#on me I would ask them if they ever found the person that put

[inkskinned]

hello. you left a neon pink post-it with pgs 194-359 due 9/12 in the book, by the way. it is now May 23rd and the library's printer is running out of ink. it jammed and tore my passport application. one of the librarians dutifully blacked out all my information (front and back!) before proceeding to use every unmarred inch as scrap paper.

i think maybe our (plural, inclusive) lives are connected. all of them. i have been thinking a lot about borrowing. about how people move through the world in waves, filling in the same spaces. i have probably stood on the same subway platform as you. we held the same book. all of us stand in the same line at the grocery, at the gas station. how many feet have stood washing dishes in my kitchen?

i hope you are doing well. the pen you used was a nice red, maybe a glitter pen? you have loopy, curling handwriting. i sometimes wonder if it is true that you can tell a personality by the shape of our letters. i'm borrowing my brother's car. he's got scrangly engineer handwriting (you know the one). it's a yellow-orange ford mustang boss. when i got out of the building, some kids were posing with it for a selfie. i felt a little bird grow in me and had to pause and pretend to be busy with my phone to give them more time for their laughing.

i have a habit of asking people what's the last good book you read? the librarian's handwriting on the back of my smeared-and-chewed passport application says the glass house in small undercase. i usually go for fantasy/sci fi, but she was glowing when she suggested it. i found your post-it on page 26, so i really hope you didn't have to read up to 359 in that particular book. i hope you're like me and just have a weird "random piece of trash" "bookmark" that somehow makes it through like, 58 books.

i wish the concept of soul mates was bigger. i wish it was about how my soul and your soul are reading the same work. how i actually put down that book at the same time you did - page 26 was like, all exposition. i wish we were soul mates with every person on the same train. how magical to exist and borrow the same space together. i like the idea that somewhere, someone is using the shirts i donated. i like the idea that every time i see a nice view and say oh gosh look at the view, you (plural, inclusive) said that too.

the kids hollered when i beeped the car. oh dude you set off the alarm, oh shit is she - dude that's her car!! one was extremely polite. "i like your car, Miss. i'm sorry we touched it." i said i wasn't busy, finish up the pictures. i folded your post-it into a paper crane while i waited. i thought about how my brother's a kind person but his handwriting looks angry. i thought about how for an entire year i drove someone to work every day - and i didn't even think to ask for gas money. my handwriting is straight capital letters.

i thought about how i can make a paper crane because i was taught by someone who was taught by someone else.

the kids asked me to rev the engine and you know i did. the way they reacted? you would have thought i brought the sun from the sky and poured it into a waterglass. i went home smiling about it. i later gave your post it-turned-bird to a tiny child on the bus. she put it in her mouth immediately.

how easy, standing in your shadow, casting my own. how our hands pass over each other in the same minor folds. i wonder how many of the same books you and i have read. i wonder how many people have the same favorite six songs or have been in the same restaurant or have attended the same movie premier. the other day i mentioned the Book Mill from a small town in western massachusetts - a lot of people knew of it. i wonder if i've ever passed you - and didn't even notice it.

i hope whatever i leave behind makes you happy. i hope my hands only leave gentle prints. i hope you and i get the same feeling when the sun comes out. soulmates across all of it.

#writeblr #for real gimme book recs lol

[foreingersgod]

hi bb!! im glad you’re backkk

could you do reader coloring in emilys tattooos??🥰🥰

Coloring Book . EE

pairing: emily engstler x reader

A/N: this was such a cute idea! i hope i did it justice :)

my masterlist → here

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

soft music hummed in the background from your phone. a random playlist shuffling songs as you and your girlfriend, emily, sat atop your shared bed. the sheets were tucked neatly, pillows haphazardly pushed back as emily laid against them. she wasn’t wearing a top, just her sports bra paired with her shorts to display her array of tattoos. you were sat on her lap, your legs straddling her waist.

there was a variety of different markers scattered across the bed. the scent of xylene wafted throughout the room, filling your nose. you had one marker in your hand, its cap lost somewhere beside you as you got to work.

after quite some convincing, emily was finally letting you color in her tattoos. you had seen the trend on social media a while ago and thought it was so cute. for days you begged her, eager to pull out the markers that had been forgotten in your desk, to let you do it. she wasn’t amused by the idea at first, she thought it was silly if she were to be honest. but when you gave her that look, pouted lips and bright beautiful eyes, she knew she couldn’t resist you. so here you were, on a sunday afternoon, finally getting your wish.

the sun poured in through the window with a calming 5 o’clock glow. it illuminated her skin perfectly, allowing the thick lines of ink on her body to stand out. you were leaning forward slightly, neck craning downwards to get a better view of the tattoos on emily’s arm. she propped her arm up for you to give you better access.

“ok ok, i’m done with the blue, what color should i do next?” you asked, blowing away the strand of hair that had fallen in front of your face. you put the cap back on the royal blue marker and placed it neatly back in the box.

“whatever you want, baby” emily smiled at you. she had to admit she was actually enjoying this, seeing you so enthusiastic made her heart flutter “you’re the artist here”

“well in that case” you rummaged through the markers for a moment, trying to find the color you were looking for. as you leaned across the bed, emily’s hands found their way to your hips, gripping them to hold you in place “i think i’m gonna go with red”

“perfect choice”

you grinned, glancing up at her briefly before turning your attention back to her arm. you began to color in the lines with the bright shade of red. emily watched as you colored her skin. she couldn’t seem to get enough of the sight. how your hair kept falling in front of your face, and how you would brush it back behind your ear. how you stuck your tongue out ever so slightly as you tried to concentrate on coloring. even how the ends of your lips pulled into the cutest smile when you were pleased with the work you’d done. she could stare at you all day if she could.

although she loved looking a your gorgeous face, she couldn’t help but feel inclined to take a look at your progress. with one of your hands wrapped around her bicep, the other clutching the marker that ran across her skin, she managed to take a peek. you had already filled in parts of her tattoos with pinks and blues and the occasional yellow. in some spots, you had colored outside the lines, but to emily that just gave it more personality. as she admired the bursts of color you let out a satisfied laugh, catching her attention and causing her to look back up at you.

“all done!” you clasped your hands together “what do you think?”

you seemed so proud of your artwork, biting down on your lip in excitement as you awaited her response.

“it looks so good, babe” she looked at the scribbles on her arm once more “you did such a good job! i love it”

“thank you for letting me do this,” you had now completely disregarded the markers, leaving them as a mess for future you. you had adjusted yourself on emily’s lap and scooted closer to her, placing your hands on either side of her face “you’re such a softie”

she shook her head and chuckled under her breath. god you were gonna be the death of her “only for you”

you let your body lean into her, face inching closer to hers as you pulled her into you. with eyes gently closing, you pressed your lips to hers ever so sweetly. you felt her relax into the kiss as she sighed into you. her lip’s curling into a smile as she kissed you once more.

“this isn’t going to wash off easily, will it?” she murmured against your lips.

“nope”

you both burst into laughter, imagining how long it was going to take for her to scrub the vivid colors off her arm. emily could already see it, her teammates teasing her, reminding her just how whipped she was for you. but she didn’t mind, not one bit, just as long as she got to she her girl happy.

#emily engstler x reader #emily engstler #i love emily engstler #wcbb #wcbb x reader #ncaa wbb #wbb #wnba #wnba imagine #wlw #wlw imagine #lesbian imagine #lesbian #foreingersgod #fic #rpf x reader

[cupid-styles]

I don't know if the requests are still open but I'd love a check up on tattoo artist harry cause I just love them so much 🥰🥰

proud (tattoorry/plugrry)

this was originally a patreon exclusive but I've had it in my drafts for months bc I really wanted to share it here!! so here it is! a little wholesome check-in with our cutie pie couple

word count: 2.4k

content warnings: minor mentions of mental health conditions including anxiety, depression, and trauma

only angel (tattoorry/plugrry) masterlist

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

“Harry?”

Y/N’s gnawing on the skin of her bottom lip as she wrings her hands in her lap, nervousness apparent on her facial features. Harry glances up from his phone — he’s been mindlessly scrolling through cat videos on Instagram for the past half an hour or so, Friends on in the background as he and Y/N sit snuggled up in cozy throw blankets. 

She’d been working up the courage to say something for nearly two hours now, but everytime she went to part her lips and force the words out of her throat, she clammed up.

She couldn’t help the anxiety that crept through her bones, especially because she was used to constantly being looked down on. She knows Harry would never make her feel bad for any choice she made for herself, but what if he thought she was crazy? What if her trauma was too much to deal with? These were the worries that circulated her brain for days, ever since deciding that she wanted to seek out professional mental health help a few weeks ago.

“Hm?” he puts his phone down, locking the screen, “What’s up, dovie?”

Fidgeting with the skin surrounding her chipped nail polish, she swallows tightly. His eyes are analyzing her body language and she suddenly feels small and foolish beneath his gaze, solely because of the trauma from her parents.

They always treated her like she was less than, to the point where she wholeheartedly, truly believed it. In the few months that Y/N’s been on her own and officially dating Harry, he’s been helping her in ways she could have never imagined, but she didn’t want all of her issues to fall on him. It’s the main reason why she decided to find a therapist. 

“I’ve been thinking,” she rasps out, her voice cracking. “I think I’m going to start seeing a counselor. To deal with my, um… parents.”

Harry’s posture straightens and his eyebrows furrow, a concerned wrinkle forming between them. (It always showed up when Y/N mentioned anything relating to her family.) 

“What do you mean?” 

Rolling her lips into her mouth, she prepares the speech she’s been practicing in her head for days. 

“I just know I have a lot of trauma from them and I don’t want you to feel responsible for helping me through it all the time,” she says, reciting the explanation word-for-word, “It’s important for me to figure this out on my own and I want it to come from a mental health professional.”

Harry's look of worry almost instantly morphs into a gentle smile. He reaches out to intertwine their fingers together and gives her hand a small squeeze, much to Y/N’s relief. She was terrified he’d take it the wrong way, but the proud expression on his face says different. 

“That’s incredible, dovie. I’m so proud of you.” 

He leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead, the showcase of love instantly slowing her heartbeat. 

“You’re not mad?” she asks, peering up at him through thick eyelashes. 

“Of course not,” he shakes his head. “I could never be mad at you for wanting to work on yourself. I think it’ll be really helpful for you. Have you found someone yet?”

“No. I wanted to run it past you before looking.”

His heart cracks a bit but he tries not to let it show on his face. “You never have to do that, okay? You’re your own person, baby, and I have no right to tell you what to do with your life. Alright?”

It’s a strange way to look at life after having every decision of her life planned out for her since birth. She’s still adjusting — that much is obvious, but it isn’t her fault, and Harry works regularly to help her realize that in small doses. 

“Would you maybe help me find a person?” Y/N peeps out, playing with his fingers in her lap. Her eyes are set on their hands, still too nervous to look at him face-to-face. Harry, though he has no experience looking for therapists himself, still nods enthusiastically, willing to help her take whatever steps she needs. 

“Why don’t you grab your laptop?” he suggests. She reaches forward to pull it off the coffee table before Harry wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side. She makes a soft ah!, surprised by his sudden movements, which of course results in a small, snarky smile on his end. 

Shuffling so the laptop is in his lap now, he opens it, has her put her password in, and searches up “therapists near me.” His eyes float to the nervous girl beside him, who’s taken up gnawing on her fingernails as he clicks on the first result. It’s a directory of mental health professionals close to them where you can filter by specialities, insurance, and other preferences. 

“Okay, dovie,” he croons gently, “What are you looking for in particular? Someone to help with stress?” 

She shrugs. “Um, maybe something a bit more. Maybe… anxiety? A-and family stuff?”

“That’s a good starting point,” he encourages, clicking on the appropriate filters. Immediately, a number of therapists that originally showed up disappear, but it still leaves them with a decent amount to scroll through. “Anything else? Do you have a preference on gender or how far they are from us?”

“I think I want a woman,” she says before glancing up at him with worried eyes, “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.”

He clicks the “female” preference, resulting in around 15 options for them to look at. She continues biting her nail as Harry scrolls down. He periodically hovers over someone, asking her if she’d like to look at them more. She’ll either nod or shake her head, but in the event of the former, he’ll open their profile in a separate tab. 

