#ive had this idea and this prompt sitting in my head and heart for months. LITERALLY months. indeed almost a YEAR

[philtstone]

Frodo (or your chosen Blorbo from the Shire), 4

i cant actually remember which prompt list this was from so i am splicing together the taylor swift prompts "a secret language" and "caressing the other's hand" and humbly offering you an unedited This. also i MIGHT be playing fast and loose with canon but i swear i read somewhere that aragorn asked the besties to sleep over at his place (stay at the palace) for an extra month bc he wanted them to be there for his wedding. if it isnt canon it is now .. in my heart

In the streets of Minas Tirith there is joy today.

Frodo notes this absently, from a short distance, as he seems to feel everything these days. Actually, he ought to correct himself: not everything. He feels some things quite closely. He feels desperately homesick for Bilbo's pipeweed in a way that sits heavily in his heart. He feels like every new day he cannot imagine taking even one more step forward -- even just to get from gardens to the kitchen to greet Sam -- despite the fact that he always manages. And he feels that quiet lancing pain of distance between his self and everything else, like a darning needle going through an old wool sock you just don't want to give up on yet -- quite closely.

None of these feelings are truly capable of ruining the pleasantness of his stroll through the marketplace, so Frodo doesn't think it's much use to dwell on them. The sun is shining, making the weather a balmy warm and bringing out the green of new little saplings against the white stones. And even though on many another day, the bubbling chatter would be a tad too much for his tired spirit to handle, today it is making it easier to take those steps forward.

"I'm grateful for the leisurely pace you've set, dear Frodo," says the musical presence at his side, as if she has read his mind. Frodo can't remember if that's something she can properly do, but doesn't think it appropriate to ask. "I do not think I have the will to hasten through such a day as this."

Her eyes are glimmering with a gentle mirth. Frodo's come to realize, in the weeks he has spent recovering and observing his old companions outside of imminent crisis, that a favourite pastime of Lady Arwen Undomiel is teasing the newly-crowned King of Gondor.

"It's not Aragorn's fault he's got such long legs," Frodo observes. A good tease has got to be honoured, hasn't it? Arwen's responding smile is small but brilliant. Her eyes dance like daffodils in spring. They watch as their unwitting victim moves effortlessly through the crowd several -- admittedly long -- strides ahead of them, conversing animatedly with the sellers, the shoppers, their families, the children, and every so often, a horse or two. Aragorn seems to know everyone already (he's barely been king for three weeks) but that was true from the first night Frodo met him. Sam calls it a stoutly developed sense of sociability, which makes him sound like his Gaffer and Bilbo all at once, but Frodo is not sure it is all so simple.

Aragorn is now listening very intently as a cabbage seller gesticulates regarding the specifics of his innovative new watering technique.

"Do Men always take the details of cabbage-growing so seriously?" Arwen asks Frodo. She leans sideways towards him -- elegantly -- that the tactful whisper might be better heard. Frodo's not sure; he hasn't actually known that many men.

"He does seem to be selling very large cabbages," Frodo says.

A sudden, exhausting melancholy grips him. It is not precisely because of the cabbage, but not unrelated to it either. Arwen has paused to study the daisies being sold by a Gondorian girl and her mother, and so to distract himself, Frodo looks over at the nearest stall. It occurs to him that cousin Lobellia would have been awfully covetous of the coloured glass wind-chimes they have on display. They've got silver along the rims. Strange, how even now, a lifetime later it seems, Frodo is capable of suddenly remembering Bilbo's silverware related woes.

"They are very beautiful," comes Arwen's sweet, sincere voice. Frodo turns; her arms are full of the flowers, and she is moving with beaming interest towards the wind chimes. Behind her the girl's mother looks a bit dazed, while the little girl herself looks transfixed. Everything the elf says is always brimming over with an effortless sincerity, but in these resolutely human streets it becomes all the more apparent. Frodo wonders if Arwen doesn’t feel slightly out of place. "Oh -- we must put some in the courtyard garden. Dear Frodo, do you think Sam will like them? Four, please."

Unlike Aragorn, Arwen doesn't ask after families or host serious discussions about irrigation systems. She carries all of this interest and care and understanding completely unspoken in her presence alone, and when subject to it directly can be somewhat overwhelming to the uninitiated. Frodo knows this from experience. At any rate, they are leaving a series of increasingly overcome Gondorians in their wake. He wonders if she will learn or change, with time, or if there will always be that intensity and strangeness, untempered.

“Sam would suggest we make tea out of these,” says Frodo, without thinking, when Arwen hands Frodo two daisies and a wind chime to carry. The ends of her raven hair float in the breeze behind them. She’s walking very slowly, so Frodo doesn’t have any trouble keeping up, but he still looks up at her to speak. “Have you had daisy tea before, Lady Arwen?”

“Hmmm,” says Arwen cryptically. “I think I will be trying many new things, these coming weeks.”

“I don’t know if I want to try new things anymore,” Frodo says quietly, without thinking. Beside him, Arwen pauses. The hem of her soft green skirts swirl at her feet as she turns to face him. 

“Oh, Frodo,” she says. The simple words carry very many great and deep and feeling things, as is always the way with Arwen.

Frodo traces a finger over the colourful glass petals of the chime. They have arrived at a less busy patch of the cobbled alley, past the florist and trinket seller. “I think I must be homesick,” is what he decides to say.

Gently, Arwen takes his hand in hers. “Would you like to return home?” she asks. To the Shire. Sam certainly would not be opposed. Merry and Pippin, perhaps with less urgency, but they all seem to be waiting on Frodo to be recovered …

It shouldn’t be a very complicated answer. Worrying his bottom lip beneath one tooth, he looks up and over, back into the market: Aragorn is kneeling to better scratch a grinning hound under its chin, all while looking up to better ask the old woman manning its stall about her youngest grandchild.

“Don’t you feel strange, being so far from home?” he asks. Frodo feels his face grow hot. “Well … I mean, I know it is different.”

“The concept of return is not materially the same for me,” Arwen agrees, gently, with a tilt to her head. “But even so. I have chosen to stay here for a long long while, Frodo; you have no such dreams.”

Frodo’s dreams are altogether unpleasant these days, but he feels his brow quirk at the first thing. “You’ll be staying?” he asks, more curious than anything.

“Well,” says Arwen, in a secretive way that he finds terribly comforting – just as her friendship was so terribly comforting that first week, so many months ago – “I believe I am getting married sometime soon. So I must be here to attend my wedding, you see, as I’ve much desired it for many years.”

Oh. Well, that is obvious, isn’t it – now that she’s said it all out. Frodo feels a little bit silly for not guessing. 

“It’s alright,” Arwen reassures him. “It is technically yet unplanned.” 

“Is that why Aragorn asked us all to stay at the palace another month?” says Frodo, still watching the King. As if noticing eyes on him, Aragorn looks towards them, one hand occupied in caressing the soft crown of a child’s curly head. His brows furrow in askance even as his mouth grows into a wide, decidedly un-Kingly grin. He’d been sincere in his offer, Frodo remembers. Merry and Pippin claimed they were staying because of their wise contributions to the building of a nation, and Frodo hadn’t quite believed that part, but certainly, Gimli and Legolas had no need for a period of convalescence. The thought makes him tired again, but it cannot get too bad, because Arwen is looking over with him, and with another of those secretive smiles says, 

“I think he is taking great comfort in the company of his friends.”

This time the tease is barely present. Arwen speaks with a quiet, sincere fondness that carries no little amount of tender ache. Oh. Frodo swallows. One’s friends – friends, something deeper than those one is friendly with – it is true, that they bring comfort. So much. He is not sure … well, he cannot have ever … 

Abruptly, the daisies and glass feel heavy like granite in his arms. He struggles to put them down; Arwen, gracefully, notices and helps him. By the time they are done she is properly kneeling, the way Aragorn had been, just in front of him. 

“Frodo,” she says, softly. It is strange to think of her as the Queen of the realm. It is stranger still to think of Aragorn as the King, despite his easy manner in the market and obvious qualities; the last time Frodo saw him before they were separated, he was covered in dirt and had slept in the same shirt for three nights in a row. Arwen, on the other hand – he maintains that it has been true from the moment he met her: Arwen glows. Literally sometimes. Less now that she is mortal, and on a sunny day like this one it's a little hard to see, but it still lingers around her like a stubborn gauzy cloak.

"My Lady," he says suddenly, before he can stop himself, "is it very hard? Being different from your old self, now, I mean."

The birds twitter; the marketplace bustles; life moves forward on this joyful day in Minas Tirith. Arwen’s hands, wrapped still around his, are cool in a way that is soothing the distance in his heart.

“We are never given burdens we do not have the strength to carry,” Arwen says, with all of her sincerity. 

For the first time in some weeks, Frodo feels the words absorb into him, and lay a gentle blanket on the horrible well of darkness that lingers. 

“I’d be honoured to attend your wedding,” he says. 

Arwen smiles, as brilliant and gentle as the sun. It is only a few short moments that they are joined by a loping gait, and Aragorn is bending over to help Arwen to her feet and ensure Frodo is not too tired to continue.

“You are both well?” he asks, about four additional questions lingering in the back of the look he gives Arwen, but she only nods, and touches his wrist in a soft caress. 

“Quite well, my love. We were discussing your very long legs.”

“And you have told me many a time your fondness –” Aragorn catches himself just in time, which does not do much to make up for the depth of suggestion in his low, affectionate voice just a moment before. “I – ahem. Well, Frodo … I know you are not very fond of dogs, but Lady Dolmoron has a brood of kittens; I thought surely, they would appeal to your gentle sensibilities. And Master Kerrell’s stall just over there offers a delicious smoked eel stew.”

“You know,” Frodo says, “I am sure you’re right, Aragorn. Lunch sounds wonderful. And let us go visit the kittens. I’ll have to tell Sam – he’ll be sure to want to name one.”

It does not become easier, but gentler, somehow. There is a comfort in the presence of friends.

#IS THIS SOMETHING??? #ive had this idea and this prompt sitting in my head and heart for months. LITERALLY months. indeed almost a YEAR #and i finally had a brainwave for it tonight #my writing #taylor swift prompt meme #lord of the rings #frodo baggins #arwen undomiel #aragorn #arwen x aragorn #frodo & arwen are friends in my head. and also in canon actually. its all right there for those w the Sight #return of the king

[thelastevilregal]

oh my god you want hear about problems? i have SO many problems and my Work Therapist just moved to miami so i have a backlog

so .. back in october i accidentally. slept with my housemate uhh not realizing she had had feelings for me for like a year and a half and we ended up dating for like 2 months. i realized i wanted to break it off around thanksgiving but didnt work up the nerve until the new year partly bc i got hit by a car early december and had to get her to pick me up from the er and then she did a lot to take care of me after and. AHH.

im ok now also but. i broke up w her right after we both got back from visiting our families for xmas and i was like i HAVE to do it tonight bc we had scheduled a 'roommate mtg' w all 4 of us to confront our other bitch roommate over how shitty she was acting and i was like. if i dont do this now then our relationship is going to come up in this talk. and i cant sit and defend us while actively wanting to break up ykkkkk?? ughh i felt so bad for it but the straw that had broke the camels back with bitch roommate was that when i told her that me and ex were dating, the cunt had the nerve to pull a face and say "yikes" before slamming the bathroom door in my face. then 15 seconds later yank it open again and snark "you couldnt have said something before we moved to a new place?" i was like "bitch its been a week wtf are you talking about" and she slammed the door again. as though id been dating my ex in 'secret' for like 6 months since our last apt???? IM not the one whos weird and cagey about my sex life. bitch roommate is the one who lied to me about being a virgin for some reason and then actively hid her sex life from me for the next 4 years in order to maintain that lie, as though i give a single solitary shit who or if she fucks????

but so bitch roommate and i did not speak again until the roommate meeting. at the end of which i was like 'k ig lemme clear the air about dnd' (i had my dm kick her out of my dnd group—they are MY friends to begin with and we were starting a new campaign with a much paired down party specifically bc we didnt want roommate bs at the table. the morning after he did she TEXTED me at 6:22am like 'i know youre afraid of conflict but this is fucking weird if you have a problem say it to me' as though cheap jabs will get me to talk to you. obviously i ignored her). cunt had the nerve to go 'yeah what was that about?' as though she really had no idea what she couldve done. im like bitch wtfym what was that about?? have you not noticed we havent spoken in 2 months?? she gave a half hearted 'i guess im sorry' when i told her she had been so far out of pocket it was ridiculous.

but again. id also broken up w my ex the night before all of that. so she had been planning to micromanage the shit out of this conversation and then ended up being an emotional wreck. i felt so bad but i was like i HAD to yknow???? she said we could go back to being friends......

so that was 2 months ago now. i 'gave her space' for the first few weeks (p much avoiding being at the house like i had when i was actively avoiding bitch roommate) and its been several weeks since ive like. checked in with her emotionally. shes finally started acting more normal around me again, mostly at my queue. she watched alien with me last weekend. opposite end of the couch, where she used to lean her head on my shoulder before we dated. although actually maybe that was a romantic feelings thing?? fuck. i dont know how to know if im being like, callous by just acting like things are the same as before, or if i should be doing something different, and its hard bc we have opposite work schedules so i dont see her most days anyway and idk how to talk to her about it. we havent gone into each others bedrooms beyond talking in the doorways since breaking up, but like it feels like a conversation we need to have in private, no?? ughhhhhhh i hate this. idk how to prompt this, nor what i actually need to ask her to begin with..... just like, are we actually okay, yknow?

my old work therapist thought my problems were hilarious. like an american telanovela. i was like well at least someone is enjoying this situation :/

You know I don't think I can even give you any terrible advice for this situation. Sounds like you got that part handled. Just keep doing what you're doing 💯

#also unless i have two mutuals who got hit by a car #i know who this is 🫣

[technowoah]

Revolutions Always Fall

You should've learned from L'Manburg. The Butcher Gang was a mistake.

- REQUESTED!

- I tried to put 2 requests in one here.

- its really long 🤧🤞🏽

Prompts!

13) "You made me lose all my faith and trust in you"

38) "They warned me about this.” “About what?” “You.” 

47)“Are you satisfied now...?”

⚠︎ memtions of blood, voilence, fighting, swearing, Technoblade's execution episode. Angst.

Masterlist!

Dear Technoblade,

I wont make the same mistakes again

- an old friend. ♤

Technoblade was always a threat, and you learned that from L'Manburg. You had befriended him when he joined Pogtopia and very quickly you two seemed to click. He saw the world through different eyes and that intrigued you. You wanted to be him, live life the way he does it for just a day.

He was a killing machine, he was smart tactical, but still had the thirst for blood that made him be so smart and tacitcal with how he kills.

You on the other hand were not a big fan of killing, but this war was an exception. This war made you practice, it made you angry, it lit a fire underneath you that you didnt know you had. Along with the other members of Pogtopia, Technoblade helped you fight, how to wield a sword, knife, gun, anything that you can get your hands on you turned it into a weapon, you Soon enough you had mastered weapons and you werent so passive.

You questioned yourself if this was living through Technoblade, the need to fight, hunt, to protect. You felt poweful. As you hold your own crafted swords in your hand you know what you can do. You could do so much damage with this sword, he gave you that sword. It wasn't special at all but you made it special, because in your eyes it was.

"You can do so much with a sword, people just don't know how to use it to its fullest potential. They dont know their full potential either. But now you do."

Thats what he said to you in between those stone walls called Pogtopia.

After what he said to you had done so. Used the sword to your full potential, used anything to your full potential. You wanted to be more and more you became.

"You ready?" Technoblade smirked.

"Hell yeah Im ready to kill that bastard." You smiled

"Woah-oh! You weren't saying this a couple months ago."

"Schlatt deserves it. That's not L'Manburg. This is L'Manburg." You stretched out your arms to the others who were gathering armor and polishing their weapons for the battle yet to come.

You smiled knowing this will all end soon, you wouldn't be in a cave anymore, you wouldn't have to hide the fact that you knew where Wilbur was and that he was planning the attack, Pogtopia will be no more and L'Manburg would be back.

"L'Manburg will be back." You said while taking a sword out of a chest.

"Sure." You heard him scoff beside you.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You asked slightly offended. Wasn't he fighting for the same thing?

"I dont know. Revolutions always fall." He turned his back to you and walked away leaving you to your own thoughts.

You hated it. He was right, he was always right and you hated it. And everyone else did too, they knew he was right. It wasnt what the majority wanted, we wanted L'Manburg while he didn't want to be held by government in the first place. That's what he meant that day in Pogtopia.

L'Manburg, one defeated, was now growing once more. After the "end" of L'Manburg you couldn't forgive him. Your anger and the feeling of betrayal kept growing and growing everyday, every time you picked up that damned sword he gave you. It was the best sword you had, you had enchanted it multiple times. You had to use it, but the only thing was the memories that came with it.

Your anger only worsened as time went on, having to hear about Technoblade and how he was such a threat to L'Manburg only made you want to destroy him and the past you two had created. That would be the closure you needed, but someone was already three steps a head of you.

In spite of your anger you and Quackity had the most magnificent idea to make a gang to finally kill Technoblade for the sake of L'Manburg. The idea was to go confront him at his house and take him back to L'Manburg for an execution. You were on board with the idea 100%. This was better for L'Manburg and better for yourself, finally someone who got you.

Quackity and you planned tirelessly to try and get Technoblade's location and bring him back. The Butcher Gang was made from the cabinet of L'Manburg. During these long days you two grew closer, you two were so different in ways of thinking, but you two shared the same end goal which worked out in your favor. You two went through hell and back just to find out that the easiest way to get to Technoblade was sitting in L'Manburg right at that moment. Philza, some may say Technoblade's only friend at the moment. He was loyal to Technoblade and you dont blame him at all, but you needed to find out where his companion was.

It was all going well, the Butcher Gang had put Phil on house arrest and Tubbo had found a compass that led them straight to Technoblade's location. Everything was going well and according to plan, you didnt want to show it on your face as you saw Technoblade's house from the spot in the woods the Butcher Gang was hiding in, but you wanted this so badly. You didnt where he was going to be, he could've came and bestowed more destruction. It was like knowing he was there, but not knowing when he was going to strike.

The anxiety that came with not knowing where Technoblade was always with you, but now it wont be.

The Butcher Gang ended up taking Technoblade by force back into the city. You were proud that you were all able to get the blood hungry pig-man to come back with you all. He was behind bars with an anvil hanging high over his head. As Tubbo gave his speech your short lived happiness soon faded as a man appeared and smoke filled the area. You started to get attacked by what seemed like Dream and Punz while Tubbo continued to yell for Quackity to pull the lever to finally kill Technoblade.

"Pull the lever Big Q!"

"Kill him Quackity!" You yelled with him.

He did it. The anvil fell fast towards Technoblade's body, but as fast as the anvil landed on him his skin, bones, and blood regenerate and return to its normal state. Your eyes widened as the totem in his hand began to disintegrate into gold dust.

"DAMMIT!" You yelled in agony while Ranboo and Fundy continued to fend off Dream and Punz until they retreated.

Once they did you realized Technoblade was gone, you saw him in the distance running away from the scene, but you couldn't let this happen. You couldn't let the fear of Technoblade being out there doing God knows what forever. The fear of him boiled in your heart as you broke out into a sprint towards Technoblade.

As you ran into a more secluded area you heard footsteps behind you. You glances back to see Quackity following your lead with an axe in his hand. Slowing down a bit you both ran side by side.

"Let's get this son of a bitch!" Quackity huffed as you both came across a cave.

You both knew Technoblade was in there so you both prepared for the mental and physical pain you would both endure. This wasn't like the Butcher Gang where it was 5 against 1, it was 2 against 1 and you've seen Technoblade fight this fight before.

"You ready to kill this bastard?" He calmed his breathing down.

"Of course I am." You kept your eyes foward.

You walked deep into tha cave to see 6 chests and a sign that said "final control room", that bastard. Wanting to be quiet you tried to sneak up on Technoblade, but Quackity's anger got the best of him.

"What the fuck is this Technoblade?! What the hell are you doing here?" He asked gripping his sword too tight.

"It not what it looks like." Technoblade airly laughed. He had an enchanted pickaxe in his hand and an open chest with netherite armor.

"How the hell did that anvil not kill you?!" Quackity yelled.

Technoblade started laughing, he was laughing, he was taunting us. "Do you really think that death can stop me? That you could kill me that easily."

Your emotions tried to get the best of you as you tried not to let frustrated tears fall onto your cheeks.

"How did you do it? What... How did you even do that?"

"You think that can stop me Quackity?" Technoblade asked again.

"Just answer the fucking question!" You yelled before either of them could speak. It was silent for a while before Technoblade slowly spoke up.

"A totem. I used a totem of undying. I always have it on me." He smugly said.

