so far."

"Are you threatening Arachne, your majesty?"

"I am not. I have no power to stand against your armies, ser. But only a fool would take a fair epitome of what happens when acting recklessly, as a threat."

Baron Darko's mouth gaped as his eyes widened in disbelief. How dared you to play him like that? Even worst in his own game.

"Or so is what my mother always says."

The other man that had initially been with him had kept quiet in the whole exchange. Watching and listening to the verbal spar where you had gotten by a few inches the upper hand.

"I am not opposed to war, gentlemen. But, like I said to the king once, if I am able to prevent unnecessary bloodshed, I will."

There wasn't much said after that, little pleasantries and polite goodbyes from your end, made you exit your room. Head high, even if the whole meeting was a fiasco, you would've still held your head high. Your legs shook as Peter followed you. A subtle yet knowing smile plastered on his lips.

In the room, however things weren't done. Not when Baron D'Angelo and Lady May approached.

"You still refuse to give us an answer when it comes to have heirs, your majesty."

"They'll come when the time is right."

Miguel didn't want to dwell into the subject. Children sure were in his list, but responsibilities had taken so much away from him already, that he forgot about them. He was past his thirties, and he could die in battle, leaving no heirs to follow his legacy.

"I guess the time is approaching sooner than we think, your majesty. What if the future queen is unable to conceive?"

His eyes narrowed at Darko's words. Even though his yapping was irksome, he had a fair point.

"As much as I differ with Baron Darko, you know the rules of this game, your majesty."

Lady May spoke with the same tired tone in her voice from before.

"The princess will bear the future heir of Arachne."

Miguel's words made Darko to tense and frown.

"But she knows so little about us! We don't know if her kingdom will remain loyal to us in a future if trouble arises, my lord."

He rubbed his hands nervously as Miguel sheathed his sword on his hip.

"Please, consider your other options, in case the princess is unable to-"

A hand dressed in the obsidian claw made the sharp fingertips to hold on Darko's chin, tips softly prickling at his skin.

"She will. Not your daughter. Am I clear?"

The Baron could only nod with a difficult gulp.

----

Miguel had taken a small break from all that just happened, Jessica had the most shit eating smile one could muster.

"She will, huh?"

"Aren't those the rules?"

"You seem a bit too enthusiastic about following those certain rules."

"I'm getting old, and they keep pestering me."

Miguel mumbled before removing his armor and plop on his ever trusting chair.

"You have to do something regarding Dana first."

"I know."

"Or else-"

"Jessica... I know."

His commander and right hand sighed, but preferred to change topics.

"Guess she has a temper after all."

A faint chuckle escaped Jessica's lips.

"Why did you assume she didn't?"

"She's not precisely someone that strikes me as vindictive, or demand her father's mistress death."

Miguel huffed an airy laugh while slicking his hair back, pensive.

"Peter explained why she... got so upset regarding that situation. Makes sense."

"So, you're knowing eachother more?"

"Apparently."

Jessica rolled her eyes with an exasperated grunt.

"She seems a little too fascinated with you, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Back in the council. She was giving you these dreamy puppy eyes."

Miguel's lips twitched in a little smile.

"So you better make a move, before someone else fool but brave enough does."

Bushy eyebrows furrowed. And only deepened when Jessica tossed a little envelope, smelling like roses and other pleasant herbs before going away.

For my muse.

The scribbled words were almost as stylish and perfect as yours, definitely another Thelerian.

Who dared to be foolish enough to pursue something out of his reach? He gave a quick reading to the letter and scoffed at the maudlin words. Not that he blamed the man for feeling so intensely.

After what transpired today, it felt like a little switch was turned on in him. It wasn't an outcome he had expected, but the balance had been tipped in your favor. Not entirely, but had enough member's approval to reaffirm his choice.

And he had to thank you for leaving those harrying members that demanded from him a heir, behind with their mouth shut for long enough.

Darko however always seemed to favor Dana. At first, they all agreed that the main mistress should occupy the throne. But Miguel never really regarded such things. Too busy fighting enemies in allied countries and waging political wars to actually have a pause and produce the next line of descendants.

He didn't know it if was coincidence or something greater than him that put that passageway in his path, and now not only had a true reason to get married, but someone that shared his convictions and dreams for his country.

And, he was sure his future heirs would be beautiful.

Just like you.

The letter had annoyed him, but also amused him. A man that had only saw you and spoke to you twice, put all his feelings in the letter that was turned into ashes by now.

But he had to give that fool some credit. Unlike him, he knew how to express and convey his feelings without any apparent issue, yet he wasn't able to talk about something else that wasn't work and duties related.

With a sigh, he changed into a more casual attire and picked his sword. Then, ventured in his palace, looking for you.

----

You were about to leave for the gardens to take the afternoon tea with Margo and Gwen when Miguel's shadow loomed over from your bedroom's doorframe. A little jolt buzzed through your body, startling you.

"My lord, not to be... disrespectful but, I think it's time for you to knock on my door."

Miguel chuckled and motioned for you to come closer.

"Come. Follow me."

With a quirk of your eyebrow, you obeyed and followed him. Long legs took him further as you tried your utter best to keep up with him. Miguel's ears perked at the sound of your steps hastily following him. A pleased smile was etched in his face to then suddenly stop before a room.

With a deep sigh and a bit of pantings, you also stopped.

"Close your eyes, Princesa."

"W-What?"

"Close your eyes. Please."

The confused look in your face made his eyes soften and a smile to stretch wider as you obeyed him once more.

Quite compliant

And oh so pretty. His eyes stared at your face for what seemed forever, time had stopped specially when his deep ruby eyes stared at your lips, and then trailed themselves down to the collarbone. Before his eyes could rake you over, his throat was cleared and he opened the doors for you.

He then gave your lower back a gentle push for you to move forward. He took your hand and guided you inside. Warm fingers curling softly on his big and weathered hands.

He took you further into the room, the scent of the ever familiar herbs and flowers filled in your lungs, subduing your rising nervousness.

"Open them."

You did, and your heart beat with such strenght you had to clutch harder on his hand at the sight. It was a much more advanced laboratory from what you had back at Theleria.

In one side, you had the many and an endless looking supply of herbs and other medicinal things. And in the other side, you had the tools. Canisters filled in with strange liquids that boiled, glass containers, a oak table sturdy enough to bring and attend anyone in need of a surgery, and of course, many books related Arachne's medical story.

"This..."

"Is yours."

His words and gentle smile had your eyes glossy while a shivering laugh escaped your lips.

"Mine? All Mine?"

"All yours."

He nodded while enveloping your hands with his.

"This is-... Oh by the heavens. My lord. This is... too much for me, I-"

"Princesa."

Your eyes settled on his warm expression.

"I know you will make a good use of it."

"Your highness"

You mumbled while squeezing his hands a bit tighter.

"I... I don't even know what to say."

"A 'thank you, my king' would suffice"

A little laugh and his heart skipped a beat.

"You are part now of the medical staff. Their leader, you'll be a great mentor to them."

"Will you visit me, my lord?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Of course. Seeing you is always good. Though I must ask. Do... you fear me? Or feel something strongly negative towards me?"

"I'm afraid the question confuses me, Princesa."

"Let me rephrase that question. Do you feel averted towards me or repulsed?"

All the opposite.

"It is not personal if I don't approach, Princesa. I've been busy. I'm always busy-"

"I... I know that, ser. But, you're always seeming to avoid me until something that requires me appears."

Miguel's brow twitched at the lack of reply, instead you spoke again.

"Political or not... I wouldn't like to marry an acquaintance, much less a stranger."

A soft blush crept on your cheek and you inhaled deeply before mumbling.

"That's why... I... I'd like to know my future husband better. If its not too much to ask."

Going from acquaintances to be called future husband surely made his brain a puddle and his heart to accelerate in a way that for once didn't concerned him.

"Would you... join me tomorrow at a lunch in the meadows?"

You gulped, and casted your eyes down, a bit too embarrassed to meet his bewildered stare.

"Its alright if you can't go, we can know eachother-"

"I'll be there."

Words came so soft and like butter from his mouth that you stared at him with round eyes in surprise.

"We have a lot to discuss anyway. I think it's time for us to properly address our wedding, your highness."

"As you wish, my lord."

The sweet smile on your face made him want to forever have it tattooed in his mind.

The way he looked at you didn't sit right in the spying and vindictive blue eyes that followed you almost everywhere.

Her heart broke upon seeing the kind of look Miguel threw your way. All different from hers, full of annoyance and cold hearted, nearly in despise. But you, had managed to fulfil one of her dreams with such easiness it made his own heart to crash and burn in anger.

This wasn't over. It would be when Dana said it was. With a new target in mind, the main mistress disappeared in the shadows. Unable to widstand the momentarily defeat. She came first, she had the right to that crown, his heirs and him. Dana would have him, either the good or the bad way.

And Miguel always seemed to learn the bad way.

---

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melon-cream-enmu · 1 year

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Since DS demons have heightened smell, do you think they're able to smell when their female human pet/toy is breedable and get extra horny because of it? 😮

Oh absolutelyyyy. Doma especially. Cw for period blood, lots of it, blood getting everywhere, oral on period, sex on periodfingering on period

Muzan is the least affected, at least as far as you can tell. He wants nothing more than to have you folded in half beneath him and fucked full within an inch of your life. He becomes more affectionate, though it may just be possessive. After addressing the moons and sending them on their way, you notice as you remain beside him that his hand had gravitated to your head, petting and combing through your hair.

Your scent is too much for him and his temper becomes worse, worse than it usually is. He’s holding back. He knows it hurts you, you whine and lay beside him as he reads and allows you to lay your head in his lap. He needs some way to get out his irritation that isn’t slaughtering the masses, so you’ll be picked up whenever and wherever and your clothes will be torn enough to give him access to your neck or shoulder, and he will drink from you.

If you initiate it, you will be bred. Hard. Rough. It will hurt, but it’ll feel oh so good~ He’s the king of demons, blood won’t stop him

Doma can smell it before you even start bleeding. He sweeps you up and asks if his pet is feeling alright, if you need anything. You shake your head up at him, but he knows what you like, and a cult member is already out frantically searching for them. He’ll lay you down on the softest, fluffiest pillows and blankets, and lay his head on your tummy. Your cramps must hurt soooo much, he knows, you don’t have to do a thing. He’ll take care of everything, including pampering you, feed you, rubbing and massaging your belly, taking you for baths. Which you’ll want to take often.

When you start bleeding he really isnt bothered, in fact he likes it. He wants to laze about in bed with you, clothes thrown aside, butt ass naked, even if you think it’s slimy and gross. He is horny as sin, if he isn’t balls deep inside you he’s eating you out, if you’re too sore he has a knee between your thighs and moving your hips against him. By the time he agrees that ‘ok we are a little too sticky’ you look you’ve both been murdered gruesomely.

You’re gonna fuck in the bath too, just so you know

Enmu is absolutely enamored with your smell! He has heart eyes when he even thinks about you. He’s constantly begging with his eyes for you to undress and let him eat you out. You’ll feel better! Your cramps won’t be as bad! You can trust him, he was a doctor! If you point out that was a scam he’ll brush it off, saying he learned it at some point anyway. If you do let him, prepare to have him between your legs and not letting go for hours. He can’t get enough, he wants your taste, your smell, the feeling of you on his tongue.

He also loves to finger you, face near yours, listening to your whimpers and watches your head move to his in search of kisses. He also likes that he gets to taste you like this too, when your blood and juices drip down his fingers and down his hand for its mouth to lick up as it itself moans lewdly.

#cream slayer #cream filled #enmu #enmu x reader #enmu smut #muzan x reader #Muzan smut #doma x reader #doma smut #demon slayer smut #cream afab #cream fem #cream writes

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inkdrinkerworld · 26 days

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Dad!Remus buying matching mommy daughter clothing because he can’t get enough of it. He LOVES to see his girls matching and if you both have a second daughter? It’s all over. Spoils the hell out of them while teaching them to be thankful and giving as well :,)

Omg omg!!! Pregnant!reader and dad!Remus who loves spoiling his three girls.

“Dovey? We’re back,” Remus doesn’t shout for you, he knows you can’t be far or more than two places- the kitchen where he hopes you aren’t and the bedroom where he hopes you are.

