#these are all incredibly self indulgent; I do apologise

[kscribbs]

Miller's Law Snippets

Snip 1 💤

And so she stayed like that. One arm curled around his torso, face nestled into the narrow space between his shoulder blades. — A protective barrier, shielding him from the darkness of his own mind.

Whenever she sensed that he might be submitting to it again she’d move their conjoined hands to his chest/heart, trying to imbue as much warmth and comfort and… well, love, as possible. Willing his heart-rate to return to a normal rhythm. And she'd speak to him. Using the same soft, consoling timbre she reserved for anxious patients. It seemed to work, for he’d soon grow still again, drifting back into what she hoped were pleasant, happy dreams. Dreams of things and people and places he loved. The rose garden at Frost Manor. His favourite memories with Jacqueline and the Twins. Endless games of Elemental Ball…

He was fully-thawed now, but his fingers remained icy, frost creeping from his palms, across the counterpane, and after awhile Lucy’s own fingers began to ache and burn. But still, she didn’t let go. She stayed there for hours. Hours upon hours, watching dawn crack over the horizon like a robin's egg, spilling its golden light across the Canton de Bern. Watching the sky shift from pale blue to silver-grey and snow begin to drift down in large, fluffy flakes. Watching morning bleed into afternoon, and afternoon into evening, and night settle into all the room’s nooks and recesses like the ink in the creases of her palms.

Still, she didn’t let go.

Eventually the clouds cleared, and the sky stretched before her as a great, glittering vault. The silver river of the Milky Way was so much more vivid out here. She never saw this many stars in New York. 

And Jack stayed sleeping, snoring softly, stirring minimally, his hand tightening in hers, every so often, the odd murmur drifting from his lips. Sometimes they were unintelligible. Other times she could make out certain words. Names, more oft than not. His mother’s. Jacqueline’s. Even her own, on one occasion. 

She was overexerting herself, she knew. Using her powers to excess. He was going to be cross with her, when he did wake. Chide her, lecture her. But she hardly cared. She would make sure he got the rest he’d been so sorely deprived of if it killed her. 

How long had he been suffering like this? she asked herself, again and again. He’d said they came in cycles, but how long had they been this severe? And how bad of a doctor — a friend, moreover — was she, for not having uncovered the truth sooner?

After a full twenty-four hours she was forced to get up to use the washroom, as well as grab something to eat and drink, all of which she did as swiftly as possible, before returning to his side (his other side now, seeing as he was one of those people who tended to gravitate, catlike, towards the centre of the bed) with her laptop in tow. He had begun to look a little strained in her absence, so she carded her fingers through his hair, pressed a kiss to the groove between his brows. And that seemed to do the trick.

She put on Season One of Gilmore Girls, keeping the volume low, and settled in for another long shift. 

The room was well-lit and warm now, a fire crackling merrily in the hearth, and Lucy couldn’t help muse that, amidst all the grief and the horror — the gaping, cavernous knowledge of her own infirmity -- she felt… oddly at peace. Like they were living in a kind of vacuum, away from the rest of the world. A perfect, snow-capped bell jar.

It helped, she supposed, that Gstaad had a real fairytale feel to it. Like something out of a Hans Christian Andersen story.

Finally, around fifty-three hours after he’d first fallen asleep, and while she was almost-but-not-quite drifting off to Monty Python and The Holy Grail (a favourite of his), she felt a groggy chuckle reverberate against her left side, and glanced up to find him grinning at the screen. His hair was a complete mess, thanks to her ministrations; making him look a bit like a lion coming into its mane.

‘I love the Pythons,’ he said, huskily.

‘I know.’

‘Most people don’t know why they named it “Monty Python”. It was because they thought it sounded like a really bad theatrical agent. Did you know that?’

‘I didn't,' Lucy said fondly, angling the laptop more towards him. ‘Good Fact. I'll remember it for next time I see dad.'

He sat up a bit, rubbing his eyes with the hand that wasn’t connected to hers. A little colour rose in his face, when he took notice of the fact, but he didn't let go. Quite the contrary, actually -- he gave it a gentle squeeze, running his thumb over her knuckles.

‘Mmgh. Jeez. My joints are killing me. How long was I out for? Couple hours?’

'Uh... little more than that, actually.'

'How much more?' His fingers trailed over his chin, which was noticeably stubbled. He frowned. 'Wait a minute...'

__

Snip 2 📱

‘Christ, I know. She’d be beside herself. But there’s very little we can do right now to—’ Melusine was cut off by the sound of a phone ringing. ‘…Do you hear— ? …Who’s is that?’

Lucy’s, it transpired; recognisable by its bright pink, flowery case. It lay abandoned on the kitchen table, half buried beneath a tea towel. The contact flashing on the screen made Jack’s skin crawl with dislike. 

“Matt (Weird Sevens Guy)”.

‘Oh, he can bugger right off! The rotter,’ Melusine growled, tossing her empty bowl into the sink as if it had just declared itself a close associate of said "rotter"(...?). ‘That’s the LAST thing Luce needs right now. I can’t bleedin’ stand that man, Jack. Always sniffing around her, like a hyena.'

'Yeah, what's up with that? It's like, uh, hello? Get a hobby, maybe? ...Preferably one that involves heavy machinery and very lax safety regulations.'

'Too right. He's trouble, I swear. You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to answer, blow a raspberry down the phone and then hang up.’

‘W-- now, Melusine,’ Jack chided, yanking her back by the hem of her blouse. 

‘What? That’s funny!’

‘Funny, sure. But somehow I don’t think Lucy’d thank you for it.’

‘So? She’s not here to nag me about it, is she? And what’s more, she’s not the boss of me. Or you, I hasten to add. …Actually, scratch that.’ She smirked at him. ‘We both know that’s not true. You’d stand in the path of an oncoming train, if she asked you to. Oh wait—’

‘Yeah, yeah—’

‘--You did do that! What a lark.’

‘Hmno. No, no. SHE did that. Charged full tilt towards it, in fact. I just happened to be clinging to the back of her broomstick, at the time.’ Jack shook his head ruefully. ‘It was—’

‘Attractive?’

‘—terrifying.’

‘Terrifyingly attractive. Tell me I’m wrong.’

‘…The woman has a screw loose, is-is what I’m saying.' He cleared his throat. 'Stark raving bonkers, as you Brits would say. And here I’d been under the impression that she was the better adjusted, of the three of us.’

‘Oh come now, you always knew she had a reckless streak.’

‘A reckless streak, yeah. Mm-hm. Totally. The key word there being "streak". What I didn’t know was that she was the second coming of Knievel. Sectionable, by all accoun… what’re you doing…?’ 

Melusine now had Lucy’s phone in hand, and Jack was concerned to see her typing up what looked like a—

‘Virtual curse,’ she explained, casually. ‘Nothing too serious, of course. Won’t do him any real harm. Just turn a very specific part of his anatomy into an eel. Eheh. See what me makes of th— oi! Give it back!’

‘Are you serious right now?’

‘Look, I know you’ve developed a “conscience”, or whatever, since your thaw,’ she huffed, standing on her tiptoes to try to snatch the phone from his grasp (a difficult feat, given their difference in height). ‘And that’s lovely — bravo. Very happy for you. I, on the other hand, misplaced mine centuries ago and have yet to rediscover it. I suspect it’s buried at the bottom of a sock drawer somewhere, though I really can’t be arsed to look… I’ve therefore ze-ro scruples about giving our mutual nemesis the ol’ what-for.’

‘This has absolutely nothing to do with “conscience or whotever"; I couldn't give less of a shit about what happens to that guy. In fact it would give me no greater pleasure to watch him have to waddle his way to the DMI ward. I'd just rather not end up in Lucy's bad books, as a result. Things are going really well between us right now, if you hadn't noticed? And I'd prefer to keep it that w-- ...don't look at me like that.’

‘Oh, but it’s just so sweet.' Melusine simpered, clasping her hands together kittenishly. 'The Great and Powerful Jack Frost, all… twitterpatery. Never thought I’d see the day!’

‘I’m not— i-it’s not because I—' She raised a sculpted brow at him. 'Look, shut up, okay?! I just can’t afford to lose any more strikes! I only have the one left! And I really don’t wanna find out what happens when I reach naught.’

‘She’ll probably just make you do lines or something. I wouldn’t worry.’

‘Or, she might jinx me! Put me in a full body bind.’

‘Don't act like you wouldn't enjoy it.’ Melusine sent him an arch look, making him flush. ‘But fine. If you're that much of a jessie, I'll take the brunt of any potential Miller ire.’

‘Pfft. As if I’m going to trust that.’

‘It’s the truth!’

‘You’ll have to forgive me for being the slightest bit dubious, given… you know. Every single one of our interactions over the last two centuries.’

At her mulish look Jack sighed, realising that he was fighting a losing battle. Though he truly didn’t want to buy himself a one-way ticket to the dog house, he couldn’t deny that seeing what’shisname (Mason? Murray? ...Sketchy, overly-solicitous guy who didn't come anywhere close to deserving the object of his "affection"?) receive a good cursing was an attractive prospect. 

A very attractive prospect.

Hm. 

‘Y'know what...? Fine,’ he relented. ‘Whatever. You reap what you sow, Melville. Do as you please, just leave me out of it.’ 

‘What I’m sowing is chaos, and I have my fingers crossed for a bountiful harvest.’

‘…In that case, an electric eel would be far funnier. Just a thought.’

‘My, my!’ Melusine's brows did the milage to her hairline. ‘Two good ideas in under twenty-four hours. That must be some kind of record! Remind me to mark the occasion in the official "Jack Had an Idea" Excel spreadsheet.’

Jack was just about to respond with his own (far more cutting) witticism when a sleepy voice from the doorway said, ‘Why do you guys look like you’re scheming?’ 

The two of them jumped, turning to find Lucy standing over the threshold, looking charmingly dishevelled.

While Jack smiled dotingly, all other thoughts fleeing his mind at the sight of her, Melusine, startled by her appearance, grabbed the phone from his hand and lobbed it at the window, which shattered.

There was a moment of confused silence.

‘…Bollocks. Could’ve sworn that was open.’

__

Snip 3 ⏳

‘What’s the matter?’ 

And there it was, Lucy thought. The Look. The one that always made her feel like he could see under her skin. The familiarity of it, after all these years, was like a blow to the jugular.

‘N-Nothing, I--’ She drew in a shuddering breath. ‘I’m just... having a bit of a hard day, s’all.’

‘Why?’

‘…I… miss my friend. ...A lot. I haven’t seen him in a long time, you see. A very long time.’

‘Where is he?’ The boy cocked his head curiously, resembling a bird listening for earthworms. ‘Did he die?’

Kids. So forthright. 

‘No. No, honey, he didn’t die.’

‘Then why can’t you see him?’

Lucy’s lips twitched. 

Hiking up her skirts, she knelt down to his level, studying his narrow face. The same face she mapped out in her mind each night, before she went to sleep, so that she wouldn’t forget. Every line, every furrow. Every repressed spasm or overexertion of emotion.

Piece by piece, the memories settled around her. Like snowfall. -- A worried grimace as he sat at her bedside, holding her hand through what, at the time, had been her worst surge to date. A sleepy grin, as he watched Monty Python over her shoulder, while the world outside faded to white. Deep concentration pulling his features taught as he tinkered at his Steinway. The panicked, pleading look he'd sent her when she left him slaving over a hot stove with her mom and Nana, while she, Charlie and her dad retired to the basement to "assemble furniture" (drink beer and watch the Bears game). Countless looks of gentle reprove, mixed with grudging amusement, whenever she teased him about his eccentricities. The brief flashes of pride and adoration she'd grown increasingly better at catching, in the months preceding her "Jump".

The mingled shock and delight, that afternoon at the cottage, as the heady scent of magnolia drifted in through the window and the rain thundered on the roof. Arguably her favourite memory of him.

...The abject terror, as he lay writhing in pain--

No.

No, that one she would not think of. That one she made a concerted effort to bury, stifle. Locking it away, in the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind.

This face, though… this face was smooth and bright, filled with earnestness of childhood. The lofty bone structure, the crooked nose, the dimpled cheeks. The blue, blue eyes. It was all him. And at the same time, it wasn’t. Not quite. Not yet. 

To look into his eyes after all this time and not have him recognise her, even a little bit...? Hurt more than Lucy would've ever thought possible.

‘It’s… it’s complicated, kiddo,’ she said, eventually. ‘Grown-up stuff, y’know?’

‘Well.’ He drew himself up to his full height, puffing out his chest importantly. ‘I don’t wanna brag or nothin’, but I happen to be very mature.’

‘Oh, is that so?’

‘Yep! My teacher said so. Said that I’m the most prec-- prero--'

'Precocious?'

'Reprocious boy in my class. And that's why I find it hard to make friends.'

'You do?' Lucy put a hand over her heart. 'Oh dear.'

His ears turned a little pink, as if he'd disclosed more than he'd intended to.

'N-Not that I care! Why should I? They're all dunderheads anyway. And I'm special. I'm gonna do Big Things when I leave school!'

‘Really now? Golly.'

‘Mm-hm! And then they'll ALL wanna be my friend. But by that point it'll be too late, 'cause I'll be rich and famous and everyone will know how great I am.'

It made so much sense, in hindsight. So much sense. All he'd ever wanted was to be accepted. Understood. Lauded for his intelligence, his studiousness, his unparalleled talents. To make the people he looked up to proud. He'd just gone about it in a totally roundabout way, steered off-course by his wicked old uncle. His deepest insecurities warped into something far more sinister than they would've been otherwise. At his core he was just a troubled little boy, who's enormous capacity for love was being tempered, stifled.

It would be so easy, the thought came to Lucy suddenly. So easy to simply… scoop him up in her arms. Thaw him there and then. The curse wasn’t overly evident yet; not to the untrained eye, anyway. But it was there. Lurking just beneath the surface. His big blue eyes had a near-imperceptible chill to them. His face, though more flushed than that of his adult, frozen self, was nevertheless quite pale. He was a ticking time bomb.

If she diffused that bomb now none of it — none of the pain, the heartbreak, the guilt and the regret — would come to pass. He would have those years his present self mourned so dearly. He would have his family. His sister. 

He would be happy. 

And oh, how she wanted that for him. For all of them. The zany, ragtag family she'd grown to love so dearly, over the years.

But she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t. She’d been given strict instructions by Father Time. Though it went against her every instinct, she had to let things play out the way they were meant to. The way they already had, for her to be here in the first place.

'Annnnyway, point being: I think I can handle “complicated”. So if you need someone to talk to, I'm your guy.' He grinned at her, all dimples and charm, and Lucy’s heart swelled with affection. She found herself caught between laughter and tears. It seemed inconceivable that her love for him could continue to grow any more than it already had, and yet... grow it did.

It might’ve been easier to believe him, on the "maturity" front, had he not been talking with a subtle, but nevertheless noticeable, lisp — most likely a result of his missing front teeth. To say nothing of the sizeable blob of jam in the corner of his mouth.

‘Even so, lil' man; I wouldn’t wanna bring you down,’ she said, with a gentle smile. ‘Plus, I… I don’t really feel like talking about it right now.’

‘Hm. That's understandable, I s'pose.’ He nodded seriously. ‘Welp. If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure he misses you too. Your friend.’

'You think?’ 

‘Sure! I mean... you seem like a nice person. I think I’d miss you, if I were him. Or he were me. Or whatever.' A little more colour rose in his face, and he glanced away bashfully, scuffing the ground with the toe of his shoe. 'I think... I think I'd be really glad to have a friend like you, actually.'

When he looked up again it was to find silent tears running down her face.

'Oh! Ah… was it… something I said?’

‘No, no, I just… that’s very s-sweet,’ Lucy warbled, dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of her cloak. ‘Thank you.’

In the next moment she found a familiar, embroidered foulard being thrust into her grip. She took it gratefully, letting it sit in her hands for several seconds. The silk was softer than she remembered it being.

‘This is l-lovely. Are you sure you don’t mind me using it?’

‘'Course not.' He waved her off. ‘My father says a gentleman always gives a crying lady his kerchief. It’s the chirivus-- chivrulus-- honourable thing to do.'

‘Oh and he's quite right. Your father’s governor, isn’t he? Governor Frost?'

'Ya-huh! That's the one.'

'He's a great man. I mi-- like him very much.’

‘Sometimes he takes me to work with him, and I get to boss people around. It’s really fun.’

‘Mm, I bet.’

#Jack Frost #Lucy Miller #adult!Lucy Miller #doctor!Lucy Miller #Jack Frost x adult!Lucy Miller #ML #Miller's Law #!fluff warning! #this is excessive I know #but I truly don't know when I'm going to be able to update ye olde Law :/ what with the whole unemployment thing #I do have a doozy of a Jacquie & Jack interaction in the next instalment. And also some Bernelle! So hopefully it'll be worth the wait! #but it's killlllling me not being able to share write-y stuffs. Hence the above #fic #writing #the santa clause #TSC #these are all incredibly self indulgent; I do apologise #I am but a jaded old lady who takes solace in long hugs and characters yearning across time n space for one another #(tell me you were brought up on dr who without telling me you were brought up on dr who) #as well as obtrusive weirdos getting cursed apparently #the implications of a curse that can be sent virtually - both from a world-building perspective and also a narrative perspective - ... #are as horrifying as they are impractical #ridiculous even #but I couldn't stop laughing at the prospect. So here it be #for now at least #needless to say I altered the circumstances of Lucy's meeting bb!Jack for the first time #this is a much younger and therefore much more happy-go-lucky Jack #younger also than the version of him in ch 5 #this Jack is probs smth like 700 - 800-ish #still a lil' charmer tho

[sv5hive]

take a break | sv5

pairing: sebastian vettel x fem!reader

warning(s): unhealthy studying habits(?), self-doubt, academic failure etc, etc.

word count: 797

note: this is incredibly self indulgent bcos guess who failed their chemistry exam!!! hahahaha you guessed it it's me!! (if i don't laugh i'll cry.)

masterlist!

hours of staring at a bright computer screen in a pitch black room had clearly began taking its effects after the words began to warp and swirl around. a dozen empty cans of redbull sat at the bottom of your bin along with several scraps of paper you had torn apart in frustration.

you couldn't even remember when you sat down at your desk to study. all you knew was that you had an important exam the next day and you felt hopelessly unprepared. you tore your eyes away from the blinding screen to look outside your window. the moon shone through sparse clouds illuminating the desolate streets. usually, the roads were teeming with cars trying to get home but at this time of night you were the only one awake.

"schatz? what are you still doing up?"

in the midst of zoning out, you failed to hear your boyfriend entering through the door.

was it really that late?

"i'm almost done, seb. i just have to finish this little bit now."

"come on, how long have you been sat at that desk, hm? studying for hours on end does more bad than good."

"i know, i just- i'm almost finished i promise. this test is really important and i have to do well."

"hey, hey, what's wrong?"

he rushed over to you with furrowed brows and outstretched arms.

without even realising, tears had brimmed your eyes and began tumbling down your face at an alarming rate.

"nothing, it's nothing. uhm, i'll finish this and then i'll come to bed."

you hastily wiped away your tears with your sleeves but they seemed to be never ending.

"it's obviously not nothing, schatz. if it's making you cry like this it's something to talk about."

the seconds ticked by as you debated whether you were ready to reveal what had been plaguing your mind. clearly sensing your inner turmoil, sebastian tugged you out of the chair and towards the kitchen.