Eventually, they narrow it down to three but one isn’t actively taking new clients, so it’s between Leanna, who looks to be around Harry’s mom’s age and is located 20 minutes from Y/N’s apartment, and Madeline, a younger woman with experience in a myriad of mental health concerns. 

Quietly, Y/N alternates between the two tabs, contemplating and comparing their experiences. He can tell that she’s having difficulty picking, but he doesn’t want to say anything to sway her in one direction over the other — he wants this to fully be her choice. 

“I think I like Madeline.” she says, looking up at her boyfriend. Her eyes are slightly rounded, lips parted as if she’s waiting for approval from Harry. 

“Sounds like a good choice, dove. How’d you settle on her?”

Y/N shrugs her shoulders, scrolling down on her profile page. “Well, she has experience with anxiety, depression, and trauma… and I’ve been reading a bit online, and I think I do have some trauma from my parents, so…”

Harry nods, smoothing her hair comfortingly. 

“And I like that she seems like she’s closer in age to us… it might make me feel more comfortable, like I’m talking to a friend,” she explains. He hums in agreement. “She also has a cat at her office, which I really like, too.”

He chuckles and leans over to nose at her hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. 

“I think those are all great reasons,” he murmurs.

He won’t admit it tonight because he doesn’t want her to get too nervous, especially if she ultimately decides she’s too scared to go, but he’s infinitely proud of her right now. He’s contemplated bringing up therapy to her for the past few months, particularly right after he helped her move out of her parents’ home.

The fact that she came to that decision herself is enough for him to feel over the moon, his chest swelling with pride. Even if she backs out at the last minute, at the very least, he knows she’s trying her best, and that’s all he could ever ask of her. 

“Why don’t you email her and send your information?” Harry suggests lightly, breaking Y/N out of her own trance of thinking. With a swallow, she nods, clicking on the little mail symbol next to Madeline’s name. 

He watches as she composes an email, her fingers stuttering over the keys every few minutes. He can tell that she’s over-thinking on what to say, but she eventually settles on a short, to-the-point message: Hi Madeline, my name is Y/N and I was interested in seeing you for therapy. Are you taking on new clients at the moment?

“Great,” Harry blurts out once she presses ‘send’. She looks up at him. “You did great.” he amends, a light blush flowering over his cheeks. 

All she does is smile and bury herself into his chest. 

. . .

“Here, why don’t you wear this to your appointment?”

Y/N thinks that Harry may be even more nervous for her first therapy session than she is. 

Although she’s busying around her apartment, getting her things together in preparation for her 11 am appointment, Harry’s movements are just as jerky and anxious. She’s currently looking for her favorite comfy sweatshirt when he suddenly peels off the fuzzy cardigan he’s wearing, handing it to her. It’s the one he bought on sale at Urban Outfitters a few weeks back when they had some time off from work and school. They’d been traipsing through the shops nearby with no intention of actually buying something, but Harry had said that he liked how it felt like a teddy bear. 

“Oh, but you’re already wearing that,” Y/N says with a pout, shaking her head. “It’s okay, I’ll find something else—”

“No, I want you to wear it,” he insists. “Maybe it’ll help make you feel more comfortable? Having something of mine?”

She blinks, slowly reaching out to accept it from his grasp. “What will you wear though?”

“I think I’ve left a few sweatshirts here,” he says, popping up from his seat on the edge of her bed. “Don’t you have that little drawer with all my stuff?”

She nods. It hadn’t really been an intentional thing, but when she told Lucy about it, she explained to her that it was kind of a big deal. Apparently, having a drawer at your significant other’s apartment meant that you were moving in the direction of living together, but Y/N didn’t see it that way. It was more for the sake of convenience, especially if Harry came over after work and decided to stay over instead of heading back to his place.

She walks over to her dresser and yanks open the top drawer. It’s filled to the brim with tee-shirts, sweatshirts, and two pairs of sweatpants, all of which belong to Harry. She glances over at him, embarrassed, and he laughs. 

“Geez, dovie, think you’re a bit obsessed with me,” he teases, grabbing one of the hoodies. She rolls her eyes. 

“You’re the one that leaves this stuff here all the time!” 

“Yeah, but it looks like you’re building some kind of shrine—”

“Oh, shush!” she says, pulling his cardigan on. She’ll admit, the fabric is heavenly, and the fact that it smells like Harry is a massive added bonus. “Are you still fine to drive me?”

He nods quickly once he has his sweatshirt on, grabbing his car keys. “Ready when you are, baby.”

He makes her take a granola bar and a water bottle on her way out, both of them bidding Lucy a goodbye when they exit the apartment. Y/N has a bad habit of not wanting to eat when she’s nervous, but Harry can guarantee that her stomach will start rumbling as soon as she’s done with today’s session. 

They climb into the familiarity of Harry’s car, Y/N taking her usual seat on the passenger’s side. She hasn’t driven much since cutting off communication with her parents. Obviously, she left the car they bought her, and she doesn’t have enough money in her savings to buy another one, even if it’s used or a lease.

Since she didn’t get the job at the bookstore, she’s been looking for other part-time opportunities on campus but nothing’s come up yet. Harry offered to get her some work at the shop, but she felt too weird about having her boyfriend pay her for silly tasks like cleaning up and scheduling appointments. 

Madeline’s office isn’t too far away, and Harry took the morning off to take her. He said — quote — “I’m clearing my schedule, dovie — no appointments, meetings, and certainly no drug deals!”. (That had made Y/N snort over the Chinese food they shared for dinner a few nights ago.) 

The drive is mainly quiet, save for Harry’s quiet music playing in the background. She’s nervous and fidgety in her seat so he reaches over to intertwine their fingers together, giving her hand a small squeeze in her lap. It makes her feel a little bit better, but she wishes Harry could go to her appointment with her. 

When they arrive, Harry pulls into a parking space just outside the door. They have 10 minutes before her session officially starts, but Madeline had asked if she could get there a bit early to fill out some paperwork. 

“Feel okay?” Harry asks, pushing his sunglasses up to his hair. She nods, even though her heart is hammering in her ribs. “You’re gonna do great, dovie. I’ll be here as soon as you’re done.”

“Okay,” she breathes, watching as the clock ticks one minute closer to 11. She swallows harshly and unbuckles her seatbelt, grabbing her bag from the floor of Harry’s car. “I'll be done by 11:45, right?”

“11:45, baby. I’ll be right here.”

“Okay. Alright.” 

He leans over to smear a quick kiss to her cheek and she smiles gently, though it doesn’t completely reach her eyes. She gets out of the car and straightens her posture, pulling Harry's cardigan tighter over her form, and winds around the front to walk in the direction of the front door. 

It’s only then that Harry rolls down his window, despite the wet, dewy chill of the morning. 

“Wait, Y/N!”

She turns around, an expression of confusion painting her features. 

“I’m so proud of you!” he exclaims. He can see her blush from his spot in the car, a wide, toothy grin appearing on her face. “I’m so proud of you, and I love you so much.”

She mouths it back — I love you too — this time with a smile that lights up her entire face. She waves her fingers with one more goodbye before taking a deep breath and walking into the office building. 

Harry can’t stop grinning to himself.

#bestie asks #writing #tattoo artist h #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles one direction #one direction #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic rec #fine line #harry's house #hs4 #harry's house album

[brucewaynehater101]

God, all the miscommunication is so tasty and angst. Hear me out. One of the other workers asking Tim why he dresses up as one of them while he's in costume and he has to face the fact they know Jane Doe and Red Robin are the same person. So he ends up explaining to the 3 or 4 that are there to confront him that he's been doing this job because he feels he has to. At the start, back when he was Robin, it was because he needed information from someone and Batman said that the only people the person was loose lipped with was people he slept with. So Tim did it and got the information. And it was such an easy way to get the information they needed and they did need information, so he just. Kept going. And over time, being there with the others on the street felt safer than he did with the other Bats.

Tim is visibly surprised with that last part, the others can tell he hadn't fully realized that was how he felt until he started venting. Then he just looks at his hands and says softly, "they... they were supposed to be my family. They call me Brother. Why is it safer for me out here than with them? Why am i..I... *happier* talking with you guys than I am with them?" And they can see the tears starting to flow down his face a a lot of harsh reality is suddenly being shoved in Tim's face.

Those there tell others what he said and opinion of him quickly changes from Anger to Pity then eventually back to the friendly relationship he had before they found out. Tim finds out some where mad because he had "other options" when they don't and goes to those ones saying, "I have connections. What if I can get you a job? I can keep your pimp off your back, I can help you move I promise I'll keep you safe. If you told me you didn't want to be out here, I would have helped you. I swear." He probably gets rejected by the first few but when one does cautiously take the offer, he makes good on his word, getting them a job at WE and helping them get a new apartment outside of Crime Alley. Tim knows this will put a target on his back, but he doesn't care. When has he ever valued his own safety above others?

I agree that it might take a bit for them to trust RR when he guarantees them a job outside of the sex industry (especially if they've been doing that for a long time).

For this, I like that Tim has genuinely built up relationships with all of them. Even through the semi-identity reveal, most go back to supporting each other.

Tim is a sacrificial idiot and we love him for it. I wonder how much Jane can help out their fellow coworkers before they start refusing her (out of pride, distrust, fear, feelings of being a burden, etc). Let Tim find a sense of community even through the trauma of how that emotional support came to be

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #thank you for the ask!!!! #dc au

[bi-bard]

If I Could Hold You for a Minute, I'd Go Through It Again - Charles Rowland Imagine [Dead Boy Detectives]

Title: If I Could Hold You for a Minute, I'd Go Through It Again

Pairing: Charles Rowland X Witch!Reader

Based On: Francesca

Word Count: 3,361 words

Warning(s): physical attack, mentions of family trauma/death/injury

Summary: Whoever claimed that risking your life was only for the living had never seen the true devotion of a ghost before.

Author's Note: Wow, Kyli liked another project that was inspired by Neil Gaiman's work... what a surprise. If you have any characters that you want to see, let me know.

Also, I'M HOME! I MADE IT BACK TO YOU GUYS!

**written in third person p.o.v for sake of storytelling**

UNREAL UNEARTH - HOZIER WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

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

If there was one word that was always used in tandem with (Y/n)'s name, it was chaos.

Or messy.

Or clumsy.

Or wild.

Or any other word that could possibly mean the same thing.

Early on, (Y/n) could excuse it as inexperience. Maybe age would tame whatever beast seemed to be roaring in their brain and their chest. Maybe someone would explain the best way to leash an animal that was so much larger than you.

No one ever did.

Instead, (Y/n) ended up alone. Alone, terrified, and as out of control as ever. A cruel hand had been dealt to them when they were far too young. And now, the teenager was left coping with things that most adults could not handle.

Meeting Edwin and Charles had been the first good thing to happen to (Y/n) ever.

(Y/n)'s isolated life was interrupted quite abruptly by the ghosts. A case had brought the detectives to (Y/n)'s doorstep. They had been wearing disguises at the time, but those were quickly put away when they learned that (Y/n) was a witch.

A partnership of sorts formed between the three of them. With Edwin, it was more sternly a working relationship. He rarely found himself in (Y/n)'s home, especially when there was no case that required their assistance.

With Charles, it was very different. Charles would visit whenever he wanted to. He would usually be the first to ask for help, popping in through a mirror in the main room. He'd take the time to look around the small living space. And when there wasn't a case, he would pop in whenever. It was commonly just as (Y/n) was sitting down to eat or read or do anything.

Charles and (Y/n) developed an interesting friendship. A friendship that was resting precariously on held tongues. Anyone could see how close the two had gotten to crossing the line between friendship and whatever was on the other side. Anyone other than the pair. They were both trapped in a state of denial. Maybe that was for the best for a time.

(Y/n)'s chaos had been largely hidden away from the detectives. Some would call it careful. (Y/n) called it lucky. Incredibly lucky.

And then there was the case of Rory.

Rory was a young spirit. A young but troubled spirit. The boys had been contacted by a friend saying that Rory was becoming violent. The goal was to find what was tying the spirit to this plane and to send them to the other side.

It had all been going well. All things considered, anyway.

The only problem was time. There was this terrifying ticking clock between the trio knowing about the case and the risk of Rory attempting to hurt someone.

(Y/n) had only been there to help find what had been keeping Rory tied to this plane.

It had been going fine. Absolutely fine.

And then, (Y/n) lost control.