The doctor had been very specific, bed rest for the last month just to be safe. There’s been many a falling out between you and Remus over the fact that you refuse to stay in bed, but he gets it. So he lets you get away with little things.

“I’m here Rem, can you come help me with something in the kitchen baby?” He shakes his head as he sets down the bags and sends Charlie to the living room.

“I’m coming dove,” he finds you trying to reach into the pantry, a couple sandwiches open on the cutting board. Without asking, Remus gets the pepper sauce and the mustard you’d been reaching for.

“Thanks Remmy, how was shopping?” You’re breathless and Remus takes over.

“Go sit with Charlie. I’ll be two minutes.”

By the time Remus is in the living room, Charlie is helping you get comfy- moving cushions this way and that and rubbing your belly the way she’s seen Remus do it.

“Bekah, stop kicking mummy. It makes her chest ache.” At five she’s still as thoughtful as she’d ever been but her words have gotten clearer and it breaks your heart.

“Here you go dovey,” Remus hands you half a sandwich and then hands the other to Charlie. “Eat up Charlie girl, we had a long day.”

Remus reaches for the bags. “We got some stuff for Rebekah too,” Remus pulls out lounge wear for you, blue and purple and super soft. Then he tugs one out in Charlotte’s size in the same colour and a final one but tinier.

“Remus! That’s the cutest thing ever.”

Charlie grins, a tiny hand pointing to another bag. “We got other things too mummy! Daddy and I picked out a little lamb for Bekah like I’ve got and more matching things.”

She helps Remus reveal the clothes and toys and by the time they’re done you’ve tears in your eyes. “You’re so sweet, Rem.”

There’s a pink flush in his neck as he leans forward to kiss you. “Got to be sweet on my girls, you all outnumber me.” You slap his chest as you giggle wetly and Charlie frowns.

“Does that make you sad daddy? Only having girls?”

Remus shakes his head and pulls her to his lap. “Not even a little. I love you more than anything. More than I love chocolates.”

She gasps, hands covering her mouth as her eyebrows sky rocket to her hairline. “But you love your chocolates.” She looks at you like Remus has gone mad and you smile.

“And I love you more. You and mummy and baby Bekah, I love you all more than chocolates.”

“We love daddy just as much don’t we, Lottie?” She nods, kissing all over his face.

Remus can’t wait for his second daughter to come so he can see all his girls in the same outfit.

#remuslupin #remus lupin #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin fic #remus lupin x black!reader #remus lupin x black reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x yn #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x reader #dad!remus #dad!remus lupin

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hiwelcometothemonstersancturary · 1 month

Text

And that's how you begin to heal (and stop Catnap and Mommy Long Legs from killing each other at the hospital)

You were hurt. Not just emotionally, of course, you were pretty much dead inside for more than ten years at this point, but you were physically what anyone could only describe as "devastated". Your back ached with carrying the grabpack around for the last four days or so, you had broken three bones in your right hand, your arms and legs had almost been torn off at least twice, and, of course, the nasty cut from almost getting impaled.

Frankly, it was a surprise that you didn't just collapse the moment the first ambulance arrived. But if you did, then your newfound kids would have panicked, and the Prototype would have been really, really mad if there was another conflict just when you all thought this nightmare was finally over.

You were gently cradling Poppy in your lap when you saw the ambulance lights in the horizon. You had tried to prepare yourself for this moment since the end of the confrontation with the Prototype, but your heart was still almost breaking out of your body with how fast it was beating. And yet, you kept a calm exterior. Comforted an anxious Dogday, let Bunzo also take shelter in your lap, much to Poppy's dismay, even tried to distract Mommy Long Legs with a joke or two.

The cops arrived first. You had put yourself between them and the group of toys, trembling from head to toe. You didn't exactly know what exactly they were going to do, but Catnap's sudden apparition behind you made some of them shiver.

You calmed down the big feline as you approached the authorities. "These guys were trapped inside the factory", you calmly communicated. "Playtime Co. made them as experiments. They're organic, very hurt, and starving. Please put your guns away unless you want to startle any of those kids".

The man you that approached you had his eyes glued on the group, who, in turn, was staring back. Your thoughts went racing to the idea of Mommy Long Legs deciding to attack them in order to protect you or herself, and you immediately just gave him the bag full of paperwork you had found on your journey. He stared at the first paper, then quickly looked at the others, then simply said:

"What the actual fuck did Playtime got themselves into...?"

"Maybe try to leave a bucket close to you. Some of the things they did won't be good for your stomach".

The cop ignored you. Then the ambulances arrived, and all hell broke lose as your last remains of sanity and calmness fought a war in order to not die from the idea of any of the toys you had just rescued ending up attacking a doctor. You came back to the group, gently begged them to be patient and to please trust the humans dressed up like doctors, and to please remember these ones were there to help, not hurt, and to please stick to each other.

Then a mini huggy tried to bite a nurse. You called out for the little guy, who simply shrugged and approached Kissy Missy, headbonking her and begging to be close to her as the strange humans surrounded you.

An hour and a half later and everyone was at the hospital, trembling and anxious, and you were stuck with Catnap and Mommy Long Legs.

"C'mon, big boy", you called for the feline. "You can do it. Just let the nurse help you!"

Catnap hissed, loud and angrily, at both you and the man with the lotion for burn treatment. Long Legs was sitting close by, eye twitching and a smirk on her face as she watched the two of you.

"Why not?!"

"I can survive. I felt worse", he told you, eyes never leaving the nurse. "Now leave".

"Theo, weren't you the one who told the Prototype it was time for us to live instead of just survive?"

Catnap then looked straight at you, looking very unhappy. The growled again before, finally, offering one of his paws for the nurse.

"Don't try to pull any tricks. I know all of them".

"Like playing dead?", Long Legs chuckled. "Like what you did to me?!"

"And now, look at where we are. I have merely lost part of my ear. You, on the other hand..."

You sighed as Long Legs got up from her chair, hand on her missing arm: "Are you sad because Mommy scared you? Booh, booh, Mommy is so scary, Prototype! Please, help me destroy Mommy!"

"I learned how to hunt. You learned how to throw a tantrum".

"And Mommy never had to call Daddy for help when she was hunting!"

"If you two keep on like this I'll undergo cardiac arrest"

The two toys stopped hissing at each other to instead stare at you with wide eyes. You made a "hmph" sound, pointing at your own bandaged chest in order to further prove the point.

"See? I'm all hurt in there! If you two don't let the nurses and doctors treat you, then I'll be the guy needing treatment".

"No, no, nononono!", Long Legs dramatically gestured a half "X" sign with her single arm, quickly going back to just sitting on her chair instead of being all spread out. "You'll see how much of an excellent patient Mommy is, don't worry! I'll show you a good example!"

"...", said Catnap, growling quietly to himself as the nurse was finally able to treat him. "... I remember you going into disiciplinary confinement more times than I ever did".

"W h a t ?", Long Legs asked.

Catnap stared at the window, tail anxiously twisting. You merely melted in your own chair, staring at the serum next to you as it was slowly trying to make your body feel better again. The nurse kept on with his job, and the TV kept on playing an episode of Pingu.

They even had disciplinary confinement, uh?, you thought, not impressed in the slightest, the memory of having to hold Long Legs in your arms so she would let the doctor examine her passing through your mind.

Catnap and MLL were now staring at the TV, little Pingu entertaining them. Poppy was asleep in another room with Bunzo, Kissy and Huggy, while both Miss Delight and Dogday were undergoing more serious medical procedures for their "conditions". The other toys were being examined, and, if everything went well, would soon return to you. And Prototype was doing his job back at the factory at making sure no one would find the how tos of transforming a person into a toy...

You closed your eyes, feeling true relief for the first time in your life.

Maybe, just maybe, after all of this was said and done, you could all live together as one big family. That was what Poppy suggested, at least, and the other toys seemed happy with the idea. And also maybe, also just maybe...

You could finally feel free from all this guilt

---

Oh, dear, this was harder to write than I thought, but it was a blast! I didn't proofread anything but I'm open for more requests regarding my own take on "Angel saves everyone"! And if you enjoyed this, please check out my commission info - it's all in my pinned post at ! garcavisconde! Thank you! <3

#poppy playtime #catnap #dogday #mommy long legs #poppy playtime au #save everyone au #poppy worldwide #my writing tag

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bumblesimagines · 4 months

Note

this doesn't mean anything.

- Sarah Cameron

this doesn't mean anything.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

Got carried away with this one

In the world of the Outer Banks, Kooks were seen as untouchable. They were the stuck-up, spoiled, privileged kids who could do, say, or buy anything they wanted as long as they had daddy or mommy's credit card in their back pocket. They puffed out their chests, turned up their nose, and spat venom just because they knew they could. Their parents would flock and point fingers if any harm came to them, demanding Sherriff Peterkin and Deputy Shoupe do something about the 'dirty Pogues targeting their poor babies' as if Peterkin and Shoupe could do anything more than let them off with a warning or a brief night in a cell.

While they were utterly pathetic and useless, (Y/N) found them incredibly amusing. Nothing was better than watching the smugness get knocked right out of a Kook. Tears would immediately spring in their eyes and their perfect skin would stain with purple and red coloring that'd stay no matter how many ice packs they put to it. The Kooks that talked the biggest game were often the ones that squealed first in fights. Their scratchy, obnoxious voices would plead for mercy, shouting empty promises of staying away and never bothering them again. Rafe Cameron was the only one who could handle a little pain, but even then, the boy was as boring as watching paint dry. One look from his daddy dearest and he went away with his tail tucked between his legs.

His sister, as (Y/N) came to learn, was a lot more fun.

"Remember the rules, guys. No hardcore drugs, don't get blackout drunk, and don't start anything without me." (Y/N) called out after his younger brother and his group of friends. He was certain the nerd would keep them out of trouble, as he always did when they hung out, but a reminder never hurt anybody. The four of them scampered further down the beach, kicking up sand in their wake and disappearing amongst the other teenagers. They weren't much younger than him, only a year or two below him in school, but they were as annoying as children and attracted trouble wherever they went.

Fishing his cigarette pack out of his jacket pocket and sticking one between his lips, he allowed his gaze to drift over the party-goers present. Pogues, Kooks, and a few tourists who appeared wildly out of place with their big sun hats blocking half their vision. He recognized Rafe and his posse of coked-up boys lingering near the water and Barry making use of eager Kooks and their heavy pockets. His attention dropped down to his lighter and he grunted when it refused to light for longer than a second.

"Maybe it's a sign you should quit." A feathery voice piped up behind him and he turned around to find the treasured princess of Figure Eight.

Everyone knew Sarah Cameron. She was the beloved daughter of Ward Cameron, the pride and joy of Figure Eight, and the most envied and desired girl in Kildare. Everyone tripped over themselves trying to be in her good graces, trying to get a taste of the Cameron wealth and status. Ever since she entered high school, he'd heard all about her numerous relationships. She lept from boy to boy and left a trail of broken, jealous hearts in her path. Her most recent boy toy had been Topper Thornton, the son of the renowned Doctor Thornton and grandson of Judge Holden. JJ had left enough bruises on him for (Y/N) to know him well. (Y/N) thought they looked more like siblings than lovers.

"Nobody ever taught you not to talk to strangers, princess?"

"I would hardly call you a stranger." She said and lifted the mai tai in hand up to her pink-colored lips. Her eyes twinkled with the setting sun, lightening the deep shade of brown. "Everyone knows the Maybanks."

"And nobody likes them. You might have to forfeit your Kook card if you get caught talking to me, Miss Cameron." He cooed teasingly and she smiled despite herself, rolling her pretty eyes and brushing her hair away from her face when the wind gently tousled it. His eyes drifted down to the dark knee-length sundress she wore decorated in orange and yellow flowers. It looked better than what most of the girls from the Cut wore to fancy events.

"I don't care about my Kook card, (Y/N). I think this whole... Pogue vs Kook thing is so stupid. We're all living on the same island. Why should we be giving each other shit for where we were born?"

"I'm sure you'll be a just and fair ruler, princess." His words made her roll her eyes again and she laughed quietly into her can. Even her drink of choice screamed rich. Everyone else stuck to cheap beer or half-filled bottles they stole from the kitchen cabinet when their parents weren't home. Sarah twirled a piece of her hair around her finger, glancing away from him and toward her friends. They hadn't noticed her yet and for a moment, (Y/N) expected her to call out to them and walk away. But she looked back at him with a familiar coy smile.

