prettybubblesintheair

[prettybubblesintheair]

Hank Thompson…so much to take in

[prettybubblesintheair]

HENRY CAVILL as GERALT OF RIVIA Netflix’s The Witcher ‧ Rare Species

[prettybubblesintheair]

Henry Cavill as Geralt of Rivia in The Witcher 3x01: "Shaerrawedd"

[prettybubblesintheair]

[prettybubblesintheair]

The Farmer's Daughter 17

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You do your best to make yourself look normal. You think it might help you feel normal. If you ever can again. You haven't since your dad got sick. Now, you're certain that the change can't be undone.

You look at yourself in the mirror. The simple blue dress is one of your favourites. You've tidied your hair enough, washed your face, brushed your teeth, done everything you typically do. You slip into a pair of flats and go to the door.

Walter isn't bad. He's nice. He's only ever been nice. But how this all unfolded, doesn't feel nice.

You open the door and go downstairs. He's waiting by the window, looking out at the farm. A farm he says belongs to you and your family but is signed with his initials.

"Ready?" He asks without looking back.

Your stomach is all wobbly. Walt. The grizzly man who silently tossed around bales and climbed up onto the tractor with that bristled expression. How long had he wanted this? When did it all shift?

"Sure," you answer and grab your purse.

"Glad the storm cleared up," he turns and crosses to the doorframe. He offers his hand. You take it. "Nice day to find a ring."

"Yeah, uh, well, you know... you don't have to buy me a ring."

"I do," he insists as he opens the door and guides you through first, following close. "If we're gonna be married, I'll need to give you everything a husband's supposed to."

You hum and let him bring you down the steps. His hand tightens around yours. You stare off at the horizon.

"That's a nice dress," he says. "You look good."

"Thank you," you make yourself smile. This isn't about you; it's about your family. What's left of it.

"That'll be another thing. The dress. We can have the wedding here. Flowers, food..."

"One thing at a time," you say calmly.

"Mm, good sense," he praises as he opens the truck door for you.

He keeps his hands on yours until you're firmly in the seat. You keep your lips curved. You're practicing for a lifetime of this.

He shuts the door and goes around the hood. He's not that bad, you tell yourself again. What were your options? What did you ever expect? You never went off to school, never troubled with leaving the farm. This is what was promised. Marriage. Your family.

Your blink away the heat in your eyes. You make yourself sit straight. He climbs in the drivers side, the truck shifting. He's such a big man. You watch him clutch the shifter and crank into gear. Thick fingers, thicker arms, big chest...

You think of the night before. That warmth that radiated from him. The way he clung to you. Will there come a day when he doesn't want you? Is this all just novelty to him?

You can't tell. You don't have enough experience to. None, really. Boys, men, you flirted, you kissed a few, but you were always more interested in other things.

You let the farmland blur in your vision and the motion of the truck calms you. You know you can't back out, you can't choose what you really want, especially when you don't even know what that is.

You arrive, happy to break from your spiraling thoughts. The world seems so small, time so short, everything is stunted by the certainty in his movement. He comes around to help you down. You thank him again.

His hand goes to your lower back, fingers curling around your side, a declaration of who you belong to. You feel the gaze of an older pair of women as they pass. The jeweler is the only in the city, sharing their space with Karen, the seamstress. Junior, the man behind the counter of gems and bands, greets Walter by name, then you.

"How's your pa?" He asks.

"He's... still recovering," you answer as you hug yourself.

"His old watch actin' up again?"

"No..." you trail off and stare at the wall.

Walter clears his throat. He moves you closer to the counter. Your body sears as you're certain both the jeweler and the seamstress notice.

"We're here to find a ring."

"A ring?" Junior scoffs. "Walter, you're serious?"

"My, my," Karen whispers.

"Afraid I jumped before I looked," Walt chuckles. "But she'll need one."

"A band too. One for each of ya," Junior goes into selling mode.

"Sure," Walt agrees and finally unsnakes his arm from around you. "What're you thinking, sweetheart? Diamond?"

"That's classic. Got all sorts of cuts and I can always work on them," Junior explains as he reaches under and brings out a board of rings. "We also got some amethyst, sapphire, all sorts of gems. You know, people are heading away from diamonds." He explains.

"Mhmm," Walt nods as he gives a thoughtful look to the collection. "Well..." He nudges you softly.

"I like them all, I can hardly choose," you say.

"What shape you like?" Junior asks, "teardrop?" He points to one, "princess?" He goes through several and you shrug again. You don't know. It all looks so expensive.

"Do you have anything... smaller?" You ask.

"Small?" Junior frowns.

"Well, yeah, I mean..." you glance at Walt, "living on the farm..."

"Ah, right, well, I got this antique the other day. Got a fresh band on it but it wasn't really meant to be an engagement ring," he puts the board back and shuffles around behind him.

He turns back to you with a slender band and a small sparkling stone. The diamond is set into the crook of the subtle crisscross. It's pretty but not too much. 

"Come on, try it," Junior waves you closer.

You put your hand out and let him slip it on your finger. You look at it. It's light as a feather but feels as heavy as a boulder. You gulp and nearly sway. Walt leans in to see it.

"I like it," he growls. "Suits you nice."

"Yeah, it's... it's... beautiful," you eke out.

It's the perfect seal for your fate.

[prettybubblesintheair]

compos mentis 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: hiya

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You walk with Andy towards the boutique. It feels strange. He doesn’t walk ahead of you like your mom always does, and you don’t have anything to drag with you. You still feel lost without the tank. You keep meaning to fix the tube only to find nothing more than your nose. 

He opens the door. You peek through the windows before you go through. It’s a nice place with curly lettering on the sign and colourful clothes on sleek black mannequins. You cling to your elbow as you look around at all the displays. 

“Hi, how are you doing today?” A young woman approaches you, all in black. She’s taller and slender and has wavy blond hair. “I’m Marlie. I can help you find anything you’re looking for.” 

“Oh, I don’t... I don’t know...” you murmur. 

Andy clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck with a chuckle. “Gotta be honest, I don’t either,” he says. “We’re a bit lost, I think. Clothes shopping.” 

“Right, well, you’re in the right place,” she smiles prettily. “We have all sorts here. Everything on trend. Any ideas? Inspo?” 

You look at Andy and his brows rise. He looks just as confused. “Um, how about, well, she likes Sabrina Carpenter.” 

“Ooo, me too,” she grins, “come with me, I’ll show you all the best pieces.” 

You can’t stop her before she has you by the hand. You glance back at Andy as he wears a sheepish expression. You remember what he said. Try to enjoy this. 

You look at Marlie. She’s probably around your age. You know she’s just doing her job but her demeanour makes her feel like a friend. 

She lets go of you and steps forward. She seizes a shirt from the table and unfolds it. “Hm, about your size.” She shows you the shirt; off the shoulder with a ruffle along the top. “That’s so cute.” 

“Oh, uh,” you touch your shoulders, “my bra...” 

“We sell strapless ones,” she offers. “But you don’t always need to wear one.” She pauses and peers toward Andy. You follow her gaze. He keeps his hands behind him as he leans in to check out the rack of sunglasses. He looks even more clueless than you. “If you think it’s okay with him.” 

“Oh, him?” You turn back to her. “I guess. He said... he said I could choose.” 

“Nice,” she shimmies excitedly, “I have so many ideas. 

