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hier--soir · 9 months

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a lover's pinch | one

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x

Friday.

You sit with three almost strangers.

Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.

They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.

Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?

Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.

And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.

Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.

After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.

It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.

The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.

“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.

You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.

It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.

You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.

Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.

Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.

A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.

“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”

He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.

Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.

“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.

You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.

“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.

“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”

‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”

You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “With friends.”

“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”

You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.

“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”

The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.

“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.

“And you?”

His eyebrows raise in a silent question.

“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.

“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.

It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.

“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.

He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.

“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.

Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.

Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.

He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.

“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.

He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.

“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.

“To the bar or to Maine?”

“Either.”

“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”

“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”

“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”

“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.

“Ever been?” you ask faintly.

“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”

And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?

“Can I tell you something, Joel?”

You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.

He hums, smirk broadening.

Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.

“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.

Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.

“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”

A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.

Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”

A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.

“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”

His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”

Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something?

Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.

“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.

Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.

“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.

Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.

You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”

Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.

Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.

“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.

“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”

He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.

Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.

You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.

Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?

Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.

“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.

“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”

He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.

“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”

A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.

“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.

“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”

Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.

“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.”

“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”

You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”

And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.

Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.

“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.

“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”

You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.

“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”

“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”

Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.

And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.

“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”

And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you.

For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.

You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.

But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.

“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”

You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome.

“I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”

You heart is in your throat all over again.

Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”

A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.

“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”

You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.

The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.

Tuesday.

You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.

A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.

You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.

After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.

Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.

Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.

As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.

The theatre room is easy enough to find.

Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.

Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.

You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.

You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.

He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.

You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.

“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”

You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.

An accent like that is hard to ignore.

You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.

And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.

Joel… your professor.

Fuck.

thank you for reading!! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #ALP

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lvlyghost · 11 months

Text

Cold Nights

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary: Reader doesn't show up for morning training. Ghost doesn't know what to think.

Word Count: 794

Tw: fluff, angst, mentions of being sick, soldiers being scared of simon lol, ooc simon probably, he calls reader kid, i think that's it🤭

A/N: I'm sick and this came to my mind, I just want simon to take care of me okay???🥹🤧 this is super bad as usual. still hope you like it. pls remember english isn't my first language, corrections are welcome ✨💖

Masterlist✨

Ghost doesn't see her at the cafeteria, nor the training room. He's disgruntled. His eyes keep drifting apart from the soldiers in front of him, waiting for the next round of endless push ups he's gonna make them go through.

Why isn't she here?

His body feels restless, pacing back and forth.

Soap doesn't say anything, just shifts his weight from one foot to another.

"Johnny," he calls him. "You're in charge."

"Lt.?" He quirks a brow, not understanding. That's so unlike him.

"Got things to do."

He storms out of the room, the walls rattle when he closes the doors.

It's a cold day. Just like the day before.

Days used to mean nothing to him.

Time.

Until she came along. Three years ago.

That woman... he sighs.

Was it something he said? Didn't they talk about it last night?

Everything was fine.

Or so he thought.

"We shouldn't be out here, kid." He mutters. It's freezing, he can see her trembling even beneath her hoodie. Well it was actually his. The hoodie completely swallowing her small form.

"I know, I know!" She laughs. Her cheeks a beautiful shade of pink. "I just... it was too loud inside." That he can agree on. "Is it true?" She asks a few seconds later.

Simon stills. Choosing his next words carefully.

"What?"

"What Soap said." A heartbeat. "About us."

There's a silence that falls between them.

"Those were the words of a drunk man."

"Were they?" her smile is contagious. Damn her and her beautiful soul. "Would you come with me if I asked you to?"

He stares directly at her, trying to find any sign of doubt. He's always mesmerized by her gentle nature. That's something he never knew. Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to her. Longed to be wherever she was. Breathe the same air.

"I'd say that's highly inappropriate." He states. "And that you've had too many shots of whatever poor excuse of a whiskey Johnny made you drink."

"Price called it piss water." She shooks her head. "You're changing the subject!"

Simon chuckles. He really does.

"You've got such power over me no one else could ever have, kid."

And he's doomed.

He's trying so hard, going through the events of the night, trying to remember. What happened? Nothing out of line was said. She seemed content when they parted ways, right after he had kissed her good night outside her room. Simon saw the way her eyes lit up with a spark he never saw before. The longing stare. Remembers vividly how she had stopped him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt pulling him down for another heated kiss.

He walks down the corridor with long strides. Hands balled into fists. He shouldn't be this mad. But that was the effect she had in him.

He tries to cool down. Ghost was scared too. What if she had changed her mind and didn't want anything to do with him? He was messing up his head at the mere thought.

He finally makes it to the room, knocking twice before her soft voice tells him he can come in.

Inside the room, all the curtains were closed, not a single ray of light made it inside apart from the lamp casting shadows around. Furrowing his brows he closes the door behind him with a low click.

"Kid?" He calls her. Immediately rolling on her side she welcomes him, red eyes, stuffy nose and looking disheveled.

"Sorry I missed training." She apologizes. Changing to a sitting position and waits for him to sit next to her.

"What's wrong?" He demands with a soft voice. She's still wearing his hoodie from last night. Rubbing her eyes she gives Simon a tired smile.

"I'm just really sick Simon." She answers, he can hear her hoarse voice now.

"Bloody hell, love." His hand goes straight to her face, caressing her cheek. "Did you go to the infirmary?" Closing her eyes, she rest her head against his hand.

"Mhm. Got some painkillers prescribed. Still feel horrible."

"Good, it'll take some time for you to feel better. You need to rest, okay?". The look he gave her leaves no room for discussion.

"Wasn't planning on leaving my bed you know?" He smiles ever so slightly. "Would you stay with me?" When he doesn't answer right away she adds: "never mind you'll catch whatever this bug is and i don't ..."

"Sweetheart," he interrupts her rambling. "Scoot over."

She looks at him wide-eyed.

"You... you don't," she stutters.

"No, I don't mind at all. If there's anything you need just tell me, copy?" She nods, staring at his blue eyes. "Told you we shouldn't have been outside last night."

"Even if it meant catching a cold, I'm glad we did, Simon."

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod ghost #ghost x reader #call of duty ghost simon riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #john price #john price x reader #cod konig #cod mw22

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fuckyeahgoodomens · 1 year

Video

Michael Sheen about David Tennant, bonding over working on Good Omens and their kids, Season 2 and suprises in S2, and David's bad habits. (MCM Comic Con, 30.10.2022)

Q: Now, I've watched a youtube video, it was a really strange fan video, it was lovely though, and it was about the bromance between you and David Tennant.

Michael: I'm sorry, I didn't... I don't know who you're referring to.

Q: I mean, what is he like to work with, he seems like a joy to work with and you guys get on really well.

Michael: I mean, it's like having and an albatros around your neck, really, he sort of does drag you down a lot of time... no, I feel very lucky, you know, David and I were in a film called Bright Young Things together many, many years ago - [applause] thank you very much, thank you, thank you - but we didn't get to act together in that and we didn't, you know, we didn't really know each other from that and we've know each other 'say hello to' over the years, but it wasn't until we did Good Omens the first series really that we - [another applause] thank you thank you - that we got to know each other and of course we spent a LOT of time together on that, and people were coming in and out, but it was essentially me and David sitting in the tent all day every day a lot of the time. And so we sort of slowly got to know each other doing that and then, actually it was probably doing the publicity for that and the press for that that we really got to know each other and and then because we both had babies within weeks of each other, you know, me and Anna and David and Georgia, you know, we got very kind of bonded then because of over that. And we say that, so David and Georgia's little girl Birdie and our little girl Lyra, we say, Lyra's only got one friend and that's Birdie. And we sort of got very close but we were very lucky, because you don't know the chemistry's gonna be like between you and another actor until you start working together. And, you know, interestingly David and I probably hadn't work together because a lot of time we were up for the same parts, or you know, there was only one David or Michael shaped hole in the cast and only one of us would fill it, so we didn't get to work together. And I've been a big fan of his work for years and years and really admired, you know, what he did, and so then get into work opposite each other, it just sort of clicked very quickly, and I remember when we did the table read for the first series of Good Omens and we were sitting there next to each other and starting to read the lines together and we'd not really talked about the characters much before then or how we were gonna do it abd you could sort of feel the two of us kind of adapting to each other over the first, you know, few pages and then we just kind of, it just clicked, the characters just clicked and we just sort of without having to talk about it we just instinctively understood how they would be together and I remember Neil Gaiman and Douglas the director saying that watching it was like that as well, you saw these characters sort of circling around each other a little bit and sniffing each other out and then bumph you're just suddenly dancing and it's been like that ever since, really. It was such a joy to come back and do the second series together again, and it was like... once we'd put the costumes on again, and we were on the Soho set - we filmed it up in Scotland and they've buil like entire block of Soho, on the first one where they only built a small amount of it and it was in a freezing cold carpark ouside Oxfordshire and it was miserable and this time we were in the lovely, warm soundstage with a whole of Soho built, and once we got the costumes on and I remember our first scene together - because David was a bit ill at the very beginning of the filming, so he wasn't there for the first few days - and then when we did get to our first scene together and it was just a walk across the street or something and it was almost like the costumes were walking for themselves, like they just knew what to do, the characters just sort of took over, weirdly, and we were in that kind of groove again. So it's an absolutle pleasure working with him and spending time with him and it's so lovely that we found these two characters, or these two characters found us, to be able to sort of put everything into, you know, and to feel so comfortable with each other. It's been brilliant and I hope when it comes out next summer I hope everyone really enjoys it, I think there's gonna be a lot of great surprises for people and I hope you enjoy it.

Q: I mean, Michael, that's all very well, that's very sweet, what a lovely story, but I want you to dish some dirt. Tell me, is there something... does he have a bad habit... does he have an annoying habit, that he wouldn't want us to know about?

Michael: About David?

Q: Yes.

Michael: Oh my goodness. David doesn't have any bad habits. Em, what can I tell you about him... I mean, he's a bit good to be true, really. He's always lovely to everyone... oh! I tell you what his bad habit is. He leaves it to me to... when there's a problem and we are unhappy about something, because I'm supposedly the grumpy one, he leaves it to me, so he can be the [imitating David:] 'Oh, I'm so sorry, it's just Michael has a wee problem with this, I don't know... it's not me, I'm fine with it, you know...', but, you know, the two of us have gone, 'Well, that's a bit out of order, innit?' and then I'm the attack dog who has to go out.

#good omens #michael sheen #mcm 2022 #david tennant #bts #birdie #lyra #gos2 #season 2 #michael about david #I love them #interview #michael interview #fun fact #bright young things #s2 interview #transcripts

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a-simple-gaywitch · 9 months

Text

Heart Full of You

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: When Spencer goes to pick Henry up from school for JJ, he doesn't expect to fall head-over-heels for his teacher

Warnings: Mentions of guns, I think that's it?

Word Count: 4541

Author's Note: I don't really like the ending I have here, but I'd LOVE to continue writing this universe, I have so many ideas!

“Fate shuffles the cards and we play.” ~Arthur Schopenhauer

Spencer walked through the doors of Henry and Jack’s school and headed toward the theater. JJ and Hotch had signed the boys up for the school district’s musical and had asked Spencer to pick them up. JJ and Will had their Thursday date night, and Hotch was stuck in the office. Spencer was more than happy to agree. He slipped into the auditorium and took a seat at the back, since he was still pretty early.

He saw a younger woman, probably in her early 20s, at the front of the auditorium with a clipboard and tape measure. She was presumably taking the students’ measurements for costumes while the instructor up on the stage led the children through the dance steps. The man he knew to be one of the high school teachers sat in the middle of the front row, making notes in a book.

The dance instructor clapped as the song ended. “Okay, everyone, that’s the choreo for the day. I’ll turn you over to Mr. Meadows.” She nodded to the teacher in the front row.

“Thank you Miss (Y/N). Take a water break, everyone, we’re back in five.”

A small chorus of “thank you five” was heard from the older students as the kids dispersed off the stage. The woman, Miss (Y/N) as Mr. Meadows had called her, hopped off the stage with ease and joined the younger woman who was taking a high schooler’s measurements.

“Okay, folks, let’s bring it back!” Mr. Meadows called. “Take your seats, please. I won’t keep you too much longer, I just want to go over today’s notes.” Spencer noticed the monotonous tone of his voice and the elementary schoolers’ attentions already fading. “First, I need my principles, minus Jack and Red, right at 3 tomorrow. Do not be late. Evan, that means you. We have vocal work to do with Ms. (Y/N) and I do not want to waste her time. The rest of my high school cast, 3:30. Next, principles, do your linework. The sooner you start, the easier things will be later. Finally, my junior cast, don’t forget to see Ms. (Y/N) and Ms. Addi with your grown-up before you leave. And with that, I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

Henry ran over to Spencer, his overly large backpack thumping against his back. Jack walked behind him, dragging his bag behind him.

“Uncle Spencer!”

“Hey, kiddos!” Spencer said, kneeling down to catch the incoming Henry in a hug. Before he knew what was happening, Henry was dragging him towards the two women at the front of the auditorium.

“Miss (Y/N)!”

“Hey, Henry! Hi, Jack! You boys find your grownups?” the dance instructor asked him. Her clothes reminded Spencer of the teacher on that Magic School Bus show Henry liked. Her pants were covered in music notes and she wore large, dangle feather earrings.

Henry nodded. “Uh-huh! This is my Uncle Spencer!”

You looked at Spencer and smiled. “Well, while I talk to your uncle, why don’t you go let Miss Addi take your measurements for your costume?”

Once Henry bounded over to the young woman with a clipboard, Jack following close behind, Spencer said, “Uh, my name’s Spencer Reid. I’m an authorized pick-up for both Henry Lamontagne and Jack Hotchner. I’ll be bringing him home today, too.”

“Uh, Hotchner, Hotchner,” you muttered under your breath, flipping through the clipboard in your hands. “Ah, here he is. I just need your signature next to both children’s names, Mr. Reid.”

“Oh, uh, of course.” He took the clipboard and pen from you. “So, are you new to the district? I don’t remember seeing you around before.”

“Oh, no,” you said with a laugh. “No, I’m here on a volunteer basis, technically. Been working with the theater department for six years, but I’m not on their payroll. I actually work-”

“Can we go get pizza now?” Henry asked Spencer, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket.

“Ooh, a pizza party? You must be the fun uncle,” you said.

Spencer’s face flushed and cleared his throat. “Uh, s-sure, Henry. We’ll get it on the way home.”

“Bye, Miss (Y/N)!” Henry said, wildly waving his arm.

“Bye, Henry, bye Jack. I’ll see you boys on Monday.”

Spencer watched you for just a moment longer as another child and her guardian approached you.

The team was reviewing a local case. 3 women were killed, all dressed in period clothing.

“You think he’s making them look like Jack the Ripper’s victims? I mean, their throats are slashed and they’re dressed in Victorian clothing.” Morgan suggested. “And we know the victims are low-risk, victims of opportunity.”

“I don’t know,” Reid muttered, scrutinizing the crime scene photos. “Something about the clothes feels off.”

“The clothes are the key. Something about them will lead us to him,” Rossi said.

“Reid, you and Callahan look into the clothing more. Dave, you and Morgan go to the latest crime scene. JJ, you’re with me. We need to build a geological profile.” After Hotch gave the assignments, the team dispersed. Spencer and Kate Callahan stayed in the briefing room, looking over the photos.

“What if we have an expert look at the clothes?” Kate suggested. “See if anything sticks out to them? There’s a professor at the university that’s known for her dissertation on historical clothing.”

“Now, if you look at contemporary theater, you’ll notice huge differences in how typical gender roles are portrayed. Unlike the standard Golden Age piece, women are given more agency and more purpose in the story besides furthering the objective of the man. For example, West Side Story versus Hairspray. Even though both shows center on a woman, it’s Tracy’s will that drives the plot of Hairspray whereas Maria’s will does not drive West Side Story. This goes back to our discussion earlier in the semester regarding protagonists. However, we do see a shift during the Golden Age, in that women are beginning to be fleshed out as characters. Compare the women in Allegro to the women in Gypsy. As we progress through to the contemporary age, we begin to see more female-led shows take stage.” You glanced at your watch and sighed. “And that is where we will pick up next class. Please remember to read chapters 13 and 14 in your text. If you have any questions, you know where to find me.”

Your class gathered their belongings and slowly made their way out of the room. You were tucking your own belongings into your bag when you felt someone approach the desk.

“Office hours are at- Oh, hello.” When you looked up, a woman was standing in front of you, presenting an FBI badge.

“Dr. (L/N), my name is SSA Kate Callahan, and this is my partner Dr. Spencer Reid.” Standing behind her was a man you recognized from the school. He was the uncle Henry Lamontagne talked about all the time. “We were hoping you’d be willing to give us your professional opinion on some clothing pieces.”

“Oh, well, uh, sure. Let me just email my next class and let them know it’s canceled.”

As you pulled your laptop out from your bag, Agent Callahan asked, “Don’t you have a TA that could take over?”

You huffed a laugh. “I’m a professor in the theatre department. I’m lucky I have my own workshop and somewhat of a budget during show season.” You typed up a quick email to your next class and sent it. “I usually work in my shop instead of my office, but-”

“Wherever is most comfortable for you,” Agent Callahan said. “We have some pictures that are… well, gruesome.”

You nodded. “Well, then, to the dungeons it is.” At the concerned look the agents gave each other, you said, “My workshop is in the basement. My students affectionately christened it the dungeons a few years ago. I hope you don’t mind a few sets of stairs.”

“Lead the way,” Dr. Reid said.

Getting down to the costume shop was like a quest on its own. Not only did you have to trudge down several staircases from the classroom floors, but then you had to use your ID to take the elevator the rest of the way down. When you finally reached the basement, you dug your key hoop out of your bag and flicked through it. The key to the main portion of your shop was attached to a Phantom of the Opera keychain.

You unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Welcome to my shop. Feel free to sit wherever you can. If there’s stuff on a chair, just set it on a workbench.” As you set your bag down at the desk in the corner, Spencer looked around the room. It could be accurately described as organized chaos. While the work benches were covered in fabrics, thread, and many other things Spencer didn’t know the names of, everywhere else was meticulously organized. Bins and drawers were labeled, and not a thing seemed out of place. Spencer looked at the dress hanging on a mannequin and couldn't think of it as anything other than a work of art. There was elaborate beading on the bodice and embroidery on the skirt.

“So, what can I help you with?” you asked as Kate and Spencer got settled.

“We were hoping you could tell us about the outfits in these pictures,” Spencer said, pulling a file out from his satchel. “Fair warning, it’s not pleasant.”

You shrugged. “I grew up with a mom obsessed with crime shows and police procedurals. Pictures won’t bother me.”

Spencer handed you the file folder. “We think he’s dressing them up like Jack the Ripper’s victims.”

You hummed as you looked through the pictures. “Any idea what kind of fabric was used?”

“Why does that matter?” Kate asked.

“Well, cotton was a luxury in Victorian London,” you explained. “Most common folk wore linen or wool, because it was what they could afford. It was also common to patch up clothing with fabric found around the house rather than replace a shirt or a pair of trousers.” You grabbed a magnifier from your desk and looked closer at one of the photos.

“Do you see something?” Spencer asked as you moved to another picture.

“I’m not sure,” you said.

“Well, what is your gut telling you?” Callahan asked.

You pointed toward a small section of embroidery through the magnifier. “This stitching along the underside of the skirt. It’s on all of them.”

Kate’s eyebrows scrunched up. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s a signature. Us designers like to add some sort of signature or tell into all our pieces. A secret way of letting the world know the piece is ours.” You reached across the desk and grabbed a piece of fabric. When you unfolded it, they saw it was a shirt. You held the edge of the sleeve out for the agents to see. “For example, I use a treble clef as mine. My mentor would include Mickey Mouse heads because she was a huge Disney fan. Other people just find creative ways to embroider their initials onto it in a way that just looks like an artistic choice.”

“So, if we can find out whose signature it is, it can lead us to the origin of the outfits,” Spencer said.

“I’ll call Garcia, see what she can find.” Callahan said.

“Oh, we don’t get cell service down here, you might need to go back upstairs,” you told her. She nodded and stepped out of the workshop. You cleared your throat. “It’s, uh, it’s nice to see you again, Dr. Reid.”

“You, too,” Spencer said with a small smile. “So, this is where you actually work, huh?”

You gave a small laugh. “Yep. Start of this semester was 7 years.”

“Congrats.”

“Thanks. So-”

“Reid. Hotch wants us back. Rossi and Morgan might have something. Thank you for your help, Dr. (L/N).”

“Of course. Happy to help.”

After Callahan and Reid left the costume shop, Kate said, “Okay, spill. The energy in there was really weird. Why didn’t you tell me you knew her?”

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, I didn’t know I knew her.” At Kate's questioning look, he explained, “I met her through my godson. She volunteers at his school and goes by her first name there.”

“Uh-huh. And the awkwardness?”

“When have you known me to not be awkward, Callahan?”

Kate hummed, but dropped it.

You were humming along to the soundtrack you had playing, measuring a drape of fabric on your dress form, pins sticking out from your mouth. You glanced from your notebook with your measurements and pattern sketch to the fabric. You pinned a piece of the cloth up when you heard a knock at the door to your shop.

“Come in,” you said, your voice muffled from the pins. You stuck them back in the pin cushion on your wrist before standing up and dusting off your pants. “Oh, Dr. Reid! How can I help you?”

“You, um, you can call me Spencer,” he said. “I uh, I wanted to stop by and tell you we caught the guy,” Spencer said, standing awkwardly in the doorway. “We-we couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“Oh! Well, I’m sure you would have figured it out anyway. The BAU seems to be good at that kind of thing.”

Spencer gave a small laugh. “Yes, but your help enabled us to track him down without any more lives lost.” So, what are you working on?”

“Oh, I’m making one of Eponine’s dresses. We’re doing Les Mis this semester. I have Cosette’s dress on Cordelia over there.”

