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ladywhistleclown · 4 years

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Anthony Bridgerton x F!Reader: Stairs Solve Problems

Summary: You try to teach Anthony to loosen up at a party, your way.

A/N: imagine the stair sliding scene in Ella Enchanted except with Anthony. Thank you for your time. Yes this is self indulgent. Enjoy.

Word Count: 2467

Warnings: Fluff, Anthony and Reader are childish, they also constantly banter at each other but it’s Bridgerton so-

—

“If Anthony keeps making that absolutely dour face through the rest of the party, it'll stick that way.” You grumbled, Benedict laughing loudly in response as you tossed another glance at the sour viscount.

While you had made your best attempts at mingling and partying, even gracing a few with dances (a regret, to be sure), He hadn’t moved from his spot against the wall in the last hour, deflecting mamas and maidens alike, content to stand and scowl at the masses.

“Ah, well. He must be in a mood.” Benedict said in a way of explanation, taking another sip from his liquor. You rolled your eyes, turning to face away from Anthony and his harsh glare.

“If he can’t even smile, how will he ever get a wife?” You tsk, shaking your head with mock disappointment, causing Benedict to snort and nearly splutter up his drink.

“How will he ever get a wife at all?” He countered, dabbing a bit of his spilled alcohol off of his jacket. “With an attitude like that, not even the mamas will approach him before long.”

“Perhaps I should go cheer him up?” You suggested, turning back to look at him. He was still glaring, although it looked like it was now directed in your particular direction. The hair on the back of your neck stood up, and you looked away quickly.

“If you dare.” Is all Benedict graced you with, his mischievous grin growing wider as he slipped past you and into the gallery.

Artists! You thought, shaking your head. Anthony was a close friend, but you had meant to approach him with Benedict. You were close enough to know his ‘moods’, and how to steer clear of them.

It appeared though, that as he continued to stare sullenly, that you were the only option.

Sighing, you leveled your chin and swept up to him, trying to appear both as regal and ridiculous you could, a smile bubbling through your composure as you dipped into the clumsiest, lowest curtsy of your life in front of him.

Hopefully, Whistledown, whoever she was, wasn’t looking in your direction tonight.

“A dance, My Lord?”

“I believe it is customary for the man to ask the woman, no?” In spite of himself, he smiled, both at your request and theatrics, and you knew you had won already.

“Very well. I shall wait for my invitation.” You replied promptly, demurely folding your hands and continuing to stand in front of him. He chuckled, realizing you wouldn’t leave until he gave you what you wanted.

“I don’t dance.”

“This is not a waltz, My Lord.”

“I do not dance at all.”

“Not even my way? Away from...prying eyes?” He swallowed, shaking himself from the cesspool his thoughts had gone into the moment you had stepped closer, dipped your voice low to speak to him.

Of course, he knew you would never proposition him like that. You were devoted to your social standing, even as you hated it, and would never do something as silly as tempt a rake upstairs, unchaperoned, and away from a party.

So clearly, you were up to something else.

“Your way?”

You grinned.

—

Somehow, you had tempted a rake upstairs, unchaperoned, and away from the party. With pure intentions, of course, but the ton would view it the same either way.

If they find out, you reminded yourself, leading Anthony up the grand staircase in the deserted main hall. which they won’t.

Once you reached the top of the stairs, you stopped, turning back to face the floor below. Anthony stopped too, puzzled.

“Here we are, My Lord!” Your giddy voice only confused him more, as did your bright, excited smile when you glanced up at his face.

“The landing?”

“Hah! No, the staircase! Well, the rail.” You explained, patting the polished metal rail on the left of the staircase, gleaming from a fresh polish.

“I’m not quite sure I follow you, Lady.” He admitted.

“I always do this when I’m in a sour mood, and it appears as though you could use it just as well.” Before he could open his mouth to protest, you continued, “It’s quite fun. Just try?”

He sighed. He could never resist you, even less when you pleaded with him, and so he nodded quickly. He doubted whatever you had planned with the stairs would bring him much respite from his plaguing thoughts of Siena, but it was worth a try.

If for no other reason, to make a childhood friend happy.

“Alright. What is it you’ll have me doing?” You squealed at his assent, gripping his hand and pulling him closer to the rail.

“Sliding down the rail.”

“What?”

“The rail. It’s very long, and the curve makes it even more fun to slide down. Have you never done this in your own home?” You cocked your head to the side, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Of course I had, when I was a boy. This is for children.”

“Anthony.”

“My Lady-“

“You promised you’d try.” You reminded, crossing your arms. You wondered if stomping your foot would be too reminiscent of a petulant child, and decided against it. Acting like a little girl wouldn’t help your argument now.

He stared, before finally shaking his head and moving to sit on the rail. He glanced up at you obediently once he had settled on it, and you smiled in encouragement.

“I must admit, this isn’t what I had in mind when you said ‘private dance’.” He laughed lowly.

“Rake.” You shot, but there was no venom behind the word, no malice. An almost practiced response.

“This won’t break, will it?” He changed the subject, glancing down at the rail beneath him. It seemed sturdy, but just because it could hold a maiden didn’t mean it would hold him.

“No, of course not. Now, slide down, and I’ll come down after.”

“I suppose you expect me to catch you?”

“It’s half the fun, Anthony.” Exasperated, you gently shove his shoulder. “Now, slide.”

“You’re very pushy.”

“I like to think of it as determination. Slide.”

Finally relenting, Anthony used his hands to push himself off, sliding easily down the waxed metal, following the curve of the grand staircase and landing neatly on his feet at the bottom.

Anthony tried to be a serious man, at least in society. Brothels and opera houses aside, when it came down to it, he thought he did a pretty good job of carrying himself through society as a Viscount and head of his family.

Yet, as his boots made contact with the marble floor with a loud click, indicating that he had landed, he was laughing. It was fun, although he was loathe to tell you that you were ever right (you’d never let him forget it), something about the nostalgia, laughs shared between brothers as they took turns bothering the help by ruining the perfectly polished stair rails.

It already had him forgetting, smiling, laughing.

You smiled, hearing his laughter from the landing of the stairs. I told you, you thought smugly, kicking off your flats and gathering your skirt as you sat on the rail, shoving yourself off. You giggled the entire way down, waiting eagerly to see Anthony around the curve, hopefully ready to catch you.

It would be very unbecoming to leave a lady to topple off of a stair rail. Though, perhaps it was more unbecoming to sneak away with a man to ride on stair rails and then demand he catch you.

Luckily for you, Anthony had no intention of letting you fall, catching you just as you rounded the curve of the stairs and hit the end of the rail, spinning you around in his arms and laughing along with you.

“I told you it was fun!” You said indignantly, clutching at his waistcoat before standing and righting yourself.

“You were right, of course. Again?” He was already rushing upstairs, leaving you smiling brightly below. His bright face and demeanor reminded you of the boy you knew before, not a Viscount or leader, or even a rake, but Anthony, mischievous and fun loving and sometimes a bit foolish.

You followed him up the stairs, hiking your skirts to run faster. He was already situated on the rail, and the moment he saw you had reached the landing, he pushed himself off, laughing and whooping. You followed shortly, and he caught you again, spinning you around before setting you down and quickly jogging up the stairs.

You must have gone down dozens of times, completely having forgotten the ball in favor of your childish game. Anthony didn’t mind, and neither did you.

At least until you came down, and after righting you, he grinned and said, “I don’t think I can go again, My Lady.”

“Why not? Must you leave?”

“We are ruining our clothes.”

“What?” You raised your eyebrows, and in response, Anthony turned around, revealing his issue.

In a thick, horizontal line, exactly the size of the rail, Anthony’s breeches were fraying and tearing away. It would only take one more slide to rip them entirely away, not that they could really be worn acceptably at all now.

You laughed loudly, and he turned around again, laughing with you. You had expected him to grow embarrassed or angry at your giggles, but it appeared as though the rails truly had loosened him up, willing to laugh at his misfortunes.

You were glad.

“Oh dear, that certainly is a problem! A funny one!” You snorted, patting his shoulder.

“Indeed. Although, I don’t regret the actions that led me to it.”

“Of course not! It was recommended by me, after all.” You turned, inspecting your own skirts. The metal had left dark stains on your gown, and the edges were ragged from your repeated trips up and down the stairs, often tripping over them in your haste.

“Mother will be furious.” You sighed, “Well, at least it is not a hole.” You glanced up at him again, barbing him with a sweet smile.

“Funny.” He rolled his eyes, although when he looked back down to you, they were...soft.

“Thank you. For trying to help me with my troubles.”

“Oh please. You’re my friend. Was I supposed to let you suffer in silence at the party?”

“Most would.”

“I am not most, My Lord.” He started, lips parted slightly in retort, and then froze. You had always been one of few to help him, to listen to his troubles with Siena and his mother and Simon, a shoulder to cry on for comfort and a beacon of advice for help.

In the cold, calculated world of the London Elite, you were one of few who were genuinely kind, accepting, helpful.

How had he not seen it before?

“No, you are not.” He said simply, quietly. Before you could question his meaning, the doors to the main hall opened.

“Lord Bridgerton?” You gaped as your mother stepped in, Anthony quickly turning to the door and folding his hands behind his back to hide his wardrobe malfunction. “...Daughter?” in a much more shocked tone. You shrunk away from Anthony to face her.

“Mother. Anthony was upset, so I was...helping him. We slid on the stair rail.” You admitted. It would be a flimsy excuse if it weren’t true, and you were terrified she wouldn’t believe you.

Honor was everything in the ton, and being caught alone with a gentleman would destroy yours.

“It’s true. We were...reliving childhood.” Anthony chimed. You shot him a grateful look, surprised that he had chimed in for your benefit.

Strangely, your mother simply smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “Of course. I remember how many gowns you ruined doing just that. And I can see the smudges from here.” She commented, pointing at your gown, where a large, darkened patch of your petticoat had smeared onto your sleeve.

“My apologies.” You mumbled.

“No need, dear. I suppose we must leave early, no need to raise suspicions, and your gown is in tatters anyway. I cannot let you enter a ballroom in it. I’ll call for the carriage. Wait here.”

And with that, you and Anthony were left alone together. You slowly turned to him, and judging by the expression on his face, he was thinking the same as you

“That went remarkably well.” He said, holding back a laugh “I thought she would kill me.”

“Oh, if anything, I’d be the dead man.” You scoffed. “I’m shocked she left us again, as well. She must be scheming something.”

“Our marriage?”

“Hah! You cannot be serious. She’d never let me marry a man who would slide down stair rails with me!”

You both laughed again, and your mother peeked in.

“Carriage is ready my dear. Make haste.” You nodded, turning to Anthony.

“I’ll take my leave, then. I had fun, Anthony. Thank you for indulging my foolish whims.” You curtsied, properly this time, and he smirked.

“Of course. Call on me the next time you have a whim. I’d be happy to join you.” He gave a short bow of his head, and you joined your mother at the door, disappearing behind it.

Once you were in the carriage, your mother sighed sweetly. You prepared yourself.

“Ah, young love! How fun!”

“We are friends, mama.”

“Oh please. Men don’t ruin their breeches for just anyone.” That made you laugh. And maybe, just maybe, you hoped she was right.

—

Anthony had no choice but to retire early, calling a carriage and going alone. He could explain to his family later, he was sure they were used to his disappearing act. A smile on his face, he floated about the house, going about his nightly duties, his mind only on you, your kindness, and your constant chase for fun.

It wasn’t until he had finished changing his breeches and settled into his office chair that he realized that for the entire night, he had completely forgotten Siena, entirely focused on you and your antics.

The next morning, Anthony requested that the stair rails in the Bridgerton home be well polished every morning. For no particular reason, of course.

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgertons #bridgerton x reader #Anthony Bridgerton x reader #Anthony Bridgerton imagine #x reader #fem reader #female reader #fluff #Anthony Bridgerton fluff #mine

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years

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The Ordeal

Pairing: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Reader Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only Warnings: Cursing; canon-typical violence; sexual content (non-explicit) Notes: Not beta-read. I was gonna make this a short chapter and then I didn’t! Whoops!

Brought about by @monicabennerman-blog asking how Techie got grazed by a bullet during The Worry chapter of The Pool

Summary: You’re not in the field often - you haven’t been in a position to do anything in-person since the Sutton case.

Eight charges of interstate transportation of stolen property, nine charges of theft from an interstate shipment, fifteen charges of theft of a major artwork. You stare down at Max Auerswald’s file in shock and shake your head. “How the fuck is this guy not in jail?” You ask. Z whistles to catch your attention, waves his hand in a cutting motion across his neck to signal you not to ask that again. You open your mouth to ask why, but Nick is storming into the room, face set and stony, and you shut right up and lean back in your seat and give Z a small nod of thanks. He gives you an answering nod and a thumbs up.

You turn your attention to the board as Nick sets it up. The last time the team nailed Auerswald was five years ago. The bust had accounted for the nine charges of theft from an interstate shipment and twelve of the fifteen charges of theft of a major art work. “He hit up The Getty and the Kohn with a crew of four, incapacitated the guards, knocked out the security system,” Nick tells you as the group gathers their notes. “Inside job?” “Good girl,” Nick confirms it with that, and you see Borracho bristle. You shoot him a look before turning back to where Nick is still pinning up pictures. The pictures of the crew that worked the job are all up, along with pictures of the artwork that the guys managed to recover. But there are only eleven pictures there. “The only piece we weren’t able to recover was Van Gogh’s Irises,” Nick’s arms are folded across his chest now, and he’s staring Auerswald’s picture down.

“It’s valued at $54 million,” Henderson tells you, “He swore up and down he didn’t have it, didn’t know where it was, but we got a tip from the FBI that it’s resurfaced. We worked the case last time, so it got kicked to us.” “Resurfaced where?” You ask. “Santa Ana,” Connors tells you, and you cringe, unable to help it. That’s outside of your jurisdiction. “Plan?” --

Borracho’s hated this from the beginning, you know that. You’ve been able to see it in the way he’s hovered around your desk when you’re listening to wire taps, when you’re pulling up rap sheets for the guys on the fly and cross-referencing known associates when someone asks. You’re not in the field often - you haven’t been in a position to do anything in-person since the Sutton case. But this Auerswald seems to be Nick’s White Whale. So when you’re working late one night and Nick manages to get the guy on the phone over VOIP, and you take the call because the guy’ll recognize Nick’s voice, Borracho’s not happy about it. When you help Nick set a rendezvous with Auerswald at a small gallery in the LA area, Borracho’s even less happy about it. The night before it’s set to go down, you lay in bed beside him. You don’t push him to talk, you just trace your finger over his chest in aimless patterns. And then something occurs to you and you ask, “Would you be this worried if this was going down my first year with the team?” “Yes.” His answer is flat and fast, and you push yourself up to peer down at him in the dark, trying to get a better read on what you’re sure are his frustrated features. You don’t want to turn the lamp on - it’s late, the two of you do need your sleep, but-- but, well, now your mind is going about four places at once. “Really?” Borracho sighs, his hand skating up your back, gentle and unhurried. “I didn’t even like bringing you with me to plant the bugs at Sutton’s.” You frown-- hell, you pout. “You told me I did a good job,” You argue, and you can’t help the petulance it leaves you with. “Sweetness,” Borracho sighs again, sounding very, very tired all of the sudden, “It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable, just… I know you’re safe when you’re in the office. There are too many variables when we’re out there, you know?” You do know. You worry about Borracho every day - you’ll never forget the day he was shot, or how it tore you up after. You don’t wish that on anyone, especially not on him. You’re certain he's still frowning; his hand is warm and rough on your back, and you can feel the smoothness of his wedding ring against your skin. Rather than tell him that things are going to be fine or that he has nothing to worry about, you push yourself up a bit more, straddling his hips. His hands fall to your thighs, yours, to his chest. You hear his huffed little laugh, and you grin. Got him. “You know what tomorrow is?” He asks. You do know, but you decide to play dumb for a moment, and hum thoughtfully before answering, “Sunday?” He laughs louder this time. “Smartass,” He mumbles. “Mm, but I got a cute ass, remember?” You tease, wiggling it against him before you lean down and kiss him. It’s dark, so you miss his lips a little at first, landing just to the left. But then he turns his head, and his hand curls around the back of your neck and corrects the angle, and you sigh, settling against his chest. The two of you should go to sleep, you really should, but you both need this. After you’ve tired one another out, after Borracho’s cleaned the two of you up, he pulls you into his side and nuzzles into your hair, mumbles, “Maybe we made a little Magalon.” And that hasn’t been on your mind in a while, but now it’s drifting out of where it’s made a home in the back of your mind. You feel your hand curl in on itself, pangs of anxiety coursing through you. You hum in answer and turn your head, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “That’d be a hell of an anniversary gift, huh,” You tease instead.