"come with me to the kitchen, i'll make us some tea so you can calm down."

after two cups of hot chamomile tea had been made and placed on the counter, sebastian sat opposite you and patiently waited for you to speak without pushing you. your tears slowed down to faint sniffles as you sipped on the tea silently. annoyingly, sebastian was right and it did help you compose yourself. you put down your half empty cup and cleared your throat.

"i've been struggling with my studies. there's just so much to remember and it just gets harder and harder to keep up but everyone else is fine and i don't understand why i'm the only one who can't do the simplest tasks."

at this point, it was difficult to see through your hot tears and your face was burning up with embarrassment. sebastian was quick to place his hand over yours to try and bring you some sense of comfort.

"schatz, you are the smartest person i know. if you're finding it difficult then you're probably not the only one. i'm sure everyone can see how much effort you're putting in and that's all anyone can ask of you. if you don't do well on the test tomorrow it's not the end of the world, ok? but i think you will be completely fine, im certain."

you nodded half-heartedly, not fully convinced despite his little pep talk. you rubbed any remaining tears away and attempted to put a smile on your face.

"yeah, sorry i just feel like an idiot dumping all this on you when you just got home from work. how was your day?"

he got up from his seat to encase you in his arms. he might not be able to help with your assignments but he could definitely be there to support you with anything and everything else.

"don't apologise for your feelings. i'm sorry i didn't realise you were having a hard time. i should've noticed you weren't coping well. and my day was good, thank you for asking."

you smiled into his chest at his heartfelt apology for something that was never his fault to begin with.

"don't be silly, seb. it's not your job to constantly watch me. i should be able to do that myself."

"i know you can take care of yourself but it doesn't hurt to ask for help sometimes. it might feel like you're alone but you're not. i'm always here for you, you know that right?"

he tightened his hold on you as if to reassure you further and peppered the crown of your head with soft kisses.

you leaned up to place a peck on his cheek to express your gratitude in a way you would never be able to do justice with words.

"yeah, i know."

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #sv5 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula 1 imagine #sebastian vettel one shot #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel fluff

[chelseeebe]

deadly.

summary: tagging along to a gig could never be a bad idea, could it?

smut 18+, steve is a cocky bastard and this basically a rehashed y/n goes to a concert and the lead singer falls in love w/ her from the wattpad days it is incredibly self indulgent lol

an: erm so i apologise for not posting in what feels like forever but a series of things happen (i lost and then subsequently survived the great war and got taylor tickets), my dad is in hospital (he's okay!) and i have written a 10k+ the bear au with eddie (lemme know if u want that) that has occupied my mind so i have excuses ok

‎♡‧₊˚

It’s slightly difficult to believe that you weren’t utterly enamoured with Steve Harrington the first time you laid eyes on him. You felt like the odd one out, surrounded by a gaggle of screaming, adoring fans. 

You liked the music enough, so when Jen had suggested getting the tickets, you were completely up for it. 

You had just never expected for the night to end like this. 

Jen had been hand plucked from the crowd for some after party, the security guy had eyed you up and down, shrugged and just muffled a quiet whatever when she asked if you could go along. 

There was a small group of other girls being ushered into the intimate room of the club, all looking incredibly similar. Buzzing with excitement, barely able to contain themselves when they saw the band lounging on the velour chairs. It just all felt incredibly forced and you knew exactly what the end goal was. 

The room is murky, full of girls chattering, trying their hardest to grab the attention of at least one of the guys. 

And yeah, maybe it was a little cool but you were tired and knew you’d end up having to find your own way home as Jen was gone. She’d wriggled her way onto the couch next to who you think is the drummer, batting her eyelashes and flashing him that signature pout that meant he was putty in her hands. He’s her usual type, long floppy hair.. the brooding kind. 

“You not having fun?” a voice mutters into your ear, barely audible over the thumping music. It’s Steve, or the frontman, still in his stage get up with a cup of something in his hand. 

“Oh, no I am.. I’m just tired,” playing it off with a small smile. You were not about to cockblock Jen and get the pair of you escorted out with your resting bitch face. 

He nods, eyeing the undrunk glass of champagne in your hand, it was warm now, undrinkable, “you don’t drink?” 

“Ah..” you do drink, just not open drinks that had been shoved into your hand by some barman the second you walked in here, “I just don’t… and don’t take offence, I don’t take open drinks from strangers,” baring your teeth in an awkward smile. 

Steve laughs out loud, envying girls snap their heads in your direction, he takes the flute from your hand, “yeah that’s smart, you want another one? We can both watch him pour it,” motioning towards the bar. 

You had desperately wanted another drink, just too shy and self-conscious to make a scene out of pouring this one away to do anything about it. Nodding graciously as you both stand from the cramped couch, walking up to the bar with daggers in your back. 

“What’re ya’ having?” his eyes heavy on yours, leaning across the bar to get the man’s attention. 

“What are you drinking?” 

“Whiskey,” shaking the cup in your direction. 

“Ooh maybe not,” scrunching your nose in disgust, peering over the bar at the collection of liquors they had. Basically, a bunch of expensive shit you didn’t recognise. “Can I just get a vodka lemonade?” shying away at your incredibly basic pick. 

“Classic,” Steve nods, eyes on you but yours are glued to the bartender, watching eagle eyed as he fills the cup. 

“You’re supposed to be watching too,” raising your brows with a smug smile, you could feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. 

He scoffs, grinning to himself, “I think you’ve got that covered,” not once lowering his gaze. He’s confident, cocky even. Worlds apart from the usual guys you’d encounter, pathetic yet arrogant in the way they spoke to you. 

You take the drink with a smile, the bartender walks away to the other end of the bar with so much as a grunt in response. 

“I haven’t- I need to pay,” finally meeting Steve’s eyes again, baffled by the entire interaction. 

His eyes glint with amusement, shaking his head, “not here.. it’s all paid for,” it’s endearing to him, perhaps he’d got used to girls just already expecting it. 

“Wow..” your mouth contorting into a perfect ‘O’, “well, thank you for the drink,” sipping out of the straw with a smirk. If you’d known, you would’ve taken full advantage way earlier. 

“Well that’s my pleasure, d’you smoke?” rustling in his pockets for the pack of cigs, leaning over to your height. 

You eye the box, “only socially, but if they’re someone else’s cigs then yes, definitely.” 

He bursts into a cackle, “well let’s go then,” placing his hand on your elbow, leading you through the room and out of the side door, passing the prying eyes of the other girls. You weren’t dumb to what was going on, any of those girls would jump at the chance to get led out of a club by Steve Harrington. 

It’s chilly outside, your body shivering at the sudden drop in temperature. He hands you a cigarette, lighting his own and flashing a quick thumbs up to the large security guard who had taken it upon himself to stand blockading the door. 

“Is this something that happens every night?” you ask cautiously, honestly not wanting to offend but rather curious about the answer. 

He nods, blowing a cloud of smoke out of the side of his mouth, “most nights on tour, yeah,” his lighter in his palm ready for you to take. 

“Hmm.. right,” lighting your own cigarette, running your thumb over the engraved metal. Peeking down at the cursive lettering, O.H. Passing it back to him without any questioning. 

“You gettin’ jealous already?” one eyebrow quirked up, you’re thankful that he doesn’t take offence. 

“Yeah totally,” playfully rolling your eyes. Hundreds, if not thousands of girls had been in your exact position before and yet you still found yourself getting giddy over his flirty words and infectious smile. Sickening. “Is it always like this? You don’t get tired?” 

He cocks his head to the side, “sometimes yeah, but those boys in there are dogs yanno? Bad influences,” smirking as his lips part to exhale. Effortlessly sexy with his eyes hung low, heavy as they refuse to leave yours. 

“Oh and you’re not?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny..” holding his hands up in innocence, closing the gap between you. 

Pressing your lips together, focusing on the cigarette in your hand rather than his obvious advances. If you were going to be another notch in his bedpost, you were going to make sure he worked for it. 

“It’s crazy because I just don’t believe you,” matching his smirk, taking another sip of your drink. It was becoming increasingly harder to resist his caramel tinted eyes and the gorgeous eyelashes that hung over them. 

“Well,” he remarks, stumped by your stubbornness, “I guess I’ll have to prove it to you,” throwing the butt off into the distance somewhere. His hand reaching out to find your elbow once more, “shall we go in?”

You nod, dropping your own half-smoked cigarette, walking back into the crowded club with his hand resting on the small of your back. Falling into the first empty seat you could find, his large thighs squishing into the tiny section next to you, brushing against your scantily clad legs. 

My God, if looks could kill, you would’ve been six feet under by now. 

-

You chatter away all night, his lips brushing against your ear, feeling his breath over your cheek sent shivers down your spine. 

Jen had already disappeared, flashing you a very reassuring nod before being bundled out of the club with her emo dream boy trailing closely behind. 

It’s late now yet there were still hoards of girls milling around, hoping for one last chance with whoever was left. You’re pretty sure they had got the memo that Steve was simply not interested, watching as he hung off of your every word, passing you drink after drink while sipping on his own with intent eyes. 

You hadn’t expected him to really care about your life but he had asked all the right questions, talking about your job and going back to school. Shit that you were sure he would forget the second you left. 

The security guard from earlier comes over and whispers something into Steve’s other ear. He just nods before placing his hand on your shoulder, leaning into your ear, “I’m gonna go back to my room now,” sitting forward in the extremely cramped chair. 

Your heart sinks a little, as shameful as it is, you’re a little disappointed. Attempting to quickly figure out how you would now get home without Jen. 

“You wanna come with?” 

Head pricking up at the question, staring at him for a brief moment before nodding. His pink lips curling into that smirk you’d become accustomed to. Smug and enchanting all at the same time. 

You’re bundled into a car, security guards speaking in low voices to the driver, you can vaguely hear the word paparazzi be mumbled and then a bunch of directions. It’s all a bit too much, Steve is serious as sin sat next to you in the back, listening intently to whatever the security guard was mumbling into his ear. 

You sit in amazement, contemplating if this maybe wasn’t the best idea until the door slams shut and the car sets off. Steve turns to you, rolling his eyes as his hand creeps onto your knee. 

“Sorry.. apparently there’s paps outside the hotel so we’re goin’ the long way until they get rid of them,” sliding his hand north, squeezing onto your thigh. “We’re stuck in here for a little while longer, I hope you don’t mind?” the streetlights illuminating his face, remnants of his black eyeliner cling to his eyes. 

“Jeez..” blowing the air from your cheeks, “must be exhausting.” 

“I don’t mind it, I just don’t think my manager would appreciate waking up to the pictures.. ya know?” 

“Not really.. but I get it, you don’t wanna look like a whore in the media,” returning the smirk he had been giving you all night, shifting in your seat to see him better. 

“A whore? I prefer slut if I’m honest,” shifting closer, eyes lingering on your lips for entirely too long. 

“You could be both,” tongue peeking out to wet your suddenly parched lips, “it wouldn’t be a lie, would it?” 

His chuckle rumbles through his chest, “shut up,” free hand trailing upwards from his own lap to cradle your cheek, pressing his plump lips to yours with haste, eyes fluttering shut at the contact. 

Your fingers curl into the soft material of his shirt, pulling his chest to yours, leaning back against the hard plastic of the door. You sorta hoped the paparazzi would linger a little bit longer just so you could stay exactly like this. 

-

It’s a grand hotel room, they definitely had not skimped on the budget here. Nothing at all like the budget rooms your family had forced you into on vacation. It takes a moment for you to completely take in the entire room, a standard of elegance that you’d never seen before. 

“You’re like.. rich rich then,” gawping at the tall ceilings like a child in a candy store. 

Steve chuckles, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back, pulling your attention from the grand decor and back to him, “I’ve seen better.. d’you want something to drink?” motioning towards the stocked minibar. 

“Please,” you remark, eyeing the sheer amount of variety in the tiny bar. 

He pauses, coming around to stand in front of you, eyes narrowed, “kiss me and you can have anything you want,” lingering fingers on your hips. 

The corner of your mouth twitches, “anything?” widening your eyes at the prospects of his proposition. 

“Anything.” 

-

You must’ve dropped off to sleep at some point as you wake back up to the feel of Steve’s hand on your ass, thumb playing with the lace band of your thong. He’s leaning against the headboard in quiet reflection. The bedside lamp is still on and you’re not sure if he ever slept. 

“Do you ever sleep?” you ask groggily, shifting to face him with heavy eyes. His hand clamps around your thigh, startled by your voice. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” turning his head to face you, the cold metal of his ringed thumb presses into your soft thigh, “can’t sleep.. happens sometimes after a show,” shrugging slightly. 

Sometimes is an understatement. He hadn’t had a full night's sleep in God knows how long. Becoming accustomed to the shoddy hours he did manage to catch. 

“Oh,” suddenly feeling guilty that you were here and potentially disrupting him, “I can go.. let you get some sleep,” looking up at him through your lashes.  

“No no no no, stay.. stay,” pulling your leg over his waist, hand running up and down the supple skin, “it’s nice having someone here.” 

You pull your body closer to his, shifting your weight to sit in his lap, knees positioned either side of his hips. This wakes him up entirely, moving up the bed to sit up, large hands gripping onto your waist. 

“Oh? This is what we’re doing now?” he teases, clapping a mild slap to your ass cheek causing your cunt to brush against his already-growing bulge. 

“Apparently so,” you snigger, glancing at the thin cotton of his boxers, they weren’t leaving much to the imagination, perfectly outlining the shape of his cock. 

“Well great because I love this,” smirking as you clasp onto either side of his face. Carefully placing your lips on his, your tongue slipping past his liquor stained lips. 

Mindlessly beginning to grind yourself down against him. He’s uttering a bunch of nonsense into your mouth, bucking his hips up to chase the feeling of your cunt against him. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, hurriedly trying to slip his boxers down without making you move. Steve’s animalistic in the way he yanks your flimsy panties to the side, fisting his dick in the other. The sight alone makes a pathetic noise form in your throat, practically drooling over him.  

“C’mere baby,” he instructs, thumb expertly holding the lace aside as you sit up on your knees, guiding himself through your folds and into your cunt, exhaling sharply as you slide down. 

It takes a moment to adjust, he was cocky but fuck, did he have a reason to be. The tip of his cock already nudging uncomfortably close to your soft spot. 

“You take me so well,” he proclaims, watching his cock disappear inside of you. 

His words make you choke, joining him in looking at the space between your bodies. Feeling just about ready enough to move. 

There’s a short knock at the door just as you begin to bounce, pausing with his dick still buried deep inside. Clutching onto his shoulders, sharing a disdainful look for whoever was looming on the other side. 

“Nghh, what?” he calls out over your shoulder, sending daggers through the wood. 

“Bro, you gotta condom in there?” the voice calls out, low, desperate. 

You shift slightly, repositioning your knee and the sight movement is enough to have his fingernails dug into your hip, “holy fuu- no I don’t,” pupils dark as they flit from the door to yours.  

That’s your cue to keep going, moving your hips up before slowly sliding back down, his cock filling you to the hilt. Biting down onto your bottom lip to keep from moaning though you’re certain whoever is on the outside isn’t clueless. The tour t-shirt you had slipped on is gripped between his fingers, pulled up your torso, exposing the supple skin. 

“Aw fuck man, you’re no help,” the voice complains, banging the door one solitary time before skulking off, presumably to go and bother someone else for a condom. 

Your lips twitch into a smile, throwing your head back as your hips gain pace, soft whimpers floating from your slack mouth. His hands are rough and commandeering as they hold onto your waist, setting the rhythm even when he wasn’t on top. 

Steve growls, legs propped up as he begins to thrust upwards, trailing his callous palms down to your hips for better leverage. It’s then that you allow him full control, falling into his chest with your fingers knotting into his hair. Tugging at the caramel tinted tufts as this new position catches your neglected clit against his pubic bone, drawing a long cry out of your throat. 

“You feel so- mmfuck, so good,” he squeezes out, quickening his pace, filling the room with the sinful sounds of skin on skin. His adam's apple bobbing up and down as his orgasm nears, sharp fingernails leaving red semi-circles in your skin, trying so desperately not to cum then and there. 

He dares to look down at the space between you, the image of you wearing his shirt with his cock buried deep in your cunt makes him twitch, taking his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt not to collapse. 

“Right there,” you mewl into his ear, fast approaching your own orgasm, thighs becoming spent as he mercilessly slams into you from below. 

It takes everything not to bite down on his tanned shoulder as your orgasm crescendos, desperate cries filling the room as you shudder around him. Sweaty palms now palming at his shoulders for some reinforcement as your legs give way. 

Steve follows shortly after, sloppy final thrusts as your name echoes the tall walls, surrounded by a chorus of fucks and shits. His chest heaving, pulling you closer into his chest as he melts into the pillow. Graciously still supporting your weight with his large hands while your head still reels. 

“You good?” he sighs breathlessly, drawing your face from his neck with a gentle tug of your hair, pulling your attention back to him. 

You nod, smiling lazily as you sit upright once more, readjusting the lace thong that had been slung to the side. Pulling his boxers up his thighs without once breaking eye contact. 

“Why don’t you just come on the rest of the tour with me?” 

A giggle ripples instinctively, he probably said the exact same to every other girl that had been in this position alongside that same heavy, longing gaze he was flashing you. Christ, it probably worked on a few of them too. Give it a few more minutes and you would be convinced right along with them. 

“I’m serious,” he blinks, tracing circles onto your hip, still completely enamoured with the way his shirt fell on your body. 

“I bet you say that to every pretty girl you fuck,” still refusing to take him seriously, shaking your head at the ridiculous notion. You weren’t sure exactly how long he had been famous, but you were sure he wasn’t that out of touch with reality yet, right?

“Only you,” hands travelling to your bare thighs, “come with me,” thumb tapping a short rhythm onto your skin. 

“You don’t even know me.” 

“Well I want to, a tour bus is a great place to get to know someone,” he remarks, grinning. 

Dawn now creeps in between the hastily shut curtains but you don’t dare to break eye contact. Dropping your hands from his shoulders as you ponder. 

“I have a job and a house and bills and I don’t think they’d let me take that much vacation,” attempting to shut him down despite the fact his tactics were clearly working on you. 

Endless possibilities run through your mind.. you could quit and beg for your position when you get back.. you’re sure Jen would look after your house, in fact she’d be very enthusiastic about you going and would probably volunteer. 

“Fuck it..” he breathes, pressing his forehead against yours, “how much is your rent?” 

“Steve..” 

“How much?” 

“Four eighty.” 

“Easy, consider it paid,” he relents, staring up into your eyes through his thick black lashes. The flecks of gold that ran through his iris’ were persuasive enough to get you to just quit your job and run off on tour with him. 

You sigh, chewing on the inside of your cheek. It would be totally and utterly stupid and irresponsible of you to do this but how could you ignore the niggling feeling in your brain that would never ever disappear if you didn’t. 

“You’re being serious?” 

“Deadly.” 

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington au #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x fem!reader

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

I ║ Palomino

Jack Daniels x f!reader

 { Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 2: Buckskin }

Rating: M (will be E in future chapters)

Summary: Unable to get a refund for a week-long horse-riding pack trip you'd booked with your ex, you decide to go solo. As it turns out, a rebound with a cowboy named Jack while traversing the wild landscapes of Wyoming might just be what you need.