“Who?”

“Oh, sorry. The dress form. We named them after Shakespearian women. It’s just a fun little thing we do here. That’s Cordelia, this one by me is Rosalind.”

Spencer smiled. You know, maybe you could tell me more about what exactly your job is at dinner?” Before you could answer, Spencer said, “Obviously, you don’t have to, I’m not trying to force you into anything, I-”

“Spencer,” you said, holding your hand up to calm him. “I’d love to go out with you. Here-” You walked over to your desk and shuffled papers around. “Aha!” You grabbed a pen and scribbled something down. “My personal number. That way we can, you know, figure out something that works with both our schedules. I’m sure yours is even crazier and more unpredictable than mine.”

The smile you gave Spencer lit a warmth in his chest that he didn’t think he would ever get tired of.

“Pretty Boy! Tonight, drinks on me.”

“Oh, uh, no thanks, Morgan.”

“No, no, no, you can’t just stay in when we finally have a Friday night off. You’re coming.”

“Look, it’s not that I don’t want to- I mean, I don’t, but it’s not just that. I, um, I already have plans.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll see you all on Monday.” He grabbed his satchel and rushed out of the BAU office.

Morgan’s brow furrowed as he watched Spencer’s retreating form.

“What’s wrong?” JJ asked.

“Remember the last time Reid was this jittery and secretive?”

She sighed. “You know I do.”

“What happened last time?” Kate asked.

“Maeve,” Garcia answered, her voice just above a whisper.

“We have to find out what’s going on with him,” Derek decided.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary-”

“Let’s follow him,” Garcia cut Kate off. “See where he’s going, what he’s up to.”

“That can’t be true!” Spencer laughed. “There’s no way!”

You were laughing too. “I’m serious! I stapled the sleeve of my sweater to the set piece we were building and I didn’t notice until we were ready to lift it into place! They wouldn’t let me in the wood shop after that.”

Spencer couldn’t stop smiling the whole night. You were funny, smart, and everything he could hope for.

“So, how did you end up working with the school district?”

“My niece,” you explained. “Her senior year, their regular choreographer went on maternity leave. The district said if they couldn’t find someone to fill the role, they would cut the play. Julia called me melting down over it, begging me to volunteer. And, you know, I’ve never been able to say no to my nieces and nephews. After that production, we found out that the choreographer was quitting to be a stay-at-home mom, so I agreed to be the regular choreographer on a volunteer basis. Then the next year, their costume connections fell through. I worked through the university to provide costumes, which is how the internship program started. This year, I’m just filling in on vocal directing while the choir director is out on medical leave. And Into the Woods is one of my favorites to sing anyway. So, what about you? How’d you end up working for the FBI?”

While Spencer told you about going to college at 12 and meeting Gideon, Morgan, Garcia, and JJ were sitting at a nearby table, hiding behind menus.

“Who is she?” Garcia asked, trying to get a better look at you. Your back was to their table.

“I don’t know. Never seen her before.”

JJ squinted. “Something about her seems familiar.”

Before they could do more digging, a waiter came over to take their orders. When the waiter left, Spencer’s table was empty.

“Where did they-”

Spencer walked up to their table, arms crossed against his chest. “Really, guys? Did you think you were being discreet?”

“Kid, look-”

“You were being all secretive, we were worried about you!” Garcia cut in.

Spencer sighed and dropped his arms. “I didn’t mean to worry you guys. I just- We’re all so in each other’s business, and this is so new I-”

“You wanted to keep it to yourself,” JJ said. “We get it. Looks like she’s coming back from the bathroom. We’ll get out of your hair.”

“But-”

“Come on, Pen. I’m sure he’ll tell us all about it on Monday. Right, Spence?”

Spencer smiled. “Sure, Jayje.”

Phone calls with your family always stressed you out. It wasn’t that you had issues with your family, it was just that they always seemed to be up in your business. And that held true for your monthly family dinner.

“(Y/N/N), I’m telling you, you’d get along great with this guy,” your older sister, Maria, said. You were over at her house for dinner, your parents and other two siblings video-calling from their respective locations. “I know you feel like ‘the universe and fate will align’ and introduce you to your soulmate or some shit, but that’s not really how the world works.”

You sighed. “Maria-”

“Come on, you haven’t dated anyone since college!”

“Because I haven’t had any interest. Liz, back me up here,” you said to your younger sister, who was feeding her twin toddlers.

“What?”

You shook your head. “Never mind. Can we just change the subject, please? Tommy, how’s school going?” you asked your younger brother, the youngest in the family. You could tell he was only half paying attention from his dorm room. “What classes are you taking this semester?”

“Maria’s right, sweetheart,” your mother said. “How will you ever meet someone without putting yourself out there?”

“Ma-”

“I mean, you’re not getting any younger-”

“I have a boyfriend, okay, Ma? I don’t need your help!”

Your family fell silent.

“You have a boyfriend?” Liz was the first to speak. “What’s his name? Where did you meet? How long have you been together? How-”

“Elizabeth, let her breathe!” your father said with a laugh. “We’re happy for you, pumpkin. Tell us about him. At your pace, of course.”

You smiled and told them about Spencer. Only after promising to bring him to the next real family dinner did they relent and change the subject, pestering your little brother about his college classes.

You and Spencer were a damn near perfect match. After that first date, the two of you barely went a day without calling or texting each other. When he was in town and not across the country on a case, he would bring you lunch. You’d frequently stay over at each others’ apartments. Months into your relationship, you knew each other better than yourselves.

Which is why, when you didn’t answer your phone on a Saturday afternoon when the team got back from a case, Spencer was concerned. He made his way to your apartment and fished the spare key you’d given him out of his pocket. He pushed your door open.

“(Y/N)? Love?” He walked into your apartment, which was unusually messy. Scraps of fabric were littered around the room, and music was blasting from your home office. “(Y/N)?”

You came rushing out of your kitchen, your hair a wild mess and your oversized pajama top drooping from your shoulder. You skidded to a halt.

“Spencer! What are you doing here?”

“We just got in from the case. I tried calling-”

“You did?”

“-to see if you wanted to grab dinner.” You pulled your phone from your sweatpants pocket and saw the 3 missed calls from Spencer. “Are you okay? What’s going on? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

You sighed. “I haven’t. I’ve been working nonstop. I need to make the mask for the Wolf, the Witch's coat, and Enjolras and the other revolutionary’s waistcoats, and my sister asked me to make a dress for her coworker’s daughter’s quinceanera and-”

“Whoa, whoa, hey. Breathe.” He cupped your face in his hands. “You need to stop working yourself so hard,” he said, rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb.

“Says the man who overworked himself so much he developed chronic migraines.” At his raised eyebrow, you said, “Sorry.”

He smiled softly and kissed your forehead. “Why don’t you let me help you out a bit? Give me instructions, I’m a quick learner.”

You reached up and pulled his hands from your face. “Spencer. As much as I absolutely treasure and adore you, the thought of you seeing the absolute disaster that is my home workshop right now is literally the most terrifying thing I can imagine. More terrifying than you meeting my family. Which, by the way, my mom is insistent that you come to Thanksgiving this year.” You yawned and leaned your head against his chest.

“We can talk about that later.” He kissed the top of your head. “How about now, into bed? You’re dead on your feet, love.” When you only nodded, Spencer led you to your bedroom.

After getting you settled in your bed, Spencer went to stand up. You reached out and grabbed his hand. “Stay,” you mumbled, tugging him towards your bed.

The next morning, Spencer walked into the round-table room late.

“Well, look who’s wearing the same clothes,” Derek said. “Fun night?”

“Shut up, Morgan,” Spencer said, taking a sip of his coffee.

Hotch looked over Reid before saying, “As I was saying, Indianapolis needs us to write up a consult. Garcia is passing around the case file.”

Spencer was filling out paperwork at his desk when his phone started ringing. “Dr. Spencer Reid.” He froze as he heard the person on the other end of the line. “Oh- oh my god. Yeah, yeah, no, I’ll be right there. Uh, thank you.” He slammed the phone down and started gathering his belongings.

“What’s wrong, Reid?” JJ asked, watching Spencer cram a folder into his satchel.

“(Y/N)’s at the police station.”

You were walking home from the fabric supply store when a young man stopped you. He couldn’t have been older than 20. He pulled a gun and pointed it at you.

“Give me your purse,” he said. You saw the way his hand was wavering.

You straightened up. “No.”

“You-you can’t say no! I-I have a gun!”

You just blinked at the man- practically a boy. Then you kicked him in the groin, causing him to drop the gun as his hands flew to cup his injury. You pressed your foot on top of the gun, preventing him from picking it back up, then you dialed the police.

They brought you to the station to give a statement. You were sitting next to one of the detective’s desks when Spencer ran in.

“(Y/N)! Are you okay? What happened?”

The detective nodded at you and gestured toward where Reid had come from, indicating you were free to go.

You shrugged at Spencer. “Some punk-ass kid tried to mug me. Had a gun and everything.”

“What?”

“It’s fine, I knew he wasn’t gonna go through with it.”

“How could you possibly have known that?”

“Spence, I’m from Philly. It’s not the first time someone’s tried to mug me at gunpoint.”

His eyes went wide as saucers. “That doesn’t make it better!”

You smiled and kissed Spencer’s cheek before taking his hand. “I’m fine. Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Of course, (Y/N). I love you.” Your smile widened as Spencer’s face started to pale. “I mean, uh-”

“I love you too, Spence. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Okay, closing night,” Mr. Meadows said, addressing the students, all in their brightly colored costumes. “I’m incredibly proud of all of you for making it this far. This is our last show, you’ve all done great so far. Go out there and give them one last show to remember. Now, before we get in places, Ms. (Y/N) is going to lead you through a vocal warm-up.”

“Thanks, Mr. Meadows,” you said, taking your spot in front of the group. “Okay, guys, you know the drill. Repeat after me, then all together.” You took a deep breath before leading, “To sit in solemn silence on a dull dark dock, in a pestilential prison with a lifelong lock, awaiting the sensation of a short sharp shock from a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block.”

After the cast ran through their warm-up, you said, “I’m so proud of all of you. Go out there and break legs. I’ll see you all after at intermission.” You waved before slipping from backstage, making your way to the lobby.

It wasn’t often that you got to just sit and enjoy the hard work your students put in, but one of your interns was staying backstage in case of any costume emergencies. You spotted Spencer in the crowd and wove through everyone to get to him. With him were Henry’s parents, Jack’s father and aunt, as well as the rest of the BAU team.

“Hey,” Spencer said, grabbing your hand and giving you a quick kiss. “Glad you could join us.”

“Me, too,” you said as you slowly made your way into the auditorium to find your seats. “It’s gonna be nice to just enjoy the show for once.”

As the show began, you felt Spencer looking at you.

"What?" you whispered.

"Nothing. The costumes are beautiful. You're an artist."

Your cheeks flushed at his words. You took his hand in yours and rested your head on his shoulder.

Like Cinderella and her prince, Spencer was your happily ever after.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #bau

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months

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Napoleonville [Chapter 8: The New House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, infidelity, kids, parenthood, historical topics like violence and discrimination, Cakes with Christabel, angst?? Who am I kidding. Angst!!!!!!

Word Count: 5.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @gemini-mama @daenysx @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbelll @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Only 2 chapters left!!! 🥰🧁

“I have no idea what he’s thinking,” Christabel tells Alicent, a low furtive murmur around nibbles of a cinnamon French toast cupcake. They are both sitting at the kitchen counter as you scuttle around wiping down burners and handles and knobs, trying not to listen in, unable to help yourself. At the table, Amir is frosting a Lady Baltimore cake and chatting with Criston, who has eaten no less than three miniature cherry pies in the past fifteen minutes. Amir keeps casting you wide-eyed, flummoxed glances. He means: Can you believe these people? No, you can’t.

Alicent sips the glass of sweet tea you poured for her and gazes vaguely around the room. “Oh, you know how Aemond is, dear. He works so hard. He’s so consumed by the Lake Verret project.”

“But shouldn’t he talk to me?” Christabel’s large blue eyes are luminous, persistent.

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Of course he talks to you.”

“Sure,” Christabel says, frowning. “He talks to me about the weather and the garden and the koi in the fish pond. He asks if I listen to Dire Straights or AC/DC. Nothing of consequence, nothing revealing. And he never touches me. Alright, fine, there’s a hand on my shoulder or my waist once in a while, for a moment. There are quick, courteous kisses. But that’s all. And he’s so…so…” She struggles to decide on a word. “Formal!”

“Have you tried the cannoli cupcake yet?” Alicent asks, sliding the plate towards Christabel. “It’s just divine. I absolutely adore it.”

“When we’re apart he says he misses me, but he hardly ever calls. He tells me that he loves me, but only if I say it first.”

“He’s marrying you!” Alicent declares as she restlessly twists her assortment of glittering rings, gold and diamonds and emeralds. “What more is there to say, dear?”

“Surely there must be something,” Christabel mumbles. She obediently samples the cannoli cupcake, carving away a tiny sliver with her fork. “Oh, that is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s my favorite one yet.”

They have twelve flavors to choose from, some familiar and some new: vanilla bean and triple chocolate of course, the classics, and then also cannoli, cinnamon French toast, carrot, red velvet, Boston cream pie, apple cobbler, peanut butter and grape jelly, Neapolitan, Louisiana crunch, and hummingbird. Christabel surveys the selection and then looks to where you are vigorously scrubbing an already clean stovetop. “Aemond mentioned something about banana bread cupcakes. Do you have one of those we could try?”

And again, you are amazed by how much he remembers: the very first cupcake from the very first night. “Um…I’m not sure, actually. Amir, didn’t we make a batch earlier this week? Are there any still on the table?”

Amir checks the cake plates, lifting glass covers, until he locates a single remaining banana bread cupcake for your customers. He ferries it to the kitchen counter with great ceremony. “Everyone raves about this flavor! And it’s so quintessentially southern. Perfect for a Louisiana wedding.” You give him a miserable, deadened stare and he offers a millisecond smirk of commiseration. What else can we do? Amir means. And you think: Nothing.

Christabel samples the cupcake, an infinitesimal morsel speared on the very tip of her fork. You recall how Aemond tasted like sugar and honey and cinnamon when he kissed you on the night you met, rough, dominating, irresistible, without the aching weight of disappointments or betrayals. If time was a cobweb you could rip and walk through, you’d be back in that May dusk in an instant, you’d live there forever and never leave.

“That’s it.” Christabel grins as she licks cream cheese frosting from her full, pink lips. “This one. I want a banana bread cake.”

“Mmm,” Alicent agrees, taking a bite. “It has so many dimensions! Sweet with just a touch of salt, light and fluffy but with a certain substantial, rustic quality, don’t you think? It’s the cinnamon, perhaps.”

You make a note on your yellow legal pad—a reminder you don’t need—so you can avoid Christabel’s benign, guileless gaze. “Is there a design you’d like for the frosting?”

“Wildflowers.”

Amir emits a startled gasp before he can swallow it back down. You look up at Christabel. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Just like the vanilla bean cake you made for the engagement party.” She draws blossoms in the air with her fingers, whimsical like a fairytale. “There was white icing and then all these gorgeous flowers in a dozen different colors. You could do that for a wedding cake, couldn’t you?”

“Of course.” And then you amend: “Well, Amir can. He’s our Picasso.”

“You’ll need something for the rehearsal dinner too, dear,” Alicent tells Christabel. Then she turns to you, tugging anxiously at one of her auburn ringlets. “You’re the expert, love. What would you recommend to impress upon our guests all the history and mystique of the Deep South?”

Your mind is blank, your thoughts gnarled up with visions of Christabel meeting Aemond at the end of an aisle. Amir sees this and he saves you.

“A Napoleon cake,” he announces with his best salesman enthusiasm, powerful enough to sweep everyone else along with him.

Alicent claps her hands, elated. “Oh, just like the town!”

“It has layers of puff pastry and rich custard cream, very French, very elegant and sophisticated, but also a nod to Napoleonville. And we can add a cherry jam to make it more romantic, if you like.”

“Doesn’t that just sound heavenly, darling?”

“Does Aemond like cherries?” Christabel asks Alicent. You know he does, but you don’t say anything.

“I think so. We’ll ask him tonight to be sure.” Alicent is opening her clutch purse to get the cash to pay you; she is eager to have this errand finished, you believe. “And can you put wildflowers on top of the Napoleon cake as well?”

“You can have the Declaration of Independence written on it if that is your heart’s desire,” Amir says, then steals a glimpse of you. You’re jotting the order down and then tracing over your own letters again and again.

“That’s the color scheme,” Christabel says a bit dreamily, forever woolgathering. “Wildflowers. And I think you suggested it at the engagement party,” she tells you, appreciative. In your recollection, it was less of a suggestion than a confession of what you once dared to hope for. “Everything has to have wildflowers. Even the dress.”

Alicent groans. “Oh, Christabel, not this again.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so resistant, those dresses were spectacular.”

“Whoever heard of a multicolored wedding dress?” Alicent asks you, Amir, Criston. “It’s absurd. The bride always wears pure white, everyone knows that. It’s tradition! It’s dignified!”

“Well now I get to solicit opinions too.” Christabel reaches into her own purse—a quilted shoulder bag, light blue with red roses and a label reading Souleiado stitched inside—and produces several polaroid photographs. She gives them to you; they are all of her posing in different wedding dresses, stylish white gowns freckled with wildflowers like splashes of paint. “All anyone can talk about is what I should wear, what the guests will expect, what they will chatter about when they gossip afterwards,” Christabel tells you. And in her vast, shimmering eyes you can detect no resentment or slyness, only quiet desperation. “But you’re a real person. So be honest with me, because there’s only one thing I really care about. Will my husband think I look ravishing in any of them?”

“These theatrics,” Alicent sighs to herself, lighting a Marlboro cigarette. Again, she is peering aimlessly around the kitchen. Amir fidgets with the dogwood flower in his hair as he watches you wearily. Criston compulsively eats another miniature cherry pie.

You study the polaroid photos. Each one feels like a split lip, a fractured rib, the shredding elephantine pressure of a contraction. You wait to speak until you’re sure your voice won’t break. “They’re all stunning. But this one…” You place one picture on top of the pile. “This dress was made for you. Just look at your face. Glowing like a lightning bug.”

“Thank you,” Christabel says, beaming, immensely grateful, and she takes the photos back. She seems pacified. “You’re married, aren’t you?”

“I was, yes. Briefly. Not very happily, I must admit. But it was worth it to get my daughter.”

She smiles. There’s no uneasiness; she doesn’t shy away from displays of human frailty. “I’d like a few daughters one day. We could all dress up together and style each other’s hair.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. If I tried that, I’d get my hands chewed off.”

Christabel laughs. She wears a casual blue t-shirt, blue gingham capri trousers, and white flat pumps. Her eyeshadow is a sparkling gold, her mascara flaking onto the apples of her cheeks. She is still marveling at you with those aquamarine eyes when Alicent pulls a list out of her clutch and grudgingly crosses off items with a black ballpoint pen.

“So we’ve got a wedding cake, a rehearsal dinner cake, a dress, a venue, flowers, photographers…I still need to call about hair and makeup…and we need to pick out candles…”

“Where are you getting married?” you ask Christabel.

“The most unique, picturesque, atmospheric place in the entire state of Louisiana, I’m sure of it.”

“We took a drive to visit that church you mentioned,” Alicent says to you. “And it was absolutely perfect. None of our guest will have ever seen anything like it. And it’s so historic! Over 150 years old! The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens.”

Amir squeals, a distressed mewing that he stifles with a feigned cough into his elbow. You stand shellshocked for a few seconds before managing a generic encouragement: “Really! Wow! Amazing! Great!”

Now Christabel is rather melancholy again. She scrutinizes her engagement ring, a large teardrop emerald with a gold band. Her voice is low, like she’s talking to herself. “I just wish…I don’t know. That we had more time together before the wedding, I suppose. Then I think I’d feel like I had more of a handle on things. It’s all been such a whirlwind, such a shock. A good shock, but still. We hardly know each other.”

Alicent prompts her: “You care for Aemond, don’t you, dear?”

“I’m in awe of him,” Christabel replies, a little dazed, a little defenseless. “He’s so clever and gallant. He’s the most inspiring man I’ve ever known. And the scar…it gives him quite a roguish look, doesn’t it? Like a Bond villain. It’s not a detriment in the least.”

“Yes, yes,” Alicent says impatiently, like she’s waiting for the conversation to be over. “Then there’s nothing more to worry about. You care for him, he cares for you, and you’ll have the honeymoon to get better acquainted. Criston, would you go outside and start the Lexus, please?” He dutifully departs.

Honeymoon. Your stomach lurches, the sea in a storm. You can see Aemond’s hands on Christabel’s face, in her hair, skating up her bare thighs. You can hear him moaning her name.

“We’re going to Greece,” Christabel informs you, thinking she’s being polite. “Athens, Mykonos, Santorini, and Corfu. Have you ever been?”

I’ve never been anywhere. But instead you say, forcing a smile: “Not yet.”

When Christabel, Alicent, and Criston have gone, you look to Amir. Your blood has turned to cement: cold, heavy, immobile, trapped. “You realize she’s getting my wedding, right? The one I always wanted. The wildflowers. The candles. The chapel.”

“And she’ll even be taking your favorite dick home at the end of the night.”

You cover your face with both hands and shake your head, trying to clear it, to drive out mirages of someone else’s oasis. This can’t be real. I can’t handle it, I can’t survive it.

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, gently now: “If we’re catering dessert, we’ll have to go to the wedding. The rehearsal dinner too.”

“Why would they want that? How can they not see how insanely awkward and wrong this is?”

He shrugs. “They probably think it’s normal. Wasn’t Camilla at Charles and Diana’s wedding?”

“If one more person tries to talk to me about Camilla Parker Bowles, I’m going to feed myself to the gator.”

