#i wrote too much for twelve. i love him i'm sorry

[nereidprinc3ss]

omg i'm obsessed with the idea of spencer and a university student and i looooved the one you wrote with reader struggling with finals (i relate so much </3) i'm not sure if you write requests or not (if not, then i'm sorry and please ignore this hahaha) but i would love to see more of their dynamic? maybe spencer for once arrives earlier from a case and goes to pick up reader from university as a surprise? i don't really know but i would love to see more 💗 thank you and i hope you have a good day!

AHHHH omg you have NO IDEA how excited I was to open my inbox and see a request!! i am absolutely obsessed w spencer x uni student too

i kind of took this and ran w it so its a little angsty and random LOLOL but here is (drumroll)

spencer picking up reader after you fail an exam (sorry lol) and you are NOT in a good mood but he loves you so its fine

Tears, partly from the bitter wind and partly from shame, blur your phone screen as you exit the lecture hall. Another missed call from Spencer. It’s the third one today—you've been ignoring them in an attempt to remain focused on the final that you just bombed. Part of you now wants to keep ignoring them out of sheer embarrassment. How can you admit to your super-genius boyfriend that you are a bona fide academic failure? Still, you don’t want him wondering about you while he should be working. Your numb fingers fumble with the phone as you try to call him back without running into anybody on your walk back to student housing. 

It doesn’t reach the second ring before he’s picking up. 

“Hey,” he sighs. “I was starting to worry.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy,” you exhale, cutting through some trees as you approach your building. “What’s up? How’s the case?” 

“Well... that’s actually what I’ve been calling about. We wrapped up this morning.” 

“What? But last night you said it would be at least three more days.” 

“Rare instance of me being wrong, I guess.” 

“So when are you flying back?” you ask, not wanting to get your hopes up. You know sometimes his team stays behind to help with processing a case. He doesn’t reply for a moment. “Spencer?” 

“I’m... thirteen minutes away from your school. Twelve.” 

Your brain short-circuits as you process his words, the cold metal of the door handle biting into your fingers as you stop dead in your tracks. 

“You--are you driving here right now?” 

“Yes,” he begins, sounding embarrassed, “I kept calling because I wanted to ask first, but I know you had your last final this morning and you were going to come over when I got back anyway so I thought you might want to come stay with me for a few extra days. You can say no, obviously—” 

Some of the icy despair melts in your chest. 

“Of course, I want to.” 

“Good,” he exhales a laugh. “It would have been awkward if you said no. Can you have a bag packed by the time I get there?” 

You’re speedwalking through the lobby now, hitting the up button for the elevator more times than is necessarily effective. 

“Drive faster.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

By the time you blindly shove enough clothing in a bag, text your roommate to let her know you’ll be gone for the rest of the week, and make it back outside, Spencer’s familiar vintage car is already pulling up to the curb. He doesn’t even bother cutting the engine—just puts it in park and gets out, rounding the vehicle as you close the distance between one another. His smile is brilliant, and though you don’t feel particularly deserving of it, it’s for you. 

“Hi,” you breathe shakily as he loops his arms around your waist. 

“Hi, pretty,” he says, already leaning down to kiss you. It’s soft and sweet over too quickly, but then he’s gently pulling you into him. You drop your bag and bury your face in his jacket, trying to right yourself before you go into an emotional tailspin. 

As usual, he smells like lavender, clove, resinous amber. It makes your head spin. Right away you feel yourself relaxing; feel your guard slipping, like it always does when he’s around. 

“I missed you.” The words are quiet to begin with, muffled further by the fabric of his coat, but you know he’ll hear you. 

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. “Everything okay?” 

Why are you always surprised when a man who works for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI accurately analyzes your behavior? 

“Just tired. Can we go home?” You pull back enough to look up at him, meeting his fond—and just a little concerned—gaze, averting your eyes before he has time to discern your... omission of truth. 

“Yeah, angel. Of course we can.” 

He opens the passenger side door for you, making sure you’re settled before tossing your bag in the back seat and circling around the back of the car. 

“Is that coffee?” You say as soon as he slides into the driver’s seat. His eyes dart down to the tumbler in the center cupholder as he buckles. 

“It’s from the jet. You won’t like it.” 

Despite his warning you reach over to grab it, taking a small sip as he puts the car into gear and pulls out of the parking lot. You make a sour face. Spencer glances over. 

“I told you it was bad.” 

You yawn, putting it back in the cupholder. “It was worth a shot.” 

Jazz music plays quietly from the speakers and the heat is blasting, but you’re too busy mentally rehashing question 37 to find it relaxing. 

“You didn’t get enough sleep last night,” he states. Not a question. Outside, the brick buildings of your campus roll by. You wonder if all the students rushing about on the sidewalks and side streets failed any of their finals.  

“Couldn’t,” you mumble flatly, picking at your nails.  

There’s a moment’s pause, and you’re imagining all the things you could have done differently. You’ve never failed a final before. If you’d just studied a little bit harder—if you’d stayed in instead of going out last weekend, if you weren’t so— 

“I’m going to ask you something, and I don’t think you’re going to like it,” Spencer says. 

“Mhm,” you hum, too afraid to speak because your eyes are already stinging again. Honestly, you’re surprised you made it this far without him getting the truth out of you. He offers his hand across the console as you slink down in your seat, and you take it, allowing him to run his thumb over yours in soothing lines. 

“How do you think your final went?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, the bare branches of the trees outside blurring as you stare unseeingly. 

“Not good. Like, I definitely failed, not good. I'm an idiot.” 

“You absolutely are not an idiot.” 

“You didn’t see me taking the test, Spencer. I literally just sat there staring at it for ten minutes before I even answered one question. It was pathetic.” 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” 

The question takes you by surprise. Your frown deepens. 

“What? I don’t—that’s not—" 

“Just answer the question. Did you sleep at all last night?” 

“Yes!” 

“Don't lie to me.” 

“Fuck you! I slept for like two hours and had coffee this morning!”  

He squeezes your hand. 

“That’s why you failed.” 

The first tear traces its path down your cheek, composure overwhelmed by the confrontation. 

“I hate when you use your stupid interrogation tactics on me,” you say, voice wobbling. And then the crying begins in earnest. 

“I know, baby.” 

His hand moves to rub your back when you let go to cover your face. Torrential evidence of your frustration and utter exhaustion well over, slipping through your fingers despite your best efforts to stop them from coming at all. Having an emotional breakdown in the passenger seat of his car is far from how you’d wanted to greet Spencer’s surprise arrival, but you’re too worn out to mask your emotions—especially when he is so adept at drawing them to the surface. 

A moment passes like that before you take a shuddering breath, raising your head slightly and wiping your cheeks with your sleeves in vain. 

“I should have been able to do it. I just—it was like I was reading the questions and I knew that I should know the answers, but I couldn’t remember anything.” 

“You’re exhausted. Sleep deprivation has an immediate, devastating effect on cognitive functioning levels. My recall and processing speed start to fail when I’m tired, too. It has nothing to do with how smart you are.” 

It makes sense—but it doesn’t make you feel much better. You wanted to ace this exam. Of course, Spencer wouldn’t understand because school was as easy as breathing for him. He barely had to try to get three doctorates. It’s possible, you suppose, that dating a genius has put an academic chip on your shoulder—maybe you’ve set impossibly high standards for yourself.  

After a few minutes the crying finally ebbs, if only because you’re running into supply and demand problems with your tear ducts. You rub your weepy eyes on your shoulder, leaning against the cold window and watching DC go by. 

“You know, the final isn’t as important as you think it is. You’ll still pass the class.” 

“It’s symbolic,” you mumble, breath fogging up the glass. Spencer hums, still rubbing your back. 

“I know. I know it matters to you, but I don’t want you to think one bad grade is a reflection of who you are. Do you understand why it doesn’t make sense to measure something as abstract as intelligence by a metric as one dimensional as a standardized test?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

You shift in your seat, wiping your face with your sleeve and prompting Spencer to take your other hand once more. 

“Can your FBI friend hack the university database and give me an A?” you ask after a moment, sniffling. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Pretty please?” 

“Nope.” 

“It’s like you don’t even love me,” you mutter, angling yourself away from him.  

He pulls your hand toward him and presses a kiss to the back of it. 

“I love you so much that I don’t want you to get expelled for academic dishonesty.” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll probably just drop out.” 

You both know you’re just being overdramatic, but Spencer has a tendency to be sweet even when you don’t deserve it. 

“I’ll love you no matter what you do.” 

You blush, unable to come up with a sufficient reply. His eyes slide to you briefly and he smirks, clearly enjoying his ability to fluster you, and by extension, get you to shut up. 

“Eyes on the road, genius,” you grumble. But for the first time today you’re fighting a smile instead of tears. 

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds

[python333]

I love your writings sm. And I love the way you write platonic stuff with task force 141 😋

You can ignore this if ya want but I just can't get over reader angst. Honestly atp I starve for angst. Could you feed us another angst fic? Like platonic 141 with a reader where she maybe got pretty badly injured while being on a mission? :3

AND. don't forget to stay hydrated and eat well!! Take any breaks you need 😌.

(sorry if this doesn't make sense English is not my native language 🥲)

below zero — python333

— — — —

synopsis u get thrown into a freezer after refusing to give up intel to enemy soldiers, and u get thrown into a freezer, and ghost comes and saves u :3

relationships platonic!ghost & gn!reader.

characters ghost.

word count 5.2k

warnings hypothermia, disorientation, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hi anon thank u so much for all the compliments!!! before i say anything else, i wanna point out that i 1) only really wrote ghost into this and 2) literally read the request completely wrong and i think im actually just illiterate because how did i mess up this bad. ALSO hi its been a month since i posted on here i swear i'm still alive i'm just super busy with school!! updates are going to be extremely slow, so i apologize in advance. still, i hope u enjoy it anyways tho!! its all hurt/comfort + angst/fluff + protective/soft ghost :3

When you were thrown into the freezer, the first thing you noticed were the bodies. 

There’s ten that you can immediately see, and twelve once you look a little bit closer. All of them are suspended from the ceiling, each hanging from their ankle—with said ankle being held up by a meat hook. 

When the door had been closed shut with a loud, booming thump you hadn’t felt any immediate fear. But now, as you’re sitting in the corner of the freezer you’d been trapped in—the corner farthest away from any bodies—that fear is starting to set in.

Before this, only a few minutes ago, you were being interrogated. Your captors were asking for information on the details of any upcoming missions, objectives, target locations, anything that you had about the 141 that you could share with them, they wanted. 

Of course, you didn’t say anything. You remained silent throughout the entire thing, not talking once, even when at the end of the whole thing your interrogator slammed his hand down onto the table you were sat down in front of and yelled at you to say anything. 

When he and his team figured out that you wouldn’t give them any information, you remember he muttered something unintelligible under his breath and swiftly walked over to your end of the table. He had uncuffed your ankles from the legs of the chair you were sitting down on and uncuffed your wrists from the table, and before you could fight back, he grabbed both of your wrists with one hand and dragged you behind him. 

Then, he led you to the freezer you were trapped in now, and threw you in roughly before shutting the door behind you. You had hit and scratched at the door for a good minute after being thrown in, and after you figured that it was a waste of time trying to do so, you sighed and retired to the corner.

Now, as you’re huddled in the corner, you kind of regret not giving them the intel they needed. 

The freezer wasn’t too bad at first—you thought you’d last pretty long in there, and mentally called all the dead bodies hung from meat hooks in there pussies and simply walked around for a bit. The walking helped warm you up a bit, but soon it got tiring, and you retired to the corner farthest away from any dead bodies. 

You think the freezer is below zero degrees—no, has to be below zero, because now, just about five minutes after being thrown in, violent shivers have started to wrack your body and you swear you can’t feel your lips anymore. You haven’t been able to feel any sort of warmth in the past four minutes, all of it disappearing within the first. 

And God, the smell. The smell of frozen, rotting flesh really isn’t something you ever want to smell again. Thankfully, there’s no live flies in the freezer—all of them had died of the severe cold, creating small black circles under each hanging body where they died. 

You currently have your knees up to your chest with your hands trapped in between your thighs to try and keep them warm at least, with your forehead resting on the top of one of your knees. It’s working, kind of. The palms and backs of your hands feel just warm enough to not be considered cold, but the tips of your fingers are so cold they’re beginning to burn. 

You pull them back a bit to trap your fingertips in between your thighs, exposing the area where your wrist and hand meet to the cold, sighing as your fingertips warm up just a bit. Your thighs, thankfully, still have some heat trapped in between them, and you think your stomach is still somewhat warm. 

Around ten minutes later, you feel the heat trapped in your thighs start to dissipate. Fucking fantastic. You sigh and let your head tilt back, the back of it hitting the wall behind you, making you wince at the cold metal directly on your head. The cold seems to crawl through your hair and make it to your scalp, small pinpricks of the cold spreading throughout your scalp and the back of your neck. 

You’re reminded of just how cold it is then, of how this is quite literally a freezer, and of how said freezer has already claimed twelve lives. Or, at least, has housed twelve dead bodies and several unfortunate flies.

Just then, the fear finally starts to set in. 

At first, you weren’t all too worried about being saved—you figured you’d be found soon enough, since your team has a general idea of where you are. But the more you think about it, the more your brain emphasizes the general part of general idea. You start to think about how they don’t know any specifics. 

Sure, they know that you were captured, and that you were being held in some small part of Italy, and the people who captured you—but what did they know beyond that? Did they know your exact location? How long would it take them to figure it out? And how long would it take them to get here? 

Would you even be alive by the time they got here, if they ever did?

You notice your teeth starting to make an annoying chattering noise and you bite down to stop them. The violent shivers that wrack your body don’t help, the intense trembling only succeeding in making you more anxious. You start to become hyper aware of the cold that crawls onto your back from the freezing metal you’re leaning back on, and you quickly push yourself just a foot away from it so that it no longer bothers you. 

Your feet are starting to feel numb, you don’t think you’d be able to stand on them anymore if you tried, for you fear you’d just stumble and fall down. You look around the small freezer. There’s nothing that could help you get out—there’s only the bodies suspended from the ceiling and the dead flies that surround them. 

You’re glad none of the bodies are facing you—you don’t know what you would do if you had to sit in the corner with a bunch of dead bodies staring at you with their vacant, frozen-over eyes. Thinking about the eyes makes your own water, and you blink away the small tears that’ve gathered on your waterline. 

You can’t feel them, but you see the tears that were once in your eyes now clumping together on your eyelashes, making your brows furrow. With them starting to cling to your eyelashes comes blurriness for the top half of whatever you can see. You sigh, a white puff of condensation hanging in the air as evidence of your exhale, and move your hand out from in between your thighs to wipe away the tears from your lashes haphazardly. 

You don’t bother to put your hand back in between your thighs, instead just resting it on top of your knee. Despite it only having been around fifteen minutes since you were thrown into the freezer, you’re starting to feel more fatigued and your breath slows down significantly, as does your heartbeat. 

Another ten minutes of doing nothing but staring at the wall opposite of your own pass by, and disorientation is starting to set in. You feel oddly forgetful—like at times, you forget how you even got into the freezer, and have to wrack your brain to remember that you literally got thrown into it and are now trapped in here until someone rescues you. Assuming they do. Who was it that would even rescue you? 

You think long and hard for a few seconds, and can scrounge up nothing from your confused mind. You let out a frustrated huff and let your head tilt and fall forward so that your forehead is resting atop your knee, another shiver ripping through your frame. It almost feels like it’s getting colder in the fridge. 

Suddenly, you hear a loud banging noise—albeit, it sounded more muffled to your ears, but you could tell it was loud—and guns being fired. 

You can’t really tell when the gunfire dies down, but you can tell when the thumping of someone’s boots grows louder and closer to the door of the freezer. You try to stand up, not really knowing why since you’re in no condition to fight, having been in a freezer for about forty minutes, but you still attempt to. 

You find that standing is extremely difficult after practically being frozen alive for the past forty minutes, because as soon as you try to even push yourself off of the ground with your shaky hands, you discover that you aren’t even strong enough to push yourself up a single inch before having to stop. As well as that, you find that the ground is just as freezing as the walls and air of the freezer, because your hands now ached with frostbite. 

The action causes an unexpected wave of exhaustion to roll over you, and you pant to try and catch your breath, breathing white puffs of condensation out into the air. 

You hear a loud bang against the door, and jump at the sound, your head whipping towards the door. You hear another loud noise, and the confused fog that’s taken over your mind only grows thicker, your disorientation only growing stronger with it. The room feels like it’s spinning, and the feeling reminds you of a word, and you know what the word is, but fuck, why don’t you know it at the same time? Why can’t I remember anything? 

There’s another bang, and you hear muffled cursing before suddenly the door bursts open, a man wearing a skull mask stumbling in after it does so—he probably ran into it to open it, you think, watching the man get his balance back. He looks around for a moment before his eyes land on you, and the moment they do, you finally remember something. 

That’s Ghost. 

Somewhere in your confusion-clouded mind, you’re happy that you’ve finally remembered something. But right now, you can’t really think about anything—your mind is blank, and you can barely even process what you’re seeing. 

You’re so caught up in thinking about the fact that you aren’t really thinking, you’re just focusing a little more on whatever’s going on in your mind and not actually retaining any of it, that you don’t even notice Ghost rushing towards you and kneeling down right next to you. 

He pauses for a moment, but after a second he makes the decision to put one hand behind your back and snake one under your legs, the warm physical touch making you wince. Not that you didn’t like the warmth—you just didn’t like the sudden temperature change beneath your knees and across your back.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Ghost grunts as he picks you up, one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you up into a sort of bridal carry. He nearly drops you because of how cold your skin is—for a moment he thinks your back and legs are wet, then he realizes that no, they aren’t wet, you’re just really fucking cold. 

He takes a moment to make sure you’re secure in his arms before tilting his head to the side, all the way down to his shoulder, and muttering something into his earpiece. Despite being so close to him, his voice only sounds muffled to you—in all honesty, just about everything is starting to sound more muffled to you. You can only tell he’s done talking because he lifts his head back up and readjusts his arms around you, before walking out the busted-open door. 

The walking quickly turns into running, which then turns into sprinting, making your surroundings go blurry and makes your vertigo worse—it almost feels like you’re falling. You’re grateful you haven’t eaten anything in the past few hours, because you fear that if you had, you would’ve thrown it all up by now. All you can see are blurred colors—the hallways, you vaguely remember, because I’m in a building. How’d I even get here? Why am I here? You’re pulled out of your confused thoughts when you’re set down on the ground somewhere, and forced into a lying position with your limbs all outstretched. When you slowly blink up at what you thought was the ceiling, you’re both surprised and not surprised when you see the blue-black night sky. 

Not sure of what’s going on, you try to get up, but Ghost quickly pushes you back down, muttering something under his breath. He pauses for a moment, his blurred figure stopping any and all movements, before he suddenly picks you back up, making you wince at the way your head spins at the sudden movement. You hear a quiet, muffled—but clearer than before—’sorry’ from Ghost before he’s running again. 

It’s a much shorter distance this time, and instead of immediately setting you down, you hear something click and suddenly you hear another muffled voice. They sound concerned, you mentally note, Or maybe confused. Maybe both, actually. No yeah, definitely both. Well, now just concerned. Or maybe that’s confused. 

Caught up in your confused thoughts, you don’t realize that you’re being set down on a few comfy seats. You aren’t pulled away from your own thoughts until you feel two warm hands cupping either side of your jaw, and hear Ghost’s oddly distressed voice becoming more clear by the second. You now acknowledge the weird ringing in your ears that almost drown out the sound of Ghost, and struggle to figure out what he’s saying through the annoying noise. 

“—something,” You catch the end of Ghost’s sentence, and blink up at him slowly. 

“Huh?” You elegantly ask, coughing and wincing at your hoarse voice, not knowing how it got so hoarse—or why it hurt so much to talk. Your throat almost felt like it was burning, but it also felt oddly numb, a sensation you couldn’t quite put a name on. 

“Oh my god,” Ghost sighs, his forehead falling onto your chest momentarily as he takes a few deep breaths. He brings his head back up from your chest and says, “I almost thought you were dead when I got in there. Jesus, you look dead. I need to— I need to get something, a blanket or— why the fuck don’t we carry any heat packs or anything in here? Swear to God, I’m gonna—” You don’t pay too much attention to Ghost’s panicked ranting and shift your head to the side to try and look at where you are, and you discover that you’re in a car. Oh. Cool. You spot the door on the passenger seat’s side still open and swinging a bit, as if it’d been opened quickly just a few moments earlier for someone to quickly get out. 