Warnings: Extremely self-indulgent solo travel romance, flirting, yearning, language, matchmaking themes, lots of horsey details, mention of breakup, no use of Y/N

Word count: 6.5k

Notes: This story encompasses a lot of firsts for me - first new series since Consent, first time writing Jack, first time writing something so action-heavy and close to my heart. While I'm not 100% confident I got everything right, I am so excited about this fic. I hope you're ready for the ride (I apologise in advance for all the horsey puns incoming)!

I want to call out (affectionate) LJ @prolix-yuy for lighting a fire under my ass for cowboy Jack with her incredible Westworld AU Cognitive Dissonance. I also need to thank Ani @deadhumourist for the idea of a company retreat that I used in this chapter, and for sharing with us her amazing Jack fic Under Marula Trees. And of course, Ash @mandoblowmybackout for enduring my almost non-stop screeching about Jack ❤️

More notes in the Series Masterlist on horses and travel, etc!

Palomino: a pale golden or tan-coloured horse or pony with a white mane and tail, originally bred in the south-western US.

The door creaks long and loud on its hinges as it opens, barely letting through a bustling figure before slamming shut so hard it rattles on its heavy oak frame.

At the long-suffering frown sent his way from across the reception desk, Champ holds his hands up in apology and tip-toes in exaggerated fashion to his desk. Ginger shakes her head fondly - being quiet is not one of her employer’s strong suits.

She presently returns to the phone call she’s in the middle of, using her most placating tone on this customer. ‘Look, we have regulars coming in the same week as you. They come every year for a company retreat, and they are just the loveliest people you can meet. I promise you’ll have a great time.’

The vintage Chesterfield groans under his weight as Champ settles down, and with a practised flick of his wrist, his cowboy hat lands on its designated hook on the wall. He turns to the ledgers Harry left on his desk two days ago - he can’t keep putting them off much longer…

His mind quickly wanders. He’s a people person, and he’s always been more interested in the dude ranch holiday part of the business. However, Ginger is so good at her job that she’s made him redundant, banishing him to the whiskey distillery side of things. 

It doesn’t stop him from keeping half an ear on the ongoing phone conversation though.

‘I’m so sorry, ma’am, it’s not our policy to offer refunds. But I promise you’ll have the best birthday with us on the trip.’

Champ steeples his fingers and leans back in his chair. Ah, a customer wanting to cancel. Always tricky.

‘Tell you what - since you’ve already paid a 40% deposit for two guests, why don’t I waive the 20% balance for your holiday for one party?’

Champ arches a grey eyebrow in curiosity.

‘Alright, perfect,’ chirps Ginger brightly. ‘We look forward to seeing you in a few weeks. Bye now.’

‘What was that about?’ he asks as soon as she hangs up.

Bringing up the reservations system on her computer, she types busily as she replies, ‘A guest booked a holiday with her boyfriend, but they broke up, and she wanted a refund for both their places. I convinced her to come alone instead with the discount. She’s here the same week as the Kingsman so she definitely won’t be lonely.’

Champ gives her a double thumbs up. ‘Nicely done, Ginger. And did you say it’s her birthday while she’s here?’

‘Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll give Poppy a heads up to bake a cake in advance.’

‘Do you have a photo of her?’

Ginger’s fingers pause and hover over the keyboard, a warning in her voice. ‘Champ.’

He blinks innocently. ‘What? I’m a nosy bastard.’

With a sigh, she pulls up a Whatsapp profile picture and holds up the phone to him.

He puts on his reading glasses to look at the screen, and proceeds to nod thoughtfully. Finally, they haven’t had any single guests at the ranch for months on end. Surely, she’s his type…

‘Champ?’ Ginger’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. ‘Stop meddling!’

He feigns ignorance. ‘Whatever do you mean, ma’am?’

She rolls her eyes affectionately. ‘He’s a big boy, he doesn’t need your help.’

Champ barks in laughter. ‘Like hell he doesn’t. Call the Kingsman and reschedule them, Ginger. I have a plan.’

You’ve never travelled on your own before.

Now that you’re speeding down the empty country roads towards the Bighorn Mountains - windows down, dust flying, radio blaring - you honestly don’t know why you waited so long.

You’re glad that the woman at the Statesman stood firm when you called a month and a half ago, asking for a refund. The discount sweetens the deal too.

To be honest, the week-long dude ranch trip you booked months ago had completely slipped your mind in the aftermath of the breakup. There were more pressing matters, like - what were you going to do with the house you bought and remodelled together?

You’d just finished tiling the backsplash with the vintage Italian mosaic you found at a flea market when you were informed that he didn’t feel the same way about you anymore. In fact, he hadn’t for some time.

You were only reminded of the trip when you started clearing your stuff out of the attic, finally having found an apartment you could afford on your own that is also not a shithole. You found the riding gear that you’d stashed away, gathering dust since you two started dating.

You should be thankful that at least there’s no costly wedding venue deposit to forgo or a pet custody battle to muddle through. He’s always hated animals - you really should’ve known. 

But you can’t bring yourself to not be bitter about everything. Not yet.

Maybe it’s a good thing that you’re going on this trip. That lazy bastard can start pulling his weight and sort out the house viewings for potential buyers for this week. He’s been dragging his feet - just because he can afford to pay both the mortgage and rent at his new bachelor pad doesn’t mean you can too.

You shake yourself out of it and crank up the stereo. Fuck it. You’re not thinking about him or the house or anything this weekend. It’s your solo birthday getaway and you’re gonna enjoy the fuck out of it.

And who knows? If you’re lucky, you could be rebounding with a handsome cowboy, like one of those awful Unicorn Club novels you used to read over and over again when you were fifteen.

You laugh, the pull of the muscles in your cheeks unfamiliar after weeks of disuse. A girl can dream.

You switch off the ignition, hands gripping the driving wheel tightly, and you take a moment to compose yourself. 

‘You can do this,’ you murmur, giving yourself a reaffirming nod in the rear view mirror.

Hopping off your rental truck, you shut the door behind you and start towards the only building you can see, a rustic lodge with a red roof. Statesman is blazened in iron letters, nailed proudly above a wraparound porch with welcoming rocking chairs and armchairs scattered about.

The gravel beneath your sneakers crunches loudly. You can hear in the distance sounds that you haven’t heard for a long time - clip clop of hooves, the drag of a barn door on rusty hinges, the low whinny of horses. You breathe in the mountain air scented with a whiff of sweet hay. Things that were familiar once upon a time. Your chest constricts at something blooming between your ribs, and a small smile lifts the corner of your lips.

There’s a bark out of the blue, and a border collie comes zipping towards you, wagging his tail so hard that his whole bottom wriggles from side to side. You coo excitedly and crouch down to give him a cuddle when a man with grey hair emerges from the lodge. It’s a warm day, but he’s wearing a suit with a cowboy hat.

In a booming voice, he calls your name in greeting and makes his way over to you. ‘We’ve been expecting you, young lady! The name’s Champ. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.’

You stand and shake his proffered hand with a smile. ‘Nice to meet you, Champ. It’s good to be here.’ You gesture to the empty parking lot. ‘Am I early or something?’

‘You’re our only guest this week, actually,’ he replies in a thick Southern accent.

You scratch the back of your neck, taken by surprise. ‘Umm, but the lady I spoke to on the phone - she said that there are regulars joining? A company retreat or something?’

‘Sadly, they rescheduled. It’s just you, my dear. You’re our VIP!’ he grins and claps you on the shoulder. ‘Come! Walk with me. I’ll have someone take your bags to your room. You can leave the keys in the car, it’s safe - but you keep any food to yourself or Jameson here will run away with it!’

The border collie barks at his name and Champ scratches him behind the ear, dispatching him with a wave of his hands.

Your host starts at a brisk walk. ‘So, how was your journey, young lady?’

You have to power walk to keep up with him as the gravel fades into firm sand. ‘Long, but glad to be here. I’ve been really looking forward to getting away.’

‘First time travelling alone, I assume?’ Champ smiles at you kindly.

You nod sheepishly. ‘I’m a bit nervous, to be honest.’

He laughs. ‘You’re entitled to nerves, but I promise you, you’ll forget all about that in three, two, one -’

Right on cue, you round the back of the lodge and you can’t help the gasp that slips out as you stumble to a stop.

The full landscape of the ranch comes into view beneath your feet. A picturesque river cuts through the green sweep of land, small lodges with matching red roofs are dotted all over one side of the bank, and bigger barn-like structures stand on the other. The Bighorn Mountains tower over the entirety of the property. You see horses grazing in a huge, fenced field, tails flicking lazily at flies.

Champ practically glows at your reaction. ‘It’s taken thirty years to get to where we are. I hope it will stand for many more decades to come.’

‘It’s - stunning,’ you say rather inadequately.

Champ winks at you. ‘Wait till you go into the mountains, my dear. Come along, now.’

You resume walking side by side, and he continues, ‘Now, since you’re our only guest this week, I can give you two options for your trip. We can do day-long rides with you, and you spend the nights here at the ranch. It’s more comfortable, but it does mean that you don’t get to go as deep into the mountains.’

Champ stops to take a breath. ‘Alternatively, you can go on a week-long pack ride with our cowboy and camp along the way, just the two of you. It's a magnificent journey, I can promise you.’

It’s a lot of information to take in so quickly, and you hesitate. ‘Um - ’

He holds up a hand at you and pauses abruptly, something catching his eye. ‘Ah, speak of the devil. Before you decide, you need to meet our cowboy. He'll be your guide for the week.’

You’re craning your neck to catch a glimpse when Champ bellows so loudly that you nearly have to take cover. ‘JACK! Son! Say hello to our guest for this week before you take the horses to pasture.’

Your ears still ringing, the silhouette of a man on horseback comes into view halfway across the yard. The dust seems to magically settle and part, and a handsome face framed by a cowboy hat, a tidy moustache and a wicked sharp jawline comes into focus.

‘Whoa.’

You belatedly realise that you said that out loud when Champ wriggles his eyebrows at you.

‘Howdy, ma’am,’ the cowboy calls back, tipping his hat politely. His voice rings brightly in the space between you, but the delicious lick of his Southern drawl makes goosebumps chase across your skin. You manage a weak smile and a wave, not trusting your power of speech at the moment.

‘Be back at four to take the lovely lady on her orientation ride, alright?’

Jack gives him a two-fingered salute. ‘Got it, boss. See you soon, ma’am.’

You watch unashamedly as the cowboy smoothly steers his horse around, and with a whistle, the dozen or so horses follow suit as he canters out of view.

‘So? What say you?’ Champ interrupts your thoughts with an expectant look.

You can’t help the stupid grin that breaks upon your face. ‘The pack trip sounds good.’

Champ claps his hands together so loudly that you jump. ‘Your wish is my command, ma’am. Or rather - Jack’s.' He winks. ‘He’ll pick out a horse for you and take you for a short ride to make sure you’re comfortable before the trip starts tomorrow. Sounds good?’

‘Perfect.’

Stopping outside one of the lodges near the river, Champ sweeps his arm in a flourish. ‘There we go, this is your lovely room for tonight, with the best views of the mountains. Poppy’s left some lemonade and sandwiches inside if you need a pick-me-up, and your bags will be with you shortly. Just make sure you’re ready by four. Got it?’ 

He holds up a hand to you, and you give him a high five. ‘Got it, Champ.’

‘Welcome to the Statesman, my dear.’ 

Watching you bound up the stairs with a spring in your step, Champ gives himself an imaginary pat on the shoulder. Well done, old chap. The plan is in motion.

You lay your outfits on the large bed as you chew on a delicious sandwich, weighing the options for your afternoon ride. You packed according to the list the ranch sent in your orientation email, but you wish you’d brought something nicer. They really should’ve included a hot cowboy warning.

You wanted to spend some time on the porch and enjoy the magnificent views of the mountains from your doorstep before the ride, but by the time you’re finally happy with your choice of clothes, you’re startled by rapping on the door.

Sucking in a steadying breath and smoothing back your hair, you turn the knob.

Fuck me sideways. This man is devastatingly good-looking on close inspection.

‘Hi, again,’ you smile, hoping your words didn’t come out as squeaky as it sounded in your head.

The cowboy returns your smile with teeth and tips his hat at you - black suede with a leather band - then offers you his hand. ‘Jack Daniels. Pleasure to meet you properly, ma’am.’

You give him your name and your hand. His grip is firm and assured, the slide of his palm against yours feels weathered and rope-worn. You cross your arms self-consciously, but the words that come out are bolder than you feel. ‘So, Champ says you’re my own personal cowboy for the week?’

He chuckles and plays along, giving you a small bow. ‘I’m at your beck and call, darlin’.’

His rich voice curls around every syllable, dipping and climbing with each inflection, but the languid cadence doesn’t waver. You decide here and then that this man can call you darlin' any time he wants.

He hooks one thumb through a belt loop, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. He runs his eyes up and down your body, both professionally assessing and not, lingering on your breeches, riding boots and half chaps. He arches an eyebrow at you and says in a playful tone, ‘So, I see you’re one of those fancy English riders.’

You gesture at the flannel shirt you’re wearing, the ends tied in a knot to give it a cropped fit. You think you look cute - hopefully. You choose to crack a joke, ‘Give me some credit, cowboy, I’m trying to fit in.’

He holds his hands up in surrender, pushing himself off the door. ‘My apologies, darlin’, where are my manners? The illusion is perfect. You ready to go?’

You grab your riding hat. ‘Absolutely.’

Jack takes one look at your helmet and tuts, plucking it from your fingers. ‘Oh no, that won’t do. That is one thing I don't allow on my rides. We’ll find you a real hat.’

It’s a short walk to the stables. You hang back with all the subtlety you can muster to quietly study the cowboy you’ll be sharing close quarters with for the next week. His walk is deliberate, he almost prowls, narrow hips undulating with the rhythm of his strut. When he reaches up to adjust his hat, his shirt strains over his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up in the afternoon heat. Your eyes are about to dip a lot lower when he turns back to look at you, and you duck your head like you’ve been caught with your finger in the pie.

Are you imagining the touch of self-satisfaction that’s crept into his warm eyes?

‘So, how long have you been riding?’ he slows down so you can catch up with him. You’re relieved he doesn’t call you out on your very obvious appraisal of him.

You shrug. ‘Since I was a kid, but I haven’t been on a horse since - ’ You pause to rearrange your words. ‘- for almost five years. And I’ve always ridden the English way, so I don’t know how well I’ll do with Western riding.’

He brushes away your concern. ‘Western is easy, it’ll be a piece of cake for you, I’m sure.’

The stables are large and airy with rustic beams framing a vaulted ceiling. Utility barns are clustered outside in close vicinity, but all is still in the mid-afternoon hour. Your footsteps echo as you make your way down the concrete corridor, Jack’s sturdy cowboy boots treading heavier and louder than your riding boots. Large and tidy stalls line either side, some empty and some occupied.

‘The horses spend most of the summer outdoors,’ explains Jack. Stopping in front of a huge chalkboard nailed to the wall, he gestures at the daily schedule listed next to each name, written in a neat hand. ‘We keep them on a weekly roster to make sure their workload is evenly distributed.’

Resuming your slow course deeper into the stables, Jack asks conversationally, ‘What are you looking for in your horse for the week?’

It’s a broad question that you don’t quite know how to answer. You purse your lips. ‘To be honest? I don’t know, it’s been a while.’

‘Ok. Let’s put it this way - what’s important to you?’ He ticks off the options with his fingers. ‘Character? Temperament? Speed? Stamina?’

Is it just you or did his voice dip an octave on that last word?

Flustered, you struggle to come up with a reply. ‘Um - ’

Seeing that you’re overwhelmed, he wipes the slate clean with a wave of his hand. ‘I apologise, I didn’t express myself well.’ He changes tact. ‘Why don’t you tell me about your favourite horse?’

That you can do. You think about the last horse you really loved, before you met your ex, casting your mind back to long weekend afternoons at the local stables. The answer comes easily to you as your eyes fall to the tips of your black boots.

‘I like a horse that's forward-going but responsive to contact, and on the hot-blooded side with a bit of an attitude - I like a challenge.’ Feeling his eyes on you, you lift your gaze to his apologetically. ‘Sorry, was that way too vague or way too specific?’

‘Not at all. I appreciate a lady who knows what she wants,’ he reassures you, seemingly pleased at what he’s hearing. ‘I got just the horse for you.’

You must be in the middle of the stables structure now, when Jack makes a sharp right turn into a spacious room. Your eyes widen at the rows and rows of beautifully polished Western saddles, bridles and an assortment of other tack, some of which you don’t even recognise. Eyeing the signs above each saddle, you remark, ‘I see there’s a recurring theme in the names.’

Jack hoists a gorgeously embossed tan saddle off its rack on the wall, holding it against his side as if it weighs nothing, then grabs the bridle next to it and a saddle pad. ‘What do you expect from a ranch that also runs a distillery?’

Your eyebrows shoot up. ‘A distillery?’

‘Whiskey,’ he replies, making his way to the exit. ‘I’ll show you when we ride up the mountain, it’s on the other side of the ranch. Champ spends most of his time in the distillery nowadays.’

‘Can I help with anything?’ you ask, your hands feeling very empty as you trail behind him.

‘Not a chance, darlin’, you’re the guest. But you can watch if you want,’ he adds mischievously.

Lord have mercy. This man has gotten you more wound up in the last fifteen minutes with a few cheeky words than anyone has in a long time. Pull yourself together, woman.

You pass at least another dozen stalls - this is easiest the biggest stables you’ve ever seen - before Jack’s long strides ease, and at his whistle, the handsome face of a palomino pops up from behind a door. He nickers and nudges the cowboy familiarly on his arm, ears pricking up in alert when you come into view behind him.

‘Meet Scotch,’ Jack says in introduction, giving him a firm pat on the neck. With an easy swing, he rests the saddle on the top of the door and unlatches it, leaving it ajar for you to shuffle in behind him.

‘Hello, gorgeous,’ you can’t help but coo, running your palm from his forehead - painted with a fetching white star - to his grey, velvety muzzle. ‘He’s sweet.’

‘Wait till you get him on the open road - he’s a speed demon.’ 

You must have let your nerves show, because Jack reassures you, ‘But only if you want him to be. He’s just as happy going steady.’

You lean against the wall as Jack makes quick work of tacking up. You admire the gentle way he fits the bridle over Scotch’s head and the bit in his mouth. Reaching out, you help untuck his white mane from the browband, etched with pretty flowery patterns, and brush out the tangles with your fingers as Jack fastens the clasps.

You can’t help but catch your bottom lip with your teeth when, with a soft grunt, the cowboy lifts the saddle over Scotch’s back. His shirt, tucked neatly into his jeans, stretches taut and you eye the hint of a soft belly underneath. It rests above an almost obnoxiously large belt buckle in the shape of - are you shitting me - a flask with Statesman spelled out in capital letters.

You quickly look away before you’re consumed by the want to reach out and check if it’s a real flask.

The Western saddle has far more bits and bobs than you’re used to, but you’re too far gone to pay attention to what Jack is doing with his nimble fingers anymore.

‘There.’ He straightens, dusts off his hands and places them on his hips, one dark eyebrow up. ‘I hope you were paying attention, ma’am, I might quiz you later.’

Oh shit. You stammer, ‘Um, I mean, you were quite quick -’

Jack crosses his arms and smirks. ‘I’m pullin’ your leg, darlin’. You’re so easy to rile up.’

Before you can restrain yourself, you take a step forward and give him a playful shove in rebuke. The joke’s on you though - the pectoral muscle underneath your palm is lean and hard, and your push makes no impact at all.