“You’ll have to come to terms with it or you’ll have to end it. Those are the only options.”

“Yeah.” And it’s not just about me. It’s Cadi’s life too.

Amir sits down at the kitchen table, crosses one leg over the other, kicks his foot nervously. He rests an elbow on the tabletop and his chin on the knuckles of his left hand. “I hate to give you more bad news.”

You already know what he’s going to say. You’ve been dreading it for months. “You have enough money saved for San Franscisco.”

“I do.”

You exhale, your shoulders collapsing, tapping your fingertips against the counter. The air conditioner whirrs; the cicadas shriek in the trees outside. The house is hushed and still. Cadi is away at horse camp. Each day you receive a postcard in the mail that you assume the employees forced her to write at gunpoint. “When are you leaving?”

“The end of July. I’ll wait until after the wedding, once all the dust has settled. But I can’t wait any longer than that.”

“I want you to be happy,” you say. “I really do. But I’m going to miss you so much. You’ve been my best friend for a decade. You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a partner in life.”

Amir smiles faintly. “Come over here.”

When you sit beside him, he takes your hands in his; and you remember how he visited you in the hospital after Cadi was born, carrying a bouquet of wildflowers he picked himself and a Tupperware container full of crawfish pistolettes. He had been just a casual friend before you found out you were pregnant, one of a group, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t keep him at an arm’s length. Amir was different, and not in a way that you fully understood or accepted yet. But he was the only friend who had no judgment for you when you told him you were pregnant, who cared about how you felt, who wanted to be a part of whatever would happen next. He was the only one who stayed.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” Amir tells you. “I’ve never even been on a date, not once. I’ve never been in love. I’ve never had sex that wasn’t a one night stand in a New Orleans club or the back seat of my Ford Escort because those were the only places we had to go. And I’m starting to believe that people like me can’t have more than that. So I have to go someplace where I can have more, where I will have more. I don’t want love to be something that only other people get to experience. I don’t want to be afraid of leaving my house after dark or wake up every day wondering if someone has broken a window out of my car again. I have to go. There’s no future for me here. If I stay in Napoleonville, this place will kill me, one way or the other.”

Okay, you think. I can let him go. After everything he’s done for me, this is how I can be the friend that he deserves in return. “You should leave, Amir,” you say, tears stinging in your eyes. “I hear you, I understand you. I just wish I could go with you.”

“No, don’t cry, don’t cry! This isn’t the end. I’ll fly back to visit, you know that. Grandma’s still here, you and Cadi are here. And you can visit me too. Maybe you’ll even settle down on the West Coast someday. Eight more years and you’re free.”

You try to imagine your life then: Cadi headed off to college—and she will go to college, you’ve already decided that—and your tether to Willis weakened, closer to 40 years old than 30, Aemond and Christabel nearing their anniversary. How many children will they have by then? Three? Four? And the Lake Verret project will be well-established and no longer in need of so much of Aemond’s attention, and the house they call The Last Desire will sit empty on the lakeshore, warm draughts breathing through it like blood in veins. “I wouldn’t know how to exist anywhere else.”

“You’d learn,” Amir says confidently. “Now, have you ever made a Napoleon cake before?”

“I don’t think so. Not that I can remember.” You consider this. “My mom might have a recipe lying around somewhere. I’ll call and ask her.”

“Yes, do that,” Amir agrees. “If she doesn’t, I’ll try to dig one up at the library. We’ll want to have a few practice runs before the rehearsal dinner. Gotta impress the Rockefellers and their soulless millionaire ilk. Unless you were planning to have a homicidal meltdown and make the custard out of antifreeze or something.”

You chuckle. “No. Probably not.”

“It would be difficult to blame you.” And he turns on the little pink Panasonic radio: Alone by Heart.

~~~~~~~~~~

In a spacious corner booth of the Olive Garden in Gonzales, Aemond is talking about Lake Verret as you pick at your Tour of Italy and Frank Sinatra pipes through the speakers. You could swear they have the same three songs playing on a loop: Fly Me To The Moon, My Way, Luck Be A Lady, back to outer space again.

“But by total coincidence, Daeron has been researching desalination techniques for his latest article. Apparently there are ways to try to mitigate the damage and reduce the brackishness of the water, so we’re going to be—”

Abruptly, you ask: “Where does Christabel think you are right now?”

Aemond’s forehead crinkles, his fork hovers above his plate of herb-grilled salmon. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and his Marlboro jacket, jeans, Adidas sneakers. “Why do you care?”

“She’s getting the wedding I always wanted, did you even notice? She’s getting married at the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens in Belle River. She’s getting wildflowers and flickering candles.” And she’s getting you too.

“Okay,” Aemond says slowly. “I’m not involved in any of that.”

“I think you are, actually, because you’re kind of the groom.”

“But I don’t do the wedding planning,” he insists. “I have no idea what Christabel has arranged. My job is to be there on the day in a suit and that’s just about the extent of the real estate it takes up in my brain.”

“She’s never mentioned any of that to you? Not once? You’d swear on your life?”

He sets down his fork with a clang and stares fixedly at you. Your waitress glances over from several tables away where she is refilling a couple’s sweet tea glasses. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry you had good ideas and other people liked them. It fucking sucks that you didn’t get the wedding you wanted when you were seventeen. But that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know you yet, and you didn’t know me. You can’t blame me for what Willis or anyone else did.”

“But it’s not fair,” you choke out, sounding weak and juvenile, and you hate it but you can’t stop. “I understand that you’re marrying her, I get that, but she can’t have everything.”

“Look…” Aemond laces his hands together on top of the table, and his voice softens. “Even if Christabel didn’t exist, even if you were from my world, even if you were a duchess or a socialite or the daughter of the president of the United States of America, I still couldn’t marry you.”

You scoff; it’s despicable. “Because of Cadi?”

“No,” Aemond says, like that’s preposterous, like he’d never consider her to be a liability. “Because I have to have heirs.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss with vitriol that stuns him. Now the waitress is gawking. “You’re going to manipulate Christabel into walking down that aisle and then immediately get her pregnant?”

“Why are you mad at me?! I’m listening to you, I’m respecting you! You don’t want to have any more children of your own, fine, completely reasonable, I would never ask you to have a baby and go through all of that again for the sake of the Targaryen dynasty, but somebody has to!”

“You really don’t understand why I would empathize with a teenage girl trying to raise a child when she’s lonely and exhausted and confused about why the man she married isn’t turning out to be who she expected?”

Aemond shakes his head like it’s not a valid comparison. “She wants this.”

“She doesn’t know what it is. She doesn’t understand what she’s signing up for.”

“Everyone from a family like mine goes through this,” Aemond says. “My grandparents did, my mum and dad did, Aegon did, even bloody Charles and Diana did, and now it’s my turn. There are growing pains, but people adjust and it all works out eventually. Christabel will learn to manage her expectations, and once the children are born she can find happiness wherever and with whoever she wants to.”

“But you’ll be with her,” you forced out, voice fracturing, and at first Aemond doesn’t grasp what you mean. “You’ll…you’ll sleep with her. You’ll touch her, you’ll kiss her, you’ll do everything with her.”

“Surely you, as someone who called up a stranger from a personal ad in the Bayou Journal, comprehends that sex can be a solely physical act under the right circumstances.”

“So what, you’ll fuck me and then go home to her? Or you’ll fuck her and come home to me? And I’m supposed to live like that?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s simple, like it’s easy.

You gaze morosely out of the restaurant window. In the distance is a Dollar General, a Burger King, the Kmart where you had to buy your own engagement ring.

“Do you want me to tell Christabel to change the wedding?”

“No.”

“Because if I tell her to pick a new venue, new flowers, new cakes, whatever, she’ll do it.”

“No. She likes her wedding. I can’t take that away from her. She thinks I’m her friend.”

“Cupcake,” Aemond says, tenderly now. You turn back to him. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m going to be gone for a while, four or five days. I have to fly to Norway and inspect some of the offshore rigs we have up there.”

“In the North Sea?” you ask, alarmed. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I mean, it’s oil drilling. It’s one of the most deadly professions in the world. But that’s how we built our fortune, our legacy. I’ve survived before, I’m sure I will again. If you need anything while I’m gone, you can call the house. Criston knows that you’re to be taken care of.”

“No one else can go to Norway instead of you?”

“I have to go.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my responsibility.”

“Because Viserys told you to?”

“They amount to the same thing.”

“I don’t think you should listen to him.”

“I have to go,” Aemond says again. He takes out his wallet and lays $30 on the table. “But there’s something I need to show you first.”

As Aemond’s red Audi Quattro barrels down Route 70 southbound towards Napoleonville, you say very little to each other. Once you were strangers, and the words flowed easily and your bodies intertwined with effortless need, and now you have known each other for nearly two months and shared days and nights and confessions and yet every ghost filled up the space between you until it was a splinter, a gap, a gulf, a chasm. You miss the person he was when he showed up on your sloping, creaking porch steps back in May. You miss the person you were before you found out about Christabel.

A Men At Work song comes on the car radio, and it takes you a moment to figure out which one. It’s Down Under, a bewildering hit from 1981. “I never understood this song,” you say, staring through the open window as a jungle of southern live oaks, dogwoods, and cypresses rolls by. Rivulets of opaque, slow-moving bayou water snake through the wild green. Pelicans flap their wings in the pink-golden dusk sky. “What’s a head full of zombie? What’s a Vegemite sandwich?”

Aemond laughs, a smoldering Marlboro Red nestled in his left hand. You wonder if once he’s married he’ll wear a gold band on his ring finger, if he’ll take it off when he cheats with you. “Cupcake, it’s obviously about Australia.”

“What?”

“Down Under? As in, literally below the rest of us in the Southern Hemisphere? Head full of zombie means they’ve been smoking weed. Vegemite is a kind of yeast spread they put on sandwiches. I’ve had it, it’s disgusting. The whole song is in Australian slang. Everyone knows it’s about Australia.”

I didn’t. You look out your window again. Aemond takes note and swiftly backpedals.

“But I mean, I can see how an American wouldn’t know that. No big deal, okay? To anyone in the Commonwealth, Australia is like our fuckup sibling. It’s our Aegon. But you guys probably don’t really learn about Australia in school. So…yeah. It’s probably not as obvious as I assumed.”

“Maybe I missed that lesson,” you say. Maybe I missed that year.

In a brand new neighborhood just outside the town center of Napoleonville, Aemond parks in the paved driveway of a ranch house on a three or four acre lot. The yard is bordered by a white masonry fence with chicken wire around the base to keep snakes and gators out. There are a few dogwood and bay laurel trees, and one monstrous southern live oak that’s probably two hundred years old. Aemond cuts the Audi Quattro’s engine and steps out into the twilight.

“Aemond? What are we doing here?”

“Follow me.”

“Why?”

He walks around to your side of the car, opens the door, and leans down to grab your face with his right hand, his fingers hooked around the curve of your jaw. Instantly, there is a bolt down your spine: hunger, warmth, weakness, momentum that is thoughtless like falling from a great height. “Follow me,” he repeats, grinning mischievously. “Right now.”

Aemond has a key that unlocks the front door. Inside is rose pink carpeting and mauve walls, a sunken conversation pit, popcorn ceilings, mini blinds on the windows, closet doors covered with mirrors. You can see your face reflected in them, puzzled.

“This is the living room, clearly,” Aemond says as he continues briskly through the house. As an afterthought, he kicks off his Adidas sneakers so he doesn’t track any dirt inside. You do the same, sliding off your cheap flats from Kmart. He points down a hallway. “There are two guest bedrooms down there, and then a big one at the other end of the house with its own private bath. Here’s the kitchen…” He leads you through it, mint green with pristine black and white tiles on the floor. “And over there is the dining room.” It’s a kind, golden yellow like dawn or sunset.

“Aemond, what—?”

“Bedroom next,” he interrupts, hurrying you along.

At the end of the hall, he opens a door to reveal a sprawling chamber. It is blue like his bedroom in the Targaryen mansion, but not a deep, vivid sapphire color; it is a pale blue like prairie flax or a clear midday sky. The carpet is lush and soft. There are mirrors on the ceiling.

“Those are optional,” Aemond clarifies, pointing upwards. “But personally, I like them.”

“Aemond, whose house is this?”

“It’s yours,” he says.

“It’s what?!”

“Well, technically, it isn’t yours quite yet,” he admits. “I bought it in cash, it will close in a week or two. At that point I’ll sell it to you for $1—the same price as one of your cupcakes, incidentally—and then it will officially be your house. And it doesn’t even have a sinking foundation or any alligators. Imagine the possibilities.”

“But…but…”

“Cadi’s bedroom is green, like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I’ve been told the yard is big enough for one horse, or two very small horses. Ponies, I guess.”

“You cannot buy me a house,” you say, aghast.

“I think I already did.” He holds out the key to you, resting in his palm among lines of prophesy.

You are paralyzed; it takes you forever to find your words. “Aemond, I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“You don’t owe me anything. It’s a gift, not a trade,” he says, the key still lying in his outstretched hand. “Every cent I spend on you, every second I spend with you, is solely because I want to do it and for no other reason. There’s no obligation. There’s no quid pro quo. And that’s what I feel like you don’t understand. I have no logical reason to keep you in my life, absolutely none, aside from the fact that I want you to be here. And I want that with everything I’m made of. I never stop wanting it. So let me help you. Take the key. Take the house.”

His right eye is on you, imploring, commanding. At last, you lift the key from his palm. Studying it like the cryptic letter of a foreign language, you murmur: “You shouldn’t have done this.”

Aemond rakes his fingers through your hair, tilts your face up towards his, skims his lips feather-lightly from your cheekbone down to your lips—though he doesn’t kiss you, only ghosts his flesh over yours, a taste, a taunt—and then up to the curl of your ear. His whispered voice is colored with wicked scarlet desire. “You don’t tell me what to do. I tell you what to do.”

If he yanked off your t-shirt you would let him. If he unzipped your denim shorts and slipped his artful fingers inside them he would find panties soaked through for him. You would let him do anything he wanted to you, here in this glass-fragile liminality before he becomes Christabel’s in law, in body, in inked and inerasable history. But it would not be because you want to, not because you feel ready in your bones, not because you trust him again. It would only be because you could not bring yourself to resist.

Aemond reads this on your face; he stops before you have to tell him to.

~~~~~~~~~~

On July 1st, Cascade Stables is swarming with parents as they descend upon the property to collect their children and meet the horses they’ve spent the past week with. There is a stereo somewhere blaring Your Love by The Outfield; apparently, this does not disturb the horses. You find Cadi beside the stall of a very tall, willowy beast, ears upright and alert, one bulging eye onyx and the other a striking icy blue. Its coat is white with a splattering of rust-colored stains. Even its mane and tail are comprised of alternating strands, dark, light, earth, clouds, cocoa powder, granulated sugar.

“His name is Patches,” Cadi tells you proudly as she pets the leviathan’s velvety muzzle. “He has a wall eye. And he’s a real handful and usually they only allow the experienced campers to ride him, but they let me try and he listened so well I got to keep him all week!”

“Wow, that’s incredible! Good job! Did you learn a lot about how to take care of him?”

“Yeah. They taught me how to feed Patches and clean his hooves and put a saddle on him. And how to hit him with a hairbrush when he tries to bite me.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Right. Okay.”

“Can we buy him? He’s for sale. Probably because of all the biting.”

“Who, Patches?” You definitely cannot afford to board a horse; and then you remember the new house. “I’ll think about it.”

Cadi peeks around you. “Daddy isn’t here too?”

“No, honey, I’m sorry. He had to work. But he really wanted to see the horses and he is looking forward to hearing all about your adventures.” This is a lie—Willis seems only dimly aware of the concept of a horse camp, and he is staunchly incurious by nature—but a compassionate one.

Cadi accepts the explanation readily enough. “Alright. Is Aemond your boyfriend yet?”

“Um.” You thread the horse’s forelock through your fingers to buy yourself time. It seems unwise to try to deceive her again; Cadi will learn about Christabel sooner or later. “No, we’re still just friends.” You pause. She watches you, knowing there’s more. “Actually, he’s getting married this month.”

“What?!” Cadi is shocked, but she’s outraged too. “To who?!”

“To a nice lady named Christabel. And I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.” Another lie. And you think for the first time: If I settle for being Aemond’s mistress, if I let it tear me to pieces…what am I teaching Cadi?

Your daughter doesn’t say anything for a long time. She pets Patches’ speckled face, her own expression tense and thoughtful, lines and worries that should be far beyond her age. At last she says quietly: “Is it because of me?”

You are mystified. “What, honey?”

“Is the reason why you and Aemond can’t get married because of me?”

There is a flash of crimson wrath in your skull—protective, animalistic, wronged on her behalf—but no one to direct it at. “No. No, absolutely not. Why would you say that?”

Cadi shrugs, and you recognize it as her self-preservation, faux-flippant shrug. “I don’t know. One time I heard Michelle’s mom talking about how no decent man wants to deal with some other guy’s kids. And that’s me when I’m at your house. Another guy’s kid.”

Oh, fuck you, Janet. “No,” you say again. “Aemond likes you a lot, Cadi. He cares about you.” He picked out a house that could accommodate a horse for you. “You’re the opposite of a problem. He actually likes me more because of you, I think.”

“Okay.” And she’s relieved, although she’s trying not to show it. “Then why is he marrying someone else?”

“Well…it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

Where the hell do I start? “Aemond and I are very different people,” you tell Cadi. “And we want different things out of life. We like to spend time together, but that doesn’t mean that we’d be able to share our whole lives…homes, careers, values, everything. His family has a lot of expectations of him that I don’t feel right supporting, but Aemond wants to respect their rules. And, you know. He’s a robber baron.”

“But he doesn’t talk about Jade Dragon Energy or oil around me. He talks about history.”

You sigh, watching dust motes swirl through the hot, sunlit stable air, listening to horses nicker and huff. “I know, honey.”

“I don’t even think he wants to be a robber baron. I think he wants to be something else.”

“Like what?” you ask, picking stray bits of yellow straw out of her short, disheveled hair. And remarkably, Cadi tolerates this.

“I don’t know, just…just…” She battles with the words, then finds one she likes. “Free, I guess. Just free.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n

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discount-shades · 1 year

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Contract Spouse Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Realizations

A/N: This is a sad one. I've written Chapter 9 and only one chapter left to write!

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader (nicknamed Pip)

Warning: Angst, death of civilians, war, PTSD

Length: 3000ish

Summary: Jake does some thinking and we find out why he is like that.

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“What we need are those veterinary gloves that come up to your shoulder.” You have a roll of tape out and combined with elastics and a small garbage bag you are trying to waterproof Jake’s cast. After finally being released from the hospital after 4 days, Jake is in desperate need of a shower. “Then you could use your hand. I’m going to order some from Amazon.”

“Why do vets need gloves that come up to their shoulder?” Jake watches you struggle to carefully tape the edges of the bag to the skin of his arm, fighting with the extra plastic.

“You know the long gloves Ellie wears when she digs in the dino poop looking for West Indian Lilac in Jurassic Park?” Jake blinks at you in confusion, trying to remember. “Vets wear them for a similar reason.”

“Eww.” Jake checks the seal around the tape job you did. “How do you even know that?”

“Remember when I dated a farm boy in university?” Jake nods. He remembers thinking the kid wasn’t good enough for you. “Well in those two months we were together I went and helped them when they preg checked their cows.” You give him a little half grin, “I learned I am not cut out for farm life.”

You start the shower for him before carefully helping him remove his shirt. You wince when you see the bruises crossing his torso from the seatbelt harness of his jet. The brush of your fingers, featherlight over the bruises, burns before you abruptly leave the bathroom, telling him to call if he needs help.

Jake sighs and finishes stripping before getting under the spray. Everything hurts and the concussion makes him feel like he is in a fog. His head is a constant dull throb and what he really wants to do is lie down and sleep some more. He holds his left arm hand up at a right angle and does his best to shower mostly one handed.

Pulling a shirt on seems too difficult so he walks into the bedroom half dressed. You've pulled the curtains, so it is dark and he collapses into the clean sheets. A water bottle and his painkillers lined up neatly on his end table, as well as a few protein bars.

You’ve thought of everything, you always do, but you seem different since the accident and he can’t figure it out. Every time he tries to think his head begins to ache. You are more clinical, less warm. Maybe it is because he is injured, maybe he is imagining it.

He thinks back to the morning of the crash. Remembers waking up with you in his arms, how good it felt to hold you and talk to you. The hospital had been so lonely when they wouldn’t let you stay overnight.

He wanted you to stay in California. He wanted to come home and have you there to talk to, he could always call you before, but living with you was better. He loved watching movies together, cooking together, cleaning, and grocery shopping. Every mundane task was better with you.

He couldn’t ask you to stay. He was too much of a mess. He couldn’t sleep and the guilt of what happened was always there. You didn’t deserve to be pulled into that. He was sure that you would stay if he asked. You and your misguided sense of duty and the belief that you owed him something. But if he asked then he would have to tell you and if he told you you would never look at him the same way.

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he notices is your voice calling to him gently. His eyes flitter open and he can see you sitting on the edge of the bed. You are beautiful in the light filtering from the hall, and in that moment you take his breath away. “Doctor says you should be up and moving, so come have dinner.”

When you go to leave he curls his good hand around your arm and revels in the feel of your soft skin sliding through his fingers. When he thinks you are about to slip your hand through his fingers you catch his palm and give a gentle tug and he feels himself following you automatically.

“This can’t be what you are used to.” You say with a grin as you grab a shirt and help him into it. “Women are probably more keen to take your shirt off.”

“I’ll do anything if it's with you, pretty girl.” The words leave his lips before he can comprehend what he has said. Your sharp inhale makes him want to kick himself. Why did he say that? He never flirted with you. It was a line he refused to cross.

He can see the flustered look on your face as you stand to go. “Come on flyboy, you must be hard up if you are flirting with me.” He follows you down the hall to the table. That wasn’t completely fair. Why wouldn't he flirt with you? If you weren't his wife he definitely would have tried to pick you up in a bar.