There was an intense moment where Edwin and Charles ended up being thrown in different directions. (Y/n) had tried to help. To get the spirit to stop for just long enough for the detectives to recover.

It didn't work.

Something else had overwhelmed (Y/n)'s efforts.

Whatever it had been had hit the spirit straight on. It had angered it... a lot. It ran at a terrified and confused (Y/n), causing the young witch to hit the ground, the scrape of the road below them causing a hiss to escape.

"(Y/n)!" Charles ran over first. "You alright?"

(Y/n) nodded as they pushed themselves up.

"What was that," Edwin asked as he walked over. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"I... I don't know," (Y/n) said quietly. "It just... It just happened."

"It was reckless! You could have gotten yourself hurt and now we have to worry about the spirit being angry enough to hurt someone else!"

"Edwin-" Charles tried to get his friend to relax.

"What is wrong with you?" Edwin snapped before Charles could even try to stop him from asking.

"I... I don't know," (Y/n) murmured. "I don't know."

"Maybe it's best if you removed yourself from this case."

"Edwin!" Charles scolded.

"They're a risk!" Edwin insisted.

"He's right," (Y/n) turned to Charles. "I'll go home. Good luck."

Charles followed (Y/n) down the street. (Y/n)'s car sat alone on the street. Not much in terms of subtlety, but (Y/n) also hadn't been graced with the ability of travelling by mirror.

"(Y/n)," Charles said as he jogged to keep up with their quick steps. "Will you wait for a second?"

"Go back to the case, Charles," (Y/n) replied, not even looking at him.

"No," he stepped in front of them, attempting to block the path to the car. "Not until I know you're alright."

"I'm fine," (Y/n) insisted. "Edwin's right."

"No, he's not," he shook his head.

"Yes, he is. I am a risk. I always have been. I've hidden it well, but this was bound to happen at some point."

"What," he asked.

"A long time ago, when I was still with my family, I had issues like that happen all the time," (Y/n) explained. "I would... Something would overwhelm me, and I'd end up doing something dangerous or destructive. No one ever helped me with it. They expected me to sort it out on my own. And then... I hurt someone. Someone I cared about. I... I ended up being forced to leave. I still never truly learned to control anything. Tonight was proof of that!"

"We can help you-"

"That's not your job!" (Y/n) ran their hands over their face. "It's not worth the risk. I could get someone hurt, I could get myself, I could put you both in danger- none of it is worth it!"

"That's not your choice to make," Charles replied. "Any risk or danger is fine with me. I'm not leaving you alone, (Y/n)."

"You should."

(Y/n) moved around him and got in the car. Charles stepped back and watched the car drive off. He turned to see that Edwin had watched the interaction. Charles glared at him.

"It's for the best-"

"Let's just finish the case," Charles muttered, cutting Edwin off.

The case went by slowly and tensely. Charles was gruffer than Edwin had ever seen him. And Edwin had no right to question him about it. It was his comment that had caused this tension and anger. How was he meant to poke at it as if he had no idea what was going on inside the head of his best friend?

Charles didn't stick around the office once the case was done. Instead, he immediately went to the mirror, climbing through to try and see (Y/n) as soon as possible.

He ended up walking into (Y/n)'s room. He was somewhat expecting them to be there.

"(Y/n)!" Charles called out as he walked through the doorway. He stopped for a moment at the chaos that had taken over the living room.

It had been clear that some kind of fight had broken out. Between whom or what, Charles had no real idea. There were smaller objects thrown, furniture shifted, garbage scattered.

"(Y/n)," Charles called again as he walked around some of the mess. And then, he saw (Y/n) lying on the floor on the far side of the sofa. "(Y/n)!"

He ran over, rolling them on their back. They seemed to be breathing, but they were completely non-responsive.

"Shit!"

He shifted and carried (Y/n) to their room, leaving them on top of the bed's covers before he ran back through the mirror.

"Edwin!" Charles shouted even though Edwin was in the same room as him. "Something's wrong with (Y/n). I... I went to check on them and they were unconscious, and their living room was just destroyed. I don't know what happened."

"They're alive?"

"For now!"

"Come on," Edwin pushed Charles toward the mirror again.

Edwin let out a sigh as he walked over to (Y/n). He carefully lifted their eyelid to see if their eyes were responsive. However, all that was there was complete redness that had taken over. As if the eye had been filled with blood, but none of it was running out or swelling.

"Witchcraft," Edwin muttered. "I think I've read about this. Give me a moment to find the book in the office."

"(Y/n) was attacked by a witch?" Charles asked. Edwin was already through the mirror.

It was a suffocating matter of minutes before Edwin made it back to (Y/n)'s place.

"What is it?"

"If I am correct, then (Y/n) is currently trapped in a dream-like state," Edwin explained. "This dream-like state is keeping (Y/n) in a state of calmness while their brain slowly swells and presses against the skull. If we do not cure it fast enough, the swelling will kill them."

"How do we cure it?"

"We have to find a way to delicately wake (Y/n) from their dream-state. There is a cure that we can make, but it will take time."

"Is there another way? Something faster?"

"In theory," Edwin relented. "One of us could possess them and find a way to manually ease them out of the dream. The cure is our best option. Less risk."

"We don't have the time! We don't know how long (Y/n)'s been like this!"

"Charles, if either one of us chooses to possess them, then we set off alarms in the afterlife. We cannot take this risk."

Charles clenched his jaw.

"I will go get the cure started. Keep an eye on (Y/n)."

Charles did try to listen. He stood by and made sure that (Y/n) was breathing. He made sure that they were comfortable and that they were not suffering too immensely.

But then, he panicked.

He saw (Y/n)'s breaths becoming shallower and shallower. He heard nothing from Edwin. He was too worried to think of the consequences of his actions critically in any capacity.

He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was in a field.

He did a circle, trying to find some sign of something or someone. This was (Y/n)'s dream after all. They had to be there somewhere.

He saw something in the distance.

Approaching it, Charles could see a clearly outlined garden with a wooden fence around it. On one end was a gate, on the other end a cabin. A small cabin. The garden was beautiful. Full of flowers in full bloom with a swinging bench seat.

Charles almost chuckled at the vision. Something felt so fitting about something so peaceful being what (Y/n) pictured in a dream. Almost as far from their current life as they could get.

(Y/n) walked out of the cabin a moment later. Their clothes matched the garden. Soft, almost pastel colors. Very perfect, very organized.

He stepped forward, going to get their attention but stopped when he saw himself walking out of the cabin soon after. Well, some dream version of him. The other version of him was dressed exactly the same as he was, but it wasn't him. It couldn't have been him.

He watched as this alternate version of him pulled (Y/n) closer and kissed their head. The pair walked to the swinging bench seat, sitting together. (Y/n) relaxed into the fake Charles's side.

The view made the real Charles freeze where he was.

It felt wrong. Invasive.

He had kept his feelings private for as long as he had known (Y/n). He had been convinced that whatever connection the pair of them had was going to stay stuck in whatever form it was already in. Seeing this was a sign of something different. And he didn't know how to feel about that.

"(Y/n)!" he called from where he stood.

(Y/n) seemed to hear something. They paused and looked around but didn't seem to notice Charles. He could've sworn that they looked directly at him, but their eyes seemed to go right through him. As if he was never there.

(Y/n) leaned back into the seat, smiling as the fake Charles laid a kiss on their cheek as they did so.

The real Charles continued walking forward. He tried to think of a way to "delicately" get (Y/n) out of the dream.

"(Y/n)," he repeated, now standing just outside the gate.

Again, (Y/n) looked around but couldn't seem to spot him and was pulled back into the fake Charles's side.

He opened the gate and walked inside.

Neither (Y/n) nor the fake Charles seemed to acknowledge him in the slightest.

"(Y/n)," he said yet again.

(Y/n) again seemed surprised to hear anything, sitting up straight and going to look around until their eyes landed on Charles. They froze, eyes going wide at the sight of him.

"Hi," he grinned.

(Y/n) looked between him and the fake Charles, who was only looking at (Y/n).

"I'm sorry but I need you to come with me," Charles pressed, holding out his hand.

"What," they asked. "Sorry, but there are two of you. What's going on?"

"That's not me," he explained. "I... I don't know what he is, but he's not me."

(Y/n) stood up, stepping away from the bench. Once they were a few steps away from the real and fake Charles, they turned to look at them. The fake Charles didn't move, as if he were simply a mannequin that had to be moved around. He was staring at the space beside him as if (Y/n) was still there.

"You're in a dream," the real Charles explained. "This whole thing is fake."

(Y/n) ran their hands over their face.

"Do you remember how you got here at all," he asked.

"Yeah, I... I...," they trailed off, finding a blank space where some kind of memory definitely should have been.

"You were attacked," he continued. "Another witch found you and attacked you. You aren't standing outside some cabin in a field. You're lying in bed, unconscious."

There was a long pause before (Y/n) spoke up again, "I remember... I remember getting home. I remember someone being in my living room. It was an old friend..."

"You don't have to explain," Charles stopped them. He drew enough of a conclusion from those few sentences. It was some connection to whoever (Y/n) had hurt. Frankly, he didn't care about that. "We need to go."

He held his hand out to them. They finally took it.

He led them back to the gate to the garden. He didn't have any proof that this plan would work, but he didn't have anything else to go on. He just wanted to make sure (Y/n) had a chance at being okay.

Once (Y/n) stepped through the gate, it felt as if Charles was thrown out of (Y/n)'s mind. Like some explosion had happened.

Charles blinked a few times and spun around as he found himself back in (Y/n)'s room.

He heard (Y/n) grumbling. He grinned.

"Hey," he said quietly, going to sit next to them. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess," (Y/n) muttered. "My head hurts."

"I'll grab some water-"

"Wait, wait," (Y/n) reached for him as he stood up. He somehow managed to get halfway to the door by the time (Y/n) said anything. "I was... I was stuck in my head."

"And now, you're out."

"You... You popped up. You showed up there. You helped me."

"Yup."

"How?"

He paused for a moment.

"Charles..."

"I... possessed you."

(Y/n) sighed, standing up and placing their head in their hands. "Charles."

"It was to save you-"

"Oh my god!"

"I was trying to help-"

"You possessed me!"

"You need to relax-"

"No!" (Y/n) slapped Charles's hands away as he tried to guide them back to bed. "You possessed me!"

"I know that it's an invasion and it probably feels like you had some privacy violated-"

"My privacy isn't my concern," (Y/n) cut him off. "My concern is that you and Edwin have told me over and over again that possessing people sets off alarms in the afterlife. I don't care how close to death I am; you don't get to take that kind of risk for me."

"That's not just your choice," Charles replied. "I told you before, any risk that I take is my choice. I just saved your life!"

(Y/n) ran their hands over their face as they walked to the window. It was dark out. The moon perched itself perfectly to shine into (Y/n)'s room. There had been countless nights where (Y/n) spent ages just staring up at the sky, somehow feeling less alone when it was in sight.

(Y/n) could hear Charles walking to the window. They saw him out of the corner of their eye.

"I would do it again," he admitted. "No matter how much danger I put myself in. I'll do what I have to in order to save you."

"Why?"

"Because if you died, you wouldn't know how to get away from Death. I'd never see you again," Charles turned to (Y/n), who was still staring out the window. "I can run for eternity. I can escape anything and anyone. And I would do that as long as I knew you were at the end of whatever path I was running. I can't risk not seeing you again. You... You mean too much to me."

Finally, (Y/n) looked over at him.

"I... I love you, (Y/n)," he murmured.

(Y/n) loved him back. They knew that. They had for a long time now. But they couldn't bring themself to say it out loud. It was strange. Charles had seen the dream that (Y/n) had been stuck in. Surely, he knew how (Y/n) felt. So why could they still not admit it to him? Maybe it was they were merely scared of confessing it to themself.

"I'm sorry," Charles said after a few moments of silence. "I shouldn't have said that-"

Charles was cut off when (Y/n) stepped over and kissed him. It was as awkward as one would assume that it would be. It wasn't some perfect, fairytale-like kiss. It was an awkward kiss shared between a person who hadn't been kissed in decades and another who had never been kissed before. And it was short. It lasted a matter of moments before (Y/n) pulled back again. They stared at Charles with wide eyes, as if they had been just as surprised by their actions as he was.

He slowly grinned at them.