Ghost suddenly backs up and gets out of the car, though staying within a foot of it, looking around for a moment before heading to the back of the car. Your head clears up the tiniest bit, just enough for you to be able to assume that he’s heading to the back of the car to get to the trunk for whatever reason, and you simply lie there on the seat cushions. 

A few seconds later, Ghost comes back with a somewhat-fluffy jacket, and carefully gets into the car—half kneeling down so that he doesn’t need to lean on the seats to get to you. He tosses the coat over your chest, and it does absolutely nothing at first, at least not until Ghost gets a bit closer and tucks the coat tighter around you, treating it like a blanket. Then, it starts to warm you up just the tiniest bit. Beyond that, it does absolutely nothing. But props to Ghost for at least trying. 

He quickly backs out of the car and once he’s out he closes the door behind him, and you want to get up for a moment, just to go see what he’s doing, but you don’t have to. He gets into the car again, this time in the driver’s seat, and he turns on the ignition. Once the car rumbles to life, he immediately turns up the heat and leans over to the passenger seat’s side in order to close the door, and with a grunt he manages to do so. 

The newfound heat makes you shiver, and it almost feels like you’re in a microwave defrosting. Distracted by the sudden temperature change, you don’t pay attention to what Ghost is saying into his earpiece as he glances out the front window of the car and back at you. You simply tug the jacket tighter around your torso and relish in the warmth. 

“—ay. So we’ll just leave then, and you’ll be fine?” You pick up from Ghost’s conversation, perking up at the mention of leaving, “Copy that, Captain. I’ll get them back to base.”

‘Captain’—Oh, he’s talking to Price—says something that makes Ghost sigh exasperatedly and take his index finger off of his earpiece, instead settling both of his hands on the steering wheel of the car and stealing one last glance at you before setting his eyes on the gravel ahead of him and pushing down on the gas pedal.

— 

When you wake up, you’re significantly warmer than you were… however-long-it’s-been-ago. 

You look to your left and see nothing but a white wall and a heart rate monitor—which displays that your heart rate is 115—then to your right, where you see Ghost sitting in a plastic chair close to the bed you’re laying in, eyes closed with his head tilted to the side and resting on his own shoulder.

You don’t bother trying to wake him up, not knowing how long he’s been asleep or how much sleep he’s gotten, and instead simply turn your head back to stare up at the ceiling. 

After maybe five minutes of zoning out and staring up at the ceiling, you hear clothes rustling and look back over to your right, seeing Ghost start to stir in his sleep. Just a few seconds later, he stirs awake, slowly blinking his eyes open. 

You watch silently as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes, and he breathes in sharply through his nose before looking over at you and seeing you staring at him wordlessly. You both blink at each other for a long, awkward moment before he speaks. 

“… Did you, uh… how was your… rest?” Ghost asks, not sure what to say. What exactly do you say, after saving one of your teammates from potential death?

“Good,” You respond, your throat having an odd, small burning sensation when you talk. 

Ghost looks like he’s holding back a few words for a moment after you speak, and after one expectant look from you, he mumbles, “You should really say ‘well’ or ‘fine’ instead. It’d be more grammatically accurate and is more grammatically aligned with the verb ‘rest’.” 

“… Okay?” You blink, thrown off by the unexpected information, “I’ll, uh… keep that in mind, next time someone asks me how my rest was.” 

“You get asked that often?” 

“I only get asked that by you.” 

“Ah.” Ghost nods, looking off to the side for a moment. You’d think he was your dad and you’d just asked him how babies were made with how awkward he was, and you honestly expected the next words out of his mouth to be ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much’ before he hesitantly asks, “D’you feel better? After the whole being-trapped-in-a-freezer… experience?” 

“Experience?” You question, a light laugh evident in your voice, “Yeah, I feel better. I like being warm more than, y’know, being frozen alive. Laying down in a warm bed is nice.”

“I didn’t know how else to phrase it,” Ghost huffs out, leaning back in his seat. 

“So you’re gonna correct me on my grammar but you can’t think of a better word than ‘experience’?” 

“Don’t get smart with me, [c/n].” 

“I’m just saying,” You shrug lightly, wincing a little when your shoulders ache as you do. Ghost notices this and his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t mention it. 

“Then stop trying to sass me.” 

“Sass you? Jesus, fuck, don’t talk to me like I’m some preteen who just found out that they can talk back to their parents.” 

“Isn’t that what you are, though?” 

“No, I’m— you know what? Fuck you. Get out. I hate you. You suck.” 

“That’s a colorful choice of words to say to the man who saved your life,” Ghost raises an eyebrow at you, “I’m still waiting for my ‘thank you’, by the way.” 

“Don’t care, you’re never getting it,” You say stubbornly, making Ghost sigh and stand up. You look up at him as he stands up and try to sit up in your bed, but wince again when you try to move your arms. Still, you attempt to push yourself up, and only relax your weak joints and lay back down when Ghost presses a gentle hand to your shoulder to get you to stop trying to sit up. 

“Don’t,” He warns softly—you didn’t know his voice could get that soft—as he pushes you back down, “Medics said you’re to keep laying down for a bit while you warm up. We’ve gotta wait until your BPM is below a hundred before letting you up.” 

“That’s stupid,” You huff out, though not fighting Ghost pushing you back down. 

“It’s not stupid,” Ghost lightly chastises you, “It’s doctor’s orders. Once your BPM is below a hundred, we’ll know you’re warmed up enough to start gettin’ up and walking around.” 

“… Still stupid,” You grumble, not commenting on the way Ghost’s hand lingers on your shoulder even after you’ve already laid back down. Ghost sighs and kneels down so that his shoulders are level with the railing of your bed. 

“You’re too stubborn.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Yes you are.” 

“No I’m not!” Your light arguing only proves Ghost’s point further, and he knows this, the knowledge of it making him snicker quietly. 

“Uh huh. Sure, kid,” He begins to retract his hand from your shoulder, but upon seeing the disappointment that immediately seeps into your expression once he even barely begins to lift his hand from your shoulder, he immediately lets it rest right back onto your shoulder. 

You both sit in silence for another few moments before Ghost speaks up again, this time a bit quieter and in that same soft tone he’d used earlier, “I tried to get to you quicker. But we needed some time to get your exact location, and when we found it we were a hundred and sixty klicks away, and it was just—it took us… some time to find you.” 

“It’s fine. I understand,” You respond, about to shrug but stopping yourself, not wanting to feel that aching in your shoulders again, “I don’t even know how I let myself get captured, that— that’s probably on me.” 

“You didn’t let yourself get captured, you just did.” 

“Well…”

“Well, what?” 

“I don’t know, I just—” You take a deep breath before continuing slowly, “I didn’t let myself get captured, but I also didn’t do enough to fight against it, so I feel like technically—” 

“Fuck the technicalities about how you got captured, you got captured either way, and you got thrown into a freezer,” Ghost cuts you off, talking quickly, before sighing and continuing in a softer voice once again, “Please, just let me try to be somewhat comforting for once. You know I’m bad at this, and that I never do this. So just… don’t talk about what happened like that, if not for your own mental health’s sake, at least for my attempts at making you feel better.” 

You open your mouth to say something else but ultimately close your mouth and let out a deep sigh through your nose, not saying anything, letting Ghost continue to talk. 

“I, for whatever reason, feel… very oddly bad for you,” Ghost poorly explains, before pausing to think for a moment then rephrasing, “Not… not as in I pity you, but as in I feel bad for you in a way that I feel like I’m at fault for what you went through even though I know I’m not at fault. It’s like empathy but… worse. Not saying empathy is bad to begin with, but this is like if empathy was bad and it became worse and—” 

Ghost cuts himself off with silence and lets out a frustrated huff at his inability to put his feelings into words, and tries again, “I feel bad for you in a way that I don’t know what exactly you felt or how you felt in the moment that you were in that freezer but just the idea of you being in there without me for… I’m assuming an entire hour, if not longer, makes me feel like I failed. I don’t know what I failed at—”

Ghost quickly pauses before sighing and continuing, “Actually, no, I do. I feel like I failed at protecting you. Which is strange, because that’s technically not my job, but I felt—and still feel—obligated to protect you especially and that bothers me. Not bothers me in a sense that I don’t like you or the thought of… protecting you, but bothers me in the sense that I’m not supposed to feel like that. No amount of teasing, or borderline bullying, or anything should’ve ever made me feel obligated to think of you like— like— like…” Ghost trails off, leaving you wondering what he meant to say. He stays silent for a few moments, before you try to fill in for him. 

“Like… what, a kid?” You offer, watching him shake his head negatively. You think for another moment, before trying again, “… Like your kid?” 

Ghost nods affirmatively, hesitantly, and you want to scoff at the hesitation. 

“And what, that’s bad to you?” You ask, your words more venomous than you intended. Ghost sighs and nonverbally shakes his head negatively before responding to you.

“Not bad in the way you’re thinking,” He answers, before elaborating upon seeing your confused expression, “It’s bad not because you’re bad, it’s bad because I’m bad.” 

“… No you’re not?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“No, you’re really not,” You insist stubbornly. 

“Please don’t be stubborn with me on this,” His tone makes it sound like he’s almost begging you, which is… somehow beyond terrifying to think about.  

“I’m not being stubborn, I’m being honest, you’re really not.” 

“But I am,” He sounds like he’s trying to make his tone sound like there’s no room for any further arguments, but he fails, and you continue to argue with him. 

“No you’re not!” The whole conversation feels like a parallel to the one you’d both been having just a few minutes earlier, except this time you’re not giving up as easily, “How are you bad?” 

“I’m—” Ghost pauses for a moment, not having expected that argument, and he weakly argues, “I just am!” 

“You’re not, and you fucking know it!” 

“Okay, well—” Ghost sighs and looks away from you, “You might not think so. That’s fine. But I know I am. If not for anything else, for you. I’d be… terrible as any sort of… I don’t know, role model to you.” 

“Jokes on you, you’re already a role model to me.” 

“I’m being serious.” 

“So am I,” You raise an eyebrow at him, “You aren’t a terrible role model. A little emo, sure, but not terrible.” 

“I’m emotionally and mentally unstable, and am terrible with empathy. I’m blunt, abrasive more than half the time, and I tell the shittiest jokes known to man. I can’t— I don’t show my face to anyone. I expect everyone to act the way I want them to. I’m almost always busy.” 

“At least you’re self-aware,” You brush off, “And, for the record, I don’t know what abrasive means and I can’t tell empathy from sympathy without using Google.” 

Ghost looks back at you in disbelief and stares for a moment before saying quietly, “Abrasive means harsh. And empathy is showing understanding for others while sympathy is pity.” 

“I also like your shitty jokes,” You add on, “I think they’re great. They make everyone else mad so I like them. And some of them are funny.” 

“You find them funny?” 

“Yeah?” 

“That’s…” Ghost blinks at you, eyes a little watery, before huffing out a small laugh, “That’s ridiculous, none of them are funny. I call them shitty for a reason.” 

“Some of them are pretty funny.” 

“Oh yeah? Like what?” 

“The Mayflower one.” 

“… That one?” Ghost asks, tone humorous but still disbelieving, “Out of all the ones I’ve told, that one?” 

“Yes, that one,” You insist, before pausing and holding back a smile while tacking on, “Unless you wanna tell it again to try and change my mind?” 

Ghost thinks for a moment before telling the joke, “If April showers bring May flowers, what do Mayflowers bring?” 

You feign cluelessness for a moment, “What do they bring?” 

“Pilgrims.” The bluntness of the delivery makes you quietly snicker, much to Ghost’s surprise, the laugh not forced or anything. 

“It’s still good,” You sigh, small giggles still escaping your lips. 

“It’s really not,” Ghost sighs, finally retracting his hand from your shoulder to settle it on the railing of your bed and use it to help himself stand up. Once he fully stands up, he looks down at you, and one look at your face makes him want to whisk you out of bed and at least hug you, but he knows he can’t with your sore muscles and still-somewhat frozen skin. 

Instead, he opts for grabbing one of your hands gently and giving it a very emotionally charged squeeze, and holding it for another few moments before letting go. 

“I’m not forgetting that, by the way,” At Ghost’s confused eyes, you tack on, “You confirming earlier that you think of me as your kid.” 

“That—” Ghost stammers for a moment before saying, “That was barely a confirmation, that was just— that was nothing.” 

“Oh really?” 

“Yes. Yeah. Yep.” 

“So if I told you that you saying that that was nothing is making me a little bit upset…” 

“… Then I would say, out of pity, that I did mean it and that it was a confirmation.” 

“Good to know,” You nod. 

“But that’s only a hypothetical.” 

“Right, yeah, of course.” 

You both stay silent for another moment, the silence now a little less awkward, before Ghost says, “I’m gonna, uh… head out, now.” 

“Alright,” You hum simply, watching as Ghost nods to you as a sort of ‘bye’ before heading towards the curtains in front of your bed. 

Before he can exit, you quickly and quietly say, “Thank you, for saving me.” 

He pauses, a little confused on why you chose now to thank him—and why you thanked him at all—until he quickly recalls earlier in the conversation when he’d mentioned expecting some words of gratitude. 

He smiles behind his mask, the smile evident in his voice as he replies to you, “No problem.”

#cod #cod hcs #hcs #task force 141 #tf141 #platonic task force 141 #platonic taskforce141 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #ghost cod #mw2 #call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost #platonic ghost #platonic cod #hurt/comfort #whump #fluff #hypothermia #*shows up after a month* hey guys #sorry writing slump fucking sucks #also school sucks #anyway its 4:30 am so im queueing this then immediately sleeping #shoutout to my discord friend zey who i talked to while writing this #hes great #love him

[wwinterwitch]

rational, irrational — coriolanus snow

summary: the newest peacekeeper in your district can't seem to stay away from you, but you're just having casual fun together...right? pairing: peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x district!fem reader word count: 6.5k  tags: smut and fluff, there's plot here, corio being corio, he's all over you the man's desperate, briefly suggestive in public (no one sees tho), specifics about reader (plays guitar, has a mom and dad, wears a dress, is carried by corio and is shorter), i wrote it thinking reader is 20 and he's 21 btw, dry humping, everything's rough and passionate, clothed f/naked m, marking and biting, unprotected p in v, pet names (princess, baby, my beautiful girl), he moans a lot (and whimpers!), reader is an overthinking queen, love confession (mutual)

happy new year my loves, i wish you the happiest 2024!! i'm so so proud of this fic, i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it.

reblog or comment if you enjoy please!

all masterlists | thg masterlist | read on ao3

Coriolanus Snow is a very patient guy. So patient, that he sits quietly by one of the corners of that filthy-looking place while you have a good time. He's not really fond of spending time with the people in District Twelve– why would he? Everything about this place makes him nauseous, and he's pretty sure he would've found a way to get back to the Capitol already if it wasn't for you.

You, with your stupid smile and your stupid eyes and your stupid charm that managed to captivate him enough to actually make him want to be here. He may not be a fan of the people from your District, and he might not even be that interested in music at all, but he’s definitely a fan of seeing you enjoy yourself. He’s willing to sit throughout the entire performance because he knows you’re really passionate about your music, and how much you like it when he’s in the crowd to watch you.

The only thing that makes the experience tolerable is getting to see you play your guitar and twirl around in your pretty dress to the sound of the music. Hell, he even thought he was ascending to heaven every time you'd turn to look in his direction, noticing the way your smile would widen when you eventually lock eyes with him.

As soon as you got off the tiny stage, he made his way towards you with the clear intention of getting out of there to finally be alone with you. Before he can even say anything, you notice him approaching and immediately hand your guitar to one of your friends before you practically trot towards him.

There’s a big smile on your face when you’re standing in front of him, immediately pulling him in for a hug as a way of saying hi. He was busy before the show, unfortunately, so you didn’t have the chance to talk to him until now.

“You were incredible up there,” he congratulates you, leaving a quick kiss on the top of your head, his arms keeping you close to him.

Blushing lightly, you rest your head on his chest, allowing the hug to last longer than you initially anticipated before finally taking a step back from him. “Thank you.”

“Sorry I showed up a little late today.” He looks genuinely apologetic, even when you’ve told him countless times he shouldn’t feel pressured to be here every time you’re going to perform. “I wanted to bring you flowers, too, but I didn’t have time.”

You immediately shake your head when you hear him start apologizing. “It’s okay, Coriolanus. You don’t have to explain yourself, really,” you insist like always, because it really isn’t necessary. It’s not like he’s your boyfriend, and even if he were, you wouldn’t want him to feel obligated to do anything for you.

He smiles down at you, silently appreciating the fact that you understand his early absence. Leaning closer again, he puts a hand on the small of your back. “Should we go now?” 

The question makes you giggle. He's been like this since the first time the two of you started seeing each other. He's always wanting to spend time with you alone, away from your friends and other people he, again, doesn't care about at all. He's not here in Twelve to make friends, after all.

But even when you’ve always enjoyed his eagerness to get some alone time with you, you promised your friends to hangout with them after the show. "Let me have one drink with my friends and we'll be on our way,” you quickly reply. The look on his face was more than enough to let you know he was not happy about that plan, which makes you take a step closer to him to place a quick kiss on his cheek. "One drink. I promise."

You start walking away before he has time to come up with something to argue back, so he has no other choice but to wait even longer. He kept a serious expression on his face, barely making any attempts to join in on the conversation your friend group was having, even when everyone tried their best to include him in it. He clearly hated the idea of still having to share you with other people.

As much as your friends have expressed their concerns about his behavior, you can't help but enjoy the fact that he seems to be so incredibly obsessed with you. Yes, it's maybe a little too much sometimes, but you actually like it.

You like that he's always touching your body in any possible way, whether it's holding your hand, rounding your waist, or putting a hand at the small of your back. You also like that he's always keeping a watchful eye on you. It's like you're his most prized possession; he just can't risk losing you, so he's always following you around, making sure everyone treats you right and with respect. Whoever dares to mess with what's his would regret it for the rest of their life.

From the moment he laid eyes on you, he just had this need to have you. To know you, to keep you close, to gain your attention. Already used to getting what he wants, he knew it was a matter of time before he managed to do just that. It didn't take long before you were accepting to spend more and more time with him, and from that moment forward he's been glued to your side. 

It's still a mystery to you what he, a guy surrounded by privileges and luxuries from the Capitol, is even seeing in you, a nobody from the most disgraceful District. Still, you were surprised by how incredibly attentive he is with you.

Even when he knows he could get in serious trouble, he always manages to sneak away from his duties as a Peacekeeper to spend time with you. He has never ever missed one of your shows. Tigris is always asking about ‘the mystery girl he has a crush on, that she just can’t wait to meet one day’ whenever the two of them manage to talk.

Even your family has questioned you about what the hell you're up to every time you come back home holding a bouquet of azaleas. He used to give you roses, until he learned you actually prefer azaleas– not any azaleas, no, because you like the purple ones over any other of the colors so he's always getting you purple azaleas.

However, no matter how good he treats you or how seemingly obsessed he is, you always remind yourself not to think too much of it, knowing better than to get your hopes up regarding someone like Coriolanus Snow.

Because you have to be realistic here. You’ll always be in District Twelve, but he’ll eventually go back to the Capitol. Neither of you have really wanted to talk about what would happen then, choosing to enjoy the time you get to have together instead, but that doesn’t mean you don’t think about it more and more everyday.

He could promise you many things. That he’ll keep in touch with you, that he’ll find a way to visit, that he’ll never let the distance be an issue. But that’s just stupid. With such a lavish life, surrounded by privileges and important people, it’s only a matter of time before he forgets you even existed.

But it’s okay if he forgets. You’ve come to terms with that ending by now, because it’s part of what you knew you’d have to live with if you decided to get involved with him.

So, even when it’s difficult, you try to remind yourself not to look forward to a future with him because people like you and people like him simply cannot have a future together. The only thing you do allow yourself to think about is that, at least for the time being, he seems to be interested in you and he's ridiculously attractive, so why not having fun while you can?

So Coriolanus waited and waited, until you were putting away your guitar and finishing your third drink –definitely not one, he noticed– to head out the little pub with him. In a matter of seconds, his hand is resting once again on your lower back as he guides you outside, making sure to move people out of the way for you.

