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pawnshopbleus · 4 months

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hi! i was wondering if you could do a corio x plinth reader where he aproches her bc she is a plinth (and she notices and gets mad bc she think that corio takes her for a stupid girl who would just fall for his lies) but he slowly falls for her. i would really like if it ends well, like them together. i hope you understood my idea, i love your work btw.

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

coriolanus snow x fem!plinth!reader

summary - basically what the request says, but there is no happy ending because i'm evil.

contains - angst, the capital being described as beautiful, gold-digging, rude coriolanus, not beta read

author's note - i'm so sorry @simpovereveryone for the unhappy ending, but i feel like once someone finds out you originally wanted to date them for their money there is no coming back. originally, this was going to be a happy ending, but I just couldn't write one that felt natural and real. if you want, I can do a happy Coriolanus later, but there is no happy ending in this one.

IT was no secret that Strabo Plinth’s daughter was in love. It was the only thing people would talk about at the Academy. In between each Hunger Games, Capitol citizens were bored. Gossip would spread like a wildfire. They didn’t know how to keep a secret.

Coriolanus knew that you liked him. It was obvious to anyone that had two working eyes. The way that your eyes would follow him wherever he went, and how your back would straighten every time he walked by was evidence enough that you had a crush on the blonde boy.

Coriolanus was flattered, really, but he just wasn’t one to date. Many girls have tried and failed at dating him. None piqued his interest. He found that most pretty Capiol girls were dumb and had no interest beyond their physical appearance. They also lacked what he needed most, money.

Coriolanus wanted to continue his education at the University after the Academy. He needed to keep a roof over his, Tigris, and Grandma’ams head, or he would have failed as a cousin and a grandson. Those necessities don’t come cheap after a war, no matter how long ago the war was.

And then he heard the news. Some new students were chatting during lunch. His name and yours got thrown around, and after some intense staring at his apple, he heard what they were talking about. Your little schoolgirl crush on Coriolanus, and that was confirmation enough.

Then there you were, sitting in all your glory.

Being the one and only daughter in the Plinth family made you susceptible to fake people. Always after your money and status, but they will talk about you behind your back. Coriolanus has heard it all. He needed to outsmart the many and study the few that made it to your inner circle. Just because you already had a crush on him meant nothing if he didn’t have a good enough reason to chase after you.

Your red school uniform mixed in with the rest of the crowd, but your face was what drew him in. It was so different, unconventional, and beautiful. The unconventionality of your face made him want to paint a picture of you from memory. You were unique, which he liked. This won’t be too bad, Coriolanus said in his head.

Your tired eyes met his and he didn’t look away. The bags under your eyes accentuated the fact that you couldn’t sleep last night. The thunder crashing outside of your window was probable cause to keep you awake.

Coriolanus got up from his chair and stocked towards you. His stride was purposeful, guiding through clumps of students gathered around the room. He sat across from you and said nothing as he studied your tired expression. It was weird that your brother's friend and your crush were sitting across from you all of a sudden. You were in no way ready to talk to him right now.

“Did you want me to tell Sejanus something?” was all you could manage to ask. Your brain was begging you to ask more. Why are you here? How is your family? Do you think I’m crazy for liking you, even though we’ve never had an actual conversation? But your mouth stayed shut, which saved you from a boatload of embarrassment.

Coriolanus smiled. His teeth were imperfectly imperfect. A natural color, not too white, but not too yellow. His right front tooth was slightly crooked, giving his teeth personality.

“No, I came here to talk to you.”

Your brows furrowed for a second. Why in the world would he want to talk to me? Besides being the sister of his friend, you had nothing going on for yourself. There were far prettier girls that he could talk to. You weren’t all that traversed in philosophy and classic books like he was. You were just…you.

Your lips pressed together in a small line and then returned to normal after a second. You couldn’t form coherent words right now. You nodded your head at the boy in front of you and looked across the room, not ready to make eye contact with him at the present moment. Students talked and whispered with each other as they took in the scene. Coriolanus Snow talking to the girl that had a crush on him. Many girls who had tried to date him in the past narrowed their eyes at you.

You had not noticed that the room was almost silent, save for the whispers of the nosey students. Coriolanus kept repeating your name, trying to break you out of your trance. You liked the way your name rolled off his tongue. An unlimited amount of syllables were repeated over and over again in his baritenor voice.

“What?” you ask as you are broken out of your trance.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” he answered your question with another.

This seemed too good to be true. The boy you’ve had a crush on for years had just asked you out for seemingly no reason. Either whatever higher power in the sky was on your side, or this was one huge prank. Either way, you agreed.

˖ ࣪ . 🦢 ࿐ ♡ ˚ .

You stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of your room. The baby pink silk slip dress you were wearing used to belong to your mother. She had given it to you two years ago in hopes that you would wear it. She hoped that you would wear it on a date with a nice boy. That’s exactly what you were doing, but there were two problems. The first problem was that you were nothing like your brother, outgoing and outspoken. You preferred to keep to yourself, and if you had to socialize, you would do it with the handful of friends you had. The second problem was that it was two years later. The dress no longer draped beautifully around you like it did when you were younger. It clung to every curve, crevice, and roll you had on your body. You were lucky that the dress still zipped up. You studied yourself in the mirror, going from the tip top of your head down to your painted toenails. At least it looked like you had enough money to be well-fed and groomed.

Coriolanus was taking you to a new rooftop restaurant. The women in your mother's book club raved on and on about how elegant and regal the vibes in that restaurant felt. They also recounted how hard it is to get a reservation. For a new restaurant, it seemed pretty picky with its patrons.

He picked you up around six. The sun had already set and a chill breeze kissed your skin, causing goosebumps to rise on the bare skin of your arms. Coriolanus kept you close to him, placing a strong hand on the small of your back. His hand was cold, causing you to shiver.

The reviews were right. The restaurant was beautiful. The entire place was lit using nothing but candles. They lined the tables with pristine white cloth. There were other details of the restaurant that were otherworldly, but the view of the Capital made you swoon. With Coriolanus long forgotten, your eyes lit up at all the lights and such that outlined every building and street. You had forgotten how beautiful the Capital was at night. Your heart panged with gratefulness at being able to experience this even though you weren’t born here.

Coriolanus studied you once again. The city lights flashed and shone across your body, accentuating the way your skin looked. It looked soft, almost perfect. Nothing was ever perfect.

“So, Sejanus told me you like to paint,” Coriolanus commented, breaking the silence between the two of you.

Your eyes broke away from the shining lights and back to the companion in front of you. “Yes,” you simply said.

The simplicity of your words made Coriolanus fix his hand into a fist under the table. He was doing you a favor! You were the one who had a crush on him, not the other way around. He couldn’t say anything, though. He had to remind himself why he was doing this. Flashes of images passed through his mind. They all had one thing in common; they were dear to him - the only things he loved. That was the reason why he was here. He needed the money that was attached to you.

“What do you like to paint?” The food that he ordered for the two of you was being placed down on the table. He ordered steak and potatoes with a side of steamed vegetables.

You are a vegetarian.

Everyone knew you were vegetarian. You loved animals and couldn’t fathom eating a living animal. You didn’t judge people who ate meat. Everyone was free to live the lifestyle they wanted and you choose to live a meatless lifestyle.

“Why did you ask me out on a date?” you questioned the boy in front of you who was currently eating his food like a starved man. Which he was. He barely had enough money to pay rent, let alone pay for this meal…

That’s why he asked you on a date - for your money. You’ve lived your entire life having to question whether or not someone wanted to be your friend. Your last name followed you everywhere you went. There was nothing shameful about your family, but you hated having fake people around you. It was literal hell.

Of course, Coriolanus didn’t like you. He just needed your money. You scoffed at him and didn’t even let him finish as you sprinted out of the restaurant, leaving him confused and with no way to pay.

It’s safe to say that Coriolanus is never welcomed back.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #angst #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x fem!reader

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greensagephase · 4 months

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Dropping this at your inbox and then running away…

Haha no but seriously

I’ve talked to you about how I’m trying to work on Peter and his looks, I’m still figuring out how to draw him on my own style…

But in this case while I was looking for references I found a picture of the model on whom Peter Parker of insomniac videogame is based on and I just thought he looked so freaking cute there I melted 😭😭😭, im actually now obsessing over him , and I decided to try copy the picture (although the drawing it’s not that close to the style I’m focusing on my Peter drawings, it’s a lil bit different cause also I don’t know how to stick into a style yet I’m still figuring it out).

Anyway my thoughts just kept leading me on the fact that this would be a perfect picture that my Spider would have on her wall, one of the many she has of her Peter, it would probably have been taken by her on a date night where she took an improv picture of him looking at her softly 🥺🥺🥺🥺 or smth like that, idk I keep picturing lot of soft scenarios for Peter that I think I’m going insane.

So I drew a picture frame over it and her hands caressing the picture (?) Poe maybe giving it a kiss before putting it back on the wall, like it happened on one of the chapters of NVC, cause I’m a sucker about all those sweet tender moments where she remembers Peter, means so much to me, cause even before all these Spiderverse things and hyper fixations over Miguel, Peter(Spider-Man) is my favourite super hero so he has a special place in my heart.

So yeah here it is, a lil rendition to my Peter, that can change when I figure more out his style rather than basing him that much on the model hehe

No, the way I opened the ask and saw the drawing - let me just give you a mental picture of me - just imagine a woman sitting at her desk and looking at her laptop and then opening this and she just starts banging her fist on the desk and trying very hard not to scream too loud but also hyperventilating BECAUSE THIS IS SO FREAKING CUTE!!!!!!!!!!!! AND TENDER, AND SWEET AND ANA YOU GOT ME INTERNALLY SCREAMING AND REALLY CRYING!!!!!!!!!

The actor/model for Peter in the insomniac videogame - I think I'm going to start obsessing over him, too, don't mind me because HE'S SO CUTE!! Talking about him with you also makes me want to play the videogames even though I suck at those type of games but I'm seriously considering playing it!! (I've tried just swinging around and it was so much fun, hehe!!)

You got me CRYING over how this would be a photo of Peter on your spidersona's wall - you're SO RIGHT!!!!! And the little backstory on how this would be taken during a date night and reader capturing this moment randomly and the way it would be just one of the many, many, many times of Peter just staring at reader like this, with such pure love and adoration for her - I'm not doing well at all, I have REAL TEARS in my eyes right now just thinking about it!!!

🥺😭 It's so so crazy and I mentioned it so many times before to @sunsetdoodler but I never imagined reader's Peter to become so important to me - like, I'm fully attached to this character even though he's not an active character in the story but every time I write about him, my heart melts. PETER AND READER LOVED EACH OTHER SO MUCH!!!! Their love was so beautiful and special - and I'm rambling now but I love talking about our Peter so much and seriously, this is so freaking sweet, tender, and beautiful to think about. I mentioned it in my message but sometimes I get the urge to write something about Peter and reader - like a regular day in their lives and how they interacted before he passed away in a one-shot but I swear - I don't think my heart could take it. I would be crying the entire time, I think 😭😭

AND OMG READER GIVING IT A KISS LIKE SHE DID IN THAT PART my brain can't think of which part specifically rn but I know which one you're talking about and I'm crying even more now when I have a mental image of what that picture looks like!!!!! I'm not doing well but in a good way, I swear!!! 😭😭😭

Also, I feel you so much!!! Peter (Spider-Man) has always had a special place in my heart even since I was a kid. Spider-Man was the first superhero I watched on theaters (Tobey Maguire's Peter) and ever since then, Spider-Man has been one of my top favorite superheroes!! No matter what new superhero pops up, Spider-Man is always there for me!!!

Ana, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SHARING THIS WITH ME 😭❤️ It's made my night and even though I'm crying, they're happy tears!! Also, I'm so excited to continue to see your Peter take shape as you work on him and find your style drawing him. What I've seen already has a chokehold on me !!! 😭 THANK YOU!!!!!! 🥺❤️

#nonviolent communication #asked and answered #no seriously - I'm crying rn over how SWEET AND CUTE AND TENDER AND BEAUTIFUL THIS IS #I'm gonna go to sleep thinking about Peter now and imagining more random things about what our lives were like before #probably not a good idea but we love angst over here #nonviolent communication fanart

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mogwaei · 1 year

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Chapter 168: The Good Reserve

Rating: explicit

Pairings: Solas/OFC, M!Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, F!Lavellan/secret companion

Fic summary: Agent of Fen’Harel defects to search for an alternative solution and–oh no. An Inquisitor who is Not Well. His sister who likes to complicate things. Time travel with consequences. Lore exploration and expansion. Friends, rivals, lovers, and endless explanations. Do u like stew because this one has the whole kitchen sink.

Word Count: chapter [~5k] | entire fic: 950k+

Chapter link

Chapter 1 for new readers

Preview below:

When Dorian finally arrived, he practically hit an invisible wall, bracing a hand on the doorway as his entire face contorted in comically exaggerated disgust. Yin’s lit up with boyish excitement which promptly dropped into concern upon seeing Dorian. But with his advisors and Varric talking his ear off, there was no chance of approach. Dorian joined her instead, sputtering and flicking his hands as he tried various odd spells for whatever he found so offensive.

"Has someone not purged this chamber yet?" He gagged slightly when he opened his mouth, sitting heavily in a chair beside her. "I feel like I've walked into the equivalent of a latrine if someone dumped a corpse. Or five."

"It smells?"

"No, the…magic. Or Fade residue, perhaps, I can't bloody tell, it's so thick. I can feel it like oil on my skin—blast, I'll have to burn these clothes after this."

Maordrid was baffled—nothing of the sort was jamming her senses. Experimentally, she cast a small barrier around him, but he continued squirming in his seat like an uncomfortable da’len.

"Did you feel that?"

He blinked at her, then inspected his hands, squinting hard. "Oh no, I don't like this. Not one bit. I've been in laboratories where auras get masked, but this is…I can't even feel you casting." His expression went stone cold. "Masking field…what if…magekiller?"

"Do you really think someone would be stupid enough to attack the collective brain of the Inquisition?" she deadpanned and tried again, this time with a reinforced barrier mimicking the thickness of a glacier. Vivienne glanced over across the floor with a look of askance. It was too hard to read her face to determine whether she was sensing anything off.

“Negligible difference,” Dorian said, tapping a ring on the inside of the barrier, creating a crystalline sound. “Unfortunately, it’s rather distracting and while I love attention, perhaps not like this.” She dispelled it and the two of them sat in disgruntled silence, glaring at the air while trying to pin the offending source. Yin and Cole didn’t seem to be affected by the miasma plaguing them, which made it all the more perplexing.

The sound of creaking hinges drew her attention from the group at the war table, and her amused smile faded as a tall, quiet individual slipped into the chamber, closing it gently. He stood there, chin lifted ever so slightly, nonchalantly taking in the attendance…

Then his pale, intense eyes fell on her.

The blood warmed in her veins as he raised a brow. The barest smile ghosted his lips and was gone too soon, replaced by a reserved expression of acknowledgement as Yin called out to him.

"...it's someone, or something in that direction," Dorian was mumbling to her. "If Blackwall were a mage, this is what I pictured his magic smelling like."

👀 (links to fic above!)

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age 4 #solas #dorian pavus #solasmance #solas x oc #da4 #dragon age: ouroboros #mogwaei writes

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roger-that-cap · 3 years

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wildest dreams

witch!wanda x reincarnated!reader

summary: wanda had walked around the earth for centuries with no magic and hardly any soul left after losing her soulmate. she thought that her lover would never return and that the only reunion they would have would be in the afterlife, but a run-in with bucky changes everything after he insists that he met the long gone y/n at a fountain in the park.

yet another au by me...

word count: around 6.5k?

imma tag one person bc she gets upset when she isn’t tagged- and idk if anyone else would actually be interested?

@teenwonder

also this picture is not mine, and the dividers are by @firefly-graphics !!

without further ado, it’s almost 6 in the morning but i give you this!!

She held you tight, fingers digging into your skin as she trembled above you. The rose bushes were rustling in the wind next to you both, the sweet smell of the flowers contrasting with the moment. You were halfway gone already, eyes far off but trying to swim back to the surface, wanting to look at her one last time before the inevitable happened.

“S…” you tried to say, but she hushed you immediately, tears falling down on your face and mixing with your own. You shook her head at her as hard as you could, begging for her to let you continue. “Say you’ll remember me,” you ground out, fingers tightening around her hand.

“What?” Wanda asked, voice already thick with grief as she tried to decide whether or not it was better to keep the knife lodged between your ribs inside of you.

“When I come back-” you cut yourself off by coughing up blood, and Wanda didn’t even wince when it splattered on her cheek. “Back for you, promise that you’ll remember me.”

“Darling,” Wanda whispered back, her voice cracking as she bent over and rested her head on your stomach for a moment, hiding her sob. She could feel her magic tingling inside of her; under her skin, in her bones, dancing on her fingertips. “I wish I knew- I wish I just knew how-”

“Please.” You said, a desperate look in your eyes as you halted her words, already knowing what Wanda wanted. But natural magic was nothing to mess with. She sobbed again with her lips pressed together, no sound escaping her. You squeezed her hand tighter as the sun started on its routine descent, basking the two of you in an orange glow that you would have stopped to admire in any other moment in time. But Wanda would grow to hate that shade of orange with every breath in her. “Please.” It would always remind her of the sound of your begging, voice reaching for something that she couldn’t see.

Maybe it was the desperation in your voice, or the way that she just knew that you were well within your last moments, because she looked up at you one last time. “Of course I’ll remember you, darling. I couldn’t even dream of forgetting you.” There was a wheezing sound that came from your chest as you cracked a bloody smile, and then you gave one last squeeze before you looked away from her, your soul settling in the afterlife.

Wanda Maximoff would never forget it. Suddenly, her previously irrational fear of losing her magic became real, but that feeling didn’t even come close to the one she got when you grew lifeless in her arms.

Ever since you knew what a normal person was supposed to be like, you had identified that you, in fact, were not the normal person that you were probably supposed to be. Normal people didn’t daydream to the point where it felt like their bodies weren’t in the present anymore. Normal people didn’t have birthmarks under their ribs that aced and burned. Normal people didn’t feel out of touch with their world, like they weren’t even meant to be in the century they were in. Normal people didn’t feel like they were searching for something tirelessly, something just under their noses. And normal people surely didn’t dream of the same set of hands, same pair of eyes, or the same voice over and over again, a new setting every time, but always the same, faceless person. You either drew the same faceless person or rose bushes, and every sketch book you ever had was full of them.

At first, you were sure that you were going insane. Every time you closed your eyes, you would see a flash of reddish brown hair, or the same set of eyes, or the same pair of pale hands. You kept seeing this person without ever seeing a face for nights at a time before you went to see a therapist, who just ended up telling you that worrying about it was only going to make it worse, whatever it even was. But eventually, you learned to get used to it.

Acceptance turned into expectancy. You went to sleep knowing that there was going to be a pair of hands accompanied by the same slender fingers as always before you, sometimes intertwined with your own. You knew that there was going to be a set of eyes on you, watching you intently with no ace to go with them. You knew that you would hear whispers of the same voice, speaking so clearly in a language you didn’t even come close to understanding, and soon, you were craving to see and hear those things. And wanting to see them led to something that you never told your therapist; drawings.

You drew nearly every day under the sky, trying to find different park benches to see the sun rise and set at different angles for inspiration. You loved the sky, moon and stars alike, but there was something special about sunrises and sunsets. Sunrises and sets both meant new beginnings to you, out with the old and in with the new, and each rise and fall filled you with a strange feeling of nostalgia. You were watching the sunset on a park bench by yourself, a sketchbook sitting on your lap as you held an idle pencil, still thinking about the way you wanted to draw the hands. The birthmark between your ribs started to tingle, letting you know that it was about to burn again. That damn birthmark. You dropped the pencil and scratched at it, trying to beat the annoying feeling at its own game. You cursed the mark, but your eyes didn’t leave the sky, and you noticed your heart swelling in your chest, faint despair in the pits of it, churning around like the middle of the deep sea.

You shook your head and put your pencil in your hand again, brain not even having to work hard at all to see the features of the faceless person who was in your every dream.

Even before she ever met you, Wanda didn’t sleep well. She would toss and turn for at least an hour before she finally found some temporary, flimsy form of peace. Her sleep was always light and she hardly ever had dreams, which was customary for a woman like her at the time- an un-blossomed witch.

It was hard for her to remember the time where she didn’t have magic, but that time certainly existed. It lasted nearly thirty years. She never aged a day past twenty one, time moving past her without a care in the world. She was stuck right there, no magic except for the little bit in her bones that was keeping her young. And then she met you.

You were the person that kicked her magic into gear. You were her kindred soul, her other half and the power to her magic. Meeting you had flung her right into the world of magic and spells, things that she only watched others do, but even as she was introduced to an entirely different world, she could remember only really wanting you. Her heart and soul called to you far louder and stronger than spells called to her eager mind. When she met you, it all fell into place. It was an easy love, one that was never going to be disputed or questioned, and loved it. She was prepared to move heaven, earth, and the gods for you, if she had to. Your arrival into her life had caused her to finally blossom.

But now, she had bloomed and flourished and wilted all the same, and she was just waiting to decompose.

“Have hope,” was all that Bucky, a warlock who had been tortured enough in his own way, would tell her. “Have hope that something good will come to you, and it will.”

She never had the heart to tell him that good things hardly came to those who waited. He himself was a product of waiting, and it had served him well. Before he met his other half, he was taken by a rival clan and experimented on with spells that were so far past illegal that they made the casual witch shudder. Eventually, he was broken out and the rival clan was defeated, but he returned to them as an empty shell of a man. But then, Steve came, and then the man was nothing but a ball of light. His magic grew to be strong and so did Steve’s, and together they became known as some of the strongest practitioners of magic in the world.

