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lokis-army-77 · 7 months

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A Text Away

Modern!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 1.7k

You've been horny all day and Eddie is at band practice... but you know a way to get him home.

Warning: 18 +. face sitting/riding, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, p in v, unprotected sex.

And thank you to @strangerxperv for the absolutly fabulous idea 💗

Masterlist

After a long day at work, there were two things you wanted. One, a nice hot shower, and two, your boyfriend to fuck you into next week.

It wasn’t Eddie’s fault that watching him get dressed to go work at the local record store made you horny. He couldn’t help the fact that every time you saw the little trail of hair dipping past the waist of his pants, your legs clenched, and your body grew warmer.

You dealt with your racing thoughts all through your own shift at the bookshop, imagining your return home and how good he would feel against you.

Only, he wasn’t home when you unlocked your apartment door.

Sighing in disappointment you trudge to the bathroom to start warming the water. As you wait, you text Eddie.

Where are you? I need you.. like really bad.

Your phone dings a few minutes later while you are in the middle of scrubbing shampoo in your hair.

Wiping your hand off on the towel, you reach for your phone, lying on the small shelf above the towel rack.

Eddie had responded.

In a bit baby. I'm at practice.

You pout as you read the text only to smile mischievously. You message him as fast as you can with one dry hand.

But Eddie.. if you come home I'll sit on your face. And I mean really sit on your face.

There is no ding of a notification once you set your phone back down and continue your shower routine.

Twenty minutes later, you've given up on Eddie answering you, have put on your comfiest pajamas, and are now snuggled up in bed.

You're startled when the front door slams open and you hear thick boots pacing in your direction.

"Take your fucking pants off right now," Eddie commands as he bursts into your shared bedroom.

You're sat up, back against the headboard, staring at him, bewildered as he practically flops backward onto the bed.

When he hadn’t texted you back you assumed he just wasn't interested at the moment, you never could have imagined this.

You start to giggle when he starts making grabby hands at you. "Pussy on my mouth, now."

When the words leave his mouth, you practically choke on a laugh.

"Babe, quit laughing and get up here. Set on my fucking face like you promised." He grumps.

You have no choice but to obey as you say, "Okay okay, patient much?"

It's only fair that you tease him a little. So you slowly emerge from under the covers, fingers delicately pulling at the waist of your pajama pants.

Eddie watches with a hunger in his dark brown eyes. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips when you begin to tug your pants down. Slowly but surely you are exposed to him and he almost dies when he realizes you weren't wearing panties.

Before you can even get to your knees, Eddie is gripping your ankle and pulling your body down the bed to him with a strength acquired from years of hauling heavy amps and other musical equipment from place to place.

"Eddie!" You squeal, more laughter leaving you when your head falls, bouncing on the mattress.

"You're going too slow, baby." He cries, letting his hold up but hands never leaving you.

You shake your head, a knowing smirk playing on your lips. Finally, you get to your knees and straddle him. He is impatiently pulling you up his body, only stopping when you are hovering over his face.

Your eyes meet his as you stare down between your legs. He'd got a big, goofy grin plastered on his face.

"Fuck." He sighs. "I've died and gone to heaven." His large hands wrap around your legs and right before he pulls you flush to his mouth he says, "Don't hold back."

When his hot mouth makes contact with your waiting pussy, you gasp. The need you had been feeling all day long now has an outlet.

Eddie's tongue swipes through your folds, lapping up the arousal that had already started to seep from your cunt. His nose rubs against your clit, pulling a strangled moan from you.

A hand shoots down to tangle in his hair when his tongue plays at the rim of your cunt, flicking ever so slightly in and out of you.

He's like a man starved as he devours all that is given to him. You feel his fingers moving up to your hips. There's a slight pressure as he pushes you and in a flush of worry, you pull off of him.

The desperate whine that falls past his already swollen lips makes your heart flutter.

"Why'd you move away?"

"You were pushing me.. are you okay? I thought you couldn't breathe." I exasperate.

"No, I was trying to get you to ride me. Hump my face sweetheart." He doesn't say another word, he just grips onto you once more and pulls you down.

You understand what he wants now, so you lean back, hands resting on the tops of his things behind you, and you canter your hips. Slow and steady you used him for your own pleasure.

"Eddie-" you sigh breathlessly, head falling back between your shoulders.

He hums in response. The vibrations travel up through your core and into your body. Shivers accompany them as you feel a knot forming in your stomach.

"Eddie please-" Your knees and arms are burning as you continue to grind yourself against him. "I'm gonna- shit I'm gonna cum."

Your lungs are struggling to fill with air as you get closer and closer to release. Eddie's hands are wrapped over your thighs, fingers searching for your clit.

When he finds it, you double over. The knot pulls tighter and you feel a sheen of sweat cover your body.

Quickly, your first orgasm comes to light. There's a blazing fire erupting within you and it takes all you have not to fall flat on your face. Long, drawn-out moans flow from you and Eddie does not stop. His tongue pushed into you, tasting your release.

His fingers now grip the fat of your ass harshly. He keeps you on top of him and he moves his face from side to side as best he can with you practically smothering him with your pussy.

This time he does actually push you up off him. He takes a deep breath and groans. "Fuck baby, taste so good." He turns his head, kissing the inside of your thigh and then he bites you. His teeth sink into the soft skin in the crease where your inner thigh meets with your body.

In a series of fluid movements, Eddie has you on your back in an instant. He unzips his pants and pulls himself out of them, tugging on his hardness before getting into position. Your legs are being pushed back by his hands holding you at the bend of the knee.

"You're so pretty like this… pussy all wet and needy for me." His voice is muffled by the loud beating of your heart in your ears. "Mmm gonna fuck you full."

You whimper as you feel his hard length run through your glistening folds, his hips jutting against the backs of your thighs.

"Yeah, you like that? Want me to fill you with my cum?"

You nod, crying out when his cock finally pressed through the tight threshold of your cunt. "Need it, please, I need it."

"Just my little cum baby aren't you?" He asks, fully sheathing himself in you.

Your back arches off the bed and you groan. Fingernails scratching at Eddie’s forearms.

He pulls back and slams into you. "Aren't you?"

"Yes!" You cry out. His cock reaches into the very depths of you, the tip hitting in just the right place to make you scream. "Yes! I am, I am, Eddie!"

"Mmm, good. Gonna give it all to you, sweetheart. Gonna breed this pretty fuckin' pussy." His fingers adjust themselves as his grip slips and then he's pounding into you at such a brutal pace. Back and forth, in and out, he is fucking you raw.

Your walls clamp around him, the drag of his cock stimulates you more and you clench harder.

Skin on skin, the noises that they make are obscene. The squelch of him entering you has your face burning, not in embarrassment but desire. His gruff growls and fucked out moans accompany those other sounds and all they do is make you even more horny.

Eddie fucks into you with reckless abandon, mind full of images of your belling swollen with his child. How much he would love for you to sit on his face like that, all pretty and pregnant.

Your toes curl when Eddie flips your t-shirt up to expose your breasts. A strong, calloused hand reaching out for the mound of flesh. He kneads it and pulls on your nipple before swiping a gentle thumb over the hardened bud.

The way he fucks you is savage. Hips snapping at a speed you couldn't imagine, his fingers squeeze your skin so hard you are sure you will have brushes in the shape of his hands all over you.

The knot pulls tighter once more and your body begins to lock up in anticipation. Your eyes flutter before rolling to the back of your head. Your hands reach for his, interlocking your fingers, hoping he will keep you down on Earth.

As your orgasm hits once more, you wail. A long, monotone cry bursts from your lungs, whole unattractive but who cares when you feel so so so good?

"That's it. That's fucking it." Eddie gasps. Your cunt is practical milking him. He's trying to hold off but it's all just too much. A shiver runs up his spine and his balls pull taut. He's lost his rhythm, hips now bucking unevenly and with desperation.

All it takes is another whimper from you and he's a gunner. With one last hard thrust, he keeps himself buried to the hilt. Your walls are spasming around him, your release gushing out along with his own sticky, milky white cum.

"Yes, fuck yes. That's it, baby, take all my fucking cum."

He falls forward, letting go of your knees. His forehead rests in the crook of your neck and his lips press softly into your skin. He kisses you, a needed juxtaposition from mere seconds ago.

His breath is warm on your salt-slicked skin as he speaks again. "Such a good little cum baby, taking all that. S'what you wanted, hum?"

You close your eyes, tired. "Yeah," you whisper. "Just what I wanted."

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #female reader

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the-atlas-sister · 5 months

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RANDOM TOKYO REV HEADCANNONS BECAUSE IM BORED

Mikey does not fucking play around when you're play fighting. Maybe it's because of his ego or the title of being "unbeatable" but he does not mess around. You have had times when it's turned into a physical fight before you yield and give up. And it you're trying to play fight with him to just get him to pin you down or start something dirtier- it will not work. He just is so cocky and worked up that he will be absolutely oblivious to what you're trying to do.

Mikey also goes on more dates with Draken then he does with you. Draken says their not dates with a scoff but Mikey insists that they are. He says him and Draken are a package deal.

Chifuyu likes to lick you. Not in a sexual way either. You two will just be sitting together, cuddling and reading and he'll just stare at you before licking your cheek. He'll grin when you squeal and try and wipe it off with a disgusted look.

Husband!Draken cooks shirtless. King is unbothered. You often wake up to him cooking breakfast in just a pair of sweatpants.

Naoto shows his affection by giving you his favorite books. He's spent so much time focused on his police work and schooling that he doesn't exactly know how to show affection. One day when at a bookshop for a case, he noticed a copy one of his favorite books. He remembered that you had mentioned that you like hearing about his interests and hope to one day be able to gush with him about them. So he bought you the book and when he came back home gave it to you with a shy blush.

(I love Naoto- hehe)

Kakucho will often just stare at you. Before you started dating you thought it was because he fucking hated you. You often still think it's kinda creepy but now he'll mumble something like... "pretty," as he does and all creepiness melts into love.

Kokonoi bites you. Again, not in a sexual way- he'll just- nom. When it first happened it really freaked you out. He was staring at you and just leaning forward- gently biting down on your nose- not a nip- a whole ass chomp.

Mitsuya has a nasty habit of using the same language he does around his sisters with you. If you work with little kids you know what I mean. Once you were asking him to pass you some hot chocolate and he said, "What do we say?" with the most serious expression. Once you blinked at him and mumble a small, "please," he realized what he had said. He quickly turned red and profusely apologized.

Shinichiro gets genuinely offended when you call him anything but handsome or hot. Once you told him he was adorable and he was so offended. He was frosting some cookies you two had baked and he was just so concentrated, his tongue poking out from his lips. He was just so cute! "You're adorable," you told him with a smile. He told you to never say such a thing with the most serious face you had seen.

Izana likes to kiss your neck. You don't know if it's the sense of control it gives him or just the way it makes you blush, but he likes to randomly grab you by the back of the neck and place his thumb under your jaw before kissing the front of your throat.

Rindo's love language is annoyance. Like he doesn't verbally tell you he loves you but he'll absolutely stick his finger in your ear while cuddling. And just like Kokonoi and Chifuyu, he'll bite and lick you to show affection. You're honestly on edge every time the both of you are cuddling.

Seishu hates being tickled. Like fucking despises it. As in will not hesitate to physically attack you if you try and tickle him. How you first found this out was while you were trying to get a one up on him as you were play fighting. As he was sat on top of you, you tried to tickle his sides. He ended up elbowing you in the face, resulting in a black eye and pretty major silent treatment.

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wordsinhaled · 9 months

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thinking about what aziraphale thought “just like old times… but even nicer!” was going to be. like. what he was imagining. them being angels together, but - together this time. aziraphale remembering the first glimpse he got of crowley before his fall, brimming with joy, excitement, love for the stars and creation, and how resplendent that was. how aziraphale had new stars being born before his eyes but all he could sneak glances at was crowley’s radiant smile, his shining brown eyes.

like. i’m thinking about how he probably fell for crowley right then and there. and then that angel was just. gone from heaven. and maybe there were whispers about it among the rest. and maybe aziraphale wondered what had happened to him, remembered his guileless curiosity and his bright happiness and worried about him, because… how would he fare down there? wouldn’t he be lonely? and wasn’t it… unfair?

i’m thinking about “just like old times. but even nicer.” nicer because now they’re different, they’re more. they know each other, they love each other, they are… fundamentally inseparable. the idealism of that. the whitmanesque union of it - your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only.

and aziraphale has finally caught up to crowley’s speed - by his standards he’s hurtling toward crowley at a mad rush - keeps touching him and looking at him like he’s treasured and adored. like... he probably imagined watching crowley make a new universe, again. imagined them making heaven a place where they could exist together without fear or reproach. a place where justice was restored because aziraphale has always known crowley had been punished in a way he didn’t merit.

aziraphale probably thought their first kiss would taste of stardust, not the brackish tang of tears. he probably thought they’d get to keep their bookshop and their car and their little dates at the ritz but… now together. holding hands, fingers interlaced, ankles touching under the table, curling up against crowley’s side in the bentley on the drive home, kissing him as easy as breathing a million times a day and no one in heaven or hell or any other realm would or could say anything against it because this was theirs, their sacred right to love one another the way they were made to. their essences twining around one another in the aether. each marked by one another. two bits of divinity fused back together, the way they had always belonged.

aziraphale probably thought he’d get to see that kind of unguarded joy on crowley’s face again, soon. he was saying to crowley that he loves him, in his way. the ultimate act of love, by his estimation; having it within his power to bring his beloved partner back to the capacity for joy without cynicism, laughter without pain, goodness without shame, curiosity without punishment.

just like old times. but even nicer.