He offered to carry your guitar case before grabbing your hand and starting to head towards the forest. Like many times before, the two of you had to sneak around in dark alleys and deserted streets to avoid being seen. No one should be going into the forest at night, especially if we’re talking about a young girl with a Peacekeeper all by themselves. 

"Stop it!" you warn him in a playful whisper when he's grabbing your hips yet again, cornering you against a brick wall in a poorly-lit street. Still, you show barely any resistance or actual annoyance as you wrap an arm around his neck. "We'll get caught."

"So?" he asks with a mischievous grin, leaning closer to you. "If that happens, I'll just make something up." Shrugging, he brushes your worries off as he presses his body to yours, pushing you against the wall. "You really made me wait back there, you know?" he adds in a lower voice, his face impossibly closer, your nose brushing with his. "How do you expect me to behave now when I've been waiting all night to be alone with you?"

That last comment makes you look up at him in a way that encourages him to squeeze your body against the wall even more, making you gasp a little.

Your body is always testing him. He's almost convinced that you know the power you hold over him and completely take it to your advantage. This is definitely one of those times, because you've decided to wear that dress he loves so much on you and you just keep looking up at him with that doe-eyed look that's making it really difficult to keep himself under control.

He settles for a kiss for now, pressing his lips to yours in a way that perfectly shows how much he's needing you. He holds your face with one hand, his tongue immediately moving past your lips and inside your mouth to deepen the kiss. Your legs almost tremble when he captures your lower lip between his teeth before pulling back entirely, a small smirk adorning his lips when he locks eyes with you again because he knows he's not the only one that's forgetting you're in the middle of a street.

Yes, he's down bad, but he's also aware of the effect he has on you and he loves watching it reflected on your face.

He lets out a low chuckle when you eventually push him away from you, deciding to continue the walk to the forest, grabbing your hand again to guide you through the narrow streets and making sure to keep an eye out to avoid getting caught.

"What did you tell your parents this time?" he asks, the playful tone in his voice evident. You didn't need to see his face to know he was grinning.

"Sleepover," you simply say, blushing.

"Again?"

The little chuckle that escapes his lips makes you blush even more, lightly hitting his arm with your available hand. "Would you prefer I tell them I'm sneaking into the forest with you?"

There's a brief silence, and for a second you thought that was it regarding that conversation, until you hear him speak again. "Do you think they'd like me?"

You're not entirely sure where that question is coming from. At first you thought it was just another little comment to tease you, but when you look up at him you notice the expression on his face. He genuinely seems serious about it, and he briefly looks down at you before looking ahead, seemingly intrigued by your answer.

Would your parents like him? Perhaps your mom will be thrilled that you found someone because you've rarely ever talked to her about anyone potentially capturing your interest in a romantic way. Even if you reveal that he’s a guy from the Capitol. You can already picture her bombarding Corio with compliments, and the thought of them meeting actually makes you visibly smile.

But your dad might be a completely different story. He's always talking about how much he hates the Capitol, after all. And the fact that he almost got in trouble with the Peacekeepers recently might be another strong indicator that perhaps he'll have his reservations about someone like him dating you.

But he's not being serious about this, you tell yourself. This is his way of teasing you, of course.

Still, the look on his face stops you from being entirely playful about your answer, because despite your brain trying to remind you to be realistic about the nature of your relationship, part of you fears he really wants to know what you have to say.

"I don't know," you eventually reply, voice a lot lower than you expected. "Perhaps your charm can persuade them too."

You notice him smile after your last comment, but you don't know if that answer was enough for him. Maybe it wasn't. "I'm sure I can find a way to win them over," he replies as confident as ever. Again, you're not sure if he's just joking or not. Thankfully, he doesn't say anything else about it and you decide to stay quiet too.

Already in the forest, it was practically impossible to get his hands away from your body. You had to walk with his arms around you, his lips occasionally pressing against your temple, neck or the side of your face. If you managed to slip from his grip even for the shortest of instances, he'd grab your arm and pull you back into his embrace.

It's only fair that he gets to hold you close to him as much as he wants. He has been patient enough for you, after all. He stayed in that bar to watch you have fun with your friends while you barely paid any attention to him. Do you really expect him to keep waiting until you reach that stupid cabin? Not a chance. Not when he's been waiting to be alone with you for hours.

The two of you finally reach the cabin and he only moves away from your body to open the door for you, his eyes hungrily trailing down your body as you walk inside. That goddamn dress looks just so good on you, his hands are practically shaking in anticipation as he closes the door behind him.

You turn around to look at him with a soft smile, watching as he carefully places your guitar case on the floor, leaving it resting against a wall before walking towards you. He's immediately grabbing your face with his hands, pulling you in for a kiss so incredibly desperate that it almost makes your legs tremble.

He's always been like this– passionate, devoted, needy. He kisses you like your mouth is the air he needs in order to stay alive. He takes a few steps backwards until he's once again cornering you against the wall, and the way he presses his body against yours with urgency isn't doing much to help your poor state.

"Corio..." you whisper, surrounded by the darkness of the cabin, seeing his features illuminated by the moonlight coming from one of the windows. He takes his time to look at you– really look at you, marveling at how your eyes are reflecting all the raw emotions he's feeling right now in this very moment with you. The way your body silently expresses your need for him to continue, how your chest rises and falters faster than usual.

But he also focuses on other things. Things you probably don't even know he'll be thinking about when he looks at you like this. Because he also takes a second to admire how unbelievably beautiful you are and the way your body fits so perfectly against his. He even has the time to realize how fast his own heart is beating, that foreign feeling that keeps appearing within him every time he's near you completely overtaking him.

You gasp softly when one of his hands lifts your dress, enough to reach your thigh as he squeezes your flesh with a low groan. "You made me wait all night," he mutters, sounding genuinely upset at this still– offended, even. "I went to see your little concert to be with you, and that's how you pay me? Just ignoring me?"

"I didn't–"

"You did," he insists, and despite the anger and frustration in his voice, you know he's not really directing any of those emotions at you. Or at least not entirely. He's just really desperate to be with you, to feel more of what you have to offer. 

There's a brief pause where Coriolanus is taking his chance to move his hand from your thigh to your ass, urging your hips forward to meet his half-way. You let out a soft moan, he smirks devilishly. "I don't think that was very nice of you."

Shortly after that last comment, he's leaning down to press his lips on your neck. Every kiss is sloppy, hurried, desperate, his hand on your ass urgently pushing you forward while he presses his growing bulge against your lower stomach.

The low moans escaping his lips makes you shiver, gripping his biceps while you tilt your head back against the wall to expose more of your neck to him.

His teeth dig into your flesh, making you moan louder. "I'm sorry..." you mutter in a breathless voice, feeling his frustration in the way he's handling your body. "I'm sorry..."

He completely ignores your apologies, much more preoccupied on kissing down your neck towards your collarbone. Your back arches when his lips trail lower, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your cleavage.

The hand on your ass moves to the back of one of your thighs, lifting your leg up until your knee is practically leveling with his hips, aligning your bodies better. The gesture exposes you just enough, creating the perfect angle for him to grind against you properly.

He moves back to watch your reaction as he rocks his hips forward, his clothed erection pressing against the fabric of your underwear in a delicious friction. Your broken moan echoes in the empty cabin, combined with the groan of pure ecstasy that escapes his lips.

"All night," he repeats through gritted teeth. "All fucking night you had me waiting."

You didn't reply. If you tried to say you didn't, he'd argue back. If you tried to apologize, he wouldn't listen. Unlike what many would think, you've genuinely got to know him during his stay in your district. You know it's better to just shut up and let him win, at least sometimes– especially times like this when he's making you feel so good and you don’t really have the strength or mind to insist.

He's probably the most stubborn person you'll ever meet. There's no way of ever making him change his mind about anything. But you like him just like that.

He's kissing your lips again, just as desperate as before, hungrily claiming your mouth. Without moving back from the kiss, he grabs your other leg to fully lift you off the ground. You immediately wrap your legs around his waist, keeping your hands on his shoulders for support while he walks towards the couch that's in front of the empty fireplace with you in his arms.

He gently places your body on top of the couch, making sure you're comfortable as he moves back from you. A soft smirk appears on his lips when his eyes meet yours. With desperate hands and rushed movements, he starts removing the jacket of his Peacekeeper uniform, and you watch in silent appreciation as he removes his clothing on top of you.

First it was the jacket, then it was the plain white t-shirt he was wearing underneath, barely giving you time to admire his torso before he's leaning down to kiss you, continuing the heavy and passionate make out.

You run your hands up and down his back, careful not to be too rough with the way your fingers trace his skin. Even when the injuries on his back have healed completely, you were still fearful of hurting him.

Unlike you, Coriolanus is anything but gentle. One of his hands keeps a strong grip on your hip, pinning you down to the worn-out couch. The other moves up your frame, groping your breasts to his will. Still, despite the roughness of it all, there's an undeniable sense of care in the way he treats you. He holds onto you so tight because he physically can't bring himself to hold you in any other way, and because he knows you like that extra pressure his strong hands provide whenever he touches your body.

He'll never ever keep a strong grip on you like this with the intention of hurting you. It's not meant to hurt, but to show you through his touch how badly he needs to feel your body. How he can't function properly if he's not keeping you close. How he wants to make sure you're actually there with him, making him feel like this, and that you won't disappear into thin air to leave him completely alone. He can't let you disappear. He won't be able to live if you go.

The familiar sound of his belt echoes in the room, and you don't need to pull away from the kiss and look down to know he's urgently trying to get rid of the barrier of clothing separating your bodies.

"Take your panties off," he ordered in a rushed voice, moving back just enough to look at you. The huge amount of urgency hidden behind his captivating blue eyes makes you blush despite yourself, marveling at how he’s able to give you an instruction but still look like he’s pleading for it. "You can keep the dress on, though," he adds not too long after, taking another look down your body appreciatively. "It looks so pretty on you."

You immediately do as told. He gives you just enough space to reach under your dress to slide your panties down your legs while he finishes undoing his belt, starting to unzip his pants now.

It's actually a lot harder to remove your underwear than you initially anticipated, struggling to fully get rid of them at first due to your boots. He quickly notices it, helping to take them off before finally getting rid of your panties.

Waiting not-so-patiently (a thing you might have in common with him, apparently), you watch as Coriolanus focuses back on unzipping his pants, hurriedly sliding them down his legs along with his boxers. You barely catch a glimpse of his rigid cock before he's lifting one of your legs up again, pressing his body against yours and giving you absolutely no time to react as he's filling you up in one swift, hard thrust of his hips.

A shuddering moan of pure relief escapes his lips when he's finally able to feel your heat surrounding him. He holds onto your body for dear life, burying his face in your neck, needing to feel you close to him while he stays balls-deep inside you for a second. Savoring it, cherishing it, thanking whatever it was that put you in his life, trying to remember exactly how it feels to be like this with you just in case you ever decide to keep him waiting again. 

Not at all ready for such intrusion, you let out a pathetic little whimper that makes the moment that much enjoyable for him. You hold tightly onto his body as well, your palms pressed to his shoulder blades, brows furrowed in both pleasure and slight discomfort.

"Fucking–" he grunts, breathlessly, feeling like the happiest man on earth right now, "missed this."

He starts to move, slowly sliding his cock out of you before slamming back inside with such force that it makes you whimper out loud once again. Every beautiful sound coming out of your mouth drives him even more insane, encouraging him to do whatever he possibly can to keep them coming.

An almost animalistic groan escapes his lips when he feels you biting onto his shoulder. Your teeth sinking into his skin like that makes him lose the little self-control he had left, the movements of his hips only increasing as they become quicker, rougher. It's practically impossible to think any coherent thoughts or try to speak, completely overwhelmed by the feeling of his cock fucking you relentlessly, aggressively, desperately.

Coriolanus fucks you like his life depends on it. Like he's been deprived of your body for years. Like it's the last time he'll ever get the chance to do it so he's forced to make the most of it. He leaves sloppy kisses all over your neck, drawing a particularly lovely moan when you feel him suck on your skin in a way that'll definitely leave a mark later. You really don't care, he can mark you all he wants.

His hips move rapidly, refusing to give you even the tiniest of seconds to relax. The impact of his skin slapping against yours mixed with the absolutely obscene sounds coming from his cock sliding in and out of your aching little hole are as loud as the sounds coming from your mouths. You whimper desperately, he groans completely consumed by the feeling of sharing this moment with you.

"That's it, princess," he praises you in a low voice. You're being so good for him, gladly taking every inch of him, squeezing him in a way that's making his eyes roll to the back of his head as he forces his hips to move as fast as possible. "You feel incredible...so tight...just perfect for me."

When he moves back from your neck, he could've swore he almost came right there and then just by looking at your face. You look back at him through half-lidded eyes, swollen lips parted while you keep moaning and whimpering for him, skin glistening with sweat, cheeks flushed. The fact that you look so beautifully wrecked thanks to him has got to be one of his biggest accomplishments. He'll probably never get enough of this sight, of you, of your body, of your wet pussy taking him so incredibly good that he's not sure he can keep this up much longer.

And he knows you can't handle much of this either. You don't need to say it out loud for him to know– which is good, because it's not like you can utter a single word right now. He can see it in the way you're struggling to keep your eyes open, hear it in the way your cries come out more and more broken, feel it in the way your walls repeatedly squeeze him tighter and tighter.

His tongue invades your mouth if a passionate kiss, all messy and hot, teeth clashing while you moan into each other's mouths. He kisses you hungrily for a few seconds before pressing his forehead to yours, knowing it's a matter of time before he gets to feel you come around his cock.

"Corio..." you call out his name, barely able to speak. He moves back just enough to look at you.

"I know, baby. I know," he replies in a soft voice, completely contrasting with his rapid thrusts and ragged breathing.

He closes his eyes for a second, so lost in the moment, feeling his entire body on fire and his heart beating like crazy. He sneaks an arm underneath you, lifting your hips just enough and keeping them there, both of you voicing how good that new angle feels with a particularly louder moan.

When he opens his eyes again, noticing the way you're looking up at him, he realizes it. How good this feels because he's sharing it with you. How he'll never be able to share moments like this with anyone that's not you, and even if he dares to try it'll always be second-best now that he got to experience you.And it's not just the sex, but everything. From the pride of making you blush with the tiniest of compliments, to the honor of holding your hand. From the warm and fuzzy feeling inside him every time you kiss him, to the way you seem so interested to hear his stories about his life back in the Capitol. From the absolute gift that is seeing you laugh at one of his jokes (even the bad ones), to the minutes he spends collecting purple azaleas in the forest. He wants none of that if it’s not with you.

Before he can even fully comprehend just how risky it is, he's voicing that one thought that keeps repeating over and over in his head. A thought that's probably been on his mind long before he even allowed himself to acknowledge it. "I love you," he whispers, the confession both heavy and relieving. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

In other circumstances, you would probably be absolutely shocked by that revelation. You'd stand in front of him without knowing what to say, trying to figure out if those words actually came out of his mouth or if you're just going insane. Or maybe you'd act like you did earlier when he asked about your parents, trying to trick your insecure mind and distrustful heart to believe he's not being serious– that what you have isn't serious at all.

But it's different when you're underneath him and he's claiming your body in the most excruciatingly good way, because you're deprived of all your rationality. You can't think, you can't be scared or doubt everything like you tend to do. You're stripped of almost everything, except from your most basic and natural instincts.

So, in a moment like this, it's so easy to admit the inevitable truth you seem to be running away from when you’re actually able to overthink. "I love you," you repeat, and it's so simple. So right.

He’s over the moon when he hears you say that, already wanting to hear it again and again and again because it sounds absolutely heavenly when those three little words come out of your mouth. He didn't know how much he needed to hear them until now.

You manage to distract him, however, when your moans come out more desperately than ever before, feeling the way you clench around him like crazy. "Corio..." you manage to cry out again, the vulnerability and exhaustion in your voice sending shivers down his spine.

It's a mystery to him if you wanted to say something else aside from his name, because as soon as it leaves your mouth you’re moaning louder than ever before, your entire body convulsing with the intensity of the orgasm that overtakes your whole being. Arms and legs wrapped around him, forehead resting on his shoulder, a few tears escaping your eyes due to how much you’re feeling right now.

With him, it always feels amazing, but oh does it feel even better now that you know he loves you.

Your orgasm was all he needed to be driven over the edge, his arm underneath you tightening its grip on you while the other barely provides support to his body so he doesn't crush you under his weight. "Yes, yes…" he moans, his face against your neck, the only things in his mind being the feeling of your orgasm and how badly he wants to fill you up now. "Oh, fuck, baby..." he practically whimpers those words out, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

He finally comes undone, shooting his load deep inside you as a few more whimpers escape his mouth, his peak hitting him harder than ever before. It's almost like the more instances he gets to be like this, giving you exactly what you deserve, making love to you, the better it feels. Makes him come back for more every time, crave you in a way he's never experienced before. 

His movements in and out of you slow down considerably, but he refuses to stop just yet. His hips continue to meet yours even after he's fully empty, all of his cum already coating your inner walls, but making sure to fuck every drop into you before he allows himself to fully slide out.

Panting heavily, he moves his head back enough to look at you, admiring your face of pure bliss after he tried his very best to give you everything he had in him to make you feel good. One arm stays wrapped around your body, using his available hand to brush your sweaty hair away from your face. "My beautiful girl," he compliments you in a breathless whisper, looking deeply into your eyes with immense adoration and possessiveness.

He just needed to have you like this. Alone, all to himself, making those cute little sounds that drive him insane, filled with his cum. Yes, he's a very patient person, but he can't control himself when it comes to you. Surely you understand, after what you’ve experienced together tonight and the confession that slipped from his lips, why he needed to get the hell out of that crowded pub. He's completely in love with you, how is he supposed to act like he doesn’t?

You're even more exhausted than him, barely able to keep your eyes open as you give him a soft smile when you hear the way he's complimenting you. He gently holds your face with one of his hands and you lean into his touch almost immediately. Leaning closer, he kisses you once again, a lot more controlled now but still as passionate as ever. Silently appreciating the way you handled the roughness of his movements, thankful that you shared such an intimate and intense moment with him, insanely happy to know you love him as much as he loves you.

He moves away from your lips, only to start kissing all over your face, muttering praises and compliments in between each of them, making you giggle as you gladly accept his affection.

Eventually, he pulls out of you and moves away from your body entirely, giving you enough space to sit up on the couch and look for your discarded panties. As you do that, he starts the process of dressing himself too, putting his boxers and pants back on.

You watch him in silence, playing with your fingers on your lap as you wait for him to join you on the couch again. Your insecurities were getting the best of you once again, and he immediately notices it the second he’s taking a seat next to you.

He looks visibly worried, leaning closer as he grabs one of your hands, searching for your eyes because you seem to be way too lost in your own head to fully be there in that moment with him. “What is it?”

The concern is evident in his voice, making you feel almost guilty for doubting the words that he said to you earlier. How could you doubt him when he looks at you like this?

“It’s nothing, I just…” you start, sighing as you look down at your hands to watch the way he intertwined his fingers with yours, the gesture incredibly reassuring. "Did you mean it?" you ask in a low voice. "What you said earlier?"

"Of course I did." He doesn't hesitate in the slightest. "Did you?"

Surprisingly enough, you don't hesitate either. "Yes."

The way he smiles right after your answer has got to be one of the best sights you've ever seen in your entire life. It encourages you to find enough courage to express your feelings for him once again, wanting to initiate the exchange this time.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze while you look up at him with nothing but adoration in your eyes. "I really, truly, do love you, Coriolanus," you say in the most sincere voice he's ever heard.

"I love you too," he replies, that beautiful smile from before only widening. It's impossible not to smile back at him, and he feels even happier when he notices the way you blush despite the darkness of the night. "More than I thought I could ever love anyone."

He keeps your hand in his, and you notice there's no hesitation in his voice when he decides to test his luck once again. "Come to the Capitol with me," he says, but it's not exactly an order. If anything, it sounds more like a hopeful plea.

Again, you should probably think rationally about this. Leave all your life behind to go to a place that's nothing like what you're used to? To live amongst people that are nothing like you, with a completely different lifestyle? What would the people of the Capitol even think when they know there's someone from the districts (and worse, from Twelve) pretending to be one of them? Is Corio even thinking about any of this?