But what did Wanda have to hope for when you were gone? What did she have to wake up for and smile at when she knew that she had buried you hundreds of years ago? It wasn’t even about the magic. She couldn’t care less about the way she felt the energy leave her- and it was dramatic- leaving in a singular burst of light the second you left. She only knew that you were gone, and that was the only thing that mattered, and it seemed to be the only thing that she even really felt.

Well, she did feel one other thing. Exhaustion. Exhaustion caused by the lack of you by her side. And exhaustion was exactly why she assumed that she was hallucinating when she felt a small tug at her heart, in a part of her brain that had been dormant for years and years. She shook her head and tried to take her thoughts away from you and the nagging feeling in her gut.

“Oh, no…” you exclaimed, voice tapering out into a whine as you watched the ruined paper sink deeper and deeper into the fountain, a fist clenching at your side in disappointment when you realized how many hours were lost, just like that, and then even tighter when you realized that part of you wasn’t even truly upset about the time spent on the ruined art. You were mostly upset that you lost the only vision of the hands that you had during the daytime.

You were on your knees, sleeves still all the way down as you reached into the water frantically, causing the paper to move even further away. You weren’t even worried about your sketchbook that had fallen open onto the pavement, more focused on the rapidly deteriorating piece of paper. You hardly even noticed the man who knocked into you talking, trying his hardest to make the situation better. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, is there anything I can do?”

“I mean,” you breathed out, taking the nearly disintegrated paper from the water and grimacing. When you realized that the man was fumbling to say something from behind you, celery apprehensive over the fact that you were upset, you took a short breath and turned around, giving him a small smile. He had dark brown hair that was cut short and crystal blue eyes that were striking, but you knew that they held thousands of stories by looking just once. He was holding your sketchbook, and by the way he was gripping it tightly, you could tell that he had flipped through it for a second. “It’s just a drawing. I guess I can make another one.”

His eyes widened. You saw his jaw slacken and his neck stretch out, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He blinked three times, and his parted lips trembled for a second before he slammed them shut. You cocked a brow at him, your sadness about losing the drawing being replaced by a weak feeling of uneasiness. “Sir?”

“Knew it.” His face was clear from any type of emotion as he watched yours, and when you opened your mouth to ask him if he was okay, a grin spread across his face. “I’m Bucky, what’s your name?” You furrowed your brows at him, asking what the hell had just occurred without saying a single word. “I’m sorry, you just looked really familiar.”

Just like that, you smiled. You knew that feeling, you felt like you got deja vu far too often to be normal. You hated when people made you feel strange for it, you always had, so you tried your best to ignore it with him. “You’re fine, don’t worry. I’m Y/N.” You extended your dry hand for him to shake it. He stared at it for a moment, and then with an eagerness that made you smile, he shook your hand.

“‘I’m Bucky.”

For a moment, you could have sworn that you had done more tha just seen him before. Could have sworn that you had shaken his hand, met him before, been at the receiving end of his blinding yet somewhat shy smile. It flashed through you warm and bright, and you cleared your throat before pulling your hand away and realizing you had held it for too long. You cleared it again when you saw something flash in his eyes, a weak smile lifting on your lips.

“It’s not her.”

Wanda was furious. She was insulted more than anything, really, angry that Bucky could even mistake the light of you for someone else. She knew that you would never grace the earth with your presence again, and she was so used to the fact that she was going to have to die before seeing you again. And for one of her closest friends to try to convince her that you were back?

“She would have already found me.” And Wanda believed that with her whole heart. You had asked her so long ago that you remember her, like she could ever forget. Your scent was so flowery that whenever she walked past a growing garden that she smelled you, your smile was so bright that she saw it in the way the rays of sun came down on the earth. She heard your laugh in the chirping of the birds every morning, and she saw your playfulness in the running waters of the stream by the cabin. She could never forget you, because everything was traced back to you. And you would never return without finding her.

“I don’t think she even knows it yet, but she is looking for you.” Bucky insisted, stepping forward and receiving Wanda’s burning glare while Steve stepped to the side and let it happen. “I bumped into her and she dropped her sketchbook. I saw her drawings- she drew your eyes.”

Wanda’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“She dropped the drawing of hands in the water, but I saw she had drawn eyes that looked just like yours, hair the same shade as yours, even drawn the necklace you used to wear. She draws roses, too. I swear to everything above, it’s her.”

She could feel herself getting warm, the sort of emotions stirring inside of her that had the potential to turn into a singular weapon. The thought of a rose bush made her sick to her stomach. “It’s not her.”

“You forget that I knew her, too,” Bucky stated, and Wanda’s desolation was replaced by some ancient feeling of possessiveness. “I could never forget her face, and that was it right there. That was her face, without a shadow of a doubt, And her voice-”

Wanda’s face curled into a snarl. “Stop talking about her.”

“Hey, Wanda, take a deep breath,” Steve cut in, ever the mediator, but Bucky was hardheaded. If he thought something needed to happen, he was the one to push for it to happen, and he needed her to see.

“She looks the same as she did the day she left.” Wanda let out a choked noise. For a second, all she could picture was her lover dying by the blooming rose bushes in the sunset, ruining two of the most beautiful things in life at once. The third (but first) was you, but not even your horrible death could taint Wanda’s memory of you. You would forever be the brightest and most beautiful thing to grace the earth. “I got her number, we’re meeting at a coffee shop a few blocks away.”

“Leave her alone.” Wanda said through gritted teeth, tears welling up in her eyes. When she saw the brunet’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open, she spoke before he could get a word in. “Just stay away from her, Bucky.”

All she could think about was your death. The way you choked on your own blood. The way you cried and looked up at her, but still managed to smile. And as she was consumed by rage and memories, the only other thought in her mind was that she was yours and you were here, and that she couldn’t save you then. But she was surely going to preserve your memory from Bucky’s mouth.

“I know you feel it coming back. You haven’t felt it in so long, but it’s warm, right? It’s powerful. You always were the strongest, and you’re not dormant any longer. Stop lying to yourself and depriving yourself of love, Wanda. You know Y/N-”

She saw red. Red as red as the fires that burned in the magma underneath the ground, as red as embers in a fire. “You don’t get to say her name.” She saw so much red, so much hot anger that hardly covered her sadness, that she didn’t even see the way that she had her hand out red coming from her palm as she lifted Bucky right off of the wooden floor of their shared home. “You don’t get to talk about her.” There was a warbling noise in her ears, whispers that sounded like her name, getting louder and louder until she finally realized it was Steve trying to get her attention.

“Wanda.”

Instantly, she dropped her arm and watched Bucky fall to the ground, landing in a crouched position. She watched him catch his breath on the ground. She opened her mouth to apologize, to say that she felt terrible and that she had no idea what happened, what took over her, but she was stopped by the brilliant smile that came onto Bucky’s face.

“You used magic.” He said, slowly and steadily, not a hint of hesitance or animosity in his eyes or voice. Instead, he seemed more proud than anything. “You can’t deny this now, Wanda.”

She was hyperventilating, the pain in her chest intensifying as she tried without any results to get the right amount of air in her lungs. She felt her knees hit the ground before she knew that she did, her hands covering her face as she sobbed into herself. Her heart ached, tugging in so many different directions as her brain fought to rationalize what everything meant. She had used magic, and that meant that you were back, in one way or another. She was in disbelief. She was in despair. She was in shock.

“I know you do, I know you do,” It was Steve’s arms around her, and Steve’s voice in her ear, and she realized that she had been saying I miss her, I miss her, over and over again until the words jumbled. “We know you do, Wanda. We miss her too.”

But he didn’t understand. He hadn’t lost Bucky since he had found him. He hadn’t walked the earth for centuries after losing the only thing that mattered to him as an empty shell of the person he used to be. He would never understand, but that wasn’t his fault. In fact, she prayed that he would never understand.

“I’m sorry I approached you like that,” Bucky said, crouching down and hugging her just as Steve was, enclosing her into a hugging circle. They were coven, related by magic, and just being around them made her tears subside. “But you know that I would have never said anything like that unless I was one thousand percent sure. I would never do anything to hurt you, Wanda. All I want is for you to be happy. And I know that I found her.”

And how could he want anything but the best for her? He knew her just as much as Steve did. Just as much as she probably knew herself. He and Steve were the ones who stormed the coven that took you from her by her side, and they were the ones that helped her send them to their graves. They supported her through thick and thin, through revenge and peace, and mostly, they loved you almost as much as she did. Why would Bucky lie?

Wanda blinked, staring down at her hands in fear and wonder as her heart beat started to get away from her. Steve’s warm hand landed on her shoulder, and she flinched from the sudden touch after such a rush of power.

“I think you should go with him, Wanda.” Her heavy breathing was all that filled the air for a moment. “Just take a look at her from outside so you can leave if he was wrong without anyone knowing, but you should at least try. I think Buck’s right.”

Wanda’s breaths were still labored. Her hands trembled as she moved hair from her eyes, and her lip quivered before she found the strength to mutter a few words. “Will she- will she remember?”

“I think she will,” Steve said softly. “But she’s probably just a human. It may take more than just seeing you for her to remember everything.”

Her eyes were wet with tears, and her heart was so big with warmth and need that she was scared that it would burst open at the seams. But she was even more terrified to lose the idea of you. Slowly and shakily, she nodded, her head bobbing up and down as she sealed her own fate. “I’ll go.” She saw Steve give her his fatherly and supportive smile, small yet full. “I’ll see her.”

You didn’t know how you were gently swindled into giving Bucky your number. You knew that it was nothing but friendly, but he was so charming that you felt like you could never not know him. In fact, it felt like you already did know him. He said something about maybe commissioning an artwork of yours, and of course that excited you. You were going to meet him at a coffee shop, in a public place even though you weren’t the slightest bit afraid of him. But something felt different.

It started once you got into your car. You were driving to get to the shop when tingles came down your spine, and bumps raised on your arms, like someone was whispering against your skin. You started to feel warmth come and go in waves, brushing against your mind and then retreating again. You shook off all of the strong feelings as you turned your car off, parked in front of the coffee shop while the music from your speakers filled the silence, soft piano music that was perfect for the weather.

It was drizzling, the kind of weather that you liked to call a “lover’s drizzle” because of how often it was seen in romantic scenes. Scenes of confession, of reunion, of desperation between two lovers- more often than not, they had the mild rain to stand in. You turned the music down before shutting your car off and then stepping out, closing the door and locking it immediately before walking briskly to the entrance of the coffee shop with your recent drawings in hand.

Bucky wasn’t there when you arrived. In fact, hardly anyone was there besides the few employees, who smiled at you when you entered but otherwise fell back into conversation amongst themselves, which was fine with you. There was one beefy blonde man who was sitting with a laptop and a ball cap on. He glanced up for a moment and then took a double take, blinking hard at you with a star struck look on his face, and then he shot his gaze back down and went back to typing.

You sat down at a table for two, the only type of table that was there besides the long, awkward study tables that they had set up in the center of the room. You would much rather take the intimate setting of a two-seater than to sit in the middle of the shop, so you did just that. You flipped through your work, looking at it closely now that you had the time. He had mentioned something about possible portrait work for a friend of his, so you naturally brought most of the drawings that you had done with hands, arms, eyes, hair, nearly everything that was the closest to your heart. You rested your palm on top of them and watched your fingers trace the slender ones that you had drawn in what felt like by memory at the time, like you were just remembering the way an old friend’s hands used to look. You peeled that one back and looked into the eyes, the strangest and prettiest light green color that made your heart pound every time you looked at it. You took a deep breath in.

“That’s gorgeous.” You jumped in your seat as the chair in front of you pulled out from under the table, and there was the charming brunet that you had met by the fountain, giving you the same welcoming smile that he first granted you. You smiled back without hesitation, your heart warming at the sight. “You sure can draw.”

“I try,” you joked, your grin nearly splitting your face. “Do you drink coffee?”

“Nah,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “But I like tea, though.” You gave him a thoughtful look.

“Are you into herbal healing?”

You could have sworn that there was some sort of excitement in his eyes, but you weren’t sure enough by the time he opened his mouth again. “Yes, actually! What, does it look like I’m into it?”

“No,” you answered, and it was true. Bucky was huge. He had the kind of build that intimidated other guys at the gym, the kind that made athletes jealous. He looked like the typical meathead, but he was sweeter than you could have imagined. But he looked nothing like a man who would be into herbal healing. “Just a guess.”

“Pretty good guess,” he mused, and you grinned back. Your head was in the clouds of some strange deja vu when he asked you if you wanted something, and the entire exchange of whether or not you were going to pay was on the back burner as you sifted through your thoughts. By the time he came back, you noticed that you must have told him that you liked hot chocolate, and that he must have paid. You scolded him before he sat back down, waving you off. It was silent for a few moments as you looked out of the window, the rain still steadily working through the atmosphere. The cup was comfortingly warm.

“Can I ask you something?”

With any other man, you would have immediately told him no, or at least have your guard up. But there was just something deep down, so buried that it was faint, but it was there, that told you that he was nowhere even close to being a threat. “Yes.”

He nodded, taking a sip of his tea and then putting his cup down gently before giving you an intense look. “Who’s the girl?”

You frowned. “What girl?”

He raised a singular brow. “The one you draw.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You blinked twice, and then tilted your head to the side. “I don’t draw just one person,” you said slowly, the lie dragging its way out of your mouth and through your teeth. “They’re different people.”

“Oh,” he said, but the smirk on his face told you that he knew you were lying to him and to yourself. You sipped your drink and something tugged at you, telling you to look out of the window and into the rain again, just one more time before you spilled your guts about seeing things- and then something caught your eye. A flash of a familiar reddish-brown. You turned your full body to look that way, and once you did, you nearly dropped your cup.

There was a woman staring back at you, eyes wide and full of so much emotion that the artist in you wanted to rush to make an unworthy attempt at capturing it. Her lips were parted in pure shock, but you were watching them tremble even from far away. She was getting slightly damp in the rain, but she stood there like it didn’t even matter, just locking eyes with you and sending your heart rate through the roof. When your eyes finally came back to hers after looking at her for what felt like the quickest eternity, you gasped. You knew those eyes.

If you weren’t so deep into gazing at the woman stuck behind the glass, you would have noticed the pleased and content look on Bucky’s face, and the look that he gave the big blond sitting with a ball cap on all by himself. You would have noticed the way that the blond man was turning his body towards your table, watching with the same amount of anticipation as Bucky was. You tried to understand why she looked so familiar, why she was scratching the part of your brain that always tried to convince you that you were much older than twenty something- and then it hit you.

You had been drawing this woman. And you had been thinking about her ever since you knew how to think. It was just the first time you were ever seeing the full picture. “I-” you muttered, eyes stuck on her and the way she looked like she was about to topple over from emotions. The words got stuck in your own throat as you weakly tried to get your mind to take you back to the conversation. “I- excuse me. I have to- I’ll be back- excuse me.” Your chair made a loud noise as you stood from the table in a haste, pushing the door open and walking towards the woman who was still standing on the sidewalk, dumbstruck.

Before you even knew you were outside and into the rain, you were standing not even four steps away from the woman, who was now looking at you with an incomprehensible look on her face. You couldn’t even feel the rain on you. All you could feel was her gaze and the warmth that was settling in your stomach and chest, and the same intense familiarity that was hitting you when you looked at Bucky. But it was so much stronger.

“I-” you frowned, taking a step closer and resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. “Do I know you? Have we met?” You had to have met. You had seen her in your sleep, in your daydreams, in your sketchbook. And still, you never could have imagined how beautiful she was.

She was silent.

“I know this is random and that I just bum rushed you, but, did we go to school together or something?” You were embarrassed. You had never begged someone to remember you before, but this woman was different. She hadn’t said a word to you, and you didn’t even know her name, but you were enraptured. You swore you knew her. You swore you saw her eyes glaze over for a second.

“You really don’t remember, do you?” Her voice struck something familiar in your chest, something warm and comforting. It was so familiar, so far back in your memory that it felt like home. Her accent, her inflection, the way she spoke slowly yet deliberately. It was all there in your mind, but you just couldn’t figure out how you knew it so well. “You don’t remember who I am?”

That had you closing your mouth. You tilted your head to the side at what could have been a hostile question, but her tone made it sad. Did you forget a high school friend? “Oh, um, I know you from somewhere, but I can’t really-”

“Think.” The desperation in her voice made your knees shake. If she were anyone else, you would have told her to go away, but you couldn’t. You didn’t want her to go away. But you couldn’t quite place her either, even though your own heart was screaming at you to remember.

“I’m sorry,” you said, a hurt expression on your face. You braved yourself to leave, taking a deep breath and giving her a weak smile that embarrassed you even further. “This was weird of me. I’ll just-”

She was reaching for you. Time started to run slower as her pale arm extended towards you, long fingers that you had committed to memory and to paper a thousand times outstretched. Your mouth dropped open ever so slightly as you stood in place for a second, body still until you subconsciously leaned forward, your nerves buzzing under your skin.

For a second, the only thing you could do was look at the point where her skin touched yours.

You had seen magic before. You had seen it in movies and at theme parks and when miracles happened, but nothing ever like when her skin touched yours. You swore that the warmth that your body had been feeling kicked in even stronger, surrounding you in comfort. Her hand was wrapped around your arm, gentle yet begging, firm yet wishing all the same for something you couldn’t quite see yet. You looked up and into her eyes, the eyes you had drawn and seen so many times, and then you saw it.

You saw it in more than flashes. They were coming in at the speed of light, but somehow you were able to catch every moment and every feeling that came along. You heard her voice as clear as day, ringing with laughter. You saw the two of you attempting to skip stones. You saw her enchanting your stones behind your back to make you think you had actually done it. You saw her mouth brushing over your cheeks, your mouth, your forehead. You could feel her hands on you, holding you, protecting you, cherishing you all the same. You could remember the way that you felt when you saw her standing in traditional witch’s clothing, being inducted into her coven as a blossomed witch. You saw everything and nothing, and you remembered it all.

Wanda.

A strangled sound escaped your body, so feral that it scared you, but you didn’t care. You pulled her forward, your head clashing against her chest. You could feel her shaking, like she wanted nothing more than to hold you just as tightly, but she was hesitating. “Wanda,” you called out, hugging her tighter, and then, like something in the universe stretched too far and then snapped right back into place, she was returning the embrace.

“I thought I had lost you forever,” she said, her voice hollow yet so full, so expressive. “I lost you, darling.”

The memories were all there, like all it took was a touch, but you were still coping with the knowledge. You had been murdered. Murdered by witch hunters, way back when witches were known and feared. That had to have been hundreds of years ago, you knew it. But still, your focus was on Wanda. It always would be on Wanda, forever and always. Just like hers was on you.

“You didn’t,” you managed to say, your own voice thick with emotion as you buried your face into her neck, finally feeling the texture of the hair that you tried so hard to get right. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere ever again.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly sobbing in your arms. You had no idea how you weren’t being interrupted in the crowded streets, but when you took a look back inside of the cafe to see the men who you so clearly remembered as Steve and Bucky, you knew it had something to do with them and their fulfilled smiles. “I wasn’t able to save you. I let you die, and I’m so sorry, darling. I’m so sorry.”

Her words brought you back to the present. “Wanda, no. No, no, no.” You wanted to pull away and look at her face, but the second you started to, she held onto you even tighter. You leaned your head back onto her chest. “It wasn’t your fault. There was no way any of us could have known, and no way that you could have saved me. It was beyond us.”

“Nothing should have ever been beyond us.” She argued softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“But it was,” you said. “And now it’s behind us. Don’t apologize, Wanda.” You wiggled around and got free enough to look up at her teary face. “I may not have recognized you, but now that I do, I can’t believe that I ever forgot you.”

“A new life will do that to you.”

“Is it really a new life if I remember everything?” You said softly, the rain long gone as you stood with each other, bodies nearly molded together with how close you were.

She pulled away to look down at you, her eyes and overall expression tense, and then there was a look that you recognized from a long time ago. It was a look of sweet desire. You closed the cap between the two of you, pressing your lips to hers in a way that proved that you were both two lost souls who had wandered their way back to their other halves.

“It can be whatever you want it to be, darling.” Her lips brushed your again, soft and tender and eager for more touch. “As long as you let me be in it.”

#wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #my fics #witch!wanda #marvel au #witch!au #scarlet witch #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #no idea what to tag this-#wanda x you #lgbt marvel #lgbt

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stylistiquements · 3 years

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The Sorcerer pt. 1

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated. {Playlist}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.

☾ Words : 6009.

☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing

Masterlist | Next

What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.

“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.

“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.

“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.

Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.

Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.

Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.

He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.

See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.

Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.

His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.

His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.

At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.

When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.

23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.

The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.

Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.

Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.

That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.

Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.

Fuck, not now please.

Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.

It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.

Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.

He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.

“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”

Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.

“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.

Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.

He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.

“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”

“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?

Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.

“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.

“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.

Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.

The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.

The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.

Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.

Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.

Dear you,

Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn’t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.

As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.

I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.

I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.

Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.

Yours truly, Corpse Husband

The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.

Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.

A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.

Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.

Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.

After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.

One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.

In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.

His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.

Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.

Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.

[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]

Huh.

He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?

Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.

Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.

Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.

However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:

[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]

Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.

[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]

[Who told you shit like that anyway?]

[I just know someone.]

His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.

[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]

[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]

Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”

What a weird day.

Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?

[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.

[A sincere fuck you.]

[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]

The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.

[Fine, tell me what you need.]

[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]

Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.

[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]

[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.

Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.

“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”

“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.

Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.

“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?

Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.

“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”

“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.

“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.

“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”

He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.

“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?

“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.

Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.

“Rain sounds, huh,” you whisper. “You like those.”

Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”

“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.

“He never answered me," you mumble.

“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.

You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.

When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.

That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.

