#I knew I had a thing for red heads but the southern drawl took me for surprise

[made-this-cause-why-not]

and if I said that I Firecracker is probably going to be my crush of the season, then what? And if I follow that statement by saying that I would die if she and Nueman are on screen together, what would happen???

[richonnesbitch]

Hey everyone! Here's chapter 1 of a fanfic I wrote about what would have went down had we gotten a bridge wedding in season 9. It's been wracking my brain forever so I just had to write it. If everyone likes it, I'll post chapter 2!

Rick marveled at the ring in his hand. Not only was the ring itself perfect, but the timing itself was. There was about a week's time before the bridge was completed and Rick was hoping to marry her on that exact day. His dream was about to come true.

He placed a hand on Gabriel's shoulder, giving it squeeze. "Thank you, Gabriel."

Gabriel smiled. "Congratulations, Rick. When are you going to propose?"

"Soon. Tonight. As soon as possible."

"Well, good luck.", Gabriel replied earnestly.

Rick smiled and nodded. "I want us to have the wedding the day the bridge is completed."

"You're gonna plan a wedding in only a week?"

Rick let out a chuckle. "I've been planning this for months."

Gabriel chuckled with him. "Okay, Rick. Good luck."

Rick pocketed the ring as he walked home, plotting the entire way on how he should make his move. He'd been so focused on the wedding itself he didn't even think on how he'd propose. And now he only had a week to do it. Heat took over his body as the jitters started to kick in.

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

As Michonne walked into her home the smell of candles, spaghetti, and garlic bread overtook the room. Surprise grew on her face as she looked around the room. "Rick?"

"Hey." He was standing at the kitchen table pouring two glasses of red wine. He had a huge smile on his face and his eyes were as bright as the sun.

She begin to smile as well. "What's all this about?"

"Just supper. Hope you're hungry."

"I am. Where's Judith?"

"Rosita offered her to stay the night. I thought me and you could have some time to ourselves." He pulled out a chair, gesturing for her to take a seat.

She knew he was up to something and she had a good idea of what it was but felt excited to see how this played out. She happily took her seat with Rick taking the chair next to her.

"This looks amazing.", she complimented the food, taking a bite of it. She nodded her head. "It is."

Rick was staring, still smiling at her. "Glad you like it." He grabbed her hand, using his thumb to rub her fingers. "How was your day?"

The two continued to talk as they ate. "Good. The garden is thriving, even more than last month. No one's sick in the infirmary right now. Alexandria's doing good."

Rick nodded his head. "Yeaaah. I knew you'd take good care of this place."

"We are taking care of place.", she firmly corrected him.

"Mmm... It's mostly you. I just wanted to say... you're doing an amazing job. And I really appreciate it. Thank you for everything that you do.", Rick complimented her sincerely. And he truly meant every word. He was so beyond grateful for this woman he felt like he couldn't find the words to express it. There were not words strong enough to show his appreciation for her. But he sure tried.

Every word hit her hard, sending tingles throughout her body. His voice did things to her when he spoke softly with his rough, southern drawl.

She decided to take the compliment. She had been working very hard lately and it was nice to feel appreciated. He always knew how to make her feel seen. "Thank you, Rick.", she responded with a hand squeeze. "What about you? How was your day?"

He still had that smile on his face, while also looking kind of sweaty. "Great. Really great. The bridge should be completed in about a week."

"Rick, that's amazing. We should do something to celebrate! Us, the rest of the communities."

Rick shook his head in agreement. "Yeah, I was thinking the same." That was the end of his sentence but it seemed like there was something else he wanted to say. Instead he said, "you don't like the wine?"

"Oh, sorry. I just... don't like the taste of wine and spaghetti."

"Let me get you some water then." He let go of her hand to get up but she tightened her grip.

"I can get it."

Rick laughed. "Let me.", he softly demanded. Michonne released his hand and he swiftly moved to fetch her a glass. "You want ice?"

"Sure."

She watched lovingly as he opened the freezer and grabbed a few cubes out the tray, dropping them into her water. He could feel her eyes on him. "So, this celebration thing... Kingdom will come, Hilltop will come. We can all bring some food. Maybe Eugene can be a DJ, you know since he's handy with that stuff. I'm sure he has all types of CD's, tapes, and whatnot. " He walked back to the table, setting her glass next to her plate and taking his seat again.

"You've got this all planned out, huh?"

He grinned. "Yeah, I guess."

"So when are we doing all this?"

"The night the bridge is complete."

"Have you talked to everyone else about this yet?"

"Well, a little bit. Not in detail. But I don't see why they wouldn't. This would be good for all of us."

"Well, you should talk to them as soon as possible since it's only a few days away."

"Yeah, I'll do that. But..." His voice became slightly shaky.

"But what?"

"I wanted to go over it with you first." He looked down, seemingly unable to meet her eyes. "Michonne... I've had this on my mind a while now. This bridge is the start of something new. It really feels like everything is finally coming together. All the communities coming together like this... this world was broken. And here you are putting the pieces back together. If anyone could do it, it's you." Suddenly he rose out of his chair and bent down on one knee pulling a ring out of the breast pocket of the plaid shirt he was wearing. "You are the love of my life. I love you so, so much. I'm yours till the day I die. Will you marry me?" Michonne could see his chest puffing up and down.

Her eyes begin to well up with tears. Slowly she joined him on his knees, taking both of his hands in hers. "If you would have told me all that time ago that we ended up here, I would have never believed you. I still can't believe it. I love you so much, Rick. You're my one true love. Of course I'll marry you."

Michonne felt Rick's cold wet tears trickle down his face as she pulled him in for a deep kiss. As they pulled away, the pair begin to laugh.

Quietly Rick stood up, taking Michonne's hand again. "Come on.", he whispered, guiding her upstairs to their bedroom. She continued to giggle.

The couple ravished one another as the night went on, just completely enjoying themselves together without a care in the world. They fought so long, so hard for simple moments like these and now their time had finally came. Nothing was gonna keep this from them ever again. Nothing and no one. To them, this was everything. They had the rest of their lives to spend together and not a single moment would go by unappreciated... least of all this one.

After a very long, very pleasureful night exhaustion started to consume them. As daylight slowly crept up on them, they decided it was time to finally get some rest.

"So. You're taking my last name, right?"

Michonne chuckled. "Yes, baby. I'm taking your last name."

Rick softly smiled, placing a tiny kiss on her shoulder as they laid cuddling in their bed. "Good."

[stillsaltyaboutmcr]

Pain In the Neck- Jake Seresin

a/n: this is a short little blurb because this idea is funny to me

Warnings: implied sexual relations, Rooster having angry dad energy, Phoenix being nosey, cursing

A fic in which the team finds out why you call Hangman a pain in the neck and your brother loses his shit.

You walked into training and sat down, wiping your face with your hands. You were struggling so hard this morning to be awake, something you normally never had an issue with. Yes, you may have been up late arguing with a customer service representative, but besides the point. Phoenix sat down next to you and you shot her a quick smile. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“I was up late last night trying to make a return. The customer service lady was not helpful at all. I’m dragging today.” You finally looked up from your hands and saw Hangman sit in front of you. “Not today.” 

“Hey darlin’. What crawled up your ass today?” His southern drawl only made your oncoming headache worse. “Come on, give me a smile.” 

You rolled your eyes, “Can you not be a pain in my neck today? I’m exhausted.”

“Woah, no witty comeback?” Hangman gave you smirk. 

“Leave her alone cowboy. Maverick’s coming in anyways.” Rooster passed you all and hit Hangman upside the head before taking his own seat. 

Lessons went by just fine and before you knew it, it was the end of the day. 

You were all getting ready to hit the showers and head home when Phoenix came up behind you. “Hey c/s. You wanna come over for dinner tonight?” You two often did wine nights once a week.

You finished undoing the zipper on your flight suit and turned to her. “I’m just real-” Before you could finish your sentence Rooster came up to you both and his face was stone serious. “Can I help you?”

“What the fuck is this?” He angrily pointed his finger to a spot on your neck that’s usually covered up by your suit. Laying on your neck was a fat hickey. Your face became red and you looked to the floor. “What is that c/s?”

‘C/s! You didn’t tell me you had someone! Who’s the lucky guy?” Phoenix teased. 

“It was like a one time thing a couple days ago. I don’t have anyone, it’s nothing special-”

“Nothing special? That’s not what you said last night sunshine.” Hangman now entered the situation and made it worse. Your face fell to your hands. Phoenix gasped audibly.

“You guys are sleeping together! You’re fucking Hangman! Oh my God!!” She was practically bouncing around the locker room. Meanwhile Rooster looked like he was going to kill Hangman. 

“You’re dead Hangman. You stay away from my sister.”

“Oh, we both know I’m not going to do that.” He smirked before they both took off. Rooster was now chasing Hangman down, leaving you with a giddy Phoenix. 

[whump-in-the-closet]

“You’ll regret this.”

Two guards dragged Leader into a small study. Soft rain hit the window, streaking down in droplets.

Behind the desk, Whumper sat with an air of success, leather boots on his desk. He folded his hands and allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. "Ah, he's come to join his companion."

Leader snarled and lunged against the guards. His lip was broken and his nose was bleeding. "Where are they? What have you done with them?" His words were thick with crimson.

Whumper raised a hand--rings flashing in the lamplight-- and one guard hit Leader with the butt of their gun.

Leader winced but remained standing.

They kicked him in the back of his knees and forced him to the ground. Leader held his head as high as he could, blood trickling down his chin and dripping to the floor, refusing to break eye contact with Whumper.

Whumper yanked his boots off his desk and stood. He walked around his desk, slowly, leisurely, like he had all the time in the world.

"You want to try that again?" Whumper drawled, his accent faintly Southern.

Leader tilted his head back and spat a mouthful of blood in Whumper's face. "Where is Whumpee?"

Whumper pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and wiped away the blood carefully, dabbing at his mustache. He folded the cloth back up and placed it on the desk. Then he slapped Leader across the mouth.

The rings dug deep.

Leader saw bright pinpricks of light and reeled. The next thing he knew, Whumper had grabbed him by his jaw and pulled him close. With a soft rasp, Whumper said, "You're the one at my mercy, boy. Ask politely or keep your mouth shut."

Leader suppressed the urge to bite Whumper's nose. He took a shuddering breath, forcing some resemblance of calm he certainly didn't feel. With a twitch and barely hidden sarcasm, he spat the words out. "Pretty please with a cherry on top, will you tell me where Whumpee is?"

Whumper let go of Leader. He smiled down at him, ignoring Leader's sarcasm. "I'm not a cruel man. I won't just tell you where Whumpee is, I'll show you."

Leader's expression twisted-- not a single emotion disguised but plain to see. Fear. Panic. Worry. Hatred.

Whumper nodded to the guards and they hauled Leader to his feet. Half-dragging him, they followed Whumper down a flight of stairs. And then down another. Whumper unlocked a gated entrance with two flickering lamps beside it.

Leader paled. No. Surely Whumpee wasn't down here-- Surely--

But Whumper, seeing how Leader froze, took hold of the front of his already-torn shirt and hauled him towards the bars of a cell. Whumper pushed him up against it, forcing him to look inside.

"They're even alive," said Whumper. "At least, they were, last time I checked."

Leader's heart jumped from his chest to his throat and stayed there. He thought he just might throw it up.

There was a shape in the back of the small, disgusting cell.

"Whumpee?" he whispered.

Please no.

The shape stirred and two points of light peered up at him.

Oh.

Oh god.

"Whumpee!" Leader gasped.

They had a thin blanket over their shoulders and clutched it close, their arms red with welts. On their right hand, they were missing their index and middle finger.

They stared, from Leader to Whumper, then shrank back against the wall, breaths ragged. They were already pleading softly, "Sorry, I'm s-sorry, I told you everything I-- I told you everything."

Whumper stood uncomfortably close to Leader. Leaning close, he whispered, "Your Whumpee betrayed you for the price of their three remaining fingers. But turns out, I didn't even have to find you. You came to me. Loyalty like yours is remarkable, boy."

Leader never took his eyes off Whumpee and tried to smile at them, "Hey, hey, it's me. It's okay. You'll...It'll be okay." To Whumper, he spat a curse. Then, slowly, with precision, "You'll regret this. I want you to know that."

Whumper only shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. You're in no position to make threats." He slapped Leader again, lightly. He waved for his guards to take Leader away. "Put him in the one next to Whumpee's."

They dragged the cursing Leader into the cell. The last thing he heard was Whumper's scratchy voice. "I want him to hear Whumpee's screams and know there ain't a thing he can do to help."

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

Part One- I Regret Nothing

Warnings: Language, mentions of blood and injuries, a whole lot of angst.

"My name is Jackman Thomas Harlow III. I’m 16 years old. I want my one phone call."

"My name is Jackman Thomas Harlow III. I’m 16 years old. I want my one phone call.

My name is Jackman Thomas Harlow III. I’m 16 years old. I want my one phone call."

Jack repeated the script his father had drilled into his head after one too many run-ins with the cops, his lips moving frantically as he whispered the mantra, his eyes closed.

“What are we gonna do, man?”

Jack felt the shove into his arm in slow motion, his senses muted by the alcohol coursing through his veins. He allowed the push to move through his body, his head slumping over to the side. He was too tired to react; he needed all of his energy to stay awake.

“Jack, what are we gonna do? They’re gonna start asking questions.”

He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as he adjusted to the bright headlights in his view. His vision was blurry and tunneled. He closed them tight and opened again after a few seconds, but it was no clearer than before. He could make out the blue and red lights that illuminated the trees above him, and the muffled voices of people running around him. As if someone had turned up the volume on a speaker, he winced at the sound of a siren coming closer, clamping his hands over his ears. He placed his hand on the concrete sidewalk, pulling it away when he felt something wet and sticky. As his vision finally clears, his heart races at sight of the blood that coats his fingers, dripping down onto his pant leg. For the first time he is taking in his surroundings; the totaled car he took without his father’s permission, the two cop cars parked to block the road, multiple officers pacing the scene as they take photos for evidence.

He sucks in his teeth at the burning pain radiating from the back of his head as the adrenaline finally wears off. He grazes against the crown to find an open gash at least the size of his index finger.

“Jack answer me!” Brandon called out to his brother through gritted teeth. He lazily looks up as the deputy approaches the two of them, his hand on his gun as if he may have to draw it at any second. He relaxes his hold on the holster when he realizes they aren't a flight risk.