He continued on. "You know what?! You know what? Ive got a lot to say, I was gonna say it at the trial, but we got a little bit interrupted. You know I tried convincing you guys that government was not the answer, the government was actually the cause of all your problems!"

You rolled your eyes as he continued his infamous speech.

"I tried to convince you guys by fighting alongside you as brothers and you cast me aside, you used me. I tried to use force, but you still formed a government! And when I went into hiding, when I retired, when I swore off violence, you hunted me down, you hurt my friends." Technoblade finished.

"Techno you dont understand what we're fighting for!" You started finally finding your voice. "I thought you were for us! You were always against us!"

"I was always for you! I needed you guys to understand!"

"We needed YOU to under-"

Technoblade interrupted you. "You dont understand me! You never did!"

"At least I fucking tried and you gave me so much shit for it! I wanted to be you Technoblade. I wanted to see life through your eyes, I was fascinated by how you walk, fight, your mind."

Your anger began to subside as you continued to speak. "But, you made me lose all my faith and trust in you."

Technoblade laughed again. "Same here! You guys left me! Betrayed me so-"

"So the feeling is mutual." You growled.

It was quite for a minute, but you could feel Quackity's sympathetic stare as you poured your feelings out to a man who dosen't even matter to you.

"They warned me about this." Your arms gestured to the area the three of you were in.

"About what?" Technoblade scoffed.

"About you." You stared at Technoblade. It wasn't a glare, it was more calm.

"Quackity, Tubbo, Fundy...Even Ranboo." You airly chuckled.

You had stopped talking trying to get yourself back together. Quackity caught that you weren't talking anymore so he spoke up.

"What we have up there is a country and what we need here is organization and power. And I dont care how long it fucking takes me or what I have to do to get you Techno. Im going to fucking kill you. Im going to kill you Technoblade." Quackity gripped his axe in his hand.

"I just have one question Quackity." Techno smirked.

"What do you have?" Quackity responded and you took the sword out of the sheath hanging on your hip.

"Do you think you two are enough to kill me? Even unarmed with iron armor?" Technoblade closed the chest that held netherite armor signaling he didn't need that. "Do you think you both could take me?"

"Oh we do." You spoke up. "We need this, Technoblade."

"You know what?" Quackity rose his axe and you followed suit. "Lets find out you son of a bitch!" He charged towards Technoblade and you followed close behind.

Technoblade started running out of the long cave, but you two followed. He threw potions on the ground as he turned around and fought us head on. You were able to get a couple of cuts and hits on him, but he was cutting you more with his pickaxe.

The thing about Quackity was that he thought he was invincible. He kept going full force towards Technoblade, hopefully he would focus on him so you could finally get a critical hit on him. Your heart rate kicked up as your face came too close to his pickaxe. And it kept going, each swing he took towards you became closer and closer until Quackity slashed his arm with his axe.

Technoblade whipped his head his way. "I have a pickaxe and I'll put it right through your teeth!"

Technoblade swung his axe and slashed Quackity's face, including his eye. He then turned his pickaxe to the flat side and swung it, hitting the side of his head. The blow to his head sent him flying against one of the walls of the cave, knocking him out.

He then turned to you and in a flash you could tatse the metal of his pickaxe as it swiped across your face blinding one of your eyes as well as Quackity's. He had hit you on the side of the head like he did with Quackity. Your body was aching as you fell to the ground, your mind slowly shutting down. You were loosing a lot of blood quickly, and so was Quackity. You two knew you were going to find the strength to get out of this cave and follow Technoblade's path out.

You laid on the cave's cold floor realizing that this was a mistake. You were too loyal, easily swayed, you were a follower. You never knew when to stop, from L'Manburg to Pogtopia to The Butcher Gang you seeked things you couldn't have. You couldn't have L'Manburg, neither Pogtopia, you couldn't kill Technoblade and ease your fears snd anxieties. You need to seek that some where else.

Your mind began to slip, and you fell into unconsciousness.

You should've learned. He was right. Revolutions always fall.

The Butcher Gang was a mistake.

Dear Technoblade,

I remembered the day. It still pains me. The day you spawned those wither. I thought you were the traitor, but turns out I was wrong at the time. Im sorry for that.

I also remember when you left me for dead. But I made it out as you see.

But now I am resigning from L'Manburg. Im going my own way, my own path, and I don't want you on my path.

Think of this as closure, something I never got. As I am writing this I dont know why I am giving you closure, lifting a weight off of your shoulders, you dont deserve it.

I know people say that to you alot.

You really made a dent in this damned place.

I hate what you're doing. You get to live in solitude while we get to live in the debris you left here. I wanted to be like you.

I hate to say it, but I learned a lot from you. I hated what I learned, about myself, about you, about the current state of this horrible place.

I wont make the same mistakes again

Are you satisfied now?

- an old friend ♤

#mcyt blurb #mcyt angst #mcyt fluff #mcyt x reader #mcyt headcanons #technowoah! #quackity x reader #techno x y/n #technoblade x reader #techno x reader #techno mcyt #technoblade platonic #mcyt platonic #platonic mcyt x reader #mcyt x platonic reader #technoblade imagine #techno imagine

[the-bau-quinjet]

Memories, Pt. IV

Summary: You were captured by Hydra. What did they do to your memories?

Warnings: mentions of violence, panic attacks, torture

Word Count: 4878

a/n: The last part! I'm so sorry this took so long! I planned to have it done over the weekend, but life got in the way. Hopefully y'all like the ending though!

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

3 Months Ago

"Come back to me, okay?" Bucky pressed his forehead to yours, relishing in this moment.

"I promise. I love you" You give him a quick kiss before moving back to board the quinjet. He calls out his response just as the doors begin to close.

"I love you too!" Bucky watched the quinjet fly away, waiting until you were completely out of sight before he turned to go back inside.

He nearly ran through the building, the excitement and nervousness he was feeling rolling off him in waves. He nearly ran right past Steve before skidding to a stop, grabbing onto a wall to slow himself down.

"Hey Buck." Steve greeted him with a furrowed brow. Typically after you leave for a mission, Bucky spends the next week moping. "What's got you so happy with Y/N gone?"

"I need your help." Bucky grinned, so focused on his plans that he missed Sam and Tony walking into the room.

"With?" Steve prompted, eager to figure out why Bucky was behaving so strangely.

"Picking out a ring." Bucky stated confidently, earning gasps from all three men. He spun around, eyes widening in surprise to find Sam and Tony in the doorway.

"You're proposing?" Sam nearly squealed with delight.

"Do you need dinner reservations? I know a guy at L'Artusi, I could probably get you in the week she comes back even though reservations are booked months in advance. Oh! I need to get Pepper to start planning a party." Tony mumbled more to himself, thinking back to how he proposed to Pepper.

"Tony!" Bucky nearly had to scream to get the man's attention. "I appreciate the offer, really, but I don't think Y/N is a fancy restaurant, big party kind of gal." Bucky sighed, not having expected to share his proposal plan just yet.

Steve cut in before Tony could respond, knowing the billionaire would say something about everyone loving fancy restaurants. "Congrats, Buck. I'm happy for you."

"She hasn't said yes, yet." He mumbled in response, suddenly feeling a bit bashful at being the center of attention.

"She will. That girl is madly in love with you." Sam encouraged, but couldn't help adding in a playful joke. "For reasons unbeknownst to me."

"Thanks for the encouragement." Bucky rolled his eyes, turning back to Steve. "So will you help me?"

Steve nodded, happy to help in any way necessary. "Of course, did you have any ideas?"

"I'll help too!" Tony added in, inserting himself into the conversation. He held up a hand before either man could interject. "And before you say it'll be too much if I have any say, I'll just help you get the ring made and to you in a reasonable time."

Bucky smiled, about to thank Tony when Sam cut in again. "If he's helping, I want in too. You can't leave me out!" He whined.

"Fine. You can both help too. Just don't push it." He eyes Sam, knowing he would take any opportunity to mess with him.

"Did you have any ideas or did you want to go to a jeweler tomorrow?" Steve asked, trying to refocus the conversation.

"Actually, I have a few ideas." He took a deep breath, trying to prepare for any criticism the men would throw at him for his unusual choices. "Nothing too flashy, and I don't want a diamond."

Tony nearly fainted with how big of a gasp he took. "No diamond? But, but, diamonds! Diamonds are the best! She deserves diamonds!" He stomped his foot, nearly throwing a full on temper tantrum before Bucky jumped in again.

"You're absolutely right, she deserves the world." He smiled softly, just thinking about you. "I just don't think she would like a diamond." He tried to explain.

"Tony, Buck probably knows her best..." Steve cut in, trying to calm him down.

"Friday, call Natasha and Wanda to the kitchen." Tony sent out the command, receiving a response from the AI before anyone could protest.

"What are you doing? You can't tell them!" Bucky harshly whispered, knowing it wouldn't be long before the two women arrived.

Tony sighed dramatically, "Look. If you don't think she'd like a diamond, those two are going to be your best bet at figuring out what she would want."

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but realized Tony was probably right. He hadn't made it much past his no diamond idea. "Fine, we can ask them for help." He resigned himself to everybody knowing his plans.

"Help with what?" Wanda asked as her and Nat strolled into the room, eyes slightly narrowed.

"What kind of engagement ring Y/N would like." Sam relished in the surprise that overtook their faces.

Nat recovered in seconds, scoffing immediately. "Well, definitely not a diamond."

"You're right. Too flashy for her." Wanda immediate went into planning mode.

Steve clapped Bucky on the back, reassuring him that he was on the right track.

"Yeah, Romeo over here already ruined my plans with that idea." Tony huffed. "What kind of stone then?"

They all spent the next few hours debating between opal, amethyst, sapphire, and sunstone. Then another few hours debating the shape and style of the stone and band. By the time the entire ring design had been settled, the sun was rising the next morning.

"I'll send the plans to my jeweler. You should have it in hand a few days before Y/N is due to get back." Tony stated, happy that you would be receiving the best money could buy.

"Thank you. All of you." Bucky turned to look at the people who had become family to him. "I really appreciate the help."

"Now we just need to plan the proposal." Nat smirked, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Nope. That is for me to know, and Y/N to tell you if she says yes." Bucky smiled, glad he had already planned how he was going to ask you.

"I'll worm it out of you. You know I will!" Sam narrowed his eyes, ready to start his barrage of questions when Friday cut into the conversation.

"We have lost tracking capabilities on the quinjet. Communication with onboard agents has failed. Enacting emergency personnel tracking protocols."

Everyone froze, anticipating Friday's next announcement. In seconds, they would all know if you were okay or if you were missing.

"Tracking failed. Agent L/N's whereabouts unknown."

They all took off to the lab, Bucky leading the way despite not knowing how to use the technology to try and find you.

Tony started asking questions: what was the jet's last known location? Did any of the tech onboard fail? Was another aircraft present in the vicinity? Were missiles involved? Any heat signature information from before it went offline?

Each question asked did little to calm Bucky's racing heart. It felt like his world was collapsing, his future falling apart right before his eyes.

"We have to find her." He whispered more to himself than anyone else in the room. "We have to."

-

Present

"Where's Y/N?" Bucky asked as he sat down in the debriefing room. Everyone else was already there, waiting for Tony to explain why he called the impromptu meeting.

"She's... She's in the med bay." Immediately Bucky was out of his chair, ready to run to you. "Barnes. You need to hear this before you go. She's fine, she just had a panic attack and passed out."

"Fine? You call that fine?" He was nearly raging, pushing to get back to the door.

"Relatively, yeah. Look, just trust me on this. We'll all go see her when I've filled you in." Tony sighed, knowing it wasn't going to be easy to explain what you told him.

"Filled us in on what?" Nat questioned first, honing in on Tony's distressed state.

"Y/N." He stated simply, finally getting Bucky to listen to him.

"What do you mean, Y/N? You just said she was fine!" His words cut through the room. He just got you back, he couldn't lose you again.

"Physically, she is. Would you just sit down?" Tony practically begged, trying his best not to break down at the memory of the pain in your eyes.

Bucky stomped back to his seat, giving Tony his undivided attention and gesturing for him to continue.

"I ran into her last night. Literally. She was running through the halls. It looked like she had just seen a ghost." He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to contain his emotions.

"I figured she was just having flashbacks to being held captive, so I made her talk to me." He closed his eyes, unable to look everyone in the eye as he continued his explanation.

"I should've noticed sooner. She wasn't acting right. I just thought it was PTSD. I-" Steve cut him off this time.

"Tony. What happened?"

"She wasn't making any sense. She said she didn't belong here, that she wasn't who we thought she was." Confusion grew on everyone's faces as Tony explained your breakdown. "Said she wasn't an Avenger. She was a murderer."

"The experiments..." Nat mumbled to herself, putting the pieces together as Tony continued explaining what happened.

"Long story short, she thinks she made a bomb that killed 38 people and that she was in prison for 3 years before we broke her out and brought her here." He took a deep breath, letting his words sink in for everyone.

"She was mumbling about experiments." Nat said louder now that Tony was done. "In the kitchen. She said they would bring her to another room sometimes, but it looked like it hurt for her to remember. They must've messed with her head."

Bucky could barely breathe. You strange behavior suddenly made sense. Your surprise at being part of the Avengers, not wanting to tell him what was bothering you, leaving bed before he woke up, not telling him you loved him. It all started making more sense.

"We have to tell her the truth."

-

While everyone was trying to come up with the best plan to help you with your memories, you woke up in the med bay alone.

You were surprised to have been left alone after admitting to your crimes, but you took the opportunity to finish what you started: running away.

You quickly found your way to the elevator hoping you could remember which floor would lead to an exit. As you snuck down the halls, you could hear voices coming from one of the rooms.

"We have to tell her the truth."

You felt your heart flutter at the sound of Bucky's voice. He had been so kind to you. it felt wrong to just leave him, but you didn't see another choice. You couldn't bear the thought of looking him in the eye now that Tony likely told him about your past.

You quickly made your way back to the elevator, figuring a different floor would be better suited for your escape.

You ultimately made it outside, deciding to forego any vehicles you passed. They could probably be tracked. Instead, you took off through the woods.

-

It wasn't long before Bucky got tired of debating how best to fix your memories. He needed to see you. He needed to know you were alright.

"Look, call Shuri and T'Challa. See if they can come here to help her." Bucky headed for the door, not waiting for a response before making his way to you.

Everyone but Tony, who was calling T'Challa, quickly followed his hasty exit.

When they arrived to the med bay, it was empty.

"Where is she?" Sam questioned, causing everyone to glance around the room.

Tony walked in as everyone searched the multitude of beds, making sure you were in fact not in the room.

"You said she was in the med bay." Bucky glared, waiting for Tony to explain.

"She was." He glanced around the room as well, confused by your absence. "She passed out, so I brought her here. They gave her a sedative to calm her heart rate. She should still be sleeping."

"She's not here." Bucky stopped moving, the realization causing a mixture of anger and panic to course through him. "She's not here." He repeats it louder, causing everyone else to freeze as well.

"Friday, where is Y/N?" Tony asked the AI, knowing it was a waste to search the compound.

"She left the Med Bay 23 minutes ago, briefly stopping outside the debriefing room before exiting the building from the garage." The AI easily recounted your quick escape.

"Are there any cars missing?" Tony followed up, figuring you'd be easy enough to track.

"All vehicles are accounted for."

"She's on foot. Friday, which direction did she go?" Bucky asked, barely waiting for a response as he ran from the room.

"I can track her movements via security footage east until she hits the woods."

Tony, Sam, Nat, Wanda, Steve, Vision, and Clint all followed right behind Bucky as he ran out of the compound.

Bucky and Nat headed east, following Friday's information. Everyone else split up, figuring it'd be best to cover all directions since you could have doubled back or gotten turned around in the woods.

-

You weren't sure how long you had been on the move, but you had made it about 3.5 miles when you found what looked like an abandoned treehouse.

With the sun setting and the exhaustion of waking up in a hospital bed catching up to you, you figured it'd be best for you to stop and rest for the night.

Hopefully you made it far enough to avoid detection for now. Ideally, they wouldn't start the manhunt for you until morning.

You climbed into the treehouse slowly, trying to distribute your weight over the creaking and breaking floorboards. You settled in the corner, propping yourself against the walls to keep an eye on the door.

Eventually, you drifted off to sleep, the sounds of frogs croaking and crickets chirping invading your senses.

Your sleep was restless, plagued by memories of a life you barely remembered, memories that felt more like a dream than reality.

-

Nat and Bucky tracked you through the woods methodically. Every snapped twig or partial footprint lead them in your direction. The sun set early in their search, but it did little to deter their efforts.

A few hours after dark, they approached the abandoned treehouse you camped out in.

Even twenty yards away, they could hear your whispered screams.

"No. No, no, no. No, please. Stop. Bucky, help me. Please don't. Please." You begged.

Bucky's heart broke at the sound of pain in your voice. It killed him to know you were begging for him while Hydra was removing him from your memory.

He climbed the ladder of the treehouse rapidly, not paying any mind to the creaking floors and breaking boards. He rushed to you in the corner, pulling you into his arms as he tried to wake you up.

"Y/N, I'm here. I've got you. You're safe. I'm here now." He whispered into your neck, rocking you back and forth.

"Bucky?" You squinted in confusion, eyes adjusting to the dark.

"I've got you, doll. You're safe now." He easily replied, trying to calm you from your nightmares.

"No, Bucky. I- I killed people." You sobbed, your hands burying themselves into his shirt.

"No, doll. Y/N, that's not real." He repeated your name, trying to convince you of the truth. "Hydra, they messed with your memories. We can fix it."

"But, no- I hurt people." You were shaking, trying to explain even though you'd rather give in.

"Please trust me. Let's go back to the compound. We can figure it all out. We'll get your memories back, I promise." He held you in his arms in an unwavering grip, afraid if he let you go you would disappear. "Come back to me, okay?"

"I promise. I love you." You whispered the words more to yourself, trying to figure out why they came to mind. Images flashed through your mind; saying goodbye to Bucky, boarding a jet, being attacked in the air, Hydra.

"I'll come with you." Your voice was shaky, still unsure of what was true.

Bucky quickly lead you out of the treehouse, regrouping with Nat on the ground.

"Good?" Nat questioned, trying to prepare for if you ran.

"Good, for now." Bucky replied, scooping you into his arms to carry you back to the compound.

- You woke up to voices, patches of light flickering across your closed eyelids.

"Can you do it?" You recognized Bucky, but the responding voice was only vaguely familiar.

"I can. It will take some time, but it does not appear to be as severe as your own memory problems." His memory problems? What was she talking about?

"Shuri, you're a genius." Shuri, the name triggered something in your mind, but it's like you can't put the pieces together.

"I know. Now let me get to work." She shooed him out of the lab as your world faded to black yet again.

-

Bucky sat beside your bed the second Shuri allowed him to. If it weren't for Steve bringing him food, he wouldn't have eaten anything in the day and a half you've been asleep.

"Buck, you've got to rest." Steve tried for the fifteenth time to get his friend to sleep.

"I can't. Steve, if I sleep and she's not here when I wake up..." He trailed off, unable to put to words the pain of losing you again.

"I'll stay with her. She'll be here when you wake up, I promise." Steve sighed.

"You'll stay?" His voice was small, his body's need for sleep finally overpowering his concern for you.

"Promise." Steve nodded, pulling a chair to sit next to your bed while Bucky laid down in the hospital bed next to yours. "I would've preferred a real bed, but I'll take it."

"Good, because I'm not going anywhere." Bucky closed his eyes, knowing he had to at least try to sleep to avoid another scolding from Steve.

A few hours later, Steve couldn't help but smile as he watched Bucky finally get some rest. Even asleep in a different bed, his body was angled toward yours.

"Steve?" Your voiced cracked, throat dry from crying and lack of use.

"Y/N?" He sat up instantly, moving to pass you a glass of water.

"What the hell happened? Where's Buck?" You questioned, feeling as though your brain was a pile of mush.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Steve avoided your questions for the time being, subtly pulling out his phone to message Shuri.

"The mission. The quinjet was attacked. Hydra took me captive." You slowly put the pieces together. "But you saved me. Bucky saved me. Right?" You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to clear up the memories.

"That's right. Do you remember anything else?" Steve probed gently, unsure of how to tell you about the last few days.

"Um, there was a lab in the basement. They brought me there sometimes. I think..." Everything in your head felt incomplete, like you only knew part of the story.

"You're awake." A feminine voice called from the door to the med bay, causing you and Steve to turn your heads.

"Shuri! It's so good to see you." You pull her in for a hug as soon as she's close enough to your bed. "What are you doing here?"

Shuri eyes you suspiciously, willing you to remember everything with just her stare. "You'll remember soon enough. What do you remember from the past few days?"