‘Employee of the year, ladies and gentlemen,’ you jest, retracting your hand reluctantly.

He leans in close and gives you an almost insolent smirk, voice dropping intimately. ‘Stop distracting me, darlin’, or we’ll never make it out of this stall.’

Fuck’s sake - your cheeks literally flame. You’re about as subtle as a bucking bronco.

Taking mercy on you, Jack herds you out of the stall with no further teasing, and Scotch follows obediently behind. You’ve barely scraped your brains back together when he stops by a doorway at the end of the stables, holding up a hand that brings the gelding to a smart square halt.

‘Stay,’ orders Jack in a stern voice as if Scotch was just a very large golden retriever - he has the colouring after all. He then nods at you. ‘Come on in, darlin’.’

Stepping into the small room, you gasp in delight - every conceivable surface is covered with cowboy hats of all colours and materials.

‘Let’s see what your size is,’ Jack mumbles to himself as he plucks some options off the wall. There’s no mirror, and you hold your breath when he steps into your space, putting one hat after the other on you as he narrows down the sizing. His face is set seriously, the bow of his upper lip drawn downward, brow wrinkled in concentration.

Eventually, you run out of oxygen and you breathe him in - summer grass, leather and smoke. Your tongue darts out and wets your suddenly dry lips.

In the minutest of glances, you catch his eyes flickering to your mouth for just a second. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t have spotted the fleeting stutter in his movements as he fits you with a cream suede hat with a brown leather braid. It sits snugly on your head without any pinch.

‘Try tipping your head forward and back,’ he instructs you, breaking the quiet tension. The hat doesn’t slip, and with a tap on the brim and a smile, he declares, ‘I think we’re good to go.’

Stepping into the open air, the bright afternoon sun makes you wince, and you pull your new hat a bit lower to shield from the light. You follow Jack across the yard, heading towards a chestnut with white stockings, fully tacked and waiting at a wooden post. Ruffling his thick mane, Jack says proudly, ‘Darlin’, meet my horse, Whiskey.’

‘How very fitting,’ you remark, smoothing a hand on his strong neck. ‘Hi, Whiskey.’

Scotch, who has been following you two dutifully, bumps noses with his friend in greeting. Reaching for his reins, Jack looks at you with a question in his eyes - all the tacking up, prepping and joking around is done. Suddenly, the likelihood of falling off your horse and flat on your bum in front of the cowboy seems extraordinarily high. Maybe you really didn’t think this through -

‘Hey,’ Jack cuts short your thoughts, chucking you gently under the chin. ‘Don’t be nervous. It’s all muscle memory - like riding a bike, you can’t forget. You do know how to ride a bike, don't you?’

Your shoulders quake with a laugh at his attempt to lighten the mood.

He tilts his head at you. ‘May I give you a leg up, darlin'?’

At your silent nod, Jack brings Scotch around, and you hope he doesn't see you wipe your sweaty palms on your breeches. One hand on the saddle horn, the other on the cantle you bend your left calf up and back by the hinge of your knee. 

Jack steps in right behind your heels, his frame dwarfing you even as he leans down at the ready. One strong hand closes around your ankle and the other just below your kneecap. His voice is deep and brushes against the shell of your ear. ‘On three, darlin’.’

He hoists you up so easily that you nearly go all the way over the other side of the saddle, but you grasp the horn just in time and land squarely in the seat, albeit a bit clumsily. You can’t help but wonder what else he can do with his easy strength - a whole lot of other things, you reckon -

Scotch shifts underneath you as he adjusts to your weight. The basic instincts of being on horseback kick in slowly but surely. You gather the reins in your non-dominant hand, put the tip of your toes through the stirrup irons, push your heels down and sit up tall. You inhale deeply and smile at Jack, who’s checking the tightness of the girth and the length of your stirrups.

‘All good?’ he asks you.

‘Yes,’ you reply, relieved that you feel less like a fish out of water than you’d feared.

Jack unties Whiskey from the post. Slotting his foot in the left stirrup, he effortlessly pushes off the ground and swings his leg over the saddle, settling gently into his seat. It’s really not fair that he’s able to do it so easily in jeans that tight.

Whiskey starts leading the way towards the back of the property and Scotch follows, obviously not pleased to be left behind. Jack holds Whiskey back so that you’re walking alongside him. ‘You’ve seen people ride Western?’ 

‘I get the general idea. Reins in my non-dominant hand. Leg aids are similar.’

‘If you want to turn to the right?’

‘Reins to the right and shift my weight the same way,’ you reply, recalling the research you did before the trip.

Jack nods approvingly. ‘Sounds like you’ve got it sorted, darlin’.’

Going up a gently sloping path, the ranch disappears behind you as you begin to climb above the property, and the landscape dramatically opens up. Your breath catches at the sight of the rolling plains that stretch too far for your eyes to see, towards the Bighorn Mountains. Scotch’s ears prick up in excitement at the space, nickering and chomping at the bit. You keep your contact on the reins light even as he prances underneath you, mindful not to pull on his mouth.

Jack smiles, and you hope you're making a good impression. ‘Wanna warm up with a little lope?’

‘Lope? You mean a canter?’ you retort jokingly.

He chuckles at your cheek. ‘Alright, ma’am, look at you with your fancy words.’

With a stern finger pointed his way, you warn him, ‘You’re not allowed to laugh if I fall off, deal?’

‘I know you won’t, but for your peace of mind, I’ll cross my heart,’ he jokes and traces the motion over his chest with his thumb. ‘After you, darlin’.’

With the lightest nudge of your heels, Scotch steps straight into a smooth canter. The sudden movement jolts you forward in the saddle and out of balance, but you quickly adjust, and your hips begin to follow the flow of the familiar four-beat motion. The wind sings in your ears over the steady rhythm of hooves hitting the earth, the mountainscape blurring into green and blue.

Jack is keeping pace next to you from a safe distance, meeting your eyes when you send the biggest grin his way.

For the first time in months, you feel joy.

The sun sets on a mild evening, so you agree to an al fresco dinner by the fire when Jack poses the question to you on your return from the afternoon ride. 

After a quick shower and changing into casual jeans and a sweater, you meet the rest of close-knit Statesman team at the dinner table, and Champ explains the logistics of the pack trip to you.

‘Since it’s just the two of you, you’ll only need one packhorse. You’ll sleep outside for the first two nights, then on the third, you’ll get to the Halfway House.’

The peculiar name piques your interest. ‘Halfway House?’

Champ chuckles. ‘Halfway as in halfway through the trip. We’ll drive out to stock up the house, bring you fresh clothes and anything you’d need for the second half of the trip back to the ranch. We’ll also collect your dirty clothes and have them laundered by the time you’re back. So make sure you pack two bags, we’ll sort them out tomorrow.’

Turning to Poppy, he starts discussing the provisions for the trip, and you take the chance to shuffle closer to Ginger. Jack is at the far end of the table, deep in conversation with a man introduced to you as Tequila (you didn’t ask), so you’re sure he can’t overhear you. You clear your throat. ‘So, I was wondering what the… lavatory arrangements are like out there?’

She gives you a encouraging smile. ‘It’s all au naturale, I’m afraid. But there are plenty of bushes so privacy won’t be an issue. We bring a portable shower for guests for the days you camp out, and there’s running water and electricity at the Halfway House. But at this time of the year, Jack usually just washes off in the river.’

Your jaw drops at that revelation, and before you can close your big mouth, you babble, ‘Wow… um, by wow I meant… bathing in the river must be… cold?’

Ginger gives you a knowing grin and clinks your glass. ‘I think you’ll have a great time on this trip, honey.’

It’s early, as the first day of a pack trip always is. The chill from daybreak still clings to the thin mountain air, but the glare of the sun is already strong, even from behind his sunglasses.

Jack runs through his usual checklists. Vetting the horses, triple checking the tack, bedding, food, supplies, first aid kit. He’s collected your bag from your doorstep and loaded it on the packhorse. You pack light, which he appreciates.

He spotted you at the breakfast table earlier, almost done with your toast, when he crossed the yard with the horses, so he reckons you’re on track to make a punctual start. With the heat forecast, he wants to make it to the cover of the forest path before midday. If you make good time, a sunset dip in the lake is on the cards.

As he double checks if all the straps on the saddle bags are properly buckled up, his routine is disrupted by a firm pat on his back.

Champ is a bundle of energy even at this early hour of the day, his suit on just the right side of presentable despite the wrinkles. ‘Have a good trip, son, and make sure you show our guest a good time. I like this one.’

‘You like everyone, Champ,’ retorts Jack, but there’s no real bite in his words. ‘Not sure it counts for much.’

‘I got a good feeling about her, I’m telling you.’ 

The younger man sighs, one hand on the rump of the packhorse and one on his hip as he braces himself for the usual spiel. ‘C’mon, boss - ’

‘You’re young, you’re single! If you insist on hiding away on this ranch in the middle of nowhere, you might as well at least try to have a good time when the opportunity presents itself.’

‘Why don’t you bother Ginger about it? She’s young and single too,’ grumbles Jack as he resumes his checks.

‘Because I know she can take care of herself. But you?’ Champ makes a face.

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss,’ he grumbles. ‘Just so we’re clear, I’m not hiding from anything. I actually like this job, but half the time I think you’re just trying to get rid of me.’

Spotting you over Jack’s shoulder, Champ gives him one last clasp on the arm. He leans in and says in a low voice, eyes sincere. ‘You don’t have to punish yourself forever, son. Live a little.’

Jack shakes his head as Champ moves away and calls out to you, his boisterous voice carrying even further in the cold air. He knows Champ means well. It’s not the first time he’s tried to set him up with someone, and he can confidently wager it won’t be the last. 

He knows for a fact that his boss rescheduled the Kingsman’s annual trip to engineer this one-on-one pack trip - they’ve been coming to the ranch the same time every year without fail since he started this job. He has no doubt they were more than delighted to be in cahoots with Champ in a scheme like this. 

Jack huffs a dry laugh to himself. He must be coming off as really fucking sad for Champ to go to such lengths this time. 

He straightens his well-worn denim jacket as you approach, looking almost shy this morning. You’re wearing a light fleece over what appears to be the same outfit from yesterday, hands tucked into pockets, hat dangling from the chin strap looped around your wrist.

He gives you a smile. ‘Mornin’, darlin’. Sleep well?’

‘Morning. Probably not as well I should have, considering we’ll be sleeping on the hard ground for the next couple of nights,’ you answer with a yawn, leaning on the post where the horses are waiting. You rub their noses affectionately. ‘Morning boys, how are we this fine morning?’

Jack gestures at the third horse. ‘This is Bourbon, our packhorse.’

‘Hey Bourbon.’ You give the pinto a firm pat, smoothing out his matted forelock.

‘You ready?’ asks Jack.

You put on your hat and nod determinedly. ‘Now or never.’

‘It’s not too late to back out, you know, ’ he jokes as you both start untying your horses from the post.

‘Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy,’ you quip.

When you’re both mounted, Champ and Ginger make an appearance, waving and beaming from ear to ear as you ride by. Champ grins, ‘Have fun, we’ll see you in a week! Don't come back unless you have plenty of stories to tell!’

You retrace the same path you took yesterday, up the back of the ranch and into the mountains. As the orange sun crests the top of the Bighorn, it dawns on Jack that he hasn’t spent any amount of time alone with another person for a long while, let alone seven continuous days with someone like you. 

He shakes his head. You’re a guest, that’s all. One who hasn't lost your gentle hands and soft seat despite not having spent any time in the saddle for years; who is quick on your feet yet easy to fluster; who laughs at his jokes and poorly concealed innuendos - but a guest. It’s his job to keep you safe this week, and he’s good at it. He’s done this for years and years.

Sometimes, he thinks that it’s all he has. 

Something like anxiety gnaws at his chest. You’re quiet, and he picks up on the stiffness in your shoulders. He clears his throat. ‘Nervous?’

You turn to him at his question, sucking in your bottom lip. ‘I suppose. Not about the riding, but… I’m a bit nervous about spending the week with you, to be honest. No offence.’

Well, at least he’s not the only one.

‘None taken,’ he shrugs nonchalantly. ‘And don’t worry, darlin’. Ol’ Jack doesn’t bite.’

His pulse skips a beat when you send him an almost impertinent sidelong glance. ‘I hope you do a little bit, cowboy.’

It takes him a second to let out a bark of laughter, and your whole body relaxes at the throaty sound. ‘Maybe I’m the one who should be nervous, then. Shall we stretch our legs? Start the day with a lope?’

Scotch recognises the word and whinnies, tossing his head excitedly.

A gentleman at heart, Jack adds, ‘Or later, if you prefer. We can go as fast or as slow as you want, darlin’.’

A slow heat burns under your skin at his words. Surely he must know what that sounds like, especially in that raspy drawl of his.

It must be the altitude that’s throwing your judgement out of the metaphorical window. Brazenly, you drag your eyes over him. His left hand grips the reins loosely, resting casually on the saddle horn, thick fingers of his other are splayed on his firm thigh, hips rocking to the pace of his horse.

You meet his curious stare in a challenge, imbuing your words with as much meaning as you could, letting a coy smile stretch your lips.

‘Let’s go fast, cowboy.’

As soon as your heels touch his sides, Scotch takes off at a lively stride, and Jack watches you go with a chuckle to himself.

‘Careful what you wish for now, darlin’,’ he mutters under his breath, and then he comes after you - fast.

Notes: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this first part! Comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated. If you would like to be tagged in the next part, please fill in my taglist.

If anyone is interested, there are some more horsey notes below (if it's boring, please let me know and I'll shut up lol):

About 'gentle hands' and 'soft seat': a kind rider uses 'quiet' aids to communicate with the horse (i.e. no pulling on the bit or flapping legs), and follows the horse's movements with their hips (i.e. their seat) to be gentle on the horse's back. It's a very subtle skill and you use a lot of core strength that is built over the years - sitting quietly on a horse is much harder than it looks!

If you can't tell, I ride the 'English' way and have never ridden Western. I've done as much research as I could, but if there are any inaccuracies, please let me know!

#jack daniels au #jack daniels xf!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels fanfic #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels #jack whiskey daniels #kingsman fanfiction #kingsman golden circle

[ax-y10]

this is an incredibly self-indulgent request, but maybe a reader who has a speech impediment and feels insecure about their voice and wilbur being all soft and fluffy about it ??

Love Through Jumbled Words

In which- It's hard to understand you, but Wilbur finds ways

Definition of a speech impediment: Speech disorders or speech impairments are a type of communication disorder in which normal speech is disrupted. This can mean fluency disorders like stuttering, cluttering or lisps. Someone who is unable to speak due to a speech disorder is considered mute.

Chapter Info: Stuttering, Fluff, Wilbur being a soft man, Cuteness, I'm too lazy to look through for anything else

A/n: I had no clue what a speech impediment was, and when I searched it up, I realised I have a speech impediment (stuttering) so I have to write this with a reader who stutters because I sadly can't relate to anything else, sorry. I also decided to do a platonic and romantic version separate with a short blurb at the bottom of each. This is long so sorry

Pronouns: None (You/Yours)

Masterlist:

Platonic (Friend)-

When Wilbur first started talking to you, he immediately realised that he would have to help you through many things, such as ordering food or talking to other people.

And when you trusted him enough to open up, he found out that you had always had problems with things like that, stuttering through every sentence.

And that exact moment is when he opened up about his stutters from kindergarten and primary school, and how he overcame them, offering to help you through yours.

When he introduced you to his friends, they would make light-hearted jokes about your small stutters, but would immediately apologise and call it cute.

Especially when you tried to introduce yourself and got really frustrated while trying to state your name, them obviously being great people and waiting for you.

And they definitely got pissed off at Wilbur when he tried to help, even though you were getting through it, them not knowing that you had asked him to help.

And Tommy (That fucking jerk) would have already had a nickname for you when he heard you through that very first discord call on Wilbur's account.

They obviously loved you from when they met you.

And introducing Wilbur to your closest friends would be an experience... to say the least.

The first comment one of them made was "Is he your boyfriend? Y/N WITH A BOYFRIEND?"

And oh my god did that start an argument between everyone.

But you brushed the comment off... After laughing at Wilbur's shocked expression.

They loved him to say the least

Okay- they adored the lanky bastard -but don't talk about that

Everyone was so welcoming for Wilbur, and he loved your friends.

And helping you get through it was so tough but you guys got it, through months of therapy and practice.

As he sat down across from you at the coffee shop, he realised just how shy you were. One of his friends had given him your number from college, and he had asked you to meet up at the coffee shop down the road from campus. You both hadn't talked to each other in person, which definitely made communication hard. And when you greeted yourself, stuttering through it, he realised how hard it would be to understand you. But luckily for you, he had such a large amount of patience and understanding, having had the same problem as a child.

Platonic (Sibling)-

Him being your older brother, there was definitely going to be so much overprotectiveness in that household.

He wouldn't let anyone near you who decided to make even the most light-hearted joke that you didn't care about, near you.

Like, he would beat them up if they did that

He doesn't care. His Y/n needs to be safe and out of harms way because you are way too special to him

And the funniest part of the whole situation was that he is only 1 year older than you, making it seem weird but it's cute because he cares for you so much.

He is always next to you or helping you throughout conversations or even saying something simple.

When you were both in school, he would beg for the principal and his teachers to sit in class with you to make sure you were doing alright.

Although he was the same age as lots of your classmates, you were still a grade below him.

And everyone in your classes loved him so much.

He was always a sort of underdog in school, so having that attention from other students definitely boosted his confidence and ego, and he got a lot more popular with the younger students, often helping them out at after school events.

He also got into being a bit more mischievous in school, that making him more popular

He would never forget to help you with anything at all.

They were the reason he asked your parents if he could do sports with you, because the kids that liked him were your friends, and you played sports with them.

He definitely didn't join because he wanted to help with your stutters and to boost his ego more...

He was always the kindest person with other people.

"Excuse me, miss?" He asked the principal. He never really learnt teachers names, calling them 'miss' or 'sir', but he had a question nagging at the back of his head for weeks, and he couldn't hold it in any longer. "What's the matter, Mister Soot?" The principal replied with a somewhat annoyed tone, him jumping back slightly. "Would it be alright if I was able to sit in with some of my sister's classes? She has a stutter and struggles with communicating with people and I feel really bad not being there for her. Even if it's once a week. Anything works. Please?" After a little while of pondering from the principal, his hopes lowering from each passing second of silence, she finally speaks up. "Fine. But you need to let your teacher know when you're going to her classes, and you need to attend at least two out of the four lessons you have each day." He was finally excited for once today, and you could tell wen he stumbled into your second lesson of the day, him sitting in the seat next to you and immediately helping you.

Romantic (Relationship) -

When he first had a conversation with you that night in the parking lot of Tesco's, and when you both exchanged numbers that night, he knew it would take time to overcome your stutter or at the very least, die it down a little but.

But he would never push anything onto your shoulders.

Your very first date was definitely the fluffiest thing ever. It wasn't so public as others would definitely recognise him, and you had openly told him about your insecurity with your stutter, so he decided to keep it inside the comfort of his apartment dining room, a cute spaghetti date.

After each bite, you would both look up at each other and when you attempted to make small talk, he would be so patient with your stutters, just admiring you and the way you got so frustrated when you kept repeating vowels.

Now, we all know this man is very touchy and loves affection

So you better be prepared for hugs everytime you get a sentence correct without a stutter or interruption

Even if it was as simple as your first "I love you" without a stutter, he would be all over you (not in the weird wat obv), and smothering you in affection, so proud of your progress.

