A/N: Wow! This took a while to complete, but I really wanted this one to be something special!I really hope you guys like this Emmett x Reader, I took 3 different requests and fit them all in together. Tell me how you like it!
Requests: (#1)Could you please write an imagine on what it would be like to be mated to Emmett if the reader was really shy and/or socially awkward? How would Emmett act about it?
(#2) For the Emmett Cullen request, maybe something were the reader is very tiny and shy so he constantly flirts with her to get a reaction out of her?
(#3)Maybe an Emmett imagine where you’re new and mike won’t leave you alone and mike starts being really creepy and Emmett comes to your rescue ________________________________________________
When you’re a new student at a school you should expect to get attention. This is especially true in high school, when you think about it most of these people have known each other since they were in elementary school, so when someone new comes into the mix it is exciting. It had been a busy two weeks since I started my junior year at Forks public high school, the attention I received the first few days had worn off and I was no longer news. Except to Mike Newton.
Hmm, I wonder why I suddenly got so many requests for this fic (this isn’t even all of them jeez). Y’all are sinners. Also I’m not sure if I liked how this one turned out, it’s all a bit she did this he did that, but whatever. I hope you enjoy anyway! Warning:there is sin ahead, honestly blame the buggies.
“Cheryl, what the hell?” Veronica exclaimed, casting her gaze around the room with a raised eyebrow. The head bitch herself had rallied the Vixens for an emergency practice, surprising them all by turning on her heel and marching into the smaller weights room off the side of the gym. Everything had been cleared out, all equipment long gone, replaced only by an array of shiny silver poles stretching from floor to ceiling.
“I’ve been doing my research and it appears that this is the best way to turn your abs to fabs in time for the end of season pep rally,” Cheryl stated, gesturing matter-of-factly around her. Betty gulped.
“Pole dancing?” she asked, voice shaking with the rising of her nerves, brows pinching together in concern.
“Pole fitness,” Cheryl clarified, striding over to a pile of booty shorts, even shorter than their regular required uniform (and significantly tighter, Betty noted), with matching sports bras. “Suit up, my River Vixens. You’ve got a lot to learn in the way of sex appeal.”
“V, I don’t think I can…” Betty mumbled in panic, eye darting between the poles and the tiny garments resting atop her open palm. Her other hand gripped at Veronica’s arm, itching to curl into itself. Veronica glanced down at it before meeting Betty’s wide stare.
“B, it’s okay!” she reassured, bringing her hands up to rest on Betty’s shoulders as she tilted her mouth in a comforting smile. “We’re only at practice, it’s just like exercise,” she reasoned. Betty’s heart rate didn’t slow any. Veronica sighed, eyes running over the room as she tried to find the right words. “Okay, think of it this way. This is an aid to becoming stronger, right? Mind and body. It’s gonna make you feel confident and powerful. So think of something that already gets you halfway there.” Mischief glinted in her dark irises. “Maybe… when you’re with a certain dark-haired, brooding, Byron wannabe? I bet you know a few ways to help him raise the flag-”
“Veronica!” Betty screeched, tilting her head to watch the open door, cheeks flushing scarlet as she pulled her hand back from the other girl’s arm like she’d been burned. Veronica grinned devilishly, shrugging her delicate shoulders.
“I’m just saying, Betty. Channel some of that ‘in the moment’ confidence.” Her eyes softened. “It’ll help,” she threw over her shoulder as she turned to go and change. Betty took a breath, releasing the tension from her back as she stretched out her fingers. She could do this.
Betty stumbled into the girl’s locker room, muscles she didn’t even know she had aching, red bruises forming between her thighs. Pole, she had quickly learned, was exhausting. Add to that a commanding Cheryl Blossom, on the warpath for perfectly arched backs and streamlined drops, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk for a week.
But Veronica had been right. It did make her feel powerful, in control, even - dare she say it - sexy. It allowed her the kind of freedom she craved when she just let go, without any of the darkness clouded the edges of her vision, pulling her into an unreachable abyss. Betty bit her lip against her smile as she opened her gym locker - she could definitely get used to this feeling. Gripping the cool metal between her fingers, her thighs, back arching as she swung gracefully.
“Want me to wait for you, B?” Veronica asked, coming up behind her. Betty startled at her close voice, ponytail whipping sharply behind her, the dark-haired girl ducking out of the way.
“Wha- Oh, no. I’m supposed to be meeting Jughead to work on the Blue and Gold,” she smiled. Veronica smirked.
“Whatever you say. Enjoy your work,” she said suggestively, flitting out of the locker room with one last coy glance at Betty’s mortified expression. She huffed out a laugh, shaking her head at her friend’s antics as she pulled her clothes out.
The surrounding din quietened down as the last of the Vixens left for the night, leaving Betty alone. She glanced round cautiously, checking there were no prying eyes still, before slipping back into the gym. She couldn’t help herself; she just wanted to lose herself in the sensation for a little bit longer. She stepped gingerly towards the centre pole, clasping it with damp palms. She hooked her right knee around the object, like she’d been taught a few hours before, and pushed her weight off her left foot, propelling herself round.
She caught glimpses of herself in the mirror lining one wall. It didn’t feel like her own reflection staring back at her. She didn’t see pink sweaters and slicked back hair. She saw lean lines, strong muscles, elegant curves. There was a way about her features, her narrowed eyes, her mouth set with firm confidence, that made her blood buzz as she continued to move. She dipped her body, leg coming up in a sharp angle as she let her eyes drift closed for a moment.
“Betty?” Her eyes flew open at the low voice coming from her right. She straightened herself quickly, fingers clutching at the pole as she took in Jughead’s form standing in the doorway. Her cheeks burned.
“Juggie…” she breathed, unable to meet his eyes. “H-how long have you been standing there?” His own cheekbones were already dusted an adorable pink, blue eyes wide. He swallowed around the thickness in his throat, adam’s apple bobbing distinctly.
“Um, not that long, really. Just a while… a f-few minutes, maybe,” he stammered, ashamed of how long he’d stood silently, knowing she hadn’t seen him, while she danced.
He was entranced the moment he’d opened the door. He’d gotten worried, Betty was never usually this late to their meetings, and ventured out find her. He’d heard the music coming from the weights room and curiously pushed open to the door only to find her, twisting her body sensually to the beat now pounding in his ears. Jughead had frozen in place, boots rooted to the spot, unable to look away - not wanting to - even though he knew he was spying. She’d just looked so beautiful he couldn’t help it. His fingers itched with the desire to touch her, a pool of warmth flooding his lower belly and sending sparks southwards. His heart thudded, so loud he was surprised she couldn’t hear it, air getting too hot against his skin.
She appraised him with her usual, wide eyes, snapping back instantly into the Betty he was familiar with. She chewed on her lower lip, fingers playing idly with the elastic on her shorts. She could see the way his pupils had blown wide with lust, with want for her, as he’d been watching. His breath was coming a degree faster than normal, the way it did whenever she’d run her fingers down his chest, her teeth across his collarbone. She was turning him on just by the way she was moving, across the room entirely. The thought simmered beneath her skin, sending a delicious warmth to the apex of her thighs.
Before Betty could stop herself she was moving to grab one of the chairs stacked against the wall, placing it a few feet away from the pole she was previously using. She grabbed Jughead’s hand, his palm reassuring in hers, and dragged him over, pushing on his shoulders to get him to sit. He gazed up at her questioningly, eyebrows knit in confusion. She simply smiled, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to his soft cheek.
“Just watch,” she murmured against his heated skin. He nodded, dumbfound, not quite sure what he was agreeing to but knowing he didn’t want to say no. In the moment confidence, Veronica had said. The fluttering nervousness in her chest was blooming into something new, a need to have Jughead’s eager eyes on her as she danced, wanting him to see her whilst she reached this new high.
Betty took a breath, feeling the beat vibrating up through her legs. Her hand came up to her ponytail, pulling the band out and tossing it away, letting her honey waves free around her shoulders. Jughead shifted in her peripheries, hands coming to rest on his knees, waiting for the performance to begin.
She walked round the pole, each step measured and calculated, one hand running delicately over the metal. Every so often she chanced a glance at Jughead from beneath her lashes, finding his eyes glued to her frame. This dance wasn’t like the others from practice. Betty swung her hips back and forth, sweeping her hair over her shoulders with a flick of her head, adding a whole new layer of sensuality to her steps. She spun, enjoying the slight breeze across her warm skin that the movement caused, pulling her lower lip between her teeth as she arched her neck. Jughead cleared his throat shuffling in his chair as his fingers clutched aimlessly at the denim covering his knees. It was so apparent what she was doing to him, his tongue coming out to wet his suddenly dry lips.
Betty turned to face him, hands clasped above her head as she slowly started to slide her back down the pole, never once taking her darkened eyes from his. She reached the ground, a surge of confidence igniting a fire throughout her body as she caught sight of the prominent bulge between his shifting thighs, parting her knees and spreading her legs in a move that definitely wasn’t a part of Cheryl’s earlier routine.
“Betts…” Her name fell, slightly strangled, from his parted lips. She stood slowly, stalking towards him with a glint in her eye, like a predator seeking its prey. Her hands braced themselves on his shoulders as she swung her leg over his thighs, settling down over his lap. There was a delicious ache forming between her overworked thighs as she fought to keep her eyes from rolling back into her head. Jughead’s eyelids fluttered as they both let out perfectly synchronised moans at the long awaited pressure, but he was determined to take in every second of this moment, of Betty free of restriction before him. She grasped his wrists, placing his desperate hands on the small of her waist. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, voice hoarse. She giggled, the sound causing his own lips to lift in a smile.
“I think I do,” she muttered, circling her hips purposefully. Jughead groaned, bucking up involuntarily at the sensation. Betty paused, lifting her weight slightly from him. “You have to stay still. This is my show,” she teased, raising a challenging eyebrow. He nodded, not trusting his voice. She dropped herself down again, continuing the torturous roll of her hips, arms locked around his neck.
She swayed gently, her scent completely overwhelming Jughead’s senses. Her firm breasts were at his eye level, heaving slightly before his face. Blue eyes followed the bead of sweat, from her earlier exertion, that rolled down her collarbone and disappeared into the valley of her cleavage, wanting to chase it with his tongue. His fingers crept up her side, cupping the underside of her breast gently. All movement ceased as she threw him a threatening look, shivers rolling down Jughead’s spine, pushing the wandering hand firmly back to her waist. Betty moved her lips to his ear, warm breath making him shudder.
“Having trouble following the rules, Jug?” she whispered, unable to stop the grin from spreading across her face as she felt his fingers flex against her skin, head tilting to allow her more access to his neck. A low groan caught in his chest as she gave a pointed swivel of her hips. He blew out an uneven breath as she trailed her lips down his flushed skin, movements unrelenting now, mouth resting over his pounding pulse point. She latched her lips over the spot and sucked, small mewl vibrating against him as she felt the responding twitch in his pants directly beneath her sensitive core.