"Um, where do you want me to start? I was just telling Steve, I left for the mission, but the jet was attacked and I was captured. I think Hydra must've tried to do experiments on me or something, I remember a lab." Your whole body shook, shivering from the bad memory.

"Good. It's good you remember that." Shuri nodded, a confident smile on her face. "What about after you were rescued?"

You thought back to that moment, but it was a little fuzzy. "Bucky... Bucky was there. He carried me out." Suddenly, an even more urgent thought popped into your head. "Oh my God. Where's Bucky?"

Steve gestured to your left, pointing out a sleeping Bucky in the bed next to yours. He always looked so peaceful while he slept.

You couldn't stop the grin from forming on your face as you watched him. You couldn't imagine how he was feeling while you were gone.

"Messages." You whispered. "I remember listening to messages from Bucky. He- He must've left them while he was looking for me, while you were all looking for me." Your eyebrow furrowed in confusion.

"Y/N?" Steve questioned, drawing you back to the present. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure." You shook your head, as if the action in itself would clear your mind. "I remember how I felt when I listened to the messages and it doesn't make any sense."

"How did you feel?" Shuri questioned, eager to see if she gave you back all of your memories, including the past few days.

"Guilty? I think." You replayed the messages in your head as best as you could remember.

"What do you mean guilty?' Steve questioned.

"Like they weren't really for me. Like I wasn't actually me." You looked at Steve and Shuri as they shared a look. "What are you not telling me?"

"I'll leave this one to you, Captain. She is healing nicely." Shuri turned to you before she walked out of the room. "You should understand everything in a few hours. Just give your mind time to put the pieces together."

"Steve, what is she talking about?" You settled a hard glare in his direction, knowing he knew more than you.

"Let me ask you this: do you know how long you were gone?" Steve sighed, unsure how exactly to explain everything.

"About 3 months. I tried to keep a tally while I was there, based on the daily routine." You responded easily.

"Well, when we found you, although we didn't know it at the time, you thought you had been there for 3 years." Steve looked like he was about to continue when you interrupted.

"38 people. I thought I killed 38 people." Suddenly, the pieces were falling into place. "They made me forget who I was. Erased my past and gave me a new one." Your breathing was speeding up as everything came back to you.

"Y/N, hey, look at me." Steve nearly commanded causing you to meet his eye. "You're safe now. We've got you."

You nodded, matching your breathing to his pace to settle your racing heart.

"How long has Buck been asleep." You looked at his sleeping form, wanting more than anything to wake him up.

"A few hours. Ya know, it's good to hear you calling him Buck again." Steve looked at his friend as well, knowing he would be furious that he was still asleep when you were now awake.

"What do you mean?" You turned back to Steve, the question clear on your face.

"The past few days, I mean we all thought it was PTSD." He ran a hand through his hair, guilt clearly playing at his emotions. "Well, not Nat. She knew something was up."

"Of course." You chuckled.

"You called him Bucky every time you talked to him."

"Isn't that normal though?" You were more confused now than before.

"No, not really. You use a lot more pet names than you realize. Plus, you didn't say 'I love you' when you woke up." Steve sighed, again upset at not putting it together sooner.

"Well, that should've been a dead giveaway." You joked, but Steve's eyes remained sad. "Hey, it's not your fault. I'm fine now. That's all that matters."

"I'm glad to have you back." He looked at you with so much sincerity, you nearly started crying again.

Before you could respond Bucky groaned, stretching as he woke up.

"Damn, that was a good nap. How long was I out?" He asked before opening his eyes.

"Oh, just a few hours. You should really sleep more." You answered casually.

"Y/N, you know I can't sleep when- Y/N!" His eyes popped open comically wide as he nearly threw himself out of the bed.

"I love you." You said it so clearly he froze next to your bed.

"You remember?" He asked, voice full of hope.

"I do." The tears pooled in your eyes again as you watched his body visibly relax.

"I missed you so much, doll." You pulled him on top of you in the bed, needing to hold him as close as possible.

"I missed you too. I knew you'd come for me." You smiled through the tears, breathing in his scent.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry it took so long. I'm sorry I didn't realize everything sooner. I'm so sorry." He apologized over and over.

"Look at me." He moved his head back just far enough to look you in the eye. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Not one single thing. Okay?"

"But-" His protests were quickly cut off.

"Not. One. Single. Thing." You stared him down until he nodded.

The two of you cuddled in your hospital bed while Steve went to update everyone on your condition. He could've just had Friday announce it, but he wanted to give you and Bucky a minute to yourselves.

"I've got a date planned for you." Bucky smiled cheekily.

"Oh really?" He nodded. "Care to share with the room?"

"Nope. It's a surprise." He shared a small smile, the love he felt so easily portrayed through his eyes.

"I love you. So much." You couldn't help but blurt it out one more time before everyone barged into the room.

"I love you too."

-

"We're going to be late." Bucky huffed, waiting for you to leave the bathroom.

"Well, if you had told me where we were going it would've been easier to pick an outfit." You teased him back. He had never been good at keeping secrets from you, so the fact that your date destination was still a surprise shocked you.

"I told you to wear whatever you want. You always look beautiful." He relished in the bashful smile that you covered with a playful roll of your eyes.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm ready now Mr. Impatient." You grabbed his hand as you walked out of your bathroom.

"Good, let's go." He guided you to the kitchen where he stopped to grab a picnic basket. He then lead you hand in hand to a blanket set up by the lake.

"We were going to be late for a picnic?" You questioned, fixing Bucky with a teasing glare.

"Not the picnic. The sunset." He teased back, turning your head to look out over the water.

You hadn't realized the sun was already in the midst of setting. "It's beautiful." You smiled as you stared at the horizon, the ultimate picture of peace and tranquility.

"Y/N, I've been in love with you for so long, I can't remember what it was like before I met you." Bucky kept his eyes trained on you as you took in the pink and orange hues of the setting sun.

"That's just because you have a bad memory." You joked, but your breath caught in your throat when you turned to look at him.

"Maybe so, but I don't want to remember any part of my life that you weren't in." He stated from his kneeling position. "I knew from the second you agreed to get dinner with me that I would ask you to marry me someday."

He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a teardrop cut sunstone ring, small diamonds set along the band.

"Y/N, will you marry me?"

You shook your head up and down as you willed your voice to answer him.

"Yes. Bucky, I- yes."

He slipped the ring onto your finger, silently thanking Nat and Wanda for knowing your ring size. He then pulled you down into his lap, pressing a series of quick kisses to your lips between smiles.

"I love you so much, doll." He whispered, pressing kisses to your cheeks, nose, and forehead.

"I love you too, Bucky." You responded in kind. "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

He cuddle you closer, sliding the picnic basket next to you. "Let's start with dinner."

"I think I might be too excited to eat." He laughed at your pout.

"Well, if we hadn't of been late, you would've eaten before sunset." He smiled at your carefree laughter.

You looked out over the lake one more time, taking in the dusk sky as the sun swiftly dipped below the horizon.

"It was perfect just like this. You're perfect." You kissed him again, unable to contain the utter joy you were feeling.

"I'm hardly perfect." He objected.

"You're perfect to me." You countered.

"I love you. So much." He whispered one final time before kissing you again.

"I love you too."

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman

Memories taglist:

@otherglowcloud @dontxfearxthereaper

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #marvel fic #mcu fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers fic

[levixreader]

Levi x K-pop! Reader - It's not what it looks like - Chapter IV

Summary: Did he... Kiss you? Based on @cakeswashere KISS CAM prompt: x

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It's not what it looks like

《 Chapter IV》

It had been a long day at the office. This month had proven a little overwhelming, R.I.E, three months before, had bought a small marketing firm in order to integrate it into its ecosystem. Every month without fault there was some kind of miscommunication with them that resulted in some sort of internal problem. And who had to fix it? Him, it was always him. He would have stayed later at the office if he hadn’t made plans with you.

He looked down at the tickets in his hand; You’d gotten floor seats.

“Did you find her?”, Hange asked. He didn’t answer instead his eyes wandered around trying to locate you. There you were. Sitting, one leg hammering the floor, your face glued to your phone. He smirked, “There”, he said pointing his nose at you. “My Queen!”, Hange screamed waving ferociously. He saw your face detach from your phone, your eyes scanning for Hange’s voice. You couldn’t locate them, his smirk deepened as he scooting into the row, Hange trailing behind him.

When he reached you, he took a second to look at you. You were wearing a short thing that hiked up way too high up your thighs. His eyes lingered on your legs, they looked smooth. Without even thinking about it, he took off his leather jacket, throwing it brusquely on your lap. This visibly startled you, your eyes looking up to him riddled in confusion; your face half shaded by your cap. His expression was neutral. He looked good; his dress shirt looked a bit wrinkled, his sleeves rolled up. He probably came straight from the office. Of course, you knew that he had been dealing with a particularly tricky absorption. You smiled up at him, he didn’t correspond, simply stared. “My Queen, hello!”, greeted Hange, poking her head from behind Levi’s shoulder. He rolled his eyes and sat down.

You looked striking.

He wasn’t the only one who had noticed. It felt like the whole section around your little trio was pointing and taking pictures. Hange sat at your other side. He felt pleased, at least you wouldn’t be sitting next to a stranger. Sometimes you could be quite dense, like now, you were chatting away with Hange about some new singer, seemingly unaware of the lustful eyes around you.

He didn’t like it.

There was little he could do but glare when he felt the person too close to your seats. He sank into his chair, already feeling a bit riled up, being in the public eye was adding to his stress. He crossed his arms in front of his chest not really in the mood to engage in conversation. This didn’t seem to be a problem for you, too busy waving at nearby fans, smiling without a care in the world as people pointed and treated you like some kind of display. They could at least have the decency to leave you alone on your time off. Hange was no help, she was basking in the attention, poking you so that you would look across the court at gaping fans desperately trying to catch your eye. He was getting a little frustrated. Feeling a bit antsy, he took out his phone reading unnecessary emails. That would keep him distracted. Why did he come? This was far from a good idea.

He briefly looked at your lap, his jacket covering your lap. He couldn’t even begin to think the mess that would spur from that little act. Sure, the media now knew you were strictly just friends and that you actually went out together in a platonic way. But they hadn’t seen you in public, there were no pictures. Everything was just retellings of people who had seen you together like at the bar, the other day. He groaned quickly typing an email to PR.

Stop any stupid pictures from leaking.

It sounded threatening. “Serves them right”, he thought sending the short message. They had enough to prepare for what the media would do seeing you and him in public. He wasn’t completely delusional, he understood that not everything could be blocked but, this much they could and would do. After the hell that had been your little crowd diving, they needed to remind him why he paid them the exorbitant amounts of money they billed him monthly.

Contrary to what the media was spitting out, you and he weren’t all that different. There was a reason you were… friends. As had become painfully obvious, you both had a love for the same kind of food and wine, not to mention concertos. That first dinner, he had mentioned his favourite composer in passing, but you latched on to that for the rest of dinner. He hadn’t been able to talk to someone so thoroughly in a very long time. Perhaps that’s what made him venture into inviting you to a concerto. And boy was he glad he had. That had been the most pleasant of your surprises; that you shared so much in common with him. You even recommended a few modern composers that he had dismissed years before. And what’s worse? You had been right.

The one difference? He could never get used to how public you were. Even If the media didn’t publish any pictures of the two of you together, they always knew where and with who you were. Storied came a mile a minute with so many listed sources that he couldn’t possibly track them all down and shut them up. That had never happened to him. He was well known at best, but people barely knew who he was because he rarely showed his face. Recently, however, that had changed. He couldn’t go to his usual tea shop anymore without at least someone taking a picture of him. He knew why it was happening, but, if that was the price to have you close, he would gladly pay it.

He sighed, reclining further into his seat. He didn’t even like basketball, except, you had looked so proud holding the tickets. Your voice was so hopeful that he would come. He had stayed the afternoon watching videos to at least understand the game somewhat.

“Sorry”, you whispered at him. His eyes lazily looked at you, his face still facing forward. “For what?”, he asked a little taken aback. “I know you’re not exactly a fan”, you said apologetically. “Hmm”, he answered his eyes returning to watch the court. “I didn’t tell you this”, you said still whispering. The only indication that he was listening was his raised eyebrow, “but I also got us tickets for Yann Tiersen”, she said her voice dripping with excitement, “but I only managed to get two”, you explained further. Ahh, this is why.

Hange liked basketball. You didn’t want her to feel left out. “Then why am I here?”, he asked his voice deep and velvety. It made you feel as if butterflies had hatched in your stomach. “Well,” you said licking your lips, “I didn’t want to be the only one who didn’t understand what is going on”. He smiled, startling again the butterflies. He chuckled, covering his mouth with one of his hands. “Speak for yourself”, he answered playfully. “PASS THE BALL!”, Hange screamed, “PASS.IT”, she yelled. Both of you turned to watch her, frown in place, eyes glued at the court. You chuckled, his eyes now on you, he smiled. Perhaps basketball wasn’t that boring of a sport.

* * *

It had been a long fifteen minutes; too many noises, people hailing, complaining, everything had to be a scream. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the game, he kept getting distracted by your knees occasionally knocking into his. Every time without fault he would jolt to attention. You seemed to not notice at all; your attention fully on the game. This somewhat irritated him.

You were always like this, he knew you didn’t particularly enjoy basketball, in fact, he would bet his right leg that you didn’t even know any players besides LeBron James; but, like anything you did, you always got weirdly excited just immersed yourself in it despite your lack of interest. He had already seen you make your small hands into tiny fists and shaking them whenever the yellow team made a point. It was cute.

He sighed looking down at his phone, they were finally taking a break from the game and he could check on the emails that had already accumulated in the short period of time since he last checked. His thumb scrolled reading the latest proposal for budget from the marketing department; they were asking for, yet again, another increase in budget. He frowned, the overwhelming chatter around him dying down.

Something felt off.

He could feel the whole court staring his way. He turned to check on you. You were looking down at your lap fiddling with his jacket. You were nervous, his eyes narrowed. He could make out a pink tint colouring your cheeks. “Also embarrassed”, he noted. His eyes shifted to Hange, she was staring wide eyes mouth opened. His eyebrow rose in confusion. The fuck was going on.

“Well?!” Came a voice from behind him, “kiss her!”, the voice screamed.

He could have choked.

His eyes were fully alert, he twisted his body to turn to see who the fuck was talking. “The fuck?”, he asked annoyed. “Yeah! KISS HER!”, it was a woman this time. He quickly turned to see her. “KISS HER!”, yet another. “Kiss her!”, “kiss her!”, the crowd began to chant.

“It’s the kiss cam!”, mouthed Hange. He immediately relaxed. He looked up at the massive screens, sure enough. There was a heart-shaped filter focused on you and him, “kiss cam” scribbled at the bottom. Raising both hands and crossing them in an “x” shape at whoever was filming him. A chorus of boos echoed through the court. He sighed, crossing his arms in front of his chest and sinking into the chair again.

He looked up at the screens, a failed animation playing. He sighed, the camera turning to another couple. “Calm down, it left”, he whispered. You nodded, unable to speak; your cheeks still flushed. His eyes scanned over your figure, they glimmered with curiosity. Smirking, he returned his gaze back to his phone, “Good”, he thought.

* * *

Yet another break came.

Finally, half time.

He just needed to get through another two breaks.

As he had decided, he took out his phone yet again, reading the budgeting proposal; they were finally making some sense. It looked coherent and well structured, they hadn’t asked an exorbitant amount either.

“Levi”, he heard Hange call out. Unwillingly, he twisted to look at the woman. “Look!”, she mouthed pointing at the goliath of a screen. He groaned, there he was, frown displayed on TV with you next to him, “KISS CAM”, written in big bold purple letters. He could see you blushing even from the low-quality camera pointed at the both of you.

“Just do it”, Hange said making you flinch. His eyes narrowed at your response. “Common! Kiss her man!”, someone screamed. “Yeah, kiss the girl!!!”, “Kiss her!”, “Don’t be a pussy! Kiss!”.

The previous chant echoing throughout the court, “Kiss her! Kiss her!”.

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole, bones included, being rejected on national TV was pretty embarrassing. Did he not want to kiss you? Had this tension between the both of you simply been in your head? You wanted him to kiss you. You wanted him to want to kiss you.

“Fuck it”, you heard Levi whisper. Callous hands cupped your cheeks, softly guiding your head to face him. Steal grey eyes greeted you, his nose next to yours.

And then…

You felt it.

His lips came soft, barely gracing yours. The front of his bangs tickling lightly your cheeks. His eyes were half-lidded, avoiding your shocked irises. You couldn’t move. It had been so fleeting you that you could have missed it. You blinked, feeling the warmth leave your lips.

His face retreated from yours, his body returning casually to his seat.

You simply stared, too surprised to react.

Your stomach somersaulted, a faint ringing sound covering your ears; loud enough that you barely registered the crowed erupting in cheer and whistles.

His lips had been soft.

Your hand reached up to your lips, your fingertips touching gently your lower lip.

He kissed you.

Heat. Your cheeks coloured gently turning peach.

You didn’t say a word.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi #levi x reader #rivaille #levi rivaille #rivaille x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x you #levi x y/n #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot fic #aot fanfiction #snk fic #snk fanfiction #reader insert #it's not what it looks like series #levi aot #aot #snk #kiss #kpop reader #alternative universe #cute #fluff

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

For this, I did all 60 prompts. They will be posted twice a day. Some are shorter, some are longer, some are combined and some have multiple parts. Some are rushed and others are nicely done (in my opinion)

Summer of Whump #1: Freezing

"The Torture of Cold"

It was not meant to be 10 degrees out during the summer.

Villain was huddled in a corner, hugging himself. His jaw was clenched to keep from chattering. He was cold, much too cold. The thin shirt he wore did little to protect him from the drafts and chills. The most it did was prevent the artificial windburn that threatened to irritate his already raw skin.

It had been two months. Two months of everlasting torture by Hero, but he refused to give into her feeble attempts to get him to speak.

He was actually surprised that he was able to hold on for this long. Everyday, he would have to endure either a beating or eating poisonous food. He loved the days when he was forced to eat the bad food. He wouldn't talk, so Hero would be forced to care for him. It annoyed her, and him, but it was the easiest torture ever.

Things were so easy that Villain was even able to contact his henchman to get him out of here. Of course, Hero's security was top notch even if she was an amateur torturer. The five carefully planned escapes were basically thrown in the trash.

But now? Now, he was thrown into a room that was below freezing. He had an ice bucket thrown on him ahead of time, so he was ten times colder. After five minutes of sitting there (he was restrained, so he couldn't move to warm himself), his body had gone numb and then the ache of cold began.

The metal cuffs around his elbows and neck made things worse as they sapped up his body heat. He wished that the pain would leave him be.

Villain leaned back as far as he was able to. His eyes squinted against the oncoming wind. He tried to focus on it, not the fact that his body began to shiver mercilessly.

The shivering continued until Villain wanted to scream in pain. It rattled every joint, every muscle. He thought of the warmth he would receive- whether alive or dead- if he just told Hero about Supervillain's plan. Warmth was all he could imagine and he stuck with it. He just wished that Hero would barge in, her obnoxious voice and all and end Villain's suffering. He tossed around two scenes: one where he told Hero the information and being allowed to warm up, and the scarier one of refusing to speak and having to die in this freezer.

Villain squeezed his eyes shut. Was he finally breaking? After all of the pain he previously endured, he was breaking under a little bit of cold. Deep down, Villain knew that the outcome of this new method was far from great; he either died, or would be scared of getting food from a freezer for the rest of his life.

"S-stop... that," Villain stuttered breathlessly. He was concerned and surprise about how weak he sounded. Why was Hero doing this? Villain felt a strange new pressure in his throat. It puzzled him for a moment before realization struck him. He, Villain, was going to cry. A tough, defiant criminal like himself was going to break down in tears.

He actually hoped that the cold would freeze his eyes in place so that they wouldn't commit that treason.

But, of course, the cold did not do the work that Villain willed it to. A single tear slipped out of his right eye and streamed down to his parted mouth. He gulped. Crying was a new sensation. An action that he never allowed himself to do before.

And he hated it, but stopped resisting the almost instinctive urge.

He began to rock on his feet, his neck pressing against the collar and back until exhaustion started to dawn on him. He knew about hypothermia to some degree. Villain froze in his place, hypothermia? The thought did not cross his mind until now. He tried to stop thinking about it, but it proved impossible.

Atleast the shivering stopped, Villain thought gleefully. The aches he earned were still present, but weren't getting worse. Villain looked down at his fingers and tried to move them, concerned about the sudden lack of movement and the cold that came with it. Sure enough, when he tried to wiggle his fingers, they disobeyed.

Villain shut his eyes and let his lips droop. His chest rattled as sobs tried to escape him, but none came out.

Villain's relaxed against his restraints, suddenly very tired.