He would definitely kiss you if you aren't able to finish a sentence after repeatedly trying to complete it, giving you a fresh start, and making you stutter even more due to the sudden affection, and he would keep doing it until you just couldn't bother talking.

Anytime you would try to talk to him when tired and in bed next to him, he would just stare at your lips while you attempt to talk to him, but falling asleep and not being able to get your statement out

And it would be so hard to complete a sentence when tired because your stuttering would just get worse, but to him, you would just get cuter.

If you ever asked his friends about how much he talks about you, they wouldn't be able to count it in their head, Wilbur would have to explain.

And everytime he talks about you, it would always somehow bring up your cute stutter, and how he loves it when you aren't able to form a string of words, and him having to end up ordering food for you.

He just loves you and helping you through your stutter and your stutter and your cute frustrated hand movements and your stressed eyes when you aren't able to get a food order out at a restaurant and when you're embarrassed when you have to talk to a fan of his and keep failing.

he loves every part of you and your cute self.

And he would just be so patient with you when you are trying to say something important to you, like when you want to go somewhere with him the next day, or what to eat for dinner, or anything in general.

Anyway, he just loves every part of you.

"And I- I sa- saw the cute- st little kitt- tte- kitten today on the stre- street and I took a ph- photo of i- it for you and I- I want to sho- show you bef- befor- before we go t- to bed?" You stuttered out tiredly. He didn't reply, but just kept staring at your face, illuminated by the moonlight shining through the blinds of your shared bedroom. "D- Darling?" "Oh yeah, I'd love to see the photo. I just love cats, but not as much as you" He spoke, causing you to chuckle slightly. You pulled your phone off the charger from behind you, unlocked it and pulled up the photo to show him, a cute little ash grey kitten right in front of his face on the screen. And soon after the conversation slowly died down, he realised you had fallen asleep. Pulling you closer into him, he fell asleep not too long after.

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot fic #wilbur soot x you #wilbur #wilbur imagines #wilbur soot headcanons #wilbur headcanons #wilbur x reader #wilbur x you #wilbur fic #speech impediment #request #tommyinnit #wilbur just being a scrunkly little guy #but speech impediments are so cute #I told my friends to fuck off while i wrote this /j

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera - Ch 9 - Coffee

(Previous… Prologue - Stars are Only Visible in Darkness, Estera - 1 - Colour, 2 - Dinosaur, 3 - Shoes, 4 - Thunderbird, 5 - Lesson, 6 - Safe, 7 - Gull, 8 - Deliver)

(Recrudescence by @sofasurf)

This ended up being the longest chapter yet… but they had a lot of ground to cover. Also, I hope you will forgive the cheesy aroma of self-indulgence at the end but once the idea came I couldn’t quite let it go. And what’s the point of writing a story if you can’t do all of the ridiculous things you want to, right?

A Conversation…

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Hello, Scott.”

“Hey, you came!”

She did a tiny jazz hands then folded herself into the seat opposite, unravelling an incredibly long blue scarf from around her neck and face.

“Well at least you dressed right for the weather. I’ll admit I was a little surprised by how cold it is… isn’t it meant to be Spring?”

“Ah, welcome to Sidmouth. The sea breeze adds a certain something.”

“It’s a beautiful spot.”

“Yes, I love it here.”

Scott caught the eye of the waiter. “What can I get you?”

“Triple shot cappuccino please.”

He ordered two.

“I wasn’t expecting you until after the school day? Well, if you came at all, I mean… uh, you didn’t have to of course.” His mouth went dry.

“Of course I came.” She wound the scarf slowly around her hand as she continued

“I was actually supposed to have the day off today but was hoping being at school would be a distraction from it all. It wasn’t really working. I was actually about to leave when you, err, were there, so…” she reached the end of the scarf, placed it on the table in a neat rectangle and rested her hands on top.

“Thank you for your letter, it was… sweet of you.”

“I really am so sorry about the way I…”

She held up a hand. “Don’t, you’ve already apologised beautifully and it’s perfectly understandable. If anything needs forgiving then consider it forgiven.”

The waiter bustled over with the coffees. She fell on hers with surprising enthusiasm. Scott twirled the teaspoon in his fingers, trying to recall the various conversation starters he’d rehearsed to himself over the last 24 hours but they’d all evaporated the moment she’d sat down and any minute the silence was going to get awkward.

She put her mug down and tilted her head to one side, as if sizing him up.

“Zacząć od nowa?” She put a hand to her her mouth and shook her head. “Sorry, it’s been a long day… I mean, what if we started over?”

She held out a hand and Scott lifted his to meet it but hesitated, overwhelmed by a strange sense that his hand might go straight through hers and prove this was all in his head.

“Hello, my name’s Estera Hermaszewska. I’m a primary teacher here in the UK but I grew up in… what used to be Poland. I enjoy martial arts and running, I play the cello rather badly. Oh, and my favourite food is chocolate cake.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Your turn.”

He took her hand and shook it tentatively.

“Scott Carpenter Tracy. First responder and pilot. Ugh, and I guess the business stuff takes up a lot of my time so there’s that. I’m from” he paused “well, Kansas originally. We had a ranch there. I like to run too. Oh, and apple pie.”

She smiled “that’s a good choice.”

Ok. Ok. He’d established she was really alive, she was living and she had a life. Now to find out how it was possible.

“How did you come to be here? In the UK?”

She sighed, the memory obviously a heavy one.

“Well, there was this war on where I lived. I don’t know if you heard about it but it was fairly inconvenient…” her mouth twisted into a wry grin and as she caught his eye he found himself smirking along too. With a jolt he realised the dark humour reminded him of his old air force buddies.

“And you didn’t fancy sticking around?” he asked lightly.

She looked down at her hands and ran her thumb along the edge of the scarf.

“On the day we… met… I realised I had to disappear so they didn’t target my parents too. I knew people were being smuggled out on small aircraft and luckily that night there was a plane leaving from the playing fields just behind our house.”

Scott went light headed as he realised he knew exactly the one she meant. The same one he’d intended to hijack to secure his own freedom.

“They just let you on board?”

She laughed bitterly and blinked rapidly.

“Uh, no. We had to be hidden. There were some wooden crates. I think they were supposed to look like coffins so nobody would check inside. It was…” she trailed off and he suddenly recalled her comment in the cave.

“Hence the claustrophobia?”

Her hands tightened around the scarf and she blushed a little.

“Hence the claustrophobia. I, err, don’t fly well either. At all, actually. Which is fine, I’ve never needed to since.”

“And your parents?”

He immediately wished he could claw the words back into his mouth. The flicker of agony on her features was brief but unmistakeable.

“The soldiers didn’t make the connection, they stayed safe. But…” she swallowed and clenched her jaw and when she continued there was a quiet fury in her words “just before everything ended they both got sick. One of the things the militia did when they arrived was blockade the supply of medical aid. Nobody got the vaccine boosters they should have had and…” she closed her eyes “the malaria was bad that year.”

As he watched her tangle her fingers through the scarf again, Scott felt almost overwhelmed by nausea. He swore to himself she could never know he had survived the monster that had taken her parents from her.

She hurried on “What about you though? I saw the guy with the knife… he looked… I thought he was going to… I thought he had. I was sure of it.”

She didn’t know?

“It was you. You saved me! Whatever you threw… he left me to the other two and chased you instead?”

“He chased me?” She turned her head and stared out to sea. Maybe he was telling her too much, he shouldn’t have said that, she didn’t need to know. Except now she did. He mentally kicked himself. She seemed to come to a decision to file the implications away for later and met his eye again.

“But you didn’t escape?”

Somehow he held her gaze and answered reasonably calmly.

“No. No, I didn’t escape.”

“I’m so sorry, Scott. We heard stories about the camps and… I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t great.”

She looked at him incredulously and he took a breath, feeling he owed it to her to be honest.

“It’s difficult to find words to describe how horrific it was. I’m not completely sure how long it was between my arrival and it being liberated but they told me at least a couple of months. I… I came out sick and pretty broken but…” here he added his own mini jazz hands and a tiny forced smile “I survived.”

She nodded. “And look at everything you’ve achieved since!”

He shrugged that off. He didn’t deserve compliments right now. Something still wasn’t sitting right, still didn’t make sense in all of this. It didn’t fit the facts he knew.

“Estera, I’m sorry to ask this and please don’t answer if you don’t want to. But I have to ask it anyway. After… we met… did they uh, was there…”

He gripped the edge of the table and looked down, trying to steady his breathing. She reached a hand across and leaned into his line of sight, looking up at him calmly.

“It’s ok. You can ask it.”

“Did they… hurt… you?” The words burned his throat on the way out.

“After I left you? No, I never saw them again. I used my keycard to take the side gate from the alley into the school grounds to pick up my handbag… It was a crazy detour in retrospect but I panicked that if they found it they could use my ID to trace my family. Then I left via the back door and thankfully there was no sign of anybody.”

“They… were lying.”

Scott pressed his shaking palms into his eye sockets and shuddered.

They’d taunted him with unbearable detail of the humiliation and violence she’d been subjected to, all because of his intervention. But for him, they’d have had some fun then let her go… but he’d made the boss angry. He’d made it worse for her. If he hadn’t tried to play the hero she’d probably have survived.

It was a lie.

She had! They hadn’t done any of it.

All this time…

He laughed, bitterly. Then tried to explain himself.

“I’m sorry, they uh… told me… you… they… uh sorry.” He leaned back and looked at the sky, blinking to clear his vision, before taking a deep breath and blowing it out vigorously. He got control of himself and looked back at her. She was waiting. Looking sympathetic but not… not shocked or scared of what he might say.

“They told me I made it worse. That you were… punished for what I did and…” his voice caught “that you didn’t survive.”

“You didn’t. And I’m still here.”

“You are.”

“And so are you.”

“Seems that way.” he whispered.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Unprompted, the waiter materialised with fresh drinks and they both took the opportunity to pause and warm their cold fingers on the cups almost too hot to hold. She watched the steam, trying to collect her thoughts.

This conversation was never going to have been anything but difficult. But, it could have been worse. She hadn’t told him everything - he didn’t need to know everything - but what she had said… he’d seemed to understand? She’d not had that experience since the funding for the monthly therapy and support group for refugees was discontinued a year after the war ended. Since then, she’d been on her own. It didn’t seem fair to bring such things up with new friends. The fewer people who had to think about it the better. She raised the cup to her lips and blew away the steam.

Her hand trembled slightly and she slopped half the coffee over the table. Scott immediately contained it with napkins but there weren’t enough and she rooted in her coat pocket for the emergency packet of tissues she carried and produced them in a rush. Something else came out attached to the packet and fell to the table with a slight rattle.

Oh no. Oh no no no nooo.

He reached out and delicately picked it up between a thumb and forefinger.

“So… I can’t help but notice you have a tiny model of my leg in your pocket. Should I be concerned?”

Her face was burning.

“You… you know I work with kids, right? It’s um, not mine. I’m not a crazy stalker person or anything.” She glanced up and was relieved to see he was laughing. “In fact before today I didn’t know there were action figures, it’s usually the trading cards I have to confiscate. That’s quite some PR machine you’ve got there.”

Now it was his turn to look awkward.

“Ah, well… there were so many poor quality ones being sold and they were frankly an environmental disaster and the manufacturing conditions were awful and so TI made some official ones. Proper working conditions, closed loop. All the proceeds to charity so… uh, yeah. It still feels cringey but I think was the right thing to do.” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck vigorously as if trying to warm it up. “The ones of me always lose legs. There have been an embarrassing number of design meetings on the point.”

She nearly choked on her coffee.

“I'm sorry but it's just so surreal that you not only have a toy figure made of you but you actually go to meetings where you discuss your leg strength!”

“My actual leg strength is just fine. I’ve barely ever lost one.”

“That’s good to know” she deadpanned and took a sip of coffee before smirking again

“So… do you have to model for these?”

“Thankfully, no… they do refresh them occasionally and we have to approve any new designs. I have an overarching veto since a novelty collection of them nearly got released for Valentines a few years back… Gordon was the creative menace behind it and cancelling the production run cost him a significant chunk of his trust fund. Although he would tell you it was worth it for the prototypes he got to keep.” He smirked, apparently remembering “Virgil’s was quite amusing in fairness…”

She quirked an eyebrow by way of encouragement to elaborate.

“1960’s artists overalls and palate, jaunty beret, red rose between his teeth. The overalls had an outrageously big floppy bow.”

She thought back to the serious but handsome young man who had gently explained everything to the parents at the rescue site and smiled

“I bet that would have been popular”.

“Probably. Gordon’s was meant to portray the aftermath of his Olympic Butterfly gold, but the proportions were way off and I can promise you nobody needs an action figure of him in Speedo’s.”

She could feel her eyes widen “Oh, well, yikes.”

Her attention was caught by a loud snarling as a dog belonging to one of the other customers faced off with that of a passer-by. She tried to ignore it.

“Dare I ask what was wrong with yours?”

A clatter of crockery and scrape of chairs on concrete as the angry dog slipped its leash and bounded after the other, barking aggressively. The owner gave chase, shouting apologies.

She rolled her eyes and looked back at Scott about to make some comment about puppy training classes but he wasn’t there.

He was sat in the same place but his eyes, wide but with deep lines of tension at the edges, looked straight through her, flitting from side to side as he tracked something she couldn’t see. His jaw moved in a way that suggested he was grinding his teeth and his hand resting on the table had formed a white knuckled ball. He was barely breathing.

She knew this.

Her heart ached for him that he knew it too.

Ever so gently she placed her own hand next to his and very slightly stroked the back of his wrist with the tip of a finger. Sometimes a subtle touch could be grounding, as long as it didn’t shock him.

She carried on talking softly, hoping the sound would help him find his way back but quickly began to run out of nonsense. Clutching at straws, she began to recite the poem she had read to the children during quiet time last Thursday.

“Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;”

After a few moments his jaw relaxed slightly and his lips moved soundlessly. Encouraged, she ploughed on

“Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds, – and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of – wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air…”

She paused, racking her brain for the next line. In the faintest whisper he finished it:

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue

I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

Where never lark, or ever eagle flew –

And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

The gulls called to each other over the water, his eyes suddenly locked on to hers and he gasped.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #TB Estera #estera #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #Tw: ptsd

[to-thelakes]

darlin, i definitely feel your bi panic about madani and frank cos SAME

as much as i can remember it was in season 2, madani was talking with a pretty woman who was working in the lab and all i thought during the scene was “BI PANIC BI PANIC, ladies why don’t you just start kissing”

jdsndlkfnwk sorry about the rambling i was just thinking about it since i’ve watched it and wanted to share 💘

never apologise for rambling!! i absolutely adore the rambles, i am a big rambler myself. it's honestly a problem

But FR, like dinah madani is bi, i don't make the rules, it's just fact. and her and frank?? the bi panic of the two of them on screen makes me lose my mind, like which one do i pick?? which one do i want?? (the answer is both) but they both just absolutely scramble my brain.

also, okay, the thought of those two like together has actually rotted my brain so badly recently. i don't think or it doesn't seem to be a popular like fanfic ship or like something that many people (at least from what i've seen) seem interested in but dinah x frank kind of just makes my brain melt a little.

obviously, i am a kastle girlie at heart. him and karen are just- 🫠🫠🫠 but i am nothing if not an incredibly self-indulgent woman and the thought of like frank x dinah x reader (bc i am whore) has literally rotted by brain. it's insane how bad it has been. like i've become actual feral for the thought of them. (feral to the point i have written a 13k smutty one-shot of frank x dinah x reader, whoopsie but we don't talk about that)

my brainrotting for those two aside, i am so glad i'm not alone in my bi panic over madani and frank because they make me absolutely FERAL and i just, i love my men and women emotionally damaged and slightly immoral <3

#ruby rambles #dinah madani #frank castle #the punisher #nmcu #i feel like im going insane #like i'm withdrawing off my meds (by choice) and so i feel so shitty but all my energy went into that one-shot #it was insane #i've gone feral #i think i need to be sedated #or i just need frank castle back on my screen #whichever comes first #i need to shut up #but these characters actually rot my brain

[idontplaytrack]

Off Night

AJ Campos x chronically ill fem! reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, coarse language, chronic illness/pain(costochondritis is painful asf— has not went away for me since 2019😖) flare up descriptions

In which reader has something they’d call an ‘off night’.

Writing this bc I need it rn🤐 I’m a self-indulgent writer at my core😄

(Pictures used above are from Pinterest & Tumblr)

With each breath you took, the wider the pain spread across and around your ribcage causing you to wince. An unintentional groan left your lips as you laid in bed uncomfortably, on your side. AJ walks into the room to check on you, informing you that dinner would be ready soon.

“I don’t feel like eating.”

She sits down beside you, gently running her hand up and down your back. Very gently. And yet it still made you flinch. “I’m sorry.” AJ apologises for hurting you more and for how you were feeling.

“Is there anything I can get you?” She asks softly, her eyes studying you worriedly.

“Unless I can get a new body, no.” You answered bluntly.

She presses a kiss to your forehead and stroked your cheek before pulling the blanket higher up past your shoulders. After that, she quietly exits the room. AJ wishes that there was more she could do, but she knew she’s done the best she could, and so do you. The pain just made you so incredibly irritable. Every single time you inhaled or exhaled made you feel closer and closer to crying. Just wanting to burst into tears…but you knew all too well that it would just make your pain worse. So you swallowed those tears like your life depended on it— quite literally.

You tried shutting your eyes in hopes of drifting off to sleep, but it did not work and you were growing impatient. And angry. At whatever the hell it was. AJ returns after awhile, thinking that you’d be asleep but clearly, you weren’t. “I’m not asleep.” You huffed.

“How about I run you a bath, babe?”

“I dunno.” You mumbled.

“We’ll try, okay?”

You just let her. What could you do, say no? She’d just go ahead anyway. When she walked out of the ensuite bathroom, she glances at you before picking out a new set of clothes for you. You knew she was worried and you felt terrible about it, but you were also aware of the fact that you needed her to help you right now. If you were alone, you’d definitely just curl up in bed and do nothing. She helped you get out of bed, out of your clothes and into the bathtub. “Easy, easy.” AJ says, “Okay, sit— yeah. You okay?”

You nodded, letting out a little grunt when you strained yourself while trying to sit down. One of the few things that have helped was soaking in warm water. And you wish you could’ve been in here all day, but that’s just…not possible. The sun had just completely set, leaving you and AJ in darkness for a brief moment before she turned the lights on. “Would you want them off instead?”

“It’s fine.”

She sits down on the floor by the tub to keep you company. “Go eat dinner.”

“I will, in a minute.” She assured, “Does the water help?”

“A lot.” You admit, “The relief won’t last long though.” AJ held onto your hand, stroking her thumb over your knuckles as you leaned back and shut your eyes. This tiny gesture gave you a bit more comfort, which you appreciated and gave her a smile in response. “Do you maybe want to eat dinner, here?”

You shook your head, telling her that you’ve got no appetite. “Maybe later.”

“Alright.” She stroked your hair, “I’ll go get you some water, okay? You’ve got to stay hydrated, love.”

“Okay.” You murmured.

She leaves, and comes back with a plastic cup filled with water, and a straw dipped in the cup. “Here you go, honey.” She holds the straw to your lips and you took a tentative sip. “Thanks, honey- please go have your dinner. Just leave the cup on the stool. I’ll just be right here.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded in confirmation, “Yeah. Go.”

