#(I played little goody two shoes last week got through one run and i adore elise sm

[universestreasures]

Been feeling muse mode for characters I have and have not written before and I've done all my school work for the week and I feel like making graphics so....

Perhaps we'll see these two being added?

[solia-dreams]

Endings

17th January, 2013

The writing had always been on the wall, maybe since the first time she stepped into the basement office and shook his hand. In that moment, he'd both anticipated it and wondered how he might accelerate the inevitable – how quickly could he irritate, scare or otherwise deter the Bureau's handpicked goody-two-shoes?

He was glad now to have been so unsuccessful, to have sold her so far short, but ignoring the writing, even seeming to defy it for a blink or a lifetime or however long had passed, had not scrubbed the wall clean. The writing was still there, crisp like fresh ink in every argument, in every frustrated sigh, in every missed dinner, in every relieved smile and demand of "Where have you been?! I was worried." He saw it between the lines of blog posts he was still reading at 4am while she slept in the next room; he saw it in the barcodes of boarding passes as he took his seat on a last-minute whirlwind flight he'd forgotten to tell her about; he saw it in the hours she clocked up on her payslip.

Like all the best improbable scenarios, he wanted to believe. He was determined to believe that the writing and the wall could be beaten. Whenever he caught it out of the corner of his eye, which was less often than it should have been, in honesty – he definitely missed a lot of the wall's appearances, too distracted – he tried to jump on the opportunity to fight the inevitable.

To call home.

To switch off the computer and go to bed.

To make dinner.

And maybe those efforts were what staved it off, but retrospect gave him a brutal new perspective of his own flaws and the part they'd always played. His forgetfulness. His obsessive drive. His fundamental capacity to take her for granted.

So there was no shock for him when he saw the suitcase at the door and determined resignation in dry blue eyes.

He could have begged. Maybe he should have. But he'd known her for so long, pushed her so far, that he knew when not to bother, and he knew there was no winning this round. It had already been fought in the days, hours, minutes that he'd not been present, not been where he should have been, and nobody had won.

She swallowed and straightened when he stepped out of the bathroom, still towelling his hair. He froze, not because he was shocked but because why now, and he urgently thought through recent events to try and pinpoint the triggering moment. He'd forgotten to load the dishwasher, again. He'd spent money without asking her first, trying to get stolen military satellite images from a shady source he was sure she'd rather not know about. He'd forgotten to come to bed last night. He'd wasted the last three years of her life chasing after a 2012 conspiracy he was absolutely certain of that had, on the big night, turned out to be a total fizzer, and since then he'd been distant, moody, difficult, tense, frustrated, directionless.

So, nothing out of the ordinary.

Which meant, or at least so he deduced, that she'd finally worked out what he'd known all along: she was much too good for his shit, and she was done with it.

He was lucky to have had the years he'd gotten. He dropped his towel on the back of his armchair and she tightened her hand on the extended handle of her suitcase. He wondered vaguely what she'd decided to pack and what she'd decided to abandon, since less than half of her things could fit inside that. Starting over, clean and free. Like she deserved.

Later he'd wonder if she wanted him to beg, wanted him to plead, but he knew in the moment it wasn't going to stop her leaving so he chose to skip to the next line: "Where will you go?"

Deep eyes he would have comfortably looked into for the rest of his life briefly reflected her sharp hurt, then cooled instantly, and he knew it was the wrong thing to say. She shifted a little closer to the suitcase, like it was structural in keeping her upright.

"My mom's, to start with," she answered, very steadily, too steadily. She'd practised this monotone. This had been a long time coming. Not surprising. Her mouth twitched very slightly when she tried to close her lips, when she tried to finish speaking, but the rest of the words wanted to come. Conflicted, not wanting to elaborate but feeling somehow compelled, she added, "Then back to DC somewhere, I suppose."

Unable to break the habit of being clear and honest with him? Or just needing to be clear and honest in that she was leaving for real, and this was no weekend stay at her mother's? Either way, could she be any more carelessly hurtful?

"That'll shorten the commute," he offered emotionlessly. In his ears, over the sound of blood erratically rushing through their vessels, his voice sounded alien, not his. It was the voice of someone distant and uninvested, someone who didn't care for the opinion or favour of the person they were speaking to. That was the furthest possible place from the truth – that his chest hurt with every breath that brought him closer to the inevitable, that his brain was on fire running in circles trying to find a solution, that his throat was tight with unspoken words of anger and regret. But none of this was conveyed in the voice he heard, and none of this was conveyed to the face he had loved for so many of his years when she nodded slowly, resignedly.

"I suppose," she said again. She watched him for a few moments in silence, and he held her gaze, almost in challenge. What was she waiting for? For him to dissolve and break? No, he wasn't going to let her see that. Part of him didn't want to give her the satisfaction.

The other part didn't want to sway her resolve. She deserved to do this. It would be easier if it was clean. If he begged… if he cried, made her see how much he adored her, how much he needed her… if he won her back in this moment, it would be a mistake. He would only lose her again tomorrow, next week, next year, when he fucked up again.

No. He held her gaze, waiting her out, no expression to let her see into the cracks that were opening up inside him, no words to give away the voices that were screaming around his head. Hers was the loudest. You should have seen this coming. You could have changed your patterns of behaviour at any time. You knew what you had and now it's walking out.

"I, uh, I made a casserole," she said awkwardly, dropping her gaze. "To get you through the next couple of nights. It's in the fridge."

She'd been very prepared. He tried not to let that sting. It didn't, really; just reverberated against his hollowed heart, another dull throb to join the dull throb of his heartbeat.

"You don't think I can cook for myself?" It came out like an accusation, colder than he meant. Her eyes came back up to his.

"I know you can't," she replied calmly, and he allowed himself a small smile, because no one had ever known him better, no one had ever been this good for him and he'd ruined it. Even now he was letting it slide straight through his fingers. He closed his fist as though it could make a difference now, and felt his smile turn icy. Frozen and brittle, because if he didn't freeze it, it would melt down his face to the floor where he would join it.