You can be worried about that later. -- Borracho’s got to go in before you have, but instead of your customary ‘good morning’ post-it, you’re kissed awake. You come up from sleep slowly, drawn out by the feeling of his lips drifting over your neck, his facial hair tenderly passing over the same areas - not enough to mark, but enough to wake you. You let out a sleepy little grumble, and Borracho lifts his head. He nudges his nose against yours before he pecks your lips gently. You push the covers aside, ignoring the cool of the room in favor of the heat of his body, and loop your arms around his shoulders to dry and draw him back down with you. “Mm-- Sweetness,” There’s a teasing and a warning to his tone. You heed neither of them as you try to slip a hand under his shirt. He laughs, drawing away, leaving you blinking sleepily up at him. “Didn’t want to go in before…” He trails off, uncertain, but you know what he meant: before he said goodbye - but the two of you don’t like that word. You’ll see him at the office before the rendezvous with Auerswald, but you’ll be with the guys. This is the last moment of real quiet the two of you will have for a long time. You reach out, taking hold of his hand and giving it a soft squeeze. “I love you, Benny,” You murmur sleepily. He smiles and ducks his head down, kissing you again. “Love you, too, Mrs. Magalon,” He murmurs, and you grin, “Happy anniversary.”

-- You drive to the rendezvous point alone. Borracho and Connors are in a car parked down the block; Nick, Z, and Henderson are in a surveillance van parked behind the small gallery that you’re meeting Auerswald in.

The man is perfectly cordial. His face has been burned into your mind for the past few weeks: a stout gentleman, a round face - beedy, dark eyes and a snub nose. He’s slow as he takes you through the gallery; you can hear Nick getting impatient in your earpiece, and it’s hard not to get anxious yourself when you know your boss is ready to pop. But then you’re led into a small back room. There are no windows - only one door in or out. You look around, feeling claustrophobic for the first time in your life. “Awfully cramped conditions,” You comment as Auerswald flicks a light on. “You must understand,” he tells you, “That these matters are best dealt with in close quarters...Intimate settings…” And you’ve been trying to ignore the way that the man has been leering at you, but he’s been making it difficult. Instead, you focus on the painting. “It’s quite beautiful…” You say, “If it’s real.” He reels away from you, a hand coming up to his chest in shock. “Real?” He repeats. You give him a wary look. “Mr. Auerswald, forgive me, but this piece, while exquisite, may very well be an exceptional fake. How can I be certain? You are asking quite a bit of money and I’d rather not shell out for what will turn out to be an excellent forgery.” “Ma’am, I can assure you that this is an authentic piece,” Auerswald swears. You keep the wary look on your face as you look over the painting. “But--” “No buts. If you’ve simply come to stare--” “If I wanted to simply stare, I’d have gone to a museum.” “As if you could still find this Van Gogh in a museum,” Auerswald begins to laugh, as do you, for appearances -- but in your ear, you can hear the van door being thrown open. It’s only a matter of moments before you hear the door of the shop being thrown open, the woman at the front scream, the sound of Nick’s voice and the thundering of the team’s footsteps. You didn’t have a gun - you weren’t allowed (you’d asked). So you have no way of holding Auerswald beyond the physical when the man began to make for the door, trying to close it. You reach out, catching hold of his jacket and yanking back. “What are you--” He begins to ask before his expression turns cold. You weren’t allowed to have a gun. No one asks criminals if they’re allowed. Auerswald’s is out of his jacket and points at you in seconds. You let go, taking a few steps back and raising your hands, watching him closely. “Auerswald!” Connors yells to draw his attention, but Auerswald doesn’t turn to look at him, or the rest of the team. You don’t look at the team, either - you’re too scared to look anywhere but at the man pointing a gun at you. “Drop it, you’re not making it outta here clean,” You hear Zapata warn. “You wanna add a murder charge to your rap sheet, be my guest,” Nick egged him on, “But you heard him, you’re not making it out of here without cuffs on.” You aren’t sure who fired first - you’d never know, really. It might’ve been Henderson, it might’ve been Auerswald. Either way, you hit the floor. Henderson fires at the guy’s foot, nails him, and he goes down; Auerswald fires, but misses you for the most part - a combination of your ducking out of the way and his flailing from being shot. Borracho is over you in seconds, murmuring that he has you, that you’re safe. “‘M fine,” You swear, your voice shaking a little as you reassure him, “I was just-- I mean, in case--” “Sweetness,” His voice is tight; he’s got one arm under you to help you sit up, the other is resting on your right forearm. You vaguely register the sound of Z calling in medical for two people, and then you feel the seering pain in your right bicep. You glance down, see the blood seeping through your suit jacket sleeve. “...Is that all?” You try to tease, but Borracho wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was staring daggers at Nick’s retreating back. -- “Stitches can come out in about ten days,” The EMT tells you, and thank her before you stand up. You’re a little shaky - from the adrenaline dropping away, or from your feet falling asleep in your stupid heels. Either way, Borracho’s hands are there to steady you. You lean against him, sliding your left arm around his waist. “Home?” You ask. He nods, eyes set ahead, and you know you won’t get anything out of him until you two are somewhere safe and quiet. You just brace yourself for the silent car ride and try to ignore the throbbing in your arm.

#The Pool #The Ordeal #Benny Borracho #Benny Borracho Magalon #Benny Borracho x Reader #Benny Borracho x You #Benny Borracho/Reader #Benny Borracho/You #Benny Borracho Magalon x Reader #Benny Borracho Magalon x You #Benny Borracho Magalon/You #Benny Borracho Magalon/Reader #Den of Thieves

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amerrierworld · 4 years

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Here for the Art (pt 2)

Ocean’s 8 - fanfiction

Part 1: x

Summary: You get your hands on Lou this time, and you don’t hold back.

Characters: Lou x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,733

Warnings: eheh... S M U T

The heist had been a success. Thousands of dollars were flooding in your bank account and you were filled with giddy glee as the numbers went up. Who wouldn’t be? Money doesn’t buy happiness, but it does make things a whole lot easier.

The team had celebrated at Daphne’s lavish mansion in the country, and though you were enjoying yourself immensely, you were itching to get some time alone with Lou.

After she was done her bit she nearly burned her security outfit with sleepy rage. “Never again,” she groaned, falling on your bed as you had drawn her a hot bath.

Lou had plenty of stamina for many things; sex, her club, conning, and you. But even she needed a much-needed break once in a while.

Now here you were, in Daphne’s expansive living room, with a posh-looking cat circling around your legs and Lou by your side. It was well into the night where most alcohol had been consumed and everyone was just chill. You couldn’t remember who had gone to bed already or who was still doing shots.

You were lazily watching old cartoons on the TV, curled up against Lou as Looney Tunes started up again. An arm wrapped protectively around her middle, you were ready to nod off when she shifted, startling you.

Lou groaned a bit as she straightened out her legs in front of her. “Sorry love,” she said to you. “Legs just cramping a bit.”

You blinked at her as she shook out her hair and settled back in the seat, your fingers twitching. Noticing this, Lou arched an eyebrow at you, and you moved positions suddenly, so that she was resting against the arm of the couch, her feet in your lap.

“Hm?” she hummed in question, as you took off her socks and hiked up her slacks as far up her legs as you could pull them.

When your fingers pressed into her aching calves, her mouth dropped open and she groaned. You grinned at her as her shoulders relaxed and you worked your hands deep into the tight muscles, working out the knots.

Lou was watching the screen with half-lidded eyes, one hand reaching towards you to caress your side as you massaged her legs. The clock was indicating it was long past 1am already, but suddenly you couldn’t bring yourself to think of sleep yet.

You finished massaging Lou’s calves and slowly danced your fingers up her legs, past strong thighs and drawing circles on her hipbones. She jerked a bit at the feeling and looked over at you.

“What do you think you’re doing, kitten?” she asked in a low, ragged voice. You could see the defiance in her eyes, ready to pounce on you, but you knew her bodily state wasn’t up for it, so you cocked your head at her and leaned over to press a kiss to her lips.

“Just helping you relax,” you said, fingers passing over her lower stomach and the inside of her thighs. “You’ve been working so hard lately.”

A strong hand gripped the back of your head, her tongue invading your mouth.

“This is hardly helping me relax, baby,” Lou grumbled, your fingernails scratching lightly over her stomach under her shirt.

“Hm? What was that?” you pulled away, biting at her earlobe. She cursed, hips bucking up at your feather-light touch.

“Y/N,” she breathed. “If you wait until we get home, we’ll have all the time-,”

“Nuh-uh,” you cut her off, a hand gripping her waist. “You say I could have my way with you, didn’t you? I’d like to cash in that promise now.”

“Fuck.”

You sucked a bruise underneath her ear and she dropped her hands above her head in defeat.

“Fine, you little brat,” she hissed through her teeth. She was wide awake now, blue eyes staring into yours, daring you to do something. “Show me what you’ve got.”

In the guest room that Daphne had promised the two of you, you could hardly believe the sight on top of you. Lou sat perched on your stomach, rubbing her wet cunt against a thick, red strap that you were wearing. Her hands were tied behind her back and you’d put a leather choker around her neck.

After plenty of teasing, discussion of safe words and buckling in toys, Lou was now suddenly desperate, horny, and completely at your mercy. She’d chuckled at your slight clumsy attempts of being in charge, but somewhere along the way, her own body got the better of her.

You grinned, not only at Lou’s entire change of character, but her complete willingness to play along tonight. Usually the roles were switched. She was much more demanding and dominant in real life and in bed. Getting her to this point of submission where she looked ready to break at your touch, might’ve been one of the most arousing things you’d ever seen.

Her hips were bucking but one of your hands was holding her down tightly, the other pressing a small vibe against her clit at just a low enough setting that she couldn’t cum.

“...please...” she choked out as you pulled back slightly and pressed the tip of the strap against her folds, teasing her.

“Hm?” you were grinning like a madman, remembering exactly the position Lou had you in at the art gallery mere days ago. “Did you say something?”

Lou growled low in her throat, throwing her head back in exasperation, rocking faster.

“God you’re such a, a-,” you pressed the vibe harder against her, making her words falter. Her hair was sticking to her neck, and you reached up to brush it out of the way.

“Such a what, baby?”

“A pain in my ass,” Lou huffed as your fingers scratched down her neck, over her nipples. You tutted, and pulled the vibe away.

She mewled at the loss of the contact, moving her hips side to side in a desperate attempt to get you inside her.

“That wasn’t very nice of you, was it?” you said, gripping her middle until she stilled, breathing heavily and looking down at you with dark eyes.

“’m sorry,” she mumbled under her breath, trying to lean down and kiss you. You avoided the kiss, hands pushing her back up again. She huffed.

“Louder, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Good. Now, ask nicely and maybe I’ll let you cum tonight.”

Lou was grumbling, annoyed and very turned on at you demanding things of her like this. She wasn’t used to it, but with the way her neck flushed and she squirmed on top of you, getting your stomach wet and sticky, she was clearly enjoying it.

She sighed and batted her eyelashes at you, and you knew you’d won.

“Please?” she said through pouty lips. You chuckled and gripped her ass with your fingers, causing her to gasp.

“Please,” she sighed, back arching. “Please let me cum tonight.”

“Hm, since you asked so nicely,” you said. “Up on your knees, baby.”

She took a couple breaths, trying to register what you had said before her brain clicked and she shuffled to get up off of you. You pressed the tip of the strap against her folds and she immediately tried to sink down on you, but you stilled her.

“Slowly, there’s a good girl,” you ordered. She bit her lip and did as you asked. As she sank down at an excruciating pace, your own eyes fluttered at the feeling of her pressing down against you. Turning the vibe back up, you pressed it to her clit again and Lou groaned.

She started rocking and you didn’t stop her. The bed was creaking softly at the movements. When she sped up, gasping, you dropped the vibe to grip her thighs and pushed up your hips to meet her as she came down.

She was gasping, mumbling incoherent things and you muttered praise in return, watching as she came undone above you, head thrown back. You pressed your thumb against her clit this time and rubbed quickly in time with your thrusts.

“Ah! G-od,” she cried out. “Fuck.”

When she was close, you sat up and wrapped an arm around her, holding her tightly while she rubbed against you and came, shaking. Your fingers kept rubbing against her clit to ease her down from her high and she trembled, face pressed against your neck, mumbling a soft thank you and peppering you with kisses.

When she’d settled down, you kissed her shoulder and reached to untie her arms. Bringing her wrists to your mouth you pressed your lips against the sensitive flesh and she sighed at the feeling of relief. You began untying the choker around her neck but she stopped you.

“Don’t. I like it.”

You smiled warmly and let her separate from your hold to ease you out of her. Lou, with trembling and sweaty limbs, crouched down to suck you clean, making intense eye contact with you.

Her swollen lips came back up to kiss you while you undid the belt for the strap, tossing everything aside so you could hold her against you firmly.

“Hm, that was nice,” she hummed against your ear, coming to. Her old self started to come back, eyes sparkling, but her cheeks were still very red, and her breathing was heavy.

“I told you already, I was missing you,” you said, stroking her back and arms. Her fingers were playing with your hair.

“Missing me a lot, clearly,” she chuckled.

You settled down next to each other on top of the sheets and you hugged her tight, nose rubbing against her jaw, legs tangling.

“Wanna go somewhere with the money we got?” she asked suddenly. You blinked and pulled back to look at her.

“With the team?”

“No, baby girl. Just the two of us. I was thinking, Europe maybe?” she mused, “somewhere nice, and stupidly romantic.”

You laughed. "Hm, I’ll get back to you on that in about 2 to 3 business days, miss.”

She pulled you closer and you relished in the warmth and strength she was exuding. As you were dozing off, you couldn't help the last comment to slip from your mouth.

“I’ve heard they’ve got a lot of great artworks in Europe.”

Lou laughed, filling the room with warm sound that made you smile as she pressed a kiss against your forehead.

A/N: Whoop! There it is, folks. Smut galore in this series, but I couldn’t help it with Lou :3. Thank you all for your amazing responses for part one and my other pieces, I’m beyond flabbergasted with the support from you guys and it makes me eager to write.

Shoutout to @smuttty @gaylorrds and @waitingfortheendtocome for your responses to pt 1 (and some suggestions for pt 2 ;) ) this one’s for you lovelies.

