#do i want to given How I Am About Gruff Old Men? no

[flatstarcarcosa]

You've mentioned it a lot, but did you ever explain how Felix ends up owning a bar in your canon? I'm curious :)

SO. for starters i just got off work and am typing this while trying to eat in the 45-65 minute span i'm gonna have between 'eat food, take meds' and 'pass the fuck out', if anything is disjointed that's why

but anyway so

it comes initially from me being like. what the fuck would felix even DO anyway, because he's absolutely not the 'sit at home all day doing nothing every day even if he has a good reason (the new disabilities)' type.

when he gets medically cleared, and by that i mean his doctors are like 'congrats you don't have to come here multiple times a month, see you in six months' as well as being informed he's basically back to as 'normal' a level as they can get him, it kind of. begins snowballing a little, into a place i don't like.

i joke about 'heehee, soup' but luck, the armor lock, and his armor itself are the only reasons he lived. and that living still involved a 6 week medically induced coma, and another month actually IN the hospital before they sent him home.

and they didn't want to send him home, they wanted to send him to an SNF for more-involved therapy and he just straight up refused and fucked off AMA with my promise to his team i would at least do what i could, which would damn sure be better than whatever he'd do alone.

so by the time we roll around to him being at a point of getting antsy and wanting to do something with himself, it's been a while since chorus. he still thinks that despite everything, things ain't as bad as it could be, he's worked his way back, he just has to brush off the rust and get back to it.

and then while he's learning to shoot again, because yes, in addition to having to learn how walk and get dressed and hold a fucking toothbrush again, he had to learn how to use a fucking gun, he realizes that like...........

maybe he's not getting back to anything.

he needs a (mostly) permanent stiff brace on his knee, and will forever. if he's planning on using his fucking leg for longer than an hour, he's got to have it. stiff ones aren't like the little sleeves you slip on and can hide under a pant leg, and i imagine even in the far-future canon, there's not that many changes made to 'em. you don't redesign something that works, right?

he gets to a point where he finds out he's also going to need to need a moderate dose of painkillers basically forever, and all of the issues keeping them legally comes with, because having your bones put back together and a lot of them replaced with fucking metal might keep you from being paralyzed but it's gonna hurt.

when he's learning to shoot again, he finds a new problem. his doctors had mentioned at one point it could be an issue, but because it hadn't been, he jumped to assuming that meant it wouldn't be, and the problem is that repeated motions put too much stress on the joints and the tendons in his hands and arms and the end result is a tremor.

you can't fucking shoot if you can't hold a gun still, and keeping his hands in the same positions while target shooting are enough to make the tremor act up after a bit. the same with trying to use knives.

and so we slip back into a second period of turmoil, because this is somehow like when we came home the first time, after reach, but also it's not. it's not the same at all, and he says that at least that time everything was actually fine.

it was fine because he could just pick back up with whatever he wanted but he can't do that now because he's spent too long only being good at one fucking thing and now he can't fucking do that fucking thing

"so what the FUCK am i supposed to do until i fucking die, since you and sam couldn't leave it alone on chorus?!"

it's probably, maybe, the first time since the whole thing that i actually step away and go stay with @dadbodsandbots and sam for a bit. (depending on the timeline, and i still haven't nailed down the details bc i would end up hyperfixating on the medical side of it wrt his recovery, but, mason might be a baby now??)

i leave not because i don't care but because i don't know what to do, or say. i'm not going to give him false positives just to keep the good vibes, and i'm not going to remotely imply he doesn't deserve to be angry and maybe losing a little bit (more?) of his mind about it, but from my perspective it's like

he did it to him fucking self.

this whole thing is just him, finally, for once, actually experiencing the consequences of his own goddamn bullshit, and while i'm not cruel enough to tell him that, i don't think i need too. i think he knows. he knows, and that's part of what makes him so goddamn mad about it.

i think maybe he shows up after a couple days, having at least asked sam if it was okay first before showing up, and it ends up being the first time the four of us are actually around each other.

we've seen each other, a little. sam stopped by once, not long after felix was up and walking again at home, and i could do a whole fucking post just about THAT from sam's perspective tbh. (POV: you feel the need to check in on your former partners/friends despite everything and you've had this mental image built up in your brain for a very, very, long time about the one that was basically gaslighting and emotionally abusing you where he's a looming threatening monster that twisted you into becoming the same and then he answers the door on fucking crutches with one leg still mostly held up with visible fucking braces and rods attached down the outside of it, and while the man was never Jacked in his build he looks so fucking gaunt that if someone said he was a walking corpse you wouldn't doubt it. your world view is thrown ass over end, for the second time within as many years.)

i think it's the first time sam begins to ponder the fact that again, despite everything, the four of us are also the only other people in the whole fucking galaxy that know exactly what happened and why we all ended up the way we did and where we did and how, and that for whatever that may be worth,

it's got to be worth something.

i think when we come back home again after that, felix has had time to stew in his anger after i left, and then chew on his anger coming after me, and then finally let it abate enough to see what it left behind while we're there.

and he says, "what the fuck do normal people even do for jobs, anyway?"

we're not hurting for money or anything. my penchant for never spending more than we needed to, his penchant for always finding new ways to add to the checks, and both of us likely having maybe-dubiously-legal investments over the years means that technically we're fine.

it's not about the money, which is something else that feels weird for him, when so much was for so long, but it's looped back to what i opened with: felix isn't the 'sit around at home all day and do nothing' type.

i end up being the one spouting off bartending. one of the things for combating the nerve issues and the tremors is actually walking the fine line of retraining his fine-motor control without over-exerting it. when we empty out the storage locker we've been paying on for well over a decade, he finds his old guitar and picks up playing again.

his doctor comments that it's a really good idea, actually, so good he's bummed he didn't think of it himself, because of guitar playing involving dexterity and use of the hands without them being stuck in the same positions for too long.

it sounds silly, but he picks up a bit of juggling, too. not like, circus level shit, but just the repeated motions of throwing things and tracking them and catching them and rinsing and repeating.

basically he ends up doing a lot of mostly-mindless stuff that involves keeping his hands and arms in use, with bonus points being anything he can kind of do while doing something else. (if you're like, omg does felix have fidget spinners the answer is no, but he does have other stim toys, but also, if you call them that he will throw it at you, tremors be damned.)

and so i'm like.

bartending.

you can still be around people and shit talk them, it'll be a good environment that isn't something lifeless and soul sucking, you'll get ample use of your hands, and as an added treat, "you get to control people when you tell them no more booze."

"and if they get mad about it, i might still get to stab people sometimes, too," he adds, cheerfully.

he ends up just working in some little dive when none of the clubs in the area hire him. we can't like, outright accuse anyone with no proof but we're pretty sure it's because the clubs are run by snobs that would rather close down early every night for lack of staff than have a bartender with a leg brace.

the owner of the dive is probably some ex UNSC guy himself, the type that doesn't think it's something to hide while not making it everyone else's business. the type of guy that can tell felix's made-up timeline and events he gives for how he got injured ain't really jiving, but thinks at the end of the day that a man's business is his own and he doesn't owe anyone explanations about it.

i think the bar has a high turnover because lots of people get hired thinking it's going to be something other than what it is, and they think the owner is a dick (he's just old, gruff, and low on patience) and felix is one of the few people that sticks it out. i think he has a relationship with The Owner based on friendly animosity.

("you have me closing alone every night leading up to memorial day, are you a fucking sadist? are you trying to fucking kill me?"

"we're already dyin' a day at a time kid."

"well, can you please do yours faster so i can piss on your grave and find a new job?" )

it means that after a handful years, when The Owner is packing it in and retiring, before he sells the building to a realtor, he asks felix if he'd be interested in buying the bar.

claims that the realtor just wants to bulldoze the building to put in condos, and he'd rather die in the bar in the middle of a shift than let that happen, but then he offers felix a lower price than what he'd get for the condos, and felix can't help but feel that's by design.

so he says fuck it, why not? might be nice ~*~*being his own boss~*~*~ again.

#txt.txt #but also #others: samcat #should i expand on The Owner and give him like a name or something? #probably. #do i want to given How I Am About Gruff Old Men? no #but also: he's the anti-sarge in the fact that he's not full of insanity and smooth brains like sarge is #they'd still weirdly probably get along though? in the sense that sarge would go on a rant about something #and The Owner is shooting the shit along with him and then as soon as he walks away he's telling felix like #'that guys fucking insane and an idiot i understand why you wanted to kill him' #ship: save me some sunshine

[fantasy-so-far]

Day 11 - Tepid (Make-up Day)

It was a tepid reception at best, but tension rippled out from the clasped hands at the center of the room. With all eyes on his ears, Holly knew that he was still not welcome to make waves in the social pools in which he had inserted himself. Still, his concerns didn’t make it past his artfully crafted mask.

“I am so sorry to interrupt Ser Lacroix,” Holly stated loudly enough to address the scorn of the other men offhandedly.

“Not at all,” the knight stated sincerely. “You are promptly on time for our meeting. I appreciate that.”

The other men started to realize that their disdainful gazes and murmuring were not welcomed, nor supported, by their host, so they started to make excuses to take their leave. Some looked at the nearby chronometers and made simultaneous excuses about dreaded tardiness. Others simply thanked Evant for the chat and left. Two men lingered until the knight looked at them pointedly, and then they also filed out.

One man, though, a much older elezen, refused to adhere to such niceties. He sat firmly and plumply in his chair and sipped his brandy without so much as looking at Holly.

“Father. I need to talk to Holly alone,” Evant pressed more directly.

“I don’t see why,” the man responded in a gruff tone. “I had given you a perfectly good list of local contacts and I have heard from them that you haven’t enlisted the aid of a single one of them.”

“That is why I haven’t enlisted their help,” the knight sighed irritably. “This is meant to be a surprise, and you hate surprises so much that you want to spoil it for yourself, and potentially others. Please, father, I will come find you when I am finished here.”

The old man peered at his son in disquieted silence for a moment before finishing his brandy in a gulp and pushing himself from his chair. He hobbled out grumbling about surprises and outsiders, but Holly pretended not to hear him.

“I do apologize for any discomfort my company may have caused you. My impending wedding is a political affair and most of the people involved are adherent to old politics, which did not include people from outside our lands,” Evant admitted while gesturing to empty seats and pouring each of them a brandy.

“I knew what I was getting myself into, honestly,” Holly chuckled good-naturedly. “I just hope my presence does not mar your reputation.”

Ser Lacroix paused and shook his head before handing over Holly’s glass.

“Your status as an outsider will prove to be a boon to me in time,” he explained. “You see, I am marrying a Garlean woman, and I have fought tooth and nail to draw acceptance from my father and the House to which I am sworn. Surprisingly, I found it. My fiancée is beloved member of our social circles now, and so, she is assimilated. When you contacted me about answering my advertisement for aid, I see in you and your company an opportunity to continue to further my progressive agenda.”

Holly sipped his drink and listened. Evant’s admission raised a red flag, but Holly didn’t betray any concern.

“How’s that?” He asked casually.

“My future wife and I will have children one day, and though my wife is assimilated in the circles because she adheres to a role that inspires tolerance, I find that children, especially those who are different, are treated with less tolerance as they age and explore their identities. Before that day comes, I hope to weed out the influences in my life that will treat my family as lesser because of heritage. You mentioned in our correspondences that the company you represent is entirely comprised of outsiders who now own property in Ishgard?”

Holly could follow the logic and nodded at the question. “That is correct. The leader is an auri warrior and his leadership team is primarily made up of Viera and Au Ra.”

“Well, if they own property, they are landed, meaning that many of our laws and bylaws will favor them. Their races, however, will cause there to always be question about their citizenship and loyalty, even as our own loyalties are injured by generations of lies,” Evant went on. “I see an opportunity to align myself with the welcoming of a new era for Ishgard. While some will do similar by way of trade and direct politics, I want to do so by supporting the new citizens of Ishgard, in hopes that the generation in which my children grow up will be more than tolerant of outsiders.”

“That is an awfully noble cause,” Holly admitted, trying to disguise some of his skepticism. It was all so idealistic that even the bard wasn’t sure it was grounded in reality. “I find myself grateful that you have these aspirations, since it will help the Graveyard Company flourish in this new place. Speaking of which, as we discuss the job proper, I would like to negotiate some public relations rewards into the payment.”

Evant looked confused but did not voice it, allowing Holly to go on without interruption.

“Since you want to be seen aligning yourself with the new blood in Ishgard, I would propose invitations for the company to your wedding,” Holly said bluntly. “And, if possible, any pre-wedding festivities as well.”

The wince that Evant tried to disguise behind his brandy glass spoke volumes of his dedication to his vision. The full minute of silence that followed even more so. Holly was about to press the man for a response when Evant nodded hesitantly.

“I believe that can be arranged. It may even be appropriate since this job pertains to the wedding,” he admitted, though he sounded as though he doubted himself. “Are they…how do I put this politely…you said they are mercenaries? Are the familiar with social protocol?”

Holly wanted to howl with laughter at the hypocrisy he was party to. However, he pasted on his most charming smile and nodded reassuringly.

“Yes. I assure you that their occupation has no impact on their manners,” he pointed out. Holly wasn’t satisfied, though. Instead, he hummed a tune, feining thoughtfulness. The melody was magic that would make the knight more susceptible to suggestion. When the spell was woven, he lifted a hand and snapped, activating it.

“Oh! Do you know what,” he exclaimed, burying the strange gesture beneath an excited expression. “This is actually perfect. Having them at all social occasions pertaining to the wedding will perfectly illustrate how important unity is for you. Unity of the new and old citizens of Ishgard. Isn’t that a lovely future?”

The spell caused Ser Lacroix to lag a bit, but he, very suddenly, nodded emphatically after a moment.

“Yes! That is a most beneficial suggestion. Yes. I will pay the promised coin, but I will also get them invitations to social events. You really are godsent in these times,” he cheered. “Now then, there is just the details of the job to discuss. Shall we?”

Holly hid his smirk with another sip of brandy, taking the time to trade it out for a faint smile. When he nodded is affirmation, the knight hopped up to get a map. He would spend the rest of their meeting remembering his promise, but not acknowledging it further.

Bardic manipulation at its finest.

@thegraveyardcompany​

Master Post || Prompt Source || Challenge Carrd

#FFxivWrite #FFxivWrite 2022 #Holly #SL: Jack Daw

[erodasfishtacos]

Hiii bestie!!! Could you write about y/n being in danger and gang Harry gets all worried and scared (of course) and saves her. (I love your stories so much)

warning: violence, blood, guns

Harry was waiting for YN at home after she was going to the store to buy tampons (he offered to go but he normally bought the wrong kind).

He’s watching a game of football as he also continuously glances at the clock - keeping time of how long she’s been gone.

After twenty-five minutes, he gets a bit impatient, he wanted to start their movie night (sue him sometimes he liked cute romantic shit).

When he rings her mobile, it picks up after the first ring, and what he hears next sends a straight chill down his spine.

“We were waiting for you to call, Diablo,” A gruff, smokey voice rasps through the speaker of his wife’s phone.

His heart fucking drops but anger takes over in mere seconds as he’s off the couch and storming to their secret weapons room through a hidden passageway.

“What the fuck do y’cunts want?” Harry hisses furiously, unsure of who exactly this voice belongs to on the other end.

He hears a whimper in the background. He’d know that sound anywhere - usually he heard it when she was underneath him but right now it sounded pained and scared.

“If you fuckin’ hurt - I guarantee you that your whole family will be dead by tomorrow,” Harry promises, pushing down the panic as he grabs a duffel to begin shoving a shotgun and assault rifle in.

His desert eagle was tucked in his waistband already - were it always sat.

On his burner phone, he manages to text and send out the GPS location of where his wife is at - idiots most likely don’t know that he has a tracker on her phone.

There was also a GPS tracker embedded in the ‘H’ necklace she always wore right behind the three small diamonds so no one would ever be able to spot it.

“Business. We know you have a shipment going into the South Bay at midnight. Rumor has it you have 6 million pounds of coke on their,” The man replies.

Bingo.

Harry automatically realizes that this dude is a fucking idiot and fell for a diversion tactic - that shipment was being delivered on the other side of the city at three in the morning.

He didn’t get to be the most dangerous, successful gang leader without his own skills and manipulation of his own.

Harry always had to try to pick off the rats and snitches in his gang because people like to squeal for money and drugs.

Every opportunity he got, he told a couple of his rookie members fake information to see if they’d betray him.

It looks like someone was given fake information that Harry had fed two newer members earlier in the week.

“Why the fuck would y’idiots just sneak attack? Why the fuck d’you have my wife?” Harry snarls, getting a influx of text from his associates stating they’re on their way.

“We were actually going to be nice, just hold her until you agree - not hurt her, you know? But your little bitch managed to kill two of my men before we could wrangle her.”

Thatta girl.

God, he really fucking loved his wife and had no fear of putting his on life on the line to protect her - would take a bullet for her any day.

“I can’t wait t’find you and torture you until you’re begging for me to just put you out of your misery,” Harry promises, his heart pounding, vein protruding from his forehead.

“You really shouldn’t threaten me when I have this pretty little number of yours tied up to a chair with a gun to her head,” The man laughs with amusement, “I’ll have you talk to her now.”

Harry hears the man bark at YN, “Speak bitch!”

“He-hello?” YN whimpers pathetically, “Baby, I need help.”

And it sounds wrong - but relief flushes through him at the sound of her pleas. It was completely an act because it’s not truly how she sounds when she’s scared.

“Brat, y’faking it right now right?” Harry makes sure, getting onto the interstate - uncaring of stop signs and red lights.

“Yes. Yes, come get me. Yes, baby,” YN continues and god, she could win an Oscar for her performance and it really shouldn’t get him hard right now.

-

When he pulls up to a brick building that looks abandoned, his men are already shooting with visible bodies collapsed on the floor.

Harry yanks his favorite assault rifle out of his trunk, tugging the strap over his head, and positioning it as he strides forward.

“Boss, we haven’t cleared it completely. You can’t go in yet,” Niall informs him as he reload quickly, breathing heavy.

“I don’t fuckin’ care. My wife’s in there,” Harry snaps, quickly taking out the last two visible men before he is able to step through the door.

He is about to turn a corner and a man steps out from behind it - Harry doesn’t hesitate to lay his heavily-clad ringed knuckles straight into his face knocking him down before landing one fatal shot.

When he steps into a bare, musky old basement - his beautiful wife is tied to a chair, ropes keeping her arms tied behind her, and a cloth in her mouth.

“‘Bout time you showed up,” The rival states, standing behind his wife with a gun running along her skin.

She’s still in her holey tee shirt and biker shorts with white sneakers that were blood sodden like her clothing.

Harry illuminates pure fury when his gaze meets her - but her eyes are twinkling like she knows something he doesn’t.

He noticed that there was a high concentration of blood near her left side and that the fabric was torn - he had cut her and she was bleeding.

But she spits out the rag, rasping out to her husband in a teasing tone, “Took you long enough, dickhead,” before she’s slipping her hands from the restraints that she had gotten out of in mere minutes.

Her hand goes right for the man’s crotch - taking him by complete surprise, he hunches over and YN is able to get off the chair and knee him straight in the nose.

“S’your turn now,” YN replies, “I need to bandage this to stop the bleeding - it’s just superficial.”

Harry doesn’t remember much from that point on beside the fact that he pulled that man’s teeth out one by one and just as he had told him - by the time Harry was done with him he’d being begging for death.

And boy did he beg for Harry to just end it because Harry’s torture methods was worse than being dead to the world.

After he’s done, he nods at his men to clean up the mess, and finds his wife instantly, intertwining their hands and assuring her, “I’ll stick y’up when we get home.”

-

YN’s sat on their bathroom countertop in nothing but a clean pair of underwear after Harry had gently bathed her dirt and blood away.

She had quieted, the confidence and adrenaline having faded off, and she lets out a loud whimper when he begins to thread the needle through her tender, swollen skin.

“M’sorry, my queen,” Harry apologizes sympathetically as he threads through to close up the wound.

“Hurts,” His wife hisses with a crack in her voice, hands resting on his bare shoulders as he concentrates on her side.

“It’s done, did s’good baby,” He murmurs encouragingly, disposing of the items before cupping her jaw, “How are y’feelin’?”

“I’m fine,” She replies instantly, swallowing and avoiding his gaze.

“You’re not okay and that’s okay,” Harry reminds her, chest hurting when tears start to dribble down her cheeks.

“I was scared,” She whispers, “And all I wanted was you.”

“Baby, baby fuckin’ look at me,” Harry urges, tilting her chin up and hands coming to massage at her thighs, “M’sorry I wasn’t there right away, I fucking would die for you.”

It was amazing how much YN changed Harry.

-

Jaymee was a really sweet girl, bright puppy dog eyes and a wide smile with cherub cheeks, “That was amazing,” she had giggles after Harry rolls off of her.

“Get the fuck out now,” He dismisses, swinging his legs off the bed and pulling on his briefs.

Her face drops, “But…we just? I thought tha-“

Harry cuts her off there, crushing the cute girl’s dreams when he scoffs, “Y’thought what? I didn’t want anything from you but your cunt. I don’t cuddle or give a single fuck - so get the fuck out.”

-

“You’re my soulmate, fuckin’ crazy with how gone I am for you,” Harry follows the sentence but a line of kisses across her breasts and collarbones.

“Please, need it,” YN requests lowly, hand coming to tangle into his curls and lead him to her breast to suck at her hard nipple.

“Y’side, brat,” Harry reminds her, “Let just lay y’out, make y’come, and then we can cuddle, okay?”

And he does, spread her out on their bed, licks deep into her until she’s quivering with pleasure, and then tucks her right into his chest and he soothes her to sleep.

#gang!harry masterlist #gangrry #gang!harry blurbs #gang!harry #file

[sweetsouya]

SUGOAKU

A/N: I have been having major issues with my reblogs of my work not appearing in tags (i had 74 notes on the og). So I am seeing if a compete, fresh post of it, will work … fingers crossed.

Likes are nice but reblogs is what keeps artist alive …

Parings: Souya x Reader

Words (currently): 2786

Other notes: The reader’s gender, ethnicity etc isn’t stated, its 100% you, no matter who you are! HOWEVER, this work depicts adult, 28 year old Souya and Nahoya, where they’re running their ramen shop, therefore, I will be making the reader and adult too, and around their age.

CHAPTER 1 - KIMCHI

[Reader] recently returned to Japan, after having been living abroad for a number of years. [Reader] found themselves living back in their old neighborhood of Meguro. It felt good being back in familiar surroundings, like many areas of Tokyo, things were constantly changing. There was a mixture of new establishments, along with old favourites. One of the new establishments was recommended to her by a neighbor, a ramen shop called, Sugoaku.

It had not long ago and was finding success fairly quickly, which in [reader]’s humble opinion was a good thing. Starting a business in the food industry was difficult in any location. But in Meguro, with competing with long-standing businesses that have tested time, and popular chain restaurants. There was still a risk of the business failing. However, those behind Sugoaku appeared to know what they were doing, confident in their skills and business know-how.

Business appeared to be doing well for Sugoaku, there were always at least a small handful of patrons in the restaurant at any given time, and (in [reader]’s opinion) their product was worth visiting multiple times a week. The menu never changed too much, typical of ramen establishments, which suited [reader]’s taste anyway. Instead, they always ordered the same type of ramen: a Tonkotsu ramen with normal noodle hardness. Depending on the day, often by recommendation, additions would be added: extra nori, a soft-boiled egg, extra Negi, and even extra cha-shu. The combinations were almost limitless.

With a rapidly growing business, it was only natural that the establishment would be at full capacity, with people lining up outside for a seat, during lunch and dinner rush hours. It wasn’t [reader]’s ideal situation. They had made that mistake once before and were sorely disappointed. Therefore, they attempted to visit Sugoaku after the rush, when the business was quieting down and the atmosphere was more at ease. Such was the case as one particular evening when [reader] went to Sugoaku for possibly the fourth time that week. It was a Sunday evening, and they had (thankfully) just missed the dinner time rush.

IRASSHAIMASE~

The chorus of welcomes greeted [reader] as they entered the restaurant and gestured to the server for a seat for one person. With the rush now over, it meant that the counter was close to being fully vacant, except for the odd random man or two minding their own business as they ate. Reaching their seat, [reader] scanned the kitchen briefly, inspecting who was currently present in front of them.

“Ahhhh~!” A light-hearted voice reached their ears, “you can’t seem to get enough of us!” [Reader]’s eyes stopped in the form of a pink-haired young man behind the counter, his smile growing a little wider as he watched them. The very same smile that they thought was incredibly infectious, as a smile of their own stretched across their lips. “Indeed,” they replied, their eyes flicking around the kitchen for the pink-haired man’s accomplice. “I’m just doing my bit to support a growing business, that is all.”

The pink-haired man was about to retort before a blue-haired man intervened, “it’s very considerate of you, thank you.” He had been on the restaurant floor, assisting their server to tidy up and had come up beside [reader]. Who had not heard his approach, and was slightly startled at his sudden appearance, which was not left undetected by him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured under his breath, [reader] strained to hear it but knew it was directed at them. They threw a smile in his direction, wordlessly telling him it was fine, “you’re welcome.”

The pink and blue-haired men were the owners of Sugoaku, twin brothers of stark contrasts. The pink-haired twin was Nahoya, playful, carefree, and had an ever-present smile gracing his lips. It always seemed that nothing ever bothered him, and it was often hard to take him seriously. He also often spoke his mind a little too much and says “I’ll fucking kill you” in such a nonchalant manner, that it never sat well with the self-entitled (alcohol-driven) late-night customers. He was rather cocky with [reader]’s patronage to their business. [Reader] wasn’t so sure what to make of it at first, but soon learned that he was just teasing and was appreciative of [reader]’s loyalty.

His blue-haired twin, Souya, was completely different compared to his brother. He always looked intensely irritated, looking like he was ready to jump over the counter to beat the next customer, who Nahoya just told to die. However, despite his face and gruff voice, he was the kinder of the two. He was always polite, spoke carefully, and was the one who calmed things down whenever things got heated between his brother and a customer. He was the one [reader] felt more at ease with, it was always easy to fall into a comfortable conversation with him. Like his brother he was appreciative of [reader]’s loyalty, he was the one who personally made sure your order was taken correctly; heaven forbid a part-timer messes up your order.

Souya hummed lightly in response, passing a few empty dishes to his brother, and with his hands now free, reached for a notepad and pen in his back pocket. “What will it be today?” He asked, amusement clear in his voice. A small smile crept along with your features upon catching the tone in his voice, “hmmm…” [reader]’s eyes flickered across their menu as they tried to make a final decision. After a brief moment, they looked up at the blue-haired man and set the menu down, “I’ll have the chef’s choice.”

Souya looked lost for a brief moment but wrote down their request nevertheless. As he did so, Nahoya let out a chuckle, “and which chef’s choice would that be~?” he called out, mischief fully lacing his voice. [Reader] looked over at the elder twin, “not yours,” they responded without missing a beat. There was no way in hell that they were going to let Nahoya choose whatever he wanted in your ramen; chances are he’ll make it spicier than his signature dish.