#I’M ILL #good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 spoilers #this is an aziraphale defense account nbd

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sometimesiwritebadly · 1 year

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Out of the Spotlight (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Garcia does a little totally harmless snooping and discovers Spencer’s secret girlfriend is a movie star.

Word Count: 3.2k

Notes: has it been almost two years since i posted on here? maybeee don’t worry about it. this is just pure fluff and some penelope/derek shenanigans

Masterlist

~~~

Penelope Garcia is, occasionally, too curious for her own good. She really doesn’t mean to snoop in her friend’s lives like this, but to be fair, she didn’t know she was snooping in Spencer’s life when she started. She thought she was just learning more about her most recent celebrity obsession; rising star and incredible actress, Y/N Y/L/N. She hadn’t even gone too far with it yet, really! It all started after she’d left the movie theater, where she finally got to see Y/N’s newest movie with Derek. He dropped her off at home, and she decided to follow the actress on instagram and scroll through some of her posts. Which is when she found one from three months ago that looked weirdly familiar. It was just a picture of some bookshelves, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. Then she saw that Y/N had tagged the location, and it was in D.C. The celebrity hadn’t given up the exact name of the bookstore; a slight annoyance for Penelope, but she knew it was probably just so Y/N would be able to visit the place again without a crowd of fans or paparazzi, so she’d let it slide this time. Penelope isn’t one to frequent bookstores, but she remembered Spencer had taken herself and JJ to a small bookshop when they had decided their new year's resolutions would be to read more often. Spencer kept trying to get them to read the classics, but both women were shopping the romance section, much to Spencer’s annoyance. So, she called an amused Derek back to her place so he could take her there.

“So we’re doing this because some actress may have been to the same bookstore three months ago?” He asked, driving with one hand as he talked to Penelope.

“Well when you say it like that it sounds silly!” She said, still scrolling through the instagram page. “Besides, it’s not just that, a lot of these pictures are in Quantico! What’s a big name actress like her doing here?” Since the discovery of the bookshop picture, she’d found 3 more that were obviously in the city; a well known coffee shop, a mall Penelope has spent way too much money at, and a picture of a sign from the nearest highway. There were some others that she thought might be, but there was no definitive proof to be found.

“She probably just has family here, baby girl.”

“Um, do I look like an amateur to you, hot stuff? The first thing I looked for was her family, who are all happily living far, far, away, thank you very much.” The next picture she scrolled to gave her pause. It was a picture of a TV with a still from Y/N’s breakout show on it, but a coffee table, with someone’s sock-clad feet on it, was just barely visible. The socks were covered with the logo for her show. It was captioned “Will it ever stop being weird to see myself on TV?”

“Does this look familiar to you?” Penelope held the phone in Derek’s line of sight, causing him to swerve the car a little and push her hand out of the way.

“Do you think that could wait until I’m not driving?” Penelope just rolled her eyes, taking a screenshot of the picture for future reference. In just a few short minutes, they were pulling into the parking lot of the bookstore. Penelope rushed in, with Derek strolling behind her. She quickly found the spot that was featured in Y/N’s instagram post.

“See! Told ya it was here!” She said, showing Derek the picture so he could compare it himself.

“Yup, definitely it is the same place. I still don’t see why this is a big deal though.”

Penelope opened her mouth to argue with him, but was interrupted by the store’s owner; a little old lady. “Can I help you two find anything today?”

“Oh, no ma’am. I just saw your store on my favorite actress’s instagram, and wanted to see it for myself.” Penelope explained, feeling a little bad for wasting the woman’s time. Maybe she’d find a book to buy, even though she’s not even finished with the last book she bought here.

“Oh! Miss Y/L/N, right? She and her boyfriend are around here all the time! What a nice little couple; her boyfriend is a little skinny though, I really need to make some cookies for him the next time they come by.” The woman explained, walking over to the wall of the store to point to a framed picture of herself and Y/N, signed and all.

“She has a boyfriend?” Penelope asked, shocked that she hadn’t at least figured it out. In all her snooping of Y/N’s instagram, she hadn’t seen a hint of a boyfriend.

“Oh, yes. They’ve been coming around for, goodness, six months now? They always buy each other books, it’s so adorable. He always buys her one of the classics, I think it was Romeo and Juliet last time. She usually gets a romance of some kind.” That made sense; the most recent picture on her instagram was one of two books; Romeo and Juliet, and The Duke and I. Eventually, Penelope and Derek made their way out of the bookstore, and that was the end of Penelope’s investigation of Y/N Y/L/N’s life.

Well, the end of Penelope’s investigation for that week.

It’s not like Penelope could track down Y/N Y/L/N’s secret boyfriend…not without seriously abusing her FBI database and maybe breaking a few privacy laws. She almost forgot about the trip to the bookstore, but during a rare case where she actually got to join the team on the jet, she noticed Spencer was reading something out of character.

“Uh, Reid?” He looked up from the book he was reading.

“What’s up?” He said, quietly, as everyone else was sleeping after the long case.

“Why are you reading The Duke and I? I thought you were a total book snob?” She asked, sitting across from him.

“Oh, um,” Nothing could hide the slight blush that appeared on his face. “A friend of mine told me to read it.”

“Like a girlfriend?” Penelope teased, watching as his blush became even more noticeable.

“Y-yeah. Uh. Like a girlfriend.” Spencer opened the book back up, hiding behind its cover and promptly ending the conversation. He brought his feet up onto the small table in between them, causing his pants to ride up just enough to show off his socks. One sock was just plain black, but the other one was covered in the logo for a familiar TV show.

“Are you a fan of Y/N Y/L/N too?” Spencer just looked up in confusion.

“What?”

“Your sock, that’s her show right? It’s really good, I watched it in like a day.”

Spencer’s eyes went back to the book. “Uh, yeah. It’s a great show.”

Sure, Penelope thought he was acting a little weird, but that’s just Spencer. He doesn’t talk about his life outside of work too often, but she was glad he at least told her about the girlfriend. Even if he wouldn’t tell her her name, she was sure she could figure something out. So the next day, she updated Derek on her new information about Spencer.

“Wait wait wait, Spencer was wearing socks with the show’s logo? And reading The Duke and I?” The two of them had been walking towards the BAU kitchen to get a cup of coffee to help them get through the paperwork day, but Derek had stopped walking abruptly when Penelope gave him those details.

“That’s what you’re most interested in? Not the fact that Spencer has a girlfriend?” Penelope asked.

“C’mon baby girl, it’s obvious that Spencer’s been dating someone.”

“What! You knew! And you didn’t tell me?”

Derek laughed, resuming their walk towards coffee and letting Penelope hurry along behind him. “Sorry cupcake, I figured you knew too. He’s just been so happy for the past few months, in the way only a lady would make him.”

“Ugh, ok, well some of us aren’t profilers, Derek. What’s so important about the socks and book?”

“Well,” Derek grabbed the coffee pot, pouring some into Penelope’s mug as he spoke. “Just a few weeks ago you dragged me to a bookstore, where we learned about a certain couple. A couple where the guy likes classics and the girl likes romance, right?”

“Yeah-Oh! No! There’s no way you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”

“And didn’t Spencer get flustered when you mentioned her?” He asked, now pouring the coffee into his own mug.

“Oh my god! The socks!” Penelope pulled her phone out of the pocket, quickly making her way to the picture she’d saved. She showed it to Derek once again, this time zooming in on the coffee table. “Those are the socks he was wearing! On her instagram!”

“Uh, why are you staring at a picture of Spencer’s living room?” Penelope jumped, not having noticed that JJ was standing over her shoulder, looking at the picture on Penelope’s phone.

“Wait, you’re sure this is his living room? Like, 100%?” Penelope had never actually been to his place before.

“Uh, yeah, he babysits Henry a lot. Why, what’s the big deal about it?”

“Oh my god, Spencer is dating a movie star. Spencer Reid is dating a movie star!” Penelope couldn’t help but jump up and down, almost spilling her coffee.

And then Spencer walked into the room, promptly ending the gossip between coworkers before Spencer could hear.

Derek had made her promise to wait until Spencer was ready to talk about his relationship, but after an agonizing week, she felt like she was going to burst at the seams. So when she got a notification on their night off that Y/N had posted a new picture, she was aching to get more information about the secret relationship. This was, again, a picture in what she now knows is Spencer’s living room. This time, there was an open box of pizza on the table. It was captioned, “Lovely night in.”

So, naturally, Penelope immediately headed to Spencer’s.

~~~

Y/N doesn’t think it’s possible to be any more happy than she is right now.

8 months ago she’d just ended what was possibly the most disastrous relationship in the history of humankind. She’d made the classic mistake of dating a co-star; an older guy who was well known to be a bit of a playboy. The relationship had been extremely public; everything from their dates to their fights were somehow captured by paparazzi. His fans hated her, her fans hated him, and worst of all, the network was pushing them to be even more public in the hopes of gaining more viewers. At the end of it all, she was insanely grateful her character wouldn’t be returning for the next season as she was already booked for a movie. The only thing worse than breaking up with your co-star is having to continue playing his love interest.

And just when she was at her absolute lowest, having sworn off of ever dating someone in the spotlight again, she ran into Spencer.

After wrapping filming for a movie in Atlanta, the only reason she was even in D.C. was because her flight was forced to land early; a sudden storm was arriving and there was no way the plane would safely make it to New York. What started as an hour delay turned to three, then four, and before she knew it Y/N was stuck in town for a weekend.

She spent basically an entire day hiding away in her hotel room, so Y/N just had to get out and do something. It was still raining cats and dogs, and she’d never been in the city before, so she just googled the closest places that were still open. Luckily, there was a small bookstore just down the street, and there were a few books she’d heard about that she hadn’t had the chance to buy yet. So she put on her coat and practically ran to the store.

She was drenched and already regretting the decision to leave the hotel room by the time she walked into the building, but there was no point in turning back now. The place was practically empty anyways, Y/N only spotted an older woman reading a novel at the cash register. She slowly began browsing the shelves, not looking for anything in particular.

When she rounded one of the corners, however, she ran right into someone’s chest.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” She immediately apologized, looking up to find a cute man staring back at her. “I wasn’t paying any attention, I assumed I was the only one in here.”

“That’s alright, I, um, I wasn’t paying attention either.”

The guy standing before her was holding various books, all reminding Y/N of the books she was supposed to read (but never actually read) for her high school English classes. “So, do you exclusively read books written before the 20th century or are you just taking a college class in-” She read the title of the book on top of his pile; a collection of short stories by Edgar Allen Poe. “-depressing gothic short stories?”

He laughed, rolling his eyes a bit. “I just like a bit of a challenge when reading. And it’s a rainy day, which calls for ‘depressing gothic short stories,’ not–” He glanced at the one book she’d picked up, a cartoon covered book called Red, White, and Royal Blue. “What I can only assume is a cheesy romance.”

Despite his insult of her choice in books, Y/N couldn’t help the smile on her face. “Well maybe I like reading books that are actually entertaining, not reading so I can be confused by convoluted metaphors.”

Just as he opened his mouth to respond, their conversation was disrupted. “Y/N Y/L/N? Aren’t you from that doctor show on television?” Y/N turned to see the woman that had been at the register earlier slowly walking over.

“That’s me! It’s nice to meet you!” Y/N’s real smile suddenly switched to a smaller, more practiced one. It’s not that she didn’t love meeting fans–she’d just been enjoying a conversation with someone who wasn’t treating her differently.

“Oh I knew I recognized you! My granddaughter loves her show, she was so upset when you decided to transfer to that fancy british hospital and…” The woman started rambling on a bit about the stuff her character had done and how her granddaughter reacted to it. Y/N glanced over at the guy she’d been talking to, who seemed entertained by the whole interaction. “...Anyways, do you think we could take a picture? My granddaughter will just never believe you were here!”

“Of course, um, do you mind taking it for us…?”

“Spencer. Yeah, I’ll take the picture for you. Do you have a camera, Mrs. Waverly?” Clearly the guy, Spencer, was a bit of a regular here if he knew her by name.

“Yes, yes, it’s around here somewhere…” The woman scrambled off, muttering to herself about where she’d last seen the camera.

“So…” Spencer spoke first, breaking the somewhat awkward silence while they waited for Mrs. Waverly. “You read cheesy romances and star in cheesy Grey’s Anatomy knockoffs?”

“Hey! It wasn’t a Grey’s-” His pointed look made her stop. “Ok, it was totally a Grey’s Anatomy knockoff, but I’m not on the show anymore so you can’t make fun of me for it!”

Mrs. Waverly finally reappeared, with an old polaroid camera in her hands. The two quickly took a picture, which Y/N happily signed for the woman. By the time both Y/N and Spencer had bought their books, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle.