“Don’t say anything.” Jack’s tone tells Brandon it’s a threat, not a warning.

“Alright, who wants to tell me what happened here?” The cop’s southern drawl suggests he’s a transplant from below the Mason Dixie line. Neither of you dare to make eye contact. “I need a medic.” Jack finally speaks, motioning to the injury on his head. The cop pops the gum in his mouth, the sound making Jack shiver. The only thing he hates more than ignorant cops is a cop with no manners.

“I’m surprised they let you in the force with a third-grade education. Tell me officer, are you and your inbred children enjoying the Hamptons?” Jack groans out in pain as the officer pulls him up from the ground, throwing him against the door of the cop car. “Fuck, I’m already bleeding here, lets not make it internal as well!” Jack smirked to himself as he felt the cold handcuffs clamp around his wrists.

“Anything you want to say before your taken to the station?” The cop felt unsettled as he watched Jack’s demeanor change, his movements robotic, his tone even.

“My name is Jackman Thomas Harlow III. I’m 16 years old. I want my one phone call.”

Jack jumps at the force of the door slamming closed. The backseat smells like shame and piss as he adjusts in his seat to see out of the back window. Brandon is being loaded into the neighboring car, tears streaming down his face. “That bitch better not say anything”, Jack utters out to an empty car.

The police station is quiet aside from a few drunk locals who frequent the metal jail cell that was visible from the front desk. Jack began to sober up as he was booked and fingerprinted. He knew he wasn’t going to show up in their system; his father made sure of that. “You’re wasting your time”, he whispered, but the desk clerk was none the wiser. He was taken back to the medic station to get sewn up. He patted the bandage that was placed haphazardly on his head. His head was still throbbing; they had denied him any pain medication.

“Jack, what are we going to do?” He groaned at the sight of his brother, his face red and puffy from the hours of crying as he walked to the back of the holding cell. He wasn’t sure how it was possible to despise someone that he was supposed to love. Brandon looked nothing like him; his hair jet black and straight, his green eyes making him the outcast of the family. Jack slumped down on the hard metal bench, attempting to stretch his tight leg muscles. There was no way he was going to be able play in the lacrosse game this weekend with his injuries. “Just relax, everything will be fine.” Jack gave him a dead smile, looking past Brandon rather than at his face. His eyes were focused on the homeless man that was asleep on the floor across the room, his tattered clothing and missing shoes displaying that he had been here a while. “I fuckin’ hate homeless people.” Jack said out loud, resting his head against the concrete wall.

“Jackman Harlow.” Jack allowed his eyes to flutter open, making out a figure between the thick iron bars. “Jackman Harlow”, the clerk repeated, calling out to the number of inmates. “Yeah, that’s me.” Jack held up a weak arm as he stood, hobbling to the door. He gulped, backing up when he saw his father walking toward him, still in the black tuxedo he saw him wearing earlier tonight when he left for one of his many parties. His face was deadpan, which scared Jack more than any angry expression he had seen on his father’s face before. “Your bail has been posted, you’re free to go.” He could feel the disapproval radiating off of his father’s body, but he relished in the warmth; it was comforting to him at this point.

“Wait, what about me?” Jack turned back to Brandon who was still behind bars. “Dad, please!” Brandon called out, his hands white knuckling the bars. “Is this your son as well, sir?” Jack’s father straightened out his coat, clearing his throat. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.” Jack winked at Brandon as he walked away. Sometimes things end up working in his favor after all.

Series Masterlist

[hathorneheiress]

Grayson Hawthorne sickfics pt.1

This was a request from @noth1in1g and I am honored to do it.

I am going to switch POVs so I hope it is not to confusing.

Grayson's POV.

My day started like any other day. I wearily climbed out of my plush, king sized bed to my closet in the other room. I was always tired, never seeming to get enough sleep, but I was even more so today.

I pulled a thirty-thousand-dollar, jet black suit from off it's hanger. I slipped into it as easily as most people do a seat shirt and jeans. Going through my usually morning rituals of brushing my teeth, combing my hair, and shaving.

Staring at myself in the over sized mirror in my enormous bathroom, I noticed how red my face looked. I felt hot, which was no surprise since I am always hot. Placing the back of my hand to my burning forehead, I knew I had a fever.

Ignoring my aching limbs and feverish body, I proceeded downstairs to breakfast.

Everyone was already seated in the massive dining room. Hardly hungry, I nevertheless picked a few things and sat down.

Nibbling on a strawberry, I listened as Avery and Jameson talked about what they were planning to do for the day.

"I just know there is more secrets left to be found Heiress. I'm sure they're hidden in the walls."

"Really Jameson. We have checked several times and have found nothing."

"Well I am not giving up."

I drowned out their conversation. Some new mystery to be solved and both were eager to solve it first. They tried to pull me in, but I declined. I was tired of playing the old man's games.

"Are you alright?" Nash's southern drawl brought me back to reality.

"What?" I asked.

"I said are you alright? You don't look to good. Did you get any sleep last night."

I stiffened. I didn't need him babying me. "I'm fine." I replied curtly. Realizing that I wasn't going to eat anymore, I stood to leave. My legs shook and I almost fell back into my chair.

Nash cocked his head to the side. Concern appearing on his face. "Want to rectify that statement little brother?"

I bristled at his words. "No, I do not. I can take care of myself." And with that I left.

I returned to my office to get some work done. Sitting in the chair, I could feel myself getting shaker as time went on. Chills and body aches came with a sudden force. Felling sick to my stomach, I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't move.

Trying not to panic I tried again to stand. I succeeded. I took a few steps toward the bathroom before my legs went totally out from under me. I fell, with my head banging against the floor. Everything went black.

Nash's POV

I watched as Grayson staggered out of the dining room. He was by no means alright, but I tried to respect his wishes by not interfering. He had always been like that, since he was very young. He didn't need my help. He could take care of himself just fine.

And he could, but he also needed to realize that it's ok to ask for help. Trying not to let it bug me, I joined Libby in the kitchen. For an hour we made and frosted over a hundred cupcakes.

"That was fun." I said, leaning down to give her a kiss.

"It was. We should do it more often."

"Yes." I agreed "we should." She went to go find Avery and I was left alone. My earlier concern for Grayson grew when he hadn't been seen in several hours.

I decided to check on him. Most likely it would end in him getting upset that I had to see how he was doing, but I didn't care. He was my brother and I cared about him.

I made it to his office within minutes. I knocked gently. "Gray? It's me, Nash. Are you doing alright?"

No answer. I knocked again, and then pushed open the door. I heart stopping sight lad before me.

Grayson was sprawled on the ground, still and stiff. Rushing to his side I turned him over. I chill went up my spine when I felt how hot he was. His breathing seemed fine, even though there was a small wound from where he fell.

I swooped him up in my arms, hardly realizing how heavy he actually was. Laying him gently on the soft bed, I quickly undid his collar and then got a cold wash cloth, draping it over his burning forehead.

I knew he wasn't doing well. He keeps over working himself, and now he is going to have to pay the price. I continue to cool his body with damp cloth while trying revive him at the same time.

Still nothing.

I realize it could be awhile before anything could happen. Trying not to panic, I pull out my phone.

It was time to call in reinforcements.

So part one is done. Not sure how long this will be, but I realized I wasn't going to be able to do it in one part. I hope you like it.

If you have any ideas or wishes, please let me know.

[womeninsports18]

I wrote another one…

Natasha wasn’t the jealous type. Ever.

But when she was in the bar one night with the squadron and over heard someone talking about how they were stationed with Bob Floyd, and how good he was in bed and how you wouldn’t expect him to be dominant in the bedroom for how sweet he was. She saw red. Although it really hit the fan when the lady said she was gonna see if he wanted to rekindle the fling they once had.

Now at this point her and Bob had only been on two dates with a third planned but he was still hers, and no one touched what was hers.

So she did the only rational thing she could think of. Which happened to be walking up to Bob and planting one right on him. She walked back to the pool table with her and Halos drink in hand. After handing Halos drink off to her she moved to stand in front of Bob who was leaning on a wall with his pool cue in hand.

She placed a hand on chest over his T-shirt and the other moved to the back of his neck pulling him down into a searing kiss. Bob and his reflexes acted quick, placing a hand on her hip and the other in her back pocket of her jeans pulling her closer by her ass. She smirked to herself. Of course Bob Floyd was an ass man. She would definitely be exploring that with him later.

As they pulled apart Bob had a smirk on his face. Something Natasha had never seen directed towards her but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t find it insanely hot. “What was that about sweetheart?” He asked with that hot southern drawl while squeezing her ass with the hand still in her pocket. “Nothing just making sure people know your off limits.” She said turning herself around and leaning her back to his front pulling his arms around herself so that he was holding her tightly against his firm body.

It was then that she saw the shocked faces of her friends. They hadn’t seen this side of Bob, the smirk, the hand placement, everything made him sort of unrecognizable. Although they weren’t surprised that Natasha had finally gotten what she wanted with Bob. They all saw how she watched her WSO and how she would lean into him when ever she was near him, craving his touch, glaring at any lady that wanted to get to close to what belonged to her.

“That-a boy Bob.” Hangman said being the first the break the silence while clapping Bob on the shoulder almost like a proud father causing Bob to go shy again and hide his face away in the crook of Natasha neck. He quickly found that he liked that hiding place very much, he could smell her citrusy shampoo and conditioner from there and he gets to kiss on her soft skin which was always a plus.

Hangman’s comment earned him a glare Natasha. “Relax Phoenix I’m not gonna steal him from you. He’s all yours.” He said raising his hands and making a show of slowly backing up.

Natasha eased back into Bob appreciating the light kisses he was placing up and down her neck. Moving a hand to the back of his head pulling his mouth closer to her neck enjoying the feeling of his lips and every once and while his tongue massaging her pulse point. “Yours skins so soft sweetheart.” He whispered in her ear with that drawl again when eventually pulled his lips away from her neck.

He knew what he was doing because as he whispered in her ear he slipped his thumb of his left hand up under her shirt and rubbed the skin on her stomach softly, the other hand squeezing at her hip and pulling her back into himself and holding her there with a firm grip.

That was all it took before she was dragging him out of the bar and out to his truck they both arrived in telling him to take her to his apartment and show her just how much he loved her soft skin.

Send me request of little drabbles you want to see me write and if you have a specific pairing you want me to use.

[neoncrowpen]

If you are taking requests can you please do a tommy x american reader imagine where he is dating a Southern girl and she loses her temper on one of the Shelby brothers if not I understand

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you yelled. You were hot. Your face flushed red while your knuckles itched to punch the next man who spoke a word to you. Your neck tensed into something so stiff that you were certain you needed a doctor to crack your neck. You took an unopened bottle of Shelby Whiskey right off the table without asking.

You tossed the bottle back, feeling the burn of the drink numbing you. It was easier to take than the news you just heard. When you opened your eyes, you saw Thomas Shelby looking at you.

“What are you looking at?” you yelled at him.

“Don’t you fucking talk to him like that,” Arthur began to quarrel with you. A screaming match ignited between you, Arthur, and John as quickly as bullets fired from a gun.

Thomas watched you from where he sat. He thought that a quiet girl would calm the storms in his head. At least, all the English and Irish girls he liked quieted the nightmares. Not you. American girls had a fire that ignited something terrible inside Tommy. All he needed was one, well-thought out, easy-peasy bank robbery.

He remembered your face as both of you got away with a shit ton of money. Your wicked smile turned into a laughter that made him believe in the Devil. God didn’t take his time on you. The Devil did. Only hell could carve a smirk like yours. All of Tommy’s life, he strived and toed the line to become a legitimate businessman. He was going to do things right. He was going to settle down and live an easy life.

He listened to the southern drawl in your voice. How it sounded so wild in his ears. How his mind quickly thought of how you sound in his bed.

“Fuck you, Arthur!” you shouted. Thomas Shelby hungered to hear his name yelled at him like that. Now, he understood what Polly meant by the temptations of the Devil. Thomas would commit every single sin against God for an opportunity to have all of you. He knew you were married before. That love burned differently in your chest since your husband died of sickness.

He knew you were broken like him.

Maybe it was the drawl. Maybe it was the death wish you carried. Maybe it was the Devil calling out to him.

You threw a glass against the wall, it shattered to pieces. “I’m not a fucking Peaky Blinder! And this isn’t Birmingham! It’s America, you crooked toothed fuck.” After Arthur insulted you, you swung a pan at him. It smacked across his face, sending him to the ground. You looked Thomas’ way again.

“We’re doing this my way now.” You said. Thomas Shelby’s heart stopped for a moment. That was the last straw. He allowed himself to give into the Devil now. He stayed sitting in his seat, but he wanted to submit himself on his knees before you.

“As you wish,” Thomas Shelby gave in.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Pairing: Jack Daniels x fem. Reader

Warnings: fluff, kissing, implied smut

It was late. The kids were in bed and you felt your eyes getting heavy too. You smiled as you heard footsteps from the hallway, your head turning just in time to see someone dressed in a Santa Claus Costume, the beard missing, walk into the living room.

You giggled.

“Ho, Ho, Holy shit this suit is hotter than I thought it would be,” Jack said with his southern drawl and you shook your head as he walked over to you.

“Is that some kind of new kink you forgot to tell me about, cowboy?” you asked and Jack smirked. He took your hand, pulling you up towards him and you smiled as he wiggled his eyebrows. You let your hand run over the soft red fabric of the Jacket he was wearing.

“Thought I went all in this year and put the gifts under the tree with the appropriate outfit,” he hummed and you nodded.

“How very in character of you,” you said and he grinned.

Growing up you never really really celebrated christmas. With your mother leaving your father when you were little he spent most of his time working, leaving you with whatever babysitter he could afford to pay. There were no decorations, no dinners, no gifts.

When you had met Jack and he had invited you to stay with him for Christmas all those years ago it was like a world unlocked, you had only read about before.

Jack loved christmas.

He went all out. The ranch was decorated with so many lights outside, you were sure it could be seen from space. But you loved him for it. And his love for the holidays rubbed off of you during the years. And now with two little kids to experience it with, Jack knew now boundaries.

He pecked your lips before he turned away from you and started to arrange the presents under the tree. You couldn’t wait to see their little faces light up in the morning. With a smile you turned away to walk into the kitchen and clean up the leftover mess from dinner. You were humming a song when two arms wrapped around you kissing up your neck.

“Are you ready to go to bed?”

“Are you ready to get out of that suit?” you asked, turning your head to look at Jack.