"Well, I guess I'll have to learn," he responded in the same calm tone. Her lips thinned visibly, guilted, and while he so badly wanted her to change her mind right now he also so badly wanted her to stand her ground. Be the strong woman he knew she was. Get what she was owed after all these years, and strike back at the narcissistic, self-loathing creature she'd selflessly shackled herself to out of misplaced love and loyalty. He swallowed. It hurt. Keep it professional. "I'll forward your mail to Maggie's, then?"

She nodded quickly, following his lead back to the cool professionalism that would characterise their relationship for years to come. "Yes, please." She looked around the house, sucking her lower lip into her mouth as she tried to decide how to say the next bit. "I left everything I have so far on Harris on the kitchen table. I hope… I hope you find what you're looking for."

On your own. It was implicit, underneath her words, and he felt his cheeks redden with shame and realisation. This time, she wasn't going with him chasing shadows and unexplained flashes in the night. Finally, he'd burnt her out, and that night was the turning point. Harris, one of his contacts, had been instrumental in helping him pin down Billings, Montana, as a likely site of the invasion he'd spent so many years anticipating, but since December, he'd gone silent. No one from the conspiracy forum circuit seemed to know what had happened to him.

And, eyes dull and voice weary, his FBI girlfriend had agreed to run down some leads at work for him. If he'd been paying attention, he'd have seen that writing again, neon-bright – the same old wall, with the same message he'd been outrunning since day one in the basement.

I hope you find what you're looking for. He smiled again, brittle and forced again. He said, "Yeah, me too," instead of "I don't need to look. I've already got it," and shoved his hands into his pockets so he couldn't extend them to her. He kept his feet planted firmly. He watched her face, loving every curve and every line, and closed his hands into fists inside his pockets in an inner fight against the desire to cup her face with his palms and kiss her and tell her… tell her what? To stay? To put up with more? He wished he could ask that, and promise in return that he would make the changes in himself that he wanted to make to deserve her, but if he could have made those changes he would have. No. He'd done this to them. Later, later he could be mad with her, blame her for leaving him when he still needed her, believe that she played a part in breaking them or that she was weak and let him down, but right now, in the sobering clarity of the moment of her departure, he knew the whole truth. This was his own fault.

He had done this, and he deserved the clawing ache in his chest, and she deserved all the wide world that waited for her outside that door, even if that truth made him want to cry.

He cleared his throat. "So, uh, you said 'so far' with Harris…?"

"I'm still waiting on one contact to get back to me," she agreed, normality relaxing her voice. It gave him a little spark of optimism. They made good partners, worked superbly together, and if this was all they had left when the romance and sex and love was stripped back, well, it was sure as shit better than what most people were left with. "I'll make sure I pass on whatever he tells me. Should I… post it to you? Would that be best?"

The optimism died in his stomach, and he felt himself deflate. He was lying to himself. Their working relationship had always been something to brag about, but in actual fact, if that was what was left over when their relationship ended – which was mere minutes away, waiting to be marked by the second she walked out that door, he was only prolonging the inevitable here – then it would not be good enough at all. More than her brilliant mind at work, more than her excellent body in his bed, more than her hand in his, what he loved most about her was her friendship. He could do without everything else. Christ, he'd done without the sex for months now, without realising, caught up with his work and frustrations of the mind. The real loss he stood to experience was the loss of his best friend, the soul he trusted above any others, the heart who knew his, the person who had stood at his side and had his back and pulled him out of more trouble over the years than anyone but a best friend could be expected to put up with.

His best friend was leaving, asking whether she could contact him via post from now on.

He hadn't just burnt his lover; he'd unwritten his deepest friendship. How long before he unwrote himself?

"Whatever you think's best," he answered coolly. "Should I do the same if I find work I think is more yours than mine?"

"My phone number won't change," she said, quite gently, quite kindly, and he wanted to rekindle that sparkle of optimism but he didn't dare. He smiled wryly at her.

"You know they're tapping that line."

Her restrained sigh was one of exaggerated patience with his paranoia, one of her least favourite of his qualities. "They're not tapping my phone. You can call me whenever. You know I'll answer."

"Do I?" He couldn't help a deliberate glance down at her heavy-looking suitcase, the elephant in the room both had managed to avoid directly addressing. Her hand tightened again on the handle and her expression closed further. Eyes sharpening. Mouth thinning. The longer they stood here, the further away he drove her, and neither was even moving.

"I'm telling you I will," she said steadily, without warmth, "if it ever occurs to you to call."

Ouch. His surgeon cut through the pretence with medical precision and shone her harsh penlight straight at the malignant mass of brutal truth at the heart of this breakdown, and he felt the slice like it was made with a real knife.

"Neither will mine," he said finally, when he was certain his legs weren't going to give out beneath him. It had just struck him that this was really happening. She was really going. After all this time, this was happening. "My number."

She laughed, surprised. "Mulder, your phone number always changes."

"Not this one." He'd been prepared, too. Knowing this was coming. He unrooted his feet and made himself walk towards her, hoping his gait looked natural and comfortable, two things he felt anything but. "Give me your phone."

She was reluctant but produced her cell from inside her jacket and placed it without question in his hand when he stopped in front of her. He tried not to wonder whether he'd chosen an appropriate distance for exes. That's what they were about to be. He tried further not to wonder whether he would always notice how pliant she was with him, how her blind trust in him had not faded, how normal it still seemed despite their in-process breakup for her to do as he asked. Would that change next time he saw her? Would she question him where she hadn't before, be wary of him, refuse where once she would have followed without thought? Would he know her like he did in this moment?

Did he know her in this moment like he did in moments before? His Scully had never left him. He raised his eyes from her phone as he worked to survey her quickly. He saw the writing on the wall in the sad, tired lines around her eyes, in the red at their edges, and he saw the woman he'd loved and wanted and breathed for so damn long that he didn't even know how a future without her looked. He wanted to touch her hair and say this was a mistake; he wanted run his fingers across her lips and say he was sorry; he wanted stroke her cheek and promise that she'd adequately scared him and didn't need to go, that things could be different, he could change. Maybe it could be true. With her help maybe he could make it true.