“Lame~” Nahoya simply shrugged his shoulders and continued what he was doing. Next to [reader], Souya let out a soft hum, “so, my choice then …” he was thinking of what to put together for them. “Is that all? Or would you like your usual sides?” [Reader] nodded in response, deciding that some gyoza and small fried rice on the side would be a good idea. “Noted.” Jotting down the final request to your order, Souya nodded his head and moved to join his brother behind the counter, in the kitchen.

As [reader] waited for their order, they mindlessly scrolled through their phone before setting it down and looked around the shop, before their gaze finally came to rest upon the twin brothers working in front of them. It was always a curiosity watching them work, [reader] was sure that it was all down to the fact they were twins. They worked in unison, both mindful of each other’s space, and did not always need words to communicate with each other. They were certain that they would never get bored watching the two men work together.

“What’s with that face~?” Nahoya’s voice sang out, startling [reader] into attention. “Uh…what?” [Reader] was so engrossed in watching the two men work, that they had become unaware of themselves and their surroundings. A blush dusted their cheeks as they looked between the two, Nahoya was chuckling to himself, and Souya, although poker-faced, held an amused look in his eyes. “Ah, nothing,” [reader] busied themselves at their seat, by taking a sip of their glass of water, which just earned them more chuckles from Nahoya, “… It’s just been a long day.”

“Bro, stop it,” Souya muttered, taking note of [reader]’s embarrassment as he finished off placing the last few garnishes on top of the fried rice he had just finished cooking. He knew that his brother’s laughing was not helping the situation, and he wanted [reader] to enjoy their visits to their shop, not dread it because of his brother’s constant teasing. A playful hum came from the elder twin, indicating nothing but trouble and Souya let out a deep sigh as he placed the bowl of fried rice in front of [reader], “your Gyoza and Ramen are coming…”

“[Reader] was just admiring my good looks as always, Angry~!” If it was entirely possible, Nahoya’s Cheshire Cat-like grin just grew wider, and in turn, if it was entirely possible, [reader]’s blush deepened. “That’s why they keep coming back.” He wasn’t wrong, both brothers were good-looking but to be called out like that was typical of Nahoya trying to get a rise out of them. “Nahoya…” [Reader] groaned in further embarrassment, pressing their face into their palm, missing the threatening look Souya cast over his brother. Letting out a sigh, they turned their focus to the fried rice that Souya made, beginning to eat it while it was still hot.

Meanwhile, Souya closed in on his older brother, nudging his shoulder as he did. “Tch, bro, hurry up with [reader]’s gyoza and noodles. Remember, normal firmness.” He pressed, hoping it would get his brother to work and off [reader]’s back. He had cooked off [reader]’s fried rice, which should’ve allowed Nahoya enough time to prepare the noodles and pan fry the gyoza, so he could start assembling [reader]’s order of “chef’s choice.” But his brother’s taunting of [reader] held up the progress line a bit, which annoyed Souya; it ruined the flow and synchronisation of how the brothers worked.

“Hurry up,” Souya muttered again, leaving his brother’s side and taking a visual sweep of the restaurant, nodding to a leaving patron who was at the cashier being seen by their part-timer. The business was slowing down for the evening, nothing too unusual, the slower pace allowed the brothers to relax and enjoy their work a little more. However, it did bother Souya when his brother slacked off a little too much or became a little too playful with their patrons. He picked up the water pitcher, glancing over at [reader] ’s snow empty cup, and refilled it. “Just ignore my brother,” he grumbled to them, hoping that they weren’t too embarrassed by Nahoya’s teasing. “Don’t be afraid to show him some attitude either. Otherwise, he’ll just walk all over you.” [Reader] glanced up to the blue-haired man, giving him a small smile of thanks for the refill, and let out a small laugh. “It’s quite alright,” they replied, picking up their glass of water and taking a sip. “I’m not that bothered by his antics.” Souya hummed in reply, his eyes flickering over his shoulder to his elder, “but still, don’t hold back if it gets too much.”

[Reader] gave Souya a reassuring smile, they enjoyed their time at Sugoaku especially when they were able to talk with the twins, especially Souya. There had been several times, they had considered giving them their LINE username, in an attempt to see them outside of the business setting; however, [reader] was unsure if it was unprofessional to do so. So for now, [reader] had to settle with their visits to the restaurant. “So, Sou-,” [reader] was about to attempt to strike up a conversation with Souya before the part-timer interrupted. “Boss, new order,” they announced, passing Souya the newly written receipt. “Thanks,” Souya waved off the part-timer, as his eyes flickered over to [reader], who nodded in silent understanding. A constant and expected occurrence, the interruption from new orders. It just encouraged [reader] to take their time eating at the restaurant, the longer they stayed there, the more time they stayed with the twins.

“New order,” Souya announced to his brother and the two seamlessly got to work. Nahoya had finished the [readers] noodles and was plating up the fresh gyoza, while Souya began cooking the noodles and setting up the tray of various plates and bowls for the new order. “M’dear~” Nahoya grinned at [reader], placing the gyoza in front of them, alongside a small plate of kimchi. [Reader] looked at the kimchi for a moment in confusion, they were sure that they didn’t normally order the side dish. So why was Nahoya placing it in front of them? “My treat,” he told them, “since Souya is going to make your bowl, this is my little contribution.” [Reader] let out a small laugh, those two brothers were truly a package, you can’t have one without the other. Even though they weren’t overly keen on the spicy fermented cabbage, as it was a little too spicy for their tastes. [Reader] began to pick at it, gingerly putting small amounts into their mouth.

“You don’t need to eat it,” Souya had spotted them pick at the side dish, as he was putting together a bowl of ramen, which [reader] assumed to be their order. The blue-haired man knew that they were being polite, and wished that his brother picked a different side dish to give them; a few pieces of karaage would’ve been sufficient. [Reader] looked over at Souya and gave him a sheepish smile, “Big bro likes to make his kimchi and makes it too spicy, despite how many times I tell him.” He continued, as he worked on the bowl adding on the finishing touches. “Maybe, if he notices you not eating it, he’ll get the damn hint.”

On the other side of the kitchen, Nahoya heard everything. “Oh ho~ What’s this lil bro? Recruiting [reader] to go against my kimchi~?” He sang out, his usual light and playful voice now having a threatening edge to it. “Just because you can’t handle a little spice, doesn’t mean they can’t either. Right, [reader]~?” [reader]’s eyes flicked between the two brothers, with the elder now getting a rise out of the younger’s comments. Their eyes settled on Souya, who was now placing the bowl of fresh ramen in front of them. His eyes were apologetic and clearly over it at the same time, the subject of Nahoya’s spicy kimchi must be one that had never been resolved. “Well …” [reader] began, their eyes flickering between the brothers and back down at the kimchi. “It is good kimchi …” in unison Souya looked deflated and Nahoya straightened in triumph, “but it is a little too spicy.” The moods instantly switched when [reader] finished off their verdict. Nahoya losing his trademark grin, with Souya looking over his shoulder with a clear ‘told you so’ look on his face.

“Well that sucks!” Nahoya bounced back, his grin plastered back on his face. “That just means one thing~ [Reader] you can be my official kimchi taster,” he declared, placing the next order on the counter for the part-timer to deliver to a customer. “Oi, table 15 is ready!” It was in that instant the near confrontation over the kimchi was forgotten, Nahoya had quickly moved on and began rinsing dishes to put into the dishwasher at the back of the kitchen. “That went better than I thought it would,” Souya commented, watching his brother’s back for a brief moment before drawing his attention back to [reader]. “I have given you a modified version of my specialty.”

[Reader] looked at the bowl of ramen in front of them. It was indeed Souya’s signature dish, which was called “Angry” and was a black Tonkotsu ramen. The broth gets its colour from a mixture of black sesame seed and black garlic oil, and despite appearances, the balance between the flavours was to perfection. Neither flavour overpowered the other or the other components of the dish. It was a quick favourite of [reader]’s, as it combined two of their favourite ingredients on the planet; not that they would admit that to Souya. His signature dish was, of course, a stark contrast to his brother’s which was a white Tonkotsu ramen, which was deceivingly spicy. Having known the twins for a while now, it was always amusing to [reader] how well their representative signature dishes reflected the personalities of each twin.

“So,” Souya began listing out the toppings he added to [reader]’s bowl. “We have the usuals there: menma, negi, cha-shu, and nori. I know you like corn and egg in your ramen, so I added those to your bowl.” The fact that he remembered [reader]’s favourite toppings, made them a little warm and fuzzy on the inside. Souya must make hundreds, if not thousands of bowls a day or week even, and he still made the effort to remember their usual order and favourite toppings. “Thank you, it looks great,” they replied softly, smiling at him.

“Itadakimasu~”

#tokyo revengers #kawata souya #souya kawata #angry kawata #nahoya kawata #kawata nahoya #manga #spoilers #anime #long post

[the-pontiac-bandit]

If you're still answering tortall prompts, how about Raoul + family?

wow why NOT write 2000 words of blatant, shameless fluff about families you make for yourself??? inspired by this quote from tammy: “[Raoul and Buri] have glorious sex under trees, in tents, in lakes…. In carriages. I think at some point they’ll probably adopt. By the time they’re attached Buri’s getting a little old to have any of her own. It’s not like there aren’t plenty of orphans around.”

As Raoul stretched out, trying to make himself comfortable in his too-hard, too-small desk chair, he savored the warm feeling filling his chest and threatening to spill out and take physical form in front of him. In the midst of the most head-spinning, headache-inducing, sleep-sapping, joy-filled week he’d ever experienced, he’d had precious little time to slow down and simply exist within his new reality. He thought to close his eyes, the better to feel everything, but they only stayed shut for a moment before they forced themselves back open. He couldn’t stop looking at the scene in front of him for long.

Buri lounged cross-legged on their bed, far more relaxed than he had been at any point this week. Kel sat next to her, her back straight and her long legs carefully hanging off one side so as not to get dust from the practice courts on their bedding. Both had just returned from a full morning of training, sweaty despite a change of clothes and coated in dust despite a thorough washing, courtesy of a long, hot summer that had refused to give them rain.

Between them was the baby.

His son, he reminded himself. He thought the words a few extra times, even mouthing them once, as he had a thousand times in the last five days, as if forming them on his lips might make them feel more real.

None of this felt real to him yet. He supposed most people had nine months to get used to the idea before seven pounds of screaming chaos turned their lives upside down. He’d had exactly fifty-three days—he’d counted on Tuesday—so he supposed he still had some catching up to do. His mind was still reeling from the conversation that had led them here, and he wasn’t sure yet that he’d ever catch up.

He’d been sitting in this chair and pretending to read reports while mostly thinking about his right knee, which had been bothering him despite Duke Baird’s best efforts. He wasn’t sure why he remembered so specifically, since his days were nearly as certain to contain aches and bruises as they were to contain a sunrise. Buri had returned from a meeting with Thayet and Onua, although really, the word meeting conferred far too much dignity on what was more likely a combination of trick riding and palace gossip. They’d settled into the evening routine they’d shared for nearly a decade, working in comfortable silence with candles lit between them.

“Do you want children?” she’d asked, breaking the quiet spell of paperwork that gripped their nights.

“I think it’s a little late for that,” he’d replied with a snort.

She’d thrown a pillow at him. He had caught it and thrown it back without even looking up from the thick stack of papers in his lap, with a rude hand gesture following behind.

“You know what I meant. Did you want children? Before?”

Something in her voice had shifted. He’d finally looked up to find her eyes already trained on him. Her face had been so unexpectedly earnest that he’d actually taken a pause, had slowed the speed of their consistently paced banter, to think.

“I suppose I hadn’t given it much thought. There were friends, and then there was drinking, and then there was the Own, and then there was you,” he’d told her with a shrug. “I do like children, but I’m perfectly happy where I am.”

She’d chewed on her lip for a moment. He remembered being surprised by that. After nearly thirty years of friendship, she rarely took the time to think before she spoke with him anymore.

“Spit it out.”

“Do you want children?”

“And we’re back to the start,” he’d said with a grin.

“I spat it out. Now you answer it.”

“Hypothetically, sure, I’d enjoy a child. Now can I ask why you’re asking at all?”

“I’ve been thinking,” she’d started. She’d paused for a moment, holding her breath as though she was trying to decide whether she should speak at all. And then she’d let it all spill out at once. “I’ve been thinking it might be nice to have one. A child, I mean.”

She’d held up a hand and made a face before Raoul could even begin to formulate a joke about her monthlies or her aching hips or what they might do to make that happen. “Not like that. Thayet was telling us today about homes they’re opening in Corus, for children without parents. We were thinking about the children we traveled with back in Sarain, when Alanna found us all those years ago. Gods, it was terrifying, having Thayet and an infant to protect, especially when Thayet was ready to throw her life away for the infant. And I started thinking—we have money, and safety, and love, and there are all these children who have none of those things, and—”

She’d been speaking faster and faster, but she’d cut herself off abruptly at the look on Raoul’s face. “Never mind, you can forget—”

Raoul had smiled back at her, straightening up in his chair and marking his spot in the report on his lap before putting it aside. “So you want a child.”

The weeks that followed had been ones filled with paperwork and inquiries at the palace records about the process of appointing a common-born heir to a noble house and at the magistrate’s about drawing up paperwork for adoption. There had been careful planning and hushed discussions with only their closest friends about the best way to proceed. Buri had insisted on an older child, maybe eight or nine, saying that the few diapers she’d changed on the road to Rachia were enough for a lifetime.

Instead, five days ago, Buri had entered their rooms carrying a squalling mess of blankets with an air of forced nonchalance that had told him immediately what she’d done. Instead of clarifying, or teasing her, or asking if it was the smallest eight-year-old he’d ever seen, he’d simply held his arms out. While Buri had supplied endless explanations about Thayet ambushing her with a baby, he’d stared at the squirming mess of baby in his lap, blankets already coming undone, absolutely entranced.  

“He’s tiny,” he’d commented. His voice sounded like it was coming from someone else’s body. The baby was only just too large for him to hold in one hand, although he’d never try to prove it. The fragility of the life sitting in his lap was overwhelming.

“His mother died yesterday. Childbed fever, caught too late to help. The priestesses at the Goddess’ Temple were worried he might need more than the homes could give.”

Raoul had nodded, only half listening. The baby’s eyes were screwed shut while he wailed. His fine hair was dark, his skin tanned like that of the Bazhir babies Raoul had seen in his year in the Great Southern Desert. One of the baby’s hands had broken free of its blanket. It had waved in the air, keeping pace with his cries, which were far louder than he’d have believed such a tiny body could produce. He’d intercepted the hand with one finger and then watched in wonder as the baby had grasped it.

“Does he have a name?”

“Pathom,” she’d answered definitively, before belatedly remembering that names were the sort of thing parents might choose together. “That is, if—”

“Pathom of Goldenlake,” he’d cut her off with a smile.

The days that followed had been a blur. Thayet had found a wet-nurse and supplied an endless stream of goods that they’d have never known a baby required. Alanna had ridden in from Pirate’s Swoop at full speed to pronounce in a gruff voice that the infant was in perfect health. Gary had gifted them a bassinet and more blankets than any human child could possibly need. Dom had found a way to convert a standard-issue burnoose into an excellent baby sling, while Evin had given them a congratulatory note from George, who complained that Alanna had left before he could finish writing, and a cheerful promise that he’d never touch a soiled diaper. Onua had given them a set of unimaginably soft stuffed ponies, perfect replicas of the horses that roamed the highlands of Sarain where she and Buri had learned to ride.

Kel, away on business with Second Company at the Gallan border, had to wait almost a full week to learn she had a new godsson. He’d met the company when they’d arrived back at the palace long past dark the night before. They’d groomed Hoshi and Sparrow together while he thanked the gods for perhaps the hundredth time that her “testy pony” had finally found his way out of the Own stables and into a pleasant retirement.

Finally, when the last of the men had trudged towards the barracks and a well-earned nights’ sleep, she’d turned to him.

“Well?”

“There’s someone important I want you to meet,” he’d said, shoving his hands in his pockets with a smile that was equal parts nervous and eager.

“Sir, I’ve already met your wife.”

Raoul had let out a hearty chuckle. “But you haven’t met my son.”

Kel had frozen. Her face fell back into perfect stillness, the way it did when her mind was working its fastest.

After a second that felt like an eternity, she replied, “Sir, I saw Buri five weeks ago. If you’re telling me you’ve managed to grow a baby since then—”

“We didn’t, but someone else did. We adopted him from the Temple after his mother died in childbirth.”

Understanding flashed in Kel’s eyes while her face broke into a rare broad grin. She’d wrapped her arms around him in a fast, tight hug accompanied by enthusiastic congratulations that had gone suddenly silent in surprise when he’d added, a wicked glint in his eyes, “You really should come by tomorrow to meet your godsson.”

Buri had intercepted Kel on the practice courts the following morning with the dual goals of keeping her own skills sharp and ensuring that Kel would not be too polite to visit. And so now, he watched as Kel bounced his son with the brisk certainty of someone who had held a baby a thousand times. He could hear her cooing quietly at Pathom, softening her consonants while she told him all about forest campaigns in hill country. He knew he should ask her to speak up—if she was going to give her report verbally, she could at least give it at a volume he could hear—but he found he wasn’t particularly interested in the intricacies of the Second’s bowstring supplies. Buri made eye contact with him behind Kel’s back, laughter in her eyes. Buri could laugh if she wanted, but he was taking notes on Kel’s tactics. He would have sworn this was the quietest he’d heard his son in the entirety of his hundred-and-twenty-odd hours in the palace.

As his son stared wide-eyed at his former squire, Raoul was reminded of a comment he’d heard as they’d left Turomot’s offices the other day with paperwork making Pathom officially their own. “Well, that feckless Goldenlake dolt’s managed to start a family, even if it was too late to do the thing properly,” the Lord of Genlith had muttered at their backs as they’d left. Buri had elbowed him and whispered a quick “Feckless? I’ll show him feckless,” but her heart wasn’t in it. Before she’d even finished the thought, her eyes were back on Pathom, squirming against her chest in the burnoose that bound him to her.

And now, Raoul watched his son, passed between his wife and the woman who had been like his daughter long before any papers said he was a father. Stuffed Saren ponies lined the shelf above an intricately carved bassinet filled with beautifully embroidered blankets. A protection charm had been pulled from Alanna’s packs to hang at the head, while twin leather circles bearing the insignias of the Riders and the Own, no doubt carefully cut by mischievous commanders from the saddle packs of some unprepared trainees, was secured carefully at the foot. Raoul had to smile for a moment at Genlith’s ignorance—he’d begun his family right on time.

#carrie answers #my writing #anonymous #raoul of goldenlake and malorie's peak #raoul of goldenlake #buriram tourakom #tortall #tamora pierce #protector of the small #keladry of mindelan #okay we've got all the found family shit in here #the friends? check #the surrogate daughter? check #adoption? check #also who said a baby can't have three godsmothers definitely not buri and raoul #also on ao3

[yelena-bellova]

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Six: Little Damerons

Series Masterlist

Plot: Poe and Y/n take a trip for Poe’s birthday.

Warnings: extreme fluff, so much fluff, chocolate dipped cotton candy with sprinkles kind of fluff

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Life has been kicking my ass these past few weeks so writing has been on the back burner. It’s still insane but I found time to finish this one. It felt like the series deserved a nice piece of fluff consider it’s so intense 😂 Please forgive any typos, I’m lazy and tired and my brain is basically mush right now...

————

The first sound I heard upon waking up made me smile before I’d even opened my eyes. Bee’s beeps and squeals were moving around the room at a frantic pace.

“Thank you, Bee,” I groaned, “I got it from here.”

As it was every morning, Poe’s arms were locked tightly around my waist. It was of great difficulty turning myself around so I could face him. He hadn’t moved a muscle through Bee’s wake-up call and didn’t show any sign of changing that. I rolled over onto his torso and finally got a groggy moan out of him.

“Good morning, birthday boy,” I greeted him in a singsong tone, propping my chin up on his chest.

Poe rubbed a hand over his face and opened his bleary eyes, focusing them on me. “What if the birthday boy wanted to sleep?”

“As willing as I am to grant any and all wishes today, that one is a no-go,” I replied sweetly, tapping him on the nose lightly, “We’ve gotta haul ass if we’re going to make the most of a rare day off.”

I began to roll towards the edge of the bed but was apprehended. Poe pulled me back into his arms and maneuvered me to straddle him in one smooth motion. His hands found their way up his shirt I was wearing and rubbed circles into my back, sending a shiver through my body.

“I’ve actually got other plans for our asses at the moment,” he said, his gruff morning voice and suggestively raised brow making it nearly impossible to deny him, “Ten minutes tops.”

“You and I both know neither of us does ‘ten minutes tops’, Dameron,” I said, trying my best to ignore his hands wandering south and failing as a soft moan escaped me. “But I did say I was granting wishes today.”

Poe lazily smiled up at me as I slid my hands up his smooth chest and lowered my lips to his. He took me by surprise and flipped me over so I was trapped underneath him, the two us laughing into the kisses that followed…

————

A significant amount of time more than ten minutes later, Poe and I were far from Ajan Kloss in the cockpit of his new X-Wing. Ever since we’d planned where to spend his birthday, I’d been dreading the destination we were fast approaching. But there was no chance of me ruining the day with ghosts from the past.

“Coming out of hyperspace,” Poe reported as he performed the action, bringing us face to face with the planet. A shiver of panic ran through me as my blood ran cold. The blue waters only reminded me of blue blades clashing in a fit of desperation and rage. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yeah,” I said firmly, trying to feel as confidant as I sounded, “I’ll be fine, there’s no way I’d miss this.”

Poe hummed in disbelief but kept us on course, steering us towards a greener portion of the menacing planet. I tried to center myself, I wanted to be fully in the moment for the day. It was too important to Poe and I’d been looking forward to it ever since we’d started dating. Anxiety ran through me again as we flew above the greenery, memories of wandering aimlessly above trees flooding my mind. As we got closer to our destination though, my stress began to lessen as the excitement set in.

Eventually, we were landing in a large clearing of land near a small house. I was the first to pop out of the cockpit and make it down the ladder with Poe following close behind. Our feet had barely touched the ground before a figure emerged out the front door of the house and made a gentle sprint towards us. Poe left my side to jog over to meet him, the two of them embracing upon collision and laughing joyfully. I watched from a distance, beaming as I watched the reunion between father and son.

Poe kept an arm on Kes as he gestured for me to come join them, “Dad, this is Y/n.”

Kes Dameron was, I had a feeling, the spitting image of Poe in thirty years. They could have passed for brothers with a significant age difference. As soon as I made it over, I was pulled into a warm hug. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to finally meet you, Y/n,” he said over my shoulder, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You as well,” I returned as we pulled back to get a look at each other, “Poe’s told me such wonderful things about you.”

“However many times he’s brought me up, I can promise you,” Kes said, his eyes flicking to his son briefly, “It’s nothing close to the number of times I’ve heard about the captivating Y/n Solo.”

I smirked and turned around to face a very pink cheeked Poe, “Captivating, huh?”

He stammered, “I mean, I may have used it once…”

Kes’ chest rumbled with laughter as he patted my back, “Come inside and I promise to embarrass him some more.”

He pulled me under one arm and his son under the other and we made our way into the Dameron homestead. It seemed that I stood to finally leave Yavin 4 with some pleasant memories…

————

We’d spent our day catching Kes up on our lives, it had been a while since Poe had last visited so there was a lot to fill him in on. The former comrade of my family gave me his sincerest condolences over the losses of Dad and Uncle Luke. It was so strange to think of my family and Poe’s having known each other, like there’d been a decades old string connecting the two of us together. Kes regaled us with stories from his days as a soldier and we told him a few of ours. I shared more than Poe, it was clear he didn’t want to worry his father too much with his particular brand of reckless. Kes eventually caught the lightsaber hooked to my belt and asked about my training. 

“Before you leave, you have to go out to the backyard,” he said, “Your uncle gifted us with a Force after the war, someone like you needs to experience it.”

Once the skies darkened and we sat around the dinner table, Kes made good on his promise to embarrass my loving boyfriend.

“So Shara and I come running into the backyard and there he is,” Kes slapped his son’s shoulder, “Cockpit closed, lifting the damn ship into the air!”

I had my napkin covering my mouth as I laughed uncontrollably, the image of Poe as a child giving his parents a heart attack was completely believable. “Had he ever been up before?”

“Only with Shara and she never let him touch the controls,” Kes replied with a laugh, “He’d watched her enough times to know how to get it off the ground.”

Poe was a sport about each story from his early years, defending himself occasionally, though very few of them left him with an opportunity to do so. He’d been just as much trouble as a kid as he was now.

“I wish I could say I’m surprised,” I chuckled, “My dad never let me touch a thing on the Falcon until I was thirteen. And I didn’t fly her on my own for much longer.”

“Keep up, Solo,” Poe teased from across the table, “Some of us are doers.”

I smiled and shook my head at him, “I think you broke enough rules for the both of us in your younger days.”

“You calling me old?” Poe asked with a palm thrown over his heart in mock pain.

“Are you calling thirty three young?” I quipped back, swirling my wine in its glass, “I saw a couple gray hairs the other morning I didn’t tell you about.”

Poe’s cocky expression faltered briefly as his eyes widened before returning to normal, “You’re lying.”

Kes and I caught each other’s eye and shared a sly smile, both choosing to take a sip of our alcohol and leave Poe in suspicion. His confident exterior was broken by the tentative hand that ran through his jet black curls.

I’d convinced the two Dameron men to let me clean up after dinner so that they could spend some uninterrupted time together. They didn’t get to talk as much as either of them wished, that was a reality of war. Some went months without speaking to their loved ones. I felt unbelievably lucky that my mother was only a few minutes away at any given time of the day.

As I’d finished, Kes and Poe entered the kitchen. Seeing them side by side, it truly was astonishing how similar they looked.

“I think I’m going to head to bed and let you two have some time to yourself,” Kes announced, patting Poe on the back before making his way over to me, “I’ll be up early tomorrow so I can see you off.”

He wrapped me in a fatherly hug and I sunk into it, I couldn’t remember someone as quick to welcome me into their life as Kes Dameron. In a single day he had practically initiated me into the family as one of his own. Though nothing could ever replace the holes left by the fathers I’d lost, it was comforting to be around a dad again.

We bid our goodnights and with Bee charging in our room, it was just Poe and I left. He slung an arm around my neck and I laced my fingers with his as we walked back to the living room.

“So have you had a good birthday?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Poe laughed under his breath, “Are you kidding? This whole day has been perfect. And Dad loves you…”

“I love him,” I replied as we made our way to the sofa, “But I feel bad for him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Judging from his stories, the poor man has spent every day worrying about you since you were in diapers,” I answered as Poe fell back on the couch, keeping our hands locked.