“Only if you are the one getting me out of it,” he whispered against your ear and you closed your eyes. You decided the kitchen was clean enough when you pushed him off of you. He gave you a questioning look when you walked out of the kitchen. He caught up with you easily, pushing you against the doorframe.

“Mistletoe,” he hummed, making you look up, to see the mistletoe you were standing under, before he was on you. Kissing you breathless as his hands pushed the fabric of the sweater dress you were wearing up… up… up until his hands finally landed on your ass, squeezing it, making you moan against his lips.

“Take me to bed and fuck me, baby,” you whispered and he nodded before he picked you up and brought you upstairs.

On the next morning you were all sitting around the tree in matching pyjamas. Your youngest, Benjamin sitting in Jack’s lap, showing him the plush penguin Santa had brought him.

“Daddy?” you heard Ben whisper and Jack leant down.

“I think I saw Mommy kissing Santa last night,” he mumbled and you looked at Jack with big eyes.

“Really? That’s weird,” Jack frowned, shooting you a look.

“Why?” Ben asked.

“Because I know Mommy only kissed Daddy all night and morning. See?” Jack grinned as he pecked your lips and Ben climbed into your lap.

“Mkay,” Ben shrugged and crawled towards his sister, playing with a matching Penguin.

“All night and morning, huh?” you asked as Jack put his arm around you, your head resting on his shoulder. He kissed your temple.

“Good thing he didn’t see what else Mommy did with Santa,” Jack said and you pushed against his shoulder, making him huff a laugh.

“You loved it.”

“That I did, that I did,” he said before he kissed you.

Taglist:

@cherry-gemz / @melchills-j / @justpedropascal / @raspberrymama / @parkjammys / @novicepearl / @perropascal​ / @hotspacepilots​ / @sleep-tight1 / @freeshavocadoooo / @princess76179 / @pumpkin-stars / @evyiione / @princesssterek / @palaiasaurus64 / @turkish276 / @maciiiofficial / @re-reads / @trippedmetaldetector / @liviiii98 / @greeneyedblondie44 / @darnitdraco / @tobealostwanderer / @gracie7209 / @rosiefridayrogersunday / @dindjarinneedsahug / @autumnleaves1991-blog / @sharkbait77 / @elegantduckturtle / @marvelousmermaid / @stevie75 / @dihra-vesa / @idreamofboobear / @peoniarose / @anaaaispunk / @paintballkid711 / @castleamc / @just-here-for-the-moment / @littlemisspascal / @christina-loves / @alexxavicry / @linkpk88 / @theamuz / @doin-stuff / @tintinn16 / @allanawinchester/ @kirsteng42 / @beskarboobs / @thevoiceinyourheadx / @elinedjarin / @dobbyjen / @quicksilvermad / @lowlights

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ prompt: you’re going to a chistmas party with your ex in attendance and you try to find a replacement as quick as possible. 

♡ song suggestion: HIP - MAMAMOO

♡ pairing: jon kent (superboy) x fem! reader

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes 

“i can’t just go to this party and not show up with a date, do you know how humiliating that is?” you exclaimed to Damian, chugging back the last bit of wine you had in your glass, “it’s easy for you to show up like that because you’re fucking Bruce Wayne’s son and you aren’t the one who actually lied here...I DID!” 

Damian saw the panic arising in your eyes as you tried to come up with just anything to get out of the Wayne Christmas party but nothing was coming up in order to actually get you out of it. it was too late to actually back out and you swore to Damian you’d attend the party so it wouldn’t be so miserable for him. 

“who exactly did you lie to that you’re that deep into a lie?” Damian asked, kicking his legs up on his desk. “Michael from human resources! he’s been up my ass about taking me out that i finally broke one day and said I was already in a relationship and while he did back off, he’s expecting me to bring a date,” you confessed. 

Damian started laughing again, not knowing whether to fire Michael to finally put you out of your misery or actually take the opportunity to make you meet his oh so single best friend...Jon Kent. he sat on the idea for a few minutes as you ran your fingers through your hair nervously. 

“good lord, if I bring a friend of mine as your date, will you be quiet?” you looked at him in confusion. “you have friends?” you laughed, instantly dodging his wad of paper. 

“for your information, I actually do,” you sighed, not really knowing if you wanted to take him up on the offer, “he’s a friend of mine from Metropolis. he’ll say yes, it’s up to you,” you cautiously agreed, threatening him that if his so called ‘friend’ ended up being some creep, you were within your rights to hurt him. 

as you and Damian exited the building, you saw the copious amounts of reporters standing to the side, trying to capture photos of Damian or getting information on the party for tomorrow. 

you sighed, giving the reporters the middle finger, not really in the mood to deal with their bs. there were a few times those nosey reporters had made stories about you and Damian. claiming that you were sleeping with him so you could get closer to the Wayne family heir. it didn’t exactly help that you were in the assistant and secretary role as well. 

“wow, feisty aren’t you?” you heard Damian’s eldest brother, Dick, say out of no where. you quickly greeted him, seeing that the street to get out of Wayne Enterprises was getting clogged up with traffic, “see all of you tomorrow! Damian, don’t let me down!” 

Dick looked over to his brother, wondering what you meant by that. “I’m bringing Jon as her date for tomorrow,” he explained. his eyes widened, “really? him?” he asked, surprised that he would even set up a date for someone. “yeah, he has way too much time on his hands and it’d be better for me to set those two up to finally get them out of my hair.” Dick laughed knowing exactly where that could go wrong. 

+ 

the morning finally came, much to your unamused pleasure. you had told Damian that you’d meet him at his place so if anything funny happened with his date, it wouldn’t happen to your embarrassment at your work place. you were not sure who your mystery date was and Damian refused to give you a name. all he had told you was that he worked in Metropolis and had been his friend for years. 

you dragged yourself into the shower and unwillingly got dressed. your makeup was the hardest part of the entire outfit as you were going to try and perfect it as much as possible. you had never really gone all out with the makeup in what felt like years so you figured today would be the day. 

“almost ready?” Damian asked over the phone. you rolled your eyes, “yeah, i’m just pulling my shoes on before heading over to your place,” you responded as you munched on a granola bar, “why do you care?” you asked. 

you heard two voices laugh, “because your date is here so hurry up!” Damian exclaimed before hanging up the phone. you didn’t bother to play into his antics before finishing up. the dress you had bought was something you had from a previous event and up until now, you hadn’t worn it again. 

the dress you had picked was one from a previous event that no one hardly saw. it hugged the curves you wanted to show and you knew it would surprise those who hardly saw you gala or formal party attire. 

you got into your car and chugged back a red bull before heading into Damian’s home. you saw a few cars parked in his garage along with a limo to which you assumed you and a few others were going to take. you annoyingly pushed the doorbell to strike a nerve in Damian. 

“woah,” you heard Dick say as he opened the door, “I know, I look good,” you said smiling. he nodded in agreement as the two of you walked in farther into the house. you could tell Dick kept looking at you every so often and even dropping a few compliments and pick up lines. 

as the two of you were walking, you hadn’t realized you had completely passed Damian and his friend. you were so enamored with your conversation with Dick that it wasn’t until Damian half-annoyed screamed your name out to catch your attention. you turned around and stopped mid way through when you saw Damian and his friend. 

“oh hey,” you whispered, not wanting to look at Damian’s friend in the eye. he was a lot more attractive than you had anticipated. “didn’t know you could actually clean up nicely,” Damian murmured, not even hiding the fact that he was checking you out. 

you gave him the middle finger in response, “this is Jon Kent, Jon, this is ( your name ), I guess she’s my friend,” he rolled his eyes at the last thing he had said. you slowly stuck your hand out to shake but much to your surprise, Jon had shook your hand rather excitedly. 

“nice to meet ya!” he exclaimed, his slight southern drawl coming out. you laughed at his excited tone, “heard a lot about ya!” he continued. you looked at Damian, “aww, you do like me!” you said, a mischievous smile appearing on your face. 

Damian kicked you in the back of the leg before murmuring that all of you needed to head out before any of you got into trouble for being late. you met up with Dick and Tim who were arguing about something as the three of you waited for Alfred to pull up with the car. 

the entire ride to the venue, it was just you and Jon talking here and there. you could tell that Jon was the very exact opposite of Damian and it was a wonder how him and Damian even got along with their personalities being the exact opposite from each other. once the car came to halt, all of you piled out, the cameras immediately snapping as they realized the Wayne’s have arrived. 

“don’t kill them this time,” Damian threatened you as you put up your hands in defense. you looked over to Jon and gave him a small nervous smile, “ready?” he asked as you nodded. 

he put his arm around your waist, tightening it as the two of you walked up to the red carpet. you smiled fakely to the cameras. Jon looked down at you, not expecting this reaction to the paparazzi. “not a fan, eh?” he asked. you shook your head no, “god knows how many times those idiots have thought that Damian and I were together.” 

Jon gave you a look, “but the two of you are like siblings?” you shook your head, “I know but they think we’re hiding behind all of that.” the two of you reached inside of the building to see the long extended tables as you and Jon were seated on a two chaired table. 

Jon pulled your chair out, making sure you were comfortable before sitting down across from you. the menu was pre filled as it was your job to make sure everything on it was correct and put everything they were going to serve for the course of the night. 

“so, what do you for a living in Metropolis?” you asked as they put small appetizers in front of you. Jon smiled, “I work for the newspaper,” he replied, “I bet it’s tough to be Damian’s assistant, huh?” he asked as you nodded yes, dramatically. 

through the course of the night, you and Jon talked, Jon making sure the conversation never died down. you had to give Damian credit. you weren’t exactly trustful in Damian that he would pull through on his blind date for you but Jon up till this point had not made you seem uncomfortable or even slightly creeped out. he was like the perfect gentleman. 

“wanna dance?” Jon asked, getting up from his chair and grabbing your hand softly. you held his hand, giving it a squeeze as a response. 

the two of you walked to the small dance floor as you saw a few of your coworkers, those who were either married or in long term relationships dancing. you gave them a wave as they waved back before going back to their conversations with their partners. 

“I’m glad you came,” you told Jon as you took a sip of your champagne shyly. he looked down to you and grinned, “I’m glad I did too. I wasn’t going too originally but once Damian told me a bit about you, I just knew I had to meet you,” he replied as you hid your face in his shoulder, slightly embarrassed. 

the song playing in the background happened to be a piano rendition of ‘Someday My Prince Will Come’. you had watched Snow White a million times as a child and the fact that this song was playing as you were dancing with someone who you hoped would give you a second date made your heart swell. 

“I have to admit, I’m glad I told Damian as well. the date was so last minute and honestly, Damian is the last person I would ever trust to put me in a blind date situation but I’m happy that he actually pulled through for once.” 

Jon laughed as he bent down a bit and kissed your cheek in response. you noticed that the more nervous Jon got, the more his slight southern accent would come out. you reciprocated the kiss but this time, you kissed him on the lips. he was taken by surprise but nevertheless, he returned it. this time deepening it a bit. 

after the two of you danced a few more songs, you took a break as Jon excused himself to the bathroom and you made a beeline to the bar to refill your glass along with Jon’s. 

“hey there gorgeous,” you heard the voice from the last person you wanted to see. you turned to Michael and gave him a tight lipped smile, “good evening Michael,” you responded, trying to get back to getting your drinks. “I saw you with your little boyfriend earlier but I knew I had to come over here and tell you how fine you looked.” 

you felt yourself wanting to gag by what he was saying as you felt him grab your wrist, “since your boyfriend isn’t around, how about you give me a little dance,” he asked. just as you were about to response, you felt Jon’s presence behind you, “who’s this, baby?” he asked, staring down at Michael. 

to Jon’s credit, he was towering over Michael. “no one,” you replied, shaking yourself off of him, “hiya! I’m Jon, ( your names ) boyfriend. you are?” he asked. Michael scoffed, half scared at how Jon was looming over him, “I’m her coworker,” he replied before leaving. 

you look to Jon in relief, “thank you so much,” you said. he smiled, putting his arm around your waist, “no problem, isn’t that what I’m here for?” he asked with a smile on his face. without actually realizing what you were doing, you happened to snuggle closer to Jon as you saw Damian approaching the two of you. 

throughout the rest of the night, you kept yourself to Jon’s side as you remained with Damian and a few others. every time you left, Jon made sure that once you returned, he always had his arm around your waist or shoulder. Jon’s grasp was firm and even slightly possessive but you did not mind it one bit. 

if you were being honest, you were hoping that at some point in the future, the two of you would get farther than that but for the moment, you enjoyed being in his grasp. 

[thatwriterchick222]

Secrecy (Arthur Morgan x f/reader)

Summary: After coming to a party with your asshole of a fiance, you meet a rather intriguing man and decide to indulge yourself for the evening.

WARNING: I do mention acts of abuse towards the reader (not from Arthur of course), although not explicit, I just wanted to let everyone know so if that's a triggering topic for you, maybe skip this one. Other than that there is a somewhat violent scene at the end, not over the top but there's some blood mentioned. And of course, SMUT AHEAD!!!!!

************

The soft melodic sound of the various violins and cellos flooded your ears as you entered the fine estate, along with the slight hum of people mingling down in the courtyard. You smiled lightly at a stout man holding a tray of champagne. He held it out to you and you took one, your gloved hand trying desperately not to let it slip. A subtle cough could be heard from the man at your side, ushering you to move along with him. His fingers dug into your arm as he pulled you along before you could even bring your cherry red lips to your glass, almost spilling the contents all over your dress. 

He was your fiance. As much as you hated men such as him, the snobby, arrogant, and entitled kind, you needed him. You weren’t exactly sure why, but he was wealthy. Although you, yourself, were very well off in terms of finances, you simply couldn’t do much with it on your own, along with the fact that you had no way to earn more to support yourself. So, here you were, being dragged to a rather extravagant party filled with men exactly like your fiance. 

You looped your arm in his as he walked rather feverishly down the stairs to the courtyard, your heels clicking each time you took a step. When the two of you reached the bottom, you were finally able to take a sip of the sweet and bubbly champagne. Your fiance put his hand on your waist, trying to get you to come with him once more. 

“Why are you in such a hurry?” You finally spoke up, backing away from his grasp. His hand slipped off of your waist and fell to his side as he turned towards you, the usual angry look in his eyes. His hand balled into a fist.

“Why must you question everything I do, woman?” 

You got the sense he was trying to refrain from hitting you, which didn’t come as a surprise. He hit you once, only to get a hit twice as hard from you, in return. He didn’t dare, especially not at a public gathering. You could already sense numerous people staring at the both of you.