That evening as you lie down beside him in bed you turn to him. “We have our first meeting with the couples therapist tomorrow, he wants to meet us separately first.” Jake had forgotten about the marriage counseling. “I think we should just say we want to keep our relationship strong, and I don't know, talk about how adjusting to living together is a challenge or something.” He just mumbles an agreement.

Jake has no idea how the two of you are going to sell being married to a professional. He thinks of all the ways this might go as you slowly drift off to sleep beside him. Once he can hear your steady breathing his mind starts to slow and as he falls asleep he rolls over so he is curled around you.

When he wakes the next morning he slides his arm across the bed feeling for your warmth but the sheets are cool. You are already gone. When he gets up he finds you making omelets in the kitchen.

“The contractor is going to be finishing up the repairs in the ceiling of my room today,” you tell him as you add the cheese. “You will have your bed back, free of my cold toes tonight.”

“Oh, ok.” Jake doesn't know what to think and it takes him a moment to realize he is disappointed. Last night was the last time he would sleep with you in his arms. He thinks about all the times he left you in the mornings. He shouldn't have run away. He could have just rolled back to his side of the bed and talked to you on those mornings, now he would never get the option.

You drive to the counselor’s and he spends his time in the passenger seat fighting his motion sickness. It's your turn first and you give him a worried look as you go, as he sits in the waiting room trying to get his head to stop spinning. If he says something wrong in the counselor's office he will just blame it on the concussion.

When it is his turn you squeeze his hand as you trade spots. He can't help himself as he pulls you into a hug. Jake presses his lips to your hairline. He should hug you more, he thinks.

You rarely initiate physical affection more than holding hands, and hug only on special occasions. He likes the feel of you in his arms, the scent of your shampoo, and the warmth of your skin. The way you melt into him is overwhelming before you pull away.

The session went well. A mixture of the truth and agreed upon lies slip easily off his tongue. At the end of the session Jake is given the same homework that you received.

“I want you to come up with a list of all the reasons you are in love with your wife.”

The homework is a fixture in his mind over the next few days. Jake can’t figure out why he keeps repeating the counselor's words in his head. He lists the reasons he loves you. You are smart, funny, tough as hell, your kindness, you are supportive, you are so easy to talk to and you always know what to say, you call him on his bullshit. You are capable.

He stares at the words he has written and feels they are not personal enough to sell it. You are beautiful, your smile makes his stomach clench, your laughter, you feel so good in his arms, how you being in his life made everything better. He stares at his list as the words play over in his head, ‘reasons you are in love with your wife.’

Jake drops the pen and buries his face in his hands as the realization hits him. “Fuck.” He is in love with you. When did that happen? Was it before you moved in or is it a recent thing? Sometime during the first or second year of the marriage he noticed he loved you. But it had always felt so platonic, a love of friendship, of convenience, and connection.

You have always been beautiful, and, if he was honest with himself, he had always been attracted to you, but with the nature of your relationship he had always locked those thoughts and feelings away. You were untouchable. But in the last month with you sleeping in his bed everything blurred. It didn’t matter when he fell in love, the only thing that mattered was that he is completely and irrevocably in love with you now.

It is weird to feel terrible about an emotion considered so positive. Jake stares at the closed door to the office where you are working from home. He can never tell you. You had only stayed married due to his inability to process his trauma.

He felt tainted, like you being with him would somehow mark you too. He didn't deserve you, he didn’t deserve anything good. And he loved you too much to let you be ruined by him. He wouldn't let you give up your life and the love you deserve. Because you need someone who is in love with you unconditionally, someone good.

The day he had agreed to marry you had told him that you would always be there for him and he had taken advantage of that over the years. Taken advantage of your kindness and good heart. Someone as good and kind as you would never stay married to him. He could never tell you he loved you. He wouldn’t be that guy, the man who thought he was owed something just because he had feelings for a woman. He would let you go even if it killed him.

– – –

Sleeping next to you didn’t stop the nightmares. They always came at the same frequency, mild ones a few times a week and the bad ones every week or so. What sleeping next to you did was calm him when he woke. Your breaths and the warmth of your skin would ground his mind and bring him back to the present like nothing else could.

Before you he would never get back to sleep after a nightmare. He would go for a run or go to the 24h gym. He sometimes would mindlessly watch tv or stare at his phone until it was an acceptable hour to get up. In the weeks after the concussion he couldn’t do that. Strenuous activity and screen time were two of the things the doctor told him to avoid.

Most nights he would just lay in bed. He had tried audio books but he could not focus on them. So he would lie there in the dark thinking about you, and everything that he loved about you, and torturing himself.

His post concussion nightmares were more intense than any he had before but he still hadn't had a bad one yet. He could feel it coming. Lack of sleep and anxiety tended to trigger the nightmares. Stress also played a role and the night before the second marriage counseling session it hit him.

Jake’s heart is pounding as he sits up in bed struggling to breath. The nightmares are rarely the same and his mind alway finds ways for his dreams to be somehow worse than what had happened, combining events and reimagining others.

You died tonight. The person he had killed was you, and even though he logically knew you were fine he needed to check on you. Stumbling, eyes bleary, he walks to your room and pushes open the door. The smell of new paint and construction is almost gone. Leaning on the door frame Jake can see you sleeping and he takes in the sight.

If he holds his breath and listens he can faintly hear you breathing from the doorway and he can’t help the muffled sob that slips past his lips. You stir and he bites his lips to keep from waking you but it is too late.

“Jake?” You lean up and look at him. “You ok?” he gives a jerky nod, unable to open his mouth. Afraid he would begin sobbing if he did. “Another nightmare?” He doesn’t know how you can tell. Maybe it is written on his face.

“Come here,” your voice is soft and you open your arms and beckon to him and he is moving his feet before he can think about it. Jake collapses on top of the covers and into your arms, head pillowed on your chest listening to your heartbeat. His eyes flutter closed as you rake your fingers through his hair and down his back. Your gentle movements calm him and steady his mind but soon it is not enough. There are too many layers between you.

He sits up and motions to the covers. “Can I?” he asks hesitantly, wanting to be able to hold you without the blanket between you. You nod and he slips beneath the covers and returns to his position with his head on your chest. Your hands resume their motions carding through his hair and stroking his back.

It’s still not enough. He sits abruptly and takes his shirt off before lying back down, slotting his body between your thighs and his head on your stomach this time. He needs to feel your skin pressed against his. He eases your shirt up so he can rest his cheek against your stomach. He can hear your sharp inhale but you don't say anything and for that he is grateful. You just go back to smoothing your hands over his bare skin. He doesn’t know how long he lays there with you beneath him, his hands curl around your rib cage as his thumbs smooth over your soft skin.

After a while of your hands moving over him he feels you pause. “If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.” He shakes his head in denial, not wanting you to know. But when he feels your nails scratch his scalp and drag down his neck he starts talking.

“You know the military severely under-reports civilian deaths, right?” There is no change in you. Your hands keep moving in the same rhythm and your breathing is steady. “Every time we drop bombs we kill people and there is a chance we kill civilians. Mostly we don’t think about it. It is easier to drink the kool-aid. Accept the Navy’s narrative. But if you watch the news from other countries they will report it; show videos of civilians killed by American bombs.”

Jake stops talking, wanting you to respond, hoping you don’t. Looking for a clue to stop talking. You don’t give him one so he continues. “I shot another plane down, the first air-to-air kill in three decades. The Navy pinned a medal on me.'' Now that he was talking he couldn’t stop. The words he had never spoken to anyone pouring out. “No one mentioned that after I shot the jet it crashed into this community building. There were families inside. Sixteen people were killed, nine of them were children.

“They gave me a fucking medal for killing children. I saw the footage, the crashed jet and the injured people. There was this man carrying his dead son and I can’t get that out of my head.” Jake feels you shift and he raises his head to look at you but all you do is place a gentle kiss on his forehead before lying back down and resuming your motions.

“Please hate me.” He doesn't know why he says it; why he needs you to condemn him. As if your condemnation will justify everything he feels.

“No,” you say simply.

“Why not?” he can feel a sob building in his chest. “I fucking deserve it. How can you just learn all that about me and not care?”

“Javy told me years ago,” you confess, “actually I suspected. It was on the news that an American Navy pilot shot down a plane and what happened, I knew you were stationed in the area and you changed whenever we talked after, so I figured it was you and Javy confirmed it when I asked.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jake had been keeping his knowledge and shame bottled up away from you for so long; not wanting to change the way you saw him and to find out you had always known was gutting.

“I knew you would tell me when you were ready.”

“You should hate me,” Jake hates the way he sounds. Small, meek, hesitant. “I hate me.”

“I hate that it happened. It breaks my heart for those families, but I can’t hate you for it. You are responsible, but not culpable.” You say simply.

“Then who is to blame if not me?” You don’t have an answer for him, he knows there isn’t one, at least not an answer that will make him feel better. Some things you just have to live with. The tears start to flow down Jake's cheeks in ugly sobs as you pull him closer. He clings to you and finally lets himself grieve.

#jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin/reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman/reader #top gun hangman #top gun fanfiction #top gun x reader #topgun maverick #jake seresin

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silvergreenseraphim · 6 months

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Angeal and Sephiroth (And Genesis?)—Dissidia Opera Omnia—Part Two

Hi there hello, I am terribly sorry for the wait, friends! I was pretty sick for the past week or so, but have recovered now! On that note, let’s dive in!

—

Angeal must come to terms with Sephiroth’s transformation.

We begin with Cloud meeting with Angeal after the group decided to take on Sephiroth. Cloud asks Angeal,

“Are you okay? I know I explained everything all at once…”

Angeal says,

“You mean about Sephiroth? It’s just…even though I saw it with my own eyes…it’s hard to accept when told the truth/facts. I’m sorry for slipping/showing weakness…just listen—“

Cloud stops him and says that he doesn’t mind being the one to tell Angeal everything that happened. Angeal also doesn’t need to worry about being stoic in front of someone that isn’t his direct student/cadet like Zack was.

Cloud then explains that he had become a soldier because he admired heroes like Sephiroth, though in truth, there were no heroes in the end because of Sephiroth’s transformation.

Angeal notes the following,

“Huh, just like my close childhood friend (Genesis) and Zack….all the kids my age looked up to him then, so that’s why I always thought I’d treat him like a human being…”

Edit: Small translation mistake I may have made, but initially I thought Angeal said that, “He did not want to change his own attitude/way of being” in regards to how he treated Sephiroth. However, it seems my pronouns were misplaced, and Angeal is talking about Sephiroth. He says that he wants to change Sephiroth’s attitude, as in, he wants to turn Sephiroth’s heart back to the way it was.

Cloud says that he himself can’t forgive Sephiroth, but he can’t deny Angeal’s feelings on the matter, and that he understands because of receiving certain thoughts and emotions for the old friends through Zack. Cloud also graciously tells Angeal to not worry telling Zack about how much he is struggling. Cloud will cover for him, and Angeal is grateful.

Cloud then leaves Angeal, who stands and contemplates Sephiroth once again…he thinks to himself,

“Sephiroth…did you come to know of your birth? I had Genesis at that time…but you…”

Sephiroth himself suddenly appears from a portal and begins to battle Angeal. They cross swords in the manner they once did in the training room, which shocks Angeal. He realizes Sephiroth’s fighting style hasn’t changed despite so much time passing, and wonders if they are sharing the same memory.

When they separate, Angeal appeals to Sephiroth’s honor by saying,

“Sephiroth! You surely had your pride and honor as a First….and we’ve both done horrible things, so let’s bear this despair together!”

The fight continues and the others rush to help Angeal. He is still calling to Sephiroth, saying,

“Sephiroth, what is the point in destroying this world? What would be in that for you?? If this is Jenova stealing who you are, then I’ll bring you back!!”

But Sephiroth merely laughs and says,

“I already have your answer. If it’s “me” that is here, then that means I chose it. I didn’t choose you, Angeal. All I need is Cloud. I don’t need you.”

This was a loaded statement, but in summary, Sephiroth is saying that he chose to do what he is doing, where he is appearing, etc..

His will is seemingly one with Jenova’s in this story, and furthermore, he only needs Cloud in order to be rooted to the world.

This calls back to the notion of “As long as Cloud remembers Sephiroth, Sephiroth will exist.”

Cloud and Cloud’s memories are Sephiroth’s link to existence.

He doesn’t “need Angeal” because Angeal is one of Sephiroth’s “inconsequential memories” that he cast into the Lifestream…

The next part is hard to translate, but Zack essentially tells Angeal that the person they are facing is simply not Sephiroth anymore, and is merely wearing his face, in a way. Rufus fully believes that it is Jenova, and that they are the same.

Cloud readies himself to fight and declares that Sephiroth will be stopped, who responds with a taunt like, “Come and try!”

Meanwhile, Angeal is in disbelief. He says,

“Sephiroth…are you….really nowhere (in there)? Did you truly abandon your pride as a human and embrace this power…?”

After the boss fight that takes place here, Sephiroth struggles to hold his ground and angrily declares,

“I’m not going down…”

The group responds with a power-charged Cloud, who receives an energy crystal boost from Rufus.

With his buffed sword, Cloud prepares to end the weakened Sephiroth. He strikes and a bright burst of energy surges forward, but Angeal’s heart gets the better of him.

Angeal rushes forward and jumps in front of Sephiroth, taking the hit for his old friend and falling to the ground in pain.

The others are petrified and Zack runs to Angeal, screaming that,

“Angeal!! It’s not Sephiroth! You know it’s not him!”

Angeal says,

“I know…I understand…Indeed, his form/body may be Jenova’s but his heart and will might still remain…”

With this, Angeal stands and turns to Sephiroth, finally getting his deep regrets out. He says,

“We were the same…and I’m sorry for letting you suffer alone…”

But Sephiroth has no memory of this pain and his old friend. He says he “doesn’t know this unpleasant sight” in reference to Angeal and tries to attack again, but Zack fights him off, saying,

“Sephiroth! I know my words won’t reach you…but listen to Angeal’s calls…don’t leave that to the monster!”

Sephiroth merely brushes Zack off with one of his “puppets and traitors” accusations and vanishes, but before his voice fades entirely….he says,

“You see, Angeal….dreams and honor were fleeting/not enough…”

Angeal gasps in realization and says,

“Sephiroth….so it’s true…”

Sephiroth’s real voice seems to slip through—the angry, hateful part of him that threw away his memories and aligned his will with Jenova’s. The part that rejected mankind willingly and grew cold with fury.

Angeal understands that his old friend’s pride as a human was lost and the Sephiroth he once knew is dead. All that remains is the monster.

Side Notes:

I am working on the third part to cover the third act. So far, it has been denial for Angeal and in this chapter he reached a small form of acceptance at the bitter end. Now he must prepare to fight his friend and say goodbye.

My translations may once again require some edits later, but for now a lot of contextual information has helped them make sense, even if getting them to translate perfectly has been difficult.

Angeal finally is confirmed to be the one that likely influenced Zack to treat Sephiroth as a person, another human, instead of a hero only to be admired. Angeal doesn’t want to abandon this, and clearly Zack tends to feel the same way. Angeal never idolized Sephiroth, but merely saw him as his good friend. Zack followed this example.

Sephiroth doesn’t remember Angeal, or is at least actively suppressing the memories while he tries to eliminate him. However, his agitation is evident, as he cannot fully erase his emotional state. Part of the hatred that keeps his own will alive likely includes anger and feelings of rejection in regards to his old friends. This emotion seems to bleed through his words, whether he realizes it or not.

Angeal would have taken a bullet for Sephiroth. Now we know. This broke my heart. He could have died by absorbing that energy burst from Cloud, but he threw himself in front of his friend anyway, even despite knowing that Sephiroth was not the same. Angeal loved him so much, and his line, “We were the same…I’m sorry for letting you suffer alone” was utterly weighted with regret and pain. These poor boys are killing me 😢😢

I’ll see you guys next time!

#dissidia opera omnia #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #japanese translation #ffvii #crisis core #angeal hewley #sephiroth #zack fair #cloud strife #rufus shinra #genesis rhapsodos #jenova #final fantasy vii

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bones-and-bluebells · 10 days

Text

Imagine Welcome Home being one of those kid’s shows where the cast is mainly puppets but then there’s like one or two humans thrown in the mix.

You are a child actor that featured as a main character on Welcome Home. You were someone for kids to relate to and see themselves through. You’d go on all sorts of adventures with Wally and the rest of the neighbors.

Sadly, eventually you were cut from the show after becoming too old to continue playing the role off the neighborhood’s human friend. You had to say a final farewell to your beloved friends as well as the viewers (think Steve from Blue’s Clues going to college).

Of course life didn’t end there. You moved on to bigger and better things. You eased into your adult years happy and healthy and with your own house, your own car, and a wonderful career. It wasn’t until your friends got you a special present for your birthday that Welcome Home finally came back to you.

Inside the opened present was a Wally plushie and a VHS tape of “Welcome Home: Julie’s Not So Joyful Day”.

You smiled. That was one of your favorites. It was where Julie suddenly gets very sad because her family hadn’t sent her any letters for a whole month and all the neighbors, including you, did everything in their power to make her feel better. You knew the ending, Eddie had misplaced the letters and forgot about them, but after a heartfelt apology and writing her family an apology letter, things ended up okay.

You happily thanked your friends and after everyone had headed home, you broke out and old (but still functioning) VCR player. Siding the pink VHS tape out of its colorful sleeve, you carefully pushing it into the slot and sat down the your couch with the remote.

The movie played well enough at first. Julie was skipping rope in her yard next to her mailbox, happily humming to herself. Eddie tipped his hat to her in greeting, but didn’t stop to give her any mail. Julie looked dejected at that, remarking that her family should have sent something by now. You engrossed yourself into the movie until it got to the part where Poppy came to talk to you, Barnaby, and Wally about Julie’s mood.

It was suppose to be a scene where you and Wally were painting Barnaby with an apple on his head. Instead, Barnaby and Wally were the only ones there with Poppy. You were gone and your canvas was tipped over and ruined. Even so the scene played on with the characters talking with noticeable pauses where you remember you had spoke. Everyone even reacted like you were speaking to them! Then just as Wally went to suggest that they should throw Julie a party, there was suddenly a weird glitch and the movie completely stopped.

You looked on in confusion. The movie was stopped right as Wally was turning around so that he was facing the viewer. The way the screen distorted Wally’s face almost made him look… sad. The way he looked at you was almost like he was sad to see you.

‘Lonely.’ Your mind supplied. ‘Lonely without you.’

You and Wally were the best of friends when you were part of the show. Everyone often referred to you as Wally’s little sibling from how you two acted like family. It made your heart ache as you remembered Wally’s crestfallen look when you told him you had to leave. He never wanted you to leave and if it were up to you, you wouldn’t have.

“—-ome he—“

That startled you out of your thoughts as the badly broken words sounded from your speakers. You looked to the screen and Wally’s face hadn’t moved.

“C-C-Co— he-rrr…”

You weren’t sure why but it almost felt like you were being called to. It felt silly to think a movie was calling to you but without thinking you got up and made your way over to the screen. You felt a bit nervous, but reminded yourself that there was nothing to felt scared of. Nothing was going to happen. Your mind was being unreasonable.

“Com— He-re…”

With a deep breath, you reached out and touched the screen.

…

Nothing happened.

You let out a small huff with a wry smile. You honestly don’t know what you were-

Suddenly small felt hands reached out of the tv wrapped around your outstretched hand and with surprising strength, pulled you forward and through the screen of your tv.

It was like you entered a portal in a fantasy movie. Once moment you were in your living room, the next you where free falling. You closed your eyes against the sudden dizziness as you plunged down to who knows where.

To your surprise, you never hit the ground. You just closed your eyes and moments later, you were being cradled in someone’s arms. The scent of paint and apple scented cologne hit you and stirred up find old memories in your mind. You’ve been held like this before after falling asleep after a long day of fun. You were carried home and put to bed by someone you trusted deeply.

But how could this be?

You carefully, slowly opened your eyes to find a sight you would have never expect.

Wally Darling in all his blue pompadour, rainbow attire, sleepy-eyed glory was looking down at you with a sweet smile as he held you in his arms.

“Welcome Home, Y/N.” His borderline monotone voice said. “It’s so good to see you again.”

#platonic yandere #welcome home #wally darling #welcome home puppet show

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ironboyxs · 3 months

Text

Unseen Hearts

Fandom: Stray Kids

Pairing: Felix x Male Reader

Word Count: 4652

Summary: Y/N is a young actor and singer on the rise who has great admiration for Stray Kids, especially a certain member with a huskier voice.

p.s. this is the first time I write about kpop on this blog, I hope you like it! In fact, I was extremely inspired because I've never written so much! and another thing: I mention a Korean ideogram in the story, I tried to do my research but my Korean is terrible, forgive any mistakes. and always remembering REQUESTS ARE OPEN, in the pinned there are the fandons for which I write

You never thought you would be in a serious relationship with a K-pop artist. Of course, you've been a fan of Korean culture since you were 13 and a friend introduced you to the concept of K-pop, dramas and all the rest.

You were lucky enough to have well-off parents who let you study Korean from the age of 13 because you had become completely obsessed with everything about Korea.

But obviously your life didn't revolve around just that, of course you went to shows whenever you could, once you even got a trip to South Korea as a gift to go to a fan meeting.

But one thing that the idol life showed you was that you also wanted to be an artist, you were in doubt between acting and music. After all, you were good at both. In school plays you always got the lead.

Your mother played the piano and from a very early age taught you everything she knew about music, so one of your hobbies, and also a form of therapy, was writing songs.

When you were 18, a family friend who worked for Netflix knew he had a casting call that was a perfect fit for you. You took the test, with zero faith that you would pass.

But it ended up happening, the series was about a fantasy world, four wizard friends fighting an evil entity, you had a lot of fun recording the first season, you made incredible friends, but you never thought the series would be successful.