She rushes around in a flurry as you trail her. She knows exactly where everything is. When she has an armful, she leads you into the back where the change rooms are. 

“I’ll let you try it all on.” She declares. “I’ve hung it in there for you, if you need help, there’s a bell inside.” 

“Oh, sure, I... thanks.” 

You’re not used to this. You were usually the one waiting outside the booth as your mom tried on her haul. You would sit on the bench and watch all the young girls like you; or not like you. They had friends. They were happy. 

You step in and close the door. You try on the first shirt and do your best to match it with a skirt. Neither cover you very much. The red checker halter matches the leather skirt with the zipper up the front. It’s nice but you’re not sure it’s for you. 

“Sweetie?” Andy’s voice makes you twitch. 

You spin and near the door. You put your hand on the clasp and hesitate. “Yeah? 

“You okay?” 

“Mhmm, I... I’m not sure about this.” 

“No? Well, why don’t you let me see? I’ll be honest,” he offers. 

Your eyes round. You don’t know if he should see you like this. It will be embarrassing if it looks bad. 

“Well, er, I don’t know if it fits. And I don’t... I don’t wear this stuff,” you say. 

“I’m sure you look great. How can I know if I don’t see?” 

You stare at your reflection in the door. He brought you here, he’s helping cover the cost for now, and he’s being so patient. Your mother would be screeching at you. 

You slide back the lock. Slowly, you pull the door inward and shuffle out. You keep your head down. He’s quiet. 

You feel his gaze crawling over you. The air turns stagnant. You squirm. 

“It looks bad,” you sniff. 

“Honey, it looks... wow. You look so nice. I mean, the clothes fit you really well.” 

You dare to peek up at him and lift your brows, “really?” 

“Oh, yeah. Really good,” his cheeks tinge pink above his beard. Is he lying? 

“I don’t... I never... this isn’t what I usually get.” 

“Right, but... did you pick your clothes or did you just take what she gave you?” 

You shrug, “I guess... what she gave me.” 

“It’s not what I like. How does it make you feel?” He asks. 

You sway and turn around. You look in the mirror. You blink at your reflection. Your eyes stray and find his. The clothes make you feel strange but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel better. Maybe you can be normal. You might even be pretty. 

Well... 

You reach up and touch your hair and frown. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks. 

You flick your lashes at the threat of tears. You shake it off. 

“Nothing, it’s just...” 

“We can go to a salon? If you need a trim. Oh, and I don’t know, I was going to ask. I don’t really know about these things. Stupid man and all. But makeup? There’s a store—not that I think you need it but... I don’t know. Whatever you want or need.” 

“Makeup? I don’t know...how.” 

“They have videos, if you want to learn. Or we can ask at the store. Only if you want to,” he says. 

You look at him and try to smile. “Andy, you’re not stupid. You’re too nice.” You lower your eyes. “I’ll do whatever. Maybe... just look around? See if it’s... if maybe...” you face him. “just look. Is that okay?” 

“Sweetie, all I want is for you to be happy.” He insists. “So, you tell me what to do.” 

💗

The makeup store is even more intimidating. Foolishly, you thought the boutique was the hard part. This is so much worse. It’s so busy and everyone there is so pretty and perfect. Girls with glossy lips look at tubes of colour and the associates in their all-black attire float like swans as they move between customers and discuss their products. 

You can’t breathe as you skirt along the front aisle, turning to peer through the windows and contemplate escape. Andy says your name and gently touches your sleeve, “you okay?” 

“Ummmmm,” you look at him then all around. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.” You bring your fingers up to drag down your cheeks, your anxiety mounting. “And I—I—I don’t look like them.” 

“Like who?” He asks. 

“Those girls—women. They... they know what they’re doing. Oh, Andy, I don’t know,” you flutter your fingers then tug on your hair nervously. “I need my oxygen.” 

“Sweetie, just... breathe, okay? In... out...” He coaxes as he rubs your shoulder. 

You take a breath in then let it out. You gulp. He did come all the way here. You wring your hands and nod. 

“I’m sorry, I... I’m not used to everything. I’m sorry. I’m... a loser.” 

“Sweetie, what did I tell you about talking like that?” He girds. “You’re not any of those things you keep saying. You’re a special girl and you deserve special things. Just because you don’t know something, doesn’t mean you can’t figure it out, right?” 

“I... I guess,” you tuck your hands into your sleeves and make fists. Your press your knuckles to your chin. 

“You okay to wait here? I’ll go look for help.” He squeezes your shoulder. 

“Um, um, um,” you blink at him. “Sure, I can... wait.” 

He rubs with his thumb and reluctantly pulls away. He turns and strides away. He’s so tall, he can see over the shelves so easy, and he’s undeterred by the crowds or the noise. He’s normal. He’s strong. You’re not. 

You spin and nearly knock into another customer. You back up and sidle along to the corner, staring at the bottles of floral perfume. It’s not just that you don’t belong here, you don’t belong anywhere. That’s all too clear. 

“Oh, hello, hon,” a trill voice chirps at you, “you need some help?” 

You turn at the tall brunette as she approaches. Andy is behind her. He keeps a distance and nods at you. He’s there if you need him. 

“I’m Tilly,” she introduces herself, “I hear you’re looking to start fresh.”  

You stare at her and scrunch your lips. You drop your hands to your sides, “yes. Thank you. I... I don’t know anything about... about make up.” 

“Oh, my, that’s alright! Figuring it all out is the fun part,” she beams as she claps her hands together. “But oh my gosh, look at your skin. You’ve got the perfect complexion. What do you use?” 

“Well, I... I... use vaseline on my lips, they chap because of... erm, I used to have an oxygen tube, so... I got all dry around my nose...” you babble and cringe. “I just use shea butter on my skin.” 

“Shea is wonderful,” she praises. “We have some products with it if you want to add to your regimen but whatever you’re doing is working.” 

Your chest tickles and you smile, cheeks bulbing tightly, “really?” 

“Oh, you have this glow. You are radiant,” she hums and taps her chin. “Makes me think you don’t need much.” 

“Right, er, well. I wouldn’t know how to... use any of it.” 

“I can show you. How about we try it out and see? I’ll grab a few products and put them on for you, then you can make up your mind.” She suggests. 

“That’s.... that’s not too much?” You sway. 

“No, hon, come on. Oh, I love this. I just adore getting to show people new things.” She points you along the next aisle, “now, I’m thinking you probably don’t need a foundation, but we’ll do a tinted moisturiser as a base, to give you a bit more highlight. A tine dash of blush. I think just a stick, no powder...” 

She leads you around the store, weaving up and down as she plucks up products. You’re lost even as she explains each one. She takes you to a chair near a mirror and has you sit down with your back to it. You climb up as she lays out the samples. 

“First, we’ll start with the moisturizer,” she instructs. She dabs it around your face and spreads it with a tear drop sponge. “So, you said you used to have oxygen. Were you sick?” 

“Oh... yeah. But I’m better now,” you frown. 

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. It’s never fun, is it? I’ve got diabetes, my monitors right here,” she points to her belt as she grabs the next product. 

“Really?” 

“Oh, yes. But we live. We survive,” she smiles. “I grabbed this liner, it’s very creamy, you see, it goes on very easy and you just need a quick swipe.” 

“Okay,” you say. You follow her direction to close your eye. 

“That man you’re with,” she gently touches yours face to stretch your eyelid. “He’s very nice.” 