“Okay, but if you need anything- call for me.”

You watch her leave, then you hear sounds from further away, in the kitchen. She was having her dinner. You dozed off for the duration of her dinner, and woke up when she walked back in. “Looks like you got some rest.”

“Luckily I didn’t fall back or I would’ve drowned.”

“Tsk.” AJ chuckles, “Come on, let’s get you outta there.”

You let out a groan, having to sit up straight and then stand up. “Okay, alright- you good?” She squints, grabbing your towel off the sink countertop. “Mm.” You mumbled incoherently but nodded. “Okay.” AJ rubs your towel-covered back just ever so gently. She guides you back into the room and onto bed. After helping you get changed, she freezes in her tracks in front of you. “I’d feel better if we get you to eat a little bit while you’re feeling some relief right now.”

“I’ll try.” You stood up on your own, sending her into a moment of panic, “I wanna— go outside.”

“I figured.” She says, walking beside you. Once you two got to the dining room, she pulls a chair out for you and you sat down in it while she got you a bowl of mac and cheese.

————

She sat with you while you ate, checking her phone for any missed texts or calls. Then she went around the apartment to tidy it up some. AJ then somehow persuaded you to go to bed, and you managed to fall asleep. Also, she’s thought of putting a cushion under your back so the surface you were lying on was way softer. Maybe that was what helped, because you barely felt the pain that way. “Mm, no.” You mumbled half asleep, “Stay with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, lovebug. I’m right here.” She shushed, “Sleep now, okay?” At first, she was sitting beside you on her side of the bed, but then she decided to lay down and go to bed early too. Letting go of your hand gently, she turned to be on her side so she could watch you sleep. Peacefully.

Slowly, she succumbed to sleep as well and was only awoken by you a few hours later. You were pressed up against her, an arm wrapped around her as well. AJ could feel that you were cold, and that your face was pressed up against her back. AJ was stuck— she didn’t know whether to stay put or move. You couldn’t possibly be comfortable like that, baby. She thought.

Rolling over slowly, you detaches from you. Your arm falls onto the mattress as she feels your forehead. Shit. Were you suddenly having a fever?

You whined in your sleep at the loss of contact. So AJ hurries up to get closer to you again, holding you in her arms— face to face with you. She anxiously feels your forehead again, “Maybe my hand’s just cold?” She mouths to herself. She could go grab the thermometer but if she tried to get away from you again, you would definitely wake up. She knew that she couldn’t know for certain until you were fully awake so she gave in and just dozed off again.

The sleep was very broken up. Because an hour later you were awake. “What’s wrong?” She looked at you, you’d just stepped out of the bathroom.

“I don’t— uh, it kinda stings when I go to the bathroom.”

“Does your stomach hurt?”

You nodded sadly, “I’m sorry.”

You’re sorry? She felt like shit right now for not noticing that you hadn’t been drinking enough water for the past few days — which probably was what lead to this. “I’m gonna take you to the doctor.”

“No. No, no, no, no,” You declined, profusely, “I’ve had enough of antibiotics.”

“Okay, so what do you need then?”

She couldn’t lie, she was a little bit worried about the infection spreading if it was indeed a UTI, but you knew your body best. And it wasn’t your first time having this happen— it also certainly won’t be the last.

You chugged a glass of cranberry juice then crawled back into bed to sleep. “I’m giving you two days, alright? If you don’t feel better and if the fever and pain gets worse, you gotta see a doctor.” AJ tried to reason with you.

“Okay.” You mumbled, “Cuddles, please?”

She happily obliged but was cautious since you were still in pain, “I’m sorry you’re in pain right now, my love.”

“I know. It sucks.” You muttered, “I just want it to go away. I didn’t meant to not drink enough water or however the fuck this happened.”

“Just let me know whatever you need and I’ll give it to you, okay? Just wake me up and I’ll help you, please. If you can’t get up, please let me help you. I don’t want and you doubled over and struggling on your own.” AJ says, rubbing soothing circles on your back. You simply gave her a nod and laid your head in her chest, making yourself comfortable.

After being sick for a few years, and with AJ being with you through it all since the very beginning, she’s had to learnt a lot in a short period of time. About the conditions, about your habits, how they’ve changed, how to help you manage symptoms, what medications helped and which ones didn’t, the side effects. Everything that came with being chronically ill and dealing with chronic pain. AJ had to learn, and remember them. It was tough as shit and she didn’t have to help you with any of it, but she never once complained. She’s never made you feel bad for needing her help. You may have felt bad on your own, but she has never made you feel bad and just showered you with love and care. Because she was the sweetest person you’ve ever met in your life and she just understood. No one chooses to be sick, but being the usually healthier person meant that she was able to do more than you could. You’ve had to learn to be vulnerable and honest with her and yourself if you wanted to feel better sooner. It was an equally painful experience to go through over time. But you were very glad to be past that stage…so when off nights happen, that’s all they were. You don’t let them linger for longer than needed and affect your mood too much— you let it run its course and did what you knew that could help.

AJ looked at you, heart swelling with pride as much as it ached a little bit, ‘You are so strong, my girl.’

#auli’i cravalho #aj campos #crush(2022) #hulu crush #aj campos x reader #wlw #queer #lgbtqia #hurt/comfort #sickfic #x reader #female reader #reader insert #chronic illness #self-indulgent writer fr lmao #drabble #chronic pain

[thelordofgifs]

@butterflies-and-fishermen I was so touched by your tags on the latest instalment of the fairest stars (the AU bullet point fic “Beren and Lúthien steal two Silmarils and things snowball” I’ve been posting to tumblr in irregular instalments, for people who missed it) that I thought I’d make a separate post to respond to them here, I hope that’s ok!

#but! But!#Celegorm may be doomed according to Oath rules#but this can't just be a tragedy#(bawling my eyes out)#if the Oath turns you into the worst version of yourself and takes what good you have left#then Celegorm died as a hunter of evil#not a predator of the weak#he gave his life for a worthy cause#for his friend#the Oath too was sacrificed#instead of being the altar on which everything was sacrificed#They will meet again#But even hound and hunter battling Carcharoth together for eternity in the void is a sweeter ending

You’re so right!! Killing Celegorm felt a bit cruel but ultimately I thought it was a much kinder ending for him than his canonical one. I wasn’t even intending to have him reunite with Huan initially (he wasn’t supposed to BE in the fic originally, but he insisted); but when I realised I could actually have something of a reconciliation with Huan for him, I couldn’t resist letting him die fighting evil. As a hunter of evil specifically (I’m so glad you used that phrase!), which calls back to his old role as one of Oromë’s following. (Yes, I totally did that intentionally, it wasn’t an accidental thing which ended up turning out neat, no not at all, why do you ask?)

But what I really wanted to address here was the Oath, and whether it really does “turn you into the worst version of yourself, and strip away the best thing you have left”. This is Maedhros’ line, which Maglor has also echoed in his conversation with Lúthien – importantly, though, Maglor added that he wasn’t sure whether or not he believed it. Do I, the author? Is that how the Oath works? That’s something I haven’t fully decided yet (although it is a fun idea to meta about, there’s been great discourse about the Oath recently) and probably shouldn’t reveal anyway because of spoilers. But I wonder how clearly it’s come across that the Maedhros of TFS wow look it has an ACRONYM it’s all grown up is… not always mentally in the best place. It’s not nearly as bad as it gets in canon – this is pre-Nirnaeth! But he still has so much Angband-related trauma, being chained up by Thingol was incredibly triggering for him, he’s very upset by his little brothers’ terrible deeds in Nargothrond, and he spent like five parts convinced he wouldn’t be able to hold a Silmaril – baselessly, as it turned out. Maedhros is very afraid of himself, and of the Oath. So take that line of his with a pinch of salt! The Oath might have turned Celegorm into the worst version of himself, and taken his best thing (his dog), but he both redeemed himself a little and got to reunite with Huan. Maedhros, for his part, has so far managed to avoid doing anything deeply terrible, and his own “best thing” (Maglor) hasn’t died.

As for Celegorm being doomed according to Oath rules – I’m unsure how relevant that will end up being in TFS, since I haven’t planned that far ahead (or at all lol). But after quite a few months of thinking, I came across the most beautiful line in this beautiful fic by @thearrogantemu: “Everlasting Darkness! As if darkness were a thing that could last!”

… which sums up my feelings better than I ever could.

OKAY I now need to apologise to: both the people I tagged completely unprompted in this rambly self-indulgent navel-gazing post about my own fic; my followers who assuredly did not ask for this pseudo-dvd commentary; readers of TFS who haven’t caught up on the last part and are now spoiled; and anyone who hasn’t read TFS and has no idea what’s going on here (quite intrigued by what you make of it with no context, though).

#silmarillion #the fairest stars #oath of feanor #the line of miriel #I will evidently take literally any opportunity to provide my thoughts on this au #and I’m only a bit sorry

[hederasgarden]

Hi Ivy,

Firstly I wanted to say just how much I love all you’re writing! I’m slowly reading all your works but man, you’re writing is just perfection. So Thank you!

My favourite is Stand By Me, there’s just something about it that’s just so cute and then there’s protective Rhett, and then you blessed us with Fake Dating. Like I can’t deal.

I saw the other day that you answered a behind the scenes question and there’s something I was wondering. If you can’t answer it because spoiler or you just don’t want to no stress!

I was wondering how it got to be Rhett that went to the store. I mean I know obviously that’s the plot, but like did Cecilia ask him, or did she ask Royal or Perry and they couldn’t so Rhett went, or was he out and closer to the store, or did he volunteer. That type of thing. I don’t know why it’s a thought I’ve had about it, maybe cos it tells about more about his previous side or the relationship, or his relationship with his Mom. It’s just been a thought at the back of my head in all my countless rereads (and there’s been many).

Hope that makes sense, and I hope you’re having a great start to your week.

I also apologise if I’ve already sent this, I thought I did an ask the other day at like 3am when I couldn’t get back to sleep but now I’m thinking I just was thinking about doing it 😅🙃

Thank you again for sharing your writing with us.

This ask is incredibly sweet, tysm!

Stand By Me is my self indulgent story but I do have some twists and turns planned. 😅

To answer your question (I love these by the way!), Rhett volunteered.

Royal was not home at the time, otherwise he would have been Cecilia’s first choice. People in Wabang respect him and she knew he’d put the fear of god in the stalker. She asked Perry next, but he gave her a hard time about going because he was drinking beer at the kitchen table after a bad fight with Rebecca. (My personal hc is that his relationship with Rebecca wasn’t great before she disappeared. I imagine she had a habit of taking Amy to her mother’s when she wanted to get away from him/let him cool off. It fits with his bad temper and Rhett’s accusations. Also I don’t like Perry so fuck him you know?).

Rhett got home in the middle of their argument and that’s when Cecilia asked him to go. He agreed but might have been a little extra motivated when he heard the reader’s name since he remembered her from high school as being sweet but timid. He wasn’t interested in her like that back then but he’d seen her around town here and there. The idea of someone harassing her didn’t sit right with him. He also figured that going into town gave him an excuse to hit up the Handsome Gambler after.

Honestly though, he would have gone for anyone if his mom asked. 💙

#stand by me #i love these questions!!! #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott x female reader #rhett abbott imagine #is

[foli-vora]

reflections

masterlist

A/N: I’m back, baby! This is completely self indulgent because I’m feeling shitty about my bod, who better to help than certified soft boi Marcus? This is dedicated to all the goddesses who sometimes struggle with remembering that they have the body of a bad bitch, regardless of what it looks like or what society tells you it should be. I love you.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: insecurities, body image issues, SMUT 18+ ONLY - body worship, unprotected p in v, I may have cried writing this no I won’t apologise

+

It was one of those days.

Your clothes didn’t feel right on your body, clumping in certain spots and hanging wrong everywhere else. The reflection in the bathroom mirror showed someone desperately trying to piece together what was left – a bit of extra serum here, a heavier swipe of makeup there, as if it would all come together in the end and you’d be able to walk around with your head held high.

It didn’t work.

How you landed Marcus Pike, you’ll never know, and it’s that thought that festers, ugly and unyielding, in your mind throughout the entire day and well into dinner.

He watches you from across the table as he eats, head tilting when he quickly catches onto the fact that you’re unusually quiet, reserved, curling in on yourself and pushing the food around your plate instead of enthusiastically diving in like you normally do when he cooks.

“Is everything okay?” His voice is soft, his gentle probing so much more different from previous partners and their passive aggressive ‘What’s wrong with you?’.

Your eyes find him, flickering across his face creased with concern, your stomach twisting uncomfortably as you force a little smile. It doesn’t sit right on your face. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

He knows you’re lying, knows from the sudden shine in your eyes that something’s bothering you, something’s hurting, but he lets it rest for now, sensing your discomfort from miles away and instead choosing to reach a hand across the table to fold softly over yours as he fills the silence with the goings on of his day.

You don’t eat.

He doesn’t comment on it.

He hides when he hears you tidying in the kitchen, thinking he was already getting ready for bed. He watches you swipe away the food on your plate with a quiet sniff, the back of your hand quickly catching a lone tear that streaks down your face, and then he knows.

You pull at your shirt, shift uncomfortably in your tight pants – his favourite – and he knows.

Heart breaking for you, Marcus makes sure to make a noise as he enters, smiling softly when you jump and laugh quietly. You force a smile, turning your back to him to start washing dishes when warm hands cover yours in the soapy water, a body pressing up close behind you.

“Take a shower with me?” He asks into the hot skin of your throat, kissing softly below your ear as he sways with your body gently. A habit of his – always swaying to music that isn’t there. The music of your love, he liked to say. The cheesy idiot.

You want to say no, he can feel it in the way your body tenses.

“I had one earlier.”

He leaves it, nodding against your cheek in understanding before kissing it softly and fading away upstairs. He takes your composure with him, and you can’t help but cry as you finish up the dishes.

You really don’t deserve him. He was far too good for you.

The ugly thought that had long settled in your mind, suddenly sprouts into something bigger. It fills you, the unworthiness, and your chest tightens as you fight off the heavier sobs, struggling to swallow around the lump lodged in your throat from the effort of keeping it all at bay. You’d save them for later, when he’s oblivious and lost in dreams.

You must have taken longer than you thought because he’s already pottering around the room in his pyjamas by the time you make your way upstairs, dark hair dripping small droplets of water onto the collar of his comfy tee. He never dries his hair properly. Usually you’d do it for him – cover his head with a towel and rub it vigorously until he’s unsteady, chest heaving from the laughter muffled by the fabric.

Not tonight.

He watches sadly as you retrieve your pyjamas and head for the bathroom, head downcast.

“Hey,”

You stop instantly, a small smile twisting your lips uncomfortably as you turn to raise a brow at him.

“Come here.”

When you get to him, he quickly steers you to the full-length mirror by the walk-in closet and shushes your quiet refusal, standing close to you as you both appear in the reflection.

“Look.” He says.

You frown at him in the reflection, “What?”

“Look.”

And so you do.

You can’t help the sting of more tears in your raw eyes as they roll over your body, automatically drawn in to the bits you don’t like and picking them to pieces in your mind. He watches intently, heart breaking even more in his chest with every second he watches resentment fill your features.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your head shakes. It’s automatic. Can’t he see out of those gorgeous brown eyes?

His voice remains gentle, “Stop it – look.”

His fingers gently fiddle with the hem of your shirt before he’s pulling it up, careful as he pries it from your body and slides it over your head. Your arms automatically go to cross over your chest, to cover the suddenly exposed skin, but he doesn’t have it.

“No.”

His hands are warm on your shoulders, palms soft as they rub soothingly up and down your arms, and you don’t bother hiding the sadness anymore. Why bother? He already knows.

“What were those affirmations from your new year resolution?”

You snort before you can help it. “They were bullshit –”

He didn’t think so. You were all about them for the first few weeks – writing them in your journal, saying them in the mirror while he watched from behind the shower curtain. You even made him write some down and they’re still stuck to the side of his computer screen in his office.

“What were they? And look at yourself when you say them.”

You heave a sigh, eyes rolling from his to meet your own in the reflection. “I am strong.”

He mhm’s softly into your neck, chin resting softly on your shoulder. “And?”

“I am powerful.”

“Incredibly so. And?”

“I am beautiful.”

“Yeah, you are. Now again.”

“Marcus –”

“Again.”

You do as he asks, heart thundering in your chest as his hands smooth down along your torso and across the skin of your stomach, wrapping you up in his arms as he watches you. He turns you once you finish, hand tenderly smoothing along your cheek before cupping your jaw.

“I know this won’t fix it, I know what you’re feeling goes deeper than this, and I know nothing I do will take your pain away, but will you let me try, honey?”

His thumbs sweep under your eyes, brushing away the tears that had fallen from your lashes, and you smile, heart thundering in your chest as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

You really didn’t deserve Marcus Pike, but God were you lucky.

“I love you.”

He grins, eyes shining, “I love you.”

A part of you says no, no he doesn’t, but then his hands gently cradle your face and bring your lips to his, and you’re lost in the slow movements of his kiss, unaware he was backing you up to the bed until the backs of your knees hit the sides and you’re falling back onto it with a startled giggle.

You try to fight off the wave of hesitation when he goes for the button of your jeans and relax, but he can feel your reluctance, always so attuned to you and what you were feeling. He pauses, fingers stopping their movements as he looks at you.

“It’s okay.” You don’t know why you’re whispering. It’s just so quiet in the bedroom, so still, maybe you were afraid of shattering the silence.

He continues then, slipping the button through the loop and pulling your fly down before he grabbing the denim and dragging it softly down your legs. You lift your hips, shimmy a little to get them past your thighs and smile at his soft expression when he settles on his knees between your legs after throwing your jeans to the floor.

There was something magical about being the sole focus of Marcus Pike’s attention. Your skin hums under his gentle touch, goosebumps following the path of his fingers as they dance softly over your body. You don’t shy away from his open gaze; don’t cross your arms over your chest and try to hide your thighs like your mind is screaming at you to do. You just simply lay among the pillows, letting his eyes crawl over every inch of you.

And there’s no disgust hiding anywhere on his face. No flicker of repulsion. No curl of the nose or judgement in his gaze.

It’s pure admiration, pure awe.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You want to scoff, you know that’s not the truth – the planet is full of drop-dead stunning women – but the longer he stares at you, looking all over your body and straight into your wide eyes, you think maybe he’s not lying… maybe there is a tiny bit of truth to his statement and, well, what’s the harm in believing it? If only just for a little while.

So you smile, heart beating wildly when he grins in return, eyes soft as he reaches back and pulls his tee off in one smooth swipe, and then moves to hover carefully over you. You welcome the soothing heat of his skin as he presses into you, hands greedily grabbing at his back as trails his lips across the skin of your jaw, nipping softly at your throat before he moves to your lips.

It’s easy to lose yourself in his steady stream of affection, your mind all but blanking as he steals the breath from your lungs, his tongue taking the last of any coherent thoughts as it moves along your own. He swallows your whimper and presses further into you, grinding his hips slowly into yours and relishing in your quiet moan.

He softly pulls away, keeping his voice low as he asks, “Is this okay?”

You’re nodding before he even finishes his question, and he smiles before kissing his way down your jaw, following the path to the curve of your shoulder to where the flesh of your breast melts from the cup of your bra.

He pauses, eyes flicking up to yours, “Still okay?”