“Honey, I was waiting for you.”

Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.

Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.

“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”

With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.

“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.

“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”

The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.

“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.

“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”

Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.

In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.

When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.

☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy ; @bizarrebibitch ; @bellomi-clarke ; @ladybismuth ; @katyasrussianaccent ; @satanhauntedourcats ; @owl-llie ; @teenloves ; @notannis ; @mcntsee ; @rottenroyalebooks ; @peachdoppi ; @mirahg ; @foxxtrot-116 ; @koi-soi ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse x you #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband fic #corpse husband AU #the sorcerer #platonic!dream

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90spumkin · 3 years

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Masterpiece

Summary: Who knew art could lead to an awkward meeting that would later lead to beautiful relationship.

A/N: I know I said I would post this Friday, but oh well here we are. All inserted pictures are from Pinterest. I absolutely loved writing this so please send me your feedback.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Artist! Reader

Warnings: swearing, implied/slightly descriptive smut, mention of alcohol and addiction

Word Count: 2.8K

Spencer doesn’t know how long he had been zoned out not listening to a word Emily said to him. They were standing in an obnoxiously long line at their favorite coffee shop. Spencer was admiring the art in front of him, the way the yellows and oranges flowed together was mesmerizing. They were so mesmerizing that Spencer didn’t realize the art was on the back pocket of the stranger’s shorts standing in line in front of them.

It wasn’t until Emily nudge Spencer’s shoulder, “Quit looking at that girl’s ass!” Spencer saw where Emily was pointing as she spoke. As he went to say, “I was not checking out her ass.”, the stranger with the mesmerizing art on her ass turned around to see the raven haired woman pointing down at the lower part of her body and the tall curly haired man blushing as he was caught in the act.

The woman smirked at them both and said, “Well my shorts do say ‘this butt is art’ so I guess technically you were just taking in all its beauty.” This made Emily snort and Spencer stutter. He tried to stutter out an apology, but by the time his brain allowed him to access words again Emily’s phone rang loudly.

She answered quickly and hung up just as fast, “I have to go to a meeting apparently. Sometimes I hate being the boss. I’ll catch up with you later, Spencer.” And with that she was gone, leaving Spencer there with the still smirking woman.

“You know the least you could do is buy my coffee to make up for this adorable fiasco.” She said causing Spencer to blush. He nodded his head and said, “Yes of course. I’m really sorry about all that. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid by the way.”

She smiled at him as he went to stand beside her in line, “Oh doctor, fascinating. I’m y/n.”

Once they had finally gotten their coffee and found a small table, conversation between the two flowed so effortlessly. “So, doctor, huh? Care to share with the class what kind?” Y/n asked as she took a sip of her dark beverage.

Spencer chuckled, “I have PhD’s in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering along with BA’s in psychology, sociology, and philosophy. I’m not a doctor who works in a hospital, but one who works in the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.” Y/n smiled at him over her cup, “That kind of makes sense you look like a very intelligent man. Plus, you look way better in a cardigan than you probably would in scrubs.”

Their conversation went on without a hitch, no moments of awkward silence. They talked about their careers, y/n explained how she was an artist and Spencer adored the way she lit up as she talked. They constantly were bouncing ideas and questions off one another. The conversations stretched over many different topics, each just as interesting as the last. Y/n even listened and question Spencer on several of his fact dumps.

They both seemed to have forgotten the outside world existed until Spencer happened to notice the sun setting through the coffee shop windows. As he admired the colors in the sky he said, “The sky is always so lovely at sunset, but I hate that it could mean the end of this.”

He looked back at y/n who was smiling at him. “Okay I don’t usually invite strange men to my home, but would you like to come see some of my art that I’ve been working on?” Spencer smirked and narrowed his eyes, “You think I’m strange?” Y/n laughed, “Only in the best way.”

The first thing Spencer did when he entered y/n incredibly spacious apartment was admire all the art lining the walls. He had thought the art displayed on her jean shorts was mesmerizing, but the art that was in front of him now was simply breathtaking.

Spencer walked the walls, admiring and analyzing each piece. Y/n stood beside him as he smiled at the painting of a cow. She laughed softly as she spoke, “There is always a story behind each of my paintings. Some are silly, some are painful. However, this one happens to be my favorite. I grew up on a farm and I had a cow named Milky” She looked at Spencer who was trying to hide a laugh, “Hey I was 8! Anyways she was my best friend. It was funny when I first started to draw and paint, I would always use her as a model. Sometimes it seemed as if she was posing for me.”

Spencer didn’t take his eyes off y/n the whole time she was talking. Once y/n finished her story she looked at Spencer. Both of their smiles growing bigger. He looked back at the painting and said, “You know in another life I would love to be a cowboy with cows and other animals on a small ranch somewhere.”

Y/n giggled, “Would you name one of your cows Milky?” Spencer looked at her fondly and said, “For you, I would.”

Spencer turned his head to the right and noticed a canvas with several different shades of red bleeding into one another, there was broken glass scattered across it. He made his way closer, he turned towards y/n and asked, “What’s the story behind this one?”

Y/n’s eyes held a hint of sadness as she drew in a deep breath. She was hesitant at first but finally explained, “The glass is broken beer bottles, I was- am an alcoholic. I am currently 5 years sober, almost 6 now. I made this to remind myself of all the hate and pain drinking brought to my life” Y/n turned towards Spencer expecting him not to understand, but instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sobriety chip.

Y/n’s eyes started to tear up at the fact that someone finally wasn’t judging her but understanding her. She too pulled out a chip and both y/n and Spencer let out laughs full of pain but also full happiness. Spencer reached out a hand and placed it on y/n’s cheek. His thumb ran smoothly across her face to wipe a tear that had escaped.

When Spencer spoke again his words were soft, “Out of all this art, I think you are the one true masterpiece.”

One minute they were staring into one another’s eyes, and the next they were getting lost in the feel of the other’s lips neither one really sure when they had made it to y/n’s bedroom. Spencer held y/n against him firmly, but it felt delicate all at once. His fingers traced over every edge and curve of her body bringing sounds of pleasure from her beautiful lips.

Spencer planted soft kisses across y/n’s body as if he were painting and her body was his canvas. With every roll of Spencer’s hips, flashes of color seemed to blind him. When y/n arched her back, Spencer let her know she was more beautiful than any art piece.

The next morning, Spencer woke up to the sun shining through the windows. He felt y/n stir next to him, he couldn’t help but take in how lovely she looked. The sun seemed to only amplify her beauty.

Y/n opened her eyes to find Spencer staring at her. She smirked and closed her eyes again, curling up closer to him, “You’re staring.” Spencer chuckled causing vibrations to run through his chest making y/n giggle. “I’m admiring.” Spencer told her.

Y/n sat up to stretch, the sheets falling around her making her look like a sculpture of a goddess. She smiled down at him and scrunched up her nose “Yeah yeah yeah. Whatever you say.”

While they started to dress, well y/n was getting dressed Spencer was still looking for his shirt, he noticed the shorts y/n was putting on had art on them just like the ones before. However, these were not shades of yellow and orange. These shorts had little planets painted on them.

Y/n turned around to see Spencer’s eyes once again focused on her ass, “Why are you smiling like that?” At her question Spencer let out the laugh he was holding in as he said, “Ummm- well- it’s just that- your ass is out of this world.”

Y/n snorted and threw a pillow towards Spencer who actually caught it, “Oh the doctors got jokes this morning.”

Spencer spotted his shirt in the floor and as he bent over to get it, he said, “Not jokes, facts.” This only made y/n smile more.

Y/n watched the muscles in Spencer’s back flex as he fixed his shirt to put it on. Right before he put it over his head she asked, “Can I- can I paint something on your back?”

Spencer stopped all movements to look at y/n, he noticed the blush tinting her cheeks. His heart seemed to scream with emotions. Spencer through his shirt back on the ground and asked, “Where do you want me?” Y/n giggled and pointed to the bed.

Y/n had been straddling Spencer’s back for about 15-to-20-minute minutes when he no longer felt the softness of the paintbrush against his skin. Y/n had been humming while she worked and with the gentleness of each stroke of the brush, Spencer kept dozing off.

Y/n removed herself from Spencer causing him to turn his head to look up at her, she was smiling so brightly Spencer never wanted to look away. Y/n was staring down at the work on Spencer’s back and jumped slightly when he asked, “Can I see it?”

“Oh yes! Of course!”, she rushed to put down her paints and brushes. Y/n grabbed Spencer’s hand and pulled him towards the full-length mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door. Before handing him the handheld mirror she said, “Close your eyes. I’m going to count to 3.” Spencer just chuckled and nodded.

“1…”

“…2…”

“…3”

Spencer opened his eyes and let out a gasp. The art that now covered his back was simple but so pretty. There were no defined lines, the colors overlapped in some places which just made it all the more beautiful. He looked from the mirror to y/n to see her hands clasped together and held against her mouth. She moved her hands slightly to ask, “So, what do you think?” Spencer looked back at the mirror and said, “I never want to take it off.”

After the time Spencer spent with y/n he was scared he would never see or talk to her again. Right after she revealed the painting she had done on his back, Emily called him with a new case. He ran out of there so fast he didn’t have time to remove the paint or give y/n his number. The plane ride was slightly uncomfortable with his clothes sticking to the paint.

However, it turned out the universe was on his side. They were leaving one case going straight to another, so Spencer’s spirits were kind of in shambles and his mind was consumed with thoughts of y/n. His sadness was starting to take over his mood when his rarely used cell phoned chimed, signaling that he just received a text.

Hi, doc. It’s your favorite artist. I hope it isn’t weird I’m texting you. I got a call from someone named Penelope. She said Emily thought you would like to hear from me.

Spencer looked over towards Emily who was smirking as she read over the case file, she knew who was texting him. Spencer just shook his head as he typed out his response, smiling the whole time.

Hello, y/n. That would be my best friends medaling in my life. Luckily, this time they were right.

Y/n response came back fast, and Spencer chuckled softly imagining the teasing look she was probably making as she asked-

This time?

That is a story for another time.

Over the course of the several weeks Spencer was gone, Y/n and Spencer texted every chance they got. A lot of the times Spencer would be too busy and would see messages from y/n he had gotten through the day.

I was running late this morning due to me having terrible time management skills and well- I went to brunch with paint completely covering my clothes.

Ha look what I did. I’m starting to think I’m the real genius here. click here for image

SPENCER REID. DID YOU REALLY HAVE PENELOPE GO BUY ME THIS AND BRING IT TO ME?!?! I love it! Thank you! click here for image

Spencer would always laugh and respond every time he got the chance. One night he was actually able to call her.

“Hello?”

“Are not sure how to answer a phone or are you questioning if I’m really calling you?” Spencer teased.

“Well, isn’t someone feeling sassy today.” Y/n laughed; she was overwhelmingly happy to hear his voice.

They spent most of the night just catching up. Y/n never once asked about the case and for that Spencer was thankful. Spencer saw the sun start to rise and realized what time it was.

“I should probably try and get at least a few hours of sleep.” Spencer said into the phone. He heard her gasp and then frantically started apologizing, “Oh my goodness! I am so sorry! I was just so happy to talk to you I didn’t realize. I-“

Spencer cut her off with a “Hey. It perfectly okay. I love talking to you. If it were possible, I would never sleep if it meant I could talk to you forever.”

Y/n couldn’t stop smiling, “Well guess what doc. You’re kind of stuck with me get ready for me to never stop talking.” Spencer laughed softly, “I am definitely okay with that.”

As soon as the jet landed, Spencer texted y/n to let her know they were back. What he didn’t expect was for her to be standing in the bullpen with Penelope. Spencer couldn’t help but practically sprint to her, ignoring the knowing looks from his teammates.

When reached her, he wrapped her in a hug. Y/n giggled as she hugged him back. When they pulled apart Spencer asked, “What are you doing here?” Y/n shrugged and looked towards Penelope who had left her side to join the others and said, “Reasons.” She looked back at Spencer and winked. Spencer laughed and shook his head as he wrapped her in another hug.

Spencer and y/n left with Spencer promising to finish the paperwork first thing the following week. Once they were outside y/n turned to Spencer and said, “Okay so the main reason I couldn’t wait any longer to see you is I want to ask you something?”

Spencer turned his head and squinted his eyes, “Should I be scared?” Y/n barked out a laugh and grabbed Spencer’s hand. He stared where their hands were joined. Y/n must have thought he didn’t want to hold her hand because she noticed him staring and let go.

Y/n became a little nervous as she asked, “I- I wanted to ask you to be my plus one at an art show tomorrow. This will be the second art show my work has been in and I’m extremely nervous and would love for you to be there.”

Spencer smiled, feeling beyond flattered that she would want him there. He grabbed her hand the same way she had before and said, “I would love nothing more.”

That following night at the art show Spencer knew for certain he was completely consumed with feelings for y/n. He couldn’t help but to admire how her face lit up every time she talked about her work with other guests. It fills him with pride every time she would turn away the champagne that is offered. What really sets his heart ablaze is how y/n would reach for his hand every time she moved on to another art piece or to speak to someone else. It was as if y/n wanted, needed him. Whether it was for comfort or confidence Spencer was happy to be either of those things for her.

Towards the end of the night Spencer and y/n had finally found a moment to be alone. They stood in front of a painting that kind of reminded Spencer of the mermaid from that one Disney movie Penelope made him watch.

Y/n must have thought so also because as she looked at the painting she said, “You know I am really glad you have become a part of my world.” Y/n turned her head to look at Spencer there was a gleam in her eye. Spencer responded by saying, “Is there any way I can always be a part of your world?”

Y/n responded by kissing Spencer, putting ever amount of emotion she felt into it. The kiss was more vibrant and meaningful than any art she could ever dream of creating.

Permanent Taglist: @criminalmindzjunkie @brooklynxnicole @the-queen-of-moons @imdefinitelyfloating @muffin-cup @theintimatewriter @averyhotchner @spenxerslut @spenciegoob @april-14-blog

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #fanfic #fanfiction

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chansdimp1es · 3 years

Text

perfectly imperfect - bang chan

summary: Sure you weren’t the skinniest or most perfect looking person out there, and you tried to remind yourself that Chan didn’t care what you looked like or how you dressed, but how could you not feel like an over-boiled broad bean next to him in any pictures you took together or any time you went out with each other???

pairing: bang chan x female reader

genre: angst

warnings: mention of death, mental health issues, eating disorders, purging in the form of vom!tting

word count: >1k

requested by @planetdemon !! <3

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You often wondered what it was in you that Chan actually found attractive; it definitely wasn’t your eyes or your smile,and as your relationship went on for longer and longer, you couldn’t help but ask yourself what exactly it was that drew you to him in the first place. You were insecure about your body, you weren’t stick thin like most other people, and you carried most of your weight around your tummy and thighs.

Throughout the course of your relationship with Chan, you had slowly started loving your curvy shape, especially since he had expressed more than once how much he adored it whenever he could get his hands on your extra flesh during your long nights of love making, squeezing it and marking it has he made his way down your body.

It was still incredibly hard to learn how to love yourself and you knew it was totally unrealistic to compare yourself to a kpop idol (nevermind the fact that he was an absolute god -in more ways than one- with all his Aussie glory) but you genuinely couldn’t help it. You had told yourself that you wouldn’t let the intruding thoughts in your head get to you, but the sheer amount of them made it almost impossible.

It became worse after you and Chan had publicly announced your relationship to his adoring fans on your 2nd anniversary; you didn’t like the attention and you didn’t want to be scrutinized if you wanted to go to the grocery store in old baggy clothes. There was most definitely less mean comments than the nice ones, but your stupid brain latched onto the negatives as always and you couldn’t help but obsess over them.

Sure you weren’t the skinniest or most perfect looking person out there, and you tried to remind yourself that Chan didn’t care what you looked like or how you dressed, but as more and more comments came flooding in on your posts, you couldn’t help but feel like an over-boiled broad bean next to him in any pictures you took together or any time you went out with each other. I mean how could you not when Chan works out as much as he does and is as attractive as he is?

However as Chan became busier and busier with his schedule and preparing for a comeback, you barely got to see him anymore. It became so much harder to focus on the positive things people were saying without him there to bring you back to reality and remind you how the only important thing was how much you loved each other. You felt yourself slipping back into your previous unhealthy habits, and you didn’t know how much longer you could take it.

You had been through a serious depressive period before, right after your brother died. You had never experienced this kind of pain before in your life, and if it weren’t for Chan you probably wouldn’t be alive now. The loss of your brother seemed to unlock something in you that took you almost 2 years to recover from. He saw you through everything, eating disorders, suicide attempts, and he never once wavered. Chan stood by you through everything, always the shoulder for you to cry on and always prepared to cheer you up in any way he could with that dimpled smile of his.

However this time was so much more different. It directly involved him, and you honestly didn’t want to put him in a position where he would feel as if he had to take care of you all the time again. It took so much out of him the last time, and with him being as busy as he is right now you didn’t want to add more stress onto his already growing plate. So you chose the next best thing, to suffer in silence.

You didn’t mean to start purging again, you really really didn’t, but it sort of just happened. It was late one night when you had decided to stay up late to surprise Chan and welcome him home after a long day. You hadn’t had an opportunity to be romantic with each other in what felt like forever, so you had cooked his favourite dinner and lit candles all around your house in order to set the mood.

You had even decided to dress up a little bit, and the smooth fabric of the deep blue dress Chan had gifted you a few months back helped soothe your nerves as you played with the hem in anticipation of his arrival.

Suddenly your phone went off, signalling that you had got a text.

‪ from: ‪ channie 🖤🐺🥰 10.27pm

hey babe, sorry I’ll be home much later than usual tonight, rehearsal is running over. don’t wait up you need your rest. I love you 🖤

And your heart dropped.

You typed back a quick reply saying not to worry at all and that you would hopefully see him at some stage tomorrow, as you tried to blink through your blurry eyes that were brimming with tears.

You knew deep down it wasn’t his fault or yours, but it didn’t make it any easier. Suddenly all the effort you went through seemed totally silly, and you couldn’t help but think that Chan wouldn’t have even wanted to do something like this anyways, and that it was only a matter of time that he would grow tired of you, right?

You hurriedly started tidying the entire setup away, and made the mistake of taking a glance at your reflection in the kitchen window, only to be met with the face of makeup you had spent time doing carefully being ruined by the tears slowly falling down your face.

The next few moments seemed to pass by in a blur, and all of a sudden you found yourself gagging into the toilet with two fingers down your throat. You knew deep down you shouldn’t be doing it, but the stress and anxiety of the last few weeks had sent you spiraling. You felt ugly and worthless, and absolutely humongous,and instead of bothering Chan or anyone else about it, you let the dark thoughts swarm and grow, and take over your mind.

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hey everyone! thank you so much for reading this piece! as i was writing it i kinda felt like i should maybe split it up into two separate parts (??!?!?) so lemme know if you would be interested in reading the next part :)

- skye <3

#bang chan #bang chan smut #changbin #felix #han jisung #han #hyunjin #seungmin #skz #jeongin #bang chan fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #hwang hyunjin #chris bang #stray kids #stray kids smut

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drabbles-mc · 3 years

Text

Mon Amie

Coco Cruz x F!Reader

Request by @elivanah-writes: So I was thinking what if he met a girl one day or already knows her for some time but she's moved there maybe a few months ago and only speaks french and english. And she teaches him some words in french. And ends up singing a song for him. The song in the fic can be found Here

Warnings: language, alcohol, a split second of light angst, Coco being a cutie pie

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: So I did tweak the original request a little bit but I hope you still enjoy it! I know zero French so hopefully I did alright pulling this together. I kind of love these two together though I can’t lie. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Join my group-chat here: (X)

General Mayans Taglist: @mayans-sauce @thesandbeneathmytoes @paintballkid711 @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @queenbeered @sillygoose6969 @sesamepancakes @yourwonkywriter @chibsytelford @gemini0410 @multiyfandomgirl40 @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @garbinge @themoonandthewicked @bucky-iss-bae @encounterthepast @everyhowlmarksthedead @rosieposie0624 @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo @mijop @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @holl2712 @lakamaa12 @masterlistforimagines @kkim120 @toni9 @shadow-of-wonder @crowfootwrites @redpoodlern @punkgoddess-98 (If you want to be added to my taglist let me know!)

“Nah, I’m just saying,” he chuckled as he watched you pull things from your cabinets to start making dinner, “if you’re livin’ this close to the border, you should know some Spanish.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” you shake your head slightly as you bite back a smile, “I’m just saying that trying to learn Spanish immersively when I know none is a bit much.”

“I could teach you,” he watched for your reaction as he took a sip of his beer.

The offer made you turn to face him, “Oh? Could you?”

“What’s that look for, ma?” he laughed.

You shrug, giggling quietly, “Just didn’t know that you were a teacher as well as a biker.”

“There’s a lot you still gotta learn about me,” he paused, “But forreal. I can teach you if you want?”

“Coco, you really don’t have—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to,” he lightly drummed his fingers on the countertop, “How ‘bout I’ll teach you Spanish if you teach me French? Deal?”

You laughed, twirling the spoon idly in your hands, “You wanna learn French?”

“Why you gotta look so shocked at everything I say?” he flashed you a quick smile.

“Well, like you said,” you smiled, biting lightly at your bottom lip, “I’ve got a lot to learn.”

You’d spent a lot of time with Coco ever since you found yourself in Santo Padre. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what drew the two of you to each other in the first place, but you became fast friends. The first time you’d invited him over to your place for dinner you could see a million different thoughts flash across his face and you couldn’t deny that being flustered looked cute on him. You reassured him that it was just a friendly invite—no pressure whatsoever. And somehow that turned into him coming over on a somewhat regular basis. There was a sense of security for you in the friendship that the two of you had been building.