And what about your friends? Or your family? What if someone needs you and you're not here? Would they understand that you're leaving them here for a guy, even when you try to explain how much you love him? And what would you do when you're at the Capitol? Are you going to study? Or try to actually pursue music? Will you ever be able to come back to District Twelve? What if you miss your home? What if you hate the Capitol?

When you look back into Corio's eyes, suddenly none of those questions matter. You try to be rational, but maybe there's nothing rational about falling in love. Maybe you just need to feel it, and right now you feel incredibly at peace. So seen, so much more like yourself, so ridiculously in love that you're happy knowing absolutely nothing is making sense.

So, you don't hesitate again when you nod. His eyes light up and a bright smile appears on his face, tightening his grip on your hand. “Yeah?” he asks, almost unable to contain his excitement, leaning closer just enough.

A soft giggle escapes your lips, because the idea of leaving everything behind to follow him to the Capitol sounds absolutely insane, but it feels so right. “Yes,” you confirm.

You feel his lips press against yours immediately after. The kiss feels like a silent closure. A way of ending the conversation, sealing the promise you’ve made to have a new life together. A way of saying goodbye to your life here in District Twelve.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x fem reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow smut #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #the hunger games x reader #coriolanus snow imagine

[adaptacy]

Hi! Since requests are open I wanted to suggest a second part to the fic you wrote about Johnny escaping from prison and tracking you down, obviously sexually frustrated, missing the touch of his partner and being treated with basic human decency. It would be so cool if you could make it angsty too 🥲

hiiii anon! here you go :)

no smut here but rough treatment/handling and angst.

It was gentle, but it was still a push. A push away. He remained in the same spot, though his head recoiled, and he looked down at you, eyes narrowed, irritated with your choice. "Why?" He hissed.

"It's been twelve years. You're a fugitive, Johnny. I- I have a son. We can't be doing this," you stammer, shaking your head as you keep him away with a palm against his chest. "I'm sorry."

"None of that shit matters. C'mon, darlin'. I've missed you," he stressed, pushing back against your hand and nearing your lips again, but you pulled away.

"I'm serious. I'm sorry, maybe I led you on, but... I never intended to- Can't you see? Don't you... see the problem?" You asked, your voice light, trying to remain unaccusatory. You understood him to an extent; you'd been able to make a life for yourself, and he'd been nothing but a spectator to the outside world. You were living a completely different story from his. And your paths had crossed in the past, but they weren't meant to cross again.

Hell, he was supposed to be in jail. Both of you knew that very well. Every day that he was out may be his last day before the cops found him again. You couldn't just cling onto a fading memory like that. Never knowing when your kiss may be the last, never knowing how long he was going to be in your life. That was way too much stress, even if some part of you did still love him.

You'd tried loving others. Hell, you'd married one of them. Had a kid. But it wasn't the same. Nothing ever came close to what you and Johnny had all those years ago. And when the marriage fell through, he conveniently showed up a few months later. A possibility you never could've even dreamed of being real. And you dreamed about him quite often.

With a quiet sigh, you pushed him off of you and tried to step out of the way, but he grabbed the middle of your shirt and tugged you backwards, pushing you against the brick wall of the alley the two of you were in. He was tipsy, but he wasn't drunk enough to accidentally be rough. He was doing it on purpose. "Johnny, I'm not doing this."

"Just fuckin' explain it to me again. Tell me why," he demanded, looming over you, his tone nothing short of menacing.

"I have a family."

"No, you have a kid. What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"I have a life- I can't go housing a fugitive," you argued.

"I got my own place. You ain't gotta house shit."

"I hardly even know you, it's been forever," you pushed.

"So? We'll get to know each other again."

"You're dangerous, Johnny!" You snapped, heart picking up it's pace as you shook your head at him. His expression fell, his head retracting a few inches. "You killed people. Broke out of prison. You-" You huffed, finding your voice shaky despite trying your best to remain calm. "You're bad news," you whispered.

There was silence on Johnny's end, his chest rising and falling with a sort of determination as if his anger was slowly bubbling up. "What the hell did you just say to me?"

"Please, just... let me go. I shouldn't have encouraged this, I'm sorry, Johnny. I think it's best if we part-"

"No. What the fuck did you just say to me?" He snarled, and you flinched, your breath caught in your throat. His grip on your shirt tightened, and he pushed his fist harsher into your chest, his breaths coming out in rough bouts. "You didn't give a shit about any of that twelve years ago. That husband of yours fuck you that good, huh? Think you're too good for someone like me now? Think you're gonna be a good little suburban wife who can't be caught with a criminal like me?"

"I didn't say any of that. And, god, no- He's an ex, for one, and-"

"Listen, little miss picket fence, I don't give a shit about your new life. Whether yer believin' you changed, whether you think I'm nothin' more than a fugitive, it-" Johnny huffed, looking down, some unfamiliar emotion crossing over his eyes. "It don't change what we had. You wanna go denyin' that?"

"Johnny, that was twelve years ago. You-"

"It don't matter. None of it fuckin' matters. Ain't you able to see that? You wouldn't have given me the time of day if you didn't miss me."

"Of course I missed you. But you're insane if you think that just... randomly showing up as a goddamn jailbird escapee is going to suddenly have me back on my knees, you need to have a reality check. Please understand," you begged, scoffing at his inability to see clearly.

"That's all I am to you now, huh?"

"What?"

"You were the only thing I thought about in those walls. The only thing encouragin' me to break out. The only thing keepin' me fightin' back against the rat bastards who went around pickin' fights. You think you're just gonna say no?" He scoffed, looking back up as he searched your eyes for something. What exactly, you weren't sure. "Ain't you scared, pumpkin? You think yer safe from me?"

You frowned, lifting a hand and slapping him square across the face, staring him dead in the eyes. His head turned at the impact, and he stared down the alley for a few moments. "I know I am. Get the fuck off of me, Sawyer."

"The hell'd you just call me?" Johnny finally returned his sights to you, and he released your shirt just to slide his hand up to your throat, tightening his fingers around it and forcing your head back.

"Get. Off," you repeated, stern despite how incredibly intimidated you were. He could very well snap your neck like it was nothing, and he had no reason not to; he was already on the run, it wasn't like crimes were something he was scared of. Especially not murder.

"You think you can just talk to me however the hell you want? You think I won't kill you?" He growled, and you grabbed at his arm as he squeezed even more, causing genuine difficulty breathing. As you strained for an inhale, he leaned down, his mouth right next to your ear, his every huff making you flinch. "I was made for you. You're s'posed to be mine. Ain't that what you said? Promised me you'd be mine forever. I'm just comin' to claim my property."

"I'm not- an object, Johnny," you choked, but he hardly seemed convinced. "I said that because I was young, and dumb. And I was in love," you strained, squeezing at his arm. "I don't love you anymore, Johnny."

He stared for a moment, and then surprisingly, released you. You coughed, rubbing your throat where he'd grabbed you, breathing heavily. You never realized you could take breathing for granted, but you certainly had.

"You left. You killed. And clearly, you haven't changed," you muttered, taking in a deep breath as you panted. "I thought you didn't belong in prison. But I read about what you did. I... I guess I thought you'd changed. Thought you'd learned your lesson. But you're still as aggressive as ever."

"Sweetpea, I-"

"Don't. You just tried to kill me. Don't- Just... I'm going to go. I don't want to see you again. Especially not around my kid," you demanded, and his mouth hung slightly open, some apologetic rage behind his eyes.

But he didn't say anything else. Just... let you walk away.

Truth be told, he would've killed you. You knew that. He had the means to, had the reasons to.

Why he didn't, you had no clue.

#tcm game #tcm #johnny slaughter #texas chainsaw massacre #johnny tcm #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter tcm #johnny slaughter headcanons

[daisynik7]

hey Nikki! :) I love your kishibe fics I'm OBSESSED!! if you're still taking requests, could I request something spicy w dad's best friend! kishibe X reader? hope you are doing well, sending all my love ❤️

cw: age gap (reader is younger, I’d say mid-20s, early 30s, Kishibe is late 40s, early 50s), reader has a dad that is newly single (parents divorced), smut – dirty talk, PIV sex (cowgirl), cunnilingus, sex without a condom

Author’s Note: Hi my sweet, lovely anon! Thanks so much for reading my Kishibe fics and for requesting this DELICIOUS idea! I hope you are doing well too, sending you all my love right back! Wanted to get this out today because where I’m at, it’s Father’s Day and I thought this request was VERY fitting for the occasion. Sorry if there are any mistakes or typos, I wrote this in a rush because I’m so excited to post it, hehe. Enjoy! Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

“Happy Father’s Day!” 

You greet your father at the door, backpack heavy on your shoulders, balancing two boxes of pizza in one hand and carrying a case of beers in the other. It’s the most stereotypical dad meal you could have thought of, and lucky for you, it’s exactly what your father wants. 

He smiles, holding out his arms to wrap you in a big hug. “Hi, honey. Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, dad,” you respond, grinning. 

It’s his first Father’s Day since the divorce. Your dad moved out two hours away from your hometown where you currently live, near your mother. While it was mostly amicable, it still hasn’t been easy for either of them. You’ve done your best to spend time with them equally, but with him living farther away, it hasn’t always been fair on his end. So, you packed a bag full of extra clothes and your work laptop, deciding to stay over at his place to keep him company. Surely, he’s been lonely, right?

Well, apparently not. On your way, he called to inform you last minute that his so-called “best friend”, Kishibe, will be joining you for dinner tonight. That’s why you had to order two pizzas instead of one, as well as a case of twelve beers instead of six. Because supposedly, Kishibe is a heavy drinker. You’ve never heard of this man before. It was bound to happen though; your parents used to be best friends with each other, and now that they’ve split, they need to make new friends. Still, you’re uncertain if this Kishibe guy is a good influence on your precious father. Tonight will be the test. 

Before he lets you go, he whispers, “Kishibe’s already here, so I’ll introduce you.”

“How did you even meet this guy?” you ask in a hushed voice.

“At a bar,” he answers, nonchalant, leading you into the kitchen. His answer already has you suspicious of this fellow. 

Inside, you spot a well-built man sitting at the dining table, dressed in a white dress shirt and black tie. Immediately, you notice the piercings on his ears, then the prominent scar across his cheek. His appearance is striking, but you don’t let your guard down, inspecting him carefully as you set the food on the table.

“Honey, this is my friend, Kishibe. Kishibe, this is my daughter.” He says your name, waving his hands between you and this stranger. 

Kishibe stands up, his stature impressive compared to yours, and holds his hand out, repeating your name in a gruff voice. “Nice to meet you.”

You swallow hard, surprised by his low, and honestly sexy, voice. Shaking his hand firmly, you reply, “Likewise,” trying to play it cool. 

His fingers are rough against your soft skin. He holds you a second longer than necessary, letting go only when your dad clears his throat, announcing, “Well, dinner is served! Dig in, big guy.” Your dad pats Kishibe’s back happily, handing him a paper plate and a bottle. 

You mentally shake away any inappropriate thoughts you’re having about this man, who is still a mysterious stranger that your dad is clearly smitten with, enough to consider him his best friend. You make it your mission tonight to figure him out, see if he has any ulterior motives. 

With slices on each of your plates and beers in your hands, you start the interrogation. “So, Kishibe. How did you and my dad meet?”

He shrugs, tipping the bottle into his mouth before responding, “At a bar.”

You pause, waiting for a further explanation. When none comes, you ask, “Care to elaborate?”

Your dad chuckles. “Well, I noticed him playing pool by himself, so I asked if I could join him, and he said yes.”

“He’s terrible at it, by the way,” Kishibe adds, grinning while he nudges your father in the elbow.

“I never said I was good! Anyways, we started seeing more of each other and decided to be drinking buddies. Ever since your mom and I split up, it’s been hard for me to make friends. So, I’m actually glad I met this guy. It’s not so lonely anymore.” Your dad gives you a shy smile, patting Kishibe on the back again, who nods in acknowledgment. 

Okay, you have to admit this is endearing. Your father seems happy to have this new companion in his life. How bad can he be? Maybe your resolve is weakening just a tad.

A little more relaxed now, you share some memorable childhood stories about your father, including the time he lost you in the grocery story because he was too enthralled by the free samples. “He cared more about getting cheese than he did about his own daughter,” you joke, tossing a bottle cap at him.

“Princess! You gotta give me more credit than that! I was trying to get you some cheese too!”

At the pet name, Kishibe smirks at you. “Princess, huh?”

Before you can say anything, your dad blurts out, “She hates it when I call her that! But she really is my little princess!” He grabs your head to give you a wet smooch on the cheek, probably tipsy now. He’s always been such a lightweight.

You roll your eyes, grinning. “Dad, I’m too old now to be your little princess.”

He pouts at you. “Fine. I’ll try to stop. I hope you know you’re breaking this old man’s heart, though.”

Kishibe listens to the two of you with intrigue, chuckling along as he sips on his beer. Despite his seemingly stoic appearance, he’s actually easy to talk to. You feel almost guilty for judging him so quickly.

With most of the pizza eaten and half the case of alcohol consumed, Kishibe stands up, reaching for his jacket. “I should head home now. It’s getting late.”

“Nonsense! Stay the night! I’ve got extra clothes you can borrow. You can sleep on the couch,” your father suggests.

He doesn’t respond right away, averting his gaze to you when he eventually asks, “Are you sure that’s okay?” 

Your dad faces you. “Honey, that’s okay with you, right?”

Usually, you don’t like being put on the spot like this. But you genuinely don’t mind it, so you answer, “That’s fine with me.” 

Both men smile at you, your dad grinning extremely wide. “It’s a sleepover! Should we build a fort?” You and Kishibe laugh, tossing more bottle caps at him. 

The three of your spend the next hour cleaning up the kitchen and chatting a while longer. By the time it’s almost midnight, your dad disappears into his room to gather sheets and pillows for Kishibe. The two of you stand alone in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. 

You look at him, smiling. “Thank you for being so nice to my dad. He seems a lot happier now.”

He meets your gaze. “I like hanging out with him. He’s a good guy.”

Without taking your eyes off him, you say, “You’re a good guy, too.”

Smirking, he scoots closer to you, elbows brushing. “How do you know?”

You shrug, leaning towards him, arms touching now. “I can just tell.”

He bows his head, lips inches from your ear, whispering, “I’m actually insane. You should be careful with me.”

Before you can react, your dad’s voice rings from the other room. “Kishibe! I’ve got you set up in here!”