"Wanna talk somewhere more... private?"

He wondered how annoyed John B would be when he learned he'd taken Figure Eight's princess back to his place. It'd been closer than the Maybank residence and had less chance of a drunken and drugged Luke staggering through the front door ready to ruin (Y/N)'s night. Kiara would certainly throw a tantrum about him sleeping with her ex-best friend and if Kiara got upset, Pope would quickly follow in defense of his crush. Annoying little shits but they made JJ happy and that was enough for (Y/N) to tolerate their shenanigans.

Tugging up his pants and zipping them back up, he gazed at the dozing Kook. Her long blonde hair had been sprawled out over the dark pillowcase and she'd buried half her face in the pillow, her parted lips forming a small spot of drool. As content and comfortable as she looked, he needed her back home before she chose to overstay her welcome under false assumptions.

"Hey, princess." (Y/N) reached down to move some strands of hair away from her face and shook her shoulder. She whined quietly and squeezed her eyes before rolling fully onto her stomach and burying her face further in the pillow defiantly. "You need to get going before Ward calls the cops 'cause his precious girl didn't come home."

Tiredly lifting her head, she squinted at him through the sunlight. "Are you worried about Ward or worried about what your friends will say?"

"My friends won't give a shit about me taking the Kook princess's virginity, sweets." Her face reddened considerably and he smirked. "My brother's friends might get pissed if they see a Kook on our turf. And I don't want problems with Carrera. She makes good food."

Sarah finally sat up and raked her fingers through her hair to detangle the knots as she searched the floor for her belongings. Her eyes finally settled on her underwear and she pursed her lips, the tips of her ears turning a soft red. "You ripped them." She murmured and her fingers began to toy with the ends of her hair.

"You didn't complain when I did it." (Y/N) scooped the sundress up from the floor and tossed it in her direction, arms folding over his chest while he watched her get dressed and rise from the bed. She awkwardly tugged at the dress and retrieved her torn underwear from the floor before shoving it into her purse and turning to face him.

"So-"

"I can drop you off at Word for Word. It's the closest store to Figure Eight so one of your little friends should be able to pick you up. I'd drive you home but I've got work and Barry will kill me if I'm late again." (Y/N) explained quickly and slipped his shirt back on, snatching his keys from the nightstand and jerking his head toward the door when Sarah remained rooted in her spot.

"That's it? You're just going to... ditch me in the middle of nowhere?" She stared at him in a mixture of surprise and irritation, and (Y/N) sighed, preparing the speech he often found himself telling those who couldn't catch a hint. He was a Maybank, for Christ's sake. Nothing about the men in his family screamed commitment. His father could hardly hold down a job and JJ was as much of a playboy as the next guy.

"Sarah, baby, this doesn't mean anything. I'm sorry if your feelings are hurt but I asked if you were sure and offered to drive you back like five times last night. If you wanted your first time to be with your soulmate, you should've let me know and I would've taken you back to your boyfriend. Now, unless you want to get into a screaming match with Kiara, I suggest you start figuring out who's taking you the rest of the way."

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prettys0bbing · 3 months

Text

i’ve been watching too much greys anatomy so the desire for doctors has gone up.

you were panicking as you guys stepped into the er. your three year old, lexi, had fallen off the playground set at the park and got a cut on her head and you were terrified. this was your second month without her deadbeat father and every second it’s been terrifying. the nurses check you guys in and put you on one of the beds in the corner, half closing the curtains for some privacy. “look mommy!” lexi exclaims, looking at a my little pony sticker she found in my purse. you grab two of her toys out, allowing her to play with them as you wait for the doctor. right as you begin playing with her, the curtains move. “hey there, i heard we took a bit of a fall on the playground?” the doctor says, looking between you and your daughter. lexi nods her head as you speak. “she was trying to show me something she found and leaned a little too far. i tried to catch her but i wasn’t fast enough.” you explain, beating yourself up for not being there.

“well, i’m dr.cameron and im gonna get it all checked out okay?” he asks, beginning to check lexi for any more injuries. i can’t help but notice how blue his eyes are. he jokes around with lexi as he takes her temperature and checks her reflexes. “do you have kids?” you ask, wondering how he knows exactly what to say. you pause for a moment and blink. “i’m so sorry, that was none of my business.” you quickly apologize, waving your hands out in front of you. lexi looks up at you, handing you one of her toys and giggling. “you’re all right, don’t worry about it. i don’t have kids myself but being in pediatrics sorta makes you have to learn how to speak to them.” he flashes you a smile and you can’t help but melt. “your little girl checks out alright, so i’m gonna have an intern stitch her up and you guys should be on your way!” he says as another doctor comes and takes a place next to your daughter.

“i promise he knows what he’s doing, trained him myself.” dr. cameron soothes, winking at you. you nod at him, smiling weakly before taking lexi’s hand. she squeezes it as she gets stitched up, tearing up for the first two. “you’re doing so good angel.” you comfort her, kissing the top of her head when they finish. you put all your belongings back into your purse while they instruct you on when to come back to have the stitches taken out and how to take care of them. they give lexi a couple of cartoon bandaids, and it makes her day. you whisper a thank you to them as you take her hand and begin walking towards the exit. “wait wait wait!” you hear behind you and see dr.cameron coming towards you. he takes you to the side so you aren’t in anyone’s way and smiles at you. “i wanted to give you this.” he hands you a piece of paper with his number written on it. “if you ever need anything, call me. and when she comes back to get her stitches removed, have them page me. i’ll make sure she’s taken care of. now both of you, go be safe.” he grins before turning back and walking away. you feel warm as you walk out the door. as soon as you get in the car, you text him. “thanks for everything. hopefully next time i’ll need help isn’t an emergency, that way i can just stare at you shamelessly.” you breathe for a second, surprised at your own actions. you turn and make sure lexi is okay before you drive home. as soon as you park, your phone buzzes. “you were doing that anyways. next time it’s my turn.”

#mayspeaks! ˚✧₊⁎#obx x reader #obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #doctor!rafe

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shakespeareanwannabe · 3 months

Text

As You Wish, Chapter 4

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (though biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, arguing, cursing, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, references to early child rearing, crying, Uncle Bob (because he deserves his own warning), Uncle Rooster and Uncle Javy (because they also deserve their own warnings)

Clifton, Texas, 10 ½ years ago

“Dude, what are you doing? Don’t stop!”

“I’m telling you: my vocal cords are going to start to bleed any second! I need to stop!”

“I swear to God, if you stop, I’m going to find an actual rooster and sneak it into your bedroom at the ass crack of dawn!”

Jake rubbed at his forehead with one hand as he took another lap around his living room, bouncing a screaming Charlie in his arms as he went. The last nine months had been…rough, to say the least. Though his grandfather had graciously opened his home up to his grandson, great-granddaughter, and their two friends, it turned out that securing a home was the least of his worries.

Grandpa Wyatt had quickly hired Jake, Javy and Rooster on as farmhands, their physiques and familiarity with rising early making them ideal candidates for the jobs, but Jake wasn’t entirely comfortable with leaving his baby girl with a sitter all day just yet, so he did what chores he could with her strapped to his chest, and spent the rest of the day in the office, doing administrative work with his daughter asleep in her Moses basket behind the desk. Between the physical and mental labour, Jake was ready to hit the sack early almost every night.

However, clocking out for the day didn’t mean that his day was done. Charlie wasn’t a fussy baby, not by a long shot, but she still required an amount of work that Jake hadn’t been expecting. Her first pediatrician visit had revealed that Charlie was slightly behind on her goal weight, which meant Jake had to get up for an additional feeding during the night. But Charlie didn’t like the bottle, and Jake honestly couldn’t blame her. She’d gotten used to breastfeeding from her mother for her first four months of life, and Jake knew firsthand that Buttercup was infinitely better than some plastic bottle.

On top of trying to get her weight up, the Seresin family had also been battling sleep regression, teething, colic, Charlie’s first cold, and delayed milestones. If the doctor was saying that Charlie should be crawling by 8 months, she was doing it at 11 months. The whole thing had Jake lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, worrying about his baby girl, wondering how Buttercup had managed it all on her own, kicking himself for expecting her to manage it alone when he was deployed.

A loud, shrill shriek had him yanking his head away from his daughter as she sobbed unhappily, her tiny fist curling into his flannel shirt.

“C’mon, Charlie girl,” he murmured into her curling blond hair, pressing a small kiss to her head as he paced. “You just had your first birthday a few weeks ago. Can you be a big girl for your daddy and stop crying? Please?” Her green eyes glimmered with tears as she continued to sob in response.

“Rooster, please, man…” Javy groaned, half buried in a pile of Charlie’s toys that he had been shaking and tossing around in an attempt to get her to stop crying.

“My—”

“Rooster, I will buy you a new set of vocal cords,” Jake bargained as Charlie hiccupped before resuming her shrill shrieks. “Please, if not for me, then for Charlie. I need her to stop crying before she makes herself sick.”

Rooster whined before turning back to the piano against the wall. “You guys owe me so bad,” he grumbled before placing his hands on the keys and pressing out a familiar tune. “You shake my nerves, and you rattle my brain…”

Jake held his breath as the song came to an end, the air ringing with blessed quiet, punctuated by an angelic baby giggle. With a groan, he sank to his knees, his legs too tired to carry him the five feet needed to get to the couch.

“Thank god.” He hefted Charlie up to sit beside him on the floor, keeping his hand on her back as he sagged against the wall. “So, she clearly doesn’t like sweet potato,” he sighed, watching her crawl over to a sprawled-out Javy and snatch one of her toys from underneath his leg.

“You feed her sweet potato again, you’ll be the one getting the rooster in your bedroom,” Rooster grumbled, closing the piano with a light thud.

“You do that, and you’ll wake her up,” Javy pointed at the little blond baby currently chewing on her toy giraffe’s foot. “And then we’ll all be miserable.”

Jake fixed his oldest friend with a glare. “No shit talking my daughter, dude.”

Charlie’s head popped up at the shift in tone in her father’s voice, her green eyes searching the room until she found him, her face breaking out into a wide gummy smile. She pressed her tiny palm into Javy’s stomach and propelled herself to her feet, wavering unsteadily even as Javy’s hand automatically rose to cushion her back. Jake leaned forward, scrambling away from the wall to sit a few feet directly in front of her.

“Come here, Charlie,” he called, waggling his fingers at her, smiling back as she grinned. “Come on, baby girl, you can do it.”

Time seemed to slow down as Charlie looked towards him before taking a small, shaky step in his direction. Javy propped himself up on his elbows and Rooster turned on the piano bench to watch on bated breath as she took another step, then another.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You’ve got this!”

“Let’s go, Charlie!”

“Atta girl!”

Jake’s heart was in his throat, a feeling better than going Mach 10 racing through his body as his daughter took one last, final step before collapsing into his arms with a giggle. With a loud cheer, he scooped her up and paraded her around the room to the sound of Javy and Rooster’s applause before whisking her into the office and collapsing into his chair.

“I’m so proud of you, baby girl,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she cooed softly at him. He’d missed so much, and his heart panged when he thought about Abby and what he was missing from her life. His hand was halfway to his phone when he stopped himself, pulling it back to hold Charlie tighter against him. He’d tried before and he wouldn’t be putting himself through that again. He missed Abby, of course, but Mav had always told them that they couldn’t afford to be constantly looking backwards, that thinking would be the death of them, so he had to focus on the here and now, on the ranch, on the daughter he did have instead of on the one he missed.

“Da-da…” he looked down at the sound and smiled through the tears pooling in his eyes.

“Yeah, baby girl. Dada is here. And he’s not going anywhere. I promise.”

The Airport, Now

Charlie’s hands trembled around her passport as the camp bus pulled into the drop off lane of the Buffalo Niagara International Airport. She looked up as Abby gripped her wrist with a determined grin.

“Last chance to change our minds,” she whispered as the campers around them started to disembark with loud promises of keeping in touch.

“No,” Charlie whispered, handing the passport out to Abby. “I want to do this. I want to meet mum.”

Abby nodded, taking the outstretched passport and handing Charlie her own. “And I’m desperate to meet dad.”