But he handed her back the phone and let his heart crumple a little more at the sight of her wry smile to see the entry into her address book. "M. F. Luder," she read. She looked up at him sceptically, normalcy restored for a brief flicker that he cherished while it lasted. "Excellent cover. No one will ever guess that one."

"If you think of a better one, change it." He swallowed, wanting to prolong the normal, wanting to stretch out the gentle and the playful and the love for as long as he was allowed. "That number won't get recycled. That phone will always be charged up, always be switched on." He swallowed again. Say it. "For you."

It swayed her, he could tell, made the writing on the wall fade to the periphery. He saw her expressive blue eyes fill with regret and apology and saw her mouth open, struggling for words to say amidst her inner conflict. He knew her in this moment, he knew her fully. Her mind was saying go. Her heart was tugging her against all logic, against all sense, back to him, and pushing her to stay. God, he wanted her to listen to that voice, like she had every other day of their lives together.

"Won't… won't it be trackable?" she asked, shaking her head to get some clarity. Her hair, which he'd always loved, so vibrant, fanned at the motion, catching morning light from the windows. He'd remember that in the days to come, sitting here drunk and delirious and ruined with this one memory of her hair reflecting red sunlight. "Isn't that why you burn through all the others and jump between numbers?"

Impulsively he touched her hair. She flinched; it was unexpected. He let the strands fall between his fingers. He might not get another chance to feel its softness, its familiar texture, and he wished he could take back every opportunity he'd missed to touch it.

"No one else has this number," he answered. "I haven't given it to anyone, so no one can track it." Heart thudding, probably pumping blood straight out of the holes they'd cut in the organ with this conversation, he shifted his fingers to her mouth. He felt her sharp intake of breath, waited for her to pull away, but she didn't. Best to say it now, then, before he lost his nerve. "If you ever need anything, I'll answer. I'll…"

I'll be there. But he couldn't say it. The words got stuck, his concentration trapped in the overwhelming sensory overload of her. The softness of her lips under the pads of his fingers. The familiar smell of her skin and clothes and hair. The brightness of her beautiful eyes, exactly as sad as he knew his must be. They had invested so much into this, and now… He swallowed again. He heard it, that and her shallow breaths. Their age-old chemistry mesmerised him and he could tell it was the same for her. It would have been no effort to lower his mouth to hers, to start that fire, to wrap his arms around her and lift her, to run his hands through her hair and feel hers in his, to push her against the wall and get his hands under her clothes, to get them off, to unzip his…

Instead, he brushed his fingers from her mouth to her cheek. His body fought every muscle twitch of his exercise in restraint.

"I know," she said finally, and he knew she did, and that understanding hurt even more than relinquishing what would have been excellent sex. She knew he would be there whenever she needed it, she knew what she was to him, she knew his devotion was incapable of compromise or degradation and that he would be ever loyal to her… and she was leaving anyway.

She was leaving.

And she wasn't going to call, because she had made up her mind in all those moments he'd made it up for her. The phone calls he hadn't made, the seduction attempts he'd dismissed because he was too focused, the irritable words he'd spoken when he was frustrated with his work and not with her. She wasn't going to call. Why would she want to?

"And, you know, if you ever need help with a case," he added, casually, dropping his hand and hoping it would take the magnetic tension with it. She nodded, channelling professionalism again.

"Right. Of course. Well, hopefully I won't need you for that. I'm not working the X-Files, remember, just Counterterrorism." She looked at him oddly. "I'm done."

I'm done. Not just with him, but with what they'd worked on together. That shocked him more than the fact that he was leaving him. "But… all our work…"

"Your work now," she said, looking much less sad about this, more certain. "I'm done with it. No more dead-end conspiracies and skygazing and inexplicable phenomena."

"It was never about that," he argued, annoyed now. Annoyed that she could whittle it down to such meaningless base elements. "Fighting for the truth, Scully, shining a light on what men with power will do with secrets they shouldn't have and making visible the people they hurt along the way."

"That's what you're upset about," she noted, cold again. "That I'm leaving the work, not that I'm leaving you."

I'm leaving you. There, the words, out in the room for them both to cringe at, peeled straight from the wall. He felt a surge of shame and rage.

"Yes!" he fumed, though there was so much more he should have said to better detail the depth of his brokenness. "That's what we stand for."

"That's what we stood for," she corrected, and he remembered the suitcase at her side. "I can't do it anymore, Mulder. From now on I stand for fighting evil that can be beaten. Don't fight me on it, Mulder," she interrupted him when he tried to disagree. "I have already given it everything I had, and it's still not done." She left the details unsaid but he heard them. Her sister. A daughter she'd not been given the chance to know. Their son. Twenty years of her life. And him, lost to her somewhere along the way, too caught up in the work to be what she deserved. "I'm done."

He stood there, rocked to his core. He really was alone. He looked from the suitcase to her face and couldn't help the cold smile that stretched, unforgiving, across his lips. "You're giving up."

It hurt her, he could tell. But she shook her head and muttered, "Whatever. It was a good fight but it's over and it's not having me." She hoisted the heavy-looking suitcase to turn it around. "I should go."

"Do you want me to carry that to the car for you?" he asked, though once he would have taken it without question. He extended a hand, hating that he was questioning his own behaviour around her already, but she raised hers to stop him.

"No. I want to do it myself. Thank you." She opened the door and took a deep, unsteady breath. "Good luck, Mulder. Take care of yourself."

Don't leave. Stay. Take care of me. Love me. I love you. I'm sorry. Please. I need you. You're everything. I don't know who I am without you. I can change. I can be better. I can take us back to better times. Just don't go.

All the best option words did not come through, and he said only, "Yeah. Sure," and she nodded resolutely, a transaction completed, and turned away to leave.

To leave.

"Scully." His voice made her stop and look back. Was that sparkle in her eye the beginnings of tears? "You… You too. Take care."

She nodded again, but with the traces of that soft smile of hers this time, and he knew it was the right thing to say. Permission to go and find herself. A clean break, on good terms, because that was the least of what they deserved.

"Thank you," she murmured, and he knew she understood.