Until it exploded. And it became the number 1 series on Netflix, with everyone talking about it. And obviously you and your co-stars started doing press tours.

Jimmy Fallon Show

- Hey guys! Welcome back to the Tonight Show! Today we have a very special guest, a talented young man who is having great success with the new Netflix series: Witchbound Chronicles. Let's welcome the amazing Y/N! How are you, Y/N?

- Hi Jimmy! I'm great, thanks for having me here.

- It's a pleasure to have you. Firstly, congratulations on the success of your series! What has the experience been like seeing your face everywhere?

- It's surreal, Jimmy. I never imagined things would happen so quickly. I'm just enjoying every moment.

- This is amazing! Tell us a little about the series. What can fans expect?

- Well, the series is called "Witchbound Chronicles" and it takes place in a completely new world full of magic, fantastic creatures and lots of exciting twists. I play one of the main characters, a young man named Ethan, who discovers he has incredible magical abilities.

- This looks amazing! And what was the audition process like to get the role?

- It was a little crazy, actually. I auditioned without much expectation, and when I got the call that I had gotten the role, I couldn't believe it. It was a dream come true.

- And what was it like working with the cast and crew?

- Everyone was incredible. The cast is very talented, and the team behind the cameras did an incredible job bringing this magical world to life. I learned a lot from all of them.

- I'm sure fans would love to know if there are any funny or interesting behind-the-scenes stories you can share.

- Oh, definitely! One day, we were filming a scene with intense special effects, and one of the animatronics that plays the magical creatures ended up going out of control. It was hilarious to see everyone running for cover, but in the end, everything worked out, and the scene was incredible.

- And what can we expect from the future, Y/N? More projects on the small screen or maybe even the big screen?

- Absolutely, Jimmy! I love acting, and I hope to continue exploring different roles and challenges. Who knows what the future holds, right?

- Hey Y/N, our research team made some interesting discoveries on your social media. It seems like you're a big K-pop fan, is that right?

- Oh yes, Jimmy! I'm completely obsessed with K-pop, it's one of my passions.

- This is amazing! Any specific groups or artists that you really admire?

- For sure! I'm a big fan of Stray Kids.

- Oh, and our team also noticed that you have a certain “bias” as they say in K-pop at Felix! You've been expressing your crush on Felix a lot on social media. Any funny stories or embarrassing moments related to this?

- Well, now that you mention that this is public I would say that all my posts about Felix are kind of funny and embarrassing, actually. I try to keep it light and humorous, but of course, my friends always tease me a little about it.

- That is great! And if Felix or any of the Stray Kids were watching right now, what would you say to them?

- Wow, that's a tough question. I guess I would say how much they mean to me as an artist and as a person. Their work really inspires me, and I really admire their talent.

- I hope Felix sees this and who knows, maybe you can meet one day!

Some time later, on a live that Felix was doing, a fan asked if he had seen this interview.

Chat: Felix, did you see Jimmy Fallon's interview with Y/N, the actor from the series "Witchbound Chronicles"?

- Oh yeah! I saw! It was amazing. I couldn't stop smiling throughout the entire interview.

Chat: Y/N mentioned that he's a big fan of Stray Kids and that he has a crush on you. What was your reaction when you watched this?

- Oh, really? This is so cool! I was very flattered to learn that he is a Stray Kids fan. I think it's an honor when talented people like our work.

Chat: Would you have a message to send to Y/N?

For sure! Y/N, if you're watching, thank you so much for your support! It's amazing to know that you enjoy our work, and who knows, maybe one day we can meet. Keep being amazing!

Chat: It would be great to see a collaboration between Stray Kids and the series' soundtrack, wouldn't it?

- Absolutely! We would love it! Who knows what the future holds for us, right? Let's hope something like this happens.

Meanwhile at your house

- Y/N did you watch Felix's last live? - Your sister came running to ask you.

- No, I saw the notification but I was busy so I couldn't watch it.

- You NEED to see this excerpt!

Your sister takes the phone to you with a cut from the live stream where Felix Yongbok Lee is simply talking about you, and of course you completely freak out!

- MY GOD! FELIX KNOWS I EXIST!

- Imagine if you could meet him in person?

You stop and reflect for a second

- What is it? - Your sister asks.

- My Twitter account simply has 1001 posts about how handsome and hot I think he is! I need to deprive that now!

- Wow, but it's great that he knows you have a crush on him!

- He already knows because of that stupid interview, I don't need to be embarrassed anymore! - You run out to get your cell phone.

A while later on a gossip page

“Recently Y/N S/N deprived his Twitter account and opened a new one saying that it would be his professional account. Does the young actor have something to hide?”

/-/

Months later, with the end of recording the first season of the series, and the end of the press conferences, you feel that it is time to return to music. You had loved that whole period of recording and promoting the series but you felt the urge to write about it all, to put it all in the form of music, and deep in your heart, you wanted to write about something, something that you thought was really silly. actually, but your mother always told you that music was made to express all your feelings.

Unseen Hearts

🎶 Unseen hearts, a world apart,

In the shadows, you're the spark.

A crush so sweet, yet out of reach,

Dreams we chase, lessons we teach. 🎶

- This song is AMAZING! - A music producer friend of your mother said when he heard it.

- Did you really think so? I think it's no big deal.

- Is beautiful! What was the inspiration?

- Ah, silly thing, you know... stupid youthful passion - You said with a bit of shame.

- Y/N, I know you've been wanting to combine acting and music for so long, Bobby can give you that opportunity. – Your mother said

- You have so much potential Y/N. - Said Bobby, the producer and owner of the record company you were now part of.

- Now, ideas for a music video?

The Unseen Hearts video was a success, number 1 in views on YouTube. The clip takes place in a magical setting, reminiscent of the world of the series that you are part of. Include enchanted forests, ancient ruins and mystical locations, having a sense of magic and mystery. The story of the music video centers on you, showing your magical journey in search of your unreachable crush. Throughout the clip you searche for a masked figure who wears a necklace with the Korean character: 리

Comments on Twitter

🌟 Just watched the "Unseen Hearts" music video by @Y/NActorOfficial and I'm absolutely enchanted! The magical symbolism and emotional depth in every scene got me hooked. Matt's talent is truly spellbinding! 🔮💖 #UnseenHearts #Y/NMagic

✨ The "Unseen Hearts" music video is a masterpiece! 🎬✨ Y/N's portrayal of an unattainable crush, wrapped in magical elements, is pure art. The visuals, the symbolism – everything is on point! 🌌🎶 #WitchboundChronicles #MagicalMusic

🌌 Theory time! What if the "Unseen Hearts" video is a metaphor for the struggles we face in expressing our feelings? The crush, shrouded in magic, symbolizes the elusive nature of emotions. Y/N's journey represents the pursuit of self-discovery. 🧐💭 #UnseenHeartsTheory

📜 Lyric interpretation theory: What if the lyrics in "Unseen Hearts" reflect Y/N's emotions towards Felix? The masked figure embodies the lyrical expression of an unspoken crush, with the ideogram pendant serving as a musical symbol of admiration. 🎤💔 #LyricConnection #UnseenHeartsEmotion

🎵 Melodic connection theory: The musical journey in "Unseen Hearts" might represent Y/N's emotional connection to Felix. The masked figure, with Felix's ideogram, is the elusive muse driving the rhythm of Y/N's heart. 🎭💖 #MusicalMuse #UnseenHeartsMelody

The Kelly Clarkson Show

- Hey guys! We're here with the talented Y/N, who recently released the amazing music video "Unseen Hearts." Y/N, first, I want to say that the music video is amazing, but everyone is wondering: what is the meaning behind it?

- Hi Kelly! First of all, thank you for the compliment. You know, "Unseen Hearts" is a magical journey, an exploration of emotions and personal challenges. I wanted to convey the idea of pursuing something that seems unattainable, but at the same time, it is an experience of self-discovery.

- Oh, this is fascinating! And many fans are curious about the character that appears in the clip. Can you tell us more about this?

- Of course, Kelly. The ideogram is an artistic representation, a kind of personal symbol. It's a way to add a layer of mystery to the story, allowing each person to find their own meaning in the song and video.

- I get it, I love this enigmatic approach! And what would you say to fans speculating about the music video?

- Well, it's amazing to see the enthusiasm of the fans and the different interpretations they are creating. The beauty of art is in its subjectivity, right? I love seeing the theories and stories that people are coming up with. It's a gift to see how music resonates in unique ways for everyone.

Live from Felix a few days later

Chat: Hi, Felix! Did you see Y/N's new video, "Unseen Hearts"? What did you think?

- Oh, sure! I watched it, and I have to say Y/N did an amazing job. The magical atmosphere, the emotional narrative, everything was very well done. I really liked.

Chat: And the music? Do you think it has some connection with you? After all, the character with your name appears in the clip!

- Well, it's interesting, right? I think art is interpretive, and each person can have their own vision. If music is an artistic expression, it's hard to say exactly what it means to Y/N. But I loved seeing how fans are creating their own theories and stories around it.

Chat: We are really curious! Do you think Y/N might have been inspired by you for the song?

- You know, Y/N is an incredible artist, and I'm just one of the many artists who can inspire him. I think the beauty of music is its ability to connect with different experiences and emotions. If Y/N found inspiration in something we experienced, it's an honor.

Chat: Hey Felix, we know Y/N mentioned he's a Stray Kids fan. Do you think he could have a crush on you?

- Oh, really? That's kind of funny to think about. I think it's always flattering to know that people admire our work, whether as artists or as people. And well, I don't really know about that. I'm grateful for the fans' support and affection, but personal relationships are something private, right? Let's focus on the music and Y/N's work, which is incredible.

Chat: We're just kidding, Felix! But seriously, what was it like for you to see your character in his video?

It was a pleasant surprise, for sure! Y/N is a talented artist, and it was cool to see that special touch in the video. I think he did a wonderful job of creating something unique and meaningful.

A few weeks later you are invited to perform at the Billboard Music Awards, it would be your first time performing Unseen Hearts in front of such a large audience, you were nervous obviously, but something made you even more nervous.

- Y/N you have no idea what I discovered! - Bobby, who was now your manager, called you excitedly.

- What was it?

- So I was organizing your participation in this year's BMAs, and you know who will be there, STRAY KIDS! They will also participate

You froze, you had followed the news, given interviews, seen Felix's live and knew that everyone already knew the obvious, you had burst out writing a song about the crush you had on a boy you saw once at a fan meeting.

- Y/N… are you there? - Bobby asked from the other side.

- I'm sorry, I just got a little distracted.

- I thought you would be more excited.

- Yes, I'm excited, of course, it's going to be really cool - You said a little disconcerted.

- Now are you ready for the big news?

- My God, is there more?

- It has! So the organization was talking to me, and they asked me if you would be willing to sit at the same table as them, you know, you speak Korean, so you can help the members who don't speak it to fit in.

- BOBBY WHAT DID YOU ANSWER?

- I confirmed your place with them of course, I thought you would love it!

- ARE YOU TELLING ME I'M GOING TO COME FACE TO FACE WITH THE GUY I WROTE A SONG ABOUT?????

- Wait, was the song really about Felix?

- My God Bobby, I thought you were my manager and paid attention to the nuances.

You wanted to pass out obviously.

Billboard Music Awards Day - Red carpet.

- Hi Matt! We are excited to see your performance today. What can we expect from this presentation?

- Hello! I'm looking forward to the night, it's going to be amazing. The performance will be full of energy, with a touch of magic and emotion. I hope everyone enjoys it!

- Good luck! Now, we've heard rumors that you and Stray Kids have a special connection. Any future collaborations on the horizon?

- Well, I'm a big fan of Stray Kids, they're so talented. Who knows what the future holds? I'm always open to surprising collaborations. - You say with a bright smile

- Hmm, intriguing! And regarding the "Unseen Hearts" video, many fans speculate about the inspiration behind it. Any subliminal messages?

- Ah, "Unseen Hearts" is an emotional journey, an exploration of personal feelings and challenges. Fan interpretations are fascinating, and I like to leave the song open to different meanings.

- What about the ideograms? We saw Felix from Stray Kids in the video. Any special meaning? - The interviewer asks with an insinuating smile

- Ideograms are like artistic elements, each one can find its own meaning. Sometimes it's just a way to add a special touch to the visual narrative. - You say, wanting to curse yourself for when you had the brilliant idea of putting one of the ideograms of Felix's name in the music video

Interview with Stray Kids

- And we're here with Stray Kids! You guys are killing it as always. We're curious to know, are there any secret collaborations you have in mind? Maybe something with our dear Y/N, who is also here today?

- Well, you know, we are always open to new musical experiences. Y/N is an amazing artist, so who knows what could happen in the future? - Felix responds.

- Interesting! And speaking of collaborations, we saw Felix's character in Y/N's "Unseen Hearts" video. Any idea what this could mean?

- It seems like Y/N wanted to add a special touch to the video. I don't know if there's a deeper meaning, but it's an honor to be included in his art in some way. - Felix says smiling

- What if we talk about the music itself? Any thoughts on "Unseen Hearts"? - The interviewer says wanting to provoke.

- Of course, we all watched the clip and were impressed. The song has a unique vibe, and Y/N's performance is engaging. It's great to see artists exploring different styles. - Bang Chan responds

- It seems like there are a lot of secrets being kept! Speaking of secrets, do you have any future projects that you haven't revealed yet?

- Well, we never reveal all our secrets, do we? You can expect more surprises in the future. - Hyunjin responds, ending the interview.

Later, after the red carpet, you have to face reality and go to your seat next to the members of Stray Kids. You're dying of embarrassment, not only because you meet artists you admire so much, but because you know what the topic of the moment is.

You greet everyone in Korean, trying to be as polite as possible, they are all incredibly kind to you.

When it's time to sit down, it's as if fate hates you, and of course your seat was next to Felix.

- I really enjoyed your series on Netflix. - Felix said trying to start a conversation.

- Serious? Didn't you find it a little too fanciful?

- It's too fanciful, but I like things like that, it's really cool.

- Thank you very much - You said blushing.

He looked incredibly handsome that night, you were trying very hard not to stare.

- I really liked Unseen Hearts too, it's a beautiful song.

- Oh thank you, but it doesn't even compare to your work, I'm still quite an amateur. - You always had this habit of diminishing yourself.

- Hey don't say that, your work is incredible. - He takes a strand of your hair and puts it back. - Your eyes are very E/C

He immediately takes his hand out of your hair and apologizes. There was a slight awkward atmosphere but the touch of his fingers in your hair were still there. “You’re not living a fanfic, focus on reality”, you forced yourself to think.

You didn't want to do it but you had to, you didn't want them to keep bothering the boy because of the damn ideogram in the clip.

- Look at the clip, and the ideogram, I'm sorry they keep disturbing you with this, I saw some of your lives and how embarrassed you were.

- Hey no, I thought it was really cool! Was it really a reference for me?

You look down, well, there was no point in lying anymore, right? At least you would leave with the knowledge that your idol would never see you as anything more

- Yes, it was, but you know we all have crushes on famous people, don't worry, it doesn't mean anything big.

- What a shame - He said looking down

What? - You were shocked.

- I wouldn't mind, you know, if it was a genuine crush.

You didn't have time to respond because Bobby came to call you to say that you needed to get ready for your presentation. You ran away with your heart racing, what did that mean, what did Felix mean?

- Ladies and gentlemen, singing Unseen Hearts Y/N S/N

On the Billboard Music Awards stage, the "Unseen Hearts" moment begins with you positioned center stage, radiating a magnetic presence. The mesmerizing melody fills the room, creating a magical atmosphere that captures everyone's attention.

The scenery is full of fantastic elements, as you immerse yourself in the performance, conveying the emotion of the music through each note. The audience, enveloped by the magic of the presentation, watches attentively.

During the performance, the camera occasionally cuts to the audience, where Felix from Stray Kids is sitting. His eyes meet at various moments, creating a visual connection that transcends the stage. You, while singing, exchange intense glances with Felix in the audience, conveying deep emotions and a unique harmony.

The exchange of glances is loaded with meaning, as if you were sharing your story not only with the audience, but also with Felix. Every facial expression reflects the intensity of the song, as your eyes meet Felix's, conveying a silent, emotional narrative.

At the end of the performance, the audience bursts into applause, recognizing the beauty and emotion of the performance. You, as you come down from the stage, exchange a final look with Felix, a moment that remains suspended in the air before being lost in the effervescence of the applause.

On twitter

🌟 The exchange of looks between Y/N and Felix during "Unseen Hearts" at the #BBMAs was simply magical! This emotional connection transcended the stage. ✨🎶 #UnseenHeartsMagic

😍 I can't get over the intensity of the looks between Y/N and Felix during the performance! Their chemistry is palpable, and "Unseen Hearts" became even more special. 🔥💖 #BBMAs # Y/N xFelixMoment

🧙‍♂️ I'm absolutely delighted with the performance of "Unseen Hearts" at the #BBMAs. The looks between Y/N and Felix added an extra layer of magic to the performance! 🌈🔮 #EnchantedConnection

🎭 "Unseen Hearts" at the #BBMAs was an emotional journey! The looks between Y/N and Felix brought a unique depth to the presentation. A masterpiece of connection and magic. 🌌🎶 #MysticalPerformance

🤩 The performance of "Unseen Hearts" at the #BBMAs was a visual and emotional spectacle! Y/N and Felix exchanging looks made everything even more captivating. 😊💫 #KPopMagicMoment

😭 I cried at the beauty of the performance of "Unseen Hearts". The intensity of the looks between Y/N and Felix is heartbreaking. A unique emotional experience. 💔🌟 #BBMAs #EmotionalJourney

🎶 The chemistry between Y/N and Felix during "Unseen Hearts" at the #BBMAs is something that cannot be described in words. A perfect fusion of music, emotion and connection. Angry! 👏🌈 #MusicalAlchemy

🌀 "Unseen Hearts" at #BBMAs left my soul vibrating. The looks between Y/N and Felix transcended the stage, creating a unique and magical experience. 🔮✨ #MysticVibes #UnseenHeartsVibes

You couldn't believe what had just happened, you had performed Unseen Hearts in front of hundreds of people but it was as if you could only see Felix, you were completely embarrassed by it. How could you be so unprofessional to stare at the boy like that? What would they say about you? What would they say about him?

A knock on the dressing room door makes you stand up. It was the boys from Stray Kids and you quickly rushed to open it.

- Y/N, man, you just killed it on stage! It was amazing! - Bang Chan says hugging you.

You're grateful for the compliment, but a wave of self-consciousness hits you. Did they notice your distraction? Did they notice the prolonged glances in Felix's direction?

- Oh, thanks, Chan! I'm glad you liked it. - You say smiling, trying to hide it.

- Did you see the audience? Everyone was mesmerized. It looks like you worked some real magic up there! - Jeongin says.

Everyone laughs, and you join in the laughter, trying to keep your self-critical thoughts away.

- Y/N, that performance was incredible. You brought such a unique energy to the song. - Felix says with a shy smile.

- And I think our friend here needs to speak to you in private. - Changbin says leading the others to leave the room.

Okay, you thought: now he's going to say that what I did was horrible, that it could cause gossip and horrible repercussions for his career. And so you will have ruined the mere chance of having a friendship with someone you admire.

But his response was very different from what you imagined.

- Yeah… I wanted to ask… if you want to go out with me, do you know after the awards?

The initial perplexity is replaced by a mixture of relief and surprise. You expected the worst, but here Felix is, not mentioning anything about the intense stares, but rather extending an invitation to hang out.

- Wow, of course, I would love to! It would be amazing. - You smile trying to hide your surprise.

Felix seems to relax a little, like he's relieved by his answer.

- Great so! Will be cool. The awards are going to be incredible, but I think after that we can relax a little, what do you think?

- I will love it!

- Excellent! See you after the awards, then. - He says with a dazzling smile

He turns to leave the dressing room, and you stay there, processing the unexpected turn of events. What seemed like a potential uncomfortable situation turned into an invitation to hang out. Perhaps the intense looks were perceived differently by Felix.

Later that night…

"Y/N from 'Unseen Hearts' and Felix from Stray Kids spotted holding hands after the Billboard Music Awards!"

"The beginning of a new ship? Y/N and Felix, moments of romance after the awards."

"Fans are ecstatic over photos of Y/N and Felix together. Could this be the start of a new friendship or something more?"

And on Twitter…

😱 Holding hands? This is real? Y/N and Felix together? I'm freaking out! 😍🥰 # #Y/NxFelix #UnseenHeartsLove

🚢 Is a new ship being born? The internet needs to know! 😏🚀 # Y/Nlix #ShipSpeculation

🌟 The friendship between Y/N and Felix is so beautiful! We loved seeing the two together. 🤝💖 #FriendshipGoals # Y/NAndFelix

🧐 Holding hands? Are we all witnessing the beginning of something special? 🤔🌈 # Y/NAndFelix #SpeculationsRising

📸 Exclusive photos of Matt and Felix leaving the event. Are we seeing the birth of a new partnership? 🤝💫 #CelebrityNews # Y/NFelixMoments

📚 What do you think of a fanfic based on these photos? 😏💕 # Y/NlixFanfic #ShippingDreams

And so maybe Unseen Hearts weren't so unseen...

#x male reader #male reader insert #gay #fanfic #stray kids #stray kids x male reader #stray kids imagine #felix x male reader #lee felix #lee felix x male reader #kpop

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lex-hj0519 · 8 months

Text

you let him starve

A little follow up to "what do you think we'd do, let them starve?": Sirius plans. Remus interrupts. A conversation is had.

It was some time later that Harry drifted off to sleep on the floor of the attic, leaning heavily against Sirius. While Harry slept, Sirius planned. He didn’t care if Dumbledore didn’t agree; he would kidnap Harry off the train platform next summer if he had to.