You watch as he leaves quickly without another word, your heart pounding in your chest. Not from fear, but excitement.

~~~

In the guest room, you lay in bed in your pajamas, staring up at the ceiling. It’s past 1 AM now, whatever buzz from the alcohol completely gone. You can hear the faint snores of your father from down the hall, listening for any hint of Kishibe in the living room right outside your door. His sinister words to you in the kitchen replay in your head. You should be careful with me. You know it was meant to scare you off. But something about him has you hooked. You’re even more fascinated by him.

You turn the small lamp on beside your bed, then sneak out of your room, light on your feet as you maneuver your way in the pitch black towards the couch. 

“Can’t sleep?” Kishibe’s voice is soft in the darkness. You squint your eyes enough to make out his brawny silhouette spread on the couch. 

“I wanted to check on you. I know my dad’s couch is pretty shitty,” you reply, stepping closer to him.

He peers at you, sitting up slowly. “So you knew about this and didn’t give me a warning?”

“You seem like a big, strong man, so I thought you could handle it.”

“Well, I don’t have any other choice but to endure it, right?” His arms are crossed over his chest, studying you.

“You can always try the guest bedroom.”

“But you’re staying in there.” His voice is heavy now, tongue dense in his mouth, like he’s salivating.

You bite your lip, pussy throbbing against your panties. “There’s room for the two of us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He gets up from the bed, towering over you. “Lead the way.”

You grab his hand, tugging him towards your bedroom, shutting the door quietly, ensuring it’s locked. Facing him, you grasp at his shirt, pulling him down for a kiss. His lips are smooth on yours, moving gracefully, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt and around your waist, fingers pulsing hot on your bare skin. His tongue glides into your mouth, swirling around yours, grazing against your teeth. He moans, thumbs slipping down to the waistband of your boxer shorts, hooking onto the elastic. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks, lips at your neck now, scattering kisses along your skin. 

You nod, running your fingers through his hair. “Yes. I want it so bad.”

“Fuck,” he swears, walking with you towards the bed. “I want to eat you out. Will you let me?”

You giggle, crawling onto the bed, face-up, spreading your legs apart. “Be my guest.”

He curses again under his breath, stripping your shorts and underwear off in one fell swoop, positioning his head between your thighs. His lips wrap around you, tongue flicking relentlessly at your clit. You cover your mouth with a pillow, moaning into it, fist bunched in his hair. It’s sloppy and wet, his spit blending in with your arousal, pussy completely soaked. You come for him, his nose pressed to your bud as his tongue laps at your leaking slit, collecting your orgasm in his mouth, swallowing every drop. When he’s done, he stands up to strip off his clothes, you following with whatever remains on you. Completely naked now, he lays beside you on the bed, kissing you with glossy lips. “Get on top,” he demands. “Taste yourself on me while I fuck you.”

Obeying, you straddle his lap, sliding his hard cock up and down your pussy before sinking down on him all the way. You lick at his lips while he thrusts up into you, hands gripped firmly at your hips. “Fuck, Kishibe. Right there. Oh fuck, right there,” you purr, riding him. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it princess? Feels good when I fuck you like this, huh?”

Hearing him call you that spurs you on, bouncing faster in his lap, unable to contain your moans while he fucks you rougher. “You better be quiet. You don’t want daddy to wake up and find his precious princess getting fucked by his best friend, would you?” The filth he spits into your ear has you unraveling. It’s so fucking nasty, so fucking wrong. But you don’t care. All you can think about is how fucking good it feels, being fucked into a frenzy by him. 

“Fuck, you’re tight. You’ve never had a cock this big, have you?” he growls, grinding your ass against his thighs.

“Never,” you whimper, tongue hanging out of your mouth in a fucked-out daze.

“You’re swallowing me up whole. Squeezing me so fucking hard. Fuck.” He pauses to catch his breath. 

You take control, throwing your ass back, his cock slipping in and out of you easily. Voice trembling with arousal, you tease, “Never had a pussy this tight before, have you?”

He chuckles. “You’re a bad girl. No wonder your daddy’s always worried about you.”

“You two talk about me?”

“Oh, I know all about you, princess. Been wanting to meet you for a while now. This pussy is even better than I imagined.”

You reach your fingers for your clit, close to your second orgasm. “Yeah? You’ve been fantasizing about this?”

He moans, watching you touch yourself. “You have no idea.”

For some reason, it turns you on even more, knowing he’s thought about you before this. Probably stroked his cock, picturing himself fucking his best friend’s daughter. That nasty fuck. You fucking love it. Within minutes, you’re coming together, his cum spilling from inside you as you ride out your orgasm on his cock, coating it in your creamy mess.

The two of you stay like this for a while, Kishibe cradling you in his arms, you relaxing in his gentle hold. He breaks the silence first, saying, “Your dad’s gonna kill me if he finds out about this.”

You laugh, nuzzling your nose into his chest. “Well, I guess it’ll be our little secret then.”

#kishibe #kishibe chainsaw man #chainsaw man kishibe #kishibe smut #kishibe x reader #csm kishibe #kishibe x you #kishibe x y/n #csm smut #chainsaw man smut #csm kishibe smut #chainsaw man kishibe smut #requests #kishibe request

[yourtouchismidas]

how do u think matty reacts when gigi gets into her first relationship? i think he'd be wary but still very polite (also definitely gives the partner the shovel talk)

this ask perfectly follows on from the one i just wrote so we'll start from where that left off.

when gigi gets home from her first proper date, with the first guy she really properly likes, george has already text him to tell him where she was having bumped into him on the street. she tries to come into the house quietly, hoping that the noise of her little sisters messing around will drown her out and she can hop up to her bedroom without being noticed.

instead, the house is silent. perfect. no screams or laughs from the girls. they all must be out. gigi relaxes. she kicks off her shoes and puts down her back. she goes out of the hallway and to climb the stairs and then she hears him. a voice.

"august healy,"

it's her dad. she goes into the kitchen, knowing it would be disrespectful to ignore him, and he is sitting in one of the dining chairs, nursing a coffee, and stroking one of the twin's stuffy like he's in the godfather.

"hi dad," gigi says sheepishly.

"i received a very interesting text earlier," he says, putting down his coffee mug. "care to take a guess on what that may have been?"

she folds her arms, "i think we all know."

"i think we do," matty says, suddenly throwing the stuffed toy rabbit on the floor, then quickly, realising how hard he has thrown it, picks it up and says, "sorry bunny," and gives it a quick kiss on the head before placing it on the table. gigi is trying not to laugh. he's such a nightmare.

"i've heard, from a certain uncle, that a certain daughter, has been out with, someone of the male variety. am i correct?"

"dad can you stop?" she whines, "i'm fifteen."

"you're twelve," he says.

"for gods sake. where's mum? she'll put an end to this nonsense."

"your mother has yet to be informed of the male child. she is currently out with the rest of my charges. but i'm sure she will feel the same as I."

"dad," gigi says, giggling, "stop it."

"stop what?" he says, waving his arms around like some cartoon character.

"stop messing around. so i went out with a boy. its fine."

"i'll stop messing around when you tell me about him. and assure me that this male child has no intentions to hurt my precious child."

"didn't george tell you he's already threatened him?"

"he did not," matty says, "but i will need to threaten him myself, obviously."

"dad," gigi sighs, turning around to leave the kitchen.

"wait baby, come back," matty says, returning to his regular voice. "you dont need to lie about who you're seeing okay? please dont lie to me love."

"but you act like this! you care so much!"

"i'm just being a knob," he says. holding his arms out to hug her. "and i just care because you're my baby girl. okay? i want the best for you."

she leans into him. he rubs his knuckles in her curls.

"george did tell me he's really good looking," matty says.

gigi looks at him grinning, "oh my god he is, he's so fit."

matty pulls a face like he's just eaten something terrible.

"oh god, yeah no, can't do that."

"what?"

"happy for you he's fit an all but cant stomach hearing about it."

"that's fair enough, will you leave me alone about it now?"

"fine," matty says, going back to his coffee and picking up bunny again, "but i want to meet him. get him round for dinner please."

"sure," gigi says, taking the opportunity to run out the room.

"love you!" matty calls after her up the stairs. she sighs hard, but yells back, "love you too."

when you come back with the girls, you find matty in his music room crafting a song called "stay away from my daughter you shit."

"matthew healy," you say, grinning. you know he doesnt mean it. but you also know he loves that kid more than anything in the entire world.

"he's coming round for dinner," matty shudders, "i have to be ready."

#ruins #ruins behind the scenes #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty healy #matty healy x y/n #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #dad!matty

[oumaheroes]

Congrats for the 1000 followers! :D You and your fics are such a blessing to this fandom

If I'm not mistaken, one of your answers said about the brit bros getting drunk and ends up in Wales' garden but Wales himself nowhere to be seen? O.o My mind went to that news about a drunk Welshman swimming across the hoover dam (I know it happened in the U.S but still) and your answer makes me very curious. Where he disappeared to? To the comfort of his own room or is he outside doing God-knows-what? I need some answers, please.

Thank you so much, @notnobleone! And I did say that, you're right! They go out drinking, Ireland ends up passed out in Wales' garden bushes, England's missing his shoes or something sat stupid on the doorstep, and Scotland's been trying to drunkenly unpick the door all night long. And Wales, the homeowner?

Wales is nowhere to be seen

And you know what? I spent hours looking for that post to link this to and I CANNOT find it; your memory is incredible! I don't even know how far back I wrote that!

Here are the answers you seek, just for you and your lovely brain ❤️

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

Jail Break

Wales emerged into the Police Station waiting room behind a very stern looking young constable, overdressed for the weather in a long-sleeve t-shirt and jeans. The constable looked away when Wales tried to smile at him in thanks, his mouth a disapproving hard line before he began to read him his exit procedure.

Wales was mostly presentable looking from his brief stay in the cells, despite wearing only last night’s clothes, and the only real sign that anything was amiss was that he was alarmingly more rumpled that Belgium had had reason to see him in years- hair all angles, dark circles under his eyes, and a curious amount mud around his hems.

He smiled at her once he caught her eye, giving her a small nod, ‘Hello, Marie.’

‘Rhys.’ Belgium smiled to the constable as Wales came closer and motioned with her arm towards the door, ‘After you.’

‘No forms to fill out?’

‘Already done.’

‘You’re a treasure.’

Belgium smiled, ‘I know.’

Outside, Wales blinking gritty eyes in the bright midday sunshine, Belgium took the arm he offered her and began to lead him forwards through to the centre of Brussels.

‘I’m so sorry about this.’

‘Don’t be.’ She squeezed his arm, ‘Was exciting. I’ve not been woken up by a call from the police in a good few decades.’

‘Francis?’

‘Lars.’

Wales raised his eyebrows but didn’t enquire further, ‘Were you asleep?’

‘Most people are at six in the morning.’

‘Six.' Wales rubbed his eyes, ‘Lord. I don’t even remember twelve in the morning. I'm surprised I remembered your land-line number.'

'You didn't. The police picked you up stumbling about outside the train station. You told them my name and I'm known enough by a few authority figures for them to make the connection.'

Wales held a hand over his eyes and sighed something in Welsh that sounded offensive. 'I won't ask you to keep that between us; it's too good not to share.'

Belgium watched him run his tongue across his lips, looking sheepish and uncomfortable, for long enough to make the early wake up worth it, and then took pity on him. She dug about in her handbag and handed him a fresh bottle of water. ‘Here.’

‘Ta.’ He took a long drink. 'You'd think I'd learn by now not to mix hops and grapes.'

‘I wanted to come and get you earlier,' Belgium told him, 'but there was some hassle with border control. They were a bit concerned that you’d managed to get through border control without a passport and it took a while to get them to drop it.’

Wales capped the bottle and shook his head helplessly. ‘I can’t tell you how. Didn't even have one when out.’

‘Yes, I thought that. Why would you ever carry a one at all.'

They fell silent as they came to a crowded crossing. The press of human bodies that close was a bit too warm even for Belgium in her summer dress and sunhat. She could only imagine how Wales felt, dressed for a presumably Welsh summer evening and legs stuck in thick denim.

‘Where are we going?’ Wales asked as they began moving again, across the road and then down a cobbled side street further into the heart of the historical part of town.

‘Home.’

‘Oh no,’ Wales looked horrified, ‘No love, you don’t have to do that. I’ll take myself home; get out of your hair.’

‘No offense, but you do need a bath-‘ Wales winced, ‘and I’d rather you leave my lands in decent condition, at least. Despite the inelegant arrival.’

Wales laughed awkwardly, ‘That’s fair enough.’

‘So, come on then.’ Belgium tugged his arm again, ‘Tell me. Consider it payment,’ she said as Wales made a face, ‘For breaking you out of jail.’

‘Like a hoodlum.’

‘Like a hoodlum.’

Wales let out a breath of air, ‘I do wish I could tell you. I’m not sure what happened, honestly. We were-‘

‘-out in Cardiff?’

‘Bristol.’

‘Oh.’

‘We all took trains there; none of us could have driven home again, of course. I remember being in a pub and then-‘ Wales waved a hand, ‘bit and pieces in between. I remember the train seats, oddly enough, because they looked like the material of one of Alisdair’s shirts, you know those really ugly ones that he has-‘

‘Oh I love those. The terrible retro 80’s ones.’

‘Hideous things, absolute disgrace. But anyway, I remember the chairs, and I remember being at a station. I think Patrick was there, or maybe all of them were...’

He trailed off, thoughtful, ‘Actually, now that I think about it, I think Patrick put me on the train. He told me the platform and was there when I went through the gate, at least. How the fuck I didn’t realise I was going to London, I’ll never know. Then the Eurostar? Maybe night ferry? I would have had to have got the Tube to get that line, somehow, and I couldn’t have been in any fit state to-‘

He stopped, cheeks pinking.

‘Why were you in Bristol?’ Belgium asked, taking pity on him.

‘Arthur’s turn to pick the place we went. Bastard chose the nearest city to my house though, presumably knowing that I’d host rather than us needing to get a hotel or travel far back again.’

‘I’m surprised you let him.’

‘He said London’s too expensive.’

‘Still.’

Wales shrugged, ‘It is too expensive.’

Down another street, the smell of chocolate shops with their wide open doors and windows making the heavy air sickly. Wales took another sip of water. ‘So, Bristol it was.'

'And they just left you alone.'

'I'm starting to think it was more a planned abandonment.'

It took Belgium a considerable amount determination not to show her amusement openly. 'I'm sure they didn't know you'd end up in Brussels.'

'No,' Wales acknowledged gracefully with a rueful smile, 'That little mess is all my own.'

'I'd say safely making your way through several different transport methods and customs to illegally slip into the European Union is a decent achievement. I really hope you remember how you did it, the government won't like that gap sitting about.'

'I'm very sure I couldn't have done it any way other than by being far too drunk for sense. And maybe with a dash of fraternal vendetta.'

Belgium laughed, 'Well. Lucky you because now you can spend your day here with me instead of waking up with them.'

'Lucky me too,' Wales patted his pocket with a grin, 'Because I've still got my house keys with me.'

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

AN: This fic was written in honour of the many Brits who get drunk and end up wandering about in Europe with no memory of how they got there, like Switzerland, Spain, the Netherlands, France... it's common

#aph wales #hws wales #aph belgium #hws belgium #hetalia #hws #aph #heroes writes #heroes treasures

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 1

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues, first few chapters are flashbacks to high school, they WILL NOT be explicit just fluff.

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

Fic Summary: Andrea has loved Javier since she was a girl in pigtails, yet he has always been off limits. Andrea's older brother Frankie makes sure Javier never crosses any lines, which was an easy task considering Javi's relationship status with long term girlfriend Lorraine. Somewhere, the lines blur.

A/N: Hi tumblr, I decided to also upload on here so heh Hi! It was mentioned in the tags but Ms. Jessica Alba is my face claim for Andrea my beloved. I do have little pinterest boards but I feel like I could also post my inspo pics on here too hehe. Anyway my pinterest is maribari11. My Running Like Water Boards are titled;

Before 1985

Genie and Frankie

1985+

Lor.

Diaz House

First ten chapters are being slowly uploaded on here but can be accessed on ao3. Enjoy :)

word count: 3.3k

Andrea was fifteen, thirteen, twelve and twenty one in his basement. In 1977 Andrea was only thirteen. Her brother, Frankie was fifteen and most definitely couldn’t be bothered hanging out with the girl. She was a bit awkward and interested in things he wasn’t. Deep in his rebellious phase, skipping church and frequenting smoking pot at Genevieve's house. That bitch. Andrea would mutter when she would roll her car into the dirt driveway.

She used to pick fun of Andrea and Andrea wasn’t one to just “forget” about something like that. Having Frankie around definitely pushed that potty mouth that they wouldn’t dare use around their mama. Having been the one of the only Puerto Ricans within a 3 mile radius, mom would take them to church trying to follow along with the differences in words between the way they spoke on the island and how their preacher from Mexico preached.

Melissa Diaz, single mother with too much money for her own good. The largest home in their neighborhood, courtesy of her grandfather who wrote Melissa’s name in his will. He struck big with oil in the 30s and his only alive relative was his little one Melissa, who wasn’t so little. She was already pregnant with Andrea at the time and obviously dropped her life in Miami as a struggling single mom for sudden Texas luxury.

They were also one of the few people in the neighborhood who didn’t like the ranching lifestyle.

Melissa wasn’t into that, she opened up her boutique in town and let the money pile that way. But it was lonely, for Andrea at least. She had friends in her sixth grade classes of course but it was never close enough to be invited out when they would leave school on Fridays and walk to Genevieve's (bitch) dads ice cream parlor. Despite Frankie’s new habits, maybe once a month he’d take Andrea out. And he had taken her out that summer.

The fishing rod sound was comforting, down the hill and a sharp left into town. “Frankie! My legs are too short to keep up.” Green short overalls and a baseball ring t-shirt. His back was facing you and you grip the handles, lean forward but it still doesn’t make you as fast as him. You mutter curses under your breath like your mama could hear.

The town came into view, the shops, moms shop and the police station smack in the middle. The police of Laredo, who mama very much disliked after she was pulled over for having Frankie in the front seat when he was six.

Genevieve's beetle parked in front of the ice cream shop, the speed increases and you can’t help but groan with annoyance. You follow him any way knowing you will be ditched for the next 2 hours, I can just ride back home now.

You don’t though. You follow him before the two of you park our bikes by a post, you two hadn’t had your locks because one of the two of you usually would stay out with the bikes, (it was always Frankie) while the other (you) bought ice cream. With Ice Cream you and your brother would walk your bikes to a bench. Sit for a bit and eat ice cream, it was the time where you two actually enjoyed each others company. Frankie is eyeing the car, “Stay here, I’m going to see if I can catch Genie.”

You give him pleading eyes, “No Frankie, this isn’t fair.” You look around anxiously at the thought of being alone in the street next to two pricey bikes. He laughs and shoves your shoulder before walking into the shop. God, you hate this phase he’s in. He’s totally in love with her and she was older- seemed like she just wanted to be around him to smoke. You look out at the town surrounding you. Summer classic, just so busy this time of year. You watch as 3 girls leave mom's shop, bags in hand. Teenage boys laughing over something near the bar that was closed.

“Andrea?” A deep voice comes from behind you, deep voice? You turn, your pigtails practically slapping against your face. You blink rapidly as the boy approached you. He looked your close to brothers age, but with one of those awkward puberty staches. “Sorry, your Frankie’s sister right?”

You nod, looking down at the bikes, still confused as to why he was talking to you. Or how he knew your name, or why he was getting so close. “You should know that your brother owes 30 cash for a few ounces, has been avoidin’ me” His steps even closer and you can’t hold both bikes at once, Frankie’s bike drops to the floor. Shaking your head, you already had a fear of boys, let alone teenage boys. Now one is close to you asking for money you for sure did not have.

“That’s not my issue dude.” You squeak, and grimace, you really couldn’t have looked weaker than at this moment. Twelve years old in overalls and pig tails. The tween quickly retrieve a blade from his pocket.

With quickness and without any time for thoughts you step away from the bike.

Fuck this.

The boy crouches down and stabs the wheel and the scream you let out is nothing short of embarrassing.

Is no one seeing this?

In a split second the kids face is on the ground, pushed as he stabbed the wheel.

“What the fuck is your issue?” A voice growls, not deep like the prick on the floor but definitely a voice of someone awaiting puberty. Your eyes flash up from the sight-seeing the voice, reaching down and grabbing the collar of blade boy, turning him on his back. “Get the fuck out of here.” He shoves the kid further into the concrete and now people were paying attention.

Yet still, no sign of Frankie, who was probably already smoking with Genie in the back of the store.

The guy with a smudge of sidewalk dirt on his cheek runs away from the 14-year-old vigilante, abandoning his weapon.

The boy had a familiar look, like you’ve seen him in school. A grown look to him already to which his voice contrasted. Your face flushed red when he reached down to grab the bike, “Are you okay?” He stood straight, tall. You nod embarrassingly quick, wishing for a moment that you hadn’t looked so young.

“Yes I-”

“Javier? What the fuck happened to my bike?” Frankie steps out of the shop, Genie behind him, her hair in its perfect voluminous state. The small crowd that formed from Javier’s quick action had already desolated.

Javier, Javier.

Javier scoffs, “You left your little sister with your bike and some kid nearly mugged her.” Frankie’s eyes widen, looking at you, your fear and embarrassment broadcasted on your face. He closes his eyes for moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. Cursing under his breath. He takes a few steps forward, disarming the bike from Javier’s grip.

“Dillan…” He grits. Frankie puts his hand on your shoulder, Javier stood to your left shaking his head. “Shit, Andrea I’m sorry,”. Frankie turned to look at Genie. “Would you mind driving us to Javi’s”

She agreed instantly and by the grace of God we somehow fit the bikes in her small car. To your benefit, you and Javier peeled next to each other. You just couldn’t help but crush immediately. Frankie explained that Javier’s dad “Chucho” used to fix bikes, he probably had a replacement wheel there. He also apologized over and over, Genevieve laughing at how apologetic he was. And Chucho fixed his bike out in the driveway. So you stayed in Javier’s basement for hours. But like always, you felt like an outsider.