“So, um…” Spencer started, but trailed off, not knowing what to say.

“My hotel is just down the street.” Y/N said, pointing in the right direction. Spencer’s eyes widened a bit before Y/N realized what she’d said. “Not that I’m like, inviting you to my hotel room, I’m not, that’d be crazy, I just-” She cut herself off, trying to not ramble anymore. “Do you wanna walk with me? Tell me more about your depressing book?”

Luckily, Spencer wasn’t put off by her rambling. “I’d love to. Poe isn’t always depressing, really…” He started, as the two of you walked slowly towards your hotel.

From there, the short walk turned into a coffee date the next day, which turned into long FaceTimes while one or both of you were in different cities, which lead to where you are now; 8 months deep in a relationship and finally in town with Spencer. He’d still have work of course, but you’d be in town for the next two months as your next job wasn’t starting for a while.

The two of you were basically in an extended honeymoon phase. Only your closest friends knew that you were dating anyone, so you never had to worry about it leaking to the press. You figured when the two of you got more serious you’d eventually have to go public with the relationship, but for now it was nice having something just for you.

You were in Spencer’s apartment, scrolling through Netflix looking for something new to watch, when Spencer arrived home from work.

“I think my team knows that we’re dating.”

“What?”

Spencer made his way to the couch, laying down next to Y/N as he continued, “Well obviously JJ knows, but she said she wouldn’t tell anyone. I’m sure Hotch and Rossi at least have figured out that I’m dating someone, but I don’t think they care enough to figure out who. But today Garcia and Morgan were just acting weird. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if-”

Spencer was cut off by a knock at the door. “Spencer Reid if you don’t open this door right now I’m making Derek kick it down!”

“Let me guess…that’s Garcia.” Y/N said, laughing as Spencer rolled his eyes and got up to open the door.

“Spencer, are you actually dating a movie star? And you didn’t tell me?” Garcia complained, not yet seeing Y/N sitting on the couch as she entered the room, solely focused on Spencer. Derek walked in next, immediately noticing Y/N and smiling at her. Y/N made her way over, trying not to laugh at Garcia’s widening eyes when she noticed her.

“Sorry, I think it’s my fault that he didn’t tell you. We’re just keeping things quiet right now.” You explained, “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

Derek was the first to grab your hand. “Derek Morgan. I’m sorry about all this, she was just curious.”

“I’m Penelope! And you’re Y/N and I love your work so much you don’t even know!” Penelope began rambling, taking Y/N’s arm in hers and leading her over to the couch as she talked about her favorite parts of Y/N’s movie. Derek and Spencer slowly followed, talking amongst themselves.

“So…Spencer Reid and Y/N Y/L/N. How’d that happen?” Derek asked.

Spencer smiled, thinking back to that night 8 months ago. “We met in a bookstore last year.”

Derek laughed, because of course Reid would meet a girl at a bookstore. “You happy?”

