#and next week I’ll do it again for my chipped tooth

[fire-rose]

So, how’s everyone’s morning going 🙃

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

10 mg of Truth

Cas approached Dean’s hospital room with a mixture of trepidation and misery pulling on his heartstrings. On the one hand, he was incredibly relieved that Dean was alive and would make a full recovery. On the other hand, Dean was in a lot of pain, and Cas knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. He’d depleted his grace saving the hunter from those five rabid demons who’d tossed him about like a football. For the time being, there was no juice left in him to heal the numerous fractures Dean had suffered, and it would be hard to have to watch him heal the old-fashioned, painful way.

Cas steeled himself before knocking softly on the door and entering Dean’s room.

He was awake - or as awake as someone on a high dose of morphine could be. Drowsy green eyes blinked at Cas from a face mottled with bruises. Dean’s right leg was in a heavy cast, his left arm immobilized in a sling to protect his broken collarbone. The thin hospital gown, Cas knew, was hiding a spectacular swath of bruising across Dean’s fractured ribs.

“Hey,” Cas greeted him softly.

“Hey…” A loopy smile tugged on Dean’s split lip when he recognized his visitor. He blinked again, as if those long, thick lashes of his were too heavy to keep his eyes open.

Cas’ heart did a sweet, painful little flip. He stood awkwardly by the side of the bed.

“How are you, Dean?”

That was what one asked a recuperating human, right?

Dean lazily clucked his tongue. “Peachy. Good as new in a few weeks. Hell, better than new!” He nodded at his leg. “They put hardware into me. I’ll be friggin’ Robocop!” He grinned, revealing his somehow adorably chipped front tooth.

Surprised, Cas couldn’t help but smile. He’d expected an angry, impatient Dean in a get-me-out-of-here temper. He’d expected a clenched jaw and the white-knuckled denial of pain. He’d expected the classic Winchester bravado on full display.

What he hadn’t expected was cheerful, drugged-to-the-gills charisma, and it was making him a little dizzy.

“I’m sorry that I can’t speed up your recovery,” he said, remembering his earlier woe. “At least not yet. I hope my grace refuels swiftly, so that, when we have you home–”

“Nah,” Dean interrupted him, flapping his good hand. “Don’t worry about it, Cas. You saved my ass. At least most of it.” He shifted with a goofy, crooked expression on his face. “Got a boot print on my left tush the size of Kansas, ‘s far as I can tell. But I’m alive, an’ those motherfuckers would’ve ganked me if it hadn’t been for you.”

Cas didn’t know what to say to that. But he didn’t have to, since Dean continued his hopped-up rambling.

“‘Sides,” he slurred, mischief in his eyes, “the nurses are really nice to me. And they’re hot. Well, most of them. Should’ve seen the one who took my temperature this morning. She was…” He gestured a “chef’s kiss” and smacked his lips. “Not as hot as you, though.”

Cas blinked.

What?

“Course, no one could beat that angel vibe you’ve got going on,” Dean continued, unfazed and chatty. “‘Holy’ my ass. You, Mr. Hot Accountant - “ Dean winked at him. “- were made for sin.”

Cas, struck dumb, felt his cheeks flush and his heart somersault in his chest. He’d felt attracted to Dean for so long, had hidden it as best as he could, badly, but determinedly, certain that, in spite of their special bond, Dean would never feel the same way about him. And now this - a medically induced, uninhibited flirt?

“Ah, yes- I mean, no!” he stammered. “Thank you, I -...” He struggled for words. He didn’t want to break the moment, desperately wanted to know if Dean meant this, or if it was just the meds talking. But he also didn’t want to take advantage of someone who was clearly off his head with pain meds and who, most likely, wouldn’t remember a single thing he’d said the next day.

“Cat eat your tongue?” Dean asked, his grin drooping sleepily.

Utterly confused, Cas looked around. “There is no cat.”

Dean huffed, wincing a little when the movement jarred his ribs.

“Cas,” he said softly, losing the fight against his heavy eyelids now. “I love you, man. Never change.”

His unencumbered hand searched and found Cas’ arm and slid down his sleeve against Cas’ palm. Castiel grasped and held it.

The angel had no idea what to say. Or what to think. How to correctly interpret Dean’s words. Chaos in his head and hope surging in his chest, he just stood there, Dean’s warm, calloused hand in his, and watched the hunter close his eyes and drift off to sleep.

[noneedtoamputate]

Every Beautiful Thing Outtakes - Chapter One

These are scenes that just didn't fit in my main story. The entire chapter is posted here, and is also posted to A03. This falls between Chapters 4 and 5 in Every Beautiful Thing.

The waitress came around to drop off menus. "Get you a drink?" she asked. Ellen ordered coffee, black.

"Do you have tea?" Chuck asked. She shook her head.

"I guess I'll have coffee. Cream and two sugars, please."

"You really don't like coffee, do you?" asked Ellen.

Chuck shrugged. "Never really drank it before I joined up. Then it seemed like I had it all the time. It was usually burnt. And it … reminds me of things during the war." He looked far away for a moment.

"When I came home, tea was a lot easier to make,” he started again, pointing at his left hand. “And tea is great because restaurants never have it, and my friends give me a hard time about drinking it.” They both laughed. “Always had it black in the army, so if I add enough cream and sugar now, it isn’t too bad. Won’t have more than one cup, though.”

Their drinks arrived. “Do you know what you want?” Ellen asked Chuck. He nodded. “You go first,” she said. She scanned the menu quickly and didn’t pay attention to his order.

“Pancakes, please,” Ellen said.

They put their newspaper sections down when the food arrived. A stack of fluffy pancakes for Ellen. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and buttered toast for Chuck.

She reached across for the syrup and saw, just for a moment, Chuck eye her plate. Several realizations entered her head at the same time.

Chuck’s breakfast order was classic. No one would think twice about anything on his plate. It was also easy to eat if you only had one good hand. There was nothing that required a knife.

And she didn’t have a lot of evidence to work with, but she assumed Chuck had a sweet tooth. He devoured the chocolate chip cookies she made for him, and he took his coffee with two sugars.

She doused the pancakes with syrup. She cut them lengthwise, turned her plate, and did the same again.

They dug into their food and sipped their coffees and returned to their newspapers. The waitress refilled Ellen's coffee and brought Chuck a water.

When Ellen was about three quarters done with her breakfast, she pushed the plate away. “I can’t have another bite,” she said. “Help yourself if you want.”

She opened another section of the paper so Chuck couldn’t see her face, but she peered over the page and saw him eye the plate. She quickly darted her eyes back down, pretending to be reading. She heard the plate move closer to him.

The next week she ordered waffles, back to pancakes the week after that, each time leaving some of her breakfast for Chuck to finish. Week four, she got crepes just to mix it up. Chuck asked for one more egg and two extra slices of bacon to his regular order.

“Just in case you aren’t full before sharing,” he said.

She wasn’t sure what to say now that Chuck had figured it out. She looked at him, trying to gauge his feelings.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I don’t know how much you’ll be thanking me later. Just so you know, I’ll never say no to bacon,” Ellen said.

“Just so you know, I don’t offer my bacon to just anyone,” Chuck replied.

*

Chuck liked watching Ellen do the crossword puzzle every week, her eyes scrunched up in concentration while she considered the clues, her face excited when she solved the whole thing.

She tapped the pencil on the table while she read the clue aloud.

“Send a Dear John letter,” she said. “Four letters.”

“Did you ever send one of those?” Chuck asked jokingly.

Ellen put her pencil down.

“No,” she said simply. “I wrote a letter every week for four years. He ended up marrying a nurse he met overseas.”

Chuck stared at her, dumbfounded. “Shit, El. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I was just …”

“I know, Chuck,” she interrupted.

She dove into the whole story.

His name was Steve Somebody. Chuck couldn’t be bothered to remember his last name. They met in college and had walked out together the year before he enlisted. He got sent to India, some desk job.

“India was pretty terrible,” she explained. “It was just so … different. And so far. No USO shows. No Marlene Dietrich.” She sighed. “Guys got dumped every week. They even had a little club for guys who got letters. Just an excuse to go to the bar more than anything, but it was happening a lot.”

“But not to him,” Chuck pointed out.

“No,” Ellen admitted. “He always wrote how the other guys told him how lucky he was to have a such a loyal girl back home.”

And when he came back to that loyal girl, he said he needed time, that things had changed. A month later, he was on a train to Milwaukee. He never bothered to tell her there was someone else. A mutual friend had to tell Ellen. Steve started seeing the nurse the last year of the war and didn't know how to break it to her. So he didn't.

“That’s terrible,” said Chuck. “You must have been …” He couldn’t find the word.

“Annoyed,” supplied Ellen. “I felt annoyed. Annoyed at all the time I spent writing letters and worrying about him. Annoyed at the money I spent sending him things, at having to explain everything to my family, his family, our friends. Annoyed at all the dates I turned down. Do you know how many dates I turned down? I only lived in San Francisco. Not a solider or sailor or Marine to be had for miles around,” she said sarcastically.

She took a sip of her coffee.

“After about two weeks of being annoyed, and eating chocolate, and downing gin and tonics, I realized that if he was the love of my life, I wouldn’t be annoyed. I would have been devastated. I would have been heartbroken. So, I picked myself up, got dressed up, and went out dancing with some girlfriends.”

“And?” Chuck said, knowing there was more to the story.

“Well,” Ellen said slowly, “a lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“But?” Chuck urged her on.

“I did let a Navy man know how grateful I was for his service.”

Chuck laughed. “Navy, huh?”

“Well, I was still a little annoyed at the army.” She looked him in the eye. “I’ve gotten over it, though.”

“Good,” he said.

“Jilt,” she said. “Four letters.” She picked up her pencil and filled in the squares.

He walked her home after breakfast.

“You know, we don’t have to go out to breakfast every week,” he said.

“Are you trying to get out of going to breakfast with me?” she asked.

“No, no,” he said quickly. “Just, if you have other things to do on Sunday. I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

She stopped walking. “Chuck, if I ever have something else I need to do on a Sunday morning, I’ll let you know. But if you every stopped wanting to go out for breakfast with me, I would feel something between annoyed and heartbroken.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” he said.

“No,” she agreed. She squeezed his hand, and they continued on their way.

[rednights]

Dear Mr. Right

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: During the week leading up to valentine's day you begin to receive love letters from an anonymous writer. For some weird reason, the handwriting looks exactly like your new English partner’s: Peter Parker.

WC: 4.2k

TW: Peter being an idiot with a crush, reader who hates Valentine’s day, tooth-rotting fluff that chipped away at my lonely soul. Mentions of anxiety (lip biting, bouncing leg up and down to relieve stress)

AN: happy valentines day!! And ignore my mistakes </3

You do not have permission to re-post my work anywhere. It’s my shit, don’t steal it.

Dear Y/n,

Roses are red We’re told that violets are blue I can’t admit my feelings But please know they’re true

February approaches And the sun still shines Though not as bright as you Would you ever think to be mine?

I’ll watch from afar Eternally gazing at you If the world contains any mercy Maybe you’ll feel the same too

I’m no savior I’m certainly no knight I’m a horrible poet But maybe I’m your Mr. Right

- Your secret admirer

“I see Mystery Boy has struck again,” A familiar voice calls, standing out in the crowded halls of Midtown High.

“Jesus!” You yelp, your heart freezing in your chest as you shove the note that was once in your hand deep into the pocket of your pants. “A little warning next time, Michelle?”

“Never,” She chortles, standing to the left of you. She glances at the outline of your newest letter before questioning, “Is this love confession 36 or 37?”

Small strands of her curly brown hair frame her face as the two of you begin to walk down the halls, books in hand, drowning in the sea of students. There’s a certain buzz in the air, the one that only comes out when Valentine's Day is near. Hundreds of couples are pressed up against one another, as if being separated for more than a single second would cause them the most hideous pain.

Lips on lips, hands in pockets, jackets around shoulders, it’s almost sickening in a way. Red and pink streamers are hung up in the hall, and you recognize the penmanship of one Betty Brant on the posters that advertise the school’s annual ‘Lover’s Dance’.

It truly wasn’t anything important. Just the 14th of February, it happened every year and only lasted 24 hours, just like every other day. Except for some reason, the entire month was dedicated to the singular event. Pharmacy after pharmacy filled with cheap, dirty cards and stuffed toys, as if it represented love in any real way.

It was safe to say you weren’t a big fan.

Well, until now.

At the beginning of the month, much to your dismay, you started to receive little notes through the slits of your locker. At first, they were small compliments, just a simple, ‘you look really pretty today :)’ or ‘I really like your shirt! It brings out your eyes.’

Then, they progressed into small words of encouragement, wishes of luck for upcoming tests, and reminders to take care of yourself. Now, whoever he is has taken a liking to poems, and has begun to spill his heart onto the red and blue sticky notes that he shoves in between the cracks of your life.

When Mystery Boy first started his little gig, you were slightly caught off guard. After all, what were the points of love letters and secret admirers? It seemed like such a senseless notion, so you paid no mind.

However, as the days passed and the shoe box under your bed began to fill with the folded paper entries, you found yourself curious about what he would write next. Did you know him? Did you share any classes together? After all, just how much attention was he paying? You even styled your hair a different way to see if he would notice. He did, and once again, he expressed his adoration through words on paper.

And so, a week until the once dreaded date, you let the small letter burn a hole in the pocket of your pants as you walked to your first class of the day.

“It’s not 37,” you grumble in response, “It’s 23, thank you very much,”

“It concerns me that you know the exact number. Please don’t tell me that you’re letting little Edgar Allen Poe get to you. I thought you weren’t into that kind of stuff?” MJ inquires, peering at you curiously. She’s never been a big fan of cheesy romance either, something that you both love to mock come each February.

“I’m not! I’m just curious is all…”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying!” You protest, scrambling your words slightly. “It’s just weird is all! I’ve never had a secret admirer, so I don’t really know what to do in this situation.”

“Do you think he might ask you to the dance?” MJ asks, shuffling behind a pair of freshmen who are glued to each other's side. “Most importantly, if he did ask, would you say yes?”

The thought makes you gulp. You? A dance? The event never truly crossed your mind, just another thing to ignore, overlook, and simply not care about.

“It doesn’t matter what my answer would be MJ, I don’t know who he is. How am I supposed to go with him if he’s anonymous? How would I even tell him, seeing as I’m almost positive he's never uttered a single word to me?”

“Who knows,” She drags on, eyes shifting around, “maybe he’d ask you in person?”

“I doubt it, he seems so shy in his letters,”

You frown as the words leave your lips. Your poet seems nervous in himself, but confident in his words. You haven’t known him long, but there’s no need for him to force himself to do something he isn’t ready for.

“Getting attached, are we?” She pesters further.

“I’m sorry, what was that? I can’t hear you over the sound of angsty teenage romance in the halls,”

//

“Good morning folks!” Your cheery English teacher says with far too much enthusiasm for nine o’clock in the morning. “As I mentioned last week, today we’re starting our poetry assignments!”

How fitting.

“In a moment,” they continue, pulling out a list, “I’ll assign you your new partners! Remember guys! Each partner must pick out a romance poem. When you both have read and analyzed the work, you’ll then write an essay comparing the similarities and differences in the writing styles!”

Subtle groans in protest arise, yet you’re more aggravated by the damn holiday than the assigned partners. Wherever Mystery Boy is, you hope he’s having a better day than you are.

As the names were called, and possible partners kept disappearing, you gave up hope of being paired with a person you were friends with. Bored and grumpy, you blocked out the slight chatter as students moved around the room. Of course, you were going to be paired with some half-wit asshole who wouldn’t dare to contribute anything more than their name, and it’ll be your job to-

“-And you’re with Y/n!”

Shit. I finally got a partner and I don’t even know who it is.

“Y/n, did you hear me?” The teacher asks from the front of the room, “You’re with Peter, he sits over there!”

Your brows furrow. Peter?

Peter... Parker? That strangely smart kid who MJ is sort of friends with? You slightly smile to yourself, maybe you won’t have to carry this assignment after all.

Your eyes wander around the room until they find the unfamiliar head of curls, and you walk towards his desk that’s two rows over. There’s a small spring in your step, after all, if MJ can tolerate this guy, (which is very rare), maybe he’s not so bad?

“Peter, right?” You ask him as you plop into the seat next to him, pencil clutched tightly in your hand. There’s an awkward pause between the two of you as he nods his head. His cheeks are a deep shade of red, brown doe eyes staring back into yours.

“So, any idea what poem you wanna do?” You ask, a smile gracing your lips as you twirl your pencil around your fingers, flipping through the many different poets in your mind.

His mouth opens but nothing comes out. He looks nervous, incredibly so, and you wondered if maybe, deep down, he had a hidden fear of poetry.

It wouldn’t surprise you. Nothing does anymore.

“Ok…” You begin, “Well, we could look at some from Edgar Allen Poe, obviously, or William Blake, maybe even Charlotte Smith?”

When he didn’t respond, you internally grimaced. Didn’t this kid have an internship with Tony Stark? You weren’t going to waste your time sitting here in this uncomfortably warm chair just to have Peter refuse to pitch in.

“Look, if you're not gonna do anything, just tell me now and I’ll work on my ow-”

“No!” He blurts, a bit louder than he intended to, and you cringed at the sudden noise. You caught a few groups quickly glance over before stiffly peeling their eyes away. “I mean- ‘m gonna do my work I swear! M-Maybe we should make a list or something?”

The word vomit rests heavily in the air as you slowly nod and begin to open up to a blank page of your journal.

This dude is... weird.

You began to brainstorm, Peter beside you, watching as your brows furrowed, scribbling out different titles and themes of famous romantic poems. You were lost in concentration, and he was seemingly lost in you.

“Here,” you say, sliding the notebook over to him, “Write down a couple of your favorites, then sort through them later,” You end your statement with a small smile. There’s no reason to be rude, and the poor boy seems to be shaking. The least you could do was have some common courtesy, even if the swirling events of a useless holiday were tossing your insides around like a rag-doll.

He trembled slightly before writing down a few titles, grasping his pencil with such force you were surprised it didn’t crumble under the pressure. His jaw was clenched, and you couldn’t help but stare. Weird? Sure. Incredibly attractive? Absolutely.

