#someone please help me out and write this so I can love it with my whole heart!
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Soon, my love
Alpha DILF Midoriya Izuku x Omega Wifey Reader
I wrote this while writing the next chapter of 'After the Rain' and... OHH I THINK I DID SOMETHING. You want strong wifey reader? I give you smart manipulative wifey reader.
Context: After your argument with Eijiro and Katsuki in a pack meeting, you go back home to remind your husband who is really in charge of Pack A.
You were quiet as you walked into your bedroom where your nest was. You put down the lantern before carefully putting Toshinori down to sit on in the middle of the nest. “I’m sorry you had to see that my sprout.” You spoke softly as you kissed his hairline.
Toshinori’s green eyebrows furrowed. “Mama, why… why was daddy mad?” He asked softly. “I’ve never seen him that mad before.”
You let out a soft breath as you stood up and went to go get his pyjamas. “Daddy was protecting us.”
“From?”
You took out his All Might onesie, that still curried the scent of you and your husband. You turned around to look at your son. The soft glow of the lantern on his face. You put on a serious face. “Uncle Eijiro and Kacchan. They said some really mean things about our family.” You explained to him softly as you crouched down, showing him you wanted him to remove his clothes.
He carefully followed suit, allowing you to help him into his onesie. “But… but why?”
You took a moment before letting out a sigh. You gave him a sad smile. “My precious little sprout.” You spoke softly, cupping his cheek. He leaned against your hand as you looked down at him. “A lot has changed since the rain stopped. A lot of things. Some of those things are certain people in the pack. Now you’ve got to remember, that your father and I do everything we can for you and for the other pups in this pack. We love you, and we want what’s best for you. That’s why we do all that we do. That’s why your father works so hard to protect us, even now.” You told him as you kissed his head. You zipped up his onesie, keeping him warm and safe. You frowned slightly. “Now because Uncle Eijiro is mad, mommy and daddy will be busy for the next couple of days but not with the pack. So we’ll need you to do exactly as you were doing before, be a good pup and listen to your aunties and uncles like we taught you. Do you understand me?”
He nodded his head, “Yes mommy.”
“And if someone says something that isn’t true about me or your father, what do you say?”
Toshinori hesitated before lifting up his chin. “My name is Midoriya Toshinori, son of Midoriya Izuku and Midoriya Y/N. I am a Midoriya and my parents love me, and that’s all I’ve got to know.”
You smiled proudly. You pushed back his curly green hair and chuckled. “You look just like your father.” You say making him beam. “So handsome.” You kissed his cheeks, moving your wrists to scent his little body. “Get some sleep, my sprout. I need to talk to your father, but we’ll come right up in a few minutes, okay?” You carefully tucked him into your nest, surrounding him in warm blankets with you and your husband’s scents. “I love you.”
Toshinori smiled. “I love you too.”
“Should I leave the lantern here for you?”
He nodded his head as he gripped the blanket. “Yes please.”
You smiled as you grabbed the other lantern, leaving your bedroom. You closed the door and headed downstairs. You looked down at the lantern. You’d need more oil burner for the lanterns because the substitutes you got in your garage wouldn’t be enough, which was half the reason why you kept it off and you just waited for your eyes to adjust automatically.
You moved down the steps and headed to the kitchen, your husband was just where you left him. His hands were on the island counter top in the kitchen, deep in thought. You walked over to him quietly. You kept your head up as you did so. You put down the lantern on the kitchen island as you walked over to him.
You moved to put your hand on his back going over his broad shoulders as you moved your other up his left arm. You let out a calming scent from your glands as you rubbed your cheek against his shoulder as you leaned against him. You moved to kiss the back of his neck before resting your head on his back. “Thank you for defending us, my love.” You spoke gently. “A strong Alpha is what Toshinori and I need right now.”
He let out a low scoff. “A strong Alpha and yet I backed down. I should have challenged him.” He let out lowly. You saw the frown on his face, fury in his eyes roaring like a thunderstorm, concealed by clothes. “He should have never spoken to you that way or allow Kacchan to do so.”
You shushed him sweetly, a purr coming out of you as you moved your hand to cup the side of his face before pulling him to look down at you. “Soon my love, you will have the chance to prove your strength as the reigning Prime of this pack.” You told him with a gentle smile on your face eagerness in your eyes. “But we need to be patient.” Izuku let out a grumble as he looked away from you.
You drew in a breath. You took his hand and pulled him away from the kitchen. You dragged him to the sitting room, pushing him down to sit on the couch. Izuku fell back with a surprised grunt. It had been a while since either one of you had sat down on your couches, considering how busy you both were nowadays. You moved to slide in behind him, pushing him to make space for you as you positioned yourself behind him.
You put your hands on his shoulders as you gently pressed down. You felt him tense before a soft groan escaped his lips. Your hands easily finding the spots in his body that were tense and stiff. You moved your thumbs to dig into his neck. You could feel him relax more. What you need right now was your Alpha thinking straight and that’s what you needed to do. Nudge him in the right direction. “Anata, Eijiro is threatened by you. Which is why he aims to separate us from everyone else. His hold on the pack weakens while yours strengthens. He has made a fool of himself by showing such insecurities in front of everyone.” You leaned down and kissed his head. “Which is why this is the perfect opportunity to show that he can’t do what we do.”
Izuku’s eyes were shut as he hummed at the massage you were giving him. His stress dissipating as you worked at his muscles. “How?” He asked.
“We give him what he wants.” You whisper into his ear. “If Katsuki and him want to have the pack, let them.” You moved your thumbs to his upper shoulder making him hiss at the pain but allowing you to massage at the knots in his muscles. “Let them try. While the pack realises why we are meant to lead, we can focus our strengths elsewhere. You were right when you said we need to talk to our neighbouring packs to make good relations. So that’s what we are going to do.”
Izuku paused, before turning to look at you. “Eijiro told us that we are excused from all duties in the pack, but… that doesn’t stop us from doing anything outside the pack.”
You smiled as you nodded your head. You put your hand to his jaw as you looked down at him. “And what better way to spread our influence to other packs and them acknowledging you, then with this. Izuku, my Alpha, my husband, my love.” You leaned down closer to him. “Don’t let them get to you. You were the one who stepped up when the world ended, not Eijiro. You were the one who got the pack together, not Eijiro. You were the one who the pack will yearn to take control again, not Eijiro.”
You dragged your knuckles over his skin, his eyes fluttering before staying stuck on you as you climbed into his lap, holding his face as you looked down at him. Izuku’s hands rested on your hips as he held you.
“The mascs in this pack look to you for guidance, the femmes look to you for strength and order, your son looks up to you like you hung the sun in the sky.” You reached down and brushed your lips against his. “And so will every other son that you will give me.” You whispered, making a low growl come from his lips as you felt his large hands tighten on your hips as he pulled you closer against him. Your heart was beating out of your chest but you had to stay focused, despite the lust that was emitting from your husband. “Don’t forget who you are. You are Midoriya Izuku, previous Number One ProHero of Japan and my husband. What more do you need?”
-Glitch1d
'Anata' - My dear/ honey in Japanese
#izuku midoriya x reader#izuku x reader#mha x y/n#deku x reader#midoriya x reader#alpha izuku midoriya#alpha izuku midoriya x reader#alpha izuku x reader#alpha izuku#alpha deku#alpha deku x reader#midoriya x you#midoriya izuku x reader#midoriya izuku#izuku midoriya#deku#mha midoriya
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Butterfly pt. 1
This story will contain sexual assault, I beg you not to read if it will trigger you.
summary: you’re spiraling after a traumatic sexual experience and the only person that sees it is your neighbor.
pairing: gojo satoru x fem reader
content MDNI: mentions of sexual assault, sexual assault, alcohol abuse, depression, anxiety, drugs, ptsd, trauma, age gap, mentions of death/murder via movies
Note: this is actually so personal to me so pls be kind. this is a genuine depiction of my assault, this is me coping. I am in no way glorifying or romanticizing sexual assault, again this is my story. Writing is when I feel most safe and we are all strangers so I’m okay sharing this. Any hate, blame or criticism will be immediately blocked. Also virginity is a social construct.
April
You had been so eager to give away your virginity, and he seemed so nice. He knew all the right things to say, how to make you feel like he really liked you.
He said he was a virgin which made you feel safe and comfortable enough to sleep with him. It started out as kissing which led to more.
You couldn’t help how nervous you were, frozen until he was flipping you onto your stomach. You became terrified when you felt him nudging at your back entrance.
“No,” you breathe, your heart hammered in your chest. You swatted at him but he forced your hands down.
“Please stop” you beg as you tried to squirm away, crying as you felt him pushing into you, tearing you open. You screamed, it was painful and he pulled away.
Your fingers swiped where he hurt you and blood coated them. You crawled away from him until you were grabbing your clothes and running away.
You’re traumatized, but it only worsens when you ignore him for days and he blows your phone up calling you a slut, ugly, fat and a whore.
He spams your phone with videos of him having sex with other girls, him telling you how you don’t compare and that he lied about being a virgin.
You feel like shit, and he pushes it further when he spams your Instagram and messages your friends, flirting with them and saying awful things about you.
You finally block him but the damage is done.
You loved reading more than anything but when a sex scene comes, you’re taken back to that night and the book is ruined.
You can still feel him forcing himself inside of you, it’s like it won’t stop. You cry in the shower, scrubbing your skin till it’s red and raw, hating yourself, blaming yourself for letting this happen.
For being so desperate that you gave something so intimate away to someone so awful.
You tell no one, too ashamed and disgusted with yourself .
Beginning of August
You climb up the stairs, AirPods on full volume with a Mitski song playing. Your fingers tap against your thigh as you hum to yourself.
You’re not paying attention, letting out a small ‘hmph’ when you collide with soemthing hard and fall to the floor on your butt. You’re embarrassed as you look up at the tall man looking down at you.
His hands outstretch to you as his mouth moves but you can’t hear anything over your AirPods. You spot his phone beside you, and grab it. You don’t take his hand as you stand up on your own but you do hand him his phone.
He’s peculiar to say the least, he’s always either wearing a black flindfold or sunglasses, today he’s wearing the blindfold. You have the urge to ask him why he wears it but that’s invasive and rude.
He moved in two months ago right across from you. He’s usually gone for days on end but when he is home, he’s always asking to borrow something from you whether it’s sugar, milk or eggs.
It’s slightly annoying but you’re too scared to tell him, you wonder if he’s ever heard of a grocery store.
His lips are still moving so you pull your AirPods out. “Huh?” You ask, furrowing your brows and lips parting
“Are you okay?” He asks and you nod staring up at him. You think he must be blind, literally and feel actually awful.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve been paying attention,” you say and then it dawns on you, what if he doesn’t go to a grocery store because he can’t see. You start overthinking and guilt racks through you.
“It’s my fault really, what are you listening to?” he asks, you’re confused how he knows you’re listening to music but then again it was blasted. You hold your phone up to him and then internally slap yourself. “Mitski, it’s called I bet on losing dogs,” you explain and he nods.
“I love that song,” he says and your eyes widen, he doesn’t look like he listens to her.
“What’s your favorite song?” You ask, genuinely curious. “What’s yours?” He asks and you don’t know why that makes you laugh for the first time in months. “I bet on losing dogs,” you say.
“That’s my favorite too,” he says, and you wonder if he’s flirting with you. Part of you blushes but the other part of you panics. Does he just want to sleep with you and hurt you? You try to shove the thought down, he asked a simple question.
“I should get going” you say staring at your shoelaces.
“See you around y/n” he says before he’s walking off and you wonder how he knows your name, you never once shared it with him and he’s never shared his.
Mid August
Your head tips back, eyes rolling. The sound of music drowns out as you feel yourself nearly seizing from the red and purple strobe lights. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve blacked out, your mouth tastes disgusting and your throat burns. The cause of it, lying in a puddle on the floor.
You lift your head up, to try and comprehend your surroundings. The girl beside you leans down, holding a rolled up dollar and snorts the thin white line off the table.
She sniffs and turns to you, offering you the dollar, you vowed to never touch that shit but part of you wonders if it’ll make you feel good, the way the alcohol does.
Your brains screaming no, begging you to leave but your fingers grasp it and she dumps more onto the table. She lines it up with a credit card and you hesitantly lean down, you choke a little as you snort it and sniff.
You slump against the sofa and slowly feel it take its effect. Your body feels so fucking heavy, it’s like you’re wearing a meat suit. You lift your fingers up and watch as they multiply when you wiggle them around, the girl pulls you up and drags you to the dance floor.
You’re like a rag doll in her arms as she makes you dance. Your head tilts back staring at the ceiling and you laugh, it’s dark and intoxicated. The music suddenly feels amplified and you’re clutching your ears, so fucking overstimulated and you panic, feeling the bodies grinding against you.
Your eyes water when you feel hands grip your waist from behind and they press against you. You’re pulling away from them and stumbling through the crowd, fighting your way to the exit.
Fresh air hits your lungs the moment you step outside and you inhale, closing your eyes.
Home, you have to go home.
You ignore the several people that ask if you’re okay as you stumble down the sidewalk, heels clicking against the pavement.
Relief fills you at the sight of your apartment building, once you reach it, you’re climbing the stairs until you miss a step and fall down. Your head smacks against the floor and little black spots cloud your vision.
“Fuck!” you hear, almost certain it’s your mind playing tricks on you until you feel large and warm hands gripping your face. Their touch is like electricity against your skin.
“Please let me die,” you mutter as a familiar blind folded face comes into view. He’s waving a finger infront of you and you go cross eyed.
“What did you take?” He tries to ask you but your hearing is muffled. His face is blurred but you can make out his lips moving.
You lift your arms up and reach for his face, your fingers graze over his lips and he stills. They’re soft and pink.
His hand gently grabs your wrist and moves your arm back down to your sides. His head tilts like he’s studying you as your vision slowly recovers along with your hearing.
“Can you hear me?” He asks and you nod weakly. He sighs before you feel his arm hook under your knees and the other around your back. He lifts you up and you shake against him.
“Please don’t hurt me,” you beg, his brows furrow but he doesn’t say anything. You’re trembling as he walks you to his apartment. He’s gonna hurt you, he’s gonna trap you and hurt you.
You squirm in his hold until you’re out of his arms and sliding down the wall. You cover your face and pull your knees to your chest. His hand touches your knee and you scoot away. He immediately retracts it.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise” he says as you peek between your fingers. His expression is so genuine, and concerned but he’s a man and you don’t trust them. Your brain feels like it’s working overtime trying to think as he lifts his pinky up.
“Please let me help you,” he says, his voice is soft as he kneels infront of you. Your shaky hand reaches toward his and your pinky wraps around his.
He smiles gently, and helps you up. He unlocks the door and guides you inside. You’re too fucked up to take in his apartment.
He pours a glass of water and hands it to you, before he’s handing you two pills of advil. Your pupils are dilated and you look so out of it, your breath reeks of vomit and vodka.
He’s not use to this, any of it. He’s never been in this situation and it’s frustrating because he wants to help you, he knows there’s an underlying reason why you shake and flinch from his touch. The way your eyes survey all exits and keep distance between you two.