“Every parent worries,” Poe stated plainly, “Are you saying you never worried Leia and your dad as a kid?”

“I didn’t pull half the shit that you did,” I chuckled, “I hope that particular Dameron gene doesn’t carry over to our kids.”

As soon as the words had left me, I wished I could have retracted them. Poe’s eyes eyebrows lifted in surprise as he gripped my hand. “Our whats?”

“Our…nothings,” I scrambled for a sufficient denial, “I said nothing.”

“No, you said-“

“No I didn’t,” I faked a yawn and attempted to pull my hand away, “It’s late and we have to leave early so we should get to bed.”

Poe tugged me by the hand so that I had no choice but to land next to him on the couch, “Oh no, I want to hear about these kids we’re having.” 

My cheeks felt red hot to the touch as I rubbed my free hand over them and groaned. While I’d thought of mine and Poe’s future in daydreams, we’d never actually talked about it. Why should we? We’d only been together for five months. Even if we’d practically been a couple before that, it felt like a conversation for further down the line.

“It’s nothing, really.”

Poe pulled me closer and wrapped an arm around me, I settled against his chest and prayed that he let the subject go. “Well, if it’s nothing then it shouldn’t be so hard to talk about.”

“I just think about what our lives might look like after the war sometimes,” I explained timidly, fiddling with a loose thread on the sweater I wore, “We could retire somewhere like here, build a house…”

“Sounds nice," Poe said, “We’re married in this scenario, right?”

I looked up at him and caught the mischievous gleam in his eye, “I don’t know, are we?”

Poe shut his eyes and nodded, “Oh, definitely.”

“Alright,” I smiled, trying to hide my glee at the thought, “We’re married, living in our house on a planet we’ll decide on later and the war is over.”

“Sounds perfect,” he replied, rubbing his thumb back and forth against my shoulder, “And our army of kids are wrecking all sorts of havoc in the backyard.”

My body shot up at his words and I stared down at him, “Who said anything about an army?”

“I think we should have at least ten,” Poe answered so straight faced that I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not, “We could totally handle it.”

“Says the man who’s job in the child making process takes ten minutes. Who do you think’s giving birth to these ten children?” I shrieked, sending him clutching his chest and into a fit of laughter.

“Okay, fine,” he finally said after regaining his composure, “Ten’s not the magic number. But can we agree that it’s higher than two?”

I grabbed the two fingers he was holding up and settled back against his chest, “Agreed.”

“So we have an undetermined number of kids waving around lightsabers and trying to fly their old man’s X-Wing.”

“No,” I strongly objected, “No lightsabers or piloting till they’re old enough.”

“C’mon, we both know that at least one of them is going to be a Jedi considering your family. Might as well start them young.”

Of course there was no guarantee but it was safe to assume that yes, at least one of our kids would probably be Force sensitive. “Well, I hope at least one of them takes after you. I don’t think I could handle more than one little Padawan running around using the Force to throw things at their sibling’s heads.”

Poe snorted, “Knowing us, they’ll be a handful. But they’ll be great.”

“Damn right they will,” I agreed, rubbing a hand over Poe’s chest as I tried to conjure up an image of our children in my mind, “They’ll probably have your hair.”

“And your y/e/c eyes.”

“They’ll run their mouths like you.”

“But be the first to protect their family like you.”

“They’ll be reckless.”

“They’ll be stubborn,” Poe stated before inhaling deeply, “The galaxy better watch out, the Solo-Dameron-Organa-Kenobi kids will be unstoppable.”

“Okay, we’re definitely gonna have to drop a few names,” I made note of.

“I disagree, I think it conveys strength,” Poe objected, stroking a hand up and down my arm, “Hey, I’ve got a question.”

I hummed for him to continue, “How come you don’t add Kenobi to your name?”

We’d had so many conversations about my fateful visit to Ahch-To, but my family’s name was a sore spot that I hadn’t talked to him about yet. I had no way of finding out my father’s last name or if my grandmother had given my mother her last name of Kryze. Kenobi was the only name I could claim. “I thought about it but it’s not safe,” I answered quietly, “If it got out that I was the granddaughter of Obi-Wan, everyone in the galaxy would be after me even more than they already are. Believe me, I wish I could but it’s not realistic.” 


Poe squeezed me tighter on hearing my explanation, not saying a word because there was really nothing to say. Neither of us could change the fact that I was a wanted woman. Nevertheless, it killed a part of me to not be able to take pride in bearing both of my family’s names.

“So I’m guessing you’ve thought about our future too considering how many details you’ve been providing?” I asked in an attempt to lighten the mood of the conversation.

“Maybe once in a while…” he teased, “On long fights back to base or sometimes before falling asleep at night. It gives me something extra to fight for on the tough days.”

I traced the sharp outline of his jaw as I watched him speak. The thought of Poe flying his X-Wing with one of our kids on his lap or me teaching one of them how to levitate objects made my heart beat fast in excitement. But for every dream I had, there was an equal amount of doubt. I knew that the reality of our lives were that even after the war, we’d probably never have a peaceful existence. And if I shifted the focus to myself, I held my own fears about raising children.

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s even a good idea though…” I admitted, lowering my gaze, “I’ve never had any sense of normalcy in my life, I doubt I’d know how to provide it for our kids.”

“Normal is overrated, and are you kidding me? You’d be the best mom in the galaxy,” Poe said, pecking my hair softly before stroking his hand over it, “We’ll make all of it happen, might take a while but the Damerons will have their day.”

“The Damerons…” I repeated back to him, a smile spreading across my face, “I like that.”

We laid there in the quiet a while longer, soaking in the peaceful silence before our lives descended back into chaos. The one day leave for Poe’s birthday had been a gift to both of us, a 24 hour oasis in the midst of the raging storm we were caught in. We spent our days strategizing, fighting in the skies and undergoing intense training. But here we could just be…soft. We could be what we would’ve been had there been no war. I fell asleep that night on Poe’s chest, dreaming of a free galaxy and curly haired children chasing playing with BB-8 as Poe and I watched.

————

Kes hadn’t exaggerated, the Force tree my uncle had gifted him and Shara was extraordinary. I didn’t even have to try to feel connected to the Force, the second I’d stepped foot in the backyard it had overwhelmed me. There wasn’t enough time for me to properly meditate underneath it, but I still used the little time I had left to center myself. I could feel the Force flowing through every part of me, it was like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

“I’m glad you got to see it,” Kes’ voice called from behind me, “It’s something special.”

“Sure is,” I agreed, opening my eyes but still unable to turn away from it, “Is Poe done checking the ship?”

Kes came to stand next to me, admiring the tree too, “Almost, he sent me to come get you but you take all the time you want.”

“I wish I could,” I smiled sadly, finally turning to face the man, “But we can’t be late getting back to base. There’s so much going on, we’re lucky we got a full day off. Well, I don’t need to explain wartime to you…”

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re talking about. I saw my share of action during the Rebellion…” Kes paused, staring off into the distance as he relived a decades old memory. He snapped back after a few seconds, shaking his head and returning his gaze to me, “Well, I’m just glad I got to see the two of you for however long I could. I worry about both of you.”

“You worry about me?” I asked with a quirk of my lips.

Kes’ expression shifted further into its somberness, “Of course I do. I know how dangerous war is but I also know how dangerous it is to be in love during war. There wasn’t a day during the Rebellion where I wasn’t worried about losing Shara. I know both of you know that feeling well.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice at the moment. The thought of something happening to Poe was quick to make me emotional.


“I’ve lost the love of my life, the last thing I want is for either of you to have to go through that. The two of you…You’ve got something very few people are lucky enough to find. Something that deserves to live on long after this war is over.”

There didn’t seem to be a right thing to say in response. Poe and I’s worry for one another never waned, it was like a constant white noise in both our minds. There was no guarantee of seeing the next day during war. It was a reality we lived with every day whether tucked away in base or on mission off world. How many couples were casualties of war? Too many to count, my parents having been one of them. But the belief that Poe and I wouldn’t lose each other was something I clung to each day. The future we both fought for was one where we didn’t have to worry about losing one another.

“It’s a constant fear, losing him,” I mused as I stared out at the clear sky, watching the rising sun, “But I don’t regret being with him, not for a second. He’s worth all of it.”

“I know he feels the same way,” Kes smiled softly and patted my arm, “From what Poe has told me, you’ve pulled your share of stunts.”

I swiveled back to face Kes and raised a finger, “If he’s talking about what happened above Batuu, I’d like to play up the fact that I took out eight TIE’s singlehandedly.”

The former rebel soldier cocked an eyebrow, “Impressive, but no…He told me about Crait.”

“Crait…” I sighed, finding the ground much more interesting to look at.

“Even before he told me I’d heard about it. You were the talk of the city and I imagine everywhere else.”

“Yeah, apparently news travels fast…”

Crait seemed like a lifetime ago. It was no longer the actual fight between Ren and I that bothered me, though I’d admit to still questioning why he hadn’t killed me occasionally. It was the legend status I’d achieved without trying to. The over exaggerated tale of my heroics had spread across the galaxy quicker than I knew what to do with. Not only was I one of, if not the, most wanted woman in the galaxy but even the Resistance had begun treating me differently. Seemingly everyone except my mother and friends treated me as if I was some deity. I was glad no one else knew about my being a Kenobi or the attention would become too much to handle.

“I hope you’ll see that more as a symbol of what I’m willing to do for the cause rather than my personality. What I’m willing to do to protect the people I love,” I said, staring at him with all the conviction in the world, “That includes Poe.”

“I know, and that dedication is what makes the Resistance, and Poe, lucky to have someone like you.”

I could hear Bee’s squeals, only making out my name and knowing that we needed to head out. Kes and I turned to each other regretfully before he put an arm around my shoulders and we began to make our way out of the backyard. I turned my head to get one more look at the Force tree and silently promised myself that the next time I came, I’d spend a proper amount of time underneath it.

Poe was beginning to load Bee into the X-Wing when Kes and I rounded the corner of the house. Even though we were headed back to base where as soon as we landed we’d be thrown back into our responsibilities, he still looked relaxed. He hadn’t put on his commander’s hat yet and was simply Poe Dameron at home with the people he loved. He reminded me of the day I’d gotten back from my last stay with Dad, when we’d flown back from the transport station. We’d both been so carefree and at ease and I’d wished then what I was wishing now…for the war to be over.

“Any more Poe stories you want to send me off with?” I jokingly asked Kes, we were still far enough away that Poe wouldn’t hear me.

“There was one I wanted you to hear, he’d never forgive me if I told him but…” Kes chuckled and waved his hand dismissively, bringing our walk to a halt. “It was the day he arrived at the Resistance base. We’d talked after Leia recruited him about how excited he was about having command of his own fighting wing, meeting the other pilots…Pretty much everything he spoke about had something to do with an X-Wing. That night he called me and you could’ve paid him any amount of credits to talk about anything flying related and he wouldn’t have cared. The first thing he said to me after ‘Yeah, everything’s fine’ was ‘I’m pretty sure I met my future wife today.’ And for the rest of the call, not one mention of any ship. Just about this girl who had shown him around base and ate dinner with him and who he tried to be extra funny around just to make her smile. I made sure to make note of what he was saying so once I finally got to meet this Y/n he spoke so highly of, I could tell her that there hasn’t been one day that boy’s known you where he hasn’t been in love with you.”

My grin was practically idiotic by the time he’d finished telling his story. Poe had only mentioned that he’d fallen for me the first day we’d met and he’d never mentioned anything about telling Kes about me. I gazed over at Poe, standing atop the ladder next to his ship and my heart swelled. Just as it did when he returned home from a mission and we’d embrace outside of his ship. Or when we’d climb into bed together at the end of a long day and his arms would instinctively wrap around me. Or when I’d work late nights in the command center and he’d send Bee in with a sweet note stuck to the droid’s body. I didn’t think it was possible to fall any more in love with him, but every day he showed me it was. He spotted us and waved me and his dad over. After a tearful goodbye with Kes, Poe and I were on our way back to base.

When we were in hyperspace, I tilted my head to press a kiss to the side of Poe’s mouth. He smiled at me, “What was that for?”

“I just love you,” I shrugged.

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I love you too,” he replied, taking my chin between two of his fingers and locking our lips together.

————

A/N: I’ve been getting notifications every few days that people have been liking chapters which causes me to skim over some of them. I really can’t believe I started this series back in May as a way of coping with quarantine boredom and here we are six months later and I can see the end in the distance. I’m so glad that you guys enjoy it and it can distract you from the nightmare that is this year for just a few minutes. Anyways, hope you enjoyed this one! Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers!! 🦃🦃🦃

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[romantichopelessly]

Peppermint, Ginger, Lemongrass and Truth

This is part of the @sanderssidesgiftxchange for @randomfactscenteral based on their wishes for LAMP and a fantasy AU! I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope that you enjoy it! <3

Synopsis: Patton Bellerose is a witch. This wouldn't be a problem, if he didn't have to find out a way to tell his three boyfriends, Logan, Virgil and Roman before sunset on his birthday.

Words: 2.6k

----

Orange peel for blessings and luck, nettle leaves for courage, and plain old chamomile for encouraging him to finally stop overthinking and get to sleep. Patton let the tea steep for four minutes before pulling his kitty cat mug off the bottom shelf and pouring himself a steaming mug.

Patton paused, staring into the amber swirls of the tea. He deliberated a moment, remembering his older brother’s ever common reminders to Patton to take his magic seriously, before he promptly ignored said reminders and added two heaping spoonfuls of honey.

Across the room, the digital clock on his microwave read 11:27. Patton huffed. There was nothing more frustrating than being unable to fall asleep. Patton had always hated restlessness, especially when he was alone in his tiny apartment.

As if on cue, there was a tiny croak from beside Patton’s elbow. Patton lifted his head from where he had let it drop into his arms and looked to his left. He squinted--it was hard to see in the dim kitchen lights without his glasses, which he had stupidly left on his bedside table in the next room--and made a little face.

“What are you croaking at?” Duchess, the frog that was sitting on Patton’s kitchen bar like she owned the place managed to look completely unimpressed. Patton almost smiled. Were he not so worried about tomorrow, he would have.

Duchess croaked again.

Patton sighed, pulling his mug closer and taking a long sip of his tea. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be able to speak to me, Chessy. There’s no use lecturing me now. You’ll have the rest of my life to do that.”

And it was true. Despite the usual lifespan of Duchess’s type of frog, as Patton’s familiar, she was cursed (gifted? Patton would have to ask her how she felt about that when he could tomorrow) to live just as long as Patton himself did.

Tomorrow, which began in less than half an hour now, January 15th, was Patton Bellerose’s 21st birthday. And like every other member of the Bellerose family on their 21st birthdays, Patton would be gaining his full powers as soon as the sun set tomorrow.

Which meant that he would have to tell his boyfriends that he was a witch before then.

Patton hadn’t meant to put it off so long. Really, he had planned to tell them weeks ago, things had just… never fallen into place.

It wasn’t that he thought that they would react badly. Patton had been slowly showing them little displays of his powers for months now and they hadn’t shown any sign of fear or outrage yet. Of course, Logan often explained away Patton’s impeccable luck or way with plants as probability and experience, and if Patton wasn’t so unbelievably fond of him, he would have been frustrated at his hardheadedness.

If Logan had figured it out on his own, Patton would never have to deal with telling them at all. Rather unfair of him to be so picky with where he employed his massive intelligence.

To make matters worse, Patton couldn’t tell even partially how the conversation would go down, because he had never had a talent for prophecy. Not like his brother did, at least, and Patton had already exhausted that route. J refused to perform a reading for Patton’s birthday and whether or not his boyfriends would react well to the knowledge of magic existing. So, Patton would have to approach this like any other human, completely in the dark. The uncertainty of telling the three men that he loved more than anything about his biggest secret was… well… keeping Patton up at night.

He couldn’t stop himself from envisioning their reactions. Patton was usually an optimist. He dealt well with luck magic and hopeful manifestation, which more often than not kept his mind away from anxious spirals.

Virgil would have known what to do in this moment. Or, at the very least, he would have kept Patton company while he worried, and oftentimes that was more than enough. Patton smiled softly at the thought.

Then of course, thinking of Virgil pulled his thoughts right back to what Virgil would say tomorrow when Patton told him who--or, rather, what--he was.

He could see it clearly. Virgil was very superstitious. He feared the unknown like no one Patton had ever met before. If--When--Patton were to tell him about magic, Virgil would surely fall into a spiral, questioning all that he knew. He did that at least twice a week as it was!

Patton groaned, burying his face in his hands. His tea was cooling, forgotten on the counter beside him.

Maybe he should start by telling Roman or Logan, then. They would be able to help him break the news to Virgil.

Patton peaked his eyes out between his fingers and looked up at the ceiling.

He could see it now. Roman was a firm believer in fate and romance. He adored fairytales and princess movies, so would it really be such a reach for him if Patton told him that he was a witch? He would be excited about it, right?

Except… Except Patton had been over this route of thinking before.

Roman, above all else, valued honesty. The foundation for all good relationships was truth, after all. His hopeless romanticism was one of his best qualities, in Patton’s humble opinion, but it would also be Patton’s downfall. After dating for nearly two years, to come out with a truth bomb like “Hey RoRo! Did you know that magic is actually real, and I’ve been lying to you about who I am ever since we met? I’m a witch and I do magic! So, would you like to meet my familiar?”

Even if Roman didn’t take Patton’s confession as a breach of trust, there was only one other feasible response that Patton could envision.

What if Roman expected Patton to do magic for him?

Patton shook that thought away. He should be ashamed of himself, thinking so lowly of his own boyfriend. Roman had never given Patton any reason to think that he would do such a thing. They loved each other. And that love extended past anything. Even magic.

Right?

Patton reached blindly out, fumbling for the cup of now lukewarm tea on the counter in front of him. He took a bracing sip.

His boyfriends loved him. Virgil loved him. Roman loved him. Logan loved him.

Logan would not take the news well at all, though. Patton knew this for a fact. Logan based most of his opinions and world views on concrete facts. What would he say once Patton told him that the things he once knew to be fact--that magic did not exist, for instance--were actually incorrect? It would shake the foundation of his entire world view.

Patton could easily envision the look on Logan’s face. The bewildered furrow of his brow. The slight gape of his mouth. The shock and disbelief in his beautiful blue eyes. The betrayal that would mask his face.

Patton’s heart ached.

He was almost thankful that he did not have a gift for premonition. The only way that he was going to make it through tomorrow was knowing that there was a chance--even though it was slim. Very slim. So gosh darn slim, in Patton’s huckleberry humbled opinion--that that expression of earth shattering betrayal would never cross Logan’s face. No amount of nose kisses could erase that--or the imagined fear in Virgil’s eyes, or the disillusioned disappointment in Roman’s.

Patton didn’t sleep that night.

----

“Patton? Darling?”

A hand settled on the small of Patton’s back, startling him out of his own mind. He blinked, smiling reflexively at Logan’s concerned expression. “Yes, honey?”

There was a small furrow in between Logan’s perfectly sculpted brows. Patton wanted to rub it away with the pad of his thumb. He wanted to crack a joke that would make Logan wince, but bring that sparkle that he liked to pretend didn’t exist to his eyes.

“You were distracted again.” It was Roman who spoke this time. He was sitting on the other end of the picnic blanket that the four of them had laid out in the clearing that day. Virgil was sitting in his lap, leaning back against his chest. One of Roman’s hands was in his hair, gently combing through it.

The sight made Patton’s heart flutter for a moment.

His three, beautiful, wonderful, thoughtful boyfriends had surprised him with a picnic for his birthday. And what a lovely day it had been. Just the four of them, enjoying one another’s company…

But now it was almost sunset. And Patton still had not spilled the beans.

How could he, when Virgil was perfectly relaxed, soaking up the sun, and Roman was laughing loudly, his eyes shining, and Logan was humming softly, taking in this perfect moment? Patton bit the inside of his cheek. He knew that he was just stalling, but the idea of possibly shattering this perfect moment was making something in his stomach curdle. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the grass underneath his palm start to wither.

“Sorry.” His voice was small, almost squeaky, but it was all he could hope to get out. He moved his hand.

Virgil opened his eyes. As soon as they met Patton’s, he knew that he was done for. Concern and knowing filled Virgil’s hazel eyes. Patton would have to say something quickly--before his boyfriend jumped to the worst possible conclusion.

He must have hesitated just too long, however, the words stuck in his throat like a wad of chewing gum, because Virgil spoke before he could. “What’s wrong, Pat?” Virgil’s voice was gruff. Patton closed his eyes, shame and guilt for causing his boyfriends to worry burning in his chest. He knew that voice of Virgil’s. It was the exact one that he had feared. Virgil was anxious.

“Nothing.” It was a feeble attempt, and they all knew it. Patton felt like he was going to be sick. He wished that he had cast a calming spell on himself that morning.

By now, all three of his boyfriends had their eyes trained on him, with varying degrees of worry on their faces. “Patton-” Logan started, but Virgil stopped him.

“No. It isn’t nothing. Patton, what is going on? You’ve been acting off, like, all week.” Patton gulped. Virgil’s voice softened a bit. “You can tell us. Please. What are you so worried about, babe?”

Patton opened his mouth. And closed it again. As if he could sense the conflict going on inside of Patton, Roman shifted forward, careful not to move Virgil off of his lap and grasped Patton’s free hand. Logan’s hand, which was still on the small of Patton’s back, began to move in small, soothing circles.

“I’m a witch.” He blurted, his eyes squeezed shut once again. “I mean- my whole family is. I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now, but I just- I couldn’t- and now it’s my birthday and in a few minutes, when the sun sets, my full powers are going to come in, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hide it when that happened, so I’ve been trying to tell you, but you were all so happy and I didn’t want to ruin the mood, but I’ve been lying and- I just- I’m sorry.”

He opened one eye. Just a crack. Just enough to see his boyfriend’s faces in the dimming afternoon light.

Logan looked shocked, to say the least. Patton could practically see the gears turning in his mind, turning over Patton’s words and examining them from every angle. His hand had paused in its comforting movements on Patton’s back, but he didn’t dare complain. It felt like there was a little chip in his heart.

Roman looked surprised, his gentle smile frozen on his face and his lips parted slightly, as if paused in the middle of an intake of breath. His expression was borderline unreadable. Patton suppressed a wince.

Patton’s gaze slipped over to his third boyfriend, his heart heavy in his chest. But Virgil wasn’t frozen like Logan or Roman. He didn’t even look surprised.

He didn’t look afraid.

Patton did not allow himself to feel hopeful for what that could mean.

Virgil looked almost… calmer than he had before Patton had said what was on his mind. His shoulders were more relaxed, and he was leaning back against Roman once again. He didn’t look at all like Patton had feared. There was no terror. No alarm. It was as if… as if this wasn’t a shock at all.

“V-Virgil?” Patton’s voice was almost inaudible. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Logan and Roman beginning to move, as if they had just returned to their bodies.

Virgil slid forward, off of Roman’s lap. Roman made a small noise of disagreement, and Patton felt a delirious urge to smile. He didn’t. Virgil wrapped his hands around both of Patton’s, bringing his attention away from the cataclysm in his mind. Patton noticed right then that Roman must have dropped his hands somewhere in the middle of his rambling confession.

“It’s okay, Patton.” Patton blinked, startled. He glanced back at Roman and Logan, who looked just as confused as he was. Virgil rubbed his thumbs across Patton’s knuckles, and he turned his attention forward again. “I… sort of already guessed.”

Patton’s mouth dropped open.

“What?” Roman shrieked. “You- You guessed that-”

Virgil shrugged, but there was a tension in his shoulders again as he looked defensively back at Roman. “Yes. It was sort of obvious.”

“I do not believe that obvious is the word that you are looking for, Virgil.” Logan responded. “How could you have guessed-”

“Please.” Virgil rolled his eyes, cutting Logan off. “Have you known anyone who is as good with plants as Patton?” Logan blinked, but did not respond. “Or what about how good he is with animals? Or how the weather is always perfect when all four of us go out?” Logan blinked. It looked as if something was dawning on him. Virgil continued. “And how Patton’s tea always cures our headaches? Has that ever happened before you met Patton? It had to be something like this. It’s-”

“Magic!” Roman gasped, his hand on his chest and a sparkle returning to him. He looked at Patton with wonder in his eyes. “It’s magic! You- Really-”

“Duh.” Virgil answered for him. Patton couldn’t stop himself from the incredulous laugh that burst from him.

There was a pause. Logan, who had been very obviously mulling over the information that Patton and Virgil had just placed before him, spoke next. “How much… exactly-”

Patton’s heart skipped a beat, tendrils of fear creeping back into his chest. However, once again, Virgil saved him by answering first.

“Not now, Logan.” Logan looked a bit put out by this response, but Virgil nudged him jovially with his elbow. “Later. Right now-” Patton looked up. The sky was a burning orange. “The sun is setting. Patton?”

Patton took a deep breath. “Yes?” He wished that his worry wasn’t so obvious.

This time Roman leaned forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You know we love you, right? This could never change anything about how we feel about you.” A lump grew in Patton’s throat. “You’re our person, our love! And we will be here for you.”

Logan cleared his throat and tried for a smile. It made something in Patton’s chest fill up like a balloon. “Yes. We will have plenty of time to discuss, but our love for you is never up for debate.”

Three faces looked back at Patton, pride and love glowing from them as the bright golden light of the sun haloed them like the angels they were. The sun set behind them, and they held him the whole time. Evening set upon the park and the four men in it, and tears welled in Patton’s eyes as they began to glow a brilliant silvery blue.

#sanders sides #LAMP #CALM #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #Logan sanders #ts patton #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman #ts lamp #ts calm

[random-imagines-blog]

The Way Back {Faramir x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3057 Summary: Love can be found in the unlikeliest of places, such as in a war-torn city after a win.

You took a deep breath in, and then a deep breath out. It felt like you hadn’t had the time to breathe in days. It had been battle, after battle, after battle against Sauron and his forces, ending up in this, the grand battle outside of Gondor. But the enemy had finally been defeated, the last of the orcs crying back to Mordor. You removed your helmet and let your hair fly free in the breeze as the world seemed to catch it’s own breath back. There was still plenty to do, such as tend to the wounded, burn the bodies of the deceased, and begin plans to rebuild the city. There were many fallen on both sides, even though the battle had been won by yourself, and by Gondor. By Minas Tirith. You looked about you, savoring the moment of peace, before plunging yourself into even more work.

You regretted that you did not attend the last battle at Mordor, but you had a much more pressing issue of helping with Gondor. There was so much here that had to be done, and you put your faith in your three companions. Legolas, your younger brother, who looked so much like you with delicate elfin features, but was a killer with a bow. Gimli, the dwarf that you came to see as a friend and an annoyance in your life, almost like a grumpy old pet, but one who could swing an axe like it was no ones business. And Aragorn, your best friend, a fellow Ranger, who had returned from Mordor and would soon be crowned King. But for now, he left you to care for Eowyn, a woman that he had introduced you to, who had been hurt in the battle. As two female warriors, the two of you struck up a quick kinship. It had been you who had given her a horse to ride among the riders, before you went with your fellowship to hold the dead to their oaths. Your horse, one of the fastest in the world, and the envy of many of the riders, including her brother.

You sat with her in the healing wing, dabbing her forehead gently with a damp cloth.

“I’m barely moving enough to sweat, y/n, there’s no need for this,” She said, trying to wave you away with her injured hand. You shushed her, and put it back down to her side. She looked more fragile than you were used to seeing her. Before, you had seen it in her eyes that she was always ready for a fight, the inner beast in her wanting to come out and growl at the world. A true dragon in pretty colors.

“Would you rather me go and get one of the healers to do it for you? I feel they would not be as good company as I though...” You threatened, and she sighed and allowed you to go on with your blotting. You were not a healer, though you knew a couple of things. Like to constantly check your friend for fever, for the wounds that she had sustained were nasty. She may have stabbed the witch King in the face, but she paid the price for that.

“I don’t like feeling helpless like this. I want to help the healers - it is only a couple of wounds. But no, all they let me do is go for one walk a day among the garden, like I’m some sort of...”

“Woman?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “Let us go on our walk then. Let them dare to stop us while we are together. They can try to bully one warrior, but two? I do not think them so foolish.” You took hold of Eowyn’s better hand, and helped her onto her feet. She was eager to be up, and there was a flounce to her step, almost girlish. Sometimes she lamented being a woman, but there was still some femininity to her.

Together you walked out of the healing wing, and out into the open air of Gondor. A lot had been ruined during the war, and was being rebuilt. There were footsoldiers still around, and were helping to guide the reconstruction process. Everyone was helping out - even children, who were spreading the mortar over the walls with their little hands. “Are you going to return to Rohan as soon as you are healed?” You asked Eowyn as you strolled arm in arm, avoiding the places where the most damage had been done.

“After Aragorn’s coronation,” She answered. “I see no sense in returning, just to turn around and come back in a couple of weeks. And with my brother constantly off with the Riders of Rohan, they are going to need a new leader.”

“I see,” You said, nodding. “I’m so sorry to hear about your Uncle, Eowyn. He was a great man, as as I’m sure you knew. And he taught you well, you’ll take his place fantastically.”

“What about you? I remember your father wanted you to return to Mirkwood-”

You shook your head vehemently. “I too will be staying until the coronation. Legolas may be returning but I’m not so quick to leave the scene of one of the greatest battles that Middle Earth has ever known. I’m reluctant to go back...”

“Why?”

“I’m his heir, and he is getting older. I know that he wants me to take up the throne, but I am not Queen material, Eowyn. I belong on the battlefield. That’s where I feel the most comfortable! Not among the rich dresses and the gossip of elfen society,” You opened up to Eowyn, knowing that her, above anyone else, would understand how you feel. “Legolas is better suited as King than I ever would be as Queen. Were it I were born second rather than first...”

“Either way, it would be nice to have someone who is more sympathetic to humans on the throne,” Eowyn said, coming to a halt. You looked at her confused. “There he is - that is Faramir, the new Steward of Gondor.”

You followed her eyeline to see a man, leaning over one of the walls, looking out at the wreckage of the grounds that had been the battlefield. His hair was to his shoulders, a messy light brown - it was a look that many of the human men wore. Aragorn. Boromir -

Of course! This had been the brother that Boromir had mentioned to you during the nights when you two had watch together. But with some more burns upon him than Boromir had ever seen. You had heard of what had happened to him. His own father had tried to kill him.

“Shall we introduce ourselves?” You asked. Eowyn, who was far from timid even while she was wearing a gown rather than armor, nodded her approval.

You approached him together, which did not seem to intimidate him, for he gave you a surprising smile when you reached him. “I hope we aren’t interrupting your thoughts,” You said, pleasantly.

“Not at all,” He inisisted. “I always have time for two of our heroes.”

You beamed down at Eowyn, seeing the little flush on her cheeks. It was amazing seeing her talent be recognized. You were about to praise her even more, just to see if she could go as red as a rose, when one of the healers came running up, interrupting the mood. “You should be resting Lady Eowyn!” She chided.

“But...” Eowyn started, but then gave in rather easily. “Excuse me. I hurt my hand while killing the Witch King. I hope you understand my quick departure.”

You couldn’t stop grinning at her little amount of bragging. She deserved that much. Faramir bowed his head respectfully as the healer took Eowyn away, who was still complaining that she was fine. “Did you receive an injury while doing something important like killing a Witch King?” He asked.

“I stubbed my toe while taking down an Oliphaunt,” You shrugged, making him grin. You realized while he was doing so that he was actually pretty handsome .. for a human. He had a softer face than both Aragorn and Boromir, the only two humans that you could claim had been your friends. Or still were, in Aragorn’s case. He wasn’t as bristly. And he had very kind eyes. The race of men really was starting to grown on you.

-

Your father had come to Aragorn’s coronation. You had not expected him to. He very rarely left Mirkwood. Not since the Battle of the Five Armies had he ventured anywhere near this far. But the King returning to his throne was a grand deal, so you supposed it wasn’t that out of the ordinary. You stood beside your brother in welcoming your dear friend to the throne, and had managed to position yourself in a way that let you look at the Steward. He stood with Eowyn, who had become as wonderful a friend to him as she had to you. A sister to the both of you, though she needed no more siblings - not with a gruff one like Eomer about.

“When are you going to tell father?” Legolas whispered after Aragorn had passed.

“Tell him what?” You hissed.

“About how you are in love with a human,” He said, smiling widely. You nudged him and he nearly fell into Gimli, but his elf-like reflexes stopped him from doing so. “He can’t take his eyes off of you. Is that why you dressed up today? It is so weird to see you in a gown.”

“Can you please be quiet and enjoy our friend’s special day?” You asked in Elvish. Legolas did quiet down but you kept sneaking peeks over at Faramir. The two of you had gotten rather close in the last couple of months. And you might even think that you had given your heart over to the man, though it was very painful to think about. You would continue to remain youthful for many, many years, barely gaining a wrinkle while this man would grow old, wither, die. Life was cruel that way. Unbelievably cruel.

You saw eyes looking at you behind Faramir, and caught your father’s stern gaze. Your eyes widened, and like a child caught doing something bad, you immediately looked anywhere but your father, pretending to be distracted by the leaves, or the sweet little hobbits.

After the ceremony was a lovely party, which Aragorn did not attend because he went straight into his duties. You could say a lot of things about Aragorn, but not that he wasn’t dedicated to his work. You walked through the party, surprising a great number of people by wearing an intricate Elven gown for the occasion. Most of these people had only seen you in your fighting garb, which looked a great deal like Legolas’s. In fact, on more than one occasion, you had been mistaken for one another. Definitely not on this day, though.

You wandered, before Faramir’s hand lightly brushed against your arm, pulling you into conversation. “You look...” He said, gazing at you up and down, trying to find the words. You decided rather than waste time, you would finish his sentence for him.

“-like a beautiful Elven lady?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Faramir said with a grin. He looked bashful, an expression that became him. He could be the most cold, hardened warrior, but around you, he seemed to be a bit more of a bashful mess. It was a very endearing trait. And it was something that brought the warmth right out of you.

“Yes, my daughter is a very beautiful Elven lady,” Your father’s familiar voice said from you behind you. Your eyes said ‘Uh-oh’ faster than your mouth could, and you turned to see him standing there. The blonde hair that the whole family had was gleaming brightly in the sun light. “I’m stealing her for a moment from you, Steward.”

“Of course,” Faramir said with a nod. He walked away with his hands behind his back, having recovered very well from his injuries. You watched as he walked towards Eowyn, and they struck up a friendly conversation. Your two favorite humans - and yet it gave you a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you did not like. You were wary of them being close. You were fond of both of them and you would not be surprised if they became overly fond of one another.

“Is that him?” Your father asked, following your line of sight. You stopped staring, and turned back towards him to give him the respect that he both deserved and demanded.

“Is that whom?” You questioned, your eyebrow arching upwards.

“The human that has stolen your heart?” Your father’s steely gaze cut through you like a knife. So he knew. You looked behind him for Legolas, and once you had caught his eye, you gave him a glare. “Do not blame your brother like you are some sort of child. He didn’t tell me a thing. It is entirely obvious.”

“Do you think that he knows?” You asked, swallowing any denial that you might have had bubbling.

“Since he is an inferior human, I would suppose not.” Your father said, chin held high. “I was going to ask you to come back with me. Take your place as the ruler of Mirkwood. There is a lot of work to be done.”

The happiness that you had felt for Aragorn, and then the slight giddiness that you had around Faramir had dissipated entirely. You were back to the way that the elves usually were. Hard-browed. No emotion showing.

“I’m sure that there is,” You said, not excited at all about the prospect of returning to your home. “And you are sure that you want me to be doing it?”

“As the oldest, it is your duty. Female or not,” Your father said. But he wasn’t catching your eye - he continued to glance over at Faramir. “You have caught his attention most ardently. He will not stop looking in your direction. It almost reminds me of your mother.”

Your heart started to beat in your chest, but your expression did not change. Still, there was a little bit of hope shining through. You tried to catch your father’s eye, but he kept looking away, which was unusual. Usually, he enjoyed looking right into the eyes of the person that he was talking to. It was a power play. And now you were the one who was trying to be the one in power.

“Is there any way that we can postpone it, father?” You asked, trying to make yourself taller so that he could not avoid looking at you. “Just for a few decades? Hardly any time at all - and all of that work will still be waiting for me.”

“A couple of decades? So you can come back after your human lover dies, and take out your grief in your work like I had?” Thranduil asked, tutting. You have never heard him tut before. But you also knew that he had a point. You remembered how he had thrown himself into his duties as King when your mother had died. He hadn’t given himself the proper time to grieve, and his leadership was lack for that. “We’d better give it a century or two. I might be able to finish my own tasks in time for that.”

“Surely - you’re joking? This is the first joke that you make and you decide for it to be this?” You questioned, unable to take your father seriously at this moment. His expression had not changed at all. In fact, now, it looked a little bit angry.

“I do not joke.” He said, glaring at you. “I am trying to give you the opportunity to love.”

You tried to search for any sign of deceit in his eyes, but could find none. He even looked a little ... flustered? Uncomfortable at the idea of talking about love with his daughter? Either way, you weren’t going to pass this opportunity up. You clasped your hands in front of yourself and gave him a bow which he then returned, before sweeping himself away to talk to Legolas, which was always much less about emotions.

You walked back over to Faramir and Eowyn, and put your hand on Faramir’s arm like he had to you just moments before. “May I speak with you for a moment?” You asked him, looking over at Eowyn. The blonde woman gave you a knowing smile, and walked off to speak with Merry, whom she had grown fond of over the war. The Steward of Gondor looked at you, still with that soft grin that you enjoyed looking at so much.

“What is it?” He asked, the grin faltering slightly. You’ve never asked him to talk privately before, and he wondered if something was wrong. But you took that away from him with your own lips, which you softly pressed against his once you were sure you had a little bit of privacy. “My lady?” He questioned, after returning it.

“It is unconventional, but it appears that I’ve fallen for you, Faramir, Steward of Gondor.”

“You have?” He asked, bewildered, but then seemed to regain his senses rather quickly. “I thought you never would. I’ve already resigned myself to growing old by myself.”

“You don’t have to,” You said, taking hold of his rough and calloused hands, giving them a squeeze. “If you will have me, I’d like to be by your side as you grow into a handsome old man.”

“While you stay the same?” He asked, his voice going softer.

“Yes,” You said with a nod. There was no point in beating around the bush - he would grow old and you would stay exactly as you were. It would be quite some time before you started to look older than you already were.

“My beautiful wife,” Faramir said, leaning in for another kiss. You granted it happily.

#Faramir #Faramir x reader #Faramir oneshot #Lord of the Rings #Lord of the Rings oneshot #x reader #oneshot #one shot #lotr #lotr oneshot #request

[angelkurenai]

Imagine running into an old friend of yours while out on a bar with Dean. Only problem being how flirty your old friend is and how much that pisses Dean off.

“No but sometimes men can be hella oblivious and don't tell me you don't get it again Sam because-” you tilted your head in Dean's direction who for the most part of the conversation has not been paying much attention to you or taking part actively in the conversation “Living proof. You and I both know it.” you said and he sighed in defeat so you kept going “And just what more does a woman have to do? Cause I tell you I'm running out of ideas.”

Your words or the look on your face earned a soft chuckle from Sam “I'll tell you I don't really know but I know this much: Certainly a lot more than with any other normal man. This is a complicated case.”

“You tell me.” you scoffed, shaking your head because if Dean wasn't the most oblivious man – for all of his experience in flirting it was seriously starting to get on your nerves how he couldn't get a hint – in the whole world then he was certainly doing this on purpose; which seemed less bad on second though “Speaking of which- Hey!” you snapped our fingers in front of Dean's face “Are you here with us or is the waitress too cute for you to pay some attention to your friend and brother? Thought we were out to celebrate a successful hunt together and not look for your next lay with what can only be described as a sample of a dress.”

“Hardly noticed.” he muttered and you and Sam shared a look “Yours on the other hand is drawing all the attention tonight apparently.” his eyes narrowed for a brief moment but you didn't have the time to follow his line of sight because he looked right back at you in that instant “See, I told you not to wear this one!”

“Are you kidding me?” you scoffed in disbelief, barely holding yourself back from yelling in that moment “You were the one who bought this dress for my birthday.”

“A gift because you'd complained about how every dress you had was ruined because of some hunt. I thought of being nice of... you know, altruistic reasons and-” he paused and shot his brother a hard glare when Sam raised an eyebrow at him that he realized wasn't just because of the word itself but because the completely opposite thing he meant because he had never been more selfish than when he had bought that dress for you and Sam was calling him out on it. Alright, yes he had been selfish, but the thought of the sight of you in that dress had been too hard to resist and once he'd seen it on you it was even harder to stop from staring – hense the blackmailing info now Sam held over him.

“That's- that's different. Doesn't mean I-” he started mumbling but you weren't having any of it.

“You were the one who said I looked good, you said it Dean. And you were the one who insisted on me wearing this more often!”

“Well, I didn't necessarily mean tonight or in a bar.” he tried to defend himself.

“Then when? When I hunt down vamps or ghosts? And if I remember correctly your words had been somewhere along the lines of 'Heck, sweetheart, don't ever take this off, will ya?' and you said something about 'With an exception.' which I still don't get what-”

“His bedroom.” Sam mumbled with a smirk and you frowned at him “The exception. Only there you wouldn't wear anything I'm assuming, not only just the... dress.” Sam started out with confidence but when he saw the look his brother was giving him he nearly trailed off, before in the end he just cleared his throat “Which is of course only an assumption. A... false one. Completely irrelevant to reality assumption.”

Your lips parted, mostly in confusion before you blinked and glanced at the younger Winchester and with a shot glance at his drink said “Was there something inside that thing? Nevermind.” you shook your head, eyes and all of your attentionback on Dean “You- What's wrong with you? You got me this dress, you were all smiles and now you have a problem with this? What the hell happened all of a sudden?!”

“Can I guess?” Sam asked with a smirk but before he had the chance to say anything else Dean nearly barked a gruff “No” at him. Sam raised his hands in surrender and looked away from his brother only to glance at his drink.

“Then I'll be the one to take a guess and let's hope it's my lucky one.” this time the voice that spoke up didn't belong to any of the ones you were used to hearing for the past hour, if not for the past couple years, that you couldn't fight the way your breath got caught in your throat.

“Wha-” Dean blinked, his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“My guess is you hadn't expected there'd be so many guys in this bar who would take instant notice on your girl, especially in that dress which by the way looks great on you sweetheart and it would be a shame for you not to know just how much.” he winked at you and it did nothing to help Dean's growing annoyance but it did certainly make you smile and maybe even bite your lower lip to keep yourself from smiling even wider.

“Who are-”

But even the few words Dean had the time to utter were completely ignored and the man continued “Sadly for you, though, bub-” he looked back at said hunter “You aren't the only one to admire that view anymore. And that pisses the hell out of you. No more than it does to know that a guy like me was the first one to take instant notice and give her the attention you have clearly been failing too. She said it, didn't she? I'd add miserably but she's obviously being nice to you.”

“What the hell do you even think you're do-”

“Her words, theoretically, not mine.” the gruff man only kept going as if he hadn't even heard Dean or was doing a perfect job at ignoring him “We both heard it. Even if you have a bit of a problem with accepting the fact that you can't keep your girl satisfied, it's true. Don't look so butthurt that I am here repeating it for ya. You know, I could point out how she also seems much more happy now that I'm here and it would make us both wonder just how fast I could have her getting up from her seat and leaving with me but- No, wait, I think I already know the answer and you seem like a smart fella too. It would be real damn fast, especially given how you have barely given her a glance the whole time you're here.”

“Hey, that's none of your fucking business, got it?” this time Dean managed to say a full sentence but despite the gruffness of his voice and the angry look on his face that would have easily scared the most dangerous demon of hell, the man himself didn't even blink “And what the hell do you even think you're doing here? That seat clearly ain't yours. Don't remember inviting you over. Hell, I don't even know who the fuck you are, so you have no business here.”

“No. No you didn't. And yet here I am. Maybe if you had been giving your girl the right kind of care then there would be no need for me to hurt your feelings but-”

“Alright, that's it. I've had en-” Dean stopped only for a brief moment mid-sentence to glance at you only to narrow his eyes at the smile you were trying to fight and turn back to the man with a hard glare. His back straightened and his jaw clenched as he looked back at your new companion “Time you go. And you better do it yourself before I give you a hand.”

“Oh I'd like to see you try, bub.”

“Ok that's it. You're-” Dean's actions were fast as he he was either about to punch him or draw a gun -neither of which would have had really any effect - but didn't have the chance to do so when he found his hand stuck. He struggled only for a second before he looked down and noticed the three long metal claws pinning his hand down through his sleeve.

“Yes, I think you won't. Oh and-” he smirked, leaning forward in his seat “I'm the Wolverine.”

“You were sure the minute of silence that followed felt like an eternity but at the same time it was so short and before you could realize it you were speaking up.”

“You really wanted to say that didn't you, Logan?” you raised an eyebrow and his smirk only grew more as he drew the claws back.

“Wait- Logan?” Sam whispered, frowning deeply at you.

He leaned back in his seat and looked back at you. He shrugged casually and took a sip of his drink “Weren't your words something along the lines of 'Well, fuck me, that's actually hot.' or what?”

“It was hot the first maybe second or third time I heard it, Logan. It's no longer the same after having heard it more than twenty times. Especially when I'm still trying decide whether I should punch the life out of you for not calling for a year or kissed the life out of you because of how much I've missed you!”

“Wait- what?!” you were certain Den would have otherwise yelled this so you were glad this time was an exception “And you- you know him?”

“You might as well do the second one-” Logan said with a shrug, effectively ignoring Dean in a way that was making it harder for you to hold back our laughter “I wouldn't say no, but I think you might give pretty boy over here a heart attack or something.” he smirked over his drink before he added more softly “I wish I had the chance to call too but... things came up. Missed you too, kid.”

Your own smile softened as you understood more than he dared say out loud and your heat reached out for him. He was family too after all for far too many reasons. And you'd always known of the burden he carried around, you didn't want to put more weight on. So that was certainly not a talk for that time so instead you opted for another reply with a small smirk.

“Hardly a kid anymore, Wolverine.”

“Oh trust me I see that.” he grinned too, appreciating the space.

“What just happened?” Dean blinked, after a small moment of silence, looking between the two of you.

“In case you're having a hard time realizing this- or better yet accepting this, Dean, yes I do. In fact Logan here is a family, he's helped me through some really rough times in the past and saved my life too. So it seems like you don't need to turn into an over-protective Alpha over this tonight.”

“Doesn't seem like he needs an excuse to be a brain-less primitive-”

“Alright!” you chipped in “Let me stop you right there because knowing you two, this is not going to end well. Logan, this is Sam and Dean Winchester. You too have heard me tell you a lot of things about them-”

“Not like the whole hunting world isn't talking about us already.” Dean said with what you could only consider a proud smirk but sharing a look with Sam you knew he didn't share his brother's feelings. And he had every right too because Logan could really turn this against him.

“Yeah, I've heard so myself. But I guess I only know the basics and what (Y/n)'s told me.”

“And that would be...?” Sam trailed off with uncertainty.

“That you're the idiots that started the Apocalypse. On multiple occasions. Or better yet, on every freaking occasion.” Logan shrugged “Not all she's told me, but it's what I remember most. The rest is kind of-” he glanced at Dean with a smirk “Too easy to do if you ask me.”

“Oh and you know all about killing Hitler?” Dean raised an eyebrow, his smirk having fluttered for only a short moment that he hoped Logan didn't see.

“I might, yes. Only about the first time that I killed him though.”

.

..

...

All you and Sam seemed to do was look with caution at the two men, unable to predict what each man's next words or move would be. Until Sam really couldn't hold it back and sighed as he slumped back in his seat.

He ended up whispering to you “You really do have a type, don't you?”

“Hardly I'd say-” you started “But I think I'm starting to change my mind now.”

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural one shot #supernatural x reader #dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean imagine #dean winchester imagine #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean one shot #dean winchester one shot #x-men #logan #the wolverine #x reader #imagine #logan howlett

[captainrexisboo]

Rex x Reader Drabble #1

Why not. Note: reader is a lady, because I am a lady. I can try my hand at other genders if you’d like, just request it, but only if you promise to beta it as well (I don’t want to get anything wrong)

Title: Dumb Luck

Warnings: some suggestive dialogue, very brief, nothing graphic

Link to next part

~

Rex looked down into her face, the nat-born’s eyes flurrying with unrestrained passion. Separated from the rest of the battalion, and the planet having absolute shit transmission, himself and Jesse had stumbled upon a short mechanic by the rare stroke of luck. Dressed in a blue denim jumpsuit stained in grease and oil, thick belt cinching the waist of her form, the mechanic was able to walk with them to their karked up speeder bike. Now, the bike fully functional again and neither of the vode having credits on them, he blinked underneath the visor of his helmet, completely at a loss for words at her request for payment.

“You want us to do what?”

“Take me with you,” she repeated, eyes shining with a special type of determination as her hair fell in a frame around her face, “This dirtball has been my home for twenty years and I’ve been bored out of my kriffin mind. But you two, you guys travel the galaxy, you see new worlds every day-”

“And fight more battles than you could ever be prepared for,” Rex backtracked his words, “No, that you will never be prepared for. This sand pit is good for one thing, and that’s staying safe. I’m sorry, but you’re not coming.”

She crinkled her nose at the Captain’s logic, “I-”

“-fixed our bike, yeah, and thanks,” Jesse finished the sentence, “But even if you could come with us, you’d be fixing a lot more than speeders. You’d be out of your league, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?” she sputtered out as the soldiers continued packing their things. She huffed, growling to herself and crossed her arms firmly over her ribs, “Then at least take me to where you’re going? I’d rather pack up my belongings and move someplace not in the middle of nowhere if I have to stay on this planet.”

“Sweetheart, we’re-”

“Call me that one more time,” she spat out, short as she might be there was still an air of scrappy danger to her, “See what happens.”

Rex didn’t have to see Jesse’s face to know that he was grinning at the audacious woman, and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder to keep him from riling her up even more. He jerked his head to the speeder, silently telling Jesse that he would take care of this.

As Jesse put up his hands in a mock surrender and walked off, Rex walked forward, copying her solid stance, “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” she quirked an eyebrow at the Captain, eyes sizing him up.

“Well, Y/N,” Rex cleared his throat, putting on his best civvy voice, trying to make that connection that the Republic was telling the clones they had to have to make relations with the public easier, “You see, our speeder only has room for two. Even if we were taking you with us to base camp, we couldn’t fit you on the bike.”

“Oh please,” she rolled her eyes, “I’m sure you could make room. It’s not like I’m your size.”

“Well sure, but would you really want to be sandwiched in between two sheets of plastoid armor?” Rex combatted, holding out a hand as if he could show her exactly what he meant in his palm.

A sly look came through her gaze as she looked him up and down again, smile absolutely sinful, “You mean being in the middle of two strong, solidly built men? If I’m being honest Cap, it’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

Rex seemed to freeze in time at the words, the woman putting a scandalous image into his head, and if his helmet were off then Jesse would be howling with laughter at how red his face was getting as opposed to her retort. She was a very attractive woman, he’d have to be blind not to notice, so the picture of this stranger being handled in that way was nothing less than enticing to him. Especially as she cocked out a hip and bit her lip to him, eyes going smoky as she let a finger lazily trail down the side her torso and dance over the top of her thigh, “What’re you thinking of, Captain?”

He grit his teeth, clenching his jaw as he bit out, “Nothing of your concern, since you’re not coming with us. And that’s final.”

She groaned, flipping her demeanor over again as he turned around to help Jesse, “Awe, c’mon! I did your labor, I just want a ride!”

Jesse chuckled, “In what sense?”

She puffed out her cheeks, blazing red in outrage, “Look, either you’re taking me with you, or I’m...I’ll-”

Her emotions swelled inside her, making it hard to think. Overwhelmed, she stalked off, grabbing her tool box and then coming back. She shoved her way between the soldiers, throwing a leg over to straddle the seat and holding her head high, “This is all I ask in payment for fixing your kriffin bike, sirs. I could charge you outright, I could give you a debt to pay, I could make you clean my tools, but no. I want a ride.”

She kept her eyes screwed shut, waiting for rough hands to come out and throw her off.

Rex looked over to Jesse. It had been a long day for the two of them, getting lost because of Jesse’s terrible navigation skills, having a break down in the middle of all these dunes that look the damn same, walking in the kriffin dry as hell heat to just find a rascally woman with just the skills they’d need, only for her to be an absolute pain in the ass. Being soldiers, they knew there were some battles (even if you were on the right side of them) that you just couldn’t win. Jesse confirmed his thoughts with a shrug, and Rex sighed, low and slow, “Fine.”

Her eyes shot open again, registering that one little word said in a gruff and annoyed tone, it bouncing around in her headspace as she smiled wide, stars dancing in her eyes, “Thank you, thank you so much!”

She let a giggle bubble up through her, the light sound tugging at Rex’s heartstrings, before her next words made his cheeks dust pink, “You have no idea how much this means to me! If you didn’t have a helmet on, I’d kiss you!”

He cleared his throat at her starstruck stare, “You say the damndest things.”

“Call me bold,” she winked at him, and Jesse could hear his Captain’s jaw snap shut. Taking his chance to get behind the wheel again, he snuck up to Rex.

“Should I drive-”

“You, trooper,” Rex snapped out of whatever spell the mechanic had him under as he immediately turned around at Jesse’s voice, “Got us lost in the first place.”

“Captain,” Jesse put an arm around his pauldrons, turning Rex around so their backs were to the woman humming, satisfied with herself on the speeder, “Vod, if you’re driving then that means that pretty little thing will be pressed up against your back the entire time. Think you can handle that?”

Rex surprised Jesse by stating almost immediately, “Better than me holding her up against my front.”

“...why are you being the one she holds onto or whatever in either scenario?” Jesse questioned, slightly dumbfounded at his Captain’s train of thought.

Rex could only shrug in response, “Call it a hunch, ‘sweetheart’.”

Shortly after, they were on their way to meet the rest of the vode and General Skywalker, Rex driving with Y/N pressing herself tight to his back, arms laced around his waist. Jesse, much like Rex had predicted, was not given the same treatment from Y/N. The woman was as stubborn as a gundark, and when Jesse did attempt to secure himself by wrapping around her, took a swift elbow to the ribs. “Hold the seat,” was what she seethed to him. It was about a full hours drive, but they eventually found their way to the camp, being immediately spotted by the general.

“Rex! Jesse!” he called, walking over, “Where the hell have you two been? We’ve been trying to comm you for-”

He paused upon seeing their guest, and looked between the two of them asking a silent question with a set jaw.

“General Skywalker, this is Y/N,” Rex introduced, “Our speeder broke down, we had no transmission to call for help, but she was close by and able to fix us up. In record time, I might add.”

“A mechanic,” Anakin stroked his chin, “Glad fortune was on your side today, boys. Miss Y/N-”

“Just Y/N, if you could, General,” she interrupted, holding out a hand, “Ask your men here, I’m not miss anything.”

He quirked his scarred brow up at her, “All that matters is that you’re a mechanic. Know anything about droids?”

“Sir?” Rex questioned. Jesse had a hunch of his own, deciding to walk off and start unloading the supplies from their bike.

“That’s my hobby,” she smiled up at the Jedi, “Love finding old parts, cleaning them up and putting them to good use. The programming can be a little tricky, but it’s so fulfilling once your droid knows what it’s made to do.”

“Perfect,” Anakin smirked, “You’re with me, Y/N.”

“Sir!” Rex exclaimed, feeling out of the loop, “What are you doing? She’s a civvy!”

“I need her for this stunt to work, c’mon Captain,” Anakin motioned for the two of them to follow, taking them to a tent, “We’re gonna reprogram some seppie droids and get them behind enemy lines for intel gathering. So kriffin lucky you were able to find this one, Rex!”

“Looks like you’re stuck with me for a while, Cap,” she purred to him, giving him one more wink before sauntering off. Rex could only groan to himself as he watched her hips sway away. Yeah, it sure was some type of luck he had today.

#captain rex #captain rex x reader #captain rex imagine #star wars #star wars the clone wars #clone troopers #jesse #ct 7567 #ct 5597 #anakin skywalker #501st #female!reader #mechanic!reader #fuck if i know what planet they're on lmao #tcw fic #drabble #my writing

[thefreakydeaky]

Call Out My Name

Part Six Title: A Lonely Night

Characters: Negan, Reader, The Saviors,The Wives

Summary: You belonged to him.Try as you might to pretend indifference, Negan’s very presence has awakened feelings in you that you believed had died with the old world.Is the ruthless King of the Sanctuary still human enough to fall in love?

Warnings: Language, Canon Typical Negan BS, Diet Dr.Angst

Word Count: 2,145

“Can I trust you, Y/n?” He asked as you lay together after.

“Yes, you can.”

“I don’t know how to say it...”

Your eyebrows rose.

“You? At a loss for words? I don’t believe it.”

Negan chuckled dryly.

“I don’t know how to say it nicely.”He amended, his tongue poked out to wet his lip as he tried to find the right words.

“Do you remember what I said to you about my position as a leader?”

You shook your head ‘no’.

“It’s precarious.I work damn hard to make sure my people are taken care of and to make sure that everyone knows not to fuck with me.As I’m sure you have realized, I like to be on top.”

“Mhmm..”

“Sometimes that means I have to bash in a few heads. Sometimes it means I have to take a new wife, but I’d say I have everything I could want within reason. Wouldn’t you?”

You nodded in agreement.

“So imagine my surprise, when I go out to do some head bashing and find that despite all i have there is one thing I not only want, but need...You.” His expression softened as he gazed into your eyes. “The moment I saw you, I recognized you as my other self. That’s why I did it. That’s why I called you my wife without asking.We were made for each other. I can’t explain how I know, I just know, Y/n.”

You blinked back tears, overwhelmed by the unmistakeable ring of truth his confession held. You looked back up to find him watching your face wearily.

“How can I be sure you won’t think how I feel about you is a weakness?”

You laced your fingers with his.

“You aren’t weak.Neither am I.We have both put survival above everything else.”

He winced.

“Hell, that isn’t reassuring in the least.”

You smiled apologetically.

“What I’m getting at is, if you’re open to it, we could try putting each other first and survival second.You know, the way relationships were pre-walker?”

“And what would you know about that, hmm?”

“I was in a relationship back when.”

“What, some high school sweetheart bullshit?” He sighed, incredulity in his voice.

“No.” You turned onto your belly. “I was in a serious relationship with an older man.”

“Were you now?”

“I was.”

“What was he like?” Negan pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“Do you really wanna know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

You smirked at the envy in his eyes.

“He was...fifteen or so years older than me.”

“Mhmm.”

You carded your fingers through Negan’s hair.

“He had pretty blue eyes and a very nice smile.”

“What did he do?”

“He was a policeman.”

“A cop? You were dating a cop?” His brow furrowed.

“Is that surprising?” You grinned.

“It is.” He grumbled. “Did you love ‘um.”

“It was complicated, but I did love him. Then we broke up, the world changed for the worse,and I had bigger things to worry about than him.”

Negan mulled on that for a moment.

"I ever tell you I was married before the world went to shit?"

Try as he might to hide behind a veneer of nonchalance, you sensed some dark emotions beneath the act.

"Not very successfully, but she meant a great deal to me."

You nodded.

"I was shit at showing it, but I'm sure you know a thing or two about that."He grimaced.

Negan looked into your eyes. In the depths of his gaze you could see a sorrow so intense, it made your heart ache with compassion.

“Do you think we could make it if we tried?” He asked too casually.

“Yes, I reckon we could.” You kissed the back of his hand.

You felt so filled with warmth you could burst.

Negan kissed the corner of your mouth lovingly.

“You have my whole heart, Y/n.”

He took you into his arms.

"Until my last breath."

Feeling safer than you had in years, you snuggled into his embrace and reveled in the wonder of being loved.

Staring out of the window did nothing to improve his mood.Lighting flashed in a black as midnight sky at eleven o'clock in the morning.

"What's the plan?"Negan asked the room at large, taking a seat at the head of the table.

His lieutenants sat in a make shift conference room, looking worse for the wear from the battle with Alexandria.

Dwight tapped the back end of a switch blade on the table, seemingly deep in thought.Regina sat arms crossed over her chest glaring at Dwight's hands.The minutes ticked by quietly. Negan's already strained patience was growing thin.Gavin tilted his chair back and sighed.

“There's nothing left for us to do, 'cept kill them all."Simon concluded.

“Dwight?" Negan posed wearily.

"We don't need to kill all them people to get them in line.We just have to kill the right ones."

Negan narrowed his eyes at him.

"The right people, meaning who? Rick Grimes?"

“Grimes, The Widow, and The Ki- “ Dwight grimaced. “Ezekiel.” He amended apologetically.

“Hmm..." Their leader scratched at his chin, in contemplation.

"We'll put 'em on a platform, make it bloody, make sure they all see it happen." Dwight's gruff voice provided.

"I like the way you think, Dwight." Negan responded at last."Si, how long you need to get this set up?"

A blood thirsty grin broke out on Simon's face.

"We'll be ready by morning." He replied.

To the Saviors Simon directed a gung-ho,“Let's go to work."

Mean while, back at the doll house, boredom and gloom drove the wives to the parlor.

"We could play a game?"Tanya suggested.

Amber emitted a petulant huff in response and continued flipping through a beat up issue of Vogue

"We can play a drinking game."Sherri suggested.

“A drinking game?"You repeated uncertainly.

"We are all adults here, we're stuck 'till Negan says otherwise."Tanya pointed out.

"We might as well."Amber intoned, tossing her magazine aside.

You glanced uncertainly at Sherri.For a moment you considered declining, but much to their surprise, you agreed.

"Okay, What are we playing?"

Frankie sat up in her chair, with sudden interest.

“Never have I ever!”Sherri and Tanya said in unison.

You swallowed in an attempt to soothe your suddenly dry throat.This was a disaster waiting to happen.

Amber took it upon herself to serve each person in the room a generous shot of vodka.

“The way it works is, we take turns asking a question.Well sort of a question sort a not.”Sherri hedged.

“If it’s my turn I’d say something like, Never have I ever...smoked a joint.”

“Bullshit.”Frankie laughed.

“If you have smoked a joint you do a shot.If you haven't, you don’t.It’s fun.Trust me.” Sherri’s enthusiastic grin was a little scary.

You had never seen her smile before today.You eyed her skeptically, but didn’t back out.

“Why don’t we go from youngest to oldest?”You suggested.

Amber went around the room handing out the generous glasses she had poured to each of you.

“Go on then.”Sherri encouraged Frankie.

“Alright, never have I ever...given a blowjob.”

“Ha! That’s a cheat! We all know He loves getting head.”Tanya chuckled.

“Is not!”

You all took a shot.

Amber went around the room refilling the glasses.

As the game went on, you slowly began to relax.The questions were invasive at times, but no one had caused any trouble so far.

“Never have I ever”Tanya began, “been tied up during sex.”

“Ugh Tanya!”Amber exclaimed in disgust.

Sherri’s eyes were fixed on you.

She is so damn nosey. You frowned, but you were a good sport and drank just the same. To your surprise, so did Frankie.

You shared a knowing look then burst out laughing.Sherri was not amused.

“Never have I ever been to Texas?”Amber tried.

You shook your head.

“Never have I ever kissed another girl.”You threw out eyeing each of them in turn.

Frankie, Tanya, and You all took another shot.

“Really, Y/n?”Amber’s eyes went wide with curiosity.

“Oh, come on don’t act so shocked.It’s the freakin" apocalypse.”Frankie scoffed.

“Alright alright, never have I ever been eaten out by Negan.” Sherri said smoothly.

You cringed at the obvious ploy.

Tanya,Sherri, and Frankie each took a shot.

You could feel them all scrutinizing you.You and Amber were the odd ones out. You refused to rise to the bait.What happened between you and Negan was none of their business.

“Amber” Sherri prompted when she remained quiet for too long.

“Oh, uh, yes. Never have I ever..” She wracked her brain trying to come up with something, but came up empty. “Never have I ever had a three some??”

“Booooo!” a sloppy drunk Frankie complained.”We already asked that one.”

“Right right...”

“How about never have I eveeer, had a sexual fantasy about a Savior.” Frankie suggested.

Tanya blushed fiercely and took the shot.

The look on Amber’s face was bleak.

“Never have I ever been to Canada.”Sherri said quickly changing the subject.

No one drank.You felt bad for Amber.You had forgotten that some of these girls used to be in relationships with the men that were now Saviors.

Tanya smirked at you.

“Never have I ever, had sex with Negan in the middle of the day.”She said much too chipper for your liking.

“Just Negan?”

“Yes.”

You knew what she meant to find out, but you refused to go there with her. You didn’t take the shot.

Her brown eyes blazed into yours.She and Sherri drank simultaneously.

“Never have I ever lied to my husband.”You deadpanned to remind them that you were in this together.

Every one of them drank.

“Never have I ever had a sex related injury.”

Sherri stared at Tanya when she didn't drink.

“Taanyaa”

“Sherriii” Tanya mocked good naturedly.

“You have.”She insisted.

Tanya winced and took the shot. Embarrassed and hoping no one would ask the million dollar question.

“Okay, but how??”Frankie asked.

Tanya covered her blushing face in her hands.

“Damn it Sherri.”

“She was with Simon on a free pass day.”

Frankie rolled her eyes.”You know how that goes”

Sherri raised an eyebrow. “Not all of us do.”

"He gets a little...gymnastic." Tanya admitted, blushing.

“Never have I ever wanted to fuck Simon.” Amber singsonged.

“It’s not even your turn!” Tanya winced and took the shot.

You were feeling so warm and buzzing hard.You unthinkingly took the shot along with Tanya and Frankie.

“Simon?” Sherri’s voice was filled with judgement.

“Surprised?”

“Not even a little.” She sniffed.

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re awful judgmental for a woman in a polygamist marriage?” You snarked.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.You act pretty high and mighty for someone who sucks the same cock the rest of us do.”

“I’m not like you.” She hissed venomously.”I didn’t fucking choose this!”

“And you think I did?”Amber stood, swaying drunkly.

“Not you.” Sherri’s voice lost it’s venom. “But the rest of you did.”

“You’re so wrong for thinkin’ that and even worse for sayin’ it!” Tanya’s eyes filled with tears.

“Sherri, You’ve been talking down to me ever since I got here.” You spoke louder than you intended to.

“Yeah? And what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m not the one with the problem.”

“You sure as shit act like it.”

You threw your glass in her general direction. It pelted her in the shoulder and rolled onto the floor.

“Bitch if you’re feelin’ froggy go ahead and fuckin’ jump.”

The double doors burst wide open.

“What in the hell is going on in here?” Negan thundered looking around the room with an irritated scowl.

No one moved.Sherri’s fury was still apparent in her expression.You wondered how long he’d been listening.

“Explain.Now.” He demanded picking on Tanya who hadn’t said a thing.

“W-well...We were drinking and playing some stupid game. About sex.”Her eyes darted between you and Sherri.

“A sex game?” Negan repeated, disbelief in his tone.

“Yupp. Not a one of us’s been to Canada and Y/n kissed a girl, Now Sherri thinks we’re all a buncha sluts.” Amber hiccuped.

Negan took a steadying breath and stared down each of you in turn.

“Well I’ll be damned." He scrutinized Amber's slight swaying figure and shook his head. "Sweetheart, you are trashed!I’m cuttin’ you off.”

Negan took the bottle of vodka from her. From the look on her face, she had forgotten she was holding it.

“I’ll get you some water.” Frankie nodded decisively and tried to shake off her buzz.

She swayed a little on her way to the sink.

“So what I’m gettin’ here is, you all got wasted and started swapping stories about sex with me?”

You didn’t know what to say.You were, despite Sherri being an asshat, feeling pretty good right about now.

“You are around each other all day every freakin’ day and the subject has never come up before?” He asked with feigned interest.”I don’t know if I should take that as an insult or a compliment.”

Finally got a taste of his own medicine.

You snickered.

“What’s so funny over there,Y/n?”

Uh-oh no pet names.Daddy is maaad.

The ridiculous thought made you chuckle and soon you were emitting peels of laughter so infectious that Tanya started laughing too.

“You cut that shit out!It is not fucking funny.” He shifted his weight, brought lucille onto his shoulder, then licked his lips. “I don’t like drama.”

Sherri rolled her eyes.

“Coulda fooled me.” Amber jibed under her breath.

You mashed your lips together to hold back your smile.

“What did you just say?”

Amber shook her head.

You batted your lashes at him.

His nostrils flared like he could smell the insubordination.

“Wow I am havin’ a damn hard time rememberin’ why I thought keeping so many women around was a good idea.”

“Cause you expected a nonstop orgy?” You suggested. “Ya reap what ya sew, Babe.”

“What the ever loving fuck?” A pained look crossed his face.

“I mean,” Your languid gaze swept the room. “It isn’t right, but I get it.” You shrugged.

“That’s enough. I don’t have the patience to deal with all of you at once.Every one of you to your bedrooms! I don’t want to hear one peep out of you for the rest of the day.”

“Sure thing, Daddy.” The corners of your lips quirked into an almost grin as you stood and headed for your room.

“Smart ass.” He grumbled following behind you.

#negan x plus sized reader #the walking dead #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #negan x reader #negan #jeffrey dean morgan

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Small Time Witch (27)

A S G A R D

When you were a small child you attended a Christian nursery school until you were old enough to start kindergarten. One of your very earliest memories was how your teacher described heaven. She called it paradise where the weather was always warm and there were so many trees and mountains and sprawling landscapes. “In the middle,” she would say “is the Lord’s palace. It is so bright and shiny that you will almost be blinded by its majesty.” Perhaps the teacher had been a former resident of Asgard.

You stood at the foot of the Bifrost bridge where Heimdall greeted you. In the distance was the palace glistening like a jewel amongst the stone statues and mountains. The water beneath the bridge looked like it was made of glass it was so still and blue. If you didn’t know better you would have believed you were walking into Oz.

Heimdall stood next to you staring into the horizon with his gold eyes glinting in the sun. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?”

“Yeah” was all you could manage.

“Welcome to Asgard, Princess.” You were startled back into reality.

“I’m not a princess. Please call me Y/N.”

“Your marriage to the Prince is recognized by the throne. It would be improper of me to call you by your name. The Allfather is expecting you.” He directed you into the care of two palace guards who freaking bowed to you. They loaded you into a small craft that zipped you to the palace.

Thor was waiting for you at the door. He introduced himself extending his hand. You reminded him that you were family and you hug. “It’s weird, Thor, because in another life I know you. We’re very close and get into all sorts of trouble together. Usually alcohol is involved.”

He laughed and drew you into his Vice grip. “You remind me of my mother. That may serve you well today.”

“I hope so. The only Odin stories I ever hear are of him being super gruff. He was even a little mean to Jane. Who can be mean to Jane Foster? Sweetest person ever.”

“You know of my Jane?”

“Of course. We’re very good friends. When you’re in town you two usually stay with us. It’s nice.” You didn’t have the heart to tell him that Jane passed away due to complications from cancer. Bruce thought the Aether likely mutated her cells and her body didn’t handle it well. Knowing that you were friends with Jane put a little smile on his face so you chose to keep it to yourself.

When you approached Odin you bowed. He peered down at you from his throne. He looked older than you thought he would. The guy was ancient. You supposed he shouldn’t look young. He looked more frail than anything.

He stood up and walked down the steps to be closer to you. “So this is the Midgardian witch who captured my son’s heart? You are very impressive, young lady. I’ve heard of your talents. Let’s leave this room and retire to my chambers. We’ll have more privacy.” He offered his arm which you took. Thor followed behind. “Please, sit. Now, what can I do for you?”

“Right down to business. Ok. Your highness, I am here to negotiate the terms of Loki’s sentence. The King and small council of Vanaheim have offered to keep Loki in the palace, with your consent of course. In exchange, they will keep me in the Temple of the Vanir to learn their ways. Also, my powers allow me to absorb the energy of the infinity stones. There is a Titan searching for the stones, sir. In my time, he destroyed Asgard and Xandar looking for them. If I can possess even two of them, I can stop him before he lays waist to the Nine.”

He did not say anything for several minutes. You were terrified. Finally, “The Vanir intend to weaponize you. Is that what I’m understanding?”

“I suppose that would imply that they have some sort of control over me. I will not be a weapon against another realm.”

“And if they use Loki as leverage, what choice would you have?”

You took a deep breath so you wouldn’t have a tone in your voice. “With all due respect, Allfather, they wouldn’t have the strength to fight me. I know how this sounds. It is dangerous and there is no guarantee I’ll succeed. I have to try.”

“Thor? What do you think? Another one of Loki’s tricks?”

You started to panic. Thor’s brow was knitted together. He was skeptical of the whole plan.

“Please. Don’t you have your own prophet? How can I prove to you that I’m not tricking you? What can I do?”

“Thor, call in Freyr. Let’s see if he can make sense of this.”

When Freyr saw you his face lit up. “Princess! How lovely to see you again. May I have a moment alone with the girl?”

The two men left the room. “You remember meeting me?” Your voice was trembling.

“Of course! Are you still so naive to think time is linear? This, my dear, is your destiny. The Norns give you the illusion of free will when really all of this was predetermined. You are here because you are meant to fight this war.”

“And Loki?”

He patted you on the head, “He’ll come around.”

When Odin and Thor came back in Freyr did most of the talking. Odin agreed to come with you to Vanaheim to meet with the king and investigate this threat. That was all you could ask for.

He invited you to stay for a couple of days to get acquainted with your new home. It wasn’t a request that much you knew. Thor was happy to show you around. He brought you to your chambers which were near Frigga’s. He showed you her gardens and told you to feel free to explore. There were some sheers on a small table. You slipped them in your pocket so you could take some clippings. She had everything you could possibly need to preform a spell. Literally any spell you could think of.

Thor followed you listening to you speak about the flowers and herbs that grew wild there. The more you spoke the more he understood why Loki chose you. You were so like their mother but with a jagged edge. Poised and gentle but you would definitely cut a bitch without a second thought.

Once you sat down for lunch he worked up the courage to ask about his brother.

“Y/N, can you tell me why my brother did this? Why Midgard specifically?”

You put down your fork and looked him directly in the eyes, “I think you know the answer to that question. Because you loved Earth. Because Earth loved you. You found Jane. He was jealous and angry and took it out on you. But it took him years to admit that he was really so deeply hurt by Odin’s admission.”

“But why not fight me directly? The people on Midgard were innocent.” He was beginning to get angry. You had to remember this just happened so the wounds were still fresh.

“He did fight you directly in New Mexico. When he turned the Bifrost onto Jotunheim he effectively killed that part of himself. The part he thought monstrous. When he let go of Odin’s staff on the bridge, he thought he would either die or live on in exile somewhere. He was ready to leave it behind. But Thanos found him. First he seduced him with power and revenge then he tortured him into subjugation. For a whole year he tortured him. Then, during the attack, he was controlled by the mind stone and The Other could hear him. That’s why he didn’t relent when you said you would bring him home.”

Thor was quiet. You could see tears in his eyes. He had never thought of his brother as a monster. Even when the glory of Loki’s destruction rained down from the heavens, he still loved his brother. He thought back on how Loki looked when he saw him before Chitauri invaded. He looked sick and bruised. He was having trouble standing. The amount of force it would take to mark a god’s skin was beyond comprehension. And now, all he knew was that Loki was recovering on Vanaheim. He had no idea just how close to death Loki was.

When you returned to Vanaheim you went directly to the Temple of the Vanir. Thor went right to his brother. He was outwardly shocked by Loki’s appearance.

“Have you come to throw me in the dungeon?” Loki held Thor’s eyes to attempt to intimidate him. It wasn’t working. He winced as he tried to sit up straighter. Thor would not dare help him in fear of injuring his already fragile pride.

“No, brother. I’m here to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Then perhaps you’ll listen.” Loki looked away from him but raised his hand to signal him to carry on.

“If your quarrel was with me why not just fight me?”

“I wanted to prove to father that I can do something. He conquered realms. Why can’t I? That’s what kings do! It is my birthright!”

“Loki, I fear you and father are more alike than either of you care to admit. A king’s job is to unite the realms not to simply rule.”

Loki looked away in shame. “I would have been a good king. Both loved and feared. I would have built an empire.”

“And we all would have watched helpless as it consumed and destroyed you. Forget all of that. You have been given a second chance, brother. A chance with this woman who shares your spirit. Do not squander it lying about feeling sorry for yourself.”

Loki quirked his brow. He thought you had taken your one way trip back home after the way he treated you. Surely you weren’t still carrying on with your plan. The thing was no matter where you were on Vanaheim, he could feel you. Now he can’t. “She hasn’t gone?”

“No. She’s in the temple preparing for the stone. I’m going there myself. Why don’t you join me?”

“Funny. I can’t feel her.”

Thor gave him a weak smile and patted him on the shoulder. “Mother gave her free reign in her garden. No telling what manner of spell she conjured. I’m sure it’s for your own protection.”

You were a clever little witch. He would never say it aloud but he loved how quick you were. If you succeeded with the stones you two would be the most powerful couple in the known universe. You could probably dethrone Odin together. No army would be powerful enough to stop you. He stuck those thoughts into the back of his mind. You were uninterested in power in the way that Loki was. He could not understand your altruistic nature. All of this risk and for what? For people who didn’t know you existed. Though, if you didn’t care for others, he supposed you would have moved on by now and never given him a second chance. Perhaps now was the time to put such irrational things aside and support you.

——————————————————————

The Vanir worked quickly to construct a room strong enough to withstand a nuclear blast. You would have to crush the stone to release its full power. The only weapon strong enough for that was Mjölnir. If you were not worthy enough to wield it, Thor would have to be in the room with you. There was a real potential neither of you would make it out alive. First thing first, you had to lift the hammer.

The weight of Mjölnir would be of no concern if you were worthy. You stepped up to the handle and with effort you rocked it a little. Thor looked nervous. “You can do this, little sister.”

You took a deep breath, closed your eyes and on three you lifted again with an unburdened mind and a clear heart. The hammer was in your hands.

Gasps filled the room. No one dared utter a word. You let Mjölnir dangle from your wrist and made your way to Loki. “Lok, listen, if I don’t make it...”

“Shush, mortal. You will.”

You put your hand over his mouth, “If I don’t make it, please know that for one brief blissful moment, you were happy. We were happy. I love you.” He gripped your hand and opened his mouth to speak but you stopped him. “Don’t say it if it’s not true. Please.”

“Y/N, you will make it. I have faith in you.” You stared into each other’s eyes searchingly.

“You want to kiss me right now don’t you?”

He chuckled, “Desperately.”

You planted the softest most barely there kiss on his lips. He pulled you in to deepen the kiss. The tip of his tongue pressed against yours for just a second and then he released you. You pressed a knotted clipping of Yggdrasil into his palm and hung a tiny gold screw driver around his neck. When you walked away a gold bracelet adorned with emeralds dangled around your wrist. Around your left ring finger was a twin piece of knotted Yggdrasil. The screwdriver was warm to the touch and, if he listened closely, he swore he heard your heart beating.

You went into the room and slammed the metal shut and froze the lock. You held out your hand and forced the cube to crush with your magic. All that remained was the stone. This little blue stone that shined with the light of a million lightning strikes. It floated in the air. You circled it balancing Mjölnir on your shoulder. You plucked the blue candy button out of the air and placed it on the floor. As if it knew it was about to be set free, it released a high pitched whine. You raised the hammer into the air and with all of the force you could summon, you struck it. The room flooded with blue light so bright you couldn’t look directly at it. It sucked in its energy and then exploded outward sending shards of the jewel into your skin. It pushed you around the room like a pinball pinging you off of any surface it could find. You felt like your flesh was separating off of your bones and you were turning to liquid. All at once it went dark and dropped you to the ground.

——————————————————————

Loki paced the floor muttering to himself. Everyone else held their breathing straining to hear any sound. An utterance to let them know you’re alive. That’s when they heard the explosion. Blue light radiated from every exposed crack and nail hole. They heard your body careening off the walls and, with an unsettling thud, the room fell silent.

Loki rushed to the door trying to pry it open. The lock was jammed. Thor tried too but it wouldn’t budge. Njord yelled over their banging that the door was at least five inches thick. You wouldn’t hear them. He tried the key but it broke in the lock. Freyr used his seiðr to crush the door. When it fell away from it’s hinges, you emerged. Your hair had gone completely white and your eyes looked cloudy. You blinked a few times and they went back to normal.

You handed Thor his hammer and patted him on the shoulder. “Sister, speak to us. Are you well?”

You smiled and nodded. You took Loki’s hand in yours. Electricity crackled off of your fingertips. You smiled and opened a black void behind you for which to escape. In the blink of an eye you were on Asgard then Midgard then back to the temple. He laughed and clapped his hands, “You are a clever little witch aren’t you?”

“Princess...” Njord looked worried. You were unaware of your physical changes. You may have been a mutant but you were still a mortal. The stone could have severely injured you. “Your highness, please. We need to get you upstairs.”

“Relax, Njord. I’m perfectly fine. I feel amazing.” You were talking a mile a minute.

He kept insisting and you grew impatient. The more impatient you were the more your hands glowed and your eyes changed. “Njord, let’s give the Prince and Princess some space. She’ll come upstairs shortly.” Frigga ushered everyone out so you and Loki could sit in peace.

You couldn’t sit. Your skin felt too tight for your body. You needed to expel some energy. “Y/N, what’s going on in your head?”

“A million things. I’m wondering if I should go to south London right now since I know where the aether is. I’m wondering if the rest of my powers are amplified. I feel like I’m plugged into a massive battery, Lok. Maybe I can heal you quicker than Njord. Can I try?!”

He laughed and pulled you down into the chair next to him, “You’re like an excited puppy. Let’s go outside before you piddle on the floor. We can test your powers there.”

He lead you to an open space where you could work without fear of hurting someone. Your powers were indeed amplified. Your electricity was more like lightning. You grew a sapling into a knotted mature tree. You split yourself up into many clones and made it rain over the two of you. All of that should have tired you out but it did not. The last thing was to heal Loki. That was sure to drain you as broken as he was. You placed your hands on his solar plexus and went to work. Every ache and pain subsided every cut knitted itself back together. He felt reborn. You were settled.

You went back to the palace for dinner to talk strategy with Odin and the king. Since you and Loki were the only ones who ever faced Thanos, it was crucial that you were involved. You came to the conclusion that you needed numbers. You would divide the realms and enlist help even from the Dark Elves and Jötuns. You and Thor would go to Earth to speak with SWORD who handled all extra dimensional doings. Everyone agreed that Loki shouldn’t travel to Midgard just yet. You insisted the Avengers not be involved but, your X-men friends would be delighted to assist. At this point, they were more powerful anyway.

When you retired for the evening, Loki walked you back to your room. “May I ask you something?” His eyes were fixed on the floor he tried his hardest to sound confident. You lifted his chin so he would look at you. “Why couldn’t I sense you when you arrived? Why can’t I feel you now?”

“I guess I just wanted you to feel your own feelings for a change. I thought I might be overwhelming you.”

“I thought...” he laced his fingers in with yours, “I thought you were angry with me.”

“Oh I was. You’ve never raised your voice to me. It hurt. I didn’t want you to know how much.”

He didn’t know how much he missed you in the short time you were gone. He missed you right now and you were standing right in front of him. He kissed you on the corner of your mouth, “I’m sorry to have raised my voice. I’m sorry I’m hurting you. I wish I could love you as you love me. I am trying, Pet.”

“Lok, you can’t fall in love with someone in such a short period. We have time.” You kissed him gently and slipped into your room.

He stayed outside of your chambers for a while with his head pressed against the door. Love was not something he gave freely. He wished things were different. He wished his future self never helped Thor. He wished he would know the happiness you spoke of. One day he would. For now he would keep on disappointing you.

——————————————————————

The next morning you woke up and surveyed the clothing you were gifted. Nothing screamed Midgard 2012 to you. You waved your hand over your body and came up with something more south London and less Stratford Upon Avon. Satisfied with your look you set out to Loki’s chambers.

You knocked but he didn’t answer. Once more and a giggling flustered chamber maid opened. She straitened up when she saw your face and readjusted her apron straps. “Princess!” she yelped. “Apologies. Prince Loki should be along shortly.”

“You know what? Tell him don’t bother.”

She called after you but you didn’t turn around. You kept your spine straight and let your head high. Your heels clacked loudly as you stomped through the halls with a walk that would make Naomi Campbell proud.

Thor was coming out of his room and smiled when he saw you, “Good morning, sister! You’re looking well.”

“Are you ready to go? I don’t think it’s wise for Loki to show his face on earth.”

Thor was pretty daft when it came to the whims of the fairer sex but your face was speaking loud and clear. You held his hand and landed in a warehouse in London. You searched high and low but struck out.

“What exactly are we looking for?”

“A void filled with a red mist.”

“And you are certain it’s here?”

“This is where Jane found it, yes.”

“Is this around the time she found it. Maybe it’s not here yet.”

“No, it’s here. I can feel it. I just have to ah! It’s here.”

He swung Mjölnir and the wall crumbled. You stuck your hand in and he grabbed you.

“Wait. Is this wise? I feel like one of the Vanir should be with you or at least Loki. If anything goes wrong I won’t know how to help you.”

“Your brother is more interested in his chamber maids than saving the universe. If anything goes wrong, call for Heimdall.”

“Did you catch him with someone else? It’s very common in royal marriages...”

The Aether called to you and effectively drowned him out. While he prattled on you put your arm through the wall and let it take you. It meshed with the space stone because they were meant to be together. Their energies lifted you up off the ground and light poured out your eyes mouth and fingers. You collapsed back down where Thor caught you. He shook you but you were unable to focus. You put your fingers to your mouth and pulled away with crimson soaked tips. Thor scooped you into his arms cursing you and then raised Mjölnir to call Heimdall. Just then you stopped him.

“No. No, I’m fine. Don’t call him.”

“But, sister.”

“No. Put me down.” He did as he was told and carefully set you on your feet. You smoothed your hair and fixed your clothes. With a flourish all of the blood vanished.

“Come on. Let’s go see Jane.”

“You are out of your mind. I have to get you back to Njord.”

“Nonsense. I have to see Dr. Selvig to fix what my darling husband broke. And you, brother, need to see Jane. You miss her. I want you to be happy. She needs to be happy. Just take her to lunch.”

He agreed but insisted you take more traditional transportation rather than using your powers. You found the nearest train station and took the tube to Jane’s office. This Jane was a lot less together than the Jane you knew. She was so stunned to see Thor at her door that she could barely speak.

You introduced yourself as Loki’s wife but assured her your marriage was less gothic romance and more Charles and Di. A reference that Thor didn’t understand but Jane did perfectly. She brought you to Dr. Selvig who was speaking nonsensically. He seemed to recognize you right away. Though you had not yet met he knew the energy that was inside you. You placed your hands on either side of his head and pulled the power of the space stone out of him. He was weak but thinking for himself.

You practically pushed the happy couple out of the door to have lunch on you. You conjured a credit card an an id for Thor. You said you had business to attend to.

Darcy offered to give you a ride which you happily accepted. Had her drop you in front of Claridge's, a very posh hotel in Hyde Park, where you intended to relax and partake in retail therapy. Magically their best room was available for the evening. You held your breath when they ran your card. You had no idea if it would work. Luckily it did. The porter showed you to your room. You asked for a bottle of single malt and a glass to be left in the seating area. You kicked off your shoes and started to unbutton your blouse when you heard a man clear his throat.

You had not immediately seen Mobius M. Mobius when you entered. Funny, neither did the porter. Electricity crackled in your fingers and, as you raised them to strike, he walked toward you. “Holster those weapons, Mrs. Laufeyson. Or is it Odinson? Either way. I’m not here to hurt you. Just to talk.”

“Do you drink scotch?”

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #marvel #marvel witches #mcu x reader #loki angst #loki of jotunheim #loki x you #loki odinson #infinity stones #thanos #TVA #mobius m mobius

[j-hawthorn]

To Sit in the Garden

Rating: EXPLICIT 

Word count: 3582

Find it on AO3 here

The palace gardens were quite lovely at sunset. In a secluded spot, on a bench hidden behind a tree and collection of flowering shrubbery, sat the patrician. He had wanted a quiet evening stroll to clear his thoughts. What he got was his leg seizing up in the cold weather. He made it to his little hiding spot, rubbing his thigh and sighed.

It was still a lovely evening. Leaning against the stone wall, Havelock watched a collection of small birds flit and swarm around a lamp, catching moths. The creatures darted and swooped, deftly catching their prey. Little paper thin wings fluttered to the ground. It was serene. A brisk wind caught him, and Havelock pulled his heavy cloak around his shoulders. With care, he crossed his bad leg over the other, hands clasped on his knee. Havelock allowed himself a moment of quiet and closed his eyes.

'What the bloody hell do you mean you don't know where he is?' Boomed a voice. Havelock opened his eyes. The birds scattered. A harried looking clerk trotted lopsidedly beside Commander Vimes, face beet red and hands waving.

'His l-lordship said he d-didn't w-wish to b-be d-disturbed!' Quivered the clerk. Vimes stopped in his tracks, his cloak billowing around him dramatically. The poor clerk couldn't stop his feet in time, and half trotted half tripped further down the path before he could catch himself.

Havelock sighed, but didn't move. He watched as the young man drew himself up, fiddling with his neck tie. 'I'm...going to...have to ask you to l-leave...?' The boy deflated even as he spoke, the hard stare from the commander breaking his resolve.

There was a quiet pause as commander and clerk regarded each other. Havelock stretched a foot out and snapped a twig under his heel.

Vimes threw up his hands, 'Ah, well. There we have it then. Fair enough lad, fair enough.'

The clerk shifted uneasily, 'Oh...okay-'

'Mind if I have a wander through the gardens while I'm here, lad?' Vimes clapped him on the shoulder. 'I've never really had the chance before.'

'Oh...yes, of course, Commander.' And with that the clerk shuffled off, a sunken shell of his former self.

Havelock smiled, and simply waited. He closed his eyes again, settling into a relaxed slouch. It took a couple of minutes. Boots crunched over gravel. Then stopped. Bushes were prodded. More crunching of stone. Then swearing and the rustle of shrubbery signalled the arrival of Commander Vimes.

'Did you enjoy yourself, harassing my staff like that?' Havelock asked, still not opening his eyes. He felt the bench shift as Vimes sat heavily beside him.

The man grunted, 'What are you playing at, sitting out here?'

'I simply wanted some time away from...people.'

'Oh...' He felt Vimes shift awkwardly.

Havelock placed his hand on Sam's knee, turning to look at him. In the fading light he looked tired, the lines and scars on his face deeper, but the distant lights reflected in those simple brown eyes of his. 'Don't worry,' he said softly. 'You don't count.'

'As people?' Vimes chuckled, his cheeks pink.

'Exactly,' Havelock moved closer, and leaned against Sam. He shivered as a breeze picked up. Vimes moved, wrapping his cloak around them both. With his arm around Vetinari's shoulders, Sam scooted closer. Havelock smiled. He settled against the solid warmth of Vimes, his hand still on his knee.

With the tip of a finger, Vetinari drew lazy circles on the man's leg. He felt the tiny shift in his breathing, and the small cough of Vimes clearing his throat. The last of the light faded, leaving the pair truly secluded. Sam tentatively plucked at the edge of his cloak, his fingertips brushing near Havelock's ear. His touch was light, almost timid as he let his fingers comb through Vetinari's hair. Turning into the touch, Havelock pressed a chaste kiss to the man's palm. Sam's arm tightened around him, and he leaned in, kissing just behind his ear.

Havelock shivered, humming. He let himself relax, head tipping to the side. They sat like that a moment, Havelock in his arms, Sam's warm breath on his neck. Then Havelock moved, now sitting in the commander's lap. Vimes cleared his throat, resting his chin on Vetinari's shoulder. His strong arms wrapped around his waist, and Havelock couldn't help but chuckle.

'What?' Vimes nudged him.

Vetinari waved a hand, 'Oh, nothing.'

Vimes grunted, rocking them both gently, 'Nah, come on, tell me.'

'I wasn't laughing at you, if that is your concern, Vimes,' He said sweetly. 'I was simply expressing an emotion. I do that, you know.'

His companion snorted, and nuzzled into his neck. And Havelock found himself near melting in the embrace. Crickets chirped. The city was still so loud, and yet right then, in that place, it could have been in another world. All that mattered was the warmth of Sam Vimes, and the feel of his stubble on Havelock's skin.

'...Sam?' Havelock pressed a kiss to his temple.

'Hmm?'

'Why are you here?'

Vimes pulled back, brow raised, '...You forgot.'

It was Havelock's turn to pull back, 'Forgot what?'

'Oh wow,' Vimes shook his head, tutting. 'I can't believe this.'

Vetinari frowned, and sent his mind hurriedly digging through his mental filing cabinets. He came up with nothing. He was certain there was nothing about the day to warrant remembering-

'Good grief, what am I going to do?' Vimes sighed dramatically.

Havelock narrowed his eyes, ‘...You’re lying. I haven’t forgotten anything.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I never forget,’ He frowned. ‘Unless it is prudent for me to do so.’

Vimes clicked his tongue, shaking his head. ‘Tragedy,’ He sighed. He tightened his grip on Vetinari and pressed his lips to the underside of his jaw. ‘I am beside myself in grief.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake, Vimes-’ The rest of his sentence was lost as Vimes kissed him. A hand in his hair, the other on the small of his back, Havelock was pulled in hard. He moaned. He couldn’t help it.

Light moved near them. The men stopped, barely breaking apart, but frozen. Two palace guards wandered nearby, torch in hand. Vimes started shaking. Turning with wide eyes, Havelock gave the commander a withering look.

The man was giggling.

Havelock clamped a hand over Sam’s mouth, which only made the man laugh more. By the time the guards were far enough away, Vimes was snorting, eyes filling with tears. Havelock slipped from his lap, straightening his cloak, ‘Stop it.’

Vimes waved a hand, sucking in sharp breaths. ‘Ah fuck,’ He snorted, shaking his head. ‘Come on, your lordship, let’s go.’

‘Go where?’ Havelock folded his arms, brow raised.

Standing, the commander grabbed him around the waist, knocking Vetinari so off balance he had to hold on to the man to stay upright.

‘Somewhere,’ The commander purred, hand moving lower, ‘With some walls. Maybe even a door. With a lock. Forgive me, but we’re too old to end up fucking in some bushes.’

‘Are you so certain that is how this evening is to progress?’ Havelock asked as haughtily as one could while being propped up, and having one’s backside groped.

Vimes simply rolled his eyes, gave him a squeeze, and pushed the patrician out of the bushes. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Lead the way – I’m sure you’ve got some secret little doors around here.’

He was right of course.

Havelock led him silently through the small passages, finding his way mostly by touch. Eventually they made their way to his suites. A fire already burned in the hearth, the warmth of the room hitting them like a wave. Not that Vetinari had a chance to really notice.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Vimes spun him around, and pushed him against the wall. Hot bites landed on his neck and throat. Callused hands roamed, unclasping his cloak and slipping under his shirt -

‘Shit!’ Sam pulled back, sucking on his finger.

Havelock blinked, momentarily dazed. Then he removed his top most layer, revealing an arrangement of criss crossing leather straps holding small and very sharp blades. They glinted evilly. With a look of half horror, half unabashed lust, Vimes looked him over. He hooked a finger through one of the straps and gave it a playful tug. He smirked.

‘Oh, I like this,’ He said, ‘Though perhaps without the shirt. And the knives.’

‘Don’t the blades add a little danger?’

Vimes chuckled, ‘You’re dangerous enough as it is.’ He stepped back properly now, moving to stand by the fire. He unclasped his own cloak, carefully picking it up to drape over a chair. He didn’t turn around as the sound of knives being unsheathed and placed on a table filled the room, and Havelock wondered if he really understood how special that made him, that he was to be allowed to be with him unarmed.

Their eyes met. Sam held out his hand, a softness in his face that made Havelock sigh. Sam knew. He took Sam’s hand, and stood in front of him. With a hand on his cheek, Vetinari kissed him. Soft and slow, quelling the fire that always burned within Vimes.

Sam held him at the waist, head tipped back as they deepened their kiss. Vimes made surprisingly soft sounds for such a gruff man. Havelock adored it. He dropped an arm, bringing his fingertips to trip delightfully under the man’s shirt and over his hip.

Vimes made a fantastic shocked and mildly choked sound, hips shifting forward, his back arched. Nails digging in, Havelock dragged his hand up Sam’s spine, drawing a snarl from him. Vimes walked him backwards – and pushed him onto the bed.

Landing with a gasp, Havelock wasn’t given any time to recover. Vimes straddled his hips. He pulled off his shirt before grabbing Vetinari’s wrists, pinning them to the bed above his head with one hand. Havelock made a show of squirming, pulling against the hold, biting back his grin when Vimes tightened his grip. He arched his back and let his eyes flutter shut as Sam sucked on his neck.

He’s going to leave marks, Havelock thought with a grin, Capital -

Sam’s free hand pressed between his legs, moving with excruciating slowness. Groaning, Vetinari writhed, needing something more through the layers of fabric. Vimes chuckled, a cruel and delicious sound.

He pressed the flat of his hand to Havelock’s abdomen, lips by his ear. ‘Well then, your lordship,’ he smirked, breath hot, lips brushing his skin. ‘I take it you liked that?’

Havelock rolled his eyes. He arched his back, straining against the hold on him, ‘Vimes?’

‘Yes?’

‘Fuck me.’

Between the pair of them, layers of clothing got rapidly removed. Vimes derailed himself momentarily, eyes wide when he discovered another strap of leather around Havelock's naked thigh, a blade holstered. The commander gently took his leg, laying it across his lap. He flicked the holster open with this thumb, slowly pulling the knife out. It clinked on the bedside table.

'Don't worry, Vimes. I don't have any more little secrets.'

'Well, that's a lie,' Sam chuckled, fingertips tracing the edge of the strap. 'I'd wager you're more secret than man at this point.'  

Havelock gave this a moments consideration. He sat up, arm around Sam's shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, 'Perhaps. But you know more of them than most.'

Vimes hummed, smiling, though there was something in his eyes that caught Havelock off guard. 'Well,' he said, 'As I am one of those secrets, I'm happy to be in such company.'

Cupping his cheek, Vetinari kissed him, moving to straddle his thighs. Sam made a small, strangled sound, stroking down Havelock's back, his nails dragging lightly. They were not men where the concept of love was an easy thing. Life – their lives in particular – was far too complicated and dicey to really allow it. Yet Havelock had to admit, even it was only to himself, that this man was someone who he held in high esteem and harboured a hefty dose of affection towards. He cared quite deeply for Samuel.

Dipping his hand down between their bodies, Havelock took hold of Sam's cock. He made another strangled sound, his grip on Havelock tightening. With firm strokes, Havelock drew a groan from the man. Vimes fell back on his hands, head tipped, throat exposed. He was quite handsome, in his own way. He kissed his throat, picking up his pace. Sam groaned, holding Vetinari's thigh, fingers hooked on the strap.

Sam sucked in a breath, brows knitted, 'H-Havelock-'

Vetinari hushed him, kissing him hard and catching his bottom lip with his teeth. Sam grunted, wrapped an arm tight around Havelock's waist, and flipped them. His kisses near burned with their hunger. Havelock gladly let himself be overpowered. Panting and flushed, the men moaned, bodies turning into a needy tangle. Vimes cupped his cheek, pressed his forehead to Havelock’s own and sighed. Carefully extracting himself, Vimes sat up and opened the beside table drawer.

As he listened to Vimes rummage through the drawer, Havelock got comfortable. He grinned to himself, cheek pressed to the cool fabric of a pillow. He rolled onto his side, facing the wall, tying not to giggle as the man grumbled about condom packets. Just as he was rolling over offer his assistance, Vimes gently pushed his shoulder and slipped his hand down. He had found the small bottle of lubrication Havelock kept tucked away, and was slowly pressing his wet fingers into him.

Vetinari gasped softly, rocking back against Sam’s hand, the man’s movements growing firmer. Vimes nipped softly at the shell of his ear, and Havelock could damn near hear the grin he had as he whispered, ‘How’s that for you, then?’

Breathing out a small expletive, Havelock reached behind himself to grip whatever part of Vimes he could. It turned out to be his elbow. ‘Sam,’ he sighed softly, brows knotted. ‘Dear, I-’

‘Shh,’ Sam kissed the back of his shoulder, fingers slipping from him. Havelock groaned at the absence, eyes half shut. Carefully, slowly, he was filled again. Thighs giving an involuntary quiver, Havelock made a small sound, pressing back against Sam.

Vimes gripped his hip, steadying him, making them both take a moment to adjust. Then he moved. His hand slipped from Havelock’s hip to rest over his stomach, holding him tight as Vimes rocked. Matching his rhythm, Vetinari arched and rolled his hips, pulling some choice curses from the commander. Pushed further onto his stomach, Vimes changing the angle to get as much from him as possible, Havelock moaned and gasped, allowing himself the freedom to be as loud and wanton as he damn well pleased.

The men gripped bedding and thighs. Teeth grazed Havelock’s shoulder, stubble brushed his skin. Stomach tight, Havelock reached down and stroked himself. He started to quiver, sweat on his brow. Panting, toes curling, he groaned low in his chest, reaching his tipping point. Body shuddering, he was putty under Sam’s attention.

Vimes swore under his breath, forehead pressed to Havelock’s back. Sam fucked him till he got all he needed and Havelock was beyond delighted. The sounds of Vimes moaning against his skin, the feel of him, filled Havelock with an intense warmth and pleasurable ache. His whole body hummed, relaxed and satiated. They eased themselves apart, and Vetinari again made an involuntary sound at the absence of his lover.

Strong arms wrapped around his middle. Vimes pressed kisses to his spine, nuzzling into him. They lay like that for a while, bodies curled, fingers intertwined over Havelock’s chest.

Slowly, Havelock rolled over. Sam gave him space, then as soon as they were face to face, he pulled him back in, kissing Havelock’s cheek.

‘You,’ Havelock yawned. ‘Are an old softie really.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ Vimes grumbled. He nuzzled into Havelock’s hair, breathing deeply.

Stroking his palm over his hip, along his waist and ribs, Vetinari admired the sheer amount of scars on the man. The older ones that had nearly faded next to fresher, more vibrantly coloured puckered skin. There were bruises too. A small pang of emotion rippled through his heart.

‘Get up,’ Havelock said, patting Sam’s hip before sitting up. ‘And follow me.’

Vimes didn’t move. With a deadly and pointed frown Havelock waved a hand, ‘You need to move if I am to get off the bed.’

Vimes smirked, and shrugged one shoulder. ‘Not me who wants to get up,’ he said, eyes narrowed in challenge.

Havelock heaved a mighty sigh. With great annoyance, and regret, he clambered over Vimes. Unsteady on his feet, he limped out of the room, ignoring the snigger that followed him.

In the bathroom, Havelock lit one candle. He sat on the edge of the large bathtub, turning the taps. The room soon filled with steam. The deep shadows flickered. Vimes came up behind him and kissed the back of his head. Chin on his shoulder, the commander’s hands knitted over his stomach, Vetinari was amazed at the sheer softness of the scene.

Warm water lapped up his legs. Turning off the taps, he slipped into the water, leaning back against the tub. Vimes watched him with a smile, then absent-mindedly patted his own naked body.

Vimes frowned, ‘I don’t have pockets.’

‘I’d be shocked if you did, Vimes, you’re not wearing any trousers.’

‘...Would you mind if I smoked?’

Havelock shook his head, ‘No, dear Samuel, just this once I won’t mind.’

Vimes padded out, returning with a cigar in hand. He lit it with the candle before climbing in the bath to join Havelock. He sat back, leaning against the patrician, sending a puff of smoke to mingle with the steam. Vetinari kissed the nape of his neck. He felt Vimes relax, his strong, weary body fitting so easily against his own.

With his fingertips, Havelock started mapping out pressure points along Vimes shoulders. He moved slowly, counting in his head. When he found the ones he was looking for, along either side of the man’s spine, he pressed hard with two fingers on each hand, moving them in tiny circles. The reaction was instant.

Vimes groaned, head tipping forward. Feeling the tension leave the muscles, Havelock worked upwards. He followed the points along the side of Sam’s neck up to the base of his skull.

‘...Fucking hell,’ Sam murmured, letting Havelock turn his head slightly to reach a particularly knotted muscle along his neck. Vetinari brought his hands around to Sam’s collarbone, frowning in concentration as he mapped the points out backwards. Each press and shift made Vimes relax even more. Soon he was a puddle of his former self, lounging against Havelock, his cigar almost forgotten.

Satisfied, Vetinari wrapped him in his arms, cradling his head against his chest. Sam’s breathing deepened, the hand which held his cigar over the edge of the tub growing limp. He yawned.

‘...Mm can hear your heart,’ Vimes murmured.

‘Shocked that I have one?’

‘...Kinda-’ he snorted, sitting up. Heavy lidded eyes gazed into Vetinari’s, ‘But not really.’

Havelock traced his fingertip along the curve of Sam’s cheekbone, ‘Did I actually forget something today, or were you pulling my leg?’

‘You did forget.’

Havelock growled, flicking Sam’s ear, ‘What, pray, did I forget then?’

Vimes wrinkled his nose, rolling his eyes, ‘It’s our anniversary.’

Vetinari blinked, ‘....No it isn’t.’

Snorting with laughter, Sam shrugged, ‘Yes it is!’

‘No it bloody well isn’t Samuel, I would know, I wrote it down-’ He stopped. Vimes’ expression was a mixture of pity, cruel joy and above all else, love. It hit Havelock like a brick.

‘You wrote it down, did you sir?’

‘Shut up-’

‘Keeping notes on us? Do you write my name in cursive in your diary?’

Havelock’s traitorous cheeks turned pink, ‘Samuel Vimes, I swear I will stab you.’

The man just laughed, turning to settle against his chest again. He yawned happily, ‘I was only pulling your leg, dear. I know it ain’t today. Well, not the main one anyway.’

‘If you don’t make your point soon, Vimes, I’m going to have to employ some rather cruel tactics to shut you up-’

Sam laughed, ‘Don’t get hiffy, Havelock. All I was going to say was, it is the anniversary of the first time you kissed me.’

‘...Oh,’ He breathed. ‘Well, I...’ Derailed, Vetinari took a moment. He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek to the top of Sam’s head. ‘I can hardly be expected to remember that, we kiss so often it hardly requires any notice,’ He said, but his heart wasn’t in the quip. The memory had been jogged, and right then all he was able to think about was the feel of Sam’s had gripping his wrist, a hastily whispered confession, and the taste of his blood.

Vimes must have sensed something because he sat up, and turned, cupping Havelock’s cheek. This kiss did not taste like blood, and was slow, languid, and neither man was in any hurry.

‘Hey,’ Sam whispered against his lips, fingertips stroking his cheek. ‘Don’t frown like that. You’re alright. I...’ he sighed, ‘Look I’m not good at saying it, to anyone, but I...um-’

Havelock shook his head, smiling, ‘I know.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good,’ Vimes nodded to himself, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘Good, because that’s something you should know.’

Vetinari sighed, pressing a kiss to his forehead, ‘I love you too, Sam.’

#These men be fucking #it started out as fluff and then got more and more steamy #and hey #who's complaining #my writing #discworld fanfiction #vetvimes #samuel vimes #havelock vetinari

[noladyme]

The Frog Princess. Chapter 8

She had no wish to be bound down to anyone, but Y/N none the less found herself being dragged across the continent; to marry King Foltest of Temeria.  Instead of pomp and spectacle; she was accompanied by the witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Their travels would bring both monsters, lust, love; and heartache. All sound tracked by an endearing buffoon of a bard, named Jaskier.

TW: Violence, language, sexual themes. Rated M.

8

We rode for days, due northeast; each mile we put behind us bringing me closer to my inevitable end. At least, that was how it felt. I felt my limbs growing stronger from riding and carrying wood for fires; and though the sun was never shining brightly; my skin grew more tanned by the day.

Geralt had begun to train me with the sword he’d taken from O’Dimm’s man. I wasn’t a skilled swordswoman by any means; but I was sure I’d be able to defend myself in a fair fight. We made breaks for eating, resting, training, arguing, making up; and the occasional fuck against a tree – a least once a day, on a bad day.

On one of these occasions; in his eagerness; Geralt almost ripped the buttons off the breeches Ajvin had given me. “Fuck!”, he growled. “I don’t like these things; they make it too difficult to have you”. “You were the one who insisted I need new clothes”, I laughed. “Besides, practicality over easy access”. I opened the buttons myself, and slid down the breeches over my bottom; before bracing myself against a tree with my hands, and pushing my backside out.

Geralt accepted the invitation, and felt for my wetness; before pushing himself into me, slowly. “I thought you were in a hurry”, I breathed in complaint. Geralt pulled himself back; and slammed back into me, hard. “Shit!”, I cried out. “Too much?”, Geralt chuckled hoarsely. One of his hands held on to my hip; the other found my nub, and stroked it to the rhythm of his thrusts. “W-why do you always ask that?”, I panted. He slid his arm around my torso, and took a light hold of my throat; pulling me flush against his chest. “I don’t want to hurt you”, he said, kissing my neck. “You haven’t yet”, I smiled; before groaning loudly, as he pushed himself hard into me again.

He let me come before finding his own relief – as always; inside me. I suspected it was his way of making his mark on me – even if we both knew there was no chance of a child coming out of it.

After cleaning myself up – with a clean wet cloth provided by an embarrassed looking Geralt – I straightened my clothes. I’d had to make alterations to them – clearly they were Ajvids own old clothing; including the purple shirt that hung low on my shoulders. My new outfit furthermore consisted of dark grey breeches, that I’d adjusted so they hung snugly to my frame – making a certain witcher have to occasionally adjust himself, when I bent over – and a dark brown leather jerkin, without sleeves. I still had my grey cloak; which kept me somewhat warm during the nights, when Geralt had to patrol the area around our camps for sounds he’d heard – and therefore could not lay next to me.

There was a strange domesticity to our days. As if we’d be travelling like this for the rest of our lives. But we won’t, I kept reminding myself.

The man travelling with me – my lover, my friend, my confidant – was transporting me closer and closer to a land further from mine than I had ever been. The man who spent most of his nights between my legs and staring into my eyes; was handing me over to a stranger, who would from then on have a claim on doing those things himself. The thought made me sick to my stomach; but I kept returning to it, to remind myself – so that my heart wouldn’t break as much when the day came that our journey was at an end.

The glade we were occupying was quiet. Food had been scarce for a few days, as we hadn’t come across any villages; and it seemed that most of the wildlife had fled. I sat by the dying embers at our fire, thinking.

“I want to see Mousesack”, I said, catching Geralt of guard. “Why?”, he asked, voice gruff. “He has information for me. The butcher’s wife said so”. Geralt poured a bowl of water over the embers. “He’s going the opposite direction than we are”, he said dismissively. “Who’s eager to reach our destination now?”, I mumbled.

Geralt went to pack Roach’s saddlebags. He still kept our horses apart, for fear that Bayrd should act on his carnal desires towards his mare. “I don’t want to do this now”, he said. “Do what?”, I asked. “Fight”, he answered. “I’m not fighting”, I said, standing to kick dirt into the smoking ashes in front of me. “I’m stating facts. You made a contract to transport me to Temeria. You are acting on it. I’m just surprised you were in such a hurry to get rid of me”. I clenched my jaw.

Geralt grunted, and continued his task, moving on to Bayrds saddle. “I understand it, you know”, I said, putting on my cloak. “You’re a witcher. I age; and you do not. Besides, you’ve already had me every which way you could want”. “Stop…”, he muttered. “It’s inevitable that you were bound to get sick of me at some point…”, my voice broke. “Stop!”, he roared.

He strode up to me; and took my face in his hands. “Y/N”, he said. “You are the furthest thing from easy to be around. You are stubborn; rash; you never listen… and your mushroom stew is bad enough to kill a dead man”. He put his forehead to mine. “And I would have you no other way. I wish I could keep you; but that’s not how destiny has made it”. “Fuck destiny”, I snarled. He chuckled. “If only I could”, he answered. He kissed my forehead; and wrapped his arms around me. My eyes welled up, and I cried against his shoulder.

“I have to see Mousesack”, I whispered through my tears. Geralt exhaled. “I know. But I don’t know where to find him for you”, he said. “We can’t go backwards…”.

He was interrupted by a rumbling of hooves, that almost made the ground quake. He pushed me towards the trees. “Go! Cover your face. Don’t let them see you!”, he hissed, and pulled his sword from his back. I ran to Bayrd, and grabbed my new sword; then fled towards the edge of the trees; crouching behind the largest one I could find.

The riders approaching bore Cintran colors. It was a large group; of about 20 men; all dressed in armor. I saw Geralt glance in my direction, before facing the rider at the front.

“Witcher!”, the man called. “What is your business so close to Ortagor?”. Geralt relaxed his stance. “I have a contract”, he answered. “A bruxa. Near the border of Sodden”. “And your companion?”, the man asked. “I have no companion”, Geralt said. “Since when do witchers travel with two horses?”, the man barked.

Geralt put his sword back in its sheath. “No answer?”, the soldier said. “You’d do best to respect your betters, mutant”. Geralt clenched his jaw. “Right!”, the soldier called to the men behind him. “Take the mare. As a gift for her majesty’s war efforts”. Geralt snarled and went to draw his sword again.

“Calm the fuck down, Thaggert!”, a familiar voice called. “I have enough horses. Besides, I like the stallion better”.

From the middle of the group of riders, strode a tall woman; dressed in intricately decorated armor. She got of her horse, and walked up to Geralt; flanked by two of the soldiers. “Witcher”, she hissed. I recognized her instantly. Calanthe. The Lioness of Cintra!

“Your majesty”, Geralt grumbled; and nodded slightly. Nothing in the world could get him to bow to anyone, I knew that – something that at that moment made me fear for his life.

“You made a promise!”, she snarled. “I did, your majesty. And I am upholding that promise as we speak”, Geralt answered her. “I am here for a contract”. “What contract?”, Calanthe demanded. “As I told your man”, he replied. “Bruxa. Near Sodden”. Calanthe spat at the ground. “Horse shit”, she said. “We were just coming from Sodden; no word of vampires there. Tell me the truth”. Geralt exhaled slowly. “Men!”, Calanthe called. The soldiers drew their swords.

“He’s here with me!”, I yelled; and stepped out from behind the tree. Geralt looked at me angrily. I sent him an indifferent look back. “You? Show your face girl”, Calanthe barked.

I stepped into the glade, and pulled down my hood. Calanthes face lit up. “Y/N!”, she laughed. “What are you doing here, girl?”. She stomped up to me, and took me in her arms for a tight squeeze. “Lower your weapons, men. This is the lady Y/N, my husband’s cousin”, she said; and patted my cheek. “And; the future queen of Temeria!”.

The soldiers on the ground took a knee, and the ones still on horses bowed their necks to me. I felt a strange knot in my stomach. “Where is your guard, girl? Your following?”, she asked. I nodded in the direction of Geralt. “Him?”, Calanthe asked; frowning bewilderedly at me. “He is… my guard”, I answered. Calanthe stepped back, looking from me to Geralt. “What in Hels ass was Eist thinking?”, she snarled. Calanthe was married to a Skelliger, not one herself – but she had taken on some of our profanities; at least the ones she liked.

I walked towards Geralt. “My cousin seemed to find it a necessity to keep my travel arrangements a mystery to certain parties. So, he hired the witcher”. The queen laughed sarcastically. “Oh, I am going to have words with my husband”, she growled.

One of the riders called out to her. “Your majesty; Ortagor awaits your arrival”. Calanthe sighed. “Yes, yes. Someone is always awaiting my arrival”, she groaned. “We take them with us. The lady rides along side me… the witcher takes the back. Keep an eye on him”.

Geralt sent me a poignant look, and went to saddle up on Roach. Before he got all the way over to the mare; Calanthe grasped his arm and looked at him – her eyes ablaze. “If it wasn’t for my cousin-in-law, your head would be rolling on the ground!”. Geralt tried for a mediating expression. “Your majesty…”. “Don’t!”, Calanthe hissed. “If I hear you’ve been asking about the child – even so much as mentioned Pavetta – I’ll personally cut of your bollocks, and feed them to my dogs!”.

My heart dropped. Geralts eyes found mine for a second; before falling to the ground. Calanthe let go of his arm, and went back to join her men.

I went to saddle up, my hands shaking so much in the process, I almost lost my footing in the stirrup. One of the soldiers on the ground grabbed my calf; and helped me up. I could feel Geralts eyes on us.

---

The ride to Ortagor wasn’t long; but it felt like an eternity. I was deep in thought.

“How is my husband?”, Calanthe suddenly asked from beside me. She’d caught me off guard. “What?”, I said. She chuckled at me. “I said, how is my husband?”. I smiled. “Well, last I saw him. No less annoying, no more regal”, I said. “Good”, the queen laughed. “And his bed?”. Her eyes were suddenly hard. “Empty, save for him”, I assured her. She grunted, satisfied.

We rode on in silence for a little while. “And… the princess Pavetta. How does she fare?”, I asked as casually as I could. Calanthes face hardened slightly. “About to pop”, she said. “She’s going the way you came. Eist convinced me she should give birth in Skellige, for some reason”. I felt a rush of blood to my head. “Oh!”, I said. “I didn’t know. Congratulations!”. Calanthe scoffed. I tried to smile. “And the father is?...”. “Not who I would have picked”, she snarled. “But... no matter now. The child will be loved and raised by the right people”. I smiled and nodded; wanting to scream.

We arrived at the fortress of Ortagor to great fanfare; the crowds cheering for their queen. All around people were celebrating the arrival of the Great Lioness; with drink and music. Great, I thought. Another feast. Just what I needed. I was in no mood for any celebrations myself.

We unsaddled, and followed the queen towards the great hall. I suddenly felt a tug on my arm. Geralt was looking at me with hard eyes. “Little frog…”, he said. “Not now”, I stopped him, and pulled my arm from his grasp.

“Witcher!”, Calanthe called from behind us. “Lady Y/N is perfectly safe within these walls. We have no need for you. Go do whatever it is, your kind do”. Geralt clenched his jaw. “My kind eat, drink and rest when we can”, he said. She looked at him dismissively. “You can do that at the other end of the hall; where I don’t have to look at you”, she said. “Come, girl. We have feasting to do!”.

I followed the queen into the hall – having much rather wanted to find a dark corner to calm myself. As the door opened; horns blazed a salute. “Yes, yes. Fuck off. I’m here now”, Calanthe growled, and threw her helmet at a servant. “Music!”.

A familiar voice began a song I had heard before.

“Once a lady from Kaer Trolde fared, with skin so smooth, and beautiful hair. She held the heart of many a man; but mouths stood agape, when she speaking began.”

Jaskier!

“Foul mouthed lady, be kind onto me And I’ll be your thrall, I will never flee. Foul mouthed princess, have mercy, I plea And I shall be ever a servant of thee”

The crowd sang along to the chorus.

“The foulmouthed princess of the Skellige Isles The foulmouthed princess, the foulmouthed princess, the foulmouthed princess of the Skellige Isles!”

Jaskier strummed the last chord to a roar of applause. He bowed and sent air kisses to a buxom redhaired girl standing nearby.

I sat down next to Calanthe at the head table; and soon food and drinks were placed in front of us. Catching Jaskiers eye; he rushed over. “Your majesty”, he said; and bowed so deep his nose was almost touching the floor. “My lady Y/N!”. “You know each other?”, Calanthe asked. I cleared my throat cautiously. “We met in Skellige”. Calanthe grinned. “No…”, she laughed. “You’re the foulbreathed princess?”. “Foulmouthed, your majesty”, Jaskier smiled. “I’m quite certain there’s nothing wrong with the lady’s breath”. I chuckled nervously. “My lady, where is…”, he began. “The witcher”, I interrupted, sending him a poignant look. “He is somewhere in the hall; probably buried in some servant girl’s cleavage”. Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “As he does…”, he said.

Calanthe threw a gold coin at the bard. “Go. Do your work, minstrel. I want music and cheering. It’s been a long day”. Jaskier bowed. “As you wish your majesty”. He sent me a final look, and went back to the makeshift stage in the middle of the room, to play for the dancing crowds.

“So”, Calanthe said, smiling at me. “You’re on your way to Foltest, I’m told”. “I am”, I replied. “You seem… less than pleased”, she continued. I sighed. “Am I supposed to be pleased to be shipped of to a man twice my age? – with an inbred daughter to boot…”, I said; and took a sip from the goblet in front of me. Calanthe tightened her lips. “Temeria is not much different than Skellige”, she said. “Less water surrounding it… The winters are cold as a witch’s tit, but the summers are bearable”. I scoffed. “It’s not the weather that concerns me”.

Realizing the quail in front of me had been served without utensils for carving it; I pulled my knife from my boot, and cut in to the bird – ravished from the last few days lack of real food.

Calanthe smirked. “Travelling with the witcher has made you rough, Y/N”. I looked down at my dirty nails; realizing she was right. “I told Eist to get you your sgian-dubh for your 15’th birthday”. Calanthe and Eist had been sending each other eyes for years before they were married in a small ceremony, I’d heard very little about. She’d visited for my coming of age celebration years before – mostly, I think, to see my cousin. “He wanted to give you a new dress”. I laughed out loud. “Of course he did”, I said. “Yes, well”, she continued. “I would have gotten one for Pavetta, but apparently that is cultural appropriation”, she sneered. I held my tongue.

She looked at me solemnly. “He cares for you deeply, Y/N. I know this isn’t the union you’d dreamt of… but it is the right move”. “For your war?”, I said hesitantly, careful not to look the lioness in the eyes – admittedly, she scared me, and for good reason. “It’s true”, Calanthe admitted. “Foltest has promised his help in the war effort, in return for his marriage to you; and the dowry you bring with you”.

We were quiet for a while. “The witcher”, the queen began again. “He protects you well?”. I half smiled. “He does”, I said. She took a long sip from her goblet. “And in bed?” My face turned white. “I-i… that’s not…”, I tried. “Come now, Y/N”, Calanthe smirked. “I’ve seen how he looks at you”. “And how’s that?”, I said; trying for dismissive. “Like you’re a freshly cooked rabbit; and he hasn’t eaten in a week. Reminds me of how Eist would look at me, before he had me the first time”. She smirked, and took a bite of her quail. “More like a frog”, I muttered. “What’s that?”, she asked. “Nothing”, I answered.

She leant back in her chair, and looked at me seriously. “He’s not a good man, Y/N”, she said. ”I’m beginning to see that”, I answered.

We ate the rest of our meal in silence; only interrupted by the occasional lord coming forward to wish health on my upcoming marriage. I wanted to stab each and everyone of them in the neck.

---

A guard was posted outside the room I had been given for the night. It was larger than the one Geralt and I had shared in Tigg, and much grander in its decorations. A large bed with beautifully embroidered bedding; rich carpets decorated the walls and floor; a table set with fruits and wine; a roaring fireplace, and – thank the gods – a warm bath in front of it.

I shed my dirty clothes, and stepped into the tub; lowering myself into the water, until only my face was above the surface. For the first time in days – weeks – I was alone. And I cried. I wept so long that it felt like there were no tears left in the world. My chest hurt from the contractions of my sobbing; and I was beginning to struggle for breath in the end.

I heard a skirmish outside the door. Someone was banging loudly at it. “You can’t go in. The lady is not to be disturbed!”. “She’s in my charge, and I’ll see her!”. I recognized Geralts voice.

I stepped out of the tub, and put on the clean robe that had been warming by the fire. Opening the door, I saw Geralt pressing his lower arm against the neck of the guard; forcing him against the wall. Two other guards were holding their swords to his back.

“It’s fine”, I said. “Let him in”. “But my lady; Queen Calanthe made it perfectly clear…”, the man against the wall said. “Fuck off, dingleberry”, I growled; earning a gasp from all three guards. Geralt removed his arm from the man, and the three guards slowly stepped back. “Foulmouthed princess, indeed…”, I heard one of them mumble, as they walked away.

I stepped aside for Geralt to enter the room. He looked around; as always ready for an attack from any corner. They’d taken his weapons and armor, it seemed; as he was left with only his plain clothes. “The bathwater is cold”, I said; and sat down by the table. Geralt grunted and went to stand by the fire.

“I heard you cry”, he said. “From where?”, I asked. “From the courtyard”. I covered my face in embarrassment. “No one else heard you”, he said. “Right…”, I mumbled; remembering his enhanced hearing.

Geralt went to take my hand; and examined my face. “What’s wrong?”, he asked. I pulled my hand away from him furiously. “A 15 year-old girl, Geralt”, I snarled. “How could you?”. He looked genuinely confused. “The child!”, I said. “And here I thought witchers couldn’t procreate”. “We can’t…”, he grumbled.

I stood up, and threw an apple into the fireplace; cracking it against the back wall. The juices dripped down, and made the fire sputter. “Then, why…”, I growled, punching him as hard as I could in the chest; “… is princess Pavetta on her way to Skellige to give birth to your child?”.

His face went from confused, to relieved – to finally; angry. “You think I would get a girl pregnant, and then just leave her? A princess, no less?”, he scoffed. “Do you not know me?” “No!”, I yelled. “I don’t know you. At all!”. He took a step backwards. “No”, he said. “It seems you don’t”. He walked towards the door. “We leave in the morning. Your husband will want to see you soon”.

I lost all composure. Picking up the entire bowl of fruit from the table; I threw it at his back; grapes, oranges, plums and apples splattering across his shirt. And then I screamed.

Geralt growled, and sped at me; grabbing my shoulders, and throwing me on the bed. I clawed at his face – doing my best to scratch him – but he held my wrists down. “Stop!”, he roared “Go to Hel!”, I screamed. “You can go right along with me, woman!”, he answered.

I wrestled myself free from his grasp and struck at his head. He narrowly avoided my hand by rolling onto his back; and I straddled him – once again getting my wrists caught in his grasp.

Suddenly the door opened, and the three guards were standing in the opening. “My lady!...”, one of them called. “Get the fuck out!”, Geralt and I roared at the same time; staring at the dumbstruck men. They silently closed the door. “Bloody crazy, that one”, I heard one of them say through the door, as they walked away.

I got off Geralt; and laid on my back next to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”, I said. “There’s nothing to tell”, he answered. “But you have a child on the way with another woman!”, I half whimpered. “And you are marrying another man!”, he grunted. I sat up and shook my head in exhaustion. “I never wanted to marry him!”, I said. “And I never wanted a child”, he muttered. I stood up, picked up an orange from the floor, and threw it at him. He sat up, and looked at me angrily. “Would you stop throwing fruit at me?”, he snarled.

I scoffed. “You never wanted a child”, I hissed. “Maybe you should have thought of that, before you stuck your dick in the 15 year-old lion-cub of Cintra!”. “I didn’t!”, he roared, making me jump. “It’s a child of surprise!”.

He walked over to me slowly; prepared for more flying fruit. “It was an accident”, he said. “I didn’t know she was pregnant, and neither did the father when I asked him for the law of surprise. I thought it would earn me a keg of ale at the most”. I laughed, and shook my head. “A keg of ale?”, I said. “You stupid man…”.

He put his hands on either side of my face. “Yes. Stupid enough to fall for a woman, who by rights belongs to someone else”. He put his forehead to mine. “Stupid enough to want your heart, when I know it’s not mine to have”.

I put my hands on his chest; and grabbed at the fabric of his shirt. “What are we doing, Geralt?”, I whimpered. “Everything wrong, it seems”, he groaned.

He pulled back from me; holding on to my shoulders; and boring his amber eyes into mine. “I can’t help it, little frog”, he said. “You said you didn’t want to be a part of someone else. But you are. You’ve shaped me; and I’ve shaped you. It’s unavoidable”. A single tear fell from my eyes. “But it doesn’t mean you have to lose yourself; or I myself”, he continued. “It only means that we... change”. I sniffled – embarrassed at my own reaction to his words. “But you said you don’t change…” He smiled. “I have changed. You’ve been a part of that change”, he breathed. “You wrote your name on my life, as I have written mine on yours. No matter where I travel and who I meet; you have made your mark on me. We aren’t an entity; but we are two of a whole”.

I put my hands on either side of his face; and laughed through my tears. “Please stop crying”, he said. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”, I sniveled. “Yes”, he admitted. I laughed out loud. “For someone so uneasy with human emotion, you do have a way with words”, I said. “Only for you, my lady”, he whispered; and kissed my lips.

---

We made love softly that night; taking care to not leave an inch of the other untouched. Geralts lips were the nourishment of my being, it seemed; and he let those lips touch every part of me that would bring me pleasure – seemingly finding pleasure himself, in nothing but the moans and whimpers he could draw from me. I came undone so many times I lost count, and the witcher came along with me. We were two of a whole.

When morning came; we hadn’t gotten much sleep – but for some reason, I’d never felt more awake. I knew what needed to happen. I knew that we would continue on our journey to Temeria; that I would marry Foltest; and that it would break both of our hearts when I did. There was nothing else that could be done.

I could not spend the rest of my life travelling with this man. I’d grow old, and he wouldn’t. I couldn’t be chasing monsters around the continent; when I was old and grey, and my bones were creaking. He could not give me children. Not that I was sure I wanted any; but our lives together would never be truly fulfilled – and his job never truly done.

We had each other now. And should we never see one another again; the marks we’d left on the others being would never be erased.

Geralts head was resting on my chest, and I was running my fingers through his hair; when there was a knock at the door. “Come in, Jaskier”, I called – quickly covering myself with the sheets.

The bard stepped inside; almost tripping over a plum. He looked around the room – stray fruit scattered across the floor. “Well”, he smirked. “Nothings changed here; I see”. He sat down by the table; pouring himself a goblet of wine. “So… when do we leave?”.

Geralt and me both looked at him with wonder. “Whose wife did you diddle this time?”, Geralt grumbled; laying back in the bed with his arms behind his head. I chuckled. “Uhm, sister; actually”, Jaskier replied; and took a sip of the wine. “Mmm! 1249; good year”. “Jaskier?...”, Geralt demanded. “Some lord, or another”, the bard said dismissively. “Apparently Jas… Jel… Jissanya, it was. Well, she’d been promised to Aretuza”. He looked at me apologetically. “They are quite fond of their virgins there. But I can tell you right now; that girl was not a maiden!”.

“Hels ass, Jaskier. Are you insistent on getting yourself killed before the end of the year?”, I chuckled at him. He stood up, looked at me; hurt in his eyes. “What if I told you it was true love?”, he said. I raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, you’re right. It would never work”, he chuckled.

I went to get out of bed, and gestured for him to turn around. “What?”, he shrugged. Geralt sat up and looked at him menacingly. “All right, all right. It’s not like any of you have anything I haven’t seen before – right, Geralt?”, the bard smirked; and covered his eyes with his hands. “I don’t want to know what that means”, I mumbled, and went to get dressed behind a divider in the corner.

---

We were met in the courtyard by Calanthe and her men from the day before. “Lady Y/N”, the queen said. “I hear there was trouble in your room last night”. My face reddened. “No trouble, your majesty”, I said. “Just… a discussion on our next move”. “Hmm…”, Calanthe frowned, looking from Geralt to me. “I trust you remember our conversation?”. I nodded and smiled. “I remember it well”, I said. “And I trust you, of anyone, will understand why I must live the life I choose, until I have to live the life I must”. Her face contracted into a smile for a second. “I do, my dear”. She sighed. “I just wish you hadn’t chosen as you have”. I smiled again.

“Thank you for your kind hospitality, your majesty”, I said. “And thank you for sacrifice”, she answered. “This is my war; but part of the burden of it has fallen upon you. If I could, I would undo it”. She looked at me earnestly; and then held my face in her hands; putting her forehead to mine. “If Foltest ever… should he ever be cruel to you; I will come up there; and I will rip his cock of with my bare hands”. I laughed. “I might take you up on that offer”. She chuckled, and kissed my forehead. “Be well, cousin”, she whispered.

Jaskier cleared his throat. “I am very sorry to disturb this special moment, your majesty, but I think one of the lords in there has an arrow with my name on it”. Geralt grunted.

“Witcher”, Calanthe said, letting go of me. “You will protect this woman with your life”. “You have my word”, Geralt said, and nodded at her. She narrowed her eyes at him. ”And go north. There are Nilfgaardian outposts further east”. Geralt frowned, and nodded again. “All right”, she said. “Now fuck off, all of you”.

We saddled up; Geralt and me on Roach; and Jaskier on – a quite unhappy – Bayrd.

On our way out the gates; I turned to the bard. “Jaskier; do you like my mushroom stew?”

He didn’t answer.

--- 

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- no lady

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#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher fic #the witcher netflix #jaskier

[xfandomwritingsx]

Long Time Coming

-gif source-

Description: You and Hopper finally give into each other.

Warnings/Labels: Sexual themes.

Approx. Word Count:

A/N: This is my first Hopper fic and frankly I have so many ideas for Hopper fics in my head that my full attention was not in this specific one and my mind kept wandering and jumping so, forgive me if it’s not the best. EDIT I DON’T KNOW WHY THIS DISAPPEARED BUT HERE IT IS AGAIN

It’s shortly after midnight and you’re standing at the Jim Hopper’s counter completely unable to sleep. You had come over early in the evening to cook him dinner, having always joked that he needed something that didn’t come out of a box every once in a while. El was staying the night at Max’s house and once the storm rolled in, you both decided it would be better if you just stayed the night at the cabin. That storm, however, also kept you from falling asleep on his couch.

“Can’t sleep?” You saw his dark form out of the corner of your eye just a half second before he spoke, but you still jump, hand coming to your chest and body tightening.

“Jesus, Hop,” you breathe out, trying to make it sound like a bit of a laugh. “You scared the shit out of me.” Thunder roars outside and a flash of lightning illuminates the room for a moment.

“Sorry about that.” He’s in sweatpants and a large, pastel colored robe. You recognize it as the one you’d given him for his birthday, mostly as a joke. Something about the big, burly chief of police wearing a delicate robe made you giggle. Seeing him in it now though, you realize he can make anything look good. He has it tied at the waist but it’s still open in front, leaving most of his chest on display. You look down at the counter instead.

“I’m not the biggest fan of storms,” you admit, shifting your gaze to the curtain clad window in front of you. You can hear the wind howling behind the glass. “Bad things always seem to happen in storms.” His footsteps are heavy on the old floorboards of the cabin as he approaches you. You’re not one to show fear often. Too many people take it as a sign of weakness and it makes you feel too vulnerable. It’s different with Hopper though. He doesn’t belittle you or mock you. If anything, he makes you feel validated and safe. Sane even. After all you’ve been through, some of the things that make you jump are stupid to other people. Hopper at least relates. “Thanks again for letting me stay tonight,” you say, loosening up your shoulders and easing your grip on the counter edge.

After last year, you and Jim have been together a lot. He started frequenting the coffee shop you worked at and the checking up on you had morphed into conversation and friendship. Light flirting made its way in shortly after. You knew the town talked; the chief spending time with a woman 15 years younger than him? You both saw the side-eyed looks you got when you strolled down the street standing a bit too close, but neither of you mind. Going through everything you had, there was a bond between you, between everyone involved, that no one else would understand. What did Nancy call it? Shared trauma?

“How’s your hip been doing?” His voice is concerned, but firm, completing ignoring your unneeded thanks.

“Hip’s fine,” you assure him. “Scar’s a bitch though, which you would know if you ever came down to the pool with me.” You smile and give a playful, teasing tug on his robe. He chuckles and rolls his eyes.

“Chief of police doesn’t lounge at the pool.” It’s the same line he’s given you since it was warm enough for the pool to open. At first, you’d tried to bribe him with the prospect of hot moms, but with a smile and an undertone you couldn’t quite place, he’d said he wasn’t interested in them. “How bad is it?”

You turn to face him and pull the bottom of your shirt up just slightly. You slip your thumb into the waistband of both your sleep pants he’d lent and your panties and tug them down over your right hip to show him the scar. The pants are baggy and they slide down a little more than what is probably appropriate, but you don’t particularly care.

He steps closer, his frame towering over you as his eyes dip down to the puffy scar. It’s nearly the length of your finger, slicing through the junction at your thigh and teasing up your waist, all just to the inside of your hip bone. It’s ugly and always angry looking, forever bumpy and red. You watch as his hand reaches out to you, fingers hovering in the air in front of you, hesitant.

“It’s okay,” you assure him softly, nearly a whisper. You lift your head to look at him, his gaze intent on your hip. His large fingers start to trace up and down over the length of the scar, barely touching you. “It doesn’t hurt.” He uses the pad of his fingers, feeling it more fully. It’s a foreign feeling having someone else touch your scar, but it’s not unwelcome. In fact, the warmth of his touch is making you want to lean into him.

“No pain?” His voice is quiet, but gruff, fingers still roaming back and forth.

“Not anymore.” You keep your eyes on him, watching the way his eyes barely shift away from the scar to where your pants had slouched down, showing him more of your skin than even your skimpiest swimsuit would have. “The scar itself is numb. Most likely will be for the rest of my life.” With a blink, his eyes are back to his fingers.

“So, you can’t feel this? Feel me?” You swear there’s something that sounds like disappointment in his voice. You have to stop yourself from reaching out to him, from touching his hand or his waist or his chest.

“I can feel you.” It sounds more breathless than you intended, more intimate somehow. He breathes deeply and you’re not sure if you leaned in or if he did, but he’s closer again. “The surface of the scar is numb, but you’re so big… Your fingers are so big,” you quickly correct yourself, but not before his lips twitch up in the smallest smirk at your words and a blush tints your cheeks. “They touch the edges and the skin around it.” He presses a little more firmly. “So yes, I can feel you.”

His hand shifts, thumb staying on the scar while the rest of his fingers slip along your hip until his palm is cradling you. Your breath hitches and when his thumb inches just past the scar, your body tingles. When his eyes meet yours, they aren’t filled with a hazy lust as you secretly hoped they would be. Instead, they’re soft and glazed with regret. Immediately, you shake your head and bring your hand up to press it against his cheek.

“No,” you tell him. “Don’t say it again.” He opens his mouth to say the words he’s been whispering to you for the past few months when it gets dark and quiet and raw feelings creep out. I’m sorry. He doesn’t say it this time, instead chooses to close his mouth and hold your hip a little tighter. “You saved my life. Walking away from a Demodog attack with a just a scar is not something to complain about.” He sighs and leans his face into your touch. You’d given the speech before and you had no doubt you’d do it again. “So, I won’t win sexiest woman in town or anything. Oh well,” you joke. It has the desired effect. He chuckles and straightens out a little, making you realize just how much he had been leaning down to you. Your hand slides away from his face and his slips away from your hip.

“I think you still have a damn good shot.” He runs his hand over his mouth and jaw with a chuckle and puts a little distance between the two of you. You look down to the floor to try to hide the blush and laugh with him. Both of you turn away so you can lean back on the counter.

“Want to try for sexiest man?” you joke back at him. He barks out a fuller laugh and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Nah. I’m not the type. No one wants a big, old guy like me.” He says it with a smile on his face which makes you shrug all too casually as you respond.

“I do.” Thunder rolls outside again as your breath stops and you feel like you could just fall through the floor. The air is suddenly very still and you can feel him looking at you as you try like hell not to look back.

“That so?” he drawls slowly. You can hear the smirk he’s wearing and you crunch your face as your brain fumbles for recovery.

“I just mean,” you start as you try not to fidget anymore than pinching the bridge of your nose. “I didn’t mean you. I’m just not into the young type.” That sounds better, right? His scoff implies he doesn’t agree.

“You realize guys your age are the young type, right?” Your brief glance at him reveals an amused scrunched up look on his face and a bounce in his shoulders. You shoot him a pointed stare and tilt your head just slightly.

“Clearly you haven’t seen the way those women gawk at newly graduated boys. I am not that young,” you tell him. “Even so, I’m just not into guys my age.” He raises his brow in question, waiting to hear you say it. “I like my men older.” His eyes dip down your body, coming back up with that darker look you had been wanting earlier.

“Is that right?” You caught the way his hands tightened underneath his crossed arms and you’re betting he’s wishing he had a cold beer to take a long drink from right about now. You don’t answer verbally, but bite down on your lower lip and nod slowly. “Got your eye on anyone?”

“I might.” It’s a safe answer you can shrug with, one you can brush off in the morning if, like so many others, this conversation doesn’t actually lead anywhere. “What about you?” You spin the attention to him before he can ask anything else. “Anyone catch your interest in town lately?” He drops both his arms and his head as another chuckle rolls out of him.

“Am I a complete creep if I’ve got a thing for a younger woman?” You find it hard to swallow.

“I suppose that depends on what kind of thing it is,” you answer, words suddenly breathless again. He doesn’t look up at you yet, hands toying with the tie around his robe.

“Depends on the day,” he says. “Sometimes I just want to see her, talk to her. I enjoy her company. Somedays I want to take her to a nice restaurant or out dancing or whatever the hell it is the young people do on dates now.” A soft smile comes to your lips as you imagine Jim Hopper dancing. “But then other days,” he finally lifts his head and turns his body to face you. “On the days where she’s being irritatingly stubborn or running her smartass mouth,” His voice dips down a bit lower as he steps closer to you. You look over your shoulder at him, head tilting back to watch his eyes train on your lips. His hand comes up and brushes a few strands of hair behind your ear. “Those are the days I just want to bend you over my desk.”

The air in your lungs dissipates. Your chest tightens and you feel like you can’t breathe, all while heat is flooding through your veins. You want to throw yourself at him. You’d imagined a confession so many times and you always threw yourself at him in your mind. Instead you’re frozen, unable to move or even look away from his teasing eyes.

“Me?” It comes out as an embarrassing squeak. He squints his eyes a little and feigns innocence.

“Did I say you?” There’s a moment of internal panic in which you frantically wonder if you misheard him. But then there’s a twinkle in his eye as he softly cradles the side of your neck. “I didn’t mean you. I just meant… ya know,” he mocks your earlier babbling with a teasing smile that eases your tension.

You start to laugh and give his chest a gentle, playful smack. He laughs with you and brings the hand on your neck down to rest on your shoulder. You turn on the balls of your feet to face him and lift onto your toes in half-assed attempt to even yourself with him.

“You shouldn’t tease a lady,” you tell him lowly.

“Is the implication here supposed to be that you’re a lady?” A roll of thunder punctuates his joke, startling you. Your back tenses and straightens as you press yourself into him, forehead leaning on his chest. “Hey, I got you.” His arm slides around your shoulders, the other snaking around your waist, holding you close.

There’s a comforting silence between you for a few moments as your heart rate comes back down. Hopper is patient, content to hold onto you until you’re ready. You can still hear the rain pounding down on the cabin and you take a deep, steady breath.

“I’m a lady,” you mumble, turning to press your cheek into his skin instead, afraid of brushing your lips against his bare chest when you speak.

“What was that?” he asks with a chuckle, looking down to you.

“I am a lady,” you say a little more firmly. “Unless you’re trying to lay claim to being the lady in this relationship?” You tilt your head back, looking up at his eyes and give a another little tug on the edge of his robe. “You do have some delicate features.” A smile breaks out onto his lips.

“There’s that smartass mouth I mentioned.” He shifts his weight as you shrug at him.

“Too bad we’re not anywhere near your desk.” You blush even as you say it, your boldness surprising you tonight. He hums lowly, a rumble you can feel through his chest and you watch his eyes darken through the dim light of the room.

“Maybe you’re the one who shouldn’t tease.” His hold on you loosens, as if he’s about to pull away and you feel it in your core; it’s now or never.

“I wasn’t teasing.”

He stops pulling away and there’s an actual surprise in his eyes at the way your tone of voice drops and the seriousness in it. He watches you carefully, weighing your words and your tone, trying to decide if you’re serious about what you were implying.

“Careful, babygirl.” His voice is gruff and deep as he shifts, both hands now gripping your hips with a new purpose. He’d only ever used that nickname on you once, but you know the bastard isn’t oblivious to the effect it has on you.

“I told you,” you breathe out, wrapping your fingers around both edges of his robe this time and lifting up as high as you can on your toes. “I like older men.” You feel a part of him twitch against the lowest part of your belly and you see his eyes darken as the smallest, dirty-tinted smirk reaches his lips.

“In that case…” He lifts you suddenly, palms smoothing down to cradle your ass and guide you up to his frame, your legs winding around his hips, pulling his robe further apart as your hands trace up to wrap around his neck. “Last chance,” he warns. If you wanted, he would put you back down and you’d laugh it off later. Or you could finally take the plunge that the look in his eyes is desperately asking you to take.

You give the slightest pull on him and his mouth meets yours in a sharp hiss of breath, his mustache and stubble scratching against your skin. Your stomach flips like you’ve just plummeted off a cliff and your skin heats at his touch, his fingers digging into the flesh of your rear as he holds you up.

You moan into his mouth when he turns on his heels, spinning to place you on the nearby counter. Lightning still flashes outside of your closed eyes, but it doesn’t bother you anymore. His hands roam up your sides all the way to your neck and face, roughly padded fingertips gentle on your skin. He slows the kiss, thumb stroking your jaw and making you whine when he pulls back just slightly.

“Been waiting a long time to do that,” he whispers gruffly, only a hair’s breadth away. You dig your heels into the backs of his thighs, trying to keep him close.

“What took you so long then?” You run one hand along the back of his neck, the other slowly teasing his robe further open, pushing it off one of his shoulders as the loose tie finally gives way and undoes itself.

“Wasn’t sure you were interested, sweetheart.” You have to chuckle. It’s not like you had been very subtle, or at least you thought you hadn’t. You lean forward and pull him into another heated kiss. Using your heels on his thighs, you scoot yourself to the edge of the countertop and grind your hips against his. The groan that slips out of him is filthy and delicious.

“Any doubts now?” you tease. He smirks as his hands dip down again, one coming to your thigh and one to the hem of your shirt.

“I’m clearly not good at taking hints, darling,” he whispers, taking his mouth from yours and leaning in to put his lips by your ear. “Think I’m gonna need to hear you tell me what you want.”

You groan his name, body practically melting underneath his touch and his husky voice. You snake your arms underneath his and reach up behind him to curl your fingers over the collar of his robe, tugging it down. He pulls his hands off of you just long enough to let it fall away.

“I want you,” you whisper back to him as his nose tickles your neck, a teasing touch that leaves you craving for more.

“A little vague there, baby.” His lips press a feather-light kiss to your neck.

“You’re such as ass,” you laugh lightly, grinding against him again and dragging your nails lightly down his back which causes his lips to press down a little harder, giving you some satisfaction. “Maybe you need to tell me what you want.” He chuckles darkly against your neck before bringing his lips back to his ear.

“I want to be buried so deep inside of you that the only thing you can say is my name.” You’d imagined that scenario before but hearing him saying it makes it so much more tangible. You’re left with an emptiness in you aching to be filled with him. You give a little tug on his hair to pull his face back so you can see him.

His lips are are red and puffy from your fevered kisses, mustache hairs just slightly astray. His cheeks are tinted in pink and his eyes are dark, hazy. You lick your lips before smirking back at him.

“Then what are you waiting for?” He smiles before scooping you up in his arms again, capturing your lips in an open-mouthed kiss, and carrying you off towards his bedroom.

#jim hopper #hopper x reader #hopper x you #jim hopper imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things

[friendship-ended-with-pokespe]

Kirby and the Big Race in Dream Land! Chapter 2

The Battleship Halberd, which navigates the great universe. Meta Knight was enjoying his elegant tea time in the central lounge. Then came Capital Vul, the one in charge of the battleship. “My lord, we have a transmission from Dream Land.”

“......Dream Land?” Meta Knight turned away and said. “Tell them that I’m out right now.” “Again, sir? You always tell them that......” “Why does it matter? I’ll beg off from getting dragged in their affairs.” “No, the transmission today isn’t from King Dedede or Kirby. It’s from Walky. Look, sir, it’s that guy with the loud voice.” “......What did you say?” Meta Knight placed his tea cup. “You should say that first. Walky, huh......how unusual. Very well, put him through.” “Aye, aye.” Captain Vul operated a panel close to the wall. A section of the wall became an enormous screen, and Walky was displayed. Walky said nervously. “Ah, Lord Meta knight. Sorry for calling you all of a sudden!” “No worries. What do you want from me?” “Right! It’s about ‘Dream Land ✰ Extreme ✰ Heart-Pounding ✰ Big Race’ that’ll be held this time!” “Hm? What?” Asked Meta Knight in return, and Walky gasped in surprise. “You haven’t heard of it by any chance? My apologies. I was sure that Kirby and King Dedede told you about it......” “I pretend to be absent in all their transmissions.” “I see then. To tell you the truth, a TV program will be produced this time with Dream Land as the setting. It’s about......” Walky explained with enthusiasm. Meta Knight listened with little interest while sipping his tea. “......So that’s what it is. Doesn’t it sound fun?” “I can't say.” “This is a hot topic in Dream Land right now. Everyone is brimming with determination to participate.” “So what about it?” “I have been given a huge task. I will be commenting on the race.” “Oh?” “That’s not all. The producer of the show said that he’ll make me the official announcer if it receives high ratings. I’ll become the announcer of Comet TV!” “......I see.” “I've longed to be an announcer. It'll be incredible to have my voice resound all over the universe!” “......So?” As the story was getting longer, Meta Knight became gradually irritated. “What do you want with me? Can’t just say it already?” “Ah, excuse me. I really want the program to be a success. It has to do with my dream, after all!” “Break a leg.” “No, you see......I’m not confident by myself. I don’t think it’ll catch the attention of the whole universe no matter how hard we publicize it.” “......Hmm?”

“I ask you to lend me your strength, Lord Meta Knight!” Walky kneeled on the ground as soon as he said. Meta Knight was taken aback. “What?” “Your popularity is unsurpassed, being the greatest hero in the universe. You’re a big star whose name is known to everyone.” “Hold your horses. That’s not who I am......” “It’ll become a huge topic if you were to appear in it!” “I have no interest in a TV program or so......” “I beg you, sir! Please commentate with me by your side! Hearing that lord Meta Knight is the commentator, it's bound to grab the attention of everyone in the universe!” “I refuse.” Having had enough, Meta Knight said. “That is no concern of mine. Ask someone else if you really need a commentator.” “There isn’t anyone that would gather more attention than you, sir!” “That’s not my problem anyways. Adieu.” Right when Meta Knight was about to cut off the communication: “Please hold on a moment, sir!” A shout resounded. It isn’t from the screen. The voice was heard from behind Meta Knight. Meta Knight turned around in surprise. Axe Knight, Trident Knight, Javelin Knight, and Maxe Knight are standing in a row......namely the ‘Meta-Knights,' the combatants of Halberd. Compared to Sword Knight and Blade Knight with excellent swordsmanship, they may be a bit lacking in combat, but doesn’t lose when it comes to their loyalty to Meta Knight. They are trustworthy subordinates. “What is it, you guys?” To Meta Knight in confusion, the Meta-Knights said in unison. “We would like for you to grant Walky’s wish!” “It’s not like you to crush the dreams of others, sir!” “Please be the commentator of the race!” The Meta-Knights urged him all at once. Even Meta Knight would be overwhelmed by his subordinates’ unwonted vigor. “What happened to you all? Were you asked by Walky?” “No, sir! We genuinely hope for the race to be a success......” “Gwahahaha!” Captain Vul was the one to interrupt with loud laughter. “You’re so dense, my lord. These lads are all thinking of participating in the race.” “......What?” Meta Knight looked at his subordinates. The Meta-Knights admitted frankly even as they wavered in embarrassment. “He’s right, to be honest. We happened to see the leaflets for recruiting participants......” “I’ve always wanted to appear on TV......” “They say that there’ll be a marvelous prize......” “My mom back in my hometown will be delighted if I were to appear on screen!” “You guys......” Meta Knight sighed deeply. The Meta-Knights insisted frantically. “We want to participate in the race and make it succeed.” “It would be lonely if no one were to watch it.” “Please, Lord Meta Knight!”

He cannot turn it down now it has come to this. Meta Knight may at times be cool and ready to be callous, but is surprisingly considerate towards his men. “It can’t be helped then.” He nodded in reluctance. Walky, who kept prostrating himself on the screen, suddenly rose up. “So you’re accepting it......t-th......!” Captain Vul’s countenance changed, seeing Walky moved deeply and about to tear up at any moment. “Argh, oh no! Everyone, get down! It’s dangerous, sir!” Captain Vul lunged at the screen and tried to turn off the switch, but he was a moment too late. “THHHHHAAAANK YOUUUUUUUU SOOOOO MUUUUUUUCH!!!!!!!!!!!” Together with the resounding of his destructive scream, Halberd’s communication screen smashed in pieces.

The next day. Meta Knight paid a visit to Castle Dedede at once. He thought of stopping by the castle and hear the details for now, but heard a loud voice on the way. “Heave-ho! You can do it, Waddle Dee!” “K......Kirby......no more......” It was Kirby and Waddle Dee’s voice. It can be heard from the trees on the outskirts of the road. Meta Knight made his way there. What met his eyes was a very strange sight. Kirby and Waddle Dee tied themselves to a rope and are dragging an old heavy-looking tire. In spite of his looks, Kirby is pulling it effortlessly with inhuman strength, but that isn’t the case for Waddle Dee. Even as he sweated in large drops with his face in bright red, his tire wasn’t moving an inch. Kirby noticed Meta Knight and rushed over to him. “Ah, it’s Meta Knight! What happened? You’re gonna enter the race too?” “No......what are you guys up to?” “See for yourself! We’re working out!” “For the race?” “Of course! We’re aiming for the victory.” In contrast to Kirby in high spirits, Waddle Dee was dead tired. “Let alone......win, whether I could even......reach the goal or not......” “You’ve got this, Waddle Dee! Let’s do a hundred laps next!” “I......I can’t......!” Seeing Waddle Dee completely worn out, Meta Knight smiled beneath his mask. It was when he was about to leave that area quietly to not disturb the pair. Meta Knight was alerted suddenly, feeling that he was being watched. (......Who is that?) He casually looks over his surroundings. Someone has concealed himself in the shade of trees at a distance. It is a small figure wearing black from top to bottom. It is well-hidden, but cannot deceive the eyes of Meta Knight. (It isn’t from Dream Land. Who is it?) The mysterious figure disappeared without warning. Meta Knight quickly went after it. However, he soon lost sight of it. It also didn’t leave any trail behind. Evading Meta Knight’s pursuit, it was gone like a smoke...... (That isn’t just anyone.) Meta Knight ponders. (What was it looking for? I don’t want to be involved with it, but I can’t help but be worried......)

Meta Knight arrived at Castle Dedede. As he made his way through the corridor, he could already hear the gruff voice of King Dedede. “Come now, no need to hold yourself back. It’s better to keep eating. There’s tons of both cakes and fruits! How’s the drink? Drink some more!” A guest seems to have come before him, where they also appear to be in the midst of a party. Paying no heed, Meta Knight entered the hall. Leaning back on his favorite sofa, King Dedede was in good spirits. A platter on the table is overflowing with food. Sitting on the sofa for guests was a young man that he wasn’t familiar with. He is wearing a flashy outfit with over the top decorations. “Oh man, I’m all stuffed now, King Dedede. I’m good with foods.” “Really? How about you get to the matter at hand then. It's about the race this time, where if you could tweak it slightly for me to win......” Meta Knight cleared his throat a little. Turning around in surprise, King Dedede jumped up from his chair. “Meta Knight!? H-How long have you been there!? What a rude fellow, coming in without saying anything!” “Waddle Dee who should’ve been the guide wasn’t there, so I went in on my own.” “I-I don’t have any qualms about it! In no way was I trying to have the TV producer make me win the race by making him welcome......!” King Dedede became bright red and swung his fists. Although the king’s dishonest plan was obvious, Meta Knight took no notice of it. To him, the outcome of the race isn’t worth worrying about. “I see, so you’re the TV producer.” Said Meta Knight, and the gaudily dressed young man brushed his hair up. “I am Kizario, the famed producer. You wanna participate in the race too?” “No, I was merely asked to commentate on the race.” “......Commentate?” The smile disappeared from Kizario’s face. “What’s this? I didn’t ask anyone to commentate.” “I was requested by Walky. I’m not inclined to, but there’s no choice.” “Wha......hang on a sec. I don’t need no commentating......” “Hoho, so you’re the commentator. How interesting!” Interrupting Kizario’s words, King Dedede bent himself forward. “You’ll commentate well on my performance! Let my charm be known to all my fans in the universe!” “Hold on here. The program has no plans for commentating......” Kizarion was flying out at him, but King Dedede wasn't listening to him at all. Silencing him by shaking that large hand of his, he said in good humour. “Let me introduce him. This fella is Meta Knight, kinda like my underling.” “......Who are you calling underling?” “He’s like that, but is a pretty trustful guy. Although it’s way beneath my level, he’s quite popular on his own. If he takes charge of commentating, it’ll become a hot topic all over the universe!” “H......Hot topic?”

Kizario’s face became more and more drawn. “I-It’ll be problematic if it becomes a huge topic! My plan will......”

“......What?” “N-No, never mind!” Kizario forced a smile. His voice however sounds shrill. It’s suspicious, however you look at it. Still, Meta Knight said with a look of ignorance. “Speaking of which, how many staff are coming?” “Huh? Staff?” “You would need a great number of staff to produce a show. How many staff are in Dream Land right now?” “There aren’t any staff, you see......it’s only me.” “Only you? You’re going to make the program just by yourself?” Meta Knight gazed intently from deep within his mask, where Kizario then replied uneasily. “It’s because we’re on a preliminary inspection right now. Just me alone is enough. Of course, plenty of real staff will come in the hour of filming!” “Alright then......so the figure that I happened to see just now wasn’t the TV staff?” Said Meta Knight as if talking to himself, and studied Kizario’s expression. Kizario asked as he shuddered. “You happened to see......just now?” “It was a figure of suspicion. It was dressed black from top to bottom, and seemed to be hiding something. I was certain that it was the TV staff, but I guess I was mistaken.” “D......Dressed black!?” Kizario cowered in fear, where Meta Knight asked without a moment's delay. “Do you have any idea of it?” “N-Not a chance! I have no clue who that is!” Faking a laugh, Kizario stood up. “Oh dear, I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’m quite a busy bee, so I gotta go back. Cheers, you guys.” “......Hm.” Facing the back of Kizario trying to leave in hurry, said Meta Knight. “My style is to do it my all. I’ll be sure to make this show succeed.” Kizario turned around. He looks awfully off-color. “You are broadcasting it all over the universe, right? I would like to show it to as many people as possible.” Added Meta Knight in an assuring manner. “Y-Yup, of course, Meta Knight. I hope that the program turns out great.” Kizario then rushed away in a fleeing manner.

After Kizario left, King Dedede asked. “Who’s the man wearing black from head to toe?” “Well......I have no clue. But Kizario seemed to have an idea. Meta Knight pondered. “King Dedede, this all sounds nothing but fishy. Is he really a TV producer?” “Yup, of course.” “What’s the evidence?” “What do you mean evidence!? It’s gotta be since the guy himself said so.” Having been told in a lordly manner, Meta Knight sighed a little. Despite being crafty himself, King Dedede is fooled easily. “I can’t get it off my head......what he’s trying to make doesn’t seem to be just a show.” “Hmm? What do you mean by that?” “I’m not sure yet. But there is more to what he said......” Muttered Meta Knight to himself, and turned his back on Dedede.

On the other hand- Having rushed out of Castle Dedede, Kizario was grumbling as he came down from the mountain path. “A suspicious figure in full black could only mean-! What a pain in the neck. You mean to say that Kurron has already shown himself in Dream Land!?” Messing up his hair, he let out a moan. “It’ll be bad if I’m beaten to the punch. I’ve got to find “that thing” before Kurron does! At any rate, that dude was uncalled for......” Kizario clicked his tongue. “With how simple-minded the bunch in Dream Land are, I thought I would lead them by the nose, but......only Meta Knight seems to be pretty keen. Now I can’t say that the TV stuff was all a lie......ahh, such a pain in the neck......”

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#kirby novels #kirby of the stars #light novel #translation #kirby #waddle dee #king dedede #meta knight #walky #meta knights #captain vul