"Just… one more thing," he made himself say, though it came out uneven, ragged. "I know, after this minute ends, you won't be with me anymore." It cut deep to say aloud. He wanted to stop, but there was something he needed to hear, and he needed to bleed first to be allowed to ask it. "I know. But…" He didn't even know how to phrase it, or whether she would get what he was asking. Her glistening eyes held him in their longing gaze while he struggled, and god, he loved her. How could this be ending? "But even if you aren't with me, are you still… with me?"

It made no sense. He wasn't certain even he knew what he had just asked, except that he knew it was a big ask and he might not like the answer. Was she still on his side, when push came to shove? Was she still going to keep his every secret, the lockbox of trustworthiness he'd fallen in love with? Did she still have his back when it counted, as only best friends do? Did she still believe in him? She stared at him, processing, struggling, halfway out the door. Halfway gone.

But she stepped back inside. She left her suitcase on the porch and came back in. She raised her hands to her neck and felt for something under her hair. She stopped right in front of him and reclasped her necklace, then looked up at him.

He felt twenty years of need and want and love and trust and friendship and wholeness in the hold of her gaze, and felt the equivalent emptiness waiting just beneath it, ready to crush him, ready to end him when she ended them. She took his hand, squeezed it gently, and coiled the chain in his palm. She closed his fingers over the necklace. The gold was still warm from her body heat.

Her voice was cracked and loaded when she spoke.

"Like you wouldn't believe."

She left quickly after that, eager not to let him see the tears as they fell though how could he miss that, and before he could get a handle on the moment it was over and the door was closing behind her, and her car was starting and she was gone, she was gone, and he was still standing where she'd left him.

Drawing a ragged breath before his own tears spilled, he opened his hand. There in his palm was the golden crucifix Maggie had given her daughter as a girl, the delicate gold chain he'd found when she was abducted by Duane Barry and again when she'd been stolen away to Antarctica. Both times he'd kept it close while she was missing, while he worked tirelessly to find a way to bring her back into his life. Both times he'd found her and given it back and their lives together had resumed.

Slowly, heavily, he dropped into his armchair, ignoring the damp towel that tumbled onto his shoulder. He stared at the little ray of hope she'd left him through glassy wet eyes. He wondered how deeply he could read into this. He raised his eyes to the blank wall opposite him and felt the hollowness of his loss and wondered whether the tiny cross could defy the truth he'd been avoiding for two decades.

The writing had been on the wall since the first moment. She was always going to leave.

The cross said something else, a message he'd listened to before only in the darkest moments of peril but which should have been his life's mantra. She can be found but she has to be earned.

He closed his hand over the cross, heart aching, and let the tears come.

--

This is the 44th chapter of my X-Files fic This Is How The World Ends, which you can read on AO3 and FF. MSR, slow burn, post-IWTB, alternative events of S10/11 ignoring most of what happened in the revival episodes. Novel-length.

[zacharydempsey]

Polar Opposites (Part 1) | Zach Dempsey x Reader

Genre: Romance, Fluff POV: Reader’s POV and Zach’s POV (Stated before a section)

A/N: Here’s my second request done! This was fun to write especially because the girl in the write-up is extremely similar to who I was in high school. Haha. And it’s the first time I’ve posted an imagine with different POVs. Please do tell me how this all works out or if you guys want me to stick to first person. Enjoy everyone!

Request:  Hey I was wondering if you can do an imagine where Zach falls for a girl after they talk about their favorite things and about what they want to be after high school. Like he’s passionate about being a marine biologist and he loves the sparkle in the girl’s eyes when she talks about her favorite books and how she says she wants to become an author or something along those lines. Maybe she even lets him read some of her writing?

—–

READER’S POV

He was the captain of the school’s basketball team, I was the student body president. He was often involved in after-school detention, I was always involved with extracurricular school activities. He was the class clown, I was the class nerd. He had girls running after him, I had boys running away from me. He was 6foot3, I was 5foot7.

I could probably go on with this list but I’m assuming you already catch my drift. We were polar opposites, which was why when our Media teacher chose us as partners for our upcoming media project, I couldn’t help but complain to him after class. Of course he stood by his decision and I was stuck with Zach Dempsey for a week.

—–

Monday after school

“So, what is the project all about again?” Zach asks me while spinning on his desk chair like a 5 year old.

“Can you stop doing that please, my head’s starting to spin now.” I say as I rub my forehead with my eyes shut. A soft sorry escapes his lips as he stopped.

“Mr. Andrews said I have to do a profile about you, and you have to do the same for me. We can use any media we like as long as we’re creative with it. I’m planning on doing a powerpoint.” I reply as I go through my notebook.

“I guess I’ll just do a documentary, it’s the easiest thing to do and I’m pretty good at video editing.” he says as he looks up at the ceiling.

“Alright, fine, let’s get started then.” I suggest and we both get to work. I take a blank piece of paper from my binder and start interviewing him.

“So Zachary Dempsey, would you care to tell me some of your interests, your hobbies, likes and dislikes?” I ask him while clicking my pen.

“Interests: basketball, hobbies: basketball, likes: basketball, dislikes: the color orange, although funnily enough that’s the color of the ball.” he answers and I roll my eyes at him.

“Zach, I already know that you like basketball. I need other information.” I reply.

“Oh, so you want to get to know me better, eh?” he retors with a smirk growing on his face.

“Not known for his modesty.” I mumble to myself as I write it down my blank piece of paper.

“You need to chill Y/N, I was just kidding.” he says as he leans back on his chair and laughs. I exhale deeply and proceed with asking the questions for his profile.

“For the second time, please tell me some of your interests, your hobbies, likes and dislikes.” I say.

“Interests? Basketball, playing video games, hanging out with friends. Hobbies? Basketball–” he starts then laughs after saying basketball for the second time as he shakes his head. We got a comedian over here.

“Watching TV, listening to music.” he continues and I write down what he says.

“Likes? I like the ocean and animals; marine life to be more specific. I like brussel sprouts, my little sister hates them. I like playing chess, I’m currently teaching my sister how to play it.” he adds and I try to hide the growing smile on my face by keeping my head down. Who would’ve thought someone like him has such a soft side? I never would’ve expected the great ladies’ man and star athlete to actually like the ocean and animals. Not to mention he adores his little sister too.