His hair spilled over his forehead, and his sweater was pushed up to his elbows, showing off his toned forearms. Long, slender fingers worked quickly as he gracefully created a list right beside yours, irises tracing back and forth as he contemplated his choices.

“I think I know which one I want to do,” he mumbles, the words falling from his thin pink lips. “Love’s Philosophy,”

“Percy Bysshe Shelley, good choice.” Your words are soft, yet true. You had memorized that poem when you were younger, and it never seemed to leave you.

“And the sunlight clasps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea,” You began, pulling the stanza from a hidden part in your brain.

“What is all this sweet work worth if thou kiss not me?”

You freeze slightly, your breath lodged in your throat. You’ve read this poem hundreds of times, yet hearing Peter mumble the last line seemed foreign in the best of ways. You refused to meet his gaze as you wordlessly took the journal back, checking the clock only to realize you had moments before the bell rang.

“Um,” You clear your throat, desperate for the lump that has magically appeared to dissipate, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

When you look back up, he’s staring heavily into your soul, and suddenly you feel far too warm. Heat rises to your face, and you feel yourself sizzling.

This is pathetic, he’s just a boy.

A very cute one, but that doesn’t matter. Not right now.

He nods as the bell rings, and you book it to your next class.

You didn’t have time for cheesy love letters.

And you certainly didn’t have time for Peter Parker.

//

Later on in the evening, you’re splayed out on your bed, sheets askew with your English journal right in front of you. You had been going back and forth between “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allen Poe, a classic, but something that might be overused, or “Love and Age” by Thomas Love Peacock, another beautiful piece of literature that had a deep hold on you.

You looked over to Peter’s chart, his chicken-scratch handwriting printed on your page. Though, the more you looked at it, the more familiar it became. The way he crossed his T’s, the subtle swoop of his A’s, and the curves of his E’s.

You knew that handwriting.

“What the hell..?” you murmur, shoving your pen between the pages of the book. You hopped off your bed and crouched down on the floor, fishing for the small box that was hidden in the darkness. When your hand touched the corner, you grasped it tight and tugged it out.

It was filled to the brim with crumpled and torn sticky notes, words smudged and jumbled together in a heaping mess of romance. Very quickly, you dumped all of them out on your comforter and began to shuffle through them.

Your heart was in your throat as you clumsily flipped through the pages of your journal to find a sample of Peter’s handwriting. Titles after titles of the world’s most romantic poems, something that looks more like a Hallmark website than an actual assignment.

Your hands are drenched in sweat by the time you reach to grab one of the matching sticky notes, the deafening silence leaving a poisonous ring in your ears and a hollow feeling in your chest. You fear the worst before it happens, bracing yourself for whatever blast of emotions you might experience the moment you put the pieces together. Time doesn’t listen to your pleas as the realization dawns on you.

Nerdy Peter Parker is Mystery Boy.

Sweet, warm, loving words written on cheap paper, hidden in the comfort of your locker, barely taking up space under your bed. The phrases have been ripped away from you, and nothing feels sacred.

Does he mean what he writes? Does he know how much it makes your heart race every time his pen hits the page? Does he realize that you love this so much you almost hate it? Does he lie awake thinking about you in the way that you think about him?

Would he ever understand how terrified this feeling makes you?

You don’t have the heart to be angry, but you do have the right to be confused.

How long has he felt like this? Why didn’t he say anything? Was he prepared to wait days? Weeks? Months?

You chewed your lip raw until it began to bleed, your leg bopping up and down, faster than your heartbeat, which was louder than the ringing in your ears.

This is insanely stupid. There’s no reason to be acting like this.

“I need to go to bed,” you sigh, rubbing your palms over your eyes before shoving everything back into that damn box, willing yourself to forget it.

Unfortunately for you, your budding feelings were harder to hide.

//

Ok, you’ll admit, you didn’t think this one through.

When you promised yourself you’d do your best to ignore his gestures and act like a civilized person, you didn’t realize he’d be sitting across MJ at your sacred lunch table. The table where you mocked, criticized, judged, and just overall became a sarcastic mess.

It’s alright, I’m gonna be fine, it’ll be great.

You forced yourself to put one foot in front of the other, clenching your jaw as you walked up to a group of Ned Leeds, Betty Brant, Michelle Jones, and one Peter Benjamin Parker.  

You pulled out the new book you had started to read, shoving your nose so far in you could practically smell the ink. You re-read the same page over and over again, almost walking into a freshman. Anything to avoid human confrontation.

“Well good morning to you too,” MJ chortles, shutting the book of her own, “whatcha reading?”

“Another Colleen Hoover book that is bound to wreck my emotional stability for a week. I swear this woman has it out for me.” You groan. You looked up and said your hellos to the rest of the group, hoping they’d move on and leave you alone, but not everything goes your way.

“Why is it that the only romances you enjoy are the ones that have such a hard journey?” Betty asks in between sips of her water, blonde hair tied into a proper bun with not one piece out of place.

“Because Betty,” you start, sending a brief glance to Peter who has taken quite the interest in the soggy food before him, “love is a fleeting feeling that is destined to destroy the souls of the innocent.”

You take pride in the eye rolls you receive.

“I'm shitting with you, Brant. Hoover is an exceptional writer and I like her style.”

Normally you wouldn’t have corrected yourself, but the fleeting dash of despair that overtook Peter’s eyes was enough to have you regret every word.

As conversation followed, you tried not to notice every time Peter’s big honey eyes traced your face and the way h- nope. Stopping now.

But for every time he looked away, he’d never notice all of the times you’d look back.

Close to the end of lunch, a terrible idea popped into your head.

Peter Parker wouldn’t happen to have any sticky notes on hand, would he?

“Hey, does anyone have a sticky note? I need one,” you ask, watching Peter tense. He toyed with you often, why not return the favor?

Betty hummed as she searched through her bag, pushing around her color-coded notes and mechanical pens, but ultimately coming up empty-handed. You knew MJ didn't have any, and Ned didn’t bring his bag, so just as you planned it, Peter was the last man standing.

“I -uhm,” he gulps, and you look him dead in the eye, “red or blue?”

“Hm, can I have both?” You peer, pushing him. He’s breaking, his ink is spilling out onto a new page and you’d burn the world just to read it.

He pushes the stack towards you, thin hairs standing tall on his arms, daring you to speak.

And you just can't help yourself when you say, “Thanks, Peter! You’re my Mr. Right.”

//

When the bell rings, you’re more than ready to leave. Nothing else matters besides exiting the premises as you weave through people, clenching your jaw at those who walk incredibly slow.

Your combination is muscle memory, and it doesn’t take you long to pop open your locker. When the metal squeaks and the hinges groan, another poem falls gracefully to the floor, and suddenly time stops.

The paper feels familiar against your hand. You know the sensation and it brings you comfort. You know the writing, the script, the way he rhymes, and the way he lets you see small glimpses of himself that leave you craving more. You’re hesitant to read it, but ultimately give in. When it comes to Mystery Boy, now known as Peter Parker, you’ll always give in.

I worry now That you’ll leave Because you don't like The heart on my sleeve

I fear you know The secret I keep Locked away So you won’t see

Tell me we’re ok Tell me this won't change Say we’ll be alright And I’ll take the blame

I understand If the writing needs to stop I’ll throw away the paper And the pen will be dropped

But if you change your mind If this is just in my head Then please say something And end my dread

Atop a swing is where I’ll sit Waiting in the night Come and find me, it won’t be tough I’ll show you I’m Mr. Right

- Your secret admirer

Well shit.

He wants to meet you? Tonight?

That's a little risky. Nevertheless, incredibly tempting.

You lift your head up and scan the hallways in search of Peter, but he’s nowhere to be found. All that remains is the crumpled stanzas and your mixed emotions that are fighting a war with one another.

Like water and oil, your thoughts clashed. What's the harm in going? Besides, why would you leave him alone in the dark?

No. No. The harm in going is obvious. His kind words that weaseled into your heart went against everything you stood for, and you promised you’d never become a “lovey-dovey” hopeless romantic.

But it’s Peter! Sweet, adorable, rosy-cheeked Peter who writes you notes and takes time out of his day to slide them in your locker. Smart, wonderful Peter who deserves the world and everything it has to offer.

Peter Parker who gives you his heart and trusts you not to break it.

You’re going, there's no doubt about it.

//

Atop a swing is where I’ll sit Waiting in the night Come and find me, it won’t be tough I’ll show you I’m Mr. Right

The air nips at your skin as you walk across the uneven pavement, up to the only park in Queens. It’s old and simple, nothing special, but it reminds you of better times and you find yourself missing certain parts of it.

The sun is setting, bleeding out onto the sky. The dusty red fights the deep blue that threatens to take over the night sky, and you chuckle at the color choices.

The last final moments of the sun glare in your eyes as you walk up the final hill, shoes scuffing against the pavement with each step. The world is quiet, and for once you embrace the silence in your mind.

When the ground peaks, you stop.

There he is, faced towards the sun, exactly where he said he would be.

His back is tense, and it takes everything in you not to soothe him the way he does you. His curls shift in the cold wind, and the mulch beneath his feet shuffle every time he swings slightly.

You never realized how beautiful he really is, inside and out. He’s shown you parts of himself that he thought he’d keep locked away forever, and you know you want to see more. Even the small things that shouldn't matter, but do. Like if he prefers chocolate or Vanilla, or if he’s team Edward or Jacob. What his comfort movie is, what food he hates, the song stuck in his head, or even what he had for lunch.

You want to learn, and you’ll let him teach you.

You know him through his words, through his pages, through the box you keep to yourself, and you hope with time, you’ll gain more.

He hears you coming, the ruffle of your sweater is a dead giveaway. He lets you stare, after all, he’s surprised you came. He’d wait forever in the sun until the only light is the moon. You can watch as long as you like, he doesn't mind.

Your heartbeat calms him. Even if you’re taking your time to approach him, he’s glad to see you.

When you do finally work up the courage to sit beside him, all you can do is stare. His freckles dance like wildfire, his eyes trace your face, and the two of you see each other in a new light for the first time.

“So,” you speak first, breaking the comfortable silence, “You’re Mystery Boy?”

He expects to hear resentment in your voice, but it's simply pure curiosity. There's no malice, no venom, no poison; just you.

“Yeah, how’d you figure it out? Was I that obvious?” He asks, lips quirking into a smile.

“No, actually. At first, I honestly had no idea who you were. I memorized your handwriting from the letters, and then realized the poem list that you wrote in my notebook during English looked far too familiar,”

He’s surprised at the confession. You memorized his handwriting?

“And I confirmed my suspicions during lunch, wanted to see if you carried the supplies around with you,” you stared straight ahead when you confessed your words, embarrassment wrapping itself around your throat like a noose.

“I always keep them on me. I never know when I’ll have a free moment so I kinda learned to work around it.” He follows after. His words are kind, and there’s no trace of bitterness.

“Who knew that Peter Parker would be a poetry master?” You tease, enjoying the way the tips of his ears turn the same shade of the dying sun. There’s a silent acceptance of what’s growing between the two of you, warmth seeping into your dry bones despite the sharp cold.

“Thank you,” you say after a while, causing Peter to look at you once more. “Your notes were some of the best parts of my day,”

“And what happened to hating hopeless romantics?”

You groan and bury your head in your hands, squeezing your eyes tight. Your words are muffled as you reply, “Oh my god, you sound like Michelle,”

He laughs as you shrink into yourself, but you know he means no harm. To prove it to you, he hesitantly grabs a hold of your hand, and you have no problem letting him.

“Will you let me change your mind?”

He’s vulnerable. He’s showing you another part of himself that you'll never forget, no matter how hard you try.

“Alright, Peter. You can be my Mr. Right,”

reblogs are deeply appreciated! they make my day fr

[thatlittlered]

Unprofessional, To Say The Least | Jim Hopper

Summary: Jim accepts Flo’s proposal for a replacement as a last measure, but never once realizes quite what that entails.

Note: Pearlman is a placeholder surname.

Read previous chapters

A few days go by, and there is an odd routine settling out of nowhere. You take El shopping on your day off with the excuse of her best fitting pants having been ruined, buy her ice cream and a glittery lip gloss you’re not too sure Hop would be happy to see. She’s beaming the whole time and you love it.

Jim is making dinner when you drop her off, not wearing an apron to your great disappointment, but still looking incredibly homely in his funnel. It’s sweet to see him like this.

He smiles at you a little longer than usual when he thanks you, but is too embarrassed at his cooking skills to invite you in. So you stay in the doorway for a few seconds, just looking at each other. This is the most unprofessional you’ve ever been.

“She really wanted a lip gloss and I got it for her, I hope that’s okay with you. I mean, I checked and it seemed age-appropriate.”

He has no idea what you just said.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Shouldn’t have used your money, but it’s fine.”

Oh, lip-gloss. That’s the shiny stuff.

Is it age-appropriate?

Mike isn’t age-appropriate, yet here we are.

“No, it was so much fun, I loved it. So… I’ll see you Monday?” your lips tilt.

You must be wearing lip-gloss and he briefly wonders what it tastes like.

“Monday, yeah. Thank you again, this means a lot.”

“No problem, Chief.”

Your bodies stand close in the doorway, close enough that you could touch with a subtle move but every fantasy of that happening is shattered when you wave goodbye and move backwards, turning around to walk towards your car.

Things are very, very unprofessional.

Monday comes quickly through Sunday’s blur of watching TV on the couch and hearing Mike and El blasting music and giggling obnoxiously in the background. On Monday, he’s on time and you’re already there with a grin and hot coffee left on his desk, alongside a plastic container filled with cookies.

‘Chocolate chip, to share with El.’ written on a note with a smiley face next to it.

Around ten, you knock on his door and quickly enter when he says come in.

“Hey there, boss-man.”

“Come in, sweetheart, I'm just taking care of your paychecks.”

Sweetheart.

He says that a lot for a man who’s fighting tooth and nail to not make eye contact for long. He’s always looking somewhere else these days, close to your face, but not directly at you, like a nervous child who’s trying to be polite but not be caught staring.

“Oh, I should’ve snuck in some more cookies then.”

“I’m not really in charge of the numbers on the check, unfortunately, it’s the government that pays you.”

“That’s a shame, I would have upped my game with a homemade carbonara.”

He sighs, “Damn shame.”

“By the way, I don’t know if you’ve talked to my aunt recently, but she’s doing really great and the doctor says she could be back at work in two to three weeks.”

“Oh, yeah, she let me know,” you knew she did. He calls and checks up on her every couple of days. You just wanted to see his reaction, “We’ll be sad to see you go when she does.”

Silence ensues, mostly because neither of you know what to say.

You want to say you’ll miss them; miss him and his smile when you walk in his office. The way he calls you ‘sweetheart’ without making you uncomfortable like any other work creep and how he looks when you watch him smoke through the blinds of his office.

He wants to say he’ll be the saddest because he’s growing used to you and your cooking and your lovely office dresses that remind him you’re too young for him to ever really tell you this.

“Speaking of which, I looked into what you asked me, and I think I could put in a word with the mayor’s office. Larry’s trying to pump up his image with new hires and I think you’ve proven you’re a great secretary. How’s that sound?” this time he looks at you, straight into your eyes.

You might not have to miss him after all.

Series Masterlist.

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[henry-and-the-seven-lords]

(u can choose for it to be a hc or anything) the brothers go to the dentist with MC and see the process of her wisdom teeth getting removed

Ok! I actually haven't had mine removed, but I have had similar dental work so I am going to base it on that!

So I got REALLY into this for a few days and then I forgot where I was going with it so it turned into headcannons with a super long intro instead of an imagine... Hope you like it!

Warnings: Mentions Dental work, Mentions Needles, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of surgical procedures

Brothers Masterlist | Datables Masterlist

Brothers Reacting to a Wisdom Teeth Removal

MC had been crying out in pain for the past couple of weeks. They had continually mentioned their teeth or jaw being the source of the problem. The Brothers did all they could in the Devildom, but in the end they decided take MC to the human world to see a dentist.

"Well, it looks like your wisdom teeth are coming in. There doesn't seem to be much room left for them, so I would suggest an extraction." The dentist looked at the x-rays and back to MC who was currently surrounded by 7 scared men.

"Extraction!? Ain't no way you are taking anything from my Hum-," Mammon caught himself, "...MC."

The doctor eyed him suspiciously before going back to the x-rays. Lucifer sighed, "Mammon. He is not taking anything. This is going to help MC."

"Will it hurt?" Beel had made his way through the crowd of his Brothers to talk to the doctor.

"They won't feel a thing while they're under. There could be some aching after the procedure, but as long as it is properly taken care of there will be no complications."

The Brothers breathed a sigh of relief after hearing this.

"I'll go through with it." MC pipes up.

The doctor smiles and says, "Wonderful. You can set up an appointment and get the paperwork at the front desk." He then turned on his heel shutting the door behind him, leaving MC and the Brother alone in the room.

"Are you sure this is the best idea, MC?" Levi's voice shakes as he speaks.

"It'll be fine guys. This is a common human procedure, plus I have all of you to help me afterwards." This seemed to easy their qualms. MC went to the front desk and scheduled the surgery sometime during the next week.

Before they knew it, a week had almost passed and the procedure was to take place the next morning. All of the Brothers were frantically running around trying to prepare until Lucifer finally got their attention.

"I want all of you to listen closely," He stood tall and spoke to his brothers now gather in front of him.

"MC is not allowed to eat anything after dinner tonight. They are only allowed to drink water," Beel's face turned sullen, as MC was usually his partner in crime for midnight raids of the fridge.

"The surgery is said to take two hours," Levi's face lit up at the thought of being home early enough to join his team in game and maybe even have MC assist. Only for it to fall again as Lucifer continued, "But before we come home, we will need to pick up some human pain medicine for when the medicine from the surgery wears off."

Asmo seemed quite intrigued with the mention of shopping in the human world, but his thoughts were cut short when Lucifer added, "And we will not be picking up anything else."

Lucifer sighed before continuing, "I have already made a shift schedule for who will take care of MC when we get home. It is in the center of the table." Satan reached for the paper as Lucifer droned on while Mammon peered over his shoulder.