Once he agreed to start teaching you, though, you felt like the two of you saw each other practically every day, even if he just stopped in quickly on his way home. He was teaching you the basics, the practical things that you needed to know. And in return you taught him the same things in French. Both of you got a kick out of the other trying to master the emphasis and accents of the other language. Every now and then you’d write words down in French for him just to watch him get blown away by how something spelled out one way, was said completely different.

“Ah, mon amie, don’t give up on me now,” you laughed as you looked over the list of words that you had been “studying”, although that was a bit of a strong word for it, “I’ll get this, I promise.”

He laughed, “I know you will,” he paused and you could feel his eyes on you as you read the paper, “What’s that mean again?”

“Hm?” you looked up at him.

“What’s that mean? Mon amie?”

A soft smile took over your features, “My friend.”

He didn’t say anything, simply nodded in acknowledgment. But despite his silence you could see it on his face that there was a certain kind of comfort in the title. Of course the two of you were friends, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that knowing it and hearing you say it were two completely different things.

“Alright,” he snapped back to the real task at hand, “you remember how to ask where the grocery store is? That’s a good one to know.”

“Yes!” you paused, picturing the flashcards you made for yourself in your mind, “Dónde está,” you pressed your lips together, hesitating on whether or not you were thinking of the right word, “el supermercado?”

He smiled, nodding, “You got it. Basically, if you got dónde está, that’s like ninety percent of all those questions. So you’ll be good.”

“How often do you think I’ll be getting lost?” you chuckled as you got up from the table to grab a couple drinks for each of you.

When he didn’t have an immediate response, you looked back over your shoulder at him and you could see that he was trying to think of the right word. You paused, placing your hands on your hips as you waited to see what he was going to say.

“Souvent,” he finally got the word out.

You laughed, placing your hand on your chest to feign offense at his statement, “Really? You don’t think I have a good sense of direction?”

“You text me at least twice a week asking where shit is in town, ma. And the town ain’t even that big,” he chuckled.

You shook your head as you pulled two beers out of the fridge, “First of all, rude,” you laughed, “Second of all, I’m glad the French lessons are sticking when you really need them,” you mumbled and continued shaking your head as you popped the tops off the beer bottles, “Often. This guy…”

“C’mon,” he chuckled as he got up and walked over to you, “don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad,” you laughed, handing one bottle over to him, “I’m just…” you racked your brain for the right word in Spanish, “decepcionada,” you laughed as you said it, letting him know that it wasn’t true.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be able to talk shit to me in Spanish soon enough.”

“I can’t wait,” you smiled.

There were a few beats of silence and just as you were about to ask if he wanted to stay for dinner his phone went off. He reached into his kutte and pulled it out, and you could tell from the shift in expression on his face that he was about to have to take off out the door. You tried not to feel too disappointed about it, because you knew that you were just a very small piece of the larger picture of his life.

He held the phone up to his ear, “Yo. Yea, yea, alright. I’ll be there in a few.” The conversation was over as quickly as it started. When he looked over at you, you could’ve sworn that you could see it in his eyes that he didn’t really want to go, or maybe you were just projecting, “I gotta run.”

“I figured,” you took a sip of your beer, “I’ll talk to you later?”

He nodded, “Yea, ‘course,” he stepped in and hugged you, and before he could stop himself he placed a chaste kiss on your cheek, “Bonne nuit.”

You smiled, a soft giggle slipping past your lips as you listened to the way his accent wrapped around the French words, “Buenas noches, Coco.”

“See?” he flashed you one last smile before taking off out the door, “You’re gettin’ it.”

Once the door shut behind him, you let out a small sigh. Your bottle hung limply from one hand as your other came up and lightly caressed over the spot where Coco’s lips had just been. Perhaps friend wasn’t quite strong enough of a word anymore.

You didn’t see him for a few days after that. It wasn’t the strangest thing in the world, really. You knew very little about what the club was involved in but you knew that it was time-consuming if nothing else. But Coco popping in had somewhat become a bit of a routine and it was weird to go a few nights in a row with no sign of him. He’d responded to your texts asking if he was at least alive and safe somewhere, and the sarcasm in his response let you know that he was definitely fine, just busy.

You were sipping on your glass of wine as you watched your pie baking in the oven. Baking late at night when you weren’t ready to fall asleep was something you’d done ever since you started living on your own and realized that no one was around to stop you. It was usually an activity coupled with a large glass of wine and mellow music—just a nice way to relax when it was late.

Over the sounds of the music you could hear someone knock at your door. You knew that there was really only one person it could be. You turned the music down slightly before walking over to the door. When you opened it, you saw Coco on the other side—he was safe and in one piece, but you could see the exhaustion on his face.

“Hey, you alright?” you motioned for him to come in.

“I know it’s late. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, not wanting him to feel bad, “I was up anyway.”

He glanced over your shoulder into the kitchen, “You cookin’ at 11PM?” a tired smile crossed his features.

You laughed, “You don’t get to come over this late and then judge my late-night activities.”

It got him to laugh, “I ain’t judging you. I just figured you’d be, I dunno, fuckin’ asleep or something.”

“And yet you’re still here,” you studied his face for a moment, “You sure you’re okay?”

He shrugged, “Just been a long few days. Needed uh, un ami.”

You smiled, taking his hand and tugging him towards the kitchen, “You came to the right place.”

Trying not to get too distracted by how much you loved the way his rough, calloused palm felt pressed against yours, you motioned for him to sit down at the counter. You grabbed another stemless wine glass from the cupboard and poured him a glass. You could see the dubious look on his face and couldn’t help but to laugh.

“Trust me. Wine after a bad day just…hits a little different than a beer. Plus,” you nodded towards the oven, “it’ll taste good with the pie.”

“You’re bakin’ a fuckin’ pie at midnight?”

“Eleven,” you corrected with a smile.

The two of you existed in comfortable silence while you waited for the oven timer to go off. As much as you wanted to ask about what had been going on, to pry about what seemed to have put him in a bit of a mood, you didn’t. Your home was a place away from all of that for him and you were more than content to keep it that way. As the minutes ticked by, you could see it in his face and body language that he was relaxing.

The timer went off, causing both of you to perk up a bit. You took another sip of your wine before setting the glass down and grabbing your oven mitts. You pulled the pie out of the oven and set it on the hot-plate that was on the counter. You smiled when you saw Coco’s eyes light up at the sight of it.

“Espere,” you waved the pie server at him, “It’s hot.”

He smiled for a moment at your recall of the word before asking, “How long we gotta wait?” he took a drink from his wine glass.

You chuckled, “Until I say it’s ready to eat.”

The only sound in the room was coming from your phone as it continued to softly play music from your playlist. You hummed along quietly as you started getting plates and forks out for the two of you. As you were gathering things together, you almost completely forgot that Coco was there and you started to sing quietly, more to yourself than to him.

When you turned around and saw the look on Coco’s face, you became very aware of what you had been doing. Heat rushed to your face and you stopped singing as you set a plate down in front of him.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you sing in any language,” he was smiling, eyes filled with awe.

You laughed nervously, “Singing is usually a Me Time activity.”

“What song’s that?” he nodded towards your phone.

“It’s called Je Vais T’Aimer,” you started cutting into the pie to avoid looking him in the eye.

“You can keep singing, if you want,” he ran the tip of his finger along the edge of his glass, “It can still be You Time.”

“Ask me about it again after I have a few more glasses of wine,” you replied with a smile as you served a piece of the pie onto his plate.

“What if,” he asked through a mouthful of pie, “I said that I’d learn better if I listened to you sing the words?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “I’d say that you’re full of it.”

The two of you sat on opposite sides of the counter and talked about anything that didn’t feel heavy or serious, and it felt good. You each had a few more glasses of wine as you chatted, fingers occasionally brushing against each other as you reached for the bottle. It was already the small hours of the morning before you finally decided to start rinsing off the dishes.

You both had been talking long enough for your playlist to completely loop back around again. You weren’t going to comment on it but you could see Coco’s eyes light up a bit when he heard the slightly familiar piano notes coming from your phone. Making a point to not look directly at him, you quietly began to sing as you started to clean the dishes you’d used while you were baking, the ones that you and Coco had just used to eat.

Coco materialized next to you by the sink, leaning back on the counter. He didn’t say anything as he listened to you sing, and watched you meticulously clean each dish and piece of silverware. You caught smile on his face from the corner of your eye, and it was soft, genuine. For a moment you thought about pressing your lips to it but you stopped yourself.

Even when the song ended, Coco didn’t stop watching you, “You got a good voice.”

You finally fully looked over at him, “I’m glad you think so,” there was a tinge of amusement in your voice.

“Nah, I’m serious,” he playfully nudged your shoulder, “I might not know all the words but I know what sounds good. Don’t gotta be fluent for that.”

You laughed, “I suppose not,” you shut the water off and dried your hands, moving so that you were standing in front of him. Taking a chance, with a little bit of liquid confidence at your back, you reached out and gently stroked your thumb along his cheek, “Feel better?”

He nodded, smiling as he rested his hand over yours, “Yea. Th-thank you. Or, y’know, merci.”

A quiet giggle slipped past your lips as you admired the way his hand continued to envelop yours, “You’re welcome.”

It was evident on his face that he had a thousand different thoughts going through his head at once. You let him get there on his own, saying whatever it was that he wanted to say, “I don’t, um, I don’t wanna fuck this up,” he motioned back and forth between you with his free hand, “but I really…I really wanna kiss you.”

Your heart pounded inside your chest, “Then…do it,” your voice was hardly a whisper.

His eyes widened—he didn’t have to be told twice. He gently tugged you towards him and pressed his lips to yours. You cupped his face in both hands as his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. For a minute there wasn’t a single coherent thought in your head as you melted against him. You wished you’d done it sooner.

When you finally pulled your lips off of his, there was a smile on his face and a softness in his expression that you hadn’t seen before. Your hands rested lightly on his shoulders as his fingers drummed against your hips.

You saw his expression shift to one of deep thought and you gave his shoulders a light squeeze, “You okay?”

He nodded, “Yea, yea. I’m good, I just, gimme a sec,” his brows furrowed in thought, “I know this one. Hold on…”

It then hit you that he was trying to remember how to say something. You lightly bit down on your bottom lip, toying with the ends of his hair while you waited for him to remember what he wanted to say.

When he recalled it, it instantly showed all over his face. His eyes met yours, and with calculated certainty he said, “Je t’aime.”

Your stomach erupted in butterflies as you pressed a quick, soft kiss to his lips, “Je t’amie,” you paused, unable to tone down the grin on your face, “That wasn’t one that I taught you.”

He chuckled, “Nah, yea. I, uh, I hit Google Translate for that one.”

You laughed, kissing his cheek, “You’re perfect.”

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #coco cruz #johnny coco cruz #coco x reader #coco cruz x reader #coco cruz x you #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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ladyfogg · 3 years

Text

King of Wands

Fic Summary: When you first started with the show, Jimmy asked for a reading but you turned him away because it wasn’t time. Now that he’s sitting in front of you and the cards are all laid out, it’s time to tell him exactly what his future holds.

Fic Rating: 18+

Pairing: Jimmy Darling/Female Reader

Warnings: Smut. Just, lots of smut.

A/N: Look, thought of this and wrote it in the last two hours. Just needed to get this gem out of my brain.

You’re a reader.

A tarot reader that is.

It started when you were a child and your grandmother passed away. She gifted you the set that belonged to her mother and hers before that. Your mother never bought into tarot cards and had refused the family heirloom. The moment those cards were placed in your hand, however, everything changed.

You were obsessed, pouring over the little instructional book day after day, memorizing each card and what they meant. It wasn’t until you performed your first reading that you realized the obsession went far deeper than you ever realized.

You began to see the cards just by looking at someone. You couldn’t explain it. It was subtle at first, just the card name floating through your mind. But then it became visual, sort of like when photographs were overlaid over each other. You knew exactly what card you would pull before you even started shuffling. And you were always right.

It scared people.

At first, you were labeled a fraud; shamed for a gift you had no control over. Then you were hated. People tended to get a bit cranky when you revealed their spouse was cheating on them or that you knew about the little money laundering scheme they had going on. But they were furious when you told them the depths of their character. They didn’t like when you peered into their soul and made them face the parts of themselves they kept locked away.

One day, they stormed your house, ready to run you out of town. You barely had time to grab your grandmother’s cards before fleeing into the darkness.

That’s when you met Elsa. And everything changed. See, she had heard about your gifts and had come to check you out herself. She was The Moon. You saw it the second you laid your eyes on her. Fear and anxiety, but full of intuition and illusions of grandeur. You liked her and you knew that you would be safe with her and her show. Though, you warned her that if she didn’t deal with her past trauma it would come back to bite her in the ass.

She laughed at your boldness.

That first night you slept more peacefully than you had in years. You were given a trailer, one that would act as your home and your workspace. For the first time in your life, you had a home that was all yours and you cherished it just as much as your grandmother’s cards. The house you lived in before with your parents never felt like home. Not since you started reading cards.

You didn’t meet everyone until the next morning at breakfast. Bette and Dot certainly were an interesting pair. Dot seemed indifferent to your appearance, Bette was nice and overly curious about your cards. Ma Petite was the sweetest person you ever met and Eve was an Amazonian vision. You met the others as well, but they were the ones who took you under their wings and showed you the ropes.

Well, them, and Jimmy.

Jimmy Darling.

From the moment he walked into the food tent you couldn’t take your eyes off him. Those deep brown eyes, curly hair, strong arms...he drove you to distraction. At least, that’s what you assumed it was when you didn’t see a card for him. You saw one for everyone else. In fact, the others insisted you read for them so they could see what you could do.

You humored them, mostly because you wanted to impress your new friends but also because you wanted the practice.

“What do you see?” Bette asked as drew three cards and laid them out before her and Dot.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Bette,” Dot said with her signature firm voice. “Tarot reading ain’t a skill. These people are just very perspective and use the cards as a way to swindle you.”

“You’re wrong and right,” you told her, still staring at your cards. “It’s a skill but most people do use it for personal gain. I however have nothing to gain other than getting these damn pictures out of my head.”

“What sort of pictures?” Bette asked.

“The cards. I can look at a person and know exactly what card I’m going to pull.”

“What do you see when you look at me?”

You tap the first card. “The Sun Reversed. Means overly optimistic and feeling down. You need to let your inner child come out and play. Have some fun in your life, honey.”

Bette smiled while Dot rolled her eyes. “I try,” she said. “But she won’t let me have any fun.”

“If I let you have the fun you want, we’d get pregnant,” Dot said.

You chuckled as you kept looking. “Next card is The Lovers Reversed. You don’t love yourself or respect yourself.”

At that, Bette's face fell and she pursed her lips together.

“You’re facing a tough choice with significant consequences,” you continued, now looking directly at her and not the cards. "Stop punishing yourself. Whatever you did, those consequences are behind you now, and dwelling on it isn’t going to change what happened.”

You tap the last card, still maintaining eye contact as you watch the card of Death appear behind Bette's head like the backdrop on a stage. “Something will be coming to an end. There’s a transition on the horizon and if you don’t deal with what’s in here,” you tap her chest where her heart is. “Then you’ll be blind to the opportunities in front of you.”

“Horseshit,” Dot muttered. “All of that was general. Nothing specific that would apply to either of us.”

“Those cards weren’t for you,” you told her, tearing your eyes away from Bette who was chewing on her nail in thought. “Those were for Bette. I don’t draw cards for people who don’t want them.”

“Well fine then, draw one for me,” Dot said, her voice tinged with challenge. “What card do you see for me?”

“Five of Swords.” You draw the next card in the deck, laying the Five of Swords right in front of her. “The recent battle you fought cost you more than you realize. It cost you trust, respect, and dignity. Moving forward is going to be more difficult than you thought. You should probably decide whether your point of view is so important to you that you’re willing to put your closest and ONLY relationship in jeopardy.”

Dot is unimpressed while Bette covers her smile with her hand. “Obviously you stacked the deck,” Dot accused. “I bet if another card were chosen you’d say something completely different.”

“Well, obviously. But another card won’t be chosen.” You shrugged and gathered all the cards, tucking them back into the deck which you then handed to her. “Shuffle yourself.”

With Bette's help, Dot shuffled the deck, twisting cards multiple times and being a lot rougher with the ancient set than you were comfortable with. You winced at the way she treated them, making a mental note to buy a set that your clients could handle instead of using your personal one.

Dot slammed the deck down on the table and waited. You smirked and gestured for her to draw a card.

The Five of Swords gleamed in the light of the tent. Dot's face hardened and she abruptly stood. “We have practice to get to. We don’t have time to sit around listening to a charlatan,” she declared.

Unfazed, you scooped up the deck and gently shuffled. “Whatever you say, grumpy.”

She stalked off, barely giving Bette a chance to wave goodbye.

Jimmy took her place at the seat across from you. he looked incredibly amused. “Day one and you’re already making friends,” he teased. “That was some reading. I saw the others you did too. Seems like you know your stuff.”

You smiled at him but your smile faded when you suddenly realized, you couldn’t see any card. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. All you saw was him.

Jimmy placed his hands on the table expectantly. “Alright, tarot reader. Tell me my future.”

“Sorry, I can’t.” You had never met someone who didn’t have a card and you suddenly worried that something was wrong with you.

“Ah, hey, that’s not fair,” he said. “I deserve a reading just like everyone else. Come on, doll face. What do you see?”

You considered the situation as you shuffled the card, with such ease and skill it was like the cards were floating between your hands and fingers. “It’s not your time for a reading,” you declared. “Sorry, Jimmy. Maybe some other time.”

As you stood up, Jimmy leaned back in his seat with a smirk. “Playing hard to get, sugar? That’s alright. I’m a patient man. I can wait.”

The circus became the place where you finally belonged. Everyone became family and over the years, your talent and act grew. Soon, your grandmother’s cards were only one of the twelve sets you used. You did most of your work while people were waiting for the show to start. Your trailer was set just next to the main tent so those in line or waiting could come in for a reading. You made decent money too, which of course went right back into the circus to help everyone.

Your powers grew as your act did. Soon you could see and learn things about someone that you couldn’t possibly know otherwise. The cards helped get things started but once you were deep in a reading, everything else came right from your own mind.

Every time someone tried to find a way to indicate you were cheating them, you made changes. At first, they said it was because you stacked the deck, so you started having them pick which one they wanted you to use. Then they said you cheated because you could see which one they picked right away and somehow used that the cheat, so you wrapped every deck in the same identical black silk cloth.

The table was left bare. No books or anything else during readings. You didn’t need the books anymore anyway since you knew each deck by heart. The person would sit and you saw the images just as clearly as you saw them.

Except for Jimmy. He was the one and only person who never had a card. It annoyed you but eventually, you came to cherish it. Because when you two were together, all you saw was him. You never got distracted by the pictures. Over time, you and Jimmy became close friends.

Often after a show, the two of you would sit outside and look at the stars, talking for hours. Your feelings for him grew, but you kept them to yourself. He was the first friend you ever had and you didn’t want to mess up the friendship by telling him how you felt.

Of course, the universe had other plans. As it often did.

It was nearly five years later and you were in your trailer, cleaning up for the evening when there was a sharp knock on the door. Not expecting anyone, you frowned and peeked out the curtained window before opening the door.

Jimmy stood on the steps, hands on his hips and jaw clenched. You immediately knew something was wrong and stepped aside to let him in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, heading to the small kitchenette to pour him some tea you had just made yourself.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Being called freaks and getting shit thrown at us,” Jimmy grumbled as he paced. “I get so fucking tired of it. We deserve to be treated with respect just like everyone else. And no matter how hard we try they never fucking see that.”

“I’m sorry, babe. I know how much this weighs on you. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“Why do you stay with us?”

His question made you look over at him with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you could go anywhere you want. Do your act for yourself. Why do you stay here?”

For you.

“This is my home and my family, where else would I go?”

He collapsed into your kitchen chair. “You deserve more, you know. Someone—” He caught himself and paused. “Something else. Something better.”

You turned around to tell him that you had no intention of going anywhere when your vision was assaulted by bright lights and the image of the King of Wands. It was so sudden and unexpected that you gasped, letting the teacup slip from your fingers and shatter on the floor. The moment you staggered backward, Jimmy was out of his seat with his arms around your waist to catch you.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there, doll face. Don’t wanna bump that pretty head of yours,” he said. “You alright?”

Grabbing his biceps to steady yourself, you shut your eyes and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just give me a minute.”

This was the first time in your entire friendship that the two of you touched. Sure there was an occasional handhold or pat on the knee, but he had never put his arms around you and, in truth, it was the best feeling in the world. Unable to stop yourself, you stepped into the embrace, burying your face in his neck. Jimmy held you tight, his nose in your hair. You were so close you could hear his heart racing and when his hand made a slow trail down your spine, you shuddered.

“Take all the time you need, darlin’. I ain’t complaining.”

You smiled and pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “It’s time for your reading.”

He quirked his eyebrow in amusement. “That what the kids are calling it nowadays?”

Laughing, you reluctantly stepped out of his arms and patted him on the chest. “I’m serious. I can finally see your card.”

“Hot damn. Must be my lucky day.”

You stepped over the broken cup, too focused on other things to care. As you took your seat, you waved to the shelf with your cards. “Take your pick.”

No longer angry, Jimmy looked incredibly amused at the change of events. “You’ve got a strange definition of foreplay, but I’ll play along.”

You rolled your eyes in amusement as he walked up to the shelf, hands shoved in his pockets. He was as handsome as he ever was. His looks only improved with time and the white sleeveless shirt and finely tailored pants helped a great deal. Often you had to stop yourself from just staring at him. Unless he was on stage. Then, you tucked yourself in the back and watched him with shameless love and affection in your soul.