Everytime he’s seen you in the halls, you’re listening to music in your own little world with your head down. You’re always shy, and timid.
“You can take my bed and I’ll take the floor,” he says not wanting to leave you alone incase you have a concussion.
Your throat tightens at the idea of sleeping in his bed, at falling unconscious where he can so easily hurt you but you’re tired, so fucking tired.
You hug yourself as you attempt to walk into the only bedroom in the apartment. You slowly climb into the bed, curling into a ball. He watches you from the doorframe, trying to make sense of what his eyes can’t tell him.
When morning comes, you’re gone.
September
You sigh, sifting through your purse for your keys. You push through several empty travel bottles of vodka and tampons, coming up empty. You hear two things behind you, keys jingling and a meow.
You turn around, one hand is holding your keys while the other has a black kitten pressed against his chest. You only care about the kitten at this point, you look up at him and he’s smiling at you.
“You dropped your keys,” he says but you’re itching to touch the fur ball in his arms.
“What’s it’s name?” You whisper not wanting to scare it.
“Dunno, just found him outside,”he says and you slowly reach out, petting the baby. It’s little mouth let’s out the most broken meow but it’s fierce and you smile.
“Are you gonna keep it?” You ask and he shakes his head making you frown. He walks toward his door and starts unlocking it.
“I can’t, I work too much” he says, opening his door. He walks inside, leaving the door open. You awkwardly stand there before peeking inside. You feel embarrassed about the events from two weeks ago, you’ve avoided him since. You can’t imagine what he must think of you.
You slowly walk inside, fingers clutching the ends of your oversized sweater anxiously. He sets the little guy on the floor and you immediately shut the door not wanting him to runaway.
“He’s gonna need formula,” you say, carefully dropping to your knees. You pull your hair from its ponytail and fling the tie across the floor. You giggle watching the cat dart after it.
You feel his eyes on you as absurd as it may sound considering the blind fold but you do. His lips twitch as he watches you play with the kitten.
“What’s your name?” you ask, something that’s been on your mind lately.
“Satoru, Satoru Gojo,” he says and you hum. It’s pretty.
“Thank you, for the other night. I’m sorry I kind of lost it on you,” you say, watching the cat run at you as your hand drags across the floor like a spider before it tickles him. His little feet kick at your wrist but it’s like a feather hitting you.
“That happen often?” He asks.
“No” you lie, admittedly you usually stop before you get super fucked up and you hadn’t touched coke till then. He doesn’t push and you’re grateful for it.
“So what’s the song of the day?” He asks and your brows furrow, arms chasing after the cat who starts running sideways.
“You must have another song you like,” he says shrugging.
“K. by Cigarettes After Sex, let me guess. That’s your favorite song of theirs too,” you say and he smiles.
“It’s like you’re stalking me,” he says and you laugh, it’s the cutest thing he’s ever heard, more so than the little creature that’s clawing his way up your thighs. His claws hooking into your jeans, determined to get you.
“Favorite album?”He asks and you indulge him.
“That’s hard, there’s so many,” you say, pulling the cat off before he can claw up your sweater.
“Top five,” he says making it slightly easier for you.
“Brand new eyes by paramore, all lana del rey albums, Trilogy by The Weeknd, anything FKA twigs and Wiped out by the neighborhood. You?” You ask and he shrugs, leaning against the doorframe to his bedroom.
“I don’t listen to music,” he says and your face scrunches, musics your love language and your safety net. It speaks and conveys what you can’t.
“Not one song?” And he shakes his head. His life must be so lonely and boring, you frown.
“I did listen to that Mistki song though, depressing much?” He asks and you roll your eyes.
“Well, yes but that’s what makes it so good,” you say and he doesn’t argue. You wish you could see his eyes, eyes speak a thousand words.
“Favorite movie?” He asks, this is sadly the most anyone’s ever asked about you, you feel guilty that part of you is living for this attention.
“Bones and All, Suspiria, Django Unchained, Dune and Pearl,” you say.
“I’m seeing a pattern here,” he says and you raise a brow. “You don’t listen to music but you watch movies? And what may that be?” You ask. The little voice in the back of your head is begging you to go home, he’s only doing this to get in your pants, why else.
“Nah but one of my students seen some of them, I’ve heard all about Pearl and her axe,” he says, watching the kitten swat your hair tie around.
“She’s just a girl,”you shrug, and his lips tug into a smirk. You don’t like the feeling that takes over, the butterflies that swarm your stomach. Handsome doesn’t do him justice, he’s beautiful even when you can’t see his eyes. From his undercut to his jaw, and his tall lanky stature, he carries himself like he’s the highest predator up the food chain. It’s not threatening, it’s…sexy.
“I forgot American Psycho” you add and his eyebrows raise nearly to his hairline before he’s bursting into laughter.
“What? It’s hilarious satire and Christian Bale is…hot,” you say. He wants to ask you a question but thinks better of it, this is the most you’ve ever spoke and he doesn’t want it to end.
“Are you a teacher?” you ask, lingering on what he said moments ago.
“Yeah, you?” he asks. You dropped out of college, feeling too stupid and incompetent, in all honesty you’ve never seen a future for yourself and it feels embarrassing.
“Bookstore,” you say.
“So you like books?” he asks and you give him a look that screams ‘duh’.
“I do, I’d tell you my favorite book but you probably already know it since it’s yours too,” you say as the kitten comes running at you. You gently slide him across the floor and he runs back, loving it.
“Guilty, but you should probably tell me just incase we aren’t on the same page,” he says, you hate the smiles he keeps making appear on your face.
“Normal People”you say, you wonder why he wants to know all these things and what they matter to him.
“It’s like we’re the same person,” he says, you wonder if this works on the girls. You don’t want it to work on you.
“He looks like a Salem,” you say looking at the black cat that’s just obsessed with you.
“I think he’s found his mom,” Gojo says and you want to argue against it but you don’t because he’s right, you’re keeping him.
End of September
You sit on the couch with Salem curled in your lap and a bowl of popcorn beside you, you’re ready to start the movie until someone’s knocking on your door. You feel your anxiety fester but push it down.
You carry the kitten as you walk to the door and look through the peep hole. Your breathing hitches at the sight of Gojo in sunglasses, you swear he hasn’t been home in two weeks but like he said he’s always working.
Now that you think of it, that’s so odd. He’s a teacher who’s never home and works odd hours. You try not to overthink it as you open the door.
Gojo beams at you and the little guy in your arms. He reaches out and starts scratching underneath Salems little chin which sends him into a purring fit.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hey,” you answer, unsure of what else to say.
“What are you doing?” He asks.
“I was gonna watch a movie,” you say looking back at the lit tv screen, but you remember he can’t see.
“Pearl?” He asks and you’re slightly eager to put it on for him. Your life is lonely, you’ve stopped talking to everyone. Your bestfriend pushed you away months ago and nobodies really cared to see that you’re okay. Your mom and grandma constantly call but you can only take so much criticism.
You try to contemplate the pros and cons. Gojos been nothing but nice, he’s slightly funny and because of him you have Salem. Cons: he’s flirty and a man. Your stomach stirs, and your body tenses as you open your mouth.
“Would you like to watch it with me?” you ask, trying not to let your mind wander off to that dark place in your head.
“Okay,” he says and you step back, letting him enter your dim apartment. He takes his shoes off and looks around, taking in the hues of greens, browns and white along with the various plants that take up space.
There’s a picture of you as a little girl with two other kids that look just like you, a boy and girl on the wall, some family photos, graduation picture and baby pictures. You were so adorable, still are.
Your place is a contrast to his. His is fairly empty with a few hints of grey, white and navy.
He sits on the opposite end of the couch as you put on Pearl, Salem leaves you to cuddle in Gojos lap. Traitor.
“Song of the day?” he asks before you start the movie.
“Good to love by FKA twigs” you say and hit play.
You usually hate when someone talks during a movie but you’re desperately wanting to know his thoughts during every scene. He laughs through most of it,
“Did she really just set her mom on fire and then leave to go have sex?” He asks, you bite your lip. “She’s just a girl,” you say and he shakes his head. You reach into the bowl for popcorn and feel his fingers graze yours, his touch is like static and you get goosebumps. You pull away as subtly as possible, you hope you don’t give off the wrong message by all of this.
“She’s deranged,” he says as she stabs the projectionist with a pitchfork repeatedly.
“Christ, who gave this girl an alligator,”he says when Pearl pushes the man’s car into a pond and an alligator eats at his remains.
By the time the movies over, he’s leaving. He says he has to work in the morning but he types away at his phone before handing it to you, your names written on a contact, waiting for your number.
You try to hide your surprise and hesitantly type your number in.
October
Gojo: song?
you: Haunted by Beyonce
Gojo: starting to think you’re working for the government
you: how so
Gojo: only a fed would know all my favorite songs
you: you sound crazier than pearl
Gojo: utterly insane
You enjoy Gojo’s company, still hesitant but he hasn’t given you a reason not to trust him.
Mid October
You hum to The Party and the After Party by The Weeknd, sending a link to Gojo as you walk.
You: song of the century
Read at 8:08pm
You’ve been crafting a playlist for him, you’re embarrassed by it though, what if he thinks it’s lame. You title it ‘Peals Greatest Hits’ and make the cover a picture of pearl with a pitchfork, you think he’ll laugh at that.
It’s nice having a friend again.
You wait for Gojo to respond but he doesn’t, he’s probably busy. This time he’s been gone for three days and you don’t question it. You’ve managed to learn little things about him, he’s told you about his students Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara.
He even raves about his students from last year, Toge, Yuta, Maki and a student he simply calls P, you tried to ask what the P stands for and he said Pedro which you laughed, kind of an uncommon name here but you don’t push it.
He’s mentioned his family and the pressure they’ve put on him, how he’s like the golden child of his family.
He actually laughed when you asked if he was blind, your cheeks heated up as he told you he has really bad sensitivity with his eyes which still made you feel bad for him.
You reach your building and start your walk upstairs, eager to see your cat but stop when you reach the top. You’re not sure why it bothers you when you see Gojo with a woman going inside his apartment. She’s pretty, sharp features and glossy eyes. A mole under her right eye. You wait for them to go inside before you make your way to your apartment.
Maybe you’re a creep but you stare through the peephole for what feels like hours, waiting for her to leave but she never does. You wonder if Gojo has a girlfriend, wouldn’t he have mentioned it? But then again he’s a man, when do they ever.
End of October: Halloween
You try not to feel insecure in your pink tights and red bodysuit, this is the most revealing you’ve looked since before that night.
You watch as a row of lemon drop shots line up infront of you, the girls you’ve made friends with since you came in, all cheer and clap as you knock back shot after shot. You order six more courtesy of your blonde friends tab, the bar tenders hesitant but you bat your lashes and just like that you’re getting your way.
The liquor helps to take away from the insecurities, you stop worrying if your stomachs too big or your arms too bulky and relax. Several hands pull you to the dance floor and you dance with them, one of the girls hands you a blunt and you smoke it. You spend the night smoking and drinking till you’re absolutely fucking cross faded.
Once you’re at your apartment building, you’re literally crawling up the stairs. You stop when two sets of shoes come into your view, you slowly look up to Gojo and the woman from two weeks ago looking down at you.
“Should we call someone?” The woman asks.
“Nah, she’s mine,” Gojo says pulling you up off the floor. You stumble backwards but he catches you before you fall, pulling you toward him.
“I’ll see you later” the woman says, walking off and he nods. He’s scooping you up into his arms.
“What are you suppose to be?” He asks.
“Scarwit bitch” you slur and he laughs.
“Scarlett Witch?” He asks and you nod.
You’re disappointed when he takes your keys and opens your apartment door. He carries you to your bedroom.
“What did you do, rob Barbie?” he asks looking around your pink room, you’re too tired to comment as he sets you down on your bed.
He brushes your hair out of your face.
“Thanks Toru,” you whisper.
November
Gojo: you hungry?
You: yes…
Gojo: what do you want to eat?
You: pizza, meat lovers and Hawaiian.
Gojo: pineapple on pizza? we have to find a dealbreaker eventually
Gojo: in or out?
You: in
Half an hour passes and there’s a knock on your door. You open it to Gojo with two boxes of pizza, he sets them down while you grab plates.
“song?” He asks, he hasn’t missed a day and you don’t know that he’s made a playlist with each one you give him.
“Kimdracula by deftones,” he subtly adds the song to his playlist as you open up the box. Your belly rumbles as you take a slice of each.
He wastes no time, eating while you take little nibbles. You don’t like eating infront of people, not after being so degraded on your body by the only person that’s seen it naked. Your appetite sours and you set your pizza down.
“Do want to watch X? It’s the technical sequel to Pearl,” you say, he couldn’t give a shit about that deranged girl but you like her so he likes her.
He nods and you wash the pizza grease from your hands, he does the same and you both are moving to the couch. Salem jumps up, of course he picks Gojo as you shuffle through your movie selection before clicking on X.
You feel your face redden forgetting they’re literal fucking pornstars filming porn.
“She looks exactly like Pearl, what the fuck,” he says and you laugh.
You subtly look away, during the sex scenes. They aren’t unbearable but it’s just uncomfortable for you.
“Like sixty years later and she’s still creepy as shit” he says when it gets to the scene of Pearl staring over Maxine while she sleeps.
Gojo actually leans forward pushing his sunglasses up, utterly engrossed in the movie as everyone starts getting killed off one by one. He cringes at Lorraine’s death which you do too. And he cheers when Maxine runs over Pearls head.
“You can have Pearl, Maxine’s mine” he says making you roll your eyes.
“Guess you’ll be happy to know Maxine has her own movie coming out next year” you say.
“Oh we’re so seeing that,” he says and you internally smile but that little voice in the back of your head reminds you, he’s just a man.
You try to ignore it but you feel inclined to ask, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“What?” He asks with his brows raised.
You actually feel silly asking the question, because how are you supposed to casually mention the girl you’ve seen him with without sounding like a stalker.
“Just asking,” you say innocently.
“Nah, I never have the time for that stuff. Ive been on dates but that’s about it,” he says and you can’t help that words that blurt out.
“So you’re a virgin?” you internally slap yourself once the words leave your lips.
“No” he says laughing at how hard you’re blushing.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be invasive” you say and he shakes his head.
“It’s fine,” he’s hesitant to ask but he does.
“Are you a virgin?” he asks and tears roll down your cheeks.
note: haven’t decided if this will be two or three parts, there will be smut so again MDNI! It feels like this took ages to write, my goodness.
#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#toji fushiguro#choso kamo#salemgojo#sukuna#toji fushigro x reader#gojo x reader#toji smut#jjk smut#geto suguru#gojo#jjk satoru#jjk gojo#gojo smut#gojo saturo#choso x reader#nanami kento#nanami x reader
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Remembering all your boyfriend's drunk habits? That's the easy part. But taking care of him? Well, he makes that part easy too.
content: fluff, established relationship, drunk!(and then hungover!)chan, mentions of food, so much domesticity, they're literally so in love with each other it's disgusting
wc: 1.2k
note: still trying to figure out my writing style and doing some experimenting with povs and such 😭 this one was a horribly self indulgent one tho...food is my love language and when it was revealed that dino only eats ramen when hes hungover i couldnt help myself lol. i really just take any tidbit of info these men divulge and run with it into delululand huh. anyways please enjoy and as always comments and feedback are appreciated 🥺
You knew Chan liked to drink. It wasn't an actual problem, but it happened often enough that you had come to expect him to come back to your shared apartment after a night out stumbling and slurring his words.