"I will also be giving you instructions on how to change out the guaze and other things to stay away from." Lucifer gave the stack of packets to Belphie who didn't even take one. He just yawned and passed them to Beel.

"MC will be unable to participate in most activities for at least four days. So put any schemes you have on hold until they feel better. Understood?" Lucifer's words were stern as he glared at all of his Brothers.

"Understood." They all groan in unison.

MC, meanwhile, had taken their seat at the table and has began to fill their plate.

Satan grabs his pamphlet and sits across from MC. He quickly flips through the papers before skeptically looking up at them.

"You are confident that this is safe?" He eyes the human nervously as they swallow their food.

"Sure it can't be that bad. Some of my friends had it done and they're still alive." The brothers look between themselves as they all begin to read the possible outcomes of the procedure.

Dinner ends with everyone but MC and Beel leaving their plates mostly full. Slowly they all go their separate ways to their rooms.

When morning arrives, Lucifer wakes everyone up. He quickly goes through the house and rushes everyone out the door in order forC to get to the human world on time. It takes a lot of effort, but the group eventually makes it up to the office in one piece.

Asmo sits next to MC holding their hand and talking to them, "They better not mess up your face. If they so much as make a wrinkle on your skin. I will personally tear them apart."

MC chuckles, "Asmo. They have to have something to keep my mouth open. Don't be so dramatic."

As MC finishes their statement, their name is called and the group goes back with them.

They watch as the dentist helps MC into the chair resembling a torture device as he talks to them.

"You should be out for about two hours, you didn't eat or drink anything correct?"

MC shakes their head no and the doctor smiles before putting on his surgical mask, "Great! Then let's start the procedure."

The brothers gather around MC gently laying their hands on the human's body as the needle penetrates the human's arm.

"I'll be fine guys... Don't worry... One... Bit..." They watch as MC's head slowly lulls towards them. They look at the doctor in fear only to be quickly ushered out by the nurses.

Thankfully, there was a small room where they could sit and watched MC being worked on.

As they watched horror struck their faces.

💙 Lucifer

He really just trusted the process and had no idea what was going to happen.

So when he sees a tube being shoved down MC's throat he is upset and nearly breaks down the glass.

Then he remembers that MC is doing this to feel better and restrains himself.

But only because MC wants this done.

💛 Mammon

Mammon did not like this idea from the beginning! It sounded to dangerous and no one should be taking ANYTHING from MC (besides him).

Definitely was not happy when he started to watch them cut into their gums and blood started to get everywhere.

Lucifer and Beel had to hold him back so he didn't rampage.

Immediately grabs MC when this is all over and does not let them go.

🧡 Leviathan

Levi thought this would be a quick and easy process because it was only going to take two hours.

So they pull out a tooth and that is it right? Wrong.

He is horrified when he realizes they have to cut the teeth out and sew MC back together.

Why would they agree to something so invasive!? Why is this normal for humans!?

💚 Satan

He did a bunch of research and was the reason they went to a human dentist in the first place.

He knew what the entire procedure would entail and even tried to tell MC that it was pretty intense.

But he wasn't going to go against MC's wishes if they wanted to get it done.

Definitely stepped out of the room when it was happening... He didn't want to see it.

💖 Asmodeus

Asmodeus was fine to do anything that MC agreed with, then he saw them pulling their cheeks back and he got angry.

He was quite upset that they were stretching MC's precious skin! They could get wrinkled! And don't even get him started on the tube in their throat.

He wanted to march into the room and stopped them, but he remembered how much pain MC was in and that they needed to get it done.

He will get revenge later. Right now, he is focusing on MC.

❤ Beelzebub

Beel just wants to make sure MC is safe and feeling better no matter the cost or procedure.

So when he starts to see all the terrible stuff happening, he steps out with Satan to get some snacks.

By the time he comes back full, the procedure is over and he can walk in with everyone else as they wait for MC to wake up.

He did save MC one bag of chips... he was worried about them not eating breakfast...

💜 Belphegor

Belphie would be upset at what's happening, but more upset that he can't be next to MC to take a nap.

He definitely cares about them being safe, but he knows they agreed to it and human procedures are weird so he isn't too worried.

He just wants to take a nap and he needs his human pillow.

He will lean on MC's arm and immediately fall asleep whenever he is allowed in to see a groggy MC.

[seasonofthewicth]

Rowaelin Month - Day 9

prompt: co-hosts with chemistry

extras: podcaster!rowaelin, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff!

word count: 2k

--

The podcast had originally been Lysandra’s idea.

She had deemed their regular conversations dissecting each of their dating lives too entertaining to keep to themselves and so it had begun. It hadn’t been very successful and they had only managed to wrangle a small number of subscribers, mostly consisting of their friends and reluctant family members. They’d had fun, but when Lysandra moved to the Southern Continent they hadn’t bothered to keep it up.

Then Aelin got drunk with Fenrys and his new roommate Rowan.

Her drunken self had thought it a fabulous idea to whip out her phone and hit record when Fenrys had begun to weave his story of the beautiful Asterin and her ruthless rejection, Rowan chipping in with quips that always made her cheeks feel a little warmer. That and the sparkle in his green eyes each time he looked at her.

She’d been intrigued by Rowan on day one. He was everything Aelin felt herself drawn to in one big package. Tall, handsome, tattoos, wicked sense of humour, didn’t take any shit, constantly gave her shit. She was charmed.

Until the podcast had taken off.

The inebriated episode featuring Fenrys and Rowan had landed her with a few thousand subscribers. And she had wanted to continue.

Fenrys had rejected her outright, claiming he didn’t need any more public humiliation, the Asterin story had been enough and she understood, but Rowan…

She’s not sure why she even asked Rowan. They weren’t friends, the episode they’d recorded had been the first night they met and they hadn’t spoken since but she’d laid the offer on the table anyway. Despite the fact that hearing all about Rowan Whitethorn’s dating exploits made her stomach twist.

What she knew of Rowan had told her he’d say no too. He hadn’t given her the impression of being particularly easy going, or that spending time with her in the absence of Fenrys would have been something he would consider. In fact, she’d wondered if he’d thought her desire to chat about something as frivolous as dating would be somewhat shallow or childish.

But then he’d said yes.

And so began their tradition. Every Thursday after his final class of the day and Aelin gets home from her office, she uncorks a bottle of wine and makes dinner. Rowan turns up at eight pm sharp each week, armed with a slice of chocolate hazelnut cake and his lilting and charming accent. They set themselves up at the desk in Aelin’s spare bedroom, each with a set of headphones and a microphone and they talk.

That started eight months ago.

Now they have hundreds of thousands of listeners, people who for some unknown reason like to listen to Aelin and Rowan. Aelin doesn’t get it, but here they are.

Aelin tucks her feet under her thighs and rests the arm holding her wine glass along the back of the sofa. They’ve just finished this week’s episode and she’s not ready for Rowan to leave just yet. He turns to her at the motion, a brow cocked in questioning. He looks good, very good.

The light from her TV highlights the cut of his jaw and plays off the silver strands of his hair, flopping onto his forehead. The green of his henley perfectly displays his golden skin and she’s desperately searching for glances of the swirls of ink that peek out of his neckline each time he shifts.

She thought that by spending more time with him her crush would fade. Except now she definitely has a thing for someone who has turned into one of her best friends.

“What’s up with you?” he asks, so aware by now of her moods. He knows when to wait and when to push her, when to joke and when to keep it real.

Aelin shrugs and the motion dislodges her neckline from her shoulder to part way down her arm. Rowan’s eyes dart down tracking the motion but flash back to hers once she speaks.

“I’m thinking about where we go next,” she says slowly. “I don’t know about you but I’m not dating very much recently and I wonder if I’m running out of funny dating stories.”

Rowan’s lips twitch and she uses the time before he speaks to desperately wonder what’s going on in his head. Then he moves his hand to her knee, his touch a comfort and a thrill, and her mind can only focus on that. Can only focus on how good it feels for him to touch her. She doesn’t have the capacity to worry where his head is at when his hands are on her.

“It’s not just you,” he says, on the same wavelength as her as always. “I don’t find myself on many dates anymore.”

He says it without even a whisper of shame, like he’s confident in why that is.

“I can’t tell if I’m thinking too much about the podcast,” she admits, “or if I just don’t want to do it anymore.”

He’s silent, which she usually uses as her prompt to continue, but his hand stays on her knee.

“I have an idea,” she says, shocked again as his eyes meet hers. “It won’t last forever, but I think it could give us a few episodes at least. We turn to other people. We get listeners to share their experiences, their horror stories, their life lessons, their advice, their failures. We give our comments, we compare them, we’re funny. I think it could work.”

She’s so nervous for his thoughts, his opinions matter to her, she wants his approval.

“I think it’s a great idea,” he says as a soft smile creeps onto his lips, tugging up his cheek and she wants to press her lips right there. “We can get people to submit their best stories, review them, add our own additions and commentary and we’re good for a while.”

He pauses, as though there’s more he wants to say. His hand on her knee squeezes and she craves more of his touch, wants his hand to slide higher, wants his fingers to entwine with hers.

Then he says, “I have an idea for an episode.”

She cocks her brow but he shakes his head.

“I need to think it through some more but I’ll let you know as soon as I have a more solid idea.”

It works and she’s relieved her lack of desire to date anyone who isn’t six foot four, silver haired and named Rowan Whitethorn hasn’t needed any expansion and hasn’t so far caused any major problems. Apart from the fact she finds herself getting lost when he talks, unable to respond right away because she’s too busy staring at his lips, his hands, his everything as he speaks.

She’s sure he’s probably noticed but he kindly hasn’t commented.

The idea to get content from their listeners leads her down a path she’s somewhat shocked to realise exists. She’s been trawling twitter to find their content and interacting with a lot more of their listeners and it’s led her to a small corner of twitter dedicated to her and Rowan.

She scrolls and scrolls through tweets that are convinced she and Rowan are either married, fucking or in love. Or if not yet already, they need to be. Aelin doesn’t disagree necessarily, but it’s weird to know people are thinking that, let alone tweeting it.

@/crochanqueen: Aelin’s laugh every time Rowan says something slightly amusing…. girl you’ve got it bad. He’s not that funny.

Gods, she hopes Rowan hasn’t seen these tweets. She needs to watch when she laughs.

“Next submission,” Rowan says, leaning forwards and speaking into his mic. He’s in his usual chair across from her and she has almost unlimited access to the sight of him in all his glory. No wonder it’s hard to concentrate when they record. “This guy says hi, I’ve got it bad for my best friend.”

Aelin swallows. She definitely needs to watch herself for this one.

“A tale as old as time,” she says with a breezy laugh.

“Right,” Rowan says, a tightness to his voice that wasn’t there before, before he turns back to his phone to continue reading. “We’ve known each other for a while now and we spend a lot of time together just the two of us and it’s as easy as breathing. We get along incredibly well, she makes me laugh and she makes me smile. She brightens my day.”

“Gods, this is so sweet,” she coos and Rowan gives her a tight smile. Okay, she’ll let him finish.

“She’s my best friend,” Rowan continues and Aelin bites her lip. “I want more but I don’t want to ruin what we have if she doesn’t feel the same.”

“Hm,” she says, twisting her hands on the table in front of her. She has to manage this one carefully, so as not to give too much away. “Is there any indication of whether she feels the same way?”

Rowan glances back to his phone. “He says; there are moments where I think she feels the same, there are moments where I think I could press my lips to hers and she’d kiss me back. There are moments she looks at me and it looks as though it would be impossible for her not to feel the way I do.”

“She sounds like a lucky girl,” Aelin says almost wistfully.

“You think?” Rowan asks, and she’s not sure his question makes sense.

“Don’t you?” she asks. “If they have these moments, moments where he could kiss her and she’d kiss him back, the moments where they get lost in each other's eyes, I don’t think those things can be made up.”

She ignores the way she always feels as though she catches herself in these moments with Rowan. She ignores them and plows straight on through.

“If he’s having these thoughts enough that they feel like a moment, they probably are.”

“Damn, Aelin.” Rowan smiles across the table. “Any advice for the poor guy?”

“Oh, it’s simple,” she says smoothly, “he has to tell her how he feels. Don’t waste any more time, if you’re reading her this way and she’s your best friend I think there’s very little chance you’ve got this wrong. If you’re listening to this,” she says leaning forwards so her voice is clear in the recording, “get the girl. Take a chance, tell her how you feel. Start small, ask her to go on a date.”

Rowan nods, the movement a sharp jerk but a smile plays on his lips. He looks up to her, his eyes meeting hers.

“Alright, Aelin. Go out with me. A date.”

She laughs, a bright sound, not allowing herself to jump to conclusions. “Is that what it says?”

His eyes flick back to his phone before he locks it and slides it onto the table. “It doesn’t say anything.”

“What do you mean?”

She’s very confused now. Is he playing with her? Has he noticed the way she feels? Surely Rowan isn’t so cruel to mock her like this.

“There’s no submission, it’s me, it’s you. Go out with me Aelin?”

Her mouth drops open.

“Go out with you? You like me?”

She’s stunned okay? Cut her a little slack.

He laughs, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “This was quite possibly not my best idea,” he says. “To go about it like this. I thought it would have worked well.”

“You’re serious?” she says, a smile creeping into her voice.

“As a heart attack.”

She pulls her headset off, needing to feel this moment just the two of them. Rowan does the same, vulnerability shining in his gorgeous, green eyes.

“Rowan,” she breathes. “I’ve been into you since day one. I thought there was no way you were interested in me.”

She stands, rising from her chair and almost floating over to him until she stands between his legs. She gently rests a hand on his shoulder as she leans down. His hands come up to her waist and pull her onto his lap.

She settles with a smile as she reaches up to cup his cheek in her palm.

“I’ll edit this out tomorrow,” is all she says before she closes the gap between them, pressing her lips to his, sealing it with a kiss.

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N: no fic-related news but i did get my first dose of the covid vaccine today so that’s exciting! GET VAXXED, PEOPLE! SPENCER WOULD WANT YOU TO!!

Masterlist

Chapter 20

“Hey Hotch,” Spencer knocked on his boss’s door.

Spencer got in extra early today to have his meeting with Hotch and hopefully tie up all the loose ends in his paperwork.

“Reid, come in,” Hotch gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and talking with Y/N and I think my time at the BAU is coming to an end,” Spencer said.

“I see,” Hotch leaned back in his chair, “Well, I think it goes without saying that you would certainly be missed. But, I’m not going to try to convince you to stay because I feel like this is a good decision for you...one I probably should have made myself if we’re being completely honest.”

“You made it work though, Jack loves his superhero dad,” Spencer reassured him, “I just can’t keep missing stuff after already missing six years. It’s too much and I certainly can’t focus on cases when I’m desperately wishing I was somewhere else.”

“How about this? We put you on temporary unpaid leave for a year. Then, you can either choose to come back or quit for good. This will give you plenty of family time and then you’ll see if you’re ever ready to return or not. It’s up to you. Also, if I just put you on leave, it can start as early as tomorrow. Instead of you just quitting and then having to put your two weeks in and be called away on more cases.”

“That sounds great, Hotch. Thank you so much for your understanding. If I don’t come back, it was a pleasure working with you. But I’m sure I will see you around at Rossi’s dinner parties,” Spencer grinned.

Hotch and Spencer hugged before pulling away to see the rest of the team filing into the bullpen.

“I guess I have to tell them,” Spencer sighed, knowing they would be a little disappointed at the sudden news.

“Hey guys, I have an announcement,” Spencer walked out of Hotch’s office.

“You have another secret daughter?” Derek joked.

“Y/N is pregnant?” Penelope guessed.

“You’re engaged?” Emily asked.

“Um no to all, I know this is a bit sudden and I apologize for that but effective tomorrow, I will be taking a year long leave from the BAU which may turn permanent,” Spencer spoke softly.

Silence filled the room.

“It’s not that I don’t love this job or you guys. You all know you are my best friends but I just really need to be home with my family right now,” Spencer explained.

Derek was the first to walk up to Spencer, “We’re gonna miss you around here, kid.”

He pulled Spencer in for a hug, ruffling up his hair.

Penelope was next in line to hug Spencer with a tissue already dabbing at her eyes.

“I hate to see you go, Boy Wonder, but I know it’s what’s best for you,” she said.

“I think Jo may be an even stricter boss than Hotch,” Rossi teased.

“She does have a tendency to get grumpy when she isn’t allowed to have ice cream for dinner,” Spencer laughed lightly, wiping the tears that were forming from his eyes.

“Please don’t ever stop talking. I know we tease you but I truly am going to miss your rambles,” Emily whispered.

“I’m just a phone call away,” he promised.

“You deserve this. Do not feel bad,” JJ reminded him.

He nodded in acknowledgement, his voice getting caught in the lump in his throat.

“We need a cake!” Penelope exclaimed, “I will not have the Good Doctor’s last day be cakeless especially with that sweet tooth of his.”

“On it,” Derek said, grabbing his keys.

“Decorations too! See if Party City has a Happy Retirement section!” she shouted after him.

“You’ve got it, baby girl,” Derek replied.

-

Spencer returned home in the evening with a cardboard box full of his belongings that once resided on his desk. 7 years of his career packed into one box. It seemed sad to him that such a big chapter of his life was closing.

But then, he walked inside. You and Jo had karaoke up on the TV screen. You both were currently in the middle of Wannabe by the Spice Girls. Jo even had her baseball cap on backwards to complete the look.

“If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends. Make it last forever, friendship never ends. If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give. Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is,” Jo sang.

Then you jumped in, “So, here's a story from A to Z. You wanna get with me, you gotta listen carefully. We got Em in the place who likes it in your face. You got G like MC who likes it on a

Easy V doesn't come for free, she's a real lady. And as for me, ha you'll see.”

“Slam your bodies down and wind it all around,” you both sang.

You turned around to see Spencer standing there and you let out a yelp.

“Oh no, please continue. Don’t stop on my account,” he grinned.

“Daddy!” Jo jumped up into his arms.

He moved Jo to his hip as you approached.

“Hi, love,” you greeted him with a kiss.

He was no longer sad. This was the right choice. This is where he belonged.