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bluespiderlilies · 5 years

Note

Pillars x Modern reader? Please if it alright with you

hi!! i was going to say no tbh bc my rules say only two charas max but,, i'll let it slide i guess lmao

modern! pillars x reader!hcs:

himejima gyoumei:

okay so like,, in a modern au i like to imagine that gyoumei would be a sculptor hehe (yes, i know, not v original).

and you a painter!!

and like,, the two of you are secret admirers of one another

like he would often see you at the art gallery he frequents just staring at his sculptures & just,,, looking at them w pure awe?

which he finds so heartwarming & makes him super motivated & happy in what he does!!

and at art auctions when he buys your paintings? you feel like fainting from happiness bc the guy you admire so much BUYS YOUR PAINTINGS?!?!

so then one day the two of you just,, bumped into each other coincidentally while at the art gallery the two of you go to often

the two of you chat comfortably before asking for one another's numbers & discuss about a potential coffee date!!

and so, after that & a couple more dates, the two of you became official!!

iguro obanai:

hmm i feel like snek boi would be a tattoo artist

you a florist (FUCK i hate my unoriginal ideas)

your shops are right beside each other's haha

you sometimes talked but it was only about small awkward things like the weather BYE

but then one day you got locked out of your shop oops

so you,, sort of stayed w/ obanai in his shop until the person you called to help came

which he didn't mind at all btw

surprisingly, the two of you got along really well? not to mention you guys liked a lot of the same things & had similar hobbies??

from then on the two of you were kinda Whipped™™™™™ for each other lmaoo,, you often went to each other's shops when you guys didn't have any customers/had a slow day

so then you decided to confess and!! he accepted your feelings & said he felt the same way!! (screams) & ever since then the two of you began to date uwu

rengoku kyoujurou:

okay so kyoujurou in the kimetsu academy au is a history teacher, right?

and you are the english teacher!!

honestly the entire school love the two of you so much

and they even ship the two of you super hard\ but!! the thing is? the two of you are already dating, haha~ the students just don't know that yet

so it's hella amusing when the two of you witness them trying to set the two of you up with one another

so you and kyoujurou had a mutual agreement to just act innocent and go along w what they do (which the students totally fall for)

until one day you accidentally let it slip (whoops)

"hi guys, sorry for being late, kyoujurou won't be here today 'cause he's sick and i had to take care of him for a bit—oops did i just spill everything?"

from then on the entire school knew the two of you were dating (and thank god, bc now you guys could be affectionate in public lmaoooo)

tokitou muichirou:

muichirou would be like that quiet, asocial first year *wheeze*

& like...there's tons of rumors of him being rude n closed off to others that try to be friends w him

n you're like!! haha!! fuck those rumors i want to be friends w him!! (plus he's cute wink wink)

so, you try to approach him by sitting in front of his desk during lunch, or talk to him front time to time in your close (surprise!! the two of you are in the same class)

he ignores you tbh & even tries to push you away,,, but you're super persistent (in an annoyingly,, cute way?)

but like one day, you're absent from class two days in a row, and he's like,, fuck?? is it my fault??? did i do something to them?? is (name) not here bc of me?? i miss (name) surprisingly a lot and idk why???

and like for the two days he feels like he's fuckin hallucinating or some shit bc he always turns his head to the direction he expects you to be, or like hears your voice even if you're not there?

but then you came after those two days, and he immediately comes up to you and questions you as to why you were absent

you just laugh and smile, telling him that you were sick (& tease him too) which he gets really flustered at and even blushes bc he missed you a lot bye

so then he confesses to you, and tells you that even if it was two days, it felt like forever and he just really missed you and wanted you to be by his side?? and you found that hella cute (also bc of his blushing face) so like uh,, ever since then the two of you started to date

tomioka giyuu:

kimetsu academy au where he's the gym teacher (duh it's canon) & ur the assistant nurse of tamayo uwu

you often supervise whenever giyuu has a class bc you know how rough he can be,, so you're just there in case anything happens

cue the students being in love w you bc you're the literal opposite of giyuu

cue the students lowkey shipping the two of you too (& the two of you are HELLA oblivious about about, too)

you like to chat w him sometimes, even if you're the one who's doing most of the talking

despite his rough nature you actually find him really cute and like??? attractive

and giyuu?? is naturally attracted to you too?? but then one day a student fight breaks out and while giyuu tries to stop it he ends up getting injured

so you, of course, treat him the best you can—tending to the bruises on his face & the cuts on his arms & legs,, and like your touch is so fucking good and gentle and like??? bitch is about to melt too

he ends up telling you that he likes you,, and you're shocked bc omg?? the guy i like just confessed & asked me out (btw u said yes haha)

uzui tengen:

aight so spy!au where he is sent to spy on you bc you're under suspicion working under an illegal organization (wait this counts as a modern au right? yeah anyways,,)

he moves in to the apartment right across from you as your new "neighbor"

he also works as the cashier at the bakery you work at too!!

bc of that, naturally, the two of you got close

you thought he was v attractive and funny lmao,, you especially found his "flamboyant" catch phrase hella endearing too

and tengen was like: fUCK NO I CANT FALL IN LOVE W YOU YOU'RE MY MISSION!!

yeah right lmao bc he did end up falling in love w you. so he even asked you out (which ofc you said yes?? like bro tengen is literally the person of you're dreams)

but he reminded himself that he still had a mission to do, so he used it the fact that the two of you were dating to his advantage to find more about you (aka snooping)

you didn't really mind that + the fact that he asked lots of questions about you

but once he found out that you were completely clear, he was?? highkey happy and relieved, so he could date you comfortably without being paranoid lmao

kanroji mitsuri:

idol! mitsuri and manager! reader au hehe

honestly you have been w mitsuri ever since she debuted

you watched her grow as both a singer and as a person—you saw all the sides of her personality, habits, flaws, etc; which honestly? made you fall in love w her

however, you kept your feelings a secret bc you didn't want anybody to find out plus ruin mitsuri's reputation?

like okay you get fired but you don't want to hurt mitsuri or the years of hard work to be destroyed

but it's so fuckin hard you know? bc she's super affectionate w you, and you're over here trying to keep your feelings in?

so eventually you just,,, confess to her—all the feelings you had pent up just finally spill out

unexpectedly?? she says she feels the same way?? but she's been in love w you ever since she first laid eyes on you??

so lmao you keep your relationship a secret, even from the agency you work at lmao

despite the hardships that you guys often face, you get through them together and the two of you couldn't be anymore happier w one another??

kochou shinobu:

roommates au in which the two of you are college students

shinobu a pharmacology major & you in toxicology!!

bc of you living together and even sharing some classes, the two of you spend a lot of time w each other

you guys have plenty of study dates too haha

and cute stuff like night outs or movies nights!!!

honestly the more time you spend w her, the more time you?? fall in love shinobu. like. head over heels for her.

and shinobu's like??? I FEEL REALLY NICE AND FUZZY AROUND YOU (in her brain, though)

so the two of you end up confessing at the same time during movie night bc the movie reminded the two of you of each other a lot?? uh??

when the two of you realize what you said two each other, the two of you laugh it off and just? begin dating

nothing really changes tbh!! just more affection, dates, spending time w each other, and being more intimate ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

shinazugawa sanemi:

bodyguard au :D in which sanemi is your newly appointed bodyguard and you're a millionaire that needs to be protected

honestly he thought you'd be snobby as fuck considering that's how rich people usually are in his eyes

but?? you're really freakin chill and cool?? not like he'd admit that aloud lmaoo

you like to tease him a lot bc he's so uptight w you, but apologize & give him ohagi (which he really fuckin loves?? Uh??)

you always try to convince him to play video games w you lmaoo esp mario kart (he declines though *eyeroll emoji*)

since he's almost always serious around you, when you find him tending to your dogs and being so soft around them you're like?? fuck?? my heart??

so basically the two of u dumbasses have feelings for each other but are oblivious + don't want to confess,,, like the more time you spend w one another the more you fall in love?

and he absolutely just,, loves it when you visit orphanages and help w the kids and the way you treat them is so sweet?

yeah. he's so in love.

but it wasn't until you ended up in a life-threatening situation that he actually confessed to you—which, as serious as the moment was, you cracked a joke and accepted his feelings.

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psychodelic-insomnomaniac · 4 years

Note

Bucci gang monopoly night?

Okay, so, I’ll preface this by saying right up front that I have never actually played Monopoly, because it literally is banned in my house. Seriously, my parents tried playing it with each other a few times and came to the conclusion that if their marriage was to survive, they couldn't keep doing this, so its not allowed.

Monopoly would also be something that gets the axe, but that’s largely because most of them just refuse to play seriously.

Narancia didn’t want to play in the first place, because he thought it sounded boring, but after watching the rest of the gang play for a little while, he decided he kinda wanted in on it, and went to join Fugo’s “team” (read: sat directly next to/slightly on top of Fugo and tried to help advise him).

After Abbacchio gets sent to jail for the third time, he just says “fuck it, I die in prison of whooping cough or some bullshit” and stops playing, instead opting to just watch Bruno and heckle Giorno as the team’s new personal peanut gallery.

Trish is the banker, but she’s not above cheating, and is more than willing to slip certain people (Mista, Giorno, and Narancia on Fugo’s behalf) some extra bills on the down low with the tacit understanding that they’ll owe her later. She’s surprisingly good at sleight of hand. Giorno is suitably impressed.

Fugo has never actually played a board game before, so he’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, but he ends up being a massive stickler over the rules, literally just grabbing the instruction manual and reading it over roughly every five minutes until Abbacchio gets sick of it and just reaches over to snatch it and chuck it. Not like it matters, anyway, because by that point, things have already begun to descend into mayhem.

Bruno is honestly just doing his best, but he’s not exactly merciful. Sure, he’s all smiley and pleasant about it, but he does just buy up everything he can and ruthlessly fuck over everyone else.

Giorno has also never played a board game before, but unlike Fugo, he is *not* exactly interested in playing by the rules. He cheats to an almost fantastical degree, using a combination of sleight of hand and Gold Experience to swipe extra money and disregard any cards he doesn’t like. It drives Abbacchio in particular absolutely insane, because Giorno is *definitely* cheating, but he’s good enough at it that it’s nearly impossible to prove.

And then that leaves Mista, and he’s the piece de resistance in the ultimate downfall of the game. Mista *has* played board games before, but never quite by the rules. The way Mista plays, it’s basically Calvinball. For example, after getting sent to jail, he says “I have the Pistols grab a key from one of the guards and bust out”. It drives Fugo crazy, because strawberry boy is trying to play by the rules, but Mista is clearly just fucking around, and they end up getting into a lot of arguments in which Fugo says that that’s not how it works, only for Mista to say yes it is, and then Fugo spends five solid minutes digging through the rule book trying to find where it says Mista can do that, all while Mista continually reassures him that it’s definitely in there, and tries very hard not to laugh.

Narancia is the first to get in on it too, by saying that he jumps in and helps Fugo fend off a debt collector by shanking the dude and robbing him, so now they actually have even more money, and it all just kinda falls apart from there. The game transforms from proper Monopoly to more of a Tabletop RPG. Giorno and Mista team up to rob a bank together, then use the money to go on a trip to Costa Rica, where they then go snorkeling and take tours through the jungle. Bruno sells off most of his real estate to go move to a cottage on the shore and Abbacchio, who has suddenly decided he *isn’t* actually dead, busts out of jail to go join him. The Fugo and Narancia team buys up all of the real estate from Bruno at an agreed upon dramatically discounted price and converts much of their new property into affordable public housing (Fugo’s idea), as well as the world’s “most bitchin’” laser tag arena (Narancia’s idea). Trish forgives everybody’s debts, steals all the money she can, and moves to France to become a fashion designer/model/beloved public icon.

They tried one more time afterwards to try and actually play Monopoly, but they still only lasted about 12 minutes before things descended into similar anarchy once again.

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coconut-cluster · 5 years

Text

A Hostage to (My Own?) Humanity

a.k.a. im still reeling from the video and also looked up angsty song lyrics for that title

Roman made the right decision. He'd concluded Deceit's impromptu trial with a sentence that satisfied Thomas' moral quarrel and the crack of the gavel, and he was alright with it. He'd made the right decision, right? Right?

words: 3969, whoops

ships: no explicitly romantic ships, but tbh i intended prinxiety and the second half is just them so interpret their relationship as you will. (the beginning half is roceit but not romantic)

warnings: deceit!! if you need me to tag anything else, go ahead and shoot me an ask or message!

From the moment the snake-faced side disappeared from his view, Roman felt nauseous.

His stomach flipped, mind reeled, his skin felt hot and cold at the same time and crawling - above all, his eyes stung with exhaustion (and a forceful pressure at their back, threatening to send his inner turmoil spilling over his face) and he just wanted to sleep, really. He wanted to lay down and squeeze his eyes shut and pretend the day had never happened. He wanted to go to a dream world, a world he controlled and managed and idealized and perfected to the smallest detail. He was so, so tired.

But there was also a nagging in his chest. It squirmed and forced its way up his throat, tainting his words with a small brokenness that he hoped was unnoticeable - Deceit (the name, if he could even call it one, made his chest burn, dancing a torturous tango with the squirming) may have been a good liar, but Roman was the actor, and he was a damn good one at that, so the chance of the others noticing a minor slip-up like an uneven tone was highly unlikely (not to mention they were all a bit preoccupied, what with the dramatic reveal from moments ago; Roman had to admit, he… appreciated the snake’s theatrics). There was a little voice in his head urging him forward- or, well, down? His thoughts returned again and again to the same place, whichever direction it was technically, and it was with that squirming feeling and a wan, plastered-on smile that he sank out of the living room and reappeared before an barren court that tingled with life still.

The seats of the gallery were prim, neatly filed in the better half of the room and relatively unchanged without Logan’s erudite assistance echoing from their space, though Roman felt a twinge of laughter when his eyes landed on the law dictionary still resting on one of the chairs (he’d have to be sure to grab that before leaving). The rows of seats reminded him of a theater, just a little; he waited for the familiar thrill of being on stage to set in and replace that hollow in his chest. Nothing happened. He moved on.

Despite the gallery’s consistency in his memories, the jury box felt like a husk without the eyeshadowed scowl and its curator lounging on the wooden rows - Virgil’s purple image, or rather, the lack thereof, took an odd sort of liveliness out of the room, though Roman supposed there was little in the court to begin with. (Surely none without Patton’s bright blue button-down and encouraging smiles and goofy energy from the front table.)

The judge’s stand he’d sat at just minutes ago, however, stood tall above the gallery, gallant. Refined. Utterly, completely, and undeniably empty.

He didn’t know why he was here. There was the nagging, obviously, which had scarcely stopped since his arrival to the courtroom, but he had no real reason to listen to it in the first place. Maybe he’d been away from the Mind Palace for too long? Maybe his inspiration was just piqued with a new setting, a new set for his next batch of ideas. Or maybe he liked the feeling of sitting above everyone else and the power of decision resting on his shoulders.

His chest just ached at that one.

He edged down the aisle, toward the front of the room, slowly and carefully, as if his footsteps would wake a sleeping beast if they were too heavy; the platforms to the judge’s bench gave his steps a painful thud regardless. But here he was again, overlooking the court, gavel within reach, though his robes were absent now, replaced by his usual uniform, which felt as useless as this entire scenario. There was no one here now for him to judge or sentence. There was no jury to wait on, no chaos to call to order. There was no reason to hear the gavel’s decisive thunder; his fingers itched for its handle anyway.

It’s ‘Your Honor’ to you.

It was hardly a fantasy he’d ever considered - he was more than aware that he wasn’t smart enough to touch the law with any authority - but the respect that came along with that seat, that title, was a much more constant visitor in his daydreams. Of course, his daydreams very rarely involved Deceit and his smarmy smile as well (unless as an antagonist, since every hero needed a villain), but hey, he’d take what he could get.

Desperate wasn’t a pretty look, but he couldn’t really help it at this point.

He did, however, find that Deceit flashed through his mind now. It was an odd amalgamation of feelings that accompanied such thoughts, from something bitter that seemed to coat his throat in poison to a painful emptiness near his heart that longed already for the polite nodding and open agreement with his ideas, his wants. He wished he could get that agreement without an ulterior motive hidden beneath the rapport.

The pressure was back in his eyes now, forcing his vision of the empty kingdom- court before him blurry with unshed tears. He let his eyes fall shut; he was so, so tired, but sleeping seemed like a cheap solution, simply avoiding the fatigue in his bones.

“Roman. Back so soon?”

His eyes flew open as quickly as they’d closed, somber serenity jolted by the drawl as a shot of something akin to panic coursed down his spine. Deceit sat in the jury box, leaning easily on one of the leather armrests, that slithery smirk clear on his face and eyes gleaming beneath the harsh lighting in the court. He gave a fluttering wave as Roman’s gaze landed on him.

“I could ask you the same thing,” the creative Side clipped.

“You could, but then you haven’t answered mine, have you?” Roman just kept his lips pursed, but Deceit didn’t seem bothered as he glanced around the courtroom, one eyebrow raised. “What do you think?” he asked, giving a sweeping gesture to the gallery. “Lovely, isn’t it? If only we had time to appreciate it earlier; it took a good bit of spontaneous design, you know. I suppose you deserve some of the credit, since you are essentially the Imagination’s core. I’m assuming,” he added casually at Roman’s furrowed look, before widening his smirk into what Roman could hesitantly call a smile. “A job well done, truly.”

The prince watched him for a moment. Deceit’s gaze remained even, level, though Roman saw the quick flit his eyes did, no doubt taking in the tension of his posture at the judge’s bench. “Thank you,” he said finally. Deceit smiled again.

“You did well in the trial today,” he continued seamlessly, “up until the verdict, of course, but even the greatest leaders make bad calls from time to time, I suppose. No one’s perfect.”

The poison crawled up Roman’s throat once more. “I don’t think it was a bad call.”