Not that your boyfriend was the dark brooding serious type, but you find the change from his usually composed and witty self to someone who could erupt into a mess of giggles and burst into song and obnoxious yelling at any moment quite jarring. But you couldn't say you hated it either.
No, drunk Chan was different. Drunk Chan was straightforward, every single emotion flashing onto his face like a billboard. The Chan that normally would throw a quip back when teased would suddenly turn into a whiny child with a yapping problem.
Your sober Chan was careful, he was always fearful of letting you know if there was anything bothering him (much to your dismay). Even when he hits a breaking point, you would never catch it on his mannerisms. Instead he opted to deal with his emotions himself, or occasionally in the form of a passive aggressive text laced with smiley faces to whoever scorned him.
Where sober Chan could be quite shy with his affections toward you in public, drunk Chan would cling to your body like a koala to a tree, protesting anytime you wanted to brush him off for some air.
But you loved him, drunk or sober. You loved that he could let loose sometimes and truly let his inner self be free, knowing that he was in good company and that he would be accepted no matter what, inside and out. And you took it upon yourself to take care of him in all his states.
And that's how you ended up at 1am with a grown man leaning on your shoulder as you help him take his shoes off in the doorway of his own damn apartment.
"Buuuut baaabe...!" He whined into your ear as he manages to fling off the remaining shoe from his foot. "I wanna eat chicken nuggiessss."
Your smile spread uncontrollably across your face and you maneuver around him to take off his jacket next. "I would make you chicken nuggies, but it's 1am and you hate eating late at night."
There's silence for a moment as your intoxicated boyfriend seems to ponder your words. You take advantage of his stillness to slip the jacket off his sleeves and guide him to the bedroom.
You gently shush him with your finger, "If I'm always right, then you'll listen to me when I tell you to go get washed up right, big guy?" You take the opportunity to give him a small peck on his pouty lips as you throw a fresh pair of boxers onto his lap. He only smiles in response and begins his lazy waddle to the bathroom only to emerge minutes later, crawling into the sheets and enveloping your body with his own and knocking out.
"Oh no, you're right," he finally responds as he plops onto your bed, his lips pressed into a pout you can only describe as cute. "What would I do without you babe? You're always right, you know me better than I do sometimes and I really love that about you and ya'kno..."
-
To no one's surprise, you wake up before Chan. The intensity of the light that filters through your bedroom window tells you it's already quite late in the morning. But that's alright, you cleared your schedule for one thing and for one thing only.
You take a moment to soak in his soft features, bathing in the sunlight that leaks through the curtains. Everything from the curve of his eyelashes to his sharp jawline is perfect, just as the day you saw him. You don't get to see him like this often, as he's always been a busybody for as long as you knew him, but you think that this might be one of your favorite views in the world.
You scoot out of the bed as quietly as possible, trying not to disturb the soft rise and falls of your boyfriend's bare chest as he slumbers, but not before pressing a light kiss to his forehead. His nose scrunches up momentarily before settling again as you laugh, leaving for the kitchen satisfied that the love of your life was getting the rest he deserved. Your morning routine goes smoothly and soon enough you hear the sound of sheets shuffling, signaling the real start to your day.
You're by his side in a record amount of time, sitting on the edge of your shared bed while sliding a glass of water and a painkiller onto his nightstand. Amongst a tangle of sheets, your boyfriend lays still, eyes not quite open yet. "Good morning, handsome" you whisper softly, seeing how a smile immediately spreads across his face.
"My head is actually killing me. Sorry if I'm a zombie today, I just wanna eat some r-"
"Ramen?" you finish for him. There's nothing but love and adoration behind your eyes as you softly comb through his messy bedhead with your fingers. "I know baby, I already have some water boiling on the stove. Drink the water and take the painkillers, it'll be ready by the time you come out."
"God, have I told you I love you? Because I don't do it nearly enough." He groans out in his raspy morning voice. You just laugh and press a swift kiss to his forehead, doing good on your promise as you walk back out to the kitchen.
Before long, you hear the heavy footsteps of a sleepy man make its way into the room. They stop right as they approach you and you feel strong arms wrap around your waist as you add the finishing garnishes to the bowl of noodles you just made. "Smells so nice" Chan murmurs, face buried in the crook of your neck.
"What, me or the ramen?" you tease back, gently shaking him off of you as you place the bowl on the table. "Or... these?" You pull the handle of the air fryer sitting next to the stove to reveal several golden brown dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets.
The scene before you is as mundane as can be: a Saturday morning spent with your extremely hungover boyfriend barely awake in nothing but his boxers slurping instant noodles on the kitchen counter.
Chan's eyes light up. "Oh my god, you remembered?!" A toothy smile permanently stuck on his face as you plated the nuggets to join his bowl of ramen. "Of course, how could I forget my boyfriend whining for nuggieesssss last night?" He fakes an offended scoff but relents as he finally digs in.
But to you it's anything but mundane, cherishing these little moments that seem few and far between as both of your schedules get busier and busier.
It's not the first time you've heard him say this exact sentence, and it probably won't be the last. But one thing you knew for certain as you stare into the most loving eyes you've ever seen is that you were always the lucky one.
"How did I get this lucky to have you in my life?" he suddenly remarks in between mouthfuls.
#seventeen x reader#dino x reader#lee chan x reader#seventeen imagines#dino fluff#seventeen fanfic#seventeen fluff
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coming out as bisexual + pride fest headcanons 🏳️🌈🏳️⚧️
noah sebastian/bad omens x gender neutral! reader
a/n: *ty to @hedonists for the pic and @exitwoundsx & @somewhere-diamond for the ideas. also, if someone wants to write more on this please do. i'm gonna be feral all month long.
content: fluff and a lil bit of bi anxiety
coming out as bisexual
noah and yourself have been together for a few months
the beginning of your relationship felt like a honeymoon, but lately you’ve felt somewhat closed off and anxious
there was tension between you two up until having your first argument
the argument was about something silly, really, it could be fixed with just a bit more communication
but once you've made up, you take the chance of demonstrating your trust in him and your need to share your feelings by coming out to him, finally
“oh, you’re bi?,” his eyebrows raise. “is that why you’ve been acting weird? you wanted to tell me?” he smiles.
you confirm that’s why and tell him you didn’t want to hide that side of your life from him anymore. you felt better having opened up to him, but you didn't want him to think any differently of you.
“i understand. you're still, Y/N, to me..." he pauses. "um, what does being bi mean for you?” he asks, curious.
you explain what it means to you and explain that you still love him no matter your attraction to another gender.
“you love me, Y/N?” he smiles, wide. he looks like he’s won the lottery.
you say yes, begrudgingly. knowing he’ll tease you about it for the next week.
“i love you, too,” he takes his hand in yours. “thank you for telling me. i love everything about you, just so you know. your sexuality doesn't change who you are or how I feel about you. i'm proud of you for being honest with me, and for being true to yourself.”
a weight falls right off your shoulders and you finally feel like you can breathe.
"i'm here for you always."
going to pride fest with bad omens
with pride month coming around the corner, you get brave and ask your friends to come with you to pride fest in that city this weekend
of course, you say “if you don’t want to go, it’s totally okay” or “sorry, I’m just really excited.”
but noah assures you not to apologize. “yeah, that would be fun. we’d love to go with you. you’ll just have to show us the ropes,” you hear noah laugh over the phone.
june rolls around and you're at your place with your friends from bad omens getting ready to head out to the festival in the afternoon
folio brought his own kaleidoscope glasses and will choose to wear iridescent glitter on his shoulders and cheeks. he opts to apply it himself.
jolly decides he wants his hair in braids after hearing how hot it will be, so noah and you help him braid his hair into pigtails. he chooses from one of the pride tees you have in your closet. maybe "be gay, do crime"
nicky is super jealous of folio's glasses, but he distracts himself by letting you paint on his arms different pride flags. he makes a joke about him being the one being tattooed this time. his shirt says, "lesbians eat what?!"
noah really wants to go shirtless.
you don't allow him to, knowing he'll burn and regret it in the morning.
so he opts to wear a classic white tank. nicholas and you team up to give noah a glitter middle part in his hair.
the fest ends up being a blast and you feel so supported by your friends
they all follow around like ducks and ask you questions when they're curious
their favorite parts are the parade and the drag queen performances
you even had them stop at an atm before the fest to get some cash to tip the queens
AHHHH my heart
#noah sebastian x reader#bad omens#bad omens x reader#jolly karlsson x reader#nick folio x reader#nicholas ruffilo x reader
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Grandpa said Austin is a City
Thank you so much for all your likes and rebloggs. I have just recently found my way into the fandom and holy smokes I'm super happy about it. I hope I can do this justice and you'll like what I've come up with.
This is the start of something, not a chapter story but I guess a one shot series featuring snippets from Austin's and the reader's life.
I tried to keep the appearance and description of the reader as vauge as possible, so you guys will be able to come up with your own picture for the reader.
Only thing that I picture while writing, it's a female reader, living in London with her british mother and american father, single mother of two girls Lottie (5) and Millie (3), and two years older than Austin. I wanted to explore that a bit.
Summary: Your daughter is curious about her father, knowing that you always had been the Three Musketeers but then you meet Austin in Hyde Park after your daughter has a run in with the ground. You know, you don't want a relationship, but friendship is a nice start as well.
Words: 3k
Warnings: fluff, some sware words, maybe a few tippos - if so, please let me know
Now with no further ado - enjoy. And please let me know what you think.
Feb. 2022
“Mummy?” Lottie, your four, nearly five year old called from the living area where she had been watching her favorite cartoons. You saw her gaze fixed on the TV, a family of four embracing as they finally found each other again. “Do we have a daddy, too?”
Taking a deep breath, you put the pan down you had just been cleaning. Moving to sit down next to her you were glad Millie was still down for her nap. “Of course, baby, but sometimes Mummies and daddies don’t work out, so there aren’t always two parents.”
“Do you want a daddy to help out so you're not alone anymore?”
Swallowing against the tight feeling in your throat, you pulled your daughter against your side. “What gave you that impression? I thought us girls were the Three Musketeers. Did someone say something at school?”
Lottie shook her head, her blonde curls swinging about her head like ringlets of spun gold. “Nope, but granny said we're a lot to handle on your own and that she'd love to see you have a man in your life again.”
Rolling your eyes, you brushed your hand through her hair. Of course your mother would love nothing more than the idea of a man in your life and the prospect of another grandchild. She loved your girls to death but sometimes she didn't know when to shut up. “Your granny doesn't know what she's saying. Sometimes she's just acting silly.”
“Well, I'd like a daddy someday. Lucy from school said she has two daddies. One is her real daddy and the other one is married to her mummy, but he's not her bi-bigolicl daddy.”
“Biological, honey, and well, sometimes that's how families work.”
Nodding her little head, she turned back to the cartoons and you were left with the aftermath of that conversation. Your ex had left you when Millie was a few months old and since then you were a single mother with two jobs.
Of course you’d want nothing more than a man in your life again, but most often the biggest problem was that they didn’t like you having kids so they didn’t want to be bothered with your plus twos, sometimes the guys were too young for you and other times men were just idiots.
With a sigh you decided to wait for Millie to wake up and take the girls outside. A stroll in the park might do them good and maybe you could have a talk with your own mother to keep these topics for herself.
“What's going on, darling?” Your mum asked, pushing Millies's stroller as you made your way through Hyde Park. The weather had been a bit better now in February, but still cold enough to freeze hands and noses off. You hated it, yet the summer heat of Texas was worse, so you were glad for the little miracles in life. Bundled up, you guys decided that after you'd have a nice cuppa near the Italian Gardens. Your mother loved their pastries.
“Why did you tell Lottie I needed a man?” Your eldest was running a few feet in front of you, the wool bauble on her hat wobbling with every step she took. “We were doing okay until now. She asked about her dad and you know I don't want to talk about him.”
She breathed out a sigh, grabbing your hand. “I'm sorry, darling. You know I didn't mean anything by it, it was just me being silly again.”
“Granny silly.” Millie squealed, throwing her little legs about with a laugh, clapping her hands in delight, though muffled by the gloves she wore.
“Yes, granny is silly, just wants your mummy to be happy again.” your mother said, juggling the stroller slightly to make her squeal some more.
You knew she was just trying to look out for you. “I'm an adult, mum, I can handle the girls and my job. I don't”
“MUMMY!”
Your blood froze, your head whipping around so fast you heard the bones in your neck crack. Lottie's cry sounded muffled in your ears, but your body moved on autopilot.
Your girl was up in the arms of a strange man, crying her eyes out and calling for you.
“Let go of my daughter!” Your call startled the man and he turned towards you. “I'm warning you, I'll be calling the police.”
With a look back towards your mother, you already knew she was just about to do that. Strangers were picking up kids left and right and you would not be the parent that had to file a missing person report for her five year old who was snatched Right from under your nose.
“Woah, jeeze.” He called, his voice sending shivers down your spine before your glare turned on him again, watching as he set Lottie down, putting his hands up in surrender. “I'm sorry, really, there's no need. I saw her fall and tried to calm her down when she cried.”
You pulled your daughter into your arms, hugging her tight and trying to calm her down, your eyes never leaving his face - although you had to admit, this guy had a nice one.
Deep blue eyes, angled jaw, dark gold stubble…
No, nope. Don't go there.
“You okay, baby?”
“I-I fell. And it hurt really bad and then-then Aus helped me up. But it h-hurts so bad and I just wanted you.” Her hiccups and tears made her body jump in your arms.
“Who's Aus, Lottie?”
Rubbing the tears from her eyes with a tiny fist, you wouldn't have been surprised if she gave you one of her famous eye-rolls before an exasperated sigh left her little mouth. “Him.”
You followed her pointed finger and looked into the face of the guy - well, probably man, but yeah - you yelled at only a few moments before. He held up his hand in a two lingered wave with a sheepish smile adorning his full lips.
“He said his name is Austin, but I told him that's a city in Texas. It's where grandpa’s from. So he said I could call him Aus.” She shrugged her shoulders.
Your lips pressed into a tight line, and yet ready to chew him out when your mother stopped behind you. “Oh darling, that was really nice of you. She's a bit of a know-it-all, thanks to her grandpa, isn't that right Charlotte?”
“Mum, really?” You shot a disapproving look at her, knowing well that it would only encourage your children more when your parents were giving them ammunition to be sassy.
“Grandpa said it's good to have a v-va-, ugh, know-it-all.”
The man chuckled and ran his fingers through his dark blonde locks and somehow that made your insides tingle. “It's alright ma'am, I saw her fall and just didn't know if her parents were around. Maybe I could invite”
“Nah, thank you.” You didn't let him finish because you knew how this was going to end. But your life wasn't a Hallmark movie and your mother wasn't allowed to swoon over him like you knew she would. “I'm really glad you were there to catch my daughter and help her out. But we got to go now and you're probably busy anyway.”