-

“Shhh” is the first thing you heard as you awoke followed by the quiet rattling of dishes.

“Jo, no!” you heard Spencer whisper-shout, “I said not until Mommy wakes up.”

“I’m up,” you muttered into your pillow.

You turned to the side of your bed to see Jo standing there with a tray of food and Spencer behind her with a bouquet of flowers.

You smiled softly.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” they both cheered.

“Thank you, my loves,” you gave them both kisses, accepting the tray from Jo as Spencer set the flower vase down on your bedside table.

The food on the tray consisted of a mug of coffee, a cup of orange juice, bacon, a bowl of blueberries, and a big chocolate chip pancake with sliced strawberries for the eyes and nose and a whipped cream smile.

“Very artistic,” you grinned.

Spencer returned next to you in bed, getting under the covers. He was wearing a plain gray fitted t-shirt, flannel PJ pants, and his glasses.

“Jo, you can go get your present for Mommy while she eats,” he suggested.

Once Jo left the room to go retrieve her gift, you planted a much messier kiss on Spencer’s lips.

“Not that I’m complaining but what was that for?” he smirked.

“You know how sexy I told you those glasses make you look,” you stated, taking a bite of a strip of bacon.

“I’ll keep them on all day then as part of your gift,” he smiled.

Jo crawled on to the bed with a wrapped box and an envelope taped to it. The card was clearly homemade by Jo and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Look at this beautiful artwork!” you exclaimed, opening the card.

Inside was a gift card for a spa downtown surrounded by Jo’s doodles.

“JJ said that place was really nice. There’s enough on there for you and a friend to get a full day of pampering,” Spencer said.

“Well, that’s good that she likes it because I will probably bring her along as my fellow mom. Thank you both,” you smiled.

Jo pushed the wrapped box towards you. You opened it to find a multi-colored beaded necklace.

“I made it for you, Mommy,” Jo beamed as you put it on over your head.

“That is so very thoughtful of you,” you kissed her forehead, “It fits me perfectly and you even included my favorite color.”

“I planned a picnic for today but if you would rather stay home and relax all day, I totally get it. Jo and I can go to the park and you can have some peace and quiet,” Spencer offered.

“Are you kidding me? It’s called Mother’s Day, I want to spend some time with the little girl who made me the luckiest one in the entire world,” you smiled.

“Picnic, it is then. I’ll get Jo all dressed and the bag packed. Here, let me take that,” Spencer left the room, balancing Jo on one hip and your tray of dirty dishes on the other.

You were really going to have to bring your all for Father’s Day next month.

[kiss-inthekitchen]

of the jealous kind

summary: you and Harry are out at the local farmer’s market when a girl starts flirting with you and Harry gets jealous. only thing is, you don’t exactly realize she’s flirting with you. classic wlw vibes, am i right ladies? (please say yes)

my submission for @bopbopstyles and @harrysclementines bi-ficathon!

a/n: fun times with Harry calling you “his girl” and being just a bit pathetically jealous (his words!) also i might continue this...in a smut type of fashion... if y’all are interested

word count: 2.2k 

--

“Oh, let’s stop over there! I want to get one of those chocolate chip custard things,” you exclaimed, spotting your favorite bakery stand at the farmer’s market and dragging Harry along by your joined hands. 

“A’right, love, m’comin,” he laughed, trying to keep in step with your suddenly quickened pace. 

It was a Sunday morning, cloudy but not too cold, and you and Harry were visiting your favorite farmer’s market in town. You tried to come here at least twice a month if your schedules allowed it. Today, it just so happened, you both had the entire day free to spend with each other. 

Harry knew you had to look at everything the bakery had to offer before you inevitably bought the same items as usual (a good, crusty country loaf and the same danish you never remembered the name of). There was a produce stand across the way that immediately caught Harry’s eye, a “buy 2 get 1 free” sign atop a display of various berries calling out to him. You noticed his distraction, the two of you speaking at the same time.

“M’gonna-” 

“Go on, then.”

“Know me so well, don’t you?” He gave you a soft smile and pressed a kiss to your temple before heading off in pursuit of his beloved fruit. 

You took the last few steps over to the booth’s main table, which held a majority of the baked goods as well as this week’s free sample: a garlic rosemary bread, cut into bite size pieces. You picked one up, on instinct taking a sidelong glance at the basket of your favorite pastries by the register, when the woman behind the counter finished ringing up a customer and turned to you.   

“Can I help you with anything, hon?”

“Oh, um, I’m just looking,” you answered, looking up at her. She must’ve been new, you thought, not recognizing her from your previous visits. She had dark hair, twisted up into a bun at the back of her head, an oversized t-shirt with a phoenix decal on it. Her name tag informed you that her name was Allie. 

“Alright, well, I will say that’s the best flavor we’ve got,” she gestures to the small wedge still held between your fingers. 

“Really? That’s quite a bold statement,” you smile back at her, appreciating her friendliness.  

“You’re gonna want to trust me on this one,” she said, nodding at you to go ahead. 

You took a bite, blushing a bit at the knowledge you were being watched and that she was awaiting your response. “Mhm,” you agreed, around a mouthful of bread. “Okay, you’re right, that’s better.” 

“Thought so. I have been told I’ve got very good taste.” 

“Well, I’m not surprised.” 

She made eye contact with you, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “So, will you be taking a loaf of the garlic rosemary then?” she asked. 

“Yes, please.” Why not try something new, you thought. And she was right, it was delicious. You’re sure Harry would like it too, and you could just imagine the playful ribbing he was going to give you when he noticed you’d deviated from your usual order. “Oh, could I also get that-” 

“The chocolate chip danish? I saw you eyeing it earlier,” she said, picking one up with a gloved hand and placing it in a small paper bag. “That one’s on the house.” 

“Oh, you’re so sweet! Thank you.” Allie was really on top of it with the customer service. 

“Anytime,” she said, “Anything else I can get you?” 

“No, that’s all for me! Thanks again.”

She rang up your order, handing you the bag before speaking. “You know, we also come out to the beachside farmer’s market on Wednesday’s, if you’re ever in the area. I’ll write it down for you,” she said, picking up a business card from a stack on the table and turning it over to write on the back. 

“Sounds great,” you replied, mostly to be polite. You probably wouldn’t make it out, Wednesdays being a busy day for you with classes. 

Just as she was handing it back to you, Harry appeared behind you, fruit in tow. 

“Thank you so much, have a good one!” you said cheerily, dropping the card into the bag with your goods. You’d look at it when you got home.

She waved back. “See you soon, hopefully.”

You smiled as you turned around to see Harry already standing there, startling a bit at his unexpected presence. He raised his eyebrows a bit, but didn’t say anything as he put his free arm around your shoulders. The two of you headed back to the main walkway, and he waited until your new friend was out of earshot before he spoke. 

“So, yeh just gonna let someone flirt with my girl like that?” 

“What?” That was not what you were expecting. “She wasn’t flirting with me, Harry.” 

“Oh, please, love. Saw the way she was lookin’ at you. Poor girl. I’m sure you led her on.” 

“Excuse me, I did no such thing,” you scoffed. “And she wasn’t even flirting with me, so I couldn’t have.” 

He breezed right past your denial, having already made up his mind. You weren’t going to be able to convince him otherwise, you knew that by now. “Told ya before love, you come off very flirtatious. Almost feel bad for her.” He was smirking down at you, the bastard. “Almost.” 

“Being a pest,” you grumbled, shoving against his shoulder with yours to throw him off balance. 

He stumbled a bit, but recovered quickly. “Oi! ‘S not very nice, is it?” 

You giggled in response, loving when he used that playful tone. He tried to keep a serious face on while looking back at you but failed almost immediately, looking at you with such adoration in his eyes that you forgot what you’d both been talking about. 

“Anyway,” you sang, reaching out for his free hand and threading your fingers through his. “What did you buy?” 

His face lights up at the memory of his purchase. “Got strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries, plus some local clover honey.” 

“Such a sweet tooth, hm?” 

“S’pose I do,” he said with a slight smirk. “Ready to go home and eat, then?” 

“We’ve barely been here half an hour, H. Trying to get me home already?”

“Look too good today, love. Worried if we stick around I’ll have to beat the other vendors off with a stick.” 

“I thought we were done with this conversation,” you rolled your eyes at him playfully, but allowed him to steer you back toward the car park. You were getting kind of hungry anyway. 

--

You’re sat on your kitchen island at home, Harry placing the bags on the counter next to you. 

“Have a nice time, love?” He asks, moving over to you and situating his body between your knees at the edge of the counter. 

You drape your arms around his neck, thumb coming up to his cheek to rub back and forth as he leans into your touch. “Always have a good time when I’m with you,” you breathe. 

“That’s m’girl,” he speaks in a husky tone, before leaning in to press his lips to yours, slow and lazy at first. That is, until he lifts his hands to your thighs, sliding them around to your back and suddenly tugging you closer to the edge of the island, body flush with his. You gasp into his mouth at the action, and you can feel rather than see his resounding smirk. 

“Harry,” you pull back, attempting to admonish him but no one would know from the way your voice shakes. 

“Sorry, love. Know what they say, kitchen’s the most romantic room in the house.” 

“I don’t know anyone who says that.” 

“Y’do now,” he grins lopsidedly at you, and it’s all you can do to remember that the two of you still need to eat. 

You grin back at him. “You’re a dork, you know that?” 

“But you love me,” he responds, and you can’t argue with that. “A’right, I’ll take everything out and we can have a picnic in the backyard, how’s that sound?” 

Your smile nearly knocks him off his feet. “I’ll go get the picnic blanket!” 

He removes himself from between your legs and you slide off the counter and head towards the linen closet in the hallway. When you return, Harry’s taken out the loaf of bread and the danish, and is holding the business card in between two fingers. 

“What’s this, then?” He asks, holding up the bakery’s business card, logo facing you. 

“It’s just their card, the cashier told me they come out to another farmer’s market during the week and she was gonna write it down for me.” 

“Oh, she wrote it down, love.” In a second, he elegantly flips the card over in his fingers to show you the back. “But that’s not all she wrote.” Underneath the name of the other market is her name and, unmistakably, a phone number. 

“No!” you gasp, not believing he was right and you’d fucking missed it. 

“And you bought a new flavor bread?”

“Well, I-  Allie said it was the best one…” you trail off, trying to remember the details of your earlier interaction. Maybe Harry was right, you guess you did seem a bit flirtatious.

“Oh, Allie said, did she? That’s all it takes?” He’s kind of joking, kind of not, when it finally sinks in for you that you’ve, yet again, completely failed to notice when another woman was trying to flirt with you. 

“Oh, god damn it!” you exclaim, completely in your own head and you didn’t even hear what Harry had said to you. “I do this every time!” 

What’s left of Harry’s joking demeanor drops. “Every time? How often does this happen?!” 

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice again.” 

Your friends were gonna have a field day with this one. Three out of the four of you identified as bi or pan, though when you’d all become friends back in high school only one of you had actually been out. Now, you all joked that you had one “token straight” in the friend group. 

“Y/N?!”

“I know, H, can you give me just a moment, I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that I’m apparently a raging stereotype,” you reply, laughing at yourself a bit for being so predictable. 

“Oh, of course, don't mind me. I’ll just be here. Waiting. Very patiently.” It’s a wonder he doesn’t start tapping his foot, clearly the farthest thing from patient right now. 

You snap back to attention, realizing that if you don’t stop Harry he’s just going to keep spiraling. “You do know I’m dating you, right?”

“Do I?” 

“Oh, come on. You’re being such a baby about this!” 

“Oi! I am not!” He huffs, and you can just picture him as an indignant toddler, standing with his arms folded and a deep frown set on his face. 

You hold back a laugh at the image you’ve conjured, closing the distance between the two of you. “Baby, I love you,” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek.“You know I do.” His jaw. “Why don’t we just throw that out, hm?” You kiss his lips this time, reaching for the card and plucking it from his fingers before tossing it away from you.  

“I guess,” he grumbles as you pull away, but you can tell he’s not quite over it. 

You rest your chin against his chest, looking up at him with your best puppy dog eyes. “You don’t believe me, gorgeous? Need me to prove it to you?” 

“Maybe,” he mumbles, and you know that you’ve brought him back from his little jealousy spiral at the mere suggestion, so you decide to make him wait for it. Just a little while.  

“More than happy to,” you murmur, tracing your fingertips over the back of his hand. “Only thing is, you’re gonna have to have this picnic with me first,” you reach behind him for the blanket, “and you have to stop pouting.” You step around him, laughing as you run toward the glass door that leads to the yard.

“M’not pouting,” he lies to the empty kitchen as he grabs the rest of the food and some utensils before following you outside. 

His mood is definitely lifted, though, when he comes outside to find you seated on the blanket already, grinning widely at him and holding your arms out for him to crawl into. 

Maybe he had been just a tad bit dramatic. 

--

About half the bread is gone now, a bowl of honeyed berries and a plate full of crumbs resting on the cloth-covered grass next to you. Harry’s shifted so he’s laying down with his head resting on your soft thighs, with you carding your fingers through his short curls, just enjoying each other’s company. 

“Wait a minute,” you break the comfortable silence, a thought suddenly popping into your mind. “Other people flirt with you all the time! Sometimes right in front of me!” 

“And?” he muses, reluctantly sitting up in order to face you. 

“And! I never get jealous like that!” 

“I know. Rather insulting, if you ask me. You can get possessive, love. I certainly won’t mind it.”

[weasleyswizardpleases]

Playing Nurse (Fred Weasley x reader) (1/4)

Summary: Fred Weasley keeps showing up in Hogwarts’ infirmary,  where you apprentice when you’re not in class, but he quickly becomes more than just a patient to you. 

Warnings/notes: Blood, dental injury, concussion, bruising, broken bones. Language, kissing, some nudity, coming out as trans. I promise it’s not super graphic or dramatic or anything, it’s just fluff that happens to take place in the school infirmary so some injuries/illnesses are part of the story. NOT ANGST tho! I swear lol. Trans masc!Fred x fem!reader. I’m v proud of this one pls don’t let it flop or I will reblog it every day forever!!!

Part 1: Open Wide

As Madam Pomfrey’s apprentice, you spend a lot of your free time helping out sick or injured students after classes or on the weekends. Madam Pomfrey insists that one of you be “on duty,” at all times, although she takes more than her fair share of the shifts, insisting that “you’re only young once,” and you need to get some fresh air and tend to your studies every once in a while.

One day, when you’re alone at the infirmary, Fred Weasley bursts through the door, cupping his face and grimacing. You stand up with a start, surprised at the sudden motion in the still room.

“Is Pomfrey in?” he asks, looking about. 

“No, it’s just me I’m afraid. But I’ll patch you up just fine. Let me have a look,” you say, gesturing for him to take a seat.

“I didn’t know you worked here all alone,” he says, his hand still holding his mouth, muffling his words.

“Madame Pomfrey’s been pleased with my performance lately, so I get to take a few shifts by myself,” you say proudly. “Mostly just bloody noses and stomach flu,” you say. “And people trying to skip class,” you say pointedly, thinking of the havoc Fred and George’s skiving snackboxes wreak around exam time. 

You try to gently move Fred’s hand so you can see what’s going on and he flinches back.

“Ow!” 

“Sorry, sorry,” you murmur as he lowers his hand to reveal a badly split and bruised lip.

“How did this happen?”

“Ran into a door. What do you think?”

“Okay, let me put it another way: who did this to you?” you say, preparing a pad with alcohol to clean the injury.

“Malfoy,” he says, sighing. “And about half of his little pureblood Slytherin clique,” he adds, as if to make it clear he wasn’t bested by just one scrawny asshole.

“Well, someone needs to give that little git what’s coming to him,” you say, laughing. “Don’t tell anyone I said that on the clock.” You dab at his lip and he winces. 

“Hope I don’t go out to find Crab and Goyle bleeding out on the quad,” you add, then use a quick episkey spell to heal the lip.

“How’s that?” you ask.

“Still hurts a bit,” he says, running his fingers questioningly across the soft skin of his newly healed lower lip.

“Open your mouth,” you command, pulling on gloves and sticking a finger inside his lip to pull it back so you can have a closer look at the inside of his mouth. You lean in, his breath hot on your face. Everything looks good on the top, but when you pull back his bottom lip you realize the problem right away.

“Well, the good news is, no more blood and gore,” you say, stepping back and pulling the gloves off.

“The bad news?” he asks expectantly. You pull a mirror from the medicine cupboard and hand it to him.

“You’ve chipped that bottom tooth pretty good. Not much I can do to mend it unless you can get hold of the other half,” you say. “Here’s a tonic that should help with the pain. If you take a teaspoon every day for two weeks, it shouldn’t hurt anymore.”

He studies himself in the hand mirror, baring his teeth to show the badly broken one on the bottom. The light filtering through the high windows falls on his face, and you study his newly mended lips, noticing how pink and full they seem. He smiles experimentally into the mirror, open-mouthed, then closed, then open again. He shrugs.

“Looks a bit roguish, don’t you think? Adds an air of ‘devilishly handsome,’ right?” he asks, smiling cheekily. You smile, the apples of your cheeks full. You gesture for him to turn towards you and take a long look.

“Smile,” you say, as if about to take a picture. He obliges easily and gives you a wide grin, and you study him directly, taking his chin in your hand to inspect.

“What do you think, then? Sort of a fun new look, huh?”

“Sure, if you like bad boys,” you say.

“You don’t?” he says suggestively, looking at you sideways.

“Get out of here, Fred Weasley. And don’t let me see you back next week missing a molar,” you joke as he stands to leave.

“That sounds like a dare,” he says cheerfully, pocketing the tonic bottle. You take a deep breath as you watch him leave, secretly hoping to see him again soon. 

“Come back if it still hurts in two weeks!” you call after him hastily, and turn to busy yourself with your records so that he can’t see you blushing.

[magalidragon]

lucky charm | a Jonerys drabble

YAY ITALY! 🇮🇹 Congrats @youwerenevermine ! Here’s a little silly for you in celebration and because you made that comment that Emilia was the lucky charm for Italy because she’s there now. 🤣 Wrote this in an hour so it’s silly and dumb but oh well!