Again, he smiled. “I’ve never been happier.”

~~~

taglist

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @kenzi-woycehoski @esposadomd @andreasworlsboring101 @peculiarinsomniac

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds fic #Criminal Minds #spencer reid fluff

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actual-changeling · 5 months

Text

do you ever think 'hey, how can i make the south downs cottage sad?' and then just. vomit onto your keyboard? no? just me? that's okay, i wrote it so y'all don't have to.

i just had the mental image of crowley crying in an empty cottage while curled up on the floor okay. i was choking on it and it was write or die.

Crowley bought a cottage.

Well, he bought a lot of things in a near-manic online shopping experience that lasted two days and included—among many, many other items—a piano, five different tablets, a new couch, several bags of tiny plastic babies, a silver snake statue, and a cottage.

The cottage. His cottage. A quaint, yellow cottage in the South Downs.

If you were to ask him why, he would make a number of different sounds before settling on 'just wanted a change of scenery'.

Scenery. It is not a lie as such, but it barely scratches the surface of the truth.

London is empty without him. Familiar streets turned foreign, St. James's Park might as well be a cemetery of memories, and the bookshop—

Crowley doesn't like to think about the bookshop. No matter what he tells himself or how many good days he digs up from the back of his mind, the safety of what had been theirs disappeared with him.

(He refuses to set foot in it almost as vehemently as he refuses to say his name.)

Moving with supernatural powers is easy, yet he still decides to drive the Bentley all the way down, watching as London disappears. A part of him hopes the emptiness in his chest might stay behind as well, but his eyes burn with the same weight of uncried tears as before. There is no place on earth without the ghosts of what could have been haunting it.

So he moves into the cottage.

Crowley steps inside for the first time on a sunny Wednesday afternoon, warmth flooding the still-unfurnished rooms, and it would take a mere snap of his fingers to fill the void, to turn it into a home.

Maybe, he thought right before entering, maybe it will fix things.

When he sinks onto worn wooden floorboards and draws his knees up against his chest, he almost regrets not going with him. He had hoped, fuck, he had hoped, like the fool he is, that maybe building something for himself would expel the deeply rooted loneliness keeping him awake at night.

It doesn't. Nothing ever will.

(Unless he comes back, unless unless unless, and he needs to believe he will, he will lie down and never get up again.)

Crowley owns an empty cottage, and he sits in its hollow heart and cries.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen

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undercoverpena · 11 months

Text

the book of love

frankie morales x f!reader (bookshop!au)

summary: wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, he looks at you. “I need a book.” “You… you need a book?”

wordcount: 4k an: written solely for @wildemaven who has continuously been kind, and wonderful and let me ramble incessantly to her. i heart you. warnings: soft!frankie, meet cute, bookshop meet cute. romance. sweetness. kissing in a closed bookshop vibes.

Wednesday's don't usually bring strangers.

It brings boringness and drawn-out hours until you can lock the door and hope for a better day.

It's why he caught your eye the moment he walked in.

Tall, handsome—cap pulled down—and his hands tucked into his pockets like he’s not sure what he’s doing. He’s broad, shoulders raised to his ears, and his spine so impossibly straight you wonder if he’s purposefully trying to make himself more on edge.

Chewing the top of your pen, you observe him shuffle his cap again, trying to tuck himself away between tall shelving. Slowly suspecting it's not to hide his face, but rather to blend in.

Escape.

He’d have been able to if he didn’t stick out like a sore thumb.

Everyone (local and just in the perimeter) knows this place. It’s the privilege of being around for decades. Having once belonged to your Aunt, and now to you. A place that had felt magical when you’d run around in pirate costumes and capes, words being read to you. Now, it was magical for other reasons.

The shop was as much part of the town as the town was a part of you. A place you had once frequented in the holidays, before weekends when you could drive. Now, it was your everything. Your workplace, your business—your home.

It’s why the shop practically screams to you when someone new enters its door.

An anomaly in the usual.

Sometimes, there were a few. Inconsequential travellers, those who needed a book for their kid as they went from A to B, and sometimes a soul who needed a map to keep them from being lost. There have even been a handful of those looking to entertain themselves while they passed the time.

There was a book for everyone.

A sentiment that has been instilled in you from the moment your aunt first let you stock shelves and earn pocket money. It’s why you give him several minutes alone, letting him wander, all aimless and without reason—worn leather boots sounding in the silence usually smothered by the radio (if the speakers hadn’t conked out this morning).

It would be easier to focus on ordering, scanning down the new releases and ticking off the repeats.

Naturally, you chose the more difficult option—staring off, eyes landing on him, taking in how his features are prominent yet soft. His lips twist in confusion as he scans random shelves—a finger sliding over the spine before his eyes drop back to the tired wooden floor, moving to a new section.

You tap your pen once, twice, thrice before you abandon it—casting it somewhere close to the register as you move from around the counter. Your hands clutching, tugging at the ends of your tee, pulling it down appropriately as you round a bookshelf and find yourself in front of him.

And god, is he pretty.

“Y’need a hand… sir?”

It drops from your lips effortlessly. All well-practised from the dozen or so times you say it. But, it comes out squeakier than usual, higher pitched, all thrown off by the way his eyes swallow you whole, and his lips rise at the last addition to the sentence.

“That obvious?”

You smile—politely. Stemming back anything more, smothering the soft thudding of your heart against your ribs. “Well. You’re not from around here.”

His lips tug further up on one side, the threat of a dimple set to show—a small laugh threatening to spill and spread across his features. It’s the fact he stares that allows you to continue doing so, to keep watching the way his eyes drink you in—both of you standing awkwardly in the non-fiction section of the tranquil and empty store.

Whatever he wants to say, he chews on it.

His hand pushes the bill of his worn hat up, scratching at his hairline, glimpses of curls gracing the top of his forehead before they’re hidden away once again.

“How’d you know?”

Shrugging, you adjust your stance. “Only bookshop in this town for decades, and you don’t know the layout.”

“Maybe I like wandering around aimlessly.”

It’s your turn to laugh. Louder than his—braver. “No. No, you don’t, but that’s cute. What’re you after?”

“Something to keep my hands busy.”

You blink back the comment on your tongue—the insinuation—trying not to glance down at the hand hanging at his side. The one so large, all thick-fingered and just dormant.

Swallowing, you nod, absently pretending to think up a solution as you bite the inside of your cheek. “You thinking DIY, vehicle fixing or home renos?”

“Not vehicles,” he says quickly—almost too quickly.

“Alright, let’s see if DIY has something for you.”

It does.

Your hands slide over spines as you read the titles until one hand envelopes yours—cocooning around yours on the edge of a book.

That one.

He said it much lower, eyes laser-locked on yours.

When he’s paid, he lingers at the counter. Your mind still reeling from the warmth of his hand, the spark it sent up your wrist, to your shoulder and down your spine.

It isn’t until he whispers a shy thanks, heading to the door before cautiously closing it behind him does your brain think of anything but his hands. Then it’s his smile—soft, almost lazily sent through the glass.

A part of you, which is only bold when the moment has passed, wishes you’d said something more. Got his name, flirted. Hell, even made him linger for another ten minutes to see if you could get him to laugh like he did at the shelves.

Unfortunately, you have to swallow it.

Because it’s rare to see a stranger return, even if they say they’re happy with the service. Most of the time, the town is a stop for them—a way to rest before continuing on their way.

Unlike with those before him, you rarely remember their faces—just a rough account of the book they bought.

Him, you remember. If you could draw, you’d be able to sketch how his veins stood out on the back of his hand when he took the book from you. The shape of his eyes and the swirls of gold mixed with the shades of brown when he’d adjusted his cap.

You linger in it, the memory of how your skin felt under his gaze, allowing yourself secret seconds of wishful thinking when he walks in.

So much so, you blink.

Fingers pinching the skin at your wrist—unsure if it’s a mirage or real. Bearing down in the skin, until it begins to more than hurt.

He’s here—the mysterious hat-wearing DIYer.

It takes you by such surprise, you almost drop the gum from your tongue. Your mind emptying of all the practised moments in your heads—the ones where you’d only had the chance to see him again in a make-believe world.

This isn’t make-believe. It’s real.

Words, so usually able to sprout, vanish. Crumble. Turning into ash in the depths of your mind—new ones struggling to form as heat rises in your cheeks.

It’s quick to dawn on you how out of practice you are, how irregular it is. Good-looking men (you’d almost flirted with) don’t tend to return to the shop. They don’t hover in the space between the shelves and your register.

But he is.

Standing. All nearly six-foot of him, staring at you like you’re the only thing that could quench a drought.

“Twice in one month?”

“What can I say?” he says, scratching the back of his neck, knocking his hat ever so slightly—allowing peppered-brown curls to show. “You sell good books.”

“I sell the same books as other shops, but thank you….”

“Francisco—Frankie. I’m Frankie.”

It flutters out: a smile. Letting it hang on your face, blissfully breathing, the two of you lost in the centre of acoustic music crackling through your somewhat fixed speaker.

“So, Francisco, what you looking for today? Still wanting to keep your hands busy?”

The look he sends you makes your ears and cheek burn. Worsening more so as he doesn’t tear his eyes away from you, a reply sitting on the edge of his tongue—likely trapped behind his teeth.

You’re holding your breath. For what, you’re not sure. A response. Something.

Almost filling the silence with a throat clear, a rap of your knuckles, a tap of your nails, but the bell for the door chimes instead, your eyes ripping from him to the familiar face of Miss Fell from the coffee shop.

He promises to come back in the future, but promises are so easy to break, that you don’t hold on to them.

It’s why it’s harder to control when you see him in the doorway, your lips already curling, eyes studying every inch of him as he strolls over—cap positioned as usual, faded yellow-ish jacket, a similar overtly-washed tee and denim jeans.

Eyes lock with his through the space in the romance section—ironic, if you say so yourself—your arms full of hardbacks, shoulders burning, near screaming.

You only focus on the tension, how it thickens, breathes. It crawls out from the walls and thrums to the beat of whatever is playing on the local station. You need it for restocking—the more uptempo beats aiding your mission of ferrying books from one side to the other.

Frankie’s eyes travel to them, the boxes half-open behind the counter and the trolley you’ve abandoned—the one which had been squealing in protest across the floor, working against you rather than with you.

“Hi.”

“Hey, hermosa.”

It drips from his tongue as though he’s called you it before. Instead of trying it for the first time.

He's used your name, the one given freely; he's also used the nickname you'd handed him after a few more visits, the one friends and family call you.

Today, it seems he'd rather call you something which kisses the air with intention and makes your stomach flutter.

“You visit the town a lot for saying you don’t live here.”

“I live in the next town over—so, just a short drive.”

He says it casually, and you almost believe him if not for the fact you know the distance.

“Well, something keeps making you repeatedly visit—lemme guess, it’s my book recommendation, isn’t it?”

It’s bold, maybe too much so.

The words form and leave your tongue before you can even reconsider them. So sweet, far too rich—more daring than you’d usually let escape when working.

It’s out there now, billowing in the space between you as he comes around the shelving, your hand pausing on the hardback's spine as you look up to find his stare.

He’s smiling.

Leaning his shoulder against the shelf, arms folded across his chest as his eyes burrow.

“Partly.”

You place the books, adjusting the shelving. “Only partly? Guess I need to step up my bookselling game if other things are getting you to come back.”

He keeps his eyes on you, but there’s something there. It ripples, going against the beat of the tension—standing out like an ink stain on a plain white tee.

“I’m… I’m going to meetings held out the town hall.” He mumbles, smile fading with each word, the confession gracing the air with so much softness it’s as though he’s hoping to cast it to you gently. “Got into some shit, but I’m getting clean now—was stupid… bad. Just wanted to… get a handle on it without everyone gossipin’ about it.”

You nod, trying to find the balance between not staring and meeting his gaze. A careful balance is needed for such a confession that you’re not entirely sure you’re capable of achieving.

“That’s… that’s really good, Francisco, that you’re wanting to, y’know put the work in.”

“Frankie,” he interrupts.

As he has done every time you call him that.

“Please call me Frankie, Hermosa.”

It’s hard to hide that he makes your throat tighten, especially when he lets his new name for you fall so delicately from his tongue.

A bouquet of warmth blooms in your chest, a sea of it crashing down and soaking you from head to toe.

“I just mean,” you murmur, watching him tilt his head to look at you, doing so with kind eyes and a warm smile. “I—I don’t judge you… we all make mistakes.”

He smiles a little wider. “Thanks, Hermosa. I… I appreciate you saying that”

“If you keep calling me beautiful, I’m gonna keep calling you Francisco.”

“Well, what else can I call you when you look as pretty as you do?”

Burn. You burn.

Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re sure he must feel it. Purposefully casting your eyes to the side, turning to pick up more books from the floor.

But his remain. Fixated. Intentional. Busy consuming and swallowing all the things around the two of you, until it's just the two of you that remain.

Not that you mind, care. You only see him.

The world around you both a little dimmer, the music a little quieter, as if everything is tuned into him. The man in the cap with the beautifully, stunning eyes.

“You keep flirting with me, and I’ll drop all my books.”

He wipes his hands on his jeans, gesturing to you to hand him some of the load. “Just so I can keep flirting.”

“You don’t have to…”

He gestures again, more purposefully.

Pursing your lips, you surrender. Seeing how much he wants to, allowing his fingers to brush down your forearms as he takes them and trying not to shiver under the intensity of it.

It’s harder to ignore the spark, the one lit, running through you to light fireworks in your stomach that’ll explode in your bones, in your nerves—all over your goddamn body.

“Francisco…”

“Hermosa.”

If tension were a gas, there’d be no air to breathe.

All poison. No oxygen. You think you’d swallow it all the same, gallop it back to keep your eyes locked on his—feeling your ears burn similarly to your cheeks and chest.

“They go in that space down there,” you say. “You might have to bend over, y’know, to get them to sit nicely.”

He grins, wicked—daring. It’s accompanied by a lot of teeth and a wide smile. Pretty—handsome.

“Should have let you do these ones, huh?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to let your brain run away with itself. Unsure if you can let yourself believe that something akin to a rom-com could currently happen to you.

“Don’t think the sight would be as good as the one I have.”

His eyes cast up at you, a mischievous glint to them he immediately banishes. “Now, who’s flirting.”

In time, you come to expect him. Only on a Wednesday, never another time.

So much so, you don’t glance at the door longingly when the bell chimes. You don’t brace for the smile that blossoms when you spot him (irrespective of whether he’s brought you a coffee or a baked good).

Today, unfortunately, isn’t a Wednesday.

Just a regular, non-Francisco day that you wish would bleed into another. Having spent many times between his visits planning, plotting—full-blown award-winning speeches re-enacted for the next time you see him.

There have been ones where you ask him to go for a coffee, ask whether he’d visit you on a day that isn’t a Wednesday. Getting tired of just waving him off, watching him shoot you a final smile as he headed to his truck.