Deceit stopped examining his gloves to meet Roman’s eyes, a single eyebrow still raised, and his smile disappeared to a tight-lipped frown before curling at the edges as he tsked, “Oh, Roman, honey.” His tone dripped with sugared ice, sickly sweet and frosty at the edges and hinting at something sharp just below the surface. “What did I tell you about lying to me?”

I know you’re lying, Roman. “I did the right thing.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “but was it the good thing?”

No.

The answer was in his head before Deceit even finished the question. He’d been mulling over his sentence since the moment he’d decreed it, turning it over and over in his mind like the twisting feeling in his stomach, chest- nay, heart aching for the chance to do it over again and declare his idea of the best course of action, the actual best course of action, not the one that he had to take the high road for. He wanted to be back in his judge’s robes with the audience he’d had a mere ten minutes ago, and he wanted to adjourn the trial with an order to attend the callback and a decisive nod. He wanted, more than anything, for Thomas to see that his own wishes matter too, that Roman’s wishes matter, that it wasn’t always selfish to pursue one’s dreams. He wasn’t always selfish.

He didn’t say any of that out loud, but the smirk that had returned to Deceit’s scaly face was more than enough to know he was as covert in his silence as he was with an airhorn and neon sign.

“So why go with the wedding, Roman?” Deceit asked, leaning his chin on his palm with feigned fervence. “What’s in it for you?”

“I… don’t feel guilty,” he answered slowly, even as turmoil raged on inside him.

“Try again.”

“...Thomas won’t feel guilty?”

The smirk began to disappear. “What is in it for you?”

Roman wracked his brain, searching for an inkling of truth to defend himself with, but it was fruitless. He had nothing to gain from this mess, save for the proud smiles he’d received upon returning from the impromptu trial.

“Validation,” Deceit articulated in the heavy silence. “Is that it, Princey?”

“It doesn’t have to be the good decision this time,” Roman said, pushing past the venom dripping off that nickname as it fell from the snake’s mouth. “It’s the right one, and that’s fine for now. We’ll have more opportunities eventually.”

“None like this.”

“But this - virtue, goodness, whatever - is important to Thomas! He’s a good person-”

“Thomas is a moral person.” Deceit spat the word like a curse, eyes flashing, and Roman couldn’t help but feel grateful that Patton wasn’t here. “There’s no point avoiding the truth, Roman - you chose to forfeit a dream come true to satisfy virtuous harping from the three other Sides who have no idea what it’s like to be in your position, who disregard you simply for doing your job and still insist they know better for Thomas and his well-being!”

His fiery gaze found Roman’s wide one with a start; in an instant, his back was straight once more, and though his face was still a bit flushed, his tone was even, albeit icy, as he continued: “Selflessness is not always beneficial, Roman; there comes a time when constant altruism becomes a detriment. Feeding into Thomas’ delusion of honor will only end poorly for you.”

“I-”

“Now make no mistake, dear prince, I’m hardly criticizing your character. In fact, I rather admire your ambition. I think we’d make a good team.” Deceit gave a smile laced with confidence, like Roman was the only one who understood its meaning; the creative Side just frowned. “But until you force your oh-so-tightly knit family to recognize your virtues, you are essentially, to Thomas, a fly on the wall.”

Useless. He meant useless. Roman had made the wrong decision for his own views and for Deceit’s plan, and he was useless to himself, to the snake-faced adversary before him- he was useless to Thomas.

Any harmony Deceit had cultivated with him shattered all over again,

“I think I’d prefer that to a snake in the grass,” Roman retorted, patience wearing thin in practically an instant; he had made a decision, and he intended to stick with it, no matter what praise he got on the contrary. Besides, his only ally in the fight for the callback had turned unsympathetic the minute Thomas admitted his true feelings toward the wedding, even with the support he’d given Roman during the trial, from the faith and respect in him as the judge to stupid jokes that made the prince feel considered in their creation. He’d been blinded by the ambition Deceit praised, and he was done with this. “I did what made Thomas feel like a better person, and he’s satisfied with that. Let it go and move on, Deceit.” He pushed his chair back and stood, hands braced on the desk before him, eyes flickering over the empty gallery as he stood tall above it once more. “If you’ll excuse me-”

“No, I’ll go.” Roman’s gaze snapped back to the critical one in the jury. “You have a visitor on the way, and as much as I’d love to witness his face upon seeing this scene, I’ve had my fill of incompetence today.” Deceit rose from his seat with a sweep of his cape, sending one last scathing glance over his shoulder, eyes ablaze with a promise Roman didn’t care much for at all. “Farewell for now, Roman. I have a feeling we’ll be talking again very soon.”

And he was gone.

Roman stared at the jury box, hands curled into fists on the desk as his eyes seared into the abandoned seat that sat askew from Deceit’s abrupt exit. His face felt hot, and the discomfort was still squirming in his chest.

The guilt. The guilt was still squirming in his chest. Or remorse, perhaps. Yearning. Betrayal. Loneliness. Maybe it was all of them - he wasn’t sure, but if so, how odd for such a swarming cocktail of emotions to make him feel so very hollow. A hurricane raged in him, and yet he felt nothing. Perhaps he was in the eye, the barren peace in the center… or perhaps this was simply the calm before the storm.

“Roman! There you are!”

His eyes inched to the door that had swung open, revealing a slightly more-disheveled-than-usual Virgil whose bangs fell in front of his face wildly, as if he’d run his fingers through them a lot.

“How do you guys manage to navigate this place?” Virgil breathed, knocking the door shut behind him and shuffling further through the gallery. “It took me ten minutes just figuring out how to get back to the Mind Palace.”

“...you just have to think about it.”

“Oh.” He blew a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. “That would have been nice to know ten minutes ago.”

Roman gave a small smile, more polite than amused, really, though Virgil’s confusion with the Mindscape’s inner workings was still entertaining. The small bit of energy Roman had left when reappearing in the court had all but drained completely; he was running thin now, and he simply couldn’t force the dramatics back into his persona.

“Princey?” He shook the stupor of his thoughts away to find Virgil staring at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“What?”

“I asked why you came back here. Of all places,” he added bitterly. “I checked your room and you weren’t there, and I didn’t really expect this to be your, uh, creative sanctuary. Why’d you end up here?”

Roman blinked at him (and uncurled his fists, since his hands were starting to get sore). “You went looking for me?”

“I mean… yeah.” Virgil shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets, sending a furtive glance around the room. “You just seemed bummed when you sank out. I get why, obviously-” Roman flinched, “-but… I don’t know. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Ah.” Roman sank back into the judge’s chair with a heavy sigh without actually answering - maybe some of his dramatics remained. Virgil just raised his eyebrows and shuffled past the bar, making his way up the stairs to the bench before settling on the edge of the desk and giving the creative Side a Go on look. “I hated that.”

“What?”

“The trial. I hated it.” It was a partial truth, but a snake was no longer around to bite him for it.

Virgil didn’t seem convinced, however. “You looked like you were having fun at the beginning.”

Another sigh heaved its way from his core as his eyes traced the wall; maybe he really should leave the lying to Deceit. “Well, you seemed so enthused throughout its entirety, I just had to join in.”

“You don’t have to get an attitude, Princey.” Roman didn’t respond; Virgil’s shoulders fell, almost imperceptibly, as he nudged the prince’s knee with the tip of his Converse. “What’s up?”

“Did I do the right thing?”

There was a beat of silence as Virgil frowned and leaned back, as if the question blindsided him. His eyes flickered over Roman’s somber expression. “You made Patton happy,” he said slowly, his hands finding their way back into the patched pockets of his jacket, “and Logan seems glad to have the situation over with.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Now it was the anxious Side’s turn to sigh - he pursed his lips and shook his head as he thought, waging some war in his mind for an answer to offer, before he shrugged. “I think so,” he admitted, though his voice raised at the end, molding it into a question more than anything. “Thomas is pretty relieved, so if that’s what makes something right, then yeah, of course you did the right thing.”

“But?”

“But a part of him is still really, really upset.” Roman finally met Virgil’s eyes, which seemed to glimmer with concern under the courtroom lights. “I’m sorry you had to give up the callback, Roman.”

“I didn’t have to,” he said quietly. Virgil made an indecipherably noise in the back of his throat, but Roman made a good guess that it was in agreement. “Did you want to go to the wedding?”

“Of course not. Do you know how many people are gonna be there?” He gave a crooked smile, small and tinged with hope- but Roman didn’t laugh.

“Why didn’t you say that during the trial?”

He could have had someone else on his side - someone else was on his side, and yet he was still left alone during the trial to fight for Thomas’ dream come true. Well, not totally alone, but he would take Virgil on his side instead of Deceit any day. (Or both; both would have been good, too.) The hollowness in him seemed to double, swallowing up any inkling of pride and resignment left as Virgil’s smile fell.

“I didn’t-” The anxious side’s face turned sour, and Roman felt his spirits plummet.

“You didn’t want to agree with Deceit,” he finished, voice deadpan; Virgil’s mouth snapped shut. “Virgil-”

“Don’t say what I think you’re about to say.”

“-he made a good point!”

“God dam-” Virgil squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head into his hands, taking a deep breath as if to reorient himself. “Maybe he did, but he’s him, and I’m not exactly on board with siding with him.”

“You could have sided with me,” Roman contested, trying in vain to prevent the crack in his voice, “or you could have put your grudge aside and stood up for what you actually wanted-”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” The lights overhead flickered as Virgil’s face darkened - Roman swore he saw something shift in the anxious Side’s eyes - and his gaze seared into the prince’s indignant one as he snapped, “Especially not about him.”

Roman expected a wave of anger, of irritation or frustration or some kind of fire, to rise up in him then, expected a fight or a belligerent streak to show itself… but whatever incendiary remarks he was awaiting were long gone. He just let the last of his posture crumble as he slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms, eyes as blank and unfocused as he felt. “He agreed with me,” he said, flinching a moment later at how pitiful it sounded in the buzzing silence of the courtroom.

“Yeah, you guys seemed real buddy-buddy,” Virgil snapped.

“He’s the only one who agreed with me! You all called my idea selfish the entire trial and he supported it- what did you expect me to do?”

“Oh, and the flirting was, what, a necessity for that ‘support’?”

Roman froze. “What?”

“It was every single time he talked to you!” Virgil continued, though he seemed to be talking more to himself than the befuddled prince in front of him, “And when you testified and he made that stupid face, and you laughed at his stupid jokes, and he said he- it- it was nauseating!”

Flirting? Roman had been uncomfortable a few times during the trial from Deceit’s odd behavior; he hadn’t truly attributed it to anything more than the snake’s off-kilter disposition, but as he reviewed their interactions in his mind… he really should have noticed that, shouldn’t he? He was a romantic, after all.

More importantly, though: “Are you jealous?”

Virgil’s flushed cheeks flushed redder. “What? No, I’m-” he spluttered, before snapping his mouth shut and shutting his eyes again, grumbling from between grit teeth, “He was manipulating you, Roman, and it got on my nerves.”

...Ah. Roman drooped again (he was beginning to wonder if this is how a dying flower felt, doomed to slump farther and farther toward the ground until it had nowhere to face but the dirt it came from, too decrepit to even face the sky as its life slipped away), the fatigue he’d become accustomed to as of late flooding back to him in an instant. “Well, I guess it’s good he didn’t get the ending he wanted, then.”

Virgil stopped mid-fume to meet Roman’s gaze (if that’s what one could call it, since Roman was staring absently at the center of the desk); the tension in the anxious Side’s shoulders dissipated, and he scrunched his mouth to the side as the pair was draped in silence once more. For some reason, that of all things made the pressure return behind Roman’s eyes. His stomach twisted at the thought of crying in front of Virgil, but when his vision started to blur again, he didn’t close his eyes and blink it clear.

“You should have chosen the callback,” Virgil said suddenly.

Roman looked at him with a languid start, eyebrows furrowed. He was getting way too many mixed messages today. “But Thomas didn’t want to upset his friends-”

“You said yourself, Roman, they would have understood. I know it, you know it. Deceit knew it,” he muttered, a reluctant afterthought, “even if he wanted to lie instead. They’d know how much an opportunity like that matters to Thomas. Patton and Logan are satisfied with the wedding sentence, but I’m not.”

“...why not?”

“Because you’re like this!” With doleful eyes and a distinct hoarseness to his voice, he gestured to Roman, still drooped in the judge’s chair, and said, “You’re not yourself, Roman- I’m mad that Deceit was right about you being crushed, and I’m mad that none of us listened, and you should have chosen the callback because I need you to be you!” He sucked in a breath, a small one, as Roman watched him with wide eyes. “We need you,” he corrected quickly. “Thomas needs you, I mean. He needs his creativity.”

Roman blinked and tried to pick through Virgil’s words bit by bit, but he was still a bit lost. He did, however, feel a tiny spark in his chest - a light in the dark. “So… what do I do?”

“Talk to Thomas?” Virgil caught sight of Roman’s knit brow and gave a small chuckle. “I can help, if you need it. If you want me to. Probably.”

The squirming Roman had felt since the trial ended seemed to unravel itself then, at the prospect of fixing what he regretted and grasping the opportunity he’d wanted since the moment Thomas received that phone call. There was still a flurry of feelings he couldn’t quite name, still rushing around and crashing together in his heart, but there was a semblance of something warm, something whole, filling in the hollow at last - a flicker of hope to battle the hurricane inside, and it came in the form of Virgil’s expectant gaze.

“Let’s do this.”

taglist: @romanticsanders @existentialburden @a-little-bit-of-ace @anon-turtle @kameraishere @thelowlysatsuma @sticksandanxiety@rosesandstuff @adorably-angsty@jemthebookworm and also @unring-this-bell @miss-gumdrxps

#prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #roceit #sanders sides #ts spoilers #my writing #angst #thomas sanders #ts fic #logan sanders #patton sanders

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abnvrmals · 4 years

Text

Below the cut is my list of muses and their reactions to the ancients event starting tomorrow. That being said, if any of their reactions interest you, or give you ideas, please reach out to me. I will be starting some event threads tomorrow, but you know. I guess this is a bit of a starter call, too.

Vihaan - Does not give a fuck about anything or anyone beyond his sister.

Frankie - Anxious, worried about what it going to happen to others and the people she cared about in town. Feels a nagging persistence toward the ancient pull but tries to denies it. Self isolates anyway.

Santiago - Fucking, THRILLED. Making deals all during the event, hit up ya boi and offer him something real nice.

Coyne - Because of his history, is more susceptible to the pull of the ancients and is under their control for the moment. This is subject to change, especially where Eloise is involved.

Anver - Not effected, fighting for the town.

Asta - Not effected, fighting for the town.

Margeaux - Not effected, fighting for the town.

Alexander - Not effected, doesn’t care about anything other than what happens to Boston, the gallery, and Apollo.

Gen - Not effected, offering protection for anyone who might be interested, especially Bash and his family, whoever may extend through them. Secretly, doesn’t understand the objection to death, but sympathizes with peoples feelings.

Esme - Effected, stresses out in the very beginning until she becomes lucid and entirely compliant under the control of the ancients.

Lucien - Effected, feels a strong pull to join the ancients but continues to fight against them. Prone or likely to snap and lose the fight, succumbing to their control.

Juliette - Not effected, joining the efforts for both protection and fighting.

Soren - Not effected, but feels this is a war that he is not indebted to. Only fighting for the town out of obligation to Freya and the strange sense of always needing to prove himself worthy of his godship after the loss of his arm.

Levi - Effected, but more like a illness. Spending his time holed up on the farm, likely alone, trying to keep himself together or feel better somehow.

Oceane - Not effected, offers protection for her people, and her wolves only. The exception to this rule is those closest to her, and is fighting only when the war may come for her, or one of hers.

Kalea - Uneffected, creating a shelter inside the restaurant with her husband and other creatures/deities, etc.

Liah - Effected, under the control of the ancients. Spends the majority of the event shifted, as directly by her blood line, but available for threads when distance is placed between her and her ancient.

Tyella - Uneffected, the control needed for her songs and abilities combined with the protective magic that has been set on the shop has allowed her to maintain composure. Open to protection, and fighting.

Dyonisa - Uneffected and amused, for the most part. She’s probably picked somewhere with a good view to drink wine, watch, and judge. Unless someone who matters request she actually do something, in which case she is slitting the throats of those that have caused her this stress and inconvience.