“Dany!  Dany where are you!?”

Missandei, her best friend, was on the phone with her, heard the shouting, and chuckled, “He alright?”

“Oh he’s fine, it’s almost time for the Winterfell game.”

“Huh?”

“Football.” Dany tugged the blue football jersey over her shoulders, picking up the phone and placing it back to her ear, now that she’d put on her uniform.  She sighed, leaving her office even though there was still work to be done.  She had a ton of stuff she’d brought home from work, thinking stupidly she’d be able to tackle it, but she’d also forgotten that this weekend was a big one for the Winterfell Wolves.  

She was grateful they didn’t have to go out to the pub, since it was an away game.  When it was away games, they got to stay home.  When it was home games, they had had  to go to the Lone Wolf pub and she would need to stand there for however long the game lasted, whether it went into a shootout or drew or whatever.  She was from Essos; they didn’t have football as big as it was here in Westeros.  

And she’d met and fallen in love with a man who seemed to be completely normal on the outset.

Then she’d met him when the Wolves played.

He turned into a beast.

She also happened to be there the day that they won the first game in over 100 years to the Casterly Lions.  They were well on their way to being engaged, had spoken about moving in together, marriage, the whole lot of it, and if she hadn’t already had those conversations with him, she would have thought him proposing mid-fuck later that evening—one of the best ones they’d ever had honestly, she should tell the Wolves to win more often—was only because he was so happy that his beloved team had won for first time in 100 years.

And a few months later when she ended up at the dentist with a chipped tooth from tripping over her fucking cat Drogon, the Wolves had lost the worst game they’d ever lost in centuries.  

Jon was positive it was because she wasn’t there with her.

It didn’t matter there were times they lost when she was there.  He found an excuse.  She was in the bathroom, he didn’t have the right beer, they were at the wrong person’s house, maybe her hair was in the wrong type of style as it was the day, they beat Casterly, whatever.  

She loved it about him.  It was just a little quirk that made her look at him with a knowing smile, a slight shake of the head, and she’d kiss him and murmur she loved him, and she’d allow him to put her in a Wolves jersey and sit her on the couch or the correct pub chair or whatever.  

The television was already on in the living room when she entered and Ghost had his jersey on, sitting on his massive pillow bed with a new bone.  “Who are we playing tonight?” she asked, pretty sure he’d told her, but she couldn’t remember.  

“Highgarden.”  He pulled her in his lap, passing her a beer.  She took a sip and made a face; it was a Northern brand she really didn’t like but tolerated because she’d taken a sip against the Dornish Snakes and the Wolves came back from a nil-four goal deficit.  He kissed her temple.  “How is Misssandei?”

“Wondering why I cut her off to come down and watch this game with you.”

He grinned, his dark curls tugged from his face, in his ancient, threadbare, with holes on the edges jersey that she was sure he’d had since childhood.  He tugged her towards him for another quick kiss.  “Because it’s the game.”

“Which game is this exactly?”

“Regular game, but the Westeros Cup is coming up.”

“That the big one that’s every four years?”

He looked horrified at her.  “No!  That’s the WestEssos Cup where we play Essosi teams and we go by provinces, not individual teams.  The Westeros Cup is where each province plays each other to determine who is the superior football player in all of Westeros and it is clearly the North and that starts in two weeks.”  

“I’m so sorry darling.”  She kissed his temple, chuckling.  “Ah, so that means the Crownlands will be playing.”

An instantly suspicious look fell over his face, his gray eyes narrowing.  “Aye.”

She smiled sweetly.  “Well I’m from the Crownlands.”

“Hmm…you’re from Essos.”

“I was born on Dragonstone.  Does that not make me Westerosi?”

“It does.”  He looked confused now, brow wrinkling, unsure whether he was going to accidentally offend her with what he probably was getting into.  “Um…but you live in the North.  With me.  A Northerner.”

She giggled; she was just fucking with him and hugged her arm around his neck, stealing a quick sip of beer and passing it to him again.  “Just fucking with you.  Let’s watch this game, huh?”

“My lucky charm.”

“If you’re a good boy I’ll show you the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow when the game’s over.”

He turned pale pink.  “I was drunk when I said that.”

“Yes, I remember, your pot of gold is good too.”  She was never going to let him live that down.  Especially since he told everyone that she was his lucky charm.  She was why the Wolves won, not that he’d put all his faith in just her alone.  He did support the talent of the team, their coach, and everyone who made it go.

But mostly he believed she was the reason they won.

And she loved that about him.  Her superstitious little wolf.  

“And the North plays in this cup coming up, huh?”

“Yes, we’re going to win.”

“Hmm.”

“Because I have you.”  He pressed a hard kiss to her lips, just as someone on the television scored.  He whooped, almost throwing her clear off him to cheer, as the Wolves had scored within a minute of the game starting.  She sighed, falling into the couch cushions and made eyes with Ghost, who gave her a well we do love him face.  

That we do, she thought, getting up to get herself a proper drink at the next commercial break.

Several weeks later, Dany made all of Jon’s dreams come true.

Not only did she secure him tickets to the final of the Westeros Cup via her brother’s connections—it paid sometimes to have a brother who was in politics—where the North were playing against the West, but just before the Wolves won in a shootout, she passed him a small bag with something she purchased before they arrived.  

Jon, slightly distracted as the Northern player lined up for the kick, glanced in the bag.  “Oh, another shirt?  That’s nice, but…not now.”  Her quiet wolf sucked in his breath as the player kicked and he clutched her tight.  

And he scored.  

The stadium went insane, every Northerner fan throwing up their blue and white scarves, t-shirts, hats, and waving the Northern gray and white flag, screaming hysterically.  

Jon was almost in tears, holding onto her tight and screaming in his excitement.  She grinned and jumped and down with him, lifted clear off the ground, his arms hoisting her up, so she was downright climbing him like a tree.  “We did it!  You did it!  My lucky charm!  My Dany!  We won!  We won!”

Dany smiled, thinking of the bag with the infant t-shirt she’d purchased, that he had barely registered.  She’d tell him later; she didn’t think she was the lucky charm this time, but something else.  

“Sure Jon,” she teased, kissing him hard, mumbling.  “You’re my lucky charm too.”  

[fairyoftbz]

rêveur | b. jacob

☕ pairing: (shy) pastry chef! jacob x fem! reader (with barista!kevin) ☕ word count: 4.2k (。_。) (oops i got carried away) ☕ genre: fluff, sort of slow-burn (more like jacob and the reader rejecting their feelings) ☕ tw: maybe some occasional swear words and one (1) mention of the reader’s ex but nothing too crazy.  ☕ synopsis: you find yourself always coming back to the café down the street where you absolutely loved the pastries and befriended the barista, but you’ll soon discover the culprit of your sweet tooth. ☕ a/n: gosh it’s long but i couldn’t stop myself writing for him 🥺 i’m just too soft for him. ☕ requested: yes! i hope it’s not too bad!

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No matter how hard you tried, the efforts you put to prevent you from coming back, you always found yourself going at the local café every single week. You didn’t understand if it was the atmosphere or the warmth of the place, but you always found yourself there. The fact that it was located just down the road gave you the excuse of hanging around there more often than you should.

You could be busy, studying for finals or hang out with friends, the café was always hidden in the corner of your mind. As soon as the street works ended, your neighbourhood became the most tranquil place you’ve ever lived in. All your neighbours were friendly and polite, sticking a little note in the lift to warn the other neighbours of a potential party or loud reunion, helping each other at any occasion. Some residents, including you, owned a pet, and you were grateful that none of them was a pain in the butt for the rest of the building. When you told your friends how quiet and different it was from your former apartment, they never believed you.

While some of them would have killed to study or sleep at a place like your current one, you always found yourself going back to this local café. This little, Japanese-like coffee shop became your new obsession over the months, randomly finding it once while you wanted to go to a flower shop at the end of this street. The employees were welcoming and caring, completely catching you off guard as you were used to going to Starbucks, where some baristas and waiters could use a good lecture about politeness and respect. In the small coffee shop, their goal wasn’t to make the most money possible, it was more to please people and make them discover new coffee or pastries flavours. Everything was homemade, and that’s what encouraged you to become their number one fan. The workers, especially one, started recognising you by dint of your regular appearances at the shop, remembering one of your visits.

“Morning Y/N! Caramel macchiato, as usual? Nothing else?” Kevin, the barista, greeted you with a smile, which you returned alongside with a nod.

This barista was a social butterfly, always striking up a conversation with everyone. And he didn’t care, he just kept going, even if the customers were rude or remained quiet. You were admiring because you were among the people that stayed reserved yet polite when he started talking to you, but his ease made you comfortable enough to joke and laugh with him, striking a conversation with him whenever you had the chance, quickly becoming friends over your many visits.

“Yes, please! I need a lot of caffeine today,” you murmured, and he sadly chuckled, understanding your great need for energy. “Rough night?” he asked, and you agreed again, chuckling as you realised how lame it was. “I assisted my dog being in pain while giving birth,” you explained, and the barista’s eyes widened, his mouth falling agape in excitement. “But that’s amazing! How many did she have?” he seized your credit card without even telling you the price of your purchase - in his defence, you were so used to coming here that you knew the price of your order by heart by now - and typed on his screen, closing the cash register in a slam as it randomly opened.   “She gave birth to four healthy puppies, they’re so adorable,” you replied, and the man in front of you smiled as brightly as you were.

“Those are great news! Oh, by the way, would you like to have a taste of the discovery of our pastry chef? You should have seen how happy he looked when he finished the batch this morning,” he explained, and you followed him to the window display, indicating with his finger what resembled a mille-feuille. “That looks nice, I’ll have one, then,” you stated as you were to hand him your credit card again, which he hesitantly took before looking at the back office. You asked him if something was wrong, but he shook his head with a smile and gave you a tray with your drink and the pastry. “Have a great day Kevin!” you thanked him while he washed his hands, head turning to you before shooting you a friendly wink. “You too, Y/N! And you can always tell me if you need someone to take one of the puppies, I’ll gladly adopt one. I only have to talk with my girlfriend first,” your eyes turned into crescent moons filled with joy at his words, and you lifted your thumb excitedly. He quickly waved before serving the next customer, his signature undying smile plastered on his face.

Comfortably sitting down at an empty table, you took off your coat and gulped a sip of your drink, your mouth salivating at the sight of the food. Grabbing the fork, you slid it against the pastry and brought it to your mouth, the sugary taste melting against your tongue. You ate more and more until you finished, almost tempted to go back to Kevin and ask him for another one. But you ignored your love of good food and started getting to work, getting a book and your computer out of your bag, touching up your project that you had spent a lot of time working on. It was one of the last things you had to do for university, and you were delighted to get it done to finally move on.

“Is everything okay?” You recognised the voice of your favourite barista, smiling as you watched him clearing your tray. “Yeah, thanks! Actually, can you tell the chef that it was amazing? I loved how incredible it tasted,” you explained, and Kevin smiled brightly, nodding. “I promise I’ll do it. Jacob gets so happy when he receives recognition, I’m sure it’s going to brighten his day,” nodding at you, he took your empty tray back to the counter.

Quickly saving your paper on your computer, you turned your head to the side to stare at the barista, smiling as you noticed him disappearing in the back as he called his friend’s name.

“Jacob!” Kevin spoke as he wiped his wet hands on his apron, his friend slightly flinching as the voice filled the silence he was used to working in. “Are we out of something?” the baker worriedly asked, and Kevin shook his head, a chuckle escaping from his mouth. “No, no, I’m just doing my job, being a messenger,” Jacob slightly frowned and stopped spreading yolk on the biscuits. “One of my friends, Y/N, came and ate the mille-feuille you made this morning. She said that it was excellent, and she wanted me to tell you,” Kevin explained, and the baker blinked a few times, the tip of his ears getting progressively red as he processed his friend’s words. “Thank you, I appreciate it,” the baker replied with a smile, peeking out of the back office to try and get a look at the customers. “Is she still there?” he asked, and Kevin peered closer, shaking his head as your seat was now found empty.

Jacob nodded and went back to work, a bit disappointed to not have been able to see you, hence the pout forming onto his face, but he was touched that someone complimented him on his skills. Of course, it was his job after all, but it always felt nice to receive compliments and validation that what you do is fantastic. Jacob wasn’t the most confident person in the world, so your words only brought him the daily dose of happiness and the credits he deserved.

You came back the next week, the atmosphere of the café had changed into something quite hectic, almost stressing you out when you came here to relax and chill out from your day at uni. Now that your project was done and submitted, you had some hours to kill before meeting up with some friends. Without even noticing, you arrived in the middle of rush hour, people jostling one another to get some pastries or a quick coffee before going back to work. You had to put back into place a businessman that tried to overtake you to place his order, feeling your heart hammering in your chest while doing so. The excuse of being in a rush didn’t persuade you, riposting that you also had to go somewhere so he went back behind you, breathing out of frustration to make you feel guilty, but it didn’t work. You only rolled your eyes and waited, smirking to yourself as the man behind you gave up and left, cussing.

A hand settled the pastries in the window display in a rush, people massing together to decide on their order. Kevin was all over the place but still an angel, a tired yet bright smile adorning his face. Once it was your turn, a man walked behind your friend and recognised the thin hands that placed the pastries in front of you a few minutes earlier. “Jacob? We ran out of chocolate chip cookies, we need a new batch asap, bro. We’re selling them like hot cakes.Y/N, hi, the usual?” Kevin said, and you looked up at the name, the baker stopping in his tracks and nodded, a tired look on his face. Kevin seized the opportunity to grab a chocolate croissant from the tray his friend was holding, wrapping it in a napkin.

Your eyes connected with Jacob’s for a second, his light brown pupils holding something warm and gentle towards you. He wiped the flour off his apron before quickly looking back at you, pushing the strands of hair away from his eyes before replacing his baker cap. He looked in great need of sleep, the bags under his eyes enhancing the empathy you had for him. He was handsome and adorable at the same time, your heart not being able to choose what side to fall for. The baker tiredly nodded at his friend’s request and disappeared, hearing him hastily get back to work.

“Oh uhm, yes, please,” you stammered, and Kevin smirked, humming in agreement, and typed on his screen. You shyly cleared your throat as your friend probably understood your train of thoughts since you weren’t so discrete in observing the baker, but thankfully, he didn’t raise it.

Once the rush hour had calmed down, and the coffee shop quieted down again, just like it was when you came last time, Kevin took his break with Jacob. The manager took over, leaving the two employees time to take a much-needed break and breathe for a while, gathering enough energy to make it to the end of the afternoon.

“It was her that complimented your mille-feuille,” Kevin revealed as he motioned to your table with a nod, where you were happily calling a friend and munching on the pastry the barista had placed on your tray.

Jacob followed his friend’s finger, and an honest, tired smile emerged on his face when he noticed how bright and sunny you looked. You looked so soft and nice to have around, making the baker wonder how it was to have a conversation with you. Eyes turning into crescent moons as you laughed at one of your friend’s joke, you failed to notice the employee looking in your direction, his colleague observing him out of the corner of his eye while sipping his iced americano.  

“She’s pretty, right?” Kevin mumbled, but Jacob didn’t hear him. “What did you say?” The pastry chef mindlessly asked, gaze trailing on your figure. “Y/N. She’s pretty, don’t you think?” Jacob’s eyes widened and stared back at his friend, who was giggling. “It’s okay, I’ll keep it a secret,” the barista nudged his tired friend in the ribs, finishing his drink. “You better,” his colleague finished his coffee, throwing the paper cup in a bin before going back to work, leaving a chuckling Kevin behind. “Why do I feel like cupid out of a sudden?” the barista mumbled to himself, a smirk appearing on his face as he stood up and went back inside.

The next week, as you hung around, you felt the same way of tension as soon as you stepped into the café as last time. Jacob was surprisingly serving customers, juggling between the coffees and the pastries baking in the back office. “H-hi!” you greeted Jacob, and he slightly froze at your word, greeting you with a bright smile. You were surprised when he didn’t even ask for your order, getting straight to work and wishing him a nice day as you walked to your usual seat. However, as you took your first sip, you felt your stomach churn and a disgusting taste landing on your throat. Shivers travelled down your spine as you swallowed the bitter liquid you recognised that belonged to the iced americano. A wave of memories invaded your mind as you remembered how terrible it tasted once you took a sip from your ex’s drink, who was addicted to this type of beverage.

Jacob got your order wrong, and you swallowed thickly several times, pondering if it were a good idea to add more stress to the poor baker’s shoulders by pointing at his mistake, but you couldn’t bring yourself to drink this no matter how hard you tried. You stood up and walked to the side of the counter, waiting for the people to get served before you caught the baker’s attention. You started to calmly explain the uncomfortable situation you were in to the barista, his ears became bright red as another customer came and seemed to have your drink in your hand. The customer got extremely mad as he was apparently in a rush, yelling and cursing at the baker.

“You are paid for doing this, how could you make an order wrong? It’s not that difficult!” the man exclaimed, and you noticed Jacob’s eyes darkening. You knew that he wanted to talk back to the customer, but he didn’t plan on getting fired, so he just listened and nodded. “Jacob, don’t worry I can wait, serve him first,” you said before walking back to the table after offering him a smile, noticing him nodding again and take the two drinks that you and the other man laid on the counter.

The baker cleared his throat as he arrived a few minutes later with your correct order and a slice of chocolate cake.

“I’m sorry for giving you the wrong order. I am the only one here because Kevin is on holiday and my manager was supposed to come, but he left me in the lurch. So… I’m a bit stressed out,” Jacob explained quickly, earning a reassuring smile from him. He swallowed thickly but felt a wave of relief crash onto him as you didn’t look mad at all.  “It’s okay, Jacob, it’s human to make mistakes. If it were another drink, I wouldn’t have said anything but I really can’t drink strong coffee. Thank you for the pastry, and uhm… good luck for today?” you said as he stood up, his tired eyes shining with thankfulness as he got back behind the counter. You quickly enjoyed your food and left after trying to wave at him timidly, but sadly, he didn’t notice you.