“Go on.” I say and he continues.

“Dislikes? Strawberries, I’m allergic. I don’t like abbreviations for certain things. I don’t get what they mean sometimes.” Zach replies and I can’t help but shake my head and smile at his answers.

“Alright! My turn!” he beams as he gets out his camera and points it at me.

“So Y/N, aside from being the perfect student of Liberty High, who really is Miss Y/FULL/N?” he asks from behind the camera.

“Well Mr. Dempsey if you must know, the real me doesn’t like Math; I hate it, but if I want a scholarship for college, then I don’t really have a choice. I prefer Literature, it’s like you can express more with words than you can with numbers. I like art, and the different kinds of art; may it be in the form of an expressive song, or a piece of breathtaking artwork.” I answer.

“I love to write, I write anything from songs, poems to short stories and I’d love to be a well-known writer someday. Although my dad really wants me to go towards the business path. I guess those’ll have to stay as my hobbies forever.” I continue and suddenly space out. I proceeded to stare at Zach’s bedroom floor.

—–

ZACH’S POV

I stared at her face in my camera’s view finder when I see the sudden change in her eyes. They had a sparkle in them which I loved when we started recording; she looked stunning as she smiled from ear to ear while talking eagerly about the things she loved. But then they suddenly drooped down as she stared at the floor after a few minutes. I quickly stopped recording and turned off my camera as I tried to get her attention.

“Y/N.” I call out but she doesn’t budge.

“Y/N!” I call out louder and she jumps in shock.

“Oh! I’m sorry I spaced out. Where were we?” she asks.

“Are you alright? Do you want to take a break?” I ask her, concerned.

“I’m good! I’m great! Let’s get on with this!” she answers. She looked like she was trying too hard to keep herself together but we continue with the project nonetheless.

—–

READER’S POV

Zach continued to ask me a few more questions as he goes back to recording and I do the same to him right after. This continued on for the rest of the week and little by little, our projects were almost complete. A week goes by quite quickly and it was always like that. After school, we would go to his house to work on the project together and we would often eat dinner in his house together too.  I soon realized that Zach wasn’t that bad after all, he was actually, genuinely, well… kind.

We would often work late into the night but my parents didn’t mind because for some reason, they trusted Zach. He would always volunteer to drive me home after a tiring day, in which of course I say yes to because who would be dumb enough to walk along the streets late at night? As we worked together and spend more time with each other everyday, I found myself becoming quite comfortable around him. I guess I actually just didn’t know him before, and now that I’ve known him a bit better, my opinions about him have changed.

It was now the last day we had to finish everything before the presentation tomorrow which is a Monday. Zach and I were in opposite sides of his room once again, both on our laptops. Silence filled the room and it was slowly getting too awkward so I thought that it’d be better if I just spoke.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” I suddenly ask.

“I want to be a basketball player.” He answers while on his laptop, his back facing me.

“The truth please. What does Zachary Dempsey really want to be when he grows up?” I ask again, this time I stopped what I was doing and focused solely on him. He turns his desk chair to face me. Before speaking, he lets out a deep sigh.

“I want to be a marine biologist.” he finally answers and I smile at him.

“I knew it! No wonder you’re always so attentive in Bio! So that’s also why the only A in your report card is Bio!” I exclaim which produces a smile on his face. He taps his nose and points at me and I let out a soft laugh.

“What about you Miss student body president? What are you going to be when you grow up?” he suddenly asks.

“Well, I want to be a writer, but I have to be an accountant, just like my dad.” I answer.

“Those are 2 very different things.” he says and I give him a small smile.

“You know what, why don’t you be like Hannah Montana and get the best of both worlds?” he asks and I furrow my brows in confusion.

“Huh? What exactly do you mean?” I ask him.

“Be a writing accountant! Or an accounting writer!” he beams proudly with hand gestures in the air. I couldn’t help but laugh at him, he was such a dork.

“What ever you’re going to be when you grow up, I’m sure you’ll do well. May it be someone who writes for a living or someone who calculates for a living. You’re good at everything, Y/N. Just follow your heart.” he continues.

“Just follow your heart?” I tease.

“Never would’ve thought that Zach Dempsey would be the one giving me advice on my future.” I add and we both laugh in unison.

—–

ZACH’S POV

I couldn’t believe I’m actually talking about this with Y/N. She was far from what I had expected, she was nothing like the stuck-up, boring goody-two-shoes the whole campus had made her out to be. She was actually just as confused as I was; confused between two things, two stereotypes that people made for us. I was supposed to be this dumb jock and she was just supposed to be this math nerd but truthfully, we’re more than those stereotypes.

We got on with our projects after a few more questions. It’s now been 3 hours and I let out a sigh as I import another piece of audio into my current documentary project. I quickly look over at my shoulder behind me to check what Y/N was up to. Surprisingly, she had her head leaning on a blank piece of paper beside her laptop. I slowly got up from my desk chair and knelt beside her.

I let out a laugh as I see her sleeping state, she had her mouth open a little bit but she looked peaceful nonetheless. I hesitantly reached out to stroke her hair, it looked like it would be so soft to touch and it was, she flinched in her sleep a little, but her lips slowly formed a smile.

I proceeded to gently carry her onto my bed and began to pull my blankets over her. As my hands reached her neck, she nuzzled into them with the blanket as a smile forms on her face. My heart had started pounding crazily against my ribcage; I didn’t know why I was starting to feel like this towards her. After a few seconds, she lets go of my hands and I slowly pull away to not wake her up. I pushed some of the hair away from her face gently, and my eyes soon dart over her pink lips. I thought of how it would feel to have my own lips pressed against hers, and the urge of doing so was growing every second. My heart was now beating at its maximum speed; it’s never been like this. I slap myself in the face and quickly get back to my unfinished documentary as Y/N just slept in my bed.

—–

READER’S POV

I sit up in shock as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. I was on the table a while ago, how did I get here? I think to myself as I scan the room. Zach was nowhere to be found. I quickly got up and fixed the bed, just then, Zach’s bedroom door swings open.

“Oh you’re up!” Zach greets me and I nod at him in response.

“Don’t act all awkward with me now Y/N.” he laughs.