A bit too young to be in that crowd. They spoke of things you couldn’t relate to yet. But you were occupied, a gaze on Javier seemed to be the only interesting aspect of the night. And your assumptions were right-well almost right...

Javier was fourteen, turning fifteen in August and he was at your school but just in the 8th grade. Its something you two shared in common, you were both a year older than everyone else in your grades. It was the summer going into 7th grade which meant Javier was joining Frankie at Laredo High School in a matter of months.

And again, to your advantage, it became a constant routine.

Biking to Javier’s basement, you, Genie and Frankie. You didn’t complain despite still feeling out of place, you finally had people to hang out with. And for mama, she was ecstatic that her two kids were actually hanging out together. They would joke about things you hadn’t experienced yet. “Cover your ears Andrea,” Genie jokes as Javier described hooking up with one of Genevieve's friends. She was definitely too old for Javi. God do all 8th graders “hook up”.

You were also quick to realize Genevieve wasn’t all too bad, it sure seemed she grew a bit since her playground bully days. Yet you still managed to be the butt of every joke in Javier’s basement.

“Do you even have friends in school?” Frankie leans into his knees, passing his blunt to Javier. The pass was always skipped over you because you were too little. Surprisingly, you actually agreed. Your eyes narrow at Frankie as he tried to dig at you.

“Leave her alone, I mean you’re here hanging out with your twelve-year-old sister, so you really are no better.”

You couldn’t help it. You were doomed when he beat up that kid Dillan. You couldn’t help but blush at anything he said. It was classic. Little girl crushing on one of her only friends just because he was nice to her. The whole thing just grew deeper with time as you all got closer. As Javier proved himself to be the only one on your side.

Slinging an arm over your shoulders as you all walked home the following summer. It was all friendly to him but you knew Genevieve could read your face.

That face when you're trying to be serious to avoid smiling ear to ear from being so close to your one-time-knight in shining armor.

Though, you never really saw Javier during the school year. It wasn’t surprising, you weren’t even in the same school building during his freshman and sophomore year. You also had to accept that it was just a summer thing, enough time would pass where Javier would be shocked every time he saw you. During his sophomore year you had not seen him those whole nine school months. Not even with all the quinceañeras and town events. You just never saw him, even when you would deliberately bike past his house. You would always see Chucho though. He’d wave, you’d return it and then look straight ahead, oh my god I’m such a creep.

It just became devastating when you were going into high school. You had gotten taller, maybe prettier. But you think it was just the fact that you were 15 now. He hadn’t truly seen you since you were 14. Back when you still had to patch your knees from typical middle school rough housing.

That year he was gone, 1979, he came back briefly just to leave again at the very start of the summer. Attending a summer police camp, for boys. In turn, Frankie spent the summer working and Genie (who was finally your brother’s girlfriend) was taking summer courses at a beauty school.

No, absolutely not, is what you tell Genie when she asked to dye it blonde. You did give in with a haircut and your once long mane now only reached just below your shoulders. “Layers, it makes you look more grown up. Getting you high school ready.” She gleams as she chops your hair in her classroom.

Luckily, despite all of your older asshole brothers jokes, you weren’t completely socially inept.

In that Javi-less year you had met with some girl’s you played lacrosse with. Liandra and Monica. And they really kept you busy that summer. The three of you went swimming and Monica would drive you all around town. They were surely some characters, Monica a bit of a spaz, older than you of course. Javier’s age. Liandra was tougher and much more athletic than the rest of the girls on your team.

It was late in summer, end of July. That familiar feeling was settling in every time you would pass a store with a sign that said Back to school sale.

In your final beach trip with your girls you had come back in Monica’s car like you always did, in shorts and your bikini tops.

7-11 was your haven, steal a few candy bars and pay for Slurpee’s. “God, your tan line.” Liandra grabs your shoulder with her cold hand as it was just gripping her drink. You wince at the feeling.

Gritting your teeth, “Yeah, I just catch sun a bit more.” The cold air of the store nipping at you, goosebumps rising. Monica curses as the slushie overflows, Liandra shoves her in annoyance.

“Mujer, tienes que poner la tapa primero. Tapa ¡primero!” Liandra says very seriously, earning a groan from Monica. You laugh, sipping your cherry flavored slush. The flavor so sweet and concentrated, how you liked. Your eyes fall to the ground as your friends argued in Spanish. You could understand them of course but speaking it, oh that was a whole different story. They thought it was so funny to leave you in a room with their family members to hear you struggle.

An elbow digs into your bare rib. Your eyes snap up at Monica, annoyance prevalent in your face. “Hot guy, older… staring at you right now.” She speaks out the side of her mouth in the most cartoonish way ever. Your eyebrows screw together as you try to slyly look to your right, red straw between your cherry-stained lips.

A familiar pit in your stomach forms, one you would get just a summer ago or when you would bike passed his house and see his truck in the driveway. Your eyebrows shoot up as Javier stands near the refrigerated drinks, a confused look on his face.

 He looks so much older; he was taller and his hair. God, he would be 17 by now. Or 16? It isn’t august, he’s still 16.

“I thought it was you.” He laughs walking towards you, not helping the throbbing in your chest. You could hear the girls stir from behind you. His smile doing the thing. When the corners of his eyes crinkle and you could barely make out the color of them. Has he been working out?

Fuck of course he has, he’s been training. Where was he all year?

“Shit, I feel like I haven’t seen you since last summer.” Without letting you think he pulls you in for a hug, too distracted by his scent and hold to realize you were just in a bikini top. His large hand flat on your upper back, stinging the mixture of burn and tan you had received from being by the seaside.

He lets you go but still has a hand on your tanned arm. You try not to focus on the touch and instead speak. “Uh- yeah where have you been all year.” You blurt, fuck did you sound desperate? Obsessed? You were. You had kind of been worried sick. Worried that something was wrong although you knew deep down that Chucho just wouldn’t just go on with his day if there really had been an issue.

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, I know. Chucho sent me to that High School for law and justice last year. Lived with my uncle out there” Your eyes widen, that was in Houston. Chucho really let him leave all year-and then for summer?

He laughs again at your reaction, “I know, I’m back now, going to finish junior and senior year at Laredo, it was pricey keeping me over there. I’m here again” He smiles, he hasn’t stopped since he realized it was you. He always looked at you with that sort of gaze, you wanted to believe it was adoration. And his voice, oh my god when did it get this deep. His eyes fall to the girls behind you.

 It snaps you from your Javier Peña daze.

“Oh- that’s great. Sorry-” You awkwardly look at both girls by your side. “These are my friends, Monica and Liandra we play on the varsity lacrosse.” They both are ogling him and you mentally roll your eyes. It’s just the way they are.

Javi crosses his arms and nods, a smirk playing on his lips. He puts a hand out and ruffles your hair. Your cheeks immediately warming at the act, “Freshman on varsity, maybe I’ll stop by some of your games, right ladies?” He crosses his arms again. They both nod, Monica laughs snorting along with it.

Oh my god…

Still a smile playing on his lips, staring down at you. Tall, fuck when did he get so-“Listen, I have to go home to dad but I’ll see you around school, yeah?” He says it like he means it, like he wants to see you around. Like he’s hopeful.

Or maybe you were just making it all up in your mind.

He waves a goodbye to your friends and leaves empty handed, the brass ship bell rings as he goes.

Monica wraps her arms around you and makes a fake moan into your ear. You cringe again pushing her off, “You have to be joking who in the world-”

“Javier, he’s my brothers friend” You brush them away and walk to the register. Taking your change out, 60 cents for a large like always. Monica groans and Liandra puts down her own change, covering for Monica. It was “pay-back” for all the rides she provided you guys.

“He’s so sexy oh my goodness Andrea.” Liandra gushes. You look at her from the side of your eye for a moment, knowing he surely wasn’t her type. She liked those big buff knuckle heads. You smile and thank the cashier before you all exit the store before loading the car.

You do see him in school. He never really sees you, maybe he’s tries not to. Within the first month of freshman year you had seen him in the hall with a new girl at least 4 times. You had heard he was a bit of womanizer, a sweet talker. And he was charming with you so you could only dream of how sweet he was when he was really flirting.

“You wish that was you, don’t you?” Monica laughs from your left, your eyes widen. She caught you staring at him walking with another girl. Truly, shamefully, you weren’t paying attention to the girl he had his arm around but instead the way his ass looked in the jeans he wore. Your cheeks flushing red.

 “I’m good.”

You lied. You would walk home nearly everyday with tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. You had a lot of alone time that fall, You had a lot of time to just pine over him now that you had to see him everyday. You wondered most importantly, if he’d ever want you, maybe not now but soon. Before he graduates, You also wondered if he was hooking up with those girls. God, he had gotten so popular when he came back. And you just watched.

You did a lot of watching. You watched Genie and Frankie nearly break up over dinner at your house. You watched Monica get a boyfriend only 3 months into high school, and you watched Liandra have her first kiss at a party.

You watched everyone else have experiences, you could only just watch.

#javier peña #javier peña x ofc #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña smut #ao3 #fanfic #javier peña narcos #javier pena x reader

[mxtantrights]

famous dc!au (dick's version)

TRACK TWELVE : YOU GIVE ME SOMETHING

Tonight feels like an ending of sorts. After tonight you'll finally know where you stand with Dick. If, maybe, he's back with his ex. Or if he's not seeing anyone.

And it kind of feels like a sigh of relief. You were definitely taking a break from this industry after all this. And having an answer to this question in your head would put you at ease.

You look over at your outfit for tonight. It wasn't much. You had been to a couple of these before. But none hosted by someone on the same level as Dick.

You weren't planning on wearing a Gala dress, no way you'd try ro be someone you weren't. But you can't just show up with jeans and call it a look.

There was only one thing to do. You'd have to shop.

-

Dick is going nuts. He feels like he's actually going nuts. A genuine through crosses his mind that he might not even show up to the launch party to his new song.

He can't believe Zantana invited you. The problem isn't that you're going, it's that you're going under the pretense that this song has nothing to do with you. Which is wrong. The song has everything to do with you. It's about you-it's for you!

Dick feels like he's gonna throw up.

"I'm gonna hurl." he says.

Jason and Damian laugh amongst themselves. And really it's their faults, Dick thinks to himself. if it weren't for Damian saying to fall in love with someone normal, and Jason pushing him confess his feelings for you, none of this would have happened.

Well, not exactly.

Damn.

"Can you relax? The worst thing that can happen is you get astoundingly rejected and run out of Hollywood." Damian answers.

Dick looks over at him in pure shock, "Bro?"

"I mean he's right. And even then, you'd still be rich." Jason adds on.

"Alright the two of you aren't helping. Out."

Jason and Damian flood out of the room. The room filled with stuff about the song he wrote about and for you. It's custom for Dick to have decorations thrown around at a single release party. But this just feels like an extra circle of hell.

Because this can go one of two ways. Either he tells you how he feels and how the song is about you and you feel the same way-which he didn't know until now how badly he wants this to come true. Or he tells you and you realize you're standing in place that acts as a makeshift lover letter and you high tail it out of the party and maybe even Hollywood.

Dick can't think straight.

"Stop ruminating, you'll be fine." Zantana says from the doorway.

Dick looks over at her angrily, "You had no right to give out that invitation."

"Dick, what were you gonna do skate around this for the rest of your life? This could be your happily ever after and you want it to pass you by?" she asks.

Dick sighs, "I just don't feel good about this. What if it's too much? What if I'm too much?"

"Oh, Richard." Zantana says.

Then she's walking over to her best friend and cupping his face with her hands.

"Listen me, you are special and kind, and really caring. You are never too much, you are enough. You are more than enough. Okay?"

Dick nods his head along to her affirmations.

"If you really want to cancel this whole thing I can have this place trashed and designated a fire hazard in an hour." she offers.

Dick smiles at that, "No, I think it's time to face the music."

-

You put the blue leather jacket back on the hanger. It is way too expensive to buy just to go to this one time thing. No way.

As you turn around you run directly into someone. You start apologizing, realizing you dropped their items. You help them pick them off from the floor. A few worn out books and a red star keychain.

When you hand the items back to the person, you finally make eye contact and you go a bit starstruck. Okay, not a bit, but totally a normal amount of starstruck for running into an Oscar winning actress.

"I'm so sorry about that again. I wasn't really paying attention." you say.

"No it's fine-I was actually that close to you because I wanted to introduce myself." the actress says.

You look behind you once out of confusion and then look back. With a thumb pointed at your chest you look at the Hollywood star again.

"Me?" you ask.

A bright bubbly laugh comes out.

"Yes you, you were in Dick's music videos. I really wanted to meet you." she says.

"I'm sorry, you're talking about me? Still?" you ask.

"I am! I thought the chemistry the two of you had was amazing. I mean I still do." she answers.

You clear your throat. "Well I mean he's really easy to get along with."

"Watching the two of you in this videos is like watching a pair of souls come together after a long time. It's magic." she adds on.

At that you can't help but to feel your heart race. You know that your face is growing hot and so are your ears. You smile and try to shrug it off.

"I'm trying to find something to wear to the single release party. Are you going tonight?" you ask.

She nods, "Yeah I'll be there with Jason. I think that jacket would look really good on you."

"Me too but my back account would be in the negatives if I brought it." you joke.

She laughs along with you, then her phone starts ringing. She looks at the screen and back at you.

"Sorry to cut and run, but my boyfriends little brother is calling me and he usually just texts, so it must be important. It was really nice meeting you, I hope we see each other around again." she says.

You thank her again and wave goodbye. You turn back to the rack, where the jacket is. There was a no return policy at this store. If you bought this jacket you would be all in. Kind of like another situation you are in at the moment.

At the register what you don't see or hear is the award winning actress telling the cashier to add the jacket to her card and asking that you walk out with it today as a gift.

-

Dick is freaking out. Like honestly he can't take it anymore. There is about one hour before the party officially starts and he's losing his mind.

When the door to the break room he's in opens he stops pacing. He looks at the opened door.

"Your burning tracks in the floor." Bruce says.

Dick honestly looks down for a split second before he scoffs.

"Who called?" Dick asks.

"The better question is who didn't call me." Bruce answers.

The older man comes into the room and closes the door behind him. He leans against it and crosses his arms against his chest.

"So I'm in love, so what?" Dick throws his hands up in surrender.

"So what? It's a big deal Grayson. This time is different." his father says.

"How do you know?" Dick asks.

Bruce smiles, "because it reminds me of my first love, my first true love."

Dick's mind stops running then, it just goes still. In fact it's probably the only moment of silence he's had to himself since he woke up this morning.

"You've never talked about it." Dick says.

"It's a long and complicated story. I'll tell you the whole thing one day, but for now I'll just tell you the lesson I learned at the end of it all." Bruce starts.

Then he's walking towards his son. He takes him by the shoulders and looks him right in the eyes.

"You have to be brave enough to go after it, brave enough that failing wouldn't matter to you." Bruce says.

Dick's eye widen.

"Did you?" Dick questions, "I mean, did you fail?"

Bruce smiles to himself and chuckles as well.

"I know the tabloids might say I did, but I know I didn't." Bruce answers.

Bruce pats his son's shoulders twice for good measure.

"I also need you to get out there soon because if not Jason offered to watch the rest of the kids-no one wants that."

"Besides Cass and Duke." Dick tags on.

They both laugh at that.

-

You check your appearance once more. The jacket really was a nice touch. You can't believe she brought it for you! You'd have to return the favor some day-if you ever get the chance.

Tonight you were either going to leave Hollywood forever or evade the social circles of Dick Grayson.

You smooth out the jacket against your body. It was now or never. The part starts about third minutes ago. There was no reason for you to be fashionably late, it wasn't your party and you weren't decked out to the nines.

You ling your bag over your shoulder and start walking in behind the crowd. There are flashing lights and paps calling out for pictures. You're not sure they're calling for you so you keep heading inside.

Everything looks so dreamy. The place is decorated like a prom. Teal balloons fill the ceiling. The floor is clean and white. There are little tables with appetizers and drinks. The lights aren't too bright, they are dim.

There are streamers around in places with stars hanging down from them. It's fun.

It reminds you of the song. How it feels like a love song and dancing in the rain and watching the stars. You smile to yourself. There's a projector on a big wall showing jellyfish.

All of it feels so familiar to you. Like how the laugh sounded like yours on the song.

"You made it, finally!" a voice says from behind you.

You turn around only to find no one at eye level with you. You look down and there he is. Damian Wayne. You look at him in confusion. Surely he wasn't looking for you? He doesn't know you.

"Are you talking to me?" you ask him.

"Yes."

"Oh-okay. Do you know me?"

"Kind of."

The one worded answers were getting ominous. And it was freaking you out. But he was only a child, maybe he didn't realize how he was coming off.

"Scram you're being a menace." a voice from behind you, again.

You turn this time to see Jason Todd. Okay this day was just getting more and more surprising to you. First you ran into his wife at the store, then you ran into his little brother, now him.

"Oh it's okay," you turn back and sure enough Damian is gone, "And he's gone."

"yeah we're all weird like that. Look, I wanted to introduce myself to you formally." Jason says.

He holds out his hand and you take it. He smiles. You don't know why he's smiling but it doesn't feel out of place, it feels genuine. You smile too.

"I don't know why I'm smiling, sorry." You say.

"It's okay. One day we'll laugh about this." he jokes.

-

Dick watches you from the corner of the room like some sort of jaded creep. God he feels weird. He just wants to talk to you but he wonders if this is his moment, his failing moment. Like Bruce said.

"Please put us all out of out misery and tell the truth about the song." Damian says.

Dick isn't sure where the boy came from but he honest really care. He knew he was here at the release party and that was enough.

"And if I fail?"

"You would ave failed being honest. Isn't that the best way to fail?" Bruce adds.

Dick also isn't sure how Bruce came into the conversation but then again he doesn't care.

It's now or never.

Dick makes his way over to you. He has to step through the projected jellyfish video on the wall. When he does, you seem to notice and your eyes catch his. He smiles and so do you.

And for the second time that night, his mind stops running. It feels like peace.

#dc x reader #Dick Grayson x reader #Dick Grayson imagine #Dick Grayson fanfic #dc fanfic #dc imagine #dc x you #famous dc! au (dick’s version)

[zerobaseonefics]

midnight blues ㅡ park hanbin

park hanbin x gn!reader

requested : park hanbin comforts reader when their midnights thoughts make them feel like they're not good enough.

genre : fluff, angst

for my 🐻 anon <3

the clock striked twelve hours ago and outside, the night was already at its darker state. you were left alone in your thoughts. you didn't if you were just going through some hard times, maybe it was the accumulation of small events that made you feel like this.

the lights in your room were turned off and you were laying on your back. the only light in the room was coming from the screen of your phone, held in your hands as you were looking at it with hesitation. a message discussion with your boyfriend, park hanbin, was opened on the screen. you wrote a text but you didn't know if you should send it. you already felt like a burden tonight, and you didn't want to feel like this even more.

it was one of those nights, where you couldn't found sleep, and your thoughts got the best of you. were you enough? were you failing in what you were doing in life? were you deserving of love? even if you were, did anybody actually loved you?

the last question made you think about him. you finally pressed send.

hanbin are you sleeping?

after two minutes on delivered, you figured he was asleep, but suddenly, the message marked read. you saw he was typing for a few seconds, then he stopped. incoming call. you picked up.

"why are you not sleeping? it's 3am" hanbin asked with worry in his voice.

"did i wake you up?" you answered.

"don't worry about that i was awake already. i went to drink water."

"i'm sorry, you can go back to sleep."

"is everything okay?"

his question made you hold your breath. what were you supposed to say? you'd feel like an attention seeker if you ever said no, plus it was just hard to answer this when someone asked you if you were okay. and what would he do if you said you weren't fine? comfort you?

that's actually the reason why you called him, and he did it already in the past, but the pressure on your shoulders that night made you insecure about him as well.

when he saw you took time to answer, he understood something was wrong.

"i'll be there in 15. you can wait for me, right?"

a knot formed itself in your throat, trying not to cry when he said that. you nodded like he could see you, "yes, i'll wait". before you could say thank you, hanbin hanged up.

you sighed in relief and a few tears rolled down your cheeks. he wasn't here yet but part of the weight on your shoulder was gone. with the back of your hand, you wiped away the tears on your face and got up to wait for him in the living room. after 15 minutes, just like he said, hanbin was at your door and texted you to open it to him. you did and found him there with a big smile. you couldn't help but smile as well.

when he got into your apartment, he stand behind you and let you close the door with the key. when you were done with that, his arms immediatly wrapped around your body from behind, pulling you closer to him as he kissed you temple. his lips trailed down to your cheeks, then your jaw, and finally you neck, before he hid his face in the crook of your neck. "did you miss me?" he asked, his voice muffled by his lips against your skin. you nodded, not able to talk because you knew you'll just end up crying. "missed you too", he said.

he pulled apart from you, taking your hand gently. hanbin analyzed your face, marked by tiredness, and despite the dim lights, he could easily see you were trying not to cry.

"should we go to your room? we'll talk about it here." once again, you didn't say anything, nodding silently. hanbin decided to pick you up, bridal style, making you laugh because you didn't expect it. with how much he came to your place, the boy knew the way to your bedroom, so he had no problem even in the dark to take you there.