Harry had to return to Privet Drive once a year to keep the protective enchantment there alive. If he didn’t, then they would break and there would be no way to replace them. They would only have to hide out for a few days before the enchantment was gone for good and Dumbledore could no longer argue that it was the safest place for Harry to live.

Sirius didn’t want to have to take his kid on the run, even for only a few days, but he would do it if he had to. He made a promise to care for Harry like his own, and it was time to throw caution in the wind and fulfill his promise to the fullest.

The door to the attic creaked open. “Sirius?” Remus called.

When he spotted Sirius and Harry on the floor, Remus's expression twisted into an odd combination of relief and irritation. “What are you two doing up here? The other kids went to bed over an hour ago and Molly’s going mad with worry over Harry’s empty bed.”

“He was upset,” Sirius explained shortly.

Sirius pulled his wand out of his robes and waved it over Harry, then slowly got to his feet. Even with the lightweight charm he had cast, standing up with an armful of teenaged boy was awkward.

“Upset about what?” Remus asked.

“Never you mind,” Sirius said brusquely as he remembered just who had sent Harry fleeing to the attic. “Don’t pretend you actually care about him.”

Remus gaped at him. “Of course, I care, Sirius,” he sputtered.

Sirius shushed him as Harry stirred in his arms, then pushed past him and headed for the door. If they were going to have this conversation, it wouldn’t be it front of Harry. Sirius ignored Remus, who followed them down the stairs, and set Harry on his bed.

A quick search of Harry’s messily packed trunk turned up only the same oversized, worn-out clothes he’d been wearing all summer. Remus had insisted one night that Harry must be wearing them because he didn’t want to get his good clothes dirty while cleaning, but Sirius knew the truth: Harry didn’t have good clothes. The only things in his trunk worth wearing were his school robes and a small collection of knitted jumpers.

Sirius summoned a set of his own pajamas, biting back a smirk when Remus leapt to the side to avoid the clothing that came flying down the stairs and through the doorway. A quick resizing spell shrunk them down to Harry’s size, and a switching spell replaced Harry’s holey jeans and worn-out t-shirt with them.

Then Sirius tucked his boy into bed for the first time in fourteen years. After Harry curled up under the covers without even waking, Sirius bent down and brushed his forehead with a gentle kiss.

“Good night, Harry,” he whispered before he slipped out of the room and shut the door quietly behind him.

Remus was waiting for him in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“What do you want, Remus?” Sirius asked tiredly. “It’s late.”

He didn’t want to have this conversation now. The conversation they had both avoided for over a year now. The “why weren’t you there for Harry?” conversation.

“I think we need to talk, don’t you?” Remus asked.

“Fine. Let’s go, then.”

Sirius led the way down to the kitchen. While Remus sat down, Sirius opened the cupboards forcibly, thumped two goblets down on the table, and added a generous pour of Firewhiskey to each one. Remus frowned, but took the goblet that Sirius shoved in his direction.

They both stared at each other for a moment, waiting to see who would speak first. Remus was the one who broke.

“I care about Harry,” he said earnestly.

Sirius leaned back in his chair and regarded Remus thoughtfully. “You believe you care about him,” he said slowly. “You want to care about him. But you do a piss-poor job of showing it. Did you try to check on him when he was growing up?”

Remus bristled. “I’m a werewolf.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Did you even once try to check on him?” Sirius repeated.

“What could I have done?” Remus asked defensively. “I’m a werewolf, Sirius. No one wants a werewolf on their doorstep, least of all Lily’s sister.”

“You’re a wizard, Remus.” Sirius retorted. “You know how to cast a Disillusionment Charm. You could have checked on Harry with the muggles none the wiser.”

“Dumbledore said he was safe and well cared for.” Remus protested, but he shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he said it.

Remus may not have known it then, but he had to know it now, Sirius thought. All you had to do was look at Harry. And Remus had taught him for a year.

“You cannot look at that kid and tell me that you believe he was well cared for,” Sirius snapped.

He had been trying to keep his cool, but the excuses and lies were enough to bring his temper back to the forefront.

“His parents died, and what did you and the Order and the rest of the wizarding world do? You all sat back and let him starve.”

“I - .” Remus started to speak and then stopped. He shook his head, regret written all over his face. “It doesn’t matter what I say. I can’t go back and change the past.”

That was as close to admitting guilt as Remus was going to go, Sirius suspected. He didn’t respond.

When the silence between them had grown uncomfortably long, Remus rubbed a hand down his face. “Where do we go from here, then?”

Sirius knocked back his Firewhiskey.

“That kid doesn’t need another adult who’s going to waltz in and out of his life whenever it suits his fancy,” he said sharply. “He needs adults in his life who he can rely on, always. You’re either in or you’re out, Remus. Make your choice.”

Without waiting for Remus to reply, Sirius shoved back his chair and strode out of the kitchen.

#good godfather sirius black #sirius black #harry james potter #remus lupin critical

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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 9 months

Note

Reader who has a baby brother who acts like kotaro from gakuen baby. (Reader lives with the bsd cast, reader always goes out to take care of his brother, but one day Luiz takes him home and he meets the cast)

My baby brother

Self-Aware! BSD Characters x Male! Reader

Description: Your parents are going on a small vacation and asked you to look after your baby brother, [B/N]. Well, time for him to meet your new roommates/friends.

Warning: Fluff. OOC, English is my second language.

BSD cast noticed one thing. Everyday, even during weekends you were going somewhere, spend at least two hours there and then return home.

At first, Cast thought, that your boss make you work overtime, but you assured them, that's not the case. You mentioned, that the reason for your absence was family related.

You didn't elaborate further. You explained, that, right now, yiu are still trying to come with the fact, that your new roommates are very unique people and that you are living with them in this huge house. You promised, that you will tell them more about your family, when you become more comfortable with current situation.

But soon, they not only knew more about your family, but also met one of your relatives.

___________

Monday

___________

Everyone was a little bit nervous. Today, they will meet someone from your family.

Yesterday, you were talking on the phone with someone. After you finished talking, you had an announcement to make. You gathered everyone in the common room.

"Okay, everyone. For the next week, someone special will stay with us. One of my family members have to stay with me. I hope, everyone is okay with it."

An hour ago, you went to fetch your relative. The Gang wanted to make a good first impression.

They heard a jingle of keys. You were back. The Gang gather in the common room, waiting for you.

They heard steps. Yours and someone else's. The steps were really quiet. Then they heard your voice.

"Hello, everyone. Met my baby brother, [B/N].

You walked inside the common room. You were holding hands with a toddler boy. The boy had big eyes and short hair. You picked your brother up and walked closer to your new roommates/friends.

Your brother looked at the gang. [B/N] was quiet, he was looking at your new friends. You whisper.

"Hey, [B/N], remember, I told you about my new friends? That's them. Say 'Hello'".

Your brother stay quiet for a moment, then smiled and nodded.

"Ung!"

Your brother's eyes were shining. He was happy to meet big brother's friends.

At least half of the characters almost had a heart attack because of the cuteness overload.

Fukuzawa, Mori, Hirotsu, Melville, Natsume, Taneda and Fukuchi were planning to steal you two and adopt you.

You continue talking.

"Our parents have gone on vacation for a next week, so [B/N] will stay with us for a week."

Meanwhile, [B/N] was quiet again. You noticed, that he was looking directly at Akutagawa, who was standing close to you. Ryuunosuke looked at [B/N] in return. Suddenly, [B/N] grabbed Akutagawa's sleeve and giggles.

"Hedgehog!"

Akutagawa's eyes widen, Gin and Higuichi try to hold back their laugh, Dazai was shaking because of laughter and Atsushi looked really nervous. You scolded.

"[B/N], don't do that! Don't call people hedgehogs! I am sorry, Ryunosuke."

Akutagawa just huffed. He doesn't look offended. You smiled.

"Okay, I will make something for [B/N] to eat. I'll be back in a minute."

Before you can do away, [B/N] pointed at Chuuya.

"Wesel [Weasel]!"¹

Dazai was howling with laughter.

"I like this kid"

"[B/N], don't call other people weasels! Chuuya, I am sorry!"

Chuuya also huffs and playfully shove you.

"Don't sweat it, [Y/N]."

[B/N] let out a small whine.

"Wesel... hut Big Brother [Weasel hurt Big Brother]?"

You quickly pet your brother's head.

"No, I am fine, [B/N]. Chuuya was just playing with me."

[B/N] looked at you, then nodded.

"Ung."

When you left, The Cast glance at each other, then said in one time.

"Adorable."

_______

Tuesday

_________

You and [B/N] were 'kidnapped' by Fukuzawa, Mori, Hirotsu, Melville, Natsume, Taneda and Fukuchi.

Natsume used his ability to lure [B/N] in one of the rooms, where the rest of the group were sitting.

When you were looking for [B/N], you also were dragged to the same room.

For the whole day, you two were showered in treats. [B/N] was also showered in toys. And there were photos and videos taken.

The videos of [B/N] saying "Tank you [Thank you]" and "Ung!" and the video of you feeding [B/N] sweets were sent to the group chat.

The videos became their treasures.

If something happens to you two, the BSD cast will destroy the world.

At the end, your 'kidnappers' spend the whole day with you and your brother.

It was fun. You were wondering what would happen tomorrow.

_________

Wednesday

_________

You were mumbling, while you were searching for your brother.

"Okay, where is my brother now. Don't tell me, Natsume and others kidnapped him again "

When you passed the window, you noticed, that your brother were outside. He was looking at something with Tetchou.

You went outside and approached them.

"Hi, [B/N]. Hello, Tetchou. What you are looking at?"

[B/N] stands up and wiggles towards you. He pointed at the ground.

"Big Brother, ants!"

You smile and pat his head. Tetchou cast a quick glance towards you.

"Want to join us in ant watching?"

[B/N]'s eyes shine and he grabbed your sleep.

"Ung!"

You nodded.

"Okay, I am with you."

You watched ants together for a few more minutes.

_________

Thursday

_________

It was dinner time. And you were in trouble.

[B/N] refuse to eat his veggies. Before you eat the treat he made for you. Unfortunately, Tetchou was the one who helped him.

You were looking at three strawberries with shichimi spice on them. Then you looked at [B/N]. He was waiting for you to try strawberries.

Jouno almost growls.

"Tetchou, don't you dare corrupt this sweet child with your taste in food... [Y/N]!"

You ate one of the strawberries. The mix of papers doesn't go well with sweet strawberries. But your brother wants to make you happy. You can take it.

You smile through tears.

"Thank you, [B/N]. It was so good!"

[B/N] smiles.

"Ung! Big Brother is happy!"

You smile and eat another spicy strawberry. Than the last one.

"Thanks, [B/N]. You see, your Big Brother ate everything. You also should eat everything, so you can be as strong and big as your brother."

[B/N] nodded and start eating his veggies.

When he wasn't looking, you drink at least four glasses of water.

Still, for his smile, you were ready to eat more of that strawberries.

At least ten Members of BSD cast want to raise a child with you.

_________

Friday

_________

At the evening, you had a tea party with Rats in the House of the Dead. And with Gogol.

It became a tradition for you, having a Friday tea parties with Fyodor, Goncharov, Pushkin and Gogol.

But today the party will be paused. Because you need to read [B/N] a bedtime story.

"[B/N], have you chosen the book to read? Oh, 'Tsar Nikita and his Forty Daughters'... [B/N], who gave you this book?"

[B/N] point at Pushkin.

"Pushin [Pushkin]"

You glare at Pushkin. This guy was interested in the Real world Pushkin works. So, you won't be surprised, that he told your brother about this book. You hoped, that Pushkin didn't do it on purpose.² You spoke to your brother again.

"[B/N], this book is for adults. Let's choose another one."

At the end, you read him "If you give a mouse a cookie". And, because Fyodor, Gogol, Goncharov and Pushkin were fine listening to your reading, you read for them too at the same time.

When finished, [B/N] was sleeping. You carry him to your room, where he also was sleeping.

When you were back, you heard Fyodor's words.

"You will be a good father, [Y/N]."

You were too embarrassed, to say something in return.

_________

Saturday

_________

You were carrying a bunch of shopping bags. Yosano and Fitzgerald decide to take you and your brother on a shopping trip. Your brother get few onesies, new choose and toys.

You got a new bag and coat. You were glad, that your parents were fine with your roommates' presents.

Your parents knew, that your roommates were kind people who liked you. And who liked giving presents.

You smile sadly. Tomorrow, your parents are returning. Tomorrow [B/N] will go back home.

________

Sunday

_________

Once again, BSD cast were gathered in the common room. It was time for [B/N] to go home.

You were holding your brother.

"Okay, [B/N], say goodbye."

[B/N] nodded and turn towards BSD cast.

"Bye Teto! Bye Chu-chu! Bye Ryu! Bye Yosa! Bye Fitz! Buy Zawa...! [Tetchou, Chuuya, Ryunosuke, Yosano, Fitzgerald, Fukuzawa...]"

It takes [B/N] five minutes to say bye to everyone. And then both of you left the house.

BSD cast will wait for the next time your brother come to visit them. He is so well-behaved and cute.

They will be happy to see him again. And see you taking care of him again.

_________

¹ "Bungou Stray Dogs. Wan!" Chapter 47 "The Land of Fairy Tales". Akutagawa was a hedgehog plushie and Chuuya was a weasle plushie.

² A fairytale for adults by Alexander Pushkin.

#self-awareau #self-awarebsd #bungou stray dogs au #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x male reader #bsd anime

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petalpathic · 10 months

Text

"And one day, your name didn't make me smile anymore."

You are a star. A sensation. Everybody loves you.

And get this;

You're cast in a hit tv-show called "Encore", it's a sweet small-town story about a group of kids unlikely to hang out, finding each other one day in an oddly specific circumstance, where they find out how alike they really are.

Cliche? Probably. But, the people you met on set changed your life.

You're a lot like your on-screen character in that way.

Anyways, you're big and it's crazy, unlike anything you could ever imagine. Cameras, interviews, fans, autographs, blah blah blah.

And then,

you die.

FEATURES

-come back to life

-say hello (and bye, then hello again) to Hollywood

-5 potential suitors mmmm....(two female, two male, one secret)

-watch as everyone you've loved loses themselves in grief

-play as female, male, or nb

-maybe try not to die again okay? for all our sakes?

This game is just supposed to be fun! This is my first IF, and while I can be serious, I'd like this to be a fun little project to escape to (for you and for me).

But... this is also Hollywood we're talking about...so there might be some heavy topics unsuitable for some readers.

TW for: mentions and uses and abusing of substances (drugs), sexual harrassment of a major character, optional sexual content (not extremely explicit, it'll probably be pretty vague), implied death of a major character (besides MC), and maybe more.

That list (as well as this intro page) will be updated as I write and flesh out some character bgs.

MAIN ROs

Vanessa "Nessa" Villanueva | F | SHE/HER

The "It Girl". She was cold when you met her but she’s even colder and emotionally unavailable than ever.

romance-able by all genders

Kate Santos | F | SHE/HER

She is awkward, but not shy. Her dark and sarcastic humor get her in some trouble with the more conservative of people.

romance-able by all genders

Kyle "Ky" Taylor-Hara | M | HE/HIM

The model and heartthrob, Ky Taylor-Hara. He came into the cast with the last season and you’ve known him to be soft-spoken and quiet.

romance-able by all genders

Austin Arison | M | HE/HIM

Austin was a child actor and has been in the industry for as long as he can remember. Being in "Encore" was the only time he felt like he actually wanted to act.

romance-able by all genders

LINKS

DEMO TBA | PINTEREST | RO APPEARANCES |

Asks are always welcome and encouraged!! Please ask about my silly little game <3

#twine wip #interactive fiction #if wip #if : encore #if game #upcoming if #intro #interactive fiction wip #wip #twine if #twine game

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esperastra · 5 months

Text

It’s been three weeks and I still have not sorted my feelings about Legends Con. So have this random, unorganized list of things that happened that I still remember (more under the cut):

Nick tried to flash (stood on a chair and pulled up his shirt) Tala and Maisie during their panel but no one noticed him in the back

On the other hand when Arthur showed up during Caity and Jes’ panel they immediately saw him and greeted him

Caity was asked what Sara’s safe word is at the Meet&Greet and her answer was “Chiquita Banana”

When asked who they would eat first on a deserted island, pretty much everyone immediately said “Dom”

Caity and Jes kept talking about doing a podcast and asking people for stuff to talk about. Jes suggested they should just do Stabcast but Caity said she doesn’t like True Crime (which fair, I don’t either lol)

Adam said Avalance’s kid is named Rose and that Gary would be a great babysitter but he definitely would lose her at some point

At the opening ceremony Caity was like “I think the last time I said I was getting married. And I did it. *shows her ring* And Jes had our baby!”

When talking about the hardest goodbyes, Caity being Caity forgot Dom left and wasn’t even in the final season. Her answer was Franz btw.

A kid asked Amy, Caity and Jes if they would rather jump in lava or drown in water if they had to die and Jes was like “How old are you? Where is your mother?!” lmao

Jes recited the condolence card from Meet The Legends to the best of her recollection and kept laughing

Arthur kept mentioning how weird it is that all these fans and the cast are in his hometown

I could listen to Maisie talk for hours, just wanted to throw that in here

Jes was talking about how beautiful the gold dress from 502 was and Caity replied with “Anything you wear is beautiful 🥰” before Amy chimed in that she is still looking for the video of Liv and Jes laughing at Matt falling off his chair that was mentioned earlier lol

When asked about a crack ship (Rishop = Rip/Bishop) Arthur went on to talk about how he loves fanfiction lol

When asked if Nick or Matt is the better kisser Tala said “Maisie”

Adam started singing I Will Always Love You (forgot why) and Maisie left him hanging by not joining in and just smiling/laughing

Poor Matt didn’t know about the Human Centipede but now he does

Jes came up with the pick up line “I can be your legend until tomorrow” and then was like “someone try this tonight at the bar!”

On the second day Adam brought a water pistol to the panel and used it on everyone who got up to ask a question

Adam was THE hype man all weekend. He kept starting “When I say DC you say Legends of Tomorrow” chants

The fandom organized a group gift to give each cast member a trophy of the Waverider. We were allowed to present it to them at the closing ceremony.

Nick was called “Brad Pitt” during the trophy ceremony and Adam being Adam stood up instead

Amy sang Future Favorite with one of the kids at the closing ceremony

Adam said something about how he doesn’t like being emotional in front of people and everyone started chanting “SHOW EMOTIONS”

By the end of the closing ceremony everyone was super emotional. Caity was too emotional to speak when it was her turn and started crying and Jes hugged her. She said “I miss you guys” to the cast and went back for another hug. Jes was like “stop the emotions. stop the emotions” in reference to the earlier chant

A small list of some of the things that happened to me personally. I won’t share it all in detail here though, for reasons:

When I got my solo photo op with Caity, she saw my Real Housewives Sara shirt and was like “That’s funny. Can I take a picture?” and then she posted it on her IG Story

Amy spoke German to me out of nowhere when she noticed my accent. She also called me back during our photo op to ask me how I was and if I slept alright.

Jes gave me this 🥺 look when I talked to her at the autograph table

Nick held my hand for like a minute which was super overwhelming especially cause I struggle with eye contact lol. He also kept lovingly teasing me the whole weekend.

Me and a bunch of people did the 709 costumes as cosplay and won ‘Best Group’. It was a lot of fun.

#legends of tomorrow #avalance #Meeting all the amazing people that I met on Twitter in the past 1 1/2 has been amazing and I miss everyone terribly #i forgot so much stuff that happened already.. especially what some of the cast said to me during the meet&greet :’(#I’m kinda sad I didn’t get to ask Caity and Jes about the gift I got them :(#It did show up in Caity’s story about her gifts though so she at least got it lol #and jes… we know she doesn’t do social media lol…#also i ran into the ppl i never wanted to meet too often… such big egos for such shitty personalities. gross.#their behavior was just so rude #legends con

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mandoalorian · 1 year

Text

Look For The Light [Joel Miller x F!Reader]

Prologue: Part I

Summary: You are a hardened survivor trying to navigate your way in a post-apocolyptic world when you bump into an old friend who goes by the name of Joel Miller.

Warnings: the reader is slightly younger than Joel, say a 10-year age gap? All TLOU relevant warnings such as gore, violence, guns, drugs, and cursing. Joel has an anxiety disorder which parallels his portrayal in the games. Diet talk. Expect smut later on… [Please do not read if you are under the age of 18!]

Author’s Note: I can’t believe it has taken me so long to write a full-blown Joel fic. Those of you who know me well know that I became a fan of TLOU in 2019, just a year before I became a fan of Pedro. I was elated when it was announced he’d been cast as Joel and thus far, I am thrilled with his performance and the many themes of the TV show that have stayed true to the game/s. It is everything I could’ve asked for, and more. I feel as though there is no better person qualified to write a ‘re-write’ per-se of the game/TV show, and I aim to release chapters in time for the new episodes coming out.

Word count: 6,800 words.

Masterlist | Want to support me? | Listen to 'Look For The Light' on Spotify

________________________________________________

Sarah had been sitting on the patio since she finished middle school at noon, waiting for her dad to come home from work. Every school in the US was let out early today for some unknown reason. Government orders. But when Sarah’s dad called her at four-thirty and told her that he’d be home at nine, she thought little of it. This often happened, especially this season. With it just being him and Tommy, working on big contracting jobs often took some time, but Joel often reassured Sarah that it was better that way. Despite their constant brotherly bickering, Joel and Tommy were hard workers and made an excellent team. When Joel heard how disappointed Sarah was that he would be home late, he told her that she could take some money out of his wallet, which was located in his bedside drawer. He told her she could order a pizza and stay up late to watch a movie, and if she got bored waiting up for him, then she could visit their neighbours—the Adlers. They weren’t remarkable company, but they were kind people and they adored Sarah.