“Yeah,” you agree dully. 

“He seems very concerned. Says he want you to be happy so you tell me if you don’t like it, okay?” She switches eyes. 

“I will,” you promise. 

She continues as you try not to wince. You’re not used to being touched by anyone but the doctors; they’re always so clinical. Or your mother; she’s always rough. She’s not. She’s tender as the plies her expertise. 

“Now, you ready to see yourself?” She asks as she caps the lip gloss. 

You bat your lashes, getting used to the coating on your lashes, “sure.” 

She turns you to the mirror. You stare at yourself. You look... like you but like someone else too. You lean in as you take in the subtle but noticeable difference. You sit back slowly, silently, and your eyes stray around the mirror. 

Your gaze meets Andy’s as he stands across the store. He perks up and smiles. He crosses the main aisle as he gives a wave. 

“Well, what do you think?” Tilly asks. 

“I... I like it. It’s... not too much.” 

“Oh, like I said, you’re so naturally pretty,” she says. “I’ll get you full-sized products and meet you at the till. That good?” 

“Yes, thank you.” 

“Oh, I loved it,” she assures you. 

She gathers up the samples and leaves you. Andy approaches and clears his throat. You look at him as his eyes scour you. You wilt beneath his gaze. 

“I... it’s too much?” You gesture to your face. 

He shakes his head then hits his chest with his fist, “ahem. I... sorry, sweetie. You look... you look so good you took my breath away.” 

You make a face then laugh. That’s such a silly joke. You shake your head. 

“It’s the truth,” he chuckles. 

“Andy, you don’t have to lie,” you insist as you slide forward on the chair. He steps past the mirror and offers his hand. You take it as you get down. “Thanks.” 

“I’m not lying. Sweetie,” he squeezes your hand before he lets go. “You look amazing. Once you get into some of your new clothes, I’m sure you’ll feel it.” 

“Oh, uh, maybe,” you curl your shoulders. “She said she was bringing everything to the counter.” 

“Right,” he reaches for his back pocket. 

“But if it’s too much--” you show your palms. 

“Nothing’s too much for you,” he grins and waves you toward the front of the store. “Come on.” 

[prettybubblesintheair]

Study Buddy 5

Warnings:this series will include dark elements which may include bullying, noncon or dubcon, or violent behaviour. Mind the warnings.

Summary: a group project leads to a tense partnership.

Character: Walter Marshall

Big thanks to those who read! Feedback always helps inspire and you know I’m always happy to chat about possibilities! Please reblog and comment ❤️

Despite feeling entirely out of place, you can’t resist the draw of sleep. Nestled on the couch beneath a blanket, a soft pillow under your head, you drift away from the tension rippling off your study buddy. Even in the next room, you sense the density in the air. 

You’re so tired, you hear yourself snoring from the depths of your unconscious. Your brain is sludge and your dreams are murky. You only wake up as you sense the murmur of voices. 

You open your eyes to the glare of the TV in the pale light of day. You rub your cheek as your vision clears. You blink at the screen as the teen drama plays out. 

“You snore louder than my dad,” Faye snorts. “Morning, sunshine.” 

You lurch up, almost top-turning from the suddenness of it all. You remember where you are in an instant. You knead your temple as you try to sort yourself out. 

“Um, good morning,” you croak through your dry throat. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better,” she grins, still in her pajamas as she drapes her legs over the armrest of the chair. “How about you?” 

“Urgh, tired,” you drop your hand as the blanket falls to your lap. “Sorry, I should go--” 

“Daaaad,” Faye hollers over you. 

You flinch and turn as you hear footsteps. As you glance over, Walter emerges in a bathroom. You can tell by the glimpse of his furry chest and the glisten in his curls that he just got out of the shower. 

“Your friend’s awake.” She chirps. 

He looks at you and his shoulders square. He really doesn’t like you. You can’t help but wonder why he insisted you stay. 

“It’s alright, I’m just about to head out,” you stand and fold the blanket and set it neatly on the cushion. “Thanks, again.” 

“You should at least have breakfast. Dad made waffles.” 

“Waffles? Oh,” you glance at him. “I wouldn’t want to... impose.” 

“No big deal, I saved some batter. Iron heats up in a snap,” he shrugs. 

You face him as you cross the room. You stop by the doorway into the entry, “it’s very nice of you but I’m okay. I really should try to catch a bus.” 

“Gimme a few and I’ll drive you.” He offers. 

“Really, it’s...” 

He’s already stalking away before you can finish your protest. You sigh and grimace at his back. He really doesn’t give you a chance to argue. With anything. Would it be easier to just have him look at the paper before you go and tell you everything that’s wrong? 

“My dad likes you,” Faye giggles. “He doesn’t like anyone.” 

“Um, I don’t think so,” you lean on the doorframe and stare at the TV, trying to make sense of the snarky conversation. 

“He does,” she insists. “I know, I’m the only other person he likes.” 

“Sure,” you tut. “Does it matter? I just need to get this project done.” 

“Don’t you think it’s funny? My dad taking a writing course? He doesn’t really seem like the creative type. More the bashing skulls type,” she cackles. 

“I don’t really know... him.” 

“What did you think when he showed up? I’d be pissing my pants,” she doesn’t look away from the TV as she speaks. 

“I don’t know, I thought someone named Walter would be skinnier... maybe have glasses and a pension?” 

She laughs even louder, “oof, don’t say that too loud.” 

You let yourself smile. She’s not a bad kid. If you were her age, you might be friends. 

“I’m just going to get my stuff together,” you say, “uh, Faye, it was nice to meet you.” 

“You too. Nice to have someone around to keep the wolf from coming out in the full moon,” she snipes. 

You snicker softly and leave her. The analogy isn’t far off. Walter does fit the type. He’s a bit furry after all. 

You check that everything’s in your bag and ben to put on your shoes. You pull on your jacket and Walter appears; he wears a black hoodie and dark jeans. He pulls on a jacket and leaves it undone before he grabs his boots. 

You zip up your coat and hook your bag on your shoulder, “thanks, again. You know, I have a bus pass.” 

He grumbles and you quiet. Don’t push your luck. Hopefully he only needs to revise a little and you can be done with all this. 

You flinch as he suddenly moves toward you. Your eyes round and you hit the door with your back. He tilts his head as he reaches past you for the handle. You look down and cringe. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t... paying attention.” 

He hums and you shift out of his way. He opens the door and lets you out first. You step into the sunshine, a deceptive beacon as your breath puffs out visibly. You cross your arms as he locks the door. 

He gestures you ahead of him to his truck. You go down the walk and to the driveway. You wait on the passenger side until the locks click. You open the door and climb in. He has a much easier time stepping into the high vehicle. 

He pulls his seatbelt down as you do the same. He turns the engine and lets it rumble as he turns the dials for the vent. He checks the mirrors and grips the wheel in one hand. He leans his elbow on the arm rest as he backs out. 

“You know,” he says as he rights the tires. “I got eye surgery so I don’t need the glasses anymore.” 

You squint at his remark. What? It takes a moment before you realise. Shoot. 

“It was a joke,” you say. “Obviously...” 

“No pension for another fifteen years at least and, well, helps to have a bit of bulk in my line of work.” 

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment. You really didn’t mean anything. 

“I’m sorry, I... yeah, I say stupid things.” 

He’s quiet as he steers. He sucks his teeth as he stops at a sign, “it was a good joke. Better than Faye’s werewolf schtick.” 