softly, hanbin made you lay on the bed. he took off his jacket and his shoes before crawling to you. his body below yours, his two hands were on both side of your body, caging you. his face got closer to you as he went to pepper your face with kisses. a smile finally appeared on your face, making him smile as well. with one of his hand, he pushed the hair strands that were falling on your face back in their place. hanbin put his hand behind your neck, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

"so, you'd like to tell me what's wrong or do you just want to rest?" he said with the comforting smile. he didn't want to look too worried because he knew it would make you feel bad, but he made sure you could see he was really interested in your feelings and willing to listen and comfort you. you looked away.

"you know, midnight blues. i just feel like i don't know what i'm doing, i'm not doing anything right, and i'm just not good enough."

"but you're more than enough though."

"you think so?"

hanbin finally lied next to you. he tapped on his chest, ordering you to lay on it. you did, resting your head and your hand on his torso as his went to play with your hair.

"you know, i couldn't wish for anyone better than you. i'm pretty sure i'll never love someone as much as i love you". you restrained a smile as your fingers traced random shapes on his chest.

"i'm afraid it's just words." you said in a quiet voice.

"it's not! no one gets me like you do. you take well care of me and you always make me feel good. i love spending time with you even if we do nothing. you're being hard on yourself but i promise i wouldn't change you for anything. you're just perfect like that."

you didn't know what to say nor what to do. you just burried your face in his neck, finally letting hot tears rolled down your eyes and wetting the skin of his neck. hanbin just held you closer.

"thank you, you don't know how much i needed to hear that."

"don't doubt yourself, okay? and don't doubt me."

after about 20 minutes, you ended up falling asleep under his touch, still over him. hanbin knew you couldn't hear that, but he said it to the darkness in your room anyways.

"i love you."

for with every new dawn comes a new day, and the night soon fade away. as the sun started to rise and shine through your curtains, curled up to your lover, you knew you will wake up feeling worthy and strong. because you are enough.

#zerobaseonefics #boys planet #boys planet fics #boys planet imagines #boys planet reactions #kpop #boys planet drabbles #boys planet trainees #park hanbin #park hanbin x reader #park hanbin fluff #park hanbin imagine #park hanbin drabbles

[jennycalendar]

i’m a black girl and i adore martha, and i think the tenth doctor did NOT deserved her whatsoever. i feel uncomfortable with the idea of martha being paired with the guy who put her through so much horrible situations and was even racist. bc i mean, yeah, the characters aren’t real and rtd is racist & the real responsible for his characters actions but no other character in his era behaved as nasty as ten towards black people. he brushed off martha’s concerns about her race and invited a racist to the tardis so they could have a romance together while martha was there, and he comparing her to rose as if she’s second best, to the point martha admits he can’t see her for who she is, he’s just remembering someone else—someone who he wished was there instead of her—rose. and the way he dismisses her pain in the last of time lords and cries miserably for the man who imprisoned and slaved her family for an entire year. i know the master is his best friend and they have this toxic and complex relationship, but i can’t see him acting the same way regarding the tylers or the nobles, he’d be so pissed off with the master and would prioritize rose’s and donna’s feelings. he’d be like twelve with clara and missy. i think ten’s writing is very racist because, well… he is. sorry. but he is. twelve literally punched a racist to defend bill, ten’s chosen a racist over martha… the fact that she literally left because of the shitty, unfair way she was treated... and as someone who has been in martha’s shoes too many times, i feel really negative and repulsive about this tardis duo, especially with the romantic view on them.

sorry i had to vent off as i’ve seen too many people who’s against this pair having their reasons unfairly invalidated. when most of us are martha stans who believe she deserves all the good things–which tbh is the total opposite of giving her a romance with… ten, out of all incarnations. i have been noticing the martha fans who have a romanticized view on their relationship love to act like everyone who’s against it have racist reasons for it, like. no. just no. we’re not delusional and that’s it

hi! i just got off work, but i've been thinking about this for a minute. my response will be long, as i feel this deserves.

i first wanna preface this by saying that not wanting the doctor to be with martha is more than understandable given how horribly he treated her in canon. i myself struggled through all of her season, and i'm still not 100 percent sure whether i'll be able to watch certain episodes again. absolutely, the way ten treats martha is horrendous, and i would argue that all of his actions towards her in canon are informed by the racism woven so deeply into rtd's era. but the thing is, i feel that saying that the tenth doctor is racist is not going hard enough.

to say that ten is racist means overlooking the fact that ten as a character is supposed to function as someone who pays attention to the intricacies of marginalized communities. this was the authorial intent. the fact that the authorial intent involved ten being consistently racist towards martha means that the bias that must be examined should not be centered around the doctor himself, but with the writers. the writers authentically believed that the tenth doctor was not being racist when he allowed martha to be objectified by shakespeare, harassed by the woman he would later profess the potential of love to & express a desire to travel with, regularly reacts with visceral disgust/discomfort when she flirts with him (that one is the one that's the worst to me!!!) and i feel like saying "ten is racist" limits the scope of how monumentally awful it is that the writers wrote all of those things and still believed that they were writing a hero.

the doctor is always intended to be viewed as someone who has the best interests of humanity at heart. the doctor has also always been written as someone who fights for the rights of people that have been marginalized and oppressed, who makes tearful and impassioned speeches for the humanity of people who are seen as subhuman. the tenth doctor especially is portrayed as someone with boundless compassion who can see the good in everyone and always wants to find a way to forgive and love. this is the inarguable authorial intention re: the tenth doctor. this is why, to me, saying that he is racist erases how fucking horrifying it is that he is written as Not A Racist Person, Ever, while spending an entire season being viscerally, brutally, repeatedly racist to martha.

to sorta demonstrate my point: i think harry potter is a much better example of in-text bigotry from a fictional character that goes hand in hand with the writer's bigotry. ron responds to hermione's crusade for the rights of the house elves with "but they like being enslaved, hermione," and the narrative demonstrates that ron is right. which, sure, fucked up of jkr for perpetuating this message about forced servitude, no question, BUT ALSO ron as a character was raised within a system that repeatedly enforced this idea of the house-elves liking their servitude, was given no reason to question this message, and is not the kind of person to question it anyway. this is so, so, so different from the doctor, who has always been the kind of person to question shitty behavior, to fight for what's right, and to seek for and admire people exactly like martha.

and now to loop back to my own thoughts on ten and martha! i feel that my little two-sentence posts on "martha and the doctor could be cute" definitely did not delve into what motivated my statement. i wanna stress one more time that, if you have watched canon and cannot ever see martha and the doctor together because of how awfully he treated her, that is 100 percent valid and reasonable and i would never dream of correcting you. my anger towards the people who dismiss tenmartha as a concept has always been directed towards the people who are saying that ten could never love martha like he loved rose. i am very sorry that you saw my posts and felt otherwise.

i do not romanticize ten and martha's relationship as it exists in canon. as with my points re: ten, this is a situation where i am responding to a glaring gap in the writing. if the tenth doctor really was consistently written, written as we are intended to see him -- as a person who is loving, kind, always looking out for the people he chooses -- i honestly can't see a timeline where he wouldn't have some sort of romantic feelings towards martha. i feel that a season three written effectively could still carry forward ten's complicated feelings for rose while also honoring the joy and wonder of martha -- specifically, by having ten avoid romance with martha not because she's Not Rose, but because he doesn't want her to be a rebound, and he's worried that admitting he's enamored with martha would mean stringing her along (which, of course, in this situation, he would still be doing). i think a compelling story could be written about martha responding to his awkward and halfhearted attempts to rebuff her while never really letting go of her hand. the narrative would shift so much more clearly away from the clearly racist message of "the doctor obviously could never love martha like that" and so much more towards "the doctor is in love with martha and deeply emotionally damaged, and she deserves better."

but, again, this is the way i choose to engage with the text! and i wanna be really clear that this comes from a place of wanting to articulate exactly how ridiculous it is that the doctor would not love martha, when everything we learn about him as a character in every other season suggests that he would and should love her. if you see this discrepancy and feel antipathy towards the character for it, that is absolutely your prerogative and i would never ever take that away from you. it is fucked up writing and we are all dealing with it however we choose to. if you wanna watch s3 and hate ten forever, i truly think you have every right to do it. this is how i personally choose to express my own anger, and i hope it makes a little more sense laid out like this.

#asks #meta #i have a lot of feelings about this because i personally just. just cannot fucking believe #that there are people who watch s3 and feel even remotely ok about rtd's era afterwards #i like flipping the writing off by saying ten could love martha #i like the idea of him coming to the notion of loving her just as she's leaving him (because he fucking sucks at treating her right) #but i also so deeply long for the timeline where the show actually acknowledged how absurdly compatible that they are #instead of relying upon shitty racist writing to assert that he'd never see her like that. #anyway!!! i hope this helps clarify my feels #i agree with anon i just think it's worse than that.

[wolvwa]

Rui idea I wrote in an abandoned fic a while ago...might make this a tiny series cause I love my baby boy.

Fem reader

Entertainment district arc!!!

But Rui had a redemption arc. Hear me out.

The details don't matter, this is fanfiction and you're the main character. You found a way to slip him onto your side.

Giyuu was baffled when you yanked on his haori and snatched Rui up. After meeting Tanjiro, not much surprised him and he had a gut feeling to just let you go. Hashira meeting was mad awkward, though, and you were sure Sanemi wanted your head on a stick. He probably did.

Having one of the twelve moons on their side was a hudge advantage. You all knew after Muzan's death he'd atone for his sins that way. So off to Lady Tamayo he went.

After the mugen train arc you finally got to see your little brother again(he insisted you called him that after you hugged him like once.)

Muzan is super pissed by the way—I love dad muzan.

Anyways the entertainment district arc comes around and Rui and Zenitsu are NOT having it. Zenitsu is convinced Tengen is trying to snatch his wife #2 (despite him already having three and you are way too young for him.) And that convinces Rui that Tengen is trying to get his filthy hands on you. He mentally thanks Tengen when he drags you and Zenitsu from the beautiful women beckoning the two of you to spend the night with them(Rui fought the urge to carve them up.)

The two of them make a temporary truce.

I like to imagine them as sheldon and his dad.

"Calm down, I'm not gonna hurt you—"

"I'm sorry, but you are too big to be gentle."

Zenitsu is cackling in the background.

"Someone at the end of the table eats for free😒"

"SOMEONE AT THE OTHER END OF THE TABLE EATS FOR THREE–"

Rui is happy once you have free time so he can spend it with you. He's kicking his legs happily as you play with his hair—no matter how many times you brush it, it just curls back up. He's not paying attention under his blanket as he rests in your lap while you give your report on the house you're in.

"Since when has dinner helped anything!? Kid were fighting demons, you little.."

"Food is healing. You should know..."

Nezuko isn't happy she has to share a box with Rui cause his somehow (Zenitsu and Tengen conspired against him) ((Zenitsu is the biggest traitor)) got smashed.

Rui is terrified of Muzan. He's scared he's gonna be taken away from you, and even worse—Muzan might kill you. Borderline hyperventilating at the idea of Muzan using other demons to hunt him down and drag him back.

You and the Komoboko trio are out cold, and all Rui can do is crawl under your limp arms, wishing his big sister would just hold him. He realized that he needs to protect his big sister as much as she protects him, too.

Humans are like glass to him, and you're the sharpest yet most fragile piece he knows.

#—wolfawrites #—wolfarambles #kyn #kyn x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #rui #rui ayaki #tengen uzui #zenitsu agatsuma #muzan kibutsuji #entertainment district arc

[miyuhpapayuh]

17. Meetings.

A week later.

"I'm glad she apologized to you. She doesn't like admitting when she's wrong." Stevie laughs, fixing the collar on Rod's shirt.

Both Stevie's parents and Rod's mom decided to finally sit down and get acquainted. The pair were a little apprehensive at first, but figured now's a better time than any.

"She's funny. I didn't notice that, when I first met her," he jokes, earning a rough smack on his arm.

"You and these jokes." She heads over to her full length mirror and smoothes her hands over her crème colored pants and fixes the collar on her silk, olive button-down.

"What shoes should I wear?" She asks, kneeling down in her closet.

"I know you wanna wear heels, so grab the black ones." She laughs and grabs the shoes, sitting at the foot of her bed.

"Gimme your foot, girl." She hands him a shoe and he slides it on her foot, lacing it up just the way she likes, before doing the other.

Pulling her to her feet, he smooths his hands over her bone straight hair. "You look beautiful." He kisses her forehead.

"Thank you, handsome. I might have to fight a bitch with how good you look, though." He chuckles, pulling her to him by her waist.

"No need for all of that, babygirl— as much as I'd love to see you beat some ass." She rolls her eyes and gives him a once over; dark green dress shirt, black slacks and matching dress shoes.

"You should let me dress you, more often."

"Why, so we can match all the time?" He asks.

She hums a laugh, shaking her head. "No, silly. You just look really good."

"You comin' at the way I dress, girl?" He asks in faux hurt.

"Boy," she rolls her eyes and grabs her clutch, walking out of the room. "Come on."

"Don't walk away from me, girl."

"You're being annoying." She heads downstairs.

"I listen to you, when you're being annoying." He throws back as she starts laughing.

"We're gonna be late and you just keep on playing."

"Keep on and ima make us real late." He throws her a wink.

"Ugh," she unlocks the door and pushes him out of it, grabbing her key off the table to lock up.

Forty-five minutes later...

"What's taking them so long?" Victoria asks, taking a sip of her champagne.

"The traffic's pretty bad out there," Viv adds, "I'm sure they'll be here, any minute."

And soon enough, the couple come waltzing into the restaurant, still bickering like a married couple as they approach the table.

"Hush!— hey, guys!" Stevie greets everybody with a hug and kiss.

Rod hugs his and Stevie's mom and watches as Stevie's dad stands to greet him. "It's nice to see you again, son." Gene holds his hand out for Rod to shake.

"It's nice to see you again, too." They shake hands and take their seats; Stevie across from her mom and Rod across from her dad, while his mom sits at the end of the table, right beside him.

"Sorry it took us so long. The traffic was backed up on main." Rod explains, fixing the collar of his shirt.

"That's what I told them," Viv adds.

"You did." Gene replies. "So, kids... how's everything?"

"Everything's good. School's good,"

"Job's good," Rod adds.

"We're really good." They both smile, subconsciously.

"Awww," their moms coo, causing them to laugh. Gene offers a soft smile, seeing his daughter shine with happiness.

"Six months in, yeah?" He asks.

"Yes sir."

"You love her?"

"With all my heart," he pats her knee, "I really do."

"You love him?" He nods in Stevie's direction.

"He aight." She giggles, covering her face as Rod gives her a stale expression. She pats his arm, shaking her head.

"You know I love you, boy!" She says through her laughing fit.

The waiter comes to the table, making his way around for everybody's drink order.

"How's the poetry coming, darling?" Viv asks Stevie.

"I actually wrote a couple pieces, a few days ago. This one keeps encouraging me to get on stage, but—"

"But, what?" Gene asks.

"I don't think I'm ready. You know how I was the last time I got on a stage. I completely choked."

"Stevie, you were twelve." Victoria adds. "That was almost ten years ago."

"Right, and I puked my entire life in the girls' bathroom."

"Was that really the last time you were doing your poetry?" Rod asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Performing it, yeah. I have the worst case of stage fright."

"Why didn't you tell me? I feel like I've been pressuring the hell outta you, now."

"No, don't do that. You didn't know."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asks, again.

"Well, I just started opening up about my writing. It's not that easy to just come out and talk about it. It's a personal thing for me."

"Well, I'm glad that you're letting me in." He leans to kiss her cheek, causing the butterflies in her stomach to swarm like crazy.

"You two are so in love, it's insane." Victoria exclaims, watching her daughter's face flush a slight red.

Stevie softly rubs her thumb against the back of Rod's hand, smiling like an idiot.

"Cut it out, please." 

The waiter comes back with everyone's drinks and begins taking their orders, giving Stevie a slight break.

Fortunately for her, the attention is placed on Rod.

"If you don't mind my asking, what are your plans for the future, just in general." Gene asks.

"Well, I'm currently assistant manager at Lee's, but I plan on being bumped up to manager before I'm twenty-five."

"Why a hardware store?"

"When I was little, I used to always be the one to help my mom around the house. Unclog drains. Watching the professionals fix the pipes and the gutters and it always fascinated me."

"Your father wasn't around?"

"Dad.," Stevie warns.

"It's fine, baby, it's just a question." Rod assures her. "And, no.. he wasn't around."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but from what I see, you turned out great, without him." Rod gives a flat smile in return, pulling at his collar.

"Thank you, sir." He looks over at his mom, who's still got a smile on her face.

"I'm proud of you." She says.

"Thanks, ma."

Stevie glances at her mom, who's full on staring at her with a weird look in her eyes.

"Ma... you okay?"

"Are you pregnant?" Stevie's eyes almost pop out of their sockets as Rod looks between the two, with an equally surprised look on his face. Viv brings her water up to her lips.

"What?"

"Cause, you definitely have the glow going on... your hair is very shiny, too. You look like I did when I was pregnant with you."

"I'm n-not pregnant." She stammers.

Gene's stern eye catches Rod, but quickly softens as a look of panic washes over the young man's face.

"Are you sure? You did say that you felt nauseous last week." Rod adds.

"I'm positive.. besides, we're not ready for a child— we're still children, ourselves!" She whisper-yells.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." Her mom quickly apologizes.

"No, ma. It's fine."

"You think he'll like me?" Rod asks, driving down the street per her direction.

"Yes, babe. He's gonna love you, simply because I do." She hums as her thumb glides over his jaw.

"Okay.," he sighs, slightly gripping the steering wheel. She stares at him with a furrowed brow.

"Are you nervous?" He comes to a red light and glances at her.

"Honestly? Yeah."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess, meeting the parents is one thing, but it's a different ballpark when you're introduced to someone who's like a grandparent to that person. That's major pressure."

"Awww, baby! That's so cute!"

"Ugh," he groans, turning into the neighborhood.

"Relax, okay? You'll be fine, I promise."

"Okay."

Silence fills the car, yet there's a question that's been on his mind, since they left the restaurant.

"Vie,"

"Mhm?"

"Are you sure you aren't pregnant?" The concern in his voice causes her throat to dry up.

"I don't know. I haven't taken a test yet."

"Why not?"

"I'm scared." She looks over at him and back out the window, sighing as he brings the car to a stop, near an empty driveway.

"Why'd you lie to your mom, then? Aren't you two supposed to be working on patching things up?"

"We are. I just don't need her in that part of my business. If it turns out that I am, then we'll have that conversation, but for now, she doesn't need to know anything."

"Okay." He continues driving. Stevie frowns as he pulls into Joe's driveway, cutting the car off.

"Rod?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you ready for kids?"

"I will be if you turn out to be pregnant, but if you're not ready, then it's okay. We can wait."

A tiny tear falls, but he wipes it away. "Don't cry, Vie. You wanna talk about this later?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry." She gives a slight laugh and wipes her face. "I didn't mean to make that decision for the both of us— we just never talked about it."

"You're right, we haven't. But, it's okay." He opens his door and hops out, heading over to her side and helping her out of the car, before locking it up.

"You ready?" She asks.

"Wait," he gently grabs the side of her face and presses his lips against hers. Her hand covers his own as she smiles against his lips.

"What was that for?" She asks as he pulls away.

"Just cause, I love you more than anything in this world." He holds his hand out for her to take.

"You're gonna make me cry, again! I love you." She giggles as they head up the winding sidewalk to the front door.

"Is this his house?"

"His daughter's." She replies, before knocking on the screen door.

The door opens and the deep bellowed hey causes Stevie's hands to stretch towards the heavens at the sight of her former manager/non-related grandpa.

"Joe!" The six foot something, olive toned man wraps her up in his arms as if they haven't seen each other in a lifetime. Rod smiles at their interaction.

"It's been so long, dear. You look great!" He compliments.

"So do you!" Moving back beside Rod, she latches onto his arm and cheeses, widely.

"Ah, so this is the reason for the glow, yeah?"

"If I had a dollar for every time I've heard that, lately, I'd be rich. Joe, this is my boyfriend, Roderick. Rod, this is my favorite old person, next to my grandma."

Rod chuckles, extending his hand towards Joe, who gives it a firm shake. "It's nice to meet you, sir. Stevie's told me all about you."

"It's good to meet you too, son. We've had plenty of conversations about how madly in love she is."

"Joe!" Stevie covers her face as they head inside and sit around the quaint dining table.

"Sarah made a cake. It's buttercream. Would you like some?" Joe asks, pulling the glass dome off the pretty white cake.

"Sure!" Stevie replies, watching as Joe goes into one of his drawers and hands a knife to Rod, throwing him a look.

"Cut that pretty girl a nice slice, would ya?" Stevie giggles as Rod does so, laying it on the awaiting plate that Joe pulls from his cabinet, sliding it across the table to her.

"Thank you, baby."

"Anything for you." He smiles and sits next to her, draping his arm around the back of the chair.

Stevie cuts into the cake with her fork and sticks a piece into her mouth, humming at how good it tastes.

"This is so good!" Joe places the dome back on the cake and sits across from them.

"I'm glad you like it, dear," he turns to Rod, "you didn't want any?"

"I'm not big on sweets, like that."

"Yet, you snatched up the sweetest woman in the world." Joe laughs, shaking his head.