"Don' slee'," he mumbled, unable to properly form the words, but his body was beginning to shut down. Sleeping, suddenly felt so good that he didn't care about the dangers it would bring. Sleeping meant death, but wouldn't death be warm?

Villain cracked open his eyes. He wouldn't die... wouldn't. Not without a fight. Even if fighting seemed impossible.

But to Villain'a horror, exhaustion had other ideas. His vision began to dim and waver. He shook his head trying to clear it, but the effort made it worse. His breaths were also getting shallower and shallower. He was going to lose consciousness soon and he knew it.

Stop fighting, he told himself sadly. It's not worth it.

Surprisingly, warmth came. Villain didn't know if it was due to a final rush of adrenaline, or if his mind imagined it, but it was there, comforting him. With one last sigh, he allowed unconsciousness to take him.

Little did he know that it was Hero, holding him as his head fell limp into her arms.

"What have I done?" She whispered. Her fingers gently brushed Villain's wet hair off his forehead. He was cold to the touch like a dead corspe. He looked like a dead corspe.

"We need a medic," she spoke into her earpierce. She could hardly look at Villain's face. The red cheeks scratched from the unnecessary windburn she made him go through, the blue lips, and frozen tears and eyelashes.

Hero did not have much experience when it came to doctoring, but she knew that she had to take the wet clothes off. She unlocked the cuffs around his elbows (she already took the collar off previously) and laid him against her chest. Her heart lurched, he was hardly breathing.

"Stay alive for me please," she whispered, unsure if he was able to hear her or not. She doubted it. She took her knife out of her pocket and cut his shirt down the middle, revealing waxy, yellow skin. She looked away, feeling the guilt all over again.

Shortly after her encounter with the frostbite, a team of doctors entered the cell. They immediately took Villain's limp body away from her and wrapped him in blankets. They whisked him away without another word to Hero.

Hero was left there, sulking in the bitter cold room. She didn't know if she wanted to make sure that he would be cared for properly. If he died, then she would not have to do through the guilt of seeing him.

He almost died, under her orders.

It took a while for Hero to muster the courage to visit Villain in the hospital. When she did, she nearly left. Villain was attached to many monitors and IVs. He wore an oxygen mask and didn't seem to be awake.

Hero forced herself to go to his side and take his hand. It was warm, which was good, but it did not help the guilt that coursed through Hero's veins.

And it did not in any way prepare her for the look of sheer terror on Villain's face when his eyes fluttered open.

#summer of whump #villain whumpee #hypothermia #freezing #hero whumper #torture #writing #summerofwhump1

[saturnville]

cupid’s arrow!

IV. The Proposal

a/n: 4/5. we’re almost to the end! also, this was heavily inspired by the proposal between adonis and bianca in creed two, which was *heavenly*. btw, check out my other short work called garden if you haven’t already!

divider by @firefly-graphics !

“I’m gonna get out of this dress and take a shower, okay?”

Their night on the town ended with clanking their champagne glasses as they gazed out at New York nightlife.

It was an evening of celebration. She’d gotten her first job in a law firm and he’d begun practicing in a nearby hospital. Success surrounded m the both of them and it was indeed worth celebrating.

He took her to a high end restaurant in the heart of the city. He’d saved up like a madman to take her. It was expensive, but he was willing to cut spending elsewhere to show her she was appreciated.

He picked her up in his car, a black Honda accord with black interior, the one she claimed exuded “dominance and authority” or in words simply put, sexiness.

They talked for hours over shared entrees and glasses of chardonnay until the sun set and a low fire of passion bubbled within their bosom. Adrian was easily turned on by anything Sarai managed to do. At that point, it was her sitting prettily and glowing underneath the lights as she stared out at the skyline. The moonlight shone on her high cheekbones and caused her skin to glisten beautifully. The dress she wore left little to the imagination and only prompted him to wonder how the moon would shine upon her bare skin. She was breathtaking.

“Okay,” he finally said. “What movie again?” His fingers fiddled with the television remote. Soon soft drumming indicated Netflix had made an appearance. He clicked one of the profiles; A & S and prepared the search bar for a movie she said was American Assassin.

“Yes! That one. Okay, I’ll try not to take too long.”

He hummed slowly and waved her away. A short chuckle tripped over her lips as she closed the bathroom door. His green eyes followed the door as it swung shut, as the hinges met its casing on the doorway. A few moments passed and his watch ticking grew louder in his ears. Soon, the water turned on. He heard her soft welp. The water was either too hot or too cold once it splattered against her sensitive skin. Once he heard her soft adlibs to the harmonies that played in her mind, he knew he was in the clear.

He pounced off the couch faster than a lion after its prey and darted to his jacket pocket. Adrian shoved his hand into the inner pocket of the gray blazer he wore to dinner. He felt it--the hard, small black box that he’d kept hidden in a variety of different places. A shoebox, underneath his dresser, inside his backpack, and even in his pillowcase, which he soon realized was not the best idea.

He pried open the lips of the box and tilted his head to the side. The ring stared at him and he stared back. With a rotation of the box to the right, it was hit by the rays of the lamp by his bed. The ring winked at him, almost daring to make a move. Stop playing and just do it, it demanded. Adrian kept it in hiding for three months.

He knew he wanted her forever. To watch the youth slip away and to spend their days growing old. But only if she’d have him. There came the doubt. The doubt that she wanted him the way he wanted her, that he wasn’t good enough or he was undeserving. That couldn’t be the case, he’d remind himself. She wouldn’t have stayed with him as long as she had if it was.

“Snap out of it, man.” She loved him and he loved her. It was evident from all possible points of view. She’d say yes. He just had to speak from his heart, that’s all.

A forceful breath blew past Adrian’s lips. His hands shook and his heart raced but he was prepared. The few steps towards the bathroom door seemed like a walk down an old dirt road, long and grueling. By the time he was almost chest to chest with the door, his insides turned upside down. He shook off that feeling and inhaled deeply.

The water cut off.

“Baby?”

“Yes, love?”

“I have something that I wanna tell you, well, ask you…”

“Okay…” he already knew the face she was making. Her eyebrows were knitted together and her lips were pursed in confusion. She’d probably stopped what she was doing to listen to what she presumed to be something bad came out of his mouth.

“We met in a coffee shop,” he said. “That cute lil’ coffee shop on the corner. It wasn’t my usual place but after seeing you there once, it became my usual place. I went every day until I saw you again a few days later. You’ve got no idea how excited I was when I saw you, ‘cause I’d been thinkin’ about you those four days since we’d met. Then, I was geeked when you let me take you out. I was even callin’ your girls just trying to find out what was best suitable for you.

“I didn’t know flirting in a coffee shop on the corner would result in us growing together as both individuals and as a couple. Being by your side these last two years has allowed me to watch you blossom into a badass woman. I thank God everyday for you, Sarai. I don’t say that because it sounds nice, either. I keep you in my prayers and my dreams. I ask God that you’ll prosper in life and that you’ll continue to want me the way I want you…

“I asked Him to give me courage to ask....will you marry me?”

Her breath hitched. Moments of silence were exchanged between them. Adrian closed his eyes and rested his head against the door. He hoped he hadn’t messed up and ruined everything between them. It’s hard to redeem yourself from a situation like this one.

He heard shuffling. Shuffling and sniffling. Gosh, had he made her cry? The door pulled back and Adrian straightened as best as he could. He was met with her beautiful brown eyes and her semi-wet skin glistening beneath a white robe. Her eyes fell on the black box in his palm. It wasn’t yet opened.

“Adrian…”

He got down on one knee slowly. Sarai looked at the ceiling and her eyes darted back and forth to keep the tears at bay. A heavy breath escaped her and she clasped her hand against her chest. “Baby…”

“Will you marry me?” The box popped open, and holy, was the ring beautiful. It was small, but it was beautiful. A round princess diamond with small diamonds etched into the band. It fit her perfectly.

“Yeah, yes, yes, I’ll marry you!” Adrian tumbled as she pulled him to his feet and kissed him until his breath was caught in his throat. When they pulled away, he slid the ring on her finger. “Goodness, I love you.”

“I love you more.”

yaaaay. fourth part! hope y’all enjoyed !

#original content #original story #original writing #original characters #anthony ramos #anthony ramos x black!oc #anthony ramos fc #adrian lorenzo x sarai jones #adrian lorenzo and sarai jones #adrian and sarai #interracial #cupid’s arrow #saturnville

[artificialqueens]

By Your Side (Biadore) - Candy Cane

A/N: just a oneshot based off of a prompt sent in that asked for bianca finding out abt adore’s onlyfans! its not quite that tbh but the words take me where they want to go lol please enjoy!! <3 theres some other things ive been trying to work on but its slow going rn as my cat is very sick and a lot of my time and energy has been dedicated to him, but i hope to get more out soon!

It’s only been a few months into quarantine when Adore finds herself on the phone with one of her oldest friends. Like, old physically not old as in how long they’ve known each other. But to be fair, there aren’t a ton of people she’s been friends with longer than she’s been friends with Bianca. Courtney and Darienne too for that matter.

She loves Bianca. Their friendship is something precious to her, and surprisingly this is only the second phone call they’ve had since quarantine has started. They talk basically every day through texts, and that’s on top of the hours they spend going back and forth in the ABCD group chat with Courtney and Darienne. The four of them have something special, all of them realize that. There’s just something specifically between her and Bianca that Adore’s never really been able to place her finger on.

Out of the blue this morning Bianca simply… called her. Adore spends a full moment staring at the CallerID trying to figure out where the fuck this is coming from. With an uncertain frown, she answers the phone, hanging upside down off the side of her bed of course.

“So… OnlyFans? Seriously?” Bianca asks incredulously, her voice crackling over the phone speaker.

What a way to start a conversation after not hearing each other’s voices for like a month! Even though Adore can’t see her face, she can practically hear the raised eyebrow.

“Fuck you,” Adore laughs, unable to help smiling at Bianca’s playful accusations.

“Not that I’m mad, but why fucking OnlyFans? Aren’t bitches doing podcasts now?”

“I’m bored, okay? There’s not a lot to do but drink and masturbate, and drinking hasn’t really been doing it for me lately. Plus, I gotta make money somehow,” Adore grumbles through an explanation, lifting herself up and sprawling out on her bed awkwardly.

“Do I need to set up an intervention? You know I will,” Bianca says with faux seriousness, “Seriously though, if you need some help…”

Adore frowns down at her phone. She hates pity, she hates unnecessary worry, and she definitely hates burdening people with her bullshit.

“B, I’m fine, I promise,” she says earnestly, “I guess I just… I miss you. A lot. And we can’t see each other right now and it fucking sucks and I’m really lonely-”

“Come over.”

“What? I can’t, B, we’re quarantined…”

“When’s the last time you left your apartment?”

“Uhh, I dunno, maybe a month ago?’ Adore answers, unsure of where Bianca is going with this.

“Okay, that’s well over two weeks. Come hang out with me for a few days, get some human interaction, I’ve been needing it myself. I haven’t gone out or seen anyone for a few weeks now,” Bianca admits, and Adore feels suddenly giddy.

It’s been so long since she’s seen someone, since she’s even gotten a hug, and she really wants to see Bianca…

“I’ll be there tomorrow morning,” Adore agrees, not even thinking twice about it.

Bianca is everything to her. This person was one of the first to really take her seriously, to really see something in her, and Adore doesn’t know where she’d be without her. Every time something goes wrong, her first instinct is to call Bianca. Everytime something amazing happens, her first instinct is to call Bianca. They’ll spend hours talking or texting just because and Adore wouldn’t have it any other way.

They are as good together as PB&J, or peanut butter and celery, or peanut butter and pretzels… And Adore realizes she is feeling very snacky, specifically for peanut butter. With a sigh she rolls off her bed to get a snack before she starts packing for the next week.

The point is Adore loves Bianca, and Danny loves Roy. Sure maybe it’s in a different way than they should, or even once did, but it can’t be helped. It can be hidden, though. And Danny is more than fine with hiding this secret, as long as they get to have Roy in their life at all. He’s more than what Danny should ever even hope for, and yet a part of them can’t help but hope.

After spending so much time apart, Danny knows it’ll be harder now than ever to hide these feelings they’ve been harboring for Roy. They’ll try though, because sometimes the thought of this man loving them back is all that keeps them going.

Danny arrives at Roy’s beautiful new house in Palm Springs at nearly noon the next day. Which, to be fair, is very much the morning for Danny. They even woke up early to make the trip! …If ten a.m. counts as early in any book except their own.

Roy is already standing out in the driveway waiting for Danny when they get there, his arms spread wide for a hug the second Danny gets out of their car. The younger practically rocket launches themself into his arms, clinging tight to him as they savor the first hug they’ve gotten in such a long fucking time. Danny can’t help the tears that fall at finally having such warm, loving human contact, especially from this person.

They hold onto each other as tight as they can, each beyond glad to have each other’s trust in such unreliable times. Being alone for so long had hit Roy hard too. Alcohol and binge watching can really only do so much, and he’s genuinely been feeling lonely being stuck in one spot for so long. The dogs help some, but at the end of the day it really doesn’t replace human interaction, no matter how hard he wishes it did.

“I missed you, baby girl,” Roy says, and Danny can almost hear his voice waver.

“I missed you too,” Danny whispers, trying and failing to hold back a sob.

They leave Danny’s bag in the car for now, much more eager to go sit down and enjoy each other’s company. The dogs bombard the two of them the second Danny crosses the threshold, the enby leaning instantly down to kiss and coo at the babies and Roy can’t help grinning widely at the sight. He loves his babies, and he loves his baby girl.

They spend the afternoon talking and laughing and playing with the dogs. Danny clearly gets some ideas about the golf cart, and Roy is suddenly excited about the upcoming few days. It’s been a while since either of them have really had something to look forward to.

“Alright, I still need you to explain this OnlyFans thing to me,” Roy says with a smirk a few hours later, after they’ve gotten properly settled in on the couch together with the dogs.

Danny’s eyes go wide with slight panic, “Okay, grandpa, it’s like uhhh, Patreon but-”

“No, no, no!” Roy laughs, “I know what it is, I mean why that? Why not literally anything else?”

“First of all, I am sexy. Second of all, I spent a lot of time not making money masturbating, which is a fucking shame because as I said before I am sexy.”

They both crack up at that, giggling like idiots on Roy’s couch, the puppies quickly joining in, yipping at them to be a part of the excitement.

“Awww, do you two think I’m funny?” Danny coos, picking Dede up and cuddling the pup close, “Your daddy doesn’t think I’m funny!”

Roy snorts, “You’ve certainly picked up a thing or two from me.”

“Like how to be a bitter old hermit!” Danny grins sweetly.

“Exactly,” Roy laughs.

“So if I ask really nicely will this bitter old hermit make me food?” Danny asks, batting their eyelashes pleadingly.

“My original plan was to let you starve to death while you were here, but since you’re asking nicely…” Roy says teasingly, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction at the way the younger throws their head back with laughter.

Late that night, after a long night of talking and watching TV and a decent dinner, they curl up into bed together. At one point they both needed to at least be tipsy to do that, but nowadays that’s just overkill. They have progressed well beyond that point of friendship, though Roy sometimes still likes to put on a show of being annoyed, if only because of the way Danny pouts and rolls their eyes.

Tonight he just holds the thick comforter up so Danny can slide in easily with him, he’s not really interested in making either of them wait longer than they already have for cuddles. In seconds the two are holding each other tight, savoring the touch. As Roy lays there, holding Danny like the younger is his lifeline, he starts to think about the time they’ve known each other. All the ups, downs, and side-to-sides… Danny has grown up a lot over the years they’ve been friends, and it’s hard to deny that it’s changed Roy’s feelings for them.

Once his feelings to the younger were almost motherly, but now it’s closer to attraction. It’s kind of weird, at the least it’s very fucked up. Roy wants to just give in to the feelings, but he can’t. Not when he has no way of gaging Danny’s feelings for him. He can live with this secret, he’s not sure he can live without Danny’s friendship.

Danny interrupts his thoughts, their voice small and curious, “Why were you so invested in my OnlyFans?”

“Bitch, I’m trying to sleep here,” Roy groans.

“No, seriously,” Danny pouts, sitting up in bed and looking down at Roy. The moonlight streaming in from the window highlights the enby perfectly, and Roy curses his luck.

“I don’t want you renting yourself out on the corner like Bunny, now get back to sleep you dumb slut,” Roy says with all of his usual teasing heat.

Danny pouts though, clearly not satisfied, “But…”

“Sleep. Now.” Roy demands, reaching up to tug them back under the covers. Danny reluctantly gives in, and snuggles close to Roy.

Just as Roy is about to fall asleep, Danny’s voice has his eyes flying open.

“Roy?”

“What?”

“I love you,” Danny whispers.

Roy’s heart melts a little at that, “I love you too, Danny.”

Danny bites their lip nervously, “I mean like… I think…”

Roy’s heart starts to beat faster in his chest. Surely they couldn’t mean…

“You think…?” Roy asks, hoping that despite it all this person is about to say what he thinks they are.

“I think I might be… in love,” Danny says, their voice quiet and timid in a way Roy hasn’t heard in a very long time, “With you.”

This time Roy is the one to sit up in bed, staring down at Danny with pure infatuation. Those words echo around his ears, his chest, his very soul, and before he even realizes what he’s doing he’s leaning down to capture Danny’s lips in a kiss.

His lips against theirs feels so undeniably right. Their lips move slowly against each other, Danny brings a hand around to cup the back of Roy’s neck and in that moment nothing is wrong in their own little world. In that moment it’s just them and the moonlight. He thinks that he could live forever in this moment and never need anything else.

They break apart much too soon for either of their tastes, and Roy stares into those pretty eyes and murmurs, “I think I love you too.”

Danny surges forward for another kiss, this one much more desperate than the last. It’s a hot, heavy kiss that ends with Roy flat against the bed and both of Danny’s hands cupping his face as they explore each other. It’s like no kiss either of them have had before, with so many years of emotion and uncertainty between them it’s intense. Bianca and Adore have drunkenly kissed before, but this absolutely cannot compare. Danny whimpers pathetically against Roy, their hips grinding down against Roy’s thigh.

Roy lets out a shaky breath and grips at the enby’s barely covered ass. From the way Danny is squirming and moaning after only a little contact, Roy knows it’s been a while since Danny has been with someone like this. Roy hasn’t been able to get laid in a while either, rendering them both more than eager for this. Neither of them have a sexual partner in their circles right now, except maybe each other. Just this morning that would’ve been an absurd thought, and now it’s simply what makes sense.

Both of them need sexual fulfillment as much as they need emotional fulfillment, and even the thought of providing it for each other is thrilling. Roy grabs Danny’s bottom lip roughly between his teeth, sucking on it as he rubs his hands underneath Danny’s oversized tank top and over their skin. Danny whines and whimpers so deliciously in response, and Roy loves it.

Roy and Danny pull the little clothing that is off one another, each soaking in the familiar sight of the other being completely exposed. It’s nowhere near the first time they’ve seen each other like this, but it’s another one of those things where it’s simply different this time around. Because now it’s been established they love each other as much more than just friends.

Danny sucks hickeys along Roy’s collarbone, moaning roughly as Roy twists their nipples harshly, their bodies so close and warm wrapped up tight together.

“Think… Think I’m gonna get my nipples pierced,” Danny giggles breathlessly before it’s cut off in a moan of sheer pleasure when Roy pinches them even harder.

“Oh really? You’ve done a lot of slutty things, baby girl, but that is definitely up there,” Roy smirks.

Danny smiles innocently, “It would only make your job easier.”

“What? This job?” Roy asks teasingly, then trails his fingers down Danny’s stomach so they ghost over the enby’s half-hard cock.

Danny gasps, and Roy takes the opportunity to press his lips against theirs all over again, sucking their tongue into his mouth as he teases their cock. They moan and whine and squirm, their fingers gripping and squeezing at the flesh of Roy’s back frantically in response. Roy knows that that’s going to leave a mark, despite the fact that their nails are usually kept short. He doesn’t mind though, in fact it makes him harder knowing that he’s the reason Danny is reacting like this.

Danny’s head falls back against the pillow, feeling heat rush to their cheeks upon seeing the smouldering look in Roy’s eyes as they stare up at him. He’s so fucking gorgeous, all his sharpness and softness in just the right places.

“Tell me what you want,” Roy whispers roughly.

Danny inhales shakily, “Want- Wanna feel you-”

“What do you want me to do to you, Danny? Use your words…”

“Fuck me, oh God please just fuck me, holy shit,” Danny begs, squeezing their eyes shut tight and squirming underneath Roy’s tight hold.

“Shh, that’s so good, thank you,” Roy murmurs, caressing Danny’s cheek, “I’m going to fuck you so hard.”