It’s stuck with you, that feeling.

Knots inside, mangled together with other moments you replay and wish you could change when you should be sleeping. So many missed moments, shoulda-woulda-coulda, you don’t want him to be added to the pile.

Today, more so. It always is after a heavier, slow and tiresome day—one which stifles all your usual happiness and excitement of being in a place you love.

Dragging your feet, fingers flicking the lights off, you watch as the window spotlights extinguish the displays you’d worked on to keep busy. Moving to the door, fingers reaching to turn the sign, twist the lock—

He’s here.

All flushed cheeks, mouth open.

Francisco’s hand clutches the handle, bending at the hip as he swallows mouthfuls of air—holding a finger up.

One minute.

He’s rushed—actually rushed to get here.

Pulling on the handle, slowly letting the town air seep in as he slowly stands.

“Hey?”

“You… you shutting?”

“I was about to.”

Wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, he looks at you. “I need a book.”

“You… you need a book?”

He nods, hands falling to his lower back, stretching.

“Come on in then.”

You have to give it to him. He pretends to glance at the shelves for several minutes before he pulls something from a stand without staring. His performance does allow you to close off your computer and tidy up around your desk before he places a book on your desk.

“Woodworking?”

He shrugs, adjusting the front of his cap, palm smoothing over his forehead as fingers tuck away his curls. “Considering it is all.”

You nod, scanning it as it pops up on the till—your hand reaching for a bag as you feel his eyes sitting on you. They’re heavy—weighty.

It makes you warm, standing under his stare. Something close to the sun, making you turn into it as a smile falls passively across your lips.

“You know, one day, you’re gonna have to show me what you’ve been building with the number of books you’ve bought.”

It’s an off-hand comment, a playful one.

It lands, but not in the way you’d hoped.

His eyes searing, as though urging you to hear words he isn’t saying as you take the money from his extended hand. Words you would hear if he even whispered them due to the quietness—shop all closed and locked except for the two of you.

You’d expected him to be playful, like last time—more jokes, having found more comfort. But, if anything, it was like the first time he’d walked in, hands stuffed in his pocket, shoulders close to his ears.

He pauses, the brown bag lying on the counter and not in his fist, like usual. Your hand remains over the till, one note still in hand as you glance at him.

“That everything?”

“No.”

It’s soft.

More whispered than exclaimed. Yet, it makes your throat tighten—eyes fixate on him a little more intensely. Taking him in differently than you usually do.

Usually, you linger over the way his nose slopes, how his eyes always have a twinkle in them—that a few wisps of hair poking out underneath the bill of his cap. That he wears earthy shades and smells of sea salt mixed with cedar, a mysterious scent that lingers even when he’s gone.

Now, you focus on how his eyes are a little wider, soaking you in rich brown, wearing hesitancy across his broad shoulders and tight-lipped face.

You say nothing, both not able to nor wanting to.

“I… I want to kiss you.”

It’s hard to ignore the way heat blooms across your cheeks, focussing on stuffing the note haphazardly in the drawer before you close it. Fingers resting, lingering on the metal seal as you swallow. “Didn’t realise my knowledge of books could be so endearing?”

He smiles, but it’s full of nerves.

Plastered to bring you some ease—you suppose—his hand lifting his cap a little higher. “Well, I’m not buying all these books because I’m still trying to keep my hands busy, Hermosa.”

“No?”

“No,” he whispers.

You don’t think. Your feet just begin moving, forcing you from behind the counter to the place beside him. You’re so close; you can see the way the last few spotlights over the counter are reflecting in his pupils—see the shadow of yourself in his darkening eyes.

It’s your turn to be nervous, for trembling fingers to tease the edge of his open shirt, bristling under his gaze as you slowly lift your chin to—

You feel them, his lips.

Chapped, but yet still soft, warm. Feeling them slide against yours in well-versed movements as though this isn’t the first time the two of you have done this. Something mushrooms in your chest expands out as you slide your tongue to taste it, lick it all away—all the nerves, the built-up anxiety. The two of you settle, falling into a steady rhythm that dances close to pent-up frustration.

At some point, his cap falls to the floor, your fingers woven in his peppered curls as your back presses into the wooden counter. He’s precise, cautious—not pressing you too intently, allowing you room to leave, but not enough to get the idea he doesn’t want this.

Doesn’t want you.

He does.

He shows it with his fingers, etching them across your hip. Hands, large and littered with callouses, wrap and pinch you over your clothes, telling stories you’re not listening to currently.

Briefly, between soft, muted moans, do you think about how they’d feel on your bare skin. How his fingers would feel curled inside you, those eyes searing into you as he whispers that you’re doing so well—just like he did when he first heard about you running the place yourself.

“Frankie…”

It escapes, the nickname.

The one he’s told you to use each time you call him Francisco. The one you think of when you’re alone, simmering and blistering on the tip of your tongue when your thin bed sheet covers your bare thighs.

Then, Frankie pulls back—something flooding you that isn’t relief, but rather disappointment.

“Oh,” you mumble. “I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean.…”

It trails off. Not sure what to apologise for, least of all when you don’t mean it. Swiping your tongue across your lower lip, tasting the mint of his gum and the coffee he’s tried to hide with it, loosening your fingers from his curls, dropping your arm until it hangs pointlessly beside you.

But he doesn’t let go.

Doesn’t step back. Thankfully.

He just stares in utter bewilderment like he’s in a dream rather than reality.

“I should have taken you for dinner.”

“What?”

He swallows, blinking—coming back to.

It happens more suddenly, him stepping back, scooping his cap from the ground and replacing it back like a crown upon his head.

He’s shy again—nervous. It radiates from him, flushing his cheeks more than the minute-ago make-out session the two of you just endured.

“I was—fuck, I was supposed to ask you to go out for dinner before….”

“Before?”

Tilting his head, his lips slope up into a cheek. “Before I groped you like some horny teen. You deserve better—more. You deserve more. A nice meal, a fucking conversation and….”

“I like pizza.”

He pauses, blinking. “Y-yeah?”

Nodding, you smile. Rolling your lips until you’re biting down, unsure—suddenly shifting on the spot. “I can… I know a place—they deliver. We can, can just hang here or go upstairs.”

“Upstairs?”

It grows into a grin, the smile you’d been trying to hold back. “Yeah, I live above the shop, Frankie.”

And he’s in front of you again, resuming the minimal space the two of you had before. Both of his hands cup your cheeks, thumb brushing the skin—eyes burning into yours, no longer bubbling with nervousness.

“Say it again.”

“Wha—“

“My name. Please, Hermosa.”

Tilting your face ever so slightly, you lick your lips—his eyes watching how the tip of it does so. “Frankie.”

He groans, low—guttural, almost swallowed back but somehow escaping—before, in one swift movement, his lips are married back to yours. It’s different, more confident—dizzyingly so.

Your legs wobbling a little as the counter managed to support you, every other sense tuning into him and just him. Almost demanded so, by him.

His teeth nip, pressing against you as you feel how hard he is against you, as one of his hands drops to your waist. Almost tempted to slide your hand over the zipper, to squeeze—to tease him even further—

“Ah, man, it’s closed.”

The two of you pause, freezing.

Eyes both glancing through one of the shelves at the door, the person hovering, waiting—as though expecting the shop to suddenly open as they arrived. You will them to leave, eyes clenching, until you slowly open one, then the other.

Frankie doesn’t turn back at first, not until it’s truly silent—the two of you alone again. But, you remain cupping his cheek, the other on his arm—fingers barely fitting around his bicep that flexes as he turns his head.

You can hear it, your heart pounding—worsening when his eyes lock with yours, dancing from one to the other.

“I—“

“Do you want me to show you upstairs?”

His hand slides from your waist, scratching the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t….”

“Oh. Yeah, okay, I get it—“

“I don’t want to just… fuck you, Hermosa.”

Your lips clamp shut, throat tightening as you take a struggled breath.

“You hear me? I want—“

“You want pizza, a tour and then….” you whisper, so soft it barely greets the air, watching him fill in the dots, the blanks.

His cheeks flush, eyes narrowing before widening, making you smile wickedly.

an: this was my first ever time writing for him, so pls be nice and lovely and kind. k thanks.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco morales #triple frontier x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedrostories #frankie morales triple frontier

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c0s-lettuce · 1 month

Text

favourites - platonic!crowley x reader

gender non-specific, reader is a uni student, crowley is a father figure, implied platonic!aziraphale x reader

a/n: back from my hiatus to post this. it's been sitting in my drafts for a while. hope you like it!! <3

word count: 767

You thought it'd be nice to surprise Aziraphale and Crowley and come home during the break. However, you hadn't imagined they'd be in the middle of another… unearthly situation.

Turns out the two of them have been harbouring the Archangel Gabriel, whom you had only met once. And whom the last you heard of was when he tried to kill Aziraphale.

But, love thy neighbour, you suppose.

On your way home, you thought it peculiar that the streets were wet despite the forecast predicting no rain. However, the weather is known for its unpredictability, so you shrugged it off.

When you arrived at the bookshop, you were met with a grumpy-looking Crowley who, to your credit, did look surprised to see you. He explained that Aziraphale, against his own wishes, had taken the Bentley to Edinburgh. And he ignored your comment about how he never lets you drive his car.

So, you stayed at the bookshop with Crowley. You caught a glimpse of your room upstairs. Your bed, your desk, even the chair Aziraphale insisted on having so he could read to you was still there, despite you telling him that you were too old for bedtime stories. Everything was in the exact same place you left it.

Except now, Aziraphale's copious amounts of books have taken up storage like stalagmites in a cave. And there was a strange, large man occupying your space. You decide to take refuge downstairs.

To pass the time, Crowley tells you about Job as you look through the book that Aziraphale had left out. He tells you about God's plan to test the faith of their favourite human, how he had free reign to ruin Job's life but ultimately didn't.

Crowley was always nice, you thought.

After hearing the story, you say, "It's a bit overly righteous."

"Well, we are talking about God," Crowley replies.

"Yeah, I know, but there must have been a better way." You try to think of an analogy. "What if I said, 'Oh Crowley, you're my favourite dad, but maybe you only like me because you have to'. And then I crash your car and set your plants on fire and… punch Aziraphale in the face to see if you'll still like me afterwards."

Crowley stares at you with subtle incredulity. You sense that he's about to say something judgemental.

But instead, he asks, "I'm your favourite?"

"What?" you reply.

"You just said I'm your favourite."

"…I was just trying to make a point."

"Oh, so Aziraphale's your favourite?"

"Who said I had a favourite?"

"Come on, everyone has a favourite parent."

"Well, I don't."

Crowley stares at you even more, waiting for you to break. But you seem successful in holding your ground.

"Alright, whatever," he gives in. "And I do like you, by the way. Not just because I have to."

"Hah, I knew it," you give him a big smile.

"Just don't crash my car or do any of what you just said."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

He smirks back and continues, "I agree with you about the whole Job situation, too. So does Aziraphale. That was the first day the two of us were truly on the same side."

"Our side," you say.

"Exactly," Crowley nods, "Though we hadn't realised it at the time."

You watch as Crowley smiles to himself. It reminds you of the nights in your room when Aziraphale would abandon whatever book he had picked and tell you a story of him and Crowley instead.

You find yourself smiling too.

But a crash from upstairs ruins the moment. It's Gabriel, or rather, Jim.

You sigh and ask, "Did Aziraphale have to give him my room?"

"No, but I suppose he wanted Gabriel to be comfortable for whatever reason," Crowley shrugs.

"What if he's touching my stuff or something?"

"He probably is. Might be breaking a few of your things, too."

You cringe at the thought. "Would it really hurt you to try and make me feel better?"

"What, you want me to lie to you?" Crowley asks.

"You are a demon, aren't you?"

"Retired, technically."

Unable to think of something to respond with, you turn your sights to the street through the window, wondering when you'll see the Bentley return.

"Hey," Crowley grabs your attention again, "This will all be over before you know it. Then I'll let you and Aziraphale drag me to whatever dreaded place you both wish."

You aren't sure how true that is. Or how much trouble Jim will really be for them.

But for now, you just smile. "Sounds like a deal."

#good omens #good omens x reader #crowley #crowley x reader #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands x reader #aziraphale #aziracrow #edit: realised that gif of crowley is actually aziraphale oops 🤭

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shewhohangsoutincemeteries · 1 year

Text

wrapping up the last three hundred and sixty-five days with a round up of all the 'x reader' fanfiction I have published in 2022. thank you all for all your requests, feedback, reblogs and support over the last twelve months, especially during the 10k month of fic! sharing this love for these characters with you all is such a mental refresh for me, and hopefully I can publish even more fics in 2023. and I hope that you'll love all the new fics as much as you've loved these ones :)

happy new year!

full content warnings and content can be found on each individual post, and each fic is labelled for length. follow me on bartonstark to find all my fic in one place, or check out my ao3. smut/sexual content: *** personal favourites: ///

BRUCE BANNER:

afterwards (drabble) *** aftercare with bruce.

bend, don't break (oneshot) *** /// the take a reprieve during a party, and take a new step in your relationship.

fear and loving in iowa (oneshot) when you’re injured in johannesburg, bruce blames himself.

fireworks (oneshot) thanks to the frigid air at the top of the tower, you share a tender moment.

first times (drabble) *** having sex with bruce for the first time.

p.s. (ficlet) an unfinished note leaves you confused during your college graduation.

restoration (oneshot) after johannesburg, you have nightmares. bruce provides you with comfort.

BUCKY BARNES:

bedside manner (oneshot) sam calls you to say bucky has been hurt on a mission,and you panic.

early hours (oneshot) *** after a mission, all bucky wants to do is crawl into bed with you.

morning grind (drabble) *** morning sex with bucky.

shards of glass (oneshot) *** /// you share a past, and now bucky's tracked you down to find closure.

CLINT BARTON:

after hours (oneshot) *** clint stops by your office after work to distract you the best way he can.

body heat (oneshot) *** /// the there's-only-one-bed trope in the back of an suv during a blizzard.

bound (drabble) *** clint is really into bondage and you're happy to spoil him.

coffee break (ficlet) there's an avenger bleeding in the bathroom of the cafe where you work.

crossroads (oneshot) clint receives an offer that could change his life & you encourage him to take it.

a delicate hand (oneshot) /// clint attempts to pull you out of a funk by helping you get ready for the event.

green light (oneshot) *** /// you surprise clint with a new toy, and he is very eager to try it out.

hey, you (ficlet) *** /// you receive a note from a certain avenger in the middle of a crowded bar.

in the stacks (ficlet) *** you steal a moment of intimacy in the back of a bookshop together.

respite (oneshot) when you’re hurt on a mission, clint has to convince you to take a breather.

think of me (oneshot) *** /// when you're dragged out for a night, clint has an idea of what to do in the club.

three a.m. (oneshot) /// a knock on your window comes from a certain injury-prone avenger.

we could play pretend (oneshot) you bond over all the little things you miss about being in a relationship.

welcome home (drabble) *** you welcome clint home after he's been away on a mission.

JESSICA JONES:

reprieve (oneshot) she has to drag you out of a dingy bar in the middle of the night.

snooze button (drabble) jessica isn't exactly a morning person.

MARC SPECTOR:

fast lane (drabble) *** /// marc gives you a preview in the car of what to expect when you get home.

NATASHA ROMANOFF:

follow my lead (oneshot) natasha offers to teach you how to slow dance.

PETER QUILL:

raincheck (oneshot) /// convincing quill to go to bed isn’t exactly an easy feat.

SAM WILSON:

miss me? (oneshot) you're finally reunited with sam in the middle of the battle of earth.

soul food (oneshot) /// when you’re sick, he ditches his responsibilities just to make you feel better.

STEVE ROGERS:

lost time (oneshot) *** late for your date, steve walks in on you working off your frustrations.

TONY STARK:

afterglow (drabble) *** after care with tony.

as you're told (oneshot) *** /// tony calls you to his office with a new game in mind…

between the sheets (oneshot) *** you've decided to try for a baby, and tony can't wait to get started.

come back to me (oneshot) after tony almost dies, you’re left lost and furious at what just happened.

count (oneshot) *** /// tony is nothing if not a giver. but… he is also a bit of an asshole.

echo (oneshot) /// you’re struggling to forget the past, so you try to bring part of it back to you.

idiot (drabble) *** just an soft, sexy moment between the two of you.

insatiable (drabble) *** the real question is, which one of you is the bigger tease?

mood lighting (ficlet) *** tony spoils you by candlelight.

on your knees (oneshot) *** the idea of having you on your knees is far too tempting for tony to resist.

quick question (oneshot) tony has a question to ask you, battlefield be damned.

red and gold (ficlet) an afternoon in central park lets you appreciate the seasonal color change.

simple pleasures (drabble) *** tony loves nothing more than eating you out.

sober hearts (oneshot) a look at your relationship as it has evolved over the years.

spare key (drabble) *** you give tony a key to your apartment.

subtlety (oneshot) *** impatient, you make use of the ‘emergency stop’ button in the elevator.

warm hands (ficlet) *** the two of you share an intimate interlude out in the snow.

WANDA MAXIMOFF:

hold tight (oneshot) *** /// she loves to spoil you & sometimes that means leaving you a quivering mess.

reflected in you (oneshot) you try on your new uniform, and wanda helps you find your confidence.

spicy sweet (oneshot) *** you plan on surprising wanda, but disaster means a change of plans.

sweetness (oneshot) *** /// wanda loves the way you sound, and doesn’t care who else hears it.

THREESOMES/POLYAMORY:

hands free (oneshot) *** /// you find clint on the phone, and you can’t help but distract him.

player three (drabble) *** /// clint x bucky x you. game night takes a turn when they team up on you to win.

SERIES:

to ashes chapters (full series, this year's chapters in bold) prologue - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - more to come...

tags: @startrekkingaroundasgard @wittyforachange @lovely-dreamer19 @castieltrash1 @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @capitalnineteen @youclickedthislink @s0ftness @drakelover78 @queenoftheunderdark @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @lol-you-thought @sebbystanlover-vk @mikariell95 @csigeoblue @abrunettefangirlnerd @babyblues915 @aar-journey @moistpotatobear @bellamyblakemorley @diesinspanishbcimhispanic @sentimentalalien @agustdowney @akumune @xxboesefrauxx @patheticallysentimental @loki-is-loved @ruderavenclaw @enna-core @hearmyharmony @katsies @youralphawolf72 @whovianayesha @bradfordbantams @alice-the-nerd @ace-fandom-dumbass @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @twsssmlmaa @earth-pig-fish @hallothankmas @meeksmusic83 @fallinginlovewithqueue @justanothermagicalsara @dragon-chica @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @starrynightsforever @baku-writes @sorryurnotbrucebanner

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uhdrienne · 2 months

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

03. broadcast?

🌼feat: wonwoo x reader (written and smau), fluff, angst, hometown chachacha!inspired

🌼summary: going back to the countryside where you grew up was at the bottom of your list. unexpectedly, your life changes course, and you eventually find your home in weekly village cleaning, the sound of the waves, and with the local jack-of-all-trades, jeon wonwoo.

🌼word count: 2,297 words

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

"So you're moving in?" Wonwoo asks as you finish up your fifth phone call of the day.

"Guess so," you shrug as you tuck your phone back into your pocket. "I got a moving company to help me with my stuff. Not everything, since I'll be going back in a few months."

He nods thoughtfully. "And you'll need a place to stay, I'm guessing."

You look at him. "I'm not staying with you. Don't try that."

"Calm down, Miss Doctor. I'm not ever offering my place up. You'll need to pay rent for that anyway. I can arrange a meeting with a landlord for you if you need it."

"How do I know I can trust you?" You narrow your eyes.

"I know everyone in this town." Wonwoo replies without missing a beat, in the tone that grates on your nerves. "What's it going to be? I'm a busy man."

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

Miss Kim is nice. Probably the nicest person in the town ever.

She drafts up a contract swiftly right in the local bookshop after your discussion about your housing arrangement with the help of Wonwoo, who serves as your middleman. She also starts talking about a small clinic space for you.

"So just pay the stipulated monthly rent in the duration of the last week of every month and you're good." Miss Kim summarises after you've both signed the handwritten contract.

"Alright," you say.

Miss Kim smiles. "It's been a while since we've had any newcomers in the town. You're going to have a good time."

"I doubt that," you reply quietly, but Miss Kim waves you off.

"Wonwoo," she turns to the man sitting next to you. "I'll leave the renovating to you and the boys? Not sure about the plumbing situation, but-"

You raise your eyebrows in surprise.

"No worries," Wonwoo reassures the middle-aged woman, a warm smile on his face. "Shua and Kwan are pretty free around this time. We'll handle it. And it's for a clinic, that's important. We'll sort that out too."

"Oh, you angel," the woman sighs happily. "Well, that's one load off. Y/N, dear, I'll see you soon when you move in. No need to worry about anything. Wonwoo, Joshua, and Seungkwan will handle it for you. Goodness, I've never seen boys who work better with wrenches than they do!"

She gets to her feet, and by default both you and Wonwoo stand up too. "I have to head off," she adds ruefully. "My- Mr Woo, I mean, needs someone to collect the trash bags again."

You bow as she leaves, and spin towards Wonwoo. "You do renovation?"

"Reno, plumbing, painting, wallpaper installation, carpenting, whatever makes up a house." He smirks. "Do you need my services, Miss Doctor?"

"I'm not trusting you with my house."

He rolls his eyes and groans. "Not this again."

"It's serious!" You retort. "I want to stay in a nice place for the 3 months I'm here-"

The flap of a booklet cuts you off.

Wonwoo has opened a whole damn book of certifications. Encased in transparent pockets, they tumble down, showcasing their sheer number in all its glory. And they reflect exactly what he says, you note as you scan down the list. He has government-issued licenses for renovation, as an estate agent, plumbing, wallpaper, carpenting, and no way... he's a licensed barista? A certified mechanic??

"Not so anxious anymore?" Wonwoo chuckles as he looks at your dumbfounded expression. "You-"

"Come on," he says, slinging his backpack across his shoulder. "You should go home, it's getting late. Come back soon so you can take a look at the house and the clinic plot."

He fishes out his phone. "What's your number?" After you give it to him reluctantly, he lifts a hand in goodbye as he strides out of the shop, leaving you.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

"You're moving?!"

"Why ae you so surprised?"

"You're a city girl through and through, YN LN," your friend announces. "You whine when you have to take the stairs instead of a lift in the mall. There is no way you're upping and leaving to a place where they don't even take cards."

"I asked this guy to get them fixed," you shrug. "And it's just for three months, I'm not staying forever."

"I know you just have to do something rash when you see kids in need, YN," your friend sighs. "The time when you decided to donate half your first paycheck to feed underprivileged kids? Or the time when you organised a sale in twelve hours during college to fund medicine supply for-"

"Okay, shut up!" You turn to your friend, flustered, who's laughing unabashedly now. "The kids in that town don't have a clinic. The adults and grandparents don't either. And t's a private establishment, so I'll earn a lot of money while I'm there. There's a Louis Vuitton bag I've been eyeing."

Your friend laughs again, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Sure. Whatever you say."

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

"Hi. I'm Joshua, everyone calls me Shua. And that's Seungkwan over there."

The two good natured men smile at you and you bow back stiffly. Beside them, Wonwoo is pacing the area that is soon to be your house, tape measure in hand.

"Hello."

"So, our newest addition!" Seungkwan smiles. "We're trying to plan your interior deco, what are you thinking of?"

"Fabric wallpaper," you reply immediately. "In taupe or grey. I'm thinking beige furniture, gives it a minimalist vibe?"

Seungkwan opens his mouth, presumably to suggest something else, but Joshua cuts in smoothly, smiling at you. "No problem. It's great that you know what you want."

At last, finally someone who gets you. "Thanks," you say stiffly, letting out a tight smile.

Wonwoo seems to be done with the measurements, as he keeps his tape measure. "Shua, Kwan, I'll take Miss Doctor to see the clinic plot. Be back soon."

"Okay!"

Wonwoo beckons to you. "Come on then."

A swift ten minutes later, you're standing in the middle of the clinic space.

"This could be the observation room," you mutter to yourself. "Or the office."

You deem the place good enough to move into. Plenty of natural light, a spacious front room, and a few more rooms at the back for observation rooms and your own office.

"Send me what you want for the wallpaper and all that," Wonwoo says, as you both leave the place and he gets ready to head back to your future house. "And it's minimum wage per hour for all three of us. We take bank transfers."

"What?"

Wonwoo smirks. "This isn't the city, but we don't work for free. I'll send you the details, you can just pay us when we're finished."

You gape at him. "I- of course I'm going to pay you! Who do you think I am, a leech?"

He shrugs. "Whatever you say. Anyway, I'll contact you when we're done, but the office might take a while more. Bye."

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

Dear Miss YN LN,

Thank you for your letter regarding your placement at the pediatrics unit here at Seoul University Hospital. Unfortunately, we cannot make the necessary re-arrangements as the other doctor mentioned has already started his five-year term with us. As we are in the process of preparing for the start of your contract, you were given the three months delay before you begin work.

Do advise us on what we can do to improve the situation as we hope to provide you with a positive working experience. We look forward to your reply.

Warmest Regards

Seoul University Hospital

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

Three Weeks Later

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

"Looks okay."

"Just 'okay'?" Wonwoo scoffs. "Shua spent all weekend putting up that fancy wallpaper you wanted."

"I thought you could deliver whatever your clients wanted," You hiss. Delia's eyes flick between both of you, seemingly in amusement.

"Thanks, Chief Jeon. YN's a little picky, but the place looks great!" She interrupts, and you shoot her a glare.

"No worries, Miss..?" Wonwoo smiles at her.

"Just call me Delia! YN, you stay here. I'm going to check the town out, yeah?" And before you can respond, she's out of the newly renovated house.

"She knows you," Wonwoo points out, reaching down to pick his haversack up. "You're prickly and bad-tempered, and-"

"Don't finish that."

He chuckles, fixing his belt. "Anyway, Seungkwan wanted me to pass you a message. The villagers heard we have a doctor staying here for a while, so they want to invite you to a village dinner tonight. Come if you're free, and take the chance to know them better, would you?"

"I'm not interested."

"Oh, come on! You can promote your clinic at the same time, no? Those things are usually pretty fun."

You perk up slightly and he notices. He lets out a laugh. "See you there. Bring your friend if you want to so you're not alone."

Unfortunately, Delia isn't free, what with her taking the night shift at her nursing job in a Seoul hospital. She leaves with the promise to call you when she's free to chat, and you head to the location on your own.

You bow stiffly to the three grandmas who taught you how to handle squid as they pass you, and they chuckle and pat your hand. Cringing at the feeling of old, wrinkled hands on you but saying nothing, you head towards a familiar face.

"Oh YN! Didn't think I'd see you here!" Joshua remarks cheerfully, holding tongs and standing over a portable grill sizzling with seafood. "Here, I'll grab you a plate. These prawns came in fresh, so you get first dibs off the grill!"

"YN! Over here!" Seungkwan's voice catches your attention, and you turn to see him waving you in the direction of his table. Next to him, playing with a young girl, is the chief you least want to see.

Joshua lets out a hearty laugh as he passes you a plate, laden with seafood and meat and rice. "Eat up. Stay with Seungkwan if you're a little awkward, he'll keep the conversation flowing."

You thank him a little quietly before making your way to the table. As you settle, a middle-aged man reaches to shake your hand.

"Mr Woo," He says, a little gruffly but still pleasantly. "I work in the village bank."

"Bank...?" You ask. "I didn't see one when I-" You stop yourself before the embarrassing story of you trying to retrieve your pride pours out.

"Oh! It's a small one, near the convenience store. It's quite secluded so you probably didn't catch it." Mr Woo doesn't seem fazed as he explains. Seungkwan throws his head back and laughs, "I had a hell of a time trying to find it when it was first built!"

The conversation starts and you try to listen, but it's just not the same. You're only used to chats about tough medical cases and patients, never about the day's currents, the catches from the sea, and the trash collection on Saturday mornings. You only pretend to be distracted when you see the chatterbox Miss Hwang arrive. You don't really want another debate with her.

Luckily, Delia's call when the clock approaches 9 gives you a mild reprieve. You excuse yourself and close the door to the small room at the back. It looks like the broadcast room, with a small mic there. You swipe accept on Delia's call.

"Hey, girl!" her voice rings across the line. "How's the dinner?"

"Awful," You sigh as you ean against the mic shelf. "I haven't mentioned my clinic once, and all they talk about is the day's fish!"

"Don't be such a grump," Delia teases. "That's a nice topic, you know. Life there seems so idyllic, I'd so take that over this any day."

"No you don't," You reply tiredly. "They're all so simple -- too simple it's aggravating. The chatterbox lady insisted on playing the strangest music earlier, and I wish I hadn't said I was staying here, now I have to put up and pretend I'm interested in their way of life!"

"You might like it there. The people seem pretty nice," Delia persists. Fortunately, her nagging is cut short by a call of her name, presumably from another nurse. "Shoot. I gotta go."

"Go on," you mutter. "I'll find an excuse to leave soon or something."

With a goodbye the call ends, and you mentally prep yourself to head out again.

But when you leave, you don't hear the excited hum of chatter among the villagers. Not the weird trot music Miss Hwang insisted on playing. Save for the sizzle of the grill, the whole space is silent. Every single villager's eyes follow you. Even Miss Hwang has fallen silent for once, pupils dilated in seemingly shock.

You swallow. "What?"

You turn in Seungkwan's direction. Joshua's. And Wonwoo's. The other two men aren't meeting your gaze at all, but Wonwoo is looking up and directly at you. His eyes don't have the same spark they did when you saw him earlier. They've hardened in anger and disappointment, and his jaw has tightened considerably. Joshua's deliberately looking everywhere else except for in your direction, and Mr Woo's pretending to pick at nonexistent fuzz on his clothes. Seungkwan can't even meet your eye.

You're stuck in momentary confusion until it hits you in a wave of shock and panic. The mic. The mic in the room must have been turned on the whole damn time. Your words had been broadcasted for everyone there to hear.

Your face and ears burn red, and you stride over to the table, as quickly as your shaky legs can handle, grab your bag and leave. No one follows you or tries to stop you to explain yourself.

You've stunned the whole town into silence.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

oh noooooo

💌 taglist: @gaslysainz @lev1hei1chou

prev. masterlist. next.

wonwoo x reader (smau, written)

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th3-c0rps3-r0gu3 · 8 months

Text

shadows.

Chapter two:

Pairings: Wanda X Natasha, Natasha X umbrakinetic child reader, Wanda X umbrakinetic child reader, Avengers X umbrakinetic child reader.

Warnings:

Summary: Wanda and Natasha were no strangers to the dark. But what happens when the dark isn't what they thought it was?

A/n: this took ages 😭.

3rd person.

Natasha walked into the compound trying to figure out a way to convince the other Avengers to let y/n stay. Upon stepping out if the elevator on her and Wanda's floor Natasha was greeted with the smell of bacon and eggs. Natasha walked into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around her cooking girlfriend.

"Tasha hey!"

Wanda exclaimed excitedly.

"hey detka"

Natasha responded, kissing Wanda's neck.

Wanda finished cooking and placed a plate of bacon and eggs Infront of Natasha before setting up her own.

"how was your run Moya lyobove (lmk if I spelt that wrong btw)?"

Wanda asked absent mindedly as she ate. Natasha suddenly remembered the books she brought and pulled them out and passed them to Wanda.

"I took you up on your 'be more spontaneous' offer. I went to a bookshop and got you these"

Natasha studied her girlfriends face as she inspected the books.

"they look fun... but there's something in your mind."

Wanda said shooting Natasha a pointed look. Natasha looked away.

"there was a teen. A homeless teen."

Natasha refused to meet Wanda's eyes.

"and upon impulse you gave them a place to stay. Didn't you."

Wanda sighed.

"there's a spare room in our floor that nobody uses and I'm sure she won't be trouble. Kid looks like she's been through a lot and..."

Natasha trailed off. She actually had no idea what had pushed her to make such a decision. Wanda looked at Natasha sympathetically.

"and you couldn't stand the thought of her staying there."

Wanda said softly. Natasha sighed and nodded gently.

"well I have nothing against it. Infact I support the idea. But your going to need alot of luck to convince the others of your idea."

Natasha groaned.

"Argh I know."

Wanda smiled at natasha.

"I'm sure you'll manage."

Wanda said connecting their hands from across the island in the kitchen. Natasha shit Wanda a grateful look.

"well then Romanoff you gonna tell us why we've been gathered here?"

Tony said as he and the other Avengers gathered in a room after Natasha called them for a 'emergency meeting'. Natasha stood before the group with Wanda beside her holding her hand.

"yes well there has been some certain offers made."

Natasha said. In all honesty Natasha had no idea how to tell the others she basically offered to take in a teen.

"what offers?"

Kate asked from besides yelena. Then Wanda spoke up.

"Nat has offered a teenager a home in the compound."

You could've heard a pin drop with the silence that followed.

"WHAT!?"

Tony exploded however Natasha glared at him.

"she is a homeless teen and she has a certain... draw to her. I couldn't let her stay in the streets. We have a perfectly good bedroom on mine and Wanda's floor that nobody uses and from what I know she's sure not to make trouble."

Natasha quickly defended.

"Romanoff your letting a stranger into the compound! A STRANGER!"

Tony exclaimed.

"I realise stark."

Natasha sighed. Tony glared at Natasha before shooting another snarky comment.

"we are not a bed and breakfast romanoff."

Natasha simply scoffed at him.

"I wouldn't mind another teen around actually..."

Peter spoke up. Tony sent Peter a glare.

"your supposed to be in my side here."

He said.

"actually I wouldn't mind either."

Kate speaks up again. Yelena simply nods along agreeing with kate.

"if the kid won't be trouble I don't see why she can't stay."

Steve says calmly. Tony watches in disbelief as the other Avengers agree to natasha.

"looks like your outnumbered stark. I'll pick her up tomorrow."

Natasha said slightly smug. Tony groaned and left the room. The others rolled their eyes. Tony would be over his temper tantrum soon enough.

*with y/n but still 3rd person*

Y/n wandered down the streets confused. She had just been offered a home by the black widow. A freaking superhero. And yet. She was hesitating. Anyone else in her position would if said yes in an instant. But y/n didn't. Walking back into the bookshop Sandra looked up from behind the desk.

"back from your walk then?"

She asked.

"Yeah..."

Y/n said softly.

"brilliant. You can help me shelve some books and tell me if your accepting that home."

Sandra said cheerfully as she pulled out a box of books ready for the shelves. Y/n blinked in surprise.

"how did you-"

Sandra cut her off.

"don't be silly y/n I know everything."

Y/n sighed. Sandra was a... unique person to say the least. Y/n grabbed the box and began to shelve the books though as instructed.

"I don't know if I should take the offer honestly."

"y/n you've been offered a home. A place to stay. Constant food and shelter. At least try it. And besides you could always run away back here. I'd protect you if you need you realise that?"

Sandra said sending y/n a reassuring smile. Y/n returned the smile before going back to her thoughts.

"ok. I'll try. But if I show up and hide from them one day say you haven't seen me at all ok."

Y/n said.

"oh don't you worry kiddo I'll be giving them and earful before they even take you. They screw up they die."

Sandra said taking the book y/n had and shelving it.

"you. Kill international superheroes? Verry funny."

Y/n said half sarcastic half amused. Sandra simply grinned again at y/n.

Y/n had come early today. And Sandra made sure to tease her about it.

"aww looks like someone's excited!"

Sandra said with a grin. Y/n sent her a nervous glare she didn't really mean.

"I'm nervous. What if they changed their mind. It it was a joke. Or-"

"you worry too much. Don't fret. Besides I'll still be here."

Sandra had cut off y/n again but she didn't mind. Sandra was always easily good at cutting people off to give good advice.

*Natasha 3rd person*

Natasha was nervous. It was only 8 am so she had 2 more hours till she needed to pick up y/n. Wanda was in the kitchen making breakfast and Kaye and Yelena were on the couch playing video games.

"don't worry Natasha I'm sure she'll be there."

Wanda said giving Natasha a soft smile and an omelette.

"I hope so..."

"do you need me to accompany you detka?"

Wanda asked. Natasha glanced up at her girlfriend.

"are you sure?"

Wanda nodded and Natasha smiled.

"thanks Moya lyobov"

"no problem mylashk"

Suddenly Yelena interupted them.

"can you both stop being so cute and loud. Me and Kate bishop are playing here!"

Natasha and Wanda laughed at Yelena but stood up and went to prepare the spare room for inhabitants.

A/n: and there's chapter 2! Lmk what you think. I'm quite enjoying this series so far and have big plans for it. Also sorry if the Russian nicknames are spelt wrong.

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pathetic-sapphic · 8 months

Note

Can I request meeting Viktor for the first time? What he'd think and how he might act, and how a friendship then blossoms which leads to romance. The reader being fem and a bit shy at first but bold once you know them

I love your work! Xx

Friends to Lovers with Viktor

Viktor doesn't usually pay much attention to the people that Jayce brings over to the lab. He tends to ignore them and focus on his work, he wanted to do the same when Jayce brought you over but Jayce was insistent on introducing the two of you. According to him, you two ''would get along really well'' because ''you have similar brilliant minds and a kind heart''. Viktor was suspicious of this but you seem genuinely eager to meet him and interested in his work, albeit you were a bit shy which he honestly found quite endearing.

Since then, you have become a constant presence in their lab, mostly spending time with Viktor by talking to him about his work and helping him take care of himself. Viktor was quite taken aback by the kindness and gentleness that you showed him, always worrying about his well-being and bringing him little snacks and drinks. Even if he tried not to pay attention to you and focus on his current project, you always stayed by his side, patiently observing and letting him do his thing. It was the first time in his life that Viktor learned how to enjoy silence with another person.

Jayce was the first of the three of you who noticed the feelings blossoming between you and Viktor. He was ecstatic when he realized and thought that you would make a lovely couple. However, both of you were quite shy and believed that the other person's feelings weren't mutual. So, Jayce formed a plan; he needed to get the two of you out of the lab, alone, and he knew just the way to do it.

He decided to invite you both out for a cozy drink at a bookshop café nearby. He told you that he just wanted to hang out with you both and you happily agreed. Viktor was a tougher nut to crack, always pouring over his work and being holed up in the lab. Jayce managed to convince him by telling Viktor he found some books which could contain some helpful information but there were so many that he couldn't go over them alone. Reluctantly, Viktor agreed to meet up with him, oblivious to Jayce's great master plan.

Of course, when only you and Viktor showed up at the café, it didn't take long for the two of you to realize that Jayce was behind all this. Figuring you might as well take advantage of finally being alone with one another, you and Viktor quickly slipped into a pleasant and riveting conversation.

Viktor could not remember for the life of him when was the last time he had so much fun, seeing you become comfortable at his side and laughing as you re-tell the story of that time you pranked Jayce, Viktor found himself completely whipped by your presence. Figuring it's now or never, he gently placed his hand atop of yours and admitted, ''Darling, I know the true reason behind Jayce's absence today. The truth is I have admired you and been in love with you for a while now, and I suppose that this was his way of giving me a chance to fess up. Now, I understand if you don't feel the same, it will not change our friendship. But if, by any chance, the feeling is mutual then I'd like to take you out on a proper date this Friday, without the scheming of some third-party Councilor? What do you say, my dear?''

Oh, seeing your blushing cheeks as you stuttered out a confession of your own had Viktor's heart doing flips. You were just so darling and sweet, he was so lucky that you felt the same. The rest of your date was spent planning the next one. You agreed to visit a nearby aquarium followed by a relaxing walk in the park.

Time flows by quick when you're in such lovely company and before you knew it, Viktor was accompanying you home. He walked you all the way to your door and just when he was about to bid you a good night, you gathered up all the courage you had and planted a shy kiss on his cheek. Viktor, in return, gently lifted your hand and pecked it. You swore you could feel the redness of his cheeks against your fingers. With flaming faces, you wished each other farewell and went your separate ways.

Let's just say you both owe a favor to Jayce, you'll figure out how to make it up to him during your next date. Until then, you were both going to be quite busy, you with figuring out what to wear and Viktor with figuring out what flowers he should get for you.

#arcane #arcane headcanons #arcane x reader #requests are open #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x female reader #viktor x you #viktor league of legends #arcane viktor x you #arcane viktor fluff

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ghcstao3 · 10 months

Text

ghost owning a quaint, used/vintage bookshop that really is only able to continue to run mostly by a good word of mouth and the regular collectors. they all know him as quiet, a bit standoffish, kind of intimidating but really knowledgeable and passionate about the shop and its contents.

It’s not the sort of place Soap would frequent. But then again, with work, he hardly has a home and time to find his places—so when he’s forced on a relatively longterm medical leave, he finds himself keen on exploring more of the places nearby to his flat.

That’s how he comes across the bookshop—the place intrigues him, the way it somehow looks like it’s been stuck in a certain point in history and has never changed since. And as he steps in, he’s lured further by the smell of books and used pages, and some distant undercurrent of tea and sage.

But most of all, Soap is drawn in by the store’s owner, sitting tucked into his corner with a book of his own, twisted into some (surely) uncomfortable position as he reads. He looks peaceful, Soap thinks. And strong. Steady.

(Handsome.)

Soap browses before he dare disturb the man, picking out books here and there but never quite settling. He looks through spines more than he does descriptions, like he’s afraid even gentle touch would be damaging.

Until a deep, rumbling voice informs him from the desk in the corner, “The books don’t bite, you know. Unless your hands are dirty, you won’t ruin them.”

Instead of continuing to browse with this new advice, Soap finally drifts toward the man, curious. His steps are tentative, though difficult to hide with creaking floorboards. The man hasn’t even looked up from his book.

“And if my hands are dirty?” Soap jokes.

The man looks up, one eyebrow raised, and replies as dryly as possible, “Then don’t touch.”

His eyes are a wonderful shade of brown. Something deep and soothing, the colour of black coffee and the old leather-bound books all over the shelves of the shop. Soap can’t help but stare into them, fall into the abyss.

Soap huffs. “Fair enough,” he mutters. He wills himself to look away from the hard, unwavering gaze, and back to the endless novels he has yet to choose from.

What a great first impression he’s made.

Soap sways on his feet. Clears his throat in an attempt to dispel the silence since it doesn’t seem like the man would continue to initiate anything himself. “Have any recommendations, then?”

“No,” the man says. Then he sits back, sets his book down, looks Soap over. Considers something for a long moment. Finally tells soap, “Try the poetry section.”

Funnily enough, it’s one of the few sections Soap had barely glossed over, hardly a place he would think to look for something of interest—so he’s more inclined to oblige, leaving the man to return to his novel and quiet without Soap in the middle of it all.

And funnily enough, it’s there Soap’s eye is caught by an unassuming book, its cover green and worn, the gilded text describing title and author faint and chipped.

He doesn’t look through it after picking it off the shelf—Soap just knows, somehow.

Soap moves toward the desk, silently makes the purchase. The man somehow seems at peace with Soap’s decision as he slides over the book to finally be claimed by its new owner once he’s done his checkout process.

Soap doesn’t expect the man to say anything else to him—he hardly seems the type to wish the meaningless have a good day to customers—but to his surprise, the man says, “Make sure to come back if it’s any good.”

There’s something hidden in his expression, in the few words the man has again spoken. Soap just nods, thinking he’d come back even if the pages turned out blank.

He leaves the shop feeling oddly lighter. Something swirls in his chest as he walks home, the book tucked dutifully under the arm currently without a sling.

Maybe he should go exploring more.

#inspired by Me and my personal love of collecting Really Old Books #also? needed more civilian ghost military soap yk #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #alternate universe

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thedemonknownasbilly · 4 months

Note

Howdy! I've got another poly AziraCrow x reader request for you, if you're interested

Ineffable husbands with a non-binary s/o who constantly gets misgendered and deadnamed during the holiday season since they're around family n stuff?

Ik its not malicious and it's out of habit but man, it's not great for dysphoria. Trying to disconnect myself from that so I don't hold it against anyone but. Idk. Sorry for rambling lol.

Sending love 💚

Their Name - Ineffable Husbands x GN!Reader

Boy, oh, boy this hit close to home. So basing a lot of the house descriptions/holiday traditions on my family.

Ineffable Husbands snapping at Reader’s family

He/Him for Aziraphale || She/He/They for Crowley

Great Room - the spare room usually adjacent to the living room, typically where the foyer enters into.

There was a lot you couldn’t tell your family. How your husbands were actually ethereal beings well over six thousand years old, how Aziraphale found a miracle that would help you to live forever alongside them, or how Crowley was the serpent they so often cursed in Sunday Service. But there was one thing you made crystal-fucking-clear, your name and gender identity. You came out as non-binary almost four years ago, telling your family how you wanted them to refer to you in only neutral terms.

You had met Aziraphale and Crowley a year after that, marrying them in secret two years later, just the past spring. Crowley had told you how they used all pronouns, so your favorite pastime was to call him your wife when using he/him pronouns. Aziraphale told you that he preferred he/him but wasn’t opposed to they/them if it was to put a bigot in place. That if he chose to present as a woman again for the first time in thousands of years then he would update such choices. Just a small family the three of you were.

Meeting them had been perfect for your mental health, you weren’t ready to date anyone, and a rainy day led to you stepping into the red and gold bookshop, with plants scattered about, books older than time itself, an angel and a demon running it. And they took you in without a second thought.