“Baby, hey, look what I found.” A soft feminine voice called from behind you and you raised your eyes at him like you had just stated a fact. The young woman flashed him a smile and slung her arms around his waist, fingers gripping the long black peacoat slightly. “Oh, hi. I didn't know you were talking with fans, baby.”
She was either a model or an actress. All gorgeous, tall, young, with luscious hair while you had stuck with your mom style, knowing there wasn't always enough time to look super gorgeous.
Yep, definitely model.
“We are not, well, my daughter fell and your, uh,” you stopped short, not sure how to address him, if they were married or only in the boyfriend-girlfriend stage, so you played it safe like so many people before when you were still dating your ex. “Partner”
Yep, sounds super awkward but what the hell?
“rescued my daughter, she fell and we weren't fast enough.”
“Oh, I hope she's okay?” Concern laced her voice as she smiled at Lottie. Well, your first impression of her seemed to not be true, at least she wasn't stuck up like some others in the industry. “Maybe you guys can join us for a coffee?”
“Ah, n”
“I tried already, she said No.” Austin, as you knee him now shrugged, putting his arms around his girlfriend's shoulder.
Your mother sent you a disapproving look, brushing Millies's blonde curls back under her head. “It was nice of you to consider us, but the little ones need to get back home and we need to take a look at Lottie's knees. Maybe we'll see each other again and can get that cuppa as a thank you then.”
Oh how you loved her, your mother the diplomat. You knew exactly why she sometimes took the reins from you. You were brash and hot headed when you needed out of a situation and this was exactly one of those occasions. It wasn't that you wanted to be rude to him, not at all. He seemed like a super nice guy, but the last super nice guy that made your insides flutter ended up sleeping with his secretary and leaving you with your two wonderful children. So, you steered clear of them and wouldn't encourage any further confrontation, no matter how nice all these would be.
“Hm, yeah, I got to take a look at the knees, but thank you, usually people around here are a pit occupied with themselves.” Leaving no room for further discussion, you motioned your mother to move along and with a last wave at the couple made your way back out of the park.
Your mother tried to keep pace with you, moving the stroller with a sleeping Millie. She watched you carrying Lottie in your arm, her head leaned on your shoulder and your teeth worrying your lips. “You could have taken his offer, you know, acting a bit nicer. It's not like you'd have ended up in a relationship.”
“Mum, please. This is embarrassing enough for me. He’s there with his girlfriend, I don’t think she would have liked having coffee with another woman and her children.”
“No, probably not. But she offered and it wouldn’t have ended in another disaster like you are trying to paint right now.”
With a sigh you brushed your hand over your daughter’s back and watched your youngest sleeping in her stroller. You knew it wasn’t about the coffee offer or even about Austin. It was your own fear. The fear of taking a leap and getting hurt, your angels getting hurt in the end and you tried to keep any potential human away from them and yourself. “I, I just don’t want to spiral into this thing where I think I might have a chance one day and then get hurt again. I’d”
“You’d rather snuff out any kind of butterflies you might get, right?”
Your children were your priority and there was no way in hell that you would let them get hurt by a romance that probably had no future.
May 2022
“You're such a wanker, Trevor! You're supposed to pay child support, it's been four months and I still haven't gotten anything besides your dumb apologies. If you don't have the money, I'll have my lawyer get your ass into gear.”
You were fuming, your insides boiling from all the pent up anger and you felt bad for all the people around you witnessing the volcano inside your body erupt when your ex called you - again - to let you know that he was still lagging in the finance department and you'd get the money later than expected.
Turning to the lady at the counter, you sent her an apologetic look, hoping the other patrons in the cafe would be sympathetic to your display right there. “I'm really sorry about that, I didn't want everyone to have to hear it but, well, yeah.”
“Oh, I get it. My ex husband was the same before I sued him. Now he's as easy as a little lamb.” She chuckled, passing the to-go cup of coffee you ordered with a broad smile. “Hang in there, it's going to get better.”
Let's hope that somehow today is going to get better.
Giving her a tight lipped smile, you turned around to leave only to run smack into a broad body.
Oh no.
“Shit.”
“Fuck.”
Taking a deep breath, you turned your head up looking into those blue eyes you’d last seen a few months ago. Of course it had to be him, what were the odds.
Just that morning your mother had told you about the movie and that she recognized Lottie's Austin in the trailer. Now here you were, staring at each other in the Parcafé, part of the Dorchester Hotel. Your best guess was, that he was there on business and staying at the hotel but he was the last person you'd thought you'd run into.
Biting your lip you saw your much needed cup of coffee having spilled all over his shirt - that probably cost more than your rent - and running down his arms. “I, oh my, I’m so sorry.” Grabbing the napkins from the tray beside you, you started patting down his top half.
What a nice one it was.
Nope! Don’t go there, you’re in enough trouble already.
“Hey,” Austin’s hand stopped yours. “It’s okay, I’ll just get it cleaned. You alright?”
Blinking your hand froze mid wipe. “I-I, I spilled my coffee on you, not the other way around.”
He shook his head, his dark blonde locks moving lightly into his face. It felt like an eternity until you were able to look away. Grabbing your hand, he pulled you to the side letting other guests pass you after they complained about you blocking the entrance. “Hey, it’s fine but maybe now I can call you something else besides ‘Lottie’s mom’ when I talk to you.”
Fuck, why is he so nice? I can't get attached, damn it.
Pressing your lips together, you debated in just ignoring it but you remembered what your mother said before. Just because you're nice doesn't mean you'll end up in a relationship.
“I can call you sweetheart or darlin’ if you prefer that to me actually using your name.” His voice was low, soft and rumbled through your body as he spoke, making your skin prickle.
No wonder his girlfriend was so smitten with him.
You took a deep breath, lips parting and your body on autopilot leaned closer to him, ready to either answer him or kiss him, you weren't sure yet what you really were going to do.
“Yo, Austin! You ready to head out?”
“Damn it.” He turned, nodding at his friend before he gave you another smile of his, his blue eyes glinting. “Listen, tonight’s the premiere of Elvis, come with your girls and bring your parents. I’d love to talk some more.”
“Austin.” You choked, eyes widening at his words. “I don’t, is that even possible? You don’t need to do that.”
Smiling, he grabbed your hand. “No I don’t need to, but I want to. It’s going to be fun, I promise.”
Before you could respond, he already gave you his phone, asking you to put in your name. Thanking you with a kiss on your cheek and a promise to send you all the info you need, he walked out with the other man and left you standing in the café, the woman behind the counter giving you a shy smile. “Oh darling, you know, if a guy was looking that good and asking me to come to a party, I’d not hesitate and get dolled up for him.”
Sending her a tight lipped smile, you just nodded and left the café. Your mother was going to have a field day with that. And you guessed the girls would enjoy the music with your dad always playing Elvis for them whenever he could.
“Mummy, look! There’s Austin!” Lottie yelled, jumping happily when she saw the actor.
You had to admit, he looked amazing in the white suit jacket, undershirt and slacks he wore, smiling brightly as he entered the BFI Southbank with Tom Hanks and the director of the movie. Looking up, he spotted you standing off to the side. He excused himself and made his way through the throng of people and stopped right in front of your girls, crouching down to be eye level with them and holding his hands out for Lottie and Millie to take.
Gosh, is there anything he's not perfect at?
“Wow, look at you beauties. Your mom already said you were super excited to come.”
“Uhuh, grandpa always listens to Elvis and we usually watch Lilo and Stitch on the weekends so we can sing with him.”
You shook your head slightly with a smile on your face. They were so excited to be there and see the movie ever since your mother showed them the trailer to Elvis. “Austin?” He looked up at you, watching as your fingers knotted and relaxed with anxiety. Humming, the actor got up and grabbed your hand. It was nothing romantic, even though the look on his face could have easily been mistaken for something like that. “Thank you for inviting us. My father is super excited and the girls already love it so much from just seeing those posters.”
“I’m glad you came. You know I feared I scared you off today.”
“Well, I never thought I’d run into you again, but here we are. Seems to be some kind of fate.”
He smirked, putting his arm around your shoulder and moving the girls and you to meet the rest of the cast. You had to admit that you were glad to run into Austin, even though you always tried to tell everyone otherwise. He was a great guy, down to earth and super sweet. Somebody that was going to be a great friend for a long while.
Divider @cafekitsune
Tagging @fortheloveoffanfic
#austin butler x reader#austin butler fanfiction#austin butler imagine#austin butler#austin butler fluff#austin butler fanfic#rpf#reader insert#fanfic#imagine
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Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.
SOMETIMES, you'd like to know who your mother was before she became your mother.
You want to know where the acidic and corrosive elements that precede each of her statements come from. Perhaps she acquired it from your father—someone even more poisonous than she was. However, from how it blended with her expression every time she said: “a man’s heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing!” you can't be convinced otherwise that before she met your father, she wasn't like that—that she was once a loving girl before he wrecked her and made her your vengeful mother.
Time heals all wounds, they say. And yet, as far as you know, your mother's is still dripping with blood. Rotten. Maggot infested.
You believed it was exactly what she wanted—so that it wouldn't heal, so that she wouldn't forget how much it burned and constricted her. Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it, and she will undoubtedly carry it with her until death. “A man's heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing,” she says, as if she's sure you'll forget what happened to her—to both of you. As if losing the love of her life was hereditary. “Don't you see, sweetheart? We are a paradox of contrasts and twins.”
You're still wondering whether it was a warning or a prayer. Good mothers ensure with all their body and soul that the past does not repeat itself, that their daughters do not embody everything they might become – their mothers. God forbid they dragged themselves across the floor, trembling fingers stretched stiffly clawing at doors that had been long since being slammed shut. However, your mother wasn’t always a good mother, and she often swore over her mother's grave that you would feel the same way she did.
And yet, despite her curses and how much you hate her as much as you hate your deadbeat father, apparently a sense of familiarity is what you're searching for.
Perhaps, that’s what made him catch your eye.
Soft footsteps were created when several pairs of ballerina pointe shoes came down the hallway after the performance ended. Smiles and laughter were among them—a familiar sight; the audience was satisfied with their performance, and they were sure that the ballet director had no more notes for them because, firstly, Marie, the main ballerina in the role of Giselle, had become the center of conversation thanks to her gifted movements, leaving no room for talking about little "building" errors for the other dancers. Second, this season has reached its end, which means they won't be showing "Giselle" again for at least the next few months.
“I saw you sneak chocolates before the show, El.” One ballerina teased.
“They're for energy!” Eloise insisted with a grin.
The ornaments on their heads moved as they both laughed. You flashed a smile but didn't dare enter into the conversation. Satin-clad feet kept moving in the direction of the corps de ballet dressing room door. More laughter and gossip ensued as you passed through the door to the small vanity you shared with another dancer.
"So where are you going after this?" someone at the next table asked, not at you.
You turned around, periodically glancing in the mirror to wipe away the last traces of makeup. "I don't know! Somewhere that can help me relieve stress, obviously. Soph?” Claudine directed her question at another, still not you.
“Sorry, girls, but I have to sit this one out. My mamma has been protesting about me coming home late lately ever since she saw some protests on TV. You two have fun without me.” Sophia declines—that leaves Jules and Claudine alone then. You were ready to return to your own thoughts when Sophia's hazel eyes fixed on you and called your name. "What about you?"
Claudine turned to you, her lips forming a teasing smirk. “Gonna go home and practice some more, no doubt,” she teased. “Live a little for once! Come out with us.”
You focused on untying your pointe shoes while the other two laughed. “No thanks, I'm tired. Think I'll just relax tonight.”
Rather than a teasing smirk, now Claudine's lips resembled a declaration that she was correct once more: "Look, I'm right, aren't I? She's still the same boring girl. No surprise that the best role she can get is dancing as a leaf in the background." It's no longer a myth. It is no longer a myth that other dancers—old and new—only see a robot prodigy, soulless in her single-minded pursuit of perfection. Your movements were full of precision, tempered by years of being under the training of a Russian coach your mother sought out for you. And yet your body is sharpened for nothing more than the purpose of being a vessel. Hushed jokes about you selling your soul to the devil for your skills.
“Aww, not even for one night? Loosen up that tight bun of yours?”
You shoved the last of your things hastily into your bag, not paying attention as someone else's hairbrush and chapstick were forced to sit on top of your toiletry bag—you can always return them tomorrow. The other girls are still laughing while you swing the overstuffed duffel over your shoulder.
“Goodnight,” you say tensely, clutching the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white. Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your shoes and hurried out of the dressing room, their taunts echoing in your ears.
London streets glistened wetly as you made your way down the sidewalk. The recent rain left dark spots on the pavement. You pull your coat tighter around you, shivering in the damp night air. As you passed a rowdy pub, loud voices and laughter spilled out onto the street. Warm light and the smell of beer beckoned from within, but you hurried on without glancing in, not wanting to face anyone's eyes.
The entrance to the subway glimmers under the streetlamps. You descend the stairs slowly, your shoes clicking on the concrete steps. The underground platform was nearly empty at this late hour. A lone figure dozed on one of the wooden benches, and a teenage couple whispered together further down the tiles. Your eyes roam over the tiled walls and ads for shows you'd never see—anything to avoid looking at other people and risking a confrontation.
The screech of brakes announces the arrival of your train, followed by beams of lights illuminating the dark tunnel. You boarded the mostly empty carriage and sat down, watching the dark tunnel walls pass by. On the opposite side, your weary reflection in the glass glances back at you.
Soulless.
Soulless ballerina.
TWENTY-THREE YEARS HAVE GONE BY: Thirteen times, you were part of the corps de ballet in Swan Lake. And now, the new director—whom they “imported” directly from somewhere in France to replace the old one—announces that the next season will be Swan Lake. You don't have anything against it—why should you? Thirteen times. Thirteen times in the corps de ballet, and this time will make no difference to you; just another faceless dancer in the flock, never the Swan Queen—they wouldn't risk a soulless ballerina in the spotlight. But wouldn't audiences grow bored of the same classic retold so often?
"Now now, I know you are all tired of this ballet," he said calmly. "But we will be doing something different - a new interpretation, with a fresh artistic vision. This will be Swan Lake as you have never seen it before. Rehearsals will focus on bringing new emotional depth and dimensionality to these iconic roles. Who knows – maybe some new faces will emerge for leading roles. I’m looking forward to seeing what you all can do. Now let us begin."
The familiar piano notes of our warm-up piece drifted through the studio as you took your place at the barre, fingers curling around the worn wood. You close your eyes and focus on steadying your breathing. Even when your muscles hurt from fatigue, you persist through well-known stretching exercises with a focused effort. Your eyelids flutter open, and out of the corner of your eye, you see the new director watching silently at the edge, his sharp eyes taking in each dancer.
“One.. and.. two.. and..”
As you move on to tendus and plies, you let the rhythm of the count wash over you – “.. three.. and.. four.. and..” Your burning thighs, your stretching calves, your flexing toes. "First position...and plié. Second position...and tendu. Third position...and rond de jambe." and the coach's familiar count. Your mind wanders as the dancers continue, thinking about the director's words about seeking new depths. Stealing a glance through the mirror, your eyes returned to the man—his ringed fingers in front of his lips as he pondered.