“What? I’m not acting awkward, what are you talking about?” I say with a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah, that right there wasn’t awkward at all.” he replies as he shakes his head.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna go home and finish the presentation there. I only a have a few sides left anyway.” I say as I frantically fix all of my stuff.

“Oh okay. I’ll just go get my keys and I can drive you ho–” he begins but I cut him off.

“No! No! I’ll walk home on my own, please, I need fresh air and it isn’t that late. I can manage.” I protest as I swing my backpack over my left shoulder and run for the door as fast as I could.

—–

The next day - after the presentation

“I knew you two would do great together.” Mr. Andrews says and the whole class cheers us on. I slowly put my head down, trying to hide the obvious blush on my cheeks.

“You two may be polar opposites, but always remember most of the time, opposites attract.” Mr. Andrews continues and I bury my face in the palms of my hands as Zach laughs at me. Just then the bell rings and it’s time for next period. Everyone hurriedly packs up and starts to leave the classroom leaving Zach and I inside.

“So how about that, we actually do make a pretty good pair afterall.” Zach begins while I fix my stuff.

“Yeah we make great project partners.” I smile at him.

“Well what do you say about two project partners going to Rosie’s Diner for a milkshake after school later?” he asks and couldn’t help but shake my head at him while laughing.

“Your treat?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Milkshakes on me!” he replies.

“Alright then!” I exclaim.

“It’s a date!” he beams and I laugh. Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into?

—–

A/N: As per usual, feedback and requests are always welcome lovelies. I hope you had fun reading this as much as I did writing it. c:

[madiisaurusrex]

Married With Children(Chapter 3)

Characters: Jensen AcklesXReader, Jared and Genevieve Padalecki, Danneel And JJ.

A/N: Haven’t been writing much the past few days because I haven’t felt up to it, but I’m back! Chapter 3, enjoy♡

{Jensen’s P.O.V}

(Y/N) sat in your lap, leaning against your chest. With arms wrapped around her waist, you rested your hands on her stomach and smiled. Her and the kids were the best thing to happen to you since the divorce with Danneel. It started out as small arguments here and there, you big gone for long periods of time didn’t help either. Then it went to big arguments, accusations. Both Danneel and you had tried to make it work, you went to counseling, tried separating for a small amount of time, but nothing worked. Divorce was the last option, but it turned out well, you still saw JJ. It was hard at first, but when you met (Y/N) your whole world turned over. She had mended your heart, brought you back.

The night was coming to an end and the padalecki’s had to leave since the kids all had school the next day. You helped get them bathed and in pajamas, with their teeth brushed. Tyler and Kat were lying on either side of your very tired wife while she read the story of King Arthur. Ty loved medieval times, and Kat just liked to be around her cousin. You were in the process of giving your sweet angel a bath, playing with her rubber duck and octopus, laughing about the bubbles on her arms and chest. After rinsing her off and wrapping her in the fluffy pink towel (Y/N) left out you went in her pale pink room and got her dressed for bed. Before you could get her tucked in she started screaming, “No Daddy! Want oder momma!”she cried out. “Ok baby, let’s go get her ok?” you said while picking her up. (Y/N) must have heard because she met you in the hallway, “you ready for night night munchkin?” she asked taking JJ from your arms. The sleepy child nodded and rested her head on (Y/N)’s shoulder.  “oder momma, will you read story?” “of course, you wanna read goldilocks again?” with a nod JJ was tucked in bed and your wife was cuddled up next her reading the book. You took this time to clean up downstairs and freshen up before (Y/N) was done. When you were getting out of the shower you could hear (Y/N) humming softly to herself while folding laundry on our king size bed. “hey there beautiful.”you said, she smiled and looked up at you, “Hi handsome. Have a good shower?” she asked as she started putting clothes in the dresser and closet. Once she was done she left to go downstairs, you took this time to put on pajama pants. When she returned she had two cups of tea and handed you once, smiling. “thanks babe, want to watch a movie?”you asked. “I’d love that.” you both got into bed, tea on the tables next to you and found (Y/N) in your arms with her head resting on your chest.

{Readers P.O.V}

You loved having Jay home. Getting the kids to bed was so much easier with him here. He had found a movie for you both to watch, you were in his arms his hands caressing your belly. You smiled and sighed happily before drifting off to sleep.

The next morning you woke to the alarm, looking over you saw Jensen still sleeping peacefully.  You got up and put a pot of coffee on, and got the kids their breakfast before waking them up. Before leaving you let Jay know his princess was still asleep and to keep an ear out for her. Once the kids were dropped off you stopped for bagels on the way back, calling Gen to ask if she’d like to have lunch today.

With plans set, you pulled into your driveway and went inside. Jay was up with JJ on his hip and a spatula in his hand. “hey baby. Just making some pancakes. You want some?” he asked, laughing at the faces JJ was making. “I’d love some babe, I’ll get the table set.” you gave him a kiss and got plates and silverware out and on the table. He eventually put JJ down and she ran into the living room to wait for her pancakes and eggs to be done. Breakfast went smooth, you told Jay about going to lunch with Gen. “you go, I’ll stay here with JJ.” “Thank you love. I won’t be long a few hours at most.” you said happily. “stay out stay long as you want. I can even pick up the other two later.” he replied planting a kiss on your forehead. You made your way upstairs to take a shower and get dressed. You threw on a pair of black leggings with a loose black blouse and your black wedges. Happy with your outfit you blow dried our hair and curled it. After you applied your make up. Confident in your look you smiled and went to find your purse and Jensen. He was coming out of JJ’S room when you found him. “wow, you look absolutely amazing sweetheart.” he said, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You returned the smile and kissed him deeply. “Thank you baby, I’ll be home in a few hours. Don’t forget, Tyler needs to finish his science project and Kat needs new ballet shoes. I can go get them when I get home if that’s easier, or..” you rambled. “babe. I got it. Go enjoy a girls day.” he cut you off. “ok…I’ll see you soon” with that you were off.