“Because everything you do is questionable…” You shot back. His nostrils flared as he turned away, looking out onto the party. You fought back a giggle as you thought about his uncanny resemblance to a toddler when he got angry. You took another sip of the champagne, savouring its taste as it hit your tongue. You were already craving another glass. Or ten.

“I need to speak to someone… don’t do anything foolish.” The man spat, immediately storming off. You sighed, downing the rest of your champagne. Great, now you were the lone woman at the party. You could feel your chest start to tighten, usually what happened to you after speaking to your fiance at all. Pretending like it didn’t affect you was getting harder and harder. The words he said, the things he did, made you sick. The way he spoke to you as if you were a mere child in his presence. You couldn’t count how many times you almost stabbed the bastard to death in his sleep. Tears welled in your eyes as you tried to compose yourself but to no avail. You quickly started off in a random direction, hoping to escape the glaring eyes and the loud noises. Your throat ached as you held in your cries, your head down to avoid a questioning gaze. 

It was only when your body crashed into a rather solid and steady object, that you looked up, seeing a large man standing before you. You couldn’t make out his features because of the tears in your eyes, but you could tell he was shocked.

“I’m sorry-” You choked out, simply brushing past him as you continued to speed away. You padded a tear from your cheek with your white glove, careful to avoid smudging your makeup. Finally, you reached a corner of the courtyard that was unoccupied, slightly shielded by some plants. A few deep breaths from your lungs ensued, trying desperately to stop crying.

“Uh- Miss? You alright?”

Your eyes drifted up as a man’s voice came from behind you. There was a deep, southern drawl partnered with his gravelly tone. Your gloved hands quickly wiped your tears as you turned around to face him, putting on a fake smile.

“I’m fine, Sir.” 

You were surprised to see a rather handsome man, standing awkwardly in front of you. The first thing your eyes landed on was his bright eyes, although you couldn’t tell exactly what colour they were due to the lighting. His light brown hair dusted over his face, framing his strong features. There was something about his eyes, though, he had a certain kindness in them, something you hadn’t seen in a long while. He had a small patch on his chin, devoid of hair, with a small scar indented on it. You sensed he was fairly older than you, maybe in his thirties.

“You didn’t seem fine when you bumped into me.” He chuckled, his voice rumbling in his chest. 

“Oh, that was you? Again, I’m so sorry.” You looked down, sniffling. “I’m just not having a very good time here, that’s all.” 

“Me neither. I was dragged here by a friend.” His cheeks flushed slightly as you made eye contact with him again. 

“All these wealthy people make my blood boil. No offense, of course.” The man said, approaching you further, turning to he could stand beside you and look out onto the party.

“Oh, I’m not that wealthy. My parents are, though.” You started to calm down as the conversation continued. 

“Well, that’s somethin’.” 

“Not really. I’m not allowed to do anything unless I’m wed.” You laughed, rubbing your upper arms with your hands from the cold.

“Here.” The man quickly removed his black coat, draping it over your shoulders carefully. You shivered as you became warm again, not to mention the feeling of butterflies in your stomach taking you by surprise. It felt like decades since you experienced this. Breathing in, you caught the smell of his jacket, something along the lines of pine and smoke. Almost as if he had just been venturing out in the woods just prior. It confused you, but it was comforting. 

“I’m Arthur by the way. Arthur Morgan.” He held out his large hand to you, and you shook it gently.

“Y/N L/N. Pleased to meet you.” Warmth spread throughout your cheeks.

“So, Mr. Morgan, have any fine young ladies come to take your hand tonight?” You pulled his jacket around yourself.

“No. What about you?”

“Fine young ladies? No.” 

“I mean, gentlemen…” He shuffled closer to you. You subtly looked around, eyes landing on your deadbeat of a fiance standing with three other men, mingling. 

“No.” 

You looked over at Arthur. You could pretend you weren’t taken for one night.

“Well then, how convenient.” He joked, his arm brushing yours. You had a feeling you knew what he wanted, and for once you wanted the same thing. Maybe you just needed an escape, for one night. 

“Do you want to… take this inside?” You looked up at him through the corner of your eye, your stomach churning with excitement. It wasn’t every day you had an opportunity such as this, with a man this handsome.

“Definitely.” He mumbled under his breath. 

The two of you walked eagerly up the stairs, a quick glance over your shoulder assured you that your fiance was not paying attention to you at all, allowing you to slip out without notice. Perfect. Arthur nodded at one of the men standing by the door as you entered, looking around for anywhere more… private. His warm hand laid itself on the small of your back, sending tingles throughout your body as he gestured to your right.

“C’mon, up here.” 

You grinned and complied, following him up the set of stairs, red carpet leading up as you went. Your heart quickened, mostly out of excitement. The tightly bound corset you had on seemed to be getting tighter as you breathed. Feeling like you were once again a teenager, you grabbed the burly man’s hand gently as he led you up the stairs.

When he reached the top, he peeked around a corner to make sure no one was there. After a short moment, he nodded over to a door on the other side of the hall. You shakily stepped up the final stair, following him to the room. He gripped the doorknob and turned it slowly, opening the door a crack and peeking in. Seeing an empty room, he opened the door fully.

“After you.” He spoke softly as he held the door open for you, his hand finding its way to your lower back once more. You stepped through the doorway, taking in the small room before you. He followed suit, closing the door behind him. You gasped at the numerous shelves filled with various books, big and small, thick and thin. If only you could steal all of them… as if your fiance would even allow you to read. You reluctantly removed his coat from your shoulders, placing it neatly on a small desk in the center of the room.

“A lotta books.” The gentleman cleared his throat, leaning on the desk. You were almost speechless. It had been so long since you had read a book, transported yourself into another world. You missed it dearly.

“They’re beautiful.” You finally spoke up, approaching the shelves and running your fingers over the spines, taking in their essence.

“You’re a reader, then, I take it?” He questioned.

“Yes. Well, not anymore… my-” A short pause, trying not to mention your fiance, “I don’t do it anymore.” 

“That’s a shame.” 

“It is.” You looked down. 

“I’ve read a few books in my time. I haven’t been able to really… immerse myself in ‘em, if y’know what I mean.” He walked over to you, now standing beside you as he eyed the books. 

“You just haven’t found the right book.” You smiled, crouching down to the lower shelves. “What genre do you like the most?” 

“I ain’t sure. I just read what I find.” He looked down at you. Your stomach sprung with excitement, the angle from which you were crouched and looking up at him making you flustered. You looked away, back at the books.

“Hmmm... “ You pulled out a book on the smaller side, examining the cover. “You seem like a ‘Dracula’ by Bram Stoker kind of man.” You joked, standing up and handing the book to him. He took it happily, reading the small print on the back.

“I do?”

“Definitely.” 

“Have you read it?” He looked up at you through his hair.

“Six times.” 

“Well, how ‘bout that.” He looked back down at the book, amused. Before you had time to say anything, he slipped the book into his pocket, tucking it away.

“Wait, you can’t just steal it!” You laughed, a bit flabbergasted by his calm manner. 

“Sure I can. They won’t miss it.” 

“Well… I might just have to report you then, won’t I?” You teased as you stepped closer to him, your hand finding his large gun belt. You rested it there lightly, tugging him closer. He inhaled sharply, his eyes darkening.

“I’d like to see ya’ try.” He grumbled, hands coming up to your waist. Your heart fluttered and you lingered there, in that fine moment, the anticipation and tension as thick as smoke between your two bodies. Never had you experienced such attraction, the feeling as if you were hungry for his touch. Your body was aching for him and you weren’t quite sure what to make of it. You had read about things like this, kissing and… such. Although you had never done anything beyond unpassionate and boring sex with your fiance, you had a slight idea of what to do.

Continue reading here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33235657 

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part VII (x reader)

Summary: Reader tries to make things right, with a little push from her mama.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: none

a/n: I know, I know— please just let our babies be happy ♥️ and so it was. Also, big ups to my tumblr gf @idmakeitbehave​ for being my beta the past two chapters.

Series Masterlist

———

One week.

That’s how long it had been since their argument. Spencer had driven back to his apartment in silence, absolutely stunned by the way things had blown up.

They’d gotten back from the case in Utah on the fifth of January, and he’d driven straight to Y/N’s, ready to give her a belated New Year’s kiss. Immediately upon entering her apartment, he knew something was wrong. Her hug was stiff, her kiss brief, her eye contact minimal. He’d spent the night, but they barely touched, and she left early for work without waking him. He’d let himself out and texted her later in the day to invite her over for dinner.

Dinner hadn’t been any less awkward, and when he felt awkward, he knew it was bad. He finally couldn’t ignore it any longer, and he’d called it out. He had expected some resistance, but he hadn’t expected that. Y/N never spoke to him with any malice at all, even when he was actually doing something that irritated her. She was the queen of healthy communication. So for her to speak to him like that meant that the underlying issue was much, much worse than he’d originally thought.

He’d gone over their conversations a thousand times, looking desperately for the moment that it went wrong. After some deep consideration, he was certain that something had happened on New Year’s Eve. He just wasn’t sure what. Y/N was insistent that she wasn’t bothered by the declined call, but he still wished he could go back in time and answer it. He was pretty sure the seeds of their argument had sprouted in that moment, regardless of what she said.

Spencer knew she was a creature of habit, and that sometimes she needed space to process and experience her emotions. And if he was being honest, he needed some space after the argument, too. But usually she would have at least texted him by now.

He sighed and set down his newspaper, realizing he’d read the same page four times and hadn’t retained any of it. It was Friday, and he knew she was working. But still his fingers itched to dial her number. He picked up the phone, pressing a key to light up the screen yet again.

No new messages.

He dropped the phone back to the table with a little more force than was necessary. He decided he’d give her the rest of the weekend. If he didn’t hear from her by Sunday, he’d have to do something.

…

Y/N dropped her bag on the floor inside the door and turned to lock the deadbolt. She had managed to sneak out of the building without being stopped by Anita, and she thanked the universe for small miracles.

She didn’t want to have to explain herself. She didn’t want anyone to know what an absolute troll she’d been. Considering that Sam and Spencer had practically become attached at the hip since they’d started hanging out more, Anita was bound to ask about him.

She showered and ordered Thai food, snuggling down on the couch to watch a movie with Roald. She settled on Dumplin’— a favorite for the body positivity, the southern drawls, and the Dolly Parton drag.

And then she came to the argument outside of Harpy’s and lost what little emotional stability she had left.

“Never took you for the type that cares much what people think.”

“I can’t, Bo. And that might make me a coward, but—”

“It does. Willowdean Dixon, I think you’re beautiful. To hell with anyone who’s ever made you feel less than that.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Roald meowed in distress. She choked out a sob and stroked over his ears, closing her eyes in defeat. “I really fucked this up, huh?”

It had only been one week, but it felt like years since Spencer walked out of her apartment. She’d stayed in bed for the entire weekend, crying on and off. She knew she had no one to blame but herself. Owen had knocked over the first domino, but she’d done nothing to stop the rest from falling.

Spencer had done everything right. He’d done everything she asked, and she’d thrown it all back in his face. He had made the comparison to Mitchell Park, and he was absolutely right. She’d done the exact same thing, only she had almost a year’s worth of ammunition, and she cut a hell of a lot deeper.

Roald nuzzled against her, but she nudged him away— she didn’t even deserve the comfort. Instead, she fumbled in the couch cushions for her phone, swiping open the screen and tapping her favorites list, thumb hovering over Spencer’s name. Then she tapped on the name right above it and blew out a breath.

The line connected and rang three times before she picked up. “Hey, sugar! Your ears must be ringin’, ‘cause I was just thinkin’ about callin’ you.”

“Hey, mama,” Y/N breathed.

Her mother’s tone changed from chipper to concerned in an instant. “What’s wrong, baby?”

She leaned forward to the coffee table to grab Spencer’s scarf— somehow left behind in her apartment— rubbing it between her fingers. “I— I really messed up.”

“Oh, Lord. You need bail money?”

Despite herself, Y/N laughed wetly. “Oh my god , mama. No, I don’t need bail money.”

“Well, if you made bail it can’t be that bad,” Rose insisted.

“I didn’t— I’m not in jail, for Christ’s sake.” Y/N ran a hand over her face. “I messed things up with Spencer.”

“Well, we can fix that,” Rose responded matter of factly. “What happened?”

“We were fighting, and I said some really, really awful things,” Y/N admitted, tears spilling over her lash line.

Rose scoffed. “Honey, I say awful things to your father all the time, and we’ve been married almost 40 years.”

Y/N heaved a long sigh. “Not like this, mama.”

Her mother hummed in consideration. “Well, what were y’all fightin’ about?”

“It’s complicated,” Y/N hedged, toying with the fringe of the scarf.

Rose clicked her tongue. “Do ya want my help or not?”

Y/N dropped her head back against the couch. “I ran into Owen on New Year’s Eve—”

“Well, I hope you told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine,” Rose practically growled.

Y/N closed her eyes as the tears tracked hot down her cheeks. “I didn’t. I— I let him get under my skin, and then I didn’t want to tell Spencer about it because it’s embarrassing, but he knew something was wrong, and he wouldn’t stop asking about it.” She had to pause and suck in a hiccuping breath, releasing it on a sob. “So I yelled at him and said all kinds of terrible things, and then he left, and now I think maybe we broke up, and I’ve literally never been so sad in my whole life.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and then she heard Rose sniffling. “Really shoulda had your brothers knock the mess out of that son of bitch when we had the chance. He's been gone five years, and he’s still hurtin’ you every chance he gets.”

Y/N swiped uselessly at the tear tracks on her cheeks, sniffling pathetically. “And now I hurt the person who’s spent the last year singlehandedly undoing all of his awful handiwork.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rose cooed. Y/N could hear the creak of the floorboards as her mother walked through her childhood home. “You said he knew somethin’ was wrong, right? I can almost guarantee that he’s still just wonderin’ what’s goin’ on. I know he’s supposed to be a genius, but he’s still a man. And men are dumb, sugar. You gotta spell it out for ‘em. Have you talked to him since?”

“No.” Fresh tears spilled over Y/N’s lashes as the thoughts that had kept her from calling him spilled out of her mouth. “What if it was too far? What if I ruined everything? What if he never wants to speak to me again?”

Ross heaved out a long breath. “That’s a lot of what ifs, Y/N.”

“What if I’m right?” she whispered.