Betty pulled back, satisfied with the purple bruise she’d left amongst the fading others already littered across his pale skin. She knew that the uncontrolled grip he had against her delicate flesh would leave lingering fingerprints for her to run her hands over affectionately later, remembering the effect she had on him.
Jughead’s breathing hitched as she dropped her forehead to his, their breaths mixing, panting into each other, as she lay her open mouth over his. Her movements were speeding up, the coil in the pit of Jughead’s stomach tightening as his vision started to blur. Betty bent closer, catching Jughead’s chapped lower lip between her teeth and pulling gently.
It didn’t take much more, every last nerve Jughead had now frayed and oversensitive because of the woman in his lap, heat of her core radiating through his pants. With one last twist of her hips he couldn’t hold back any longer, loud groan tearing itself from his chest, hips bucking upwards, stuttering, as he came, pulsing beneath her.
Betty slowed her movements, revelling in the way he twitched and grunted beneath her as she coaxed him through his release, overly stimulated and exhausted. He finally opened his eyes, fingers coming to cup her cheek, looking up at her in awe. He pulled her down, placing a sweet, gentle kiss to her bitten lips.
“I never knew I could like gym so much,” he joked against her lips, Betty dropping her head to the crook of his neck with an exuberant laugh.
“Or that you’d have a reason to thank Cheryl Blossom,” she murmured with an amused smile, tucking herself closer into his embrace.
For @bgonemydear, who wanted reunited childhood sweethearts in a historical au.
The train hadn’t finished slowing down when Bellamy hopped off. It had been years since he had been back to Arkadia— six, as a matter of fact— and already he could tell things were different. There was a train station, for one. No more walking to Polis and catching the train there. There was a bank now too, and soon enough there would be a law firm, too.
Bellamy left the station and turned down the main thoroughfare. His mother and Octavia wouldn’t be expecting him until tomorrow, but he had decided last night he couldn’t wait. He’d taken an earlier train and would come back for his things with the wagon tomorrow.
Murphy saw him first. He waved from the porch of the general store and went back to sweeping, a very different man from when Bellamy had left. He was married now, Octavia said, and far more settled. The town had changed and the people had too, which he supposed was the general order of things. He wasn’t the same boy who left. The Bellamy Blake who had left Arkadia had been a boy from a poor claim who only owned the shirt on his back and two tattered books and now he was a lawyer with an expensive suit and a position at Charles Pike’s firm, coins jangling in his pockets as he walked.
He had paid off the mortgage the first chance he got, and now his mother rented the land out to other farmers for pasture. That was all it was good for, anyway, and Bellamy made more than enough to keep them comfortable. He rounded the corner separating his mother’s land from the Millers’ and heard a joyful shout in the distance.
Octavia had seen him from a quarter mile off and she was running to him, her skirts flying as she pumped her arms. She threw herself into his arms with a screech and he swung her around. “You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow,” she scolded, and he laughed and set her down.
“I got impatient. Are you complaining?”
Octavia grinned and punched him in the shoulder. “Never.”
His mother’s reaction was more subdued but no less joyful, and she insisted on making a roast even though he protested that the chicken she was going to make for herself and Octavia was more than sufficient. But all throughout dinner she cast him careful, measured looks, and when Octavia was preoccupied with the washing she pulled him aside.
“Have you seen her?”
“No,” he said quickly, but his eyes darted to the window towards the Griffin homestead anyway.
“I thought you might have gone to see her first,” she said. “I would have understood.”
Even after all these years, it hurt. By all rights he should have been going to see Clarke first. He should be coming back to marry her; he would be, in fact, if she had agreed to wait. That was all he wanted— all he’d ever wanted. Almost as much as he’d wanted an education.
But she didn’t want him.
As the sun sank below the horizon he found himself pulling on his boots. “Want some company?” Octavia asked, but he shook his head.
“Just want to take a walk,” he said, and that was some of the truth. Mostly, he wanted to show himself he could remember Clarke without falling apart.
He went straight for the tree on the rise between their property. There had been some dispute over who found it first, him or Clarke, and for the first year they warred over it like opposing armies. But at some point their enmity had shifted to friendship, and soon they used it as a meeting spot. There was a hollow in it the perfect size for hiding treasures, and for years they left notes for each other there.
The tree had been host to other things too, hesitant kisses and fumblings that were sweet and bright in his memory, with a clarity he had spent six years hoping to shake. The sky turned orange and purple and pink and he sat down, thinking of all the times he had been in this very spot, his back leaning against the tree while Clarke sketched. Sometimes she would lay her head in his lap and let him card his fingers through her hair, lulling her into a doze until their mothers shouted for them.
The tree was where he asked her to marry him, and where she broke his heart. That’s not the life I want, she had said, her face immobile and cold. He had left angry but that anger had turned to sadness by the time he arrived in his boarding house, but by then it was too late. He started dozens of letters to her but none of them felt right, so in the end he simply told himself it was a childhood love and nothing more.
Sitting next to the tree now, six years later, he knew that was a lie. He reached into the hollow out of idle curiosity, but his hand brushed something that didn’t belong. It was hard, wrapped in waxy canvas, and when he pulled it out and unwrapped it, he recognized it.
Abby Griffin had kept it on the hutch near her doctoring kit, a plain, unremarkable wooden box except for the initials JG carved into the top.
It was Clarke’s. That much was certain. It was Clarke’s and he had no right to pry, but he told himself this tree didn’t just belong to her. And he had spent so long yearning for anything of hers that the temptation was just to great. He lifted the lid and all the air left his lungs at the sight of his name in her deliberate, careful cursive.
Dozens and dozens of letters, and as he flipped through them he saw each one was addressed to him, all with a date marked neatly in the corner. He chose one at random and looked at the date— three years ago. Another was from five years ago, and one on the top was dated that very year.
His vision swam and he felt lightheaded. Behind him the prairie grass rustled and he turned to see Clarke frozen five feet away. “You found them,” she said, breathless. “I heard you were back, and—”
He drank in the sight of her— she was just as he remembered but different too, like everything. Some of her curves were softer and some of the lines of her face were sharper, but she was still Clarke, still so beautiful it hurt to look at her. “You wrote to me,” he said dumbly.
Clarke sank to her knees and snatched the letters away. She stuffed them haphazardly into the box without looking up. “I never sent them,” she mumbled.
“You wrote to me,” he repeated. “You— I thought you— you said no. You said you didn’t love me,” he stammered out. “Right here. Six years ago. I asked you to wait for me, and you said no.”
She sniffled and kept her eyes on the box. Her hand shook as she fumbled with the latch and she shook her head. “I never said I didn’t love you,” Clarke said quietly.
“I asked you to marry me,” he said again. “You said no.”
“Because I didn’t want you to come back,” she said and looked up. Her eyes gleamed but her chin was lifted, proud and fierce. “I didn’t want this life for you. You deserved better. It wasn’t because— I never said I didn’t love you. I did.”
“And right did you have to decide that for me?”
She tore her eyes away from him. “None. But I also knew I would never forgive myself if you came back here just for me. I wanted you to be free– free to choose without feeling beholden to me.”
Bellamy picked up a letter she had missed and looked at the date. “You wrote to me last week,” he said. A hope he thought was long extinguished bloomed in his chest. “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Do you still love me?”
“What does that matter now?”
Bellamy lifted her chin with his finger so she was looking at him. “Do you still love me?”
“How could I ever stop?” she said with a half-laugh, half sob caught in her throat.
Bellamy had won awards in school for his speeches. He was devastating in the courtroom with them, and he could marshal them to win any argument, convince any opponent. But here, words failed him.
So he caught her face in his hands and kissed her instead.
You and Tom have a son named William. He is the love of your life. All that you care about. Your family has never been happier, but when Will gets hurt, what will happen to you and Tom.
Hang onto your seat belts laddies cause this is gonna be a ride.If you want to be tagged for updates message me, inbox me, reply, or reblog this saying so!
“Tom!” You called out, feeling the hot forehead of your son, worry slowly getting the better of you.
“What? What? What happened?!” Tom ran into the room, startled by the fright and worry in your voice.
“William says he’s not feeling well.” You told him, moving to the side to let him see.
“Oh no…” Tom, looking as worried as you, went to the other side of Will’s bed and felt his head. “Are you not feeling well, bud?”
William, with a pouting lip, shook his head no. He looked pitiful, curled up in his bed groaning because his stomach was hurting also.
“I don’t think he can go to school today.” Tom concluded with a sigh.
You pushed Williams curls away from his face, and sighed, leaving the room in search for your phone, “That’s it, I’m going to have to call the theatre tell them I can’t come in. They can survive without me-
“No, no.” Thomas ran after you, taking the phone from your hand when you started to dial. “You can’t do that.”
I hope this is alright! Sorry it’s a million years late! <3
It was a Wednesday morning when Sansa walked in on Harry arse-naked on top of some blonde in their shared bed. At first, she’d just stood there, thinking about how ugly Harry was and how gross he looked in the throes of sex. Everything about it looked so mechanical and dull – and god, if you’re going to cheat on your girlfriend who you just moved in with then at least throw it all away for a night (or rather morning) of passion. That’s why people cheat, right? They get so overwhelmed by sexual chemistry and something new that they can’t resist themselves, so what does it say about Sansa that her boyfriend of a year cheated on her for mediocre sex?
She’s not sure and it’s better if she pretends she doesn’t know the answer to that question.
“Sans? Where do you want this?”
Her brother is studying her with his arms wrapped tightly around a box labeled ‘shit Sansa doesn’t need’ courtesy of her little sister.
“Um, just… anywhere is good. Thank you, Robb.” The smile she offers is faint and lacking any warmth, but it’s the best she can do considering she’s twenty-six-years-old and moving in with her brother and his two flatmates. She loves Robb and there’s a part of her that still worships the ground he walks on, but she honestly does not want to live with him and his friends. Sansa was supposed to be getting her own space, settling down and being a grown up, only that all went crashing down around her when Harry decided to stick his prick in somewhere else.
She grimaces at the thought and that catches Robb’s attention.
“Harry was gross, wasn’t he?” she asks instead, looking around the room. It’s a decent size with two large windows to one side that faces another apartment complex. It’s not a great view, but the room is well-lit and she likes that.
Her brother chuckles in surprise. “We’re just glad you didn’t catch anything.”
Sansa’s grimace grows and she throws a pillow at his head. “Ew, Robb. Don’t even joke about that!” She’s already been to the GP for a very thorough STI test, and thankfully, she’s clean. She supposes the one good thing Harry has going for him is a healthy knowledge of sexual education and the follow-through to always wear a condom.