It took him a while to pick a deck, but when he did, he gingerly plucked it off the shelf and sat down with it.

“Unwrap the cards and shuffle,” you told him.

“I love it when you get all bossy.”

“For Christ’s sake, Jimmy, just shuffle the damn cards.”

He chuckled, placing the cards on the table and carefully undoing the ribbon that bound them. When the cloth fell away, you found yourself staring at your grandmother’s cards. They almost never were picked nowadays. Truthfully, you were the only one to use them in the last two or so years.

“So what card do you see for me, doll face?” Jimmy asked, shuffling the deck. His hands fumbled a few times but eventually, he got the hang of it.

“The King of Wands.”

Jimmy smirked. “I know I’m good in bed but damn, I didn’t know I was a king.”

“Not that wand, Jimmy. Well...maybe that wand but I don’t know yet. Just shuffle and draw a card.”

“Why now?” He kept his eyes on you as he shuffled. “We’ve known each other five years and you never gave me a reading. The one time I asked, you said it wasn’t time.”

“You know it’s because I didn’t see a card for you.”

“Yeah, but why do you see one now?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Jimmy placed the deck down and drew a card.

The High Priestess. No. No, that’s not right. You’ve never been wrong in your entire life. A chill ran down your spine and you frowned as you looked at the card. Jimmy’s card wasn’t the High Priestess.

“Looks like you were wrong, sugar,” Jimmy said. “That’s weird. I’ve never known you to be wrong.”

“That’s because I’m not. Draw another card.”

“Darlin’, it’s okay—”

“Humor me, Jimmy. Just draw again.”

Jimmy shrugged and drew another card, placing it next to the first. The Lovers. “Still not the King of Wands,” he said. “Look, it’s been a long day. I’m sure after doing all those readings you’re bound to be a little off.”

“Draw one more.” Jimmy said your name softly but you just shook your head. “Draw again, Jimmy.”

Jimmy sighed and drew another card and your heart lept. The King of Wands.

“There you are you sneaky bastard,” you said. “Now what the hell…” You cut yourself off when you realized what the cards meant. Images and sounds came rushing to you all at once and suddenly, you started laughing. Full on, deep belly, laughing.

Jimmy looked bewildered. “Have you lost your damn mind? What’s so funny?”

“You just gave me a reading.”

“Come again?”

You point to him. “You, Jimmy Darling, just read MY tarot cards.”

“But I ain’t no card reader.”

“Tonight you are apparently. See, this card is yours.” You point to the King of Wands before tapping the High Priestess. “And this one is mine.”

Jimmy looked down at the three cards. The High Priestess, The Lovers, and the King of Wands. His face broke out in a wide smile. “Well, shit,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “Looks like we have a long night ahead of us.”

The both of you were out of your seats in the blink of an eye. When your lips finally met for the first time, it was like your world exploded. Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire and that only amplified times a thousand when Jimmy got his hands on you. He pulled at your shirt, tugging it out of your skirt so he could reach underneath. You gasped into his mouth the moment his skin made contact with yours and he groaned in response, palming your braless breasts with a rough squeeze.

“Fuck,” you swore. “Jimmy, I want you so fucking bad.”

“Oh, you’ll have me, doll face. All of me.”

He backed you against the wall of the trailer, mouth devouring yours like he was the hungriest man alive and you were the best meal he ever had. Teeth clashed together in your excitement and you were sure your lips were going to be swollen by the end of the night.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he went on, yanking your skirt up to bunch around your waist. His hands grabbed your thighs, giving them an excited squeeze as he yanked you against his chest. “You drive me damn crazy, woman. Always have. Seeing you walking around with this body and this mouth. The things I’ve wanted to do to you. Lost count of how many times I’ve touched myself thinking about you.”

You whimpered at his words, wet with arousal and lust. “Show me.”

Jimmy pulled back to give you that damn irresistible smirk of his. “Kinky. I like that.”

You tugged on his belt, undoing it and pulling it from the loops. “You have no idea, baby.”

Jimmy growled deep in his throat, giving you another kiss before taking over the task of ridding himself of his pants. God, he was magnificent. Long and thick and begging for your touch or mouth. Or both. Jimmy placed a hand on the wall by your head, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he started stroking himself. You wanted to look since that was the whole point, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from those dark brown ones.

You’d never seen eyes like his. They pierced into your very soul and saw you for who you truly were.

“Come on, darlin’,” he panted. “You said you wanted me to show you. The least you could do is look.”

So you looked.

Fuck it was hot. Seeing his hand wrapped around his cock, jerking himself off for you, was more than you could handle. You dropped to your knees, pushing his hands away and taking the tip of him into your mouth.

Jimmy’s hand fell to your head and he swore out your name followed by a loud, drawn-out, “Fuuuuck!”

It took you a moment to get a good rhythm going. Truth be told, you were severely out of practice. Ever since you saw Jimmy, you hadn’t wanted anyone else. You flirted every now and then with a client, but it never went further because you knew none of them would match up to him.

You sucked Jimmy off eagerly, closing your eyes and losing yourself in the heady taste of him. He moaned and grunted, urging you on with words of encouragement. You always loved his voice and could listen to him sing for hours. But this was a different kind of song. This was one you knew you couldn’t live without. His hips thrust along with your mouth, burying himself as far into your throat as he could go.

“Shit, doll face. Why the fuck haven’t we been doing this this whole time?” he groaned, tugging on your hair. “You better stop before this is over embarrassingly soon.”

Pulling off him with a pop, you dragged your tongue along the length of him before smirking. “Thought you would have more stamina than that, Jimmy-boy.”

He yanked you up onto your feet and shoved you back against the wall. “Oh trust me, darlin’. I have plenty.”

His mouth covered yours again as his hand disappeared under your skirt. Jimmy’s hands had drawn your attention but not for the reasons he would have thought. Even when he was self-conscious about them, you admired them. You had heard plenty of stories about his sexual exploits and wished that one day you would experience what he could do.

He rubbed you through your panties, drawing a gasp out of you as he filled your mouth with his tongue before biting your bottom lip as he pulled away. Jimmy wanted eye contact when he slid his hand under that soft fabric, his finger gently making contact with your clit before he pressed down hard. You shouted in surprise, lust coursing through your veins instantly.

“You’re already wet, baby,” Jimmy cooed, placing the gentlest of kisses on your neck as he continued to draw hard circles around your clit. “Sure know how to stoke a man’s ego.”

“It’s all you, Jimmy,” you panted, already breathless and eager. “It’s only ever been you.”

He paused, gaze softening. “Ever?”

“Well, not ever ever but definitely since the day we met.”

A second later, his finger slid inside you and with a gasp you grabbed his shoulders, arching your back in a futile attempt to draw yourself closer to him. He smashed his mouth against yours, kissing away what little breath you had and making your knees buckle. Dear lord, he was magnificent. His thick finger stretched you better than you ever thought possible, certainly better than your own had. And if you were this worked up from his hand alone, you couldn’t wait for his cock.

Jimmy rested his forehead against yours, watching your face as he pleasured you. Your eyes stayed closed but you could still feel the stare, sense his smile as your breaths mingled together. When he leaned against you, you could feel the hardness of his cock. Teasingly, you raised your leg to press your thigh against it and he groaned as precum leaked onto your skin.

“Fuck me, Jimmy,” you begged shamelessly.

“Oh, I will, doll face. Once you cum first.”

It didn’t take long for him to make that happen. Just a few more deep strokes and you convulsed against him, still trapped between his body and the wall. Stars exploded behind your eyelids and as you threw your head back, Jimmy latched onto your neck, sucking greedily. He was still at it when you came back down from your high.

“You’re gonna leave a mark,” you slurred, reaching down to grab his wrist so he’d give you a second to recover. His finger slipped out but he kept his hand on your thigh, his thumb stroking the soft flesh.

“That’s the plan.”

Laughing softly, you dragged your eyes open when he pulled away, only to be met with the beautiful sight of a disheveled and red-cheeked Jimmy Darling.

“You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen,” you said.

“I take it you don’t own a mirror. Because you’re far more beautiful than I am.”

“Actually, I do. In the bedroom.” You smirked and nodded over your shoulder to the beaded curtain that separated your sleeping space from the rest of the trailer. “Wanna take a look?”

“Been waiting for you to ask that for years.”

Giggling like school children, you grabbed Jimmy’s hand and pulled him into the room. He stepped out of his shoes and pants along the way, leaving them behind. Your room could barely be called that. It didn’t have space for anything other than your bed and a few decorations on the wall. One of which was a large ornate mirror you had found at an antique shop some time ago. Its bronzed frame shone in the moonlight that filtered in through the tiny window.

Jimmy admired it briefly, staring at your reflection as you climbed onto the bed. “Clothes off, doll face,” he said, yanking his shirt off. “Let me finally see all of you.”

You stripped slowly and deliberately, taking off each layer with careful movements if for no other reason than to give Jimmy the show he deserved. When you were finally, naked, he let out a strangled moan, reaching down to touch himself again. “Fucking hell, you’re just a pretty as I always thought you were.”

“I’m even prettier up close.” You spread your legs for him as you settled against the mound of pillows behind you.

Grinning, Jimmy climbed onto the bed, crawling towards you with catlike grace. As you leaned up for a kiss, he granted your desire, cupping your cheek to hold you there for a moment. A second later, his hand grasped your neck and he shoved you onto your back before burying his face between your legs.

His roughness thrilled you right down to your core, which he drank from excitedly. Those lips. That mouth. You knew he had a quick tongue but fuck you never knew how quick it was. He had you soaked from his spit in no time, his tongue switching between flicking at your clit and licking slow stripes along your seam. The teasing didn’t last long. He was too worked up and ready for more. His finger slid into you again as he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked.

“Jesus, Jimmy!” you exclaimed, clamping your thighs around his head and burying your hands in that wonderfully curly hair. “Baby, you have no idea what you do to me.”

He drew back just enough to smirk up at you. “I’ve got some idea.”

His fingers and hand were drenched in your arousal and you weren’t even the least bit ashamed about it. After all these years, to finally be able to touch him and have him touch you was too much to handle. You were never one to play coy and you sure as hell weren’t going to start now.

“Fuck me already!”

“So damn impatient,” Jimmy teased, still fingering you as he kissed your inner thigh. “You really want it that bad, don’t you?”

You yanked his hair so his eyes met yours. “You do too. I know it.”

Eyes dancing with lust, Jimmy’s hand slipped out from between your legs. He crawled up the rest of your body and pulled you into a harsh kiss. You could taste yourself on him and a sense of possessiveness washed over you. It disappeared and was replaced by instant pleasure a second later when he pushed his cock into you.

You both groaned so loud, you knew the others could hear you outside.

Jimmy took you so hard, you could feel the trailer rocking along with his trusts. Not that you minded. Nope. Quite the opposite. You wanted more. You wanted all of him, everything he could give. Five years was too damn long to hold back. You never felt so stretched and full before. The world around you melted away and all you were left with was Jimmy finally claiming your body for himself.

“Perfect. Such a good girl,” he praised into your ear, his hips jerking against yours with a hard steady rhythm. “Always knew you’d take it well. All mine now, darlin’. No one else gets this sweet pussy but me, we understand?”

“Only you, Jimmy,” you cooed, more than happy to give yourself to him completely. On one condition. You grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you. “And you’re mine.”

He grinned. “If you say so.”

You pushed against him until he sat back on his heels and you were able to climb onto his lap. He slid back into you with ease as you rode him, his hands gripping your ass so tight you knew he’d leave marks. Jimmy turned his head and it was your turn to attack his neck with kisses and love bites. You saw how women looked at him, you weren’t stupid. When they saw the way you marked him, they wouldn’t look anymore. Not if they knew what was good for them.

“We look good, doll face,” he panted, watching your reflections in the mirror. “Like we were made for each other.”

You pressed your cheek against his and also watched, your bodies grinding and writhing, begging for sweet release. “We were.”

You came not too long after, too tired and worked up to hold back. Jimmy fucked you through it, biting his lip as his own orgasm overtook him. With a groan, he threw his head back and came inside you, filling you up with his release until he was spent and both slumped against each other panting.

Sloppy kisses were exchanged as Jimmy laid the both of you down. You remained in your sweaty, tangled embrace, neither one of you wanting to pull away now that you could finally touch each other. Even when you caught your breath, you stayed there, you stroking Jimmy’s chest and him running his fingers through your hair.

“You never told me what my card meant,” he said after some time had passed. His voice was soft from fatigue and he sounded more relaxed than he had been in days.

“The King of Wands represents pure, fiery energy. He’s a natural-born leader, a visionary. But doesn’t go forward alone. He’s all about caring for those around him and enlisting their help to realize his vision. He’s someone who’s here to leave a legacy.”

“Hmm,” Jimmy hummed in amusement. “I like the sound of that.”

“You create your own destiny. You create the outcome you want. Now, the only question is, what is it you want?”

Jimmy smiled down at you, reaching up to cup your cheek. “Already got what I want right here, sugar.”

With a smile, you kissed him. The both of you remained that way for some time, each kiss getting softer and gentler, until you both fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

#jimmy darling x reader #jimmy darling #evan peters #ahs freakshow #american horror story

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juniorgman187 · 3 years

Text

Something Borrowed, Something Blue (Reid Fic)

*MY GIF

Summary: Despite her engagement to someone else, Spencer grapples with the reality that he’s in love with SSA Reader when he sees her in her wedding dress.

A/N: I am so fucking proud of Spencer’s speech that I wrote. Playlist: Till Forever Falls Apart by Ashe + FINNEAS This song hurts so good :,) Category: Fluffy happy ending! Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: possible unrequited love, soft angst Word Count: 6k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Call it a superpower or a sixth sense, but I had this inexplicable, preternatural ability to detect when we weren’t heading in the right direction - a skill unaffected by even shut eyes or the deepest slumber.

It seems as though after all these years of being (y/n)’s passenger, my body has developed a survival adaptation in order to offer her guidance before she would even have to ask, or worse - lower her pride and admit she’s lost!

With as hard-headed as she is, she’d sooner drive us to Timbuktu before asking me for help.

I was half-asleep when I peeked through one half-lidded eye to observe where we were only to see she blew right by Gregory Boulevard when she should’ve turned left on it.

“Um, you should make a u-turn at this next light,” I gently advised her before returning my head to its previous position perched on my hand. I closed my eyes again with the presumption she would follow my navigation and make a u-turn, but when I didn’t feel the car change course, I opened them to see that she blew right past the stoplight, too.

“Hey, my apartment’s that way.” I gestured behind us while looking at her for the first time, catching a smug look on her face. That’s when I knew I was in for it. “Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

“You know I don’t like surprises,” I grumbled, slumping back into my seat with partially renewed energy. Her little antics never failed to get my heart racing. I never knew whether to expect a sweet sunset or a sea of snakes when it came to her. She was that polarizing. “Can I at least get a hint?” I egged on, considering she had yet to even reply to my first statement.

She was completely unfazed by my pleading. She didn’t even peel her eyes away from the road - that’s how little attention she thought I deserved. “Mmm depends. What’s the magic word?”

This blatant tease was successfully getting a rise out of me. “Pleaseee,” I dragged out the word as if it would do me any good to let her hear it for longer, but in reality, she just liked to hear me beg.

She took a sharp intake of breath through gritted teeth, a chupse, to express her displeasure before saying, “Ooh tough luck. The magic word was actually mushroom, but nice try.”

A mirthless chuckle escaped me for willingly falling for her tricks despite knowing she’d pull something just like that. This girl was the bane of my existence, but at least she still rewarded me with a hint anyway.

“Your hint is …” While pondering what hint to give me, her eyes traveled to the side, away from the road long enough to make my heart palpitate in a “if-she-doesn’t-pay-attention-to-the-road, we’re-both-gonna-die” kind of way.

“... something old.”

Again, she tore her eyes away from the road so she could register my reaction, but truthfully, I didn’t have one. I had no idea what that hint meant. Or rather I had too many ideas, far too many to limit to just one.

She could’ve been talking about the age of a location, the history of a place, the vintage appearance of something - virtually anything.

“There’s an infinite amount of possibilities about what that could mean,” I argued. “If you actually want me to guess, you’ll have to give me something more.”

As expected, she was not a fan of my whining and simply rolled her eyes at me. “Oh, stop complaining and use that big brain of yours. I’m sure you’ll figure it out before we even get there.”

Although there was a high probability she was right that I could’ve solved it by myself, it was more enticing to feed off of what she could give me. “What if I ask you ‘yes or no’ questions?”

The gears in her head were turning as she weighed the pros and cons of humoring my offer. “You better ask some good questions then,” was her answer, which was the long way of saying yes.

“Is this ‘something old’ an object?”

She hesitated, then decided on, “No.” So I took that as maybe.

“Is this ‘something old’ a place?”

There was no indecision with this answer. “No.”

“Is this ‘something old’ as in appearance?”

Again, a partial hesitation, but still ultimately a, “No.”

Realizing I pretty much exhausted the tangible, I settled for something more abstract. “Is this ‘something old’ a concept?”

“Yes, you could say that.”

Her answer would prove to be redundant, as just seconds after we would arrive at our mystery destination.

Ellie’s Bridal Boutique.

“Something old, something new. Something borrowed, something blue.” I recited to myself under my breath when I finally unearthed the meaning. The rhyme was a wedding tradition that referred to the things a bride is supposed to wear on her wedding day that’s meant to provide protection and prosperity for the new couple - a superstition.

“Ding! Ding! Ding!” She mimicked the sound of a winning buzzer. “And you are going to be my something old.”

A short chuckle left me as I stepped out of the car. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do - wear me?” I jested.

“Well you are a very pretty boy, but I don’t know if you’re pretty enough to wear down the aisle.”

“So then how am I going to be your something old? I’m only two years older than you.”

She stopped dead in her tracks on the sidewalk to reach for my hand. I’d be lying if I said the chilling warmth of it didn’t make my breath hitch. My eyes fell to where our bodies met, but they rose to look at her again when she finally spoke.

“You’re the very first person I met when I started working in the BAU, which makes you my oldest friend on the team, and since you were the first one that saw me, I wanted you to be the first one that saw me in my dress, too.”

I was already aware that she’d picked out her wedding gown months before, so this appointment couldn’t have been anything more than an alteration update. The only reason I knew that, besides the obvious, was because I could still remember with perfect clarity the morning she came into work after her fitting. She marched right up to my desk to wave a picture of her in the garment right in my face. It wasn’t until I drew back with my head that I could see the image clearly. The dress, while incredibly stunning on her, ‘didn’t fit right’ - her words, not mine.

“But that’s not how it’s actually gonna look on me. I asked them to take in the waist, change the neckline, and alter the length.” She vividly described to me, letting her finger run over the digital photo of the dress as she spoke. “Do you see what I mean?”

I lied when I said, “Yeah, I do,” because really, I didn’t need her to describe the details to me - I could already see the vision. Even if the dress was the wrong color, length, and ‘poofiness,’ I’d still think she’d look lovely.

It was my only hope that her future husband would think so, too.

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n). I’m here for my alteration with Reagan at 4.” Just as quickly as she introduced herself to the receptionist, she was being whisked away by an older woman who seemed to have recognized her.

“Oh, (y/n)! It’s so good to see you again! Come, come, your dress is ready. I just know you’ll love it.”

Before she slipped out of my vision completely, (y/n) turned around to address me. “I’ll be right back, I promise. Just wait here.”

I raised my hand in the air to give a short acknowledgment goodbye and followed her instruction to sit in the chair that lied directly in front of a circular raised platform.

“Are you the groom?” A soft voice from beside me suddenly asked. I looked up to see it was the receptionist holding a tray with a glass of champagne.

“Oh, I’m okay thank you,” I denied the alcohol with a shake of my head. “And no, no I’m not. Just an … an old friend.” Again, her words, not mine.

It would come as a surprise to both me and you that with as much as I know about the world, I had no idea how long this would take before I saw her again. With my estimates, it should take maybe fifteen minutes maximum before she walked out in her dress, but who knows? It’s (y/n) after all. She runs on her own clock. The sun rises and sets on her.

At least in my world it does.

By around minute 17, I realized my estimates were way off and there was no way she’d be coming out any time soon, so with all that I could do in that store having been done already, the only thing left for me to do was read. Nothing of quality, though. Just those frivolous bridal magazines on the coffee table beside me. I didn’t even want to think about the germs and bacteria that were harboring on these reading materials, but if it meant it’d cure my boredom then perhaps the contraction of microbes would be worth it.

To say I wasn’t well-versed in fashion would be an understatement and reading the subscriptions only emphasized that further. To put it in perspective, you could style my future bride in a medieval frock and it wouldn’t discourage me whatsoever because I simply have no understanding of what a ‘good’ wedding dress is, therefore, I cannot make an accurate comparison.

Take, for example, the dress on page 17 of Modern Bride. The model was donning a high neck, long sleeve creme satin dress. I thought it looked quite nice and classic, but the excerpt described it as totally out of style and too old - a faux pas.

But when comparing that dress to the gown on page 24 of The Bride’s Guide, I couldn’t spot a single difference between the two, yet this passage was written in complete adoration. “This dress is vintage done right,” said the article. But to me - they were exactly identical! What was wrong with the first one?

Maybe it was a good thing grooms weren’t allowed to help pick wedding dresses because if I had to assist my bride in picking her’s, then, of course, it would be bad luck! I’d probably pick something utterly horrendous!

I had to admit it was slightly humiliating to confront my incompetence relating to wedding dresses, so before my self-esteem plummeted any further, I set the magazines back in their rightful place on the coffee table so they could once again be what they were always intended for - extraneous decor.