-Time Jump-

Five months had passed, your stomach had grown, you looked like you swallowed a watermelon. Jensen was back at work while you were lying on the couch, your feet perched up on a pile of pillows. JJ was back with her mom and Tyler and kat were at their grandparents for a week. You were enjoying the quiet when you heard a knock on their the door. You wiggled around until you found a way to push yourself up and off the couch and waddled to the door. You opened the door to find Gen with a basket filled to the brim with all kinds of things. “hey girl, I got a whole basket of goodies for you and the little one!” she said as soon as you let her enter the house. “thanks, what’s all in it?” you asked, watching her put it on the counter. “oils to help you relax, and old to help with stretch marks. I found some of the cutest onesies for the little one! When do you find out the sex?” “tomorrow, Jays flying back tonight so he can be there.”you smiled and looked at a jar on the counter. “almond butter? I’ve been craving this for weeks!” you said excitedly. Gen laughed and helped put things away. You smiled and sat back on couch and let out a sigh. “I can’t wait for this kid to be out. Always wants to play kick ball when it’s time for bed.” she laughed again and looked at you. “how’s the nursery coming along?” a big smile formed on your lips, “great, come take a look.” you said as you got up again to lead her to the room right next to yours and jensen’s. The walls were paint a pale green, with pictures of trees and animals. The crib was made of a cherry oak, with green and yellow sheets and a crib skirt. A dresser sat between the two windows with a lap. A rocking chair sat in the corner near one of the windows, a changing table was placed near the door. The windows were covered by white curtains and stuffed animals were placed in the crib with a fluffy yellow blanket hanging on the rails. Gen gasped when she looked around, “you did all this by yourself?” she asked you in amazement. “well, my mom and dad came to help, otherwise I’d still be trying to get the crib put together.” you both laughed as you went back downstairs. She left an hour later, and you flipped through channels until you heard Jay come in. He smiled when he found you on the couch running your hands over your huge stomach. “Hi baby.” he said quietly. “hey! Was wondering when you’d be getting in.” he sat next to you and put your legs on his. The rest of the night was spent cuddling with your adoring husband, patiently waiting to find out what you were having.

******

There’s Chapter 3, hope you enjoyed.

******

My tag list is open, so are requests!

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[takecxver-blog]

They Don’t Know - Michael

So this is my first post on this new blog… eep. Hope you like it. I had that super old One Direction song in my head while writing this and I’m not even a that big fan of them but it fit so whatever… idk. Also lowkey inspired by Good Girls (that one line is cringy I know I couldn’t resist). Flashbacks in italics.

Everyone will say they know about your relationship. The ‘bad boy’ and the ‘nerd’. They just know what they’ve seen and heard. Michael driving you to school and walking you to class, you sometimes wearing his leather jacket, that one time you got detention for being late (“it’s that boy’s bad influence on her, she’s never been slightly late before” - your chem teacher while shaking his head), you failing a test and being grounded (again, his bad influence, according to your dad). In reality, they knew a fraction of what they thought they did. For example, how you met.

You sighed, looking around nervously before pulling a crumpled packet of marlboro reds from your backpack and pressing one in-between your lips. It was a habit you’d picked up from the stress of studying for finals, your dad’s pressure to get into Harvard and all nighters. Staying late in the library every night had been his idea, and you weren’t one to argue. Fumbling in the bottom of your bag for your lighter, you cursed when you realised exactly where it was: in the hoodie pocket you’d used when you had a cigarette outside yesterday before your dad got in from work.

“Need a light?” You jumped at the unfamiliar voice and looked up to see Michael Clifford offering a lighter matching the current bright red of his hair. The school had long given up telling him not to dye it anymore. You’d always thought he was pretty cool, if a little irresponsible.

“Sure.” You took the lighter and lit the cigarette, taking in a long drag and exhaling in relief. Handing him back the lighter, you offered a smile. “Thanks.”

“No worries, you looked like you needed it.”

“You can say that again.”

“You looked like you needed it.” He smirked. Rolling your eyes, you took another drag and watched as he pulled out his own packet and lit up.

“Are you always this annoying?”

“Are you always this annoying?”

“Seriously, what are you, five?”

“Seriously, what are you, five?” You shook your head, laughing.

“You’re something else, I swear.”

“Don’t swear, it’s offensive! I’ll tell on you!”

“Oh no, anything but that, please!” You pretended to fake cry.

“Can you keep it down, some people are trying to study. And put those death sticks out, or I will tell on you!” A girl called from inside the library, then slammed the window behind her. It rattled in it’s frame and Michael shushed it, making you laugh even more.

“So what are you doing out here behind a library, doesn’t seem like you?” You asked after a while.

“Don’t judge a book by it’s cover, (Y/N), I could be here studying.” He retorted, making you snort. “Okay fine, I was dragged here by Mr Higgins for extra math tutoring. He thinks I’m in the toilet. What about you, miss goody two shoes, smoking, doesn’t seem like you?”

“Don’t judge a book by it’s cover, Michael.” You repeated, grinning. “And anyway, good girls are bad girls that haven’t been caught.” Stubbing out your cigarette, you winked at him before disappearing back inside.

He’d appeared by your side as you left that evening, offering you a ride home. It beat taking the bus, so you agreed, chatting pleasantly the entire ride to your house. When he pulled up outside, he asked for your number, and you found it hard coming up with reasons to refuse. He began texting you memes within the hour and you knew you’d made the right decision.

One thing people did get right about your relationship, though, was how protective of you he was. Practically the whole school had witnessed it nearly eight months into your relationship.

You stood outside your school, waiting for Michael. He insisted on picking you up, since it was still winter, and so pitch black by the time you finished school at four o’clock. And hey, you weren’t going to complain about not having to wait for the bus in the dark and cold, plus getting to see your boyfriend was a bonus. He’d gotten suspended for refusing to take out his new eyebrow piercing, so you hadn’t seen much of him the past week except for five minutes when he drove you home. But tonight was your weekly date night. Your dad hadn’t been too happy when you’d told him you had a boyfriend, as it would ‘impact your studies negatively’, and he was even less thrilled when you introduced him to Michael, not liking his appearance or grades in the slightest. After a few ‘loud discussions’ though, he’d come to accept it. You had a strict curfew of six that he extended by an hour every Wednesday, and you’d never broken it (at least not that he knew of). You’d been texting Michael all day, and were honestly so excited for the new chocolate fudge sundae from the ice cream place in town. Skipping one or two study sessions wouldn’t hurt.