(Y/n) looked down for a moment, face becoming warm. "We should... We should get Edwin-"

"In a minute," he muttered.

"Charles-"

He leaned over and kissed them again. When he pulled back, there was a smug smile on his face. "You haven't said it back yet."

"What- oh," (Y/n) felt their face get even warmer as they realized what he meant. "I love you too."

It was quiet. As if it was still some kind of secret that no one other than Charles was allowed to know. Maybe (Y/n) meant for it to be that way.

It was then that Edwin climbed back through the mirror with some jars cradled in his arms.

"Alright, I found some things in the office that should be able to help- oh," Edwin muttered as he saw (Y/n) standing there. "You went through with the possession, I see... Even though I told you not to."

"I panicked," Charles explained.

"I already told him off for it," (Y/n) added.

"I think that (Y/n) should stay at the office for a while. Until we know there's not a threat."

Edwin looked between the pair. "Very well."

"I'll meet you guys there," (Y/n) promised.

(Y/n) felt a kiss get pressed to their head before Charles stepped away. They looked at Edwin, who gave them a shocked look in return.

"Well... I'll see you in a bit," (Y/n) said, trying to ignore the look that they had received.

The ghost boys went to the nearest mirror and climbed through. (Y/n) could hear the two of them muttering to each other. It was going to be a very long visit, (Y/n) could tell.

But (Y/n) couldn't find it in themself to mind much.

It was all worth it to be able to still hear them at all.

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#fanfiction #imagine #x reader #charles rowland imagine #charles rowland fanfiction #charles rowland x reader #dead boy detectives imagine #dead boy detectives x reader #dead boy detectives fanfiction #dc imagine #dc fanfiction #dc x reader

[wobblesthecowgirl]

Could you do Arthur with a rich reader?

Lady and The Tramp

Arthur x fem Rich Reader

Thank you for the request, I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long! I'm loving getting requests and I'll try and get through them best I can!

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The way you met was definitely an odd one.

Dutch had sent Arthur to a massive mansion in the outskirts of Saint Denis that belonged to a famous lawyer. The idea was to watch the house until he knew who was there, and sneak in when they left for their often business trips.

Trelawny had informed him before he left that the place consisted of a man, woman, and a son. Easy enough, Arthur thought as he made his way to the place in the dead of night. The lights were off and Arthur watched the family of three leave for the night in a hush, to not alert people like him.

He snuck to the back of the building and looked for any type of opening, before he spotted a slightly cracked open window on the second floor. He grinned at how stupid these rich people were, before using a pipe to scale the wall. He then pulled the window open some more and squeezed himself inside with a grunt.

He got up and closed the window again, but as he did so, he heard a gun cocking and froze.

"I'm going to give you ten seconds to climb back out of that window, or I'm shooting you in the head, you disgusting outlaw." The voice was silky and upper-class sounding, but there was a sharp aggression to it too. Arthur raised his hands up in defence and slowly turned around to get a better look.

She was gorgeous.

The moonlight lit up her face, that was clean and looked after. Her eyes were narrowed at him, her neat eyebrows furrowed. Her hair had in little rollers, and she wore a night dress. Arthur would be lying if he didn't find her the most attractive woman he had ever seen.

"I'm sorry, Miss. I didn't think anyone was in."

This only made the woman point the gun to his chest further as she spat, "so? You're trying to rob my sister. You better get out of here right now."

He nodded understandingly, trying his best not to get shot, and he reached for the window handle and opened it wide, slowly climbing out. Before he climbed down the pipe, he looked at her - who was still pointing the gun at him - and apologised, "I'm sorry about this. I was just following orders. You ain't gotta worry about me coming back."

And with that, he took off, leaving the riches behind, much to Dutch's dismay, and leaving the woman behind, much to his dismay.

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You had spotted him around Saint Denis multiple times after that, without him realising. When you first saw him walking into the barbers shop, your heart dropped and you began to panic. But then he was just, getting his hair done, and trotting along with his horse back out the city. Sometimes he would come in with friends, going to the saloon, going to the tailors, just being a normal person. Despite him looking out of place with his clothes and demeanor, he wasn't acting like a criminal. But he did try to rob my family.

Then, your sister was murdered. You didn't know who did it, but the reason was clear: you had money, and they wanted it. You reported it to the law and they found out it was another rich man getting rid of the competition, but they refused to do anything about it. This man had a lot of money, he could pay off the law so easily. You had no justice. Then, an idea popped into your head: you could ask him.

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Arthur was surprised when you tapped him on the shoulder. You were in a beautiful dress, expensive earrings , and your hair neatly put up to frame your face nicely. He worried you was about to rat him out to the law or something, but he saw your eyes were filled with pleading worry.

"Hello. Please don't worry, I'm not here to threaten you again," She began, "but I need your help, Mister."

"You're askin' me?" He asked in surprise, looking around; they were stood in the middle of a busy street. She nodded her head and invited him to go back to hers, where she could explain the situation.

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He sat on her comfortable chair, a cup of coffee she had made for him in his large hands. She sat across from him, and even her posture was perfect, the way she drank her coffee was proper. He felt like a filthy animal next to her.

"Let's start with your name." She stated, as he nodded his head.

"Arthur Morgan." He didn't know what else to say.

"I'm Y/n L/n. I'm sorry for the weird circumstance, but I truly need help and I feel you are best fitted for the job. I will pay you if you help." She insisted. That's when Arthur realised he was about to agree to help her before she even offered money, he didn't even think about what he usually does. That's when she began to explain the situation.

"Don't you worry yourself, Princess. I'll make sure he pays for what he did to your family."

And that he did. The man who killed your sister was found dead less than twenty four hours after you had asked Arthur, and the law couldn't find who did it. You had payed him a lot, and you assumed that would've been the end of it. He wrote down how you could write to him in case you needed anything else, and you told him you was always at the market on Thursdays.

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Arthur was purposefully bumping into you every Thursday, and you could tell it was on purpose but you still let him act like he didn't mean to. He was bashful, a constant rosy blush on his cheeks, scratching his neck, and looking down at the ground. It was cute, and he was handsome. You both would talk in the market, then it became horse riding together, then drawing together in the meadows. You slowly became his favourite company.

It felt wrong to him. A real princess wanted to be friends with him. He was putting her in danger and he knew it.

"Y/n, I worry that our friendship is putting you in danger." He opened up one day as the two of you was sat ontop of a cliff watching the sun set. You titled your head to the side and asked, "why?"

"Well, I'm a criminal. You said it the day we first met. If other outlaws knew I was close with a rich lady, you'd be their first target to get to me."

The two of you went silent for a moment before you muttered quietly, "what if I was no longer just some rich lady?" It was his turn to question what you meant.

"I mean," you started, "what if I left this life behind. Joined you and your family of outlaws."

His eyes widened as he shook his head rapidly.

"No! Why on earth would you do that, Princess? You have a wonderful life ahead of you, you have the money, the rich suitors, a comfortable happy life. Don't throw that all away for me. I ain't worth that."

"But you are!" You blurted out, embarrassed by how improper you sounded. It didn't stop you though, "you mean so much to me, Arthur! And I don't care of your status, none of that has ever mattered to me! Just because I'm rich doesn't mean I'm free. It's not my money, it's the man of the household! I just sit and look pretty, being told who to marry, what to say, how to please people." Tears were forming in your eyes and you hung your head down.

"You're the only man in my life that accepts me for me. You look past the money, past the fancy clothes. You see me." You could feel his hand rubbing circles on your back, and instantly relaxed under his touch.

"If that's what you wanna do. I won't stop you."

You snapped your head up to see him smiling gently at you.

"I worry about you sure. But I won't pass up an opportunity to see your beautiful face every day."

There it was, another compliment. Another helping hand. Another gentle smile. You didn't realise you were looking at his lips, or that he was inching closer to you. It was only when your lips connected did you feel more awake. It was like an electric shock, his lips locked perfectly into yours like a missing puzzle piece. When he pulled away, his cheeks were flushed and you could only imagine yours were too.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me-" He stuttered an apology but was cut off when you pulled him back in.

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After that, Arthur had asked you to be his. You didn't even let him finish when you said yes. You went back home, packed your stuff and a lot of money, before sneaking off with Arthur to his camp. You donated the majority of the money to camp, so Dutch instantly liked your presence, and the rest of them welcomed you with opened arms.

Despite you having the money before, Arthur would spoil you with new clothes and little trinkets. You both would cuddle together next to the fire and he even taught you how to fish and shoot a gun. He would never admit it in front of others, but he would kiss the ground you walk on. He loved you, and kept you safe forever.

#rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction

[pholla-jm]

Stronger Now

lol, I found this deep in my WIP's. IMAGINE: STRONGER NOW ~ SANJI X SIBLING!READER GENRE: ANGST/FLUFF cw: during sabaody archipelago arc. also touches sanji's past. talk of slavery and child abuse. not proof read. first person p.o.v **************

"Everything will be okay... everything will be okay." Is what I say every single time I'm put onto that stage.  However, I knew that nothing would be okay. Whenever I'm put onto the stage, I worry for who is going to buy me next. How the next person is going to treat me... which would be shit. 

I don't regret what I did to receive this type of life. If I had a choice to redo anything it would be to help my younger brother sooner. I haven't seen him almost eleven years, and I hope wherever he is at he is alive and well. 

My younger brother Sanji, one of the sweetest people I know, did not deserve the torment he went through. Especially from our father or any of our siblings. 

The sound of my shoes hitting the ground is the only thing I could hear throughout the stone walls of the castle I currently resided in. I was currently searching for Sanji, wondering what he was doing since I haven't seen him in awhile. 

I suddenly hear a loud crash followed by some crying. I could hear some other voices, four voices to be exact. I didn't need to hear anything more to know what was going on. I quickly followed the voices and soon I was greeted with the sight of Yonji beating Sanji up. 

"Hey!" I shout walking over to the three males and picking all of them up by the back of the collar, "what do you think you're doing?!"  "We caught Sanji cooking again-"  Ichiji starts but I cut him off. "So you beat him up for it? I told you many times-"  "I don't care what you say! Sanji is weak!" 

I raise my eyebrow at his response, irritation and anger filling my veins. No matter how much I want to hit them, I won't. I refuse to hit a kid, no matter how much they deserve it. Instead, I drop all three of them on the ground. Each one landing on their bum with a 'oof'. 

"Go on, get out of here. Next time I catch you hurting Sanji, there will be dire consequences." 

All three of them got up and started to leave, each of them mumbling how one day they would be stronger than me and beat me up. Hah, like that day would ever come. 

"What's going on here?" I hear Judge, or rather father, say.  I look over to see him glowering down at me, and right next to him was my younger sister, Reiju.

I immediately feel Sanji go behind my legs, gripping onto them. I place my hand on the back of his head, comforting him. 

"None of your business." 

One would think that a father wouldn't support his kids hurting each other, but he was the opposite. I hated the fact he didn't claim Sanji on his own just because he considered him weak. 

"It is my business girl."  "It will be your business when you actually start caring for you children."  "I do care for them, not for that one though." 

I scowl at him, disgusted with him. I can't believe half of his DNA is in me. 

"Then it's none of your business. Let's go Sanji." I say turning around and grabbing his hand.  "You won't be able to protect him forever. Once you're married off, you're never allowed in this building." 

I grimace at his words. That's right, he set up a marriage for me. I don't even know the guy, this marriage is just for Judge's convenience. I ignore him and continue to walk with Sanji to my room where I have some medical stuff for him. 

I look down at Sanji, his face set in a frown. Now I could see all the bruises and bumps on him caused from his brothers.  "What's the matter Sanji?" I ask him.  He looks up at me, with tears in his eyes, "you're going to leave me one day." 

"Actually," I say before sitting him down on my counter so I could grab some bandages, "I think you're going to leave before me. But I'll always be with you. Even if I'm physically not here, I'll be here." I say pointing to his heart. 

I start to clean his cuts and put ointments on his bruises. 

He looks at me confused, "how will you be in my heart?"  I laugh at him, "no silly. I won't be in there physically. Metaphorically. No matter where you're at, I'll always love you and I'll be in your memory."  "But I want you to stay with me forever."  I give him a sad smile, knowing that things won't turn out that way, "I know... I know." 