When you visited the café on the other days, he disappeared again in the back office, Kevin taking back the lead. There, with your caramel macchiato in hand, you started daydreaming about the pastry chef, his dreamy hands and beauteous face. You imagined romantic dates and activities you could do together, such as baking you new pastries before offering them at the coffee shop or even spending a day at the park together, a lost yet gentle smile on your face.

Everything about him made you dream. He exuded comfort, fondness, and warmth, his eyes always pearly with delight. Even a blind man would not have missed how amazing and passionate he is when it came to baking. You once overheard a conversation between him and Kevin, talking about a new receipt he found on the internet and how excited he was to try it out. His soft voice never failed to make you smile, his fluffy hair making you wonder how soft it was and how good it’d feel if you carded your fingers through his locks as you hugged him.

It was undeniable and inevitable, you had tried to deny those feelings during the past few weeks, but you couldn’t reject the fact that you had a massive crush on Jacob. Kevin gently teased you about this when his friend appeared, making sure to say his name aloud to catch your attention when you sat at a table, only to watch him quickly find a hiding place. You also wished you would see him more often, feeling quite defeated to see him escape your gaze as soon as he saw you. With the number of times you came to the coffee shop and saw your friend, your crush’s brief appearances weren’t enough to fulfil your little heart’s happiness. You wanted more of him, but, much to your dismay – and secretly Jacob’s – you didn’t know what to do.

“Ah Y/N! I talked with my girlfriend today, and I was wondering if I could adopt one of the puppies? I showed her the pictures you sent me, and she is all over the moon for this one,” Kevin said as he placed your order on the tray, quickly getting his phone out after checking whether some customers were waiting or not. “Yeah, no problem!” you smiled as you recognised the crazy, adventurous one. “I asked the vet, and he told me that they are old enough to be adopted. Is it okay if you come with your girlfriend within the next few days? I can’t wait for you to have one, they are precious!” you exclaimed but calmed instantly, heart hammering in your chest as your lovely baker appeared from the back office, visibly in a bad mood. He didn’t even glance at you, his attitude sent a pang in your heart, but Kevin just shook his head, winking at you. “Can we come tonight to your place? I’m excited to meet my future baby boy!” Kevin made sure that his friend heard, noticing that he was listening carefully yet discreetly, hence his movements coming suddenly to a halt. The barista gave you a knowing smile and kept on chatting with you as if nothing happened.

That night, someone knocked at your door, and you excitedly walked to the main entrance, happily greeting the couple, and welcoming them in, eyes widening as Jacob had tagged along.

“What a great surprise!” you awkwardly mumbled, and he nodded, his smile outshining the sun as you let them all inside. Kevin and his girlfriend were quick to follow the yaps of your dogs to her newborns, leaving you with Jacob, who was quick to grab your wrist gently to make you stay with him. You mindlessly smiled, but deep down, you were sure that Kevin did this on purpose.

“I couldn’t help but hear your conversation with Kevin, and I’ve always loved dogs, and since yours gave birth, I wanted to see them,” he explained, and you smiled, heart hammering in your chest. “Yeah no worries, you are welcome here! Let’s go see them before they steal all the puppies.” 

With Jacob on your heels, you went to the spare room that became your dog’s nursery, the couple already cooing at the black puppy as you slowly opened the door.

“Look how proud she is,” his girlfriend said, looking at you with twinkling eyes. Your dog walked up to you, tail wagging as she got all the attention on her and the puppies. Since your dog only allowed you to reach inside the box, you were quick to lift the only black puppy out of the four and placed it in your friend’s arms. “I named him Squishy, I had no inspiration for the names,” you giggled as Kevin pet its belly, the puppy trying to lick his finger.

You brought everyone to the living room, where you offered your guests some drinks and started talking together. Your friend’s girlfriend was adorable, over the moon with the dog, just like Kevin had predicted it. Jacob was more on the reserved side, just like at the café, your dog climbing up the couch to rest her head on his thigh, asking for caresses. You felt a sense of betrayal rushing through your veins as she preferred a perfect stranger over you, retrieving her head every time you tried to pet her. Your dog looked at you almost with a mocking look, as if she wanted to show you that she dared to go up to him, unlike you.

It was getting late, but you were having fun, the couple confirming that they adopted the puppy. You helped packing everything necessary for the puppy and got ready to leave, thanking you for your kindness and hospitality. You were happy but felt a bit sad that someone already adopted one of the puppies. It was hard not to get attached to those cute little creatures, but you were reassured that he’d be treated like a king by living with your friends.

Jacob, on the other hand, was stuck on the couch as your dog prevented him from doing the slightest movement.

“She is quite stubborn,” Jacob shyly giggled as he tried to move his leg, only to have the dog whining and yapping. “Luna, stop! Let Jacob go, now!” you walked up to the couch, and she fled, strolling away from you each time you tried to get closer to her.

After many unsuccessful attempts, you managed to lure her into the nursery, shutting the door shut and she barked, but the apartment was quick to fall in silence.

“Finally,” you said as you went back to the living room, where Jacob was quietly admiring the photos on the wall. He gave you a quick smile and went back to his observations, you standing next to him with a slightly embarrassed smile. “It was nice to come here, but I’ll still reconsider my choices. I don’t want to decide on a whim, I wanna make sure that I’m settled and ready to welcome a puppy.” You nodded at his words, throwing him a reassuring gaze. “I completely understand, Jacob. You can take all the time you need. I’m planning on keeping one anyway, so if you change your mind, you can always come and visit,” you said, and an awkward silence installed around you two, Jacob scratching his neck as he avoided your gaze.

“Y-you know. I enjoy… what you bake, really, and I can’t wait for your next pastries,” you shyly mumbled to the man in front of you, who looked up with red adorning his cheeks. “I’m touched by what you’re telling me, thank you so much,” he said and quickly looked outside before inhaling and turning back to you.

“I’m going to go, but… I was wondering Y/N… y-you know, you’ve been friends with Kevin for a while and come around the café regularly, so I was wondering if we could also hang out, but you know… only the two of us? Maybe without Kevin?” Jacob was finding his words, thickly swallowing as he tried his best to tell you what he wanted. You giggled at the way he said things, imagining Kevin on his own while you were together. “Sure! Sure thing! You probably have a hectic schedule, but we can find something that works for the two of us?” you suggested, and he smiled, taking out his phone from his jeans pocket, holding the device with a nervous grip.

“Can I get your number, then? It’s gonna be easier to communicate rather than you coming around the café all the time. I- It’s not what I mean though, I really like having you around the shop, but you know, it’d be easier for the two of us,” you both shyly giggled as he messed up, the tip of his ears glowing bright red.

You were quick to enter your number in a new contact, confirming it before returning the phone to its owner, who gave you the warmest smile you had ever seen on his face.

“I’ll call you tomorrow then,” Jacob said as you walked him to the door, him thanking you just like your friends did. “Drive safe,” you whispered, and he nodded, giving you a soft smile before getting closer to you and softly pressing his lips on your cheek.

Your eyes widened at the sudden display of affection but smiled, feeling a wave of embarrassment invading your body. You waved at him until the elevator arrived, closing the front door with your heart pounding in your chest, doing a little dance of joy in the corridor as something concrete was starting to form between the two of you.

And the best was still yet to come. ♡

[thefanfictionartist]

Stress Relief

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou X Y/N

Summary: After a messy break up with another blonde peer, Y/N is left with pent up frustration, making it difficult to focus on third year exams. While studying with the Bakusquad, she notices a similar frustration in Bakugou. How are they going to relieve that stress?

Word Count: 3.8k

Rated M for Mature; intended for 18+ audiences.

A/N: Those of you with Wattpad may have seen this story from my one-shot book already.

Part Two

  ~          ~           ~            ~             ~               

 "Boys are dumb."

    That was the first conclusion you had come up with while sitting with your best friend, Mina Ashido, at lunch. As you slump over in your seat and place your head in your heads, she wraps her arms around you in consolation.

    "Well.. I can't exactly argue with you on that one." The pink-skinned girl manages a small glance to a few of the class 1-A boys.

    One of which had managed to short circuit himself while charging five phones at once, the others nearly collapsing with their laughter at their friend. Mina manages a sigh before casting her gaze back onto you.

    "Look, you know that he's just trying to get under your skin." She states before pulling away to take a sip of her soda.

    You know exactly who she's talking about because she knows exactly why you're upset.

    It was all because of a stupid dreamy blond in class 1-B. Neito Monoma. As of the current moment, you can't remember what you ever really saw in him. Why would anyone date such an egotistical ass? Risking it all, you take a chance with looking towards his usual seat in the cafeteria to find him looking right at you. And you know what he does when he sees you?

    He winks.

    Like you didn't catch him a few weeks ago with Yaoyorozu.

    Huffing in slight embarrassment, you turn back to your own table, swearing to yourself that you won't ever look his way again. "Nei-" No. He doesn't deserve for his first name to be used by you anymore. "Mr. Copycat can go fuck himself. I don't fucking care."

    You scowl, taking an aggressive bite of soba.

    "Besides, the final exams are coming up. I don't have the energy to even think about him."  You recollect, reverting to thinking about the study session the Bakusquad planned for this weekend. Mina gives you a blinding smile and a thumbs up.

    "There's the spirit, Y/N!" Her enthusiasm is hard not to mirror as lunch goes on and it ends with soba noodles nearly spurting from your nose because you were laughing so hard.

                                                         - - - - - 

    Classes had just ended for the week and you're pretty sure that you have lost knowledge rather than attaining more. Thank god for this study session or you would be failing your third year at UA.

    You rub your head, feeling a headache coming on as you try to recite important hero laws you've been taught earlier in the year. Feet dragging you into the dorms, you plop onto the couch of the common room without thinking about it. "Always be aware of your surroundings.. Do anything in your power to keep civilians safe.. Keep track of villains and whether or not you know their quirks.." Starting to mumble situational rules, you miss the extra presence in the room.

    "Oh, hey Y/N!"

    Kirishima's voice snaps you from your mantra, your head whipping around to look at him. "What's up, Kiri?"

    "We're all meeting up in Bakugou's room to start cramming. Kaminari wanted to start a little earlier than planned and I thought you might want to join." Sheepishly scratching the back of his neck, he gives you a friendly sharp-toothed smile, which manages to raise your spirits a bit.

    Nodding, you are already out of your seat. "Yeah, I'll be there I just have to grab my notes from my dorm first."

    Memorizing these things would be much easier with other people helping you remember. It always was. But somehow, you still felt distracted from your studies. You knew exactly why but also refused to dwell on the subject any longer. It wasn't worth your time.

Just as promised, you showed up at Bakugou's door a few minutes later with your 'cram-sesh' bag.

It was really just a bag filled with all of your notes, bunches of blank index cards, and an incessant amount of snacks. Because chewing can help you study better? You are pretty sure you heard that somewhere.

Opening the door, you find Kaminari and Sero looking at Bakugou with the most dumbfounded expressions you've ever seen.

"Oi! It's not that fucking hard-" Said Pomeranian was already fuming at the pair. "Just divide 78 from x and do it to the other side! It's literally the easiest question in the study guide!"

A small chuckle causes the edges of your lips to curl up in amusement with Bakugou's fit of anger as you sit down beside Mina and Kirishima, ready to fill out flash cards like your life depended on it.

For the next few hours you had tuned the yelling out so you could focus on what concepts you were sure you didn't get. Working with Kirishima and Mina was a breeze, although you felt bad sticking Bakugou with two boys who seem to have negative brain cells around one another. Managing a glance to the trio proves that it's the worst thing for Bakugou, the one of the three that not only looks like he might explode from anger, but could possibly explode. Averting your eyes to the clock, you almost gasp at the time.

No wonder you were feeling drowsy.

It was almost one in the morning. "Hey, hedgehog!" You call to Bakugou after a hefty yawn. "You got any of those energy drinks left?" The plan was to stay up all night tonight for a cramming session, although another glance to the two you were studying with proves that only one person was left. Unsure of when Kirishima left you shrug off the thought. He must need his manly sleep or whatever he calls it.

Wordlessly, Bakugou leans back to open a mini fridge behind him and grab an energy drink to toss to you.

He appears to be long done with the two boys sat beside him like lost puppies. Or at least his patience with them is completely shredded. Not to mention they didn't look like they could handle understanding any more information. "Kaminari, Sero, why don't you guys head to bed for a few hours?"

"Brain need sleep." Kaminari mutters, getting up and walking out the door without blinking. Sero follows him in a similar state, but still manages to say goodnight to the remaining three in the room.

You can hear Bakugou sigh in relief from the other side of the room as you look to Mina, fully intent on continuing with the flash cards you were quizzing each other with. Although, you find her with her hand covering her mouth as she yawns. "I'm gonna catch a few z's I think. But I'll be back around 8 in the morning." Granting her a smile, you nod, letting her head off to bed, although you were disappointed since you felt like you were making progress.

"Yeah, I'll be here, studying. Goodnight, Mina." Bakugou merely grunts in acknowledgment as Mina leaves you two alone in the room.

This definitely wasn't the first time you had been in Bakugou's room alone while studying. But it was the first time that you noted Bakugou was so.. tense. "Were the boys really that bad?" One of your eyebrows quirks in curiosity to his enhanced sense of irritation. A quick flash of red tells you that Bakugou is glaring daggers at you from your simple question.

"Tch. They're always bad." You note the roll of his eyes before the crimson hues land on whatever study guide he has in front of him.

Scooting your work so that the papers are sprawled closer to your study buddy, you lean against his bed, still laser focused on how frustrated he seemed. "And? You're normally more patient with them.. It takes at least two hours before your screaming, typically."

"Whatever."

    You click your tongue, deciding to leave the topic for the moment. "Can you quiz me on these really quick? I think I have them down by now." The stack of index cards you had filled out with Mina ends up on top of the paper that Bakugou is focused on.

    The blond makes a small noise of irritation and for a moment, you swear he's about to blow up on you.

    Instead, he neatly collects the index cards and sets them to the side of his own paper. "Yeah, I need a break first. Dunce face is exhausting."

    You nod, cracking open the energy drink you were given not to long ago while Bakugou does the same. Sighing contently, you can already feel the 300 mg of caffeine beginning it's work. "Want any snacks?" Looking to Bakugou, you point at your bag as you refer to snacks, knowing that he'd probably steal all of your Takis.

    It doesn't take long for him to find the sacred bag of spicy chips that he craved. "Thanks." He utters, settling down as he has himself a little midnight snack break.

    Both of you sit in silence for a minute and surprisingly, you aren't the one to break that bubble.

    Bakugou glances to you confusedly, something weighing on his mind. "What's the deal with you and that copycat bastard lately? I thought you two couldn't breathe without sucking faces every hour." He smirks, containing a chuckle. Really, he was relieved he didn't have to witness it for the past few weeks. The scene could make anyone uncomfortable.

    Your face flushes red in frustration at the mention of He-Who-You-Swore-Not-To-Name.  Not able to bring yourself to look at Bakugou, you fiddle with a stray pencil on the floor.

    "We broke up."

    Keeping your tone curt, you make it clear that this is not a subject you'd like to discuss. In fact, it was the one thing that actually messed with you at this point. You hated that He-Who-You-Swore-Not-To-Name had this kind of hold on you. A hold that distracted you and made you question whether or not you should go back to him.

    "He cheated on me." You decide to give further explanation to a speechless Bakugou, pretending to write notes on a mostly blank paper.

    "Shit- I-" He stumbles over his words, smirk falling.

    Offering a small smile, you finally look back at him. "It's fine... I only miss him for the stress relief anyways." Adding a small remark seems to put Bakugou back into his normal, non-sympathetic state.

    "Huh?"

    "He's a shitty boyfriend, but a good fuck." You put it into terms Bakugou would be more likely to understand. "Now will you stop eating the damn chips and quiz me on the rest of the flash cards."

    "Tch." A dusting of pink momentarily appears on Bakugou's cheeks, but he seems to ignore it as he picks up the index cards again. "Describe the Crime Control Theory."

"Pfft. That's easy." The remark leaves your lips before you really reach into the depths of your mind for the answer. "It's.." Oh no. Didn't you just go over that with Mina. "It's.." Trying to actually think about it makes you realize that your mind has been bombarded with the crummy memory of He-Who-You-Swore-Not-To-Name, so, you huff and bullshit your way through the answer.

"It's obviously the theory that.. theoretically.. describes how to control crime?"

A scowl from Bakugou tells you that you most definitely have the answer wrong. "Are you really that much of a dumbass?" He says it so patronizingly that you're almost personally offended.

"Hey! It's not like that. I've just had a rough few weeks, alright? Give me a break." You pout. "Maybe if I help you study something I'll pick up something? What are you working on?" Reaching towards the blonde male, you grab the paper he seemed to be writing on previously, much to his own shame.

"What the fuck is this?" You don't mean to sound rude when you ask the question you're just shocked.

Instead of finding a paper with neat answers to question and nice notes in the margins, you discover that whatever work was on the paper has been completely covered with angry scribbles. Looking at Bakugou, you can tell that even he's disappointed in himself. His head hangs low and he can't seem to bring himself to look you in the eyes. "I don't fucking know! I was fine with geometry a week ago and.." He lets out an exasperated noise, hitting the back of his head on his bed.

"Somethings wrong with me. All I can think about it that shitty written final test and how I can't fail it. I need to be a hero but that means I need to graduate."

All that you find yourself responding with is a resounding laugh, so powerful that you're clutching your stomach.

"Oh my- Bakugou, do you hear yourself right now?"

Boom Boom Boy sends a piercing glare to you. "Shut up! Just forget I said anything, idiot!"

"That not what I-" You take a deep breath to stop most of your laughing. "I meant it's ridiculous for you of all people to be worried about these finals. You've literally been studying for this shit since you were a first year."

Bakugou's expression softens with your words.

"I can't help it. I just-" His hands comb through his spiky blond locks for a moment before grabbing and pulling large sections of his hair. "Gah! What is this?!"

"It's called stress, Bakubro." You finalize the statement with a soft punch to his shoulder. "Welcome to the world of normal emotion."

"I don't want it!" Bakugou abruptly puts his hands on the ground, looking overall agitated, like a child who doesn't want to go down for naps.