“I bet your boyfriend thinks he’s so badass, doesn’t he?” You raised an eyebrow as you turned to see one of the douchey guys from your english class, Josh. He was popular and pretty much a fuckboy. He was also butthurt because Michael had called him out in class last week for calling a girl a slut, and then given him a black eye when he confronted him when he came to pick you up yesterday.

“If you’re talking about him kicking your ass, you deserved it.” You said, turning back around, only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder.

“Ooh, kitty’s got claws.”

“Yeah, and I’m about to claw your eyes out if you don’t let go of me and fuck off.”

“Oh, come on sweetheart, I was just playing.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. You shot him a tight smile and spun around to see Michael, leaning against the hood of his car, smirking. He walked over and wrapped an arm around your waist, kissing your cheek in greeting.

“Hey love, good day?”

“Not too bad, relieved that it’s over though.” You smiled.

“Ah cool, this asswipe’s not bothering you, is he?”

“She threatened me!” Josh exclaimed. “I was just asking her a question and the little sl-”

“If you’re looking for a black eye to match the first one, finish that sentence, I dare you.” Michael’s tone hardened as he glared at Josh.

“What? The little slut threatened me?” The asshole smirked, reaching over to brush your hair behind your ear. The next thing you knew he was being held against the wall by his collar.

“Don’t fucking touch her. I know you’re not exactly the smartest, but trying to get to me through her is probably the stupidest thing you’ve done yet.” Michael growled. By now a crowd had gathered around the three of you, attracting the attention of a couple of teachers.

“Mr Clifford! Let go of him this instant!”

“Mikey, c’mon, he’s not worth it.” You pleaded, not wanting him to get suspended for longer than he already was. Michael sighed and dropped Josh to the floor. He turned around and reached for your hand, only to freeze when he spoke again.

“Yeah, Mikey, your little slut needs attention.” Needless to say, Josh ended up with a second black eye and you spent the next two hours sitting outside the principal’s office. The ice cream place closed at five.

“I’m sorry, love. I know you wanted to go to that ice cream place tonight. We can go Saturday, I promise. Are you okay?” Michael said, squeezing your hand as you sat on the uncomfortable plastic chairs.

“I’m fine, just annoyed that I’m gonna have to wash my hair again, I only washed it this morning. Or maybe I should just bleach it like yours instead?” He was giggling until he was called into the office.

“I really am sorry.” Michael said as you walked out to his car at half six.

“Hey, it’s okay. That was so boring though, I need a cig. Plus, we still have time to make out in the backseat of your car.”

“Fuck, I love you.”

Badass. That was pretty much everyone’s view of Michael. They didn’t know how sweet he could be, or how much of a dork he was.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.” Michael removed the beanie from over the top half of your face (you didn’t have the heart to tell him you could see through it the entire time). You were in his bedroom/basement, and you had to give him credit, it looked amazing. Fairy lights were strung all about the room, and there was a very inviting blanket fort in the middle of the room, over the small sofa, facing the TV. On further inspection, you saw pizza, a tub of your favourite ice cream, and a bunch of movies inside the fort. “Happy anniversary, love.”

“Mikey, this awesome!” You exclaimed, running to get comfortable.

“Really?” He asked, crawling in next to you. You knew he was slightly insecure that he couldn’t take you out to some fancy restaurant for your second anniversary, his job in this alternate coffee shop wasn’t the best pay. But you couldn’t care less, this was thoughtful and adorable and way more fun than sitting in some posh restaurant all night.

“Yes!” You giggled, proceeding to tell him all the reasons why this is the best kind of date. Plus, it was Saturday, so you had all day to yourselves. Most of that day may or may not have been spent feeding each other pizza and making out.

Deadpool had just finished, and you were having a hard time staying awake. It was half five, and you were just so warm and comfortable wrapped up in Michael’s arms as he played with your hair and dropped kisses onto your forehead. Surely you could nap for a little bit? Michael would wake you up when he had to drop you home.

Bad decision. You shot up at 6am and, after checking your phone, panicked. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Mikey, get up!” You shook your boyfriend. Normally, his adorable, sleepy face would melt you, but right now you were too panicked by the missed calls and texts waiting for you. “Michael!”

“W-What?” He yawned, sitting up. “What’s wrong, love?”

“What’s wrong is that we fell asleep and I was supposed to be home twelve hours ago!” He perked up, suddenly much more awake.

“Shit.”

“Shit is right. I’m gonna die. My dad’s gonna kill me. It was nice knowing you.”

“Hey, hey.” Michael wrapped his arms around you, seeing tears in your eyes. “This is the first time you’ve ever been late. Text him now and explain, I’ll drive you home and we can talk to him. It’s gonna be alright, I’m gonna be right there with you the whole time, love, I promise. C’mon, deep breaths.”

“Okay, yeah. He’ll understand, right?” You sighed, and Michael nodded, kissing you softly.

“Let’s go.”

Turns out you had nothing to worry about. Sure, your dad was initially angry, but after you explained (and nearly cried), he calmed down, and just told you not to let it happen again. Which is why you’re currently biting your lip, debating on whether to sneak out and see Michael on a school night when you’ve got an exam tomorrow. It’s not the first time you’ve done it, and you’ve never been caught, but this exam is a really big deal. Sure, your place at Harvard, still your dream school, is pretty much secured for September, but this is in the thing you’re going to be minoring in (your major is chemistry upon your dad’s request), your true passion, art. A text comes through, jolting you out of your reminiscing.

from: mikey ♥

I know you’ve got your art exam in the morning, but that stuff comes naturally to you. It’s why you should be majoring in it, love. You don’t need to study for something you’re already amazing at.

Fuck it, you think, grabbing a hoodie (Michael’s) and some sneakers. Even after two and a half years, you never were good at saying no to him. Climbing out of your window and down the conveniently placed tree, you jog over to Michael’s car and jump in.

“Hey, love.” He greets you with a kiss and you giggle.

“Just drive, Mikey.”