“Sorry,” he laughs, putting both hands up in the universal sign of surrender, but when Sansa rolls her eyes, her brother moves towards her swiftly and wraps her in his signature bear hugs. “Hey, you’re better off without him, yeah? You’re way too good for a weasel like Harry.”
“I know that,” she mumbles into his shirt.
“I love you, Lemon.”
“Love you too, Bacon,” she says, shaking her head at their stupid childhood nicknames. Lemon for her for the amount of lemon cakes she used to eat and Bacon for him for the amount of bacon he used to steal from everyone’s plates. In their defence, Sansa had been four and Robb seven.
Once her brother leaves her new room, Sansa flops down on the bed with a heavy groan. She doesn’t know what’s more tragic – the fact that her boyfriend cheated on her or the fact that she doesn’t feel even a smidgen of heartbreak.
“THEON, GET THE HELL OUT!”
“I’M SO SORRY I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE HOME!”
Sansa grabs for her towel and runs out into the living room where Robb is sitting on the L-shaped sofa with Jon playing some video game. Both are staring up at them with wide eyes, but she takes no notice of this. She’s too busy glaring daggers at the scrawny man before her.
“How do you not – didn’t you hear the shower going!” She’s not screaming any more but she is still very close to killing him.
“What? Mate, did you fucking walk in on my sister showering?” Robb is now on his feet with a scowl on his face. Theon instinctively recoils back in fear, which really irks Sansa, because he should be more afraid of her.
“I didn’t mean to. I swear it was an accident!” Theon says in a rush. He looks to Sansa and seems to be imploring her with his eyes. “Honest, Sansa! And if it makes you feel any better, you have a very lovely figure.”
“Ugh, douchebag jar now!” she screeches in frustration, grabbing an empty can from the nearby table and hurling it at Theon’s head. He ducks in time but the physical action does make her feel a little better. “You guys need to fix that lock or I swear to god I will make your lives hell.” With that said, she storms back to the shower to finish rinsing out her hair.
Day six of living with the boys is going disastrously. Not only has Theon seen her naked but she’s pretty sure she’s heard her brother having sex multiple times now, and if it happens again, she’s going to cut off her ears.
It’s Valentine’s Day and Sansa officially hates her life. Harry and her had plans to travel down to London and stay at a nice hotel. Of course now her Valentine’s Day consists of cocooning herself in a duvet while watching Bridget Jones’ Diary and drinking wine. It’s mean and petty but she’s fuming that everyone she knows has plans. Even Theon sodding Greyjoy has a date! How did that buffoon trick someone into going out with him is beyond her, but she supposes the silver lining is that she has the flat to herself.
Bridget has just shown up to the garden party in a little bunny outfit when the door to the flat bursts open and Jon comes stumbling in decked out in his fireman uniform. He looks weary and exhausted, and it takes him several minutes to notice her. In fact, he probably wouldn’t have at all if she hadn’t shifted on the sofa causing the leather to squelch underneath her.
“Fuck!” he exclaims, jumping back in surprise. His curly hair is in such disarray and his eyes are so comically wide she has a hard time stifling the giggle rising up her throat. “I didn’t – I thought you’d be out or something.”
Sansa arches a brow. “With who? My non-existent boyfriend or my illustrious ex?”
Jon flushes and rubs the back of his neck. “Right, sorry. I just thought you of all people would have a date.”
“Me of all people? What’s that supposed to mean?”
If it’s possible for a person to turn into a tomato, Jon is doing a very good job right now with that transformation. “Nothing. Um… Bridget Jones?”
“You like Bridget Jones?” This is news to her. But then most of what she’s found out about Robb’s sullen best friend is news to her. “Didn’t peg you as the type.”
He shrugs as he kicks off his shoes and drops down next to her. “It’s alright.” But thirty minutes later, Jon is completely gripped by the story. He’s laughing and shaking his head in time to each crazy or absurd thing Bridget does. It’s surprisingly endearing and Sansa finds herself watching him for the rest of the film instead. He has a very expressive face when it’s not wearing that grumpy mask he has on most of the time.
“Why aren’t you on a date?” Sansa asks once the credits start rolling.
Jon blinks at her, fingers clenching and unclenching around his coffee mug filled to the brim with red wine. “Don’t really feel like dating.”
“Bad breakup?” she pushes, because she really doesn’t know a thing about Jon and she should considering they’re now flatmates. He’s also the most sane one out of the three of them.
“Does it count as a reason if it was over two years ago?”
Sansa surprises herself by laughing at that. “Yeah, sure. If it was bad enough.”
“Is my ex getting into a car accident, going into a coma for three months and waking up only to decide to travel the world without me bad enough?” he asks, and if it isn’t for the glimmer of a smile on his lips, Sansa would be horrified by that tale.
She pretends to think about it for a second. “Hmm… I guess I can give you that one.”
“You’re so gracious,” Jon says, chuckling. “So what was your bad breakup? Robb didn’t really tell us anything other than Harry is a twat and he’s going to gut him like a fish.”
“Oh god,” she sighs. Robb really needs to get a grip on this overprotective brother thing. If she hears he actually tried to fight Harry, she’ll kill them both. “I think you have me beat on the bad breakup front but I think coming home to see your boyfriend breaking in your new mattress with someone that’s not you is pretty rubbish.”
“Ouch,” Jon says, as he reaches over to place a comforting hand over her own. His hand is big and warm, calloused but still soft enough to make her body shiver from the contact. “That is shit, Sansa. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“It’s okay,” Sansa says automatically, before feeling emboldened by the wine to add, “but you know what’s the most screwed up part? I’m actually more upset about the mattress than I am about Harry. I mean – I paid for half of that mattress and mattresses are expensive, Jon. They’re supposed to be an investment, right? Except now I’ll never be able to use it.”
He shakes his head, smiling bemusedly at her. “You’ll buy a new mattress.”
“But it was a really good mattress!” she whines. “It has one of those memory foam things.”
“Oh jesus, yeah, that’s definitely a real loss,” Jon nods with a completely serious expression. “I’m sorry for your pain.”
“Shut up.” She swats at him with one of the ends of the duvet. “You’re an asshole.”
Jon grins, grabbing the remote from her and flicking through Netflix for something else to watch. “I hate to break it to you, Sans, but everyone in this flat is an asshole. Even you.”
“Excuse me?” she cries out indignantly.
“Uhuh, so you’re saying you’re not the one that threw all of Theon’s toiletries into the toilet? Or the one that keeps turning down the boiler so it’s practically the Arctic Circle in here?”
“Well…” Sansa chews on her bottom lip as she hides behind her wine glass. “In my defence, Theon deserved it and – I like the cold.”
“See,” Jon smirks now. “Asshole.”
Theon gets dumped by his girlfriend on a Friday.
In the five months Sansa’s been living with them, Theon’s been with this girl for three of those months and he was actually normal. He only had to add to the douchebag jar every other day as opposed to every day. They were even becoming sort of friends because apparently boyfriend-Theon likes to get Sansa’s opinion on how to dote on his girlfriend. It was cute, which was why when Theon comes home looking as broken as an abandoned puppy, Sansa is game with the boys to taking him out and getting him shitfaced drunk.
She’s not much of a drinker herself. Sansa doesn’t like to lose control. As a Scottish woman from a very Scottish family, this is practically unheard of, but her mother is from a posh family in Oxford, who doesn’t believe in drinking in excess, so that’s probably where she gets it from. It works out in their little ragtag group because by ten-thirty, Theon and Robb are so drunk they’re swaying and stumbling into anyone in a ten-metre radius, and Sansa just knows she’s going to have to shove them in a taxi soon.
“Bitch,” Jon slurs beside her. The two of them are leaning against a table, watching as the two idiots tell some wild joke to a group of girls, who look way too young for them.
He glances down at her for a brief second before returning his focus on the boys. “Theon’s ex. She was a bloody bitch.”
“What actually happened?” Sansa asks. She doesn’t know the story and she’s too afraid to ask Theon in case he starts crying, because drunk Theon? She can handle that. Emotional and crying Theon? That’s out of her realm.
Jon sighs and angles his body towards hers so he can lean in to speak more privately.
It is incredibly unfair how attractive he is. Sansa shouldn’t even be thinking that he’s hot because he’s her flatmate, and over the past few months, Jon’s become something like a best friend to her. They spend most weekends together lying on the sofa watching Netflix and drinking wine. He’ll occasionally drop by the preschool she works at if it’s his day off to bring her lunch. And if he’s working late, Sansa will wait up for him just to make sure he’s home in one piece and there’s someone there for him to talk to if it’s a particularly gruesome fire. She doesn’t want to ruin that by something as stupid as attraction.
“She told Theon that he spends an unreasonable amount of time with us,” Jon says lowly, the timbre of his voice sending shivers up her spine. “She actually told him that he shouldn’t have flatmates at his age and gave him an ultimatum to either move in with her or break up.”
“He chose us?” Sansa’s voice wavers and she forgets all about Jon and his stupidly attractive face and body because she’s suddenly overcome with such affection for Theon. Yeah, he’s a bit perverse and has no brain-to-mouth filter, but he chose them.
“Of course he chose us,” Jon says, looking at her incredulously. “Theon may be a prick most of the time but he’s loyal.”
“He just gives off the impression that he’d drop us for the next best thing,” she admits with shame colouring her tone.
To Jon’s credit, he chuckles and touches her shoulder gingerly. “I’m not saying he’s not an opportunistic twat or that he won’t screw us over one day but never intentionally.”
That sounds more like the Theon she knows, but even so, Sansa can’t find it in herself to really hate him for being that kind of person. It’s just who he is. With a father like Balon Greyjoy, it kind of makes sense for him to be the way he is, but Jon’s right. He is good. Given the chance, he would do the right thing – which is exactly the moment Sansa spots his ex-girlfriend and anger curls deep in her chest.
“Wait here,” she tells Jon and starts forward without waiting for a response. As Sansa gets closer and closer to Naiyla Rochelle, she starts to realise she doesn’t exactly have a plan. She wants to punch her but that probably isn’t going to help Theon any. She could tell her if she ever contacts Theon again, Sansa will have her killed and hide her body in the river or something, but that seems very extreme and hyperbolic.
“Naiyla,” she greets with a wide obviously fake smile. “It’s good to see you again.”
The brunette startles at seeing Sansa but plasters on an equally fake smile. “Sansa, hi. How are you?”
“Pretty great.” She’s at least a good foot taller than Naiyla so she uses her height to her advantage, straightening her limbs to appear more intimidating. “I’m so sorry to hear about you and Theon. It’s such a shame. But I guess it worked in my favour, you know?” She smiles bashfully. “I’ve always had the biggest crush on Theon.”
“Really, you?” Naiyla looks sceptical.