“And what if you’re not?” Rose countered. “That boy loves you. Anyone could see that, clear as day. He’d do just about anything for you.” Rose paused, and Y/N heard the springs of the bed squeak as she sat. “But you gotta let him, sweetheart. Right now you’re takin’ away his chance to do that. You’re makin’ the decision for him.”

Y/N listened as her mother’s advice crackled over the line, and for the first time in a week, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

“If he doesn’t want to be with you anymore, you need to let him tell you that. Don’t settle for a what if. Find out for sure, or you're gonna spend the rest of your life worryin’ and wonderin’, sugar.”

…

That evening found Spencer in his usual spot on the couch, reclined against the arm with a book in hand. He’d promised himself he’d give Y/N the weekend to herself— that he’d let her come to him. That didn’t stop him from checking his phone obsessively; it never buzzed with any new calls or messages, but he still looked every seven minutes.

The sound of the buzzer jolted his body to attention. He checked his watch and drew his brows together before closing his book and scrambling to cross to the intercom, a tiny seed of hope beginning to germinate. He pressed the button to talk, calling, “Yes?” into the speaker box and then listening for the response.

“Hi.”

Her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear it over the crackle of the speaker. He buzzed her in without hesitation, crossing to the door and opening it immediately. She made her way slowly up the stairs, turning at the top of the landing and pausing.

His heart broke at the sight of her. She looked utterly exhausted, dressed in black sweatpants and a soft purple sweater, a black puffer jacket over top. She was holding his scarf, wringing it in between her hands. Her eyes were ringed red, and the bags under them were worse than his.

He watched as she crossed the landing, coming to stand quietly in front of him. He’d known something was wrong, but the way she looked now made him wonder just how long she’d been battling whatever private demons she wouldn’t let him in on.

“I, um.” She cleared her throat, and it was clear she’d been crying from the thickness of her voice. “I have a lot to say— again. But since I was such an asshole, I wanted to give you the opportunity to say anything you need to say first.”

He’d imagined this conversation countless times over the last week, and never once had he thought it would start like this. “Um. Well. You— you really hurt me.”

She could barely look at him. “I know.”

He swallowed. “Please don’t do that again.”

She shook her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I won’t. I won’t ever again.”

Spencer tucked his hands into the pockets of his lounge pants. “I know I may not be the best at social cues, but I’m a pretty good profiler. And I can tell when something’s wrong.” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I’m just asking you to tell me when I do something that makes you upset.”

“You— you didn’t do anything wrong. I—” He watched her squeeze her eyes shut. “God, I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’m just— I’m sorry for so many things. For lying about being fine, for being up on my high horse about communicating and then not actually doing it, for being an absolute bitch.”

He wanted to argue— she wasn’t a bitch— but he could tell she was far from done.

“I— I thought therapy was supposed to teach me how to talk about things, but this still feels… impossible to say out loud,” she admitted, fingers fumbling with the fabric of the scarf. “It’s embarrassing and ridiculous. But I— I have deep-seated insecurities. That I’m not really that smart or interesting or particularly special.”

He thought back to that night in Mitchell Park and felt the guilt all over again. He’d practically said those exact words to her— it was no wonder she was feeling this way.

“And every person that I’ve ever been with has— really reinforced those ideas, so for a long time they were just… a set part of my self-image,” she explained, dragging a hand over her messy hair. “I thought— I thought that I was over it, but I— I don’t know. Maybe you never really are.”

His brain sorted through every moment of their year together, pinging off the countless examples of her self-doubt and insecurity. She was easily the most wonderful person he knew, but he could clearly see the cracks in the facade if he looked close enough. How had he missed it for so long?

“And then I met you, and you…” Y/N let out a wry laugh. “You’re easily the most interesting person I’ve ever met, but you made me feel like… I don’t know, like I’m interesting, too. Like I’m worthy of being with you, like I’m— like I’m good enough.”

He felt his heart splintering into a thousand tiny shards— good enough?

“But I can’t— I still have a hard time believing it sometimes. And I— I’ve been letting myself keep you at arms length. Letting you see parts of me, but… never giving you everything,” she admitted.

He watched her struggle to get the words out, her voice thick with the act of holding back sobs. He hadn’t realized she was carrying all of this. She was so good at supporting him and loving him through all of his trauma and issues, he hadn’t stopped to consider just how much she needed him, too.

She continued, “It’s why I took so long to say I love you… why I couldn’t talk to you last week. Because I just—” She shrugged as the tears rolled down her cheeks. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize that I’m really nothing special. That you’re getting bored, or there’s someone who’s a better fit for you, or one million other things. That I’m needy, and annoying, and too much work.”

A fresh tear tracked down her cheek, and he felt his own eyes filling. She never failed to put a stop to his own insecurities— reminding him that she liked his rambling, that he wasn’t irritating, that he was just the right amount. In his eyes, she was perfect. He would have never guessed she felt this way about herself.

She continued, “That’s what happened before, and none of those guys were even half as wonderful as you are.” She swiped a hand haphazardly over her cheeks, looking at him sheepishly. “And then I was hurtful and awful, and I realized that I was just creating a self fulfilling prophecy and I don’t— I don’t want to do that.”

Her hand shook a little as she brought it back down to twist in his scarf. “Because it’s never— I’ve never felt like this. I've never been this happy with anyone else, and I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to give you up. Even if sometimes I feel like I’ll never be enough.”

Her voice cracked on a stifled cry, and his chest physically ached. “And if you never want to see me again, I completely understand, and I’ll leave you alone, but I— I’m just so sorry. And I love you so much, and I’m trying so hard to be better.” She sucked in a ragged breath and let it out on an exhausted sigh. “And that’s, um— that’s it. If you want me to go, I—”

“I don’t want you to go,” he interrupted.

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t?”

“Of course not.” Spencer stepped forward and reached for her. “Of course not. C’mere.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, she was tumbling into his arms with a choked off sob. He pulled her inside and closed the door behind them, walking her to the couch and sitting them both down. She clung to him like she was afraid he’d disappear into thin air.

“Y/N, I’m right here,” he assured her. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But if you n-need space, I understand,” she sobbed.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need space. I think a week was long enough, don’t you?” he asked, pressing a kiss into her hair.

She pulled back out of the hug, head down. “But I really hurt you.”

He held her hand. “Yeah. And I really hurt you, too.”

She huffed out a breath. “That’s not how this works. I don’t get to hurt you just because you hurt me.”

“I know that.” He almost laughed at how indignant she sounded. “I’m not saying that we should hurt each other. I’m saying that sometimes it happens. And when it does, we apologize, and we forgive, and we move forward. And it’s okay if you need space. But I don’t.”

“What if you change your mind?” she whispered.

“Then I promise I’ll tell you.” Spencer tilted her chin up so he could meet her eyes. “I promise I’ll tell you what I need, as long as you tell me, too. We’ve gotta use all those communication skills we learn in therapy.”

Y/N nodded, and he pulled her into another hug. He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. “If I hadn’t heard from you by Sunday, I was planning to bother you until you talked to me.”

He could feel the beginning of a smile turning up the corner of her mouth where it was pressed to his shoulder. “You never bother me,” she mumbled. She held him for a moment longer and then released him from the hug and sat back, fidgeting with her hands and letting out a breath.

“Sometimes I need to be told that my worst fears about myself aren’t true,” she admitted. “I know that’s so annoying, but—”

“It’s not annoying,” he interrupted, putting an immediate stop to that line of thought. “Telling you how amazing you are isn’t the chore that you think it is. I’m sorry that anyone ever convinced you that it was.”

He covered her hands with his own, rubbing his thumbs softly along her skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about her dealing with all of this by herself. He hated that she’d ever felt anything less than adored. More than anything, he hated that he hadn’t been able to help her through it. And he wanted to make sure that he never made that mistake again.

“A wise man told me once... that love is helping someone navigate their storms,” he murmured, squeezing her hand. She looked at him then, and he continued, “You’ve been my lighthouse for a long time, Y/N. And I— I’m trying desperately to be yours… But you have to let me.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, but she nodded. He let out a long breath and pulled her hands into his lap. “I understand that sometimes you need space, and that’s fine. I’m happy to give you whatever you need.”

He shook his head. “Just— please don’t try to weather the storm by yourself. You can’t do it all alone; no one can.” He smiled ruefully. “I can tell you from experience that’s pretty much a guaranteed way to capsize your boat.”

His voice cracked a little at the end, and he felt a tear slip over his lash line. “I’ll help you repair your boat, or build a new one, or you can just float on mine for a while. It’s not perfect but it’s pretty sturdy, I think.”

She brought her fingers up to brush at his damp cheeks, and he met her eyes. “What I’m not going to do is let you float out on the ocean by yourself. I love you too much.”

She was quiet for a long moment, sniffling a little and just watching him— almost like she couldn’t believe he was there. She brought her hand back to his and laced their fingers together, rubbing her thumb along his skin. “I love you the most.”

“Agree to disagree.” He gave her a small smile and leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. “Want some tea?”

She was frowning when he pulled back, her brows drawn together. “I need to tell you about Owen.”

The conversation he’d had with Anita was suddenly on replay in Spencer’s head.

… a real piece of shit… telling her lies about herself… isolating her… destroying her from the inside out...

He squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. You don’t have to tell me at all if you don’t want to.”

She shook her head. “Talking about him takes away his power. I have to stop letting him have so much sway over my emotions.” She looked at him then. “I do things I regret and hurt people I love.”

He brought their joined hands up his lips. “Well, I’m here either way. And I’m still going to make you some tea.”

He stood and pulled her up with him, bringing her into the kitchen and refusing to let go of her hand. He filled the kettle and turned it on, found a bag of her favorite tea and ripped it open with his teeth. He dropped the bag into her favorite mug, and then made a mug up for himself.

“You know, it’d be a lot easier if you’d let go,” she said, the hint of a smile in her voice.

“Mhm,” he agreed, but he made no move to release her hand. In fact, once he’d fumbled a spoonful of honey into each of the cups, he dropped the spoon into her mug and turned to pull her into another hug. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and closed his eyes as she brought her arms around his waist. “I missed you,” he whispered.

She squeezed him tight. “I missed you, too. I’m so sorry.”

She buried her face in his neck, and he felt her breathe him in. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder and then settled his chin again. “Apology accepted, in case it wasn’t clear.”

They stood like that until the kettle began to whistle, and then Spencer kept her tucked underneath his arm as he turned to shut it off and pour the water into the mugs. They each grabbed a mug, making their way back to the couch and setting them on the coffee table to steep. Spencer kept their fingers intertwined and stayed quiet, letting her set the pace of the conversation.

Y/N took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “I guess I should start at the beginning. I, um— I had my first boyfriend in high-school: Cal Cunningham. He was older and cooler, and so I felt— I don’t know… special when he picked me.” She rolled her eyes. “In reality, he was rude, and arrogant, and kind of a misogynist. We didn’t date for very long, but it kind of… set me up on this path of dating guys who weren’t very nice.”

Spencer ran his thumb soothingly along hers, waiting for her to continue. “When I started college, I dated this guy Adam for a few months. He was nice enough but really self-centered and a little immature. When we broke up I just wanted to be on my own for a while.”

“I was single for two years after that, just kind of… finding myself and whatever.” Her eyes tracked the path his thumb traced along her skin. “So when I started dating Owen at the end of junior year, it felt like my first real relationship. Like— we were both adults, and he dressed up for our dates, and he paid for things and bought me flowers and fit all the cliches.”

“And it was great at first,” she admitted. “We had a lot of the same friends, so we’d been hanging out for a while before we got together. He was a perfect gentleman— and smart, accomplished, and ambitious. I fell fast, and I fell hard, and we were sort of— it feels so stupid to say this, but it felt like we were an it couple.”

“A few of us made plans to move to DC after graduation— my friend Jess and her boyfriend Chris, Sam and Anita,” she explained. “And Owen and I, obviously. We moved in together in an apartment downtown. And that’s when everything changed.”

She drew her brows together. “It was little things at first. Like he’d jokingly call me stupid for forgetting something, or he’d complain about one of my friends being annoying. But it snowballed pretty quickly. He’d tell me I was stupid, and he wasn’t joking. All of my friends irritated him to the point where we couldn’t hang out anymore— even our former mutual friends. He thought that teaching kindergarten was a mindless, pointless job.”

Spencer tried to keep his heart rate steady, his facial expressions neutral, but his blood pressure was on the rise. No one deserved to be spoken to like that, least of all Y/N.

She continued, “We spent the holidays at my parents’ the second year we were dating, and he spent the entire car ride home explaining, in detail, how ridiculous and low-class he thought everything was.”

She shook her head and rubbed her free hand over her face. “I know it’s insane that I stayed with him for five years, but I— he did a really good job of convincing me that I was... that I was nothing. That he was doing me a favor by loving me. That he could have anyone, but he chose me. No one else was going to, so I should be grateful.”

He balled his free hand into a fist to avoid squeezing her to death. When Anita had said Owen was a piece of shit… he hadn’t realized just how deeply she meant it.

She picked at the fabric of her sweatpants, staring intently at the tiny pills. “When someone says all of that to you on a daily basis, and you’re not hearing otherwise from anyone else— because no one knew what was going on— when someone tells you you’re nothing… you start to believe it.”

Spencer relaxed his fist to bring his fingers up to her face, gently cupping her cheek. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes for a long moment. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a voiceless assurance that she was, in fact, everything. He felt her relax under the warm pressure of his lips, and he hoped that was enough for now.

He sat back to let her continue. “We were together for five years, and we only broke up because he cheated on me. It was a long term affair; they were sleeping together for almost a year before I found out. And… a lot of people knew. Almost all of his friends knew. But I didn’t. I was still being this ridiculous, desperate little Suzy Homemaker trying to make him happy, even though he was still treating me like shit.”

She laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in it. “When I found out, I wasn’t even hurt. I was… embarrassed, I guess. But I was so relieved. I was so fucking relieved that I had a way out.”

He watched as her shoulders settled, almost like an actual weight had been lifted off of them. “I got a therapist and dropped all of the friends that were still hanging around with him. I moved to a new neighborhood, started hanging out with Anita and Sam, and just— started fresh. And I was doing really well. I’ve had my moments of insecurity here and there, but for the most part, I’ve been able to recognize the moments when I’m falling back into old thought patterns.”