"There are ways to make yourself less stressed you know? In fact there's one word I can fit stress relief into: Fun." Both of your hands open dramatically in front of you as you say fun, hoping to get Bakugou in a better mood. He is your tutor after all and if he's too stressed to help, you're screwed.

    "Tch. Fun is something for kids, dumbass." He responds nonchalantly, rolling his eyes irritably as though you should've known that as fact.

    You smirk, stifling a chuckle behind your hand as you retort, "So you're saying that only kids have sex?" A small giggle echoes momentarily through the room from you as you appreciate Bakugou's dumbfounded expression.

    "You think I should have sex to relieve stress?"

    "Well... yeah? It's always worked for me and I'm pretty sure most people would agree with me." There's a long moment of uncomfortable silence that you sit in with Bakugou as he mills over what you've just said.

    "..." The blond hedgehog furrows his eyebrows as he thinks, finally gazing in your direction. "And who do you suggest I have sex with? It's not like I have time for a relationship when I'm gonna be the number one hero." This question throws you for a loop. And you consider the options that he has mentally before realizing there's a perfect option that you hadn't considered yet.

    "Why not just get a friend with benefits? That way it's just sex when you need it without the additive of romance."

    "You're still not answering the 'who the fuck would agree to that shit'?!"

    "Me." You deadpan.

    The explosive boy sitting next to you fumbles for his next wording in a stupefied manner. "S-S-Ser-iously?"

    Shrugging, you nod, locking onto his eyes with your own. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be serious? It's not like I want a relationship now anyways after that dumbass Copycat. Plus it's not just you that's stressed out over shit, you know?"

   Seemingly considering the option, Bakugou looks to his lap, biting his lip in deep thought.

    "Fine." He looks to you annoyedly, even though his body was certainly excited by the idea. "But first we probably need some shitty ground rules or something."

    "Agreed."

    "Don't tell anyone about what we do or I'll blow your ass up." Irate at the thought of Raccoon Eyes finding out about this and telling everyone, Bakugou subconsciously leans towards you. Not that you noticed.

    "Wasn't planning on it."

    "Any special rules you got?" A smirk plays at the corners of Bakugou's lips as he leans towards you.

    With Bakugou this close, you can feel your heart begin to beat a little faster with excitement. "Um-" In a couple spare second of clarity, you manage to choke out, "I might be on birth control but I still want you to use a condom."

    "Done."

    He responds coolly, leaning ever so much closer to you and letting his lips brush over yours before he shifts to whisper in your ear. "If we do this, I want the ability to fuck you whenever and wherever I like."

    Your breath hitches and you boldly decide to wrap your arms around Bakugou's neck as your eyes meet his crimson hues. "Just stay within reason.. and don't fall in love with me." You add another rule with a sultry tone.

    "You better not fall in love with me, dumbass." Bakugou hisses before connecting his lips with yours in a heated fervor. His hands attach to each side of your face, giving him most control over the kiss. You moan softly against him in response to his aggressiveness, your body already tingling.

    Up until this moment, you hadn't realized how much your body was craving to be this close with someone. It was enough to make you almost painfully aroused within the minute.

    Bakugou pushes you so that you're comfortably laying on the carpeted floor of his dorm room, with him directly between your legs. Your hands pull at his shirt, desperate to get it off right now. He catches on to the message quickly and pulls off his shirt in record time, still letting out a low growl of discontent when he had to pull away from the kiss. His lips meet back with yours, this time noting just how plush your lips feel against his.

    Scratching lightly over Bakugou's chest seems to rile him up some because within seconds, he's already rutting himself against your clothed core, the bulge in his joggers becoming very apparent.

     Gasping softly at the friction, you comb your fingers through his hair, pulling at a few tufts while Bakugou takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You can feel the slippery muscle glide sensually above yours, completely dominating your mouth before you even have the chance to defend. Wrapping your legs around Bakugou's hips, you grind against him. He groans and you decide to tangle your tongue with his in the hopes of winning the small battle.

    But before you can win, he pulls back, his pupils blown by so much lust that you can barely see the scarlet iris surrounding them. "Clothes off, now.." The husky tone of his voice sends waves of arousal straight to your core and you fumble to stand up while he digs through his draw for a condom.

    In record time, you've completely stripped yourself of clothing and laid on Bakugou's bed, which was exceedingly more comfortable that the floor. You feel yourself ache for some kind of pleasure and unabashedly open your legs to display your dripping core to Bakugou. "Bakugou.. please fuck me." You whine lewdly, being mindful of the fact that the blond has neighbors.

    He had expected for you to want more preparation but with the way you were strewn out on his bed, so deliciously begging for his cock... How could he deny your request?

    In an instant, his remaining clothes are discarded and the condom is rolled safely on his erection. In the next moment he's on top of you, lining himself up with your hole.

    Despite how much he wanted to shove himself inside of you immediately, he still took a moment to look into your eyes and ask, "Are you sure about this, (Y/N)?"

    "Yes!"

    You respond enthusiastically. "Please! I need your-" You are promptly interrupted by Bakugou thrusting into you unforgivingly, making you gasp with a loud moan. "Fuck!" Having him fully sheathed inside of you was unlike anything you've felt before. It was so pleasurable that you truly couldn't think of anything else.

    "Shit-" Bakugou balances himself above you by placing his hand just above your shoulders. He takes a moment to let you adjust to his size. Although, it's hard to control himself with how tight and warm you feel. He grimaces, hands crackling slightly with his quirk as he tries to slowly pull himself out of you and thrust back in.

    The next thrust pinpoints your g-spot, making you moan loudly beneath Bakugou. He smirks down to you, knowing exactly where he hit and intending to hit it again. Your hand grab at his back, stabilizing yourself as he drives himself against your g-spot again and again, finding a starting rhythm and gradually getting faster with his thrusts.

    Each rut from Bakugou tears an angelic moan from your throat. And even though he loves the sound, he ends up covering your mouth and leaning towards your ear while he picks up the pace. "Be quiet, dumbass." He reprimands. "You're gonna wake everyone up if you keep crying like that." His eyes look to yours from a moment and you nod to confirm that you heard him, your moans muffled by his hand.

    Soon Bakugou's hand is replaced with his lips as he kisses you roughly, his calloused hand tracing gently down your sides while he drills into you.

    Each of your moans vibrates against his lips, although you try to conceal most of them, in fear of someone catching you. You can feel Bakugou's hips stutter slightly against you and he moves his fingers down to your clit, rubbing circles while he thrusts even harder. You whimper pathetically at the sensation, your walls clamping down on Bakugou's cock as you reach your climax with him soon chasing after his own.

    He pants heavily, groaning as his hips still against you. Releasing into the condom, he rolls to the side to discard of the trash, tossing your clothes to you. He wiped himself off with a tissue and begins to dress himself before looking back to you with a smirk.

    "I think this 'Friends who have fun' thing is really gonna work, (Y/N). I feel better already."

    You smile, throwing on your shirt and underwear while still on the bed. "I told you sex was fun.." Hopping off the bed, you wobble ever-so-slightly before slipping back into your shorts. You nudge Bakugou playfully before settling on the ground. "Let's pick up where we left off, shall we?"

    Your eyes scour the ground for the index cards that you had been quizzing with previously.

    "Actually..." Bakugou begins speaking, making you look up to him. "We still have a few hours before the idiots come back." He gestures to the clock before looking at you mischievously. "And I think I should relieve a little more tension before dealing with them."

[a-storm-of-roses]

October Prompts 1: Monster

Pairing: John Sheppard/Rodney McKay

Rating: T

Words: 1060

Summary: Madison has a monster under her bed. Lucky for her, Uncle Mer and Uncle John are on the case.

The first in my October prompts!

Read on AO3 or below!

“The number for the pizza place is on the fridge, along with her pediatrician and poison control. Oh! And she’s going through a bit of a phase right now; she needs the night light left on and the door to the hallway cracked open.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure we’re more than capable of keeping her alive for a few hours,” Rodney says, as he hands Jeannie her coat and bag, shooing her out the door.

“Alive and not scarred for life,” Jeannie emphasizes.

“Definitely. We got this. Go enjoy your date night.” John leans against the bannister, looking far too happy for a man whose vacation now includes babysitting a six year old.

Outside, they hear a honk, Kaleb waiting impatiently in the car.

“Right, well, call me if you need anything. And thanks again for this.” Jeannie presses a quick kiss to both John and Rodney’s cheeks and heads out the door.

“Uncle Mer,” they hear from the other room, “come play legos with me!”

---

“Uncle Mer, Uncle John!”

Rodney pauses, face frozen into the skin of John’s neck, where not a moment ago he was enjoying nibbling and licking and all the delicious noises that come from John when he bites just right there.

“Did you hear something?” John groans in response, hands gripping his hair, and pressing Rodney right back into his neck.

“UNCLE MER, UNCLE JOHN!”

With a sigh, Rodney pulls away, leads John up the stairs to Madison’s room, soft pink washed in warm yellow hues from a night light shaped like an airplane.

“Everything ok, Madison?”

In bed, Madison is sat up, covers drawn to her face. She shakes her head.

“What’s wrong, honey?” John tries, stepping into the room.

“Honey?” Rodney silently mouths behind him.

“There’s a monster under my bed!”

“Is there now?” John asks, over-dramatically. He bends down to look, before kneeling at Maddie’s bedside. “I don’t see anything!”

“It’s there!” Maddie does sound scared, her little fingers gripping her floral duvet tight.

“Well the good news is, I’m a world-class monster fighter. One of the best. If anyone can scare it away, it’s me.” John jabs at the air a couple of times, just for good measure. In the doorframe, Rodney rolls his eyes, even if a tender smile threatens its way onto his lips.

“But what if you fall asleep?”

“I’ll stay awake. But even if I do, I’m a very light sleeper. No monster is going to get past me.”

“But what if it tricks you? What if it can pretend to be me? Or Uncle Mer?” Maddie asks.

Rodney wonders just what kinds of shows Jeannie is letting her watch.

“Good thing I’m very experienced at telling real McKays from fake ones.” John smirks back at Rodney.

“And Millers, too!” Maddie adds.

“And Millers, too.” John agrees.

“But what if it waits til you leave? Mom said you could only stay a week! What if it gets me and Mom and Dad?” John looks back to Rodney, flustered and eyes glaring, as if to blame him for McKay-levels of anxiety and paranoia.

Rodney makes his way to the bed and with a groan, sits cross-legged next to John.

“Maddie,” he starts, “there’s no such thing as monsters.”

Maddie looks unsure. John rolls his eyes and mutters something sarcastic under his breath.

“But I heard a scary noise!”

“I told you to be quieter,” Rodney mutters at John.

“And I told you to leave my neck alone,” John snipes back.

“Look, we talked about the scientific method earlier, right? How you have to come up with an idea or hypothesis?”

Maddie nods.

“Ok, so your hypothesis is that there’s a monster under your bed. What next?”

“We need ‘pircal evidence.”

“That’s right,” Rodney says, proudly, “empirical evidence. Do we have any evidence that there’s a monster under the bed?”

“I heard a noise!”

“That was your Uncle John. He was, uh, just being silly.” In the soft yellow glow of the room, it’s hard to tell, but John is certain Rodney is blushing. “But you haven’t seen anything, right? Or heard anything else?”

Maddie shakes her head.

“But I never see Santa or the tooth fairy either, and they exist.”

Rodney goes to open his mouth, but snaps it shut as John elbows him.

“Well,” John says, his voice serious. “You don’t, but that’s not the only kind of evidence out there. I mean, you don’t see Santa, but you still know he came because there’s presents and he’s eaten the cookies, right?”

Maddie nods. “He likes the vegan chocolate chips ones the best!”

Rodney scoffs, and John chokes back a laugh.

“And the tooth fairy leaves you some money, right?”

“Yeah!”

“So, there’s your empirical evidence!” John turns, and gives Rodney his smuggest smile, the one that says look at how good I am with kids and you totally owe me a blowjob for this.

“But we haven’t actually made any tests for the monster! Don’t we need to do data?”

“Gee Rodney, I didn’t realize you’d taught her the entire 6th grade science curriculum while I was doing the dishes,” John grinds out.

Rodney sniffs. “Good science education can never start too early.”

Then, in a move usually reserved for the labs or the control room, Rodney snaps his fingers rapidly, his face lit up with a thought.

“Ah, but we have! You know, monsters love Chinese food! And we had some last night, and someone forgot to put it away, and then we had no leftovers,” Rodney glares, “but it was out all night, and no monster bites. None at all.”

Maddie looks skeptical. “Monsters like Chinese?”

“Love it,” John confirms.

“So you see, no evidence of any monsters. Which means we’ve proved your hypothesis false. Which means,” Rodney pleads, “you can go to sleep?”

Madison acquiesces, but only after Rodney agrees to read her another chapter of Anne of Green Gables, with the voices Uncle Mer. John stays and watches, heart so full he could burst.

Finally, Maddie drifts off, and Rodney tucks her in again, placing a light kiss on her forehead. They leave the bedroom door open, just a crack, and silently make their way downstairs.

“I can’t believe you scientific method-ed a monster away.” John says, flopping back on the couch.

“Hey, it works in Atlantis!” John raises an eyebrow. “Sometimes!”

[write-r-die]

Prisoner - Part 18

March 1067 - Norman Conquest of England

Masterlist

Sorry for the delay! I started a new job this week and I’m exhausted. This is pure crappy filler but shit’s about to get really real.

Anyway, here you go!

Thomasin woke first. Henry was curled against her back like a shell, one arm draped over her waist. She wanted to shut her eyes again and relax into his hold but she knew she wouldn’t be able to stay still no matter how hard she tried.

And she didn’t want to wake him, didn’t want to face the repercussions of all those things she said and done. She’d tried to hit him. He was so solid that the force of it probably wouldn’t even have turned his head but she was still ashamed of herself for resorting to violence, especially against someone she loved.

Cared for, she corrected herself. You care for him. That’s all.

That thought, that word, pushed aside whatever was left of her will to stay. She’d fallen asleep fully dressed, her shoes still on her feet, so she didn’t have to waste time or rummage around for things before slipping out.

Kal was sleeping on his side in the antechamber, legs stretched out. His massive body took up a sizeable portion of the room. Thomasin shut the bedroom door behind her, stirring him from sleep. He quickly lifted his head and shoulders to scan for a threat, but he was too exhausted to make the rest of his body move.

“Hush,” Thomasin said. She knelt beside him and rubbed his chest. “Go back to sleep.” He sighed through his nose and lay back down.

Thomasin made it all of three steps into the corridor before she and Etheldreda smashed into each other. 

“Oh, milady!” the older woman said, clutching her chest. The basket of laundry in her arms had fallen to the ground, though she’d managed to keep her feet. “My apologies.”

“No, it’s my fault,” Thomasin said quickly. She knelt down to help Etheldreda gather the fallen clothing. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” And she’d entirely forgotten that Etheldreda would be coming as she did every morning to help her dress. 

“What are you doing out of bed, if I may ask?” the servant asked.

“I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to . . . to pray. In the chapel.” That sounded plausible enough. 

She didn’t want to admit that she felt choked in that bedroom like the walls were closing in, how she felt in all small rooms. The same way she felt when she tried to run to freedom through that tunnel under her castle with all the others. But the walls had been too tight, the passage before her too dark, and she too cowardly to run. 

“Oh,” Etheldreda said. “Should I still prepare your rooms?”

“No thank you. Henry is still asleep. I don’t want to disturb him.”

“Of course.”

Thomasin did consider going to the chapel to pray but the king would likely be there. Pious, pious William. That priest might be there, too. Thomasin didn’t trust herself not to make a scene if she saw him. He must have taken Cerdic’s final confession. Given him the last rites. Blessed his grave.

Furious tears stung at her eyes. She knew she shouldn’t be angry with a priest for doing his duty – she should be grateful someone was there to shepherd Cerdic and the others from this world to the next. The priest may be a Saxon himself. He may have suffered, too – may still be suffering under the Normans. 

It didn’t matter. She needed to be angry at someone – preferably multiple someones – and she didn’t want to be angry with Henry anymore.

It was March now, and the relentless English winters were giving way to the island’s warped version of spring. It was misting outside as it always was, but Thomasin went to the gardens anyway.

She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised when she came around a bend along the path and saw Mercia stomping around in a puddle of mud. She also shouldn’t be surprised there was no adult in sight.

“Good morning,” she called.

“G’morning!” Mercia waved briefly before returning her concentration to the mud.

“Where’s your mother?” Thomasin asked.

“One of the ladies gonna have baby soon so Mamma go see her.” She jumped up and down, kicking the mud up so high it splashed on her cherubic face and pale curls.

“Who’s meant to be taking care of you?”

“Stina,” the girl replied. Thomasin thought that must be short for Christina.

“Where is Stina?”

Mercia shrugged innocently but Thomasin was quite sure the little girl had run from her governess, who was no doubt scouring the castle for the child. She pulled Batty out from under her arm and tossed the doll into the muck. “She like mud, too.”

“I see.” 

“You wanna play?” she asked. “Take off shoes. Mud feel funny.” She lifted a bare foot and wiggled her toes at Thomasin as if to show her.

“Not just now, but thank you.”

“When Simon coming home?” the little girl asked without looking up.

“I don’t know.” Thomasin swallowed. “You must miss him very much.”

She nodded. “Yeah. He my friend. And Mamma wants him be her special friend.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.” Mercia stopped kicking around. She looked up at Thomasin with a contemplative expression on her little face. “I not like you,” she said after a moment.

Thomasin was genuinely offended. She had only recently accepted the little hellion into her good graces; it was unthinkable that she be the one to reject Thomasin. “I beg your pardon?”

“You come back but not Simon and it make Mamma sad. Mamma loooooovve Simon.” She said the word with a blend of enthusiasm and disgust, as most children did.

“I believe you,” Thomasin replied.

“But she not say so yet cause she say a man gotta say so first when he ask to marry her. Ladies not supposed to say so first,” she said wisely. “Not like-lady.” Thomasin assumed the child meant to say ladylike. 

“I think that’s very wise.”

“When Henry say he love you?” the girl asked, wiping her nose on the back of her wrist. Thomasin was stunned into silence, which alarmed Mercia. “He say so first, right?”

“Yes.”