“Darling, you seem lost in thought,” Aziraphale broke you from your thoughts, your bottom lip sore from chewing it in stress. “What is it that troubles you?” You looked at him in the rear view mirror, smiling softly as you felt Crowley’s hand on your thigh.

“Just nervous, and feeling bad. I want to tell them about us, all three of us, and yet I’m too scared…” your family wasn’t the most open to anything outside of heteronormative, including polyamory unfortunately, leaving Aziraphale to be the “best friend/co-worker”, he had actually volunteered the title, saying it would look better for Crowley to be your husband since he appeared closer to your age than the white haired Angel did.

“Don’t fret, I know it’s not ideal, but we can pretend for one night.” Aziraphale reassured, his blue eyes seeming brighter despite the dim light in the Bentley.

“We’re here, love.” Crowley said, parking behind your uncle’s familar white SUV. “You two ready?” You looked over to Crowley and nodded, unbuckling and turning back in your seat to give Aziraphale his final kiss of the night.

Immediately you wanted to slink back into the Bentley when you heard a chorus of your deadname being yelled through the house, directing Aziraphale to the dessert table to place the Eccles cake while you set down the ancient wine bottle with the other drinks.

“This is Anthony,” you introduced your husband to your family, he was dressed in their gray button up with his red tie, black blazer and slacks. “And this is our dearest friend Azira.” Aziraphale was done up in his usual outfit except he traded out the faded waistcoat for a newer one.

“What a pity we couldn’t attend the wedding, but I suppose (s)he’s always done things his/her own way.” Your mom said, feigning innocence as your hand tightened on Crowley’s.

“Ah, yes, I suppose that’s what drew me to them. Their fierce determination.” Crowley glared slightly, a faux grin on her lips as they enunciated your pronouns. That was how the night would continue, both Crowley and Aziraphale determinedly trying to correct your family through their own speech.

“That’s it!” Aziraphale was the first to snap, seeing tears in your eyes as he sat across from you at the dining table, luckily the children were eating in the great room, the tv playing football flickered at his outburst. “I have absolutely had it with you lot misgendering them! They told you four years ago that they preferred gender neutral terms and informed you of their very legal name change, what is so hard to accept?”

When your mom went to speak, Crowley interrupted. “Nope, wrong answer there, see it’s not that hard, maybe in the beginning, to adjust, to try. But you lot never tried, did you? Instead our partner here is almost in tears, they were stressed about even coming, but unlike you all, they value you. And yes, I said our partner. Azira is not just a friend, in fact he’s as much their husband as I am.” Crowley rose from her chair and offered you their hand, which you gratefully took, letting him guide you out of the house with Aziraphale following behind you.

“I’m sorry, that was improper and I know that-” Aziraphale stammered out, feeling like he messed up but being cut off when you suddenly hugged him, laughing softly against his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare apologize, did you see their faces? That was so worth it, I have you two, and we’re a big enough family for me.” Aziraphale hugged you back tightly and kissed the side of your head, you felt Crowley press against your back, joining your hug and kissing Aziraphale.

“Happy Christmas, loves.”

“Happy Christmas, dear.”

“Happy Christmas, little devil.”

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bi-bard · 9 months

Text

Throw a Punch, Fall in Love, Give Yourself a Reason - Crowley & Aziraphale Imagine [Good Omens]

Title: Throw a Punch, Fall in Love, Give Yourself a Reason

Pairing: Aziraphale & Crowley X Platonic!Reader

Based On: Call Your Mom

Word Count: 2,279 words

Warning(s): **LOOK HERE** depictions of mental illness/poor mental health, yelling

Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are left on a hunt for something... well, someone quite important. When they find who they were looking for, they are confronted with questions that they have no answer to.

Author's Note: **PLEASE READ THIS** Let's have a serious talk here. This imagine is heavy. I use my personal experiences as a major influence for this (granted that I will not go into detail about that at this time). This is to say that it won't reflect everyone's experience and that is not the goal. This story is not meant to be educational in any capacity and I will not claim as much.

If you are experiencing struggles with your mental health, then I would invite you to skip this story. Please be responsible with the media that you are consuming. Thank you.

NOAH KAHAN - STICK SEASON [WE'LL ALL BE HERE FOREVER] WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

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

It all started with pacing.

Quite annoying pacing, really.

Crowley had walked- no, sauntered into the bookshop and found Aziraphale pacing the floor.

Over and over. Back and forth.

Annoyingly consistent steps. Floorboards seemed to creak along with each one, no matter how many times before that he had crossed them.

Crowley's voice was slow, "Angel..."

Aziraphale's pacing didn't change much as he hummed in response to Crowley. Crowley's face scrunched up a bit. He wasn't used to Aziraphale's attention not turning immediately to him when he spoke up.

"Angel," he said more firmly. Aziraphale finally looked at him. "What's going on?"

"I haven't seen (Y/n) in some time," the angel replied. "Have you?"

"I was honestly getting suspicious that they just hid in the shelves," Crowley muttered. "I don't visit them outside of your shop, Angel."

Aziraphale frowned even further than before.

"How long has it been?"

"Weeks," he answered simply. "I will admit that I have been getting a bit worried."

"Then, go visit," Crowley suggested. When there wasn't a response, he continued, "You didn't think to do that?"

"I didn't want to intrude!"

"Well, I do," Crowley turned on his heels and began his walk to the door. He stopped when he didn't hear an extra set of footsteps behind him. "Angel."

"Are you... What if they don't want to see us," Aziraphale asked.

"Well, (Y/n) can tell us that to our face," the demon shrugged before continuing his path out.

It wasn't until they started walking that the pair realized that neither one of them truly knew where (Y/n) lived. They had been told small details. Colors of curtains, what books were on shelves, the collection of notebooks that they always seemed to have. However, beyond that, the demon and angel had not thought much about where their dear friend lived.

Why would they when (Y/n) spent more time in the bookshop than they ever did in their own home?

It took some time- and a small miracle- before the pair found themselves outside an apartment door.

There was a small welcome mat sitting before their feet. It had been clearly well-loved. It had followed (Y/n) from place to place. An old gift from a parent that was meant to symbolize being a proper adult for the first time.

Aziraphale hesitated. He was still thinking about how (Y/n) may simply not want to see the two of them and that this visit would be incredibly intrusive.

He had tried to stop Crowley on the way there in the hopes of avoiding such a fate. He had mentioned that (Y/n) may just be sick, but Crowley reminded him that (Y/n) would still stop by because the pair of them couldn't catch a cold. He suggested that (Y/n) was on a trip, but Crowley mentioned that (Y/n) would have told them to keep them from worrying. Any and all alternative explanations for the unexplained absence fell less on deaf ears and more on a stubborn mind.

Crowley raised his hand and knocked on the door, hitting the wood a little harder than he probably meant to. He'd never admit that though, so it's best not to ask.

There was a long pause. A pause that caused Aziraphale to feel even more like their presence was not wanted. A pause that made Crowley contemplate how much harder he could truly knock on the door.

The two stared at each other. It had been thousands of years since the pair had met each other. A conversation done with no words exchanged was alarmingly common for them.

"(Y/n)," Aziraphale said through the door. "Are you home?"

It was still silent.

"Open the door," Crowley added after a moment. "Aziraphale may not give up, but I am far more stubborn than you think."

(Y/n)- who had confined themself to their couch- knew that the demon was being honest.

With a heavy sigh, they pushed themself off of the couch cushion and trudged to the door. They considered leaving it shut. Leaving the two celestial beings standing on their doorstep until they gave up. Like one would do to missionaries or door-to-door salesmen... which were truly one and the same when you thought about it.

They rolled their eyes at the thought and finally unlocked the door, pulling it open a second later. The angel and demon stood there as if this visit was the most normal thing in the world. Crowley in his standard all-black outfit with his glasses seemingly glued to his face. Aziraphale is ever formal attire, a grin on his face that was meant to offer some silent comfort wherever it may be needed.

"Hi," (Y/n) greeted quietly. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, we haven't seen you for a while," Aziraphale explained. "We were worried."

"Well, I'm fine," (Y/n) didn't even bother to question the angel's statement... no matter how certain they were that the demon would never admit to feeling the same worry as Aziraphale had. "You two can go."

"What's going on," Crowley asked.

"Nothing. I'm just tired and want to be left alone."

Crowley raised an eyebrow at them.

"Please, just go."

"When will we be seeing you again," Aziraphale asked.

"I don't know."

"Do you need anything?"

"No."

"Can we come in?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Why would you want to?"

"Because we're your friends and we care for you-"

"Friends would respect my boundaries when I asked them to leave."

Crowley scoffed. "Not if they got a proper look at you."

"Thanks," (Y/n) replied sarcastically. They knew how they looked. How the bags under their eyes looked and how their clothes looked and their skin and their hair. They knew.

"Tell us what's going on," Crowley pushed.

"There's nothing to tell."

"I don't believe you."

"That's not my problem."

Aziraphale tried to step in, "(Y/n), we just want to help-"

"Well, I don't want your damn help!"

The door slammed shut in front of them.

Another silent conversation was enough for both of them to be fully prepared to break in. This kind of anger was not common from (Y/n). (Y/n) was typically very levelheaded. They made a point to be so. It was meant to keep the angel and demon from picking too many pointless fights.

Crowley vaguely moved his hand to ensure the door had unlocked before going to walk inside. Aziraphale walked in awkwardly, making sure to close and lock the door behind the two of them.

(Y/n) jumped at the sound of the door opening. "What is wrong with you both?"

"You're lying to us," Crowley said simply.

"Oh my..."

"(Y/n)," Aziraphale's voice was much softer than Crowley's. "I promise that we're only trying to help-"

"Fine, then help me," (Y/n) stepped even closer to them both. They both seemed puzzled at (Y/n)'s reaction. "Go ahead. Angel and demon, right? Do one of your little miracles and fix me! Rewire my brain! Adjust all of the chemicals and impulses! Make me suddenly feel better! Get me to stop feeling like such... crap!"

The pair fell silent as they caught sight of the tears building in (Y/n)'s eyes. How long had (Y/n) been holding this in? How blind had the two of them truly been?

"Go on!"

Aziraphale spoke up first, "(Y/n)... I- I can't-"

"Fine, what about you?" they turned to Crowley. "Or is this all part of Hell's hope of causing suffering and torment? Is that why you won't properly help me?"

Crowley felt guilt begin to sink in his stomach like a weight. "(Y/n)-"

"What's Heaven's excuse," they turned back to Aziraphale. "The race of angels that claim to want to protect the humans and all of God's creations... what's their excuse for... this?!"

Aziraphale didn't have a response.

"What is it? Some garbage excuse about God wanting his bravest soldiers to face the hardest battles?"

He didn't want to respond. There wasn't a response that wasn't going to sound like some variation of exactly that.

"Because I don't want to be brave!" they continued shouting. "I am so tired of being brave and strong and calm and controlled! I am so tired! So stop acting like you can fix it!"

Any further attempt at conversation from Aziraphale or Crowley got interrupted by (Y/n) storming out of the living room. The next sound was the slamming of (Y/n)'s bedroom door.

The silence after the fact was nothing short of suffocating.

Admittedly, it was foolish of (Y/n) to assume that the pair would give up at the sound of a slamming door. The two had been around for far too long to let such an action truly stop them.

When they opened the bedroom door, (Y/n) was lying on their side, back facing the door. They were shaking a bit, clearly crying or overwhelmed or both.

Crowley stayed behind as Aziraphale stepped forward.

"(Y/n)...," Aziraphale said softly.

No response.

"I know that you don't believe that we can help you, but you have to understand why we can't just leave you alone right now."

Still no answer, but there was some kind of small shift as (Y/n) wiped their eyes.

"You know... if there's one thing that I've learned about humanity," Aziraphale explained, "then it's that they are creatures of profound hope."

(Y/n) closed their eyes. They had been told to hold onto hope. They had been told to look on the bright side. It always felt so pointless. Almost condescending.

"But I know that they commonly will hide themselves away in the absence of it," he continued. "That there's this embarrassment that comes with finding oneself without hope. And I think that such a thought leads to such loneliness that it makes the hope even harder to find."

There was still no response.

He hesitated for a few moments longer before sitting on the mattress next to them. "I am not going to demand that you complete some search for hope now. I think that you will find it when you need it most. I am going to ask that you don't isolate yourself. Not from us."

Crowley was still in the doorway, leaning against it as he listened to the angel talk. He knew that Aziraphale was much better at this kind of thing. Who was Crowley to speak on not isolating when that was all he had done for most of the time since he had fallen from Heaven?

Aziraphale didn't feel like he was the right person for this moment. Not in the silence that followed his words. He felt as if he had failed. As if (Y/n) would tell them to leave again and he would have to finally accept defeat in this situation.

He was about to push himself off of the bed but didn't get the chance before (Y/n) sat up and suddenly jumped forward. They wrapped him in a tight hug, hiding their face in his shoulder. He hugged them back as he glanced at Crowley.

Crowley stepped forward, letting his mere presence be a comfort. Physical affection in a time like this was never something that Crowley was particularly good at. In all fairness, he had never really had to be. There were two people in this world that he cared about enough to even entertain the idea of such an action.

"Thank you," (Y/n) muttered into Aziraphale's shoulder.

"You're welcome," he mumbled back. "How about you lay down here and I will go make you some tea... maybe a light lunch?"

(Y/n) leaned back and wiped their eyes before nodding. "Okay."

"Good," he nodded before standing up.

(Y/n) didn't speak up until Aziraphale was at the door, "I'm sorry."

The two looked at (Y/n) with confused expressions.

"For yelling at you both," they explained. "You two didn't deserve that. You were only trying to help."

"It's quite alright," Aziraphale promised, nodding with a gentle grin on his face.

There was a pause and a pointed look from Aziraphale before Crowley spoke up, "Consider it forgotten."

(Y/n) nodded before going to lay back down on the mattress.

After taking a deep breath, Crowley rounded the corner of the bed, going to lie on the other side of them. He plopped down on his back, legs thrown over each other rather lazily as he tried to relax into the mattress.

"So, what's the plan," (Y/n) asked, listening to the distant sound of Aziraphale waltzing around their kitchen as if he belonged there. "You two are just going to stay here?"

"Yup," Crowley replied. "You're stuck with us."

(Y/n) sniffled and wiped their nose. "At least take your shoes off if you're going to lay in my bed."

A small chuckle escaped the demon as he sat up for long enough to pull off his shoes. When he laid down, he reached over and grabbed their hand. He offered a small grin. Maybe the gentlest gesture that he had done in hundreds or thousands of years.

(Y/n) accepted it, merely moving closer and resting against his shoulder. "Thank you, Crowley."

"Yeah, yeah," he murmured, pretending to be completely unbothered by the situation. "Just don't go telling people about it."

"Your secret is safe with me."

"Good."

By the time Aziraphale had made it back with tea, (Y/n) was in a light sleep, hand still clasped tightly in Crowley's as they did so.

He set the dishes on the bedside table and moved to sit with the pair on the mattress. A quiet comfort for the time being.

And for once, (Y/n) found fighting that isolation to not be nearly as terrifying as it had once been.

They just needed somebody to truly hear them and still be stubborn enough to stay.

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