She looked at him then, and her eyes were so soft and lovely that his heart ached. “You’re a big reason for that. You’re so open with how you feel about me, and… it makes things a lot easier.” She dropped her gaze with a sigh. “But I— he was at the party on New Year's. And I didn’t know he was going to be there until I was already there , and then it felt stupid to leave. I thought I could handle it—”

“And then I didn’t answer your call.”

“No, no .” She shook her head and reached her free hand out to grasp his arm. “That’s— Spencer, none of this is your fault.” She furrowed her brow, and the crease between them was practically an abyss. “He sort of— cornered me on the patio. I hadn’t seen him in like, four years? And he was complimenting me, and asking about you, and then he tried to— well, he did kiss me actually. I shoved him off, and he didn’t like that, and he did his whole Owen thing. Told me that he’d cheated because I was uninteresting and worthless. That eventually you’d get bored of me, too. Just, um— generally awful shit.”

She took a deep breath, and the rest steamrolled off her tongue and over his heart. “And then he just— left . And he’d absolutely demolished my self-image in less than ten minutes, and I was embarrassed and angry at myself, and then you didn’t answer, but I was kind of glad you didn’t because I didn’t actually want to talk about it. And I thought I could just move on, but then I was being weird, and you knew something was wrong. And I just wanted to pretend like it never happened, but then you kept pressing me on it, and I just— I didn’t want to have to explain it all to you because I was afraid that— that maybe he was right.”

Y/N dissolved back into the couch, an unwelcome indication of the emotional exhaustion that came with reliving trauma. Spencer moved closer and mirrored the position of her body against the cushions, bringing his face close enough to bump their noses together. They breathed the same air for one noiseless minute before she finally met his eyes.

“I need you to understand that not one single thing he said to you— on New Year’s or ever— was right, in either sense of the word. None of it was factual, and none of it was acceptable.”

She gave him a weary nod, and he continued, “You are the single best person that I know. You’re kind, brilliant, and driven. You’re interesting, and wonderful, and lovely. You’re my absolute favorite person on the planet, and I will never get bored of you.”

He let his eyes trace over all the angles and curves of her face, and then raised his eyebrows. “He’s lucky that I respect you enough not to go over your head, because what I’d like to do is run a full background check and find any and every possible transgression that could be legally investigated and then use that information to ruin his life.” He tilted his head in thought. “That or— get really jacked and then beat the shit out of him.”

“God, please don’t. As much as I’d love to watch that unfold,” she cupped his face in her hand, “you’re better than that. And he’s not worth either of our energies… I already wasted enough time dwelling on it and hurt you in the process.” She dropped her hand back to her lap with a sigh. “I spent so much time in that relationship that my brain didn’t know what to do with this good, healthy one.”

He took both of her hands in his, squeezing them tight and then pressing a kiss to the back of each. He wouldn’t commit assault, since she’d asked him not to. But he wasn’t going to let Owen taint any part of his life with her.

“I’m so sorry that someone you loved made you think it was hard to love you. Because loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” He pressed his lips together and mused, “But I think maybe love has a learning curve. Especially when you’re used to being hurt. You have to unlearn all the bullshit. People will have you thinking that you have to water yourself down, or change who you are, or make yourself more palatable. I thought that, too.”

He brushed her hair back away from her face and waited for her to meet his eyes. “And then I met you. And you love all of it— all of me. All the rambling, all the quirks, and— even the dark parts, too.”

She sniffled a little, but really smiled for the first time that night. “What’s not to love about you?”

He smiled back. “I’m not sure if you realize that I fully reciprocate that feeling. What’s not to love about you? I have a hard time thinking of even one thing about you that I don’t absolutely adore.”

“Even when I act like a horrid bitch?” she mumbled, only half joking.

He leaned his head against the couch cushion. “A year ago, you stood on my doorstep and gave me forgiveness— after I’d been a complete asshole to you... I told you then that I wanted to learn how to love with you. I still do. In all the wonderful, and the weird, and the terrible. Even when we get it wrong.”

He shrugged, and then ran a soft fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “There is no one else I’d rather get it wrong with. Because when we get it right… it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to magic.”

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and she brought both hands up to his face, holding him with an adoration that made his own eyes burn. “You can believe that you love me the most,” she whispered, “but just know that you’re wrong.”

He leaned forward to close the distance between them, pressing a kiss to her lips with a reverence that felt technicolor and devout and more magical than any trick he’d ever mastered.

“Agree to disagree.”

———

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[slippinmickeys]

Head Canon AU Mulder and Scully as Archeologist and Scientist at a dig in ruins in the Amazon.

Anon! Thank you so much. I saw this this morning and got that rare inspiration wherein I launched myself at this, and kind of love what I came up with. I hope you enjoy it! (It is unbeta-ed)

1. The University was being cheap. That was the first thing. Piggybacking off the hard work he’d put in: years worth of toil to arrange this meticulously set-up dig. If they wanted to send a team to study advanced medical uses of the vast biome of the Amazon rainforest, they’d do far better sending this approaching medical team into the interior. His team -- his dig -- was practically on the outskirts. The forest around them had already been explored and researched, catalogued and referenced. The real biological finds -- the cures for Alzheimer’s, cancer -- would be found in the unknown, in those places even the aboriginal people hadn’t stepped. The University was being cheap, plunking in a science team on a completely separate mission with his own, just to save some cash. That was the bottom line.

If it hadn’t been so oppressively hot so early in the morning, he might not have been quite so irritated. As it was, he stood on the bank of the river and ran an already sweat-soaked handkerchief over the back of his neck, willing the putting little outboard Evinrude to chug a little more quickly upstream. It was hot and stiflingly humid, and he’d wanted to be at the dig two hours ago, before the heat of the day set in. Too late, that.

The incoming medical team -- if you could call it a team -- seemed to consist of only one person. A short-statured wisp of a woman (if the high, top-knotted messy red bun was any indication of sex) who sat low in the backseat of the approaching riverboat, surrounded by expensive-looking boxes filled with technology that probably wouldn’t operate well in the humidity. He blew an irritated raspberry and shuffled his feet in the muddy squelch of the riverbank.

The stout block of the driver hefted a rope at Mulder as they approached, which Mulder caught easily and wrapped around a nearby tree.

“Tudo vai bem?” Mulder inquired as the man cut the engine and grunted an affirmative.

The passenger stood, keeping a hand on the side of the little tin vessel, its stern fishtailing out into the current. Mulder stepped up and held out a hand, which she grasped gratefully. He pulled and she took a confident leap, landing lightly on the ground next to him.

“Dr. Mulder, I presume?” she said on a light breath, looking up at him with a small smile, having to crane her neck to do so. She had astonishingly blue eyes, a color he’d only seen once, in an ice-cave in the far north. He shook his head after a moment and realized that he was still holding her hand. He dropped it, nodding.

“I thank God, doctor, I have been permitted to see you,” she finished, quoting the journals of Henry Morton Stanley.

Mulder outright laughed. He was smitten immediately.

2. “Be careful with that!” she’d barked, as Langly handed out her equipment to a couple of waiting locals that had been working on the project for three years.

Mulder held up a calming hand.

“You’re working with archeologists, Dr. Scully,” he said softly, “my team has the gentlest hands in the Southern Hemisphere.”

She quirked one side of a grin at him even as she threw a worried look over her shoulder at her equipment.

“Come on,” he said, giving her sleeve a gentle tug, “let me show you around.”

He showed her the latrine first, watching her face carefully for a reaction, but she just nodded nonchalantly and kept walking. Then the mess, and the tent where she’d be working when she wasn’t in the field.

“And this,” he said, taking her to an empty patch of jungle, “is where your bunk will be. My apologies that it’s not set up. There’s no female barracks and we were told you wouldn’t be here until next week. The radio communique we got this morning informing us of your arrival came as something of a surprise.”

“I’m eager to get started,” was all she said in response.

Mulder walked on and she followed him.

“I’m afraid the only empty cot is in my tent,” he said sheepishly. “Dr. Byers headed home for a funeral last month and we’re not expecting him back until March. I’ll be sure yours is set up right away, but takes some time as we have to build a platform first. Have you done jungle field work before?”

“I flew here from Borneo,” she said. “It’s not a problem.” With that, she flipped back the tent’s outer curtain and ducked inside like she owned the place.

She never did move out.

3. Scully’s father had been diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer and hadn’t lived long enough to see her graduate from medical school. She would not let it happen to anyone else if she could help it, she’d said. She worked like a woman possessed.

Against all advice, she would march into the jungle alone and be gone for days at a time. When her grad students finally arrived, they couldn’t keep up with her, and she’d frequently leave them at base camp to work on the equipment (which, Mulder was not really that pleased to report, did have a tendency to malfunction in the miasmic humidity and heat of the Amazon basin. It wasn’t, he admitted, that easy always being right). Occasionally she could be talked into taking one of the local hires with her, but she felt bad taking workers that Mulder’s project funding paid for, and anyway, they weren’t trained in her science, she would tell him.

“I wish you wouldn’t go out on your own,” he murmured into the cup of her ear one night, a trickle of sweat running from her hairline and onto the tip of his nose.

She turned on the cot, a feat, considering its fairly narrow dimensions, and pressed her forehead against his, the flimsy pillow damp beneath them both.

“I’m careful,” she whispered, and threw a leg over him, her dewy mons pressing into the naked flesh of his thigh.

“It’s not safe-” he began to protest, but she’d captured his lips with her own and he fell headlong into the lush heat of her -- whatever concern that had been on the tip of his tongue lost to her rapacious mouth as it trailed a slick path down his torso and latched, vitae and greedy, around the rigid length of him. It was bliss. She was bliss. If he had ever thought he knew love, he was wrong.

4. The whole camp knew they were together. Her tent had become a kind of catchall storage area, and it’s not like nylon canvas could contain the breathy moans of their pleasure. That and she’d just plunk down and sit on his lap whenever the only camp chair available around the mess tent was the one with the tricky leg.

Anyway, what happened in the field stayed in the field, unless it was up for peer review.

“Are you guys going to get married or something?” Mulder’s newest grad student asked one night when the air had actually cooled enough to take the edge off of everybody’s temper. Beer had arrived with their latest resupply and Frohike had syphoned off some LN2 to cool it and it was frosty and rich and maybe the best thing Mulder had ever tasted aside from Scully’s skin.

Scully, from atop his lap, merely shrugged and took a leisurely sip of brew. Mulder pictured it sliding down her throat, the cold blooming into her belly and he dry swallowed, then leaned forward and kissed her shoulder.

“God, don’t be such a newb,” drawled Langly, pressing his glasses into his face compulsively.

Mulder knew what Langly meant. They’d all seen their share of field romances that fizzled the second your boots stepped back onto University soil, though something about Scully felt different; the way their minds worked together, the way she felt in his arms.

“I’m married to the job, bro,” Scully said, but reached back and squeezed the skin just above Mulder’s hip. He kissed her shoulder again.

“D’you tell her about the helo data?” Frohike asked, looking at Mulder from his own camp chair. The little man sat low and back in it with his shoulders hunched up, and Mulder thought he looked a bit like a toad, or an ogre guarding a burial mound.

They’d gotten the funding from a billionaire alumni to fly a helicopter over the whole of the basin in this sector of the Amazon, using light detection radar. Basically, it shot out billions of lasers as it flew overhead that were able to penetrate the rainforest’s canopy and map the landscape below.

“You had a chance to analyze it?” Scully asked, craning her head to look at him squarely.

He nodded, smiling. He’d been saving this to tell her especially.

“And you were able to combine it with the satellite data?” she asked, excited.

He nodded again. “Sóis,” he said, smiling. The settlements they’d found took their name from the Portuguese word for ‘suns.’ They were round villages, all with remarkably similar layouts, with elongated mounds circling a central plaza. When seen from above, they looked like the rays of the sun. “Pre-Columbian.”

She jumped off his lap, spilling half her beer in the process. It dripped down the bare skin of her knee, unnoticed.

“Are you kidding?!” her excitement made him giddy.

“It gets better,” he said, and she cocked her head, waiting for him to elaborate. “They’re laid out like the cosmos,” he said, giving her a full-watt smile as he rose out of the chair to stand in front of her. “We’re already plotted three different villages, all laid out in the exact design of southern constellations.” Her mouth dropped open. “Canis Major, Hydra, and Crux Australis.”

She launched herself into his arms, practically squealing -- something he’d never heard her do -- and he held her, looking around at the smiling faces of the other scientists in the mess. The find would make his career, and her excitement for him touched him profoundly.

5. Martim, one of their local hires, came careening into camp, breathing so hard he had to put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. His face was a mask of anxiety and fear. Mulder felt dread bloom in his gut, and he dropped what he was doing -- actually dropped the computer tablet he was holding to the wet forest floor -- and ran over to the man, grasping him firmly by the shoulder.

“Martim?” he said, “O que aconteceu?”

“Dr. Scully,” the man heaved, his accent thick. He could still scarcely breathe.

“Where is she?” Mulder didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to translate from English. “What happened?”

“Hurt,” the man wheezed, “she’s hurt.”

It took nearly thirty minutes to assemble a rescue party, and they had to let Martim rest for a bit and give him food and water before he could take them back out into the jungle where he’d left Scully. Mulder was beside himself by the time they finally started off, impatient as a recalcitrant child, sick to his stomach with worry.

It took three hours to hack into the area where she’d been doing her search, and a further twenty minutes of calling her name before they heard her weak call back.

Mulder raced ahead without thought to obstacle or danger, and skidded to a halt when he was practically on top of her. She was leaning back against the base of a large tree, holding onto her right ankle, which she had elevated on her left knee. There was a length of rope beside her and a climbing harness around her butt and waist.

“Scully,” he panted, falling to his knees beside her.

She smiled at him weakly, her face pale and sweaty.

“I think it’s broken,” she hissed, pointing at her ankle.

“What happened?” Mulder asked, as the rest of the rescue party trundled in behind him, pulling off backpacks and other equipment. Someone handed Scully a bottle of water.

“I saw a fungus I’d never seen before growing on the bark midway up this tree,” she said after guzzling half a bottle of Arrowhead. “The carabiner failed on my descent.”

“Oh, Scully,” Mulder said, reaching out to tuck a damp lock of titian hair behind her ear.

“I got the sample, though,” she said with a tired, but victorious glint in her eye.

They weren’t back into camp until well after nightfall.

Mulder picked her up from the field stretcher and carried her into their tent, depositing her gently onto her cot. Langly came in behind him and handed him two fresh cold packs before ducking back out without a word. Mulder popped them to activate the chemicals and pressed them gingerly on either side of Scully’s ankle.