Sarah’s mind worked fast as soon as her father hung up the call and it didn’t take long for her to concoct a plan. If she recalled correctly, there was a cheese pizza in the freezer, so instead of ordering take-out, she opted to take her dad’s money and his favourite (yet broken) watch to the jewellers to get fixed. Luckily it wasn’t too far and she managed to get there before five, which was closing time. Sarah was elated that she was able to do this for her father. He always complained about his broken watch, and he was so busy that he was never given the opportunity to get it fixed.

She placed the broken watch on the counter, alongside a twenty-dollar bill, and she offered the gentleman who worked in the store a small wave ‘hello’. He was an older man with white hair and crow’s feet by the corner of his eyes, a sign that he’d smiled a lot during his lifetime.

“Oh, hey Sarah. How’s your dad?” The man, who according by his nametag, went by Eric, enquired while picking up the wristwatch and examining the damage.

“He’s good, thanks. Working late tonight,” Sarah hummed absent-mindedly while she admired the many antiques and trinkets which were dotted around the store. This wasn’t your traditional jeweller—but somewhat of a pawn shop where you could buy the occasional bracelet or diamond ring. “Actually, it’s his birthday tomorrow. Was hoping to get his favourite watch fixed.”

Eric chuckled heartedly. “Well, you’re in luck, kid. Looks like it just needs a new battery. That’ll get it ticking again.” After a few short moments, he returned the repaired watch to Sarah. Eric slid the twenty-dollar bill back over to her.

“No no,” Sarah surrendered her hands. “That’s your payment,” Sarah put the watch in her backpack. “Please take it.”

“Your father is a good man, and you’re a sweet kid—doing this for him. Don’t worry about the payment, I—” Just as he was about to finish his sentence, an older woman came charging into the front of the store, appearing panicked and dishevelled. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

Sarah identified the woman as the shopkeeper’s wife and noted her shaky hands and rapid movements. She was in a frenzy.

“We have to close the store,” the woman said quickly.

“What? Why?”

“We have to close the store!” the woman repeated this time shouting, and switching over the ‘Open’ sign to read ‘Closed’. She then turned to Sarah and grabbed the young girl by her arms. “You need to go home. Now.”

“Wh—is everything—” Sarah couldn’t even finish her sentence when the lady began to push her out the front door. Within seconds, the door to the store slammed shut and locked, and the blinds flew down.

Sarah stood outside the jewellers for a few moments, her brain trying to register everything that had just happened. It wasn’t until an abundance of fire trucks and police cars zoomed past her; their sirens were deafeningly loud. Sarah heard some screams in the distance and took that as her sign to head home. She hoped that her dad would get home at nine as he promised.

The streets were eerily quiet on the walk home, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. Sarah noted the lack of cars on the road. She wanted to take her time to travel back to her neighbourhood—after all, her father wouldn’t be back for hours and she had plenty of time to kill, but the more she began to think about the things she had seen, the more she found her footsteps were speeding up into a fast pace.

When Sarah arrived home, she fumbled with the keys to unlock the front door. The sky was growing dark now and she wondered what she could do with herself to keep occupied while she waited for Joel to return home. Mrs Adler, the Miller’s neighbour, called for her, and Sarah turned to see the nice lady relaxing on the front porch, next to her mother who was much older. Sarah picked up the keys and pondered across the Adlers’ front lawn, and over to their porch, greeting Mrs Adler.

Sarah spent the rest of the evening with the Adler’s and their dog, Mercy. By eight-thirty, Sarah headed home, but not before taking ‘Curtis and Viper 2’ from Mrs Adler’s DVD shelf. Mrs Adler was fine with Sarah taking the movie. She described it as a boyish film, anyway. Sarah watched the movie and cooked her frozen pizza. By midnight, she found herself becoming increasingly worried about why her dad hadn’t returned home at nine like he had promised. Usually, she would be okay with it, knowing the nature of his job-- but with the strange occurrences that had been happening today, something felt off.

The pale crescent moon shone like a silvery claw in the velvet night sky. When Joel finally pulled up into the driveway, he sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. He wasn’t getting enough sleep, and he was beginning to feel the effects of the long laborous hours on the same damn job. Tommy left at nine but Joel stayed back for a few hours to tie up loose ends. At least now he was paid, and he could forget all about it. He remained in his seat for a little while, listening to the end of the radio broadcast.

“—Indonesian minister of health released a statement today stating that the government is doing everything in their power to maintain the spread of the Cordyceps infection in Jakarta.”

Joel turned off the radio and left his truck. His mind was far too preoccupied to understand the severity of what was going on in the world around him. As he sauntered to the front patio, he cursed himself for being home so late knowing that Sarah would have been disappointed in him.

To his surprise, he heard Sarah’s voice the second he opened the front door. She’d stayed up for him.

“You said you’d be home at nine,” Sarah grumbled, her lips pulling into a frown as Joel walked through the front door. Her eyes felt heavy but she had stayed awake this long, anticipating her father’s return. She wasn’t going to fall asleep now. Her determined mind stopped her from doing that. The young girl looked up at the wall clock above the television and her frown deepened. “It’s almost one in the mornin’.”

Joel removed his brown work jacket and brushed down his t-shirt before sliding out of his shoes and shuffling into the living room. The room was illuminated by the amber lantern on the coffee table. His gaze was immediately drawn to a little brown moth, hazily dancing around the lantern before settling down atop it. If he was in his usual teasing mood, he would have pointed the moth out to Sarah, knowing it would scare her, but instead, Joel just ignored the insect and slumped down onto the sofa. Joel spread his legs and leaned back, pulling out a yawn. What a day.

“I’m sorry kid,” Joel finally said, feeling a genuine sense of guilt. “Rough day. Bad traffic.”

At least that wasn’t a lie. The roads had been hectic, with people swerving chaotically and more sirens in the neighbourhood than Joel had ever heard.

Sarah hummed knowingly. She’d been hearing the panic outside too, and the news broadcasts on the television had been secretly terrifying her to the point she couldn’t bear to watch. Something about an infection from Jakarta having sightings in the city. Not much was known about it, but Sarah was just glad she lived on the outskirts of Austin, Texas.

She’d be okay and so would her dad.

That’s all that mattered.

“Sweetie, what are you still doing up? It is way past your bedtime.”

“Oh! But I got you something,” Sarah beamed and reached down the side of the sofa, bringing up a white box. Joel looked at Sarah with surprised eyes and held the weighty box in his hand.

He opened the box, not exactly sure what to expect from his fourteen-year-old daughter, only for it to be revealed that she had gotten his favourite watch fixed. The watch had been broken for quite some time and Joel, being the busy man that he was, never got the chance to fix it.

When Joel didn’t respond to the gift, Sarah interjected, feeling the need to explain herself. “You kept complaining about your broken watch so I figured…”

“I—honey, I love it but I think it’s broken,” Joel tapped the watch face and held it to his ear, checking to hear for its ticks. Sarah, in a panic, grabbed her dad’s wrist to inspect the watch for herself, only to see that it was working in perfect order.

“Oh ha ha.” Sarah mocked as her father snorted a chuckle.

“Where’d you get the money for this?” He inquired, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Drugs. I sell hardcore drugs.” Sarah joked with a smirk, pleased with herself for getting her dad a present that he truly liked.

“Oh good. You can help out with the mortgage then.” Joel countered and Sarah laughed, snuggling into her dad and resting her head on his lap.

“You wish.”

Joel turned on the television and despite it being late, settled on an old war movie to watch. Sarah hated those old black-and-white films, and it didn’t take her long to fall asleep. Taking his daughter in his arms, Joel picked up Sarah, carried her upstairs, and tucked her into bed. Placing a kiss on her forehead, Joel remembered just how lucky he was to have Sarah in his life. She kept him grounded—she kept him sane—and she gave him reason to keep going.

By the time morning rolled around, Sarah was the first to wake up, as usual. Joel pressed snooze on his alarm three times, before his fourth and final alarm—being Sarah—came into his bedroom, opened up the curtains and let in the blinding golden sunlight which enveloped him. Joel winced as he felt the rays burn his skin, and turned over, putting a pillow over his head in frustration.

“Get up, dad,” Sarah announced. “It’s your birthday and I am making you special birthday pancakes.”

The pancakes were more so for Sarah, but her dad’s birthday was the best excuse to make them. She’d make rainbow funfetti pancakes with cream and syrup and strawberries. They were her all-time favourite breakfast. If he was lucky, she might have even stuck a candle in the top and sung ‘Happy Birthday’ to him.

That got Joel’s attention. “Birthday pancakes?”

“Be downstairs, dressed, in five minutes,” Sarah said before leaving her father’s bedroom.

Joel crawled out of his warm bed, the pancakes being the only motivation he had to actually get up, and pulled over the same navy blue t-shirt that he was wearing the day before. Buckling up the belt of his dark wash denim jeans, he shuffled down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“I don’t smell pancakes,” Joel frowned. “But I do smell coffee.”

Already preparing her father’s daily black espresso, Sarah sighed. “We don’t have any flour,” she replied, just as disappointed as he was. “You must’ve forgotten to pick it up. I guess you forgot the birthday cake too?”

“Damn it,” Joel huffed, realising that hopping to the grocery store yesterday must have completely slipped his mind. “That’s okay baby girl, I’ll make eggs.”

Eggs were fine, but they weren’t part of her convoluted plan to give her dad the best birthday imaginable. Sarah supposed that it would be okay and that the both of them were still able to spend the day together.

Sarah placed her dad’s coffee on the table. “Your shirt is inside out.”

The young girl helped her dad set the table and poured out some orange juice before taking her seat and eating her breakfast. After fixing his shirt, Joel sat down and turned on the television before digging at his eggs.

‘BREAKING NEWS: Cordyceps Brain Infection comes from contaminated food, spokesperson says. Total number of infected rises to 5000.’

“5,000?” Sarah repeated in disbelief. “Where is this infection spreading?”

“Jakarta,” Joel replied, stuffing a mouthful of bacon into his mouth. “Heard about it on the radio yesterday. Those poor people…”

“What kind of food is contaminated?” Sarah asked, to which Joel could only shrug in response.

“I don’t know honey, but don’t worry. We’re fine over here.”

Just as Joel and Sarah were finishing up their eggs and bacon, they overheard the front door swing open.

“Well well well, happy birthday old man,” Tommy Miller strolled into the kitchen with ease ruffling his older brother’s already messy bed hair playfully.

“Old man?” Joel countered, dropping his fork to the plate and acting mockingly offended.

“Old. Degenerate,” Tommy corrected and Sarah stifled a laugh. “Hey, I thought we were having birthday pancakes.”

“No flour.” Joel and Sarah replied simultaneously knowing that those two words offered enough of an explanation.

Tommy grumbled in dismay. “Well, in that case, I’ll see you guys later.”

When Tommy left, Sarah and Joel erupted into a fit of laughter. Tommy lived in the neighbourhood so it was often he would just pop in for a few minutes only to leave again. Now that he had the day off, Tommy would most likely spend his day in a bar playing pool, or hitting on girls that were way out of his league.

“No but seriously, what are we doing today?” Sarah asked, clearing her plate and heading over to the sink to wash her dishes.

“Well I got to pop out to the city for a little while. I promised an old friend I’d help her with a favour. You remember your old nanny?”

Sarah beamed at the memory of her. “Of course! Can I come with you?”

“No darling, I won’t be there long. She just wants me to take a look at her shower. She’s got a place up in Austin now.”

“Nice,” Sarah smiled. “She always did want to move to the city.”

“I should be back in time for dinner, and this time I’ll grab a birthday cake from the grocers,” Joel promised. Sarah offered him a hug.

“Okay daddy, do what you gotta do. I’ll see you later.”

The traffic was even worse than yesterday. The roads that led into the city were filled with people who were seemingly fleeing, all speeding in opposite directions. There was an accident on the quickest route so Joel found that he had to go through back alleys and side streets in order to get there as quickly and safely as possible. He didn’t understand why the roads were so hectic, and his mind was too preoccupied with the thought of seeing you again after so long.

Joel wasn’t sure whether or not he had done the right thing when it came to rejecting the new contracting job that was proposed by a local business, only to take on a free favour for the girl who used to babysit his daughter. You had done more than enough favours for the Miller family; having been there for Sarah ever since she was a little girl. If Joel had to be honest with himself; you were as much of an influence on Sarah as he could’ve hoped for. Being a young, single dad had its difficulties and Joel’s job often meant that he had to work long hours away from his daughter. As Sarah got older she understood why her dad would have to leave so early in the morning and come back so late at night. He was simply doing it to take care of her.

But when he wasn’t around, you were the reliable force that protected Sarah and watched over her during the day. You took her to kindergarten and later elementary school. You sat with her during the late evenings, helped with her homework and even cooked her dinner. Despite the ten-year age gap between you and Sarah, the two of you had become quite close, and according to Joel, you were simply a terrific girl; well-mannered and gentle. Your personality had an influence on Sarah, and Joel certainly couldn’t complain about that. He was so proud of his daughter. That’s why Joel was prepared to do this job as a favour to you, much to Tommy’s dismay.

Tommy being Tommy, always had something to complain about.

“This is un-fucking-believable. You got to earn a living Joel—and I do too. You sacrificed a legitimate job to help fix Sarah’s old nanny’s bathroom plumbing. And shit man, you ain’t even a plumber.” Tommy was midway ranting to Joel on the phone when he pulled up outside your apartment. After moving out of your family home, you found a place in central Austin, where you were living with your boyfriend. The commute to work was much easier now that you lived in the city. You’d scored a secretary job in a corporate office down on Congress Avenue.

“We are doing fine for business,” Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. It was times like this when Joel would wonder about the fine line between love and tolerance. Tommy was never going to let his brother forget about this. “I just owe this girl some favours.”

“You just want to get in her pants.” Tommy snarked back, the vulgar words dripping from his tongue.

“And you better watch your mouth boy,” Joel warned, his tone darkening as he immediately found himself getting ticked off by his brother’s comment. Tommy was always one to jump to accusations. “Just a favour.” Joel reminded before promptly hanging up the call.

Joel slid his cell into his jean pocket and took a deep breath. He hadn’t seen you in months. Not since you moved away. He felt his palms get just a little sweaty with nerves as he approached the front door to your building. Apartment number 13. After a brief moment of coaching himself, Joel pressed the button to buzz into your apartment.

“It’s me—Joel—uh, Miller—Joel Mil—” where were these nerves coming from?

“Come up!” your cheery voice interrupted him and he heard the electronic front door click open. Joel said a silent prayer hoping that you couldn’t sense his anxiety through the intercom. He had forgotten to take his medication that morning.

Noticing the elevator was out of order, Joel had no choice but to take the many flights of stairs that led up to your place. The walls in the hallway were painted a dingy brown and several cracks laced the webbed corners. When he got to your floor, he wiped away the beads of sweat that laced his hairline and noticed that the door to your apartment was already wide open, beckoning him to come in.

He lingered outside for a moment hesitantly, peeking around your front room; but you were nowhere in sight. He scratched the back of his neck before calling your name. It would be rude to just enter your apartment without you knowing.

When there was no response, Joel called your name again. He proceeded to take a step into your apartment and shut the door behind him. It was very small; just a sofa and a small TV and a bookshelf in the corner. Your kitchen was adjoined to your living room, and there were only two rooms towards the back. He assumed one must have been your bedroom, and the other… he heard a rush of water running. The bathroom.

The door was shut and Joel took a few steps, calling your name as he got closer and closer to the bathroom.

“I’m in here!” you called back. “Uh—you can come in—but please don’t laugh.”

Joel quirked his eyebrow as he pondered what could be beyond the door. He slowly reached down to the door handle.

“Are ‘ya… are you decent?” Joel asked awkwardly, noting that the shower was still running.

Another moment of silence before your timid voice responded. “…I suppose…”

Joel pushed down on the bronze door handle and let himself into the bathroom, only to be enveloped by warm, thick, humid air coming from the running shower. His immediate response was to choke back a cough as he squinted his eyes, trying to navigate where exactly you were hiding. You were behind the fogged-up shower glass, on your knees and sopping wet. You made no effort to remove yourself from the running water, even when Joel had already entered the room. You were adamant you could get this fixed yourself.

“Damn it!” you cursed loudly, finally withdrawing yourself from the shower and crawling out of the bathtub. You were never one to give up easily, but meddling with this shower was like fighting a losing battle.

You looked up at Joel whose large hand was covering the smirk that grazed his lips. He was trying so hard not to laugh at you. His broad shoulders were adorned by a brown jacket and his dark locks of hair seemed to be adorned with just a few grey specks—and hell, if he wasn’t staring at you with the utmost judgement—you might have even considered just how attractive he looked.

“You good?” Joel chuckled, the corners of his chocolate eyes creasing with elation. You stood up to meet his level, ignoring the fact your t-shirt was now stuck to your skin and water droplets were falling from your hair.

“Do I look good?” you snarked back, narrowing your eyes.

“Well—” Joel raised an eyebrow, eyeing you up and down. You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze and you sheepishly looked down at your feet, hoping he wouldn’t catch your earnest reaction. “What happened?”

“Thought I could be all big and clever and try and fix this damn shower by myself,” you admitted, feeling silly for even giving it a try. “Thought that if I fixed it, I wouldn’t have had to waste your time.”

“Ah,” Joel nodded, stepping aside from you and hesitantly approaching the shower. A few stray streams of water jumped out at him. “You ain't ever wasting my time.”

You fiddled with your thumbs as Joel pulled out a wrench from his back pocket. Without hesitating, he stepped under the hot water and began to adjust the shower faucet, tightening the metal valve located under the head of the shower. The wrench kept slipping however and Joel ended up placing it on the side of the tub, opting to use his strength to tighten the valve. You watched as his grip tightened against the faucet controls, his biceps flexing as he let out a quiet grunt. The main flow of water came to a halt and the condensation in the room began to slowly fizzle away. Small drips of water fell from the leaky showerhead, but for the most part, Joel fixed your problem in just a matter of minutes.

Scratching the back of his neck, Joel ran his finger down one of the pipes that joint into the valve. “You might need to get your pipes checked, could be rust or—”

“Fungus,” you cut him off. “It’s gross, I know, but a neighbour was telling me she had the same problem with the faucet in her kitchen. Damn water wouldn’t stop running. She had some guys come around and they found this gross, fungus-type thing growing in the pipes.”

Joel made no effort to hide the disgusted look on his face.

You sighed, knowing you’d have to call a plumber over to investigate your shower further. You really didn’t need the extra expense right now. But then you remembered just how grateful you were that Joel travelled all this way to do you the favour of fixing your shower—even if it was a temporary solution. You walked over to the man and gently interlinked your fingers with his, your cautious movements taking Joel by surprise.

“Come on,” you said softly. “It’s slippery. Let me help you out of the tub.” You noted how your hand fit in his. It was much smaller, and even though you wanted him to hold onto you for support, it felt more like you were holding onto him.

Joel graciously took a step out of the tub, and you realised he didn’t need to hold onto you whatsoever. You took a towel from the radiator and wrapped it around his shoulders; a pathetic attempt at getting him dry.

“I should’ve brought a change of clothes.” he huffed, running his now empty hand through his short hair.

“I have something that might fit,” you smiled. “I mean—not my clothes of course, but my boyfriend, Michael… well, he’s probably the same size as you.”

Boyfriend?

It took a second for Joel to register the word. For some reason, he’d made the assumption you didn’t have a boyfriend. But then again, it had been a while since he last saw you, and now you lived in the city with your corporate job and your brand-new life. Just when Joel thought he knew everything about you, he realised that there was now so much more for him to learn. He followed you into your small, box-shaped bedroom and into the closet.

You searched through a pile of clean laundry that was mixed with both yours and Michael’s clothes.

“If you see anything you like, just take it. Michael won’t mind.” You offered.

Despite your assurance, Joel reluctantly knelt and searched through the pile of clothes. Amongst your many shirts, pants and colourful pyjamas, Joel finally found a light grey sweater and a pair of matching sweatpants to wear. As he pulled them out from under the pile, he couldn’t help but notice a lace lingerie set that was placed delicately underneath. Deliberately, at the bottom of the pile. His eyes were drawn to the piece and his grip on the grey fabric tightened as he imagined you wearing the set. The thoughts invaded his mind without choice and Joel cursed himself for not fighting them away.

He finally stood up and turned to face you, only to immediately retract back when he saw you pull off your t-shirt. Catching a glimpse of your bare back, Joel swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to face the poorly painted wall behind him, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable upon you discovering that he had seen you like that.

You had in fact told him that you were going to change out of your wet clothes too—around about the same time he noticed your lingerie. He was just too distracted to have heard.

Dropping your soaking wet jeans to the floor and letting them pool around your ankles, you pulled up your favourite, fleece-lined black leggings and wrapped your wet hair into a towel. Now dry and cosy, you turned back around to Joel who was staring at the concrete wall, waiting patiently for you to have finished.

“Joel?” you asked.

“Y—yeah?” Joel stuttered, clutching onto the sweats.

“You found something to wear?”

“Yeah.” Joel confirmed, smiling softly and showing you the grey sweats that he had picked out, almost as if he was asking permission—again—as to whether or not he could take them.

He was such a sweetheart.

“Perfect,” you returned his smile. “You can get changed in here. I’m going to head into the kitchen.”

Before Joel could reply, you left your bedroom and gently closed the door behind you, allowing Joel to get changed in privacy.

You opened up the refrigerator and took out a batch of chocolate chip cookies that you’d baked the night before. Heating them up in the microwave, you prepared them neatly on a plate and placed them down atop the small table that segregated your kitchen from your living room. Just as you were finishing up presenting the cookies, Joel exited your bedroom and you felt your heart blossom in your chest when you caught sight of him.

You were so used to seeing Michael wear those same grey sweats all the time, you hadn’t even prepared yourself for how they’d look on Joel. For the same garments, you’d imagine they would look identical—but you couldn’t have been more wrong. They fit on Joel’s body like a glove and tugged on him in all the right places. The light colour highlighted his slender waist and broad shoulders, and the way the waistband around his sweatpants was just ever so slack…

Joel cleared his throat and you felt your cheeks heat up as you snapped out of your daydream.