“Are you kidding?” Sansa says with wide eyes. “He’s a bit rough around the edges, I admit, but when he cares about someone, he’s loyal till the very end. He’ll wade through trash just to get back to the people he loves.” She glances behind her and waves in Theon’s general direction. “Oh, I have to run now. So nice to see you again. Have a good night, Naiyla.”
When she saunters back to Jon, he has one brow arched and a bemused smile on his face. “What did you say to her? She looks ready to kill you.”
Sansa smirks. “Nothing. I was the perfect lady.”
“Yeah,” Jon smiles, fond. “I bet you were.”
Sansa goes away to a teacher convention for four days. It’s the longest she’s been apart from the boys in seven months and she really misses them.
She misses the lazy afternoons with her brother sitting on the roof of their building. She misses Theon yelling and shouting at the football match as he simultaneously tries to explain to her what’s going on. She misses Jon and his hugs and how he always smells like smoke and something distinctly him. She misses the way he catches her eye across the breakfast table and gives her a small barely-there smile. God, it’s pathetic but she even misses the way he would argue with her about the best way to handle problems in the flat.
When Sansa finally returns, it’s to an empty flat and she can’t help the kernel of disappointment from ricocheting around in her stomach. She wasn’t expecting a welcome back party but she did expect something. Dropping her suitcase in her room, Sansa immediately goes to take a shower because three hours on a bus has made her feel gross and sticky. But once she’s done, there’s still no one around. In fact, by the time Sansa finishes her dinner, she’s beginning to get a little worried about where everyone is. It’s a Sunday so they should all be home. None of them ever do anything on a Sunday.
To Flat Fam
Sansa: Where are you guys?
Barely a minute goes by before she gets a response.
Robb: Ur home!? I thought u were getting back on the 10th!
Sansa winces at her brother’s text speak. She hates text speak.
Sansa: It is the 10th!
Robb: Oh shit. Sorry Sans. Theon n I are in Manchester for the footy. We’re getting the late train back. Won’t be in till midnight.
Sansa: Okay. Where’s Jon?
Robb: Wait is he not in his room?
Abruptly, her phone starts buzzing and it’s Robb ringing her.
“Okay, so don’t yell at us but we didn’t tell you because we didn’t want to worry you,” Robb greets without preamble.
“What are you on about?”
Her brother sighs heavily on the other end of the line. It’s a bit of a strain to hear him over the roaring crowd in the background. “So Jon, our resident idiot, got himself hurt during a house fire. He had a concussion, a couple of fractured ribs and he lost a lot of blood. He’s okay now but he’s supposed to be on house rest.”
Sansa’s heart slows to a worrying pace. The very thought that she could’ve lost Jon and no one even thought to tell her is making her body shut down, like it just doesn’t know how to react.
“He’s at the station,” Sansa says mechanically, working on autopilot now. “I have to go.”
“Sansa, don’t –”
But she’s already hung up and grabbed someone’s jumper from the back of a chair. Coincidentally, it’s Jon’s. His scent overwhelms her and she’s stuck between being furious with him and just wanting to bury her face in his chest so she can breathe him in and be sure he’s really there.
It takes her nearly twenty minutes to reach the station. The entire time people have been giving her a wide berth as she stomps through town in Jon’s way too large jumper, her pyjama bottoms and the three-inch heeled boots she left lying by the front door. It’s probably not going to get her on any street style list but she’s glad for the space it’s providing her.
When she enters the station, her eyes immediately zero in on one of Jon’s coworker. She’s met all of them several times now at house parties and pub nights, so she doesn’t hesitate to grab him by the shirt.
“Where’s Jon?” Sansa demands. He shrinks from her glare. “Edd, I’m not kidding around. Where is he?”
“Uh… upstairs. In the… um, office.”
Unclenching her fist from around Edd’s shirt, Sansa continues to stomp her way upstairs until she sees the office and barges in. Jon jumps from his seat with a hand over his heart as he stares up at her.
“Not one text!” Sansa shouts at him. “I didn’t get one text from you this entire weekend. You know, at first, I thought to myself, ‘oh he’s probably busy,’ so I didn’t overthink it, but I just found out from Robb that you were in an accident?” He opens his mouth to reply but she cuts him off. “What if it was more serious? What if you had died? And the last thing we ever said to each other was just… I don’t know. I don’t even remember, Jon! I can’t even –” Her voice breaks and she realises belatedly she’s crying. “I can’t remember!”
Jon’s up and out of his chair in seconds, cupping her face in between his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sansa,” he murmurs between kisses to every inch of her cheeks. “But I’m here. I’m here and I’m alive and I’m not going anywhere.”
“You can’t promise that,” Sansa points out, glaring at him even though she’s still crying. “No one can promise that.”
“Okay, how about I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life however short or long it is talking to you every day?” Jon suggests with a faint smile.
She shakes her head. “That’s silly. You don’t have to talk to me every day.”
“But I want to,” he says seriously. “I want to talk to you all of the time. When I don’t, it’s like – nothing feels right, like I’m missing something.” He leans forward slowly to give her ample time to move away and kisses her. It’s barely there, just the soft press of lips, before he’s pulling back. “I’m so bloody in love with you, Sansa.”
Instead of responding, Sansa grabs the collar of his shirt and drags him back to her so she can show him just how much she loves him too, how no one’s opinion has ever meant more to her than his, how he can fix any bad day just by wrapping his arms around her and letting her cling onto him.
When they’re lying in her bed later that night, Sansa rolls over, her cheek pressed into his bare chest and whispers, “I love you too, Jon.”
“You two are real cute and all but I do not want to walk into my own home and be greeted by the sight of my best friend and my baby sister having sex.”
Sansa untucks herself from Jon’s side so she can turn and roll her eyes at her brother. “We’re literally cuddling on the sofa fully clothed.”
“Yeah, well, this is a PDA-free zone,” Robb huffs as he disappears into the kitchen with the groceries, while Theon walks up to the back of the sofa with an awkward smile on his face.
“Uh Sans… Can I talk to you for a second?”
She nods and then turns to Jon to see if he knows what’s going on but her boyfriend just shrugs. Sansa follows Theon out of the living room to the corridor. He looks even more uncomfortable now than he did before, which is really bizarre. She’s never seen him this awkward in her life.
“I ran into Naiyla today,” Theon says. “Apparently, she thinks we’re together?”
Sansa barks out a laugh. “Oh my god, I forgot all about that!”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Remember when we took you out after she broke up with you?” she asks, to which he nods. “I saw her there too and I might’ve told her I had a huge crush on you and insinuated she was a pile of trash.” Sansa shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry…”
“Sorry?” Theon repeats and laughs loudly, drawing her into a hug. “Oh no, don’t ever fucking apologise for calling her trash! I mean that’s awesome. Thanks, Sans! I didn’t even know you liked me that much.” And in typical Theon fashion, he winks at her.
“Don’t push it,” Sansa says, heaving a sigh. “I like you a small amount but I hate Naiyla more for what she did to you.”
Theon sniggers. “Yeah, she’s a fucking bitch. Tried to get back together and everything.”
“Yeah, apparently she ‘missed me so much’,” Theon mocks and rolls his eyes. “Never again.”
“I’m glad you’re over her,” she says emphatically, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Honestly, you can do way better.”
“It has been like, nearly a year since we broke up, Sans,” Theon says. “I’m ready to move on and whatever.”
“Good! That’s really good. It took me awhile too after Harry but…” She glances back towards the living room to the sounds of Jon’s laughter. “It was worth it to go through all of that shit to get to him.”
A rare genuine smile appears on Theon’s face and she almost wants to comment on it but his next words are even more surprising that she doesn’t get a chance.
“I’ve never seen either of you look so happy… but it’s not just that. It’s like you’re both finally at peace or something. I don’t know.” He shrugs a little bashfully, like he doesn’t want anyone to know he can actually have meaningful thoughts. “It’s nice to see, that’s all.”
part seven of my never ending attempt to bring krypto on the show
anonymous said: For Krypto! Headcannons, does Clark ever get his act together and visit with Kara/Krypto/Lena?
i am going to pretend i have thought of this before
it’s a few months later into it, a few months of getting the routine down, a few months of waking up to krypto’s nose poking into her cheek and teeth nibbling at her clothes when clark comes down for a visit
and oh, kara knows there’s issues-issues, it’s easier to call it that, something little, something manageable than what she actually thinks which is more along the lines of why did you leave me, why did you leave him- but she still gets excited at the thought of him visiting
alex and lena share a look. they do not tell her what this look means.
trust her, she asks. they remain silent on the issue
ahhh i finally did it! i finished a fic after about a year and a half of writers block and no drive! this a junkfish and fisherman Mako fic inspired by the art work by @brundle-bambi !! thank you so much for your beautiful art work.
idk if u still do the 3 sentences fic or fic request at all but im feeling a lil down today and maybe ur fic can enlighten it! what if kakashi jr. find his parents are quarrelling and its like, a very huge fight?
Technically the three sentence prompts are done but what’s this about feeling down??? How dare the world???
*straps on writing hat*
I don’t know why I have a writing hat or why it has straps
Also I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t actually name him Kakashi Jr. just because it would get really confusing referring to them by the same name. Enjoy some really quick writing and I hope you feel better soon! Edit: You can also read it on AO3 now as well!
Takashi’s mom was kind of famous for having a temper, and a destructive one at that. The whole village was familiar with just how loud she could be when riled. So it wasn’t really the volume of his mom’s voice that was bothering him right now so much as what she was saying.
She’d been yelling at his dad for what felt like forever and, like he always did when confronted with this kind of blunt accusation, Takashi’s dad had shut down and was not responding. The young boy wasn’t even in the room but he could picture the Rokudaime Hokage standing utterly still, hands deep in his pockets and both eyes half lidded in a misleading expression of detachment. He could also picture his mother, Sakura, with her thunderous expression and her strong arms waving madly through the air while
continued to throw words like knives, seemingly uncaring of the wounds they inflicted.
And the worst part was
that Takashi knew it was all his own fault. His dad wasn’t to blame yet he’d said nothing in his own defense. Takashi wasn’t sure if it was because Kakashi always said he would back him in anything he did in life or if it was just because he didn’t appreciate the way he was being spoken to and refused to engage. Either way the thirteen year old recognized the very serious dilemma in front of him: to tell or not to tell.
On the one hand, owning up to what he had done was the right thing to do and both of his parents had always taught him to do the right thing whenever possible. On the other hand he was terrified. His mother would turn her anger to him and most smart shinobi tried to avoid that exact situation; it had spelled death for many people before him. He shuddered to think of what she would do to him upon finding out what he had done. More terrifying, however, was the thought of her finding out some day that he had allowed his dad to take the fall for him and that decided it. He would have to tell.
Takashi gulped as he swung open the door to his room, feeling a little like he was marching to his death. He gathered every scrap of courage he had and placed one foot in front of the other, step by step, until he had reached the center of the storm that raged through their house.