“I’m going to call for a medical evac,” he said quietly.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, grabbing at his hand and squeezing it. “Mulder, don’t you fucking dare.”

“Scully, we’ve got to follow protocol here,” he said, trying not to sound put out.

“Do not take me out of the field, Mulder. Promise me.”

“Scully-”

“Promise me!”

“How will you even work?” he said a little desperately.

“It doesn’t need setting or surgery,” she said, gesturing to her injured limb.

“How do you know that without an X-ray?”

“I’m a medical doctor,” she said, by way of explanation, “I can secure it with supplies we have on hand. I can work from my cot for a few days and make crutches out of tree limbs. Please, Mulder,” she said, and he could feel himself relenting, even if it would get him in trouble. “Please.”

He sighed, and she smiled up at him weakly, though he didn’t say a thing.

“Thank you,” and closed her eyes, relaxing into her pillow, “thank you.”

Six weeks later the canvas of their tent ripped back and the greenish glow of leaf-filtered sunlight shone into the murky, damp depths. Mulder rose from where he was resting on his cot and looked to the entrance. Scully stood there, armpit resting on her improvised crutch, her hair a rich autumn frizz around her head. Her eyes were wide and shining, and there was something incandescent about her in that moment -- an energy pulsing from her that lit his soul from within.

“Scully-” he started, but she held up a hand to silence him. Her hands were shaking.

“I found it,” she said, her voice breathy with the triumph of discovery, “Mulder, I found it.”

[passivenovember]

Thinking about Steve’s glamorous southern Grandmother teaching him haircare and the ways of men.

--

Louisiana Girl.

On wispy Saturday afternoons she sat under the hooded dryer in a world made of candy. 

Bubblegum walls upon which pastel images of women in shiny blue makeup oversaw the hustle and bustle of women in Eden. Magazines open in their laps, gum smacking between cherry red lips, talking a mile a minute about the intricacies of life. 

Husbands and kids away at college, building a world that Steve hoped he could understand someday. And, in that twangy southern drawl that he knew came from this same place his mother did; Louisiana, where women were spun of gold the color of corn fields, his grandmother shared her secrets.

She was called Boo Boo because it made her feel young, and that was the first lesson Steve learned in his life. Women should always be made to feel young and beautiful. His mother’s mother was not nanna, or grandmama, or even Cheryl, which the ladies at the beauty parlor disclosed to Steve with smiles on their bright pink faces.

She was Boo Boo because she looked like Dolly Parton and smoked Marlboro golds like Johnny Cash, and always said that Steve was her greatest love. 

Everything about her was plated in gold, from her strawberry ringlets down to her heart.

Boo Boo never had much of a taste for Midwestern life. 

She thought of it as some special sort of hell Steve’s mother had been exiled to when she married Patrick Harrington. A desolate wasteland far from the molasses bayou's of the promised land. Displaced from the twangy guitars of Crosby Steels and Miss Lorette Lynn. 

Boo Boo never understood why Delilah couldn’t bring Steve home, to New Orleans. Why she insisted on keeping him in the world of men, content with a life devoid of magic.

Everything about Hawkins confused her. The way women wandered the streets with flat hair and unpainted nails was somethin’ else, she said, curious how they went without their armor. 

That was one of Boo Boo’s best kept secrets; women need their chainmail when they go out into the world. Any southern lady worth her weight in hairspray wouldn’t be caught dead with chipped polish, and she taught Steve how to be a southern woman through and through after the first time she caught him playing in his mother’s high heels.

Boo Boo called it what it was, from the very beginning. “Got to look pretty for your man someday, baby doll.” 

Steve watched as she slipped one long, golden finger nail under the hooded dryer, checking highlights trapped under waves of aluminum foam. “Daddy says I won’t ever get a husband.” Steve said, frowning. “Daddy says--”

“That man thinks Lemon Pepper chicken wings come wet, darlin’, I wouldn’t listen to a word he says.” Boo Boo smiled down at him, her long eyelashes fluttering. “Pretty little thing like you? I bet the boys will be swarming like honey bees in the springtime.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not pretty. My knees looked like baked potatoes.”

“Potatoes?” Boo Boo declared. “I don’t think so, you just gotta grow into that figure. And you will, someday.”

Steve never found it much use to argue, never found his footing even as the stylist came and removed Boo Boo’s hair from the dryer and they migrated, as all birds do, south for the winter. 

To the mint green chair in front of the big mirror where the spells were cast, boxing them into that perfect little dollhouse wonderland.

Steve watched in awe, leaning against the palm of his hand as Boo Boo grew more and more beautiful by the minute.

He wished that could be him. He hoped, someday, it would be.

--

Boo Boo said that being a lady lived in more than just the spray that went on in the morning. 

It was easy to be beautiful. To paint yourself up like a Barbie doll and gain attention of all kinds from good and bad men alike, but it was harder to keep a level head. To do the right thing, the way God intended.

He took her word as truth. As he grew up, Steve realized a lot of girls would never be ladies and it was evident, Boo Boo said, in the way they treated each other. Always tearing the next one down to make room for themselves, providing compliments that sting and bite back, taking chunks of invaluable flesh with them as they go.

That was the mark of Cain. 

The undoubtable truth that they would never grow into something worthy of respect.

When Boo Boo came to town for Christmas the year Steve fell in love for the first time, he had to know.

“How do I get girls to like me?” He asked, posted up in front of his mother’s vanity as Boo Boo went to work on his hair. “I mean. How do I get them to understand that I don’t want to hurt them, and I’m not a threat to them--”

“Why would you be a threat, baby doll?”

Steve thought of Billy. 

Billy Hargrove, who made his bones turn to pudding cups and his heart burn red with fire and heat under the light of eyes so blue Steve felt like Dolly probably wrote that song about him.

I can see the light of a clear blue mornin’--

“There’s a boy.” Steve said.

Because. “There’s always a boy.” Boo Boo began mixing the bleach in her little green bowl, smiling to herself. “And these girls feel threatened by you?”

“He likes me.” Steve thought of Billy’s lips, so pink they tasted like strawberry bubblegum, pressed against his under the bleachers during fifth period. Before he could stop himself, Steve’s fingers brushed his bottom lip, remembering.

Feeling the way Billy’s teeth had pulled that sensitive flesh, almost like he wanted to--

“I think he likes me.” Steve shook his head. “And they’re mad at me. Like maybe I took Billy from them, or something.”

“As long as he wasn’t kissin’ some poor girl while he’s kissin’ you, I don’t see how they hold any claim over him.” Boo Boo said, pinning Steve’s hair down as she added highlights to his soft brown locks. Highlights the exact shade of her own. “Real women see strength and they applaud it. Tearing other women down ain’t gonna get you nowhere.”

Steve knew what she meant. He wasn’t a woman, he was old enough to know that now, but in the matter of love?

Steve might as well have been a thirteen year old girl, the way he wanted to fight for this boy. The way he’d develop that killer instinct, to take what was so clearly his. What Billy had given to him. 

“If they try to tear me down first, what do I do?”

Boo Boo took a drag from the cigarette between her lips, fingers never stalling as they wrapped Steve’s head in aluminum foam. “If they’re weak enough to go after what’s already done, they aren’t worth your time, darlin’.”

Steve thought about his mother. His shining star. He thought, too, of Mary Bell. The pretty redheaded girl who sometimes held his father’s arm too long at the office. 

He thought of what his mother was always saying on the phone, to other women her age, a glass of wine in one hand and a funny smelling cigarette in the other.

She’s trying to take my man. Delilah Harrington, who was just as pretty as a magnolia in may and who was tough as steel, crumbled with the weight of that sentence. She’s gonna take him.

Steve stuck his lip out in thought. “What if they try to take Billy away from me?”

Boo Boo cackled, lifting her perfect fingernails to snatch and snub the cigarette into a pretty pink ash tray. “Honey,” She said, smiling. “I don’t care if that girl is God’s gift to this Earth, she ain’t woman enough to take your man.”

[hailbop1701]

@friendlybelladonna picked prompt #76!

Fandom: Star Trek AOS

Type: X Reader

Frequent Flyer

Word Count: 1,298

BonesXRedaer (Star Trek AOS)

Yay prompt Wednesday everyone! This was pretty fun to write though I don't know if I got the original mood I wanted. I hope you all enjoy it anyway! As usual no beta so typos will be present.

-H❤🖖

“I’m honestly not hurting myself on purpose just so I can see him,” you grumbled from the biobed Christine Chapel helped you onto. The nurse looked at you unconvinced with her hands on her hips; she is one of your closest friends and had immediately seen who you had a little crush on.  

“Right and the flirtatious banter you two seem to have is-”

“Is nothing. The banter isn’t flirtatious,” you said mostly just to convince yourself. Christine laughed and rolled her eyes.

 

“Okay (Y/N) you know the drill,” she sighed. You took several deep breaths so the bed and Christine's tricorder could measure your heart rate. Several of the usual checks were made before they brought a doctor in to officially look at your arm. 

The Red Alert had died down quite a while ago and you had avoided sickbay for as long as you could but you knew for a fact that your arm was broken and the burn was already getting infected. “Hello (Y/N),” the voice of Geoffrey M’Benga reverberated around the small exam room. 

You looked up and gave the doctor a small but mildly disappointed smile, “Hey Geoff,” 

M’Benga returned the sad smile and shook his head in mild exasperation, “What are we going to do with you my dear girl? This is the fourth time this month,” he said gently, taking your arm. You scowled at your scuffed boots, cheeks red with embarrassment. Picking at your uniform you avoided looking at the two caregivers in the room. 

“I-” you began but the sound of loud frustrated footsteps cut you off mid -explanation. 

“Again?” a southern voice drawled from the doorway, you ducked your head cheeks becoming redder than before. Clearing your throat you looked up through your lashes at the ship’s CMO, 

“In my defense, the ship was getting hit like a pinata and that hot pipe technically shouldn’t have been there,” you said cheekily. Doctor Leonard McCoy gave you a stern look, while M’Benga smirked as he readied a hypo. 

“That was four hours ago, why did you wait so long to seek medical attention Ensign?” McCoy barked out his frustration growing. You bit your lip trying to come up with a better reason than ‘because you make me nervous and I’m a complete chicken,’ 

“Well sickbay seemed a bit busy and I figured if I’m gonna wait may as well be useful so I continued working-” 

The silence was almost deafening. You could feel the tension and it wasn't the good kind either. 

“I’m making it worse aren’t I?” you asked nobody in particular. Christine and M’Benga both hummed in agreement, almost feeling bad for you. 

“Geoff, Chris can I have a moment with Ensign (Y/L/N)?” McCoy’s voice was tight, his eyes never leaving your face; which was red as your uniform. M’Benga set the bone regen aside and got up from his stool, he caught your eye and winked. Gritting your teeth you glared at his retreating back. Christine gave you a cheeky smile and subtly motioned for you to breathe as she walked through the open exam room door. It hissed shut behind her leaving you and McCoy alone in the cramped space. 

“How much trouble am I in?” you asked anxiously. McCoy sighed and sat down heavily on the empty stool by your bed. He reached over and grabbed the bone regen and gently placed it over your arm. 

“Fourth time this month (Y/N) what’s going on?” he asked, trying to meet your eyes. You avoided his gaze as much as possible but he was persistent. Biting your lip again you glared at the biobed monitor when it showed that your heart rate increased. 

“I don't know what's wrong with me,” 

“Come on (Y/N) you’re not just coming in here to see my pretty face,” McCoy teased dryly while he skimmed through your medical file. You chuckled humorlessly, ‘Uh well, about that,’ you thought with a snort.  

McCoy looked up from his PADD at your very unladylike snort. Setting the device down he leaned forward making you want to lean back or at least get your heart under control. Your cheeks flared again and the twitch of McCoy’s lips was almost unnoticeable. 

"Well, if you're going to keep ending up here you may as well call me Leonard. You make me call you (Y/N) after all" 

“Leonard,” you tested the name carefully before nodding. Leonard smirked after you said his name like he enjoyed the sound of it coming from you. He pulled a tray full of supplies over to his side and picked up a hypospray, 

“Your burn got infected, I want to give you some antibiotics to help clear it up,” 

You nodded and tilted your head to the side so he could get to your neck. Leonard brushed your hair away and gently injected you with the medicine. He rubbed the injection site easing the sting, “Are you in any pain?” Leonard asked, eyeing your fluttering heart rate. 

Huffing out a breath you shook your head, “No I’m just-I have to get back to being a klutz in engineering. Thanks for patching me up again,” you hopped off the bed only wobbling for a second. Leonard grabbed your elbow to steady you an order to stay already on his lips. 

“I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re all fine and not-damn it stop looking at me like that!” you growled. Leonard smiled fully at that, 

“Like what?” he asked innocently knowing exactly what you meant. 

“Like I dunno! Like you want to…” you spluttered trailing off. Scratching the back of your neck you looked away trying to find the right words, sighing at your scrambled brain you did the only thing that could get your point across. Grabbing him by his blue shirt you pulled him forward so he was almost off the stool he was sitting on,

“Like this,” you breathed before capturing his lips with your own.

 You let him go after a minute, red-faced you looked up. He had a look of complete surprise and a stiff posture; you immediately regretted your actions. Rejection coursed through you as you back away toward the door, 

“Now that I made it weird, I’m going to make my exit,” you said hitting the door control so they hissed open. Halfway out of the room you felt a hand grab your uniform and a strong tug pulled you backward. Yelping indignantly you found yourself in the exam room again and the door firmly closed.  

“Wha-” 

You were pressed up against the wall by the biobed with his lips on yours. Gasping into his mouth you reached up and threaded your hands into his hair. Leonard took that as an invitation to explore your mouth as he moved his hands to your hips. 

Pulling back Leonard rested his forehead against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. “Please be more careful, okay darlin’?” 

“I make no promises,” you murmured letting your hands slide down from his hair so they rested on his chest. You smiled at his annoyed expression, 

“But I’ll try,” 

Leonard hummed lowering his head so he could whisper against your neck making promises of his own.

 Kissing you gently one more time he took his leave tossing an “I’ll see you tonight for dinner,” over his shoulder. 

You stalked past the nurse’s station where Christine and M’Benga sat chatting quietly. They both looked up at your approach. 

“Not. A. Word,” you growled at the blonde woman who merely smirked her eyes fixed upon the bruised spot just below your ear. After you fled back down to engineering Geoff groaned as Christine victoriously handed him a stack of PADDS full of reports that need to be done. 