“When you say?”

Thomasin took a deep breath and kicked off her shoes. “Make room in that puddle for me.”

***

Henry woke late. His eyes and body were heavy. Seeing Thomasin cry last night caused him great distress, which in turn led to exhaustion.

He took his time getting ready for the day. He washed his face, hands, hair, and neck with water from a bowl beside the bed and waited for it to dry on its own before he dressed. Perhaps he would take a bath later on. Help him clear his mind.

He did not question why she wasn’t in the chamber with him. She needed to grieve alone, away from her husband’s smothering love and devotion. It would only infuriate her more.

Then there was the matter of her hating him. Henry didn’t believe that for an instant but he didn’t know how long Thomasin planned to hide behind that statement. 

Henry found Roger and Charlie practicing archery outside with a handful of other young knights. Their target was an apple balanced on the head of a squire due to be knighted soon; practicing their archery on him was a rite of passage among Henry’s circle. Their arrows had no metal head so they didn’t accidentally kill the poor boy. It still hurt like hell, though.

“Ah, Henry!” Roger called. He waved him over.

“Who’s winning?” he asked, sauntering over.

“Godfrey. He shot Guy in the shoulder and the thigh. Charlie got him in the stomach.”

Henry took the bow his brother offered him. “How are you faring, Guy?” he called out.

“Well enough,” the boy said, trying his best to sound sincere. “They’re at least letting me protect my eyes and my parts with my hands. They don’t always do that.”

“No, they don’t,” Henry agreed. “You know Charlie chipped a tooth when he did this. And Nik nearly got his balls blown off.” The arrow he shot landed in the grass near Guy’s feet. He was a terrible shot to begin with, but he didn’t want to hit the poor man. The memory of Thomasin’s injuries were too fresh.

He handed the bow off to Jarin, one of the nights who had assisted Thomasin after she was shot on the road.

“How are you?” Roger murmured to him.

“Well enough,” Henry said, rubbing the inside of his fingers with his thumb. It was a long time since he shot an arrow and he’d forgotten how unpleasant it was to do without the proper guards.

Roger rolled his dark eyes heavenward. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Must I drag it out of you?”

Henry glanced around at the others; they were too absorbed in their game to eavesdrop. “Thomasin found out. She wept.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen her weep before.”

Roger frowned. “I would be surprised if she didn’t. I’ll bet she slept well after that. You know my sister Bedelia loves weeping. Tries to do it at least twice a week.”

Henry looked horrified. “Why?”

His friend shrugged. “She says it makes her feel better. Sleep better, too.”

Some girls could conjure tears on a whim. Henry hoped Bedelia was that sort of girl; otherwise, she’d have to think about all sorts of awful things and get worked up before the tears came. Henry sincerely hoped Roger and Bedelia’s eldest sister, Piers’s wife, didn’t cry like that.

He thought of Thomasin’s tears again. She wasn’t the sort who could cry on command. Nor did she cry when it was perfectly warranted.

“Twice a week is too much,” Henry said. “Twice a month, I’d understand. I’d weep if I bled that much, too.” He muttered the last part under his breath.

“So, how’s Thomasin today?” he asked, accepting the bow from Charlie. “Any better?” His arrow whizzed past the left side of Guy’s face. 

“Haven’t seen her. She left this morning before I woke.” Henry aimed far to the left and his blunt arrow hit a tree and bounced off. “She doesn’t want me to see her grieving.” He sighed and passed the bow along. “I wish Simon were here. He would know what to do. He’s always been good with women.”

“Speaking of Simon and women,” Charlie chimed in, “I think Elaine’s ready to go fetch him and drag him back here herself.”

“We’ll have to find you a pretty Saxon woman next, Charlie,” Roger joked. Charlie cast him a glare almost identical to Thomasin’s. Roger and Henry were in stitches at that. 

Charlie waited long enough for the laughter to turn to coughing before he spoke again. “I’d rather have you pull my teeth out.”

***

It was late afternoon when Thomasin came back to the rooms she shared with Henry. She kicked around in the mud with Mercia for a while before the girl’s governess found her and retrieved her. She gave Thomasin a good talking-to, calling her a bad influence on the child. She’d spent the rest of the day praying for Cerdic and the others on a stone bench in the gardens.

Henry was in a copper tub set before the fire, viciously scouring his scalp with his fingernails and a bar of soap. Kal dozed on the bed, his eyes half-open.

Henry knew Thomasin was there, even though his back was to the door, but he wouldn’t be the one to break the silence. 

“I should not have said those things to you,” Thomasin said, looking anywhere but at Henry. She should probably add something else, something heartfelt, but nothing came to mind. “Will you forgive me?”

Henry leaned back in the tub and turned his head to see his wife. “Come here.” Thomasin shucked off her clothes and climbed into the tub, where Henry pulled her into his lap. He pressed her back against his chest and wound his arms around her waist. “I forgive you,” he murmured, holding her tight against him.

“You shouldn’t,” she muttered.

“But I do.” He brushed her hair away from her neck so he could kiss her neck.

Silence hung thick in the air. Say something, you fool! Thomasin screamed to herself. She groped for some sort of sentiment to express. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Henry sighed through his nose. He wasn’t disappointed, Thomasin knew, but he had wanted her to say something more.

She swallowed hard and apologized again. “I’m sorry.”

Henry let his hands roam over her body. “No more talk.”

***

Thomasin and her husband lay side by side in bed, their clothes strewn in clumps across the floor and their naked bodies glazed in perspiration.

“Lawrence said something to me,” she said thoughtfully. 

Henry was ready to attack at the mention of his name. “What did he say?”

“He said that Roger prefers men to women.”

Roger’s proclivities were something of an open secret, but it was never discussed. He never volunteered any information, and his friends never asked for it. The church condemned homosexuality as unnatural and unforgivable, an affront to God. None of Roger’s friends condemned him, though. Those who knew and were disgusted didn’t spend time around him; they shunned him utterly. His family – the few members that suspected – pretended not to know. 

“Don’t most men prefer other men, though?” asked Thomasin. “I am a woman and I prefer the company of other women. You are a man and you keep company with other men.”

“What exactly did Lawrence say?”

She didn’t want to tell him. She knew how he would react. “I asked him about what he did to that nobleman’s wife and daughters. This was when we were betrothed, you see, so I was within my rights to ask.” No woman had the right to ask that of a man, especially of Lawrence, but Thomasin had never let formalities stop her. “We discussed . . . Well, we agreed that soldiers often do terrible things to women during war.”

Anger flickered in Henry’s blue eyes. Lawrence had discussed rape with a woman? The fact that it was Thomasin was almost irrelevant; men simply did not speak of such things in the presence of a lady. It was deplorable. Vile. 

Thomasin continued before he had a chance to truly react. “And I said that you and your brothers had never done such a thing and neither had Roger.”

That softened Henry a bit. Not only did she have complete faith in him and his family, but she defended them to others.

“What did Lawrence say?”

“He said that the men in your family were an anomaly – that it was unusual for soldiers not to . . . He said that Roger’s perversion swayed him from women to men, but I don’t know what that means.”

Henry sighed. Thomasin would figure it out eventually – sooner rather than later, he wagered – so why not tell her? “Lawrence meant that Roger is not drawn to women. That he takes men to his bed instead.”

Henry waited quietly for Tom’s reaction. Some vomited at the thought of two men together like that, but Henry didn’t think she would.

She was thinking very hard. “How . . . how does that – does it – do they – that is . . . Is it even possible for them to be together like husband and wife?”

“What do you mean?”

“They haven’t . . . they haven’t got the proper parts for it.”

Henry threw his head back and laughed.

“Why is that funny?”

He shook his head, still grinning.

“Aren’t you going to explain it to me?” she prompted.

“No.”

“Henry, that’s monstrously unfair of you. Husbands are meant to instruct their wives on the way of the world.”

“Not that way of the world.” He gave her a peck. “If you can guess how it’s done, I’ll tell you whether or not you’re right.”

“I’m not imaginative enough for that.” Thomasin frowned. “Will you at least give me a hint?”

Henry laughed again.

***

It was an ungodly hour. Everyone in the castle was asleep. Even the few guards posted in the halls and the entryways were nodding off. They woke to the sound of thundering horses and men’s shouts. 

“Help us!”

The men were on their feet in an instant, spears raised. “Who goes there?!” one hollered into the darkness. 

It was a moment before nine horses, each with two men on its back, came into view. 

It was hard to see precisely what condition they were in as it was so dark, but it was clear the riders were in a bad way.

Three were slung over their horses like corpses, the men in the saddle behind each of them were at least partially armed, though only one of them looked entirely awake. On the other horses, where both men were well enough to sit up, their waists were tied together with thick cord; in case one of the riders lost consciousness, the other’s weight would keep him from falling.

“Help us!” another man shouted. “In the name of King William the Conqueror, help us!” 

They were Normans, then. Half the guards rushed down to help the men as the others raised the alarm.

The chief guard was horrified when he was close enough to really see the men. They looked half-dead. One was missing an arm; another was slashed across the face starting deep in his now-empty eye socket and ending at his mangled ear. The weakest man, the one strewn across the first man’s lap, was too covered in bandages and blood for the guard to be sure he was still breathing.”

“Fetch every healer you can find,” the knight behind the dying man said. “Tell the king that Simon Cavill is here. And he’s gravely wounded.”

_________________________________________________________

Medieval Fun fact: William the Conquerer’s son William II is widely believed to have been gay.

[falling-pages]

I know about you: Tamakyo

These boys need to feel some happiness and I'll be darned if I'm not the one giving it to them. This is just Kyoya finally getting his well-deserved cuddles.

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The gang is on the run from people who wish them dead, Tamaki starts seeing things, and Kyoya learns to let himself be taken care of.

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"Kyoya pressed a kiss to his neck to thank him. Thanking him for saving him, for helping him, for making life worth living all over again and again and again every time he smiled."

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Tamaki Suoh x Kyoya Ootori

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of riots, evacuation, similar themes.

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Tamaki shuffled in the darkness, groaning when he felt the empty space next to him. The sleeping bag was still warm without a certain Shadow King, but he would have preferred clinging to his boyfriend’s body over all the extra space. Kyoya knew Tamaki couldn’t sleep without tangling him in his arms.

So if Kyoya were missing, that led to two theories: he was in danger, or he was sitting by the fire.

Tamaki sat up and stretched, hand smacking against the knife handle on his left. The first theory canceled itself out simply by the fact of his own presence. If some wild thing had taken and eaten Kyoya, he would have been taken, too. He had never heard of a predator picking and choosing a meal when there was a whole buffet of tents to feast upon. Plus, they had a guard dog in Mori, whose razor-sharp senses had been keeping them all in line so far.

They all had survived so far just by sheer luck and Mori’s instincts, and he hoped that luck wouldn’t end the moment he stepped out of the tent.

Something rustled. A shadow moved in front of the crackling fire, long and tall and bespectacled--

Theory number two, proven.

Tamaki laid back down and folded his hands together, propping his head against his interwoven fingers behind him. He watched as the figure paced in circles around the fire, torso bent at an angle, posture tight and rigid. Waiting for Kyoya to finish, Tamaki turned back onto his side, pretending to go to sleep until his love returned to his arms.

Except, he didn’t. Kyoya sat on a log and bent forward, cradling his head in his hands.

It was odd, seeing him like this. He had a habit of staying up late, yes, but once he went to bed he stayed knocked out until the noontime sun shook him awake.

A streak of worry coursed through Tamaki’s veins, and he wondered if it even were Kyoya sitting out there, or if it were an imposter, a traitor, infiltrating their camp.

He grabbed the knife and crawled out of the sleeping bag, pausing at the edge of the tent. It was half-way unzipped, and through the transparent orange cloth, Tamaki confirmed it was his love who sat dejected and alone just a few feet away--his posture was unlike him, but he was wearing Tamaki’s shirt, and the leather straps from his necklace rode along his neck.

“Kyo?” he whispered, setting the knife off to the side. His voice kept its softness, even with the dehydration. He would do anything to dunk his head beneath a creek’s tide and gulp, despite Mori’s warning insurrectionists likely poisoned all the local watering holes.

Kyoya fidgeted, not sitting still for the first time in his life. It was good enough of an invitation, so Tamaki stood, dusted his hands, and joined him on the log.

“Please come back to sleep,” Tamaki mumbled. “The sleeping bag is cold without you.”

Kyoya smirked, finally looking up at him beneath his thin wire rims. That smirk detailed it was a lie, they both knew Tamaki’s body heat was enough for both of them, especially in such a tight, confined space.

But in the firelight, that smirk twisted into a grimace, highlighting the tears welling behind Kyoya’s eyes, and Tamaki reached out and grabbed him, sinking onto the log and pulling him against his chest, rubbing circles up and down his shivering back until the racking sobs and moans reduced to sniffles.

In his shock, Tamaki could only whisper words of comfort and press kisses into his hair. Above it, though, he knew that Kyoya only needed to hold him--that if he could feel his love, that would help quell the sea of anxiety and fear tormenting his soul.

Kyoya clutched Tamaki’s shoulders, kneading his fingers in and out of the seams of his shirt. He had been his anchor since the day he had arrived in Japan, with his cheery voice and chipper eyes and light-filled soul. Together they were a tangle of heartache and wishes, hope and regret, two young men in love thrown into a world that had once coddled them, now trying to kill them.

Their only hope of survival was each other.

“You know, Kyoya, I’ve been thinking,” Tamaki mused, “and since the rioting, the wanting to eat the rich and all that...since they’ve destroyed our property, I suppose we aren’t rich anymore! We should be safe!”

And just like that, the moment broke.

Kyoya didn’t know if he were supposed to laugh or scoff, but after a moment for his brain to process the statement, he let out a mix of both. Tamaki was famous for his fanciful ideas, but this stretched even the definition of fanciful.

“We are the heirs of some of the richest corporations in all of Asia,” Kyoya replied with a sneer. The teardrops dried on his cheeks. “The insurrectionists are not going to just forget what we look like.”

“They might! Put you in contacts, give Mori-senpai a wig, put the little devils in dresses and give Renge a moustache, we’ll be fine!”

Kyoya couldn’t help but laugh at that, a real laugh, and bury his head back into his boyfriend’s chest. He inhaled that distinct Tamaki smell, expensive cologne long forgotten in their evacuation, that persisted despite the sweat and dirt of a week of hiding and travelling in the forest. It pulsated from his soft skin, and Kyoya pressed a kiss to his neck to thank him. Thanking him for saving him, for helping him, for making life worth living all over again and again and again every time he smiled.

But as their laughter faded, the stench of their situation landed back into Kyoya’s mind, souring his mood. They were on the run from a burning society, and with the next safe colony still so far away, the doubts kept him awake.

“Be serious with me, Tamaki,” Kyoya griped. “Do you really have any hope any of us will make it out alive?”

Tamaki’s smile faded as he searched his boyfriend’s face, looking for the anchor and solidity he knew was there. He knew it was there. But it was hidden beneath that stern exterior, a mask of iron inherited from his father, a trait Tamaki had worked so hard with Kyoya to shatter. But in that seriousity was realism, the sobriety to Tamaki’s joviality, and he knew he finally had to face the music.

“I don’t know,” he replied, to which Kyoya scoffed.

But then Tamaki took his hand and spread every finger, admiring the way the skin stretched around each long, bony digit, how evenly polished and clean each nail was, even in the middle of the woods, how miraculous it was that each tendon could connect to bone that could connect to muscle that could be controlled by the brain, especially a brain as terrifyingly wonderful as Kyoya’s. How every part of him was beautiful, sacred, worthy. How he wished he could fill each insecure crack and crevice with his love and reassurances.

He brought that hand to his lips and kissed every knuckle, gently, like a butterfly landing on a rock. He kept his head bowed but heard the quiet sound Kyoya let out, a sound in between surprise and contentment.

“I don’t know about all of us,” Tamaki continued, “but I know about you.”

Kyoya jutted out his lower lip, unsure of how to respond amidst the tidal wave of emotion ravaging his soul. Tamaki folded his hands around Kyoya’s kissed one, like a protective shelter.

“The others are my family, and I love them dearly, but you are my priority,” he said. “I would do anything to make sure you get to the Akaishi Mountains. If my mother were here, I would ask her to pray. If Nekozawa were here, I would ask him to appeal to every spirit he knows. If I could I would sell my own soul to ensure your safe passage.”

“Tamaki--”

Tamaki lifted his face to Kyoya’s, clenching his jaw with such a chromatic force he could have chipped a tooth. “I love you more than anything, and I will do anything in my power or out of it to save you.”

A log in the fire snapped, but neither man noticed. All was silent in the air except for the promise, heavy and saturated and sinking in the air. They were going to make it. They had to.

“Come back to bed with me, yes?” Tamaki whispered, a yawn snatching the end of his sentence. His arm floated back down around Kyoya’s shoulders, rubbing warmth into them. Coaxing, prodding, as gentle as he ever was.

With the butterfly kisses smattered across his cheeks to accompany the plea, how could Kyoya refuse?

Something tight rolled in his chest, reverberating with every beat of his heart. He was always the one to take care of everyone else, protecting them through influence and power, his family’s money or private army. And yet here they were, all of them, on the run from those who wish them dead because of him--with Tamaki cooing and cradling him, taking care of him for once. Like he deserved it, like it was his reward for all the scamming, scheming and choking business deals he had performed.

So he let Tamaki propel him upwards, pulling him up into the night sky, where dozens of stars saw fit to smile on them as they lumbered back to the tent. Once inside, Tamaki gently laid him down inside the sleeping bag, secured the tent, and crawled in next to him, blowing air onto his chilly fingers. Kyoya allowed him, detaching the lock around his heart and throwing it into the forest beyond.

Tamaki hummed as he warmed the Shadow King, pausing only when Kyoya lifted his head from his chest to press a kiss against his chapped lips. It was so gentle, and rarely did Kyoya initiate affection, that Tamaki nearly cried from the happy blooms snaking through his body.

“Thanks,” Kyoya whispered, laying his head back down on Tamaki’s chest, syncing his breathing.

“Let me take care of you, baby,” Tamaki whispered, kissing Kyoya’s forehead. “I swear I will.”

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