Honestly where I'm at right now is a lot better than being married off to some guy I don't know. If I was married right now, I would probably be tied down with children and never allowed to leave the house. Huh, now actually that I'm thinking about it, both situations are the same. Either way, I ended up a slave. 

I close my eyes, letting the darkness overtake me. I was definitely going to need rest for what was going to happen next. Auctions were so tiring and it drained a lot of energy out of me. 

"Why do you protect him? He's so weak." Reiju asks me while I continue to write in my journal. Besides Sanji, I can tolerate Reiju sometimes. I place down my pencil at her question and close the journal.  "One day he won't be weak. But just because someone is weak, doesn't give someone the right to pick on them. If you are strong, then it is your duty to protect the weak."  Reiju tilts her head, "why?"  "Well wouldn't you want someone to help you if you were weak?"  Reiju hums in thought.  "If we help someone out while they are weak, they in turn will become stronger later. They will help aid other people. That person will never forget the kindness and will return the favor later if needed." 

"Ah," Reiju smiles up at me, "you're so smart (y/n)."  I smile back at her and ruffle her hair, "where's Sanji anyway?"  Her smile immediately goes into a frown making me worry.  "Father put him in the dungeons." 

"What?!" I immediately get up and start to rush around the room, gathering some things.  "What are you doing?" She asks.  "It doesn't matter. It's pass your bedtime though. You should get going to bed."  "But-"  "Now." 

Reiju sighs and leave my room. I continue to stuff things in a bag, including the journal I was previously writing in. Once I leave my room, I go out to grab a lantern knowing that Sanji was scared of the dark. 

I quickly make my way towards where the dungeons at, careful not to be seen by the guards. Once I pass them I can immediately hear the cries of my younger brother. The sounds causing my heart to clench. 

"Father please, I'm sorry. It's so dark down here. Please let me out." I bite my lip to suppress any tears from escaping. I hate this so much. Once I calm down my emotions, I pull out a match and light up the lantern. 

"It is pretty dark down here, huh Sanji?" I ask once I'm able to see him. 

There he was placed behind the bars with a metal helmet on him so I could only see his eyes. He had tears flowing down his face, but once he saw me his tears immediately dried up. 

"(y/n)!"  "Shh!" I say placing a finger on my lips and he nods his head.  Once I'm in front of him, I kneel down in front of him. "I'm so sorry Sanji..." I whisper grabbing onto his hand.  "It's not your fault..." He whispers back clenching onto my hand.  "I'm going to help you, okay? But you have to listen to everything I say." 

He immediately nods his head. I let go of his hand and bring both of my hands up to the helmet that was stuck on him.  "Relax." I tell him as I put my fingers in the helmet, facing away from him. I applied pressure the metal bending in the opposite direction until it broke. The broken pieces clunked on the floor and I could now see Sanji's full face. His eyes were wide as he looked at me. 

"There's that handsome face." I say pinching his cheek causing him to blush and swat my hand away. I laugh at his reaction before standing up, "did I hurt you?" I ask a little worried.  He shook his head, "no... you're so strong." He says with wonder. 

"I bet one day, you'll be stronger than me though. Stand back." I tell him and he listens to my orders. 

I grab two of the metal bars and push against them so there was enough space for Sanji to get through.  "You really think so?" He asks and I nod my head, "I know so." 

"Come here." I say waving him over and he doesn't waste another second to wrap his arms around my waist. His head resting right on my stomach. I place my hands on his back. I really wish I could stay like this forever. I just want to protect my little brother as long as I could, which is why I have to do this. 

"Let's go Sanji."  "Where are we going?" He asks, but I don't answer him.  

I walk over to one of the walls, punching the cobble wall. The stones fall easily to the ground causing a sliver of daylight to sneak into the room. The sun was rising, which meant the ship should be here soon. 

"(y/n), where are we going?" He asks as I drag him across the ship. There was already an island that I could see. A island that father was attacking. There was bound to be another ship nearby where I could get him to safety.  "Stop asking questions." 

I didn't hear anything else from him. 

It took a while for the fighting to stop, but neither of us were spotted which was good. I saw a ship from a far. 

"There," I say pointing to the ship, "go on there okay? There are wonderful people on there that will take care of you."  "Huh?" Sanji looks at me confused, "what's going on?"  "I know you want to be a cook Sanji. You have a gift and if you stay here, you won't be able to fulfill your dreams."  "B-but"  "You want to find the All Blue, don't you?"  His eyes widen at my words and tears start to well up in his eyes.  "Come with me." He says but I shake my head.  "I can't. Just go, Sanji!" 

Tears now fell down his face and loud sobs escaped his lips.  I put my bag over his shoulder and turn him back around the ship, "the sea is a big place. You're going to meet some people that love you more than your family ever did. So stop crying and just go!" I push him towards the ship trying to stop the tears running down my face. 

Sanji must of realized that I was right and continued to run towards the ship while crying. Hearing his cries only made my cries worse. 

"Stay safe, Sanji." 

After that, the rest was history. Once Judge found out what I did and the damage I caused, he immediately disowned me. He realized that he couldn't marry me off since I wasn't technically a Vinsmoke anymore. That combined with the fact he couldn't look at me any more, he sold me off to be a slave. I don't regret what happened though. I would happily do it again. The look of anger on his face was very pleasing to me. 

"Hey, get up. You're up next." Someone shook me and pushed me towards the stage. 

Well here we go.

I was pushed onto the stage where the announcer immediately started bidding for a price for me. It didn't take long with a bid of 3,000,000 bellis. I was so used to this that I didn't hear the small commotion that was going on in the crowd. 

Right after me was a mermaid, which I knew she was going to be placed for a high amount. I was right, of course, with 500,000,000 bellis. She was about to be pushed off the stage until there was a loud crash. Two men burst into the building, one of them punching a celestial dragon and punching another person. Soon a commotion erupted throughout the room causing everyone to run and destruction to follow.

What the hell is going on? 

"(y/n)!" I heard someone shout my name and I was soon grabbed.  I let out a small scream from shock and closed my eyes. I didn't know who was grabbing me, but I didn't fight back just in case it was one of the buyers.  "(Y/n)?! Is that you? Please look at me!" 

The voice was familiar causing me to slowly open my eyes and look up at the person who was holding my arm. I squint my eyes at the guy. The blonde hair covering one eye, and a swirly eyebrow. It couldn't be.... 

"Sanji?" 

A large smile is now placed on his face and his arms wrap around me, spinning me around.  "What are you doing here? How did you end up like this?" He asks me as soon as he places me down.  "That doesn't matter. What matters is that you're safe! I'm so happy to know that you didn't die out there." I smile at him. 

I was a bit confused to why he was frowning at me. 

"(y/n)," He says.  "What is it?"  "I'm not a little kid anymore. I'm a lot stronger now. You don't have to hide things from me." 

The smile falters from my face, "oh." 

That's right. He is grown now.  Sanji sighs, "just because I'm older and stronger now doesn't mean I still don't need you." 

"Once my crewmates find the keys, I'll get you out of this." He says pointing at the collar around my neck.  "Thanks." I say pulling wrists outwards so the chains could break. I do the same thing with the chains wrapped around my ankles. 

"So, you're on a crew now?"  "Yeah... we have a lot of catching up to do." He says patting my head, just like I used to do when he was a kid. 

"From now on, I'll protect you." 

#one piece #oneshot #one piece x reader #op x reader #sanji fluff #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji angst #one piece fluff #one piece angst

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Haunted: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Summary: This is Hotch's first case back since being stabbed by Foyet. As much as he says he's fine, he's not and he's letting his emotions affect the case in a negative way.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

With a quick search, Penelope finds out that Darrin's state-appointed psychiatrist is Charles Cipolla. If Darrin can't get his medicine at the pharmacy then he's going to pay a visit to the one person who can prescribe him more. You three rush over to his office but you're too late. Rossi and Emily are already here along with the local police because not only is Charles dead, but another one of his patients is.

The same ripped-apart energy is all over the office. Darrin was definitely here and killed both of these men.

"His energy is falling apart faster. Soon, he's going to be killing left and right regardless if they touch him or not."

"Why can't you find him?" Hotch snaps at you.

You open your mouth to snap something back at him when Derek stops you. He knows what you're going to say so he steps in to prevent you from getting in trouble.

"She is. We all are."

Hotch scoffs and stalks off angrily. You decide to give him some time to cool off and address the mess inside instead.

"He cleaned up and changed his clothes," Lieutenant Kevin Mitchell says and holds up the bloody clothes with gloved hands. The psychiatrist's clothes are also missing which means Darrin is wearing them. "He could have dyed his hair for all I know."

"He's suffering from a psychotic break. He's not dodging us on purpose."

"If he was psychotic, why would his doctor take him off the drugs?"

"Call didn't have any history of violent behavior. Cipolla couldn't predict that would happen," Rossi says.

"Look at this place. It's a mess but it looks like Call was looking for something."

"Yeah, the drugs," Kevin scoffs.

"No, the doctor never keeps the drugs in their offices. The scrip pad is still on the desk. My guess is he came here for help."

Derek looks through the files in the cabinets but can't find Darrin's.

"His file is missing." Penelope calls Derek and he puts her on speakerphone. "Yeah, baby girl, what's going on?"

"Where's Hotch? He's not answering."

"He's outside. He's doing alright. What's up?"

"A mystery."

"Come on, not today Garcia."

"I know. Here's the deal. When I missed the antipsychotics--"

"Listen to me. That was not your fault."

"You are ever my champion, sugar, but I believe it was. Anyway, when I did that, I went back to the beginning except there is no beginning."

"What are you talking about?" you ask.

"Darrin Call didn't exist like from 1969 to 1975. There's no birth certificate, no social security, and no identity. Nothing until he was six years old."

"Was he abandoned?"

"My least three favorite words strung together... I don't know. My guess is neither does he." Rossi leaves to grab Hotch so he can hear what Penelope has to say. She does more research into Darrin that might tell her what happened to him in his early years. "On May 1, 1975, a six-year-old Darrin Call was found roaming in the middle of nowhere and was picked up. He was in state care for the first few months."

"Did he tell the cops what happened?"

"No, because he didn't talk, not for over a year. Once he started talking, he only knew his life as Darrin Call."

"That's awful," JJ sighs.

"So is this. Little Darrin was never claimed."

"Maybe he wasn't from the area. There wasn't a thriving missing children's network in 1975."

"Call is wearing Cipolla's clothing. I don't know if he's lucid or not, but he is definitely freaked out. Either way, we should update the public," Derek says to JJ.

"What is this?" the Lieutenant asks at the piece of paper JJ has.

"Call's timeline."

"He left Louisville?"

"Three times, but he always came back to the same ten-block radius."

"Why?"

"Victims are often drawn to the scene of their first trauma. Part of him wanted to escape. The other part probably struggled to find answers."

"Was he hospitalized?" Hotch asks.

"For two years starting in 1885."

"And again in '95 for a few months," Penelope adds. "For both times, he stayed at the state facility in Fayette County."

"You know he doesn't drive. Do you think he'd walk all the way out there?" Kevin asks.

"He's desperate. I think he'll find a way."

"I'll tell the sheriff in Fayette," the Lieutenant says and walks away.

"When did he start the prescriptions, Garcia?"

"In 1977 and it looks like he tried them all. I've got a list. Alphabetically, Alprazolam, Clonazepam, Diazepam--"

"Just send it."

"Yes, sir."

"His doctor weaned him off the prescription for a reason. Now, that's a big risk so the reward must have been greater."

"He needs the truth. Maybe he stopped taking the prescription on his own. He's looking for answers. He's got his file so the answers are in there."

"We need to catch up before he kills someone else."

You continue to do research with the team back at the police station. Penelope is on speakerphone with everyone trying to help.

"I found some records from child services that have him extremely physically abused. No signs of sexual assault, though."

"That's a miracle."

"Either way, the trauma was debilitating. Was he running from an abusive home or an abduction?"

"Wouldn't there be a paper trail if it were a kidnapping?" Lieutenant Mitchell asks.

"Garcia, look for unsolved missing children's cases from the 1970s."

"Okay, there's a case in Hollow Creek. The kids were dead though and were found in pieces."

"When was this?"

"'75. Nobody talks about it because they never found the guy. Do you think Call walked away from there?"

"It's possible. Garcia, send me everything."

"Done."

Can you find the case file?" Hotch asks the Lieutenant.

"I'll do what I can."