“Looks good,” You nodded your head with positive affirmation and then your eyes quickly darted to the cookies on the table behind you. “Cookies!” you announced, happy to have found a reason to change the subject. Joel shuffled towards you and eyed up the plate of cookies.

“Oh wow—chocolate chip?” Joel smiled. “Those are my favourite.”

“Sarah’s too,” you beamed. “I remembered. Would you like to try one?”

“I—I would love too,” Joel grinned and extended his arm over to the plate. But then he abruptly stopped himself. “But—ah, I’m on Atkins. And I’m doing so well…”

“What’s that?”

“Oh,” Joel grumbled. “Just this dumb diet thing. I’ve basically been cutting out carbs. Lasted nearly two weeks so far.”

Your frown deepened at his admittance. “That doesn’t sound healthy…”

“No, well, neither is this.” Joel prodded his tummy.

You wanted to tell him not to diet—that he didn’t need to. That his body was damn well gorgeous just the way it was.

But you didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.

“Take them home for Sarah?” you offered.

“She’d love that,” Joel smiled and inched towards you. There was barely any distance separating you both now, and you couldn’t recall a time when you had been this close to one another. “Thank you.” His words were so genuine, so real, that they sparked butterflies in the pit of your tummy and you held back a smile. You held it back because, without any restraint, you’d be grinning like an excited little girl.

“How is Sarah?” you asked, looking up at Joel.

If you took just one step forward, your chest would be touching his.

“She’s good,” his voice had lowered an octave and that Southern twang in his accent became all the more prominent. “I’m sure she’d like to see you. You should come over sometime for movie night.”

“I—I would love that,” you admitted. Movie night with Joel and Sarah… just like the old days.

“She’s really into those horror movies now she’s getting older…”

It was like some kind of mystic energy was pulling you both closer to each other. It wasn’t conscious, and the movements were small, but as your bodies got closer together you noticed the way Joel’s voice trailed off into eventual complete silence. And then, like magic, the curve of his nose bumped into yours and you let out a small giggle. The proximity of each other felt so intimate and yet you couldn’t bear to draw away from him. You wanted him to touch you, hold you, bump noses with you again…

Joel’s eyes became dark and lust-filled as his gaze flicked down towards your mouth. Your eye line followed his and you observed his pretty pink lips that were framed by his moustache, all the same. You both wanted the same thing. He wanted to kiss you, softly and delicately—and he wanted to cradle your face as he relished the moment. And equally, you wondered what it would be like to kiss him, if his light stubble would graze your skin or if it would tickle you and make you erupt into a fit of giggles. You wondered if his hair would be rough and brassy or soft and fluffy.

You cautiously extended your arms and placed both your hands into his still-damp hair, threading your fingers through the roots to the tips. As a response, Joel closed his eyes and hummed in contentment, the vibrations in his chest sending chills through your own body. His own hands swung down to your hips and he bravely pulled you in closer to him.

Joel opened his eyes and brought one hand up to your shoulder and then gently cupped the side of your cheek. You leaned into his palm and he swept his thumb over your bottom lip. Bumping noses with you again, this time he did not draw back. You could feel his breath fan over your lips and you pushed your chest into him and opened your mouth when---

Ring. Ring. Ring.

The alert of Joel’s ringtone made him jolt back from you and stumble even a few steps further. You stood there, as still as could be, your brain desperately trying to piece together what just happened.

You almost kissed Joel Miller.

“Shit, it’s Tommy,” Joel explained. “I should take this.”

Breathlessly, you nodded, and all Joel could do was shoot you an apologetic look before flipping open his phone and holding it to his ear.

“Joel—Joel—I need you to come to pick me up. I’m in jail.” A brief moment of static buzzed through the line but Joel heard Tommy loud and clear. He wished he had misheard.

“You what—” Joel placed a hand on his hip, taking a second to process his little brother’s words. “Why the hell are you in jail, Tommy? What did you do?”

Your eyes widened when you heard what was going on. Tommy in trouble?

“I—it wasn’t my fault—”

“It never is,” Joel grimaced.

“I was at Linkin’s Bar down by the Creek and some guy just started attackin’ Isabella. Grabbed a hold of her and wouldn’t let go… so I smashed a bottle in his face. Knocked him to the ground. That showed the fucker.”

“Jesus Christ Tommy,” Joel sighed.

“You’d do the same,” Tommy called out. “Isabella’s only small, and she couldn’t defend herself. Anyway—I need you to come to the County Jail and bail me out. I’ll pay you back, I promise. I just can’t stand to spend another moment in here.”

“Alright, I’m on my way, but I’m in Austin. Will take me a while to drive back up that way.”

“Just get here quick,” Tommy practically begged. “I—I think there’s something wrong with the officer. He keeps twitchin’ all funny. People have been acting weird, Joel.”

Joel shook his head and let out a deep sigh. “Whatever Tommy, I’m on my way.”

As soon as Joel put his cell back in his pocket, you placed a caring hand on his forearm. “Is Tommy okay?”

“He’s always getting into trouble, that boy.” Joel sighed.

“You take care of your brother. You’re a good guy,” you said softly. “Maybe… maybe we can plan that movie night for tomorrow, huh? I get off work at five.”

Joel smiled. A good guy. That was all he wanted to be. And making plans for movie night with Sarah? Joel felt a buzz in his chest. She would love to see you again. “That sounds good.” He said casually, trying to hide the fact he was beaming inside.

“Alright,” you returned his smile and then nudged his side playfully. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. And I’ll bring the cookies.”

“See ‘ya.”

Joel turned around and left the apartment without another word and you stood there, your heart racing, still reeling from what had happened just minutes prior. You’d hardly lost track of time when Michael came through the front door.

“Hey, who was that guy I just saw leaving? He kinda looked like me.”

Michael wished he looked like Joel, but you assumed that remark was made in reference to the outfit that Joel had ‘borrowed’.

“I—” immediately you felt defensive. Not that you needed to be, because technically, nothing happened. Was there any need to be defensive over mere feelings? “It was the plumber.”

“Oh. He fixed the shower?” Michael asked, stealing a cookie from the batch you had baked.

“Yeah—hey! Don’t eat those. They aren’t for you.” You warned, but Michael was already swallowing his first piece.

“Huh?” Michael chortled. “It’s not like you need to eat them, looks like you’ve eaten enough already.” He said with a snide look.

You felt your jaw slacken slightly at the comment and resisted the urge to tell him exactly just who this ‘plumber’ guy was, and how much you wished you had kissed him in that heat of the moment.

You didn’t respond but instead watched Michael eat two more cookies. Your lips curled into a frown, knowing you’d have to bake another batch, but at least this time they would be fresh for tomorrow’s movie night.

For the first time in weeks, Joel felt he was finally able to relax. He took the drive home slow and steady and turned up the car radio to drown out the ongoing sirens in the distance. The song ‘Future Days’ by Pearl Jam played, and Joel decided he would take up learning it on the guitar when he got home. Now that he had a few days off from work, he could put his feet up and do whatever he wanted. He looked forward to seeing you tomorrow, but now he just had to head on to the grocers, like he had promised Sarah, and pick out a birthday cake.

He found a red velvet one with buttercream icing, knowing it was more Sarah’s favourite than his own. Joel liked fruitcake but he knew that if he brought a fruitcake home for Sarah, she’d just sit there disgusted and pick out the raisins. He’d rather she was satisfied.

Joel brought the red velvet cake to the cashier and opened up his wallet, preparing to pay.

“I’m sorry sir,” the lady behind the desk said. “I can’t sell you this. I’m afraid all wheat-based products are being recalled due to the Cordyceps Brain Infection.”

Joel furrowed his eyebrows together in bewilderment. “The Cordyceps--? I thought that was all the way in Jakarta?”

“You haven’t heard--?”

Just then, alarms began ringing in the grocery store and an automated voice boomed through the speakers. The cashier froze and her eyes widened as soon as she recognised the voice. “This is an automated message. This is a red alert warning from the United States government and the CISA. Please stop what you are doing and return home immediately. Lock your doors. Do not let anyone inside.”

The message repeated repeatedly, and the entire store erupted into a panic; including the cashier standing before Joel.

“What the hell is happening?” Joel asked, his gaze darting around the store. He watched a stampede of people head towards the fire exit, clambering and yelling frantically.

“You have to go.” The cashier replied before running off into the crowd.

Joel headed towards the entrance, thinking he could leave that way where it was less crowded. He had no comprehension of what was happening, but he knew for certain he wouldn’t leave Tommy behind.

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

Prologue: Part II

#Joel miller #Pedro pascal #Pedro pascal x reader #Joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #smut

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caliphoria17 · 1 year

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#WarriorNunWednesday on Twitter (November 16, 2022)

KRISTINA TONTERI-YOUNG

Q: WAIT WAIT who do you think is a swiftie between avatrice

KTY: Bea

Q: Any anime you're watching at the moment? @TonteriYoung Just remembered that you used to cosplay so

KTY: I’m not watching any at the moment actually! Any recommendations?

Q: when do you think bea started falling for ava??

KTY: About the time she got the book out of Shannon’s old room and then got hurt, but maybe even earlier 🤷🏻‍♀️

Q: were there any improvised avatrice moments 🫂

KTY: Not really dialogue-wise but a lot of small movement details were just us doing what felt natural.

Q: any funny behind the scenes story on set you can and wanna share? 😁

KTY: If you wait for the interview i did with Ange you’ll hear about a really funny one!

Q: Not a warrior nun related question but can I ask what's it says on the tattoo in your hand? @TonteriYoung For educational purposes only 👉👈

KTY: It’s a reference to Shelley’s Masque of Anarchy, just the word “Rise”

Q: how did you react to the finale the first time you read the script??

KTY: Um I cried

Q: are there any behind-the-scenes photos you have on your phone that you can share with us?

KTY:

Q: what’s your favourite episode in season 2?

KTY: Ghhh maybe 5

Q: we've seen Beatrice display her skills in so many various ways throughout both seasons, what's a skill you would love Beatrice to have which we have not seen (yet)?

KTY: I mean selfishly I’d like to have her do scenes in French or Russian, that would be pretty cool 🎆

Q: how many tattoos do you have now and what tattoo are u thinking of getting next?

KTY: 4 and I don’t know really I’m taking a break

Q: what’s ur fave book? any book recommendations?

KTY: Three body problem trilogy, Dreyer’s English is a funny one if you’re into reading about grammar for fun

Q: Do you know what Beatrice's plan is after leaving the OCS at the end of season 2? Where is she going/doing? and if not, what would you like her to be doing?

KTY: I mean we didn’t really set down in stone what she was going to do once she left, so in my mind she’s going to try and live her life like Ava would have wanted, while also obviously find out what Lilith was talking about when she mentioned the holy war.

Q: What was your favorite fight scene?

KTY: Church fiiiiight

Q: did you improvise any of beatrice’s lines this season?

KTY: “Pleasure.” Wasn’t in the script I think

Q: do you think Beatrice left the OCS in the intention of closing the door on this chapter in her life (including Ava) or is she going to actually look for ways to get Ava back?

KTY: I think she’s definitely going to be involved with the OCS but not in the same capacity as before

Q: hardest scene to shoot?

KTY: Ava falling at the hotel. We couldn’t for the life of us look in the same spot where she was supposed to be in the air 😂

Q: what do you think beatrice’s biggest pet peeve??

KTY: Selfishness

Q: do you have any ideas for what beatrice was like as a kid? or what activities she might have done growing up?

KTY: She was probably that kid in the classroom who just stares out the window and doesn’t really pay attention, but when called knows the answer immediately. Probably not very sociable tbh. I imagine she liked chess and puzzle games stuff like that

Q: do you put milk or cereal in the bowl first? follow up: would beatrice put milk or cereal first

KTY: Cereal first for both of us

Q: was there music playing when you filmed the dance scene?

KTY: Yeah it was girls on film by Duran Duran

Q: favourite memory with the cast while not filming?

KTY: Hanging out on the hotel rooftop and playing something like charades

Q: if we get a season 3, what would you personally like to see from it? With Beatrice and with the rest of the characters💕

KTY: I’d like to see Beatrice solidify herself as her own person separate from being a nun and allow herself to live like she’s always wanted to live. As for the others that’s really up to them!

Q: do you have a scene that was your favourite to shoot this season? The dance scene in ep.1 looked so much fun!

KTY: Ava passing through the portal was probably my favorite to film

Q: what's your go-to starbucks drink? and what would be beatrice's? 🤓

KTY: I don’t drink coffee anymore so my Starbucks order was some kind of breakfast sandwich 😅. She’d probably go for a black tea.

Q: please elaborate to me what you think bea & ava were doing in switzerland? especially since they were sharing a room and bed

KTY: They were hiding and training…..? And probably watering the plant of love….?

Q: Do you think Beatrice would like Warrior nun?

KTY: I think Beatrice is more of a documentary type of person given the type of life she lives 😂

Q: do you think Sister Bea would drink alcohol again after that night?

KTY: Probably. We all do things we say we’ll never do again but surely enough give it a few months and here we are again 🥹

Q: What do you think is the first thing Beatrice will do after leaving the OCS?

KTY: Probably procure some clothes she likes

Q: If you given a chance to play any other character besides Beatrice from Warrior Nun who would it be ???

KTY: Lilith cause she’s a boss

Q: which warrior nun character are you most similar to

KTY: Probably a mashup of Ava and Beatrice

Q: Do you have any series and movie recommendations?

KTY: Guillermo de Toros cabinet of curiosities

Q: Have you added anything to the scenes or did you just follow the script?

KTY: We all discussed scenes at length and changed a bunch of stuff to some extent

Q: Was that Beatrice's first kiss?

KTY: Probably not but it’s the one that means the most

Q: can you confirm that bea sleeps on the right of the bed whilst ava sleeps on the left?

KTY: 🤷🏻‍♀️ I’d see bea sleeping on the side closer to the door.

Q: Any scene you shot that isn't in season 2 but you wish it was?

KTY: Nah they got them all

Q: do you plan on doing any other conventions in the future 👀

KTY: I’d love to

Q: What was it like working with Alba, especially in those moments when she has so much emotion in her eyes?

KTY: I mean she’s a great actress so it’s awesome to play off that 🎆

Q: Regarding the glowing divinium sword in the post-credit scene, what do you think that meant?

KTY: I just supposed it meant Ava was coming back, but we didn’t really discuss what it actually meant

Q: how was it filming during the lockdown?

KTY: Very very strange and stressful tbh

Q: Do you think that Beatrice taught Ava how to present herself as a leader amongst the OCS?

KTY: I’m sure they talked about it in Switzerland

Q: Are you big into reading or video games? If so what's been your favorites lately!

KTY: Little nightmares 2

Q: do you think Ava and Bea would often wait for each other after the day's work at the bar so they could walk home together? 👀

KTY: I can see that happening yeah

Q: how many seasons would you like warrior nun to have

KTY: As many as possible

Q: can u tell us the person responsable for the most bloopers??

KTY: We are all equally responsible 🫠

Q: what do you think is Beatrice's love language?

KTY: Quality time

Q: how long does it usually take to film a fight scene?

KTY: Depends on the fight scene. It wouldn’t be uncommon to spend 6 ish hours on one

Q: A lot thinks that the forehead kiss was an improvisation, was it?

KTY: I……think so…? I’m not sure

Q: NAUR you don't remember???

KTY: BRO it just sort of happened ok it all happened real fast

Q: what is the biggest difficulty in being a warrior nun ?

KTY: The constant threat of death

Q: what was your reaction when you first read the script of the avatrice kissing scene?

KTY:

Q: Do you think Bea always wanted to leave the OCS and everything that happened only served to motivate her to finally do it or did she leave to honor Ava's wish that she live her life?

KTY: I think she didn’t intend to ever leave, but her bubble has been popped by Ava so she realizes she can’t live there truthfully and honestly.

Q: now who do you think beatrice would be if she wasn’t a nun her aspirations and all that

KTY: Maybe she’d be a surgeon or engineer of some kind

Q: do you think bea knows ava is out there somewhere and will come back to her that's why she smiles in the last scene?

KTY: I dont think she knows for certain, but she knows she’s making the right decision for herself

Q: u ok here? LOL

KTY: Yeah I like laying down on the ground

Q: What was the first feeling when you finished watching season 2? Say hello to Brazil, we love u 😭🇧🇷

KTY: Hello Brazil! Love you too x / I felt very relieved 😌

Q: What's a weird skill you'd like Beatrice to show off next season?

KTY: Making sushi

Q: i think we need an answer to the biggest problem, how old is beatrice?? i say about 21

KTY: Probably closer to 24

Q: hii kris i was wondering if you would like to dye your hair different colors like pink, blue or green?

KTY: Ive had my hair all kinds of colors in the past already 😅

Q: do you know if we will ever get to see a blooper reel? 🥺

KTY: I don’t know if even I will ever see a blooper reel 😭

Q: did you or any of the cast take anything from set and if so what heheh?

KTY: 🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫

Q: as a viewer, do you also find reya sketchy?

KTY: Uh yeah mad shady

Q: you mentioned that there were some funny bloopers from season 1, including you crashing into an ArqTech wall. Any funny mishaps to report from season 2?

KTY: Some interesting acting while hanging from wires in the church. 😂

Q: how fun was it to play tranquilized?

KTY: It’s hard actually lmao

Q: thoughts on pineapples on pizza?

KTY: Whatever boats your goat 🤷🏻‍♀️

Q: Surfing or Mountain Climbing? choose one. 🤭

KTY: Shnurfing

Q: In your interviews you do a lot of face touching. How much of you bled into Bea with the way she has this instinct to hold people’s faces? And the way in which she touches Ava’s face with so much tenderness and softness? Was it on the page?

KTY: I think it’s kind of a me-ism. I touch my face when I’m nervous but I think for bea it means something else.

Q: which is your favorite: jealous beatrice or jealous ava?

KTY: Jealous Ava

Q: of all the locations you filmed in this season, which did you like the most and why?

KTY: Prado museum

Q: Who do you think cooked in their apartment Bea or Ava?

KTY: Probaby bea

Q: Everybody loved Bea's casual clothes. She seems more like herself and free. Could u talk about it? Did u help create her style?

KTY: Yeah I mean I had some say, but ultimately it was up to Christina the costume designer. It’ll be interesting to see how her style evolves 🤷🏻‍♀️

Q: how do we best convince non-believers (ppl who don't watch the show) to come over to our side?

KTY: I mean what do you lose by watching a show? Even if you don’t think you’ll like it just give it a try and then decide 🤞🏼

Q: Was there a lot that changed with the script because of Mary’s absence?

KTY: Yes there was. She was missed

Q: is this a reference to Ava being in the other side or you and alba are just being in a silly mood in the vid and the song is just a coincidence to Ava's fate? We really want to know (video)

KTY: It’s a total coincidence tbh lmao

Q: who is the best cook in the cast 🫣

KTY: I honestly think we’re all pretty good cooks!

Q: Beatrice walking around with her hands in her pockets....a comfort thing or a character choice?

KTY: Both. Also that way I don’t have to think about what to do with my hands.

Q: does ava make spectacular cuba libre or did bea just say it once out of pity and now ava won’t stop making her the worst cuba libre known for mankind

KTY: She probably makes a good cuba libre but the alternative theory is hilarious and I like it

Q: what type of fighting costume would you like to see beatrice in now since she left the ocs?

KTY: Honestly I’d want cool jackets and cargo pants with military vests and turtlenecks. But that’s just me🫠

Q: what is your favorite avatrice scene and /or line in s2?

KTY: I like the fight in the apartment

Q: Do you ever miss being on warrior nun set

KTY: Yeah all the time

Q: Do you think Beatrice still have hope that Ava will come back? and do u think she'll continue waiting for her?

KTY: I think she will wait in hope

Q: sock sock, shoe shoe or sock shoe, sock shoe?

KTY: Sock sock shoe shoe finish one thing before starting another otherwise I’ll get distracted and never get shoes on at all

Q: is bea a dog or cat person? / What about yourself? 😬

KTY: Cats probably 🤷🏻‍♀️ / Both tbh

Q: what was your reaction when you found out that avatrice will finally kiss this season?

KTY:

Q: do you believe or wish there was a scene where beatrice comes out to her parents, regardless of their reaction?

KTY: Yeah that would be cool. I mean any scene where we’d get to see Bea’s parents and how that family interacts would be awesome.

Q: u have more action scenes where we can clearly see ur face and it's really amazing. did you have injuries shooting those scenes???

KTY: Noooo we were kept very safe by the stunt team 🙏

Q: how does your back feel from carrying all this promo?

KTY: Like I need a better chiropractor

Q: on a scale of 1-10, how satisfied are you with your performance this season?

KTY: Could always do better / The number would fluctuate too much so 🤷🏻‍♀️

Q: Do you think we will have more of Beatrice's back story in S3? possibly an encounter with her parents? Or do you think she has cut them out of her life?

KTY: I Hope we get more backstory! It would be so interesting to meet her parents. Tense scenes tho lmao

Q: what do you think was yasmine face during the avatrice kiss?

KTY:

Q: Thoughts on Reya? 👀

KTY: Much suspicion much confusion

Q: Bea with an undercut, I see it

KTY: Fuck yes any excuse to have short hair tbh

Q: The scene between Beatrice and Camila about falling in love with the warrior nun was it supposed to be between Beatrice and Mary?

KTY: 🤫

Q: no context warrior nun 3/?

KTY: We laughed a lot about this line

Q: what made u stop drinking coffee??

KTY: Crippling anxiety

Q: “watering the plant of love” what are you? 70? 😭

KTY: 🙂

#New additions at the bottom guys #Phew this took A WHILE to compile LOL #For the folks who don’t have Twitter #Enjoy #Warrior Nun #Avatrice #Kristina Tonteri-Young #Warrior Nun spoilers #WNW edit #Warrior Nun edit #My edit

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