And Danny just moans. They’ve wanted this from Roy for so long, and so many years were wasted convincing themself otherwise that this really feels like a fucking dream come true. It’s their own little fairytale, just for the two of them. Danny gets to live this fantasy with Roy, and that thought alone is almost more mind blowing than the idea of getting rammed until they can’t remember their own name.

Roy leans across to riffle through the nightstand, and turns back to Danny with lube, a condom, and a devious grin on his face. Minutes later, Danny is a whimpering, begging mess just from two of Roy’s fingers stretching them open. Roy is clearly enjoying it, whispering dirty things in their ear as he slowly tortures them with his fingers. When he slides in a third finger, Danny lets out the filthiest, most inhuman sound Roy has ever heard.

“You are just so fucking needy,” Roy says lowly, pulling out his fingers and quickly rolling the condom on.

Danny nods feverently, their eager words of agreement being almost incomprehensible. Roy grabs their tiny hips in his large hands and slides himself in. That moment is almost pure magic, the connection that had been simmering for so many years finally coming to a boil. Danny sobs from the mix of emotion and sheer pleasure, throwing their head back and forth, panting and begging for more while Roy closes his eyes and takes it all in.

Danny is incredibly warm and tight around him, and after a minute he begins to thrust shallowly, making Danny’s mindless babbling slur together. His thrusts quickly become harsher, aiming specifically for Danny’s spot, his grip on them tightens and he grabs the enby’s cock and starts to lavish it with some much needed attention.

“OhGodohGodohGodoh-” Danny rambles, pressing their face into the juncture of Roy’s neck and collarbone, inhaling his comforting, familiar scent, “So good, feels so good, don’t stop please don’t stop.”

“I’m not going to stop, shh, I’ve got you, fuck you’re so good,” Roy groans in response, his thrusts speeding up and his fingers around Danny’s cock tightening, “Are you about to cum for me? Huh?”

“Yes, fuck,” Danny rasps, “Yes yes gonna cum Roy please let me cum I’m gonna- gonna-”

Roy pumps his hand a few more times and whispers right in Danny’s ear, “Cum for me like a good girl.”

And Danny is a gonner. They moan high and long, their hips twitch rapidly and their whole body shakes with the force of their orgasm, ropes of cum covering Roy’s hand and both of their abdomens.

Danny practically goes limp in Roy’s hold, and just a few thrusts later Roy is undone as well, unable to help thrusting even harder and deeper into Danny’s body as he does. He falls on top of Danny, breathing heavy and ragged, and they hold each other tight. Danny’s arms still wrapped around Roy’s back when he carefully rolls them onto their sides so that they’re facing each other, nearly nose to nose. He gingerly pulls out of Danny, ties the condom, and throws it into the bin that he knows is next to the bed.

Roy cups their chin with his clean hand and stares into their dazed, half-lidded eyes. Danny blinks slowly, the afterglow beginning to wear off.

“I can’t believe it took us seven years,” Danny murmurs, reaching up to thread their fingers through Roy’s currently long hair.

“It was worth the wait,” Roy smiles softly, “And now we have the rest of our lives.”

“Yeah,” Danny whispers, “I get the rest of my life with you.”

Because for Roy and Danny it’s nowhere near over. For them it’s all only just begun.

#rpdr fanfiction #adore delano #bianca del rio #biadore #fluff #smut #canon compliant #by your side #candy cane #tw quarantine #concrit welcome

[tessiete]

hi ive read like all your stuff about korkie is a kenobi in the span of about three days and i'm so EMOTIONAL?? it makes such narrative sense - star wars is a story about fathers and sons and what happens when mothers are lost and in eternal spring, when obi wan doesn't reject korkie, and korkie doesn't reject obi wan, and they love each other and accept each other despite the gaping hole that satine left in their relationship it like heals and breaks that cycle of little blonde boys being 1/

of little blonde boys being left in the desert without their mothers and with father figures who don't quite accept the responsibility of being a father to all of their detriments! it lets padme live, and it lets luke escape, and it lets everyone who wants to heal and work towards a better future. anyway, this is some Good Fucking Food and thank u for writing it. if you're still open to prompts i would really like to see some kryze-kenobi family bonding. just the three of them happy and together 

AH! This has been sitting so beautifully, and lovingly in my inbox for ages now, and I do apologise, but I just - I saw fluff and I panicked. I PANICKED!!!

And, as you can probably see, wrote reams of whump and h/c instead. But I tried.

Anyway, there is so much I want to say about this - I’m going to have to bookmark this whole thing just so I can come back again and again to your generous words. Thank you! I do have such a fondness for Eternal Spring, and whether or not it began as a joke, I am SO attached to the idea of Korkie as a Kenobi, the idea that blood isn’t always bad, that healing can happen, that good people make mistakes, that forgiveness IS an option - and I love how that aligns with the Pacifism of Satine’s New Mandalorians. I wish we had more of it (that insistent, unrelenting kindness and compassion) in SW, and Korkie is my little effort at that.

RANTING ASIDE, I hope you find and enjoy this little bit of fluff for the Kenobi-Kryzes. MUCH LOVE.

AND BY THE HAND LED

It was not Life Day. It was not Holyrod week, and Belli’s birthday had been a full ten month ago. Yet still, on this day, Kirokicek Kryze woke with the sun, and raced to his window where he could see the Sundari dockyard in the distance. 

Personal shuttles buzzed to and fro. Docking tugs hauled heavy freighters into place. Long, thin vactrains hurtled passengers from one platform to the next, or further on into the heart of the city. A few large ferries which had found mooring overnight made their ponderous voyage upwards, headed for the small opening at the apex of the Sundari dome. They were bound for transports anchored in wet space, the people aboard away for deep space travel to distant stars. 

Korkie watched as one neared the aperture, then, with incredible steadiness of hand, cleared the narrow gap with ease. He let go his breath, but his eyes remained fixed upon the opening. He was not much concerned with the ships that left, but instead found great interest in those ferries which were currently arriving.

They took turns - one in, one out - and with every exchange, Korkie felt as though the city was making room for a very special guest. One who loomed larger than life in his young consciousness, and one who occupied more and more space in his heart the closer he came.

Bebu was coming home.

A knock at his door was not enough to tear his attention from the spectacle outside, but he shuffled over to make room for his mother beside him at the window.

“Good morning, cyar'ika,” she said, pressing a kiss to his hair. “And what has got you up so early?”

She still wore her nightclothes beneath a fine gown of pressed velvet. Korkie leaned back into her embrace, stroking the soft fabric, and letting the warm, sweet smell of sleep wash over him.

“I’m watching the dockyards,” he said. “Look! Do you think that one of them has Bebu on it?”

Satine let her chin rest on the crown of his head, and followed his gaze to the sky.

“Perhaps,” she allowed. “Are you excited for your Bebu to come home?”

Korkie turned, trying to get a glimpse of her expression which could only be as teasing as his own was incredulous. She smiled.

“Excited, Belli?” he asked. “I am so, so, superlatively excited!”

“My,” she said, her face transforming to one of awe. “That is quite a superlative word you have discovered. Is it new?”

Korkie nodded. “I am saving it for Bebu, for our collection. Do you think he shall like it?”

“I think he shall be quite impressed, dinui.”

“I have another, but I always say it wrong, so I think I shall write it down, instead.”

“That is very wise,” she said. “For then there is no chance of misunderstanding, and then your father can teach you to speak it correctly.”

Korkie grinned, and squeezed her hand, so glad to be in such perfect accord. 

“That was exactly my plan, Belli!”

“Te jatne mind jo'lekir ti ast,” she said, laughing. “Now come.”

“Are we going to the docks?”

“Not yet,” she said. “First meal first, I think, and then we shall see.”

She stood from her place behind Korkie, and smoothed her skirts. The early morning sun fell kindly over her face, so that it lit her eyes from behind, like the facet of some bright gem. She held out her hand to him.

“But Belli -!”

“Is that fussing I hear coming out of your mouth?” she asked, the perfect image of confusion.

“No,” he conceded, hanging his head in defeat.

“I thought not,” she said. “Not my Korkie. Besides, we must first ensure that we are properly fed, and tidied before we appear at the docks. We cannot have our tummies grumbling and complaining while we are at the height of a superlative joy, now can we?”

“That would be rather distracting,” he allowed.

“And what would your father think if you showed up all bleary eyed, and sleep tousled? He’d hardly recognise you!”

“That’s not true,” protested Korkie. “He’d think me a ‘devoted legislator’. He said so last time.”

Satine cocked her head, a smirk curling in the corner of her mouth, and pinned just there, until such a time as she could give it to the owner of those borrowed words. 

“Well, cyare, I cannot think he meant it as a compliment,” she said, wiggling her fingers temptingly. “Now come - to firsts.

In the kitchens, his mother suggested they arrange a menu, scrounged from the conservator and pantry, while the staff set about preparing for the rest of their day.

“No need to bother anyone too much when it’s just us, right?” She placed a stool in front of an out of the way countertop, and held his hand while Korkie made a great leap to stand atop it. “Now, what are we hungry for?”

“Isbeans, and egg!” he cried. “With fresh muja juice!”

“Muja juice!” she echoed in surprise. “My, but we’re feeling quite indulgent today!”

“Well, it is a special occasion!” he said.

“Of course, you’re right. Muja juice it is. Anything else, ad’ika?”

He thought for a moment, but knowing how easily she had acceded to his first request, he concluded it most reasonable to forward several more.

“Perhaps some toast,” he said. “And flatcakes. And melon squares with black fire jelly? And then some moof milk and summerberries because they’ll go bad if we don’t eat them. With sucre crystals on the top. And maybe - only because Bebu says it’s healthy - a cup of kava. But just one, or I’ll be up all night.”

She crouched down to meet him, mischief sparkling in her eyes and not a word of protest at his requests. Instead, her tone was conspiratorial, as though they were together in some great game of hide and hunt. 

“Let’s brew a whole pot,” she said. “So that we may share it.”

He laughed in delight. Satine pulled down a tin of weava flour, and let him sprinkle the surface while she portioned out another measure into a shallow bowl for flatcakes. Under her careful eye, he cracked a tip-yip egg, and tipped in some sucre. She worked the mixture into a sticky dough, and portioned out small spheres for Korkie to press out upon the counter. Cook A’den looked on skeptically, but when his stack of raw discs began to pile up, she stepped in with a sigh, and a fond smile and lifted him on her hip while she fried them over a nano-cooker. 

As he worked, Satine gathered the berries and the milk, and a little pot of sucre. Helping hands piled plates high with toast, and ulik butter. Isbeans and hard boiled eggs followed, kept warm beneath heated domes. A whole pitcher of ice cold muja juice was produced from the conservator, and a fresh pot of kava was left to steep with wide, green leaves still in it. There was so much food that, in the end, a small cart was required to bear the fruits of their labours, while Korkie added the final touch of perfectly browned flatcakes.

Normally, they would eat their firsts in the family dining hall, but Satine insisted that she could not possibly do so while still dressed in her nightclothes.

“And scandalise the whole parliament? I think not, my very shocking dinui. No, it’s best we take everything back to my rooms, and eat there where no one will think us as uncivilised as we appear.”

So with many thanks to A’den, and her workers, Korkie followed his mother down the glistening marbloid halls with their wide windows. The sun was nearly all the way up, and the traffic in the sky had only increased since Korkie last looked. He was hit with the sudden realisation that perhaps many ferries had come and gone in his absence, and any one of them might contain his father. He raced to the window to check.

“Come along, Korkie,” said Satine. “Soon. I promise.”

Torn between food and the possibility that his father was waiting for him even now, Korkie gave into the demands of his hunger, and followed his mother down the hall.

They stopped outside her door, the cart pushed just off to the side. Satine looked at him appraisingly, smoothing one hand over his determinedly erstwhile hair.

“Oh dear,” she said, straightening his synfleece robe, as he reached for the cart to steal a summerberry from the pile. “You do look a sight. But I suppose it cannot be helped.”

She gave him a fond caress, her thumb tracing the swell of his little cheek with such reverence, and care that Korkie nearly felt guilty for snatching the fruit. But she smiled as he swallowed, and he supposed it must just have been one of those strange things buirs did from time to time, where they mixed up joy and sorrow and said nothing about it.

“I shall comb my hair later, Belli,” he offered. That seemed to do the trick, for she laughed, and stood, and gave his hand a brief squeeze.

“I will remember you said that,” she said. “Now, be a good boy and get the door for your Belli, would you?”

She returned to the cart, as he wiped his hands down the length of his robe, and reached for the palmpad. The door chimed, and slid aside with the barest sigh of air. Inside, Korkie could see that the curtains had been pulled back, and the room was flooded blue and gold with the oncoming day. Playful shadows danced across the floor where hanging tassels toyed with the sun. The carpet glistened like thick grass, lush and crowned in dew. A small table with three chairs sat to one side, and an old cloak lay thrown across it. There were boots, too large for his mother to wear, a belt too wide to be hers, and there, in the bed, swaddled in silkweed sheets and haloed by the sun, was Obi-Wan Kenobi, hovering on the edge of waking.

“Bebu!” Korkie shouted.

At his cry, Obi-Wan opened his eyes, and smiled, catching his son as raced across the floor and leapt upon the bed in a single motion. 

“Ah, ner wer'ika! Ni mirdir tion'tuur gar ru'kel olaror. Bic cuyir ori'udes tion'tuur gar cuyir dar.”

“Bebu!” Korkie cried again, laughing and wriggling with joy. His father lifted him over his head, holding him aloft as he made his cursory examination.

“Korkicek!” he groaned, as his strength gave out and Korkie tumbled atop his father’s chest in a tangle of limbs and blankets. “You must be very much grown since I last saw you, for you are getting too heavy for me!”

“No, I’m not, Bebu,” he said. “I’ve only grown two centimeteres since you were gone, and Belli says that’s only because I’m on a spurt.”

“Only two centimeters?” Obi-Wan demands. “Dear me, that’s not very much at all. I shall expect more diligence in your efforts at stretching if we are to make any serious headway in this matter.”

Korkie giggled. “Don’t be silly, Bebu,” he said. “I cannot stretch myself bigger. It takes time.”

“And heavy reading,” Obi-Wan agreed gravely.

“And good eating,” Satine added from behind them. She’d set the table in their distraction. Obi-Wan’s cloak now hung respectably from a hook by the fresher blind, and three plates sat waiting to be filled. The isbeans steamed, their skin crackling and blackened. The flatcakes dripped with galek syrup and butter. The summerberries shone plump and delectable in their precarious pyramid. The black fire jellies jiggled, and the muja juice sparkled.

“Is that fresh kava I smell?” asked Obi-Wan. 

“It is!” said Korkie. “And all sorts of things which Belli and I made! I suppose it’s a lucky thing we made so much extra, for now you can share it with us.”

“A lucky thing, indeed,” Obi-Wan agreed. He looked at Satine with such adoration that the smirk she had pinned up earlier unfurled completely and crossed her face in a radiant smile. 

“Come, Bebu,” said Korkie, taking his father’s hand in his. “Enough lazing about in bed. Let’s eat, or the kava will get cold.”

“Quite right,” Obi-Wan agreed, standing as Korkie slid to his feet beside him, and tugged him over to where Satine was waiting. “We can’t have that.”

“And you may have my cup as well,” added Korkie, magnanimously, “As it is truly a rotten drink, even if you say it is healthy. But since it is such a special day, I don’t think I should be forced to have it, anyway.”

“He drives a hard bargain, your son,” said Obi-Wan, leaning in to beg a small kiss.

“Ah, but of course,” said Satine, quick to grant his request. “He gets that from you, cyare.”

--

“Ah, ner wer'ika! Ni mirdir tion'tuur gar ru'kel olaror. Bic cuyir ori'udes tion'tuur gar cuyir dar.” - Ah, my little terror! I was wondering when you might show up. It has been far too quiet without you.

“Te jatne mind jo'lekir ti ast” - The best mind agrees with itself. (read: Great minds think alike.)

ad’ika, dinui, cyare - little one, gift, beloved.

#my fic #prompt fill #korkie is a kenobi #korkie kryze #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #obitine #fluff #fic

[ofclaires]

IV. CLAIRE WALSH

PAST SELF PARAS: april 2020 / september 2020 / march 2021. 

hi, before the read more i just wanted to say THANK YOU. getting to play claire has been absolutely a treat, a challenge, and genuinely, a huge part of my life for the past year and a half or so. it occurred to me when writing this and looking back at other things i’ve written for claire that i didn’t just feel like i was writing this for myself or for claire ; but i was writing it for you guys, too ! that has been one of the most special things about gallagher for me is the writing community that i feel like we built, taking such a huge investment in our characters and everyone else’s writing. i feel like i’m writing with and for some of my best friends. i also feel like i’ve grown so much ( ok, i actually don’t just feel like it, i can look back at those three paras and SEE how my writing has improved. ) i am so blessed to have gotten to write claire with all of you and to share her story, i feel like she has been so fucking beloved & it’s given her so much life. i am so proud of her and it’s really bittersweet that i’m finally saying goodbye to her as well. so, thank you all so, so much, gallagher has been a writing experience like no other for me & i love you all ! 

trigger warnings : domestic violence & abuse, death

PART ONE: CHILDHOOD.

The trailer that Claire spent the back half of her childhood in never felt like home. Maybe because trailers are made to be temporary, or the fact that if she accepted that this was where she belonged, she’d have to give up hope.

It’s normal Maggie Walsh to be out late, Claire’s usually cleaned up the kitchen and tucked herself into bed by the time her mother comes in the door – but she’s not sleeping. She’s always had trouble with that, brain bouncing around from one thought to the next until eventually she hears the creak of the door.

Her mom’s home.

She hears the usual stumbling, the clatter of dishes falling from where she’d neatly placed them on the drying rack. Maggie’s drunk, Claire’s sure of that. Ten years old and she knows what it means to be so drunk that you can hardly see straight, that the words you say under the influence are a different reflection from the person that you really are. She inhales deeply and crawls out from under the covers to check on her. Ten years old and she knows the steps: Help her take her makeup off, make sure she sleeps on her side, glass of water on the bedside table, trash can on the floor. Maggie is only twenty-six years old herself now, not done with her childhood by the time that Claire was born, not ready to be a mother. Claire’s had to figure it out most of it herself.

“Mom?” Claire knocks on the door lightly, plastic cup full of water already in hand.

“Don’t – don’t come in!” Maggie sputters, and Claire’s confused. She defies her request and opens the bedroom door the rest of the way. When she sees her mom, she drops the cup on the floor, small hands curling into fists.

“What happened? Who did that to you?”

“I told you not to come in here, Claire,” Maggie repeats, but Claire has always been on to disregard commands. She learns at a young age that authority only means older than you or some assigned title, not that they know best.

“Who did that? Why?” She repeats her questions. Despite being mature for her age, it’s hard for Claire to wrap her head around the black eye obscuring Maggie’s face, and the swelling on her cheek.

“It doesn’t matter,” Maggie sighs, dejected as she flops down on the bed. Even in her state, she knows that there’s not much use telling Claire to back off or go away once she’s decided that she’s not going to. Her little girl is a spitfire, strangely enough reminds Maggie a lot of her own mom, like living with a miniature version of her. Maybe that’s why Claire wins most arguments. “Come here.”

Claire walks closer to the bed, kicking the cup aside on her way for no reason other than to kick something. She crawls into bed next to her mom and looks up at her, waiting for more of an explanation or literally anything but silence. 

“I don’t know why I keep looking for a happy ending. I leave you home alone, I come home like this...not helping either of us,” Maggie presses a kiss to the top of Claire’s head, runs her fingers through her daughter’s hair. It’s so soft and Claire is so little, she can’t help but look at the spilled cup on the floor with a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry,” she adds, voice choked up and words a little slurred. Tears squeeze out of the corners of her eyes when she closes them, hugging her daughter closer, “I’ve blamed you for my fucked up life for so long...that’s not fair.”

Now, Claire is only ten, but those are the kind of words that you remember forever. Still, she smiles. “It doesn’t have to stay fucked up. It can get better,” a childish spark of optimism in her heart that hasn’t yet been put out. It makes Maggie smile back though, kissing her daughter on the top of her head yet again.

“I like that,” she says, and they fall asleep curled up beside each other. Claire sleeps soundly, thinking that it’s possible. Things really could get better, and for a while, it seems like there really is a sort of shift. Maggie starts cooking, cleaning again, and she doesn’t even stay out so late. That’s when she meets Martin.

He seems better than the rest. Until he isn’t.

But Claire does her job as her mother’s protector, just as she’s been doing all of her life, and it’s that event that jumpstarts the rest of everything that happens next.

PART TWO: GRADUATION.