The music continues to play, swelling with a crescendo. You concentrate on your movements again, lifting your legs high according to standard and extending your lines through fingertips.
You found your eyes drifting to the director's reflection in the mirror more and more. The coach's voice faded into a blur as you studied his intense expression, watching for any sign of interest or approval. But time and again, his gaze passed over you without pause, lingering instead on Claire or Amelia as they executed perfect pirouettes or graceful penche poses. A familiar ache of longing and envy twisted in your stomach. No matter how hard you focused or how flawlessly you hit each position, you remained invisible to him.
Your breaths are shallow, and your head is whirling. Your eyes couldn't stop following him; he was walking around watching dancers who weren't you. He spoke to the coach, then stepped back with his hands linked behind his back. Still not you. As the music nears the end and the dancers have transitioned into combination movements, he still doesn't look at you.
You know the truth: this will be your fourteenth Swan Lake, and you will once again blend into the anonymous corps de ballet. The reflection of a woman in the mirror—your reflection, somber with lifeless eyes and dull hair pulled back in tight bun. The director stated that he wanted to bring forth new depths and emotional aspects to distinguish his Swan Lake from those of other opera houses, therefore it's fitting that he didn't choose you. As an empty ache expands in your chest, you accept the truth: this is your fourteenth Swan Lake, being another swan for the fourteenth time.
The director won’t choose you.
He won't choose you.
He won't choose...
You.
He chose you. You don't know why or how.
An hour later, you find yourself standing in Studio A, facing uncertainly across the hardwood floor. Five of the girls sat at the end of the room while the director watched Claire give her interpretation of Odette in her white swan act. You watch her movements critically, noting the slight wobble in her lower back and how her port de bras could be straighter. Her pirouettes needed more control and spotting—you counted two extra turns that threw off her balance. Then she launched into the black swan's sinister variations. Gone was the white swan, replaced by a vixenish temptress oozing sensuality from her pores. The director made a few thoughtful comments you didn't quite catch before dismissing her.
The director breathed out your name and you were quick on your feet. He crossed his arms over his chest as you took your place in the center. You looked at the girls behind you through the mirror reflection, then at the director, then signaled the pianist to begin.
The famous White Swan melody plays, and you start. Plie, tendu, glissade—your limbs moved through the steps as they had a thousand times, polished, technically perfect. Your movements rely on muscle memory, analyzing your every move through a critical lens. First pose: left arm extended, back straight, neck long. Check. The second one: right leg stretched to the sky, toes pointed to the max. But was your ankle tilted just now? You furrowed your brows while making a mental note to adjust. Entering another glissade, you land on the ball of my foot, keeping your plie low. One.. and.. two. You count the seconds, nitpicking any imperfections.
“Slow down, dear, find your breath.” The director's voice cuts through your thoughts. Find your breath? You were in complete control of your breathing, hitting every mark precisely as the music demanded. What more should you find?
You barreled ahead through the choreography, unwilling to let up on your own rigid standards even as he continued offering feedback. "Loosen your shoulders...savor each moment rather than rushing to the next...let us see you feel the music, not just hear it."
But you are feeling it. You feel every crescendo and decrescendo—you stay in rhythm with the music as the score enters the ritardando section. How could he say you didn't feel the music when you lived and breathed each score? You knew this piece inside and out. From the opening notes, you have remembered not just the choreography but every key change and tempo variation. By the time you sank into your final pose, you were a bundle of nerves.
“Your technique is superb, but so tightly wound,” the director said. “Try to loosen up your lines and embrace the artistry, not just the steps. Now, show me your Black Swan.”
As the dark notes of the Black Swan coda swirl, you pour all your focus into hitting each precise movement with flawless technique. You arch into an arabesque, extending your working leg to the maximum while maintaining perfect turnout. Your spot was fixed, and your balance was unwavering. You continue through the practiced motions, and you fly into your final fouetté combo. As the last note faded, you struck your ending pose.
Slowly, you straightened your body and lifted your gaze to meet his, pressing your sweaty palms together tightly. The director remained silent, hand in front of his mouth, and looked you up and down in a way that made you want to flee. But, you restrained yourself, waiting patiently for his consideration. The pressure in the room was so intense that it made you suffocate.
After what felt like eternity, he gave a small nod – neither acceptance nor rejection. “Thank you, Mademoiselle, that was… illuminating. Please check the cast list tomorrow morning – we will announce our decisions then.”
The compliment is ambiguous, with two implications that you know tend toward the negative. Your anxiety failed to calm down, and all you could muster was a hushed thank you before you left the studio in a daze, questions still swirling around unanswered like always.
Now here you are, unfortunate enough to be under the wailing sky of London with minimal cover from a shuttered cafe. The dense fog and wind impede your eyesight, making it difficult to see the towering structures. On the left side, several cafes and pubs radiate their orange lights from within, beckoning anyone in need of somewhere to go for a quick drink or two. Anyone but you, apparently.
The city streets felt hauntingly deserted through the deluge of falling water. Shivering even in your coat and tights, you knelt down and tightened your scarf. Puddles of water begin to form in the potholes, and you desperately hope that the rain will stop soon; you still have a long ride home on the subway to prepare for tomorrow.
Just then, a splash of heavy footsteps caught your attention.
Through the sheets of rainfall, you glimpsed a tall figure hurrying down the sidewalk, taking in what little details you could discern. His leather jacket and boots, yet the way he hunched his broad shoulders against the storm conveyed a certain roughness. You squinted to make out his face, only to find it covered by a mask and a hood pulled too low. It's unsettling, but disturbingly, it makes you enthusiastically guess what lies beneath it—was he handsome or scarred? Young or weathered by experience? It intrigued you so much that you didn't realize he was only three steps away from you.
As the stranger approaches, you take more details that should have set off alarms. His all-black leather jacket may have been fine material, but it was worn and faded. And although broad-shouldered, his build spoke more of hardened muscle than gentility. Everything about him screams danger. When he drew up beside you, you intended to duck past and continue on your way.
But something held you rooted to the spot.
Now, two strangers stood side by side, between them were raindrops dragged cruelly by the cold wind. His towering figure was as still as a statue; for a man his size, he was skilled enough to be almost invisible, almost. The scent of him washed over you then—alcohol, but not the refined wines and spirits of high society. This was something rougher, meant to burn away thought rather than enhance it. Beneath that, cigarette smoke and a musky men’s cologne, attempting to cover something.
The man is still silent, and you should've taken this as your second chance to leave. There are only two possibilities for a man like him: a perverted stalker or a serial killer—most likely the latter, because for what reason would he decide to take shelter under the awning of a dark bankrupt cafe with a woman when the surrounding pubs are still serving happy hour?
While the stranger settles against the wall, you notice his large hand drift casually into his pants pocket. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in panic wondering what weapon he might pull out – a knife, or worse. All instincts screamed to run away, but your feet remained rooted to the ground, frozen.
“Nasty night.”
Your body comes to a complete stop. The air is forgotten, and you wonder if you really heard him speak just now or if you were just hallucinating. He has a roughness to his voice, gravels, and a low range with a hint of timbre muffled by his dark mask. Unknowingly turning toward him, you stared at his side profile until he met your gaze, and you swiftly looked straight forward again.
“Uh, y-yes, quite a storm,” You stuttered in reply, cursing your trembling voice. Gripping your duffel bag tighter, you tried not to say anything that might offend him.
Minutes pass, the rain as the only noise. Finally, he spoke again, "Subway, yeah?" Between the sound of the rain and his muffled ones, you tried hard to make out what he was saying. After fully understanding it, you give it a nod.
“Yes, the subway. Though it may be closed by now with the weather.”
The man pulled out a pack of cigarettes. From the corner of your eye, you knew he was taking off his mask. Your heart beats fast as you resist the urge to turn your head, settling to look at the dark street in front of you instead. Smoke wafts between you both, creating faint, short-lived tendrils in the air.
The two of you were in silence. You wanted to talk to him again but didn't know what there was to say; it could be that he just wants to smoke with a company, a quiet company. He let out a puff of fresh cigarette smoke, and you inhaled it all. Toxins are bad for the skin and lungs, and yet you're better off suffocating than giving the impression that you're disturbed.
“Subway's closed, like you said. No sense waiting in the wet.” He took the last drag and threw the cigarette butt into the gutter. “Come on then. Pub's the best place for now.” His voice muffled again – he had put his mask back on.
You hesitated at his offer, biting your lip as you weighed the options rapidly in your mind. On one hand, the rain shows no signs of letting up, and this awning provides only a little protection at best. But to follow a strange man through the streets, alone, allowing him to take you to a spot where inebriation may be present—where his worst pals might be waiting. Girls your age being spiked is something you hear about a lot.
Shaking your head, you manage a small smile. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I'll be right here. Best not to trouble you further on such a night.”
He tilts his head, his eyes peering from the mask's shadows as if reading your unspoken fears. Does he see the consideration behind your polite refusal—how now you are a vulnerable woman, and this relative anonymity without further conversation is a safe option, despite the discomfort? Within his dark eyes, there was a stirring that you didn't understand. Pity? Or mockery? Under his towering height and massive body, you were nothing but a frightened rabbit.
Gusts of wind drive cold droplets under the awning. You suppressed a shiver, hugging yourself tighter. “Really, I'll be fine. The rain can't last forever." A forced laugh follows your words.
You seize the chance to stare back at him. It was impossible for you to know what calculations were going through his mind, or what emotion lay beneath that mask. It's pretty unfair, you think, that he can hide under a hood that nearly makes him invisible in the dark of night while he can see all of you—a greasy-haired woman hoping the man in front of her will respect her dumb decision. It's the least he can do.
Just when you think this staring game would go on for another minute, he turns his gaze. “Suit yourself, love.” His voice comes out gruff, and your heart drops thinking you've let him down (but, for what?). "But you'll catch your death waiting in the rain."
A pang of guilt crashes into you as he turns his shoe the other way. For safety's sake, you rejected him, thinking you're being sensible; but there's an authoritative voice in the back of your mind telling you, "He's the first nice guy in a long time, and look what you gave in exchange for his kind offer." Self-doubt is playing in your heart. His back was already turning, boots squelching away into the rain.
“Wait!” You called after him, hating how small and frightened you sounded. He paused and searched back, eyes questioning through the mask. Steeling your nerves, you step into the downpour. “I'm coming with you.”
If this guy thinks you're an indecisive woman who can't even commit to a decision for more than five seconds, thank goodness he didn't say anything other than give you another stare. He led the way as he went, holding the door of one of the busy London pubs. More liquor and tobacco smells. You both entered, bringing a burst of damp wind with you. The warmth and noise within are a shock after the storm outside.
He steers you towards the fireplace, shrugging out of his soaked jacket. “Get yourself by the hearth,” he said, nodding to an empty chair. “Dry off.”
You did as he said gratefully, holding your hands out to the flames. The colors returned to your cheeks; fear slowly evaporated away.
“What'll you have, love?” He asked, and you frowned before understanding. Oh, drinks.
“Something light,” is all you say, eyes lowered again. The man gave a nod and went to give the bartender the order.
He returned not long after, setting the drinks down and taking the chair opposite to yours, stretching out his long legs toward the fire. You took the gin with a murmured “thank you.” He settled with his own—whiskey in a glass, neat. You glanced at the remains of rainwater dripping heavily from his clothes in a growing puddle at his boots. The drinks were enjoyed in companionable silence, still trying to find calm after the storm's fury.
The fire crackles merrily as you sit. Finding your voice, you clear your throat gently.
“Thank you, for…” Your fingers tapped nervously on the glass. “Well, for everything, I suppose.”
His eyes lifted from the flames to meet yours, and you offered a small smile. “I’m (Y/N).”
As the name slips out, you berate yourself. How stupid, giving up something as personal as your name! This man was still a stranger, no matter his kindness so far. For all you know, bad intentions could be lurking behind that calm gaze even now. But in the cozy glow of the fire, your sense of awareness wavered, lulled to sleep in a false sense of security.
He merely nodded, moving his hand to the mask hook over his ear without expressing much emotion. Your eyes widened, and your heart was pounding. The breath in your lungs stilled in anticipation as the fabric peeled slowly back, inch by inch. Is he about to...?
The man removed his mask, appearing at ease and lacking in secrecy. He looks at you, and you quickly look aside, pretending to offer him a little privacy. You wait for him to finish, to put it on again, but he never does. Is it okay to look-
Deciding to no longer be the uneasy one (since the guy looks completely unconcerned as he takes a long sip of his drink), you follow suit and allow the liquid to cascade down your throat. There's a slight thump as your glass hits the aged wood. Your curiosity is piqued even more by the fact that he hasn't made any moves to wear it again. Slowly, you raised your gaze, meeting that unveiled gaze – a secret not meant for your eyes.
Blonde eyelashes – pretty. Faint shadows hung under the eyes. Light stubble. Scars dotted his jaw, thin white slashes earned from unknown origins. His nose sat slightly off-center, clearly broken more than once in past altercations—bar fights, perhaps? Though something about the precise thinness of the lines didn't seem right for brawling. Regardless of which one, he is clearly no stranger to violence, and being near him is enough for someone to sense the danger he was capable of.
But, there is something about that powerful jawline, the intensity found only in his hooded eyes, spokes of steel and intricate details that defy explanation. Fire in his eyes. Even after taking off the mask and grasping it between his lengthy fingers—just when you think all the curtains have been exposed—he still remains a mystery.
(And you're just another gullible woman who believes she knows how to solve the puzzle.)
You wait; surely he will offer his own name in return now that you've bared yours. But seconds ticked by in the silence, and still he said nothing.
A flush crept up your neck at the realization that he had no intention of reciprocating. Did you misread this entire meeting? Why did he bring you here if not to talk? You observe his stony profile, wishing you could see past him. Did he intend to remain a mystery—an enigma full of intrigue? Or is it actually a test to see how long your curiosity can last?
Your fingers fidget with the condensation on your glass. Under this new tension, the easy silence fell away. Seeking an escape from the awkwardness, you looked for something, anything. Your gaze landed on a group of regulars in the corner, laughing boisterously.
“Do you, um, come here often?” You ask lamely, cursing your inability to make small talk. But there was an amused glint in his eyes that put you back at ease.
“Aye, I'm 'ere often enough,” he replied, taking another sip. You assume he finds humor in your discomfort, rather than mocking it. The knot in your shoulders loosened, and you relaxed into a smile again.
For good or ill, this man stirred something deep inside you—and you're desperate to scavenge for light, safe conversation topics to continue the conversation.
“So, um, what kind of work do you—” You catch yourself, cheeks warming. Too personal to ask a stranger met by chance. You let out a dry laugh. “Sorry, I don't mean to pry. It’s just… making conversation.”
At the small thud of his glass meeting the scarred wood of the table, your eyes darted up in surprise. Already empty—have you been so lost in thought that you missed him finishing? A swell of questions rose inside you as you watched his movements for a clue. Would he signal the bartender for a refill, extending your time together? Or was this the end—the strange encounter came to a close because you somehow offended him for prying too much?
“Military.”
Unexpectedly, he gave a single-word reply. Military—that explains a lot, from his physique and bearing to the scars and the lingering scents that cling to his coat.