The Lieutenant leaves and returns twenty minutes later with two boxes full of stuff on the Hollow Creek case. Spencer reaches into the first box and grabs several files.

"Is there a suspect list?" JJ asks.

"It's in there somewhere."

"He was known as the Hollow Creek killer. Three bodies were found with some being never identified. There's a survivor. It's not Call, it was a 12-year-old boy named Tommy Phillips. His parents said he was missing for two weeks and came back a different kid."

"Of course, he did. Can you blame him?"

"Let's see. The family left Louisville after Tommy told police where to find the bodies. He also said the suspect was a white man in his thirties and drove a red pickup truck."

"We need to find Tommy."

"He'd be forty-six now. His parents probably changed his name and got as far away as possible."

"Garcia can find him," Hotch says with faith. "Garcia, send everything you can find on Tommy Phillips."

"Yes, sir."

"The stock boy's blade is what set him off in the pharmacy. If this is what Call's been running from, it's no wonder he's blocked it out," JJ says as she watches the footage again.

"Since he's clean now, there's no medication to block his memories and he wants answers. Where would he go?"

"To what he knows."

"He doesn't know anything. That's the problem."

"He's beginning to. He became Darrin Call at the Sterner Orphanage. I say we start there," you suggest.

You, Hotch, Emily, and the Lieutenant go over to the orphanage to see the local police already there. Darrin did come here looking for answers but ended up stabbing the woman in charge of the place. He also kidnapped a child which he hadn't done before. Derek talks to a witness who is across the street, Hotch immediately talks to the woman who was stabbed, and you study the energy. It's like it gets more unhinged the more you look at it. This kind of energy compared to the one you found at the pharmacy is way different. Both are falling apart but the one at the pharmacy is more put together than the one you see here.

"He called the boy Tommy," Hotch says after he returns from talking to the woman.

"Is that what set him off?" you ask.

"She thought it was his reflection. Whoever hurt him years ago might have been the same age he is now. He might have seen the similarity."

"What about the boy?" Rossi asks Hotch.

"His real name is Ryan. She said he was quiet and submissive."

"Is Morgan getting anything out of the other witness?"

"Not yet."

"A minivan was stolen one block from here. Call's never driven in his life. Do you think he's still not running from us?" the Lieutenant asks.

"Which way?"

"Eastbound. I got roadblocks set up everywhere. He's not getting out of this county."

"You're wasting your time," Hotch objects.

"He's outnumbered. Do you think he's gonna just disappear?"

"I think he took the boy for a reason."

"I don't care why he took him--"

"You should. Call's memory is no longer suppressed. He's reinventing his past, and unless we understand how, we're not gonna find either of them."

"I agree with Hotch," you back him up.

"I'm not gonna just sit around and speculate."

"I'm not asking you to."

"You don't think we should chase him either?" the Lieutenant asks Rossi.

"We need to get ahead of Call." The Lieutenant scoffs and leaves pissed. Emily and Rossi don't seem confident about Hotch's decision. "Hotch, a kid's missing."

"They don't need the extra manpower."

"Since when?"

"If we'd studied Foyet's initial crimes, we would have known that a survivor didn't make sense."

You sigh when he mentions Foyet. This man is obsessed with him and it won't get any better until he is apprehended. Foyet is the only reason why he can't see his own family.

"What does he have to do with this?" Emily asks carefully.

"All we had to do was stop and look at Foyet's history. We didn't and we lost two couples and a bus full of people. I'm not making that mistake again."

Hotch walks off and you address your two coworkers.

"Hotch isn't well. He's not doing okay even if he says he is."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds series rewrite #criminal minds season 5

[beardedmrbean]

New York times discovers a new generation is creating its own slang terms and is confused by something that has happened continually throughout the course of human history.

#when I was in High School #if anyone tried to pull the #'our music meant something it's all noise and gibberish now' nonsense #on me I would ask them if they ever found the person that put #the “bop” in the “bop she bop she bop” so #they could shake his hand #generally got quiet after that #let the kids have their fun #and ask politely if you're confused #works better than #being a jackass

[crossbackpoke-check]

Substance, Shadow, and Spirit [remixed, abridged] by Tao Yuanming

#liv in the replies #patrice bergeron #boston bruins #brad marchand #do you ever think about how brad marchand said that when bergy retired he would retire or are you capable of normal thought i'm not at all #please say a gratitude for both my sanity& y'all that this poem (which has been saved in my camera roll with the vague idea of using it for #??? ​long) & not one of the poems i had saved for carey for a really long time & remixed & everything with another poem until i found a poem #that absolutely murdered me in cold blood but there is an alternate universe where i did& then had to explain my unhinged thoughts to you. #anyway how are we feeling about bergy retirement. pspspspsp sara & luna are y'all doing okay like. the doc title for this one was #patrice the hockey player means a lot to me but patrice the person means so much more #which is why the end line of the other poem was so *%"@^)! (you love / what you are) because patrice does. like he is a whole ass good huma #& now since no one asked i need to tell you all the details about everything also y'all please clap i made an edit with NO baby pictures #although i did find one & save it & minimal genres of photo i always use in edits because they're my taste & aesthetic but anyway. #when i saved the first photo and marked it as one i wanted i accidentally wrote “how will he know they love him” which is not the line but #makes me feel feral about patrice & the rest of them all had hurtful names too but also. the third picture is literally a CELLY like brad #just scored a goal & he is clinging to bergy for dear life with that shit i saved that as “oh the agony on his face for unendurable” #& yes it is one of my cliches to have a draft day picture but in my defense the lifelong bond that patrice has/d with boston deserved to be #there even if i put in the love story & YES that picture is from the 2011 playoff right below it shared joy & pain & i couldn't tell you #when the brad marchy photo for together forever is except for the fact that i saw it & just the gut punch of oh my god the way he looks at #things men will praise you for is the stanley cup. duh. but i love the contrast of “some deed” being the stanley cup but then #bergy's choice to do noble deeds (ends up still earning praise &that's my note to his efforts outside of hockey we love a supportive captai #should also mention the first two i came up with & had the photos i knew i wanted for were the first and last one alskaldk but i KNEW i #wanted chara somewhere in the paragraph about leaving & then while i was looking found the one of bergy playing tuukka on accident & yes #i do have to make goalie jokes every time. no reprieve . no dice/no deal/no goal goalies have no rest/reprieve etc etc the one that killed #me though was looking for a patrice award pic & i wanted basically the one that i got for “how will you know any will praise you” & instead #also got the picture of patrice winning the some community hero award for charity work that he does & i love him mama & of COURSE that puck #is from bergy's 1000 game who do you think I am (if you guessed sleepy and emotional about patrice you'd be right) and ALSO please be ready #for all the patrice posts/bruins posts that have been sitting in my drafts to be released on this occasion of patrice retirement #I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT TUUKKA ALSO RETIRED THAT’S WHY HE WAS ON WISE OR SIMPLE NO REPRIEVE AND THAT LATE OR SOON WAS ALWAYS GOING TO BE #CHARA BECAUSE CHARA LEFT FIRST TO GO TO THE CAPS AND THEN LEFT IN RETIRMENT HE LEFT SOON BUT NOT FOR REAL THEN LATER LEFT FOR REAL (RETIRED)

[saturnsuv]

.

#being demi in today’s dating culture or whatever is very lonely actually #it’s never rly smth anyone wants to put up with #if i meet someone i think is physically attractive and i find them interesting and they happen to also like me then i have to explain to #them that i won’t actually want to do anything or even like them romantically for several several months #like even if this hypothetical person asked me on a date they couldn’t even hold my hand #i’ve always said i’m going to be the type that has to be friends with someone for a long time first before anything happens #but the problem with that is 1) i’m bad at making friends 2) if i ever do make a friend that i actually like romantically there’s no reason #they would return my feelings #so i’m always either asking someone who might be interested in me to hold that interest for an indefinite period of time or rolling the #dice and hoping that friend feels the same #i can’t just date. i can’t just meet someone and be like i like you you’re attractive #my best friend got on hinge and found a bf in like. 2 days and i hate her bf but that’s not the point #sorry i act like the stray cat you leave food out for and inch closer as i eat over the period of a year until i finally sniff your hand #without hissing and scratching immediately #none of this makes sense and thats bc it’s 3am #sam speaks

[iknityounot]

(Long post, sorry y'all)

A little more than two years ago now, my grandmother passed away. She and my grandpa had moved down to my home town a few years before so we could take care of them. I brought them groceries once a week, helped them write checks, fixed tvs, and found lost things. I was really close with my grandma.

In addition to her hilarious personality and dry wit, one of my favorite things about her was that she was a painter and a crafter like me! She used to crochet, and I took her to the craft store a couple of times so she could get more yarn and books on crochet. But her arthritis and the shaking in her hands kept getting worse, so she eventually had to stop.

She kept her most recent project, a granny square blanket, safely packed away in a plastic bin. She told all of us she was going to finish it one day.

Her hands never got better, and when she got sick, and we found out it was cancer, she rapidly deteriorated.

After she passed, I went to work helping my mom clean out my grandparents apartment so we could move my grandpa in with her. In our frantic cleaning, I found that bin again:

DOZENS of granny squares, dozens of half used skeins. I asked my mom what she wanted me to do with it, and she said she didn't care. I set it aside and later took it home.

Maybe a month later, that tumblr post about the Loose Ends Project was going around. It felt like a sign--I was never going to learn to crochet in order to finish my grandmother's blanket. But they might be able to help!

So I filled out the interest form. They got back to me SUPER quick. And maybe 2 weeks later, I was paired with volunteer in my state (only 2 hours away!) and the box of yarn, granny squares, and my grandmother's crochet hook were in the mail. That was at the end of January this year.

Over the next couple of months, my "finisher" emailed me regular updates on her progress, and asked me questions on my preferences for how she constructed the final blanket.

At the end of August, the blanket was done!

I had always intended the blanket to be a gift for my mother. So I cleaned it up, put it in the only bag I had big enough to fit it, and drove to my mom's. I gave the blanket to her and she was gobsmacked. I explained to her all about Loose Ends, and how someone volunteered to finish the piece for us. She was speechless. (I was quite pleased with this, because I am not the best at giving gifts, so this was a pretty exciting reaction!)

She said that it was the most thoughtful gift she had ever been given. She said "your grandma would love this". To which I replied, "yeah, I know she really wanted to finish it a couple of years ago". But that was when my mom dropped the bomb of a century on me--she told me that my grandma had started making those granny squares OVER 30 YEARS AGO. She had started the blanket when my grandpa was staying in the hospital, but that was back when my mom was younger than I am now! My grandma had packed them all away, planning on finishing it, when my grandpa was sent home from the hospital. Then it went from house to house, from condo in Chicago to their apartment in my hometown. All that time and my grandma had wanted to finish it, but couldn't. First because she was busy, then because she forgot how to do it, then because of her arthritis, and then because of the cancer. My mom said she had given up on expecting my grandma to finish it. 

She said I brought a piece of her childhood with her mom out of the past.

And really, all of this is to say, if you have seen or heard about the Loose Ends Project and have an uncompleted project or piece from a loved one who has passed away--these are your people. They were so kind and treated my project with such care. That box probably would have been found by my own grandkids one day if I hadn't heard about Loose Ends.

Five stars, absolutely worth it!

(From what I understand, you can sign up to volunteer too! If you have time to share, it might be worth checking out!)

#loose ends #the loose ends project #joy knits #text #long post #knit #knitting #crochet #crocheting #craft #crafting #diy #crochetblr #yarnblr #yarn #knitblr

[a-b-riddle]

Part Five

Can't stop thinking about the attempt of reconciliation and reader ain't having it. Our girl is going to be wilddddd y'all. Also goodnight. See y'all tomorrow (maybe)

You call Meredith when you get home.

You. Are. Fuming. She's not sure she can ever remember a time you using so many swear words at one time.

How fucking dare them? Immature? You're the immature one? You were the one trying your best to salvage four failing relationship meanwhile none of those assholes could be bothered to try and keep one. They had one person to manage: you.

"I wanna go out this weekend." "Wear something tight and borderline risk indecent exposure."

"You know what I always say," Meredith begins. "The best way to get over someone-"

"is to get under someone else." You finish. You weren't exactly keen on the idea of bringing someone to your bed just yet, but a little attention would do you some good. "I don't want to fuck someone just yet." You admitted. "I'm more on the getting drunk and making out."