Claire’s come to the formal conclusion that graduation ceremonies are a waste of time. There’s all this build up, everyone’s so excited, and then you have to sit around and wait for your name to be called so you can spend two seconds walking across a stage while everyone claps. She would have skipped it entirely if her mother hadn’t already come up, and if she knew that people were going to insist. The small talk afterward is even more agonizing than the ceremony itself. It is sort of painful saying goodbye to everyone, and it occurs to Claire that there’s more people that she’s going to miss than she ever expected.

“Callum and his mother are here,” Maggie points out.

“And?” Claire rolls her eyes. Seeing Callum again to begin with had brought up a lot of old feelings, and generally, even though they’d resolved things, she tries to avoid him whenever possible.

“Well, it’s probably weird if we don’t say hello, at least, right? I’m going to say hello,” Maggie interjects, “he’s such a sweet boy.”

Claire’s eyebrows rise on her forehead as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Go ahead then,” she sighs, “I’ll wait right here.”

“Claire,” Maggie draws out her name with a withering stare, but Maggie has never been able to establish that sort of authority with Claire that would prompt any inclination of obedience, so Claire just shrugs her shoulders, unimpressed. She’s not going to budge. “Fine, I’ll be right back.”

Claire’s done her best to put the chapter of their life that includes Martin out of her mind when rekindling things with her mother, and she certainly doesn’t want to stand around making small talk with his other ex-wife, trying not to look at Callum with his matching jawline, trying not to remember everything she hates. It all comes back in a flash. The horrible cracking sound that her mother’s head had made when it connected with the wall, the blood on the marble floor. They say you don’t remember trauma properly, that your memory doesn’t work quite right, but she will never forget the way her fist connected with Martin’s face : like a puzzle piece, like it BELONGED there, and she’d done it over and over again until she heard sirens.

And yet, Claire can’t deny that it’s a part of her life that got her here, where she is today. She thinks life is shitty and random, and that not everything has to happen ‘for a reason.’ Still, she’ll catch Kass’s eye across the room and see her smiling so brightly that it seems impossible not to believe in something. Claire can’t help herself anyway – she smiles back. No one has ever been able to produce Claire’s smile in its truest form the way Kass has, unashamed of being so happy to look at someone. She once thought the idea of looking at a person and seeing your whole future was ridiculous, that you’d have to be stupid to put that much of yourself into someone, but it isn’t like that at all. All of it was unintentional, like by the time she realized it, Kass was already everything. And she feels so safe with that thought that she doesn’t mind at all.

“Am I interrupting something?” A figure steps in front of her, cutting off her line of sight. She’s not really fond of being snuck up on, so she opens her mouth to say something snarky when she’s met with the gaze of Lisanna Harlin, one of last year’s mentors. Her daughter, Elisa, is there, but she’s not graduating, so Claire’s confused by Lisanna’s presence.

“No, Ms. Harlin,” Claire says, though there’s a spark of indignation in her words that practically goes hand in hand whenever an adult commands authority.

“Lisanna is fine,” she says with a light laugh, like she’s amused Claire’s greeted her this way.

“Can I...help you with something?” Claire asks, mostly curious about how long this interaction has gone on. While she’s friendly with Elisa, she was Kass’s roommate last year, they’re not exceedingly close, so she’s not sure what else Lisanna would have to say to her other than maybe a polite hello.

It’s more than a polite hello. Lisanna Harlin works for Lexon Corp in Durham, North Carolina, a private military company that provides armed guards, bodyguards, and guns for hire. They’re the sort of place that would be looking for the best of the best in combat, and they have a bit of a reputation for hiring Gallagher girls. Claire had given up on the job search months ago since the video went out, in fact, she’s had a job lined up for graduation already : at a boxing gym in D.C., where the scene isn’t too bad. It was suited to her, but not exactly the sort of thing that her Gallagher education had prepared her for. Lexon Corp? Everything her rigorous love of January boot camps were tailored to. And they want to interview her.

A month later, Claire’s sitting on the cusp of a completely fresh start. It wasn’t easy to backtrack on the plans that she and Kass had made together, knowing how much was changing for the both of them, it had been nice to have the stable idea of an apartment together on the horizon. Now, she’s a four hour drive away, and she goes home to her one-bedroom studio in Durham after rigorous training throughout the day. But she’s grateful for the chance to work her way back into the field, and she can remember what Lisanna said to her when they gave her the offer.

“We’re aware that with your history that we’re taking a chance on you, Claire,” Lisanna said. “But we think the reasons that made other agencies look past you are exactly what makes you an asset. You care about your jobs, the people that you’re involved in, and you’d have a partner’s back until the bitter end. You listen to your intuition, trust your gut...and above all else, you have follow-through. I’m excited to be able to offer this position. Don’t prove me wrong.”

Claire swears that she won’t.  

PART THREE: KIPTYN.

Kiptyn isn’t supposed to be in the left hall closet. 

In fact, he’s not supposed to be awake at all. But who can sleep the night before their birthday anyway? Sure, he’ll be thirteen, and that’s probably old enough to have gotten over the magic of it all, but...he’d still been lying awake with excitement, the anticipation keeping his eyes open for hours on end. Well, that and the video game he’d been playing under the covers, but he’d obviously only been playing it because he couldn’t sleep in the first place.

Then he started thinking about the left hall closet and the conversation that they had at dinner the other night. In Kiptyn’s defense, Dahvia – his younger sister – had totally started it and he was an innocent bystander. After all, Kiptyn’s old enough to know that they don’t bring up Claire to mom, because it just puts her in a mood and then you can forget about doing anything else for the rest of the evening. But Dahvia’s ten, practically a baby, and she doesn’t know any better.

“Hey, mom? What sort of accident did Claire die in? Nina asked me at recess and I didn’t know,” Dahvia pipes up, before she’s even properly sat down. Kip visibly cringes. He’s older, wiser, knows this won’t go well. Still, he dares to look at his mom’s face and he notes the faraway look in her eye, like she seems to experience a bunch of things at once. Kip notices how even though her eyes are glassy, she doesn’t cry. Though sometimes, their mom will just cry randomly, like two weeks ago when he asked for help with his Spanish homework and she couldn’t even help him finish the first worksheet.

“It was a car accident,” she says stiffly, “eat your dinner.”

Kiptyn kicks his sister under the table and flashes her a look that says : Great. Look what you did, ruined dinner. Dahvia sticks her tongue out at him.

So, he knows that he’s not supposed to be in the left hall closet because he could ruin many more dinners, but he’s here anyway. He’s been thinking about it ever since they sat in silence for the rest of that half hour, and he’s come to the conclusion – his mother was lying. Because all sorts of things make their mother cry, like a bowl of mac and cheese or Spanish class, or motorcycles, and she won’t let Kiptyn take boxing lessons though his friend Robert is and he thought it sounded really cool, but she doesn’t have any problem with cars or driving, and also, she’s never told them a single thing about Claire except that. They aren’t allowed to know anything about her, especially not anything true, so Kiptyn is pretty sure that’s a lie. There’s just something just weird about it.

So, in the middle of the night before his thirteenth birthday, he looks up a video on how you pick locks and then he figures it out on the door of the left hall closet. He’s there for at least forty-five minutes, practically ready to give it all up when he hears the clicking sound, and then it opens. His first thought is : Woah. This is a load of junk.

And he’s right. There’s boxes upon boxes of paperwork, old clothes. Some things start to click, like when he finds a pair of worn boxing gloves with Claire’s initials embroidered on them. His favorite thing that he finds is the fattest scrapbook he’s ever seen – his mom always makes them, there’s one for every year of his life. Dahvia’s too, they love looking at them. The cover of this one, though, says Italy 2021. It’s all pictures of his mom and Claire, probably in their early twenties. Kiptyn mostly notices his mother’s smile, how he’s only seen her look like that a couple times in his life and yet it looks so EASY here, like she wears it all the time. It’s so strange to him. He sets the scrapbook down and crawls toward the back of the closet. His eyes land on two leather folders with gold embroidery, and he opens up the first one. In big letters at the top : GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

It’s a diploma.

This certifies that Kassandra Sutton has satisfactorily completed the…

“What are you doing?”

Kiptyn yells out like a child, not having heard anyone creeping up on him. He claps his hand over his mouth as if to shush himself. “The door was open! I don’t know how, but I just...noticed it was open and wanted to make sure that...no one was stealing your stuff!” he grins sheepishly, hoping that he can ride on the high of his birthday week to get him out of this one.

“It was just...open?” his mother looks down at him with raised eyebrows before brandishing a twisted paper clip between two fingers. The one that had formerly been stuck in the door. His guilty expression widens, he can’t help it.

“Okay, I might know how it opened,” Kiptyn admits. He hesitates for a moment, before he realizes that he’s ALREADY in trouble, he might as well just come out with it and pray to the birthday gods. He holds up the diploma with her name on it : “What’s Gallagher Academy?”

Kass’s sigh is heavy and deep, accompanied by the amount of exhaustion that comes with raising two curious kids by herself. After Claire died, she moved her family to London to be closer to their aunt and away from everything that reminded her of Claire. She never told her children why. From hiding that world from them, the world that took so many people from her : her father, her ex-girlfriend, and the love of her life. She swore that she would never lose her children to it, too. But Kiptyn looks up at her with wide eyes, desperate to know about his mother and his past, and Kass also knows what it’s like to have part of yourself missing due to family secrets that are being kept from you. He is practically a teenager now. So, she relents.

Kass doesn’t go into all of the details, of course. Just that Gallagher Academy was a school for spies, and that’s where it all started. Kiptyn already knew that his moms met in college, so it’s the spy part that’s most interesting to him. She talks about Claire with a light in her eyes he’s unfamiliar with, how she was one of the best fighters in their year, that she grew up with such a talent in the ring that she probably could’ve gone pro if her life had gone in a different direction. She talks about how they had to part ways after graduation, because Claire got a job in North Carolina and she got a job in Washington, DC, but they made it work, and both got very accustomed to the four hour drive – though it was sometimes closer to three for Claire, because she always drove too fast, even on this big, black motorcycle which Kass swears that she hated. She tells Kiptyn about how they got married, the way she’d almost moved to England for a dream job and that long distance threatened to drive them apart again – until Claire chased her down in the airport with a ring and proposal.  

She also talks about how Claire really died : the abridged version. It was an overseas mission where they’d been cornered, and Claire risked her life to save the rest of their team. There were no other casualties, and the information they were able to bring back helped stop the terrorist organization they’d been chasing to end them for good. Kass tells the abridged version for her son, gives Claire a hero’s death. In some ways, it was. She doesn’t mention the ways that Claire was consumed by the case, it was an organization hellbent on killing spies and it likely reminded her of the brotherhood. Kass had been worried about the case the whole time, because it felt like Claire was taking it too personally. In the end, she may have been right : because Claire had let it take her life in order to close it. She also doesn’t mention that such a sacrificial death means that her wife died fighting alone, swinging her fists until her very last breath. But still, she was all alone.

She had no choice but to take her kids as far away from that life as possible.

Kiptyn tries, but he doesn’t really remember Claire. He’d only been three years old when she passed away, and before then, she’d been so consumed by her last case that she was barely present. Still, he thinks she sounds badass.

He falls asleep on his mother’s shoulder that night, looking through the scrapbook of pictures from their trip to Italy in 2021. He’s animated for the first part, pointing out buildings and asking questions, wonders if Claire was sweating in all that leather, but he slowly starts to drift off. He wakes up on the couch the next morning, no trace of the book or any of the other papers he’d hauled out of the closet the night before. He looks at the closet and there’s an extra padlock. Figures.

It comes up in little ways, like a private joke that he has with his mother, like she’ll say something and flash him a secretive smile. He likes that, and he understands that this is a big secret that he has to keep. It doesn’t come up again until his fourteenth birthday the next year, the summer before high school. It’s a strange letter in a manila envelope, sealed with some expensive red wax, his name written in fancy calligraphy. The most attention-grabbing part, however, is not Kiptyn Sutton-Walsh in big cursive letters. It’s the return address :

GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

learn her skills, honor her sword. keep her secrets.

#* #self para

[professional-benaddict]

Tony is a cop and he’s doing a drug raid, tony watches as druggies get arrested but when he sees one cop go to far with arresting a little! Peter by manhandling him and hitting him he takes matters into his own hands and takes the 19 year old boy in with medic Stephen.

tHank you for the brilliant prompt omg I know I said I wouldn't do prompts before my exam is over with but I just couldn't stop myself sksk I wrote this all in one sitting 

part two here

Cop Tony, paramedic Stephen, 18+ Little Peter, Littles are known verse, police raids, SWAT teams, drug dealing, guns and violence, illegal drug use, referenced forced drug use, bad trip, whump, angst, comfort, 1.7k

It’s so odd, the feelings he has right before a raid. There’s electricity in the air, and yet it is peaceful and quiet. It is three in the morning, after all. Tony can hear his blood rush in his ear with each beat of his heart. It resembles how noises sound underwater, muffled and distant. And yet, he is as calm as ever, and breathes quietly as he looks at the office window. That’s their main target. They know that a week before, a large quantity of cocaine was smuggled in and brought to this exact location. A mule had told them, and so that was all the evidence they needed to start planning a raid. 

Every step has been calculated carefully beforehand. No one takes a step without it being planned. The bullet proof vest pinches Tony in his left armpit, but he can’t reach out to adjust it. He tries to roll his shoulder, and it worsens the pinch before it eases off. His eyes never dart away from the dark office window. 

Further down the street, a vehicle approaches. The headlights are turned off, and they are rolling in as quietly as possible, so that the element of surprise is not ruined. If it is, it could mean serious trouble. Suddenly, the danger of it all hits Tony, which it sometimes does when they are all anxiously anticipating the clear to go. His chest feels a bit tighter again, and it’s not due to the bullet proof vest, although it felt a bit small when Tony put it on. Glancing over to see who had arrived, Tony squints his eyes to try and make out who exits the vehicle. All the nerves ease off when Tony recognises Stephen. The two of them have become roommates quite recently. It’s cheaper to share, Tony had insisted. He is definitely not lonely, but he hopes Stephen is. 

Stephen is a paramedic, and an excellent one. Considering their work and how it often clashes when responding to calls, Tony has become familiar with the paramedic long before even meeting him in person. But, on one call Tony had finally decided to introduce himself properly. Stephen had apologised for how sweaty his hand was, and blamed the latex gloves for it and Tony was charmed. Somehow, Tony had brought up that he was looking for someone to share an apartment with, only because it is cheaper, and to his surprise, Stephen had said the same. They have been living together for a month, and already Tony feels more at ease knowing Stephen is present, if things were to go terribly wrong. 

“Stark, eyes on the target!” Fury whispers harshly into Tony’s earpiece, and officer shifts his gaze back to the office window. He does not bother apologising to his superior team leader, since that would just make more noise. 

Then, the action starts. It is like a play. Everyone has their role, and Nick Fury directs the show beautifully. Doors are kicked in, windows are shattered and the different teams enter the building perfectly on cue. The armed SWAT team members go first, and secure the building like terrifying angels. There are no gunshots fired, luckily, but there is plenty of shouting and yelling. Mostly, it is the SWAT team ordering the ones occupying the building to get down and keep their hands behind their heads. 

Then, it’s Tony turns and the rest of the police officers to make the actual arrests when the SWAT team has secured the place. Wouldn’t it be nice if Stephen saw him bringing out a handcuffed drug dealer? Tony half smirks at the idea and snaps the cuffs onto three different drug deals. The scene is surprisingly calm, despite the fact that one of the dealers seems to be crying. Judging by the smell, he also shit himself in pure fear. 

Raised voices and whimpering cries makes Tony turn his attention to the hallway. The cries get louder, and the officer feels his gut twist at the vulnerable tone. Could that be a child? Or a Little? There was no information about there potentially being Littles or children involved in the briefing. 

“Take them outside.” Tony says to the SWAT team member by his side, gesturing to the handcuffed dealers, then makes a few quick strides to get to the hallway. There, he sees another SWAT team member manhandling a Little up against the wall. The boy is clearly a Little with his smaller body combined with a post puberty shape. Even if he is not a child, that is no way to treat a Little. 

“Hey, back off! He’s a Little, can’t you tell?” Tony calls out and shoves the SWAT guy back and away from the boy. With the SWAT guy no longer holding him up against the wall, the boy collapses to the floor with a choked off sob. 

“He was resisting and disobeying orders.” The SWAT guy explains, his eyes hard as he looks at Tony. In the all black and well-protected SWAT gear, the only thing you can see is his blue eyes and pale eyebrows. If Tony wasn’t feeling the contempt between the police force and SWAT team before, he definitely feels it now. 

“He’s a Little.” Tony emphasises. “Of course he is disobeying when you’re towering over him like that.” The police officer points out and the SWAT guy scoffs behind his black mask. 

“And that’s why you could never be one of us.” He accuses, and then walks away. 

Tony wants to be offended, and wants to memorise the SWAT guy as best as he can to later call him out in front of Nick Fury, but another loud sob by his feet distracts him. Crouching down to the Little, Tony gently turns him on his back. Immediately, Tony is drawn to the boy’s honey brown eyes. They look soft, and innocent, and remind him of the sweetness of brown sugar, or caramelised sugar. But, then his attention is drawn to just how wide the boy’s pupils are, and how the vessels in the whites of his eyes are bulging and looking angry red. Cocaine eyes. 

Tapping his earpiece, Tony speaks quickly to Fury. 

“Get Strange in here.” 

“We didn’t hear a gunshot-“

“No, there’s a Little here. He’s taken or been given crack.” 

After Tony says that, it sparks a lot more action and the paramedics are lead inside with some of the SWAT team, considering the drug dealers have not all been escorted out yet. Next to him, Stephen has his work partner, Christine, and they both drop their first aid bags on the floor before crouching down to the floor by the still crying Little. It seems like he is having a bad trip. 

“Hey.” Stephen greets to Tony. The officer smiles back shortly before stepping back to let the paramedics work. “Hi, there, sweetheart. My name is Stephen, and this is my friend Christine. What’s your name?” 

“P-Peter…” 

“Peter? That’s such a pretty name.” Stephen compliments and slips on a pair of powder blue gloves that Christine passes over to him. “Now, Peter, can you tell me what you’ve taken?”

“I… dunno… don’t feel good…” 

“I know, bud, and we’ll help you. But, we need to know what you took, so we can give you the right medicine.” 

“They… said it was- was snow. Was… white and- powdery. Don’t like it when they sti-stick it in…” The boy stutters out bravely. 

“Cocaine.” Stephen says quietly to Christine, who nods and starts readying an IV to insert into the back of the boy’s hand. Then, he turns to Peter again with a smile. “You’re so brave for telling us, thank you. Now, can you tell me how you feel? Are you hurting, sweetie?” 

Stephen’s sweet and caring tone is not enough to better the burning rage Tony feels inside when he thinks of what the boy said. Did they force him to use cocaine? To keep him with them? Just how addicted is he? What role does he have in this sick household? 

All this and more questions rush through Tony’s mind at a hundred miles an hour, or even faster. It takes two repetitions from Fury for Tony to actually hear him, and move onto his next task. He knows the Little while be in safe hands with Stephen and Christine. 

Half an hour later, the show is just about over. Or at least the exciting part of it. The investigation itself will start later in the morning, but for now everyone is pleased with the outcome of the raid. The drug dealers have all been arrested and driven to kept in custody and the SWAT team is packing up as well. Stood out in the yard of the building, Tony sees Stephen and Christine transporting the Little out of the main door on a gurney. He is not just laying on the gurney, but actually strapped in with straps going over his torso. Peter also has an oxygen mask on his face, and seems to be unconscious. Tony jogs over. 

“What took so long?” 

“He had a seizure, but it was less that two minutes. I think he got a really bad high.” Stephen says where he is pushing the top of the gurney towards the ambulance. 

“Can I come with?” Tony asks, before he thinks better of it. 

“Stark, you’re supposed to be here, right?” Stephen asks, but his tone isn’t rude. Just pointing out what Tony seems oblivious to at the moment. 

“Yeah, right…” The officer sighs, but still keeps walking alongside Stephen. When they reach the ambulance, he helps the two paramedics with loading in their unconscious patient. Once the gurney is secure, Stephen climbs into the back. Christine heads to the drivers seat, and starts the engine. They do not have that much time, so Tony doesn’t hold them back. “I’ll see you at the apartment, I guess.” 

Stephen gives him a smile and nod before closing the double doors. A few seconds later, Christine starts the sirens and they drive away into the night, illuminating the streets in red as they go. Once the ambulance is out of sight, Tony heads to Fury with a request. 

“Sir? I’d like to take the Little’s statement.” 