With a flick of my watch, I noted the period of waiting had only increased by three minutes. Again, I had yet to master the art of wedding garment fittings, but how was 20 minutes not enough time to put a dress on? However, unlike my better half, I had (relatively) zero problems admitting my ignorance, whereas she’d rather drive us off a cliff or into a lake before letting me know she was lost.

In surrender to my lack of knowledge, I rose from my seat to approach the receptionist and ask if she had a more accurate estimate for how long it would be until I saw (y/n) again. But as it turns out, any estimate she might’ve been able to tell me would’ve been completely wrong for she wouldn’t have even been able to finish her answer before the aforementioned future bride entered the space behind me.

Remember before when I said I had no gauges of good fashion to outrank a medieval frock? Well, I stand corrected.

(Y/n) in her dress is what I will measure everyone against. And no one will ever compare.

“Wow…” The word came out of my mouth before I could think to stop it. My tone was so honest that it scared me. “I’m - You’re …” I was at a total loss for words that I had to sit back down to hopefully regain some clarity. She laughed at my stupidity with a laugh so gentle, I couldn’t not laugh back.

“That good, huh?”

I wordlessly nodded while my mouth lied openly in waiting. But the right words never came out; there just weren’t any that could capture this vision of perfection in front of me.

My mannerisms had clearly already given away the true level of my admiration, so in an effort to lessen the enormity of my obvious wonderment, I reluctantly broke my gaze away from the angel in white and picked up a magazine on the table to perfect the notion of nonchalance.

“You look . . .” She impatiently waited for my addition, even doing the most adorable little twirl in her dress to give me the full view in the meantime. “Nice,” was the adjective I settled for, as it was such a thoughtless response that perhaps it would convince her that there weren’t a million thoughts on my mind. The most recurring one, and arguably the most troubling one being: I think I’m in love with you.

“Nice?” She repeated like the word stung her tongue, more out of mock offense than earnest disappointment. “You’re reading your magazine upside down so it’s gotta be better than nice.”

I bashfully looked down to find that, sure enough, her words were true. The magazine was upside down and therefore a total revelation of just how ‘nice’ I really thought she looked.

I tried to hide my smile behind my knuckles as I pressed a fist to my lips, deciding on the most sincere compliment I could give her.

“Nobody holds a candle to you, (y/n),” I nodded in affirmation. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

After saying so, I nonchalantly - well as nonchalantly as one could when caught slack-jawed and completely in awe - reoriented the catalog. Had I glanced up even a second later, I might not have caught her reaction to my words and the way they made her smile uncontrollably. I looked back down at the magazine with a smirk, giving it a brief flick to open up the pages all the way to me and parrot the motions one would make if they were actually reading.

We both knew I wasn’t though.

It seemed I never left that wedding boutique because even as we arrived outside my apartment later that day, my mind was still there, stuck on the future bride in her gown.

“Earth to Spencer!” She waved her hand in front of me to grab my attention despite already having it. “We’re here!” She announced. Who was I kidding? She always had my attention. I only wish it didn’t take me this long to realize that the reason she was constantly at the front of my mind was that I loved her.

Nearly about to exit the car, the millionth and one thought rang in my head like a bell - wedding bells, if you will.

Speak now or forever hold your peace.

At a tantalizingly slow speed, I released the doorknob and turned back towards her.

“...I love you.”

She furrowed her brows and shrugged with her mouth, forming a confused pout. “I love you, too, Reid?” She kind of laughed when she said it, so I knew she thought this was just a friend sending off a friend goodbye, but I couldn’t let her think that’s what I meant.

“No, not like that.” I clarified with the utmost candor. “I’m in love with you.” I shook my head when I said it which, in any other context, might make you think I was lying, but the shake of my head was merely the physical manifestation of every bone in my body knowing I shouldn’t be saying this, but my heart still having the audacity to do it anyway.

I confessed with that brutally honest tone again, the one so raw and vulnerable it leaves you nauseous and breathless all at once as you anxiously anticipate the other person’s response to your vulnerability. But I couldn’t even meet her eyes, I was too scared. Even if I had, they would’ve been vacant. Her spirit had vanished from her body, and in its departure left just the shell of a woman who was completely void of color. Her flushed face was a remnant of the shock that paralyzed her and it wouldn’t disappear even as I tried to bring her color back.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). I wish I had better timing - trust me, I will beat myself up later for not saying it sooner. But I promise you, I am not trying to ruin things between you two and I would never actually try to stand in the way of your wedding - you have to believe me. I want you to be happy and if he’s what makes you happy, then I will live with that. I just had to tell you now because ... if you married him without ever knowing how I felt, I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself.”

This was true - I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if I hadn’t said anything - but now that I have - will she be able to forgive me?

Vacant stares turned into piercing glares that drove, what felt like, a thousand daggers right through my heart. She was looking at me as though I were a stranger - completely unrecognizable to her.

(Y/n), it’s me. It’s Spencer. Don’t you remember me? My heart pleaded. I’m still the same guy I was before. I’m the first friend you made on the team, remember? I’m your something old. Please, please remember me.

By the time I came to the woeful conclusion that she wouldn’t reply, at least not now, there was only one question weighing on my heart heavily enough to make me ask it before I left her car.

“Would it have been better if I didn’t tell you?”

My question stayed answerless even as I lingered at the door after getting out, waiting for one. I knew I should’ve closed it, but I couldn’t. In many ways, it would’ve been shutting the only open vessel to her, formally closing myself off from our friendship. The possibility of losing her as soon as I walked away was too real, and I wasn’t ready yet.

“Please, (y/n), talk to me.” It was a trending theme to have every word I spoke be underlined by this profound piteousness. “Say something.” Say anything.

“I ... I need to get home,” She quietly whimpered, practically begging me to let her go. Up until then, I didn’t want to, but I suddenly wished I had shut the door sooner so that I might not have had to hear the quiet addition, “To my fiancé.”

The color she was so void of in her face? It seems I must have recompensed, for not only was I crowned her something old that day, but I was also her something blue.

_ _ _

If there were a guidebook on all the things to do as the love of your life’s wedding (to someone else) nears, I’d like to think I was following all the protocol.

Since my not-so-subtle confession, I had yet to press the subject or force her for an answer to my final question, which I think she was thankful for. I also hadn’t plotted a giant scheme to ruin the wedding, nor did I have any intentions of doing so.

For all intents and purposes, I was acting as a gentleman (who’s in love with you but whom you’re not marrying) ideally should.

You would think that after my big declaration, (y/n) would do everything in her power to avoid me. It’s what I would’ve done. But she’s no coward. That exact heart of gold I fell in love with made no exceptions. Because even after what I did, she still had it in her to extend her kindness to me.

She’s stubborn like that, remember?

And though she was showering me with a treatment I didn’t deserve, it still wasn’t enough for my greedy heart.

The true pain lied in the pretending. Every day I would have to come to work and talk with her and laugh with her and smile with her - I would have to be her friend … pretending that was all that I wanted and nothing more.

It was both a blessing and a curse that she was acting just as she always had with me. It may seem weird to have expected, nay - wanted - a different reaction from her, but I just wanted something. At least, if she was angry, then I would know what I said had some effect on her, but she was just so indifferent. Like what I said didn’t matter.

It’s been said that there is a thin line between love and hatred. Hate and love both seem to be involved in the neural processing of what is sometimes referred to as the arousal effect of emotion - this is a technical term, so arousal can be negative. Scientists studying the physical nature of hate have found that some of the nervous circuits in the brain responsible for it are the same as those that are used during the feeling of romantic love – although love and hate appear to be polar opposites. Therefore, the same brain circuitry is involved in both extreme emotions. So, as strange as it may sound, if she didn’t love me, then I at least wanted her to hate me, just so I’d know she had any passion for me that matched my burning passion for her.

But as it turns out, she would never go on to display signs of hatred or love, for she never acted passive-aggressively, never gave me the silent treatment - nothing. Nope, she just acted as if it never happened. She went on with her life, essentially expecting me to do the same, but how could I carry on with life while she was still carrying half of my heart with her?

It’s an impossible feat, that - to walk around with half a heart. And it’s one that has not gotten easier with time. If anything, time has made it worse, and the closer we got to the wedding, the more difficult it became for me to hold back. And with this exponential growth, it was only inevitable that the pinnacle of difficulty came right before the wedding.

Before shit hit the fan, she arranged, or rather insisted, that I give a speech at the dinner rehearsal. That hadn’t changed, despite almost everything else having done so. Up until the minute I arrived at the venue, I could’ve recited that speech a million times, forwards and backwards, in my sleep, or even in Russian. But I lost any ability to form coherent thoughts from the second I laid eyes on her.

As soon as I opened the door, she stood at the entrance to greet her guests, having taken a radiant form that I could only imagine would not pale in comparison to what she would look like tomorrow on her actual wedding day. That thought alone scared me shitless.

If this is how beautiful she looked tonight and it was only just the rehearsal, how would I ever be able to resist her less than 24 hours from now when she would be marrying a man I could only dream of being half so lucky as?

“Spencer!” Familiar crinkles formed around her eyes as a result of her gigantic smile when she saw me and hugged me thereafter. Her embrace was strangely tighter and lasted for longer than usual, not that I was complaining, but I had to wonder if she was compensating for something. What’s that saying - keep your friends close, and your enemies closer? Was she killing me with kindness? That might’ve been wishful thinking though. Because the same flash of indifference I’d been dealt in recent times came back into her face and tone after hugging me. “You’re at table five with the rest of the team.”

“Oh, thanks.”

That was it? Just a ‘Spencer!’ and then a nudge in the direction of my seat? No questions about my speech? No threatening comments to not say anything that would ruin the charade we’d been playing for months now? Had she forgotten I was even giving a speech?

“Oh, wait, Spencer!” I felt her hand on my shoulder before I heard her voice. “You left this in my car a couple months ago. I’ve been meaning to give it back to you, but I didn’t remember until today.”

The first thing that raised a red flag was what she was saying. I’d left something in her car? That would imply that I’d forgotten something, and we both knew that wasn’t possible. But the second suspicious element was the matter of what she claimed I’d left behind. She was handing me a book with the back cover facing me. From the looks of it alone, it wasn’t mine. Clearly, it wasn’t mine. I knew every single book that resides on my shelves and this one has never once crossed them. That, on top of the new book smell and the lack of a wear in the spine, was enough to tell me that not only was this a book I’d never read nor was one to grace my bookshelf, but it was most certainly not one I would have left behind.

She was lying.

She saw the realization dawn on me, but knowing I would mention it, her hand’s grip around my wrist, which I hadn’t noticed was even there in the first place, tightened, sending me a message.

She knew I saw the deception. There were so many flaws in what she was saying, that she couldn’t have possibly been clueless of them. It was too easy. Or maybe that was by design. She wanted me to figure out it was a lie. But why?

What was she hiding?

The final thing to leave me when she did was her hand. In its place, it had left a a near perfect indentation in my sleeve. How flawlessly it sculpted to her hand told me just how tightly she was holding me. What was she trying to say?

That’s when I flipped the book over to see the cover.

Can Love Happen Twice?

And right on the inside cover page was scribbled - in a handwriting so distinctive it could only belong to one person and one person alone - “Yes.”

_ _ _

My heart was racing the entire night as I anxiously awaited for the moment to give my speech. Nothing seemed to ease the tension. Not a sip of water, not the loosening of my tie, not the self-soothing bouncing of my leg. But all it took, all it took was one glance from her and suddenly, the storm within me had settled.

“Next up we have a speech from Spencer Reid!”

I rose from my seat like a floundering mess, as to be expected, because how can you possibly catch your bearings as you’re about to make a speech to a room full of people?

“H-hi there. I’m Dr. Spen- I’m Spencer Reid. I’ve worked with (y/n) for several years now and - and so I, um, I wrote this speech for her, so, so I’m gonna read it to you all now,” My stammering had gotten the best of me, so before I could unravel into the mess I surely came off as right about now, I spun from my previous position facing the majority to facing only her. I needed to see her. I needed the reprieve of her eyes again, and she was happy to give it to me.

“(Y/n), from the moment I met you, I thought who is she? And I mean that quite literally because I had no idea who you were and why you were there,” Laughter from the crowd erupted, but her laugh was the only one that mattered to me. “But also because there was just something about you that told me I needed to talk to you. I had no idea what that instinct to strike up a conversation with you would lead to, but I trust my gut a little more now because that very intuition gave me one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

To my words, an endeared pout formed on her face. She was touched, and I was glad.

“Over the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years we’ve spent together, I have enjoyed every single measure of time with you. You have taught me more about life and myself than I could have ever learned otherwise - which says a lot,” This once again brought her to laughter. “So I thank you for that, because without you, there would be no one to tell my campfire stories to, there would be no one who could recite Jung or Freud with me, and there would be no one I’d have to correct when they drive down the wrong path,” My own chuckle cut my sentence short.

“Life with you has simply been made better, and my only hope is that tomorrow, as you get married, you too, will experience that eternal bliss with which you have surely bestowed upon everyone who has had the privilege of knowing you.”

By now both of us were on the verge of tears, hers more apparent than mine as she used the palm of her hand to stifle her sniffles.

“There is so much more I could say about how great you are, but your favorite author, F. Scott Fitzgerald, has said it best. ‘She was beautiful, but not like those girls in the magazines. She was beautiful, for the way she thought. She was beautiful, for the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful, for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No she wasn’t beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul. She is beautiful’,” A tear ran down her cheek as my own eyes welled up beyond their means. “So to you both - may you have a life as beautiful as the bride.”

Even if that life isn’t with me.

I tuned out all the clapping and cheering, and set my focus solely on her, giving me full liberty to see the way she rose from her chair and escaped the room. Not even shock could paralyze me or stop me from running after her. I sprung so fast into action, which required the maximum amount adrenaline, although I could not credit my speed to the rush, but it was more the exclusive motivation to find her that powered me. The entire time I kept calling out her name as I frantically chased her out of the venue.

“Spencer.”

I didn’t even see her there at first, probably because I was half-expecting her to be jumping into a cab or running away from me some more when I found her, but just as before, she made it too easy for me. She was waiting for me, standing there in no spectacular fashion.

The wind was blowing strands of hair in her face that were not so large so that I couldn’t see the red rings around her eyes that were caused by the irritation and formation of tears. She was simply staring back at me with this look in her eyes as if she wanted to say something.

In the silence, I could still appreciate how astonishingly gorgeous she was. How badly I wanted her. I would’ve whisked her away and taken her as mine if I knew it would make her happy. But that’s just it - I didn’t know.

I needed her to say it. So say it.

Say it, darling.

Spoken through a congested voice (which spoke volumes in reality because of the mere revelation that she was indeed crying) was the plainest, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, she vanished back into the restaurant, leaving me to my devices on the sidewalk.

She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to.

_ _ _

Perhaps the false confidence in my speech or what little she had to say to me after it or even the hidden message in the book got to my head, but whatever it was, I was feeling suspiciously alright. Luckily, that feeling didn’t deviate even as I made my way to the church.

Upon arrival, everything seemed exactly as it should be, so consequently the lack of something out of place did not adequately denote what lied just beyond those doors. Or should I say what didn’t?

Much to my mortification, it was a completely empty church. Every pew, though decorated for a wedding, was uninhabited and showed no indications of having been such recently. As I walked further in, the door automatically shut behind me with a loud bang. It would’ve shocked me more had something else not caught my attention already.

It was (y/n), standing at the altar … completely alone.

Suddenly, it felt like I’d been drawn in by this invisible gravity, which was now floating me down the aisle. My feet could not carry me to her fast enough.

I was sure this was some kind of dream simply by the way the light gleamed through the stained glass windows, casting banners of golden luminescence on her. It was as if heaven itself had come down with the specific delegation to illuminate the vision of one of its fallen angels.

“(Y/n)?” My voice reverberated throughout the chapel, ricocheting off the high, painted ceilings and back to me. “Where is everyone?”

It wasn’t until I reached a certain point in the middle aisle, that I realized her veil had been covering her face this entire time. The angel in white only turned more heavenly when she flipped the veil backward, revealing herself to me.

It took her a moment to answer, but it was her head that answered first before her mouth did. She began shaking her head slowly, followed by a short, unequivocal, “No.”

As you might imagine, I was dumbfounded. “No?” That answer wouldn’t have made sense in the context of what I had previously asked.

“No.” She repeated, with somehow even more definitiveness. I decided it was best to stay silent and wait for her explanation.

“No, it wouldn’t have been better if you didn’t tell me.”

There was my answer I’d been searching for.

“God, Spencer - what took you so long?”

From the breathlessness and the rushed cadence of her voice, I knew precisely what was coming next. She instantaneously abandoned the bouquet she’d been clutching in favor of her hands’ ability to pull me in. The pressure on my fragile skull when our frenzied lips finally met was not a punishment so much as it was a reward. And just as we began to find our rhythm, I slid my hand into her hair, which I began to regret when I realized just how much time and effort probably went into its structuring. I pulled away the moment I felt a carefully placed pin lodged within her hair slip between my fingers.

True, for a moment I was unable to open my eyes afterward from the sheer elation I was experiencing, but as I came to, I found myself looking at the hairpin I’d accidentally extracted from her curls, one that I could’ve sworn I’d seen a fellow coworker of ours donning in the past.

“Is this -”

“Yep, it’s Penelope’s.” She admitted through the most debonair giggles. After giving her a quizzical, and only partially judgmental glance, she managed to blurt out, “What? Why are you looking at me like that? It was my ‘something borrowed’!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

reid taglist: @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms @random-human-person

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid kiss #criminal minds #juniorgman187 #something borrowed something blue

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asphalt-cocktail · 3 years

Note

Hear me out..kay?

'70s John Lennon with younger female home assistant reader getting into a lil dispute because John thinks he let himself go after the Beatles broke up, but the reader believes otherwise and it ends up in the two of them having passionate/slightly rough sex because he's more or so angry with himself than anything? And the two of them are really close too, like John allows her to watch Julian and Sean when he's at the studio or on business trips?? And the two boys genuinely like her???

(a universe where he isn't married to yoko ((no hate intended)) and is single and happy that way..)

Oh my god, I love this idea! 70s john is so pretty. I love how he looks as he gets older. it’s like fine wine. Some of the ages might not add up but we’ll call this an AU for the sake of consistency!

Warnings: Some smudges of angst, smut, insecurities, language

Also it got WAY longe than I expected so i got a little carried away.

As John slept, he dreamt he sat perched on a throne made bones. It overlooked a high cliff that faced the ocean where the wind burned his face and he could hear seagulls screaming in the background.

He was alone. For once he wished he had the screaming crowds and bandmates calling his name. But only the shrieking gulls filled his ears.

The dream seemed to go on for two lifetimes and the atmosphere felt staticky as the waves repeatedly crashed against the shores and hit the rocks. At times he could feel the soft kiss of saltwater sprinkling against his face.

He blinked for the first time in what felt like ages and suddenly his throne of bones began to collapse, he grasped at them panicked as he desperately tried to prevent himself from falling. Just as his footing slipped John shot up in his bed breathing heavily. He blinked to clear the bleariness that had settled from sleep and palmed his bedside table for his glasses and crudely wiped them on his sheets to clear the fingerprints before slipping them on.

Suddenly the room was clear, and the sound of gulls was replaced with Sean’s squealing laughter. It helped John feel grounded in his brief moment of panic. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Christ, what did he have to do today again? John ran his fingers through is knotted hair and slipped out of his bed. Right, he had to do several interviews to promote his new album and single that was just released then he had a dinner party. He grimaced at the thought of having to sit for several hours with a group of yuppies and pretend to enjoy their conversation.

As John walked through is bedroom he slipped on a pair of slippers and his dressing gown before stopping in front of his full length mirror. He gave his belly a firm pat, he’d lost a significant amount of weight in the last five years, mostly from depression, but it was still a small victory in his eyes. Atleast he had that going for him.

The bedroom door open and John found himself lured to the kitchen by the smell of syrup and pancakes. He flashed you a tight-lipped smile, “You’re early.” He greeted you.

You shrugged your shoulders, not looking up from the batter as you poured it into the skillet, “I know I thought my exam was going to take much longer than it did.” You said sheepishly. John had been gracious enough to accept you as his assistant and sometimes nanny. He was nice and the job helped you learn a lot about public relations and management, which is what you had hoped to do after you’d graduated from university.

“Do you want some pancakes? Sean helped with them.” You said waving the ladle towards John.

He shrugged, still groggy from sleep. He really didn’t want any, but the way Sean stared at him with his big black eyes begging changed his mind. He sighed after his idle moment in thought and nodded his head, “I suppose I should see what the little chief has made for us.” He smiled and ruffled the kid’s hair.

After breakfast John rushed to get ready, “And you’re okay with taking Julian to piano lessons? Remember Sean still needs to finish that cough medicine from his cold earlier last week, and they can’t stay up past-” he rushed out his of things that he now only worried about due to having children.

You placed your hand on John’s arm and gave him a look, “John I’ve worked with you for almost three years, I think I can handle a day of babysitting. Julian will get to piano lesson on time and Sean will get his medicine; and don’t worry I won’t give them any sugar past 6pm.” John chose to ignore the little wink you gave Julian and Sean from the other side of the room.

He let out a sigh and his shoulders relaxed, “I know, I just” Worry I’m not good enough, his intrusive thoughts echoed in his mind and he shook his head before sharply inhaling, “I just worry about them, you know how it is.” You didn’t, you weren’t a parent. But you understood a little bit with where he was coming from.

You gave John a sympathetic nod and patted his shoulder, “Go on, you’re going to be late for the interview.” You said and turned him, pushing him towards the door.

A small smile settled on John’s face, it didn’t matter if he left for 8 hours or a full week, he still gave you the same reminders and the same list when Yoko or Cynthia couldn’t take the kids. John rushed out the door and you turned towards the boys and grinned at them. They were both nice, Julian had a wee bit of an attitude, but you chocked it up to him being in double digits while Sean was a curious and surprisingly even-tempered boy.