“Remember, he’s going to meet you at the gate in Waco, so you’re going to have to bring your A Game right away.”

“I’ve got a five-hour flight in order to prepare,” Abby assured. “I’m more worried about you. Uncle Bob is meeting you at the security desk. Are you ready?”

Charlie nodded, a look of steely determination overtaking her face. “I didn’t cut my hair and let you pierce my ears for nothing.”

Charlie thought that Amelia was going to have a heart attack when she walked into the Brig on their last day of their punishment to find them looking identical, their hair the same length and an extra pair of Abby’s earrings studding Charlie’s ears. She’d nearly collapsed onto one of the beds when she heard that they didn’t want to return to their cabin, that they wanted to stay in the Brig. To her credit, she didn’t ask any questions, just shook her head and walked away.

Abby nodded, fiddling with her duffle bag nervously. “Remember, Uncle Bob will be taking you from the airport to meet mum at home. She—”

“Abby, breathe,” Charlie placed her hands on her sister’s shoulders and shook her lightly. “Dad is going to love you. And mum is going to love me. And they’re not going to figure out that we swapped until we tell them a week from tomorrow.”

Abby bit her lip and nodded. “I know. I just…I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I know…” she smiled back. “I’m so excited to meet mum.”

Abby smiled suddenly and tugged her into a hug. “I’m so glad I met you,” she whispered, and Charlie wrapped her arms around her, squeezing her tight.

“Me too.”

Abby pulled back, wiping at her eyes. “Okay. You need to get to the security desk. Remember, Uncle Bob will be waiting for you. Brown hair, tall, glasses.”

“And Dad will be waiting for you at the gate in Waco. He might have Uncle Rooster or Uncle Javy with him. You remember who is who?”

Abby nodded. “Rooster’s got the moustache. Javy has tattoos.”

“Exactly.”

The girls looked up as an announcement came over the loudspeaker, calling an Abigail Floyd to the security desk.

Charlie bit her lip anxiously. “I guess this is it.”

Abby grabbed her up in a hug again. “You’re going to be great. Call me whenever you need, and I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon!”

Charlie took a deep breath and headed off in the direction of the security desk. Coming around the corner, she saw him. A tall man in a pilot’s uniform, with brown hair and glasses, his blue eyes scanning over the crowd until he spotted her, his eyes studying her for a moment before breaking into a smile.

Charlie took a moment to compose herself, whispering under her breath in the British accent she had been practicing for weeks, “You can do this. You have to do this.”

“U-Uncle Bob!” she finally called out, her accent ringing true as she rushed towards him, tossing her duffle bag to the floor before launching herself into his arms.

“Whoa! Easy, kiddo!” Bob chuckled, gathering her into his arms. “I missed you too!”

“S-sorry,” she murmured into his neck, her arms tightening around his neck. “I just missed you so much.”

“Six weeks was a long time, huh?”

Charlie pulled back, sniffling slightly. “Yeah. It…it felt like a lifetime.”

Bob crouched in front of her, his brown eyes tracing over her features like an X-ray machine, and Charlie gulped. There was no way he could know she wasn’t Abby, right? They were identical, save for a few freckles here and there, and a scar that Charlie had on her knee. But nobody could remember the exact pattern of someone’s freckles, and her knees were covered, so there’s no way he knew.

Finally, he smiled. “It felt like a lifetime for me too, sweetheart.” He reeled her back in, hugging her tightly before releasing her and drawing himself up to his full height. “Now, come on. We’ve got to get you checked in and ready to go for our flight back home.”

Charlie woke with a start as she felt the plane touch down onto the runway, a smooth landing executed by a skilled pilot. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Even though Bob had been with Dagger Squad, like her dad and uncles, he was a WSO, not a pilot, so she was surprised to hear that he was flying passenger aircrafts after retiring, but Abby had told her all about how Bob had gone for his pilot’s license after retiring from the Navy and how Nat had helped him study and prepare.

Charlie gulped nervously. She had had the whole transatlantic flight to soothe her nerves over meeting her mother for the first time, to convince herself that her father wouldn’t be too disappointed in her for running away, to assure herself that her and Abby’s plan would work. She had a sister. And a mother. And an uncle and an aunt that she had never met before. The risk of her father’s disappointment was worth it in order to meet them.

As Abby had instructed her, she waited patiently in her seat until all the other passengers had cleared out before taking the duffle that was being pulled out of the overhead compartment by one of the flight attendants and heading towards the front of the plane, where her uncle was waiting.

“You ready to go see your mom?”

Charlie felt her cheeks flush. “Yes!”

Bob chuckled, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s go see your mom.” Bob shouldered the duffle and led her off the plane, through customs, and down to a town car that was waiting for them. “From the last text she sent, your mom is working in her office at home, and Nat is at work,” Bob informed her quietly.

Right. Auntie Nat worked as a kickboxing instructor now since she was given a medical discharge from the Navy. And mom’s office was at the top of the stairs, two doors down on the right. Both Abby and Charlie had drawn maps of their houses, ensuring to include even the slightest detail so that there would be no surprises. Charlie had studied the map multiple times a day, until she felt like she could walk it in her sleep, even though she’d never been there before. Abby had also printed her a map of the neighbourhood when they were given their computer privileges back, as well as a map of the London tube system, though she had assured her that she would never have to take the tube alone if she didn’t want to.

“Abby?”

She hummed as her eyes darted here and there, taking in the old buildings and the people. They looked the same as the people in Texas, just less plaid and cowboy hats, but they seemed so different to her. She’d only been to a big city a few times, preferring to stick to her small ranching town, so everyone seemed so busy, rushing down the street, their cellphones stuck to their ears.

“Abigail?”

Everything was so new, so shiny. She gaped as an actual, real life red double decker bus drove by their town car, and her stomach was knotted over the fact that they were driving on the wrong side of the road.

“Abigail Floyd, for someone who hugged me so hard you almost cracked my rib, you sure seem intent on ignoring me right now.”

Charlie blinked. Abigail Floyd. That was her. Well, not her, but who she was supposed to be, at least for right now.

“Oh. Sorry, Uncle Bob,” she yanked her British accent into place. “I was just…reminiscing. You know, about camp…and about how homesick I was.”

Bob smiled softly at her, his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “I’m glad you had such a good time. I know it’s a struggle to be away from home for so long, but I knew you’d have fun and make friends.”

“I did,” she replied quickly. “I met some great friends, and I downloaded WhatsApp onto my phone so I could keep in contact with them. Is that alright?”

“I’m sure your mom will be fine with that. That’s why she got you the phone, after all. To keep in touch with family and friends who are in the States,” Bob’s voice twinged with…something. Perhaps a hint of regret or maybe even anger.

“Good. Because I really like this one girl,” she grinned. “We became best friends.”

“That’s great, sweetheart,” he smiled back. “You never know where you’ll find your best friend.”

“Like you and Auntie Nat, right? You met at Top Gun.”

“That’s right, sweetheart.”

Charlie grinned. “Now the two of you are basically brother and sister.”

Bob chuckled. “Yeah, we basically are. Maybe you and this girl will be like sisters too,” he replied, shooting her a playful look out of the corner of his eye.

She gave him a tight-lipped grin in return. Uncle Bob had always been strangely intuitive, she knew that much from Abby’s stories, but he was hitting a lot of nails on their heads right now and it was spooking her like crazy. So much so, that she hadn’t even registered that the car had stopped moving.

“We’re here!” she cried, scrambling to unbuckle her seatbelt and get out of the car, her uncle’s echoing behind her as she launched herself out of the open door and up the stairs towards the bright red front door.

“The door’s open, sweetheart, so you can go on in,” Bob called, grabbing her duffle and his suitcase from the trunk of the car.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she opened the door into the flat that Abby shared with their mother, uncle, and aunt.

The interior was exactly as Abby had described. Homey and cozy, but still posh. The living room to the left of the door held brown leather couches, lots of bookcases, and a few plants hanging from the curtain rod. The window seat was where Abby and their mother read, together and separately. Charlie knew that the kitchen was just on the other side of the living room, where her family ate dinner together whenever Uncle Bob wasn’t flying.

But Charlie wasn’t interested in any of that, no matter how comfy it looked after a long international flight. No, her sights were set on the staircase in front of her, which she climbed slowly, her legs trembling with each step. She could picture Abby’s map so clearly in her mind: the first door on the right was the bathroom, the second was mom’s office, and the third was Bob’s bedroom. On the left came mom’s bedroom, then Abby’s, then Auntie Nat’s.

Charlie stepped onto the landing of the staircase, her eyes locked on the door of the second room on the right, which was cracked open just a touch. Her heart pounding in her chest, she slowly approached and, with a ringing in her ears, she quietly pressed the door open and walked inside.

There she was.

Charlie dashed at the tears that were welling in her eyes at the sight of her mother. Her mother. She wasn’t some imaginary figure anymore. She was solid flesh and bone. For years to come, Charlie would be able to picture the way her eyes scanned over the screen in front of her, the way her hair was piled up on top of her head, the way her slim fingers danced across the laptop keys, the way her buttercup tattoo peeked out from the neckline of her shirt. They weren’t images conjured up by her lonely mind anymore. They were real. She was real.

“M-Mum?” she whispered.

Her mother almost jumped out of her chair. “Oh my…Abby?”

Charlie swallowed hard as she nodded. “I’m home.”

“Oh, honey, I missed you so much!” Buttercup scooted her wheely chair across the floor and pulled her into a hug, and Charlie felt herself melt as she hugged her mother back just as tightly.

“I missed you too, mum,” she whispered.

“Six weeks is just way too long, love. I don’t care how much Auntie Nat raved about this camp, six weeks of you being across the ocean is just way too much for me.”

“I agree,” Charlie nodded into her shoulder. “I don’t want to be away from you for that long ever again.” She sniffled as she felt her mother press a kiss into her hair before pulling away.

“You won’t be, love. I promise.” Buttercup’s thumbs gently stroked away the tears from her daughter’s cheeks before tugging her into a hug again. “I meant to be finished with this chapter before you got home so we could spend the rest of the day together.”

“That’s alright. Is it coming along?”

Abby had filled her in on how their mother was a relatively successful author, Charlie even recognizing a few of her book titles from her bookshelf at home. Their mother’s writing was part of why Abby felt that their parents would fall in love again when they had to meet to switch them back. Buttercup’s current, more adult story was about a military man meeting and falling in love with an artistic woman, falling apart, and coming back together to live a happily ever after, and it had Abby convinced that their mother still had feelings for their father.

“I’m struggling, baby,” Buttercup sighed. “These two clearly love each other, but I can’t seem to figure out how to get them back together.” Buttercup looked up and smiled at her. “But they don’t matter right now,” she shut her laptop with a click. “What do you say you and I go out for lunch? You can fill me in on everything that happened at camp. I want to know everything. Six weeks is just way too long and I just know that you have stories to share.”

Charlie’s smile was so wide, it hurt her cheeks. “I’d love that, mum.”

Buttercup pulled her into another hug and kissed her hair. “Go get changed and I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.” Buttercup smiled as she pulled away from her. “I missed you so much, baby. I love you.”

Charlie’s heart sang in her chest. She knew, of course, that her mom thought she was talking to Abby, but it didn’t matter to her. Her mom loved her, it didn’t matter who she was directing those words to. No one would be able to take them away from her. They would echo in her mind for an eternity. She’d heard those words from her father a million times, and they meant the world to her, but from her mother? They were sacred, special. They felt like a gift she hadn’t know she was going to receive.

“I love you too, mum,” she whispered, hugging her tight before racing towards the bedroom Abby had marked out for her on the map.

She finally had a mother, and she wasn’t going to miss a second.

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#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #parent trap au #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #glen powell #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #as you wish fic

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jhuzen · 1 year

Note

I hate that tumblr has turned me into a Dottore simp...

But now I can't stop thinking about Dottore with a boyfriend with ADHD. Would he make notes?? I also think it would be extra hilarious if the reader was his lab assistant, like-

Dottore: How the hell did you get this done so quickly??

Reader: I haven't eaten, drank or moved from my desk for the last 12 hours.