You lift your chest to answer his question, one of his hands quick to whip around your body and undo the clasp before pulling it away from your completely. He inhales quietly, watching your breasts fall to a more natural position once free of the bra, and heat creeps along your ears the longer he stares, wandering hands moving to cup the soft flesh delicately.

A light sigh leaves you when his thumbs brush over your nipples, circling over the stiff peaks before he rips a surprised gasp from your lips. His fingers tickle the harsh sting of his pinch away before he envelopes a nipple into the wet heat of his mouth, tongue soothing any remaining pain. He moves to the other side, repeating his actions before pulling way to blow softly over the wet skin, chuckling quietly at the way you squirm under him.

He continues his slow journey downwards, but stops when he reaches your stomach. A part of you doesn’t want to look at him – what if he doesn’t like it? But then you’re reminded that he’s seen you naked hundreds of times, in all sorts of places and positions. Why would now be any different?

So you look at him, eyes following to where he rests comfortably between your thighs, gaze already trained on you with an air of soft fondness. He smiles when you look at him, and only when you look at him do you realise what patterns his fingers are tracing over your skin – he’s tracing your stretchmarks.

The sudden wave of apprehension is washed away when his lips trace over the shallow valleys in your skin, kissing along every single one he could see while his fingers continued running up and down your sides softly.

“Marcus,” you giggle, when he moves too close to the ticklish spot above your hip.

“What?” He asks innocently, a loud raspberry quickly cutting through the peace of the bedroom as he nuzzles into your side. You laugh louder, squirming against his hold and batting him away as he continues his attack. He glows when he sees the lazy smile stretching your features, no shadows hanging in the back of your eyes.

“Idiot.” You mutter affectionately, smile widening.

“Your idiot.”

His fingers trace over the waistband of your panties, waiting for your go ahead before they slide under the fabric and move them softly down your legs. He discards them off the side of the bed and hums lowly when your legs part under his gentle coaxing, eyes zeroing in on your folds shining with the arousal that had built from his tender ministrations.

“This okay?” He whispers, eyes watching the way your brow creases when he runs his fingers up and down your slit, his cock jumping in his pyjama bottoms when he feels your arousal coat his fingertips.

“Mhmm.” You relax into the pillows, eyes closing in bliss at the rhythmic circles he was rubbing over your clit. “Marcus?”

“Yeah honey?”

You knew where this was going, and as much as you adored his tongue and the absolute magic he could make with it, you just wanted him close. Your hands greedily grab at him, “Come ‘ere.”

He frowns, pouting as his fingers dip into your heat. “But I –”

“Not tonight. I just want you… please?”

He softens, nodding with a smile as he melts back over you, lips eagerly meeting with yours as you feel the weight of his body carefully press into you. He shimmies out of his pyjama bottoms, quick to settle back in between your legs and you exhale shakily as the head of his cock slides between your folds, a fire kickstarting in your stomach as he lazily drags his hips back and pushes forward until he runs his tip over your clit again and again.

His hand darts in between your bodies, fumbling to line himself up with your entrance as your lips work messily against his, throwing his thoughts into a complete jumble, and it’s not long until he’s sinking into you, bottoming out in your wet heat with a low groan. Your walls flutter deliciously around him and his hips jolt, before he’s rolling forward and starting a steady, unhurried pace.

“I love you,” he whispers as you pant below him, the slow drag of his hips against your clit as he grinds into you steadily building the fire in your core.

You can’t help the tears that build in your eyes, the intense power of his adoring gaze too much for your damaged heart to handle, but he doesn’t let you turn away, he won’t let you hide. His forehead meets yours, hands moving to intertwine tightly with yours as you breathe in the other, the slow pressure of his hips staying steady as your chest tightens from the sparkle in his dark eyes.

You put that sparkle there. You can see it now.

It was love.

Your love, his love –

It all morphed together in a wild frenzy of colours and sounds and everything was just right. Here now, with him, everything was right. There was no pain, no doubt… just pure devotion. Your heart struggles with the pressure of it all, chest threatening to surrender under the weight, but you welcome it eagerly, desperate to feel and breathe all of him as he moves over you.

The tears break free. “Marcus –”

“I know. I’ve got you, honey.”

“I love you,” you murmur, sniffing quietly as you wiggle a hand free to tangle into the damp locks at the back of his head to keep his forehead pressed against yours. His nose runs softly along your own and your heart squeezes at the sweet tenderness of it. “So fucking much –”

His face crumbles, completely unashamed as a wave of tears build in his own eyes, his own insecurities biting at the back of his mind, and he nods, pushing the shadows away and instead, nuzzling into you and your warmth.

“I know – almost as much as I love you.”

You share a watery smile, your thumb brushing softly over his cheek to collect the stray tear that falls free and then he’s moving, your hands winding to grab at his back as he picks up the pace, keeping the pressure of his hips rolling against your clit and you cry out quietly as your stomach tightens with the threat of your oncoming crash of pleasure.

He senses it, moves just that little more desperately against you, and then you’re shattering under him, eyes closing as fire floods your veins and rips through your body. He falls with you, his own end coaxed on by the sudden tightening off your hot walls and the rush of slick that floods him. He shudders above you, face pinching as he fills you, and you moan when you feel his cock twitch inside you.

You pull him to rest in your arms, head tucked comfortably in the curve of your shoulder as he huffs into your throat. You try to steady your own breathing, your heart beating wildly against your chest as the post-climax tingles settle into your limbs, your body melting into the bed as exhaustion rolls through you.

He’s gentle as he pulls out of you, carefully falling next to you, and watching you shift onto your side to face him with a languid smile.

His voice is barely a whisper, his fingers moving to find yours as his racing heart calms. “You really are incredible, honey.”

Heat crawls along your chest and fills your cheeks, “You’re not so bad yourself, Agent Pike.”

“Seriously,” he says quietly, “I wish you could see it.”

You swallow the sudden lump building in your throat, and you smile widely at him, filled with such a sudden wave of confidence you wish it would last. “One day I will.” And you know in your heart that it could be possible, it would be. “One day.”

+

Permanent tags: @anu-simps​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​ @withasideofmeg​ @you-got-me-starry-eyed​ @mouthymandalorianalso​ @frannyzooey​ @wyn-dixie​ @intu-witch-tion​ @amneris21​ @mad-girl-without-a-box​ @pinguinstudiert​ @sergeantbannerbarnes​ @betterthanbucky​ @kat-r-in​ @starlightmornings​ @randomness501​ @antisocialthat70sshow​ @buttercup--bee​ @sleep-tight1​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @the-tres-geckos​ @bunniwarrior​ @fangirl-316​ @acourtofsnakes​

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #the mentalist #the mentalist fic

[samwritesforyou]

asexual!diluc fic (pt.1)

diluc x reader

summary: diluc and reader are both asexual and both very much in love with each other, but they have a hard time communicating their feelings because theyre aware of their “unusual” sexual desire, which is... none, really. nada. 

warnings: gender-neutral reader, mentions of blowjobs and sexual desire (or the lack of it)

wordcount: 1k~ 

A/N: this is incredibly self-indulgent but i hope u like it! i want to make this a longer fic, so if you have some words of encouragment for me, id appreciate it a lot!! also its not beta-read, i just wanna put it out here to get some feedback and have more motivation to write some more of this because i think its a neat idea hehe. enjoy!

“ahhh my whole body hurts,” kaeya whined,

“i don’t even want to know why,”

“i’m glad you asked!” kaeya smirked and continued with a sigh, “the guy i’ve been fucking last night was too energetic for my liking”

diluc clenched a glass that he was cleaning in his hands tighter upon hearing something of a topic he wasn’t interested in at all, but indulged him with an answer;

“there can be someone who’s too energetic for you?”

“yeah, i felt like he fucked my brains out,” kaeya leaned on a counter a bit closer to the bartender with a sly smirk, well aware of a fact that this kind of talk makes ragnvindr frustrated, for some unknown reason.

...

“kaeya, can i ask a question?” diluc asked

“huh? that’s a new one,” he answered with a smirk, interest sparkling in his icy eyes, “but for sure, friend.”

“how fast does a person want to.. sleep with you, in a relationship?”

“oooh?” “i’d say in like two or three..” he started thinking out loud, while diluc’s mind was quick to think something else; i have two or three months before they want to have an intercourse, that’s good enough, he thought, just when kaeya was finishing his sentence; “yeah, that’s probably right. two or three days.”

“what?!” diluc almost dropped the wine bottle he was handling, brows furrowing.

diluc met eyes with the cavalry captain as the latter was receiving a satisfactory blowjob just next to the tavern in a small dim street and he shot him a smile and a wink.

“hey, master diluc.”

diluc felt rage bubbling inside of him as he took a few steps closer to the couple with a grim expression, clearly pissed.

“you will take this business elsewhere immediately,” he saw as the guy who was blowing him wanted to tear away from kaeya to maybe apologise and do as he was told, but kaeya’s grip on younger man’s head tightened as he nonverbally commanded him to continue.

“we’re just finishing up, don’t worry,” he murmured, eyes not leaving diluc’s literal flames that were growing in his pupils as he was about to explode on him for his inappropriate behaviour, “y/n just came into the tavern, maybe you’ll want to hurry.”

as he heard that piece of information, he decided to drop his anger towards kaeya and leave it for later, entering the building.

.

you were just a simple traveler that was roaming around teyvat until they came to mondstadt. for some reason, you fell in love with this place. maybe because it was a city of freedom? it was hard to tell. you just knew that you felt like you belonged.

outside of the mond’s gates you faced some monsters and was fighting them just fine, until you heard a crackling sound of ice somewhere behind you. You turned around, still keeping an eye on your surroundings.

“cool it,” a man said, his sword emitting a bright flash of ice that froze the enemy behind you. he swiftly dealt w them and you gave a finishing blow to the last opponent, as you put your sword back in your sheath and dusted your hands.

you noticed that on one of his hips there was a cryo vision dangling, flickering with soft blue light.

that’s how you met kaeya, cavalry captain, that has.. actually no cavalry to captain. which was fine, he said this himself.

you quickly became friends and your desire to stay in mondstadt was only helping to strengthen the sudden forming frienship. soon enough he introduced you to the rest of the knights of favounius and rosaria became one of your closer buddies as well.

when he introduced you to diluc, though, it was a bit different. you instantly felt like you’re going to fall in love with that man.. and you did, eventually.

.

“oh, diluc!” you exclaimed as you saw him come in, while you were waiting by the bar to be served. but in all honesty, these days you’re just coming to see the young bachelor, no drinks needed.

“hey,” he greeted you absentmindedly, getting behind the bar, “did you see kaeya now, by any chance?”

you blinked a few times and then laughed awkwardly, “oh, yeah. gross, isn’t it?”

your answer made diluc look at you with a confused expression. he didn’t know what he expected of you to say anyways.. probably nothing, but definitely not to acknowledge that it was, indeed, disgusting.

he sighed with relief and nodded slowly, taking your favourite glass in his hands and wiping it dry for you. “yes, i completely agree with that statement.”

after a few moments of comfortable silence with a background noise of other customers, diluc prepared some ingredients already, now looking up at you.

“as usual?”

“yes please,” you said with a smile and diluc returned your expression, while you two maintained eye contact.

your heart positively skipped a beat and his did the same, even though both of you didn’t know about the feelings of the other.

“here you go,” he mixed you a wonderful non-alcoholic drink named windbrew and ever since you appeared in the tavern for the first time, he always admired you for choosing not to drink alcohol.

he still couldn’t believe you came there for the first time with such a person like kaeya and ended up taking care of him whenever he drank too much.

why would you even hang around with the likes of him? yet he wasn’t brave enough to ask you out himself. or rather.. he was scared of the implications of courting and how big of a role sex has to play in it.

when diluc didn’t know any terms like asexuality or anything like this, you, on the other hand, were too familiar with it. you were aware of your disinterest towards being sexually active and you knew how it’s called and accepted that it’s completely normal. sure, it comes with complications in terms of finding a relationship, but you were always positive that this fact about you didn’t hinder any chance of getting a partner.

.. until now.

you really liked diluc but you simply couldn’t believe that his libido would be at least a bit lower than the one of a “normal” person.

////// if you wanna be added to my genshin (or any other fandom) tag list then please either comment or dm me! also my requests are open so feel free to text me that as well, if you’d like <3

#asexual diluc #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc #genshin #genshin diluc #genshin fanfiction

[parvulous-writings]

Self Indulgent Headcanon list // Various characters

Request: Would you do me the honor and write something self-indulgent? Something you would love to read or something you imagine to get in the wonderful storyteller mindset to write such compelling stories?Blue❧ 💙

Requested by: The glorious blue anon! ​

Summary: A soft headcanon list for various characters whom I love dearly but rarely have ideas or requests for! 

Warnings:

Notes: I know it’s not a full oneshot or anything like that- but I could not decide between these characters, nor could I think of a fully fleshed plot for any of them (as much muse as I may have sometimes, I struggle to come up with new and/or compelling plotlines for oneshots without some sort of prompting- usually from an outside source). But if you wanted me to expand upon anything I touch on here, please let me know! (Also a couple of them are just me being me, and I apologise for that-) As for inspiration- I’ll write more at the end of everything, should you wish to read it. If not, I shan’t waste anymore of your time :)

Christian (James?)- Moulin Rouge 

Not my gif

-Though Christian is nothing short of a romantic man, he can also be incredibly nervous. You could have been together a week, a month, a year, even ten years; time with you- particularly sweet and romantic moments- give him the butterflies and the shakes.  -This man has so many ideas for what he would class as the “perfect” date- and if he were honest with himself, the main factor is simply you being there and smiling. That’s his entire goal; if he achieves that, boom, perfect date.  -He lives for your laughter. Anything he can do to cause it, to hear it ring about him like a glorious melody from the stars in the ink velvet sky, you better believe he’ll do it.  -His love language is words of affirmation, and he not only speaks and writes them, but sometimes- if you’ll let him or if he gets almost overly passionate about it-  he’ll belt it from the rooftops. Proclaiming over and over again his love for you, how much you have impacted his life, guided him further into the Bohemian revolution through the experience of love, rather than him having to just believe in it.  -When he’s not with you, he usually can’t get his mind off of when he’ll be able to see you next. He can certainly cope without you, but mostly that’s because he knows you’ll be returning to him and he can see you again. Toulouse has often informed you of Christian singing your praises, unable to stop talking about you and how much better his life is with you now. You are his muse, the thing that keeps him going and gives him all the inspiration he needs to keep going in life, no matter how penniless you both may end up.  -He dedicates his first successful play to you, first and foremost, as well as those in the Moulin Rouge who helped him find himself, and his spark of inspiration (Satine, Toulouse, Zidler, Satie, etc.).

Moira O’Deorain

Not my gif

-Moira can be one of the softest women on earth, behind closed doors. Usually when she’s tired, or needs some comfort. Even she can’t keep up the cold, and almost heartless demeanour all the time. She may be unethical in her work, but that is her drive for ambition, for change, so she may better the world, her life as well as your own.  -This woman is 6′1, she will be giving you head pats even if you are half an inch shorter than her. She finds it rather amusing. I just... You can’t tell me otherwise, I’m sorry I love this woman too much.  -Her love language is quality time, but also acts of service (but this one is less prominent in day to day life,that’s mostly her work-life in a sense.). She likes reading with or to you. Be it an old play from somewhere on her shelf, or a more science-based novel. Either way, so long as you can curl up together and just spend a little while together out of your rather busy and stressful lives, she is content.  -She has several polaroids of her and you pinned to the walls of her laboratory. She’ll look at them when she’s stressed or slightly overwhelmed to remind herself what she’s working so hard for, why she now persists in her field even more than before.  -Sometimes she’ll let you paint her acrylics. Not often, but occasionally. It’s mostly because it makes you smile, and she does so adore your smile.  -Her favourite genre of music is classical, and she’ll pull you close to sway with you if you pass her whilst she’s listening. 

Alex Law

not my gif

-Like when he’s speaking to potential new roommates, Alex likes to pester you with questions. They’re light hearted and don’t always mean that much, but they keep him amused. Sometimes they can be... Strange. Once he asked you “If I got turned into a worm, or a little bug, would you carry me around?” And when you replied with ‘I don’t know’, he took the mickey for you even considering carrying Worm!Alex around.  -Sometimes, he’ll put on some music, anything with a beat, for the two of you to dance along to. Just so he can jump around and make you laugh. One of his favourite albums to dance with you to is one you bought him by Queen. He’ll listen to it when you’re not there, which does annoy Juliet and David a little bit, but he doesn’t care.  -He uses some of the money they got from Hugo to spoil you. Only with little things, that the other two won’t notice. But still, he loves getting you little things, even if he is rather  blasé when he presents the gifts to you.  -Sometimes he’ll feed you some of his crisps. If you’re engrossed in one of his mindless tv shows, he’ll keep pressing a crisp to your lips until you eat it. 

Roman Sionis 

not my gif

-Roman does so love to spoil his s/o. Whatever you want, it’s yours, no matter the price. Some drastically expensive piece of clothing or jewelry? He help you put it on himself. The apartment or penthouse you were dreaming of? Consider it yours. So long as you’re with him, you have the entire world at your fingertips.  -Not only does this man have temper tantrums when things don’t go his way, he can also sulk like a toddler. What does this look like? Usually huffing in a chair, or burying his face into you; what part of your body he does not care.  -Even when he’s in the worst of his tantrums or bad moods, he’s never once struck you. He’s come close- he’s raised his hand against you before, but never followed through and hit you. He just can’t bring himself to. If he hurts you, then he truly is a monster. 

Ahsoka Tano 

Not my gif

-Loves spending time watching sunsets with you. Or sunrises. Either or, she doesn’t really mind all that much. Sunset on Coruscant? Banging. Dual sunsets? Mega. You’ll share heartfelt conversations in the first or last light of the sun(s).  -She can and will make you possibly one of the best cups of tea, probably ever. I’m not sure why, but she seems more of a tea than a coffee person. I haven’t even finished all of the clone wars and I get this vibe. -Honestly I would pay to snuggle with her. Just saying.  I think she gives really warm hugs. :) 

SO, that was my miscellaneous headcanon list! They’re mostly characters that I haven’t written for on this platform before, but I do plan to at some point in the future!   Blue also asked what kind of things I imagine to get into the mindset I need to to write. The answer isn’t always a simple one! Things such as the fandom/character or mood of what I want or need to write can change what kind of media I consume to get the inspiration! For example- for characters such as Alex Law or David Stephens (from Shallow Grave) it can be as simple as watching a few minutes of the film they feature in! But for characters such as Moira O’Deorain, or Jesse McCree it’s usually me playing the game that they feature in (Overwatch), or watching their origin stories. But the media for certain characters aren’t always visual or interactive. For characters such as Karl Heisenberg or Alcina Dimitrescu, I listen to certain musical tracks as I write! Of course, external suggestions help a BUNCH as well. 

Although sometimes I will admit that I’ll imagine these wild, emotionally charged scenarios that pop into my head with certain music (I can get two or three ideas for different fandoms from one song on a good day), but most of the time these are for ocs or the like, so I never really get down to writing them. Though sometimes I will publish one or two, to this Tumblr blog here.  But yes! That’s an explanation of my strange mind when it comes to story-writing! Hope you’re all having a good day/evening, and thank you for reading this far if you get to this point! It means a lot to me! 