"That was a good one," Rod admits, chuckling. Stevie joins in on the laughter.

"You two look like you went to see the queen— dinner with your parents, huh?" Joe gives Stevie a look that makes Rod choke.

"Cut it out. She's trying to do better."

"I'm sure you're holding her to that.,"

"Hanging it over her head, like a dark cloud." Stevie blinks, eating more of her cake.

"Taste it," she cuts a smaller piece and holds it up to Rod's mouth, "please?"

Without hesitation, he allows her to feed him the sweet cake. She smirks as his eyebrow lifts, meaning that he likes it.

He shakes his head as she swipes the icing off his lip and secretly licks it off her thumb.

"What do you do for a living, Rod?"

"I'm an assistant manager at Lee's hardware store."

"That's impressive. You wanna move up to manager some day?"

"I wanna own it, someday... but, manager's cool, too." They share a laugh.

"That's mighty big shoes to fill, young man."

"I'm ready for it, whenever God gives me the opportunity."

"A man of God, too? You're good in my book."

"My mama raised me right."

"She sure did. How long have you two been together?"

"Six months." The smile that spreads across Rod's face makes Joe's heart warm.

"You'd think it was six years with a smile like that," they all stand once Stevie finishes her cake and goes to put her plate in the sink, "Keep making my Stevie happy, okay? I wouldn't wanna have to rough you up." He laughs, giving Rod a playful punch to the arm, half-serious.

"You have my word, sir." They slap hands just as Stevie returns.

"What were you two talking about," she asks with a curious look.

"Nothing but boring man stuff, baby girl," he wraps her in a bear hug as she comes closer, "I'm glad you stopped by to see your grandpa Joe. I know you've been busy with school and work."

"I'll always make time to see you, Joe," she gestures toward Rod, "Now I'll be bringing this knucklehead to keep me and Sarah from driving you crazy."

"Thank you!" They share a laugh, and Joe walks them to their car.

"Take care, you two," he waves them off, and they make their way back to their side of town.

Two weeks later.

"Am I gonna see you later?," Rod asks his girlfriend while on his break.

"Yeah, babe," she replies cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder as she laces her sneakers, "Me and Tyler are just going to the mall because she needs an outfit for this date she has tomorrow night."

"Can we make sure he ain't crazy?"

"Shut up, Roderick!"

"Chill, vie. I'm just joking."

"Yeah keep on, and it's gonna be you and that big ass bottle of Queen Helene tonight."

"Please, you know this dick is your best friend."

"Boy, you are so nasty!"

"Am I wrong, though?" He waits for her response, to which he's met with silence. "That's what I thought."

She could hear the smirk on his face through the phone, making her roll her eyes to the back of her head.

"Them things gon’ pop right out ya head, baby." She equally loved and hated just how well this man knows her, and they aren't even a year in.

She settles on a simple whatever as a response.

 "I love you, too mama. See you later."

"Later," she hangs up as Tyler bounds down the steps.

"You finished talking to loverboy?" She asks, pinching Stevie's side.

"Yeah. Imma fight him one day."

"Yeah, naked." She bursts into laughter, Stevie hitting her with the stalest face.

"Let's go broad, before I change my mind," she pops her ass, walking to the front door.

Four stores in, and while they both have a couple bags, Tyler hasn't found what she deemed the perfect outfit, yet.

Coming across a fairly new store they have never seen before, Heaven’s Closet, Tyler stops in front of the window perking up at the looks on the mannequins she sees.

 "Oh, we gotta stop in here!"

"I'm right behind you, girl."

Tyler grabs several options and Stevie follows her to the fitting rooms in the back that are big enough to fit the both of them.

Every look was gorgeous on her. Stevie loved them actually, but even she could tell they weren't Tyler.

"What's going on with you, Ty?"

"What do you mean?"

"These outfits, girl."

"I thought you liked everything, so far?"

"Yeah...for me. I mean, Tyler...a black, cashmere sweater dress that goes past your knees, a navy, long-sleeved jumpsuit?? Navy?? Pants?? For a date? Tyler Camille, do you have a fever?" Stevie places the back of her hand on her forehead.

"Girl gone somewhere!," she laughs playfully, swatting her hand away, "I get it. I'm just not tryna be so...extra with it, I guess."

"Ty, baby, I could look up extra in the dictionary and see a catalog of your pictures. Where's this coming from?"

Tasha hooked up to a bunch of machines clinging on to dear life.

"I mean...we all gotta grow up at some point, right Stevie? I can't just be the party girl, the good time girl my whole life, can I?" Her eyes are fixed on her hands as they fiddle with the hem of an olive cable-knit sweater she was wearing, not believing the words she allowed to come out of her mouth.

Neither did Stevie.

"Tyler, how long have we been friends?"

"A long time," she responds, her eyes remaining downcast.

"Right. So, can you talk to me like I'm your best friend?," she pleads softly.

She remains silent for a beat before muttering phrases that sounded like she was trying to talk herself into it. She lets out a harsh breath as her eyes start stinging involuntarily. "Shit!," she curses under breath, hating it when she cries.

Stevie softens further when she sees the dam her friend built start to crumble in front of her, but she stays seated, allowing her the space to get whatever it is out on her own.

"I did-," she clears her throat, her voice coming out lower than she intended, "I did a lot of thinking, soul searching when Tash got into that accident...seeing her lying there. The constant beeping let me know she was alive, but...she looked so cold. She looked nothing like the girl I knew. All I could think was, what if she never woke up?” The crack in Tyler's voice makes Stevie's heart crack just the same.

"What would I do? Who would I be anymore? So many people I've lost or could've lost throughout my entire life just hit me all at once and I couldn't--I couldn't take it. So I ran. One of the most important people in my life needed me and I left her." She slid down the large mirror, putting her head in her hands. "Tasha didn't deserve that. Tia doesn't and neither do you. I don't know how I'm gonna do it, but I can't be that person anymore, Stevie."

"With help," she sniffles, joining her on the floor. Linking their hands she continues, "you're gonna do it with help from me and everyone else that loves you. Okay?" Tyler nods in understanding, and Stevie brushes away her tears with the back of her fingers.

"Let's get off these people floor before somebody thinks we're crazy." They laugh, getting up from the ground and making sure their faces are clear.

She ends up choosing a lilac two-piece set with deep purple, strappy block heels to go with it. Pleased, they hit the food court for Chinese.

Since Tyler knew what they both wanted, she got in line while Stevie picked a table. She plucks her little anniversary gift from her bag, and flips to a fresh page, a new poem flowing from her mind with ease she called, 'Mended'.

She feels a presence before she sees the face it belongs to, but she doesn't need to because the same uneasiness from the coffee shop fills her.

"Fancy seeing you here, Stevie." She never thought her own name would sound like a curse to her ears, but here she is.

She finishes the line before she looks up.

"Can I help you?" She tries her best to keep the fear from her voice and replace it with annoyance.

"Maybe." He smirks, and it feels sinister. "You should let me take you out."

She'll play in traffic before she goes anywhere with him.

She flips her hair with the hand her ring is on and palms her chin.

"My boyfriend already does that."

His brows raise, but he otherwise seems unfazed.

"Hmm. I hope he's on his job. Anybody would be willing to come in and take your pretty self for themselves."

"He'd kill them first," she smiles, full of venom keeping her voice light.

"Hm. My kind of guy." Something about his tone makes her cold to her bones, but she hides it well.

"Mine too. Now I think you should leave."

"Damn. Mr. Boyfriend don't let you talk to anybody."

"My friend said leave, bruh." Tyler walks up with their food, placing it on the table. He looks up at her amused, "English not your first language? Skedaddle, playa."

He raises his arms in mock surrender and walks off.

“Who the hell was Fredro Starr with dreads?," she asks when she sits down.

"I don't know. He came into the shop one day. Now I see him again here. He gives me the fucking creeps."

"Me, too girl. I don't like him. I say you tell Rod. Men are crazy."

"I think I might," she responds.

She really doesn't like this guy.

@blackerthings @thegifstories @sheabuttahwrites @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @ghostfacekill-monger @soufcakmistress @twistedcharismaaa @blowmymbackout @chaneajoyyy @abeautifulmindexposed @awerkofart

#soulff #miyuhpapayuh #poc writers #blackwriters #black romance #rod x stevie #black fiction #black writers #stevie x rod #joey bada$$ #joey badass fic

[ninjadeathblade]

Moulin Rouge Discotrain AU (part twelve)

Summary: (Post-game canon) The Conductor and DJ Grooves agree to finally work on a movie together. They come up with 'Moulin Rouge', a musical drama filled with romance. Over time the two directors grow closer and discover that maybe they don't hate each other as much.

Beginning | Previous | Next

Word count: 1,475

Warnings: None

Author's notes: This was actually one of the first chapters I wrote and we've finally reached it. Apparently this is my 1,000th post too??? This is one of my favourite chapters I've written so far to be honest. How these two haven't realised their feelings is honestly mad. Enjoy!

"Darling, I really must go, I'm meant to be at rehearsal," Grooves insisted, watching the Express Owl hurry around with fabric.

"Please sir, just a minute longer, I want to see how well this colour could work!" They called.

Grooves sighed, looking up at the clock on the wall.

He could already feel the harsh sting of the Conductor's anger at him arriving late.

"Sir! You've got to go! They're about to start!" Owlice said, out of breath as she burst into the changing room.

Grooves stood up, casting one look at the other panicked owl who was sorting through fabric, before putting his coat back on.

He'd gotten it back off the Conductor that day they both spent in the owl's office.

It had been nice, to not worry about acting for a while and just joke around together.

"Of course, sorry. I'll be back later," Grooves apologised before hurrying out the room, rushing towards where they'd constructed a makeshift set that resembled one of the rooms on the Owl Express.

"Where were you?" Snatcher asked as Grooves slipped into the booth next to the ghost's.

Hat Kid grinned and waved at him as he slid in beside her, before she resumed drumming her hands excitedly on the tabletop.

"One of the owls made me stay late for costume fitting," Grooves explained, picking up a glass of water from the table and downing it. "So, how's Pinguini doing? Is Conductor mad that I'm late?"

"Oh, he's mad alright. And Pinguini is sick. Apparently someone's standing in for the poor guy. D'you want me to make a contract with him so he doesn't get sick? All it'd cost would be his soul," Snatcher offered and Grooves stared incredulously at him.

"No! Heavens no darling! I've already told you, no contracts aside from the ones with Hat Kid!" Grooves protested, running a flipper through his hair as his nerves got to him. "Where is Conductor anyway?"

The lights dimmed and a spotlight went on as the trapeze began to lower.

Grooves and Snatcher stared up at the yellow bird sitting on it and Grooves couldn't quite believe his eyes.

"I think you just got your answer," Snatcher whispered.

Light glinted off of the sparkling headpiece Conductor wore, refracting around the room.

"The French are glad to die for love."

The recital of Satine's first line of dialogue was brilliant. Grooves' beak fell open, staring up at the Conductor.

"They delight in fighting duels. But I prefer a man who lives and gives expensive jewels."

The music Grooves had composed began playing over some speakers in the background but it barely registered in Grooves' mind.

Hardly anything did as the Conductor followed the choreography perfectly, step by step.

Snatcher disappeared at one point and then reappeared beside Conductor, the two of them performing their moves together as if they'd been practising together the whole time.

And all of a sudden, the Conductor came to stand in front of their booth.

"I believe you've been expecting me." Grooves blinked dumbly until Hat Kid nudged him.

"Um, yes," Grooves breathed, glad that his mind blank was what had been scripted as well.

Conductor smiled down at him, a rare occurrence for it to be when they weren't alone.

But it vanished almost as soon as it appeared when the Conductor turned back to everyone else on the set.

"Alright peck necks! That's the end of today's run! If you've got other jobs then do them! If not then get outta here! We don't want yer!" He snapped, taking off the headdress and motioning for Grooves to move over. "Where were you?! I could've used my co-director a while back!"

"Sorry, they were looking at different colours for my outfits," Grooves apologised, moving over while his brain still tried to catch up with what just happened.

"Nice moves Conductor," Snatcher commented as he walked past, gesturing for Hat Kid to follow him.

The little girl nodded, waving bye to the birds as she skipped after him.

Conductor picked up a couple glasses of water at the table, drinking one quickly before having the other slowly.

"Darling, when were you going to tell me you were such an amazing singer?" Grooves blurted.

The Conductor spluttered, hitting his chest a couple times before speaking.

"I wasn't gonna tell you," he admitted.

"Why ever not?"

"It's embarrassin'."

"It's talent. It's what we need in this film!" Grooves insisted, watching with slight amusement at the way his co-director's feathers poofed and ruffled at the compliment.

"It's nothin'," Conductor argued, finishing his glass of water.

"Where did you learn to sing like that?" Grooves persisted.

Conductor mumbled his reply, a ripple going through his feathers as he shivered.

"What was that darling?"

"I learnt ta sing when I went to a theatre club when I was younger," Conductor admitted.

"You used to go to a theatre club when you were little? Darling, that's adorable!" Grooves squealed and Conductor put his head in one clawed hand. "What made you stop?"

Conductor ran his hand over the feathers at the side of his face, mouth turning downwards.

"They did too many musicals. And they didn't like my accent, forced me to learn to sing without it. Some of the other birds said how I was funny lookin' for an owl too. I didn't like it," Conductor explained, tone more sour than it had been a moment ago.

"Well, I think you're fine." Grooves placed a flipper over Conductor's hand still on the table.

Conductor looked over at him and Grooves hesitated before continuing.

"And…I think we've found our Satine."

The owl rapidly withdrew his hand from the penguin's, jerking back as if he'd been hit.

Grooves frowned, not prepared for how negative the reaction was.

"No."

"Why not?"

"We need a director not acting when we're filming scenes so we can see how they work," Conductor stated half-heartedly.

"Darling. You always have a role in your movies. Why is this so different?" Grooves asked.

Conductor sighed, resting his head on the tabletop.

"Feels weird for this one. Dunno why. Maybe because I don't have full control. Maybe because I've not wanted to do romances in a while. Maybe because I'd have to play lovers with yer," he said before trailing off with a groan.

"Can you think about it at least? Oh Connie, no one could play her like you could," Grooves insisted.

The Conductor stood, drumming his talons on the tabletop a couple of times before replying.

"I'll think about it." The owl walked off.

"Are you together or something?"

Grooves jumped as he looked over at Empress, not even having noticed her in the booth that Snatcher had been in.

"Sorry, what?"

"You and the Conductor. Are you two together?" Empress questioned, resting her head near her joined hands as she leaned forwards.

"Well yes, we work together on the movie, I thought that was obvious-"

"No, you idiot. Are you two dating? Are you going out?" Empress cut in, tail flicking with annoyance behind her.

Grooves' beak opened and closed several times in a row, mind blanking.

"No, no- uh, no, we're not- pffft, why would you- how dare you- we're not- no!" Grooves stammered.

Empress raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"Seriously! Don't give me that look!" Grooves protested further.

"It's not any of my business as to your relationship with one another." She held up her paws defensively before lowering them back onto the table.

"But from an outside perspective, that's sure how it looks."

"It really isn't-"

"Just shut up a minute. I really don't care what's going on between you. I'm just letting you know what it looks like."

She dug her claws into the table, dragging them slowly back towards her.

Wood peeled away from the table, curling back in the trail she marked.

"If you two end up together, then just remember this little chat. Good luck making it through the movie where you play lovers without something happening."

She tore her claws out of the table, walking out of the room.

Owlice entered, skittering past the large cat as they crossed paths.

"Did I come at the wrong time? I wanted to get the headdress back," Owlice squeaked, pointing shyly at the discarded outfit piece.

"Go ahead," Grooves absentmindedly replied.

"Are you okay sir?"

"Not really darling."

"Oh. Should I get Mr. Conductor?" Owlice asked, eyes going wider than usual behind their wire-framed glasses.

Possible responses swam around in Grooves' mind.

"No," he said, still slightly uncertain. Owlice nodded nervously before offering him a smile.

"Your acting is great by the way, sir," she complimented.

"It's really funny, I had commented to Mr. Conductor how funny it would be if he ended up playing Satine."

Grooves looked up at her, scattered thoughts slowly drifting back to him.

"Yeah. Funny."

#moulin rouge discotrain au #discotrain #a hat in time #ahit #ahit dj grooves #ahit au #the snatcher #ahit hat kid #ahit snatcher #a hat in time snatcher #ahit moulin rouge au #ahit oc #ahit conductor #a hat in time oc #the conductor #dj grooves

[affectionatelyrs]

Get To Know Your Fanfic Writer! :)

Thank you to @happiness-of-the-pursuit and @read-and-write- for tagging me y'all are amazing

When did you post your first ever fanfic?

August 2023 (i'm brand new to the game and i'm loving it)

First character(s) you wrote for:

Alex Claremont-Diaz and Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor

Main character(s) you’re currently writing for:

Alex Claremont-Diaz and Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor

Character(s) you haven’t written about before but plan on writing about soon:

My fics have featured other members of the super six but they haven't been very prominent so i'm looking forward to trying to include them more in future fics - i know one of my upcoming ones has some fun Alex June and Nora moments so that'll be fun

Fandom(s) you’re currently writing for:

Red White and Royal Blue

Platonic pairing(s) you currently write for:

Mostly Alex and Nora - i love writing Nora so much her characterization is so much fun to me, especially in relation to Alex

Romantic pairing(s) you currently write for:

Firstprince my love

Your top 3 tags on AO3 (if you post your works on AO3):

Smut

Fluff, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Feelings

Kissing, Alternate Universe, Light Angst

(I'm including ties because i can) (also there's more but it's fine)

Your current platform where you post your works:

AO3

Snippet of the wip you’re currently working on:

This is basically just the first half of what i posted the other day because when i said i only had what i wrote down in my notes app i meant it (i have another wip but that shall be saved for wip wednesday heheheheh)

Second Ave Coffee. Wednesday. Twelve pm. A steaming cup of coffee, a hint of cinnamon, and a flash of blond hair. Striking blue eyes that have never fully met his own from across the room. Alex feels like he’s drowning. That, or he just choked on his coffee. He sputters as he comes to, Nora’s hand firmly patting on his back as she suddenly saddles up to his table. “The fuck has gotten into you?” she asks, tone exasperated as she plops into the chair across from him. “Nothing, I’m fine,” Alex croaks out, still trying to regain his composure, still trying to will his gaze to break away from the man on the other side of the room.

No pressure tagging @inexplicablymine @hypnostheory @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @littlemisskittentoes (sorry if y'all have done this but open to anyone too)

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #rwrb fic #get to know me #tag game #fanfiction #rwrb fanfic #rwrb fanfiction #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor

[pjunicornart]

I got bored so I filled out a HuniePop 2 data sheet for my favorite MtR poly ship.

Yes. There are more. But for now, Neil. Below the image, I wrote out what I thought the dialogue would be after you ask him. (Including the baggage + its effects!)

Drink: "Just plain old water is fine for me. Other stuff doesn't really sit right in my stomach." Ice Cream Flavor: "Aw man, you're gonna make me choose? I love ice cream! I guess if I had to pick one I liked the most... Chocolate!" Music Genre: "Pretty much anything with loud guitars and drums. So, I'll just say rock." Movie Genre: "Call me a nerd all you want, but I love learning new things about random subjects from documentaries." Online Activity: "Eh... I don't really do much online. If I am online, I'm usually watching videos before I go to bed." Phone App: "The music player is enough for me. It plays my music to help keep me focused on my work, so it gets the job done." Type of Exercise: "I started going on night jogs a couple of months ago. It's really refreshing running through the cold night air." Outdoor Activity: "I sit on my butt and lounge in garden. I was never an outdoors-y type person..." Theme Park Ride: "I'm too much of a wuss to go on most of the rides... If my family is at a theme park, you'll find me in the lazy river." Friday Night: "I'm usually so pooped out by the end of my work week that I just flop right into bed and proceed to sleep for ten hours..." Sunday Morning: "Weekend mornings are when I get cozy and catch up on my shows." Weather: "I like the rain. It's very calming." Holiday: "Oh, um... I don't really like the holidays. Too many negative memories associated with them..." Pet: "Dogs! We have one right now! He's the only dog in the park without contacts, ha ha!" School Subject: "How the hell are you even asking me that?! Science! Duh!" Place to Shop: "When I was younger, I'd spend my free time in the school library to escape my bullies. I could spend hours in a cozy bookstore now." Trait in Partner: "I'm really happy I found someone who loves me, and accepts me for who I am. Flaws and all..." Own Body Part: "Who thinks about that kinda stuff? Besides... there's nothing special about my body anyway." Sex Position: "...um... Don't judge, but I like doggy style. But, uh... I like to, y'know... be on the bottom..." Porn Category: "Oh. Wow, okay. That is certainly a question... Well, I've never seen anything crazy... so normal? Wait, isn't that just called vanilla? Vanilla. Final answer."

Baggage Neil: "Hey... just wondering. Do you plan on sticking around?" YN: "Maybe. Why do you ask?" Neil: "I don't know... I guess I'm just making sure I don't get hurt. You know, I wasn't adopted until I was twelve. Even after all these years, I still feel like one day, they're gonna leave me. I know that couldn't be farther from the truth, believe me! But sometimes, when I'm away on business trips, I feel... alone. I don't wanna be abandoned again..." Abandonment Issues - Cornelius will drain 5% of the Total Affection goal every time you switch your focus away from him.

Neil: "Sorry if this is a little personal... but how many people have you, uh... well, y'know... How many people did you do it with?" YN: "I don't really keep track of that sort of thing... but believe me, I've been around." Neil: "Wow... I don't think I could EVER do that! Ha ha! Maybe I'm just a sap, but it takes me a while to let somebody see that side of me. Hey! No problem if that's what you wanna do! I just like to take things a little slower." Old Fashioned - For the first 15 moves of the date, Sexuality Token matches directed at Cornelius will cause him to become upset.

Neil: "I just got wind that one of the inventions we've been working on in the lab failed on them... AGAIN. Ugh, that thing has given us nothing but trouble, I swear..." YN: "Why don't you try working on something else?" Neil: "Uh uh! Don't start with me with that talk! I ain't gonna hear it. I didn't get to where I am now by giving up! I WILL make this invention work. I just have to find another solution." Stubborn - Cornelius will refuse to accept any date gifts until he has at least 40% Passion.

HUNIEPOP AND MEET THE ROBINSONS ARE MY COMFORT THINGS, OKAY?! DON'T JUDGE ME.

Franny... Michael... Lizzy...

#rosey rambles #meet the robinsons #cornelius robinson #huniepop 2 #i got bored #comfort post