“Oh, uh, right,” you flick your thumb nervously. 

“You seem like the werewolf type. Know any good books?” He asks. 

“Werewolf type? Um, didn’t think I put out that vibe but... maybe Mongrels? I don’t read a lot about that stuff actually.” 

“Mongrels,” he nods. “I’ll check it out.” 

You’re almost flattered that he’d take your recommendation, less so that he thinks you’re a Twilight girlie. You stare through the windshield and take the victory for what it is. You don’t think you’ll be getting any more than that. 

[prettybubblesintheair]

You Make Me Wanna 6

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, best friend’s dad trope other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note:Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

As unsurprised as you were when Faye shunned you, you’re even less put off by her sudden reappearance. She does this. There was a whole month in high school when suddenly she was too busy trying to fit in with the local Regina George and her minions. You know she only came back then because she had to work to impress them. 

You’re not insulted. You know who and what you are, even without her father reminding you. You reread the text, tempted to hit those three dots and tap gleefully press ‘block’. You’re still friends, even if she can be a shitty one. You care about her.  

‘Can we meet?’ 

You already have your response typed in; ‘where?’ You’ve been trying to send it for the last hour. Something keeps you from push your thumb against that arrow. Is it worth it this time? 

Before you can think too much, your phone vibrates again. Almost as if she can sense your doubt. ‘Please. It’s serious.’ 

Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck. As if you don’t have enough to deal with. 

You send the text and grab your bag. The kids are already asleep, your mom’s here, probably sleeping too. You hurry to the door without a response. This is it. The last time. You’re going to tell Faye exactly that. Next time she can call her dad. You don’t need the trouble. Besides, she’s doing all this to piss him off, it has nothing to do with you. 

You put your shoes on and leave as quietly as you can, double checking the locks behind you. You stomp down the front walk as the streetlights shine down and head down towards the bus stop. Your phone shakes. What the hell? 

At least it’s close. You read the address again. You know it. Two blocks away on Wilmington; dealer district. This isn’t good. 

You put your chin down and set your eyes ahead of you. Don’t look at anyone, just keep going. You sling your purse around your body, keeping your hand on it. You have your phone firmly in the other. 

Wilmington. Even your mother has enough sense to warn you against going around there. You head down and count the numbers from the corner of your eye. You slow as you near the house in question. What do you do? Knock on the door? You don’t know if that’s a great idea. Looks like a flop house. 

You hear your name and a shadow ripples on the crooked porch. You look up as a dark figure staggers to  the top of the steps. Faye looks willowy and drawn out as the moonlight hits her skin. The skin around her eyes baggy and discolored and she’s wearing the same outfit she wore to the club. 

“What the hell?” You hiss as you march forward. She stumbles down the stairs and you barely catch her, “Faye?” 

“I’m sorry. I was scared,” she murmurs as she latches onto you, “you gotta help me.” 

She reeks, she’s shaking, and she’s slurring her words. 

“Are you high?” You whisper at you hold her at arm’s length. 

“Not anymore,” she sniffles, “please, my head is killing me.” 

“What the fuck?!” You barely keep from shrieking, “how-- why the fuck would you do that?” 

“That guy... we were just snorting a little and then... I don’t know. I can’t remember.” 

“Faye,” you whine, “are you out of your mind?” 

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t...” she shakes her head and her voice drifts off, her frazzled eyes dimming, “I don’t know...” 

She scratches her arm and you notice the scabbing there. You sigh and shake your head. You’re so tired of this. As if you don’t have enough to deal with at home with three siblings. Faye isn’t your problem, she won’t be after this. 

“Fine. I’ll take you home. Your dad can deal with you--” 

“No, please. You can’t,” she pleads and grabs you again, “I can’t-- He’ll kill me.” 

“Faye, what the fuck am I supposed to do? I don’t have anywhere else to take you.” 

“I’ll stay in your room--” 

“No,” you say bluntly, “I have work and my siblings can’t be around you like this.” 

“Why are you being so mean?” She whines. 

You grit your teeth and look around as you hear voices from unseen mouths. You exhale and grab her wrist, dragging her hand from your arm. 

“Let’s get out of here first,” you turn and tug her after you. “Fucking Wilmington? Wilmington?” 

“Please, don’t be mad,” she snivels, “my dad’s gonna lose it if he knows. I need you. I need you to be nice--” 

“I need you to stop fucking me around,” you snarl, “don’t you understand? Every dumb shit decision you make her brings down on me?” 

“Huh?” She staggers heavily in her dirty wedges. 

“Your fucking dad. Thinks he rules the whole damn world. And who is he gonna blame for this? You’re in my neighbourhood. You think I want to deal with him?” 

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers. 

“You’re not,” you insist, “this is the last fucking time.” 

“Please--” 

“No, Faye,” you spin on her as you turn off of Wilmington. You have to keep yourself from shoving her, instead letting her go and throwing up your hands. “You have everything. You get to go back to school, you get to go home to your nice little suburban castle, you get to have your dad pay for it all. I have to go work at the goddamn grocery store and watch my life spin down the fucking sewer. I get to lay awake at night and worry if my siblings are gonna end up over here or if my mom’s going to come home at all when I haven’t seen her in two weeks!” 

You ball your hands to fists, overwhelmed by the eruption of repressed emotions, “you get to smile and cry and get out of it all.” 

“I...” she breathes, “I... didn’t know--” 

“You never cared. Never listened,” you drops your arms and slump. “Go and live your life. Live it up in college, move somewhere nice, get married, do all that fun shit. I’ll stay. I don’t get that choice.” 

The roll of tires near as you stand in tense silence. Faye mopes and hangs her head, swaying and scratching, “can I just stay one night?” She whispers. 

You sigh again. 

You sense a car draw up to the curb. Great, some jackass thinks you’re a street walker. You’re ready to tell him to fuck off but swallow the sneer. You could still say so. 

Walter steps out on the other side of the car, “Faye,” he snarls. 

“See,” you turn to her again, “don’t you realise who he’s going to blame now?” You face the man’s broad shadow, “don’t worry, Mr. Marshall, I was just telling her to go home and never come back. You win. I quit.” 

“Both of you, get in,” he growls. 

You scoff and Faye cowers behind you, “daddy--” 

“Faye, just go,” you try to nudge her ahead of you, “I have to go home.” 

“I said both,” Walter stomps around and rips open the back door. “In.” 

“Here, she can go--” you urge Faye towards the backseat as she fights weakly.  

As you push her head down and she surrenders, curling onto the seat, you’re shoved from behind. You barely keep from hitting your brow on the metal and throw your arm back at Walter. He catches your wrist and twists your arm behind you. 

“It’s late. I’m on duty. I can’t leave you here,” he insists. 

“What do you care?” You hiss and fight him. 

“Don’t make me get the cuffs.” 

You recoil at his threat and fall inside the car. You turn back to sneer at him but his face in covered in black shadow. Your nostrils flare and you shake your head. You bite down on a million insults and pull your legs inside. 

Once he has Faye safe, you’ll figure a way out. 