Devon - Effected, Under complete ancient control. Part of her enjoys this, as a wolf that has always been packless, this makes her feel like she finally belongs. She’s going to have a REAL HARD time with this when she comes out of it.

Remi - Mildly inconvenienced, like a headache and avoidance of dying. His deity is providing extra names and hints, so he is moving around a lot and attempting to combat things where he can.

Castor - OOF, complete ancient controlled and dangerous. Because of his past, he has become the perfect soldier for the ancients and they knew this, so they use him for some of the messier missions and never question his loyalty.

Jeromy - Effected, Under wavering control of the ancients but actively trying to fight it. As someone who enjoys fighting for the right reasons and is an activist, his heart is working over drive trying to get out from underneath the pull but it is hard being so recently turned.

Devya - THRIVING, but unaffected. Probably betting on what is going on with her siblings, or fighting with both sides for the fun of it.

Senna - Not effected, not fighting. He is, however, taking the time to do what not many else think of which is find a way to beat this. Spending most of his time researching magic, cures, wards of protection, anything that can help them banish or rid themselves of the ancients or the pull.

Faustus - Not effected, helping patch up the injured and taking in strays that don’t have protection. Turning the vet office into a make shift hospital.

Amelia - Not effected, also assisting Senna in looking for a “cure” or fix. Contacting Demeter dispute their longstanding feud in an attempt to help everyone through this.

Drew - Not effected, helping to fight for the town because that do be kind of pretty much his job.

Marlowe - Not effected, warding the FUCK out of the tattoo shop to keep her little family protected first and foremost, but ready to fight. Disappears here and there to go do so.

Milo - Not effected, not interested in helping anyone other than Ava, either.

Bria - Effected, as a taught witch her magic is borrowed and that comes from the ancients. She has made a deal with them to help her bring Theo back through awarding her more power for helping.

Bhavana - Not effected, thinks the ancients are a bunch of lil bitches, ready to throat punch them into oblivion and actively doing so.

Akari - Effected. Her usual trickery doesn’t often end in people being hurt or is not directly malicious. During this time, it has been turned up, manipulative and violent. Homegirl gonna be a little fucked up about it...but like low key, after.

Cheres - Not effected, and not in the mood. Probably protective if you can answer his riddles correctly or you happen to be his girl, otherwise no thank you. Still working as a messenger, so hit up ya boy to transport supplies and messages.

Rune - Not effected, but more than willing to fight, cause he likes that shit. Catch a bloody viking fucking shit up at every opportunity.

Luciana - Not effected, protecting matty and others at one of the shelters because she feels like this can be her redemption for letting everyone down in the circus and being too compliant.

Kiyan - Effected but unbothered. He enjoys the chaos and happily fights with the ancients. He’s also not going to apologize after so like, sorry not sorry.

Charmaine - Effected, Unser full control of the ancients. Her wolf lineage ties directly to one of them and she is unable to resist, or make any decisions of her own during this time. Probably definitely kills a few people. Whoops.

Tomas - Not effected, fights alongside Arya.

Navena - Not effected, and surprisingly enough she is fighting with the town. She aims to really get her hands dirty, as she was one praised as a matron of war in their religion. Possesses a stranger understanding that a few lives might need to be lost in order to save the rest of the innocent ones.

Tre- Uneffected, says shit like “they aren’t even my real dads” and essentially does whatever Sam is doing (because good dog) and probably doesn’t worry about much of anything.

Miles - Effected, but his love and concern for Fish save him. It is through that bond that he is able to overcome the pull of the ancients and instead never leaves Fish’s side. Really freaking distressed about this and probably has not really stopped crying.

Shivani - Not effected, on some cool blind ass warrior bullshit. Doesn’t help people fight but does help the fight the PULL.

Neels - Not effected, wants to kick an ancient in the dick but would probably BIG DIE. Kind of hanging out in one of the shelters and refusing to touch anyone or really get close to them because he doesn’t want to watch anyone else die.

Wes - Effected, completely under ancient control. Tasked with using his shape shifting to disrupt alliances, safe houses, and to try and convince people to just give in and join the ancients. Basically, a cult leader.

Quinn - Not effected. Chilling with their siblings, watching the whole thing play out, maybe getting involved here and there and really only for their few connections. Using this as a teaching moment because there is more to lust (like power and violence) than sex.

Tai - Effected, but fighting. Trying to keep himself from the pull but he can feel himself slipping. Very well aware that he will probably succumb to it and trying to find a way to stop himself.

#sdevent

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olivias-cardigan · 5 years

Note

A blurb about corbyn taking you to a science/space museum or planetarium for your first day and he just geeks out and you just sit there and fond over him?

omg this would be so adorable! I LOVE THIS IDEA!!also whoops i got a little carried away, but oh well

you decided since you were going to the space museum to keep it casual. you were wearing a striped crop top, ripped jeans, and your favorite pair of slip on vans. you were nervous, i mean how often do you get to say you are going on a date with someone as amazing as corbyn? as you were attempting to put on your bracelet you hear a friendly honk in the driveway. unsuccessful, you just grab the jewelry and decide to just put it in the car. “y/n, its so good to see you!” corbyn says sweetly pulling you into a hug, his perfect teeth almost glistening in the sunshine. “go to see you too corbyn,” you say blushing. “what do you have in your hand?” he asked confused by your closed fist. “oh this, um, well i was trying to put on my bracelet but i was STRUGGLING with the clasp so-” “y/n, let me help you.” as he took your hand in his and you felt your heart flutter. after a moment, he got the bracelet on and you smiled at him as you headed to the museum.

the date was one of the best you had been on, ever. it was completely adorable to watch corbyn fond over all the exhibits and it was crazy how much information he knew about the stars. the way he would get so animated when talking about if pluto was a planet or not literally made you fall for him even more. he was unapologetically him, and it was so attractive. somehow, throughout the course of walking through the gallery, your fingers became intertwined but you definitely weren’t complaining. it felt as though your hands were made for each other and you couldn’t explain it. as the museum started to reach closing time, the visitors in the museum began to dwindle unitl it was only you two remaining. corbyn ended up surprising you with a picnic in the planetarium that he rented out and you spend the night enjoying the stars. the date ended with the sweetest kiss you could ever imagine and when you got home, you couldn't help replaying the date in your head.

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bellamysgriffin · 6 years

Text

whoops, i slipped, and fell in love

bon voyage @sergeantames! this is a fic for you before ur big trip and i hope you adore it as much as i adore you!

summary: Four times Riley Matthews fell for Maya Hart and one time Maya Hart fell for Riley Matthews. (Fell is meant literally.)

pairing: riley/maya

word count: 4k

FFN | AO3

The first time, long before this had become a regular occurrence for Maya, all she felt for the five seconds she'd known Riley was intense annoyance. During those five seconds, Maya couldn't yet tell if anything was broken or not, but she knew she was going to be sore the next day regardless.

It was during the sixth second that Maya rolled over and actually saw Riley, and, oh. She was cute. The annoyance began to taper off a little bit. The girl - Maya didn't know Riley's name yet - groaned and sat up wincing.

"Ow," she said, and Maya chuckled a little, but instantly the girl looked at Maya, wide-eyed, an apologetic blush creeping onto her face. Maya realized she was still lying flat on her back, so she pushed herself up, too. Nope, nothing broken, just bruised.

The girl's ankle, on the other hand, was already swelling, turning an angry red.

"I'm so sorry. I'm - are you okay?" the girl asked Maya.

"Fine. But your ankle -"

"I know. Oops," the girl said, taking out her phone and punching in a number. "Hey. You'll never guess where I am right now… At the bottom of your staircase… Think so, but my ankle…" She glanced over at Maya and lowered her voice. "Well, there was a cute girl at the bottom! I got flustered… Well, no, she sort of, um, broke my fall?... She says she's fine!... Yeah, bring it… Okay… I won't."

If Maya had known this party was going to be so eventful, she might have been less reluctant about going. Maya met Farkle when she was working at a coffee shop, making minimum wage and crashing with Zay. It was an indie cafe so there was never a lot of people. Except Farkle. Farkle came every day, open to close with three different laptops and worked.

One day, because she was bored, on a whim, Maya asked him, "What could you possibly be doing with that many computers? Taking over the world or something?"

Without looking up, he said, "Eventually."

From that point on, he kept her company, always sitting at the counter. She started letting him stay after closing while she was washing up. She hadn't meant to mention her gallery, hadn't even noticed she did. Zay's girlfriend, Isadora, was asked to be guest curator of a contemporary exhibit. Maya was honored when Isadora asked her to put her pieces in. Yes, she and Isadora were friends, but Isadora didn't give handouts. If she wanted Maya to show her work, that meant she really thought it was good enough.

It might have just been a small corner in the back, but to Maya, it felt like the world opening up.

She was floored when Farkle showed up. He stared at her paintings for a long time, then at her, wonderstruck. "How on earth are you working at a coffee shop?"

She smiled, relaxing. "Ever heard the phrase 'starving artist?'"

Maya was only a little hesitant when he asked to help pay for a studio with gallery space. She really liked Farkle, and she didn't want to screw up their friendship by bringing money into it. In her experience, money always made things messy. But Farkle made it clear that he was making an investment, not a donation - not to mention his family had so much money they could never spend it all.

So Maya and Farkle become business partners. Which meant that when Farkle was throwing a fancy party, Maya was to come and "make connections." After mingling with one too many old white couples - Maya really didn't get business - she slipped off into a vacant hallway with an impressively long staircase. She saw someone teetering precariously on high heels before they were sent careening into her, flattening her on the ground.

Which brought them here - two strangers sitting in awkward silence. After only a few minutes, Farkle showed up with a first aid kit. His eyes widened at the sight of Maya. She gave him a sheepish wave and a smile.

"Maya?" he said to the girl. "You flattened Maya?"

The girl turned to Maya, laughing self-deprecatingly. "Oh, so you're Maya. I'm sorry. I'm also Riley."

"This is now ho I wanted you guys to meet," Farkle said, getting to his knees and opening the first aid kit.

"Oh, yeah, Farkle's mentioned you, I think," Maya said - and he had. She had heard the name Riley sprinkled throughout their conversations. Maya almost reached out to shake Riley's hand, but that felt a bit impersonal, considering only a few minutes earlier, Maya was under her.

"So," Farkle sighed, "what's injured now?"

"My ankle. I think it's sprained." Riley gingerly held out her foot, and Farkle took it, tender and gentle.

"You just have a first aid kid in your house?" Maya asked, though she felt like she was interrupting something.

"Since high school, yeah. About the time I realized Riley's clumsiness wasn't going away." It felt strange suddenly, like Maya was looking in on something intimate, or private. She caught Riley's eyes twinkling, and the care Farkle took while wrapping her ankle, the reddish tint to both of their faces.

Oh. Well, that made sense, Maya supposed. She thought she'd gotten a vibe from Riley, but apparently not. She'd just have to tease Farkle about it later. After a look towards the pair, with her heels in her hand, Maya slipped away, unnoticed.

Screw Farkle. Screw painting. Screw deadlines. She should have been a factory worker. At least she could afford a coffee break, though. Walking into the coffee shop she used to work in was a weird kind of nostalgia. She was glad she didn't work there anymore because it meant she was doing what she really wanted to do with her life, but it had been a nice little job to have. But luckily, it was within walking distance from her studio.

Because no one made iced caramel lattes better than Lucas. "Hey, I'm short on time, so my usual," she said, pushing through the doorway. Lucas whirled around, the corners of his mouth turning upward in an amused smile.

"Welcome to Topanga's, and your name is…?"

"Very funny. Actually, make that two lattes."

"Wow, that bad?" Lucas asked, starting on her drinks.

"This deadline is really kicking my ass."

"Well, I'm sure you'll do a good job. You always seem to." He paused for a moment, fiddling with the nozzle that always stuck. "It's quiet here without you. Peaceful."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'boring.'"

Lucas slid one of the lattes in front of her, his eyes softening. "That is the word I'm looking for. My only company here now is Charlie Gardner."

"Still don't understand why you hate him so much."

"I don't understand why you don't."

Maya laughed. "Is he here?" Lucas let out an exasperated sigh, indicating yes. "Hi, Charlie!"

"Hi, Maya!" came a distant shout from the back. Lucas rolled his eyes, sliding the second latte towards her. Maya slid the money in exchange.

"Keep the change. I'm gonna get going. Wish me luck."

Maya wished she could have stayed longer talking to Lucas, but she was in a hurry. She'd forever be grateful to Farkle for helping her realize her dream, but she had to admit, there was a charm to her starving artist lifestyle - living in a loft with Zay, working at a coffee shop with Lucas, having all the time in the world. Success was great, but it came with strings attached.

Oh well. She'd have time to ruminate later. She had to get back to the studio. Maya was just turning the corner when - WHAM! Suddenly she was on her ass in the middle of the sidewalk, Riley Matthews balanced on top of her. Moments before, she'd been holding two lattes. Now she was wearing them.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry," Riley said, scrambling to her feet. When she saw Maya in her painter's smock, drenched in coffee, she turned a violent shade of red.

Maya couldn't help it - she was stressed out, wound up, covered in coffee, and working on a deadline. She just started laughing. Riley seemed to relax a little, even laughed a bit herself, then reached out a hand to help Maya up.

"I just feel so bad - your coffee. I mean, coffees. Can I buy you and your friend some coffee to make up for this?"

"Oh, they're both mine. And normally, I'd say no, but I'm desperate. Farkle's got me -"

"I know. He mentioned." There was a pause as they started walking towards the coffee shop. "Hey, you slipped out before I could get your number the other night."

Maya felt her cheeks tinge pink. But then she remembered the way Riley had looked at Farkle and she checked herself. They had a mutual friend. That was all. Besides, there were plenty of cute girls in the world. Still, she typed her number into Riley's phone.

Maya stole a glance at Riley, whose hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing a tank top and running shoes and there was a brace around her ankle. There seemed to be this glow about her - it was probably just the sweat. Maya looked away.

The familiar tinkle of the bells on the door handle sounded as Maya re-entered Topanga's.

"You, again?" Lucas asked, and then he noticed her smock, dripping in coffee. "Jeez, what happened?"

"I happened. Sorry," Riley said with an embarrassed smile.

"And you are…?"

"Riley."

"Oh, You're Riley. Farkle's mentioned you," Lucas said.

"Of course he has," Maya mumbled, then she silently scolded herself.

"Well, just because Maya is my favorite customer, these ones are on the house." Lucas already started working on the lattes as Maya made her way back to the counter.

"You used to work here, right?" Riley asked, smiling.

"Yeah. Well, until I met Farkle."

"And now you're an artist."

Maya looked down at her feet, smiling. "Still feels weird to be called that."

"Farkle's shown me your stuff. It's…" She let out a puff of air, "beautiful." Maya's cheeks were burning now at the thought of Riley seeing her art. She decided to change the subject.

"So…" Maya looked at Riley's outfit, her hair slicked back with sweat. "You've taken up running."

"Oh! Yeah, I have. When you're injured as much as I am, it's a really good way to get back in shape." Riley was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, she seemed to be bursting. "Okay, I know I said it already, but I'm really sorry for falling on you. I just - I really want you to like me and I feel like I blew it."

Maya felt a blush tingle its way up her neck. Her entire face must be bright red now. The idea that Riley wanted Maya to like her too, that she thought Maya didn't like her made her feel slightly amazed. "You didn't blow it, Riley," she said. "If you blew it, I wouldn't still be talking to you. Especially not after you flattened me. Twice."

"Don't worry. I only knock over people I like."

Maya swallowed. Here was Riley, looking flushed and pretty, sitting across from her and smiling, her eyes twinkling. All of a sudden, it was hard to breathe.

And then Lucas returned with the drinks and the moment was broken. Was Riley looking a little disappointed? No. Farkle and Riley, Maya reminded herself. She wasn't usually wrong about these things. Maya turned back to Riley, smiling, but not too widely. She had to try and pull herself back.

"Maya, wait," she heard Lucas say. "You've got a little coffee on your…" She felt the warm pad of Lucas' thumb brush a spot just above her left eyebrow, and she smiled, gratefully. "I meant it when I say you should come by more often. I miss you."