"Oh!" was all you could think of as a response. More questions swim to the surface, demanding to be asked, but you quash them, not wanting to risk being presumptuous a second time.
Feeling indebted, you then offer, "I do ballet, with the Metropolitan Opera." The words slip out before you can check them, and inwardly you curse yourself once again.
Great. Name, job, and workplace. Why don't you give him your address next?
You bit your lip. Risking a glance up, you hope he won't take your openness as foolishness. His quiet acceptance has so far calmed your nerves, and now you find yourself craving that ease again.
“Must be rewarding,” is all he offers—you grow accustomed to his terse responses. Plain, perhaps even half-hearted, but you smile as though he had read you a lovely poetry full of flattery.
“Yeah, it's really rewarding to dance and like, share that joy with others.”
Liar. What can a soulless ballerina have to share? So far, frustration is what you inflict on your director, and criticism is secretly a “reward” for your fellow dancers. You understand perfectly well, from the top of your head to the balls of your toes, that there is no joy that you can share. However, this man didn't know. He doesn't know who or how you are. Since the very beginning, you have spoken truth to him; allow this one deception to pass.
Your fingertips made a gentle squeak as they rubbed across the condensation on your glass. “If I may ask… what inspired you to serve?”
For a moment, he was quiet, considering with eyes turned to the flames.
"It was a calling, I suppose," came the gruff reply. “The world had its darkness even then. Felt a duty to stand against it.”
After providing an answer, the two of you returned to silence. You gazed thoughtfully into the flames, thinking of how you might spark another conversation that didn't rely solely on question and answer. The last thing you want is for him to view you as overbearing or pushy.
“What drew you to ballet, then?”
It was unexpected for him to pose a question, and you were taken aback when he did. Your lips curved into a smile as you thought about the answer, and your mother's role in starting it all.
"Well, I think it started because Mom thought ballet was 'cute'." A tone of amusement permeates your voice. “She had no idea about the art or discipline—she just wanted to see her little girl swirl and spin in frilly costumes. But I had fun dancing, dressing up, and listening to the music...”
Somewhere in your head, your mother's voice echoes again. Bitter and resentful, encased in an everlasting nightmare. Your mother stood in the audience, and you ran towards her, tutu skirt fluttering gently. She wiped her eyes and knelt down in front of you, whispering, "You were marvelous, sweetheart," as she drew you in. She smiles, but it stops short of her eyes. Then a string of apologies, saying that he’s gone—that she knew he had promised you to be here, but he's gone. Dad is gone. And he'll never see what you can do.
“My first real performance, in elementary school… I was so proud when the curtain fell.” You continue, remembering another face that has long been a ghost in the past.
("Why did you let that man walk away?")
You clear your throat softly. “After that, it just felt right, you know? Like I'd found where I belong.”
Liar.
Steering away from the bitter past, you change the direction of the conversation again. “Are you from around here?” It's a simple question, maybe even stupid. His accent alone makes it plain he grew up in this land, but, no matter how long you've lived in England, you have a small grasp of regional dialects within the country.
“I mean, I know you're obviously from here—your accent kind of gives it away.” You waved. “I just meant—is this area home for you? Or are you from elsewhere originally?”
The barest upturn of his lips catches your eye. Was that a smile? On this gruff, grumpy stranger who has only revealed so little so far? Your heart beats at the sight, rare as a summer snowflake. He reached into his pocket, took out a cigarette, and held it between his dry lips. The lighter ignited, and white smoke was blown out.
“Manchester, originally,” he said, intonation hanging. He took another drag of his cigarette before exhaling slowly and adding, “A different world now. You?”
“I've been in the city for years now, but I'm from San Francisco.” You said. “When the chance came up to transfer here from my old opera house back home, I leapt at it. Felt it was time for a fresh start, to spread my wings and live on my own. And maybe get out from under my mom's feet—love her to bits, but she can be a bit much sometimes.”
From your own remarks, you can't help but question if mothers are as harsh on their sons or if this is solely reserved for daughters. Girls are taught to keep close to home and their hearts, while boys are free to roam and explore. Is it any wonder, then, that spreading your wings felt like escaping? You wanted to ask him but ended up lacing your tongue tightly.
The fire's burned low, just embers burning gently in the fireplace. Time passed unnoticed as the two of you sat chatting quietly. But outside, the rain began to subside until it was a fine patter on the roof.
“Storm’s passed, seems.”
As he speaks, you glance up to find his guarded mask has fallen once more into place. The easy openness that had soothed tired nerves now closed again – strangely making you bereft. A feeling of melancholy welled up in your chest at the thought of parting, of kissing away the intimate bubble the two of you had crafted and going back out there into the cold reality where you would be strangers again. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap as you searched for words.
“I suppose you're right… it has eased off some.” Your voice came out small and awkward to your own ears. Licking your dry lips, you added, “thank you, for your company. It was…nice, not to feel alone.”
He stood up, stretching his tall frame. After this, the spell of the evening will evaporate, and everything will return to the reality of loneliness once again.
“C'mon then, let's get you home,” he said gruffly, offering a hand to help you up. His strong hand envelops your smaller one—rough yet tender, sending warmth through your limbs that have little to do with the fire now dying.
Pushing through the heavy doors, the night air is a contrast to the warmth of the pub. Thick fog covered the streets, rain-slick stones glistening under the street lights. He waved at the first cab that passed—and you prayed it wouldn't stop so you could buy a little more time with him.
It stopped. The night was set to end.
He holds it while you slip inside. Through the open window, your eyes met his; he crouched beside the window, broad shoulders hunched. He's talking to the cab driver, but you can't hear it—not when your heart flutters madly in your breast over a single question. The ache of still not knowing his name. It seems wrong, unfair, that he knows you so well, yet you know nothing of him in return.
The cab lurches into motion, snapping the spell. Panic rises in your throat; you can't let him disappear into the night—to the back of your head like another passerby.
“Wait—please! I don't know your name."
Before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out in a desperate rush.
The second ticks by as you wait. He finds you foolish, for sure—just another desperate, nosy girl who wants to play detective the second she sees a puzzle. The clinginess in your request must have given the impression that you were a fool in love—gullible and name-obsessed.
Something shifts in his dark eyes, and you hope it's a wall crumbling away. Then, in his low rumble – “Simon.”
Your eyebrows furrowed, almost parting your lips in question before—
“Name's Simon,” he repeats.
(And the sun breaks through storm clouds.)
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First Impression
Summary: You and Cooper met for the first time, the feeling is electric and your chemistry is undeniable. You want to be professional but you can’t help the feelings he gives you with his charms.
A/N: I’m so excited for the future chapters. The build up is honestly killing me because I just want all the love and feels. But I promise the wait will be worth it, especially since that carriage scene (iykyk) has been stuck in my head when writing this story.
No warnings still.
Walking into the studio that day was a little nerve wracking. You were dressed up in your favorite pink dress, making sure to make a good first impression with the studio executives. Today was your first meeting with everyone. The cast and crew getting together to go over how filming will go. When everyone's schedule was and where everyone needed to be on what day.
You were busy looking around the studio's lobby when someone came walking up to you. You turned and flashed your brightest smile as you shook hands with the young man.
“Good afternoon Miss. L/N. My name is David and I will be your assistant on this film.”
“Well hello David please just call me Y/N.”
He smiled at you before pulling his hand away to motion down the hall.
“Alright Y/N. We're all meeting down in this conference room. It's mostly the actors for right now but everyone will meet on the set in studio one, cast and crew.”
You nodded along as he lead you down into the conference room. The door was slightly open so you can hear all the voices talking inside. You took in a deep breath before you walked through the door with David following behind.
“Here she is ladies and gentlemen. Our fabulous Y/N has graced us with her presence.”
You smiled as the man at the head of the table stood to walk to you. He brought your hand up to hold close to his chest as you giggled at his praise.
“My dear you are perfect for this part. I am so excited to have you playing Eleanor. I told the studio that I would have no other person for the part and if it wasn't you I wouldn't direct the movie.”
“Oh,” you realized that this man was the director, “you must be Tim. I am so excited to be apart of your movie. When I read the script I fell in love with the story.”
He smiled and waved his hand like your compliments were making him embarrassed. He gestured around the room and introduced you to everyone. He introduced you to James, a rival to your love interest; Elizabeth, who was playing your friend in the movie; and a few others.
“And finally the man of the hour.”
You gasped as the last man stood and flashed a bright smile to you.
“Cooper Howard! I am such a big fan of yours,” you gushed as you shook his hand. You felt yourself get a little red as he chuckled, realizing you were probably embarrassing yourself. You realized you were still shaking his hand, you went to pull it away when he surprised you. He brought your hand up and leaning over a little, brushing his lips against your knuckles.
“I'm honored to have such a big fan,” he pressed a kiss to them before standing upright, almost towering over you. “Especially one so pretty like yourself.”
Your mouth fell open a little as you felt yourself get a little heated at his intense stare. Tim slapped his shoulder with a laugh before gesturing to a chair next to Cooper's. Cooper pulled it out for you and you said a small thank you as you moved quickly to sit. You cleared your throat as you settled in and took a quick peek to see if anyone was looking at you after that introduction. Thankfully, everyone was already looking at Tim as he started going into depth about the movies story and how he wanted the next few months to go.
“Alright now that we have a planned schedule I think it's time for lunch,” Timm glances at the watch on his wrist. “Then we'll meet in Studio One to get with the crew. After that you'll all be shown to your trailers and we'll call it a day.”
Everyone stood and left in their little groups. You went to stand before a hand caught your arm, you turned as Cooper stood and placed his hands on the back of your chair, pulling it back to help you out. You blushed as you thanked him and took his hand in yours.
“Everyone kind of left in a hurry,” he spoke as he lead you out the door. You took note how you were still holding his hand as he walked you both out. “Would you like to grab lunch with me? We can talk about how we want our characters to interact.”
You blinked up at him as your brain took a moment to process. Lunch. With him. Yes, you would like to have lunch with him. You gave him a small smile as he stopped and looked at you for an answer.
“I think that's an excellent idea Mr. Howard.”
He gave you a chuckle as he opened the door to lead outside, this time placing his hand in the small of your back to guide you out.
“Please sweetheart. We're going to be working very closely together, just call me Cooper.”
You turned your head to stare up at him as you spoke in a soft voice, “alright Cooper. I would like to have lunch with you.”
You swear his eyes darted down to your lips but as soon as you blinked he was pushing you forward to walk over to the little cafeteria that everyone was headed to. As you entered, you noticed a lot of people were looking at the two of you and whispering to each other. You ignored that as you walked forward and grabbed a sandwich and some cut up fruit with a water bottle.
You know what everyone was whispering about. Everyone has heard of Cooper Howard and the nastiness of his divorce and the roles he's lost. The rumors that flowed through Hollywood and into offices. Your agent, Amelia Evans, even gossiping with you about it. But you were never one to judge someone, especially in such situations that you have never experienced. So you decided to not listen to others opinions and get to know Cooper.
As you turned to choose a table you didn't like how loud and cramped it felt, so you decided to enjoy the sunshine and sit outside. You could feel a few stares as you walked toward the door, a hand shooting out to grab rhe handle.
“Let me get that for you sweetheart.” Cooper murmured close to your ear, making you shiver at how close he was to you. He followed you out to a table and again pulled out your seat.
“You really don't have to be so nice Cooper,” you muttered as you glanced at your fruit cup. He sent a charming smile to you as he sat across from you.
“My momma taught me that I should always be respectful and a gentleman to everyone, especially to women.”
“Well I would like to thank her for raising such a respectful man.”
You smiled at his explanation and took a bite out of your sandwich, the both of you eating in peaceful silence. You thought that you would be awkward around the actor, especially with how famous and older he is, but you were quite comfortable around him.
”I’m surprised you wanted to eat with me.”
That brought your thoughts to a halt as he said that. You gave him a confused look as you took a sip of water. He was avoiding your gaze at this point so you spoke up.
”Why is that Cooper?”
”Well, with everything that happened.” He brought his hand up to gesture to himself. “I ain’t exactly popular with everyone right now. Especially with all the rumors and being casted out like nothing. I’m just surprised you sat with me. I wouldn’t blame you if you quit the movie.”
You shot your hand out to hold his hand that was on the table. You were that a little shock traveled up your arm and cleared your throat as you both stared down at your hands.
”I was taught by my father to never judge a book by its cover. I’ve held that rule close to me and I think that's what gave me so many opportunities to live the life I’ve wanted. I never judged you Cooper. There are so many rumors and tabloids about your life, I didn’t want to immediately judge you on them without knowing your story. So of course I agreed to have lunch with you and I will gladly stay in this movie.”
The words you said brought a smile to his face. He brought your hand up, kissing the back of it. His eyes caught yours as he spoke very softly, his lips brushing your hand with every word he spoke.
”Thank you sweetheart. I say you’re smarter than everyone I have worked with. I appreciate that you still want to work with me, especially with how pretty you are.”
That brought a faint blush to your cheeks at his words and how he’s still holding your hand. You gave him a smile as you both went back to eating your lunch. As you both finished up, David walked up to your table.
”Mr. Howard, (Y/N), I was told that the crew is still building one of the sets on Studio One so we will not be meeting there today. Wednesday is when filming starts so please be here at five in the morning for makeup. Would you like me to show you to your trailers?”
Cooper spoke up as you went to stand, “I know where they are. I’ll show (Y/N) where they are.”
”Okay.” David smiled at the both of us then looked at me with a clap of his hands. “My number is next to the phone in your trailer. If you need anything from me, don’t hesitate to call.”
”Thank you David,” you smiled at him then he was on his way. You looked back to Cooper as he gathered the trash from lunch to throw away.
”Come on sweetheart. Your trailer is next to mine.”
When he flashed another bright smile at you and walked to the trash can, the thought of Cooper’s trailer next to yours made you feel heat in your lower belly.You shook your head and tried to stop a few thoughts from flooding. The man got divorced and has been through a lot, nothing would happen between you two. Plus why would anything happen? You just met the man and you already felt a certain attraction to him.
It didn’t help that he was handsome, even with the scruff and slightly long hair, but you did have a slight crush on the man. You had a little thing for his character in ‘A Man and His Dog’. His charm on screen and off screen with his sweet words and actions did make you melt a little every time he spoke, his accent helped as well. Plus his eyes, they wanted you to get lost in them. With the way they shined and were so expressive. You wanted to get to know him better and the thought of spending months together made you giddy with nervousness and excitement.
”Ready to go?”
“Yes sir,” you smiled at him and paused at an emotion that filled his eyes. You didn’t know exactly what it was but as you stood it quickly went away. He offered his arm to you and you took it, intertwining your arms together, placing your hand on his bicep.
Taglist: @danveration , @thespritepepsi
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𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞
William Killick (The Edge of Love) x Reader
Introduction
summary: The reader finds a mysterious diary in a library that belonged to William Killick in the 1930s. When she writes something in it, her notes appear in the past (1937) which allows the two to communicate with each other and they eventually fall in love.
note: I was watching "The Lake House" from 2006 with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves and felt inspired by it. (& Also by Tom Riddle's diary in chamber of the secrets) I know that whole concept isn’t brandnew and had been done before but I enjoyed writing it. So welcome to my new cillian fanfic, hope you like it. I‘m not a native English speaker but I try my best.
William's part is set in 1937 and he lives in London. But he has a different job from the one in the film "The Edge of Love"
warnings: none
…………………………………………………………………………….
The room was dark, except for the small candle that bathed the room in a flickering orange light. The wind whipped against the walls and he feared that the large tree in front of the house would be uprooted. Thoughtfully, he sat down at his wooden desk, opened the notebook, picked up his fountain pen and began to write. The pen scratched gently across the pages as he put his thoughts to paper. Finally, he closed the book with a sigh, blew out the candle and lay down in bed. Outside it was deathly quiet. Unusual for a city as big as London. It was almost eerie.
***
"Oh, this book really describes the events of that time very well," the librarian said, handing her a thick book. YN took a deep breath and then smiled, shaking her head as she realised that it had been published six years ago. "Do you have anything that was written in the 1930s? Maybe… an original copy?"
"Of course, but unfortunately we don't lend them out, madam," the librarian said in a stern tone.
YN looked at her desperately. "Please, it's for educational purposes. I really need it for my thesis."
The librarian raised her eyebrows. "You're a student?"
"Yes. I'm studying history and I'm about to graduate."
"And your university doesn't have a library?" she asked.
"Of course it does, but the books there are all useless."
Sighing, the librarian folded her arms across her chest. "Okay, come with me. But don’t tell anyone about this, or I'll lose my job. And you definitely can't take the book home with you, you'll have to read it here. Try to hide it as best you can."
"Agreed," YN said excitedly and followed the librarian who led her to the top floor. She stopped in front of a narrow door and took a key from her pocket. "Here are all the antique books we have. As I told you, they are not for loan. Most of them are from the late 19th or early 20th century, don’t touch them, okay? However, we do have some books from the 1930s, as you requested."
The door swung open with a creak. In front of them was a small room, dimly lit by sunlight shining through a small window. The walls were bare and looked cold and uninviting. High shelves lined with books in thick old leather bindings, covered in a thin layer of dust, filled the room. "This is amazing!" YN yelled excitedly.
"Come with me. Don't touch anything unless I say so."
"Of course, Madam."
The librarian paused in front of a small shelf, ran her eyes over the spines of the books and pulled out a thick book in a dark green leather binding with the title 'The face of the Time' by George Norwood.
"Original copy, written in 1935. George Norwood was born in Windsor in 1891 and wrote extensively about his youth, childhood and adult life."
"This is perfect. I'm so grateful, you've helped me so much." She happily took the book.
The librarian smiled a bit and nodded at her. "You're welcome. But remember our agreement."
"Of course, madam."
With a satisfied grin, YN left the room with the old books and sat down at one of the small round tables. She glanced around, afraid that someone might be watching her. But it was quite late, and only an older man was standing in front of one of the shelves minding his own business.
She quickly opened the book and was surprised to find something tucked between the cover and the first page. It was a small black and very thin notebook and a holder on the edge of it held an very old looking pen. Curiously, she opened the book. Could these be original notes from the author, George Norwood? Holding her breath, she read the name written in dark blue letters on the inside cover.
𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓶 𝓚𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓴.
Underneath was an old black and white photograph. It showed a man, perhaps in his mid to late 20s, with dark hair, wearing an elegant suit for that time, standing in front of a small house. He was very handsome, YN noticed. Was this Killick and why was his notebook inside a biography of George Norwood?
Holding her breath, she turned the pages and began to read the neat handwriting.
𝟏𝟓𝓽𝓱 𝓙𝓾𝓵𝔂 𝟏𝟗𝟑𝟕
𝒯𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓂𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒶 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓈𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹. 𝑀𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂 𝑜𝒻 𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒷𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶 𝓈𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝓇 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉.
𝐼 𝑜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈. 𝒲𝒽𝓎 𝒶𝓂 𝐼 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒? 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝓊𝓇𝓅𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓇𝒶𝓅𝒾𝒹𝓁𝓎 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹? 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒.
𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝒶 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓂𝓈 𝓈𝑜 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝒾𝑔𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒶 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃'𝓈 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒. 𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓌𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝒻 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉.
Excited, YN turned more and more pages and found more diary entries that went up to yesterday, but 86 years ago. The following pages were empty.
At that moment, YN's phone rang and her heart almost stopped as she was so deep in thought. The older man in front of the shelf watched her curiously, but then looked back again to the book he was holding. YN answered the call. "Hey, YN! It's Veronica!" she heard her best friend's voice. "Oh hi Vero, what's up? I'm sorry, but I don't have much time right now, I'm in the library studying."
"You little nerd." Veronica laughed. "Do you at least have a second?" She didn't wait for YN's answer. "I found a great place for my birthday party next month, it's going to be amazing!"
"Oh yeah, cool, where?"
"The restaurant 'The Ivy House' at 28 Thames Street. You should write the adress down now so you won’t forget it."
"Can't it wait...?" YN distractedly pulled the old pen out of the notebook's holder.
"No, it can't, YN!" Veronica's voice on the other end sounded very insistent.
"Well, what did you say the address was?"
"28 Thames Street," her best friend repeated.
Absentmindedly, the pen scratched across the old and a bit yellowed pages of the notebook as YN wrote down the street name.
Finally, she said goodbye to Veronica and hung up the phone. Only then did she realise what she had done. Had she lost her mind? Had she just destroyed a well-preserved, almost 90-year-old artefact with her scribbles? After all, it wasn't even hers.
However, the author, Killick, was probably long dead, unless he was now nearly 120 years old, which she doubted. Unnoticed, YN slipped the notebook into her bag and turned back to her original reading of George Norwood.
However, she was disappointed to find that Nordwood's book was incredibly poorly written, overly long, lacking in information and generally quite boring. She finally closed it and rubbed her forehead with a sigh. What a waste of time. Grumbling, she got up, tucked the dark green book under her jacket and walked over to the reception desk where the librarian was sitting.
With a tired smile, YN handed it back. "I'm sorry, it wasn't really my taste. But thank you for helping me."
Raising her eyebrows, the librarian took it, but smiled kindly and wished YN a good evening.
***
The day had been so long. William felt every bone in his body. He hated his work as a carpenter, but how else could he make a living? The wages he earned barely paid for a small flat, and he was lucky that the landlady was his aunt. Grumbling, he pushed open the door and was about to climb the stairs when he heard a familiar voice behind him. "William, how lovely to see you. But you’re very late today."
Lost in thought, he glanced down at the newspaper in his hand that he had bought on the way home, but then looked back at his aunt. "My bike had a flat tyre. Luckily I had a repair kit with me. Maybe one day I'll be able to afford a car, who knows…?"
His aunt looked at him compassionately. "I've made some soup, would you like to eat with me?"
Surprised, he looked at her. "That's really not necessary, I'll eat in my own flat."
"Please, William. I know how hard you work."
Gratefully, William followed her into her flat and sat down in the kitchen, putting the newspaper on the dining table. Slowly, he reached over and turned on the radio, listening to the soft music that filled the room.
"So how is it going, William? Have you met a young lady recently?" His aunt looked at him with interest.
William sighed briefly and leaned back in his chair. "No, I haven't."
She shook her head and looked at him. "I don't understand. You're such a handsome, kind boy."
"I'm 27 years old, Aunt Margaret," William chuckled slightly. "I'm no longer a boy."
"You'll always be one to me," she said, looking at her nephew with a smile. She had no children of her own, and her husband had died young. William had been like a son to her.
"I'll get the soup and the bowls," she said, turning around.
"Wait, I'll help you," he replied quickly, getting up.
"No, William, sit down, I'll do it," she said firmly.
Finally, William sat down again. Carefully, he pulled his black diary from his jacket pocket and leafed through it. His fingers stopped on the last written page and he looked at it in confusion. His heart pounding, he turned back a page. There was his entry from last night, just as he had written it. But on the next page, in an unfamiliar handwriting, was a strange, short note.
𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝐼𝑣𝑦 𝐻𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑅𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡, 𝟸𝟾 𝑇𝘩𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑆𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡
He started to shiver. Who had written it down there? He had carried his diary in his coat pocket all day, it would have been impossible for it to fall into someone else's hands. But what if it had? Was it some kind of secret meeting place? But there was no restaurant called The Ivy House on Thames Street, let alone number 28. William knew every street and every single house in London. Confused, he reached for his pen and crossed out the note.
"Careful, the soup is hot," Aunt Margaret said as she placed the steaming pot on the dining table and pushed a bowl of soup towards her nephew.
But he sat there, lost in thought, writing intently in his notebook.
***
"This is going to be amazing, YN, I'm telling you. They make the best cocktails there and they even have a live band that is playing at that day! Jenny also celebrated her birthday there, she said it was awesome".
YN didn’t really listen to her best friend's voice on the phone but she was adding an occasional "hmm" or "yeah, right" to the conversation.
She slowly took the small notebook out of her bag and sat cross-legged on her bed. Suddenly, she felt an incredible sense of guilt for taking it home with her. Technically, she hadn't stolen it, as it didn't belong to the library and had accidentally slipped into another book, but it wasn't hers either. What should she do now? Should she return it? Should she throw it in the bin? The second option was out of the question. Her love for old documents was simply too big.
Lost in thought, she gazed at the slightly faded photo of Killick that was glued inside. What kind of man might he have been? How might he have lived and worked?
"Are you even listening to me, YN?" Veronica's voice sounded a little annoyed.
YN sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I'm sorry, Vero. I've had a long day and I've been studying a lot. I'll call you tomorrow and then we can talk about your party, okay?"
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "It's okay, I understand. Good night, YN", Vero said and hung up.
With a sigh, YN put the phone down beside her and turned her attention back to the notebook.
She wanted to punch herself for writing in it. Maybe she could remove the ink somehow.
When she turned to the last page, what she saw made her freeze in shock. The address of the restaurant she had written down in the library earlier that day was neatly crossed out. Beneath it, in cursive handwriting, were the following words:
𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓌𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒸𝑒𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝓂𝑒. - 𝒲.𝒦. - 𝟸𝟹𝓇𝒹 𝒮𝑒𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝟷𝟿𝟹𝟽.
With her mouth open, YN stared at the page of the notebook. The handwriting matched that of the other diary entries. It was William Killick's handwriting. But this man must have been dead for years, as she had calculated earlier. Besides, how could he have got hold of the book if it'd been in YN's bag all this time? Was someone playing a nasty joke?
With trembling fingers, she pulled the pen from its holder and wrote under the mysterious note:
𝐼 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑖𝑠 𝘩𝑎𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑.
Then she dropped the pen, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Whatever was happening here was extremely creepy. Maybe she should just meditate for a while and then go to bed. It was quite possible that she was just overworked. Slowly, she opened her eyes again and her gaze fell on the open page of the book again. Suddenly, an icy shiver ran down her spine. This couldn't be real. It was impossible. Beneath her note, in Killick's cursive handwriting, was the following message:
ℐ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓈𝑜 𝓉𝑜𝑜, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓈 𝓂𝑒. ℳ𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒲𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓂 𝒦𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇?
Did Killick write these messages nearly 90 years ago? How could the messages have only now surfaced? And even more strangely, how could he be responding to her messages? Was she communicating with someone from the past through this notebook? Was this book some kind of portal through time and space?
With bated breath, YN wrote under Killick's note:
𝑀𝑦 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑌𝑁. 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝟸𝟹𝑟𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑆𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟹.
Her heart pounding, she dropped the pen and closed the diary.
***
#cillian murphy#cillian murphy x y/n#cillian murphy fanfiction#william killick fanfiction#william killick#cillian fanfic#the edge of love#the edge of love fanfiction#cillian#cillian x y/n#cillian x fem!reader
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While ago I posted a poll with 3 plots I'd like to write over the summer. I'd like to challenge myself and for the first time ever I'd like to write a multiple chapter thing. If I won't be able to do that, I'd at least like to write a long one shot, something that will tell the story in detail and make you feel emotions.
Read more about them down bellow
#1 backup dancer for bad omens
Bad omens and their crew agree that after having the same staging and visuals for over two years a change is needed. Change in visuals, outfits, staging, mindsets. The idea of back up dancers for the band comes up and it's not a clear yes from everyone in the BO crew. There is lot of discussions and searching for the ideal dancers, style of the dance, outfits, number of dancers, overall - searching for the best ones that will fit the vision. Or will it be story about Noah searching the best person that fits HIS vision of his future?
#2 doctor colleagues
Working in the same hospital for 8 years can become boring. Same OR's, same people, same routine every shift. Living in a city far from friends and family is exhausting, especially when you spend most of the time in work which results in no social life after work. What happens when you hire new doctor for the hospital where everyone knows each other and everyone gossips about each other? Especially when said doctor is tall man covered in tattoos and is one of the best in his specialization.
#3 criminal police officers
As a criminal officer you often get into uncomfortable situations. What you need is a good support system to help you deal with all the stress. You also need a great team to do your job flawlessly. Because when you're investigating murder or organized crime, there is no room for mistakes. Sometimes you need to act, because you have to work undercover. Is it just an act or do you fall in love with your colleague? Or if one of you is kidnapped, is it right to feel emotions as if someone took your heart out? Where does it cross the line from being work partners to partners in love?
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
Those short descriptions are just the start. I need to know what to work on first and in what direction I should put my head in. I'd like to write all 3 plots in the future, and in the end I will decide what order I will write them, but I really value your opinions and what would you like to read the most, so please, vote again in the poll down bellow to help me decide and to get me started with writing💗
English isn't my native language so plot #2 will be the biggest challenge for me. In this aspect, plot #1 would be the easier for me and I'm kind of confident with plot #3 also.
#noah sebastian#bad omens#noah sebastian x reader#bad omens imagine#jolly karlsson#nick folio#noah sebastian band#matt dierkes#noah sebastian reader insert#noah sebastian headcannons#noah sebastian fic#noah sebastian imagine#just pretend noah sebastian#noahsebastian
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“I promise you that you’re not alone”
Rick Sanchez x Reader
Rick comforts you during a major depressive episode
I haven’t been doing very well for the past few weeks and writing these are one of my only sources of comfort rn tbh
It’s been getting bad again and you knew it. It’s been a struggle to even get out of bed to walk a few feet to your kitchen, your room was in shambles, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to shower. You just get like this and you know eventually you’ll get out of it, but even though you know it will eventually pass you feel so stuck in despair you feel like continuing this downward spiral until you reach rock bottom. As you lay in your bed staring at the bare wall hoping for this to all go away you get a text from Rick.
You don’t even have the energy to reach over to grab your phone, but after a few minutes you finally reach over to see what it has to say.
“Hey. Are you doing okay? I’m coming over. Do you need anything?“
Rick knows how you feel. He really does. He understands how you feel and doesn’t think of you any less. He knows when things get hard to handle and how he can make things just a little easier for you.
You don’t even have time to reply when a green light appears in your room and Rick walks in with a sympathetic smile and gets next to you in bed without saying anything.
You turn to your side and he gently tucks a strand of your messed up hair behind your ear and softly kisses your forehead.
You guys lay together for a while, nothing needed to be said. Rick waited till you felt like talking about it.