#my prompts #my fics #little!peter #starker #ironspider #starkerstrange #ironstrange #strangespider #spiderstrange #tony stark x peter parker #tony stark x stephen strange #peter parker x stephen strange #peter parker #tony stark #stephen strange #ask

[bizlawgal]

I wanted to share a prompt! Hope is ok ❤️: Emma is norman's bodyguard. And he's so cute 😳. But she has to focus because she's a professional 😎. But he's so sweet and treats her like she was a princess! But he's also super important and she needs to give the 100% to protect him. But the way he calls her, it's just... Would be people surprised if she falls for him? What would people think if she tries to take him for her 🤭😏.

This took a while. 

Here’s Lyn’s first contribution to the N/E tag for 2021 on Tumblr.

I personally enjoyed writing this because it’s so angsty, but it’s a dessert with a cherry on top for an ending. 

I. There was no fitting person for the job other than her.

With a slender built, an agile reflex, and a taste for anything below the surface of safety, she was more than willing to accept the terms and conditions that came with the job.

"Oliver tells me you're experienced in this line of work," said Ray, the person-in-charge with most of the personal bodyguards assigned to the Minerva Family. "You do know that individuals who prefer this line of work are the ones who have —"

"— nothing left to lose, I know," she continued. This line was something she had memorized long ago. "No one will be looking for me if I do lose my life somewhere along the line. I have no more family to go back to."

Her father had died a couple of years back. Incarcerated for a murder she knew he did not commit, and died a sorrowful death behind bars because of an undetected disease.

Since then, she had taken a liking to the profession of looking after people; being a bodyguard gave her a purpose to live, and another way to make amends with her helplessness.

Ray's face echoed skepticism. "As long as you won't die before the person you're in charge of, then there won't be any problems. At least during this coming election period. Your service is of utmost importance."

Emma released a deep sigh upon learning that she had finally landed this job. "Who am I in-charge of protecting?"

"The heir of the Minerva Family," he answered as he flipped through her folder full of credentials one last time. "Consider this as your first day on the job. Here's the itinerary for today. He's a very busy person but make sure you leave a good impression."

He? She had never worked as a bodyguard for any man before, but being ever-so devoted to what she did for a living, she shoved the underlying curiosity in her mind.

Emma nodded submissively as she extended her hand to claim the supposed itinerary and immediately implanted the details inside her head. The idea to process everything in an instant was something she was good at.

"Memorized it?" Ray quipped, a challenging smirk making its way to his lips.

"Yes," she beamed, "I’ve memorized it by heart."

"Do you still have any inquiries about what your job will be? About the person you're in charge of?"

She shook her head in an absolute stance. "I think I'm well-informed."

"Good, because here comes the Minerva you're in-charge of."

She heard the simultaneous clicking of heels against the marbled floors, and when the door to the room opened, she swang her head to officially meet him with a smile.

Instead of a smile on her lips, she only registered an expression of awe; lips parted in wordless wonder and eyes widened with a different kind of expectation.

He was the first to move on, reflecting the same enchantment on his face, and spoke, "You must be —"

"Emma," she supplied. "I'm Emma Mikhaylov, and starting today, I'll be your personal bodyguard, Sir Minerva."

He smiled, and she was sure that it might've made her heart twitch a bit. "It's nice to meet you, Emma. Are you aware of our itinerary for today?"

She looked over at Ray, and back at the heir. Her breath hitched upon answering. "Yes, sir."

There was one thing that Ray failed to mention.

Norman Minerva, the heir to the family of politicians, was a damn well-proportioned, good-looking man.

II.

"How are you supposed to protect me if you're the one behind the wheels?"

It was another one of his comments that initially swayed her to think that he wasn't just one of those old money brats from a political dynasty.

It had been three months of being his bodyguard, and she couldn't deny that he was suspiciously treating her better than how he did with others.

Without taking her eyes off the road, she answered, "It's my job to chaperone you, too."

He subtly scratched his head. "Do I have to spell it out for you that I want you next to me? We could've asked Ray to chaperone us, could we not?"

"Ah, but Ray is out doing his own chaperoning for your sister."

He snorted. "There is no winning that. He fancies my sister, after all."

Emma chuckled lightly. "Miss Anna is really lovely. I doubt anyone would second-guess their attraction towards her, sir."

"Emma." There was a sternness to the way he said her name that made her slightly jolt in her seat. "I've told you a thousand times to simply call me by  my name."

"It's inappro—"

"It is not," Norman sighed heavily, thinking how many times they've had this conversation. "I already told you that I do not think of you merely as my bodyguard. I simply enjoy your company and I think you know by now that I fancy you. We should try to be more casual."

This brought out another laughter from her, yet it was laced with awe and disbelief. She hoped that he couldn't see how hard she was trying to gulp down her nerves.

"That isn't part of my job description, si— Norman. What you're suggesting is highly inappropriate."

Norman raised a skeptical brow from the rearview mirror, and she tensed in her seat when his eyes bore into hers. "But you find Anna and Ray's illicit affair romantic? What makes my attraction for you different from theirs?"

Emma took a deep breath and internally reminded herself that she was a professional. This was not something she should be entangled in, especially since her sole purpose was to keep him safe until the elections were over.

She was simply thankful that they had arrived at the first one on his itinerary. "Would you look at that? We're here! Wait for me to open your door, okay?"

"Emma, you don't have to —"

She whipped her head and raised a finger. "No buts. This is my job."

It was when she got out of the car and paused for a second did she let the facade fade from her face.

Just being in the same space with him was getting harder and harder each day.

III.

It was rare for her to curse, but given the scenario they were in, it was hard not to.

"Damn election period," Emma hissed at the side, aiming the gun towards the door.  

The Minerva Estate was breached and unidentified men were detected rummaging within the massive palazzo. Ruckus could be heard from the outside of the walls, and the more it came, the more fear resonated between her fingertips.

"Emma!" Norman cried out from within the confines of his walk-in closet, drenched in his own fear and misgivings. "Let me out this instant!"

It was rare of him to question his lack of strength or physical means to pry a door open; this was one of those rare occurrences.

"No can do, Norman," she vocalized it with depth, making it known to him that there was no way she was letting him out for the sake of his safety. "Stay right there. It's for your own good."

In a hysterical voice, he rebutted, "And what about you? Why can you not hide here with me?"

She found the whole thing utterly ridiculous. "Are you insane? I'm your bodyguard, remember? It's my job to keep you safe!"

"And what will I do if you die trying to protect me?" His words were more of a plea than a question, knotting within the hollows of his stomach.

"I cannot lose you, Emma."

She hissed at the words, and begrudgingly closed her eyes before snapping her view at the walk-in closet.

"And I cannot lose you!" She almost screeched it — everything that she had been bottling inside for the sake of her sanity, eating away every bit of suppressed emotions that she carefully placed at the back of her heart. "I will not allow anything or anyone to bring you harm. I can’t let another person I care for die! This is my job —"

"Who cares about this job —"

"— and this is what I feel for you! Do I have to make it more obvious?" She gritted her teeth and sucked in what was left of her confidence and her time.

He couldn't see her face, but as she spoke, he could imagine her smiling, the one that was ever-so bright in his eyes and never wavered.

"I'm keeping you safe not only because it's my job, but also because... I love you."

The sounds of constricted breathing inside the closet kept crushing her from the inside.

"Emma, I —!"

It left him no room to speak when he heard the door to his room opened, and the succession of gunshots took place.

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours.

Silence consumed him, yet successions of calling out her name proved no merit.

She never answered.

IV. 

"You are an idiot! An idiot, I tell you!"

Emma winced, not only for the pain inflicted on her by the graze of a bullet but also for the commotion caused by the man that had just barged through the door.

One look at him was enough of sedation for her; he was unscathed and safe.

She was about to lift herself up, gradually moving to position herself to sit on the bed, when his pair of arms reached out and enclasped her in an embrace.

His smelt of honeydew mixed with smoke, and she could feel the debris of wherever he had gotten himself into while she was asleep, against her cheek. Hearing his raspy shivered breathing against her ear struck every nerve on her body and the amount of tension on the tips of his fingers indicated that he was beyond worried for her dear life instead of his.

If they weren't surrounded by a mountain of eyes that would dare scrutinize this shared moment between then, she would've tackled him to the ground herself.

"I'm glad you're ok—"

"You idiot! Don't ever do that again!" His voice was demanding — pleading even, and seething through her skin. "I thought... I thought I lost you!"

His arms remained tightened around her, and she could only eye Ray with green eyes full of hesitancy. He only shrugged, but the way he cradled the smirk on his lips wasn't enough to deceive her.

She was merely her bodyguard.

She had no rights to him.

"Earlier," he voiced out, trembling, "You told me what you felt. What was I supposed to do inside that closet you locked me in, Emma?!"

The way he held her instigated that he no longer held any plans of letting her go.

"I wanted to keep you safe, si—"

"Do not call me 'sir'. I am simply Norman to you, and you're simply Emma to me."

His eyes are stained with unshed tears; only remorse for moments that he thought he'd never have with her again. "Will you let me hear it again?"

Emma seemed lost. "Hear what?"

His face softened with the memory. "What you told me earlier. Let me hear it once again. Let me know that it wasn't just a hallucination on my end."

That unexpected confession of hers from earlier earned her a bright, rosy blush all over her face.

"I-I have feelings for you."

Norman gave a low chuckle. "I guess that's another way of saying it. But I'm in love with you, Emma. From now on, stop being my bodyguard and simply be with me instead. Please, consider it." His smile came off sheepish. "I can't handle your constant disregard for your own safety for the sake of mine."

"B-but who's going to guard you?"

"I'll take over," Ray interjected, arms crossed over his chest. "It’s not as if I haven’t noticed the way you two have been acting for the last couple of months. Also, it's high time you stop being so reckless, Emma! You shouldn't have handled that situation all on your own. You could've called for back-up in his room!”

Emma nearly winced at Ray's reprimanding; he was right on the dot. She placed her sights on Norman and said, "But I'd still like to look after you. I've... grown to like it."

"Emma," he said her name a soft and gentle as he always had, and she knew that what would come next after her name were words meant to last a lifetime.

"I might not be as strong as you are with a gun, or as fast as you are when you run, but I'll look after you all my life, just as you'll look after mine. I’ll be your family. We’ll be a family."

Emma tried to suppress the grin on her face, but it failed spectacularly, and now she was facing him with immense joy, intertwining her fingers within his. His touch his warm and inviting, and it allowed her to further lament why she never allowed the idea of ever becoming his and him ever becoming hers.

"And we'll be equals?"

She searched his sights and he responded with the same amount of affection in his eyes; in his hold, she’d always be home.

"We were always equals."

#noremma #noremma prompt #the promised neverland #tpn emma #tpn norman #a bit angsty but it's a happy ending i swear

[ad1thi]

princely duties | AU-gust Day 9: Royalty AU

AU-gust masterlist

i know this is a bit late but ive been really busy all of yesterday and today. but it’s here now so enjoy!!

“Royal balls are such a bore, aren’t they?” (from this prompt list)

//

Thor Odinson, Crown Prince of the Realm of Asgard, Brother of Loki the Silvertongue, son to Frigga the Kind and Odin the Great, was known for a great many things.

 He was known for his great looming stature, stranding tall and proud even for an Asgardian, with muscles that rippled and tensed as he walked. He was known for his illustrious hair, a thick blond mane that he'd taken a vow to never cut, braided and cascading down his shoulders in thick waves. He was known for his might on the battlefield, for the terror he struck through the heart of his enemies when he called lighting itself down to rain fire on those who dared oppose him.

 He was known for being a gentle prince, for always having an ear open and the time for a pitcher of ale. He was known for the bond he had with his brother Loki - how the two of them had curled around each other at birth, his tiny fist clenched around his brother's equally tiny pinky, and never let go.

 But more than any of that, Thor Odinson was known for never taking a Consort, in all his years.

"Mother," he says in a tone that attempts to belie how frustrated Thor was that the topic of discussion was yet again, his potential marriage, "I do not want a consort. I need no person by my side. I am perfectly equipped to lead Asgard on my own. What use do I have of a snake who's only wed me for the sake of climbing the social ladder?"

 "Thor!" Frigga admonishes, even as Loki attempts to disguise his smile behind his pitcher, for their mother's sake more than Thor's. "I've raised you better than to talk like that."

Thor shrugs, biting into the wild boar that the Brothers Three had hunted earlier in the day, "It's the truth Mother, and you know it as well as I. I'm to sit on the Throne of Asgard, I cannot reasonably believe that anyone who sits by me is there because of me and not because of what I represent."

 "I certainly didn't marry your father because he was to be King," Frigga says, and Thor instantly feels guilty for his words, even though he makes no move to take them back, "and someone out there will do you the same courtesy. You just have to be open to the possibility."

 Next to him, Loki chokes on his food, and Thor extends a leg to kick him into submission. He didn't need his Mother to know of his various proclivities. The fact that she suspected he had multiple partners warming his bed at night was more than enough.

 "You should listen to Mother Thor," Loki wheezes, his voice raspy from the coughing fit, "It's always good to be open to opportunities. You never know who might be the right fit."

Frigga beams at Loki, and Thor manfully resists the urge to pull a childish face at his brother.

 "Enough of this talk" Odin booms, and both Thor and Loki turn as one to face their Father, "You have had many a year to find a Consort of your own, and you choose to squander your time. It is unbecoming of the Crown Prince to be unmoored, and it is only proper that you find a Consort. Since you continue to be a child and dig your heels in about this, we shall go about this the old-fashioned way."

 Odin fixes his one good eye on Thor, "There will be a ball in the Palace, a week from now. People from all over the Nine Realms shall be invited, and by the end of the night - you will have chosen someone to court."

 "And if I don't?" Thor asks bravely.

 "Then I will not name you my Heir."

/

Thor pulled at the ends of his sleeves, shifting this way and that in front of the expansive mirror in his chambers. It wasn't that he was a stranger to the need to put on garments from the more extravagant side of his armoire, but he'd never quite gotten used to it.

 He much preferred being in his breeches and covered in mud, sweat and blood. Being a warrior was in his blood, when he felt rooted and centred, and everything else felt like a farce.

 There's a knock on his door but before he has so much as say, "Come In!", Loki has turned the knob and extended his own initiation.

"Had you been anyone else," he huffs, looking at his brother's reflection rather than turning to face him, "I would've had you beheaded for the arrogance to enter my chambers without my permission."

"Now that's not true," Loki says demurely. There's a flash, and where Loki was standing, is an image of his last bedpartner, a shapely woman with brunette hair that curled around her shoulders.

"Had I been this fair maiden," he continues, and even though the voice is feminine, it is still distinctly Loki, "I don't imagine I would've been mistreated so."

 "I don't imagine you would be amenable to taking my cock in your mouth either," Thor says dryly, and Loki shudders predictably at the thought, "there's always exceptions to the rules." There's another flash, and Loki is back in his true form - glaring at Thor.

 "You always take the fun out of everything," Loki says mulishly, "I didn't need to know what you and she did together in these rooms."

 Thor shrugs, because as much as he loves his brother, he is not in the mood for a battle of wits tonight. Loki must realise this, because he softens, and walks over to place a reassuring arm on Thor's shoulders.

 "If all else fails Brother," he says in complete seriousness, "I can always seek off to Jotunheim and light a fire under their asses, create enough destruction so that you may use War as an excuse to delay your search of a Consort."

Despite himself, Thor chuckles and leans his head against Loki's hand, "you would do that for me Brother?"

"I would," Loki nods, "It wouldn't be a hardship too. I've always wanted to know whether Frost Giants would truly melt under fire or they just look ice-y."

 "When I am to be King," Thor says, reaching for his cloak, "Remind me never to allow you to meddle in foreign affairs."

Loki makes a face, like he wants to disagree, but can't find a good enough response for Thor's statement.

 The Palace itself is resplendent, and it is clear that Mother has gone all out for the special occasion. Thor ordinarily would've loved it, had he not known what the purpose for tonight's ball was. A quick scan of the crowd proved that Father had indeed not been lying - people from all over the Nine Realms had attended. In the corner of his eye, Thor thinks he recognises the familial glimmer of Frost Giant magic, so he nudges Loki with his shoulder and points surreptitiously.

 "You might get your desire after all brother," he says in a whisper, "It appears that Laufey has sent ambassadors of his own for tonight's ball."

"Now wouldn't that be a scandal?" Loki murmurs back, "if you were to take back a Frost Giant tonight? Maybe you should just to piss Father off."

 Across the room, Mother is gesturing for Thor to mingle, and with a sigh - he bids Loki his leave and walks more purposefully into the hall, greeting guests of all manner. He even takes a couple of women for a spin on the dance floor, dipping them and flipping them and engaging in polite conversation before he begs off.

 It goes on for close to an hour, until the monotony threatens to rot Thor's brain, and he hides away in a corner of the ballroom with a pitcher of ale, hoping that the shadows will provide him some break before his princely duties restart.

 "Royal balls are such a bore aren't they?" says a voice next to him, and Thor jumps. He turns and his voice gets caught in his throat, because standing next to him with a cheeky smile, is possibly the most attractive person that Thor has ever laid his eyes on, in all of his years of existence. 

 "It's been a while since I've been to one," the man continues, oblivious of the thoughts currently running through Thor's head, "but I somehow convinced myself in Nidavellir that I missed this whole dog and pony show." He wrinkles his nose, and Thor is overcome with the urge to reach out and kiss it, "I can't tell if it's comforting or depressing that I've been proven wrong."

 “You were on Nidavellir?” Thor says, his tongue feeling like lead in his month, “I wasn’t aware that Eitri let anyone visit the star?”

“Ah but I’m special," the man says, and there's a twinkle in his eyes, "Besides I wasn't visiting. I was there to learn." He extends a hand, and Thor reaches out to grasp it on instinct, noting how small it looks in his, "Anthony Starkison. But my friends call me Tony."

 "Thor Odinson," Thor hasn't let go of his hand yet, "I'm afraid my friends don't have many creatives names for me. Although my brother does call me a brute and an idiot on occasion."

 "I know who you are," Tony says, and it’s a simple statement, yet Thor feels a shiver run through him. Perhaps Father's inane idea of hosting a royal ball, wasn't so inane after all.

 Fin

#my writing #thortony #thunderiron #thor odinson x tony stark #thor odinson/tony stark #thor/tony #thor x tony #adi does AU-gust #AU-gust #Royalty AU #Asgardian Tony Stark #meet cute #pre slash #princely duties #i have wanted to write more for this pairing for AGES #and now i finally have!! #so enjoy please

[momentofmemory]

FICTOBER 2020 - day twelve

Prompt #12: “Watch me.”

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Characters: Melissa McCall, Scott McCall

Words: 1306

Author’s Note: A series of four vignettes featuring Melissa & Scott’s relationship, culminating with the fallout of 2x10 (Fury). Fluff that slowly descends into angst. Melissa POV.

>> i saw your eyes (they looked like they were mine)

“Watch me, mama!”

Scott’s head just barely peaks up over the counter, his hands reaching up to grab for her attention. “Look!”

Melissa laughs, gently hip checking him to the side so she can cover the bolillos with a towel to rise. “Just a minute, mijo, I’m coming. You don’t want flies to get into your food, do you?”

Scott pauses, having somehow managed to get flour in his hair already. “Do flies need it?”

“I’m very sure they can get food somewhere that isn’t my house,” Melissa says, dusting Scott’s nose with flour until he falls back, giggling. “Now, what’ve you got for me?”

Scott’s eyes light up as he grabs her by the hand, decorating the floor with even more flour, and drags her into the living room.

“I fixed Roxy!”

The dog in question is sitting placidly on one of the couch pillows, the McCall’s medicine kit open and its contents strewn all over the floor. She’d gotten into a fight with the neighbor’s cat the day they’d gotten her, and while the cut she’d sustained on her ear had long since healed, Scott’s been rather taken with making sure she’s okay ever since.

Which is probably why there appear to be over a half dozen bandaids covering the poor terrier’s ear, along with an incorrectly though painstakingly placed Ace bandage.

“Wow,” she says, making sure to give Roxy a few extra scratches as a reward for her patience. “You do this all by yourself?”

“Yeah!” Scott bends Roxy’s ear up, eager to show off his handiwork. “I even got one on the—scapha, like Dr. Deaton said.”

“Oh ho, I see. Scapha’s a big word.” She moves from ruffling Roxy’s fur to Scott’s hair. “You gonna be doctor someday? Dr. McCall?”

Scott shrugs. “Is that what you do?”

“Sort of, sweetie. No doctorate here, but. Yeah. Close enough.”

“Then I’ll be close enough,” Scott says. “So I can be like you.”

Melissa feels a swell of warmth, and kisses the top of Scott’s head. “You’re already far better than that, mijo. And I’ll be there to watch the whole thing.”

_________________

“Mom.”

Melissa looks up from the pamphlet she’s been reading, and Scott looks so small on the hospital bed. “Yeah, sweetie?”

“Am I breathing?”

Melissa’s heart twists in her chest. “Yeah, baby. You’re breathing. Does your chest feel okay?”