Sakura looked as if she had run home straight from the hospital upon hearing the news. She was still wearing her Head Medic uniform and there was a small bloodstain on the hem, wrinkles on the arms, stress lines on her face. Across from her Kakashi looked as if he were pulling farther in to himself than Takashi had ever seen and it broke his heart to be a peripheral cause of that. He knew very well the hard life his dad had lived; he didn’t deserve any more unhappiness, no matter how fleeting.
“-still a child Kakashi, how could you!? Do you not care about his well-being? His life? Do you want him to be like you so badly? How dare you!”
Sakura’s voice cut off at his quiet, pathetic call. The quiet in the absence of her words was like a ringing in his ears and he trembled under the weight of it. Kakashi seemed to slowly rise from a stupor, his eyes sliding over to rest on his son with a flat, dead look to them.
“Takashi,” Sakura grunted, “you can tell we’re in the middle of something. Now is not the time.”
“Mom, it’s important.”
He watched his mom lift a hand to rub the bridge of her nose. She sounded as if she were barely controlling herself as she asked, “What is it?”
“It’s…you shouldn’t be mad at dad.” Sakura looked at him sharply and he rushed through the rest of his words, knowing if he faltered then he would lose his courage and not say them at all. “You should be mad at me. It wasn’t dad who signed the form, it was me. I forged his name.”
He swallowed thickly, shaking and scared and refusing to cry as the ire built up again in Sakura’s face. Her fists clenched and un-clenched rhythmically.
“You forged his name?”
“On a form stating that, in his opinion, your team was ready to take on a B-rank mission meant for seasoned chunin?”
He’d known that Naruto-sama had asked his dad to help oversee the missions being handed out, to help assess each team and assign them appropriately. He’d also known exactly which genin was carrying the assessments and where they were filed. It
easy for someone in the know to switch one of them out so that his team was noted as being highly skilled, ready for advanced missions.
It wasn’t the greatest plan he’d ever come up with, in hindsight, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Sakura had already looked ready to start spewing steam from her ears when he had come in to the room. Now she seemed about to breathe fire. The full weight of the wrongness of what he had done came crashing down on Takashi like a doton burying him in an avalanche.
“Do you understand what could have happened!?” Sakura screeched. “Your team is not ready and there is a reason for those assessments! You could have died, Takashi! Your teammates could have died! Your jonin-sensei could have died trying to protect you! Do you want that on your conscience? Do you want your teammates to come home with scars and trauma? For every time you look at them to be reminded that it was your actions that led to those things?
And all for what? To look cool!?”
Takashi was crying before she had gotten through her third sentence.
just the personal implications! You-you-look at
father Hatake Takashi. You look him in the eye and tell me what part of your genius plan seemed smart to you. To lay the blame for your stupidity at his feet.”
Sakura railed and ranted and by the end both she and her child were weeping messes of emotion. Of fear and anger and relief - such strong relief that nothing bad had happened. That he was alive and whole and safe to do something just as stupid on another day.
He hated to see his mother cry, to know that he had caused her pain, but Takashi stood still like the strong shinobi he wanted to be and let her storm wash over him. He had brought it on himself and he would take the consequences.
(He would never never do something this stupid again)
When it was over Takashi had been grounded for a month, had his video game privileges revoked, and been warned of the overwhelming list of chores he would be sentenced to attending to around the house for the foreseeable future. All in all, he felt almost as if he had gotten off lightly considering how serious the consequences could have been.
He shuffled back to his room when his mother stormed off to the forest behind their home to vent the rest of her emotions. He tried desperately to stem the flow of tears and nothing seemed to work until the door to his room creaked open to reveal his father standing there.
Kakashi looked nothing more than tired, exhausted, like shutting down had taken all of the energy from him and he wasn’t sure how to get it back. Takashi looked up at him helplessly, not knowing what to say.
“That was very brave,” his dad told him quietly. “Very brave of you to tell the truth knowing what would happen if you did.”
“I’m sorry, dad! I’m sorry!” Takashi burst in to tears all over again, burying his face in his hands. He felt like the scum of the earth.
He was surprised to find arms winding around his shoulders, pulling him in to his
chest and letting him cry there like he had as a child with a scraped knee. Takashi sobbed, clinging to his dad’s shirt and burrowing in to his embrace. Nothing was safer than Kakashi’s arms and they had always held the power to make the world disappear no matter how old he got.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again after a long time had
passed, when his weeping had become a steady slow trickle of tears. He felt Kakashi pet his hair soothingly.
“Yes, I know. And you should be.”
“Why didn’t you tell mom that it wasn’t you?” he asked. Incredibly, considering how little emotion he had seen in his father when he’d come in, Kakashi chuckled.
“Your mother has always been…spirited, I think I’ll call it. When she’s angry she’s not very willing to listen to reason. She knows that and she’s been trying to work on it for years. But this involved you and your safety. You are the single most precious thing in both of our lives. Loves makes us all irrational, but especially your mother. She needed to yell and scream. She needed to vent. I thought it would be best for her to get it out first, then when she had calmed down enough she might listen.” Kakashi pulled them apart a little to look in to his son’s eyes. “Better that she yells at me than you. I knew what her temper was like when I married her and I have accepted that part of her, ugly as it is.”
Takashi puffed up automatically. “Mom’s not ugly!”
“Her temper is,” Kakashi pointed out. “No one is perfect, Takashi. Every person you meet will have ugly parts but loving someone means that you accept their ugly parts as well as their beautiful ones. You don’t have to like it, only accept it. I love you very much but that doesn’t mean I have to like the fact that you are a giant squish-face knucklehead.”
“Daaaaaad!” Takashi scrunched up his nose. “I’m not five anymore! Quit calling me squish-face!”
“Never!” Kakashi turned his eyes up in a smile and even though he was still full of grief and terror and guilt and annoyance, Takashi smiled back, just a tiny bit happy.
“I love you too, dad,” he said. “And I’m really, really sorry.”
Kakashi’s eyes opened to give him a very long look. Takashi bore it in silence until finally his dad told him, “And I forgive you.”
And he felt like everything might be okay after all.
(When Sakura came home and he heard her whispering apologies
to her husband
over and over, Takashi kept his ear pressed
the wall and made himself listen to every single word. His dad was right. Sakura’s temper was an ugly thing but that didn’t make her less of a beautiful person. He could only hope to be more like her some day.)
Filling the prompts “a fic where everyone loves how put together, happy, and confident the reader seems, but van finds out after a while they’re really the complete opposite and van is super comforting? Maybe with some variation of the line, "And I know you’re feeling tired. Just let me hold you for a bit.” from a song by Front Porch Step?“ "Van loves short girls. Like 5’ 1” and “van gets the reader a puppy?”
It was easy to see why people thought you were attention seeking. Why else would you wear a glittery mermaid crown to a non-themed house party? The few people that knew you well would know it was because you liked mermaids and glitter, and weird and wonderful things. They’d know you didn’t care what other people thought and that you truly believed that every day could and should be Halloween. They’d refer to the hours you’d spent collecting shells and hot gluing them together to make something unique and special and beautiful. But those people were few and far between. Most people, and almost certainly a majority of those at the party, just wrote you off as a show off.
Zenna wanted to sit, so you followed her through the house. There was an open doorway and the room was dark. Inside a television screen was illuminated, and in its glow sat a group of guys throwing pillows around. Standing next to Zen in the doorway, you looked at them carefully. You didn’t recognise them.
“Are you guys… watching a movie? Like, having a proper sleepover? At a party?” she asked them. Their attention all turned to you both. Another body popped out from under a blanket. He had the most room on the couch and was one of only two with a blanket.
“Yeah. What of it?” one of them replied.
“Nothing. Very cute,” Zen said with a shrug and went to leave.
“Wait!” the one under the blanket yelled.
“Yeah, wait. Have you been to the kitchen? There any food?” a different one asked. Zen smirked and shrugged. “You can join us if you bring food,” he continued. You looked at Zen and watched one of her perfect eyebrows rise.
“The mermaid can stay. I’ll look after her,” blanket boy said. You turned to him. He was rosy cheeked from being so warm and he was grinning. The television screen had a sparkly reflection in his eyes. Zenna snorted.
Description: Natalie and Satan traverse to a carnival near the coast. When Natalie has her eye on a Certain Stuffed Prize, the pair find themselves determine to win it- for different reasons of course. Takes place when Nat and Satan go to the coast. Before she- y’know. Died.
“Ooh! That one! That one riiiiiight there!” Natalie pointed and waved her arm like a flailing idiot, eyes all aglow at the sight of possibly the most hideous thing Satan had ever seen.
Request: I don’t know if you’ve done one already like this, but could you do one where the reader is in the glade when Thomas comes up, and she’s the one that shows him around and such? And also, could you maybe include it where the reader is a really good fire, and on every bone fire night, she and gally fight because when she first got in the maze she beat gally? I dunno, just an idea that that’s when Thomas first really, really notices her.. Xxx
You stood set down the planks of wood you’d been carrying and stretched, arching your back, before heading off to retrieve more. Gally jogged past you, a smug grin on his face. You rolled your eyes and called out after him, “Seriously?”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little friendly competition,” he yelled back as he hefted four planks onto his shoulders. You shook your head, sprinted over, and picked up five.
“Nothing at all,” you huffed, jogging to keep up with your keeper’s long stride. Maybe you and Gally acted under the facade of ‘friendly competition’ but everyone knew that both of you were dead set on winning anything and everything and the only thing you hated more than losing was losing to him. You had just set down your five planks and jumped out of the way of the four Gally nearly dropped on your foot when the siren announcing the coming of the box sounded through the glade. Without even exchanging a glance, you and Gally raced off to the box. You were always faster than Gally, but he was stronger. When you finally arrived, you put your hands on your knees, gasping for breath, but grinned all the same when Gally came huffing behind you.
Just as you heard the box screech to a stop, Newt and the other gladers gathered around. Gally pulled open the top hatch and jumped in before you had the chance. Peering over the edge, you caught sight of the new greenie. He was dark haired and handsome with pretty brown eyes.
“Day one, Greenie. Rise and shine,” you heard Gally say as he reached out to help the newbie to his feet. You rolled your eyes. Gally usually spent all month coming up with something dramatic to say to the new greenie. As soon as he got up out of the box and on solid ground, the green bean took off running. You stood by, mildly impressed by his speed. Cringing as his foot caught and he plummeted to the ground in a face plant, you jogged over with the others to watch Newt and Alby make introductions. “This here is the glade. Don’t worry, your memory loss is completely normal, it happens to all of us. I’m Alby, and this is Newt, my second in command.” the new kid nodded numbly, still craning his neck to get a good look at the place. You remembered your first day and how scared you were. It was only ten months ago, but it felt like an eternity. “Y/n!” Alby called, motioning for you to come over. “Why don’t you show greenie here around?”
You grinned and stuck out your hand to shake the Greenie’s. He took it tentatively, but shook it all the same. “Welcome home, Greenie. My name’s Y/n. Follow me, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
As you guided him around the glade, explaining everything you could, you couldn’t help but like the new guy. He was quiet at first, yes, but as the tour went on, he began asking good questions and you got the feeling that this guy was smarter than he looked. Not that there was anything wrong with how he looked- he was actually extremely handsome.
“So listen, there are a bunch of different jobs to choose from. Starting tomorrow, for the next week or so you’ll be testing them out and seeing what you’re good at,” you explained as you walked past the homestead.
“What kind of jobs are there?” he asked, pausing for a moment to glance inside one of the windows.
“Well, there’s lots. You’ve got your track hoes, who tend to the crops, you’ve got your builders, that one’s obvious, you’ve got your sloppers, pretty much anyone living and breathing could do that job, your slicers, nasty work that is, and your runners to name a few.”
“Runners?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. You put forth conscious effort to keep from rolling your eyes.
“Runners. They spend their days running the maze, looking for a way out. Now don’t be getting any ideas, got it shank? Only the best and brightest can survive out there in the maze,” you added sternly, cutting him a sharp look.
“Well then why aren’t you a runner?” he asked, looking up at you with his dark handsome eyes. Ducking your head and blushing, you mumbled out a response.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, newbie. And besides, someone has to keep all these shanks in line.”
The rest of the tour went well even though he asked torrents of questions, and then you were off to work again, leaving the newbie under the care of Chuck. You couldn’t help but get distracted as you worked, watching the greenie follow Chuck around the glade, retrieving a sleeping bag for him and other odds and ends that made life here more comfortable. Chuck was sweet, but he could be incredibly annoying. However, the greenie seemed to handle him well. You smiled as Chuck laughed out loud at something the greenie said, a smile creeping onto his own lips.
“Oh, come on, Y/n. You didn’t strike me as the type,” Gally called, snapping you out of a daze. You rolled your eyes and turned to face him.
“The type to what, pray tell?”
“The type to get the hots for the greenie,” he teased, eyes glinting with mirth and a smirk on his face. You cocked your hip and crossed your arms over your chest.
“Oh please, I’m just curious. He seems to be handling it better than most. I want to know what’s different.” “Yeah, sure, you’re just curious,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, guaffing at your indignant expression.
“Come on, dude, it’s time for the bonfire!” Chuck squealed, pulling Thomas by the arm towards a congregation of gladers surrounding a tall structure of wood.
“Bonfire?” he asked, glancing at Chuck with a furrowed brow. He kept jabbering on about things Thomas obviously didn’t know about, and it was driving him mad.
“Yeah, every time the box comes up with supplies and a new greenie we have a bonfire to celebrate,” he chirped. Thomas shrugged, glancing around the darkening glade. He’d rather go to sleep and try to process what had happened thus far, but got the feeling that that wasn’t exactly an option. As they approached, someone lit the wooden structure, creating a blazing fire. He caught sight of Y/n among the crowd, her face illuminated in the orange light, her eyes shining.
“Alright shanks, who’s next?” a harsh voice hollered from beside the fire. He spun around to see Gally standing over another glader lying prone on the ground, coughing up sand. His stomach clenched uncomfortably.
“Chuck, I thought one of the rules was to never harm another glader,” Thomas murmured, pointing to Gally as the boy scrambled to his feet with a groan. Chuck opened his mouth to respond when a large hand slapped Thomas’s back.
“Ahh, this is different. All fun and games, yeah?” a voice nearly shouted in his ear over the chatter of the other gladers. The asian kid, Minho, gave a devilish grin and pointed back to Gally. Thomas noticed with a jolt that Y/n was approaching him, a determined glint in her eye. “Oh, now you’re in for a show. See, when Y/n came up in the box, being the first girl ‘n all, she was a little…”
“Defensive,” Newt chimed in, sidling over and standing on my other side, a jar full of some unknown liquid in his right hand.
Minho nodded appreciatively. “Yes, defensive. Anyway, we always have these fights for fun at the bonfires, and Gally always dominates, but her first night, that tough little shank stepped up to the plate and kicked his pony lovin’ butt. It was the best thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life.”
“So, now,” Newt said, picking up where Minho left off. “She fights Gally every bonfire because neither of them can end on a loss. Her record is 4 and 6, so we’re all hoping she can bring home another win tonight,” he said, a grin on his face.
Thomas watched in awe as Y/n cracked her knuckles and bared her teeth in a grin at Gally, who smirked. They circled around each other threateningly. He looked like a pitbull in a dogfight, but Y/n looked like a lioness closing in for the kill. Gally attacked first, lunging forward and swinging at her head, but Y/n was fast. She ducked out of the way and maneuvered herself so that she was behind him, batting him upside the head before he could even turn around. When he did turn, he faked going for her midsection, but at the last second bent down and swept her legs out from under her. Y/n fell to the floor, Gally following after her, pinning her to the ground by the shoulders. A collective groan went up from the gladers, but Minho shook his head, patting Thomas on the chest distractedly, never taking his eyes off of the fight. “Nah, she’s got it- just watch.”
Just when he thought it was over for Y/n and that she couldn’t unseat Gally, she wrapped her legs around his waist and used all of her strength to flip him under her. Gally huffed in surprise as his own shoulders were slammed to the ground. Y/n sat on top of him and held him down, grinning triumphantly. “Better luck next time,” she taunted, hopping to her feet and offering Gally a hand to help him up. He brushed off her help and rolled his eyes, stalking away and muttering.
“Whoa,” Thomas muttered, watching Y/n tie back her hair and laugh at something one of the boys had said to her. She was gorgeous. Not just pretty or attractive, but absolutely gorgeous, with sparkling eyes and glossy hair and the most radiant smile. Minho caught her eye and waved her over, and Thomas’s stomach instantly squirmed.
“Easy there, Greenie, I promise she won’t bite,” Newt chuckled, making Thomas’s face turn red.
you approached your friends and the greenie, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead. “So that makes it 5 and 6, yeah? I’m catching up!” you said, putting your hands on your hips.
“Nice!” Minho exclaimed, high fiving you as Newt slapped you on the back. “Our favorite girl is back in business!”
You laughed and rolled your eyes, ruffling Chuck’s hair, and then turned to the newbie, who had fallen strangely quiet. “Enjoying the party, Greenie?” you asked kindly. The greenie looked up in surprise at being addressed.
“My name’s Thomas,” he corrected smoothly, as though without a second thought. You froze, looking at Minho and Newt with wide eyes. Once Thomas realized what he’d just said, his eyes lit up. “I remember!”
“Yeah you do! Well, welcome to the glade, Thomas. I’m sure we’ll be the very best of friends,” you told him with a wink that made his face turn an even darker shade of red.
“You were awesome in the fight, by the way,” Thomas added, trying not to meet your eyes. You stared him dead on anyways, chuckling and saying,
Bernie paced up and down on the platform, checking her watch
and the announcement board every few seconds, desperate for the time to be
going quicker. She was full of nervous energy and anticipation. She’d waited 10
months, what was another 10 minutes?
You hated being a human, especially when you
were surrounded by great alien beings of immense power. They were tall, strong
and capable fighters. You also had the same abilities but they were never taken
into account when compared to their absolute mite. Maybe that’s the reason you
weren’t thinking straight and ran through the ground bridge when Optimus gave
the order to roll out. You were older than the teens, over 20 and with the
start of a military career under your belt so you should have had this under
control. Boy were you wrong.
As soon as you exited the ground bridge you
realised you had set foot in a war zone, not just a war zone, an alien war
zone. You tried to stay close to the autobots, remaining a little ways behind
them so that they couldn’t see you but gave you cover. The regular Vehicons
were there, firing their weapons unsuccessfully at the autobot ranks while a
red Decepticon stayed behind the barrage of them. You had seen clippings of him
on the monitors so you knew that this was the Decepticon medic known as
Knockout, Bee had told you stories of the narcissistic Mech who cared more
about his paint job then the actual cause. To be honest, he looked like a good
person to mess around with, and with that thought your target was chosen. You rushed
away from your comrades to a nearby rocky hill, easily scaling the harsh stone
until you came to the top of the boulder. Taking aim with the gun you had
holstered, you fired a shot which headed straight for the Con medic which flew
past his helm, not before scratching his paint job however. His optics turned
to see you standing proudly, fiery red burning in to your skin like you
imagined the pits of hell to shine. It might have been mesmerising, if he
wasn’t so pissed.
“You imbecilic fleshie!” He screeched while
advancing towards you. You couldn’t move though, still entranced by his optics.
Now that he was getting closer you could fully see the shine of his frame and
the way it was reflecting the environment around it. “I waxed just this
morning!” He yelled again as he stood in front of you now, servo chaining to a
saw. “Any last words?” His voice held a small amount of amusement despite his
anger, it was at that moment that you had realised he had an accent. A very
“Damn,” You finally said after a few moments
while looking Knockout up and down. “Aren’t you enchanting.” You weren’t
supposed to say that, why the hell did you say that?! The inner turmoil that
was consuming you quickly went away as Knockout retracted his saw, his servo
coming to rest to the side of your standing form as he lowered to your face
level. An optic ridge was raised as he too looked you up and down, noting how
you too were also above the ‘normal’ standards of Fleshies. You were
immaculate, the bone structure in your face were high and angled. The skin was
soft and supple from what he could see and damn were those optics of yours,
like you said, enchanting.
“Not too bad yourself,” Knockout smirked as he
saw the shock come over your face at his compliment, he could see the small
changes in your face colour starting as well. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you
around here before, Sweetspark, who might you be?” He questioned, his helm
leaning closer to you so that you could get the inner working of the
contraption and feel his hot ex-vent all over your body.
“I’m-.” You started but before you could finish
a blur of blue crossed your line of sight as Arcee kicked Knockout away from
you and stopped in a defensive position.
“Y/N get to the Groundbridge now!” She shouted at
you before turning to fight the now armed Knockout who ran at her. This was no
time to be arguing, you should be thanking Arcee for breaking you out of your
trance. Thanking would have to wait though, right now you needed to scramble
down the rock face and get through the swirling vortex at the bottom. Which is
exactly what you did.
Fowler had not been happy when you had returned
to base, you tried to explain your actions but the Agent had none of it and
sent you home not five minutes after your return. That was where you were now,
flicking through TV channels in your underwear and eating a chocolate bar while
feeling sorry for yourself. You would have stayed there all night if the sound
of beeping hadn’t sounded from outside your house. Upon inspection, you were
surprised to see a cherry red Aston Martin parked in your driveway. The idea to
ignore it sounded in your mind until another beep sounded through to your
house. With a sigh you pulled on your favourite hoodie and made your way to the
car, bare legs growing colder in the evening air.