"I miss you too, huckleberry." There was a time when Maya wouldn't say anything affectionate to anyone. She was just glad she had such good friends that she felt comfortable saying this kind of stuff around them. Finally, Lucas got the coffee stain off her forehead, and Maya turned to tell Riley that it was really nice seeing her again.

But Riley was gone.

Maya wasn't really expecting to hear from Riley again. (Even though she couldn't stop thinking about her.) But only a week after running into her at the coffee shop, she got a text:

hey maya! it's riley :) wanna go ice skating tmrw?

Instantly, Maya's heart said yes. Her brain said, "Do you really think you can handle being alone with Riley for an extended period of time?"

To which her heart replied, "Shut up, brain, she's hot."

In the end, she made a compromise and texted Riley:

i would love to! can i bring lucas?

Riley responded within seconds.

sure :) farkle's coming too

Now, Maya was really glad she asked Lucas along. Third-wheeling Riley and Farkle sounded like a nightmare. So, she called Lucas and begged him to come until he relented. So, with nerves bubbling in her stomach, Maya met Lucas in front of the ice rink.

"You owe me big time. I had to ask Charlie to cover my shift. He made me say 'please.'"

"You mean he made you use common human decency while asking a favor? Yeah, what a tool." Lucas started to argue but Maya cut him off. "Hey, you said you missed me, so really, you were asking for this."

"Let's just go inside."

So, they went inside. The first thing Maya saw was Farkle lacing RIley's skates. Well, if she wasn't positive about them before, she was sure now. If they weren't dating, they were at least into each other. Riley looked up as soon as Farkle finished, carefully hobbling over to Maya and then throwing her arms around her neck. Maya hadn't realized they were on hugging terms but Riley was warm and she smelled like cinnamon so Maya couldn't complain.

But she couldn't help one little comment. "Your skates laced up good?"

Riley looked down, giggling a little nervously. "Oh, that. Uh, I never lace my boots up tight enough, which always caused me to fall, so, well… Farkle helped me."

It sounded like an excuse which confused Maya. In some ways, Riley was an open book, but then other times, Maya couldn't read her at all.

But the skating was nice. It was summer, so the rink was mostly empty, and Maya was glad. This gave her a chance to wear that sweater that brought out her eyes. (Not that she was trying to impress Riley, of course.) They paired off right away. Riley and Farkle, Maya and Lucas. Which, yeah, obviously.

Maya's eyes couldn't stop drifting towards Riley. She was clinging to Farkle's arm and they were smiling and whispering, heads leaning together. Maya's stomach was doing nosedives. She really wished she didn't feel things so viscerally. Soon, Lucas' hand found hers and she looked up at him in surprise.

"I've almost wiped out in front of a group of middle schoolers three times now."

"Is this your first time ice skating, hopalong?"

"I've been rollerblading! I didn't think it would be that different!" He wobbled a little bit and clutched Maya's arm tighter. "You're gonna have to help me through this."

So, she did a lap with him. Maya couldn't help stealing glances at Riley and Farkle, though. On ice, Riley was strangely… graceful. Every time she caught Maya's eye, she smiled. But when Lucas stumbled so hard he almost took Maya down, too, Maya decided it was time to mess with him a bit. She took his other hand and started skating backwards. Then, slowly, she started to let go.

"Okay, now you're just showing off. Wait, Maya!" She took her hands from his, laughing. "Hey, don't let go. Maya! Maya!" He reached for her, but she dove out of the way, causing him to hit the ice with a loud smack. Groaning, he rolled over onto his back.

In between laughs, she asked, "Are you alright?"

"Oh, sure, act all concerned." He tried to get up, slid again and fell. At this point, Maya was laughing so hard she could barely speak. "Hey," Lucas said, trying to get up and succeeding this time, "it's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

"Your turn," Lucas said, laughing too now and skating towards her with surprising agility. He stopped when he heard Riley fall, though. Maya turned too and the laughter died on her lips when she met Riley's eyes. Riley was looking directly at her. Or more accurately, her and Lucas. Again, Maya couldn't tell what Riley was thinking.

But soon, Farkle was next to her. "Are you okay? Is it your skates?"

"No, I just got distracted for a second." Riley tore her eyes away from Maya's.

After that, Maya skated by herself for a bit, deciding to let Lucas skate alone, too. But it wasn't long until Maya felt a hand slip into hers again. She expected Lucas, but this hand was smaller and more tentative, the fingers curling around hers shyly, like they were asking permission. It was Riley. Maya was hit with the scent of cinnamon again. They didn't talk for a while, which was nice because Maya didn't trust herself to speak right at this moment. They just skated around the rink a few times and she didn't once wonder about Farkle. She just wanted to have this small joy, however long it lasted.

But then her skate caught a slippery patch, sending her crashing to the ice. She didn't let go of Riley's hand soon enough, because the next instant, they were in their usual position. Maya, flat on her back, Riley dangling above her. But this time, Riley didn't apologize. She didn't move either.

"We've gotta stop meeting like this," Riley breathed.

"I'm under you again. You must really like me."

Riley smiled down at her. "Maybe I do."

Riley was still warm, and now Maya was covered with the scent of cinnamon. Maya felt hot and breathless. If she was brave enough, she'd kiss her now. With the glow in Riley's eyes, she might kiss Maya back.

But then there were hands, pulling them apart. Farkle and Lucas.

"Maya, are you okay? That looked really painful."

"You okay, Riley? Anything sprained? You sure your laces are tied tight enough?"

Maya stole a glance at the happy couple. Farkle's hands were on Riley's elbows. Maybe Riley wasn't looking as smitten as Maya remembered. But that was just wishful thinking. She still wanted to kiss Riley so bad she could die. But she was glad she didn't.

(She carried the scent of cinnamon around with her all day.)

Maya and Riley hung out a bunch more times over the next month, but never alone. Riley tripped a lot still, but she didn't land on Maya anymore. Was Maya crazy for wishing she would?

Her stomach still went batshit whenever Riley was around, but with a little distance, it wasn't too bad. She was working in her studio when she got a text from Farkle.

Riley's @ the hospital.

Maya's heart dropped to her feet. She didn't even hesitate. She just went.

She made it to the hospital in record time, only twelve minutes. She ran most of the way. By the time she got there, she was sweaty, out of breath, and half covered in paint. Maya found Farkle in the lobby.

"How is she? Can we see her? What happened?"

Farkle looked at her quizzically. "Didn't you get my text?"

She patted her pockets, realizing she left her phone back at her studio. "No, not the last one."

"Riley's fine. She just took a really nasty spill. Broken wrist and minor concussion."

"Can she take visitors?"

"Well, yeah, but she's pretty hopped up on painkillers."

"What room?"

It only took a minute to get to Riley's room. Maya was so relieved Riley was okay, but she had to see it for herself. She pushed open the door. Riley's face lit up with a big smile. "Hi, honey," Maya said.

"Peaches!" Peaches? That was new. Maya kinda liked it. "I hurt myself."

"I see that, Riles." Maya moved closer to Riley's bed. "I was really worried."

"Were you?" Riley said, her smile dimming a bit.

"Of course I was." Hard to read, even on painkillers.

"Where's Lucas?"

"Lucas? Um… I don't know. I'm sure he's coming." But Maya didn't wanna talk about Lucas. She didn't know what she wanted to talk about.

"I like you so much, Maya," Riley said, suddenly sounding strangely close to tears. When Maya looked up, Riley's eyes were shining. "But you make me sad in my heart."

"What? Riley -"

"And I don't like feeling sad. I just want you to like me."

"I do like you, Riley."

"Not really. Not the way I want you to."

What? What did tht mean? Maybe Maya was wrong about Riley and Farkle. What else could Riley be talking about? And what was that about Lucas? Maya was feeling so many different things, but this wasn't a conversation she wanted to have while Riley was drugged up and concussed.

"Riley, hey -"

"I'm gonna go to sleep now," Riley mumbled. And so, feeling like she got punched in the gut, Maya left.

After that, Maya didn't see Riley for a month. All she got was a text thanking Maya for visiting Riley in the hospital with a heart emoji, which Maya had no clue how to interpret. She wondered if Riley's absence was permanent. She hoped it wasn't, but it seemed like it might be.

She doubted Riley even remembered what she said to Maya, but it was confusing nonetheless. Though it hurt, it was probably better for everyone if they dropped it.

Maya really thought she could do it, too, but then she was out on a walk and she felt a tap on her shoulder - and lo and behold, there was Riley looking as beautiful as ever. Shit. Maya wasn't over her.

"Riles! I mean, Riley… Um, how's your head?"

"Much better." She was wearing a white button down and a brown skirt, and she was nervously tucking strand of hair behind her ear. "But it's been a while, hasn't it?" Riley fell into step with Maya, walking alongside her. Maya wondered how the two of them looked to the rest of the world.

"Yeah, it has been a bit."

They walked in silence for a while. Maya hated how awkward things were now. She couldn't tell exactly where things had gotten screwed up, but she wished she knew so she could fix it.

"Look, Maya," Riley said, finally, "I'm really sorry for what I said at the hospital."

"You remember that?"

"Unfortunately. I get that you're with Lucas and that you're, well, straight, so -"

"What?"

Riley just blinked at her.

"You think I'm straight?"

Riley paused, and Maya stopped walking too. "You're not?"

"I just thought you and Farkle -" "-are just friends."

And just like that, Maya started laughing. Months of pining over the pretty straight girl, only for her to find out the pretty straight girl had been doing the same thing.

"I was so embarrassed! I thought, after the hospital, I'd just let you take the lead, and when you didn't, I figured I blew it."

"God, Riley, I've wanted to kiss you since I first saw you."

"At the ice rink, I was so sure you would."

So, after months of longing for it, Maya closed the gap between them and kissed Riley, soft and sweet and longingly. Then, before she knew it, her back was in the grass.

Laughing into Riley's mouth, she said, "You keep falling." But Riley just beamed down at her.

"Maybe it wasn't an accident this time." And she kissed Maya again.

Maya wasn't thinking of Farkle or Lucas. She could feel the grass tickling her ankles, and there was the scent of the sweet autumn air and cinnamon all over her. In that moment, here was what Maya realized: that maybe she'd been the one falling all along.

#gmw #gmw fanfiction #rilaya #rilaya fanfiction #gmwnet #dppridemonth #maya hart #riley matthews #dana's fics #this fic is basically just: heteronormativity is a bitch #and it is PURE FLUFF #ive never written anything so fluffy jesus christ lmao

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jandjsalmon · 7 years

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Fandom PSA

Okay Buggies. Let's talk about FanArt.

Particularly Bughead FanArt - but more generally ALL fanart.

If you're like me (and I'm pretty sure you are) - there is nothing like seeing a beautiful image of your favourite character or pairing that someone with amazing talent has spent time on perfecting and then sharing with the fandom.

Fanartists (like fic writers) are a freaking gift to every fandom. In our particular fandom - we have a LOT of people willing to share their talents with us. What a total blessing. Love them. They love us too - most of the time.

But I have a question for you though - (and please excuse me as I refer to fic rather than art for a moment) : IF you read a familiar fanfiction that was copied and pasted into another profile and reposted to share it with the rest of the fandom because that user just totally loved it and wanted other people to see it too - would you do something about it? Would you speak up?

I’ve been in this situation. I KNOW that I'd /report/ it at the archive saying that someone was plagiarizing a fic that didn't belong to them. I'd probably write a post about it here - informing my followers that "hey - my friend's fic was copied and someone is trying to pass it off as their own. Help a friend out and report it as well!"

Would my reaction change if someone found my friend's fic but didn't know who it belonged to so they just posted it with a note that said "not mine. let me know if it's yours" ? No! It damn well wouldn't. I’d still be pissed that someone isn’t giving my friend the fic writer the credit for the awesome fic they shared. Even if they didn’t MEAN to steal it - that’s what they’ve done.

Let’s move this analogy back to FanArt.

Even if you just found super cute art on Instagram and you just want to share it with your Tumblr peeps. Here' s a hint about fanart. It's freakishing EASY to find out where it came from to give proper credit. To link back to the original gallery or location where it was updated. It’s SUPER easy to be a decent person.

So let me give you a brief tutorial on how you can properly credit fanart when you share it! (and full disclosure - I got permission from the fanartist in my example to use her as this tutorial because I'm not a complete hypocrite).

I’m gonna slip it under a Keep Reading Cut because it’s image intensive.

(thank you @starlitsummersky for letting me use your art in my tutorial - and thank you to dear @raptorlily for lighting a fire under my butt about this very important issue.)

Let's say I see this super cute picture on Instagram and I want to share it with my tumblr friends.

I want to share this fun bunch of seasonal happiness with my tumblr followers - who I love. But whoops - I don’t know who drew it. What to do?

Oh right! We live in a world with Google. I’m gonna do a reverse image search at Google Images. https://images.google.ca

OOOH look - an actual original posting is just there on the SECOND PAGE. It literally took 0.43 seconds for us to find an official reblog of the artist’s original post. LESS THAN A SECOND, friends!

I admit - some of the other links pulled up for this specific picture weren’t what we wanted. But after clicking a couple times, it’s pretty easy to find links with credit. In fact - the very very first listing I highlighted above didn’t have a reblog of the original - but it had a link to Brit’s Instagram page and with merely a few minutes of research I could then either reblog from the page the original artist posted it, link back to their gallery (which happens sometimes when the artist only has a DA page for example) or at the VERY LEAST attach a link to credit it with the artist’s name. amazing (”art by @starlitsummersky” or “Look at this art - I love it by @dollihaze”)

It’s that simple, Buggies. Let’s show respect to our FanArtists. We love them and we want them to keep providing us with content - so please please make sure to credit them.

ALSO - if this nifty tool doesn’t work... then maybe rethink sharing it. I KNOW we live in a world where we want constant validation and if we can be the first person to share something no one else has seen then we’re a hero (anyone who follows my blog knows how I am with Insta pictures of Dylan - I LOVE being a hero) - BUT when it’s fanart - and you can’t find the artist to credit - please think twice about sharing it. It’s plagiarizing in the purest sense of the word. It’s taking credit from the content creator and while you’re a hero for a brief moment - you’re a thief forever. Just don’t.

Thanks!

<3 Jandy

#fandom psa #bughead #bughead fandom #bughead fanart #fanart #we don't have to be specific #this is a problem in all fandoms #tutorial how to find and credit fanartists

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bellemareyouserious · 7 years

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Knock, Knock (Pt. 2)

Knock, Knock (Pt. 2)- Leon Draisaitl (Pt. 1, here)

Description: You and Leon have been friends with benefits for awhile, but you hate each other. Or, so you think. Meaningless sex has always been your thing, but maybe a change of pace would be best for the both of you.

Requested?: Yes (Anonymous asked: Part Two for Leon ??? 🙈)

Warnings: Smut, swearing, alcohol mention

Word Count: 2,011

Author’s Note: Hiiii babes, 2 anons requested a part 2 for Knock, Knock, so here it is! It’s pretty smutty, so beware. I do have a queue but requests are OPEN! I love you guys thanks for making me feel like I’m actually a good writer😭😭😭

It had been 3 months since you and Leon first had sex. 3 months of “friends with benefits” although you weren’t friends in the least, you still hated each other. You were just two people who loved sleeping together. Nothing else.

Only, you were starting to catch feelings for him. Whenever you had sex he was so sweet and patient with you. Everywhere else, though, he was a total dick. You both agreed to keep his teammates out of the loop (except Connor, of course. He literally heard you having sex for the first time). It was for the better that you pretended to hate each other in front of everyone, just like it had always been.

One night, there was a party at Patrick Maroon’s house for the team and friends. You were obviously invited, so Connor offered to be your designated driver for the night. You were dancing around in your room getting ready, finding the sluttiest outfit you could. You knew you had to look sexy in front of Leon, maybe get a little reaction from him. He was so oblivious to your feelings. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

You put the finishing touches on your hair and makeup, slip some high heels on, and walk out of your bedroom. Connor looks you up and down while wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Damn, y/n, trying to get laid tonight?” he laughs. You roll your eyes and punch him in the arm.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Let’s get going.”

Connor walks you up to the door of Pat’s house holding your arm. As soon as you get in the door, a few people do a double take at you. Milan whistles from behind the bar and runs over to give you a twirling hug. You can’t help but laugh at him, always putting you in a good mood. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Leon sipping on whiskey and rolling his eyes. He looks obnoxiously annoyed that everyone is making a big deal out of you.