Scott nods, his lips pursed close together. “It felt okay before, too.”

“I know.” The signs were there—the coughing at night, the perpetual fatigue, the muscle and determination for sports but not the stamina. “But you’re okay now, I promise. The doctors have got you fixed all up and you’ve got plenty of medicine in case it happens again.”

Scott frowns, staring down at his hands. “So it’s going to happen again?”

“Not this bad, mijo. Not this bad.” She nods towards the inhaler on his bedside table. “That’s what the medicine’s for, remember?”

She wishes, sometimes, that she didn’t know quite so much about everything that was happening in her baby boy’s body. The bronchodilator via nebulizer to open his airways. Corticosteroid drugs in his IV to lower lung inflammation. Oxygen via nasal cannula to bring his blood oxygen levels back up. The trigger that’d caused the swelling and mucus production to threatened him to begin with, still lurking in his genes to strike at any moment.

Not that she’d tell him that.

“You’re okay, Scott,” she says. “I promise.”

“But what if it happens again while I’m sleeping?”

Melissa sets the pamphlet down and goes to sit on the edge of the bed. She takes his hand into hers. “Then I’ll be here the whole time, okay? If you stop breathing, I’ll make sure you start again.”

Scott bites his lip, tracing patterns on the hospital sheets. “You’ll watch me?”

“I won’t look away for even a second.”

She doesn’t, and Scott sleeps, uninterrupted and unafraid and breathing, through the entire night.

_________________

“You couldn’t have picked literally any other extracurricular?”

Melissa frowns at the dollar signs on the sign-up sheet, mentally tallying the costs of the uniforms, equipment, and not to mention rescue inhalers he’d need to play lacrosse, of all things.

“Lacrosse is like, the football of Beacon Hills!” Scott says, all but bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I can definitely do this.”

“I don’t know, Scott,” she says. “Your asthma’s been even worse than usual this season, and I don’t want you to commit to something like this and have to bow out halfway through.”

“I won’t,” Scott says, with all the total confidence only a teenager could have.

“Uh-huh.” Melissa sets the paper down and folds her arms over her chest. “Scott, I know you’re angling to get more popular than you were in middle school—”

“Mom!”

“—but I don’t think picking something that’s going to be—” Melissa hesitates, fishing for the most tactful word—“unconducive to your health is the best way to go about it.”

Hurt blossoms across Scott’s face. “You don’t think I can do it.”

‘Oh, no,” Melissa says. “You wander around the house without a shirt on more than enough for me to know you’ve got the muscle tone for it.”

“Mom.”

Scott’s incredibly tenacious once he gets his mind set on something—which is what moves his chances up from snowball’s chance in hell to snowball’s chance in, say, Nevada.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” she says.

“And you won’t. I can do this, mom—just watch me.”

It’s a bad idea. From definitely a financial standpoint, and probably a health one, too..

She sighs. “What time to tryouts start?”

“You’re coming?”

It’s painfully obnoxious and incredibly adorable how quickly he goes from sullen and determined to exuberant.

“Yeah, you dumbass,” she says. “If you’re going to go on some ill-fated mission to rise through the ranks at risk of life and limb, I’ll be there.”

His answering grin is so bright, she thinks he might actually do it after all.

_________________

“So.” Melissa licks her lips, fingers threaded together on the counter in front of her. “You’re a werewolf.”

They’re standing in the kitchen, the single unburnt bulb in the ceiling light shining down on them. Scott’s slouching, or maybe hunching, in the corner of the room; the island staking out the neutral ground between them. He’s not meeting her eyes, or maybe she’s the one that’s not meeting his.

Scott clears his throat. “Yeah. I’m, uh—a werewolf.”

It feels like the setup for an interrogation.

(She wishes she knew which of them was on trial.)

“Uh-huh.” Melissa taps her fingernails on the granite, waiting for him to expound. He doesn’t. “Okay, so how does it—is this a once-a-month thing? You change when the moon’s out?”

"No. I can—I can shift whenever I want, now.”

Now implies it hasn’t always been that way. Now implies a then. Now implies her son’s been a werewolf (a werewolf) for more than just a few days, and she hasn’t noticed anything other than a few slipped grades and out-of-character absences. Now means he did all that without her.

“Do you want to watch me do it?”

Melissa flinches before she can think twice about; Scott flinches in return. “Watch…?”

“Watch me shift,” he says. “I can control it really well, I could—we could just do claws maybe, or my eyes?”

Scott’s beautiful, deep brown eyes stare hopefully at her, eyes he got from her, and the thought of them turning the angry gold he got from someone else hurts too much.

“That’s okay, baby,” she says. “Maybe—maybe not right now.”

“Okay, yeah. Sure.”

His lips quirk up in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and Melissa can’t get her mouth to open far enough to handle the promises he needs.

She says nothing.

#fictober20 #fanfiction #melissa mccall #scott mccall #teen wolf #memsfic

[pixieposts]

Febuwhump Day 25: Car Accident

AO3

Today’s prompt was “car accident” so I went modern.  I think tomorrows will be another companion piece, because it seems like a good fit to me!  It ended up pretty soft, I think I’m running out of angst 😅 anyway, enjoy

Specific TW’s

Panic attack

Hospital scene

Description of injury (non-graphic)

Fjord’s guilt issues

Fjord groaned as he shut the apartment door, dropping his work bag and stretching.  Another twelve-hour shift, and he was utterly wiped out.  He dropped his coat on the hook, tugging his long-dead phone out and setting it to charge on the kitchen counter.  The apartment was quiet, not that Caleb was exactly a loud person to live with, but it was quiet in that empty way.  Frumpkin wandered over with a mrrp of greeting.  He grabbed a glass of water and scratched under the cats chin, waiting for his phone to charge enough to turn it on.   

“Where’s your daddy tonight Frumpy?  Has he gone over to Veths again?”  

Frumpkin only purred, rubbing his head against Fjord’s hand.  

“Not chatty tonight?  Ah well, that’s okay, we’ll know soon enough I’m sure” 

He left the phone to charge, deciding to grab a shower and change.  If Caleb was at Veth’s then odds were good he’d stay over.  Ever since little Luc was born, he had been spending as much time as he could there, helping out.  Beau had been teasing Fjord that Caleb would be talking about their own kids soon, which was equal parts terrifying and hilarious.   

Showered and feeling much better, Fjord grabbed his phone and turned it on.  A few messages from Beau, one from Molly, one from Caleb and... a voicemail?  The only people who ever called him were Vandran and Caleb, but the missed call was an unknown number.  Weird.  He typed in his passcode and set the phone on the counter on speakerphone, intent on getting himself some dinner.  

“Hello, this is a call for Fjord Widogast from Nicodranas General Hospital”  

Fjord dropped his plate and grabbed the phone, putting it to his ear  

“-ave you listed as the emergency contact for Mr. Caleb Widogast.  There’s been an accident, and he has been brought in for treatment”  

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.   

The voicemail was from nearly 8 hours ago.  Caleb had been in an accident over eight hours ago and he had no idea.  What if he was... no.  No he couldn’t be, they would have called again. He grabbed his coat and threw his boots back on, racing out to his truck.  The hospital wasn’t too far away, he could get there in a few minutes if he hit green lights.  He cursed himself as he looked at his phone again, the battery was at 30% now.  If he had actually charged it (“like Caleb told you to” said a nasty voice in his head) then he would have been there.  He could have been there the whole time, he would know what was going on already.   

Caleb hated hospitals, he always had, and now Fjord had left him alone and injured in one for hours.  He was probably terrified.   

If he was awake... if he was alive.  

Fjords chest was tight now as he drove the familiar roads, breathing was becoming more difficult.  He had to get to Caleb.  He pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, took his ticket with shaking hands.  He had no memory of the drive, his heart was beating too fast in his chest.  He knew he should stop, breathe, try to calm down, but he couldn’t.  The nurse at the desk looked concerned when he walked up, his eyes narrowing as he took in Fjord’s expression.  

“Can I help you sir?”  

“Caleb Widogast, I’m here for- is he okay?  My phone died and I-”  

The nurse stood and walked around the desk, pulling him gently to a chair. 

“Take a breath sir, you’re no good to anyone if you’re panicking okay?  We’ll check the system for you”  

Fjord nodded and tried to focus on his breathing.  He hadn’t had a panic attack in months, he closed his eyes and counted.  It was a technique Caleb had taught him... three seconds in, hold, three seconds out.  After a moment his chest felt closer to normal and he looked at the nurse again, embarrassment colouring his face.  

“There now, my colleague says your...”  

“Husband” 

“Your husband is in recovery.  If you follow the blue line on the wall, he’s in room 143”  

“Thank you” Fjord stood, taking another breath “recovery means-” 

“He’s doing fine, yes.  Go on now”  

He nodded to the nurses again and made his way down the hall, following the blue line they had pointed out.  The sterile scent of the hospital made his nose itch, and he walked faster as the room numbers climbed, finally stopping outside 143.  The curtain on the window was pulled up, but his view of the hospital bed was blocked by a person in blue scrubs.  He opened the door and they turned, smiling and stepping back a bit so he could see the bed.   

“There now Caleb, look who’s here” 

“Fjord!”  

Caleb sat up, causing the woman to tutt and push him lightly back against the mattress as Fjord cleared the space in three long strides.   

“If you move about like that you’ll pull your stitches” 

Caleb didn’t respond to her, just holding out a hand to Fjord who took it immediately.  He made quite the picture, dressed in a hospital gown and surrounded by the beeping machines.  Both hands had IV’s in them, which made Fjords skin itch to see.  His right arm was up in a sling, clearly broken, and there was a large piece of gauze taped to the right side of his jaw. Bruises covered most of his right side as well as far as Fjord could see.  He felt guilt rip through him again, Caleb had been sitting here in pain and alone for hours.  

“Cay... oh sweetheart I’m so sorry.  What happened?” 

“It ah... it’s a bit fuzzy” Caleb looked up at the nurse, brows furrowed. 

“A drunk driver hit his car” she supplied “the fuzziness is a mild concussion, it’ll clear up in a few weeks” she turned to Fjord “he’s also got three broken ribs, the broken arm and several nasty cuts that’ll need looking after.”  

Fjord nodded, squeezing Caleb’s hand gently, of course, he would look after him.  

“I’ve got a few more people to see, but we’ll be keeping him overnight”  

There were a few moments of quiet (minus the ever-present beeping of the machines) as she made sure everything was as it should be.  The moment she left, Fjord turned to Caleb and felt his chest constrict again.  

“Darlin’- Cay I’m so sorry, I should have been here.  If I had just charged the damned phone like you always tell me I...” he leaned down, pressing his forehead to Caleb’s hand “I’m so sorry, this must have been... gods Cay I was so fucking scared”  

He knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t help it.  The fear and the adrenaline from the call was starting to fade, being replaced by the horrible understanding of just how bad this could have been.   

“Fjord, Fjord look at me please?”  

He looked back up, guilt and sorrow and relief and fear all twisting in his gut.  Caleb just smiled tiredly at him, tugging his hand.  Fjord followed, getting the hint and settling himself lightly on the edge of the bed closer to Caleb.  He looked up at Fjord, before leaning slightly to press a kiss to his shoulder. 

“Schatz, I know you got here as soon as you could.  I have not had a good night, that much is obvious, but I do not blame you” he rested his head on Fjord's shoulder now, sighing “I am just glad you’re here now”  

“I’m sorry Cay- really" 

“I should be the one apologizing... the car is a write off”  

“I don’t give two shits about the car, it’s you I’m worried about.  That list of injuries was long”  

Caleb hummed, intertwining his fingers with Fjord’s as a response.  

“I think I will have to apologize to you again, when they let me out... there is much I will not be able to do for a while”  

“An excuse to be as obsessively doting as I want?  What’s to apologize for”  

“Mother hen Fjord will be out in full force I suspect” 

“Cluck cluck sweetheart”  

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Fjord could feel Caleb falling asleep.  Slowly, and gently as possible, he helped him get settled properly on the pillows to sleep.  There was a padded armchair on the other side of the room that Fjord dragged over, settling himself down within easy reaching distance of Caleb’s good hand.  They might joke about it, but Fjord knew he wouldn’t be comfortable leaving Caleb alone any time soon.   

“Fjord?” 

“Yeah Cay?” 

“Try to sleep, I am going to be fine, I promise”  

“Love you Cay” 

“Ich liebe dich Fjord” 

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday25 #panic attack #hospital scene #non graphic description of injuries #fjords guilt issues #critical roll

[emybain]

For the kiss prompts. Maybe 42 or 3 for nodrian💙

why not both hehe. no joke ive been trying to post this for two days now. i finished it the other night but i just keep forgetting to post lol. these are NOT connected in any way and they are both post supernova. The first one is a little aged up and fair warning, it’s a bit on the pg-13 side (im so sorry to all my cinnamon followers just LOOK AWAY)

3-a breathy demand:”kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond

42-distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead

ao3

Nova peeked into the art studio of Adrian’s town house, pushing the door open enough so she could see him. Yep. He was still at his easel. At least he had chosen to pull up a barstool instead of continuing to stand; he had been painting for hours. 

Times like this weren’t uncommon. For both of them. It was normal for them to not see one another for hours whenever Nova came over or vice versa, and there was nothing wrong with that. Sometimes, it was just comforting to be in each other’s presence. And it wasn’t like how they used to be, co-depending on one another after the supernova and inseparable. No, after a mutual decision to give one another a break, here they were four years later, going on a stable three years together. They were better now, after both receiving much needed therapy and time to think over everything. It wasn’t easy, especially for Nova, who felt as though she had no one to go to after the supernova, but it gradually got more attainable.

Except for now, when Nova was getting an itch for, well…special attention, and she hadn’t seen Adrian since their early dinner. Before he had let her know he was going to go work on a project, she was going to subtly suggest they extend their date night a couple hours. It was fine, Nova was fine. She figured he would only disappear for a little while and rejoin her in the living room, where she decided to pick up a book from his bookcase. Except he didn’t. So now she had to take things into her own hands. 

“Hey, Babe,” she greeted softly, entering the room slowly. Sometimes, he got so caught up in his work that he didn’t notice Nova until she touched him, which, based on past occurrences, messed him up. “I brought you some water.”

She stepped into his line of sight and set the glass down on the small table beside him. He didn’t respond, though from the tilt of his head, she could tell he heard her. Sigh. 

“You’ve been working really hard, you know. Maybe it’s time for a break?” She took a step toward him, biting her lip and bringing her hand up to the cotton button down she was wearing, fingering the top button. He grunted in response, quietly thanking her for the water. Nova rolled her eyes. Come on. She knew she got like this, too, but tonight, she decided it was ridiculous. She wanted attention, damn it. 

Walking behind him, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned down. He tensed at first, but relaxed just as quickly. He even turned his head around and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. Well, it was something. 

“Come to bed,” she murmured in his ear, lips brushing against the top. “I miss you.” To prove it, she kissed behind his ear. She felt him stiffen again, even as he continued painting. Her lips trailed down his neck, holding back a smile. 

“I’ll come in a little bit.” The satisfaction she got from his shaky voice was delicious. “Let me just finish this one section and I’ll be there, okay?” 

Oh, that wouldn’t do. He cursed when she nipped at the hollow in his throat, making sure her hair hung over to expose her neck. Just to tease him. “Why not now, though?” she hummed against his skin, deepening every kiss. His name escaped from her mouth in a sigh, a desperate need. She couldn’t help herself. 

“Shit, Nova.” He leaned back a little, much to her delight, as her hands went up his shirt, nails scraping against his chest. She stopped her caresses for a moment to blink at him innocently. A warm feeling washed over her at how dark his eyes were, a deeper brown than usual. They were breathtaking. 

Nova wiped at a dried paint spot on his cheek. “What?” 

He let out a long sigh, took one look at the unfinished painting, and set down his supplies. Nova grinned. She moved to sit in his lap, not really caring where she got attention as long as she just got it. But Adrian had other plans. 

Nova screeched as he stood suddenly and scooped her up into his arms. Their laughter echoed down the dark hallway and into Adrian’s bedroom, where it continued well into the night. 

__________

They were the only ones in the training hall, save for a few runners or weightlifters with earbuds in. Nova ducked as Adrian threw a punch at her, rolling to her left and pouncing back up, landing a kick to his side. He grimaced. Nova would’ve felt bad, except he had been the one to suggest a quick hand-to-hand combat fight. She pushed her sweaty bangs out of her eyes. Feeling generous, she took a few steps back to give Adrian a moment to collect himself. His eyes followed her as she circled him, knees bent at the ready. When he smirked at her and motioned her forward, she scrunched her face up. 

With a battle cry impressive enough for long-dead gods, she charged him. He blocked her blow and grabbed her forearm, twisting her around to hold her in a choke-hold. But Nova saw it coming. She rammed her heel into his foot, causing him to let her go. Nova rolled away, landing in a crouch. While he was distracted, she swept her leg out, knocking him to the ground. Before he could get back up, she had him pinned down, holding his wrists down with her knees. 

They were both breathing hard, staring at one another in silence. A dull pain rose up in Nova’s side where Adrian had got her earlier. It was worsening slowly, no doubt forming into a nasty bruise. A fight less than ten minutes had stolen all of her energy. 

“I win.” She grinned at him, leaning over and patting his cheek with a gloved hand. Ever since the supernova a few months ago, Nova made an effort to wear gloves whenever she was training with another prodigy. Adrian was the only one who said she didn’t have to around him, that he trusted her, but they still helped her feel more at ease. The rest of her team was still wary around her, and Nova only wanted them to be more comfortable. Sure she could still knock them out with any skin contact, but her hands were her biggest weapon. She hadn’t even been on patrols with them since the supernova, choosing instead to do jobs around headquarters. Just something to keep her busy, and to show the Renegades that she was on their side, for real this time. Some of her jobs may have been made up, like going to bother the Council about anything she thought would help in the process of transitioning into a more democratic government. It was a very, very slow process, but at least she was beginning to see progress. See what her father had envisioned so many years ago.

Adrian interrupted her thoughts by managing to flip them over. Nova’s back hit the foam mat, air rushing out of her body. He held both of her arms over her head with one of his. “No, I think I do.”

“Asshole,” she grumbled, squirming under his weight that only seemed to get heavier the more she moved. “That doesn’t count.”

Her heart raced as he brought his head closer, eyebrows raised. She could smell his cologne, that wonderful pine scent. She chastised herself for breathing in just a little deeper so she could catch more of that intoxicating fragrance. Tilted her head a bit to the side to avoid his intense gaze. Because, well, they were broken up. Nova knew they needed it, that choosing to continue a relationship after what happened would only end in flames. Much as she hated to admit it, it was unhealthy. Adrian had been the first person to truly see Nova for who she was instead of just a pawn on the chessboard or a lie or whatever the media liked to come up with every morning after they had their coffee. He understood her and her trauma. To just…let him go like that…was agonizing. But she knew it was only temporary, that they still both harbored deep feelings for one another. Maybe in a few months and after dozens of therapy appointments, they would be able to talk about getting back together. At least now, after a couple months of coming to terms with the break up, she could handle being alone with him again. Being friends, laughing and spending time together. Well, for the most part. 

To put things simply, Nova was very thankful at that moment that the Council had changed the rule that uniforms are mandatory even in the training hall. And she was very thankful that Adrian had discarded his shirt two minutes into their five mile run earlier that morning. 

“Someone’s just bitter they owe me breakfast.” Nova scoffed, remembering their deal earlier. She jumped suddenly, eyes widening at his hand on her cheek, caressing it. His brows were furrowed. “I didn’t know I got your face. I’m sorry about that.”

Holding her breath, Nova placed her hand over his. He met her eyes and blinked. “It’s fine. Probably just from the mat.” Her voice was barely over a whisper. 

She definitely saw his eyes dip down and focus on her lips for a moment; she couldn’t help but do the same. Somehow, all of her weaknesses regarding him, weaknesses that she had been suppressing for months, were all laid out in front of her. She wanted nothing more than to just…just…

“Kiss me,” she breathed, only slightly noticing how demanding she sounded in that moment. 

He stilled. “Nova, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Yet his voice was gruff. Yet he didn’t move from his position over her. 

“It’s not.” She licked her lips.

His eyes softened and he bent his head down. Nova raised hers up greedily to meet him. It had been an eternity since she had tasted his soft lips. 

But just as their lips brushed, sending a current of electricity down Nova’s spine, Adrian was gone.

Nova sat up and could only watch as he walked away, grabbing his shirt and roughly pulling it over his head. He didn’t look back.

#nova artino #adrian everhart #ruby tucker #oscar silva #danna bell #narcissa cronin #nodrian #tuckva #osby #danissa #renegades #archenemies #supernova #supernova spoilers #asks #my writing