“You’re kidding right?” You asked in a cocky
manner, you expected Knockout to just transform and kill you then but you
didn’t expect his passenger door to open to you.
“Not at all. Fancy a ride?” He asked seductively,
you could have sworn one of his headlight flashed on and off quickly but you
tried to dismiss the thought.
“I try not to make a habit of going on rides
with Decepticons.” You replied with a sickly sweet smile, your arms crossing
over your chest as you stared at the interior of the car.
“But I’m not just any Con, I’m the enchanting
Con,” You could hear him smirk just by the sound of his voice, cocky ass hole.
“Now come on, I haven’t got all night.” He stated impatiently as you raised
your eyebrow at him.
“Why should I?” You asked him, leaning against
his car door while still looking into the car. You might have been trying to
get a rise out of him but you would never actually admit that.
“Do you not want to walk on the wild side?” He
purred, you could feel the rev of his engine through the metal door as he
spoke. This was probably the most dangerous position you had ever been in but
it was such a thrill to taunt the medic. “Come on, you must want to know what
it’s like to ride with the bad guy. I bet the adrenaline is already running
through your body at the thought.” Damn he wasn’t wrong, getting into that car
would have been the most thrilling way to end the night, not to mention the
most dangerous way. Right now you needed a little danger, you needed to rebel
after the incident today with Fowler and you didn’t care about the
consequences. With one final sigh you slid in to the leather seat of Knockouts
passenger side, the door closing on its own and the belt wrapping around you
“Just one ride.” You told him sternly while
pulling down the end of your hoodie self consciously.
“That’s what they all say Sweetspark,” Knockout
began as he reversed out of your parking space. “That’s what they all say.”
Yes, I know. What the fuck Ever? It’s been ages since you’ve posted anything! And wasn’t True Beauty just a oneshot? A oneshot you wrote like…a year ago?
Yes. I did write the original oneshot a year ago. Buuut then I got inspired and ran with it. I edited chapter one, by the way, so if you ever read the original oneshot, you should go click on the link above and re-read chapter one. The edits are super subtle, but important.And if you haven’t read chapter 1, you’re going to need to in order to understand this chapter.
(You can skip this author’s note if you want, but it’s pretty important explaining my intentions with this story. But I get it if you don’t wanna read all that, I’m rambly.)
I’ve had an idea in mind for a long time, and I decided to go for it. I’ve noticed there’s a lot of stories,
particularly in this fandom, that portray depression totally wrong. Now,
it isn’t necessarily the author’s fault: depression is a hard thing to
write and understand when you haven’t experienced it yourself. That’s
part of why I’ve decided to write this story. I have depression and
anxiety myself, and not only is this story a great coping method, it’s
also a way to show people who may not fully understand mental illness
what it’s like being in our heads. I also hope to portray how society
treats mentally ill people: especially schools. I’m trying to show the
signs you can look out for, how to help a mentally ill person, and how
sometimes, people truly are oblivious.
Of course, this means this story is going to be a difficult read at
times. The first scene in this chapter could be potentially very
triggering, and perhaps there will be more scenes like this, or even
more graphic scenes. I’m not going to sugarcoat anything. Things may not
have gotten this bad for me, but I’ve seen it happen to many close to
me. Too much media romanticizes mental illness, thinks that a
relationship can cure it. News flash: people in relationships may be
happier, but nothing can magically cure mental illness. It takes time, a
lot of hard work, and potentially medication.
In summary, I’m trying to portray this as realistic as possible. This
is a very extreme case, so not everyone who is mentally ill will act
like Rogue does, but I figured after a chapter like the first, Rogue’s
situation is a difficult one. His actions also add to the common
misconceptions that depressed people are just lazy or bad students.
I am not perfect in any means, there will likely be some inaccuracies
or in some spots it’ll be a bit dramatic. But that’s to be expected, as
no author can write something completely and totally flawless, no
matter how informed they are.
Without further ado, Chapter Two of True Beauty: You’re Proud, but I’m Getting Nowhere. I hope you enjoy.
WARNING: SELF HARM. SKIP THE FIRST SCENE IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU.
Request by @sandlee44 “Jealous Dean, smut and angst”
A/N: Enjoy! Let me know if you want to be tagged in
“Y/N are you ready yet?” Dean was starting to get impatient.
“You said you would be ready in fifteen minutes!”
“Shut up Dean. God you’re annoying, you need to relax.”
Taking a final look in the mirror you adjusted your shirt, making sure just
enough of the girls were showing, and flipped your hair a few times before
opening the door. “I’m done okay? I just need to grab my coat.”
Dean turned and just stared at you as you bent over grabbing
your things. You had remembered to pack your favorite jeans that hugged your curves
just right and your heeled boots made your ass look amazing. The flowy top you
had on showed everything you wanted it to while not being too revealing.
“I’m ready,” you stood and turned to the door, “what are you
staring at? Let’s go, you were just yelling about it a minute ago.”
Dean shook his head, “what? Oh, yeah, let’s go.” Dean held back as you walked, loving the way
your hips swayed.
title: Ghost summary: In which Sakura sees things that she doesn’t want to see. pairing: itasaku
Tell me the things you know to be true. I’ll tell the things I know about you.
A vein began to throb slowly in her temple as the high-pitched voice keened into her ear.
Tell me the things you know to be true. I’ll tell the things I know about you.
She slurped her coffee down in slow, jerking movements. Because if she didn’t-
Tell me the things you know to-
“SHUT UP SHUT UP!” Sakura finally snapped, flinging her coffee cup. It didn’t hit the greyish wisp leaning over her. Rather, the white cup pierced right through it, not even leaving a mark. Coffee splattered across the floor as Sakura jerked her chair forward. And the stupid thing let out a reedy giggle as it dissolved into smoke.
There is bad news and there is good news. Everybody wants to hear the bad news first so the good news would bring them joy. Or some people want to hear the good news first so they can be happy first and choose not to hear the bad news. You had good news for your longtime boyfriend. You were expecting. You figured that something wasn’t normal the morning after the both of you had sex after a couples drinks you had came back from partying with your friends. Throwing up mainly. Your theory of being pregnant was correct when you took a test and saw that plus…also when the doctor told you that you were.
You couldn’t wait another second for Mats to return home from his game. They had won 3-1 today so you were ecstatic to add more joyfulness into Mats’ day. The idea that Mats may not want a child had not once crossed your mind. Which brings you to the present.
“Are you even listening to me?! This is your fault Y/N! You know that I hate kids so why do you think that this would be good news? I cannot actually believe that you’re pregnant. This isn’t fair! I have too much shit going on in my life right now and you decide to get pregnant now?! How stupid are you?” Mats screamed at you, pacing around the kitchen and making wild gestures with his hands as he shouted.
“It wasn’t like I had a choice,” you implied in a whisper.
“No! You don’t get to fucking talk. I’m angry at you Y/N. I don’t even know what else to do right now. I don’t know how I can be a father right now.” He leaned his elbows against the kitchen counter and hid his face with his hands. There was an eerie silence as Mats thought to himself. You took the opportunity to wipe your tear streaked face with your shirt sleeves.
This wasn’t how things were going to be. Mats was supposed to talk and places kisses on your stomach everyday until your child was born then place kisses on their little face. He was supposed to be overprotective of everything you did so nothing would hurt you or the baby. He was supposed to start throwing out names at random times to see if you would accept them, especially Mats Junior. He was supposed to remember all the little nursery rhymes and songs his mom sang to him as a kid so he could do the same to his. That was how it was supposed to be. But I guess that sounds too much like a fairytale right?
Mats finally raised his head back to you and uttered those words you absolutely did not want him to say.
“We should break up.”
You clamped eyes shut stopping any threatening tears from spilling over as you felt your body shiver. “Please Mats don’t do this.”
“I have to Y/N. I’m not capable of raising a child. Particularly at this time. Its just not going to happen I’m sorry.” He made no move to reassure you so you form your lips into a thin line and nodded solemnly. “I’ll send someone to drop your stuff off later and you can call a cab or something,” he sighed and made his way to the room you used to share.
You instantly flew out of the house into the cool night air and dialled a cab which would be about a fifteen minute wait. To pass the time, you fell to your knees and started bawling. You’ve been crying for such a long time that fifteen minutes felt like fifteen seconds. You told the cab driver the address to Jessica Melena and Ciro Immobile’s house. They have been so gracious to you and Jessica was the first WAG to become friends with you when you were seated in the same row during a BVB game.
Once the cab pulled up and you payed your fee, you pounded on their front door like there was no tomorrow. Sure you were a bad friend for waking them up at this time, especially when they probably just settled in bed after today’s match, but you needed them more than ever. The door eventually opened and revealed a yawning Jessica.
“Y/N? What’re you doing…” She stopped short when she saw black faded eyeliner now smeared down your face. Without another word she yanked you inside by your wrist and led you to the couch after putting the kettle on to boil some tea for you.
“Tell me everything.” Jessica slid onto the spot on the couch next to you and waited patiently for you to begin.
“Jess I’m… pregnant. But before you start popping bottles about this seemingly happy news, Mats wasn’t so thrilled about it. He-“ you sniffed and bit your lip harshly. “He broke up with me because of this.”
“Oh my god. That asshole. Is he for fucking real? Oh sweetie come here.” Jessica pulled you into a motherly hug which only made you start to cry again.
“I don’t want to lose him Jess. I love him.”
“Shh, hon. Okay c’mon, let’s get you to bed you need to sleep. We can talk about everything and cuss him out tomorrow.” She helped you to your feet and brought you to a guest room. “Do you want me to stay with you?”
You nodded your head yes frantically. You needed comfort from somebody and Jess was exactly that person who could be a best friend, an enemy, a sister, and a mother. You crawled underneath the covers and buried your face into the pillow, Jess rubbing your back soothingly as you drifted off to sleep.
You woke up to the sound of birds twittering outside the window. You wished you could never leave the bed but the scent of frying bacon and freshly buttered pancakes that wafted into your nostrils said otherwise. You climbed wearily out of bed and carried yourself to the kitchen. There you saw Ciro attempting to crack an egg and Jessica flipping pancakes. You forgot that you spent the night here.
Successfully cracking open the egg, Ciro spun around in delight and made a fist pumping motion when his gaze locked with yours. He gave a you a weak smile and envelopes you in a comforting hug to which you gladly accepted.
Ciro pulled out of the hug but kept his hands rested on your shoulders. “You’re going to be okay. You can stay with us until you’re back on your feet. Nope, you can’t refuse it. You’re staying with us.”
“Thank you guys so much.” You threw your arms around Ciro thankfully. “I mean it. You are the best.”
“Awww group hug!” You heard Jessica giggle and run over to the other side of you to hug your back so you were sandwiched in between your gracious friends.