"I didn't know we resorted back secondary school heavy petting?" She teased.

"University, Dear." You corrected. "I didn't peak until after I graduated."

"No." She argued. "You didn't put your books down long enough to realize that boys actually wanted to fuck you." You were glad she couldn't see you roll your eyes. "Saturday work for you? I have a late night Friday and won't be up for it."

"That works."

"Sorry." She apologized. "I plan on getting you absolutely smashed so I need to be ready to play the nanny. I know how you love to get drunk and run off."

It was true. You had always found it hilarious when you were drunk to just run. Quite literally run away. It got to a point during university where Meredith would handcuff you to her so you didn't stray.

"I won't run." Your sober mind promised.

"Uh huh." Meredith's tone told you that she knew that was a load of shit. "I'll text Tabs. Let her know the plan."

The next day at the shop was pretty uneventful. No more unexpected visitors. You still had them all blocked. Not caring if now they decided to offer up some bullshit apology.

Months. This had been a steady decline for six months. A text or a simply sorry won't fix this. You weren't sure anything could.

But it didn't matter. You were done and they obviously were too.

You had picked up enough take out to feed a family, but you didn't plan on making your lunch before work or cooking when you got home. The rest of the week you planned on just going through the motions until you could go out Saturday and hopefully get everything out.

You weren't paying attention as you walked down the hallway to your flat. Fishing in your purse for keys. You were at almost at your door when you saw him.

Sitting next to your door was a familiar face. A face you felt you haven't seen in forever.

“What are you doing here, Kyle?" Your voice was flat as you continued to blindly try and find your keys with one hand. Fuck. You really need to clean out your purse...

“My key wouldn’t work.” He explained. "So I’m out here.”

"I'm aware why you're not in my apartment since I changed the locks," you said, trying to keep your irritation at bay. "What I am asking is why did you come here?"

"You won't return any of our messages."

"You're all blocked, so technically I didn't really get any messages." "Besides, you don't get to complain to me about not responding to texts, Kyle Garrick." Your fingers finally wraps around them. God bless. "If you're here for your things, it'll have to wait. I have to sort through everyone's shit and I don't know whose is whose."

"We need to talk." He explains as you put the key into the lock, opening the door.

"Nah," you say scrunching your nose in that way he used to adore. "I'm good. But you can swing by tomorrow and pick up your things if you'd like." You say before trying to shut the door on him. You were stupid in thinking you could be faster than him.

Dammit.

"I know things haven't been good and I've definitely could have been better,'' he admits. "But can you at least try and let us apologize? Let us try and work it out."

"No." You answered, trying to close the door. Not caring if you had to resort to kicking his shins to get him out.

"Why not?" He countered.

“Maybe because I've already tried, Kyle?” You gave up on trying to shut him out. You were strong, but he didn't have any issues in besting you. “Because I actually tried with you. With all of you. You didn’t need to come here giving me excuses about your life being hectic because I’ve made the excuses for you.” You didn't miss how he practically flinched. He had always blamed his busy life. Family. Work. You stopped caring about whatever excuse he gave you and realized it was just that. An excuse. “I’ve been telling myself for months that everything you guys didn’t do for me wasn’t because you didn’t care about me. It was because of the stress of your deployments is the reason none of you tell me when you get back from until it’s time to fuck. I tell myself it’s because of the fucked up situation of me being with all of you that makes it awkward to meet your families. Families you all have that I now know I’m not worthy of meeting.” He wanted to correct you. You were. You were worthy. He was an idiot. “It’s not that I need your excuses to make me feel like what you did was justified. No matter what it was, it was apparently to you because you did it.”

He took a step back, processing everything you had said. He had been selfish. You were the reliable constant in his life. Someone he believed he never disappointed. Someone he couldn't disappoint no matter how many times he fucked up.

You took the opportunity to slam the door. Quickly turning the lock before he had a chance to open it back up.

God...

That felt good.

You had spent that evening collecting their thing in case Kyle did show back up tomorrow. You wouldn't make their lives easier by sorting all their shit and organizing it. Everything. One box. Let them figure it out. You almost had a mind to add a shirt that you knew didn't belong to any of them just to have them argue over it. Or least make them think there was someone else...

You were almost tempted if not for the premise that you wanted them to realize this was their fault. Their fuck up. But now that you were officially all broken up, you were free game.

#captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #angst with a happy ending #angst #grovel #jealousy

[criminalamnesia]

that 141 x reader you just did was so good! i need to know what happens next. like after reader is better, do they stay in the military? stay in 141? or do they take a discharge? I’m not the original ask but it was just so good.

love your writing btw!

thank you! here’s part two :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you were beginning to hate the infirmary.

the white walls. the moans of pain. the smell of bleach and blood.

the reminder of why you were here. of who put you here.

your friends. your family. your team. john. johnny. kyle. simon.

you’d told the doctor to not let your teammates in, and she had tried, but there was only so much she could do. she couldn’t monitor the door all the time, and so a week after waking up from your coma, john price is sitting at your beside once again.

his hands are clasped together, knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. he’s leaning forward, elbows resting on the bed, hands under his chin. his position conveys his regret and worry. he looks like he should be in church, knelt between the pews and spewing silent prayers to a god that isn’t listening.

you haven’t spoken to him since he sat down ten minutes ago. the second you saw him step inside the infirmary, you knew he was there for you. there to try and speak to you, to apologize.

fuck him and his apologies.

you turned your head to the side, eyes staring at the white curtain separating your bed from the next. you studied the stitching while you listened to him breathe next to you. he hadn’t spoken either— just sat down and watched you.

it made your skin crawl, how he thought this was okay. how he thought this would be the way to get back into your good graces.

he clears his throat then, a sound you’ve heard a million times before. it makes you want to gag now.

“love,” his voice is soft, caring. you want to hit him in the jaw.

“can we talk? please?”

you don’t turn over, don’t even spare him a glance. you keep your gaze trained on the curtain. the only giveaway that he has your attention is the fists you clench at your sides.

he takes the silence as an invitation, that bastard.

“what happened—” he begins, then grunts. stops. takes a second, then begins again.

“what we did,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “it wasn’t right. the intel was from a trusted source. we—” he sighs then, and you can tell he’s rubbing his temple. he did that when he was stressed. when he was anxious.

“we were wrong to believe them over you, love. and im— im sorry.”

silence ensues. you don’t give him any indication that you’ve heard what he said. he sighs again, inhaling deeply.

“you’re still part of this team. johnny and gaz, they’ve been sitting outside this damn room like sentries. can barely pry ‘em away for drills.” he chuckles then, but it’s sad. pitiful. mournful.

“there’s nothing we can do to make this right,” he tells you. you’re still mulling over what he said about johnny and gaz. still hung up on the fact that he didn’t mention simon at all.

simon, who did the most damage to you, both psychologically and physically. simon, who shared your bed. simon.

simon, who is too much of a coward to face you for his crimes.

“but we want to try,” price is speaking again. “if you’ll let us.”

he stops talking. waits a beat, then two. then, you hear his chair scrape. he’s getting up, and that’s when you turn your head to face him.

he looks bad. bags under the eyes, skin pale, beard overgrown. you think he deserves this. deserves worse than this. his eyes meet yours, and they widen the tiniest bit at the attention you’re showing him.

your voice is full of venom as you speak.

“nothing,” you seethe, angry tears blurring your vision. “will ever undo what you did to me. what he did to me.”

price knows you’re talking about simon. the whole team knew you were a thing. hell, when they’d strapped you to that chair and debated who would ‘interrogate’ you, they hadn’t even thought to include simon. why would he want to torture the person he loved?

to their surprise, he had volunteered to take point.

“when i get out of this bed,” you continue. “im gone. and i never, never, want to see any of you again, or else im putting a fucking bullet between your eyes.”

the captain doesn’t speak. you can see the remorse on his face. you couldn’t care less about his feelings.

he gives a short nod, and without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

after john’s visit, no one else tries to visit you. you no longer catch glimpses of kyle or johnny outside the infirmary door. you’re glad they’re starting to get the hint.

but you’re still getting flowers. you don’t know where they’re coming from. sometimes they’re dropped off by a nurse, other times they appear in the morning after a restless sleep. there’s never a note. never anything to suggest who would be leaving them.

you know it’s one of the 141, but you don’t know exactly who. you feel certain it’s not simon.

but, unbeknownst to you, it is him. he knows you don’t want to see him— to see any of them. price had told them all about what you’d said to him during your talk.

price had also told them that he’d already started preparing your transfer papers. that had caused an uproar from soap, who’d quickly been quieted by a saddened price.

simon had expected it. expected worse, actually. he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been as merciful as you. it made him hate what they’d done to you so much more.

there had been the tiniest doubt in his mind when all the evidence pointed to you. he hadn’t believed it at first— and then things became damning. everything pointed to you. trusted sources were pointing their fingers at you, and everyone listened. he had listened.

he had volunteered to torture you because he’d been angry. rage he hadn’t felt in years bubbled to the surface of his skin, and he wanted to tear you limb from limb. how dare you come into their lives— his life— and betray them so substantially?

simon didn’t trust easily. he was battered and broken and scarred. shattered and malformed pieces hastily glued back together. he let the team in. let you in. let you see his face. let you into his bed. let you into his fucking heart.

and you turned around and drove a dagger into him. or so he thought.

he thought his anger and actions had been justified. thought he was doing the world a favor by butchering you. but he was wrong. the team was wrong.

he finds himself regretting how he hadn’t listened to your pleas, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

he knows the chances of you forgiving him, of letting him back into your life, are slim to none. but how could he not at least try?

you’d know each other for years. been together for years. all of it thrown away because he still knew the hurt of betrayal all too well. because it was too easy to fall back into the mindset that it was him against everyone. that the only person he knew, the only one he could rely on, was himself.

so he left flowers. your favorite ones. and he did so without making you face him, without apologizing or groveling. it was the least he owed you.

a month after your coma, you were finally allowed out of the infirmary. you were still healing, skin still tender and bruised. pink, jagged scars lining your skin; eternal reminders of the pain you’d been subjected to.

you’d been given a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, which you’d pulled on with much fuss. every time you struggled or stumbled, you found yourself getting angry. angry at the men who did this to you.

the anger was going to eat you alive, at least that’s what the psychologist that had been dropping by to see you had said. she’d told you you need to let it go, and you’d laughed in her face.

how do you let something like this go?

you didn’t know. you didn’t think you were strong enough to do that. not a good enough person to forgive the men that had carved into you.

once you had dressed, you shuffled out into the hallway. you’d profusely denied an escort, and the doctor had reluctantly acquiesced. she’d let you go, with just the promise that you’d keep your iv hooked in.

so here you were, trudging down the halls of the base, iv pole rattling along behind you.

you could feel eyes on you, but no one dared to get too close. you were glad. you didn’t want more empty apologies and sympathetic words.

you still remembered the way to price’s office like the back of your hand. you doubted you’d ever forget it.

time and time again you’d found yourself here. sometimes, getting reprimanded. others, congratulated. a few times you’d shown up in tears, and price had let you in without a word.

now you were standing outside his door, trying to contain the rage in your veins.

you raised a hand. knocked once, firm and loud.

“come in!” price called from inside.

you were already twisting the door knob, pushing into the room.

your eyes found price first. he was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. his hat was absent from his head, instead resting beside him on the desk.

and then you noticed simon.

he was wearing all black. his hands were covered, bones decorating the black gloves. gloves you’d seen many times before. gloves that had been pressed to gunshots, trying to stop the bleeding.

the lower half of his face was covered, allowing you to see from his eyes up. his sandy blonde hair was ruffled.

you quickly turned your attention back to price.

“love, what are you doin’ here? you should be in bed—” he began, but you waved a hand as you stepped further into the room. you pulled your iv pole in behind you, then kicked the door shut.

“don’t talk, just listen. i still mean what i said when you came to visit. the only reason im here right now is because you haven’t put in for my fucking transfer.” you hissed.

the captain’s eyes widened, his face taking on a sheepish expression at the revelation that he’d been caught. simon stood quietly beside him, eyes trained on you. you ignored him.

“love, i didn’t want to do anything before you were ready—” he began. you cut him off.