-Morax

to worry a physician [m.reader]

morax anon and i are so in sync in the simping game, it’s beautiful. this is why ily. this was hilarious to write LMAO. so here’s another quickie for you. also don’t imitate dottore’s methods, he’s a lil unhinged 😔

𖦹 slightly suggestive in the end (again do not imitate dottore’s methods), a brief use of dottore’s real name

“H-Hey now… let’s not… jump to certain actions that we might soon regret…”

The cold metal was difficult against your back, you felt like a slab of meat hurled on some form of metal chopping board. You tried to get up but your beloved was quick to push you back down.

You winced as the buckles tightened around your body.

“You know how much I despise hypocrites, [Name].”

Suffice to say, it was a miracle that you were the last man standing amongst the myriad of assistants that the infamous second harbinger have been given. He went through all of them like a child digging into sweets ferociously, sometimes even quite viciously tearing them all apart limb from limb.

And yet somehow, you were the odd one out. You somehow managed to even keep up with the asinine nonsense that Dottore prattles on and on, writing down notes that you can barely organize either because your master is already jumping on the next topic, that or simply because there are tendencies of you forgetting to do them.

But even that didn’t trip you up. Because by a shot of luck, the harbinger found himself curling into your presence and starting to appreciate your efforts to a certain degree. He’s merciless, but he’s grown lenient on days where you are completely restless. Dottore may be cruel but he’s not a hypocrite.

Perhaps it is why you’re proudly wearing the title as Dottore’s far more favored being than the rest — his dearest beloved, a promised love that Dottore could never bother to share with others. He was possessive, that’s for sure, and he will keep you away from anything and anyone, even from the many segments of himself. It was hilariously pathetic, it’s like seeing a cat get so terribly territorial — only that it’s the very same cat that can lobotomize you in a split second if you so much as screw up any of his work.

However, it was as if it was innately built in you to catch up with him. It’s why Dottore finds you so interesting and remotely entertaining — the fact that you can barely make an organized effort on certain things, but when it comes to him, you’re all ears and can fulfill just about any task he has given you. Truly, you are his pride and joy and there can be no one in this world that can even refute that in the slightest.

But even Dottore can be extreme in his expression of affection, often toeing the threshold between something wholesome and adorable to something completely insane.

And aren’t you just the klutz, making the poor doctor worry.

You knocked on the door before entering — Dottore already told you to come in regardless, considering that you’re the only he has given his permission to do so. But still, you were his assistant, and even as his boyfriend, you still held a high degree of respect to the man (lest you barge in on him on his bad day and end up becoming a lab rat).

“I got what you asked for.”

Tearing himself away from his work, the doctor turned to you, half of his brain still very much attuned to the poor monstrosity of a cadaver that he just recently hacked away and toyed with, “What did I ask for?”

“Uhh… well, financial expense report for your Balladeer project in Sumeru, some relevant literatures for your current… cadaver endeavors, the new assignments that you got from the Jester that you somehow managed to push on me, the letter from Sumeru’s grand sage that you kept on whining about, and some samples that you asked from some poor unfortunate soul out there.”

Dottore’s eyes narrowed as he retained all the errands you’ve listed. Only for him to turn to you, a look of complete skepticism plastered on his temporarily unmasked face, “…That’s everything that I asked you to do.”

You slowly nodded, “…Yes? Is… something wrong with that?”

“I have made precise calculations of the average arrival of every single thing that I asked from you. A good half of them would have taken you a few weeks at most.”

“…Yes, well aware of that.”

You suddenly felt your poor tie getting yanked down as you came face-to-face with your normally unhinged lover, “Are you slacking on me? Are you cutting corners? You know I have no tolerance for such things.”

“Wait, dear— my tie.”

“I believe that head of yours should be the focus of your concerns, dear.”

At this point, resistance was futile, so you merely gave in with a sigh, carefully placing the basket filled with every single thing that he asked for. Dottore gave a side glance at your submissions, almost taken aback by the mountainous height of the papers you’ve stacked.

Still, while he may be lenient on you on certain things, he knows and expects that you above all are aware of the fact that he highly prioritizes his work. He still has to keep you in line after all if you’re starting to slag on your duties as his assistant.

“This is suspiciously early. It’s only been four days since these assignments. What did you do?”

You laughed a little, “You know I would never jeopardize your work, Zandik. I’d rather be six-feet under than even consider that in the first place.” The way his red eyes glowered, was enough to make you feel small, “…I… swear it…”

“Talk.”

“I only had to cut out a few unnecessary things on my schedule so I can focus on my tasks… like… sleep or… meals. Just… a couple, I promise.”

That wasn’t true. It wasn’t a deliberate cutting out. It’s only that you’ve fixated on your work and that you were always itching to be on the move that you completely lost track of your time and ultimately screwed with your time frame in eating and sleeping. You barely ate and barely slept and your stack of work was the testament of that.

What. Dottore blinked slowly as his brain processed the information you so very generously dropped on him. You, in your efforts of focusing on your tasks… had managed to cut off the only very reason why you’re even alive in the first place. The most necessary part of your day, which now somehow was deemed as otherwise, was cut out of your schedule just to do his work.

Dottore has discreetly admired your dedication as his assistant, and quite frankly that was the reason why you’re still alive and still sleeps in the same bed as he does every single night. But something about the fact that you’ve neglected yourself just for his work was enough to irk the ruthless doctor.

The loosening grip on your tie tightened into a vice and before you knew it, your back was met with the cold hard surface of an empty operating table — it wasn’t even one of those that bend and are cushioned for comfort, it was where he often placed his experiments in.

“Wait, wh—” you quickly swallowed your complaint the moment you saw his eyes glinting dangerously down at you.

“I need to pry your brain open.”

You almost choked on air as you heard your lovers words, you immediately propped yourself up by your elbows, “What do you mean pry my brain open?!”

“I mean cracking that thick skull of yours to see whether or not something went wrong in your wiring,” Dottore’s movements were swift as he climbed up to the table, straddling your hips as he reached for the belt buckles attached at the side of the this cold metal slab.

“H-Hey now… let’s not… jump to certain actions that we might soon regret…”

And now here you are, at a complete stalemate with your beloved boyfriend, with you completely under his mercy. You were tied down and those leather straps were not at all helping you in making your grand escape. Not to mention, you can’t exactly just shove off your boyfriend.

“Not eating or sleeping for days just to complete your work would have been admirable had it not been for the fact that you need it.” Dottore sighed, reaching out a gloved hand to cup your face, squishing your cheeks together, “And here I thought you were slacking on your work… only to find something far worse.” The grip on your cheeks tightened.

You only shot him a pleading look, absolutely trying not to get your brain picked on. Your beloved had finally granted your reddening cheeks some mercy as he let go of it, “It’s not exactly something I can help, y’know? It just comes onto me naturally.”

“You not eating or even barely sleeping for the next four days is natural?” The harbinger was perplexed to say the least. “Would you like me to repeat that again so you can hear just how utterly asinine your words are?”

Huffing, you turned your cheek to the other direction, only to be faced by a dismembered head and immediately looked back at your lover, “I just wanted to make sure you have no hassle in the long run. And like I said, I don’t mind it.”

“I, however, mind the fact that if you keep this up, I might be looking for a potential replacement in just a few days once you kick the bucket.” He huffed back at you, “I hate inconveniences.” His scowl was deep and showed complete frustration towards you and your actions.

And for a quick second, your sleep and nutrient deprived mind had finally stopped to take in as you realized that this was Dottore’s odd way of showing concern. He met your gaze, and with the way your eyes tendered as the realization sank into you, he was far too late.

“Aww, pumpkin… you were worried—?”

“Perish the thought. Absolute lunacy. Whatever. Have it your way — I’ll indulge myself this time.”

“Indulge your… H-Hey! Where are you touching?!”

Dottore’s smile was wicked and devious as his hands traveled somewhere far south, copping a quick feel, “By my initial diagnosis, it seems as though you’ve been experiencing bouts of hyperactivity to the point of neglect at your food intake as well as the much needed rest. Why don’t I sort this out? As your personal physician, I suggest we do something about that before assigning your prescribed medications, no?”

Fret not, he made good on his promise — and fed you before tucking you in bed… but not after feeding him yourself.

#do not fuck while there’s a preserved dismembered head in the next operating table #just a psa #genshin impact x male reader #il dottore x male reader #dottore x male reader #jhuzen’s stupid one shots

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boundinparchment · 10 months

Text

Blasphemous Rumors - IV

“Marry me.” He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly. Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope. “Just for a year. A marriage of convenience. Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.” Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality. Slow-ish burn. Semi-enemies to lovers. On AO3 here. Likes, reblog, and comments appreciated.

That sentiment never left in the weeks of planning that followed.

Every time someone asked about your ring, you told them it was being resized and that neither of you were pleased with the clarity of the gems. Besides, you would say, you didn’t want to show it off before the wedding.

The wedding date was settled by a Segment (Omega, you were certain, for he was the closest to the actual Doctor in personality) unceremoniously dropping a calendar on your desk. You closed your eyes, placed your finger somewhere and landed on a weekend towards the later half of the month.

Omega then had the gall to take a paperclip from your tiny dish that held them and twist one into a ring before he left without another word.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

The timeline was short. Six weeks. Even your coworkers who dabbled in event planning for the annual ball and other celebrations balked at the small window of time. A wedding of this magnitude required at least a year, someone said, and you wished their gaze hadn’t dropped to your lower half so blatantly.

When you weren’t working and trying to keep your eyes and ears about you to pass along information, you were trying to meet and correspond with vendors and come up with a vision of an event that, quite frankly, would suit neither of you if the matter of rank didn’t come into play. It kept you so busy that you toyed with the idea of a kamera to save you time but even those in Snezhnaya were not slim nor inconspicuous. But they were expensive to maintain. You couldn’t afford to add another item to your paper-thin personal budget.

You ran through your itinerary in your head again as you made your way down from the Palace and into town, thankful the weather was at least holding out a bit. Post office, bank, and an appointment with a seamstress that wasn’t on Regrator’s list of preferred vendors.

All of the dresses you saw and tried were simply…too much. Tried too hard. Beautiful in their work but felt like another layer of paint rather than an organic addition to the whole affair.

As far as you knew, the Harbinger had a personal tailor in the Palace anyway and going off of the suggested list was bound to produce some results. You were determined to find vendors who could use the support and might be overlooked otherwise.

Bad enough you had to go to Northland; you didn’t need wedding vendors working against you either.

The post office was packed, as usual, and you eagerly handed over the last remnants of your copied ledgers and notes. They might as well have been burning holes in your cloak pocket all morning. Your room and your office was now free of damning evidence. Privacy was almost non-existent now and it would vanish entirely soon enough. If you wrote to your parents more frequently, you could still keep up the habit established and not raise suspicion.

A break in a usual routine would be seen as unusual, you reminded yourself.

Amid the other envelopes was a thicker one, your reluctant communication to your parents about the change of circumstance. They deserved to know and understand that it changed nothing (if they were different people, you would not have told them at all). Traveling to the city was out of the question for them between the cost and your father’s health, let alone the added layer of your boss being thrown into that mix.

Lord Dottore’s proposal and your agreement already put you in a spotlight you never wanted to be in. You didn’t need Pantalone knowing exactly how bad of a position your parents’ bankruptcy had put them, and you, in.

Funny how you feared the Second Harbinger far less despite his gruesome acts, you mused after you thanked the clerk and made your way to Northland’s prominent facade. At least he wouldn’t care one way or the other so long as nothing interfered with his work. He never made it personal.

Until now, in a way.

Your cheek strung for a brief moment as your skin remembered the cold metal of your letter opener. The closest thing to a kiss you two shared.

Northland’s home branch was a source of tourism as much as it was an actual bank. Vaulted ceilings soared high overhead and marble pillars provided support that, for the briefest moments, made the building feel as much of a chapel as it was a bank. The guided tours helped.

Compared to the latest branch in Liyue Harbor, it was surprisingly austere in its plainness. Pantalone’s office suite and several of the other rooms outside of the lobby of tellers were far more opulent; much like its owner, the bank presented one image to the public and another to its closest confidants. The coffered ceilings casted shadows as intricate as the dealings on the floor below.

You waited in line, as everyone did. Most of the staff knew you, at least by loose association, and you were under no impression that anything was ever truly hidden.