You made sure Julian got to and from piano lessons okay and wrestled with Sean to take the last dose of his medication, bribing him with some cookies. The remainder of the afternoon and evening you watched a movie with them, walked in the park, and drew pictures of the cats.

At lunch time John called to check in on the boys and to let you know it was going to be a late night, after reassuring him everything was fine you resumed your conversation with Sean about some fabulous story he was making up.

John sat at the dinner party, poking at his food and listening to his scientist friend tell them about a fancy new machine they got at work. The autoclave used immense amounts of heat and pressure to sterilize items, nothing survived the autoclave. In that moment John decided he saw some of his own likeness in the machine. As the voices turned to mumbles and John fell deep into thought he found that his own heart was harsh an inhospitable, much like the machine. That was why he was mostly alone in his 17-room apartment in New York City. His two wives couldn’t even make his home their home, and when he received a phone call from Cynthia or Yoko saying they were coming to pick the children up or to send them home on the morrows next fight he couldn’t say it struck him by surprise.

As the evening grew late you put Sean to bed and then an hour later you sent Sean to bed, much to your surprise neither of the boys fought with you tonight over why it was unfair they had different bedtimes or how they should be allowed to stay up later because it was summertime.

Infomercials from the television droned in your ears and lulled you to sleep as you sprawled out on the couch. A hand touching your shoulder caused you to jump and you blinked before John came into focus, “I’m home, you can stay the night in the guest room. It’s too late for you to go home alone.” He said kindly.

You rubbed your eyes and groggily sat up, “How did the meetings go today?” You asked after a deep yawn.

John’s face scrunched up, the way it did when he was frustrated and deep in thought, “It was alright.” He shrugged.

“What do you mean alright? You just released a new single, no one had an opinion on it?” You asked as you made your way through one of the many long hallways that made up his Dakota apartment.

John followed you, hoping for conversation and company, “I don’t know, I must have termites in me brain or something.” He frowned leaning against the door of the bathroom and watching you rummage through the cabinet for your spare toothbrush. Your movements moved on memory and you pushed aside the antacids and ibuprofen to get to the toothbrush you kept in the back of the medicine cabinet. The familiarity in your actions made John feel comforted.

“what do you mean?” You asked before you began brushing your teeth. You watched as John shifted, leaning against the door jam. He felt uncomfortable. You could tell.

He looked away from you, “I’m washed up I suppose.” He dug his shoe into the grout of the bathroom tile, “No one wants to listen to a former Beatle without the other three.” John wanted to open up to you but his body felt like an unstable bag of foam and bones and his ability to speak clearly vanished.

You spat out your toothpaste and wiped the remainder off with the towel that hung on the wall, “Oh come off it,” You scolded him, “You don’t mean that do you?”

Now it was your turn to follow John as he walked through the house, kicking his shoes off and tossing his jacket to the side, “That’s how it seems.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, “Every time I talk to one of these hokey television people, they just rub it in me face how successful Paul or George are doing.” He frowned, “And I’m just sitting here, a one hit wonder. No songs in the last five years.” He tugged open the door to his wardrobe and pulled out sleeping cloths and tossed them onto the bed, “Paul’s got his 87 children, and his new better band. What do I have?” His cheeks started turning red and his thick brows furrowed.

You listened to him complain about his imperfections, he obviously needed to get them off his chest, “John,” You said softly interrupting his monologue, “You don’t mean that.” You bluntly said.

John looked away from you and huffed loudly, “First I get called the fat Beatle, then I get torn to shreds for saying one thing about Christianity and now I can’t even write a damn song anymore.” He angrily pulled his shirt over his head, “If I can’t even write a damn song what use am I?” He continued to mumble to himself and tug the thin and worn sleep shirt over his head and stuck his arms through the hole.

You walked forward and boldly grabbed John’s wrist as he reached for his lounge pants, “Stop it,” You said in the same tone of voice you used to scold one of the children, “I don’t want to hear you say bad things about yourself that aren’t true.” Your brows knit together as John turned to look at you.

His eyes narrowed to little slits as he studied your face. John felt as though the throne of fame he once sat upon was now crumbling, much like in his dream “You’re just an assistant, you don’t know anything.” He said coldly and shrugged you off.

You know he didn’t mean it, but the words stung, “Yeah, I’m just your assistant who watches your kids, and takes them to piano lessons, and does your laundry, and brings you take away when you are too sad to leave your room.” You shot back.

Your words hit John like a 10-ton truck, and he looked at you shocked, none of his assistants had ever been this bold before. They all cowered beneath the mighty John Lennon, but you were different. Your tongue was just as sharp as his, and he hated to admit it; but he liked the way your brows furrowed, and your eyes ignited with fire every time you argued back at him. He wanted to get a rise out of you, so he pushed you, “I pay you for it, don’t go around thinking you’re special. I could post your job in the paper and have hundreds of college kids lining up to work for me.” He hissed stepping towards you.

You were backed into a wall, literally and figuratively, you felt at a loss for words. John was right and you both knew it, what was the worst that could happen if you pushed back a bit? “Do it, I dare you.” You scoffed and moved to push past him, “Surprised anyone would like to work for a washed-up Beatle.” You mumbled under your breath knowing that he would hear you.

John brought his arm up and pushed you back into your spot between the wall and pushed his lips against yours. It was hard and messy; your teeth clicked together, and your noses knocked. It took a moment for you to realize what was happening until John roughly shoved his knee between your legs. You let out a whimper feeling him pull away and start leaving hot open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and trailing down to your neck. Your chest heaved against him and you swallowed thickly, and you desperately tried to focus as he continued to latch onto your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin, “John.” You whined and ground yourself against his thigh.

He loved how you practically purred his name as you spoke. John’s hands pushed down on your hips, helping you as you slid against his thigh with wanton need. Your breathy sighs sent a shiver that crept down his spine and settled in his belly, “We can stop, just say it and I’ll stop.” He said rubbing his nose along your jaw.

You swallowed thickly, “Please don’t,” You didn’t want to go back now.

John pulled away and pulled you by your wrist before pushing you back onto the bed. You bounced back against the plush large mattress and laid against the pillows and watched as John knelt between your legs. He rubbed his hands along your thighs and kissed you’re the skin that had become exposed from your shirt riding up and pushed it up more. He sucked and left kitten licks as he exposed more of you stomach and chest, kissing between your breasts and sucking at the soft skin on the sides.

John peeled your shirt off and in one swift movement your breasts were exposed and your top and underclothes tossed aside. He dove against your neck again, deepening the marks he’d already left prior and adding new ones, nipping at the skin and inhaling your scent. You reached your fingers and laced them in his soft long hair. You’d always wondered how it felt and how it smelt. You found yourself burying your nose into the side of his head and breathing deeply. He smelled like stale smoke, the gum he always chewed as a nervous habit, and like his eucalyptus shampoo. It made your brain feel dizzy.

Your legs wrapped around John’s narrow hips and pulled him flush against you. He groaned feeling your heat against his awakening erection and ground against you. he felt like he was 18 again, sneaking home some blurry faced bird through the back door at Mimi’s after coming home too late. But this felt better, it wasn’t some random company for the night; it was you.

The assistant he hired on a whim because he needed someone to watch Sean while he flew to LA for recording, the same person who folded his laundry, the first person he told of his divorce from Yoko. Even in his dream as he stood alone on the edge of the cliff as his throne collapsed, he knew if he called your name you would come.

Now, here he was; swallowing your moans eagerly in his mouth and listening as you left ragged breathy gasps in his ear as he ground against you. His hands fumbled with the buttons on your pants before he finally gave up and pulled them open, the small button popping off and bouncing to the other side of the room. John kissed your hips and along the lower half of your stomach and it twitched.

You squirmed, looking down and seeing his intently focused face as he yanked down your underwear and jeans and carelessly tossed them aside. You suddenly became aware of your nakedness as you stared down at John, fully clothed in a loose sleep shirt and the pants he wore today. Your eyes trailed his body and you sat up, tugging at his shirt. Your movements were hesitant and less confident than his. John’s hands guided his shirt up and he tugged it off, throwing it to join the rest of your discarded cloths and you ran a hand along his chest. Admiring the freckles and imperfections that made him distinctly human. He pulled back and shrugged his pants off and resumed his spot between your legs, pushing you back down.

John kissed the sides of your knees and made his way up your thighs, “Is this okay?” He murmured.

You shivered feeling his lips moving against your legs and nodded your head, urging him to continue. The pit of nervousness that settled in your belly violently vanished as you felt John’s hot tongue swipe between your folds and lap at you, “Jesus Christ,” You gasped out.

You could feel John smirk as he hooked his arms under your legs and pulled you close. He spread you apart, groaning and rubbing your clit with his thumb, “Has anyone ever done this to you before?” He asked glancing up at you.

You swallowed thickly and shook your head, “N-no,” You choked out.

John hummed acknowledging your answer and licked at your core again, taking his time to trace lazy shapes around the bundle of nerves. It sent a tingle that rang through your whole body, from the tips of your toes to your fingers and you desperately reached for John’s hair to keep him in place.

Your toes curled and you pressed John’s face closer against you and bucked your hips, grinding against his face. He groaned and pressed back, pulling you closer against his face. The plug between your brain and mouth disconnected and your mind felt like it was swimming. The string in your stomach tightened as you continued to grind against John’s tongue as he lapped at you. Your soft breathy sighs climbed in pitch before it snapped and your hips squirmed against him. John firmly held you down and he harshly rubbed your clit. The burning sensation caused your toes to curl, your eyes to blissfully shut, and made your legs shake. Your hips tried to jerk away from his hand, but he held you down, watching you writhe, jaw hanging slightly ajar.

“St-op” You choked out and gripped his wrist, letting out a sob as he pushed you to your peak once again. Your chest heaved and your legs shook as it washed through you. You curled into yourself and your face scrunched up.

John left you no room to breathe as he pulled your face close to his and captured your mouth in an open mouth. His tongue explored your mouth and you could taste yourself. You gripped at his forearms and pulled him back down, thumbing his briefs and tugging them down. John smiled against your mouth as he wiggled out of them, twisting his legs and shifting before he finally gave up and broke your kiss for a moment to tug them the rest of the way down.

You reached to kiss him and frowned as he pulled away, settling between your legs and rubbing his cock teasingly between your wet folds before he pushed in. You gasped, feeling John stretch you as his pelvis pushed against the back of your legs. He sat there for a moment and his face reached up and cupped yours as he hovered just inches away from your face.

You brought your hand up and placed it on John’s, his thumb traced your bottom lip and he slowly moved his hip, pushing deep inside you. Your mouth fell open and you let out a soft moan. John eagerly took the opportunity to slip his thumb into your mouth and pushed harder into you as your lips wrapped around it.

John’s hands gripped your hips as his picked-up speed, pulling them against him and making your skin slap together. He fell over you and you wrapped your arms around him pulling his body close to yours. His head fell next to your shoulder and he messily kissed up your shoulder and up to the side of your mouth before you captured his. Your kiss lacked tact and was only motivated by wanton need for each other. Your teeth clanked harshly together, and you clung to John as though he would vanish from you in an instant.

John broke the kiss and latched onto your neck once again, nipping at the skin and leaving a lingering and dull pain as he continued his trail before settling near your ear. John’s grunts and soft breathy sighs were perhaps the best sound’s you’d ever heard. In that moment you didn’t care that your bodies stuck together with sweat, or that your head kept bumping against the headboard.

You found yourself reaching for John and whimpering as he pulled away and hooked his arms under your knees and brought them up, leaning onto you and pushing deeper inside you. Your back arched off the mattress as he pulled back and began to slowly rut deep inside you.

John clenched his teeth together and hissed, feeling your walls twitching around him as he continued his languid pace, “Please,” You said softly, your brows knit together and your eyes looking helplessly up at him.

His lips spread into a knowing smirk, “Please what?” His voice sounded ragged and strained as he continued to tease you.

“More please,” You barely recognized the whiny tone of your voice.

“Yeah?” He asked and harshly snapped his hips against yours, “Like that?” He asked snapping them again. The headboard lightly tapped the wall as John’s thrusts grew harder and faster while your staccato moans followed jointly. John watched you, your mouth hanging open and skin shiny from the combination of his and your sweat that coated your body. He felt more human in this moment than he’d felt in a long time.

John’s brows knit together, and his thighs clenched, he didn’t want this to end. You pulled his arms and pulled him close to you, not caring if it seemed like you were being clingy, “Come inside me,” You breathed out next to his ear.

John’s body seized up and he huffed out a shaky haggard breath before he came, holding you close against his body and riding out the high that fogged over his senses.

For a moment he laid on top of you, softening inside you but enjoying the intimate closeness the two of you shared in your post coital haze. John kissed your shoulder before pulling back and kissing your lips. He pulled back and the two of you smiled at each other.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

You couldn’t help but turn your head and breath out a small laugh before John rolled over to your side. The two of you laid on top of his wrinkled duvet staring at each other. You pursed your lips and remembered what you said earlier, “I didn’t mean it, what I said.” You said sheepishly looking away.

John’s expression was soft as he looked at you, “I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it either.” He said his arm now resting on your shoulder. He pulled you against his bare chest and you pushed your knee between his legs, entangling your bodies together as John held you.

#john lennon x reader #smut #ac asks #anon #sin sunday #beatles x reader

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megsironthrone · 3 years

Text

Marriage Doesn’t Suit Us

Based on this request: oooh i love your writing! Can i ask that you do one for lady margarey..,she’s a high born lady too and is also arranged to marry someone awful. they’re a couple in secret but they’re planning on how they can rule as queens together once joffrey and her husband die?

Here you go! I was originally going to go much darker for this, but all that came out was fluff. *Familiar Characters are NOT mine!*

Warnings: FLUFF!! ALL THE FLUFF!

Pairings/Characters: Margaery Tyrell x fem!reader

There were only so many options for higher born ladies in Westeros, most of them involving marriage. That was where you were stuck. Your father had arranged a marriage for you to some ghastly lord or other. If only your father had known where you were at that very moment.

"You're distracted," came the voice of your lover from behind you in the large bathtub. You chuckled softly as you turned to face Margaery. "I am. Father wants me to marry. He's already arranged it. And you're being married off to Joffrey. There's no hope for either of us." Margaery silenced you with a kiss.

"Don't be ridiculous. Neither Joffrey nor your husband need know about us. It will only be for a short while. Joffrey is hated by everyone. I can't imagine it will be too long before someone makes an attempt on his life. And when he is gone, I shall be queen and I will be able to save you from your marriage."

Your thoughts raced a bit as you thought about her words. She was right. Eventually, Joffrey or your betrothed would die. Then, when Margaery was queen, there would be nothing stopping you from being together. But what if...so many questions bounced around in your mind and none of them were pleasant to think about.

"What are you thinking about?" Margaery asked, gaining your attention once more. You shook your head and smiled at her before placing another kiss to her lips. "Nothing." You turned back around and leaned into her. It was these intimate moments that made you fall more and more in love with her and you weren't about to ruin it with some half-thought out scheme. Still, the thought wouldn't leave your brain alone for days. All the while, Margaery spoke of what life would be like for the two of when you ruled together as queens.

"And we would take in as many of the poor children in the orphanage as we can," she was saying, but you hardly heard her. Your mind was still racing. "Y/N?" she asked, finally pulling you out of your thoughts. "Yes?" Her brows drew together. Obviously she knew something was up with you. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. I just…hate that it has to be this way. I want you all to myself. All the time. I don't want to marry him and I don't want you to marry Joffrey. Marriage doesn’t suit either of us. Why should women be forced into marriages and other pursuits when it is our bodies that produce heirs. It is our hearts that keep kingdoms from crumbling. Why should it be us who suffer for it? Why not the men of the world?"

Margaery smiled as she pressed another kiss to your forehead. "I know, my love. But until I am queen, there is nothing to be done for it." You nodded, but continued to frown. You wished she were queen already. Or at least that someone could break your betrothals without starting a war between the Seven Kingdoms. The only person who could do that was Joffrey and he certainly wouldn't. After all, he'd already broken his proposal to Sansa Stark to marry Margaery.

"Our bath has gotten cold," you said after a few minutes of silence, making Margaery laugh a bit. The two of you rose from your tub and spent the night wrapped in each other's arms., knowing the only person who would come into the room would be Margaery's handmaiden who was sworn to secrecy. You dreamt of an easier life. A better one, with Margaery at your side. Whether she was queen or not didn't matter to you. You just wanted her. With a smile on your face, you fell asleep.

As you slept, you dreamt. You dreamt of all the things you had talked about with your lover. You saw yourself on a small throne next to the Iron Throne. The Red Keep looked different, brighter. And there were a dozen small children running around the Keep. Margaery sat tall upon her throne, the very picture of regal elegance and kept glancing at you with a soft smile on her face.

When you woke, you were still grinning. Partially because your dream was so nice and partially because Margaery was attacking your face with small kisses. You let out a giggle as you opened your eyes. She laced your fingers together. It was still early so you had time to just lie there until you needed to sneak back to your own chambers. "Soon, we will be together with no interference, my love. I will make certain of it," she whispered when you snuggled closer to her. You let out a small sigh of content.

"Soon can't come soon enough," you said softly in return. She gently gripped your hand a little tighter. She sighed sadly, a sigh you knew well. She was wondering if you thought your relationship was worth all the troubles it came with. You lifted your head slightly so you could look into her eyes. "I love you, Margaery. No matter what. No matter how long it takes for us to be together for all our lives. I love you." You leaned in and pressed a gently kiss to her lips, silencing any protests from her.

"I love you too," was whispered back to you when you broke the kiss. You stayed there, in the dark and quiet room until the sun began to peek through the window. You laid there, playing with Margaery's fingers and stealing kisses until you knew you had to get lest you get caught by someone who wouldn’t keep your secret. You stayed with Margaery, content for the moment, and dreaming of when it would be better.

(a/n: I hope you like it!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @etherealpotter @line-viper @frozenhuntress67 @cd1242 @smalltownbigheart @gruffle1 @igotmadskills

#george r.r. martin #game of thrones #margaery tyrell #margaery tyrell x reader #margaery x reader

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roger-that-cap · 3 years

Text

weatherman

at first, you loved the words on your body that connected you to your soulmate, your one and only. but the older you got, the more annoying and mocking they became. what weirdo sings rhianna when they first meet their soulmate, anyway?

steve rogers x fem!reader

soulmate au!

word count: 1.7k, she’s a baby :,)

warnings: none besides the fact that this was written in an hour and a half, flufff!

By the time you were old enough to read, the song wasn’t out yet. At the time, you had no idea it was a song, of course, and the words were still cute. It sounded like you had a sweet soulmate. You thought of your soulmate coming to you in a million different ways in your imaginative little brain every single time it rained.

But when you were eight years old, the song came out. And then, you were teased for your words relentlessly. They started to hum the song when you walked by. Someone drew you a picture of a raindrop. One kid was even bold enough to laugh right in your face and tell you that Rihanna herself was your soulmate.

And every morning, you would turn on your side, lift your arm up, and look at the words inscribed in semi-neat cursive, your soulmate’s writing.

You can stand under my umbrella

Who even said that? It was so… cheesy. As the years went by, you doubted that it was rain at all that made the words come out of your soulmate’s mouth. By the time you were in high school, you were certain that it was a pick up line. You no longer longingly stared at every rain shower that happened.

Even though you had a certain, tiny disdain for whoever was behind the words, you knew that you missed them in a way that you didn’t understand fully yet. Perhaps the reason was that everyone else around you was happy with their other halves, living perfect lives with the person destined for them, but you knew that wasn’t their fault that you didn’t have yours. By the end of high school, most people already met their soulmates. You didn’t have yours yet, and it was your second year of college. Naturally, you started to worry.

What if they didn’t exist at all?

The possibility of not having a soulmate and just having filler words in the form of a Rihanna song plagued you every day, and the thought only got stronger when it rained. When you were younger, rain meant good luck, and it was your comfort weather. Now, all it brought was the cold and negative thoughts.

§§

It was your lucky day, because it was quite literally pouring while you served the drenched customer her coffee. You watched her yank the door open and rush towards her car through the glass windows, and you swore under your breath when you remembered something.

Your car was in the shop, and you were supposed to be walking home from work. That meant walking home in the torrential downpour.

You sighed and shook your head, leaning over the counter and already anticipating getting ultimately drenched on your short walk home.

Your boss let you go home early and started closing shop, and you didn’t know if you wanted to thank her or send her the bird for not letting you wait out the storm. She had never let you go home early before, not once in the entire history of you working there. It was unusual. You had full intentions of asking her if she had a hot date, but she started to turn off the lights before you could ask her what made her want to do something nice for once.

You shook your head again as you realized that you didn’t even have a hood or jacket or even worse, and umbrella. You sighed and braced for the cold, yanking the door open and folding your arms, pushing through the uncomfortable feeling of the cold, wet rain with your head down.

You got caught at a crosswalk and had to watch cars fly by. Of course you did. There were footsteps behind you, and you sighed and regretted the second that you stomped your foot, looking up to the sky and letting the rain hit you right in the face. “This is the worst fucking day of my life.”

There was a gasp from beside you and you didn’t even open your eyes. You assumed that whoever it was, was offended by your language. “Sorry,” you said, but you didn’t sound apologetic at all.

Someone cleared their throat from beside you, and you turned your head to the side to see a handsome blonde man with a dark blue umbrella and a pink flush on his face smiling at you, already moving the umbrella your way. Your heart raced. This couldn’t be it. Was it? Your hands were suddenly shaky as you waited for the man to say something, anything. No, not anything, you were waiting to hear the predestined offer (or pickup line) that you now loved again.