It’s now 12:43 am, and the party is entertaining to say the least. A group of people are playing “truth or dare,” another group playing strip poker, and some even playing 7 minutes in heaven. It’s the most middle school thing you’ve ever seen, and it’s hilarious. You and Connor are sitting in the corner observing everyone’s rambunctious, drunken behavior. You look to your left where everyone is playing 7 minutes in heaven, and see Leon looking immensely bored. That is, until Milan waves you and Connor over to play with them. At first you refuse, but Milan is begging you guys to go play, so you give in while Connor just laughs and says, “I’m gonna sit this one out.”

Since you were the last one to join the game, Milan insists that you spin the bottle first to see who you go to “heaven” with. You glance at Leon, who has hopeful eyes, and spin the bottle. It lands one person to the right of him, the one and only Ryan Nugent Hopkins. You look up at Leon once again, and he’s chugging his drink, then glares down at Ryan. You’re the only one that saw the exchange, but he doesn’t notice. There’s tons of whooping and hollering from the peanut gallery. Ryan gets up and takes your hand, leading you to the closet. You can hear everybody still cheering while you enter the closet with him.

“You look…amazing tonight, y/n,” Ryan whispers as he closes the door. You can’t help but blush, Ryan is adorable and you’ve always thought so.

“Thanks, Ry,” you say to him, “This is so stupid, you know that?” you laugh and he laughs with you, agreeing.

“Super middle school, right?” he chuckles. “Well, should we at least give them something to talk about?” he asks while moving closer to you.

“We should,” you breathe as you raise your eyebrows at him. He grabs your waist and slowly pulls you to him, looking down at your lips and back up to your eyes. You lean in and place a soft kiss on his lips, different from Leon’s, but still beautiful. You start to kiss him more, your hands going into his hair while his find your face. Your breathing becomes heavy, panting in between kisses when there’s a pounding on the door.

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” Milan yells to you. You look up at Ryan and smile, and he blushes. You both try to look untouched as you walk out to a crowded room cheering you both. You search the room but can’t find Leon anywhere. Your eyes find Connor’s, and he subtly motions up the stairs, and you send him a grateful nod.

“I’ll be right back, guys,” you say quietly.

You make your way up the stairs, trying not to direct attention your way. You almost reach the bathroom when you feel strong hands grab your shoulders and spin you around into the wall. You gasp audibly and see Leon, intoxicated, standing in front of you. You could smell the whiskey on his breath while he looks at you with puppy dog eyes.

“Leon? Are you okay?” you ask, holding him up.

“What the fuck was that, y/n? Don’t you know that you’re mine?” he begins kissing you sloppily, tongue all over the place, grabbing at any skin he can find. You kiss back but quickly pull away to question him.

“What the hell do you mean, Leon? We aren’t dating! I’m allowed to kiss other guys if I want to!” you whisper yell at him.

“The fuck you are. Come on.” He grabs your hand and leads you into a bedroom and sits you down on the bed. He closes the door as quietly as he can and starts pacing, running his fingers through his hair. He looks right into your eyes and speaks slowly, “You’re mine, ok? Not Ryan’s, not Connor’s, mine.”

“Where is all this coming from, Leon? You’re drunk. We’re just fuck buddies, that’s all,” you explain to him, even though you’d love to hear sober him speaking those words.

“Y/n, I’m serious. This isn’t the whiskey speaking, this is me telling you that I want you all to myself. Mine. No sharing. Just me and you. I've been trying to push all of these feelings back but I just can’t. I’m so infatuated with you,” he continues, walking towards you, lifting your legs around his waist and pushing you up against the door. “With your lips,” he says and kisses you teasingly then looks you in the eyes, “your beautiful eyes, just you. I can’t stop thinking about you, baby girl.”

Your breath hitches in your throat when he calls you baby girl. You look down to his delicious lips and lick yours, attaching them quickly. He kisses you with such desperation you think you might explode. You can feel your heart racing, you never thought he would reciprocate the feelings you had for him. He breaks the kiss to walk over to the bed and lay you down, quickly climbing on top of you.

His lips assault your neck with kisses and bites, sucking a hickey into your skin. He whispers right in your ear, “Now everybody will know you’re mine.” You can’t help but smile at the thought of being his.

“Do you think anyone else could affect you the way I do? Ryan? Connor?” he breathes as he reaches down to feel you over your panties, which are drenched. You feel a blush creep up on your face and shake your head no. He smiles into your neck and makes more hickeys on your soft skin. You’re a shaking mess under him, feeling butterflies in your stomach like the first time you had sex.

He starts kissing down your body, taking off your dress as he goes. He looks at your chest in amazement and starts massaging them while kissing them softly. He continues his wet kisses down your body until he gets to your panties. He takes a finger and pulls them off of your body while kissing down your thighs.

“You think anyone could eat you the way I do, babe? The way I make you moan and shake…the way you drip down my chin when you finally release…the way your legs lock around my neck when you’re close…” his hot breath fans you while he’s talking, only giving you more anticipation. Leon suddenly licks you up and down, making you moan loud. He starts licking your clit with his hot tongue, up and down, back and forth, leaving you seeing stars. He continues his attack on you, eating you with such fervor yet patience. His slow licks on your clit give you goose bumps. He licks into you, darting in and out until you can’t think of anything but his tongue. Your legs start to shake, orgasm nearing quickly. He suddenly pulls away, kissing back up to your mouth. You can taste yourself on him.

He looks at you with the most adoration you’ve ever seen before. You can’t believe he actually means all of this, it isn’t just mindless sex anymore.

“Leon,” you breathe, “I’m yours, ok? All yours.”

He smiles before taking his shirt off, “I know, sweetheart. And I’m yours.”

He starts kissing you sweetly as you reach for his belt buckle and strip him of his pants and underwear. Suddenly he looks even more beautiful than before; body glowing, eyes sparkling, sweat glistening. You were looking at him through new heart shaped eyes.

You put your hands on his waist and drag them down to his growing erection. He breathes in heavily when you finally touch it, pulling on it a few times.

“Do you have any condoms?” he asks you quietly.

“No, but you don’t need one, Leon.”

“Are you sure, baby?” he sounds hesitant, but looks to you for reassurance.

“I’m only yours, right?” you smile and he nods.

You help him guide you to your entrance while he hovers over you. He pushes in the smallest amount, letting you adjust to him. You can’t help but moan at the feeling of him inside you. He slowly pushes into you all the way, both of you letting out breaths you didn’t know you were holding. It’s such a new feeling for both of you and you both giggle, taking a moment to get used to it. He leans down to kiss you, licking your lips before entering your mouth. He slowly pulls out of you and glides back in, warmth spreading through your whole body.

Your hands find Leon’s chest, roaming and scratching every inch. His cock starts moving in and out of you a little faster, making you moan out his name and sweet nothings. His hands move down to your waist, gripping his nails into your skin making you hiss. He moves his mouth to your neck, licking and biting while quickening his pace in you once again. He whispers in your ear, “I’m so close baby girl, come with me.”

He thrusts in and out of you while his lips continue ravaging your neck. You can feel everything going blurry, muscles clenching in pleasure. A few thrusts later and you’re coming undone around him.

“Yes, Leon!” you moaned loudly as you felt his thrusts get faster and sloppier.

“Y/n…” he breathes out in your ear, slowing and cumming inside of you. You couldn’t help but moan at him saying your name while spilling in you. He pulls out of you and lays next you, rubbing circles on your hip.

“So we’re really doing this?” he asks you.

“We’re really doing this, Leon,” you reply simply, intertwining your hands together. You both look down at your hands and back up at each other, smiling from ear to ear. “What are gonna tell everyone downstairs?”

“I think they’ll know what’s going on,” he laughed and laid his head on your shoulder. You couldn’t wait to start this new journey with him.

#leon draisaitl #leon draisaitl smut #nhl imagines #nhl smut #requested #edmonton oilers #knock knock pt 2

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hannahindie · 7 years

Text

In the End

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Chuck (narrator) Word Count: 4,111 (My hands slipped...whoops) Warnings: Blood, description of injury, being trapped, foul language A/N: I wrote this for @mamaredd123‘s 100 quotes challenge! I had a lot of fun writing Chuck, and his quote is in bold within the fic. Congratulations, mama!

Beta’d by my lovely @pinknerdpanda! “ I'm shook. SHOOK i tell ya! Love this part.”

As usual, tags are at the bottom! If you would like to be tagged, please let me know.

Overview: Chuck decides to tell the story of the reader and how important she is to Dean. Meanwhile, the reader takes off on her own without telling Dean where she was going and bites off more than she can chew.

Endings are hard…but you know, I’m getting ahead of myself. I should really start at the beginning. Not the beginning beginning...that would take far too long, and honestly it has nothing to do with now. What we’re talking about is the beginning of Y/N and the Winchesters. Out of all the relationships they have developed over the years, the one they had with her was one of the most important. They had gone through a lot together; they had lost so much, and almost lost each other, but they always, always prevailed. Of course, being God I’ve had a front row seat to most of it but today...today I’m going to stick with Y/N. It’s important to stick around for the beginning and the ending to a story.

Dust. The smell of rotten wood. Damp earth. Y/N couldn’t remember where she was, the last fuzzy memory she had was of being somewhere well lit, wind blowing through open windows and smooth leather under her fingertips.

The Impala. The last place she remembered was being in the backseat of the Impala on her way...to...somewhere. That memory seemed far away though, and didn't explain why she was where she was now.

The next thing she noticed was pain; blinding, fiery pain that swept through her torso and into what felt like every bone in her right side. She shifted slightly, biting back a scream as even the smallest movement sent agony coursing through her. She dug her fingers into the cool, soft dirt she was laying on as she attempted to calm herself down enough to inventory all the injuries she had.

She took a deep breath, her eyes still shut, and slowly moved one hand up and towards the main source of pain. She noticed that everything seemed fine as she ran her hand from her upper thigh to her hip, but as she traveled towards her rib cage, her hand brushed against a sharp, splintery shard of wood. As soon as she made contact with it, she screamed. If she thought it hurt before, nothing compared to the white hot agony that streaked through her ribs and into her chest. She took another deep breath and tried to brace herself for what she was about to see.

She lifted her head as much as she could without jostling herself any more than necessary and slowly opened her eyes. A large chunk of wood, about a foot long and four inches wide, had gone through her side and under her ribs. A quick check told her that it also protruded slightly out of her back, and she groaned as she dropped her head back onto the ground. She'd been in some pretty bad situations, but she was pretty sure this took the cake. She wondered if Sam and Dean even knew where she was. She closed her eyes and tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to come.

How the hell did she even get here?

By all accounts, had Y/N had a normal life growing up, she probably wouldn't have found herself here. Not saying she would have had a white picket fence kind of life, but she probably wouldn't have found herself in a dark cellar, impaled on a piece of wood while running from a vampire.

But she didn't. She grew up traveling the country with her parents, much like the Winchesters, and had been lovingly deposited at both Bobby’s and Pastor Jim’s on various occasions. It was during one of those instances that Y/N met Sam and Dean.

They did not get along.

They would not get along for much of their younger lives; Y/N and Sam were fine but her and Dean...they butted heads constantly. One time they fought so hard, Bobby had to take a water hose to them to make them stop. Later, he'd had to use the hose on them for a completely different reason that I don't want to go into detail about. Let's just say, they started to get along.

The long and short of it was that, no matter how long it had been, when Y/N and Dean saw each other again, they always fell back in step as though no time had passed. Which was why, when her parents died in a car accident (a heck of a way for hunters to go out. Sometimes I like to cut ‘em some slack), Y/N had looked for Dean and Sam, which in turn...brought us here.

Despite the pain in her side and the overwhelming urge to just lay on the cool ground, Y/N forced herself to roll to her uninjured side and onto her hands and knees. Her stomach roiled and threatened to rebel against her as she struggled to keep her balance. Her vision began to fade around the edges and she prayed that she wouldn’t pass out; all she needed was to land on the piece of wood just the wrong way. After a moment, the feeling passed and she chanced a quick glance around the room to see if she could use anything to stand up. There was a thick wooden beam to her left that still seemed fairly stable, so she slowly crawled across the dirt floor, grimacing as small pieces of stone and broken glass dug into her palms and knees.

She took a deep breath, gripped the beam as tightly as she could, and slowly pulled herself up from the ground, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood as she bit back another scream. Once she was standing upright, she leaned against the rough wood, ignoring the splinters dimpling the soft flesh of her cheek, and struggled to catch her breath. Bits and pieces of how she got here were starting to come back to her, and she realized that she’d rather just deal with the task at hand than deal with the idiotic decision that led her here. She dug her hand around in her pocket and pulled out her phone. Though the screen was cracked, everything else seemed to be in working order, so she turned the flashlight on and risked taking another look at her side. From this angle it was hard to see much because her flannel was in the way, but she could still see where the wooden shard came out on both sides. There wasn’t as much blood as she would have thought there’d be, but she knew that the wood was probably keeping most of it in. “I’m not a doctor...but that looks pretty bad, kiddo. Like, ‘You’ve got some internal bleeding that’s going to get exponentially worse when you pull that out’ bad,” she thought to herself.

She flipped the phone back around and checked her signal. Nothing. Not even a single bar that would give her the slightest chance to get in touch with Dean and Sam. She looked around the dark, damp space and located where she had apparently gone wrong. The remains of what used to be a staircase clung precariously just below the door she had ran through, but was too high up for her to easily reach it. She swept her gaze across the small room and noticed a small window about eight feet off the ground. Not too high, but in her current condition, it would take some work to get to.

There was a large desk and a few small crates she could use to get to it, but she realized that none of it would matter if she didn't get the wooden shard out of her side. She wasn't sure what was more dangerous; leaving it there and catching it on something while she was moving stuff around or pulling it out and possibly bleeding out where she stood. It was time to make a decision, and Y/N was pretty sure it would be a lose/lose situation.

When Y/N finally found the Winchesters again, it had been during a time of her life when she’d felt the most alone. Her parents were gone, Bobby was gone, Pastor Jim was gone...but she heard rumors that Sam and Dean were still roaming around, and had decided to follow the whispers. Her boys...she’d been desperate to find them, and the moment she first saw Dean again, her heart had nearly jumped in her throat. He was still her Dean...sunkissed and freckled, his green eyes bright in the afternoon light. But there was something different about him, a hard edge that wasn’t there before; an exhaustion that had been nothing but a mere shadow when they were younger. She had wanted to reach out and smooth the worry lines from his forehead and kiss the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He was Dean, as handsome as ever and even more of a smart ass, but he also seemed infinitely older. It was as if the weight of the world was literally on his shoulders.

I guess in a way it was. I can't say I was ever gentle with the Winchesters, and it showed. ...I need to make a note to apologize to them for that...anyway, Y/N coming back to them had been the best thing that could have happened to either of them, especially Dean. Why she'd left to start with had become fuzzy for both of them. It didn't really matter anymore, and the important thing was that they were together. The three of them were inseparable yet again, and Y/N had come to realize just how much she loved and needed Dean.

Dean had taken more convincing. Don't misunderstand, it wasn't that Dean didn't love Y/N. No, no, it wasn't that at all. It was that Dean didn't think he deserved her, which is truly a classic Winchester trait.

And before you say anything, I know...I'm God, I made them that way, it's my fault. Well, until you yourself are a god, maybe keep your comments to yourself, peanut gallery.

Anyway, it took some convincing, but Y/N managed to convince Dean that he was good enough. And the rest, up until this point, was history.

As per usual, though, emotions had run wild. I don't want to jump ahead...maybe I should let Y/N explain it herself, I wasn't really paying attention to most of it.

What? Don't look at me like that, even if I can see and hear everything doesn't mean I want to.

Now, back to the story…

Y/N looked down at her side again as she contemplated how she was going to do this now that she'd decided to remove the piece of wood. She was going against her better judgement, but it had become pretty evident that she wasn't going to be able to move around well when she'd tried stepping away from the beam. Just walking was torture, and although removing a giant splinter that may or may not be holding her organs in place may have been a bad idea, if she didn't pull it out she would likely die where she was anyway.