It’s been six weeks since you and Mats have been broken up and you’ve been handling yourself much better than you thought you could manage. Thanks to Jessica and Ciro of course. Your recent check up with the doctor went steady. The baby was as healthy as one could be and it was a boy. The three of you decided on multiple names but none of them were good enough for you to call your child that for the rest of their life.
“No thanks Ci.” You walked in the opposite direction of him and ended up facing a wall.
“Please Y/N? I want your support just this once and you never have to go even if my life depended on it.”
You shot him a confused look to which he only shrugged. Today Ciro felt that everyone should have their day (and Jessica informed him that it was called a birthday) and nominated himself that today should be his day. For his day, he wanted you to support him during his match today.
“Fine. But I’m only staying for the match. No after party if you win okay?”
“Okay!” Ciro embraced you quickly before running up the stairs two at a time yelling for Jessica to inform her that you were coming with them. Her response being a shriek in excitement. You rolled your eyes and huffed out breath of air then started upstairs to change into one of Ciro’s jersey’s.
At the stadium, you couldn’t help but notice that Mats wasn’t in the starting line-up. You informed Jessica about this, her response being a ’that bitch probably knew that his face would get beat in because I’m here’ nod. You decided to just brush it off and pay attention Ciro.
The intense game ended 4-1 to BVB. Jessica had been screeching so loud, you were absolutely sure that the players on the pitch could hear her. “We need to celebrate! Let’s go back to the car and wait for Ciro to take him to a surprise dinner, yeah?”
You didn’t even have a chance to respond. She pulled your arm and manoeuvred around the enthusiastic crowd to bring you both back to the parking lot. Once the fans had dissipated from the stadium, Jessica’s patience wore thin.
“Ergh, what on earth is taking this man so long?!” She turned to you from the driver’s seat. “Do you mind going in and hauling his ass out here?”
You nodded and exited the car, jogging lightly because it was a little chilly out. You neared the locker room and pushed the door open. It smelled like fresh shampoo and soap and you saw Marco and Aubameyang just about to leave the locker rooms.
“Y/N,” Marco breathed out in a nervous voice and glanced at his friend.
“Uh long time no see.” Aubameyang awkwardly embraced you.
“Hey, I just came here to grab Ciro. Do you know where he is?”
“He’s right over there.” The duo pointed to the showers and side stepped for you to walk further inside. “It’s only him and…ouch!” Aubameyang elbowed Marco in the side before he could finish his sentence.
You hesitantly took a step forward and spun around just in time to see the two squeezing out the door. You furrowed your brows then continued walking toward the showers, cautiously so that you wouldn’t walk in on Ciro naked.
Just as you were about to open your mouth to call his name, a man who you did’t recognise was staring directly at you. The man looked like all of his energy had been drained from his body. His hair ruffled in every direction, dark circles on his eyes, and his posture was horrible. Though he seemed to be hit by a bolt of relief when he looked at you.
“Y/N…” The man whispered.
You gasped and your hands flew to your mouth as you felt tears rising. You couldn’t believe your eyes once you knew who this man was.
“Oh my God.”
Mats stood up and walked to you, making sure he was at an appropriate distance also. You could do nothing but stare at his changes.
“How’ve you been?”
Your hands were glued to your mouth as you avoided and countered his question. “How have you been?“
“I’ve been better,” Mats joked, trying to lighten the mood.
“Mats…what happened to you?”
He broke your gaze and fiddled with his hands. “Alcohol.”
You sighed in disappointment and stepped closer to him. “Why?”
He returned your gaze. “It was the only way. I couldn’t call you because I thought you would never take me back. I had no idea where you went so I got scared that you moved back to your home. I’m such a fucking idiot Y/N.”
Unsure of what to do next, he enveloped you into a gentle hug yet he still clung to you like you were his lifeline. You did your best to reciprocate the action with your shorter and thinner arms by locking them around his neck.
“I’m sorry.” Mats breathed in the scent of your hair then buried his face in your neck, peppering warm kisses along the crook, murmuring apologies. You moaned softly at the affection and cupped his chin to bring his face into view.
“I love you.” Mats exhaled and brought his mouth to yours tentatively. “This one too.” He dropped to one knee and smiled then rested his ear onto your not even noticeable bump.
You combed his hair with your fingers, carefully ridding the rough and matted tangles. “Mats, she hasn’t grown enough to move around.”
Mats’ head shot up. “She?”
“I’m hoping.” You brought your crossed fingers into his sight.
Mats leaned his head back and let out a low laugh. Then his face became serious he rose back to his feet, towering over you. “You know what I’m about to ask now.”
You nodded slowly. “I know.”
“And your answer?” Mats eyed you nervously.
Before you could answer, Ciro finally emerged from the shower room clothed and ready to go. When he saw you two together, he froze, then gradually smiled. “You two finally made up. It’s about time too, Mats was this close to his football career ending. If it weren’t for you Y/N I’m not sure that Matty would even be alive right now.” Ciro laughed at his exaggerated joke loudly and started to pack up his things.
“So does that mean you’re moving out?”
You looked from Mats to Ciro and thought about your decision with deep thought then turned your head back to Mats who was looking at you with suspense.
When you gave your answer, you swear you’ve never seen any human smile so big and bright then Mats did. At any moment, rays of sunshine would come blasting outof his teeth if he didn’t stop.
“Mats is going to have to deal with Jessica,” Ciro groaned and mumbled under his breath, making you laugh at the thought of Jessica taking all of her anger out on Mats.
Mats looked confused. “Should I be afraid?” He asked Ciro.
“Mats, if anything, you should be terrified. Matter of fact you should just move to a different country.”
You all laughed maniaclly and exited the locker room together.
Serendipitous // Daniel Sharman - Tyler Hoechlin Imagine
Can you write a DanielxReader where they bump into each other somewhere and he takes a liking to her a regrets not asking for her number, the a few weeks later she is on set as a new cast member and he is happy but so nervous and maybe Tyler/Derek gets reveals close to her and you can decide who she ends up with/the ending?
Oh yes I can :) Also, I am going to make this be like around season 3 time, if that’s okay with you.
Warnings: None Word Count: 2,258
It’s been 2 weeks since you’ve moved to L.A and you were still completely awestruck at all of the things this city had to offer you. You aimlessly walked down the boulevard, allowing the California sun to soak into your skin. You still had a few weeks before your schedule would be booked but you were using every second of your free time to explore the city. Moving to L.A was always a dream of yours so when you landed the role as the new character on the hit MTV show, Teen Wolf, you were ecstatic. Obviously, acting was also a huge dream of yours but you would be lying if you said the fact that you were filming in L.A. didn’t make the job seem even more perfect.
You continued walking until to you reached this cozy coffee shop that you discovered last week. You had made it a routine to stop by this place at least once of a day since you found it. The door chimed when you walked in and Sean, the owner, smiled at you when you walked in. “Well if it isn’t my new regular. I was wondering when you were gonna make an appearance today.”
You smiled. “Well wonder no more. Can I have my usual?”
Sean smiled. “Of course.”
You took a seat at on of the tables, pulling out your phone to check your emails. There were only about 3 other people in this coffee shop and you liked the quietness it brought you. You liked the quiet which doesn’t make sense for someone that desperately wanted to live in the busy city of L.A. A few moments later, Sean brought you your favorite drink and you thanked him. You lifted the cup up to your lips when the door chimed again. You looked over to see who walked in, out of pure curiosity, and almost choked on the hot coffee when it was Daniel Sharman who walked into this quiet little place.
A pair of sunglasses covered his eyes, a black v-neck shirt adorned his body along with a pair of dark wash jeans. His hair was perfectly tousled and one corner of his mouth was slightly turned up, almost like he was smirking. He was even more beautiful in person and you felt your blood pressure rise. You were excited to meet the entire cast of Teen Wolf but you obviously had a few favorites and Daniel was one of them. You weren’t expecting to meet him or anyone else for a few more weeks. Do you say something? Do you run and hide? This was way too much anxiety for you.
“Can I have a cup of decaf with just sugar please?” You heard Daniel ask, his accent clearly evident, even that was more perfect in person.
Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Sean and Daniel interacted as if they have been friends for years. Daniel must be considered a regular here too. Sean handed Daniel his coffee and you watched as he retreated to a table across from you. You watched as he removed his sunglasses and perched them on top of his head. You were staring and you figured that probably wasn’t the best approach but it was like you just couldn’t look away.
Daniel suddenly looked up and his eyes landed right on you. You panicked, the heat of your embarrassment rising straight to your cheeks. He just caught you staring at him but to your surprise, he didn’t seem alarmed at all. He gave you a warm smile and you returned it, definitely adverting your eyes after he looked away. A few seconds later, the stool across from you screeched against the floor and you looked up to see Daniel taking a seat across from you. Your eyes practically bugged out of your head and you gulped.
“I have to be honest, I debated with myself for a few seconds before I got up enough nerve to come over here.” He told you, clearly a little nervous.
“Well, I’m glad you did.” You smiled sweetly, silently cursing yourself for not replying with a more clever response.
“I’m Daniel.” He replied. His accent was extremely distracting.
“I know.” You giggled. “I’m Y/N.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” You always wondered what your name would sound like in a British accent. “I’ve been to this coffee shop many times and I don’t ever remember seeing you here. I always remember pretty faces.”
Damn he was smooth. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks again and you looked down, hoping he wouldn’t see it. “I, uh, actually just moved here a few weeks ago.”
“That would explain the lack of seeing you. What brings you to L.A?” He pondered, bringing his mug up to his lips. His blue eyes stared at you with such curiosity. Daniel Sharman was clearly intrigued by you and that gave you major butterflies.
You opened your mouth to answer but were cut off by the ringing of your cell phone. You looked down to see your manager’s name flashing across the screen. “Shit, I’m sorry, Daniel, I have to take this.”
“No worries.” He smiled at you.
You hopped off the stool and scurried to the corner of the shop, bringing your phone up to your ear. “Hey Kathy, what’s up?”
“Y/N, hey! Uh, I know that I said you would have a couple weeks off to explore the city and what not but Jeff Davis just called me and he wants to know if you’d be up to going to dinner with him and a few other executives? They want to formally introduce themselves and talk to you a little before they just throw you into the show.” Kathy, your manager explained.
Butterflies erupted in your stomach at her words and you found yourself nodding, even though she clearly couldn’t see you. “Oh yeah, of course. When?”
“Uh, actually in about a half hour. Does that work?”
Crap. You looked over at Daniel who was flipping through his phone. You didn’t want to leave him so soon. You wanted to sit there for hours on end and just swoon over his accent as he told you his life story. But this was your boss you were talking about, you couldn’t just ditch him. Plus, it’s not like you weren’t ever going to see Daniel again. In a few short weeks, you were going to be working pretty close with him anyway. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too disappointed or angry but your sudden departure.