Your family situation wasn’t the secret you needed to keep, after all. As far away as you tried to keep it, part of you knew that your boss was likely aware you sent most of your pay home. That you worked at the Palace as a sacrifice for the poor choices of others. And that he was likely at fault, although you doubted he would ever claim as such.

The source of the money was a different story, of course.

A bridge to cross another day.

As you filled out the respective slips for deposit and withdrawal, the clerk’s head snapped up out of your peripheral vision with an audible gasp.

“My lady, why didn’t you say you would be accompanied by your fiancé, the Lord Harbinger?” She whispered, a tinge of fear tainting her words. “We would have prepared a private office for you both to take care of your business.”

“I—”

Out of the corner of your eye to your left, you caught a tall figure with hair the color of a spring morning sky and a shining earring that gave off its own glow. The white cloak with its black fur collar filled in the gaps. Around you, it felt as if the very air around you had been sucked out. Chattering had all but ceased and you heard the shuffle of people changing their posture, dedicating their attention to the notion that a Harbinger was among them.

Would you ever get used to that? Likely not. When it was just the two of you, things were different; it was you and him meeting blow for verbal blow. You did your best to keep your composure and just as you were about to politely smile and tell the clerk that you handled affairs separately, a voice to your left interjected.

“Such accommodations won’t be necessary. We are not staying long enough to require them,” Lord Dottore remarked, not even turning his head in your direction.

Your face felt hot as you thanked the clerk for their assistance and handed over the account slips. A presence lingered at your side and you didn’t have to look to see that it was Dottore; he had already finished whatever his errand was but for him to leave would look bizarre, you rationalized. You tried to ignore the biting thought that he was sticking around to ensure you didn’t bumble your way through the transaction now that the cat was out of the bag.

“Just a deposit then, My Lady?” the clerk asked.

“Yes, as usual. Will the funds be accessible later today?”

“Immediately, ma’am. The account holder should have no issue.”

If you timed it right, the morning post would arrive in time for your mother to reach the bank and take care of other affairs before the end of the day. Bills were already paid. But groceries and medicine were constant necessities and your parents couldn’t stockpile like they used to.

Next to you, Lord Dottore seemed to prickle with a question that he knew wasn’t appropriate. Hearing his fiancé was giving money away when she was, supposedly, so good at it herself, was a variable never discussed.

A lot of things weren’t discussed though. This might as well have been an elopement save for the actual, well, act of running away.

Once everything was finished, Dottore escorted you out of the bank, extending his elbow in silent regard. Right. Anything else would be too informal. You tried your best not to look uncomfortable with his proximity or at the looks and whispers from staff and client alike as you looped your hand underneath to hold the crook of his arm.

“Not an outcome I anticipated but one I will take advantage of nonetheless,” Dottore muttered, only loud enough for you to hear. “I need to borrow your hand.”

You looked up at him, face contorted in confusion. The proposal was unusual enough on its own. Did he mean your actual hand, and if so, attached or detached? Was your life now going to be filled with bizarre requests?

“What?” you hissed, baffled.

Several heads turned as you walked through the snowy street. The tilt of his head told you he was glaring at you for drawing such attention.

“You need a ring, do you not, my dear? I might be the best scholar in several centuries but even I am aware that ring sizes are best left to proper measurement devices.”

Oh. Of course. Your ring.

“I thought you were busy for the next several weeks, sir,” you emphasized your correction more for those who might overhear than the man you were speaking with. “Unless you are, in fact, not the Doctor?”

“As if I would leave such a personal matter to a segment.”

He spat the words, insulted. Whether by the insinuation he’d doled out the task or your seeming inability to tell him apart from his counterparts, you couldn’t quite tell.

You could tell them apart. Lord Dottore knew that.

But he also knew how important it would be to make this appear right.

Lord Dottore didn’t wait for you to reply and continued. “It will not take long and then you can be on your way. Where else are you off to, anyway?”

“I have an appointment with a seamstress. Plenty of well-known vendors extended their offerings but they were…” you gestured with your free hand, finding yourself at a loss for words other than, “rather unremarkable.”

The chuckle that wrenched from his lips made your blood run cold and your heart jump.

“You’re certainly playing your part, Accountant,” he teased.

Of course you were. What did he expect, to marry you in your uniform? You bit your tongue for a second to think on your words.

“As I said when last we spoke, I don’t wish to misrepresent you. That goes for your rank as well as who you are, or at least the image you project. But everything I was presented with was just not right.”

You walked in silence for three steps before Lord Dottore said, “Elaborate.”

That was like asking you to explain why you balanced numbers the way you did or why you preferred to sleep on your right rather than your left side. You just did.

“They’re beautiful but they feel almost…like I’m competing with the Tsaritsa. Like I’m just a doll to wear the dress rather than the dress being a reflection of…well, me.”

You cast a glance up at Lord Dottore as he gave a hum and found his head angled towards you in such a way that prevented you from seeing beneath his mask. A part of you was curious, of course, about what he looked like. You weren’t alone in that regard but it was never acted upon except by the young, giddy acolytes who had yet to find their place as a Fatuus, enamored with the prospect rather than the work.

Even as a spouse, you doubted you would be privy to his face. Why would you be? You were to be an equal on paper, nothing more.

“I trust your judgment, Accountant. The ceremony is long and the reception is longer; it would be better to have something that you feel comfortable in. I don’t rightly care, as you well know, but expectations must be met for this to be believable.”

Before you could speak again, you were led into a shop with glass counters and carefully placed lights. The encased jewelry and the glass itself didn’t so much sparkle as glow and you were careful to tap out your boots so as to not soak the plush carpet.

Lord Dottore didn’t so much as shake out his cloak’s hem as he addressed the shopkeeper. You tried to keep your expression neutral as you looked around, each case organized by the type of stone. Everything in here had to be worth at least ten times your salary in total and it churned your stomach to even try to calculate that amount. You tore your gaze away and returned to Dottore’s side.

Sizing was, in fact, just as quick as he said it would be. The process was just a matter of using the jeweler's equivalent to a set of keys, each sizing ring marked with the appropriate measurement. You tried on a few before settling on a number that was snug enough not to slip over your knuckle easily and came off with a bit of a struggle.

“There, matter settled,” Dottore murmured as the jeweler jotted down notes.

And you didn’t even lose a hand, you thought. Yet.

If you were alone, you might have made the joke aloud.

He was closer than you expected, his eyes seemingly glued to the case the entire time you went back and forth with the jeweler on the sizing. He’d only chimed in once in the whole process, to take your hand and try the sizer himself, as if gauging the difficulty of getting the ring over your knuckle. You tensed instantly before reminding yourself to relax.

You would need to get used to being in his presence and he would have to put your band on your finger publicly, after all.

Something in his face shifted and you got the distinct feeling you’d failed whatever he was trying to benchmark. You’d been slipping. First the bank, now this. His finger traced the faint line across your cheek as he brushed his lips over your forehead.

“You should get going if you don’t want to be late, my dear.”

“Of course,” you replied, tilting your head and daring to lean ever so slightly into the gesture.

Two could play that game.

You thanked the jeweler for their time and left the shop, hoping the cold would stave off the burning sensation on your cheek.

The seamstress appointment was better, but only just. At the mere mention of the timeline and the passing look between the shopkeeper and the assistant, you knew they connected the dots as to which upcoming wedding this was for.

“We would have come to you, my lady,” the seamstress said.

You could feel any sense of control over the situation slipping away to propriety again.

“Please, I’m not—”

“A Harbinger’s fiancé, and the Second’s at that, shouldn’t have to come down into town. We would have gladly made the trip up to the Palace.”

Was it a faux part on your part or was it fear? Her face was so hard to read. Running any kind of business was difficult enough. Harder still to contend with public courtesy and unwritten rules. Fontaine had it worst of all, you recalled, but even here in Snezhnaya, rank and social standing ruled with a golden hand.

It only went so far, though, and that Pantalone didn’t work directly with the shop spoke volumes to you. You overheard so many conversations when you were in the backroom, balancing the books and triple-checking the tax levies. Those who respected your father’s time were the ones he was always willing to work with, no matter the situation.

“I want whoever I work with to be in the best environment for them. You have everything here, after all; it makes far more sense for me to come to you,” you replied evenly.

Hopefully, in the event someone decided to speak and spread whatever they saw, you passed as humble and self-aware.

After all, that was the point.

You eventually found yourself swaddled in lace and tulle, watching as the two craftspeople worked together to find the perfect color and the perfect patterns. A very soft silvery-blue, rather than a strict white, laid a shimmering foundation upon which the lace and tulle were overlaid; the bodice and sleeves would be lace and the pattern would fade until the hem and the train. It was difficult to visualize at first until you looked at another dress, already made, and they described the changes in volume and cut with a sketch that made you wish you did have a kamera after all.

What beauty, wasted on the likes of Il Dottore, you thought as you looked in the mirror and watched as the material reflected light as though it were water. Such a moment would make any ordinary bride happy but you had never felt more alone in the entire endeavor thus far.

Neither truly balked at the six week time frame when you began discussing deadlines and cost. Instead, you were reassured that you would have a dress that would keep the rest of the nation talking for years to come. A grandiose exaggeration, spoken with all the levity one might read a law, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

When you stepped out into the cold again, you were greeted by a familiar mask and cloak; Lord Dottore was standing outside like a large menacing hound, waiting for you.

He said nothing and began to walk away as you pulled your cloak tighter around you to seal away your warmth. It took you a moment to realize he was walking in the direction of the Palace.

“If you’re finished, my lord, it would be more expedient to take a carriage back,” you advised. “The snow makes for poor footfalls and the sky might open any minute again.”

Dottore turned his head to gaze over his shoulder at you, his mouth thin. In turn, you raised your eyebrows, expectant. It was the same look you gave him when you needed an explanation during an audit.

“I walked down from the Palace,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and the biggest inconvenience to admit.

“So did I. But the people have seen us together and it would not be fitting for us to be seen trekking back up to the Palace. We don’t have to be a wholly united front but even you know that the optics of that, in addition to my empty finger, don’t bode well. Don’t want to be accused of not caring, do you?”

Dottore clicked his tongue as a puff of hot breath streamed from his nose and for a moment, he looked every bit like an angry dragon as he turned and flagged down a nearby coach. You didn’t miss the smug smirk and sardonic bite when he said, “After you,” and helped you into the closed carriage.

Silence dominated the ride out of town and back up the hill the Palace sat on. Your feet ached and now that you were sitting down, you realized how much the day had taken out of you for errands that, normally, wouldn’t have bothered you. Granted, you hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was well into the afternoon, which didn’t exactly help. You went through your mental checklist of things to be done as you gazed out the coach window; your thoughts were interrupted by a tap of your shoe from the man across from you. He withdrew his leg, as much as he could within the confines of the space and extended his hand, which held a tiny box.

Your eyes flicked from the box to his hidden face just once, finding his expression unreadable as always, before you took it from him.

Perched within were two rings of gold so brilliant it looked almost pink, woven into a vine pattern. The first ring held a sizeable light blue stone so clear it looked as if it could have been carved from ice, flanked by a smaller stone on either side that appeared more purple than blue, iridescent in the way it refracted light. The setting was dotted with tiny blue stones of the same color and clarity as the centerpiece, resulting in a diamond-shaped cluster. Beneath it, the accompanying wedding band mimicked the setting, woven vines housing tiny ice droplets, the shape lining up with the other ring exactly so the two nested together.

The sensation from earlier in the dress shop came flooding back. Such craftsmanship and time went into making such a beautiful piece. On their own, the rings were stunning, but there was thought in this choice; it matched many of the motifs the man himself used and was known for and it would act as a reminder whenever she wore it.

Something tugged at your stomach before you reminded yourself that this was all for a show, that it didn’t matter. You blinked away tears faster than they could form. No. He didn’t deserve such a thing from you.

But you couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been in that shop looking for something capable of such impact.

“It should keep Pantalone quiet. Not that anything will ever silence that man’s prattling, especially if he knew how many arms I had to twist to find something suitable.”

Briefly, you recalled the rings on Lord Pantalone’s fingers and how often they were swapped out, save the globus cruciger. It was not uncommon to hear him remark about the clarity of a stone or the difficulty in obtaining it; the bragging point was often the price and you always refrained from retching every time you heard a figure higher than the last.