“Here,” the man said, and the sound of rain hitting the roof of the umbrella was almost as empty as you felt in the moment. You mustered up a smile at him and said a small thank you, trying to mask the disappointment that came with being so close meeting your soulmate after all.

The man held the umbrella for as long as he walked in the same direction as you, and then he apologized for not being able to hold it for you any longer. “It’s alright, thank you” you said, and hoped that the sound of the pounding rain was enough to hide the tremor in your voice. You were not about to cry.

You went to stand under the roof of a building on the side of it, hoping that the wave of rain would be over in a few minutes. It was better than running for two minutes, you supposed. You saw another blonde man with large strides walk past, with an even darker blue umbrella in his hand, and he was dry.

You groaned. “How am I the only one who didn’t know about the rain?”

The man stopped in his tracks and turned around, looking at you with wide, blue eyes as you stood nonchalantly under the roof, arms crossed and still a little hurt after the universe teasing you with the first umbrella man. When all he did was stare at you, you have him a harsh look and looked away. Staring men always meant trouble, and the meaner you were, the faster they would leave you alone.

“You can stand under my umbrella,” the handsome man said, and slowly, your head turned back his way. Your eyes locked again, and it was your turn to stare like an idiot. “I-I mean, if you want to.”

You leaned off of the wall of the building and took a step towards him. “Did you really just say that?”

A grin lit up on his beautiful face, and you already decided that his smile was your favorite thing on earth. Screw churros from the fair. “Depends, did you just say something about being the only one who didn’t know about the rain?”

You threw yourself into his arms, and he nearly dropped the umbrella just to hold you. His embrace was warm and strong, and he used just enough pressure for you to feel he was there. “I didn’t think you were real.”

It truly did felt surreal. You were in your soulmate’s arms after all that time wondering, worrying, and losing sleep, and now it all felt like it was going to be alright. You could see the happiness in you near future coming your way, the questions and the subtle and uncontrollable bitterness towards others fading away quickly. You already held this man high in your mind, and just like that, he was a priority. And you didn’t even know his name yet.

Instead of asking him for the name that you so desperately wanted to know or saying any of the cheesy words swirling around in your mind, you decided to talk about the words. “Because, who quotes Rihanna?”

“Who doesn’t look at the weather before leaving the house?” He retorted, pulling back a bit to study your face. You were glad that he was able to do it, because you discovered that his face was just as comforting as the warmth of his arms.

“Shut up, weatherman.”

He smiled down at you, blue eyes giving you a fond look that only soulmates could give each other after meeting so suddenly. He poked you right on your nose, a fluttering touch that made your heart skip a few beats.

“I can walk you wherever you need to go.” Your heart warmed at his kindness. It turned out the younger you that hoped that your soulmate was a sweetheart was right, after all.

“No, it’s okay, it’s probably out of your way,” you said anyway, disregarding the way the inner you was screaming at the part of you that had control over your mouth.

“I’m not even supposed to be all the way over here right now, and I think I already missed my appointment.”

“Where are you supposed to be?”

“The barbershop.”

You frowned at him. The barbershop was all the way on the other side of town, and he didn’t seem like he was lost. “How’d you find yourself over here?”

He paused for a second, like he was debating on whether or not to tell the truth. “Something told me to walk this way.”

You could have fallen apart, and you believed that without even knowing you, he would have known how to put you back together again. “Looks like you listened,” you breathed out, in awe of the man before you, who was staring at you with the same look of bewilderment.

“How could I not?” He took one of your hands in his after asking for permission with his eyes, and you felt the tingling build up at the connection. “I’m Steve.”

You told him your name, and he repeated it once, and then twice, and then a smile was on his face, like that was the one word he needed to hear. You resisted the urge to touch his face now that you could see the subtle stubble growing in. “Don’t wear it out, weatherman.”

You took a step forward, and his long legs only took half of his normal stride to match up with you. He walked you home while you talked about anything and everything with him, every now and again talking about the words on your respective wrists and how glad you were that you found each other.

It felt so right.

You met him the next day at the park, and it was as sunny as it could be. He was carrying a tackily designed gift bag that he put red tissue paper in, and from then on, you knew he was a big goof. He handed you the bag with a huge, dopey smile on his face, and you cackled when you opened it.

It was an umbrella, an poncho, and a copy of Weather for Dummies.

******

omg omg not my first soulmate au lmao and many more to come in different shapes and sizes bc-

i’m obsessed

hope y’all liked it!!! <3

#steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers soulmate #steve rogers soulmate au #soulmate au #marvel fanfic #my fics

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youalexturnermeon · 3 years

Text

Warm Beer and Cold Women (Johnny Lawrence x Reader)

Request: Hi! I absolutely love your work and I was wondering if I could get a Cobra Kai Johnny imagine where the reader is a bartender and starts crushing on him since he’s a regular and he flirts with her all the time and she pretends to hate it but she actually loves it? by Anon

A/N: Again, Johnny Lawrence x Reader and again it’s gonna be multiple parts (ONLY IF YOU WANT ME TO) because I just can’t keep it short

Warnings: badass reader, drinking, swearing

Wordcount: 1589

“Look, (Y/N), your boyfriend’s back.”

You heard that sentence almost every day during your late shift. Everyday, for about a month now. Jenny, your college at the half empty bar never held herself back. Just like right at the moment when she said that with a grin as you two stood behind the counter and polished glasses to look busy.

You rolled your eyes, “He’s not my boyfriend!” You insisted on it every night as well.

“Your loss, he’s kinda hot”. And Jenny’s answer was also the same every time. This conversation always felt like a déjà-vu, except that it literally happened to you every damn night you had to work. You let out a deep sigh trying to focus on the empty glass in one of your hands and the dirty cloth in the other. Yet you couldn’t help yourself to take a peek at the man who just arrived and took his regular seat at the end of the bar counter. He came here every day and he never made a secret out of doing it just because of his favourite barkeeper – you. He was indeed hot; you thought every time. Although he probably was in his late 40s or maybe even early 50s and looked like he’d seen some shit in his life, he was damn attractive, he had a full head of blonde hair, the bluest eyes you have ever witnessed on a person and he was more athletic than most men your age. You caught yourself hungrily eyeing his toned body, muscles almost popping through the tight black shirt he was wearing.

“Hey gorgeous,” he called over to you when he noticed your glance. And the biggest and brightest smile appeared on his lips. “Hi, Johnny.” you greeted him back, trying to sound the most disinterested and lazily walked over to him.

“Who do I have to screw to get a beer around here?”

You rolled your eyes again, supressing a stupid grin. You almost allowed your brain to picture an image of you two in the men’s bathroom. You pulled yourself together and shook this indecent thought off.

“Most certainly not me.”

“Well, that’s too bad.”

“But if you want me to,” you gestured with your thumb to the door, ‘staff’ written on it, behind you, “I can go fetch Kenny, he won’t say no to that. It’ll get you at least 2 free drinks, I think.”

Kenny was a big old biker, with long grey hair and a long grey beard, dressed in leather from head to toe, who owned the shabby bar you worked in. He also looked quite scary if one didn’t know him. Johnny’s smile twitched into a disgusted grimace. And you laughed from planting the thought of Johnny screwing Kenny inside his head. He didn’t like him very much.

“If you weren’t the hottest chick I have seen in my whole life, I would’ve called you a stupid bitch of a barkeeper and left you without any tip. But your pretty face and your great ass saves you all the time, huh?”

“Yes, Johnny,” you replied sarcastically “this has brought me very far in live, after all I’m a respectable barkeeper in not the shabbiest bar of Reseda but quite close to it, renting a luxury 1-bedroom apartment next to the most famous meth-head on the block for much more than it’s worth. Are you having the usual?” Johnny nodded, and you went off to get him his beer and whisky. Sometimes it was hard for you to be so mean to him, he was the only man on earth who showered you with complements all the time, not giving up flirting with you no matter what you said. But after all, he was still a local drunk hitting on a barkeeper. There was a lot of those, you had a few of them every night and Jenny even more. The only thing different about Johnny was that he was very good-looking and the most persistent of them all.

Jenny winked at you as you drew a beer from the tap system and poured the cheap brown liquid into a shot glass.

“How’s the love life going?”

“Fuck off, Jenny!”, you grunted and made your way back to the regular. You placed his order in front of him and stood still, arms crossed. To be fair, you didn’t have anything else to do, it was Tuesday night and only a few people sat in the dark corners of the bar getting drunk just by themselves. You might as well just let yourself entertain by the man who appreciated you.

“So, tell me,” Johnny started after he took the first sip of his beer, “How is live treating you, (Y/N), anything badass happened to you recently? You good?”

He always asked you how you were although you never really answered. You admired his endurance.

“Actually, quite the opposite?”

Johnny’s eyes widened a little and he stood his beer glass back on the counter. Surprised about a different answer today and curious for it being elaborated.

“What is it?”

You leaned over the counter and lured him closer to you with your finger, so close that his face was right in front of yours and your breath tickled him. He smelled quite nice, you reckoned, you did not expect that.

“The thing is,” you started whispering into his ear, him excitedly leaning even closer to you, happy over the slightest contact “there’s this creep who keeps coming into the bar. Almost every day, I think he’s a high-functioning alcoholic. And he just can’t leave me alone for once, always hitting on me, always talking to me. He might as well be stalking me and he’s like 20 years older than I am. Should I be afraid of him?”

Even though all you said was a lie since you didn’t think of Johnny as a creepy stalker anymore, rather a lonely guy, your words weren’t intended to be so hurtful. As soon as they left your lips you bit your tongue. Was that too much this time? But you wanted to get rid of him, did you?

“I heard he’s a quite good-looking bastard, tough.” Johnny retorted immediately without even flinching as if none of what you said struck him in the slightest. And that’s what you liked about him, he still wanted to woo you.

“And maybe if you’d give him a chance, you’d realize what a good fucking guy he is.”

You let out a hateful laugh. That would break your one and only work-rule.

“Nah, I don’t fuck with regulars.”

“Who said something about fucking?”

You bit your lip, no one did, it was your brain picturing you and Johnny again.

“You look damn hot doing that,” he said with a smirk and you promptly released your lip from your teeth.

“I’ll cook dinner, we watch a movie on my couch – “

“Thank you very much but I can have stale pasta at home by myself.“ you interrupted him, the corners of your mouth twitching. To be honest, you would like to have that, but you already were too far into acting like you hated everything he said and did and above all just him as a person.

“C’mon, (Y/N), when do you finally let met buy you a drink”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

Johnny rolled his beautiful blue eyes, “You say that all the time”

“Because you ask me that all the damn time.”

“’Cause I like you.” “Seriously Johnny, fuck off, you’re boring me.”

“Why do you always have to be such a bitch to me?” he exclaimed and maybe you were imagining that but for the first time since for ever you could make frustration out in his tone. That was exactly what you wanted, right?

“Woah,” you held your hands up “Watch your filthy mouth. You’ll have to give me a big fucking tip tonight, Johnny or I really go fetch Kenny so he can kick your sorry ass out for good.”

“No, I’ll just screw him instead, then I’ll be fine” You snorted, that man was unbelievable. Johnny, clearly satisfied with himself and his joke smiled with triumph.

“See, I made you laugh”

“Yeah, whatever” you said waving. And in that moment the huge mountain of a man, Kenny, came out of his office and stared blankly into Johnny.

“You’re gonna do what!?”, his voice roared through the bar, and Johnny suddenly became all small in his seat. You burst out laughing and finally used that situation to remove yourself from that scene. After all, you had work to do, you couldn’t just spend all your hours with Johnny. Even if you liked to.

“Uh oh,” Jenny said mockingly when you leaned against the counter next to her with a big sigh, “Relationship troubles?”

You nodded with a grin and made yourself a shot of vodka ready. You threw your head back and poured it down your throat all at once, you groaned but it felt good.

“Wow, would it have killed you if you did that with that poor guy over there?” Jenny signed over to Johnny, now sitting all alone looking down his fourth beer.

You shrugged; you didn’t want to indulge him that much.

“C’mon, you clearly in love with him and you know that.” “I don’t!” “You do, you like him.” “I fucking don’t. Stop making shit up in your hollow head!”

But that was a lie. For you the sun shone out his ass, that’s how much you liked him.

**************************************************************************************

Would you guys like me to write a second or maybe a third part??? Pls let me know?

also, let me know if you want to be tagged in my one shots and stuff

PART 2

#johnny lawrence #johnny lawrence imagine #johnny lawrence x reader #johnny lawrence fluff #badass reader #billy zabka #william zabka #cobra kai #cobra kai one shot #cobra kai imagine #karate kid #karate kid imagine

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

An Unexpected Friendship, But A Friendship Nonetheless

A Jason Todd and Harley Quinn One-Shot (Non-Reader Insert)

Word Count: 2K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: So I wrote this for @aurailia or @nitebirdie because she drew that wonderful Jason picture for me which you can find right here! I hope you like this, Jess! Love you! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Jason expected a lot of things.

1. Getting yelled at by Bruce for shooting serial murderers and rapists? Check.

2. Getting yelled at by Damian for calling him short? Check.

3. Getting yelled at by Tim for spray painting a billboard of him with penises? Check.

4. Getting yelled at by Dick for picking on his younger brothers? Check.

So really, it was getting yelled at by his family that he expected the most, but all things considered about his life, his expectations weren’t pretty high. He knew he was going to get hurt on patrol, knew was going to spend the rest of his life dealing with the chronic pain and learning how to manage it.

But the one thing Jason never expected, was to end up being friends with Harley Quinn.

And honest to God, the whole friendship only started because the psychiatrist they both went to accidentally scheduled them at the same time. A screw up. A monumental screw up. But it did lead to a revolutionary session where Jason and Harley spent most of their time badgering each other about their habits while the woman merely watched on and scribbled furiously at her notepad.

When they both left, they were in such a heated argument about which way would be better to deal with the Joker. Jason suggested a bullet in the head and Harley suggested cutting off his arms and legs. An excellent suggestion, he had to admit, but nothing would satisfy him more than killing the pasty bastard, and she knew that too.

Surprisingly, when Harley got to her bus stop, she grabbed the front collar of his shirt to keep him in place while she typed her number in his phone. Of course, Jason wasn’t sure what to be more concerned about: the fact that she’d lifted his phone without him knowing, or that she was putting her number in it and telling him to call her when he needed someone to talk to.

He’d responded that he didn’t need another shrink in his head.

She’d given him a pitied look and said it wasn’t for that, but for a friend.

And Jason wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but three weeks after, he was dialing her number at two A.M. just to hear someone’s voice over the deafening silence in his apartment.

They talked for hours about anything and everything. Cars, weapons, games, favorite childhood memories, everything they could think of. And by the time they’d finally talked until their tongues were numb, the sun had started peeking above the buildings in the distance.

He apologized for keeping her all night.

Harley laughed and asked to hang out on patrol come Friday night then hung up.

Jason hadn’t even told her who he was, but low and behold she was doing cartwheels on the roof of the building he was looking out on that night. And it should’ve annoyed him but hell, he’d grown up with Dick—gymnastics was something he was used to being around.

Halfway through their stakeout, she was perched on the side of the ledge, staring at the side of his head, and it shouldn’t’ve unnerved him like it did, but there was something about her bright blue eyes drilling into his brain that made his skin crawl—and not in the good way.

Will you stop boring holes in me, Quinn? He’d grunted. Pay attention.

Why? She’d retorted. Aren’t you tired of doing this? Don’t you wanna go do something fun?

Stopping drug dealers is good for Gotham.

I’m not talking about good for Gotham, Jason. I’m talking about for you.

Harley hauled him up and tugged him along, him barely resisting because good God she was relentless and headstrong when she put her mind to something. So, he let her. And she dragged him to the Bat-Burger down the block and shoved a roll of money towards the cashier, ordering one of everything on the menu.

And Jason found it really odd when he was balancing two trays in his hands while Harley carried the milkshakes over to the booth in the corner where they huddled in and started eating.

She held up a packet in between her fingers. Want some Jokerized seasoning?

He blinked at her and gently took it, sprinkling the red, white, and green flakes over his fries. And he wasn’t offended when she reached over and took one, popping it in her mouth.

It’s terrible to say it, but God I love this shit. She laughed and Jason’s jaw dropped.

I know! He agreed with a grin. I can’t help it! It’s so good!

Her eyes had narrowed at that. You should smile more, Jason. You look normal when you do.

Normal? He repeated.

You look happy. And that’s what you should strive for. She finalized and took the Robin Nuggets from his tray, grinning when he let out a noise of complaint.

When they could finally move after consuming so much food, she tugged him along to the department store that had closed hours before and while Jason wasn’t one to ever care about breaking and entering, he did have a problem with property that wasn’t a center for criminal activity.

Don’t be a baby. She griped and slipped in though one of the vents and Jason merely stared at the opening before he heard her yell to him. Get a move on! We have stuff to do!

Begrudgingly, he squeezed himself into the way too small vent and shimmied after her.

And Harley Quinn must’ve been planning this for a while because when his feet finally hit the floor, he watched as she started disabling security cameras and alarms in the entire building before spinning around and grinning at him.

Mall’s ours. Let’s get it. And she was off.

Bruce was not going to be happy about this but watching her swing that electrified bat at the glass windows, watching them shatter into millions of shards stirred up something devious in him and Harley was cackling when he broke a window with an armored elbow and yanked out the mannequin, tugging the black leather jacket off before shrugging it on.

He posed with his shoulders squared and strong and she clapped her hands. Looks good! Wanna go hit one of the jewelry stores and find some silver earrings to go with it?

Jason nodded and somehow Harley ended up piggybacking on him, giggling profusely when he started belting out Queen at the top of his lungs; she even joined when they got to the operatics.

And somehow, he let her convince him to go and help her raid the major makeup store in the mall. Harley managed to fill three backpacks full of lipsticks, foundations, eye-shadows, and a whole lotta other shit that Jason had no idea what they were for.

How much money do you think all that is? He inquired and she shrugged.

Probably a grand? Maybe two if I’m being honest. This place is a money-sucking-makeup-hog and I’ll be damned if I’m paying a hundred bucks for one set of lipstick and eyeliner.

She turned to him. Anywhere you wanna go? There’s a map out there if you wanna go look.

Jason nodded and walked out of the store while she was busy filling whatever belt pocket wasn’t empty.

After a few minutes, he heard, Found anywhere?

He pointed silently at one of the stores on the brightened map and she squinted, looking it over.

You wanna go there?

Wouldn’t’ve suggested it if I didn’t.

She shrugged and piggybacked him again. Lead the way, Jason.

He hated that the elevators had been out, and while he hadn’t broken a sweat carrying Harley up three flights of immovable stairs, his knees and his back were killing him when they finally got to the store.

He started wandering inside but stopped when she tossed him a duffel bag.

Fill it up with everything you want.

Jason tried to smile but could only manage a grimace as he stepped in and started going up and down the aisles. He wasn’t too picky with his choosing. Books that looked like they’d help manage his pain he shoved in the duffel bag. An electric pulsing gel pad went in too followed by a vibrating roller he could stretch his muscles on.

He was flipping through a book geared towards mindful chronic pain management when he felt her slide next to him.

Finding everything alright?

Mostly…this one is all about conditioning the mind to work with the pain.

Sounds useful. Meditation and mindfulness have been known to work. It’s really all about placebo-ing your mind into it. She looked at him. Jason, do you ever think about going to a physical therapist?

He scoffed. I already go see a shrink. Why would I go see another doctor?

Because your mind is one thing, and your body is another. Her hand was cool when she placed it on his arm. Jason, if you’re in pain, there are people who can help you.

He really wanted to be snarky but all he could do was glare at her. And what about you? Do you go see a doctor for all the things he did to you too?

Harley gazed at him for a long time before answering him firmly. I will if you do. Or… she started, then trailed off and picked up a few books on physical therapy. You can come to the apartment that Ivy and I live in and we can do it together.

And Jason blinked in shock because he’d never met a person who would agree to do something for themselves if he did something for himself, an agreement for dual help.

You’d really do that for me? For you too?

Harley smiled, big and pearly white, red lipstick a bit smeared in the corner from their meal earlier.

We’re both screwed up cause of what he did, Jason. But here’s where we’re different from everyone else.She linked her arm with his, leaned close and murmured. We’re not going to stew in it while healing is in our futures.

You know we’ll never be one hundred percent fixed, right?

It’s not about fixing, Jason. It’s about healing. Healing doesn’t mean you’re fixed. Memories, pain, it’ll always be there and no amount of management for pain or therapy is going to fix that.

She stared up at him. But it will remind you that you’re still you. Even if there’s a few broken pieces here and there. And no one can take that from you. Not even him.

Jason’s lungs were too tight to form words and his eyes stung horribly but he managed to swallow the lump enough to choke out his reply. You’re alright, Harley.

Smiling, she pressed her cheek into his bicep. Call me Harleen, Jason.

Not Harley?

No, not Harley. I only let the ones I care about call me Harleen.

Does this mean we’re friends then?

Oh, this absolutely means we’re friends now. Best friends, in fact. She tugged at his arm. And I think there’s a Wayne Enterprises outlet somewhere in here and I think we should leave Brucie boy a message.

Jason laughed and wiped his eyes, hurrying after her. Can we spray paint dicks everywhere?

Only if I can spray paint boobs.

You’ve got yourself a deal, Harleen.

Jason expected a lot in his life. To be yelled at by his family for being a pain-in-the-ass son and brother, to be injured on the job, to see a therapist every Tuesday and Thursday, to call his family every night to tell them he loved them.

But the one thing he never expected, was to find one of the greatest friends he’d ever had in a woman he had once been on opposite sides with.

He also didn’t expect Batman to come through the window of the outlet in the middle of their spray painting but that’s another story for another time.

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