“bullshit! you didn’t want to do anything because you don’t want me to leave. you want me to forgive you, right? hear you all out? come back and be a happy little family again?”

the room fell eerily silent as you stared at the captain. your heart was roaring in your ears.

“put in the fucking transfer, john.” you finished.

he reluctantly nodded. he inhaled, his eyes glancing at his lieutenant briefly, before he spoke again.

“of course, love. ‘m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything else. you turned to go, your back to the men, when simon’s voice cut through the air.

“you should be respectful to your captain, sergeant.”

you froze as you took in his words. was he fucking serious?

you didn’t turn around. you trained your eyes on the door as you spoke words through gritted teeth.

“you should watch your tongue, lieutenant, before I fucking cut it off.”

with that, you pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, slamming it loudly behind you.

author’s note:

apologies for the wait! I hope everyone enjoyed! (this is being posted before proofreading, so I hope it’s okay— I’ll read through it later, it’s just late and im tired lol)

#simon riley x gn reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #price cod #captain john price #john price #simon riley angst #angst #ghost angst #ghost x gn reader #ghost x you #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost cod #task force 141 #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #141!reader #call of duty fic #gaz call of duty #soap call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #simon ghost x you

[navybrat817]

Jawbreaker

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky put a mouthy rookie in his place. Word Count: Over 800 Warnings: Established relationship, mention of injury, misogyny, punching, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes defending you (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I'm dedicating this to @whisperlullaby , who got to read this in advance, because she deserves this man (along with the rest of you). ❤️Written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

A small part of Bucky felt bad as he idly wiped his hand with a towel. A very small part.

He didn’t want people to fear him because of his past and he refused to let it define him. That meant that he tried his best to avoid violent tactics unless absolutely necessary.

But today, well, fuck that. The fucker had it coming.

Steve stood in front of him, his blue eyes narrowed as he waited for his best friend to acknowledge him.

Oh, Bucky expected some sort of reprimand, but he was sure Steve would change his tune in a minute or so.

“You gonna ask me what happened, punk, or glare at me until I talk?” He asked, tossing the towel away.

The blonde huffed out a laugh, but he didn’t look amused. “Why did you break that rookie’s jaw?”

Bucky tilted his head. “What’s the phrase? He fucked around and found out.”

You would’ve been proud of him for that reference.

Steve shook his head when Sam burst out laughing a few feet away. “Sam, please,” he begged, though his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “What did the guy do?”

A bitter taste flooded Bucky’s mouth as anger coursed through his veins again. He inhaled as he thought of your sweet smile and soft touch before he exhaled, the storm inside of him calming.

“Buck, you gotta tell us something,” Steve urged, needing some sort of information to try and do some damage control.

The brunette straightened up to look his friend in the eyes, wanting him to see the fury beneath the cold mask. “He told my girl to throw an apron on and get back in the kitchen when she went to spar.”

You, one of the most capable agents Bucky had ever known.

You, who had shown nothing but kindness to everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it.

The person Bucky was lucky enough to call his other half. His better half.

And some asshole rookie had the gall to treat you as if you didn’t belong there with the rest of them.

Sam was no longer laughing. Steve’s jaw clenched in understanding.

Bucky swallowed, that fury threatening to surface again as he remembered the hurt that filled your eyes at the comment. “You know I’d support anything she wants to do, whether that’s working or staying at home. It doesn’t give some prick the right to make her feel bad for her decision.”

“You know I don’t like bullies, but breaking his jaw?” Steve questioned. The guy deserved it, but did the punishment actually fit the crime?

“When she walked away, he said to come back when she was ready to see what a real man could do for her,” he said, the words coming out like a snarl.

The way you tensed up, fear and disgust flickering on your face, he didn’t think. A switch inside of him went off and he swung.

The fucker was lucky that all he got was a broken jaw. He could’ve done so much worse.

And it wasn’t that you couldn’t defend yourself because you could, but you shouldn’t have to put up with garbage like that.

A cracking sound echoed in the room before he realized he crushed the armrest of his seat. “Fuck. I’ll pay for that,” he mumbled, kicking a bit of the broken piece with his boot. “Can you just tell me how much trouble I’m in so I can get back to my girl?”

He didn’t care if he they suspended or even fired him as long as he got back to you.

The room stayed silent before Sam mused, “Technically, what the rookie did counts as harassment.”

Steve nodded. “And I’m sure Nat can persuade him not to sue for the injury he received,” he added, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll take care of it, Buck. Just. No more breaking jaws, okay?”

“When it comes to my girl, I make no promises,” Bucky smiled, his heart racing at the thought of you. “And maybe he’ll think twice before he opens his mouth again.”

“The damage you did, I don’t think he can open his mouth at all,” Sam mumbled.

Bucky’s phone went off before he could comment, his heart swelling as he read your text. He had to bite back a groan, too.

“Thank you again, Jawbreaker. I love you and I’ll be on my knees waiting for you.”

You wanted to thank him not just with words, but with your body and heart. It all belonged to him, like he belonged to you.

And he didn’t need to tell Steve and Sam what the message said since it was just for the two of you. “Love you, too, baby. Nothing to thank me for, but I’m on my way. Be ready.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Maybe we'll see how you "thank" Bucky down the road. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #the winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfic #x reader #sebastian stan x reader #james barnes x reader #bucky fanfic

[bountydroid]

Jealousy

Request: Can I please request a Cooper x Fem reader comfort angst romance where the sweet reader is infatuated with Cooper (she has a thing for older men)The sweet reader is always doing unnecessary favors for him, like secretly giving him discounts on rad away and supplies, taking care of dog meat, and getting him information on bounties. Until he brings along Lucy, misunderstanding the whole situation, the reader’s heart breaks thinking the worst and slowly stops trying and acting cold and distant, making Cooper notice that the only tolerable person he has ever known in this god forsaken world is ignoring him. (Feel free to add or change anything just pls feed into my delusions😭 I just want some hardcore romance with our cowboy) Also can u pls add that the reader also has a cute southern accent?

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader

Description: As a wandering trader, you've made a lot of strange friends. Among them, Ghouls, but there is one in particular that is your favorite.

Notes: I hope I did this justice for you anon!

The Wasteland was brutal, and even you knew it was a bad idea to trek it alone, but you had a job to do. However, as you found yourself in front of your old friend Roger's home you felt like the Wastelands weren't all that bad.

"My name.. is Roger." You heard him repeating between snarls.

You stopped in your tracks outside the door. "He's turning," You thought to yourself as you rummaged through your pack looking for any vials of Radaway. You were all out. Sighing, you put your hand on your holster before slowly making your way inside to check on your friend.

"Rog?" You ask as you round the corner to find him sitting in the dirt.

"Oh hey," he said relieved. "My savior. Do you have any vials"

"I don't have any, Rog." You replied sadly.

"Oh." He whispered. "You should probably get out of here then. It's not safe for little girls like you to be in the Wastelands alone." He said sadly, leaving out the bit you both knew, you weren't safe with HIM alone. 

Before you could respond, you heard quiet footsteps down the corridor. "Who else is here?" You thought to yourself as your hand went back to your holster. Peaking your head around the corner you find none other than Cooper Howard and... a vaultie? You did very little to hide the confusion on your face as you looked between the two.

"Hey, you." You said to Cooper. "What are you doing here?"

"Could ask you the same thing, sweetheart." He responds, pushing the vaultie through the doorway and making his way to Roger.

"Hey Rog," Cooper greets him.

"Hey. Hey." Rogers laughs, relieved to see his friend. "Fancy seeing you here. You out for that bounty, too, huh?"

"Yep," Cooper responds as he knelt in front of his friend.

You all stand there in silence for a bit, listening to Roger snarl and whip his head around. 

"Oh, shit," Roger says between wails.

"How you feeling?" Cooper asks quietly, already knowing the answer.

"Oh.. you know," Roger replied. "It's hard out here. Dang smoothies can be so unkind. I see you got a smoothie of your own." He says as he looks over at the vaultie.

You also turn to look at the vaultie, a look of displeasure on your face. "A smoothie of your own." Repeating over and over in your head. You wanted to be his smoothie. You and Cooper never really started a relationship, but you thought you were heading in that direction. You gave him a generous discount on Radaway since you developed a little crush on him, and he would always spend more time than necessary with you whenever you crossed paths. He was always fussing after you and was always telling you how you were too reckless. In his eyes, everything was too dangerous for you. He knew how you felt about him, and you THOUGHT you knew how he felt about you, but this vaultie threw a wrench in everything. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he doesn't like me." You thought to yourself while eyeing her up. You were so lost in thought that you could barely hear Roger snarling next to you. 

"You're turning," Cooper says reluctantly, his voice pulling you from your thoughts.

"Yeah maybe, maybe." Roger says on the verge of tears, "Maybe. Hey, you don't happen to have any vials, do you? Y/n is all out."

Cooper's eyes met yours as you nodded your head sadly.

"Just one little puff and I'll be back on my feet. You know I'm good for it." Roger pleaded.

"I'm sorry Roger I am all out," Cooper says, looking back toward his friend.

"That's okay. That's okay." Roger mumbles. "Though, um, you and y/n and your smooth-faced friend, you um... you might want to clear out before things get ugly."

You flinch as you hear Roger snarl again, each time he was getting louder and louder. You look down at your feet with tears in your eyes.

"I did okay. 28 years since I first started showing," Roger said looking between you and Cooper, before snarling again. "Oh, hell! Not as long as you though." He pointed proudly at Cooper, "You've outlasted us all. How long since you first started Wastelanding?"

"A long time," Cooper responds while shaking his head.

"That's a lot of vials," Roger said quietly.

"Well I've always been good at making money, Roger." Cooper exhales as he stands up. "Say, you remember how good food used to taste?"

"Yeah, BlamCo Mac and Cheese!" Roger says excitedly.

"Ice Cream and Apple Pie." Cooper countered.

Roger laughed, a real laugh. He was happy. "Apple Pie is not nearly as sweet as young Y/n's southern accent though." He says smiling up at you. "You know, my mom used to -"

Before you knew what happened, Roger's brains were all over the wall. You looked up at Cooper with tears in your eyes. You knew it had to be done. You knew it was mercy, but it still hurt. 

"Why did you do that?" The vaultie asked. "He was sick."

"He wasn't gonna get better." You responded dryly.

"You usually don't go all the way out here sweetheart, not on your own. What are you up to?" Cooper asks you as he picks up Roger's body and places it in a position where he easily access what he needs.

You don't respond. Between the jealousy brewing in your stomach at the vaultie next to you and the sadness about Roger, you couldn't find the words you wanted to say. 

"Stop. Stop Stop." The vaultie pleaded, "Please, I know it's hard out here but you don't, you don't have, you don't have to resort to... to..."

Before he could respond you quickly made your way out of the building for some fresh air. You could hear their voices inside, but you decided to drown them out by humming to yourself. You didn't need to see him take apart Roger, and you definitely couldn't stand the sound of her voice any longer. You knew you should get walking, you were low on supplies and they would be leaving the building soon. You didn't want to face them again, but it felt like there were bricks in your boots. As exhaustion hit you, you sat down in the sand and closed your eyes, losing track of time.

"Hey," You hear Cooper say as he puts his hand on your shoulder. "You good, sweetheart?"

'Fine." You mumbled out. "You and your smoothie should get going." The venom in your voice was loud and clear, but you didn't care.

"That's what got ya panties in a bunch?" Cooper laughed. 

You glared up at him in response. "Don't laugh at me, Cooper."

"I am taking her to SuperDuperMart. Not keepin’ her as a pet.” Cooper smiles as he offers you his hand. 

"Oh," You responded quietly, feeling stupid.

"What is SuperDuperMart?" You heard the vaultie ask, but the two of you completely ignored her.

"No one could ever replace you, sweetheart," Cooper says as he cups your face. 

You couldn't help the smile that graced your face at his words, and the blush that creeped up your neck.

He smiled when he noticed the way your eyes flickered towards his lips. 

"When I get my hands on some Radaway, I'll show you just how much you mean to me." You whispered.

"Lookin' forward to it." He whispered back.

The two of you were so caught up in each other that you didn't even notice the look of pure disgust on the vaultie's face as she watched your interaction. Some people may never understand why you like Cooper so much, but honestly? You couldn't give a damn.

Tag list: @sitkafay

#the ghoul fallout #fallout tv series #fallout #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard