#Year of Creation

[grogusmum]

November: Mourning Moon

A Conversations with Dead People Companion

This one probably does require reading the original fic; you can find it here

FRANKIE MORALES X F!READER with Holly

W/C 1400ish

WARNING: angsty, dead wife, ghost, that's about it.

A/N Welcome to my very late November installment for @yearofcreation2023 (a fantastic notion by @oonajaeadira.)

Frankie climbs the steps of the 400-year-old cemetery, this time with his daughter, Julieta. Snow has been falling for a good twenty minutes, and last night's snow crunches underfoot. It’s not unheard of to have snow in November in the Northeast, even if it’s becoming more rare. It’s been a little more than a year since Frankie’s first visit with Holly. It only takes a moment before she falls into silent step with them. Slipping between them, as they seem to have left space for her, she takes each of their gloved hands in her bare ones.

“I'm so glad to see you, my loves.”

“Holly,” Frankie sighs. “Missed you, babe.”

“Mama!” 

“Oh jellybean, I'm so glad you came," Holly brings her daughter's hand to her cold cheek, then turns to her husband, “You came.”

“Yeah.”

“But not just to say hello.”

“Yeah,” Frankie looks at his wife, looking just as she did in life. This isn't going to be easy. “I've- I-”

Holly smiles, right up to her eyes -

“You've met someone.”

Frankie just gives a tight smile, she always makes things easier, he should have remembered.  His eyes go bright, and he rubs his face with his free hand. 

“Darling, that's truly wonderful. You deserve it, Frankie. And you deserve a mama.”

“I only have one mama, but I like her,” Julieta says. 

as they reach the top of Burial Hill the wind kicks up, snow swirling unable to decide which way is down. They are alone, no dog walkers, no couples taking in the view. It's beautiful but cold.

“We just wanted to tell you that. I don’t know, I couldn't just… not without your blessing.”

“You know my answer,” Holly says, giving Frankie a chilly kiss on the cheek, he shivers and smiles. “Tell me all about her.” 

Frankie tells Holly where you are from, what you do… how he feels when he's with you. Julieta shares stories of the first time you came to her soccer game, and how you make the best hot chocolate- with a quick apology, meaning no offense to Holly’s cocoa. To which Holly gifts them with the hearty laugh they love so well. 

“You aren't offending me, jellybean, it comes from a box!  But watch out, I hear the Swiss Miss gets migh-ty jealous!”

“We told her all about you. She wants to come and visit,” Julieta says, swinging Holly's arm as they walk and hold hands.

Holly looks at Frankie, then at Julieta-

“Me me? Or my -” Holly nods at the white gravestone a few paces away. 

“I told her I talk to you a lot, and about that time last fall…” 

“You did?”

“Yeah, and she wasn't weirded out at all. She doesn't expect you to come to her- make yourself um… known. She just wants to put a wreath on your grave, pay her respects.”

You sat in the little coffee place on the main street, mindlessly stirring your tea, watching the windows for Frankie and Julieta. The wreath you made of blue spruce, juniper berries, pine cones, and of course, holly, a wide white grosgrain ribbon tied in a single fluffy bow sits on the seat next to you. You don't expect to see Holly. No. But you figure she'll hear you… you thought about all the things you wanted to tell her, trying to imagine being at the receiving end of it. As if you are the one who lost her life, the love of her life, and the apple of her eye… you close your eyes, a small tear slips down. 

Are you being weird? Performative? 

Just then you see the two most important people to come into your life, saving you from spiraling.

They wave. Frankie gives Julieta some money and kisses her head, then comes to your table while his daughter goes to the counter. He kisses your forehead and sits, “Jules is ordering us a warm-up. It's freezing up the hill. The wind.”

You nod, and another sneaky tear rolls down.

“Hey,” Frankie's brows knit together, “are you- did something happen?”

Frankie looks around for the culprit. You huff a smile at his protectiveness. You found yourself a bulldog, complete with soft, sad brown eyes, who loves his belly rubbed.

“I'm just- it's an emotional day. I guess.”

“I guess it is,” Frankie nods.

After hot chocolate and coffee (and the cookie the size of Jules' face), everyone is warmed up and bundles up to climb back up the hill.

Holly keeps her distance this time, watching the three of you reach the crest of the hill. Frankie puts his hand on your lower back, guiding you on the snow-covered brick path toward Holly’s stone. Holly pines for that hand, warm and solid on the small of her back, just one more time. Pearly tears spill over. She isn't jealous, well, that's not true. Holly is envious of you; she's just not angry with you. She feels swindled, but not by you. You are again bringing joy to her husband and child, love and care that Holly can not provide anymore. She's grateful for you, just incredibly sad for herself. 

Holly pops over to the stone, their destination, and continues observing you. You have kind eyes, carrying a rueful smile. At least now it is, understandably, but Holly can see the shadow of crinkles around your eyes and laugh lines. You have a lovely wreath. If Holly had to picking one out of a million for herself, she would have chosen that one. 

You look at Jules and kiss her brown curls; they look at Frankie like you're looking for some help. He gives your hand a squeeze.

“It's a beautiful stone,” you murmur. Frankie puts a little rod, like a shepherd's hook, in the ground before it. Since it’s so early in the season, the ground isn't frozen hard despite the snow. Then, you hang the wreath on it. 

“Thank you for your family,” you say, and then cringe a little; Frankie kneels next to you, taking your hand in his. He nods.

“I'm…” you look at them with pleading eyes.

Julieta takes your other hand and introduces you. You kiss a thank you on her temple.

“I just wanted to come and give my respects, to um, tell you that I love your husband, and your kid here is a delight. By the photos all over the house, I can see she is the perfect combination of the two of you. I just wanted t-to assure you that they will be cared for, I hope nearly so well as when they were with you. Because, I can see your love everywhere in that house. The nursery room mural you painted full belly pregnant with Jules here, Frankie's shown me photos of your gardens. And the recipe book you put together b-before… everything, so Frankie could make all his and Julieta’s favorites. I can't replace you, of course, no one can. But I hope - well, I just-”

You look up at the white stone, your knees cold in the snow but your face hot, trying to find the words.

Holly moves to stand behind the headstone, looking down at your worried face, and puts out her hand. You blink. A graceful hand suddenly appears before her stone, right between the carved words wife and mother. Your eyes slowly follow the wrist, then arm, to the face of Holly Morales. 

After a small gasp, you take her outstretched hand and stand. Frankie and Jules slowly follow.

“Thank you for loving my family,” Holly says, placing her other hand over yours. You can feel the seeping cold through your glove, but you feel no reason to shiver. Her eyes are so full of love and gratitude and grace. “I am entrusting them in your care.”

“I do,” you say, “I mean, am, I will love and care for them with all my heart.”

“and let them care for you, and love you,” Holly so wisely adds.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes.

“I will.”

Holly looks at Jules, hand grazing her cheek. Her eyes travel to Frankie's, his tears falling freely. Unnoticed, the snow had stopped falling, and sunshine fought its way past the clouds.  Only noticed now when a shaft brightened the hill, causing a swirl of snow caught on the wind to sparkle like diamonds. And in that shimmer of snow and light, Holly is gone.

Frankie presses a kiss to your temple.

“She likes you.”

THANKS FOR READING! 💚

Year of Creation: the Wheel of the Year Masterlist

MAIN MASTERLIST

If you care to be tagged for any of my works, my taglist form can be found here! I've added my Year of Themed Creations Series

#wheel of the year #year of creation #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #conversations with dead people

[captainsophiestark]

More Than Just A Pretty Face

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Masterlist - Join MyTaglist!

Written for my Year of Olympians, part of a bigger challenge being run by @yearofcreation2023​ which features a ton of awesome creators and runs all year! Go check it out if you haven’t already!

Fandom: Bridgerton

Prompt: Hera; The Queen, Women, Family

Summary: Benedict runs into a woman who might just be the love of his life at a friend's underground artist party, but things might get complicated outside the walls of the artist's haven and in plain sight of the rest of the world.

Word Count: 3,745

Category: Fluff, little bit of angst maybe? Not *really*...

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

Benedict smiled to himself as he stumbled down the dimly lit hallway, people crowding in on either side of him. He was absolutely sober as far as substances went, but drunk and giddy on the feeling of being surrounded by so many artists, living lives happily as themselves and nothing more. No expectations of families or the Ton could reach them here, and it was a thrill like none other to join them any night he could.

After making a quick pit stop to grab himself a drink (he didn’t want to spend the night completely sober, after all), he continued to wander the hallways, looking for a place to pick up a paintbrush. This was one of the few locations he felt completely free to do so, with no outside pressures to weigh on him, and he’d be damned if he didn’t take advantage of it.

He swung through the doorway of a salon towards the back of the house and, as he’d hoped, found a circle of canvases around a few models in the middle. He started for an open canvas, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what one of the other artists had painted on theirs.

The light and colors seemed to jump off the canvas, representing the subjects in a more abstract and yet equally beautiful way. The brushstrokes and blending combined into a unique style, truly unlike anything he’d ever seen before.

“This is… incredible,” he breathed, having drifted unconsciously over to stand beside the artist, getting a better look at the canvas in the process. He blinked a few times, trying to shake the stupor, then turned to face the person responsible for the masterpiece before him.

His breath caught in his throat as he made eye contact with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Cat got your tongue?” asked the woman with a raised eyebrow. She surveyed him critically, not looking entirely friendly, and his heart stuttered a little in his chest.

“I… I’m sorry,” he said. Was he stammering? He hadn’t been nervous around a girl since the time when Anthony had been his only sibling!

“What do you want?” she asked, continuing to stare him down mercilessly. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, trying to gather himself as he looked between her and her artwork.

"I’m terribly sorry to bother you,” he said, clearing his throat and gaining just a hair of his regular confidence back. “I just couldn’t stop myself from coming over when I saw this masterpiece.”

She turned to him with a scowl, but it quickly changed to a look of surprise when she found him referencing her painting.

“You came over here because you liked… my painting?” she asked, her tone an equal mix of suspicion and pleasant surprise. Benedict raised an eyebrow and gave her a lopsided smile.

“Well what else?” he asked, a slight teasing tone to his voice.

The woman glanced down, unable to completely hide a smile that broke onto her face before she looked back at him. “I… historically, when strange men approach me, it’s nothing to do with my skills or who I am as a person.”

Benedict shot her a roguish smile, all of his normal comfort and confidence finally returned. “Fortunately for you I suppose, even the most beautiful woman in all of existence can’t quite outshine this incredible painting.”

She stared at him, her eyes dancing with light and mischief as a smile again tugged at her lips. Despite her best efforts, she was clearly fighting a losing battle to remain stoic and critical.

“The most beautiful woman in all of existence?” she challenged, humor in her tone.

“I’d certainly say so,” he said, beaming at her and feeling a swell of pride at how flustered she seemed to become. “I’d have to go sing the news of who I’d just found to strangers in the streets, but it’s been overshadowed by the news of having found the most wonderful painting in the whole of existence.”

She laughed, and the sound sent jolts of electricity racing through every inch of his body. They shared a smile, and any doubts Benedict might have had about the truthfulness of his statements evaporated. They were facts, and nobody could change his mind.

“Well come on then, you flatterer,” she teased, patting the seat next to her. “If you’re here it means you’re an artist too, so let’s see what you’ve got other than a prolific affinity for flattery.”

He beamed at her as he took the seat next to her, securing a paintbrush and artist’s palette of his own.

“I can’t promise I’ll live up to anything like what you’ve painted, but I’ll certainly do my best.”

She shrugged. “Art is subjective. Anyone who tries to make objective value statements is a fool.”

He laughed, feeling lighter than he had in ages.

“I suppose you’re right.”

The pair spent the rest of the night and even the first few hours of the morning painting, laughing, and talking together side by side, making art and more importantly enjoying the creative space and their time with each other. Despite his initial moment of being tongue-tied, Benedict couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to this woman, like they’d known each other for ages and not just a few hours. He knew his brothers would mock him, but with each passing second he could feel himself falling deeper and deeper in love.

When the time came to say goodnight and for each of them to go their separate ways, his heart broke a little in his chest. Still, he said goodbye all the same, both of them promising to meet again the next time one of these gatherings happened. Benedict resolved with his entire being to make it happen, no matter what, and even that was barely enough to actually get him out the door.

For the next week, Benedict found himself completely distracted by thoughts of the mystery woman he’d fallen in love with in a matter of hours. He hardly thought of anything else, and his head was even more in the clouds than usual, much to the annoyance of his siblings. Anthony finally managed to snap him out of his daydreaming long enough to drag him to a long-awaited ball that had been the talk of the Ton for quite some time, although Benedict had done his best to avoid the commitment.

“The Queen herself is going to be there, along with plenty of high-ranking, eligible young women who only come out for the absolute highest society events,” lectured Anthony as the Bridgerton carriage approached Lady Danbury’s house, where the ball was to be hosted. Benedict sighed and stared out the window; he’d already heard this speech a thousand times. “Now that Kate and I are married, it’s your turn to start looking for a wife.”

Benedict rolled his eyes, knowing just how much it would irritate his brother.

“Suppose I want to die a male spinster,” he said, deciding to have some fun bothering Anthony. Anthony, as predicted, glared and sighed heavily through his nose, which immediately lifted Benedict’s spirits. He gave his brother a mischievous grin, and then it was Anthony’s turn to roll his eyes. Benedict’s fun was cut short, however, when the carriage at last arrived to the ball. Now he’d have to suffer through endless pleasantries and vicious Mamas trying to set their daughters up with him for the evening, with no support from his brother.

As predicted, the start of the night was incredibly boring. Benedict grabbed a drink as soon as he was in the door, and spent the next hour or so ducking every social encounter he could. He hovered on the edge of the room with Colin and Eloise, until finally, Anthony tracked him down and dragged him by the elbow back into the main room.

“The Queen just came out with her daughter,” Anthony hissed into his ear as they moved through the crowd. “You need to at least make an introduction.”

“Anthony, I don’t even know where to begin explaining to you how much I do not want to court the Queen’s daughter-”

Benedict had been in the middle of hissing back a terse response to his brother when he caught sight of the woman Anthony kept shoving him towards. Y/N, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and the best artist he’d ever met, stood next to the Queen in an absolutely magnificent dress, chatting politely with a suitor she didn’t appear to have much interest in. His heart stopped dead in his chest and his legs almost gave out under him. Anthony, unaware that Benedict’s world had suddenly stopped spinning, continued to push him over, until Benedict fell forward, almost knocking straight into the woman he’d spent every spare moment and then some thinking about.

She turned to him in surprise, her face lighting up for a brief second at the sight of him before her courtier’s mask quickly dropped back into place. Even that brief crack in the polite, vague interest was enough to make Benedict’s heart stutter in his chest. He just kept staring at her, still a little dumbstruck, until he heard someone clear their throat from his right.

“Mr. Bridgerton.” He turned to find the Queen herself staring down at him with raised eyebrows. He quickly righted himself and tried to regain his composure. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Y/N disguising a laugh as a cough, and had to resist grinning and shaking his head.

“Your Majesty,” he said instead, dropping into as low a bow he could. He stayed down for longer than usual, and when he finally straightened, the Queen looked grudgingly pleased.

“I assume you’re also here to speak to my daughter, now that you’ve paid your respects, like every other unwed man in this room?” she asked, a slight tone of amusement to her voice (much to Benedict’s relief).

“I…” he glaned at Y/N, slightly unsure of himself, but when he found her smiling back at him that confidence immediately returned. He turned back to the Queen, back straight and a smile on his face. “Yes, M’am. I’d love the chance to speak to her, if you’d allow me and if she’d have me.”

The Queen gave him the smallest smile of approval, then turned to her daughter.

“Well, Y/N? What do you say?”

Y/N smiled slightly at Benedict, then sighed dramatically and flapped her fan around before dropping it back at her side.

“I suppose,” she said, flailing dramatically a bit more before taking his arm with a smile. “Mr. Bridgerton, shall we?”

Benedict beamed back at her, his whole body feeling like it was about to combust in the best way possible. They strolled off through the room, walking rather quickly towards the exit to the garden, where they might actually get a bit of privacy. Anthony beamed approvingly at Benedict as they went, and Benedict made sure to shoot him a glare in response.

Every man in the crowd they passed gave Benedict a look to put his pointed scowl towards Anthony to shame, jealous venom rippling off every one of them. Benedict completely ignored them all. He was in heaven, and no one could ruin it if they tried.

Quickly, the fresh air of the garden washed over Benedict, and he took a deep breath in before letting out a contented sigh. He slowed his pace, Y/N slowing to match him as they transitioned into a relaxing stroll.

Once they were far enough away from the ballroom, definitely out of earshot of any nosy, problematic courtiers, Benedict turned to Y/N with an arched eyebrow.

“The Queen’s daughter?” he asked. She turned to him, a slightly accusatory look on her own face.

“Says a Bridgerton son, a member of one of the most prestigious, talked-about families in the Ton.”

“First of all, you and I both know talked-about often does not equal prestigious,” he said. Memories of everything to do with Daphne and Anthony as they went through the creation of their marriages flashed through his head. What nightmares. Entertaining, but nightmares. He shook it off, then continued, “And second, being the second son of a notable family is distinctly different than being in line for the throne, as well as the most sought-after woman in all of England.”

She gave him a small smile, the first he’d seen from her that was tinged with sadness, none of the light or attitude he’d come to enjoy seeing from her to be found.

“Surely you can see why I wanted to escape it all for a bit, then. Most wanted woman for my position and the power I offer a husband, and maybe my looks. Nothing else. Nothing of substance.”

Benedict felt as if an arrow had been shot straight through his heart. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at Y/N, who came to a stop a few steps later to stare back at him curiously.

“Have you truly been made to feel this way?” he breathed, his stare never leaving her face. He remembered her mentioning something of the sort when they'd first met, but not with so grave a tone. She hesitated, giving him a scrutinizing look similar to that one a week ago before she'd realized his more innocent and sincere intentions, then finally sighed, apparently deciding to give him her trust for a second time.

“It’s more than being made to feel that way, Benedict,” she said softly. “I can see it and know it in every interaction I have with suitors who approach me.”

“Y/N…” Benedict took a step forward and reached for her hands, his heart squeezing at her words, but then thought better of himself and stepped back. He took a deep breath, then met her eyes, doing his best to convey nothing but absolute sincerity. “I almost didn’t come to this little party tonight, for the same reasons. My brother finally forced me to come, and now I’m very grateful he did, although I’d never tell him that.”

Benedict shook his head, momentarily distracted by the idea of how obnoxiously smug Anthony would be if ever told he was right, then managed to refocus on Y/N and the issue at hand.

“What I’m trying to say is… every time I come to one of these things, especially now that Anthony is married, I have nothing but piranhas and sharks circling me, trying to convince me to marry them or their daughters. I have money, and I’m the next closest thing to the head of the Bridgerton family, and that’s all anyone ever seems to care about.

“I can’t pretend to understand exactly what it’s been like for you, since I have quite a bit more autonomy than you, both as a man and as a second son. But I can imagine what you mean when you say you’re usually looked at for superficial traits and what someone stands to gain from marrying you, and nothing else. And if I’ve ever played a part in making you feel that way, then I am truly, deeply sorry. You deserve far more than that.”

Benedict watched Y/N, his heart absolutely hammering in his chest. He wasn’t even sure what he was hoping for, but her reaction felt incredibly important to him all the same. She glanced down, lips pursed, then met his eyes again with a small smile and that twinkle in her eyes that he’d come to love so much. He could’ve collapsed on the spot from relief and happiness.

“I can happily tell you, Benedict, that you’re the first man I’ve met in a long, long while who doesn’t make me feel that way, and never did. So… thank you, for that.”

He beamed back at her, his heart soaring and making him feel as though he was floating.

“Well, I’m very glad to hear it. Perhaps, if you’re interested… I could do more of that?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, a small smile playing on her lips as she took a few steps closer to him.

“And what exactly do you mean by that?”

He grinned, leaning in closer to her. His whole body burned, and he thought he could see a bit of the same excitement on her face.

“Well, as much of an honor as it would be for me to be allowed to court you the traditional way, it can be a bit… boring. As two fantastic and creative artists, we should be able to do a bit better than that, don’t you think?”

Her smile took on a bit of a giddy quality as she continued to look at him, and Benedict felt himself getting sucked into the same energy, riding high as he continued.

“What say you we have another artists’ rendezvous next weekend, at that same mutual friend’s house? We can find an empty room—surely there will be one in the entire house—and then draw, paint, and talk to our heart’s content. You can tell me about your favorite artists and things to do when no one else is forcing you into courtly activities, and I’ll tell you my favorite ways to upset my siblings and about the time my brothers and I almost stole the neighbor’s dog thanks to a game of dares that got wildly out of control.”

“I would like that very much,” she said, beaming back at Benedict. He swore her light put the shine of the sun to shame, and the warmth emanating from her made him completely forget the cold of the night air in the garden where they spoke. “But I have to ask… what shall we do in the meantime? After all, next weekend is an awful while to wait.”

He could’ve done cartwheels right then and there. Instead, however, he controlled himself enough to smile back at her and speak.

“Well… what would you like to do?”

She grinned, then glanced around their surroundings. Once she seemed satisfied that no prying eyes were watching too closely, she grabbed his hand and pulled her to him, linking her arm through his to return to the way they’d been walking before.

“This is going to be quite forward of me,” she warned, smiling all the same as they resumed their turn about the garden. Towards the far end, they turned back before getting improperly out of sight of any other people, making a slow, steady return towards the party they’d so badly needed an escape from.

“I’d expect nothing else from such a bold, strong woman such as yourself.”

“Well… what if, on top of our unusual form of courting that you so brilliantly suggested… we did the normal, proper society courting as well?”

Fireworks exploded in Benedict’s chest, but he did his best to tamp them down and sound somewhat put together when he responded.

“Do you mean regular courting as in… publicly spending time with each other, after I call on you to make clear my intentions to get to know you and, perhaps eventually… propose?”

Now she seemed to be the nervous one, fidgeting a bit as they got closer and closer to returning to the party. Benedict watched her with a smile, enjoying this brief role reversal.

“Well, I mean, that is… if you’d be interested in that. Of course there’s absolutely no pressure, I wouldn’t want to make you feel like you had to-“

Benedict came to a stop again, taking Y/N’s hands and pulling her to a gentle stop with him. They were only a few steps from the doors of the ballroom now, in clear eyesight of many guests of the party as Benedict smiled lovingly at this wonder of a woman he’d somehow lucked into meeting.

“Y/N… I can think of no greater honor than being allowed to court you publicly, perhaps with the intention to propose. Despite the fact that I will hear endlessly about it from my brother, I am quite confident you would be worth it.”

Y/N beamed back at him, joy clearly written all over her face. The two shared the purest, happiest smiles and held each others’ stares for a few more beats, then finally, Y/N cleared her throat and moved to take Benedict’s arm again.

“Of course, any potential proposal would hinge on our non-traditional method of courting going well,” she said as the two of them at last headed back towards the ballroom.

“Obviously,” Benedict agreed, ignoring the jealous looks of the other suitors around him and the smug expression he could see on his brother’s face even from across the room. “I could never shackle myself to someone without knowing she would be more than a pretty face to stand next to me, with whom I’d have nothing in common.”

He shot Y/N a mischievous sideways look and found her beaming back at him. Then, at the sight of Anthony quickly crossing the room, either to speak to him or to try to speak to Y/N (and either way ruining the moment), he spun to speak to Y/N again.

“So, in the name of proper courting… may I have this dance?”

“Of course you may,” she replied, a happy smile still on her face. He took her hands and they spun onto the dance floor together, then once they were chest to chest to begin the routine, she whispered so only he could hear, “And don’t think I didn’t realize you asked me to dance in order to avoid your brother.”

Benedict gave her a quick wink, then twirled her out from him in the opening moves of the dance. They were a bit sloppier than everyone else around them, which earned them both some disapproving looks from their family members, but neither of them cared.

They were both happy and having fun, and after spending so much of their time in court absolutely miserable, they deserved this. Although they couldn’t spend the entire night together, no matter how much they both wanted to, they took the moments they could and found solace in the fact that they’d be together again soon, and in a place where they’d be in private, enjoying each others’ company for hours with no interruptions. It was too early to declare it to anyone, his brother and Y/N included, but Benedict had fallen completely and totally in love, and he couldn’t wait to spend every possible second in his future with the woman he felt certain was his soulmate.

#year of creation #Bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton one shot #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton oneshot #regency era #the bridgerton family #the bridgertons #the bridgerton siblings #anthony bridgerton #the queen #bridgerton fanfic #daphne bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #colin bridgerton

[songsformonkeys]

Saying I love you after a fight (Joel Miller x reader)

Month: January

Word count: ~1100

Warnings: None

Notes: I haven't written anything in months, so consider this my very shaky attempt to dip my toes back into the writing pool. It's not a masterpiece by any means, but I'm proud that I actually managed to sit down and finish it. Not beta read in the slightest

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There's a quiet creak when the front door opens in the other room. The sound easily penetrates the haze of sleep, despite the low volume. Years spent sleeping in unsafe places have conditioned you into being a light sleeper and even though you're safer now, the habit still lingers.

You blink your eyes open in the dark, seeing next to nothing in the sparsely furnished bedroom. The darkness became so much darker once electricity was no longer a common occurrence, and light pollution was nothing but a very distant memory.

The following seconds feel like forever as they tick by while you wait for the next sound to give you clue about whether or not to reach for the knife on your bedside table. But then you hear the low rumble of Joel's voice as he says goodnight to someone in the hallway, and you relax briefly, but not completely.

The fight from earlier is still fresh in your mind, the echo of the slammed door still reverberating through your bones. You wait, not sure if Joel will actually join you or if he's still angry enough with you to opt for a night spent on the couch.

You had known there would be hell to pay when you'd decided to climb that old scaffolding, disregarding the knowledge that nothing was ever as sturdy as one hoped, nowadays. But the door had been blocked, you and the others had needed to get inside, and digging through all that rubble would have taken up way too much time and would have caused way too much noise.

The choice had been between trusting old wooden planks and risking a swarm of infected coming their way. So you'd chosen the planks.

It had been a calculated risk, regardless of what Joel had said when the others had come carrying you back, your ankle badly sprained from the fall after the rotten wood had suddenly broken under your weight, just as you were reaching the top.

He had been furious, his hands shaking with held-back anger as he rolled the bandage around your foot.

The yelling had started soon after, the two of you arguing in a way that you never would have allowed yourself to do if there hadn't been fortified walls between you and the infected outside of camp.

It had felt good to yell. Less good that Joel refused to see your point of view. And the opposite of good when he eventually stormed out of the apartment, knocking over a chair in the process.

You'd hobbled over to pick it up when you could no longer hear the stomp of his heavy boots out in the corridor. You'd envied that he got to be the one storming off. You'd been pissed off too, had wanted to make an equally dramatic exit to prove it. Because you knew that if the roles had been reversed, Joel would have made the exact same decision you had. He would have been up on that scaffolding too when it broke. He was just too fuckin' stubborn to admit it.

Now, hours later, he's come back. And something like relief spreads in your chest when you hear the bedroom door open and, a moment later, you feel the mattress dip on Joel's side of the bed.

Neither of you speaks, even though you know Joel knows you're awake. Neither of you has ever been able to sleep through the other one crawling into bed.

It's a King size bed so there's plenty of room for the two of you to have your respective spaces. Right now, you're acutely aware of every inch of distance between you.

The silence is thick enough to slice through with a knife and you realize that unless either of you breaks it, no one is getting any sleep tonight. You almost think it would serve the stubborn asshole right. Almost. But in the end, you decide to be the bigger person and so you pick up the proverbial olive branch and reach it across the canyon of space between you.

”How did it go?” you ask, despite not actually knowing exactly what Joel had done during his hours away. You figure that's less important. You just want him to speak. There's a couple of more seconds of silence, just long enough for you to start wondering if maybe Joel is still too pissed for a truce. Then you hear him let out a slow exhale as if he's been holding his breath.

”Uneventful,” he replies.

”Uneventful is good,” you say. The bandage around your ankle is a good reminder of the opposite. Before Joel can make the same connection and have the fight from earlier refueled, you continue. ”What the Hell did Tommy have you do out there anyway. You smell like a forest fire.”

That draws an amused huff of air out of Joel, and you count that as a win.

”Just a good ol' family barbeque.”

”Sounds cozy. Invite me along next time?”

”Depends. Are you gonna fling yourself into the fire?”

You feel your hackles raising as the tension comes creeping back into the room at the jab. Forcing yourself to ignore it, you take a deep breath before speaking calmly.

”No. Might fling you into it though.”

Joel doesn't answer immediately and you can tell he's considering his options. Finally, he sighs like you're the sole source of all his grievances. It's not entirely fair. You wouldn't consider yourself responsible for more than 60%. Tops!

”How's the ankle?” Joel asks instead, seemingly changing his mind about rekindling the argument between you two.

”Not great,” you answer, seeing no point in lying. Joel would know. ”But the bandaging helped.”

”I'll see about finding you some painkillers in the morning,” Joel says, and you know him well enough by now to hear the apology in his voice.

”I can make you breakfast before you leave,” you reply, hoping that he hears the same apology in yours.

”...That'd be nice,” Joel answers.

The silence that falls next is void of the tension that had hung so heavily between you just a couple of minutes ago. It's only broken by the soft even breaths coming from Joel's side of the bed. You listen to them as you finally relax again.

You're certain Joel is asleep when you whisper ”I love you.”

You turn, facing away from the man sharing your bed as you hug the corner of your blanket close to your chest with a slow exhale.

Then Joel shifts and a strong arm curls protectively over your waist.

”I love you too.”

#Year of Creation #Year of saying I love you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #my writing

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

The Wedding Planner

Summary: You are getting married. And while this is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, you've been having second thoughts. Even before you meet your wedding planner Marcus Pike.

Pairing: AU!Marcus Pike x fem. Reader

Wordcount: 5.8k

Rating: G

Warnings: The Wedding Planner AU, yearning, fluff, angst, feelings, people saying mean things about bodies

A/N: I did it! January of @yearofcreation2023 is finally finished and here! This is a very loose interpretation of the movie The Wedding Planner and I am not 100% happy with it but it's too late for doubts now lol

Year of Movie AU's Masterlist

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If someone had told Marcus twenty years ago that he would run one of the most successful wedding planning agencies in the country, he would probably have laughed. 

Back then he had other plans. 

Plans that included following his fathers footsteps in law enforcement. Joining the CIA or FBI.

But then he met his wife. Well… Ex-Wife by now. She had been working as a party planner and he? He realised how much he loved planning. 

It had started out with him helping on the weekend while he still was in Quantico on his way to become an agent. He was freshly married and in love and wanted to spend all his free time with his wife. And if that meant helping her decorate birthday parties or engagement parties (or god forbid gender reveals), he was there. 

And then one Saturday morning while he was helping her, his wife had sent him in near panic to the groom of the wedding she had been prepping for months. The groom had cold feet. And Marcus had spent twenty minutes calming the man down, reminding him how much he loved his wife to be. 

During the ceremony after Marcus might have shed a tear or two.

It was shortly after that he, much to the disappointment of his father, quit his career in law enforcement and did the back then very terrifying step of starting his own business.

He had the talent to paint pictures with his words, so it was like his customers could see the end result in front of them. 

He loved working with people.

And above all he had a talent to stay clear headed when people threw tantrums. (Surprisingly often it wasn’t the bride but the mother of the groom)

He loved to see something he worked on come together. 

He loved making people happy.

But above all he loved the moment when the groom sees his future wife for the first time as she walks down the aisle. 

Sadly all the romance he was surrounded by, did not help his own love life. 

His wife felt neglected and instead of talking to him about it, searched for comfort in another man’s arms. It had been ugly, their divorce. Not just because of hurt feelings, but because of the fact that at this point Marcus had already been very successful. And with his success came a decent amount of money. 

Three years the divorce had lasted until it was settled and he was not only left heartbroken, but out of a decent amount of his hard earned money. 

Even though it had been years and years ago, there were still some times when he sat alone in his way too big house, that he asked himself what had gone wrong? Marcus had loved his wife. Yes, he had worked much, but he always made sure to put her first. To be home for dinner every day. To show her his love. He did not understand what went wrong along the way.

He had the tendency to be too much for his partners. 

It’s why his relationships seem not to last. At least that is what he told himself. There were a couple flings until he met another woman he had thought could be the one. 

They met in a museum. She was working on a case, he was looking for a wedding venue and taking the excuse to spend the day looking at art. 

His love for art had never changed.

And much to his own surprise he had proposed only months into their relationship, just to get his heart broken again, when she left him only days later for the man she had been working with for many years.

Sighing he stared at the wedding photos of exactly that woman who had married the man only two weeks ago.

He had planned the wedding. 

Why? A question he could not answer. He could have given it to one of his many employees, but maybe he needed to see this through. He needed to see that Theresa and Patrick Jane would get their happily ever after. That Marcus had not been the one for her. 

He smiled a little, seeing them so in love on the pictures he had just forwarded to them. 

Another happy customer. 

Marcus was ready to fall in love again. This time with the right woman. Maybe he had met her already?

Yesterday on his way home he met a woman. 

Well… he had saved her life really. 

He was about to get into his car when he saw her cross the street, wearing a beautiful blue dress as the heel of her high heels got stuck in a manhole cover. 

It was like in a movie as he kept his eyes on her, cars driving around her, while she tried to free her heel. And as if that wasn’t enough a… loose dumpster was rolling down the hill, directly towards her? He saw her getting out of the shoe, running away, before she turned around to rescue her shoe. 

It was a split decision as Marcus ran towards her, his arms catching her and pulling her out of the way before the dumpster would have hit her. His hand was securely covering the back of her head and neck as they both rolled on the street.

“Are you all right?” he asked out of breath, checking her for injuries. And then she opened her eyes and Marcus hadn’t been able to get them or her out of his head ever since. 

“Where’s my shoe?” she had asked, while he was still checking if she was unharmed.

“You have it right here,” he had said softly, his hands now framing her face, keeping her still. 

“Are you hurt? Does your head hurt? Any trouble breathing?”

“No… No I don’t think so.”

“Good. Good,” he had smiled, slowly helping her up. 

Her phone rang and she sighed, as Marcus knelt in front of her, helping her get into her shoe as her hand rested on his shoulder. She had thanked her again and before Marcus could think of asking any more questions (or get her number or even her name) she had to leave, excuses coming from her lips. 

Marcus sighed. Just his luck meeting a woman, he would probably never ever see again. 

There was a knock on the door, his assistant Caroline reminding him that his next couple was there. 

He took a deep breath, his hands soothing over his grey button up as he nodded at her to let them in. 

He got up from his chair to welcome his new clients, his steps confident, only to stop in his tracks when you walked in. 

You were happy. 

You were. 

Weren’t you?

“Honey, are you sure I have to be there?” Colin asked again, his eyes fixed on his phone as he typed furiously. 

“It is our wedding. You should at least try to be involved in the planning,” you sighed, turning your head to watch the street fly by outside the car you were sitting in. 

“You know I don’t care for all of that shit,” he said and you closed your eyes. 

You did know that he did not care. 

If you were honest with yourself, you weren’t even sure if he really loved you. Or if you still loved him. Or if this was just…. How things were meant to process.

Colin and you had been together since college. 

He was the son of the current governor of the state. But this was never important to you. You actually had made him work for your affection, his cocky attitude doing nothing for you. But he had shown you his other side, the side that was corny and funny. The side you fell in love with. The guy who was not only your boyfriend but your best friend.

But as the years went by this side of him slowly disappeared, only coming out very rarely. You missed your best friend.

Yet when he asked you to marry him the yes was out of your mouth, before you could stop yourself or think about it.

It was the right thing to do. 

Was it?

You felt his hand on your knee and you looked at him. He gave you a small smile, his phone nowhere in sight for a change. You looked at him, wondering if he changed his mind. 

“I have a meeting I can’t cancel. I only have fifteen minutes. You can do the rest by yourself, right?” he asked and the hope that maybe the man you fell in love with all these years ago seemed to disappear with every meeting he chose over you. 

But instead of saying these words, you plastered a fake smile on your lips. 

“Of course, honey.”

The smile on your lips seemed wrong. It did not reach your eyes. It was the first thing Marcus thought when he saw you. Apart from thinking faith had a funny way of bringing the woman back into his life, he hadn’t stopped thinking about since the day before to plan her wedding with another man. Again. 

“The Carlson wedding?” Marcus asked and you nodded, a little flustered. 

It was him. 

The man who had saved you the day before. 

You hadn’t told Colin about your near death experience, because you did not want him to ask questions about the man that had saved you. The man that was now… planning your wedding? Those brown eyes you hadn’t stopped thinking about seemed not to leave yours.  

“That’s us. Well I’m the future Carlson,” you reached for Marcus hand, introducing yourself and he smiled, the little wrinkles around his eyes deepening. He seemed like he loved to laugh. 

“Colin Carlson,” the man next to you introduced himself to Marcus and he only now realised that you hadn’t been alone. Of course you weren’t. You were here to plan your wedding. 

Focus, Marcus. 

“Mr. Carlson,” Marcus shook the man’s hand. 

“Please take a seat,” he said as he went back behind his desk to sit down. He folded his hands on the table and looked at the couple in front of him. 

“So, what can I do for you?” he asked. 

Your smile widened for a split second before your fiance spoke.

“Well you are a wedding planner, are you not?” he scoffed and Marcus chuckled while he saw your smile getting smaller. 

“I am. Still most couples have some idea what they want. Let me rephrase, what kind of wedding do you guys want?”

“I… I always dreamed of a winter wedding. Like a winter fairytale with wintery decorations and mulled wine and snow,” you smiled softly and Marcus realised it was the first time you truly looked happy. His eyes found the huge diamond ring on your finger as you reached over to touch your fiancés arm. 

“Winter? I thought spring, honey,” Colin said and you frowned. 

“Everyone wants a spring wedding. I want something different,” you said, looking at him. 

“But spring weddings are better for the press,” he said and you gulped. Marcus could see you swallowing down whatever you wanted to say before your head turned towards him, with that fake smile he already grew to hate. 

“As you can see we need a planner. We can’t even decide on when to have the wedding,” you said.

Marcus was writing down notes as Colin reached for your hand. Marcus watched the two of you out of the corner of his eyes. 

“You can do whatever you want with the wedding, honey. Just please let’s have it in spring. You know my schedule. You know how my parents are.”

He heard you sigh. 

“Then I guess we will have a spring wedding,” you said sadly. Your fiance smiled, seemingly ignoring the sadness in your voice as he got up from his seat. 

“I have another meeting. I’m sure we’re in good hands. Thank you Mr. Pike,” he said, kissing your temple before he walked out of the room. 

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, before you forced the smile back to your face. You were taken aback by the look of the man’s face in front of you. He looked… sad. Maybe he was pitying you. Yet there was something in his eyes that seemed to make breathing feel lighter for you. 

“I’m sorry. He’s…. He’s a busy man,” you said, your voice quiet. 

“That’s… I see that more often than you would think, “ Marcus said warmly. 

“Wedding planning is not something most men look forward to. They often are quite happy to leave the planning in their fiance’s hands. Well and mine,” he winked at you and you huffed a laugh. 

“How many couples do not make it to the wedding?” you asked and he sighed. 

“Some.”

“Do you think we are gonna make it?” you asked hesitantly. He smiled warmly at you. 

“Do you love your fiancé?” he asked.

“Yes,” the practised answer came straight away from your lips, even though you did not know if it was the right one. Yet your smile dropped for a split second as you looked at the man in front of you, trying to remember how long ago it was that Colin gave you his full attention like your wedding planner did just now. 

Marcus' smile did not waver as he nodded at you, even though he could see the uncertainty in your eyes. 

“Then let’s get to planning your wedding,” he said. 

And it was only when you were sitting in the cab after the meeting that you noticed that he hadn’t answered your question. 

Marcus, as he had insisted on calling him, had sent you some ideas for wedding venues. You had tried to talk them through with Colin but you hadn’t even seen him more than a couple of hours in the last three weeks. 

His office was keeping him busy and the only time you really spent together was either sleeping next to each other in bed or at some event for his father where you had to play the perfect wife to be. 

Thankfully you had your job, keeping your head busy. 

And Marcus. 

You were texting with Marcus all day and not just about the wedding. You had insisted on inviting him for dinner to thank him for basically saving your life.

It was the most fun you had in a long time. 

Marcus was… he was smart and funny and actually listened when you were speaking. Your standards apparently were very low. But he? He was…. You genuinely enjoyed spending time with a man that seemed to be interested in you for a change.

You knew you shouldn’t be, you noticed how he was looking at you. It was the same way you caught yourself looking at him. 

You were questioning your relationship with your husband to be. Which was a weird thing to think about while on the way to go and see different wedding venues with your very handsome wedding planner. 

You might have mentioned who was planning your wedding on your last girls night and your friends had cyber stalked him immediately. You knew that he was divorced. You knew that he had several offices of his wedding planning agency all over the country. 

You knew that he had a kind smile and beautiful brown eyes. You knew that he was the first man in a long time who seemed like he was interested in what you had to say. You also knew that you were paying him handsomely to plan a wedding you were not sure you wanted to have. 

A spring wedding. 

You were still mad about it. You never had the big plans of getting married. But in your mind, if you got married you always imagined a small party, close to christmas, somewhere with lots of snow and cosiness. You imagined your husband having only eyes for you as you danced your first dance as husband and wife to “I’ll be home for christmas”.

You just… really really loved winter. 

Sighing, you waited for your driver to open the door, already seeing Marcus waiting for you. 

You could do this. 

You would do this. 

You had to plan a wedding. 

At least until you decided what you really wanted. 

“You hated all of them,” Marcus said and you looked at him apologetic. He had put more effort than usual in his outfit today. He was wearing dark jeans and a crisp white dress shirt, a dark red blazer rounding up his outfit. 

When you had stepped out of the car in a wrap dress in the same colour as his blazer he had almost made a comment, but chose not to. 

You seemed happier today.

Not that he had much of a scale to know if you were but you seemed more relaxed. 

He took you to four different venues today but none of them seemed to be the right one. 

He wondered if it was because deep down you wanted a winter wedding and not a spring wedding. 

“I don’t hate all of them. They are… good venues.”

“You just can’t picture your wedding there,” he said and you sighed. You were walking through a park, Marcus next to you.

“Can I be honest?” you asked. 

“Of course,” Marcus said. You stopped walking and turned towards the setting sun. 

“I never imagined a big wedding. The PA of my fiancé counted around 450 guests. There might be… 10 people from my side. The rest is all his and important people he has to invite because he wants to follow in his fathers footsteps at some point. And it’s… it’s suffocating.”

You took a deep breath. 

“My ex-wife and I had a small wedding in her parents' holiday home. The wedding… It was pretty perfect. We had it outside in the snow and afterwards we all had mulled wine and s'mores.”

“That does sound pretty perfect.”

“Did not end perfectly though,” he shrugged. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. You felt Marcus next to you and you looked up at him. He had a sad smile on his lips. 

“We are going to find a location you will love,” he said, looking down at you. 

You sighed. 

“I don’t think the location is the issue in this,” you mumbled. Marcus turned towards you. 

“Please tell me if I’m overstepping but, are you okay?” he asked. 

You were quiet for a long time, trying to decide if you would tell him another lie, a lie you had been telling yourself for months, or even years. Or if you would be honest to him, this man who was a stranger to you, but that you felt so at ease with, that you found yourself wanting to spend more time with him. 

“No Marcus, I’m not okay.”

You were sitting next to Marcus on a bench in the park. You had gotten something to drink. The sun was slowly setting behind the hill and because you were getting a little cold, Marcus had put his blazer around your shoulders. 

“I just… I am not sure if this is the right thing to do. The wedding I mean.”

“Are you sure it’s not just cold feet?” he asked. 

You shook your head. 

“To be honest with you, I have been feeling like this even before he proposed. But then the yes was out of my mouth before I could really think about it and now I am getting married to a man who is becoming a stranger to me…”

You took a deep breath. 

“Do you love him?” Marcus asked you and you turned your head to look at him. 

“I do love him. I just… don’t know if I’m in love with him,” you whispered after a while. You felt his hand on top of yours as he squeezed it softly. You fought the tears that were building in your eyes. 

“Did you ever talk to Colin about it?” he asked and you shook your head. 

“I can’t even remember when I actually talked to him without anyone else in the room,” you said. 

“I might be overstepping but…. You do not seem happy. I see happy couples, happy people every day. And…”

“And?” you whispered. 

“The only time I saw your real smile, not the one you fake, but the one that reached your eyes was when you talked about everything but the wedding or your fiancé.”

The tears rolled down your cheeks then. The man next to you who you had only met weeks ago could see how unhappy you were, but no one around you did. Or they chose to ignore it.

“People never noticed if I was faking or not.”

“I did,” he whispered and gave you a small smile. You smiled too, before you took a deep breath. 

“I don’t think I had a reason to smile for a long time,” you said. 

“What changed?” Marcus asked. You tilted your head, sniffing your nose a little with a soft smile. 

“I met you.”

You did not want to shop for a wedding dress. 

Your friends had to cancel which would leave you, your future mother in law, your future sister in law and a personal stylist you had never met before to buy a dress you were not sure you were ever going to wear. 

Thankfully Marcus had offered to come too.

You had wanted to cancel the whole thing, but you had already rescheduled three times. 

You were getting dressed for the day, when Colin emerged from the en suite, already fully dressed. 

“Do you… Do you have time to have dinner with me sometime this week?” you asked. 

“I have to check? Anything important?” he did not even look at you. 

“Yeah. It’s… It is important,” you said. He then finally looked at you. 

“Is everything okay?” he walked over to you, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders. 

You sucked your bottom lip in, nervous. 

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. 

“I’ll make sure to clear my afternoon and evening, okay?” he said and you nodded. 

“I have to go. Dress shopping,” you tried to sound excited. 

Colin smiled at you before he kissed you softly. 

“Have fun.”

This was even worse than you had imagined. 

Every dress that you loved was not good enough (or more like expensive enough) for the people judging every inch of you. 

You were tired. 

You had been here for four hours and every dress you had tried on did not feel right. 

Your future mother in law wanted to see you in a ball gown which was so not your thing. You wanted something… something lighter. Something you could move and dance in. 

“It’s a big wedding honey. You have to wear a big dress,” she said, already on her third glass of champagne. 

“You might need to lose some weight too. The pictures will be everywhere and we don’t want you to look fat, don’t we?” your future sister in law smiled, her eyes cold and you gulped. She had hated you from day one.

“I think I’m done for today,” you said and turned around, almost running toward the changing room. 

Someone helped you out of the dress, leaving you alone after and you wrapped the robe they left you around your body when there was a knock on the door. 

“It’s me,” you heard Marcus behind the door. You wiped the tears from your cheeks.

“Come in,” you called out hoarsely. The door opened and Marcus stepped in, closing the door behind him. He only looked at you and you sobbed. His arms were around you in seconds, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, your face buried in his chest as you allowed yourself to cry. 

His hand brushed soothingly over your back, humming softly while you slowly calmed down. 

“They are gone. And you are perfect just the way you are,” he said after a while. 

“She was cruel to tell you something like that. Nobody should ever say something like that.”

“I know. And usually I don’t listen but…”

“She said that before?” he asked. You looked up at him, his eyes concerned. 

“Not just him. They are… It feels like they are preparing me to be the trophy wife.”

Marcus shook his head. 

“You are so much more than a trophy wife. You are….” he was searching for words. 

“You are smarter than anyone I have ever met. You care about all the people around you. You are funny as hell. And so…. So beautiful.”

“Marcus…” you whispered. His face came closer towards yours, his breath brushing over your skin as he leaned his forehead against yours. 

“You deserve so much more. You deserve someone who makes you happy. A family that accepts you as you are. Cause you’re pretty much perfect to me. You deserve to have a wedding that you actually want to have. You deserve… you deserve to have everything you dream of,” he whispered and you gasped softly. 

The thought that you wanted him to kiss you crossed your mind and you closed your eyes, before you took a step back. When you looked up, Marcus was staring at you with a soft smile. 

“I would understand if you want to leave right now but… I have one dress left for you to try on if you want to?” He looked a little shy.

You shrugged. 

“I mean it can’t be worse than what I have already tried on,” you mumbled.

“That’s the spirit. I’ll… I’ll wait for you outside,” he winked and you nodded at him. 

Of course it was perfect. The dress Marcus had picked was all you had ever dreamed of. You were staring at yourself in the mirror in disbelief that you could look like that. 

“Are you ready to show it?” the woman who had helped you get dressed asked.

You were but at the same time you weren’t. Because for some reason you did not want Marcus to see you wearing this dress. This perfect dress that a man picked, you would not even marry. 

“Yeah. Yeah I am ready.”

Marcus was fucked. 

He was so fucked.

He was sitting on one of the couches when he saw you walk out of the dressing room and towards him, the biggest smile on your lips as you wore the dress he had picked for you. 

He felt tears stinging in his eyes immediately, overwhelmed by the vision that you were as you carefully took the step onto the little runway that was in the wedding shop, walking towards the big mirror. 

Any plan of even trying to keep his feelings towards you professional were lost anyway after the moment you had at the dressing room but this? It was like a movie ran in his head. Of the life you and him could have together. He could make you happy. He would make you happy. 

“What do you think?” you asked, looking at him through the mirror and he hastily wiped his tears away. 

“Perfect,” he nodded at you with a big smile.

“Are you… Are you even in love with me?” you were sitting on the couch of your perfect penthouse with Colin sitting on the opposite end after dinner. He had made time for you as he promised. You had dinner and now you were sitting in your living room. 

Talking. 

“Of course I love you,” he frowned and you sighed. 

“I don’t doubt that you love me. But are you in love with me? Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me? Can you even remember the last time we went out together, because we wanted to and not because it was something for work or for your father? Can you remember the last time we had sex? And I don’t mean the rushed ten minutes where you fuck me and I have to get myself off after.”

It was quiet for a long time.

“I… I will always love you,” he said after a while. 

“But you’re not in love with me,” you said with a sad smile. He sighed. 

“No. No I am not.”

“Good,” you said. He looked at you confused.

“Good?”

You nodded. 

“Because I am not in love with you either. I… I think I haven’t been for a long time. And…”

“You’ve been smiling more lately,” Colin said and you nodded. 

“Yeah. Yeah I have. I… Someone showed me what life could be like if you’re truly happy. Not that I wasn’t with you. Just… these last months were…”

“Miserable. They sucked so much. Oh my god,” Colin said and you laughed. 

“Yeah. We should both be happy. Even if it means not being together.”

You both sighed. 

“I did not cheat on you by the way. I just… I met him and….” you mumbled and Colin reached over, taking your hand. 

“I know. And I believe you. I’m just…. I’m happy that there’s someone out there bringing your smile back, when I failed you in so many ways,” he squeezed your hand.

“I am not going to tell your parents,” you said and he sighed even louder. 

“I will. And I am sorry how they treated you. I… I’m sorry I never said anything either.”

“It’s okay. Actually it’s not but… Can’t change the past,” you said, feeling like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You looked at your hand, the big diamond ring sparkling. You pulled it off as you got up from the couch. 

“I am going to move to the guest bedroom,” you said, taking his hand to put the ring into it. 

“Stay as long as you want. This is your home too,” he said. You nodded. 

“Thank you.”

You hadn’t seen Marcus since the wedding dress debacle. Or since you broke up with your fiancé for that matter. 

You did however text or talk to him daily, the exchange between the two of you being the highlight of your day really. You knew you had feelings for him. Probably had for a long time. But now you were actually allowing yourself to feel them and you could only hope that you read the signs right, and Marcus felt something for you too. 

Colin’s parents had not been happy with the cancelled wedding, but frankly you did not care. There hadn’t been invitations sent out yet, so really it would only be a small announcement that you had separated. You had spent the last three weeks packing your stuff and finding a new place in which you would move into in a few days. 

It was funny that now that you and Colin were not a couple anymore, you both found yourself spending more time together than before. He helped you pack, you cooked dinner and watched some real housewives after. 

You may have lost your fiancé but you were on the road to getting your best friend back. 

He had told you that he only worked so much because he did not know how to be alone with you but not with you. 

And a part of you could understand him now, while the other part, the neglected and hurt part still healed. 

Yet while everything changed around you, you had not told Marcus, your wedding planner, that the wedding was off. 

You would do that today at the cake tasting you would meet him at. 

He had found a small bakery, meeting you outside with a bright smile. 

“How are you?” he asked.

“I am great,” you smiled at him as he opened the door to the bakery. 

Marcus hadn’t seen you in weeks. He thought it would help with his crush on you, but talking to you every day did not help with that. 

You even watched movies together, texting with each other throughout. 

Marcus was hopelessly and utterly in love with you. 

And it was absolute hell not being able to be together with you. Just his luck, falling for one of his clients. 

Yet sometimes when you looked at him he found himself thinking that maybe his feelings were not one sided. 

You told him yourself you were unhappy in your relationship. Hell, he was planning a wedding with you that you did not want to have. Or at least, not like that. 

Then again, the only thing that really was planned at this point was the date of the wedding. 

Neither your fiancé nor his family had been a big help, leaving you to make all decisions yourself. And you hadn’t really made any decisions. 

He looked at you over the table, humming at the taste of what looked like a raspberry cake. 

He was at a point where he needed answers so he wouldn’t turn insane. Even if it meant not only losing a client, but getting his heart broken. Again.

“Did you ever like somebody, but the timing was off?” Marcus asked and you sighed. 

“Yeah. Yeah I think I do,” you said and he looked at you with something that felt like hope in his eyes. 

“Yeah?” he asked. You nodded. 

You tried the chocolate cake next, humming at the taste. 

“What if… the timing wasn’t off?” you asked as he tried the lemon cake. His eyes found yours. 

“Honestly?” he checked and you nodded. “I would ask her out on a date and….”

“And?”

His hand came up, his fingers brushing some chocolate on the corner of your lips away with a soft smile before he could stop himself. 

You reached for his other hand, intertwining your fingers and his eyes focused on your hand, or more so on the lack of your big diamond engagement ring on your finger. 

He gulped before he looked up at you. 

“I probably would kiss her right now, because it’s all I’ve been thinking about ever since I saved her from getting rolled over by a dumpster,” he said and you chuckled. 

“I’m afraid I have to tell you, you’re fired Mr. Pike. There’s no wedding left to plan,” you said with a small smile, your other hand finding its way on his cheek. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, releasing a long breath before his eyes opened and he smiled. Wide. 

“Thank god,” he mumbled, wasting no more time and finally kissed you. 

And just a few months later you got your winter wedding, perfectly planned by not only you but the best wedding planner you knew, your fiancé. 

And yeah, you lived happily ever after. 

#my fic #year of creation #year of movie'aus #Marcus pike #Marcus Pike x fem. reader #Pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

[hopeamarsu]

First Kiss

Part of the Year of Themed Creation challenge by @yearofcreation2023

Pero Tovar x gn!reader (no pronouns, one nickname "amor") Word count 1,5k

Warnings None

Summary: Pero Tovar has never been kissed before.

It’s an odd feeling, nothing like Pero has ever experienced before.

Your lips are surprisingly soft.

Warm.

Pillowy.

A little dry, but not chapped or unpleasant in any way. Just unusual. He is still trying to get his bearings when you move again, sending another wave through him. His muscles tighten involuntarily as you push firm against him, your mouth massaging his gently, coaxing his pressed lips open with tiny movements. 

He can taste oranges, something sweet and tangy and his mind tries to chase all the notes to figure them out. Pero feels your body, all its contours and dips, how you fit against him. He can scent pine and field you must’ve been working on earlier. And then he’s back to your taste, this time something tart finding a way to tease his palette. It’s overwhelming, all his nerve endings are on fire. 

In order to try and center himself, he focuses on the feel of your mouth and how it’s pressed to him. It actually feels nice but a little confusing. After the first contact, it feels like your lips have softened further, and come more pliant and sweet. He likes the way your lips fit against him, how you hum softly at the contact. When your tongue peeks out again to lick his lower lip, he presses his lips tighter together, uncertain of the continued wetness of someone else’s tongue right there. It’s peculiar. 

Is he supposed to do something, Pero wonders, trying to keep up with the multitude of emotions crackling like embers inside him. He feels almost lost at sea, unable to move or respond. He’s never felt anything like this before. Should he mimic your movements? But how? He doesn’t know how. He’s never done anything like this before! And even if he did, Pero is frozen all over. You’ve woven a spell over his body and he cannot move. He just stands there, dumbstruck. 

Suddenly you pull away and his eyes finally blink, his brain still working its way through the myriad of things he feels right now. You watch him in silence before speaking, your eyes both unsure and curious. Maybe even a little sad. 

“Pero?” 

Your hesitant whisper is like a lightning bolt to his fried mind and he finally finds himself. Pero wraps a strong arm around your waist, halting your escape as it begins with your muscles twitching. He peers into your eyes, willing you to see that he doesn’t want you to move, doesn’t want you to run. Pero needs you here with him while he comes to terms with what just happened. And to do that, he has to stay connected to you. 

“Si?” His voice is equally quiet, unwilling to break the spell. 

“Was that… was that okay?”

The way you sound, dejected and shy, is far from what he felt from your lips just before. He hates it immediately and tightens his hold on you further. Even if he didn’t understand it, didn’t catch all the nuances, and most likely fucked it all up, Pero never wants you to feel like this around him. As unaware of human interactions as he is, he can’t help but want to be more for you.  

“Si.” He's not lying, per se, it was okay. Even if he didn’t know how to comprehend what transpired between you and why his lips still tingle even when you no longer touch, it was okay. More than okay really. 

“It’s something…” He tries to explain, cursing inwardly at the rapid heat spreading in his neck. Idiota, Pero berates himself and his inability to form words. 

You wait for him patiently, something Pero has never felt he’s worthy of. So he tries again, struggles past his own embarrassment to form the words to soothe you. “It’s just that I’ve never…” he trails off again, uncertain if he should reveal this part of himself to you. Will it make you see him weak if he tells you this? 

He doesn’t have to say it though. Understanding dawns on your face, your features transforming into something even more kind, gentle, and calm. Your hand finds his cheek, warmth spreading through his bones as smooth fingers trail up his temple and brush away an errant strand of hair. A soft smile dances on your lips - their ghost still lingering on him - and your eyes twinkle a little in the corners. 

“It was your first kiss?” 

He lets out a gruff huff and barely hides the sarcastic roll of his eyes at your question. How ever could you tell? Was it the way he resembled a stone statue more than a man confident in his skill with a partner? Or was it how he surely looked like a scared calf lost from its mother when you stepped into his space and pressed those magical lips to his? Or maybe it was the way his whole body sang an unknown song, but only in the wrong language. Surely none of these things clued you in.

He was merely 11 summers old when his family was taken from him and his only way of surviving was to become whatever he needed to be for his next meal, his next sleep, and his next day. Pero had no time for first crushes or stolen kisses in the orchard when he was whisked into the battlefield, one fight after the other. He survived, working his way from the gutter to glory, but it was at the cost of his innocence and his freedom to do as he wished deep inside.  

And it wasn’t like the brothels he found himself in were keen on the art of romancing someone. Sure, he got his cock wet and his needs met, but rarely he even spoke to the people he encountered. Transactions, where money and bodily fluids swapped places, were no time for delays. He was good with the lower half of his body and he didn’t leave unsatisfied lovers in his wake. That was enough.

But now, now when there is the incessant need inside him, a monster roaring at him to claim your lips on him, now Pero knows it wasn’t enough. This, this is what he has been missing, this is something he has been waiting for, even if he didn’t know it at the time. 

This feels like his entire world has shifted on its axis and he’s finally able to see clearly. He feels somehow … bigger. More full. It hits him like a surprise attack on the head.

This feels like something that could blossom into love. 

It should scare him, but that’s the last thing Pero feels. He feels the same high he felt when William suggested they join the group in search of black powder. He feels full of energy, full of hope and excitement. He feels the same greed as he did them. He’s had his first taste, he will never rest until he’s had that taste again and again and again. Until his dying breath, he will want your kiss. 

He is also a possessive bastard, Pero has no qualms over admitting that. Now that you’ve gifted this miracle to him, he shall not allow anyone to touch your lips and sample that sweet tangy taste ever again. Pero’s eyes turn darker over the idea and he splays his hand wide, capturing as much of your back as he can, allowing his carnal side to peek through. Your answering gasp pleases him greatly and he finds his composure and cockiness again. 

“Si, amor. It was my first. But it won’t be my last, not when I’ve gotten this from you. If I can, will you teach me more?” He murmurs, inching closer so your noses touch and you can share the same air. 

He waits for your answer with bated breath, equal parts nervous and excited. He still has no clue what to do, but if you allow him this, he will not remain frozen this time. He will learn how to please you, how to possess you, and how to kiss you in a way that leaves you just as breathless as he feels. 

Your eyes track his tiniest movements and just when Pero feels like he can’t take it any longer, you close the final distance and he’s back in your embrace, in your kiss.

And it’s true what they say, he muses as he fumbles to find the right rhythm. Practice does make everything perfect and Pero is nothing if not persistent in this quest. 

divider by @firefly-graphics

Year of Firsts masterlist

#pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #year of creation #year of firsts #year of themed creation #hopeamarsu

[deadhumourist]

YSC: Euphoria

Pairing: Pero X GN! Reader. No pronouns used for reader, some physical description of reader that is non-indicative of race. Vague but you'll see what I mean with that. POC friendly.

Summary: Something is afoot in Pero's village, and he has no interest in it...but it starts taking an interest in him.

Warnings: Fantasy and science fiction themes, mentions of medical procedures, gambling, unfaithfulness and religion. Please DM me if you have any questions before reading.

Words: 2700ish

Rating: 18+

A/N: It's been an extended break, but I'm determined to make up the months I missed in @oonajaeadira and @writeforfandoms' fabulous Year Of Creation Challenge. So here we go - Year of Science Fiction! Special shout-out to @beskarberry whose fantastic sci-fi stories warped my brain in the best way possible and @just-here-for-the-moment for generally being an angel and putting up with me and my writing.

_______

PART 1 (Part 2 to follow)

_______

It started in the dead of night in a small village in Seville, Spain.

A woman came running out of her cottage, hysterically screaming that her marido was gone. In the cold moonlight, her anguished sobs echoed against the worn brick-and-stone houses, with the wind carrying it further down the cobbled streets to be swept away into the night.

Slowly, doors on the street creaked open, the neighbours’ curiosity too much to contain behind windows and curtains. One or two of her acquaintances helped her up from where the grit between the cobbles was digging into her knees, and took her back inside, shushing and talking softly to her in scant comfort. A few men resolved to find him, as he could not go far in the small village surrounded by fragrant orange orchards.

They pulled on their jackets and work trousers, setting off with firelight to bring the wayward man home.

When the first rays of daylight painted the sky in light blue and gold, the intrepid men had not found a single trace, not one tell-tale sign that the man might have made his way over the hills.

That week, the strange occurrence was spun through the town gossip like twine. The fact that it was inexplicable didn’t stop the villagers from making it decidedly human.

“He always did have an eye for beautiful women, it looks like he has run off with one of them. Poor Lucía.”

“Gambling debts will be your downfall. I heard that he had unlucky fingers if you know what I mean.”

The woman bore the heavy brunt of judgemental pity. She could feel eyes following her, conversations suddenly hushed when she came closer. The scandalised widow, or divorcee, depending on which branch of gossip you were following.

Until another disappeared.

One by one, villagers seemed to be snatched from where they slept.

Men and women of working age.

Never children.

Never elders.

For weeks, in the darkest hours of night, the people of Seville would disappear without a trace, never to be seen or heard from again.

The town got scared.

—---

Pero Tovar picks up a lemon from the crate of fresh produce in the market, holding it to his nose - the fresh, invigorating smell was something he would never tire of. After his ordeal in the East all he wanted was to settle down in a small village and lead a simple life. The bag of gold that he was sent back with had allowed him to make a home here as the resident cooper - his casks, barrels and vats were known to be of excellent quality.

If Pero was completely honest with himself about his chosen profession, he enjoyed the repetitive, rote nature of the task. Taking something forged in fire and forged from nature and making it one, over and over.

For the last two years, Pero had delighted in enjoying the simple pleasures that life as a mercenary did not allow. Sleeping in the same bed, a relatively soft one. Going to the market to buy food for the week. Seeing the same faces in the predictable rhythm of a small town.

A rickety wagon barrelling down the street interrupts his reverie, and he turns in his stead to watch it.

The greengrocer leans over conspiratorially, answering a question that Pero didn’t ask.

“He’s arrived. The town elders have sent for a priest from two villages over to bless this place. Dark spirits are behind this, you know.”

The grocer smirks by himself like he is sharing the most delicious gossip.

“It is a pile of shit.” Pero replies in his usual blunt manner. But his eyes track the cart until it disappears around the corner of the street on its way to the church.

Huffing, he tosses the lemon back into the pile and picks up his purchases to walk away. He takes little notice of the people milling around him as he stalks home. He is no stranger to the supernatural, but he refuses to believe that there is something as simple, as banal, as evil at work here.

At home, he starts a pot of stew for supper and sits down at his rough-hewn table to sharpen his knives. Chants from the church are carried on the wind late at night - a haunting imploration for the spirits that have brought misfortune on the village to cease their machinations.

The sound grates Pero’s nerves and he tries to refocus on cleaning his hunting knives, gritting his teeth as he finds a tiny scuffmark on one of the blades. His sword lays to the side on a soft leather cloth, already polished to a glimmer even though it has not seen a battle for many years.

The chants die down eventually and Pero methodically sheathes every blade, carefully wrapping them up in the cloth and putting them away. Only his dagger remains, which he keeps under his bed, because he is retired but not naive.

After having a solitary meal of bread and game stew, Pero gets into bed and expects to drift into the dreamless sleep of a man that does physical labour all day and is at peace with his life.

But tonight Pero dreams.

In his dream, he drifts, feeling cold air rush past his limbs and through his hair. The warm light around him feels thick, tangible, and he tries to curl his fingers around wisps of it that shimmer around him. He can’t see much but the sensation of falling forward into warmth is comforting, enjoyable even. A smile curls around his sleep plush lips as he feels his body become heavy again.

When the cold air rush stops, his eyes flicker open and for a moment Pero tries to focus. When he does, he scrambles out of bed like lightning.

This is not his cottage.

He crouches by the side of the cot, looking around wildly. Bright blue lights bleed through a thick white smoke that surrounds him. A soft whirring sound, with an occasional crackle and snap, which sounds strange to Pero’s ears, are the only sounds in the space. Until you cough.

“Be greeted.”

A long beat follows.

You tap the translator arc lodged in your ear, turning to your colleague.

“Is this thing set to the correct dialect? He looks confused.”

Friiptrin crosses his arms and sighs. “He looks confused because he just woke up from their daily dormancy. At least this one is not screaming.”

You are thankful for that too. The screaming always rattles you, no matter how many times you hear it.

The man in front of you hesitantly waves in front of him, seemingly trying to clear the air.

"What is this smoke? Where am I?" he roars.

You chew your lip, trying to think of a way to explain what he calls smoke.

"It's an incorporeal containment field. It's just to keep you in one spot until you adjust to the new environment. We previously had physical restraints but they hurt themselves and…well that's just no good. Injury releases prostaglandins which muddy the har…"

Friiptrin gestures for you to cut it off, scowling. Your voice dies away as you realise you're rambling about something he won't understand.

Another long beat passes and you attempt to answer his second question.

"And you're aboard the Atriscemy, mark four." You finish lamely, half-sure he won't know what that means either.

Pero is no wiser and the words you’re using go over his head.

"What do you want? Are you going to kill me?" He hastily crosses himself, an old habit and source of comfort that started with his abuela.

You sigh, feeling a twinge of pity.

"No, no we aren't. Look, I'll even come say hello. But please promise not to hurt me, I don't have weapons."

Your colleague's face says that this is at least the third bad idea you've had since the human dropped into your ship.

Stepping out from behind the console, you slowly approach the centre of the room, the octagonal floor tiles softly illuminating as you step forward.

"I'm coming towards you, and I'm going to clear the containment field so you can see, okay?"

Pero huddles in tighter, anxious of what will appear in front of him when the thick smoke clears.

When it starts moving and swirling away from him, his jaw drops.

A human but very much not human.

He looks you up and down like he had never seen anything like you. You're humanoid alright, but your eyes are a warm purple colour with an overly large pupil, edged by a half-moon silver arch that almost glitters when you turn. On the outer edge of your hands, light, feathering scales run up to the edge of the pinky on your six-fingered hand. The fine gradient that fades from dark purple to light teal shimmers as it catches the light in the teleport bay.

"Heh, no one's looked at me like that since I showed them my glorbs at the triangular solstice party" you attempt a joke, laughing feebly. If it is meant to break the tension, it does nothing and you can feel the air change around you. Time to change tack.

"Okay, I know you have questions, but I think we need to get you into the lab first. There we can look you over and make sure you're fed and watered and free of any ailments and diseases. Sometimes the displacement field disrupts their gastrointestinal tract and.."

Pero doesn't like the sound of any of those words except for fed, but as soon as he moves to stand up, his body bends in half of its own volition and he vomits on the floor.

“...they forcefully empty their food organ. Great.” You finish your sentence flatly.

Pero wipes the last traces from his mouth with his sleeve and looks at you accusingly.

"Send me home, what do you want with me anyway? I am a simple cooper."

You slowly sink down onto your haunches, taking a risk because the human still looks like he wants to throw something at you.

You hold out a hand to him. "Come on, let me show you. You have so many questions and I can't fully answer all of them yet."

You beckon to him.

"Well do you wanna know or not?" you huff impatiently.

Pero scuffles closer like a feral cat reluctantly coming closer to a bowl of food.

You look him over for any obvious injuries and spot one.

"Okay, you have a near-ocular bisection. Now we just need to…"

The moment you raise your hand to touch it, he flinches away, hands raised in defence.

"I'm just going to touch it, okay?" you lie.

He brings his hands down but watches you from under a furrowed brow.

The moment your finger smoothes over his brow, a sharp pain shoots through it and Pero feels like he's reliving the blade slicing through his skin again.

He growls at you, pulling away but you grip his bicep and keep him steady.

"Hold on, it's almost over."

When you remove your finger Pero reaches up to feel the scar and…there's nothing. Disbelievingly, he pats his eyebrow in different spots, trying to find the puckered scar that had been there for years.

"Neat, huh?"

"How did you do that, witchcraft?" He scowls.

"I don't know what that is, but this? Localised temporal absolution, something we learn from a young age. It's really simple, all you do…"

"Stop talking, por favor" He growls at you.

You straighten up again, his bluntness reminding you that there's protocol to follow. This human doesn't seem to have any items on him and healing his scar seemed to have mollified him enough to reduce him to a simmering grumpiness instead of fury and fear. You could work with that.

Holding out a hand to him, you deactivate the containment field completely and pull him upright. Pointing to a sloped corridor behind him, you jut your chin out. "Lab's that way. I'll be accompanying you to your quarters once they've looked you over."

Walking by his side, you pass several pods on the way to the lab. The man seems to be cocking his head every now and then like he is trying to hear something. Occasionally as you pass a pod you can hear a low moan, sometimes a released sigh of breath. Nothing you haven't heard before passing these pods.

He decides not to ask yet, and you're grateful.

Entering the lab, you motion for him to stand under a moulded rubber frame. He opens his mouth to ask something but never gets to because the next moment his clothes disintegrate from his body and a fine mist bursts out of sprayers overhead.

When the spray dies down, his mouth opens in big sucking gasps, filling his lungs and he glowers at you.

You hold up your hands. "Earth is dirty, don't look at me like that. We washed a seriously contagious strain off someone just last week. It made humans break out in small red dots and some even perished from a high internal temperature. We lost three pods just from that."

Pero's brow furrows.

You motion for him to stand under the second frame, and a warm current of air slips over his naked body, drying him completely in the space of a few minutes.

While he stands there you forget all professionalism and allow yourself to take in the details of the human's body. Broad shoulders taper into a narrow waist, the lean but strong cords of muscle moving in the bright lab lights as he lightly shakes his arms to remove some of the wet residue from the impromptu shower.

A tuft of dark hair dusts his chest and when your eyes drift further down, you see strong legs move impatiently as the dryer whirrs back down and eventually stops.

This human is clearly not uncomfortable being in its natural state, and you find no reason to apologise as he meets your eyes.

"Seen enough?" he grumps at you.

"Your biology is not compatible with mine, so this is quite literally, for science." You quip.

A physician bobs into the lab, two of the lab technicians on his heels. He seems in a great mood and smiles at you both. "Well, well, a new incumbent. A male this time, fantastic." He sits down on a flat-seated chair and motions for the man to move closer to him for inspection.

Pero reluctantly steps closer. The darker, green colouring of the doctor is slightly different from yours, and he marvels and the brilliant colouring. The last time he saw anything like it was when a Taotie was barrelling towards him.

Even though you are clearly not from earth, no one here seems dangerous. And there was a promise of food. Even though his starving mercenary days are behind him, he never can resist a meal.

After some prodding at Pero and tapping on a small screen in his hand a few times, the doctor smiles up at the man, then turns to you.

"Excellent specimen. Highest levels of testosterone I've seen in a while, actually. Ensure he is comfortable, and you'll likely have a record harvest. His endocrine system is healthy, as are his extremities."

You nod knowingly. "So his shlip is in good condition."

The doctor looks baffled.

"His what?"

"His schlip" you repeat, pointing at Pero’s lower half.

The doctor flatly responds "You mean his penis?"

"His what now?"

Pero, alarmed at the turn of the conversation, anxiously pipes up with "What about my penis?"

"Wait, that thing is called a penis?" You ask.

"Yes" the doctor looks at you flatly.

"So I've been calling it the wrong name this whole time?"

The doctor just stares at you.

One of the lab techs unsuccessfully suppresses a giggle and disappears around a corner.

Embarrassed, you bring your palm to your face and motion to Pero with your other hand.

"Just…let's get you to your quarters."

------

Comments and reblogs appreciated, thanks for reading!

#pero tovar x you #pero tovar x gn!reader #pero tovar fanfiction #the great wall fanficfion #pedro pascal fan fiction #pedro pascal character fic #pedro pascal character x you #year of creation #year of science fiction

[simpingcowboy]

Lovelight

Pairing: Marcus Pike x GN!Reader, established relationship

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: Being aggressively in love with Marcus Pike, light use of pet names, getting almost stood up, feeling of romantic inadequacy, just a teensy bit meta, The Wizard of Oz spoilers?

Summary: Even the worst of days are made better with your boyfriend Marcus Pike around

A/N: Another one down for my Year of ABBA as part of the "Year Of" Creations @yearofcreation2023 February edition!!! I've been on a Marcus kick so here we are!

It was a miserable day. A long, terrible, tiresome day. Even your room, your personal sanctuary, felt dreary and gloomy. The wide window offered no comfort either. The rain falling over D.C. clouded the skies. The whole world looked dark from inside your apartment. You let out a sigh of exhaustion; surrendering to the comfort of your bed. As you stare up at the blank old dirty ceiling, a soft knock is heard from the door.

"Babe?" The voice calls, slowly unlocking the door.

You perk up at that voice. Marcus…you smile to yourself, realizing your partner is at the door. Finally, using the spare key you'd given him ages ago.

"I'm here! Come on in." You call back to him.

You sit up on the bed, and make your way over to the door. The two of you practically bump into each other as you meet in the narrow doorway. Marcus looks as perfect as ever. Nicely clean shaven, hair just a bit tussled from the day, in his usual black suit and blue button up combo, a beautiful bundle of flowers in his hands.

"Woah!" Marcus says, trying not to knock you over. "Hi Baby," he says cheerfully, "I heard you had a bit of a day so I uhh thought I'd surprise you." A big smile overcomes his face as he tilts the flowers towards you. "Tada!"

Your eyes shift down to the bouquet. You find yourself giggling at the barcode still peeking out from the top. Imagining Marcus running out from the office to the corner store to grab these. Still, the colors are vibrant. Your favorite. The smell is bright. As you gaze back up at Marcus, the whole world feels brighter too.

"Do you like them? Sorry I couldn't go to the usual florist but I-" Marcus rambles on.

"No." You answer with a smile, taking the flowers in your arms. "They're perfect. You're perfect."

A tinge of red flushes his cheeks at your statement. "Far from it but I'm glad you like them. I also-" he reaches around the still open door to grab a bag from the hallway, "got take out! It's your favorite." He smiles bashfully. Suddenly concerned he'd gone a bit overboard. "I hope it's okay."

"You really are perfect, huh?" You tease, pulling him in and shutting the door behind him.

"I try." He concedes with a shrug. Moving the take out over to your table. Carefully pulling the food out of the bag.

You go to the kitchen, grabbing a vase and filling it with water. Dropping the bouquet in and rushing it over to show Marcus. "Look how pretty they are!" You can't help but smile at them. They fit perfectly. Suddenly, you could ignore all the old stains on the table top.

He chuckles at you, "They look good in here." He agrees.

You inhale, getting a sniff of the food. "That smells so good!" You exclaim, taking your seat across from Marcus.

"Ugh you're telling me! I had to stop myself from just eating it all in the car." He laughs, taking the plastic utensils in his hands.

You eagerly dig in. The flavors hitting your tongue like a firework. It was so rich. Cooked to absolute perfection. Though you know it had likely been some fifteen minutes of waiting in Marcus's car, it was somehow the perfect temperature. "Oh Marcus…I swear the food is never this good when you're not there! Are you sure you're not tipping off the chef or something?"

He scoffs, smiling at the absurdity. "Babe, the first time I went there was with you. There's no way I would have been able to do that."

You squint your eyes at him, a look of fake suspicion on your face. "I'm onto you Agent Pike."

"Yeah yeah," he rolls his eyes, taking another bite of his dinner, "eat your food!"

You continue chatting through dinner, airing out all of the day's frustrations. To which Marcus dutifully listens. He then goes on to talk a bit about his day. Nothing exciting, just writing up reports on his latest sting. Though he just so fails to mention how he left most of them piled on his desk when he heard of your bad day. Still- you cling to every word. At times it felt like Marcus could be talking about nothing at all, and you'd still be totally fascinated about it. Eventually you both finish. Marcus is quick to insist on cleaning up. Claiming as he always did that he had "brought the mess over" and therefore was responsible to clean it. Knowing that fight was yours to lose, you allow it. Watching from the table as he neatly stacks the takeout boxes before throwing them in the trash.

"All done!" Marcus claps his hands together celebratory. "Any ideas for how you'd like to spend the rest of the night?"

You pause to think, "Maybe a movie?"

He smiles with a nod. "Sounds good." He pulls on his tie, loosening it from around his neck. "Do you mind if I change first?"

"Be my guest. Your clothes are in the second drawer where they always are."

Marcus rounds the corner to your bedroom to change. You take the opportunity to get comfortable on the couch. Your body sinks into the soft cushions. A relaxed sigh leaving your body as your hands trace over the smooth material. Everything felt so cozy.

"This look alright?" Marcus steps out into the room giving you a spin. A white V-neck t-shirt on, paired with his comfy grey sweatpants.

You smile up at him, he just looks so snuggleable! "You look great. Now, come here!" You reach for him with outstretched arms.

Marcus, never one to keep you waiting, is quick to join you on the couch. Sitting besides you, pulling you into his chest in a tight embrace. "Alright, what are we watching?"

"No clue." You shrug.

"Channel flipping it is!" Taking the remote in his hand, he begins scouring for something to watch. "Ohh here's something, The Wizard of Oz?"

You watch him with wide eyes. A sense of sentimentality taking over you. "That's the first movie we saw together."

Marcus pauses for a moment, remembering. "Yeah…it is, isn't it? Though, I think we missed the opening of it."

"Which was your fault by the way!"

"Traffic was bad!" He defends.

You can't help but tease. "Excuses, excuses!" You huff as the memory of that date.

You stood impatiently on a corner downtown, across from the movie theatre. Tapping your foot and struggling to stop yourself from sending another text asking if Marcus was standing you up. It'd been about ten minutes since the movie started, and another twenty minutes since Marcus was supposed to have been there. Suppressing the tear in your eye, you bite the bullet and turn to head home. A hand grabbing your waist from behind to stop you.

"Wait-" the man pleads with a voice you recognize, Marcus. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. The traffic was so bad and I- I got here as fast as I could. I didn't see your texts until I was here. And I-" he pauses.

You turned slowly, with half a mind to tell him off for almost making you cry. But you can't. As soon as Marcus was in view, all your frustrations disappeared. It didn't matter that he was late. Only that he was here. And that those big brown puppy dog eyes were all yours again.

"Fuck-" he cuts himself off, leaning in to kiss you unable to resist the urge.

You relax even further into his touch. His hands still on your waist pulling you closer. Your hands wrapping around his neck, holding him to you. "Marcus…" you murmur softly, pulling away briefly.

"I'm sorry." He repeats against your lips. "I should have been here." He kisses you once more, pulling you tight against him.

Suddenly, the traffic seemed to get a little lighter.

"Marcus?" You grab his attention, your mind focusing back on the present. "What happens in the beginning anyways?"

"Of The Wizard of Oz?"

You answer with a nod.

"Well. We start out in Kansas with Dorthy who just got out of school. She's just kind of going about her day. Running into a whole little cast of characters that make up the main cast. A mean neighbor who's the witch. Lion, scarecrow, and the tinman are this group of guys who work on the farm. So on and so on. Same as the end of the film. She sings a little song and then a tornado happens. And we're in Oz!"

"There's a transition, right? When the movie switches into color?"

"Ah yes! That's the really cool part! After the tornado, she opens the door and the world outside is in color. I looked up how they did it but…it kind of ruins the magic." He says with a guilty smile.

"I know the feeling. Of Dorthy I mean. That feeling of the world suddenly being in color.'

"Yeah?" Marcus prompts you, asking for more.

You lean into his ear, with a low whisper, "The same feelings I get being around you."

He playfully pushes you off, "Okay now you're just teasing." His cheeks red with embarrassment.

"I'm serious, Marcus." You wrangle your way back into his arms. "I felt horrible earlier, but there's just something…when you're around…I don't know. My days are just so much better. It's like this aura? Or vibe?"

"A lovelight?" Marcus offers.

"Love-light?" You repeat.

"Yeah, you know…like the ABBA song?" He sighs and begins to half heartedly sing, "You must have a lovelight, everything around you is lovelight."

You chuckle, Marcus's affinity for old media never failing to entertain you.

"You've gotta know that one!"

"I do, I was just hoping you'd sing it for me." You smirk, knowing your plan worked.

He laughs, hiding his face behind his hands. "You got me."

You smile at him, moving his hands to plant a soft kiss on his lips. A smile tucked into each of your faces. "I like it." You quietly say into the kiss.

"Like what?"

"Lovelight…it fits." You nuzzle against his cheek. "You light up my whole world, Marcus. All the things you do. The things you say. Just the way you are. Everything around you is…lovelight."

His face goes red at your turn of affection. "You like it? It's not too much?" Insecurity creeps up his neck. He knows previous partners had felt suffocated by his attentiveness. But if you really liked it maybe…

"Yes. I love it. It makes me feel good. Being with you feels right. Everything about you is right." You lean, gently pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Don't let anyone dim your lovelight, Marcus."

Under you, Marcus anxiously bites his cheeks. His sweet dimples popping in and out as he tries to hide a smile. His eyes, dancing around to avoid catching yours. Though he has lots to say, "I love you…" is all he manages to vocalize.

You smile into his jaw, "I love you too Marcus. Now, I believe we have a movie to watch!" You relax back down at his side.

Marcus flashes you a quick grin. "To Oz we go." He says as he turns on the film.

The rest of the night is peaceful. Full of behind the scene facts from Marcus, and snacks you'd been saving for moments like this. After the film ends, you're both quick to agree to turn in early. Both you and Marcus are tired from your day, and know the next will be equally as tiring as well. Marcus takes his place in bed beside you, turning off the bedside lamp.

"Goodnight Baby." He gives you a soft kiss before tucking himself under the comforter.

"Goodnight Marcus." You return his notion.

As you get comfortable under the covers, you notice something. With Marcus around, even that old dirty ceiling seems a little whiter.

#Am writes #Year of ABBA #year of creation #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x GN!Reader #soft marcus pike

[dawn-petrichor-world]

Birthday party

A/N: Belated me. I worked yesterday and today, so I shared lately this drabble and first fic for the challenge "Year of..." organised by @oonajaeadira and @writeforfandoms .

I haven't really planned to write that but doesn't matter, things happen.

Summary: You share with your best friend the night with your fav Heroe.

Warning: none, just 513 words not proofread.

Midnight will strike in a few minutes while you’re laying your back on the bed, legs dangling out, looking at the ceiling completely lost in your dreams although, seconds ago you were and still on the phone with your best friend because you have a report to do to her about this special day.

- « Hello! Earth calls Moon. Are you still with me? »

- « What!? Oh! Hi! Sorry, I zone out, » you apologize.

- « I bet it was an amazing night, » she says with a grin in her voice you swear you could hear. « Say it if I forgot something. After the party your scholar kids and I prepared, he drove you to watch the stars on a hill and you talked just the two of you for hours about random things, » she starts to resume.

- « Well, not random chit-chat. We talked about the kids and their responsibilities as heroes because I don’t want their training schedule to overlap with my teaching schedule, » I correct.

- « Boring! » she abruptly interrupts me. « I love you, nuggets but I just want to know what happened next, between the father of your best schoolgirl and Miss 'I will never date anyone related to my students' and nothing else than that. »

So, you tell her, he put a fake rose in his mouth and with a hand held in your direction asked you to join him to dance to his favourite romantic song. Then he offered you a gift he tied around your neck before his lips lightly met your cheeks giving you shivers all along your spine.

You hear now your friend giggling on the other side of the phone which turned into a happy scream when you add, you are currently in his bed, him sleeping on the couch in the living room and you have to swear nothing happened even if Missy had planned to sleep at her Abuela.

Once you finally hang out, tiptoe out of the bedroom to visit and appreciate the house, but when you realize that Marcus is sleeping, you step on the couch and over him, lay on a little spoon before him, and decide to finish the night. You feel him snuggling you.

(I didn’t want to delete the part below)

- “Okay Facemaker, Tuesday, you have to pretend to be the teacher and say to the headmaster she won’t be there because...she caught the flu,” said Missy.

- “Last time I had her face, she didn’t ground me, she said if I take someone's identity without their consent, I have to take their responsibility too. The next hour wasn’t fun at all.”

- “What happened?” asked Fast Forward.

- “She forced me to join a welcome party for the new teachers and I had to listen to The Founding Fathers' history.” He said three times in a row.

- “It’d be so funny to be there and watch him struggle but I have to satisfy myself with that, for now,” said Rewind.

This is my second Pedro Pascal's characters fic. Here's the first one and here my Masterlist. Thanks for reading me.

#Year of creation #Year of me #We can be Heroes #Marcus Moreno #Marcus Moreno x reader #Pedro Pascal

[chaoticgeminate]

Black Vultures (iv)

Summary: When your plane to a beach resort vacation crashes, nowhere near your destination, you have to depend on a stranger to protect you from horrors you never could have imagined.

Pairing: Pero Tovar x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit** (Thar be some smut ahead)

Notes/Warnings: Series involves general survival, cannibals, violence, and gore with body horror elements. This is based loosely off 'The Forest' and while I may have used a picture of Pero in armor we are working with a modernized Pero here.

**ILLNESS AND FAIRLY GRAPHIC VIOLENCE WARNING AS WELL AS A BIT OF SMUT**

Written for @yearofcreation2023

Series Masterlist | Year of Video Game AUs Masterlist

and you haven't seen the last of me just yet (4.6k)

Your condition wasn’t improving, even with the heavy dose of antibiotics you were taking daily, and after day two the team had lost contact with William and the others. Each day you waited there were more and more gunshots by the security forces, taking down cannibals -it had finally been confirmed after a team had scouted out one of the villages that these people were actually killing and eating other humans- and in the worst case it was one of those monsters. Even now your eyelids felt heavy and your limbs felt sore, like you were trying to move with weights holding you down, and the medics were perplexed by the sudden turn your health had taken.

Crying was pretty normal for you now, between your worry for Pero and the fear that you weren’t going to make it through this, and thankfully nobody seemed to think less of you for the depression you’d fallen into over the last week. It felt weird, you’d been… fine with the thought of dying before this when it was just you and Pero; that had been the most likely outcome, especially when you first got sick. But now? Now you were scared of going to sleep and just not waking up, it made you jolt awake nearly every hour after trying to sleep with a scream dying in your throat before you could even make a sound.

Gunshots ripped you out of your half-dazed state this time, louder and closer than they’d ever been, and the tent flap opened as a cannibal covered in blood walked through with a jagged knife in his hand that had to have come from one of the soldiers. His eyes landed on you and there wasn’t even a chance in hell at your defending yourself, your arm felt like lead and even rolling your head to look at him made you hurt. The chilling smile on his face had tears forming in your eyes, blurring your vision and making your lashes stick together, the gunfire was still going but you couldn’t even work up the power to make a sound for help.

Pain flooded every synapse in your body when that blade was stabbed down, right through the joint of your elbow, and that was when you screamed. Especially when, upon wrenching the blade free, the jagged edge of the back ripped through worse due to its serration. You flailed, the pain and adrenaline strengthening you enough to roll away from this and stumble off the bed, your feet barely supporting you as you tried to find a weapon or something. The IV lines were ripped out of your skin, the drip lines starting to spill fluid in your frantic need to escape, and you barely managed to stay upright when your vision blurred.

The cannibal laughed, a chilling sound with all the screaming and gunfire going on around you, and you hurled an instrument tray at him as a distraction before running out of the tent on stumbling feet. Bodies blocked your path as you searched for a place to hide, to find safety and shelter, and you nearly shrieked when your foot gave out and you began to tumble down a low incline. The pain of landing on river stones almost made you scream, instead you dragged yourself under the dirt overhang and laid there as all the fight escaped you at the touch of the freezing liquid, and you tried to keep quiet when you heard the footsteps above you.

For whatever reason they didn’t look for you, didn’t look under the edge of the dirt, and eventually the gunfire died down leaving nothing but silence from where you’d found yourself. Cold and shivering, pain in your arm and body, and unable to even work up the strength to move; left there in the few millimeters of water and on that cold stone waiting for death.

Maybe it was a day, maybe it wasn’t even half that, but eventually someone screaming your name broke through the dark that had lured you in like a siren song; you couldn’t move at all, couldn’t talk past the shivering, and you blinked away the blurriness as William’s face filled your vision. He picked you up, and this time you did wail as the pain in your arm turned fire hot, but he didn’t stop moving at all. William was moving fast and running hard, each step jostling you painfully and making you whimper, but you couldn’t even find the strength to fight against the discomfort.

Large, hot, hands cupped your face and Pero looked terrified; you couldn’t hear what he was saying and when you blinked again you were sure some stretch of time had passed because you were held down with something and definitely not in the woods. You didn’t realize it was inside a helicopter -and you wouldn’t know that until much later- but hours of time were lost to falling unconscious, up until you were finally admitted to the nearest hospital.

Keegan’s recovery was going smoothly, the haunted look in his eyes was still there and likely would be for a long time, but Pero had been relieved to find the other man alive. Your best friend was marked with scars from his own ordeal, meeting another survivor Eric who had been looking for his son, and Eric had been transferred to a local prison as his son was being turned over for observation by William and Lin’s unit after what he’d confessed to have done to the first rescue plane. Pero sat beside Keegan, both men silent as they waited, and after a long moment Keegan finally broke that tense emptiness.

“Have they told you anything yet?”

“No, not yet, I’ve only just agreed to go back. Haven’t been able to find out how she’s been.” He had wanted to get out, to run from this world of things that shouldn’t be real, but that forest proved there was more in the world that he didn’t know existed and that running from it once had cursed him forever.

“Doctors said she’s been woken up from her medical coma, now that they’ve finally gotten all traces of the infection out, she’s been asking about you.” Pero had been inconsolable for the past week, torn between angry pacing outside your hospital room and crying in his own, terrified that he’d failed you and that you weren’t going to make it through. Keegan had been forced to make a choice for you, as the military had not wanted to bring your family into what happened until they had a proper cover story and knew if you were going to comply to a request of discretion or not, but that choice had saved your life.

A nurse stepped out of the room and looked at both men, the look on her face was tense, but she did nod and gesture to the door; Keegan looked surprised when Pero stayed seated but then grateful before he walked into the room. Even through the closed door Pero heard your shriek of surprise and joy, heard the soft sobs as you no doubt cried that your friend had survived, and he was truly glad to have that peace of mind for you. It was less than an hour before Keegan came out, looking just as red-eyed and exhausted as Pero felt, but the cathartic crying from knowing you’d both survived had clearly helped lighten the man’s emotional load.

Pero clapped him on the shoulder, pulling him into a tight hug, and Keegan’s returning hug was just as tight as the other man broke down into soft tears again.

“Thank you, Pero, for keeping her safe. Thank you for protecting my best friend.”

“I would do it all over again, every time.”

Pero faced the door, chest tight, before walking in after Keegan departed; you were sitting up in bed, looking significantly better than when you’d first been brought here, and he watched the way your eyes widened before you were reaching for him. He ignored the guilt that slammed through him at the sight of the bandages on your left elbow covering the healing injury, the limb nearly unable to be saved if not for Keegan, and he captured your face in his hands to press his forehead to yours while you gripped the loose fabric of his henley and sobbed at the sight of him.

“You’re okay, I thought- I thought you and William and the others didn’t make it when they lost contact-“

“No, bonita, no. We found an underground lab, where they were studying those things and our radio was destroyed. I am glad that you held on long enough for us to get you here, to get you help.” He felt his own eyes water with relief, he was not proud of how he’d reacted when he returned to the camp to find it in shambles and only William managing to track you down and find you had been enough to quell his howling rage and desire to kill every single cannibal left in those woods.

“They- there’s nerve damage. Permanent nerve damage, so the doctors suggested a compression sleeve and a medicinal card for pain management, I can’t- there’s a lot I won’t be able to do now. I have no idea how I’m going to afford my bills if I can’t work, if I even have a job still.” Pero glanced at your arm again, it was in a splint to ensure that you kept it in a position that would allow it to heal, and he knew that the next part of the conversation was going to be the hardest. He sat back on the side of the bed, taking your good hand in his and just allowing himself to be relieved that you were okay.

“Your- all your medical expenses will be paid for entirely, bonita, that is something I can promise you. But the rest is a bit more complex of a situation.”

“They want to buy my silence, don’t they? They’ll pay for all my expenses if I sign that litany of NDAs you talked about before.”

“Sí, that just about sums it up. If you don’t they will paint you as a madwoman and ruin you, just like they did to Ballard when he refused to stay silent out the tao tei.” He knew you’d recognize the name, Ballard had gone public with his experience and been painted as a raving lunatic since there was no evidence anywhere to support his claims. Shamed, embarrassed, and mocked to the point that he’d taken his own life to avoid the public fallout of trying to put the government on the spot. The story of the man’s suicide had been plastered all over tabloids and conspiracy theory articles everywhere.

“I’m joining the task force again, to work with William and Lin, I tried to run from whatever magic or mutant nonsense is happening in the world once already and it clearly wasn’t done with me. I just- even if you refuse to sign those forms I will handle all your expenses myself.” Your good hand squeezed his, eyes shooting wide in alarm, and you looked away as your eyes grew misty. He hated knowing that he was making you cry, already you’d be going through extensive therapy just to try and bounce back from the mental damage this event caused, now he was compounding that emotionally.

“Keegan is too, he’s leaving to start his training tomorrow now that I’ve come out of my coma, they’ve been stalling so that he could say goodbye while he got cleared medically and… and emotionally.” There was still a lot of trauma for everyone that had made it out, and it would certainly linger, but Pero honestly wasn’t at all surprised to learn that Keegan couldn’t go back to a normal life after this. He had struggled for years to try and remind himself that not only was he alive but that it was all over, he’d barely just begun feeling like maybe he could move on at last before this happened.

“If I could go back and stop it all from happening I would-“

“I wouldn’t.”

He stopped the second you interrupted him, his eyes studying the determined and firm expression that you wore.

“I wouldn’t stop it, Pero. What I- what we had to endure was awful, but I’d rather know the truth than live in ignorance, and we have each other now. Even if nothing becomes of the interest we have for one another-“

“Bonita, I have every intention of pursuing you romantically, I will always be your friend but I would like to be more than that too if you’ll allow me the chance. You are far braver than you think of yourself, more resilient than anyone else in your situation would have been, I would love to get to know you better outside of all of that.” He watched the way your determined expression shifted to something softer, fond, the way your eyes began to water a little.

“I can’t wait.”

Sometimes you forgot that you’d been on an IV at the hospital, had access to instant painkillers that made it bearable, because the bad pain days had become a challenge.

“I don’t know why you keep doing this for me, it’s hard.” Pero didn’t answer your morose statement, the pain in your arm had been debilitating today to the point that you couldn’t even do anything but lay on the bed crying, and you watched him fold your laundry as you waited for your edible to kick in and offer you some form of relief. Your good arm reached out and Pero caught your hand, leaning down to press a kiss to your fingertips and nuzzle his cheek into your palm.

“It is not hard, Bonita, and I do this because I love you. I understand that there will be bad days mixed in with the good, I am not some… selfish boy unable to do extra chores when my girlfriend is suffering.”

“But you already split housework with me and take over whenever I’m having a bad mental day too-“

“Sí, because I love you. You have done the same for me, and during the times I am away you do everything on your own, don’t think I don’t notice that I have yet to come home to the house being left messy. I know that when I am away you push yourself through the pain to work and clean, Bonita, so please let me do this for you.” His expression was gentle and adoring, those dark eyes of his shining with affection so deep that you felt like you were drowning in his love; tears began to swim in your eyes and Pero shoved the pile of clothes back into the hamper with his other hand before climbing into the bed and pulling you so that you were half draped over his chest and his other hand could hold the back of your head.

“I’m sorry you have to clean up after me all the time-“

“I do not and you know this, we’ll have to ensure you have a small stash of edibles by the bed for days that you cannot get up at all from how bad your pain is, that’s all. You’re only this distressed over it because this is the second day in a row that you’ve woken up with this pain level, I will call the doctor and get see what they recommend.”

But with those bad days came good ones, when you woke up feeling okay and being able to do whatever you needed to get done, and on those days you struggled with keeping your tasks minimal because you knew that it would be far too easy to push yourself just a bit too much.

“I can do it!” Your voice was chipper and light as you took the bag from Keegan and blew a raspberry at his offended call of your name, scampering up the steps into his apartment before he could try and take the craft goods back and hand them off to Jackie or Leah who were already overburdened with bags. You began organizing what had already been brought up, you couldn’t exactly join this year’s ‘crochet seven days away’ project so instead you were hanging out as moral support, in the past you had ended up doing more with fetching snacks and drinks or making sure nobody ran out of material anyway so it wasn’t like it’d be too different.

The project for this year was a massive blanket and with three people working on nonstop you were wondering just how much progress would be made, the challenge was to make as big of whatever it was you’d picked as possible, and you weren’t missing this year just because of what happened. You’d packed your clothes and some edibles to tide you over, all three of your compression sleeves, and Pero knew where you were at and promised to stop by if you needed him for anything.

“So, uh, not to be grim but- have you considered what the doctor’s suggested?” Keegan glanced sharply at Jackie while Leah winced where she was pulling out and sorting the material by color.

“Yes and no, I have good days too and it’s not like amputating the damaged part of my arm is going to fix everything. Yes the nerve pain will be gone for the most part but I’d have the waiting period and physical therapy for any prosthetic to consider too. Plus… I’d be agreeing to get my arm taken off.” You glanced at your colorful sleeve cover, Keegan and the girls had made long glove style arm warmers that you could use to hide your compression sleeve, this one was the first of the bunch and made with a sunset gradient of colors and snap closures.

“You know I’m not pressuring you right? I just want you to feel comfortable in your own skin, girl. I’m glad you’re doing okay and that you’re going to therapy, that you are taking care of yourself and that Pero is taking care of you, and this is your choice. We’ll all support you no matter what you pick.” Jackie’s smile was warm and you nodded since you knew she hadn’t meant it badly, she’d been through this scenario before with a cousin that had lost a portion of his leg and foot to diabetes when he refused to get himself any type of help, that all she wanted to do was offer you a space to vent about how you felt with your choices.

You couldn’t tell them the whole truth of what happened, and neither could Keegan, but your friends didn’t need to know the whole truth to understand your conflict.

Some days you felt the most normal, the pain tolerable enough that you didn’t need to self-medicate but wanting to stay home and relax, these days were among Pero’s favorite since it always involved movies or TV shows watched together or even just reading something aloud while he laid with his head in your lap.

“Alright, you win. There are fan writers out there who can provide a more compelling story than some of the fiction novels that I have read.” Pero had challenged your love of fanfiction, after catching you reading an update on your phone when you thought he was asleep -you’d lost a boyfriend over a particularly smut-filled fanfic he’d found by going through your browser history (a high key "what the fuck")- so fessing up to Pero had been really nerve-wracking. But instead of meeting you with mocking behavior he’d been curious, asking why you enjoyed it and what your favorites were.

“I am a man who watches porn, Bonita, treating you reading sex scenes in writing as worse is stupid.” Pero’s comment back then had earned him a smile and a kiss that left your toes curling when he took control of it, the fact that he was just so good about your reading proved that you had truly found a great man.

“Should I leave a review about how much you loved Stranger at my Gate? How you identified so well with the main character?” He hummed and nodded, dictating the review that you tapped out on your phone, and you read it back to him before submitting it. Pero looked up at you for a moment as you navigated out of the fic to the main pairing page, setting your phone aside to look down at him, and he turned his head to press a kiss to the inside of your left elbow where your scars shimmered in the low lighting of the living room. You smiled and leaned down to kiss him, making Pero lean up into it, and he shifted to turn around so he could drape himself on you.

Laying down like a content cat with his full weight pressing you into the sofa, his head resting so his ear was right over your heart. It was moments like this, when the light was low and it was calm, that you both just took the time to breathe and remember that you were alive and okay now.

There were also days you spent together that were a much different flavor of being together.

He was devouring you, his broad shoulders wedging your legs open, one of his hands was gripping at your hip while the other held yours; his mouth opened wider and your back arched off the bed, the grip you had on his hair tightening as his tongue swirled to collect more of your wetness. Pero called himself a messy eater and he was no different when it was his mouth between your legs, smearing his face with saliva and slick as he dropped his chin to circle your entrance and the curve of his nose nudged your swollen clit.

“P-pero-!” You had lost count how many times he had made you come already, you had woken up wet and needy from a dream that slipped away like a phantom, and your beloved boyfriend had been happy to rise to the task of sating you. Hips hips rutted against the mattress, delaying his own release to make you sink into the mattress from love drunk exhaustion, and you tugged at his hair as your body ached to feel him.

Those dark eyes swam with delight and he came willingly, dragging his skin along yours, his messy mouth slotting to your own as you felt the heft of him drag along your slit before he sheathed himself with a slow thrust; it was easy with how wet you were, his saliva and your wet release making him sigh with pleasure into your very lungs as you breathed him in.

In the beginning he’d been gentler, unwilling to add to the pain that you already experienced, but time together -years together now- helped him heal with you and his rough thrust jolted your body as you grabbed at his back and curled your legs around his hips and thighs. Pero let out a throaty sound against the side of your neck when he dragged his mouth along your skin, the wet sounds of his hips meeting yours joining the symphony of heavy breaths and soft moans, and as he shifted his knees just a touch to angle your hips your sighs became soft mewls.

“Come for me, Bonita, soak me.” Pero braced himself on one arm so he could grab your chin, angle your head to mouth at the soft spot right below your ear, and even if you wanted to deny yourself he’d made you soft and sensitive and pliant; the clutch of you mingling with your own gasp of his name and Pero’s hips stuttered as he filled you with him. Your breaths were hot and your sweat slicked bodies were close, and you just clung to him as Pero rolled onto his side and just held you.

Days apart were always harder but the reunions made them worth it.

Jamil handed you a stack of files and you set them down at your desk, a stable job had been your only demand for signing the litany of NDAs upon getting out of the hospital, and the government had employed you to work in the same line of covert operations that Pero did just from the safety of a desk. Pero and his team had been gone for a week now, not the shortest amount of time but nowhere near the longest, and you were doing okay for now. There had been a bad pain day just yesterday, making work difficult but you’d fought through it to avoid the mocking stares of the others, and you could practically feel the weight of those looks on your compression sleeve.

It was no secret what happened to you, the former department leader had all but dressed you down in front of everyone when you’d called out due to a bad pain day, basically telling everyone that you weren’t allowed to act like some princess and skip work by faking any pain. He hadn’t lasted long after that, you hadn’t intended to get him fired but the man made one mistake by calling Lin -who was his boss- to tell her that he wanted you gone. Pero had made quite the show of walking into the room behind his friends, the day after, decked out in his tactical gear and the man had been not only fired but also subjected to lawsuits out the ass for violating HR policies by talking about your experience and disability to others without your consent.

Now the entire office was terrified of you, hated you and excluded you from everything with the fear that they would be next, except for Jamil. You were far from blind to the fact that his kindness stemmed from a desire to be left alone, him being okay with you made everyone else leave him be, but you were okay with that because he made it a little more tolerable during the workday. His favorite thing was to tell you god awful puns and dad jokes, one an hour, just to make you laugh.

You went home to an empty house and went through the motions of showering, not bothering to pick up your work clothes off the floor today after getting changed, and dropped down onto the bed. Bad pain days always left you feeling out of sorts, reaching out to the bedside table and grabbing one of the edibles from the little organizer case that Pero put together for you, and you drifted off to sleep as the pain dulled and your mind drifted through the haze of semi-consciousness into the arms of Morpheus.

What disrupted your sleep was the weight of the blankets covering you, the bed shifting under someone’s weight, and your half-open gaze spotted Pero’s form slide into bed before he pulled you into his body as he whispered words of love into the crown of your head. But his spicy body wash and the warmth of him fresh out of the shower lulled you back into a deeper rest now that he was here, now that he was home.

It was a hard life being on this side of the truth, nightmares you would never escape plaguing your sleep sometimes, but you were okay and you would continue to be okay. Together.

All Fics Taglist: @haylzcyon @wordsnwhiskey @pagannightwitch @radiowallet @tauralmie @amneris21 @trickstersp8 @practicalghost @rominaszh @alwaysdjarin @alexxavicry @all-the-way-down-here

Just Pedro Taglist: @maievdenoir @beecastle @littlemisspascal @writeforfandoms @aynsleywalker @lovesbiggerthanpride @mswarriorbabe80 @emiemiemiii

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#year of creation #year of video game aus #yearofcreation2023 #the great wall fanfic #the forest fanfic #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x fem!reader #pero x f!reader #year of themed creation #cw cannibals #cw cannibalism #cw smut #cw illness #minors dni #chaoticwrites

[captainsophiestark]

Seasons of Love

Dick Grayson x Reader

Materlist - Taglist

Written for my Year of Olympians and part of a bigger challenge being run by @yearofcreation2023​ which features a ton of awesome creators and runs all year! Go check it out, and please pretend I actually posted this in April and not a month late lmao! Final semester of college is a hell of a time

Fandom: DC

Prompt: Demeter; The Seasons, Pigs, Cornucopia, Nature, Poppies

Summary: A LaLaLand-style series of glimpses into the lives of Dick Grayson and Y/N (without the LaLaLand angst).

Word Count: 4,678

Category: Fluff, Humor

A/N: This is my first time writing any DC, Dick Grayson included, so hopefully it’s good and true to character! He’s been one of my absolute faves for a long time, but I’ve just recently gotten the courage to write for him :)

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

LATE SUMMER

I smiled at the kids running around the various animal pens at the fair, smiles on their faces as they got up close and personal with all kinds of different creatures they'd never seen before. Working at the fair outside of Gotham every August was never a walk in the park–and usually included more than one instance of vomit-cleanup–but moments like this made it worth it.

Of course, my coworkers and I were keeping a close eye on everything to make sure the animals and kids were both safe. I was in the pen with the goats helping the kids feed them alfalfa, one of my favorite posts of all time. My reprieve in paradise was interrupted, however, when I heard someone frantically shouting my name.

I turned around to find one of my coworkers coming towards me, waving his hands in the air. He'd originally signed up to be on ticket duty, but had gotten moved to working with the animals thanks to some short-staffing issues. He'd made it clear multiple times he was well outside of his comfort zone, and although he'd been doing a fair job of rising to the occasion, this wasn't the first time he'd come running over in a panic.

I made eye contact and nodded at another coworker who came over to monitor the kids (both goats and humans), then stepped out of the pen to meet Andrew, panic still written all over his face. I took a deep breath and prepared to give him a calming speech, but he spoke again before I could.

"The Wayne kids just let the pigs out of the pen!" he cried.

I just stared at him blankly, trying to process, blinking stupidly.

"The who did what?"

"The Wayne kids!" he continued, still a little breathless. "Well, one or two of them at least. I was standing by the pen with the piglets that are racing in twenty minutes, and the little one managed to let them all out! I didn't notice until it was too late!"

"Okay, uh... I guess stay here."

With that, I started marching towards the pig pen, keeping an eye out for any sign of rampaging piglets. My brain screamed at me to process the "Wayne" part of Andrew's story, but I refused to let it. I needed to deal with the piglets first, regardless of whether the ones who'd let them out were part of the famous billionaire Gotham family.

When I got to the piglet pen, which was nestled just behind the bleachers where people would be able to watch the piglets run around a dirt track later, I found chaos. People were running and shouting all over the place, but the piglets were nowhere to be seen.

"Dami, you go around the left and I'll circle this way-"

"I am not helping you recapture them, Grayson."

"Dami-"

I started to turn to see who was shouting at the same time the shouting cut off, because the shouter ran straight into me like a freight train. We went tumbling to the ground in a heap, and suddenly I found myself staring into the beautiful blue eyes of Gotham's golden boy, Dick Grayson. He smiled at me, and I scowled in response.

"What were you thinking?" I demanded, rolling over and pushing him off me as I moved to stand up. He leapt to his feet and held a hand out to help me, but I ignored it. "Why on Earth would you let the piglets out?"

"I didn't!" he insisted, holding his hands up and looking at me with wide eyes. "My little brother saw them sitting in their pen and decided they needed to be liberated. I've never seen anyone successfully stand in the way of him helping an animal before."

I huffed, continuing to ignore Grayson's gorgeous, charming, easy smile.

"I know you probably don't have a lot of experience with it, but those pigs are treated perfectly well, and they were safe in their pen. Letting them out to run amok in the crowd is putting their well being at risk more than anything else in their lives."

"Tt."

I turned at the sound of an angry, disapproving noise from behind me, then had to do a double-take when I didn't immediately see the person responsible for it. Then, I looked down, and found the youngest Wayne child staring at me with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

"Father has spent enough time working to end the poor treatment of horses at race tracks for me to be unaware of how animals to be raced are treated."

I blinked a few times, honestly not sure how to react to this ten year old staring me down. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Dick Grayson step closer to stand next to me, but I ignored him. Instead, I crouched down to make myself eye level with Damian, the younger one.

"You're right," I said simply. He harrumphed in triumph, but then I continued. "About the horses, I mean. The way they're treated... it's unforgivable. My family and I have rescued any and all of them that we can, and the ones we've managed to save are actually over by the barn right now, being fed all the apples and oats they can eat by the adoring fairgoers."

Damian Wayne's left eyebrow ticked up, the only sign of surprise or approval at my words.

"These piglets, on the other hand, I can promise you are treated perfectly well. They only 'race' at the fair so people can cheer for cute animals. All they know is they're going for a run and then getting all kinds of food and treats afterwards. And honestly, letting them out in the middle of an inexperienced crowd of people is putting them in more danger than anything else in their normal, daily life."

Damian frowned a little, and he opened his mouth and closed it again a few times before finally speaking.

"I... did not intend for them to be in danger. I will return them to their pen."

"It's alright. You were trying to do a good thing for some animals, I could never fault you for that. C'mon, I'll help you get them back."

He nodded, then turned sharply on his heel and set off with purpose in the direction of commotion from fairgoers. I paused to straighten and smiled after him.

"That was really sweet, how you handled that." I turned to see Dick Grayson looking at me, the first serious expression I'd seen from him on his face. "Dami's a good kid, but he's hard on himself about mistakes. Thank you for handling that the way you did."

I gave him a small smile. "Of course. Any animal lover is a friend of mine. I know I literally just met him, but... I could tell he's a good kid."

We shared a smile at that, a more honest and genuine one than the million-watt grin I'd seen from him before. I held his gaze for a second, then sighed and turned back to look at the rest of the fair.

"Alright, enough talking. Let's go catch some piglets."

To my surprise, Grayson actually wasn't half bad at wrangling piglets. He, Damian, and I managed to work well as a team to get each of the little escapees safely back into their pens, and once the task was complete, I left Damian in charge of giving the piglets some treats for their ordeals.

"That was harder than I thought it was going to be," said Dick, coming to stand beside me at the edge of the pen as we watched Damian and the piglets together.

"Yeah, they're quick little buggers. Makes them good racers though."

Dick shot me a smile, and this time, I couldn't help another one spreading across my face too.

"So... this is kind of a subject change, but what are the odds you'd say yes if I asked you to dinner sometime?"

I turned to face him fully now, eyebrows raised. He just grinned back at me.

"You're asking me on a date?"

"Sure am."

"...Alright, sure. You owe me dinner anyway after showing up at my fair and releasing all my piglets."

He laughed. "Fair enough. How does seven o'clock the first night after the end of the fair sound?"

I smiled. "Sounds perfect."

****************

FALL

"You okay? You look like you're about to have a heart attack."

I snapped myself out of my death stare with the cornucopia in the center of the table to face my boyfriend with a vague smile.

"I'm fine," I insisted, waving off his concerns. Dick and I had been dating for a few months now, after meeting at the county fair. It had been absolutely amazing, and I'd gotten to meet a few more of his family members besides Damian since then, all of whom had been just as lovely. Now, however, we were sitting at the dinner table in Wayne Manor for Thanksgiving, and any minute now I'd be thrown into the full Wayne family craziness for the first time.

To say I was nervous would be the understatement of the century.

"Don't worry," said Dick, leaning down to whisper in my ear. "They're going to love you."

I didn't respond, instead taking a second for a deep breath and a last attempt at calming my nerves. Then, the door to the dining room flew open, and the room devolved into chaos.

I got momentarily swept under in the sudden noise, excitement, and energy as the rest of the Wayne kids moved into the room. A second later, Alfred bustled in carrying armfuls of dishes. A few of the kids moved to help him carry in the rest, but only Cassandra and Duke, neither of whom I'd gotten to know very well yet, were actually trusted and allowed to go help in the kitchen.

Dick gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze as he sank into the seat beside mine. I turned to smile at him, but a sudden commotion to my left ripped my attention away.

"Jason, I'M sitting next to her, you already know her well enough!"

"Too late Brown, I'm already sitting."

"Then move-"

Stephanie, who I'd only met briefly a few times in passing, tried to bodily shove Jason out of the chair next to me, but he refused to budge.

"Why are you so heavy Todd-"

"It's called muscle."

"Or it's called-"

"Stephanie, here, why don't you sit across from me?" I suggested, jumping in before things could really escalate. "It'll be easier to eat and talk to you at the same time from there anyway, which means we can keep up our conversation with fewer interruptions."

She narrowed her eyes, clearly aware of what I was doing, but I just kept looking at her with a beaming smile on my face (and thankfully Jason didn't interject). After a second, she huffed a dramatic sigh and started to move around the table.

"Fine. But only because Alfred would be upset if I tipped Jason backwards out of his chair before Thanksgiving dinner even started."

I grinned at her, quickly passing some food over to Jason, too, so he wouldn't take the opportunity to rub in his victory. Once we were safely out of the danger zone, Dick leaned over to whisper in my ear and give me a sly high five.

"Impressive," he said. "If you can pull that off, you'll be fine for the rest of the night."

I turned to give him a more forced smile than I'd given Stephanie. I appreciated the vote of confidence, but nothing that had happened over the past few minutes had done much to calm my nerves.

"Alright, is that all the food?" asked Bruce, clapping his hands and surveying the table as everyone at last settled into their seats. We'd almost had another disaster when Dami tried to bump Jason out of the seat next to me after Stephanie failed, but thankfully we'd managed to avert that crisis, too, with a promised trip to my family's farm tomorrow, just me, him, and Dick.

"Yeah, I think that's everything B," said Dick, looking over the table the same way his dad did. Bruce sighed, then sank into his seat and clapped his hands.

"Alright, then let's eat," he said.

"Don't forget, Master Bruce," started Alfred, at last sinking into his seat at the opposite head of the table from Bruce. "We still need to say the things we're thankful for."

"You're right, Alfred. Thank you for reminding me." He finished scooping a serving of stuffing onto his plate, then looked up. "I'll start.

"I'm thankful for all of you, safe and sitting around the table for dinner. And I'm also thankful that Y/N could join us. I think we're all looking forward to getting to know her better."

He gave me a kind smile and tipped his wine glass in my direction, and I tried to smile back despite the fact that my heart was pounding in my chest. I'd met Bruce a few times before, but he was still my boyfriend's dad AND Gotham's favorite son (other than maybe Dick). I couldn't help being nervous, since his approval was one of the ones that mattered most to me.

"Alright, that's great," said Jason, bowling right through the moment of silence that hung after Bruce's words–my hero. "I'm thankful for Alfred's cooking."

Every single one of us around the table cheered our agreement at that, and Alfred smiled. The turns moved quickly around the table after that. I had a brief moment of panic when it became my turn, but thankfully, it only lasted for a second before I managed to pull it together.

"I'm thankful for Dick, and for all of you letting me join your family holiday celebrations. I can't wait to get to know you guys better."

Everyone smiled at my answer, and as soon as the spotlight was off me, Dick took my hand under the table to give me a little reassurance. The conversation moved on from Thanksgiving gratitudes, and slowly, I gained confidnence and comfort participating as a member of the group.

I asked Dami about his pets and was honestly happy to listen for the better part of an hour. Jason and I ranted like the biggest nerds on the planet over our favorite books and our TBR piles, and Tim and I connected over a mutual childhood love of Nancy Drew computer games. Duke was the easiest person in the world to talk to, and he made a point of including me in conversations when I started to feel a little lost. Stephanie was so bubbly and friendly, even when she was not-so-subtly grilling me on my entire life, and although Cassandra seemed a little less eager to loudly jump into conversations with me, Stephanie helped bridge the gap and we got along wonderfully. Although they made me a little more nervous, Bruce and Alfred were also nothing but welcoming and kind. It wasn't too long before I was completely at ease, laughing and joking along with the whole table without a doubt about whether I belonged there.

Even when it came to the most ridiculous debates I'd ever been a part of.

"I'm just saying, capes look cheesy," said Jason. "It's fine for a little kid, but grown adults running around in capes look ridiculous."

Stephanie scowled like he'd just insulted her mother. "Oh yeah, because all the vigilantes running around in vests look so incredibly cool."

"No kidding," Tim jumped in. "Red Hood, for example. We all remember that terrible red pill helmet he wore when he first showed up. Or Nightwing's Discowing suit?"

Stephanie snorted into her drink, and Dick's mouth dropped open in shock. Jason started going a little red in the face.

"Brown and Drake are right," said Dami, his tone conveying he meant for this to be the final word on the matter. "The capes can serve a number of different purposes, and would be ridiculous to remove."

He turned to give Dick a pointed look, but I decided not to try to decipher it. I had more important things on-hand.

"Honestly, I say this with nothing but love for the three of you, but I have to agree with Jason," I started, finally jumping in. Everyone perked up at that, turning their attention to me, but I didn't let it deter me. "I mean, haven't any of you seen The Incredibles? No capes! There's like a whole minute-long thing on why capes are generally a bad idea for superheroes.

"And granted, we haven't seen anything like that happen in real life, at least as far as I know," I continued. "And maybe it doesn't matter as much for the indestructible heroes–Superman could probably get chewed up by a jet and survive, I guess. But other heroes, I don't know what they're doing! Somebody really outta show Batman that clip, make sure he knows the danger he and his Robins and everybody might be in."

Everybody stared at me for a second, faces blank, and I started to sweat thinking I'd said something wrong. Then, people broke out into variations of grins, laughs, and agreement with my point that Batman really needed to be more aware.

"I don't know if I remember that clip very well," mused Dick, grinning at Bruce and then the rest of the table as he slid an arm around my shoulder. "Could you pull it up?"

"Sure!"

"Hey Dick?" called Stephanie across the table, her voice dancing with laughter as I searched for the video. "I think I speak for all of us when I say, I love her."

Murmurs of agreement sounded around the table, and my face warmed. I glanced up to give an appreciative smile before going back to my video hunt.

"You better marry her, or we'll have to make Todd do it to keep her in the family," Stephanie continued.

My heart stopped dead in my chest for a second at the idea of marriage as everyone around the table laughed or agreed with her. Then, I couldn't help smiling and laughing too, especially as Jason faked a yawn and stretched his arm around my shoulders before having it playfully smacked away by Dick. My boyfriend pulled me a little closer into his side and gave me a soft smile.

"Alright, let's see this clip," he said, addressing the group as they kept snickering together. "B, lean in here, I think you'll really like this one."

Bruce sighed heavily, but leaned in anyway as the rest of the group shifted too. Edna Mode launched into her speech as I held out my phone screen, Dick and his family gathered around me, and my heart absolutely swelled with love for every one of them. Dick and I really hadn't been dating long enough to be seriously thinking about marriage, but still- in this moment, I could start to picture it.

And I really liked the picture.

****************

WINTER

Whap!

Dick, my boyfriend of a little over two years, whirled around with a betrayed look on his face after I nailed him in the back with a snowball.

"Babe," he whined, his tone wounded. I just shrugged.

"It's training. You need to be aware of your surroundings. CONSTANT VIGILANCE and all that."

Dick raised his eyebrows and took a step towards me as a mischievous grin took over my face. A few months ago, when Dick and I had first seriously started talking about the possibility of marriage being the result of our relationship, he'd finally let me in on the Wayne family secret: not only was I dating the famous Dick Grayson, I was also dating Nightwing the vigilante. The Wayne family was one in the same as Batman and his extended vigilante posse. The few conspiracy weirdos on the internet insisting Bruce Wayne Is The Batman were right.

When he'd started to tell me, I'd first thought he was proposing. He'd been so serious and dramatic, and he'd done it at the end of a romantic, candlelit dinner we'd made together in my apartment. Then, once I realized what he was actually saying, my second thought had been oh, so that's why everyone loses their minds whenever I voice an opinion on a superhero.

At first, it had been a little hard to cope with the new worry that came with knowing my boyfriend put his life on the line every single night. News reports about the Bats and their enemies raised my anxiety WAY more than they ever had before. But Dick had been wonderful, reassuring me and helping me understand all the ways he'd found to stay safe and come back to me. And when that wasn't quite enough, the rest of his family stepped up to support me like one of their own.

Now, a few months after learning their secret, Dick and I were taking a rare full weekend for ourselves. We'd headed up to the mountains for some skiing, hot chocolate, and cuddling by the fire at his family's cabin, just the two of us. After a morning on the slopes and a delicious lunch, we'd decided to go on some of our favorite snowy hiking trails to take in the fresh mountain air.

Hence, my start of the snowball fight.

"You know, I'm pretty sure I'm the one who's supposed to be training you," said Dick, closing the distance between us further. He and his family had been giving me self-defense training at my request, but we'd decided to take a break for the weekend.

"Mmm I'm not sure," I said, shifting backwards a bit to get out of Dick's reach. "I think I'm right."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Then you probably have the better reflexes out of the two of us, right?"

I knew exactly where this was going. I grinned and tried to get my head in the zone before I answered, overconfident to the last.

"Definitely."

"Hm." Dick smiled at me, and then the next thing I knew, he'd wrapped his arms tightly around my waist before I had a second to react. I half-heartedly tried to wiggle free, but before I could, Dick picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. I held on to him as tightly as I could, ready for him to dump me in a snow bank and ready to drag him down with me when he did. But the flip into the snow never came. Instead, Dick started walking with me still slung over his shoulder.

"Babe? What are you doing?" I asked, trying to push myself up enough to see where we were going. "I was all ready to wrestle you down into the snow with me."

"Just trust me," he said. Even though I couldn't see it, I could hear the smile on his face. I huffed.

"This isn't exactly comfortable, you know."

Dick just chuckled. We walked a few more steps, then at last, Dick set me down again, keeping his hands around my waist as we stood chest to chest.

"I may have lured you out into the woods under false pretenses," he said, a brilliant smile on his face. I raised an eyebrow.

"If I didn't trust you so much, I might be a little worried."

He smiled, then looked at a point over my shoulder before nodding for me to turn around. I did as his hands dropped from my waist, and I came face to face with his whole family standing around the gorgeous snowy clearing. Each of them held candles or roses in their hands, and they were absolutely beaming at me. I looked at each of them, waiting for some hint or answer about what was happening, but no one gave me anything. Then, I heard Dick's voice from behind me.

"Y/N?"

When I turned, I found my lovely, wonderful boyfriend down on one knee before me, an open ring box in his hands.

My hands flew to my mouth and I started to tear up a little as the situation sank in. Dick smiled, his own eyes a little wet as he continued.

"You are the love of my life. I had no idea when I first accidentally tackled you that you would become the most important person in the world to me, but you have. You make me a better version of myself, and every day I can hardly believe I'm really with you. You not only match me and love me, but you do the same with my family, which truly not many people can do. I can't think of a better person or partner I'd want to go through life with. So will you please do me the honor... of marrying me?"

"Baby... of course! Absolutely yes!" I cried, the tears fully flowing now as I dropped to my knees in the snow to join Dick. I threw my arms around him and held him tight, and both of us stayed like that for a few long moments before Dick pulled back, tears glistening on his cheeks and a smile on his face. He pulled me tightly to him and kissed me. I kissed back, running my hands through his hair as we got lost in each for a few moments before we pulled apart again. I held out my hand, shaking just a little, and Dick slipped the ring on my finger.

Cheers sounded from behind us, and I came back to reality as Dick's family came over to congratulate us. I wrapped each of them in my best bone-crushing hug, making sure they knew how happy I was to be joining them as family in the near future now, too.

After we'd all exchanged hugs (reluctantly or otherwise), I found Dick at my side again, wrapping his arm around my waist. I tucked into his side and it felt like I'd always belonged there.

I couldn't wait to spend the rest of my life just like this.

****************

LATE SPRING

I took a deep breath and stared at the double doors in front of me, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn't wipe the biggest, cheesiest smile off my face, no matter how hard I tried. Today was my wedding day, and I couldn't be happier.

Steph and Cass had helped me find the perfect dress. My bouquet was filled with red poppies, my favorite flower. Dick and I had worked together to plan a dream wedding for the both of us, and now everyone we loved was gathered here to celebrate with us.

Everything was perfect.

I heard music start up, then a second later, the doors swung open. It didn't quite feel real as I took my first steps down the isle, towards Dick Grayson and the rest of my life.

It started to feel more real when I finally reached him, standing in front of so many people with eyes only for the man before me. We stood together, hand in hand and eyes locked on each other as the ceremony went on. We read our vows, said "I do", and before I knew it, we were married.

Dick swept me off my feet in a kiss as the crowd cheered. We laced our hands together and ran down the isle together, deliriously happy as our friends and family sent us off. We climbed into the waiting car as the door shut behind us, and I snuggled up against Dick's side before leaning up to give him a kiss. Finally, it felt real.

"I love you, Dick Grayson," I said, smiling up at him. "I can't wait to throw around the phrase 'my husband' until every single person we know is sick of it."

Dick laughed. "I love you too, Mrs. Grayson. And I can't wait to see who breaks first."

"My money's on Jason, unless anyone else says it's annoying first. Then I think he'll back us to mess with everyone else."

Dick laughed, then leaned in to give me a soft, tender kiss.

"I love how well you know them."

"Well... they're my family now, too."

We shared a smile, then settled into comfortable silence together, leaning against each other for support while we rested for the little bit of time we had now before the reception got into full swing. Tonight would be a long night for both of us, but I absolutely couldn't wait. I loved Dick with my whole heart, and going through every part of our futures together–good, bad, and crazy–was the best thing I could possibly think of.

#year of creation #dc #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dc x reader #batfam x reader #dc fanfiction #dc imagine #dc oneshot #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson oneshot #batfam fanfiction #damian wayne #jason todd #stephanie brown #bruce wayne #the wayne family #alfred pennyworth #gotham

[songsformonkeys]

Saying I love you to your best friend, and to the friend that could perhaps be something more (Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson)

Month: February

Word count: ~5900

Warnings: None

Notes: Not quite a fake/pretend dating fic, but close. Unbeta'd so any and all mistakes are my own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the grand scheme of things, perhaps it is a bit silly. After all, what's one missed holiday when Hawkins is still dealing with the aftermath of the Upside down trying to split the town open like a baked potato?

But Steve can't help it. Valentine's Day is his favorite holiday of the year. It’s one of the few holidays where Steve doesn't have to lie about having plans to prevent people from feeling sorry for him. And ever since he discovered that he liked girls - and that, generally, girls liked him too - he has not spent a single Valentine's Day alone.

1987 is shaping up to be the first and that really sucks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's the night before the Big Day and Steve, Robin, and Eddie are drinking and smoking in Steve's living room, same as they do almost every Friday.

Robin has claimed the best spot and is lounging on the couch, while Eddie is doing some sort of gravity-defying sprawl on the armchair, that leaves him hanging half upside down over the seat and makes Steve worry that ash from his joint is gonna fall right into his eyes any second now.

Steve is stretched out on the floor, running his fingers slowly back and forth through the incredibly soft, off-white threads of the rug, while he goes through his mental Rolodex of eligible Hawkins girls that he could ask out on a date. He has spent the better part of the last half hour complaining to Robin and Eddie about his lack of plans for tomorrow – resolutely ignoring Eddie's own complaints that Steve's whining is putting a damper on his high.

Neither of his friends seems to even get what the big deal is.

”It's just a silly capitalist holiday,” Robin tells him, to which Eddie snickers and mumbles out a ”Hear hear” around the butt of his joint. His hair is looking extra wild in his upside-down position, and his cheeks are flushed in a way that makes it difficult for Steve to tear his eyes away.

Steve blames the little dance his intestines do on the alcohol, and bites back the nasty King Steve urge to point out that maybe they would have an easier time seeing the appeal of Valentine's Day if either of them had ever actually been on a proper date.

Instead, he sighs.

”I'm losing my touch,” he tells them with a pout, unable to help feeling sorry for himself. He's changed a lot during the last few years, but he had been under the impression that the general consensus was that the changes were for the better. The lack of dates is making him doubt.

Maybe it's the scars? He's able to cover up most of them but the ones around his neck are trickier – there are only so many times a guy can get away with wearing a turtleneck before people start to question his life choices – and the girls are bound to have noticed. Hell, Steve himself still feels nausea bubbling up and his chest tightening when he has to look at the scars too closely, so he can't blame them.

He wishes he could pull the scars off as well as Eddie does. Unlike Steve, Eddie wears his scars on full display as often as he can get away with it, almost as if challenging people to comment and say something about them. And they don't look bad on him the same way they do on Steve. Even the jagged lines and stretched skin across his jawline are oddly alluring, and more than once, Steve has felt his fingers itch with the urge to reach out and touch.

”...What if I never get a date again?”

”Oh for fuck's sake!” Eddie growls and sits up. He puts the joint he's smoking out in the ashtray with a stabbing motion before aggressively pointing at Steve. ”If it means that much to you, Harrington, I'll be your goddamn date!”

” What? ” Steve and Robin ask in unison, staring at the metalhead, and Steve isn't sure whose voice takes on the higher pitch. Eddie looks at Steve like he'd much rather sell him cheap at a yard sale than go on a date with him, but doesn't take back the offer.

”You'll get a date and a chance to show me what all this Valentine's fuss is about. What do you say, big boy?”

Steve's stomach does a weird swoopy thing that he doesn't think can be entirely blamed on the weed and booze. Eddie and him, going on a date. After almost a year's friendship, Steve is used to Eddie flirting with him by now - even if it still makes him blush - and sometimes Steve even manages to come up with a witty retort of his own that makes Eddie laugh and smile like he's won the lottery. But that's harmless banter and teasing between friends. This... this feels like more, even if Steve's not entirely sure why. He's hung out with Eddie alone before.

Going on a date with him... doesn't have to be weird, does it?

”Yeah...yeah okay,” he finally answers, when he manages to find his words.

”Great! Perfect even! Now that's settled...” Eddie fishes another joint out of the breast pocket of his shirt and holds it out with a flourish. ”Lighten up and light up with me, Harrington!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

”Soo...” Robin says in the kitchen the next morning, speaking slowly in a way that absolutely does not come naturally to her. ”You're taking Eddie out for a Valentine's date tonight?”

”Apparently I am,” Steve replies, equally slowly, not looking up from where he's making pancakes for the two of them and Eddie, who's still asleep in the guestroom upstairs. Steve isn't sure he wants to hear where Robin is going with this.

In the light of day, the whole date idea leaves even more of a funny feeling in his stomach, and he keeps having to remind himself that it's really not a big deal. He says as much to Robin as well.

”No big deal, Rob,” he tells her. ”It's just a date between friends. He's doing me a favor.”

Before she can say anything more on the subject, they're interrupted by a loud yawn and a shuffle of bare feet as Eddie enters the kitchen.

”Morning Thing One, Thing Two,” he says, patting Steve on the back as he walks past.

”Who's who?” Robin asks curiously, and Steve feels relief as the spotlight shifts away from him, grateful for how easily distracted his best friend is. Eddie chuckles, clearly more pleased than Steve to be basking in Robin's attention.

”I'm sorry, Buckley,” he says and Steve doesn't need to see Eddie's face to know which fake-apologetic expression he's giving her. ”You're awesome and would be number one, but there's simply no competing with a pretty man who makes me pancakes in the morning.”

Steve feels his cheeks flush and he doesn't look up from the pan until the pancakes are all done, and Eddie and Robin have moved on to another topic.

He serves them both their breakfast and sits down next to Robin at the table. He's just starting in on his second pancake when he catches Eddie watching him with a soft smile playing across his lips. Steve is momentarily distracted and drips syrup down the front of his shirt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie and Robin both leave after breakfast and Steve spends the rest of the morning and early afternoon feeling antsy and restless.

Despite it being last minute, and a pity offer on Eddie's part, Steve doesn't want him to feel like Steve is giving him a subpar date. But he also knows there's a fine line between a good date and an awkwardly overprepared one, and Steve doesn't want to end up taking Eddie on the latter kind either.

Eventually, he decides to play it safe and go for the tried and true dinner-and-a-movie kind of date.

He calls around to a few restaurants and has to politely suffer through various iterations of the person on the other end of the line jokingly commenting on him being out last minute, and apologizing about the fact they're already fully booked for the evening before he strikes gold with a burger place just a little outside of Hawkins. Steve thanks the lady on the other end profusely when she agrees to reserve a table for them, despite not usually taking reservations, and makes a silent vow to tip really well.

Getting ready also takes longer than usual, and Steve's not entirely sure why that is. He keeps second-guessing every item of clothing he pulls out of his closet, deeming them either too casual or too formal. What the hell do you even wear to a date with one of your best friends?

Steve has to tell himself to get a grip when he glances at his wristwatch and seriously contemplates if he's got time for a shopping trip before he's supposed to pick Eddie up. He settles for the less- but only slightly less- pathetic option of calling Robin.

”Emergency hotline for dinguses, this is Robin speaking!” she greets him cheerily. Steve blinks and holds the phone away from his ear as if it could explain his best friend's newly discovered psychic abilities.

”...How did you know it was me?” Steve asks.

”I didn't. But I guessed you would call at some point and it seemed like it was time for you to get ready for your date .” Steve isn't sure he appreciates the emphasis she puts on that last word. ”I figured it was worth the gamble,” she continues, and Steve wonders, not for the first time, if it's normal for friends to be able to read each other this well. His pondering is cut short by Robin speaking again.

”So tell me, what can I help with?”

Steve heaves out a dramatic sigh and stares at the clothes strewn across his bed.

”I don't know what to wear,” he confesses.

”Ah, the age-old question! I assume the date jeans are a given.”

”Well...” Steve hesitates.

”What's wrong with the date jeans?” Robin asks, sounding almost offended on behalf of the pants, and Steve glances over at the jeans laid out at the foot of the bed.

”I don't know... what if Eddie notices?”

”That you're wearing pants?” Robin teases.

”That I'm wearing the date jeans, Robin!”

”Well, Dingus, what's the big deal if he does? He already knows you're taking him on a date. Besides, you love those jeans and they're your date jeans for a reason. Because...” Robin prompts.

”...They're comfortable, yet form-fitting,” Steve finishes, mumbling.

”Exactly!” Robin agrees. ”Why change a winning concept? Even I can appreciate the way your butt looks in those jeans, Steve!”

”Eww,” Steve says with a grimace but then he nods. ”Okay, fine! I'll wear the date jeans.” He picks the pants up and shimmies into them while holding the phone trapped against his ear with his shoulder. ”What about the shirt?”

”Eh, I say skip it! Can't imagine Eddie will complain.”

”Robiiin,” he pleads.

”Fine fine!”

She proceeds to give him a few suggestions, and even bullies him into trying a few of them on when he shoots down the suggestion too quickly, but none of them feel quite right. Not that Steve actually knows what feeling he's waiting for, except maybe for divine inspiration.

”Hmm,” Robin finally says. ”Well, what about the green sweater I sometimes borrow? I think it's currently back in your closet.”

”The knitted one? You don't think that's a little too tight? There's a reason I let you steal it, you know.”

”Borrow it! And no. I think it'll be just tight enough to say date rather than casual hangout”

Steve rummages around his closet until he finds the sweater in question. He's not sure he's actually worn it in years but when he pulls it on, he has to admit that Robin has a point. He looks good.

Steve does a little half-twirl in front of the mirror before he tells her as much.

”You can thank me by sparing me the details of how the date goes tonight,” she tells him and Steve rolls his eyes while arranging his hair in the mirror. He knows she's teasing him and it makes absolutely no sense that her words give him an anticipatory feeling in his gut, making him wonder if there will actually be any details to share. It's just Eddie, he reminds himself.

”Steve,” Robin says, and the sober tone of her voice makes his hand still.

”Yeah?”

”I hope you have a really nice time tonight. You deserve it. And Eddie too.”

Steve smiles, humbled, as always, by the love he can hear in Robin's voice. He feels the mirroring feeling warm his chest.

”Thanks, Robs. I love you,” he tells her.

”Love you too, dingus. Call me tomorrow, okay?”

”I promise.”

When Steve shows up at Eddie's place an hour later, he realizes that his effort to pick out a nice outfit for the date has been sorely wasted on Eddie. Out of the two of them, Steve is the only one to have even remotely cared to put any sort of effort in when it comes to clothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie opens the door with a smile that Steve pays little to no attention to because Eddie is also wearing the same clothes from this morning and from the day before. The plaid shirt Eddie's got on over his threadbare t-shirt is wrinkled and Steve notices the lingering smell of weed and booze.

”No,” Steve instinctively says, making Eddie stop in his tracks.

”No?” he echoes.

”Go change!” Steve tells him, placing one hand on Eddie's chest to gently push him back into the trailer.

”Oh for fuck's sake,” Eddie grumbles, but he doesn't dig his heels in or put up any further protests.

”I told you,” Steve hears a rumbling voice from inside the trailer and he looks over to find Eddie's uncle on the couch, reading the newspaper. He looks up to give Steve a nod. He doesn't smile but Steve recognizes the amused twinkle in his eyes.

”Oh gang up on me, why don't you!” Eddie complains as he stomps off toward his bedroom.

”Something clean, please! And maximum one skull or demon!” Steve calls after him, making Eddie flip him the bird before closing the door behind him.

With Eddie gone, Steve shifts and glances back towards uncle Wayne, who tips his head towards the armchair, gesturing for Steve to take a seat.

Steve does, suddenly wondering how much Wayne actually knows about tonight's arrangement. He's been over to pick Eddie up several times and Steve has gotten the general impression that Wayne likes him just fine, even if the older man is certainly more subtle with expressing his emotions than his nephew is. Steve can't help but wonder if that would change if he knew Steve was taking Eddie out for a date. A pity date, but a date nonetheless.

They sit in silence until Eddie emerges from his bedroom a little while later.

This time around he's wearing a different pair of black jeans and a plain black t-shirt. It's a simple outfit but, with the addition of Eddie's rings, the guitar pick necklace, the tattoos, and the scars on display, the effect is quite striking. Steve is hit again by the realization of how fucking cool Eddie is, and it's leaving him a little speechless.

Eddie does a little twirl, the same as Steve had done in his bedroom.

”Is this up to your standards, your highness?” he asks, mockingly, seemingly unaware of the effect he has on Steve. Steve thinks Wayne might notice, though, because the corners of his mouth quirk upwards and he steps in to reply.

”Be nice to the man treating you to dinner, Edward,” he chastises.

”I'm plenty nice, old man! I just think it's bad form to insult the fashion sense of the person you're taking on a date,” Eddie replies, making Steve freeze and watch Wayne for his reaction. The older man shakes his head and waves them towards the door.

”Feel free to keep him out as long as you like, Steve. Would give me some damn peace and quiet for a change,” he says making Eddie laugh as he shrugs on his leather jacket and grabs a now blushing Steve by the arm.

”Bye, uncle Wayne!” Eddie calls over his shoulder as they exit the trailer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

”Your uncle didn't seem too bothered by me taking you out tonight,” Steve says - voice carefully neutral - a little while later, as they're driving through town. Eddie doesn't even look up at the comment, too busy rummaging through Steve's disappointing (his word, not Steve's) collection of tapes, as if something new that's more to his liking might have magically appeared since last week.

”Why would he be? He loves you. You understand his sports references and actually enjoy watching the games with him,” he says, clearly not understanding what Steve is getting at.

”No, but I mean like on a... you know...” Steve tries again. That makes Eddie stop and look over.

”I'd hate to break your heart here, but you're not the first boy to quote-unquote take me out , Stevie,” he says and it takes a second for the implication of the words to register in Steve's brain.

”Oh...” Steve says, a little surprised. Eddie is like Robin. What are the odds of that? Do they know of each other or have both of them decided to share their secret with just Steve? Steve tries to find something supportive to say, and do better than last time, but his mind is a little too hung up on the fact that Eddie apparently dates – and dates boys, at that.

Eddie shifts in the seat next to his.

”Is that... an issue?” he asks, and Steve suddenly realizes his silence could of course be interpreted in multiple ways.

”No!” he rushes to protest. ”No, of course not! It's...nice. It's good. We're cool. Thanks for telling me, man.” Steve looks over to find Eddie watching him, a curl of hair pulled over his mouth that does little to hide the relieved smile forming underneath.

”No problem,” Eddie says. Then, before anything else can be said, he reaches over and turns on the radio, leaving Steve to try and sort out the strange feeling in his chest on his own. Eddie dates guys.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This newly revealed information about his friend is still rattling around in Steve's brain when they park outside the diner, but he forces himself not to think too closely about it when he steps out and opens the car door for Eddie, who's quickly trying to shove the cassette tapes back in their box in the glove compartment.

”Such a gentleman,” he teases. ”Might have to help me walk in there, Harrington, lest my knees buckle.”

”If you fall over, I'm not taking the blame. I've seen you on a basketball court. With coordination like that, it's a miracle you can even walk at all.”

Eddie looks indignant.

”The one time I show up for that stupid class! My shoelaces were untied!”

”Sure they were.”

”I take back the gentleman comment. You’re a mean boy, Steve Harrington!” Eddie says, following him inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moan Eddie lets out makes Steve want to reach across the table to cover his mouth because it might possibly be the most inappropriate sound he's ever witnessed anyone making in a public setting, and for more reasons than one, he needs Eddie to stop.

”Jesus Christ, Eds!” he hisses instead, looking around to see if they're about to get thrown out. Thankfully, the few other patrons seem to be blissfully unaware of the obscene sounds that Eddie Munson is apparently able to produce.

Eddie just gives him a wide grin and any confusing thoughts Steve might have entertained are dampened by the pieces of hamburger bread and salad stuck between Eddie's teeth that he still hasn't washed down with his soda.

”I'm sorry,” he says, looking anything but, ”It's just... this is the best fucking burger I've had in my life!” He says the last part loud enough to earn himself a smile from the waitress.

Steve has to admit that Eddie has a point. His own burger and fries really are some of the best he's had as well.

Eddie launches into a speech about burgers being the ultimate meal. Steve keeps up with the parts about it containing all the necessary components for an ultimate meal and how the burger is its own best mode of transportation to the mouth, but Eddie loses him slightly when he starts bringing up the cultural significance of fries.

Steve lets him keep going and just enjoys listening to Eddie's voice as he moves on from burgers to an ever-expanding tree of different topics. Eddie's voice is pleasant, fast-paced, and energetic. Listening to him talk always keeps Steve on his toes, never knowing quite which direction the conversation is gonna take next. Steve contributes where he can and when he speaks, Eddie always listens intently in a way that Steve isn't exactly used to from anyone else.

It's easy to be drawn into Eddie's orbit as he spins his tales. Steve gets a little too lost in listening to the other man and it's only on an accidental glance down at his watch that Steve realizes that they're almost late for the movies.

They rush to finish their drinks and Steve – true to his word – leaves an almost embarrassingly big tip for the waitress and the cook, and thanks them so much for the meal and the service.

”Come on, big guy, before they start thinking you'll propose,” Eddie tells him and drags him towards the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve is not the only Hawkins resident who picked the cinema as a good spot for a date and when he and Eddie show up, there's already a line of people waiting to buy tickets for the next screenings. Couples, all displaying various degrees of public affection as they wait for the line to crawl forward. He hears the people behind him mumble in hushed voices to each other but Steve is too busy trying to assess how long it might take for them to reach the front of the line to bother eavesdropping.

Eddie has been standing next to him, close enough that the toe of his sneaker bumps against Steve's, but suddenly he steps away. Steve's side feels cold without him there and Steve briefly entertains the idea of putting his arm around Eddie's shoulders to pull him close - the same way the man in front of them has his arm resting casually around the woman leaning against his side – but Eddie is out of reach and has started fidgeting more so than usual, moving like a bouncing ball of nervous energy next to him.

”Everything okay?” Steve turns to ask him, and Eddie gives him a smile that looks a little strained.

”Yeah, man, sure! I just... I really need to take a piss. You mind getting the tickets while I...” he gestures towards the bathrooms, bouncing a little on his feet. ”I'll pay you for the ticket later!”

”Don't worry about it!” Steve assures him. ”And go! I'm not sitting next to you if you wet yourself!”

”Alright. Thanks, man!” Eddie looks around at the other people in line before giving Steve a relieved smile. He's already moving away when Steve remembers something.

”Hey Eddie!” he calls ”Which movie do you want to see?”

Eddie turns and gives him a cheeky grin.

”Surprise me! I'm cool with whatever as long as I'm getting popcorn!”

Steve gives him a thumbs up to show he's got it and watches Eddie disappear around the corners to the bathrooms.

The line slowly inches forward until finally, it's Steve's turn to pay for two tickets and a bucket of popcorn. He's gone with the horror movie option, just like he usually does on dates. The scary movies are a nice excuse to snuggle a bit closer under the pretense of offering comfort. He's not sure how much comforting Eddie will need or want from him, but Steve is pretty sure that Eddie still prefers a horror movie over the romantic comedy or the war documentary that are their other options for the evening.

It's only when they're both seated in the dark of the mostly empty movie theater, and Eddie turns towards him with an absolutely delighted shit-eating grin, as the singing starts, that Steve realizes that, despite the name, maybe Little Shop of Horrors isn't actually a horror movie after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve isn't sure how he feels about the musical. It's entertaining, he supposes, but it's not the best he's seen. He's also a little distracted by the Eddie next to him, who seems to be thoroughly enjoying the movie.

At some point, Eddie reaches over to tap the hand Steve's got resting on the armrest between them. It's probably just to get Steve's attention, but Steve doesn't think too closely about it, because the giant flower alien thing is currently devouring someone on the big screen, so he just does what he would normally do on a date and flips his hand over to lace their fingers together.

He realizes his mistake when he feels Eddie tense next to him.

”Shit, sorry!” he whispers and quickly drops Eddie's hand. Before he can pull away, however, Eddie grabs his hand and tugs it back to the armrest.

”We're on a date,” he says with a shrug and a smile that settles deep in Steve's chest before he laces their fingers back together. Eddie's hand is warm and his fingers a little buttery from the popcorn. Like the rest of Eddie, his hand never stays quite still, and soon the tips of his fingers are drumming different patterns against Steve's knuckles in time with the music of the movie.

Steve is having even more trouble focusing on the plot of the movie after that, because Eddie is sitting closer to him now, leaning in like he's about to turn and whisper something to Steve any second. Also, this close, Steve notices the way he smells faintly of smoke and popcorn, and the way his leather jacket creaks every time he shifts in his seat.

Steve finds himself glancing over at Eddie more often than what is perhaps necessary like he's afraid he'll miss something important if he doesn't check on him every few seconds.

Steve has never been much for poems but, as he watches Eddie smiling up at the big screen, he finds himself thinking that someone should write one about how the light from the movie dances across his face and how beautifully it outlines his silhouette.

It's perhaps not as much of a startling thought as it should have been, realizing that he finds Eddie beautiful. Just a quiet oh in his brain as the confusing feelings from the last year suddenly slot into place. He likes Eddie. Not just as his friend, but properly likes him.

It's a swindling thought, but somehow it makes sense.

Steve looks down at their hands, where Eddie's thumb is slowly stroking along the side of Steve's index finger. Steve wonders if he even realizes he's doing it. Wonders, a little stupidly, if Eddie finds him beautiful too.

”What?” Eddie asks suddenly, clearly having noticed Steve staring.

”Nothing,” Steve rushes to whisper back.

”Okay,” Eddie replies with a soft smile and begins to turn his attention back to the movie. Steve suddenly regrets the lie.

He's always been more of a doer than a thinker. It often takes him a little longer to figure things out, but when he eventually reaches a conclusion, he acts on it. And right now, the conclusion is that he's fallen in love with yet another one of his best friends, and he wants him to know.

He has to give it to himself that, at least, a movie theater is a better setting for this than sitting on a bathroom floor with puke and blood on his face.

”No wait,” he says hurriedly and Eddie looks back at him again, a look of confused curiosity on his face.

Steve has a split second to decide whether to go with confession or flirting and lets his gut feeling make the decision for him.

He lifts his free hand and reaches for Eddie's face.

”You've got a little something...” he whispers and carefully cups Eddie's cheek so he can swipe a thumb over the side of his mouth, removing an invisible piece of popcorn before pulling the hand back to suck the salt from his thumb. All this while keeping eye contact.

Eddie just blinks at him and, for once, seems to be rendered speechless. Steve waits for a reaction for what feels like forever.

”Thank you,” Eddie eventually whispers, face impossible to read, before he turns back to watch the screen. His fingers have stopped moving and he doesn't look back at Steve again for the rest of the movie.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve is worried he might have overstepped, that Eddie's teasing and flirting might not have been based on any sort of interest in Steve, after all. That Eddie likes boys, just not Steve.

Steve knows Eddie likes to rile people up, and maybe that had been all it was. Flirting as a way to rile Steve up. Well, mission accomplished!

They make it out of the cinema and Steve is trying to find the words to apologize, when Eddie suddenly stops and whirls around to face him.

”Do you want to come back to my place for beers?” he asks, his voice a little too loud, as if he's rushing to get the question out before he can change his mind.

”Uh...yeah okay,” Steve says dumbly.

”Okay. Good” Eddie spins around again and stalks off toward Steve's car.

Once he's in the passenger seat, Eddie immediately starts fiddling with the radio, complaining about Steve's choice of channel, completely ignoring the fact that he was the one who chose it on the way over. Steve doesn't bother correcting him, just takes the complaint in stride and lets Eddie flip through the channels.

Eddie makes a few more comments on the music as they drive. He doesn't seem angry or upset, and slowly the tension eases from Steve's shoulders.

It almost feels normal. Like any of the other drives they've been on. Like Steve hadn't pulled a move on Eddie in the cinema. And maybe Steve had actually just made the whole thing up. Maybe he fell asleep for a bit and dreamed up the whole thing?

Except, Eddie keeps reaching up to touch the side of his face and mouth when he thinks Steve isn't looking. Like he can still feel Steve's hand lingering against his skin.

They park outside of the trailer and Eddie tells him to wait outside while he sneaks inside to fetch the beers.

He emerges again a minute later, with a six-pack and a blanket, and gestures for Steve to follow him to the roof of the trailer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They're lying side by side on the thin blanket on the roof, two empty beer bottles next to them and the infinity of the universe stretching out above.

Steve would have marveled at the beauty of the night sky but his thoughts are occupied with trying to decide whether or not he should pretend that the move in the cinema didn't happen. It seems to be the route Eddie is taking.

But Steve has just had a revelation and now that he knows how he feels about Eddie, he's not sure if he can just shove those feelings back. He needs to tell Eddie and then he'll deal with the rejection. Steve has been rejected before. He's loved and been turned down before, and while it hurt at first, those people are still two of the most important people in Steve's life. It can be the same with Eddie.

This doesn't have to ruin things, even if Eddie doesn't feel the same. But Steve realizes that he needs him to know, without a doubt, how Steve feels.

”I love you” he blurts out, interrupting Eddie asking him about his plans for tomorrow.

Eddie falls silent. So very very silent and after a few seconds tic by, Steve is about to repeat himself, when Eddie speaks.

”...is this part of the date deal?” he asks, hesitantly.

”Yes...no? What?” Steve says confused. Eddie makes a sound that's both hopeful and frustrated at the same time.

”Are you saying this because it's what you usually tell your dates at the end of the night?” he asks.

Steve frowns.

”You think I tell people I love them on the first date?”

Eddie just gives him a look. And yeah okay that is exactly what Steve is doing right now. But it's different. It's Eddie. Steve runs a hand through his hair before trying again.

”No man! I just... I like you!”

” Like ? I could have sworn I heard love a few moments ago” Eddie says, but Steve can see the smile spreading on his lips. Eddie is infuriating but he doesn't seem upset, so Steve counts that as a win at least.

”Fuck you, man! I'm trying to be romantic here,” he snorts. Eddie holds his hands up in surrender.

”Sorry. Please proceed.”

”Nah, too late. The moment's gone.” Steve lies back with a dramatic sigh to stare at the sky above. Eddie shifts next to him, rolling over on his side to watch Steve. Steve wonders if he should tell him again, feels like they're yet again slipping away from the core point of Steve loving him. Robin was so much better at this than Eddie is. At least she acknowledged Steve's feelings before turning him down.

But then he feels Eddie's fingers wrap around his, and when he speaks, his voice makes it clear that he's heard Steve's confession loud and clear.

”Too bad,” he says, ”Because I was just gonna ask if kissing is off the table on first dates too?” Steve can hear the teasing in his voice but there's something else too, a slight hesitancy that tells Steve that Eddie is serious about what he's asking.

”It's usually on,” Steve replies, feeling anticipation growing in his chest. Is this really going the way Steve is hoping? Is Eddie going to kiss him?

A moment later, the vision is obscured by dark curls and Eddie's face.

”And tonight?”

Steve replies by nodding.

”Good,” Eddie tells him before pulling Steve into a searing kiss that Steve knows he will have dreams about for years to come. Unless this is just the beginning and Eddie has more than kisses up his sleeve. Steve is nothing if not a hopeful romantic, after all.

When they pull apart, an eternity later, Eddie's lips are kiss-swollen and smiling. He cups Steve's cheek.

”Did you know? When you said yes to the date.”

Steve figures he's asking about the feelings.

”Not a clue,” he admits. That makes Eddie chuckle.

”You are a wonder, Steve Harrington,” he says fondly, before leaning in for more kisses.  

Steve thinks ‘87 is his favorite Valentine’s Day yet!

#year of creation #year of creation 2023 #Year of saying I love you #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie #steddie fanfiction #year of themed creation

[words-are-fireproof]

Year of Song: Mercy - Joel Miller

Summary: Joel makes a choice to atone for his sins.

Word Count: 1k

Content/warnings: canon typical violence, mention of the military, blood, angst, NOT ALL WARNINGS LISTED.

A/N: It's February and here is my @yearofcreation2023 entry from this month! This is completely unbetaed. Hope you enjoy. Thank you again to @oonajaeadira and @writeforfandoms for this! It's been great!

Story inspired by Mercy by Nathan Wagner. You can listen here.

[Masterlist] || [Series Masterlist] || Part One || Part Three

-----

Tell me how’d you up so numb

What kind of trauma would it take

To delight in someone's killing

Let your conscience be erased

The first time he killed a man, he wore the man’s blood on his uniform for over thirty-six hours, in the middle of the desert, the smell of copper and iron permanently etched into his nose.

Sometimes, when he stopped and tried to take a deep breath of fresh air, that smell almost knocked him off his feet. The decay of the world didn’t help now, either. That earthy mix of death and wet earth–petrichor, Sarah said once–sometimes made him gag. But he wasn’t sure if that knee jerk reaction came from the smell or from the memories of Sarah. Whatever it was, he tried not to breathe too deeply. Deep breaths only brought misery and an ache in his chest that he couldn’t shake. 

The death didn’t stop. The desert painted with the limbs of his brothers, torn apart by the roadside bombs that sought to inflict the most damage, emotional and physical. The bodies no longer looked like bodies. They were simply puzzle pieces that no one could ever stitch back together. Closed coffins awaited them on their return home. Now it was no different. The floral nightmare bloomed from the broken and decaying bodies, tethering them to the rest of the infected. The broken bodies were traps for the living. The dead weren’t buried anymore. They far outnumbered the living. 

At the beginning of the outbreak, he clubbed an old lady over the head with a wrench, the sickening crack of her skull reverberating in his mind. Moments later, he coldly instructed Tommy to run over another, two-thirds of longtime neighbors dead at his hands. He could still see the viscera dripping from the wrench, Sarah’s tears shining in the amber light as they slunk down her cheeks. He’d been in hell before, but a part of him began to die that night, made worse by the shot that took everything from him. 

Everything after that point had been in the service of keeping him and Tommy alive. Tommy had been almost worthless that first night, showing restraint when he shouldn’t, wanting to help other people, showing up late and standing there in the dewy grass with the rifle in his hand while his baby girl bled out into the dirt. Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes. From the ground they came and to the ground they’d return. 

He just wished it took him instead of her. Only he knew better. In the quiet nights in the forest, while he was on watch for the first shift while Tommy slept, he tried to imagine Sarah in this world. He tried to imagine her shooting creatures that still eerily looked like people. He tried to imagine her hands covered in blood like his and Tommy’s were, but he couldn’t. Sarah was just too innocent, too kind. If the infected hadn't gotten her, her open and trusting nature would have. He would’ve lost her no matter what. 

The thought didn’t make it any easier. 

Nothing was “easy” in the former sense of the word. But inhabiting that space where the monstrous became the norm was almost too easy. It felt too familiar, like it was a skin he slipped into when he no longer wanted to remember. 

The first time he doused himself with someone else’s blood and came staggering out onto the leaf covered, cracked pavement he almost forgot who he was. He didn’t recognize who he had become, like he was outside his body and looking in. He didn’t even flinch when he stuck the muzzle of his gun into the soft skin of the person’s chin, the gun sinking easily between the space of the jaw. He pulled the trigger without blinking. When he returned to the camp he and Tommy set up, he didn’t say a word. He just unloaded the supplies he’d collected and said he’d go again in the morning. 

He ignored the fear in Tommy’s wide brown eyes. 

The next morning, he returned to that road and repeated the process, coming back with more food, more water, and more bullets to refresh their depleted stash. 

“What are you doing?” Tommy asked quietly as Joel ate some of the food he’d recovered. 

“Protectin’ you,” he replied shortly, glancing at him cooly. 

“You think I need protectin’?” Joel didn’t answer. “I asked you a question, Joel. Do you think I need protectin’?” 

“I think you need somethin’. I don’t see you goin’ out there. If you’re not gonna step up, then I will.” 

“I don’t need your help.” 

“Then why are you here, Tommy?” 

He watched his brother struggle for words. 

“To save you from yourself.” 

Joel chuckled dryly. “I don’t need savin’.”

And he didn’t. Definitely not from Tommy, and he wasn’t planning on saving himself. The violence made it easy to ignore himself and the pain he carried on his tired shoulders. He could compartmentalize the need to survive. He could push it away and keep it far away from the part of him that wanted to–no needed to–die. He could inhabit this person who was no longer himself. 

The next morning, the blood drying on his clothes and his skin, he met the group that would become his family. They didn’t question his motives. They didn’t question why he chose violence, why he inhabited it so nicely. They just needed another person to be their muscle and they found it perfectly in Joel. He threw himself head first into the group, ignoring the way Tommy judged him with every single kill. He didn’t need him hovering around and questioning every choice he made. He made his bed and now he was going to lie in it. There was nothing Tommy could do to stop him. Every kill felt like atonement for Sarah’s death, and he was going to keep doing it until he felt he could atone no more. 

#pedro pascal #a year of song #year of #year of creation #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #fanfiction #joel miller #sam writes #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #hbo the last of us #hbo tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #tlou hbo #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic

[hopeamarsu]

First Meeting

Part of the Year of Themed Creation challenge by @yearofcreation2023

Javi Gutierrez x gn!reader (no pronouns) Word count 1,1k

Warnings Bad puns and flirting

Summary: The movie theater was empty when you stepped in. Taking advantage of the space, you chose a two-seater at the back of the room, thinking you wouldn't have to share. But all that could change before the film rolls.

“Excuse me, but is this seat taken?” 

You looked up from your phone, startled. While waiting for the movie to start, you’d been immersed in your phone, scrolling and liking and not realizing the theatre had filled out around you. 

You’d chosen a two-seater in the back for the extra space as it had been almost an empty room, but a quick sweep around the theatre told you claiming that was no longer an option. You turned back to the man, your eyes widening slightly as you recognized him in an instant. Hell, just last night you’d watched one of his latest interviews, marveling at the ease with which he answered questions aimed at him. 

Javi Gutierrez. Screenwriter, director, and star of an action flick that was wild for movies and even wilder since it had really happened in real life. 

He wasn’t yet a household name but after the success of his and Nicolas Cage’s movie detailing his life as part of a drug dynasty and the newest indie movie blockbuster he’d written, his handsome face had become known in the papers and on social media. But you had never in a million years thought you’d run into him on a late-night showing of an old black-and-white film in a theatre that was way off the beaten track. It was not how things were done in your life; celebrities of his status didn’t visit the same places as you did. 

But here he was, his soft curls falling on his forehead and with a shy, hopeful smile on his face. He was holding a drink and a small popcorn bucket close to his chest, obviously trying to look as unthreatening as possible. Or maybe as unrecognizable as possible? Either way, he was clearly trying to minimize himself in some way. 

His eyes flitted to the seat and you groaned inwardly, understanding dawning that you were ogling and not answering his polite question. With a quick nod and murmuring “of course”, you shuffled your jacket between yourself and the armrest, freeing the space for him. 

Hyperaware of the loveseat dimensions, you waited nervously for the seconds that it took Javi to sit next to you, your knees almost pressing against one another. He moved, placing the drink on the holder and his thigh flexed and rubbed against you. On impact, you couldn’t hold in the small gasp when electricity shot through your body. He whipped back your way, his deep brown eyes wide as they raked your face quickly, searching for your anger perhaps. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, sounding remorseful. “The seats are…” Javi gestured helplessly between you two and you could practically see his muscles tighten in an attempt to be even smaller. Not take any more space than he had to. It made your heart squeeze and you relaxed in your own posture. 

“No worries,” you waved him away, hoping to alleviate his worries, your own shoulder now pressing against his. “I’m okay. We’ll make it fit.” 

The second your words registered in your mind, mortification struck. Had you just … Had you just said a double-entendre to Javi Gutierrez? The man you had crushed on from the first interview you had watched him do? Could you be any more embarrassing?

And to top it all up, what you had said was sexual innuendo at its worst. Fighting the urge to cover your face with your hands, you tried to move so that he couldn’t see you, but the action only pushed your ass firmer into his thigh. You could hear his sharp intake of breath and another wave of embarrassment washed over you. Sweat gathered at the nape of your neck as seconds passed, and neither of you spoke. Tick, tick went the clock as you struggled to gather your scrambled brain, growing more and more agitated. 

Fuck! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Say something, you urged yourself, panicking. 

“I’m so sorry!” You finally wheezed out after an eternity. Could you be swallowed by the Earth now? A portal appearing out of nowhere and Wong could whisk you away? Hell, you’d take a sudden earthquake that would split the loveseat in two right about now — anything to escape the humiliation. 

“No need,” Javi whispered back, trying and failing to hide the eagerness in his voice. “I like how you feel up against me.” 

Your head spun up, eyes wide, watching as the man blushed but held your gaze nonetheless. Just as you were about to speak, ask if he was mocking you or flirting for real, the lights in the theatre dimmed, hiding him in shadows. But you could feel him close, inching his way ever closer, and as your bodies pressed together from knee to shoulder, you knew it was no accident. 

He was warm and solid against you, the heat of his skin permeating yours even through the layers of your clothing. It was the sort of warmth you wanted to curl up against and never leave. Javi leaned in closer and your eyes fluttered shut, the darkness in the theater sealing you into a private bubble. 

Hot breath traveled the shell of your ear, bringing a wave of shivers in its wake. “Will you…” the honeyed voice whispered just as the previews started and a logo appeared on the screen. Javi paused for a second, perhaps to search for the correct words to convey what he wanted and the suspense left you hanging by a thread. 

“Will you allow me the pleasure of joining me for a glass after the showing? I would love to explore the movie and our feelings about it with you afterward.” Each word was like liquid fire and you shivered as they licked your neck and ear. 

He should’ve sounded cocky and overly confident with the way he used the word feelings, but something in his voice made you think the exact opposite. Javi was clearly nervous about your answer, despite the bravado he tried to insert into the question. You also got the sense he held himself back after the question, afraid of maybe coming on too strong. 

You held all the power in this moment, you thought. He was confident enough to ask, but not confident enough to assume you’d accept. You had the power to turn him down or jump with him into the unknown and he would accept either result with ease. He wanted it but didn’t dare to take it. 

It was that exact duality of this man, the intriguing mix of alpha and omega in the same space that made you agree instantly to his proposal. Your husky yes made him shiver, visible even in the dim light of the opening credits. 

divider by @firefly-graphics

Year of Firsts masterlist

#year of themed creation #year of firsts #year of creation #javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez fanfiction #tuwomt fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #hopeamarsu #my writing

[deadhumourist]

YSC: A Game of Realities

It’s only fitting that the month of love is dedicated to the man who chooses love instead of choosing sides, right?  This is a dramedy to make up for the dark January fic. Thank you to @just-here-for-the-moment for encouraging my nonsense.

Summary: An unexpected turn in a battle with The Mountain has Prince Oberyn end up in a situation that he couldn't have imagined, and you have to help him through it. The ride is bumpy until you discover something that will change your perception of yourself, of Oberyn and of reality, forever. This is part 1, more to follow!

Part of the wonderful @yearofcreation2023 challenge!

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader

Rating: Mature - language, later chapters will be explicit. 

WC: 1835

Warnings: Language, battle scenes, mention of death and burial, shaky boundary lines between sci-fi and fantasy, smells and Olympic-level sass because I'm three raccoons in a trenchcoat. Reader has no physical description, and uses she/her pronouns. Whole fic not beta’d.

Author Masterlist | Taglist in bio.

-----

Doran is seated in the centre of the plush sofa in his receiving room. The intricate patterns and warm, rich colours sit beautifully with the high-ceilinged space, giving it an air of grandeur, fitting for the royal family of Dorne. In the corner a lush palm sways in the light breeze, in stark contrast to the tense atmosphere between the dark-haired brothers. 

“I have been more than fair, Oberyn. You have visited the capital, said your piece - this unquenchable thirst for retribution will drag the people of Dorne into the fire if it does not end with you.” 

Oberyn scoffs at his older brother, bitterness simmering in his words. “Words alone will not bring Elia back.” 

“Neither will violence.” Doran snaps. 

He is tired. His younger brother has always been fiery, passionate to a fault. With vengeance blowing this kindling into an open flame, he has little hope of discouraging the man from his course of action. But he has to try. 

“Reconsider, Oberyn. It will not change what happened in the past, and you could lose your life in the process. Will you have me put both of my siblings into the ground?” he intones softer. 

His brother continues to pace the floor like a caged viper, seething with a rage so deep-seated that he himself doesn’t know where to go with it. His beloved sister had died at the hands of the Lannisters and it seemed like his brother was ready to break bread with them. 

“I am not retracting my challenge to the Mountain. I will spill his blood the way he did hers.” 

With one last look at Doran’s pained expression, he flings the door open and starts down the hall to his quarters. 

Concealed behind a corner close to Doran’s rooms, Ellaria stands stock still. She had stopped to listen in, having heard the loud exchange from the hallway. The Mountain’s reputation as a killer is known far and wide, and she is worried. She trusts Oberyn’s skill in a fight, but with the Lannisters you never know what surprises are hiding in the wings. 

“I won't allow you to leave me alone in this world, lover.” she whispers into the darkness before she turns on her heel and makes for the Maester’s chambers.

When she exits hours later, she is holding a black elixir which promises that Oberyn will come out of the fight unscathed. 

As she stalks to her private room, the glass vial burns in her hand - is new, otherworldly and unseen by anyone outside of the inner circle of Maesters. Oberyn will see it as a betrayal but she will keep him alive no matter the cost. 

The Maester had warned her several times during the consultation. 

“You are absolutely sure you want to play with dark magic, dear?” 

Ellaria nodded, watching him take down different bottles from his shelves. 

When he started pouring the contents of one into a mixing bowl, she gripped his arm hard. 

“A mere potion will not do, Maester, it needs to ensure that Oberyn stays alive.” 

He simply raised an eyebrow at her, continued and then swung round to heave a large grey grimoire off the same shelves. 

“And so it will.” 

Ellaria now clutches the vial closer to her as she increases her speed. She can’t help feeling unsettled about the liquid in her possession, even though she requested it. The Maester was insistent with his instructions. 

“Stand clear of the arena, and when the time is right, throw the vial onto the ground, so it breaks near the opponent. He will be transported by magic to a place where he can never harm anyone."

She regards him carefully, and he answers the question she doesn't ask. 

"It is dark magic, and the price will be exacted for such a request."

She knows he does not mean coin. 

Reaching her chambers, she closes the door behind her and places the vial among her jewels. 

As she hides the glass object, she hears the clanging of spears outside her window and a growling laugh from Oberyn, who seems to have bested his opponent, undoubtedly not for the first time. 

She closes her eyes and fervently hopes that this will work. 

—-

The Dornish procession proudly walks into the arena, parting like a golden, shimmering sea to allow their second-born prince to move to his place. Ellaria is already waiting for him there, where he fastens the last of his armour. He kisses her passionately before gripping his spear, and although there are tears in her eyes, she can’t bring herself to utter any words of warning or apology. 

He enters into the fight, spear twirling in the air, a fanciful prince intent on taking what was taken from him. Oberyn taunts the man, goading him into admitting to his crimes, while the clanging of metal echoes into the surrounding mountains. 

Ellaria knows Oberyn, she sees the minute gritting of his teeth while The Mountain fights the man she loves with sheer strength; he does not give an inch between them and does not give Oberyn the satisfaction of responding either.

She recognises her lover’s white-hot anger, unspooling like a tethered ball of thread dropped into an abyss, making him reckless.

The mountain’s spear catches the edge of Oberyn’s and with a sickening crackle of wood, the tip is snapped off. 

Ellaria gasps out loud, panic rising in her throat and stealing her breath before she can take it. 

She reaches into her thin mustard-coloured cloak, retrieves the vial and…throws. 

Her throw causes the vial to sail briefly on a gust of wind, and instead of hitting The Mountain, the vial crashes in front of Oberyn’s feet, creating a vortex of black smoke in front of him. It fizzes and crackles like sparklers set alight.

The vortex lurches sickeningly towards him and the next moment Oberyn is gone. 

As the black smoke dissipates rapidly the only sound heard is Ellaria’s anguished screams.

—-

With your chin resting on the heel of your hand, you marvel how it can feel like 19 hours have passed, when in reality you just cracked hour 5 of your shift. 

You are in a bad mood to boot. An earlier table had given you the run around and then didn't tip on a huge bill. Now you just want to get the hell out of the place, put on some pajamas and watch a series. 

You're about to get up when a loud clanging sound comes from outside the restaurant. The open area behind the restaurant is known to attract some troublemakers so this isn't exactly a surprise. 

Pete, the smarmy manager on duty stops in front of you."Go tell those kids to stop messing around here or we'll call the authorities."

Heaving a deep sigh, you get up and walk to the back of the restaurant, throwing the metal door open in front of you. 

You listlessly stomp to the dumpster, and stop, hands perched on your hips. 

"Okay dillholes, enough fun for today, get a move on."

You hear a plastic ruffling inside the dumpster.

Rolling your eyes, you check your watch. Good lord, the last 30 minutes of your shift is starting to feel like several lifetimes. 

When you look up, you see a leg swung over the side of the dumpster, followed by a brownish thing, which materializes into a human as it climbs out of the big metal container. 

The man shouts at you, looking around. He's clearly aggravated, his hair sticking up in all directions. 

"Where is The Mountain?"

You stare a long time before your brain manages to make your tongue move. 

"You're in the city buddy, there are no mountains here."

The man, seemingly satisfied that the geographical feature isn't close by, sniffs himself and pulls a face. 

"This place smells like week-old waste" he yells at you from where he stands, somehow managing to make the statement drip with distaste.  

The cheek of this guy is unbelievable and you feel your hackles rising at how rude he is. 

"Yeah? We'll that's rich coming from someone who looks like a fancy fuckin' armadillo!"

For a moment Oberyn is speechless. He's no shrinking violet but no one has ever dared speak to Dornish royalty like that. When he finds his tongue again, his hands automatically go to his hips and he cocks his chin out at you. 

“Come over here in your peasant clothes and say that to my face."

“I can see your damn face from here, and these are not..” 

You look down, taking in the uniform and apron with a few food splatters.

“...okay I’ll give you the clothes. What….were you dumpster diving then?” 

Finally taking a moment, he looks around, but everything seems wrong. Out of place. 

"This does not look like King's Landing, even if it smells the same” he says, now a little more subdued than when he first yelled at you. 

"Ummm…no. You're at the back of a restaurant and you were in the trash a minute ago. Listen, I don’t know what your deal is but you gotta go.”

Oberyn spins on his heel, looking around. "I would gladly, but it would appear I am not in any recognisable part of Westeros."

The name sounds like something you’ve heard before but you shake it off, trying to focus on the man in front of you instead.

“What’s your name?”

The man seems to be thinking about something for a while, then replies.

“Oberyn, Prince of Dorne.” 

“Okay, Oberyn, Prince of Dorne, as the song goes - you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. My shift is pretty much over, is there someone I can call to come get you?” 

He looks at you blankly. The man cuts a ridiculous sight standing next to the dumpster in his leather outfit, just staring at you like he’s trying to work out some impossible math problem.

You sigh, throwing your hands up. With this one it seems to have devolved into a process of elimination when it comes to getting any information, because he’s either coming off some insane drug-induced bender or he has memory loss. Either way he’ll need to be checked out, or at the very least take a goddamned shower. 

“Look, are you dangerous? Are you going to try to kill me if I take you somewhere in my car?” 

The man’s expression morphs from blank curiosity to disgusted.

“We do not hurt women and children in Dorne. You will be safe in my company, but where are we going?”

“Home, my home. You can’t stand around out here like you just came from Comic Con or a Leather Daddy convention, and you don’t seem to have a clue where you are so…unless you have a better idea…” you jerk a thumb over your shoulder and start turning around to clock out. 

As you walk back to the restaurant, you hear the crunch of his books on the gravel  behind you and idly wonder if this is how those true crime episodes start. Finding a mildly threatening guy and loading him into your car. 

This might be a huge mistake. 

#oberyn martell fic #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell x reader #prince oberyn #oberyn martell x female reader #game of thrones fanfiction #oberyn martell #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #year of science fiction #year of creation

[grogusmum]

Coming soon for my fic series for Year of Themed Creation!

Wheel of the Year: Imbolc

#wheel of the year #coming soon #year of creation

[simpingcowboy]

Kisses of Fire

Pairing: Ezra x GN!Reader, no use of Y/N, reader is a prospector

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: canon like violence, blood, kissing?, non-explicit mentions of sex/oral sex, pet names

Summary: Your relationship with Ezra was a delicate one. Reliant on convenience and mutual pleasure, but at one point everything changed.

A/N: May's Year of ABBA, as part of Year of Creations @yearofcreation2023 brings us to my first ever Ezra fic! He was a bit intimidating, but I'm happy to have given him a shot! :) You can listen to the song here as Tumblr hates ABBA and will not let me properly link it.

"Oh Nova…what have you done to me?" Ezra asks in the dark. The pale light of the moon barely penetrates the nylon tent. What light there is has cast a soft yellow glow over the entirety of your belongings as well as both your bodies.

Your head on his chest, sleeping to the sound of his heart beat. His fingers dance over your parted lips. Searching…digging in the dark for an answer to explain one of his life's more recent mysteries. A nick of flint…he reckons. Reasons it to be the cause for the spark he feels each time you kiss. But as his finger drags over your lips, eyes too inspecting best he can in the dark, all Ezra can feel is the softness of your flesh and a pounding in his heart.

Ezra has had his share of love affairs. Men, women, anyone between or beyond…made no difference to the prospector. Who was he to be selective when The Green itself took all equally? And in his many cycles of solitude and isolation, he learned early on to take what he was offered. A lesson you too had caught onto quickly.

You'd never been helpless. Surviving on your own for many cycles of your own, before you crossed his path. Star crossed lovers meet out on the open green, guns pointed, feet braced, waiting for the other to make the first move. The opportunity of which is swept up by Ezra.

"Well well well…to what do I owe the pleasure?" He says with a grin, his voice low and raspy. A foreign twange in his voice that pulls you in.

"I'm a prospector." You answer simply, gesturing to the untouched dig site between the two of you.

"As are most on this moon, Nebula." He states, taking in the sprinkle of vermillion dust coating your dark black suit. "I'm gonna need you to get more specific. You see …this here dig holds my next harvest." The man explains, emphasizing his perceived ownership over the ditch. "So I ask again, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

It's a test. As most things are on the green. A test of nerves. Of skill. Of determination. All of which you forged during your time on the green. "I was under the assumption this dig held my next harvest." You retort.

He scoffs with the tilt of his head, which clears the glare from.his helmet allowing you to see the face of the stranger for the first time. A blonde streak through his hair. "Then you have assumed incorrectly." As you go to respond he stops you. "Though…I am a man of reason. I do not see why this could not be our harvest."

You squint at his words, uncertain of the nature of his offer. "And why should I share?"

The man smirks, appreciating your attitude. "I have something you want. I have supplies. Food. Water. My pod, not far from here. Would make for easy harvesting."

Through your helmet, you can tell he's not lying. His body language is far too relaxed to be telling an outright lie. "And what is it you want from me?"

His mouth goes a little dry at his own proposition. "I want you, Nebula. Sweet stardust, to warm my bed for the duration of our shared excavation.”

The proposition is not a new one, though certainly a curious one. And had you never heard of the man with a blonde streak in his hair and with half an arm gone, perhaps you’d been more cautious than you were. Perhaps you’d never have agreed to such a delicate arrangement. At the least it would have taken much more convincing than it did.

Ezra can tell by the long look in your eyes, and the time you take to respond you’re debating the offer. “Come on Little Nebula…You know it is not a bad proposition. Food. Shelter. Half a harvest. Split right down the middle. And whilst I do not consider myself of Keeva’s most beautiful creations…there are far uglier things on The Green. Though- I am afraid I have one amendment before you decide to agree.”

You nod, urging him on.

“No kissing.” He says flatly, before the vibrancy returns to his character. “Though I am certain you can find much more noble uses for my mouth… if you agree.”

And agree you do.

That was the start of it. Two prospectors sharing in the splendors of greed by day and lust by night. You soon learned how well you worked together; getting through the excavation at an impressive speed. Your two hands proved useful where his one hand struggled. His sharper senses kept you both out of harm’s way on more than one occasion. Then of course, was the shared glory you found at night. Ezra’s many lovers proved him a well experienced man. While his stipulation about kissing went mostly unexplained aside from his general rejection of romanticism, you had found many more pleasurable uses for his mouth than kissing would provide.

The blonde streaked man was not what you'd imagined he'd be. Ezra was something of a myth on The Green. The reputation that precedes his actual involvement in your life had you believing him to be nothing short of a magic man. A survivor of the unsurvivable. A man who spoke in strange riddles and rhymes. One who felt he was almost plucked from another time and brought to yours. A man who'd been here more cycles than most any other prospector on the planet without losing his mind.

Of all the tales told of the strange man, one thing was consistent. Ezra was sincere. Straightforward, as long as you could decipher his odd tongue. Forthcoming of his intentions. So when he explained his desire to split the harvest, you suspected no deception on his behalf.

What you were not suspecting, was how much you'd like Ezra. Quickly growing fond of his eccentricities and of how he pleased you. How strange, you thought, that of all places The Green would be where you'd first foolishly fall for a man who would never love you back. A man who would abandon you when you no longer served your purpose. But in the warmth of his bed, as you press kisses along his cheek, you allow yourself to imagine that the romantic spark would grow to a flame.

Ezra was unsure of when the shift occurred. Perhaps after the first dig. Or the second. Or maybe even the third, where you silently celebrated your six months of partnership. Maybe it wasn’t even up until that fateful moment that everything changed. That you transformed from a fellow drifter on a far off moon, to a love of his own. He doesn’t remember when it happened, but he remembers the day he became acutely aware of it.

Prospecting was a dangerous profession, of this there was never a doubt. Even across your months together, had you encountered many unsavory persons. Thefts, cons, killers. All of the worst of mankind that plagued the face of The Green. All the same kind you’d met before, and were certain to meet again. These ones were just a bit more unlucky than the rest.

Traders. Roaming the planet’s surface trading both exotic goods and mundane items alike. A pair, who like yourself, had heard of the blonde-streaked man who had recently become a half-armed one. A pair with their eyes on the wild and dangerous Ezra’s prized trophy case. What was intended to be a simple supply run, had turned into a stand-off. Just as he had done before, Ezra was certain he could survive. But when you unexpectedly arrived, and the taller half of the pair had his gun on you, it got much uglier than Ezra could have anticipated.

Where once, Ezra would have abandoned his partner, leaving them for dead in favor of saving his beloved trophy case, he found himself unable to bring himself to do so. And as the stand-off turned into a gun fight. And the gun fight turned into a fistfight. In his landslide of emotions, one thing was clear. For the first time in his career, something mattered more than his precious trophy case, you. When Ezra finally smashed the last standing man’s helmet hard enough to crack, leaving him to the burn in the planet’s atmosphere, all Ezra could care about was you.

Bloody and limping, he came to you. “My sweet Nebula.” he pants, “Are you alright?” he asks, voice softer than is reasonable considering the adrenaline still racing through his veins. A thick gloved hand stretched out to your own.

“I’m okay Ezra.”

"Now there is nothing that can keep us apart" And he smiles, as his world slowly fades.

He doesn’t remember how he got back to the pod. Or when he got out of his suit. Or how long he’s been laying in this bed. But when his brown eyes open, and he sees you lying besides him he feels safe. And of all the places Ezra has been in his life as a vagabond, he'd finally found a place he belonged.

It frightens him. The testaments of his own affections shake him to his foundations. To know what his love could do. To know what it made him capable of. And worse- to know that what he loved may not feel equal in those affections.

But he could not lose you. Not to those men. Nor The Green. Not even Keeva itself could remove you from him. That terrible greed that kept his soul had extended to you. You were Ezra's. Though he'd claimed you many times, there was one way he'd yet to have taken you.

"Stardust…" he whispers, aquiline nose bumping against your cheek.

"Hmm…Ezra you're awake." You say, eyes adjusting to the frail light of early evening.

"My beloved Nebula, I hope you can excuse my most sudden intrusion of your person but-" a thick hand slithers under your waist as Ezra takes his position above you, "it has come to my attention that I have neglected you something serious. And if permissible…" he leans in closer, the tip of his nose sliding against yours "it'd most like to rectify my unforgivable sin."

"Ezra? Are you asking to kiss me?" You repeat, your sleep dazed brain struggling to follow.

"I believe I am, Nebula."

"Then you may."

With that, Ezra kisses you. His lips are slow to press their way into yours, shivering with trepidation. Once he has his lips on yours, he knows he's reached the point of no return. The feather light touch of your mouth sears through him. Burning your essence into his very existence. Branding him as yours. The taste of devotion sitting heavy on his scorched tongue.

"More-" Ezra begs, pressing heavily against you. You're eager to comply. Pulling him close.

The kiss is cosmic. All your mismatched broken parts forming like clusters in open space. Finding all the bits that make the other whole. An undeniable heat building on your tongues as your bodies fall into each other, closer and closer. Two fools lost in orbit. Limbs enfold like the outstretched arms of the galaxy.

"I love you." You murmur against Ezra's lips.

And the cosmos is completed. Fire catching at the core, where your lips meet. Burning through flesh, and bone, and pride. Creating one where there once was many. His sweet stardust blossoms like a nova star; enrapturing him in your flames. Where he happily concedes his love for you.

"Oh Nova- my Nova!" He nearly cries for you. Overwhelmed by the emergence of feels he'd harbored so long. "I love you. I love you. I love you-" Ezra repeats like a prayer at your altar. Where he worships the star that brought him light. Where his greedy hands slither up your shirt, begging for access. "Nova, allow me-"

"Please Ezra!" You plead back. Eager to have him as you'd never had him before.

In the end, there you return. Engulfed in each other's arms. The quiet hush of night. Pale lances of moonlight piercing through the nylon tent. So when Ezra rhetorically asks, "Oh Nova…what have you done to me?" and foolishly feels over your lips for a piece of flint; the greater question he wants to ask is what he did to deserve to experience your flame. And just as the first man to discover fire, Ezra's greatest concern was getting it again and again.

#am writes #year of abba #year of creation #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x GN!reader #Ezra fanfic