She gently probed the wood, ever so slightly running her fingers down the length to check which way the grain was going. Pulling it out was going to hurt, but if she pulled it from the wrong direction she was going to have a whole new set of problems. The next problem she encountered was that the wood had not only gone through her side, but also her shirt. She carefully slipped both arms out of the flannel, then tore the sleeve off the side opposite the wood. She was going to have to be quick if she was going to even remotely try to staunch the blood flow once she pulled it out. She wrapped both hands around the front end of the splinter, and for a brief moment, Dean’s face flashed in front of her face. “I guess that’s what they mean by your life flashing before your eyes”, she thought to herself, then braced herself and pulled. The sound that left her was inhuman, and for an agonizingly long minute, she thought she was going to pass out. She sucked in air in hitching breaths, unable to control the sobs that were escaping her, and let the now bloody shard of wood roll out of her hands and onto the floor. She hurriedly shoved the torn shirt into the hole now in her side and let loose another almost primal scream.

“It’s okay, it’s okay...it’s out, it’s gone, now I just have to climb out of that window. It’s okay, it’s okay,” she repeated it like a mantra as she tore another strip off of her shirt, folded the large piece into a thick square, then tied it in place with the smaller strip. Her hands were slick with blood and it took her three tries before she was able to get it tight enough to stay. She leaned heavily against the beam and tilted her head back, her eyes shut. She shouldn’t even be here. If she had just let Dean explain himself before getting in a huff and storming off, trying to prove something she didn’t have to prove, she wouldn’t be in a dark basement, bloody and alone. She didn’t even manage to get the vampire she had gone after, and to top it off, she was pretty sure Sam and Dean didn’t know where she went.

She took a deep breath and tried to force the image of Dean out of her mind so she could concentrate on getting out of the basement. She slowly began to make her way to the desk, each step more excruciating than the last. By the time she reached it, sweat was pouring down her face and her vision was beginning to blur. A shiver passed through her as her hand traveled slowly to the soaked through makeshift bandage. With nowhere else to go, the blood had begun to drip down her side, and she grimaced at the warm, sticky tracks it left as it began to soak into the waistband of her jeans. “Dammit…” she whispered into the darkness.

She shuffled around to the far end of the desk. She would need to push it about five feet to the left and then a couple feet back to even remotely have a chance of reaching the window. She braced herself against the worn edge of the desk and pushed as hard as she could. Her still bloody hands slipped but she caught herself and pushed against the desk again. This time, it moved with a groan and she felt like cheering. She pushed again, and the desk shifted another few inches. The room began to spin, and Y/N stopped, her hands flat on the desktop, and tried to collect herself. Sweat rolled into her eye and she swore under her breath as it stung, blurring her vision more than it already was.

“Listen, God, I don't ask for a whole lot. Truthfully, I probably don’t deserve much...I cuss like a sailor, I drink too much, I have had way too many one night stands for it to be healthy, sometimes I sneak cigarettes when Sam and Dean aren’t paying attention, and let’s be real honest...the codependency between me and Dean is as bad if not worse than him and Sam. But I do some good...I help people, and I don’t really expect anything for it. I just...I need outta here, okay? Even if it’s meant for me to die, please don’t let me die alone in this basement. I can’t go out that way, okay? Help a girl out a little, just this once.”

She mustered all the strength she could and shoved one final time. The desk scraped across the floor, gouging tracks along the dirt as it went, before it hit the wall with a resounding thud. Y/N stood and looked at it with wide eyes, unsure how she got it to move that far that quickly, but decided not to question it. A quick glance at the distance between the desk and the window confirmed that it was still a little too high to reach, but she thought that if she used one of the crates, she could probably bust out the window and make it out. She turned to retrieve the crate she had seen earlier and a sharp twinge of pain doubled her over, and a fresh river of blood rushed down her side. Her knees buckled and she hit the floor with a bone rattling thud. For a moment she thought she might stay conscious, but everything began to fade to gray before her eyes rolled back and everything turned black. The last thing she felt was the cold dirt against her cheek as unconsciousness took over.

Okay, so this doesn’t look great for Y/N, and she didn’t really explain what happened with her and Dean. In the end, I guess that part doesn��t matter as much, but it is why she ended up here so….maybe we should recap.

It started with Dean not letting Y/N go with them to what they thought was the vamp nest. She had told him three separate times that he and Sam were going to go the wrong way, but every time Dean had been adamant that they were right, and that she would absolutely not be going with them. As if that hadn’t been bad enough, when they’d come home empty handed and irritable, Dean had insisted they all go to the bar. Sam had told Y/N that they had heard one of the newer vampires hung out at that bar, and they figured they could get some information. It turned out that the vampire that they were looking for was a female, and that instead of just letting Sam handle it, Dean had waltzed over and laid on the Winchester charm.

Y/N had stormed out, and on the way back to the hotel, had had an epiphany. She knew where the nest was. And without giving Sam time to catch up with her, she’d hotwired a car and took off in the direction she believed their nest to be in. She’d been ignoring their calls and text messages the rest of the evening, and Dean had become furious. Sam had insisted they go after her, but in a moment of very un-Dean like behavior, Dean had refused. And Sam, against his better judgement, had stayed back with his brother. But as time passed and minutes turned into hours, Dean’s anger turned into worry.

“Track her phone,” Dean had demanded.

“What?” Sam had looked up from his computer where he was researching locations the vampires could be holed up in confusion.

“Track her damn phone, Sammy.”

So Sam did. And when the coordinates for her location also matched the coordinates that Sam had found for an abandoned house that had been in the center of several murder scenes, Dean’s stomach had dropped. He hadn't listened to her and his mistake had put her in danger.

“I'm sorry, Dean, I don't know how I missed this-”

“It doesn't matter now. Get your ass to the car,” he had grumbled and Sam had scrambled after him.

And this is where Y/N’s fate was in the air. Sam and Dean had broken multiple traffic laws to get to the house. Now it was just a matter of if they had arrived on time.

A groan slipped from Y/N as she began to stir. The sound of footsteps echoing to her left threw her into a panic, but she didn't have the energy to do more than shift slightly away from the sound.

“Y/N! Where are you?” She lifted her head at the sound of Sam’s voice, excitement replacing her anxiety. They'd found her. She tried to answer, but she was so tired. She let her head drop back to the ground and waited for him to get closer. “Y/N! Are you down there-oh shit!” The footsteps stopped abruptly as Sam slid to a halt at the top of the collapsed steps. “Dean, the stairs are gone!”

“Do you see her?” Dean's voice, though further away, resonated in Y/N’s ears. He'd come for her. She made a mental note to thank the man for his perseverance.

“No...but...Jesus, there's a lot of blood down there, Dean.”

Y/N looked up towards the door and saw Sam and Dean standing next to each other in the open doorway.

“That's a big drop, Sam. How are we going to get down there?”

“I don't know. Looks like there might be a window over there. Do you think she's here?”

“I don't know...but if that's her blood, she's in trouble. We've gotta get down there.” Dean leaned out over the broken landing to see if he could make the jump down without hurting himself. The remains of the staircase made it too dangerous for him to try and he cursed under his breath. “We’re going to have go outside and break that window to get in.”

Y/N felt the panic begin to spread through her again at the thought of Dean leaving her, even for a moment. “Dean!” She attempted to shout, but it came out a hoarse croak. “Dean!”

“Dude, did you hear that?” Dean squinted into the darkness.

“No...what?”

“Shhh! Listen…”

“Dean! Sam!” It was quiet, but Dean recognized the voice.

“She's down there! Y/N, we’re coming! We have to go in through the window, okay? I'll be right there, hold on!”

Y/N felt a tear roll down her cheek as Sam and Dean’s footsteps slowly faded as they ran to go around to the basement window. She wasn't sure if it was because she was relieved they were there, because she'd lost sight of Dean, or if it was from the pain that had taken over every other sense. She was so tired.

She rolled her head to the side and saw two large shadows cross in front of it and smiled. Dean had found her. Everything else seemed so silly now.

“Y/N, we’re coming, sweetheart, hang in there! We just have to bust in this window.”

“Okay…” she whispered, and let her eyes slip shut slowly. She heard a dull thud and Dean’s muffled son of a bitch, and couldn't help but chuckle. If she could just hang on a few more minutes, she'd be fine. Dean was going to save her. She heard another thud and looked back up at the window.

“Sam, why is it not breaking?!”

“I don't know! Maybe they used safety glass instead of regular glass.”

“Why the fuck would someone do that in a normal, run of the mill house?”

“I don't freaking know!”

Y/N frowned as the window began to get fuzzy, and she noticed how cold she was. Dean should have been inside by now. Her eyelids slipped shut, and the last thing she heard was the delicate tinkling sound of glass as it shattered, pieces of it raining down on the desk below.

Well, that's it.

That's the end.

What's that?

Oh, you want to know what happened? Now see, I told you when this started that I was sticking with Y/N, and her part of the story is done.

Come on, don't be upset with me. No doubt - endings are hard. But then again… nothing ever really ends, does it?

Listen, the point of this story was not about how it ended, not really. It was more about how life with the Winchesters seemed to welcome this...you could say…”destructive chaos”. Especially when you're an important part of their lives. The more important you are, the closer to the storm…or whatever. But it's not their fault.

Wait, no, don't you go pointing fingers at me. I didn't have a choice. With great power comes great responsibility.

...Is that from Spider-Man? Doesn't really matter since I'm the reason Spider-Man exists anyway, so...there's that.

Anyway...that's it. I guess you'll have to stick around and see if Dean ever decides to tell his side of it.

….You're still here. I don't have anything else. That's it, that's the story. So unless you would like a rousing rendition of Hallelujah, I just learned it on guitar, then there's nothing else. Go. Go on. Go do whatever it is humans do, okay? Just don't murder anyone.

Forever Tags: @trexrambling @pinknerdpanda @wheresthekillswitch @emilywritesaboutdean @arryn-nyxx @emptywithout @escabell @charliebradbury1104 @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @deanssweetheart23 @canadianjelly @super-not-naturall @aubreyreadsstuff @dean-winchesters-baby @melissaj616 @fandomismyspiritanimal @keepcalmandcarryondean @assbutt-still-in-hell @owllover123 @rosie-winchester @amionthetumbler @duubaduu @hiimaprofessionalfangirl @goldenolaf25 @authoressskr @nanie5 @mrssamfuckingwinchester @zincomms @kathaswings @crazynerdandproud @barbedwireandbubblegum @sandlee44 @boxywrites @justanotherdeangirl @smalltowndivaj @captainradicalpassion

Dean Only: @lavieenlex @highonpastries @akshi8278 @valkyrieslament

#mama's100quotechallenge #supernatural fanfiction #chuck shurley #dean winchester #sam winchester #reader insert

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star-trekkin-across-theuniverse · 7 years

Text

Word Count: 1205 Author’s Note: tagging @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 and @outside-the-government, @jimfromsales, @donnaintx (if you want tagged, let me know)

Part 1 Part 2

“You look pale, Richmond. Are you nervous?” Romanoff eyed me suspiciously. I rolled my eyes and laughed.

“Not in the least. I don’t get nervous.”

“Really?” She turned to face me full on and assessed me carefully.

“Really. It’s just another competition. It’s not like I’m being assessed to be a field agent. It’s not like my country’s pride is on the line if I lose. It’s just you, messing with your friend, and using me as the means. As long as you’re okay that I may not win,” I shrugged. She smirked.

“The mindfuck has been the best part of this. Because he doesn’t know if he’s going to win or not. That said, there are a lot of wagers now.”

“I’ve heard. I think the odds on me are 10 to 1,” I nodded, and waxed my bowstring.

“You’re okay with the crowd that’ll be watching then?” Romanoff narrowed her eyes, almost disbelieving my calm.

“Agent Romanoff, I am not a field agent. I am a nurse. A trauma nurse. Sure, I have a background in Olympic sport, but I’m certainly not one of you guys. I’m just a woman with a bow. If Barton can’t beat me, I’d be surprised, but you know, archery is such that on any given day, any individual can win. Maybe my concentration will be better than his. Maybe my bow is in need of tuning. Who knows. But I got over being nervous in competition when I was a kid. And quite frankly, it’s significantly more nerve wracking to have your Prime Minister watching you shoot for your country than have the likes of Iron Man looking over the proceedings.”

“Prime Minister?” She looked confused. I pulled up my sleeve and showed her my national team tattoo.

“I’m Canadian,” I shrugged and pulled my sleeve back down. It shouldn’t have been surprising to her that SHIELD recruited outside of the United States considering her background, but she seemed surprised nonetheless. Maybe because I wasn’t an agent.

The viewing gallery of the range was full to capacity with agents who wanted to see how the contest panned out. From what I’d heard over the past few days, there was a lot of beer riding on the outcome. I’d even heard of a couple of guys who’d bet their vacation time.

I wanted to avoid looking, but I had to know how many people I knew who were watching. There had to be at least 50 crammed in the gallery. I saw Agent Jackson talking to the infirmary doctor. They both waved and smiled. Jackson gave me a wink and thumbs up, and then pointed over his shoulder to where Tony Stark was sitting, chatting with Agent Coulson. Why Stark was even on the helicarrier was beyond me. In the back corner of the gallery, Captain Rogers had slipped in. No one really noticed him though, as very few people were even aware of who he was. Most of the other agents looked familiar in some way. After six months on the helicarrier, that was no real surprise. I’d probably given half of them tetanus shots after the incident in New Mexico with the hammer and the giant space robot.

Barton stepped over to me, and offered his hand. I shook it and smiled.

“Good luck, Agent Barton.”

“Don’t need it,” he winked. His confidence was evident in everything about him, the squared shoulders, the smug grin, even the way he walked. He was certain of his victory. The ego that he displayed struck a nerve, and for the first time in years, I really wanted this victory. I smiled with just as much arrogance as I took my place on the line beside him.

“Actually, Agent Barton, you do.” We stood back to back waiting for the signal to begin, and I wondered how long it had been since he’d shot in a competition. In my experience, it unsettled most competitors that I was left-handed because it threw off what they saw in their peripheral vision, but Barton wasn’t target shooting at an indoor range regularly enough for that to be to my advantage, I didn’t think.

The light at the end of the range turned green, signaling that we could begin shooting. I took my time, got comfortable and spaced my arrows out, taking time to breathe and refocus between them. Barton proved he was unused to the range by sending off his volley of arrows in rapid succession, as though the target was suddenly going to shoot back if he didn’t kill it. We waited for the targets to be scored, and our arrows to be retrieved, and again loosed our shots down range. We repeated the process 8 more times, until all 10 ends had been shot. I noticed that Barton never once asked what his score was. I was the same way. I had a fairly good idea of how I’d been shooting, but I never liked hearing the score until the end, otherwise I would worry too much about making up lost ground. He was obviously cut from the same cloth. Or just that much more confident in his shooting.

When our final arrows were shot, I laid my bow down and stretched. My shoulders were tight and the muscles in my back were aching. My left shoulder in particular was absolutely killing me, reminding me of why I’d quit shooting in the first place. Romanoff stood beside the agent who’d been scoring us, reading over his shoulder and suddenly let out a whoop of surprise.

“Richmond! You won!” She laughed. I was mid-stretch and stopped dead in my tracks. The previously silent gallery erupted in noise, as people started collecting their winnings from one another. I saw Jackson collect from the doctor, laughing and watched as Tony Stark held out his hand to collect what appeared to be a bottle of scotch from Coulson. I looked back at Barton in shock, honestly not registering what Romanoff had said. He looked equally surprised. He reached into his quiver, pulled out an arrow and handed it to me.

“Congrats. It a shame you’ll be stuck in the infirmary for your whole career. You’d be a good asset,” he offered. I took the arrow and offered him one of my own.

“I’m much more use in the infirmary. I don’t know that I would be able to hit a moving target anymore.”

“Maybe there’s a rematch in that,” he laughed, and slapped my bad shoulder, eliciting a wince and yelp of pain. His eyes widened, and he snatched his hand back.

“I was originally recruited as a field agent, Barton. When I blew out my shoulder, the agency paid for med school.” Not many people knew that about me, but I figured his ego was hurting and it would help for him to know I was recruited because of my ability to shoot a weapon.

“But you’re a nurse.”

“Yeah. Circumstances changed. Nursing became the option,” I shrugged. He didn’t really need to know the whys of the situation in order for the knowledge to be a balm for his beat-up ego.

“You must have some incredible backstory.”

“Don’t we all?” I laughed.

#avengers fanfic #Steve Rogers x OFC

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