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Star Trek X Reader: @lumar014ad

[archerdaryl]

London in Your Eyes.

After pulling your name for Secret Santa, Daryl comes and finds you at the Christmas fair. Inspired by Last December by Nina Nesbitt.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Tags: cute christmas vibes, sfw, a lil sad a lil fluffy a lil slow burn?? Word Count: around 3k Notes: This is my very first fanfiction I’ve written in literal years -- I’d love to hear what you guys think as I’m a little nervous but I hope you enjoy it!!

Against the soft blankets of snow that had long settled since the beginning of December, flashes of red and green could be seen wherever you looked from the guard tower. Amongst them were shadows you recognised, the figures of the people weaving themselves in and out of various stalls that had been set up for the Christmas fair.

You wanted to object to it the first time The King brought it up, especially after the events that occurred at the original. It seemed futile, you weren’t sure you could take another massacre, and it was too God damn cold to be lingering outside. And yet, you folded.

You couldn’t argue with hope. And if Ezekial was good at anything, it was inspiring just that.

Snowflakes had begun to dance in the evening air once more as you diverted your attention back towards the forest that surrounded the walls. You could hear Luke sing what sounded like a song you used to know but couldn’t quite make out as he made his way to his stall where he had wooden instruments up for trade. Down the same lane were various baked goods and crafts made by different members of the community. The kids even had their own art stall, endearingly decorated with looped paper covered in paint and cotton wool shaped into snowmen.

Ezekiel had asked if you wanted to contribute anything. You declined, not because you didn’t want to help but because playing pretend had never been something you were good at -- even as a kid yourself. And especially at Christmas time.

Of course, you played it off a lot more casually than that. You weren’t one to divulge the details of traumas that no longer mattered in the grand scheme of things. After making fun of your lack of artistic talent you insisted on keeping watch for the majority of the evening so that everyone else could enjoy what the fair had to offer. You knew where you stood in that tower. You couldn’t feel the tip of your nose and you had to keep bouncing your knees to maintain circulation, but you felt secure.

You brought your gloved hands up to your mouth and huffed, allowing the warmth to wash over your fingers. You had been up there for several hours now and the most exciting thing to happened was a walker in a hard hat causing a scene by clanging its head against the metal walls. Someone else manning the perimeter had dealt with it, taking what little entertainment you could have had away from you, but at least no one had to worry about an oncoming herd.

“Hey.”

You turned swiftly towards a voice drenched in a Southern drawl, eyebrows raised in surprise knitting themselves together.

“You need to stop doing that.”

“Doin’ wha’?”

“Sneaking up on me.”

Daryl Dixon was one of few people who got the jump on you and it was equal parts annoying and endearing. You stood upright from the post you had been leaning on and took a couple of steps towards him, eyes adjusting to his height as you did so.

“Didn’ mean to.” He confessed, “Thought you might be bored.”

“Maybe a little.” You sighed, “I’m mostly just cold.”

He watched you carefully, one hand fiddling with something in his jacket pocket while the other swung at his side holding a large flask. Your cheeks and nose were pink and he found himself indebted to the harsh winds that were to blame.

“Is that-”

“Mulled wine.” He interrupted, “Whatever tha’ is.”

The pair of you had been dancing around something unspoken for the past year, aware but unwilling to cross a line that could ruin the comfort you found in each other. That and you had both seen what happened to people who got attached to others. It was uncharted territory neither of you had ventured into with anyone for a long long time, and though he often daydreamed of you like a teenager and you were constantly worrying about him, the risk seemed too much.

“You’ve never had mulled wine?” You asked curiously, taking the flask he handed to you and shivering slightly as you wrapped your palms around it, “It’s really good actually. And hot.”

The question may as well have been rhetorical. The pair of you hadn’t shared a great deal about your lives before the dead took over, but he had told you enough that you knew Daryl was raised on beer and moonshine. You cared for neither, admittedly. Gin had always been your vice.

“Besides, I thought you liked to drink alone Dixon.”

He exhaled in amusement but didn’t offer a retort. Instead he stepped towards the cabinet at the back of the watch tower and retrieved a large blanket. Your mouth practically dropped to the floor and he fought a smile from creeping onto his lips.

You hadn’t even thought to check. Your cheeks grew even pinker.

“C’mon. Ain’t’ nothin’ happenin’ in the next ten minutes.”

With furrowed brows you looked back out onto the forest, studying its movement and mystery. Chances are, he was right. Nothing had happened so far and nothing likely would, but that didn’t stop you from worrying.

“Don’ make me take back tha’ wine.”

“No! Don’t you dare.” You whipped your head back towards him and narrowed your eyes. “It’s warm.”

“So’s this blanket. Come on.”

You made a point of rolling your eyes as you followed Daryl out onto the deck. Before you could complain about the cold (which honestly wasn’t that much worse than inside the tower) Daryl had shook out the blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders. You mumbled a thank you as he lowered himself to the ground and allowed his legs to swing free over the edge of the deck. You followed suit, the flask of hot mulled wine still between your hands acting like your own personal furnace.

It was darker now and hundreds of lights had been switched on so that people could still find their way around the fair. Even you couldn’t deny the wonder and whimsy of it all. Kids were throwing snowballs, families were laughing and making memories that were worth something. There was makeshift tinsel and decorations all over the place and the rich scent of pig and apple sauce hung in the air. In the sweet silence you shared with the archer, there was a moment you forgot where you were. The world you now lived in was an afterthought, and the Christmas fair was an almost perfect picture of somewhere you yearned to be.  

Daryl noticed the unmistakable twinkle of mourning in your eyes before you could even try to force a smile. He reached for the flask and took it from you, unscrewing its lid and pouring you a cup of mulled wine. He took a swig straight from the bottle and though he furrowed his brows and smelled the contents immediately afterwards, he didn’t complain.

“Ain’t ever seen nothin’ like this.” He offered.

You took a large sip and closed your eyes, savouring every note that swam across your tongue.

“I have. A long time ago.”

“Yeah?”

Your eyes flit open and you looked right at him. In what little light was left you could see his lips were already slightly stained red. You didn’t doubt your own were the same. He watched your mouth as you took another sip.

“My family was close. Always saved up their holidays so we could get a long Christmas together.” You found yourself lowering your gaze as you spoke, soon returning it to the hustle and bustle before you,  “Spent a couple years in London. They had markets just like these. Winter Wonderland I think they called it. Never thought I’d see anything like it again.”

It was abundantly clear from the very beginning that the pair of you had led very different lives before the world went to waste. He liked talking about his past even less than you did and for very different reasons too. You never pushed like some of the other’s did. In the end that was likely what pushed you both together.

“It’s funny how shit like that sneaks up on you.” You continued, “Every time I think I’ve moved on or let something go it just… I don’t know. None of this should even matter anymore.”

“You got a past worth rememberin’.” You felt a large hand tug at the blanket hanging around you, pulling it to make sure it didn’t fall, “Ain’t no shame in that.”

In truth, Daryl enjoyed listening to you reminisce. It was a rare gift you offered him, one that he would have found annoying from anyone else considering the stark differences in your upbringing. But you spoke about your past like you were telling a story, keeping that little bit of distance so it didn’t wash over you all at once. Whether you knew it or not, you handed him another puzzle piece every time you let him in. He could sit there and listen to you for hours. He wanted to.

A calloused hand found its way into his jacket once again, fiddling with a small object wrapped in aluminium foil. Now didn’t seem appropriate. They still had time.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Nah.” His cheeks said otherwise, “Wines doing the trick.”

You pulled your legs up and shimmied a little closer to him to him anyways before forcing your arm through his. He didn’t object, not even when you leaned on him a little.

“What other shit did they have in London?” He pushed.

“Mulled cider. That’s probably more up your street” You took your last sip before nudging him to top the cup up, “I used to love these little pancake balls covered in Nutella, strawberries, and icing sugar. Wasn’t Winter Wonderland unless I was covered in chocolate by the end of it.”

Daryl slowly lowered the side of his head down onto yours. It didn’t feel like too much, like you’d suddenly catch yourself and make excuses to go back on watch. Instead, you kept talking, and Daryl kept fiddling with the gift in his pocket.

“I remember it being loud. Music and people everywhere. And it was cold, but never as cold as this. Didn’t really snow there, which I always thought was weird.”

“If you wan’ loud I heard Luke and Jerry were gon’ go carollin’ later.”

A chuckle escaped you as you took another gulp of wine, “You know what, I think I’ll stay up here.”

Comfortable silence took over as you both watched the fair. It had barely quietened down, even though a lot of people had begun their ride back to Hilltop or Alexandria. It was the first time in a long time that there wasn’t a human threat to worry about, so why wouldn’t people make the most of a time like this? You only wished you could let go like others could.

“Oh, shit.” You sat up suddenly, “I forgot about that Secret Santa thing Jerry made us do.”

“Who’s name d’ya pull?”

“It’s supposed to be Secret Santa.” You paused and sighed, “I pulled Jesus. Is this irony? It feels ironic. I’ll figure it out.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Daryl’s lips as he leaned forward onto the wooden barrier keeping them from falling if either of them were to take a wrong step. He felt something gnawing at him in the pit of his stomach, and he swallowed hard in a futile attempt to get rid of it before clearing his throat.

“Who’s name did you pull?”

“Like ya’ said, it’s Secret Santa.” He grumbled.

You rotated yourself slightly to face him, allowing just one leg to hang free from the deck whilst the other was bent at the knee. 

“Don’t be an asshole, Dixon.” You pleaded, “Tell me!”

“Mind ya’ business.”

“Unless it’s me I don’t see why you can’t tell me.”

Daryl stayed quiet and you couldn’t help but laugh in both amusement and disbelief.

“You’re kidding. Did you really get me something?”

“Will you shut up? You ain’t even s’posed t’ know.”

He finally turned his head to find you unable to suppress the grin spreading across your face. Your eyes were twinkling again, but not with the sadness of earlier. That paired with the blush on your nose and cheeks from the cold and your little hands clinging desperately to the blanket around you made it impossible to say no. That gnawing feeling grew and he took a large breath before retrieving his hand from his pocket.

“Don’ tell Jerry.”

He passed you an strangely shaped object covered in aluminium foil. You took it from him and beamed. You weren’t sure why you were surprised he actually got you something. Maybe it was the fact he thought to wrap it at all, or that he was trying to follow the rules so it really would be a surprise. Would you have ever known it was him if you hadn’t pestered him in this moment? You held the gift in your hands as if it could break at any second whilst your heart was attempting to beat itself out of your chest.

“Do you want me to wait?” You asked, just in case, “I can open it later.”

Daryl shook his head and grabbed the flask again, taking several gulps to warm up his insides. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, studying your features carefully waiting for a sign of repulsion or embarrassment. It never came and without realising it his own features softened.

“It’s yours. Sorry I couldn’ find any paper.”

“It’s shiny and it serves its purpose.” You responded without hesitation, “It’s perfect.”

You carefully unfolded the foil in a futile attempt not to tear it and destroy the fantasy Daryl had created for you. The intricate motions felt painfully slow, and with every layer you tore away the nastier the self-deprecation in his head got. He felt stupid for trying. Was it too much? Was it not enough? He had no fuckin’ idea. Even before the world went to shit he didn’t come from the kind of family that exchanged gifts. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t. All he could do was drink and bite at the skin of his lips until they bled.

“Oh my god.”

He swallowed hard and braced himself for the worst. Your eyebrows were drawn together as you studied the object in all its detail. Eventually you shook it, and you grinned again.

“Where the hell did you find something like this?”

It was a snowglobe, somehow perfectly intact despite the number of years it had been collecting dust in a world full of violence and filth. Daryl had stumbled upon it on a run where he had found a strip of houses to loot. It was sat on a mantelpiece, and though Daryl didn’t know much about England or even London, he knew about Big Ben.

You shook it again and laughed. He watched you gaze at it in wonder, eyeing the details on the clock tower as plastic snow danced around it. Most of his anxieties melted away at the sight of that alone, but he still felt uneasy, as if he had done something wrong.

“I love it, Daryl. I didn’t even realise I’d spoken about London before.”

He nodded, his words stuck in the back of his throat. You had only mentioned London once before, something in passing, but he remembered. He remembered everything you said to him over the years. Maybe that was why this felt so wrong, as if he had taken this -- whatever this is -- too far.

Your heart was still thumping. Daryl had never been a talker, but he’d also never failed to show you that he cared. Even just by doing little things like making sure you ate properly or were sleeping okay. This was a different kind of show and tell and you weren’t sure what to do with it. 

Your affection for the archer had snuck up on you a long time ago and you usually found it quite easy to push it down and away. There were other things to concern yourself with, things to do to make sure not just you but your community could survive. But right now you were stuck in a loop. Behind his grouchy disposition was a warmth you desperately wanted to wrap yourself in.

The blanket wasn’t enough. Not right now. 

“It’s nothin’.” He finally responded, and this time you were lost for words.

You turned back towards the fair, avoiding his blue gaze as you thought to yourself. Neither of you knew what the hell this was or what the hell you were doing. You had spent so much time ignoring or rejecting the possibility of something more that now it had slapped you both across the face you were dumbfounded.

Was it supposed to be this complicated? This confusing? Or was it actually not at all and you were both just useless at all of this?

Tomorrow things would likely carry on as normal but right now, things were different. Something had shifted and it was entirely possibly you had been forced into the uncharted territory you were both so scared of. 

You swallowed hard shimmied closer to him again. Using your free arm, you tried to fling half of the blanket around his broad shoulders. It fell off of him immediately, but he didn’t question it. He picked it up, nudged closer to you, and wrapped it around himself.

A sigh of relief escaped you. Not just because he took the blanket but because he was practically a radiator. 

“I knew you were cold.” Your words were soft, almost hesitant despite being teasing.

Daryl looked down at you, his tongue flitting across his bottom lip as he watched you watch the world go by at the Christmas fair. He carefully sought out your hand with his own, and without even thinking about it you allowed your fingers to intertwine with his.

“You’re the one wi’ blue fingers.”

You wanted to roll your eyes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Instead, you rested your head on his shoulder again with a smile and allowed whatever excuses he made to comfort him. The fact you didn’t pull away was enough, and though he always knew you wouldn’t be as rough and calloused as he was, he couldn’t quite get over how soft your fingers were.

“Did you want to look around the fair?”

He allowed his thumb to glide across the back of your hand.

“Nah. I like it up here.”