[prettybubblesintheair]

The Farmer's Daughter Masterlist

ONGOING

Part 1 🌲 Part 2 🌲 Part 3 🌲 Part 4 🌲 Part 5 🌲 Part 6 🌲 Part 7 🌲 Part 8 🌲 Part 9 🌲 Part 10 🌲 Part 11 🌲 Part 12 🌲 Part 13 🌲Part 14 🌲 Part 15 🌲 Part 16

AU MASTERLIST

[prettybubblesintheair]

Follow You Anywhere Masterlist

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life. (Captain Syverson)

Status: In Progress

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

[prettybubblesintheair]

Sweet Like Candy 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Thor, Bucky Barnes (Professor AU)

Summary: the new school year proves to be hectic. (short!chubby! reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

You knock on the door of Professor Odinson’s door then check your smartwatch. You’ve been anxious all day about the meeting. After the quiz, he sent you a quick email saying he’d like to talk about it with you. You were the first done and you’re pretty sure you aced it! 

You wait and bounce on your feet. You tap the door again. You’re not that early. You hear the floor groan and stand straight the rippled glass darkens with a silhouette on the other side. 

The door opens and you beam a smile, “good afternoon, Professor--” you nearly choke on your tongue. “Oh, Professor Barnes.” 

He blinks at you, his face sharp with agitation, “Odinson isn’t here.” 

“Uh, oh, but I have an appointment,” you show your phone, “I can show you the email.” 

“I’m sure you do,” he grumbles. He backs up and drags his feet back to his desk, muttering, “...always late...” He sits heavily and sighs. “You can wait over there.” 

He waves towards Odinson’s empty desk and you peer between him and that. He grabs his coffee cup and growls as he looks inside. He sighs again and stands. 

You enter, eager to be out of his way, and he strides out the door with another grunt. You sway and look around. You feel like an intruder. Still, you can’t just leave. Odinson will be here soon. 

You sit in the velvet chair across from his desk and swing your feet. You wiggle impatiently and admire the ornaments on his desk. There’s some runes and a little hammer. 

The smell of coffee wafts in with the other professor. Barnes sits down and takes a long draw from his mug. He sets it down with a clink. The tension coils like a boa constrictor, tightening your throat and spine. 

You turn your phone up and bow your head. You unlock it. Won’t be much longer, you know it. 

You flick through with your thumb and glaze over as you watch the short videos. You swipe up and up and up. You giggle mindlessly as a kitten attacks a stuffed rabbit. Barnes exhales heavily. 

“Rots your brain...” he remarks dryly. 

“Hm?” You look at him over your shoulder. 

“All those dumb apps. You’re like a robot, sitting there, laughing at those stupid things,” he sneers. 

“I... It’s not dumb,” you argue and turn away from him. “Sorry, I’ll be quiet.” 

“And sit still. You’re distracting.” 

You frown and watch the kitten again. Why is he so grumpy? You didn’t do anything. His fingers hit his keys hard and you grow irritated at his unspoken anger. Odinson is the one that’s late. 

“Here,” you stand and march over to his desk, “maybe the stupid video will cheer you up.” 

You shove your phone next to his monitor and he ignores it. You roll your eyes. “Come on, it’s a kitty! Everyone loves kitties.” 

He shakes his head, focusing on his screen. You push the phone closer. He catches your hand and squeezes. His gaze flits over to your phone. He watches it without reaction. 

“Kittens grow up to be cats. A responsibility,” he lets you go. “Something I’m sure you don’t understand.” 

You furrow your nose, “I’m being nice. You don’t have to be... not nice.” 

“I’m working.” He insists. 

You have no argument for that. You shrug and go back to the chair. You stare at the wall behind Odinson’s desk and the degree mounted there. 

“Ah, apologies,” a storm blusters through the door in the form of Professor Odinson. “There is some event on campus and I was caught up.” 

“Professor,” you stand politely. 

“Yes, yes, I’m here,” he hurries to his desk and drops his bag. “Apologies, again. Oof, it smells like coffee. I could use a cup.” He smiles and stills himself, “and how are you?” 

“Good, Professor.” 

“A poor look to be late,” he chides himself and sits. He puts his bag in his lap and flips it open. “I do hope Professor Barnes was adequate company during your wait.” 

Barnes grumbles. You don’t say a word. Odinson sifts through his bag. 

“If you would prefer privacy, we might find an empty room,” he suggests as he pulls out a cluster of stapled papers. You recognise the sparkly gel pen on it. 

“No, I’m okay,” you insist. 

“Mm, right,” he sets his bag on the floor and rolls his chair closer to the desk. “Well, with your consent, I shall proceed.” He smooths the paper. That’s when you see the red pen all over it. You show your teeth. Maybe it would have been a better idea to be alone. 

“It is only the first quiz, so early on,” he begins. “Yet, I would hate for the rest to go... worse.” He clears his throat and hands you the pages. “I have posted it on the course page but there will be extra review sessions for those who feel they need them. Learning a new language can be difficult.” 

You cringe at the 20% at the top of the page. You’ve never done so poorly in your life. You’re a straight C type of girl. 

“Oh,” you deflate. Once more, you were over confident. You really felt good about that and oh gosh, you’re so embarrassed. “Thanks, I’ll go...” you agree as you stare at the paper. “I’m sorry, I really studied.” 

“Like I said, new language,” he comforts. “I just wanted to offer you any extra support you feel you might need. I have an open door policy--” 

Barnes snorts behind you. You wince. 

“Thank you, Professor, that’s really nice,” you gulp and clutch your fuzzy purse. “I should... go. I... I have to do a few things before my next class.” 

“Right, yes, as you will. Again, I apologise for keeping you waiting,” he says. 

“Yeah,” your voice cracks even as you fight back the tears in your eyes. “It’s no problem.” 

You make yourself smile and stand. You turn and your eyes meet Barnes. He’s watching you. He doesn’t shy away as your cheek twitches. He looks almost amused. 

“Maybe some more kitten videos might help with studying,” he comments. 

“Eh?” Odinson utters. 

“Maybe,” you agree glumly and your lips tug down. “Sorry to bother. Both of you.” 

You turn and quickly flee the office. For as kind as Odinson was about your unabashed failure, Barnes was entirely cruel. You tried so hard and he could just grin mockingly. You don’t know what you did to make him so mean. 

[prettybubblesintheair]

Sweet Like Candy 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Thor, Bucky Barnes (Professor AU)

Summary: the new school year proves to be hectic. (short!chubby! reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

“Hey, Oli, hold my seat,” you say into the phone speaker, “I gotta run! The professor’s office hours close in... ten minutes and I desperately need to be signed into this course. I swear, if I’m stuck taking philosophy again I’m gonna cry.” 

“No problem, we can wait,” Olive assures you. She’s always a comfort. She wouldn’t dare mention how you always cry or that you did this to yourself by waiting until the last minute to sort your schedule. 

“Alright, gotta go! You don’t wanna hear me huffing and puffing,” you chuff, “buh-bye!” 

You hang up and clutch your phone, your bag bouncing, your bum too! You hurtle forward between the bodies of students who refuse to part for your passing. You veer towards the history building and nearly trip up the steps. 

You heave as you get to the stop and grunt as you drag open the heavy wooden door. Ugh! Why are you weak? Not just in body, but mind too. If you had a degree of discipline, this wouldn’t be happening. Again. 

You slow as you climb the next set of stairs. Yeah, you can’t do that. You’re dizzied by the endless halls set out like a twisted maze meant to house beasts with human heads and bulls’ bodies. It doesn’t help that those signs are fuzzy. You can make out the letters if you get real close. 

You finally get to the door you need, dragging your feet as your legs burn. You raise your hand to knock on the door but it opens as if it can sense you. That’s silly. Doors don’t open themselves. 

It’s too late to stop yourself from knocking on the man’s upper stomach. You cringe and pull your hand back against your chest. You force your lips into a smile. 

“Sorry, I—are office hours over? I ran here,” you gasp. “I’m sorry.” 

The man looks down at you and you sway nervously. He’s taller than you. Well, most people are. His blue eyes bore into you as his cheek dimples in agitation. 

“Please--” 

“I don’t know,” he grips the mug in his hand tighter. “Odinson, another one.” 

The man doesn’t bother with an excuse me or pardon. He steps forward and you stumble back. You sidle out of his way and he marches down the hall. You peer through the door again. An even bigger man rises from behind a desk and smiles. The blond is a lot more welcoming than the brunette. 

“Ah hello, I suppose you’ve come to be let into my Norse course?” He intones as he crosses the office and extends his large hand. “Professor Odinson.” 

“Cerise,” you accept his hand. It’s like a paw. Maybe there are mythical beasts in here. Though he is more what you imagine a god to be. Large, golden, and those eyes. “Yes, I’m so sorry! I meant to enroll before the deadline but I had it down wrong and then I realised it was two days late and--” 

“Not to worry. It’s an intensive language course. We are bound to have a few withdrawals so I’d be happy to take on a few extra,” he assures you. “Do you have your form?” 

“Oh, yes!” You let the straps of your bright pink purse part on your arm and you dig inside. You take out the paper and a scatter rains over the floor. “Oops!” You bend to collect the wrapped candies and the heart lollipop. “I kinda... hurried here.” 

“Not to worry,” he grins down at you as you hold out the form again.  

His eyes skim to your other hand and you open your fist. “Er, you want some?” 

“If you don’t mind? But don’t mention it. I wouldn’t like anyone to think I can be bribed with sweets. Though it may be true,” he winks and takes one of the strawberry candies and the form. “Cerise, an interesting name.” 

He turns and goes back to his desk. You follow behind him, nervous to enter the office completely. There’s another desk. The office is bigger than you expect. You stand across form him as he sits. He lays out the paper and unwraps the candy.  

He pops the sweet into his mouth and hums, “delicious.” 

You teeter on your toes and clasp and unclasp your purse as he searches for a pen. He sucks loudly on the confection. As you try not to fidget, there’s a clink that makes you jump. You peek over at the other man as he returns with a full cup. He drops into his chair with as little caution. 

His eyes meet yours. The line of his brows of them make you flinch. He looks angry but why? Or you think so. You narrow your eyes as you try to see him clearer. 

You turn back to Odinson and shake off the tension. He scribbles with a pen across the bottom of the form. He makes a wet noise with his mouth and the other man grunts. 

“Do you have to?” The dark-haired man snarls. 

“Forgive my office mate,” Odinson tuts as he hands over the paper. “Barnes is rather crotchety since his own office was flooded. You think he’d be a bit more grateful for my generosity, elsewise he’d be languishing in some basement.” 

“I said ‘thank you’,” the other professor mutters. 

“Mm, yes, but not loud enough to hear,” Odinson chides and gives a laugh. “Don’t fret about him. I tease. We are merely adjusting to each other. You must live in residence? You know how it can be to have to adapt to others.” 

“Oh, yes, my roommate is a night owl. I already know I’m not going to get any sleep,” you take the form, “thank you, sir.” 

“Not at all, but I must warn you. This is a language course, not mythology. We use the stories to learn the language so you will need to be attentive to your studies,” he girds, “I’d hate for this all to be for not.” 

“I understand,” you look down at the form. You can kind of make out his signature.  

It’s fine. They have all sorts of assistive technology these days. First year, you go through one text-to-speech. Everything is only so you’re really not worried. And you would love to be able to speak like a viking. 

“I’ll see you in class, professor,” you give a triumphant smile and bounce on your heel as you turn. 

Barnes huffs heavily as you cross the office. You stop as a crinkle comes from your hand. You only realise then you’re still clutching onto the candies. You glance over and slowly near his desk. 

“Do you want one?” You open your hand and offer the candies.  

He doesn’t even look up, “no.” 

Odinson sucks loudly, “don’t be such a bore. Leave him a chocolate. He does like them. He keeps truffles in his drawer.” 

Barnes inhales sharply but doesn’t say a word. You take one of the chocolate balls and put it on his desk. You dump the rest in your bag then spin away. 

“Have a great day,” you chirp as you get to the door. 

[prettybubblesintheair]

Know Your Place 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall, destroyer!Chris [for the purposes of this AU, I will give him the last name Jackson] (Professor AU)

Summary: after a life time of home schooling, you finally get to experience the real world in college. (petite reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

You’re lost! It’s an inevitability, really, but your lost and that pulsing swell is making its way from your stomach to your chest. Soon, your throat will constrict and you won’t be able to breathe. Lost, lost, lost. 

You turn back down the hallway and retrace your steps. No, you didn’t go this way! You peer over your shoulder. Empty. While everyone else was so quick to flee after the lecture, you lingered to take the call from your mom and wandered a bit too far off track. 

You spin again and sway on your feet. You stumble as if you’re on a rocking ship. You go to the wall and put your bag down. You search for your phone and put in the building name to the directory. ‘No floor plan available.’ Oh jeez. 

The panic builds as you pick up your bag and blink back tears. You’re an adult! You’re not going to cry. You'll get out of here. Calm down.  

You look down at your phone as your thumb hovers over your mom’s contact. No. You won’t call her. She’s already worried enough. You accidentally mentioned having a dessert bar from the cafe and she almost lost her mind. Those things are packed with sugar and filler! 

It was just one. You grip your phone tight and black the screen. You’ll follow the room numbers and go from there. How helpless are you to get so backwards in here. It’s not like some magical maze. You’re fine. 

You shuffle back down the hall, past the same open door, and stop at the crossways of the next. You hesitate. Straight or right? 

“Everything alright?” The deep voice rumbles through the hall and rolls up your spine. 

You turn to the vaguely familiar timbre. Oh, you know him! It’s that man with the spirally hair and fuzzy beard. From the Student Centre... 

“Walter,” you say. 

“Mauve,” he returns as he steps fully out into the hall. 

“What... what are the odds?” You bounce on your feet and hug your bag, pushing your fingers over the fluffy teddy bear face. Often times you do that just for a bit of comfort. 

“I saw you going back and forth,” he puts his hand on his hip. Oh no, you disturbed him. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you,” you clutch your phone against your stomach. 

“You’re not,” he insists. “My class let out twenty minutes ago.” 

“Oh, sure, sorry, er, psychology?” You wiggle your phone in recollection. 

He gives a short nod, “that’s it. You have a class around here?” He asks as his blue eyes bore into you, “you lost?” 

You frown and look away guiltily. You’re embarrassed. You sniff and make yourself look at him, “yes. But I’m just trying to get out of her. My class already ended.” 

“Right,” he says, “you got a minute? Just gotta grab my things and I’ll lead the way. That’s if I’m not bothering you?” 

You flinch, “me? Oh no, it’s not—thank you so much.” 

“No problem,” he turns and taps the door frame as he goes back into the room. 

You slowly tiptoe forward and peer inside. He folds up his laptop and shoves it into a worn grey passenger bag. He slides a folder in with it and grabs his phone. He squints at the screen before he tucks it into his back pocket. 

He hooks the bag over his shoulder and scoops up his jacket. You watch him approach, taking in the full effect of his size. He’s a big man. Burly, even through the thick wool of his sweater. You can’t help but think it looks cozy. 

You back up and fold your hands, resisting the urge to compare yourself. Your thrifted maxi skirts and straight-cut button-ups and handmade cardigans are out-of-place on campus. The other girls wear cute shirts and short skirts, even on the cooler days.  

It doesn’t matter. He’s only a professor after all. You pull closed the front of your picky wool coat as he emerges. 

“Thanks, sir,” you say as he steps up next to you and points you ahead. “I... I kinda... was panicking.” 

“Mm, well, it’s a big building,” he hooks a thumb into his jean pocket, “big campus.” 

“Oh, yes. Very big.” You agree as you slide your phone into the big pocket of your coat. You trade it for the folded map you keep handy. You open it up as you keep pace with him. You feel him glance down. “I have to get to the...” 

Your voice drifts off. You have to go to the student grocery. Your mother sent a list of ingredients and instructions. She said it all needs to be organic but you don’t think you’ll find much of that. 

“Hm, you’re a lot more organized than most of my students,” he remarks. 

You close the map and look up at him with a sheepish smile, “just nervous. Momma says you should always be ready for anything.” You shrug and shake your head as you set your head right, “mm, sorry, my mom... she says a lot of things.” 

He hums and directs you around a corner with a short point. “You’re close?” 

“Yep. Just me and her for twenty years,” you chime. “I... miss her.” You feel the drop in your chest as the words force their way out before you could even think them. “Sorry, I just... it’s still the first week.” 

“No, it’s expected. Big adjustment coming to school,” he assures you. “But you like it?” 

“Oh, sure. It’s exciting. They were having a record sale outside the Rec Centre but I left my player at home,” you say. “But I got a poster of some kittens--” You laugh nervously and shake your head. “You can tell me if I’m rambling, Walter.” 

“No, I don’t think so,” he steps ahead of you as you approach the front doors. Yay, he found them. “I’m sure it’s a cute poster.” 

“It is,” you agree as he opens the door and lets you out first. “Thank you.” 

He follows you out and you begin down the stairs. He measures his stride with yours. As you come to the bottom, you stop and fidget with the map in your hands. 

“Thank you so so much.” You flick the corner of the paper. “I’ll let you be now. I’m sure you have lots of work to do but it was nice seeing a familiar face.” 

“Yeah, it was,” he agrees and peers around.  

“Good luck, Walter,” you chime. “Maybe we’ll run into each other next week.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” he mutters and twitches, bringing his hand up. “Wait, where are you off to? I could... I could help you find it.” 

“Oh, no, I can’t ask that,” you crinkle the map loudly. “I just gotta get to the grocery and I think it’s near the Student Centre...” you trail off and open the paper to check. 

“Well, can I give you a hint?” He asks. 

You look up at him again, “what?” 

“Everything’s marked up two dollars on campus. There’s a store just off,” he points to the far corner on the map, “right across from this entrance. They bake their bread fresh too.” 

You stare down at his fingertip. Your mother wired you some money and it’s not much, and more than she should have. It might be a good idea to go the extra distance and save some dimes. You chew the inside of your lip. 

“Oh, that’s-- thanks.” 

“I gotta grab some coffee beans. I could come along. So you don’t get lost again,” he offers. 

“Really?” You chirp. “That’s... too nice.” 

“I don’t mind,” he insists. “I even know a shortcut.” 

[prettybubblesintheair]

My absolute favorite Geralt story in the world, absolutely delicious, with amazing characters, you love, you hate, you absolutely despise others, ugh and King Geralt is EVERYTHING ❤️‍🔥

Winter's King Masterlist

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Status: In Progress

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

Part 21

Part 22

Part 23

Part 24

Part 25

Part 26

Part 27

[prettybubblesintheair]

Ooooohhhh I’m obsessed like Sher is already with her 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

I love love loveeeee a good profesor x reader story. Mr Holmes in this is just delish

Great Expectations 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Professor Holmes’ class is your most difficult, but he’s about to make it even more challenging.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)

Note: monday

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

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I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Friday arrives too quickly for your likely. Amid the usual cluster of readings, lectures, and assignments, you have Professor’s Holmes’ additional task to add to the pile. It feels unfair that he would point out your own efforts only to force more upon you. His praise hardly seems like that in retrospect. 

That you did the readings likely made your experience simpler, though the vague instructions leave you uncertain. No rubric, no objectives, no outline. Your format in the usual style and triple-check the word count before you resign yourself to fate or fortune, whichever favours you. 

As usual, Professor Holmes prefers a physical copy, neglecting the digital workspace designed by the campus for ease of access. He doesn’t seem to be the type for the easy way out, does he? You try not to malinger on your gripes and head off, promising to reward yourself with a double whip frap for your work. It’s certainly more than you’ll receive from your professor, even if you do manage to gleam your first A+ from the man. 

The softness of autumn mingles with the crispness of early winter. You mourn the orange and yellow leaves as they start to curl at the edges and brown, blowing across the pavement and catching on pantlegs and tree roots. Midterm season is almost over but it won’t be long before finals rise to haunt you. 

You come up the Herringbone building and look up at the romanticist arches and columns. The esteemed architecture has you feeling even smaller. Surely, the professor will only add to that. 

Inside, the air is dry from the heat blowing from the high vents and curved staircases crest the foyer. You follow the left one up and continue along to the small set of steps that lead up to a hallway with only three office doors. Holmes is at the very end. You went there once before when you needed to be signed into the course; he was certain to make you wait then threatened not to sign the form at all. 

You stop and stare at the frosted glass with his pedigree emblazoned on it. You contemplate just shoving the paper through his slot but the light is on. You raise your fist and gently tap on the wood. You bounce on your feet as you wait, tugging at the itchy collar of the blue sweater dotted with little clouds. In the warmth of the stuffy building and under your wool jacket, it’s stifling. 

You hear movement from within and ready yourself for the encounter. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to Professor Holmes without some degree of awkwardness. On your end, of course. He can’t be bothered to care what others think of him. 

The door opens and you try to smile but it feels like chewing rocks. He looks back at you without an ounce of emotion. You gulp. 

“Um, Professor, I have my paper--” 

He’s already walking away as you stand dumbly in the doorway. You blanch as he circles back to his desk and sits heavily in his seat. He leans forward and dips his head, bending over an open leather folio with a lined pad within. A curl falls onto his forehead and he reaches without looking for the pipe propped up on a mahogany tray. 

“Come in,” he says before he puts the pipe to his lips and bites down. He teethes on it as he snatches up a pen with his other hand. You warily obey and cross the threshold. 

“So, um, here you go,” you near the desk and lay down the stapled paper. He doesn’t look up. “Erm, thanks, professor. I hate to disturb, so I’ll just leave it here--” 

He sighs and sits up, flicking back the curl as he replaces the pipe on the tray, “they won’t let me light that, even with the window open.” 

You glance over at the drawn curtains and nod, “oh.” 

“You’re the first,” he interjects before you can summon any sort of response. 

“Ah, oh--” 

“You are rather quick, aren’t you?” He challenges as he rolls the pen between his fingers, his shoulders spreading wide against the puckered leather chair, “fleet of foot, as some Victorian ponce might say. Quiet.” 

You blink and purse your lips, giving a shrug. 

“You didn’t say hello,” he intones, “it is courteous when you see an acquaintance to greet them, though I suppose etiquette does continue to change.” 

“Um, I didn’t want to... impose?” You murmur. 

His expression remains cryptic. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or something else. 

“So you didn’t,” he shrugs, his vest bracing on his chest. 

“Sorry, er, sir. But um, there’s my paper, I’ll... let you be. I’m sure you’re busy enough--” 

“Terribly busy,” he confirms dryly. “Since I’ll have a new batch of papers to mark, I’ll be kept well in hand.” 

You clasp your hands together and sway, “right, uh--” 

“And you’ll be off like the rest of those dull girls, paying no mind to the real purpose of study, but rather the wordly pleasures of the modern campus. All that pumpkin spice and such.” He reprimands. 

“Oh, uh, professor...” you know better than to argue. He is set in his ideas of his students and what should make you any different than the rest. 

“Right then,” he reaches for your paper and barely glances at the title page. He flips to the short essay and his eyes skim. He reaches for the antique pen and marks up the page as he goes. He hums as he scratches with the nib. “Good point but clunky prose. No, redudant.” He scribbles his comments in the margins. He turns to the second page and sighs. He closes it and holds it out. “You show comprehension but you need refinement.” 

“Um, thanks, er...” you take it hesitantly and back up again. He watches you with his bold blue eyes, not showing a single crack in his veneer. 

“Go off and enjoy your weekend, don’t fret over the fault of others. Certainly, you show more promise than most who haunt my lectures,” he says. His tone is flat but his words are praising. The contradiction has you off-foot. 

“Thank you, Professor, have a good weekend too.” 

He doesn’t respond as he puts his attention back to another stack of papers. You turn on your heel slowly and scurry to the door. He clears his throat and you stop. 

“Perhaps I mightn’t have such a tedious weekend.” 

You glance back but he still has his head down. You nod and leave him be with a sharp inhale. You hold your breath in until you close the door from the other side. 

Only a few more weeks and you’ll be through this class. Hopefully, you won’t ever have to face the heart palpitations that come with each encounter after that. For now, you will focus on the last paper and the eventual exam. Those are hurdles that look higher the closer you get. 

📕

There’s a cafe off campus you prefer. The library kiosk and the franchised booth in the Student Rec Centre are always overcrowded. This place isn’t so bad. A local mom and pop with a single barista. Maude, the retiree turned businesswoman, works slowly but efficiently. Traffic matches her pace but is enough to keep her thriving. 

“I’ll bring it to you, dearie,” she smiles as she hands you a plate with a crumbly scone on it. You thank her and go to find a seat. 

The place is homey. The seating is mismatched. There are armchairs around a low coffee table, some long tables with thrift store dining chairs, and square table in the corner with two benches and some stools. The rug that stands center to the sitting space is faded but its patterns still visible. 

You claim one of the armchairs near the bookcases and sit. Despite the tense submission, you’re glad not be stressing over another mark. Another A- to add to the rota in Holmes’ class. You could do a lot worse given what you’ve overheard from your classmates. 

The door opens and closes, letting in a chilly. You keep your coat on as you balance the scone on the coffee table. You’ll wait until you have your mocha and savour them together. It’s a rare treat but the dropping temperature coaxed you into it. 

A familiar baritone pricks your ears. You glance over before you can bury your nose in your phone and flinch. What luck. You almost doubt it’s a coincidence. Twice in a row you’ve managed to stumble upon the Professor outside of class. 

Your shoulders sink as you turn back and plant your elbow on the armrest, shielding your face behind your hand. What do you do? Your mind races. Despite what he said in his office he does not radiate welcoming energy. You can’t just flee and leave your order behind; it isn’t fair to Maude and you wouldn’t want to waste the money. 

Professor Holmes’ voice carries. He orders a black coffee and two shortbread biscuits; the Saturday special. The elder barista takes his order and as usual, bids him to sit down so she can bring it to him. You chew your lip as time ticks on. Make up your mind. 

Too late.  

“Pardon, oh,” Holmes approaches and gives pause as you look up at him. “You aren’t reserving these for your friends?” 

He gestures to the other arm chairs. You shake your head and clasp your phone tight in your hands. He dips his chin and sidles around the coffee chair. He removes his jacket and hangs it on the rack between the bookshelves. He lingers there as he browses the titles on the spines. 

Maude appears with your mocha in a large mug on a matching saucer. You thank her as she sets it by your scone. She calls over to Holmes, “I’ll have your coffee and biscuits in just a moment, dearie.” 

He turns his head and nods but says nothing else. She shuffles off and you lean forward to take your mug. Somehow your chocolatey treat doesn’t seem so sweet any more. He backs up and lowers himself across from you. You shyly return his gaze over the brim of your cup. 

“You come here often?” He asks. 

The question has you off-guard as much as his presence. You slurp noisily before you pull the cup away and put it down. You take the napkin by your scone and wipe your lips. 

“Sometimes. Once in a while. Er, I... I make my coffee at home. Tea, more often.” You clamp your lip shut before you can ramble on. 

“Mm, yes, I prefer tea as well. I was suggested the dark roast here by a colleague however.” 

You don’t know what to say. You’re entirely unprepared for the conversation. You’ve never thought much of what he might speak of outside his lectures. His interests, you assume, would align with his expertise. 

“You are enjoying your time? You haven’t any schoolwork?” He asks. 

You slant your lips one way then the other. You look down at the bag by your feet and back at him. He wears a wool sweater with elbow patches; not quite casual but casual for him. 

“I was going to do my readings...” you say. 

“Ah,” he sits back in the chair as Maude brings his coffee and biscuits. He thanks her tersely. 

You bend over and reach for your bag. You slide out your notebook and open it to the printed articles stashed between the pages. You hope it’s enough of an excuse not to talk as much. 

“My class?” He asks. 

“Yes, sir, er, Professor,” you answer. 

“Those are available digitally, as I understand.” 

“I know, but I, er, prefer print.” 

“Mm, yes, it does permeate more effectively, doesn’t it?” He intones. 

You agree with a silent nod and try to focus. You’re too shy to check if he’s watching you but it feels like he is. He sighs and sips from his cup. 

“What were you on the hunt for then?” He asks abruptly before you can read the introduction for the fifth time. You look up, perplexed. “At the craft store?” 

You open your mouth then pause. Finally, you summon the answer, “thread.” 

“Thread?” 

“Yes, I... make little things. Sometimes. It wasn’t urgent. I don’t have my sewing machine in my dorm and... no time.” You shrug and let the papers lay flat on your notebook. 

He considers you as his cheek dimples and he leans his chin on his knuckles. He looks down at the cup he holds over one leg. He sucks his teeth. 

“Rather flat,” he dislodges his elbow and leans forward. “And what did you get? It smells intriguing.” 

“Mocha with peppermint,” you answer. 

“Mm, with whip?” He peeks at your cup and the melting glut of cream. 

“Yes, Professor,” you reply. 

“I think I might trade mine for the same,” he stands with his cup in hand. 

You watch him, confused and uneasy. So much for getting some studying done. You doubt you’ll be able to concentrate with him looming on the other side of the table. 

[prettybubblesintheair]

Motaversary Week 8: Free choice ↳ The character who stole my heart during the rewatch

[prettybubblesintheair]

Didn’t drop a single bomb. I had to salvo them over the channel.