“I’ve been doing so shitty. I’m sorry.” You whisper out
“There’s nothing to be sorry about you’re doing the best you can, and I know how hard it is. Trust me. I know it’s not easy to come out of this but I’ll help you. Small steps. Little by little it will get better I promise.” He says pulling you a little closer to him as you hold on his hand softly playing with his fingers.
“I can help you clean up, and get you something to eat. Anything you want, you call the shots.” He says
“Can we please just lay like this for a while I just need to be with you right now.” You say, softly nuzzling yourself to be as close to him as possible.
“Of course baby, anything you need I’ll be here I promise .” He whispers as you close your eyes embracing him until you finally get to sleep.
You wake up the next morning, still feeling stuck in an endless loop. You lift your head off your pillow and look around your room noticing it’s cleaner than it was last night. Granted there’s still some dirty clothes on your chair, but it feels a lot less claustrophobic.
You can smell coffee being made from the kitchen, and you reluctantly make your way out of bed to try to get some food in you.
“Good morning sweetheart.” Rick smiles, a genuine smile filled with nothing but love.
“I-uh made pancakes and coffee, I think it will be good to eat an actual breakfast.”
He sits with you at the table eating with you, the food definitely making your brain feel less foggy.
“Thank you for cleaning my room. You didn’t have to do that you know.” You sleepily smile
He doesn’t even respond, just smiles and takes another bite of his breakfast
The food and small caffeine boost truly helped your head feel a bit clearer. You can’t remember the last time you ate a proper meal, but eating breakfast with the person you loved most definitely boosted your mood. It was something so small but meant so much to you, Rick as well.
After sitting at the dining table for a while just talking and enjoying each others company you guys make your way over to your couch just to lay together, in a new spot other than your bed for a small change of scenery.
“I love you so much you’re so strong.” Rick says running his fingers through your hair as you lay on his chest.
You feel genuine love for him, the love you never would have imagined you would ever feel for someone. You know that you have issues, but he does to, and that’s what makes him so perfect for you. You both understand each other in such complex ways you wouldn’t trade for the world.
#rick sanchez x reader#rick sanchez x you#rick sanchez#rick and morty#rick c137#comfort#fluff#rick sanchez oneshot#Rick Sanchez fluff#rick x reader
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Opposites attract
Pairing: Brennan Sorrengail x marked!reader
Plot: this is the story of how Brennan fell in love with someone he shouldn’t have.
A/n I don't know if you guys will like the ending but I had fun writing this
Request
Fourth Wing Masterlist
Growing up Brennan thought he and his family were on the right side of history. That changed when he realized what was going on outside of the wards and the lies his own mother kept from everyone in Navarre.
You were just seventeen when you first met Brennan. No one wanted to help him recover because he was the general's son, so you volunteered and stayed by his side until he was able to move around on his own. Brennan would thank you repeatedly for your generosity because he knew you weren't obligated to help him. “Please don’t thank me. Any decent person would do what I did. Unfortunately, a lot of people here can’t get over the fact that you’re General Sorrengail’s son.”
After explaining to him what happened while he was unconscious, Brennan was filled with guilt when he discovered that your parents were captured and were set to be executed in three days. “I’m sorry this is happening,” Brennan apologized.
“It’s ok. You weren’t the one who put the orders in to execute my parents,” you cleared your throat and tried to avoid eye contact with him, “I have to pack soon. They’re putting all of us in a foster home until we can attend Basgiath. I don’t want to, but I don’t get a say in the matter.”
Brennan’s heart started to break at your confession. While he willingly enrolled in Basgiath, you were forced to enroll, and he knew how grueling it was. “I’ll write to you if you wish, at least until you leave for Basgiath,” Brennan replied, “Basgiath is not for the weak, especially the rider’s quadrant. I’ll write to you on what to do when you arrive and how to survive.”
“You would do that for me?” you looked at Brennan stunned, and he nodded his head, “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”
“Because you’re helping me right now without hesitation,” Brennan replied. All you could do was smile as you continued to take care of Brennan before you were instructed to return to your quarters.
True to his word, Brennan would send you letters of encouragement and tips on how to survive at Basgiath until you had to leave your foster home. Once you arrive at Basgiath you and the majority of the marked ones attending were more than prepared for the three years you will be spending there.
Throughout that time you would cross paths with Brennan from time to time and you would catch up like you were old friends.
He lost his shit when he discovered that Violet was forced to become a rider because of his mother. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep a close eye on her and keep her out of harm’s way,” you tried to reassure Brennan, but you could still detect some worry in his eyes.
“Thank you,” Brennan placed a kiss on your forehead before pulling you into a tight embrace. That was the first, but not the last time Brennan kissed you.
It started small at first. He would place small kisses on your forehead each time you met during drop-offs. That would turn to him placing lingering kisses on your cheek and begin to tease you when you would blush at his actions. Ending as of recently with you making out in his office.
You both knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t stop. Every time you were near each other, all you wanted was to rip each other's clothes off. Of course, Brennan always stopped before anything else could happen. He always gave the same excuse over and over that he didn’t want anyone to walk in on you guys. You believed it at first, but as the months went by you felt like there was another reason Brennan wasn’t telling you.
You got your answer the night half of the rider’s quadrant, and a handful of teachers from Basgiath showed up to Aretia. The mood was chaotic, and you and Brennan decided to sneak into his office for peace and quiet. While there, Brennan expressed his stress about housing so many people in such a short amount of time. “It’s going to be ok. We will double up while the other rooms here are being renovated,” you tried to soothe Brennan’s ease while giving him a massage.
Brennan let out a low moan at your action and let you continue for a few more minutes before he turned around and kissed you. It started like every other kiss you guys have shared for the past few months until you decided to take it a step further and let your hands wander his body. “We shouldn’t go further than this,” Brennan warned against your lips when he felt you trying to undo his belt.
Anger washed over you, so you took it upon yourself to pull away, “what do you mean we shouldn’t? We’ve all but fucked already. Is it because I’m a marked one?”
Brennan’s eyes widened at your response, and tried to explain himself, “No! That’s not it. It’s just-its just that I’m so much older than you.”
You found yourself rolling your eyes at Brennan’s explanation, “Brennan, you’re only seven years older than me,” you replied.
“Seven years is a lot,” Brennan tried to reach for you, but you just swatted his hand away, “Y/n, please.”
“No,” you poked his chest, “You do not get to tell me we can’t be together because I’m too young for you, then try to comfort me seconds late. Let me know when you decide what you want because I’m sick of your mind games.” You leave before he has a chance to reply.
Brennan didn’t realize how much he needed you by his side until you weren’t around. He would see glimpses of you around, but every time you would lock eyes, you would leave the room immediately.
Even though he was the one who rejected you for being too young for him, he found himself growing jealous as he watched you getting closer to Garrick. He hated watching as you ran your hands up and down Garrick’s chest and constantly told him how big and strong he was. Garrick was being Garrick and decided to flex on purpose to get more compliments from you.
Brennan hit his breaking point when he watched you and Garrick almost kiss in the corner of the dining hall. With a stern look on his face, Brennan decided to storm over to where you were and cleared his throat loudly. “I need to speak to y/n in private,” Brennan asked.
“Is it a request or an order?” you glared at Brennan and caused Garrick to stare in shock because you’ve never spoken to anyone in that manner before.
“An order,” Brennan ordered.
You were getting ready to argue back when Garrick decided to place a kiss on your cheek and said, “Go. I have to talk to Xaden about something anyway. I’ll see you later.”
You were about to walk away when Brennan grabbed your arm and pulled you back towards him, “Stop walking away. I need to talk to you.”
“I thought you wanted to speak to me privately?” you replied. Brennan nodded before following you to his office.
Once inside, Brennan began to tell you what he’s been going through the last couple of months. Explained how jealous he was watching you getting close to Garrick and how much he regretted saying you couldn’t be together because of your age. “I’ve wanted you since the first time you came back to Aretia. I obviously couldn’t act on my feelings towards you, but you’ve been the only woman I want.”
The scowl that was on your face softened at Brennan’s words, “Bren, all I’ve ever wanted was for you to say those words to me, but what if you regret-”
“I won’t. Like I said, I regret telling you that we couldn’t be together because of our age difference,” Brennan walked over to you and cupped your face, “Let me prove to you that I’m serious about being with you.”
You wanted to say no. You’ve worked so hard to get over your feelings for Brennan, but having him tell you that he’s wanted you just as long as you have wanted him makes you give in. “If you break my heart, I’ll have Xaden, Bodhi, and Liam kick your ass. It doesn’t matter that you’re Violet’s brother; Xaden will do it in a heartbeat,” you said jokingly, but Brennan knew you were serious.
“It’s a good thing I’m not planning on breaking your heart,” Brennan leaned in and kissed you. This time, he’s not worried about someone catching you guys kissing. All he cared about was that you were his, and he had no intention of letting you slip through his fingers again.
@misskennygirl
#brennan sorrengail imagines#brennan sorrengail imagine#brennan sorrengail x reader#fourth wing imagine#fourth wing x reader
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SteveTony Weekly - June 2 - Week 22
Happy June and HAPPY PRIDE! It’s my kids’ favorite month, and mine. Here are the fic I read and enjoyed this week!
~
All I Want by Sineala
Steve's not used to anyone spoiling him. But he's willing to let Tony try.
my thoughts: i am such a sucker for Sineala’s writing, and for Tony spoiling Steve and STEVE LETTING HIM. This is all of my favorite things in a short little delicious fic. Read it.
then sirens, then bells (the broadcast remix) by isozyme
“I tire of this,” Amora says, and with a casual gesture the entire team is pinned in place, frozen in mid-air. Steve has the unsettling, half-familiar feeling of someone rifling through his head like it’s a card catalogue. A mind-reader as well as a witch, then.
A female voice whispers into his mind’s ear. It’s very tragic in here, dearheart, but I think your armored friend is, somehow, more psychically toxic than even you.
What’s wrong with Tony? Steve thinks, but the presence is gone, leaving his memories of war stirred up like flying insects rising off a lake in at dawn.
The Enchantress opens Tony's mind to anyone and everyone near him. Steve knows he should let Tony keep his secrets, but he's not noble enough to stay away.
my thoughts: tony and magic and telepathy, two things tony HATES? Yes please! I love the way Tony tries to stay away and Steve won’t (can’t) let him, and just the angst before they work their shit out. Lovely.
Don't Look too Closely (all the angles are oblique)by shaenie
“I’m removing Captain Rogers from this base, but not from active duty. I want him as SHIELD’s liaison to Stark Industries first and foremost. He’ll report directly to me,” Fury says. “As it is, your identity as Captain America is not public knowledge and it will remain that way until I say otherwise. That said, if you think you can get Tony Stark to work with you if you disclose that information, you have permission to do so.”
my thoughts: I spent all of Monday reading this series and I’m mad about two things: 1. I took so long in my stevetony fan experience to read it, and 2. I read it so quickly once i started. It’s so lovely, the vaguely unhealthy dynamic and need between the two of them, and yet how good they both are for each other.
Also it’s hot. SO hot.
Company by FestiveFerret
Steve gets his hotel room number wrong.
my thoughts: me once again in love with Ults Steve and his ridiculousness? More likely than you’d think.
Who Wouldn't Go? by isozyme for Nigmuff
“But it’ll help you?” Steve asks.
“Yes,” Tony replies, even as he knows this is going to break his fragile, smitten heart. Steve, on his arm, coming up with some sweet story of how they met, having to pretend to Steve afterwards that it had all been an act on Tony’s part as well, cock-blocked Tantalus hoist on his own petard.
“Then I’ll do it,” Steve says. “Anything for -- for a friend.”
my thoughts: i love it. That’s all. I love it.
#stevetony weekly#steve rogers#tony stark#stevetony#stony#iron man#captain america#stevetony fic#stony fic#fic rec
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LOOK AT MY SELF INSERT BOY !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! cringe is dead i can do whatever i want FOREVER and that includes making a character to beat scout tf2 to death with my own two fists
#tf2#tf2 oc#scout tf2#sprinter#soldier tf2#cw blood#goopys glop#i wont tag the other brief appearances here#also if anyone needs image descrptions let me know! i dont know that many people will look at this so im preserving energy rn#but if someone needs i can write them#anyways i lvoe autism i have gameplay mechanics mostly worked out and everything. i love tenth class ocs so beautiful#also i was fighting for my life trying to come up witha fucking name for this guy you dont even know#anyways hes a support type character. big hammer to help destroy buildings and a small sprint meter#can apply a slowness effect w the hammer and i feel that you play him by ambushing people and applying slowness and letting your teammates#pick them off and all#movement speed is actually pretty low and the sprint is very limited#but i straight up could not think of any other decent name. i wanted to avoid another s name but alas....#anyways um um um i love autism if anybody has any questions about him please let me know flutters my beautiful eyelashes
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So knowing the jester was more than entertainment at court but also someone who broke bad news or criticism to the rulers….
Jester Catra/Knight Adora/Queen Glimmer AU when?
#glitradora#spop#she ra#catra#adora#glimmer#yall I can’t write this I have t even finished sad cowboys#let alone sad Queen and king!#someone please help me out and write this so I can love it with my whole heart!
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Can I please have some comfort right now, if that's okay? People are watching me.
#i'm being impersonated and harassed#every day people in my past still try to find me. and i'm scared#not of what they might find. i have nothing to hide. but it's the constant fear of being watched and never being free#i'll never be free from the people who hurt me because they'll always find me somehow#i shouldn't be feeling so awful but at the same time.#i pour myself out to help others yet in return i get 'oh it doesn't bother me' and 'i've had it worse'. as if i doubt that for a second.#but please. not everyone has the same amount of emotional endurance. my patience has worn completely thin.#people i've known on here to be the most disgusting scum of the earth who no matter how many times i block them still show up in my inbox.#people from my old school still think they can get to me. a person who lied to me still wastes their time watching me#someone who i cared about the most probably still watches on and it's breaking me.#it always has been but i'm the sensible one. i'm not allowed to do this. i shouldn't be writing this but i'm getting desperate#i've taken deep breaths. i've drank water. i've done everything plus things i should not have to ease it off.#maybe the reason why i love puppets and artificial characters because i'm always used like one. like i'm a toy to break or put away#stupid analogy everyone has made for themselves but i'm done trying to be a good writer. the composer.#i want to feel without being judged but of course that's impossible. it's fine when it's strangers but relentless stalkers? it's wrecking m#it has been for ages but i was scared to say because i'm used to apathy and false promises.#i keep forgetting things and hurting myself. i'm getting scared.
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So ive just been unsure of that sub!seonghwa post but i checked the notes and its the most popular????
Thank you?????
#i can write more sub! or poly! things if you all would like#the lack of poly ateez on here is#im so sad#like matz would be such a force together damn#anyway working on some sort of shitty pirate smut thing to stop my brain from cumbusting#purposeful typo btw like send help#i also have archer yeosang thanks to isac in the works as well#and it casually hit like 1k no problem so i might just stretch it out#also if you have any debate or different takes on things please let me know because#i love hearing about the boys and im friendless on the internet#jk#someone send me more thots the fax machine is overloading#or mx rap line or hyungwon and changkyun because WHEW#ngl min also has me lately idk what it is about the scorpios#ill formalize my blog when im not busy this semester i know its messy like me shhhh
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