You removed your gloves and slipped on the first ring. It fit perfectly; not that you expected anything less.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, handing him back the box with the wedding band. “I wasn’t expecting anything quite so…”

“As we’ve agreed, Accountant, this needs to be well beyond believable,” Dottore replied, tucking the box away in his cloak. “It would have been easy to give you any ring and have this be passable on the surface. No one questions a diamond ring in high social circles, only how big the diamond is, after all. However, we have the added thread of plausibility and both of us are aware Regrator scrutinizes everything. Aquamarine and tanzanite, with reinforced rose gold, in the event one should ask.”

When you’d managed to bring yourself to make the trip down to his workshops, you didn’t expect much from that conversation other than at least a piece of jewelry that would stop all of the lingering stares and whispers. He’d thrown your expectations out the window.

That was quintessentially him, though, wasn’t it? To take something and run with it, to push an idea well beyond the expectations and thoughts of others.

Lord Dottore knew it, too, for he adjusted his posture ever so slightly. Just like he did when he knew you had no other recourse but to give in to his budget requests.

“I’ve held up my end as requested, Accountant. But I find myself curious: what were you doing at Northland?”

A question you knew he’d been dying to ask ever since he overheard the transaction at the bank. And you were no longer in a position to deny him the answer, not when he’d not only fulfilled your request but did so well beyond the expectations you held.

Bastard.

He didn’t need to know much, you reasoned. And you were in no position to not answer. Defensiveness here would raise too many alarm bells.

“I…send money to my parents back home. Most of my pay goes to them to cover bills and expenses. My father no longer works; my mother spreads herself too thin caring for him and trying to earn a pittance when she can,” you replied.

The words almost choked you to admit them outloud. No one else, not even your coworkers, knew; Lord Pantalone probably did, at least to some extent. But it seemed like an unspoken responsibility shouldered by those within the administration spheres and on the field. The way food was shared during lunch after an admission of missing a meal or the crowd-funding of a night out to raise spirits seemed so contrary to what you expected. You had chipped in all for the sake of appearances only to be given the same respect in kind. It wasn’t foreign to you, per se, but after the bankruptcy, it was difficult to find those willing to help your family when all they saw was negligence and bad decisions.

It was nothing to be ashamed about.

To clear the air, you continued.

“They’ve asked for nothing more and I fully intend to only use my wages for such things.”

Lord Dottore tilted his head before he looked away, his gaze seemingly set on the landscaping passing by. The answer bored him, clearly, as you expected it to.

“I care little for what you do beyond your role but be sure not to neglect yourself for the sake of others.”

Icy rain fell in sheets, pelting the ground in soft plinks as you arrived back at the Palace. You parted ways without another word and you wished the metal on your finger was as cold as the rain and the man who gave it to you.

Her visit to Haeresys was quite unexpected, to say the least. Not many people ventured down into the bowels of the Palace unless they absolutely had to. But for her to not would otherwise lend itself poorly, wouldn’t it?

After all, she was never afraid to speak her mind before. More than once she has left my ego bruised and my pride singed when she laid out points I’d pushed aside in previous considerations. Said points were not neglected but rather only issues if they were encountered; when she provided context, more often than not, there was little option but to compromise. When all is said and done, she too considers the bigger picture, just from a different angle. No two artists paint the same image even when given the same set of references. It is one of the few areas of the human experience that is, perhaps, at least intriguing.

Sohreh, for all her fawning, was similar. At least the Accountant did not blush every time she laid eyes on me.

Such things were what drove my desire to create the prostheses, after all.

The pageantry of all of this…utterly ridiculous. All of this for the sake of a bet, a gamble; a ladder for Pantalone to get off of my back at the cost of time I will never regain.

How do others pursue this for the sake of emotion? This is truly joyous for some? Or is it social convention that dictates one must go this route, to celebrate so widely when so few truly know those exchanging nuptials?

Does one even need emotion, that worthless thing of love, to make these arrangements work?

The historical argument would hold that no, emotion doesn’t matter. Without that, perhaps something stronger still is erected to replace fleeting desire and heart palpitations and whimsical dreams. This farce can be plausible without such trivial things.

And Regrator will be proved wrong, as all others before him have been.

Even if it means playing by the convention he expects us to follow.

Us.

Strange to use that in reference to…an existence outside of my own.

Other than her late night gallivanting to demand a ring, I have seen little of her. Omega has dutifully managed what needed my input and that has allowed me to prioritize.

The Tsaritsa has already insisted on sending me away and offered up a choice of properties to boot. A lack of a honeymoon would be forgivable given my position and I would rather stay here and focus on what must be done. Too much progress has already been made. But I am in no position to deny Her Majesty’s will and I must also consider the Accountant’s position. She was already questioned about a ring; I would never hear the end of it from Regrator and it would put her in an even worse position, surely, if we didn’t at least leave the Palace.

Annoying. Worrying about another’s quality of life. Their actions. The impact they’ll have.

I had not expected running into her at the bank, of all places, although I cannot place why. After all, she’s an accountant and financial assistant. At the very least, she would be running an errand for work, if not for herself. That was a normal occurrence for most people.

She’d avoided eye contact with me. Even looked annoyed when the clerk mentioned transaction details, perhaps under the assumption I would be aware of them.

Not helped by her surprise when I provided my reasoning for needing her company. What did she think, that I would be severing her body? I am aware of the fear about me that spreads rumors like a plague but she should give me a little more credit than that. After all, short of the reports given to the Tsaritsa, the Accountant is one of the few who at least can put a value to the work I do.

Worse still, she looked stiff and uncomfortable during the ring sizing. The jeweler is one of Regrator’s contacts but to work with anyone else would result in another earful I didn’t want to hear. Anything detrimental would make its way back to the banker in no time. But what better way to prove solidarity than throw it right in Regrator’s face? Acting distant would do us no credit.

I had specifically chosen her for the bite she could give back and in public settings, she was proving to be less reliable than I hypothesized.

How would she react to public affection, gestures that few would think twice about? Her skin was still cold from outside when I leaned in. She hid the dark circles beneath her eyes well enough and by now, the cut on her cheek had healed, leaving behind only a thin line noticeable in the right light. The scent of parchment and ink clung to her, mingled with whatever floral scent her soap was infused with.

Disgusting. How could anyone ever find the smell of flowers pleasant?

And then she had the gall to tilt her head and look up at me through her lashes. A lesser individual might have bought such behavior.

Not me.

She left for her dress appointment and the nagging thought of my own attire came to mind. Omega was seeing to that. White with tails, blue and gold accents, all the while bearing the feathery mantle I’ve grown quite fond of. Why not have a bit of a dramatic flair, after all, if I must go through with all of this?

I should have left the ring to Omega, in hindsight. He would have come to the same conclusion I did. All the colors before me were nothing more than structural compounds of specific minerals and a mix of circumstances. No stone was special when it was broken down into its most basic components.

The deep reds and brilliant rubies were, to the jeweler’s credit, remarkable enough for what they were. If this were different, perhaps these would have been suitable…

But she has never seen my eyes. And she likely never will.

Diamonds would be appropriate, if nothing else.

Rare, resilient.

Cliche.

Aquamarine, however…would be a reflection of her homeland, among other things. Symbolically, it was impossible to go wrong or be misinterpreted.

But the stones nearby, iridescent purple ranging in various shades, were far more unique. I’d encountered such stones before, in the depths of the desert when taking apart Deshret’s Primal Constructs to reinforce my boots and weaponry during my exile. Deshret had failed in his attempt to save the people; his legacy meant little to me.

Two colors, then.

The jeweler was quick to accommodate, finding a matching band in no time, but it paled in comparison to the main ring when the stones were properly set. I had little doubt he would hesitate to inform Pantalone the moment I left. Paying extra would do little but delay the information anyway.

I found the notion of a band for myself wasteful. I’d never wear the thing. It would only get in the way.

But the Accountant was dedicated to portraying the image needed…

Platinum would, at least, survive.

The Accountant finished her appointment not long after I’d tucked both boxes in my pocket and found the shop she’d mentioned. It was impossible to see the back of the shop from the windows in front, even if I had been curious about her plans and wanted to know.

Which I didn’t.

I just wanted to be done with this entire affair so I could focus on other things. Usually, I enjoy the process of the experiment; ever since the words left my mouth weeks ago, however…

Perhaps she was feeling something similar. The look on her face when she stepped out of the shop was not unlike the one from when she first began working in the Palace, when she’d had no choice but to summon me in place of the Segments. Her smile was strained, her eyes looking at him but clearly elsewhere.

And yet she still managed to dig her heels in about a carriage, of all things.

She’d walked down herself–she wasn’t the type to take an easy route or method anywhere. The cold was, despite my Delusion, still bitter and dry for me and yet I didn’t think twice about taking the trip on-foot. Few bothered me and I could go at my own pace.

I should have left her behind. Why had I gone to the shop to wait for her, anyway?

Other than her protest for a carriage, she was quiet. Not that I minded. But her earlier behavior continued to nag, like an irritating fabric in cloying heat. Was she like the rest after all?

When she took the box and opened it, her pragmatism won out. It unsettled me that she did not, as most might, gush over the rings, but it sickened me all the more to wish she did.

What use was her praise?

None of this mattered.

The thanks from her lips were genuine enough but something in her face was harder to pin down. Her eyes were a little watery though and the flush of her cheeks was not just from the brisk wind outside. I’ll take what reactions I can get out of her…I need to document something, after all.

She kept her main ring and returned the box with the other band inside. The red leather was still warm when I tucked it away again.

I couldn’t help myself, however, as the moment from the bank came to mind again. Perhaps she would be pliable, now that I’d played along? What was the worst that could happen?

Right. Most still have a family. Living for centuries desensitizes you to all of those notions.

Sending money back home is not uncommon, especially among the lower ranks and the administrative branches. She cared for others. Not a sentiment I can understand.

But I do know what it means to rise to every occasion, to come from nothing and fight for every scrap along the way. As unconventional as it had been, the Akademiya saw to it that I would, in one way or another, find what I wanted out of life.

Her earnestness is unsettling. Hard work pays off but only when you have something to prove. At least she knows her boundaries, I suppose. That should make it all the quicker to find them myself, see how they might break…

That this is nothing more than transactional should make that all the easier.

I left the carriage as soon as the horses pulled to a stop. She’d managed to shake the doubts instilled in me with nothing more than a few words and a conviction that ran deeper than the icecaps not far from the Palace.

She was the right choice for this little experiment after all.

#fic: blasphemous rumors #il dottore #dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #dottore/reader #dottore/female reader #il dottore/female reader #dottore x female reader #female reader #marriage of convenience

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ideas-4-stories · 2 months

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Inspired by the "buggy gets stabbed with a seastone knife but defeats the assassin" anon and subsequent post.

Buggy really would have had SO MANY SCARS. He's immune to cuts and chops and slices. Not blunt force trauma, burns, bullets, whips, etc. Also he was a pirate apprentice on GOL D. ROGER'S SHIP!! He ate that devil fruit young, sure, but he was still a pirate before then and I highly doubt that that, nor whatever his early life was, would lead to pristine, unblemished skin.

Also - freckles. Give Buggy Freckles 2024.

Anyway, yeah, Buggy would have a MOSAIC of scars and tattoos - many of which have meanings the likes of which are lost to most. Also projection, but Buggy has a medusa tattoo somewhere on his person. Yes the one who did the tattoo for him was on the crew, and still is. Yes they are also the defacto therapist on the island. It's good pay and they get to add Names to the I'll Kill Them One Day list ((it's a whole book. With five volumes. It's on going.))

I have... an angry idea. For Buggy shrugging off seastone wounds and using his own injury as an opening. Roger would have wanted the boys STRONG but happy and safe. He saw so much of himself in Shanks that the attention was perceived as preferential treatment. Shanks was the heavy hitter with potential and skill and charisma -

Buggy was the supporting cast.

Rayleigh, unable to help Roger through the illness, through so many things, projected that onto Buggy ((Very Pearl + Connie, if you know Steven Universe, before Steven stepped in to set that record straight)). Ray would make sure Buggy was strong enough for Shanks. He put that kid through the WRINGER, and it was arguably hell. Buggy came out stronger but also far more terrified - so much so that he struggled to even utilize that strength in any true way. Rayleigh declared it a failure. Apologized to Buggy for 'failing to make him good enough'.