#Ewan McGregor #ewan mcgregor x reader #christian moulin rouge #moira #moira overwatch #moira x reader #moira o'deorain #moira headcanons #alex law #alex law x reader #alex law headcanons #roman sionis #roman sionis x reader #Ahsoka Tano #ahsoka tano x reader

[scrawnytreedemon]

Victor Frankenstein and Frustration: a Not-Essay, because I can’t structure for shit.

Alright, I’ll try to keep it as clean and concise as I can, but at the end of the day this is a sorta-heat-in-the-moment thing I’m writing while all the ideas and motivation are in me yet. I will be jumping around alot of topics, as this covers alot of ground, but I can’t say I’ll do it with grace: for this, I apologise.

I’ve noticed a trend in online lit fandom, not just on Tumblr, to condense Victor’s character to something roughly following “arrogant, ineffectual and selfish weenie who failed horribly at parenting, who ought not to be taken seriously in any significant way, largely in-due to his constant whining“ --In other words, a right twat.

And here’s the thing: largely, I agree.

However, what I take issue with, I suppose, is largely how this is all framed.

See, fandom has a tendency to sort characters into boxes, and then pick favourites or bête noires from that selection; this is helpful for the largely memetic(as in, shareable,) nature of online spaces; but where I think this thinking falls short is that it tends to divide casts into More Good or More Evil, with little room for nuance.

I think you can see where I’m going with this.

Victor Frankenstein, by all accounts, is an incredibly frustrating character to witness; he gets way in over his head, isolates himself from his loved ones, leaving them worried, deems those ambitions failed, hides from them, then when shit starts hitting the fan, he takes initial actions to try and mitigate the consequence, hits a roadblock, either stops their or chooses an even worse option, someone else gets hurt, he whines, rinse and repeat until the final act of the book, as the stakes get higher and higher and his mental state deteriorates more, and more, and more. If you look at this entirely from an outsiders’ perspective, as you, the audience, being subjected to his moaning time and time again, it can wear on you and your sympathies-- Needless to say, I Get It™.

I think, however, it needs be remarked that Victor is also just some guy. 

What I feel is often missed, is that even before Victor goes to university, he has just suffered the loss of his mother, with little time to recover, and that all of this is being told in hindsight, on his deathbed.

When Victor took on, all by himself, at twenty-two years old, not even letting anyone else know what he was up to, the monumental task of creating life, and then finding that life horribly botched, he did not have the perspective that what he created was equivalent to a newborn child-- For all he knew, he might have animated an actual demon. It isn’t until two years later, after the death of his little brother at the hands of said demon, the he’s even remotely made aware of this.

Victor had worn himself out over the course of several months, physically and mentally, to this one task. He was not equipped to deal witht he consequences. I do not say this to downplay the weight of his actions, or the horrible mess of events that come afterwards, but to state perspective. Victor does not have the hindsight we have at the time of this act. I cannot stress this enough. As much as I enjoy Deadbeat Dad Vick jokes, I get the feeling many people actually view the story from this lens, and hold Victor up to that standard.

Then there’s the trial of Justine: a horrible, useless, unneeded and avoidable affair that ends in even more senseless death. This is where alot of people’s sympathy for Victor runs out-- For more than understandable reasons. He failed to act accordingly, to share the information he had, deeming it to be either dismissed instantly or for himself to be put under scrutiny; it’s clear he’s passionate about Justine’s innocence, but he cannot push himself past his fear and doubt, and ultimately, it ends in her death.

It is a horrible, horrible moment, and one that cements the tone of the story from there on out.

These are two key events that largely colour this image of Victor so prevelant online; and it certainly doesn’t help, what with fandom being almost aggressively left-leaning at times, that Victor comes from a place of privilege; he is almost tailor-made to push all the buttons of fandom sensitivities.

Let me elaborate.

A key feature of Victor’s character is his complete and utter inability to ask for help; no matter how dire the situation. Victor feels, that, despite and even because of his incompetence, that it is his cross and his cross alone to bear. Any inolvement from others, such as Clerval when he heads to England, is hesitant and highly discouraged, even when he wants nothing more than to partake in the company of his loved ones, after all he’s been through. While it is also heavily coloured by the anguished sentiment that borders on self-absorption so much of the time, I think it is also worthy to examine this too.

Victor’s tendency to indulge in self-pity and self-loathing is nigh, if not entirely, all-consuming; it pervades the narrative to a painful degree, particularly as it comes from his recollections; it is often exhausting to read through, and nigh unbearable if you already hold a disdane from his previous actions; but here’s the thing I think most people miss,

Victor is depressed.

I don’t mean “ooh, he’s so sad, leave him alone 🥺,“ I mean the guy is fucking depressed, stuck in a constant cycle of attempting to make do but failing, hating himself even more, letting it consume him because he at once feels like he deserves to be consumed and it’s the only thing he can do then and there to soothe to pain as shit gets worse and worse.

Victor Frankenstein’s internal monolgue is a prime example of deep-seated, far-gone depression, and I say this because I myself have experienced and do experience this. Depression is fucking soul-sucking, man; it turns you in on yourself, makes you feel entirely undeserving of love and compassion, leaves you feeling like you must, have to, deal with this entirely by yourself because it is your cross to bear.

Depression is so often self-flagellating and pointless, leaving the subject drained and often largely unable to experience the world outside their own miserable little bubble.

Victor is so wrapped up in this soul-sucking guilt, attempting to fight his own ineffectuality and in doing so only furthering his own ineffectuality, refusing to ask for help, that he ends up putting the ones he’s trying to protect in further danger as he tries to scramble a hodge-podge solution to the problem he created and couldn’t have even begun to forsee its consequences at twenty-two years old. It is a painful, painful example of how if only he reached out, if only he told someone, was honest, all of this could have been avoided, or at least mitigated.

And I think that’s the thing with Victor.

He’s a kind of banal evil-- If such continuous stumbling can even be considered so --He is an example of every day self-isolation and refusal to let anyone else in ballooning to such a degree it ends in distaster.

People are far, far more willing to forgive Adam for his transgressions-- And I say this as someone far more sympathetic to his plight, what with the absolute abandonment he faced at the hands of humanity --Despite their far more horrific consequences; in many ways, they’re attributed to Victor’s failing; which isn’t entirely untrue,

But I have to wonder, if alot of this also comes down to the fact that Victor’s wrongdoings are so human; leaving someone in your care behind; not speaking up in cases of injustice; being self-involved; again, the constant whining. In a way, it’s the sentiment that in stories a horrible person is often far more bearable than an annoying one.

That doesn’t even begin to touch on how much of the bemoaning might largely be and often is directly post-hoc regret colouring all his previous actions. This, above all else, is a cautionary tale to a fellow idealist in the hopes that Robert Walton doesn’t Fuck Up the way he did. Victor stresses his regret and his failings and his misery time and time again because he wants to protect Robert from a similar fate; a fate that ultimately ends in his death.

Victor Frankenstein is a study in frustration; in audience frustration, self-frustration, narrative frustration; it seeps into every corner of the story.

I am not trying to defend Victor Frankenstein as a person; he is flawed; and he’s meant to be flawed. Victor, at the end of the day, is a deconstruction of the Byronic hero-- Of Great and Powerful Men on the Fronteers of History™-- And most importantly, I think, a deconstruction he himself undergoes. Victor eventually alerts someone, a Genevan magistrate, is doubted just as he feared, and then runs off to take revenge into his own hands.

It takes the death of Elizabeth Lavenza to do so.

Victor is a flawed, miserable man, but not an evil one. That doesn’t mean he deserved to have his life crumble around him.

He could have done better. Should have done better.

And he knows this.

His entire arc is about how he knows this.

Victor dies knowing this.

Him being unlikable doesn’t make him a bad character. Him being unlikable is part of the character; and in a meaningful way.

God, I don’t know how to end this. I’ll probably come back and edit this many, many times.

I guess I’m just tired of people flattening characters just because they’re not particularly endearing.

#frankenstein #scrawny speaks #scrawny rambles #analysis #victor frankenstein #there's probably even more i want to say and will regret failing to touch on #and believe me i do see the irony in a thinkpiece about victor frankenstein so laser-focusing on him #i really do #but it's kinda all the energy i have for #point is i don't think victor is a particularly good person #or admirable in any way shape or form #but that doesn't mean his character doesn't have worth #and i guess i'm tired about all of this just getting... tossed out the window #fandom is fun but also exhausting #he's a weenie yes but he isn't j us t a weenie can we please acknowledge that? #he's a guy. some fucking guy who fucked up. like alot of fucking guys who fucked up. #i wonder how much of this is also The Protagonist Complex #wherein we insert ourselves and go 'i would have done this better!' #because BELIEVE ME i hope i'd be far more empathetic and far more... Less That #but i don't know and i won't pretend to know #and i do wonder if some of this comes down to people not wanting to sympathise with a Bad Person because then it means they could be Bad #spoiler alert: yes. all of us have the potential to be miserable weenies. #none of us are safe. #i want to stress *potential* #please don't leap down my throat #ughghjg i'll stop. hopefully this was... Okay. i guess. #long post

[pcvensies]

*.• Si vis amari.

0. prologue.

* dad!satoru x mom!nanamioc x son!megumi ( kinda adopted??? kinda just taken??? ) slowburn, angst!, long fic, found family trope, fluff, funny, idk pls keep reading :(

* word count: 1300.

* in which 18 year old gojo satoru is left in charge of 6 year old fushiguro megumi, with the help of 17 year old nanami suki (oc).

{ HEY SO UH this fic is very self indulgent but i hope it finds some found family bitches like me who needed it. because damn i did, so i wrote it. ik it’s not a reader fic IM SORRY OKAY, i know those are more liked but give suki a chance we truly are all suki. PLEASE DONT LET IT FLOP IT IS A PROJECT V DEAR TO ME. this is a small intro to see if u guys like it or nah. love u <3 }

next part

It was a terrible idea, really. Out of all the terrible ideas Gojo Satoru had had - and there had been plenty of them - this one was definitely the worst of them all. But we are meant to respect the dead’s wishes, right? And a favour asked by a now dead man, even if not much, meant something to him.

Also, he was dying to see the look on the Nanami twins’ faces, especially Kento’s.

The way to their apartment was silent, and awfully awkward, as any try he had made to keep a conversation with that hedgehog of a child had been ignored by the boy. Such a little asshole.

“Can you at least smile a little?”.

Silence.

“Maybe don’t, Nanamin doesn’t either. He may be more receptive to those of his kind…”.

Silence.

Satoru had no patience to deal with any of this anyway, and the small six year old by his side possessed an incredible ability to get on his nerves, even without saying a single word. Can he even speak? Geez, Fushiguro, he thought to himself, crossing his arms over his chest as the elevator started going up.

The small card which read “Nanami” wasn’t far from the elevator, and Gojo’s only thought was how annoying it must be to hear the engine going all day. But they had refused, and had been allowed somehow, to live in the school, so they had brought that upon themselves.

Kento was doing the dishes when the bell rang, and he sighed, shaking the soap from his hands.

His sister, Suki, was in the shower, and she had left him to clean everything from dinner, as always. Don’t get it wrong, she was as responsible as a seventeen year old living by herself in the city could be, but there was something about the dishes that just “grossed her out”.

“BELL RINGING!”, he heard her yell from the shower, and rolled his eyes.

Like he was deaf, or something. However, it made him suspicious that anyone would ring at their door after dinner time, and he gave it a moment of hesitation before walking to the entrance.

“Oh, Nanamiiiinnn, c’mon… I know you’re home. It’s not like you do anything with your life outside of the classes anyway, you can’t trick me!”.

Kento almost turned around in that exact moment, knowing damn well that nothing that had to do with Gojo at that time of the day could be good, but he was a well educated boy. So against his own wishes, he opened the door.

“It’s nine thirty, Gojo”, was his greeting, as he looked at the white haired boy in front of him.

Satoru waved his hand in front of him, like taking importance from it, and looked around the place, eyes searching for the other twin. In the worst scenario, Kento would try to call the police on him. But if Susu was around, she’d be able to talk him out of it.

“Gojo, I’m serious”.

“Are you ever not, dear Nanami?”, the man replied fast, followed with a sigh, “Isn’t Suki home? She could be of use right now, honestly”.

Satoru had to be very fast to get his foot between the door and the wall, or Kento would’ve locked him out for that comment.

The white haired boy apologised with a chuckle, and his eyes finally found the pink streak of hair, almost drowned by a sea of blonde, that covered Suki’s head.

She was tiny, he had realised, much shorter than himself and her twin, the big red sweatshirt she was wearing making her even smaller. Her honey-ish eyes found Gojo’s sight, and the boy sent her a grin.

“Sue, you have finally decided to bless us with your prese-“.

“What have you done this time, Gojo?”, was all he got from her, as she tied her hair and walked to the door, now standing next to her brother, “Need somewhere to hide from Yaga?”.

Kento sighed once again, ready for the bickering battle that was set to start between the two, but to his surprise, Satoru kept quiet about the remark.

He rubbed the back of his neck, almost hesitating to say whatever he wanted to say, and the Nanami’s frowned at his behaviour.

“Alright I think it’ll be easier if I show you”, he finally spoke, and took a long step to the left.

Behind him, a little boy stood. His black hair was a mess, almost covering his eyes, and he was wearing no more than a t-shirt to cover his upper body from the night’s cold.

He looked up at Kento, a serious expression on his face, and then at Suki. He didn’t say a word, and simply looked back down.

Gojo laughed nervously at the silence, watching Kento’s horrified expression contrasting with his twin sister’s curious one.

“It’ll all make sense if you let me-“.

Slam.

Before he could even finish, the door was closed in his face, and both him and the kid gasped at the yelling that came from behind.

“I’m going to call Yaga”.

“Ken stop! Don’t you think that if he could have brought him to Yaga, he wouldn’t have already?! You didn’t even let him explain himself!”.

“Because there’s no good explanation to Gojo Satoru appearing at our house, in the night, with a child! What explanation do you need?!”.

It was a little funny, honestly, to hear Kento lose his temper. Yelling and yelling about how even opening the door had been a bad idea. He should’ve seen it coming, one of Gojo’s terrible ideas.

A sneeze silenced the argument, and Gojo looked down at the kid, who cleaned his nose with the end of Satoru’s sweatshirt.

“Hey, don’t-“.

Again, he was interrupted by the door, this time as it opened, to reveal just the Nanami girl. She sighed deeply, and crouched down in front of the child, giving him a small smile.

“Are you cold, sweetheart?”, she asked softly, hands covered in the sleeves of her clothes, as she rubbed the boy’s naked arms.

The kid nodded hesitantly, looking up at the boy, and Satoru shrugged, walking in as Suki got up and signaled them to.

The girl closed the door behind them, and walked through the dark corridor, coming back a few minutes later with a small Hello Kitty jumper. It was made of white wool, with a small patch of the cat’s face in the middle of the chest.

The boy put it on without looking much at it, covering his cold arms and body with it, and Suki gave Gojo an annoyed look, like lecturing him with her eyes.

They had met a few years ago, when Satoru was a second year and they got accepted in the school. Kento and him were nothing alike, and quite a strange pair, but Suki was much more extroverted and easy going, always replying to Gojo’s remarks with even smarter ones.

They had all grown into each other, as much as the Nanami boy wouldn’t admit it out loud.

“It’s itchy”.

Suki stopped sending angry glares to Satoru to look down at the kid, who kept his sight on his shoes as he scratched his neck. The girl ruffled his hair, chuckling.

“I think what you meant to say there is ‘thank you, Nanami-san’. It’s the only one I have that is your size, kid”, she spoke, and her eyes opened wide as she heard the kid’s stomach growl, “Are you hungry?”.

The kid didn’t reply, he simply nodded his head slowly, and the girl looked up at Satoru again.

“Care to explain, Gojo?”.

n/a. leave some feedback guys i havent written in so long and i am: scared. I AM BEGGING U I NEED EXTERNAL APPROVAL.

— lulu.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo imagine #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #yuuji itadori #yuuji itadori x reader #fushiguro megumi #megumi x reader #inumaki x reader #yuuta okkotsu #toji x reader #sivisamari.lulu #dad satoru #dad gojo #son megumi #toji fushiguro #gojo x reader #satoru x reader

[dolly-on-the-dotted-line]

Notes on 'Changes'

Changes started as a way to explore the person Javi was before we meet him in Narcos. I’ve always been fascinated by what makes him the way he is- there are so many layers to his characterisation in the series that I think it’s impossible not to wonder. Putting my thoughts to paper in the self-indulgent dribble I've been writing is just scratching the surface of how much I think there is to take a guess at.

These are just a couple of my thoughts /headcanons about my interpretation of a younger Javi since I've been writing Changes.

Although it might not always seem like it, Javi holds himself to an incredibly high standard when it comes to his deep-seated value system and his moral compass. He was raised to try and always do right by everyone, and when he falls short of what he (indirectly) sees as his father’s expectations, he’s the first to admonish himself. I think this trait is fundamental to his choice to pursue a career with the DEA and eventually his work on Escobar. Stemming from this, deep down, he cares a lot about what others think of him, whether he'd admit to it or not. Eventually, Javi’s concerns for others' opinions are forced to come secondary to his cause, but the person he strives to be remains at the forefront of his mind and certainly keeps him up at night.

He’s profoundly loyal, often to the point of fault. As Bug knows better than anyone, he’ll be the first to put his heart on the line if the situation calls for it. It’s a trait that’s long-lasting, but definitely gets readjusted when people start to test his boundaries and take advantage. Once he realises not everyone has as pure intentions as he does, it’s hard for him to go back.

Even through high school, where he initiates his reputation for breaking hearts, Javi’s never really as bad as he seems. If he forgets to call after a date, it's probably because he actually just forgot. If he smiles at you one too many times and it comes across as giving the wrong impression, he probably has no idea he's even done it. That's not to say he hasn't done his fair share of ducking heads once he knows he's in trouble, but he never sets out to play games with the girls he might end up hurting, and he always ends up apologising afterwards if he does end up leading someone on too far. His Dad would tell him it's the right thing to do.

We see this more than ever in his relationship(s) with Loraine. His dedication to his on-again-off-again high school girlfriend is misplaced but very genuine. While he’s a typical teenage boy in his approach to getting some, he finds his need to do right by her very significant, potentially to the point of making himself unhappy. He never wants to be the kind of man who lets his partner down, and as a result, leaving her at the altar is one of the hardest decisions he ever has to make. Obviously, there’s more to that story than meets the eye…

Javi is a horrendous flirt and, worst of all, is really bloody good at it. It comes as easily as breathing for him. It's his favourite way to show what a huge fan he is of women, and indulges in his dedication to them regularly.

He’s incredibly tactile, and physical touch is one of the best ways he knows how to show what he’s feeling. He would say that’s the reason he’s so insatiable when he’s got his heart set on someone, but really that's a pretty non-negotiable factor of his personality too. The man’s a total horn dog.

Javi is a wonderful combination of short-sighted/hard-headed while still proving to be soft and gentle when he wants to be. His intentions are almost always genuine, and being malicious doesn’t come naturally. For the people closest to him, this comes across in his overly enthusiastic nature but is something that stays with him in later life in his determination to always see the job done, sometimes without considering the cost. He leads with his heart, then his gut, then his head.

There are a hundred other things, I'm sure I'll keep adding to the list. I'm in love with the golden boy from Laredo.

#Changes #Javi x Bug #Javier Peña #narcos #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedrito #pedro pascal x reader #reader insert #young!javier peña #javi #javier peña x you