This did a number on him.

One thing that lasted was his frankly unsettling tolerance to water and seastone. He still works on it, and he never quite dropped it. He always has at least one seastone earring in because it's both smth he HAS to do and also it slows down his brain a little, dulling the edge of his normal panic. Like a crystal girlie but far more literal.

This isn't his first rodeo with seastone weapons either - he may have been in the East, but he was still a decently renowned criminal with a hefty bounty. He's an old hand at this!

Still hurts like a bitch though.

He'd absolutely make the dumbest puns too. "Don't worry, I'm in STABle condition! :oD"

"You need stitches, you utter buffoon."

"That wasn't very- hnn- knife of you."

"Please pass out from bloodloss."

"You cut me so deep, Hawkyyy- OW?!"

"Seas save me"

Crocodile is fighting between yelling louder, committing three felonies, laughing, and shutting the clown up. Be it by choking him or kissing him is up for debate. The doctor, used to Buggy's antics, just hands him a fidget toy. "Don't touch the wound, my supplies or try to move yet. Solve the rubix cube before you even consider getting up."

"Boring-"

"I'll tell the kitchen to make hotdogs if you do."

Buggy is now very focused on the pretty color cube.

Oh, referring to this post gotcha!

Yeah, Buggy totally would because he’s a chemist, working with all those bombs and the guy looks like he would trip sometimes while working. Buggy has to have burn scars (I’m pretty sure somewhere, someone said that Buggy has star-shaped, firework burns on his hands. Part of the reason he hides his hands away, I like that idea even that means Buggy got hurt) Now it an idea that I got when I was half-asleep, that I read in the morning with confusion… a cannonball… I don’t why my sleepy brain decided that, but now thinking about it would have to be a ricochet cannonball that he survived from (to be honest Buggy seems like a person who would survive a cannonball to the head, like some Monkey family we know) Then with probably the logical route of bullets, whips, etc… are from being hunted by marines and enemies of the Roger Pirates before he somehow blends into the background and people forgot about him.

I would say Buggy would have eaten his devil fruit around nine years old, for the AU I’m trying to writ… Also freckles… HELL FUCK YEAH!!! I love that idea; it would be so cute on him!!! Scattered all around his body, totally seen him connecting them into shapes and patterns when he’s bored and has nothing else to do.

Definably, he’s a pirate, of course he has many scars, and Buggy having at least 10 tattoos ranging from large too small. I don’t think Buggy ever has sat someone down to explain them, or maybe he has and stopped because people not understanding. Ooooooo, I look up what the Medusa tattoo means, I like to think it’s for survival and strength. With my idea for two long tattoos, I think they would be a mixture of different flowers with hidden things between them - like hidden treasure to find, those tattoos have meanings as well as some funny ones around his body as well. Because it’s Buggy, of course, he will at least have one fucking funny one.

I love an idea their defacto therapist, I think I’ve already have a OC for the job and yes, love the book called I'll Kill Them One Day list. Love that it has five volumes, you know some of those names are crossed off and it continues to grow.

This is an angry idea indeed, poor Buggy… as we see that Buggy is not supporting cast, with his followers (they are like cult followers in a way) and his crew. Basically pushed to the side for Shanks to be the one in the spotlight as the “leader” of the two (I definitely doubt that Shanks didn’t look up to Buggy during sometimes when they were cabin boys)

Oh fuck, no wonder why Buggy hasn’t talk to Rayleigh and makes my idea of them meeting as cold and awkward. Like Rayleigh would greet with nicknames from long ago, expecting the same as what he remembered last of Buggy, only to have Buggy to greet him coldy. Either, with Dark King Rayeleigh or Slivers Rayleigh instead of nicknames that he use to call Rayleigh.

Why…why projected his problems onto Buggy! Like of course that did a number on Buggy, ecspeaily after Ray apologized to Buggy for ‘failing to make him good enough’... You can’t say that to a fucking child, you know they will think it’s all their fault! I mean look at Buggy, he already has enough problems with his self-esteem, he doesn’t need anymore!!!

Poor Buggy, going thtough hell because Rayleigh wants him strong like him to keep Shanks safe because he’s being as stupid as Roger. It makes sense that Buggy can’t use his strength because of being afraid and worrying so much (Buggy is definitely a worry-wort)

I agree with Buggy has an high tolerance to water and seastone, I mean Buggy seemed to of been a really good swimmer from how angry he is from Shanks scaring him and making him swallow the Bara Bara fruit (if not, then it’s a headcanon for me that he’s a really good swimmer before he swallowed the devil fruit) You think he would just stop going into the water? I mean I can see Buggy finding those small pools of water on a beach… I forgot what they are called, anyway you think he wouldn’t go in them to feel the sea? I think Buggy would.

Oooooo a seastone earring or some other type of seastone jewelry on his body. That’s interesting, I’ve never thought about it. The seastone helps him corrals his chop chop powers from doing all the time as well. Calming his brain, dulling the edge of his normal panic is a clever way, bro probably found how much seastone he needs to do so. From this post, Buggy has to have some edibles mixed into brownies or some other type of pastry (it’s now a headcanon for me) Dude has to have some drugs to calm down with the stress that Crocodile and Mihawk have put him through.

Yeah, it's definitely not Buggy’s first rodeo with seastone weapons, I can see Buggy being hunted by people during the time after Roger was killed and I see that’s the time where most of his seastone wounds came from. I wonder now if Buggy hordes the seastone weapons that people attacked him with?… I’ve decided yes, Buggy would keep them.

I stand for Buggy making the dumbest and baddest puns when he is hurt, especially when he gets attacked by seastone weapons. It takes his mind off of the pain they give him (Also the banter between Buggy and Mihawk you made is chefs’ kiss)

Both Crocodile and Mihawk just being done with Buggy and quite disturbed by how Buggy handles his pain. Mihawk wants him to shut up and sit still, while Crocodile is fighting between screaming, committing felonies (like he hasn’t committed felonies more than enough), laughing his ass off, then wanting to either choke Buggy or kiss him to shut the clown up. That’s so them, and Buggy is getting a little shit like always.

This doctor is just like the doctor OC; Kuo-Lee, I’ve created to be the Buggy Pirates medic. Really, being done with what Buggy does and uses things to keep him still. This is so right, handing him a fidget toy, saying that if he is good than he’ll tell the kitchens to give their captain is favorite food. Yeah, that will make Buggy sit as still as he can, to be honest, Buggy isn’t one to sit still.

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lz-didyounotice · 2 months

Text

The girl with a thousand faces : Part 1

Hey guys! hum warning, this is my first fanfiction on Doctor Who. I wrote this one with the tenth doctor in mind. English is not my primary language, so please be indulgent. This fic will be in two or three parts depending on what the general reaction will be :0 So hum yeah. Also in the first chapter, you're given a certain name, but it will not be definitive.

Froggit-

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Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

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Your destiny wasn’t what you could call “normal”. For a human at least.

Playing, studying, going to college, finding a job, having a family, and growing old, could be called a winning ticket. You, on the other hand, had to deal with something else for as long as you could remember.

Remembering. Here was something you were good at, something you had done for dozens of years without even understanding why it was happening. All those faces, all those lives you had to leave behind you. A single heart that had to grow again and again, without knowing where it would end up next, what language it would speak, what future it would be.

A miracle some would call it. To you, it was purely a curse. The process of dying, being conceived again, growing up, and remembering your past lives, was getting tiring as the years came by. But here you were once again. And this time, your death had been quite special. Never would you have imagined dying to free a city.

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Paris was beautiful, it was true. But too many people lived there for it to be breathable. Summer was a pain in the ass, having no air circulating between buildings, and the cramped space of the streets, making the temperature grow higher each passing day. It wasn’t bearable. Breathing wasn’t easy, and there was as much that water could solve.

Today was one of those days. Waking up to windows covered in craft paper to reduce the heat coming in the house, the rod from your old shutters, still in a corner of your room waiting to be saved. A kitchen, a little too small for even one person, and a pan to heat the water. A simple life in a busy city.

The bus had taken its sweet time to arrive, making you late for work. As soon as you entered the small café, you were in for quite a lot.

“Oh! Louise te voilà enfin! t’as presque une demie heure de retard, Naeva te cherche partout. J’ai mis ton uniforme dans l’arrière boutique

oh! Louise! here you are, you’re practically Half an hour late, Naeva was searching for you. I put your uniform in the back

-Ah! Merci beaucoup Fély! je ne sais pas ce que je ferais sans toi. Désolée pour le retard, mon bus a encore été dévié.

Ah! Thanks a lot, Fély! I don’t know what I would do without you! Sorry for being late, my bus took another route again.

-C’est pas à moi qui faut dire ça, allez dépêches toi, on ouvre dans 5 minutes.”

I’m not the one you should tell this, and hurry up, we open in 5 min.

With a big smile, you walked by the kitchen to finally get dressed in your work attire.

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Working wasn’t a passion. Making drinks had become mechanical long before even entering this café. Made it more of a chore to keep a place to live.

Even with the knowledge of a thousand years, you had stayed here, certain that something special would happen in this life. This “something special” came with the name of John Smith. A beautiful man in a striped suit, bearing a gorgeous smile. Never would you have guessed that this man could bring so much trouble with him.

You were happy to have learned how to regain your memory faster. And practicing sports did wonders. But Running from potato-headed soldiers wasn’t how you imagined your Monday to go. Their guns secured in hand while they tried to shoot you and the man beside you.

Somehow, you managed to get shot in the side. Sure it hurt like a bitch, but it wasn’t your first rodeo with this kind of injury.

Making a new turn, the two of you had entered a small building. As soon as the door was closed, you heard a weird vibrating sound and saw “John” hunched over the door lock.

“It should last us a bit before they can get us.

-Who the heck are you ?! You seem to know an awful lot about what those are.

-I’m the Doctor.

-The Doctor? What kind of doctor runs from bald potato soldiers?

-I could ask you the same. And you were also shot. Do you think you can still help?

- I might die either way. Let me be useful….”

“ So… what is the plan? “

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

The Sontarans had tried to sneak a bomb on Earth. Similarly to a mine, someone had to walk on it for it to detonate. In this case, only a human could make it explode. The bomb was still on their ship, and the Doctor had found their teleporter.

The safe was easy to find, but to take down the fleet, the bomb had to be activated.

“Doctor, I know it’s not the best option, but I'm the only one here able to make the ship go down. I’m already injured so it wouldn't be a big loss. You'll probably find me again in another life anyway. You, on the other hand, I’m not entirely sure.

-What do you mean another life ?! You're not dying, not on my watch…!”

The brunette seemed stressed. You knew he was trying to hide it, but you had too much time in your life to know what was going on in his head.

“You know what? Can I promise you something?

-I don’t think I quite follow but go ahead.

-I promise you, I'll always come back. No matter what. Might take a few human years but I'll always be back. No matter the life. “

The doctor seemed surprised. Humans surely made shallow promises in the hope of making things better, and to make others less guilty. But the sincerity of your voice made him believe it, and it scared him.

“Who are you, Louise....?”

All you gave him was a small smile before picking yourself up, blood still spreading on your shirt despite having transformed your apron into a temporary bandage. Only three digits were necessary to open the door. Your hand on the lock, the door slides open, and the monstrosity you had before your eyes made you want to throw up. You knew of the pain that was going to go through you. It wasn’t your first death by a bomb, but the last blasted your brain in tranches below the surface.

The bomb looked like a normal sewer lid, it would have been easy for a citizen to mistake it for a normal one. Checking Behind you, you had hoped to see the face of the doctor one last time before taking a step.

His eyes held sorrow, convinced that he had to make something else work. In comparison yours held hope, knowing that it wouldn’t be your end. But as red lights came into existence, he had to run. His eyes turned as he ran away to get to safety.

Once you knew he was far enough, as your foot barely touched the bomb, you felt your skin burn like a thousand suns. It was almost welcoming.

Darkness took over, letting you sink into the unknown.

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

Has you opened your eyes again, all you could see was the face of a beautiful woman. A halo was drawn on top of her head, as she whispered a sweet lullaby.

making gurgling noises, you finally reached for her nose, desperate to touch something again. And all you saw was her smile as she put her head against yours. Your name fell beautifully from her lips.

“Welcome to the world… Y/N Noble…”

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