Hii!! I was wondering if you may do a somewhat spicy snippet that involves a villain and detective and 💫handcuffs💫 ? I understand if not though! Hope you have been well and good luck to any final exams you have🌸
"You'd think," the villain said. "That with all the hardened criminals they deal with on a day to day basis, your colleagues wouldn't be so afraid to pat down little old me. I mean." The villain widened their eyes. "Look at me. Who wouldn't want to get their hands on all this?"
The villain flashed them a sharp grin, entirely too delighted by the fact that most would not get in a three foot radius. "If I lick it, it's mine. Them's the rules."
The detective sighed, (not really) long-suffering, even as they approached.
The villain was, admittedly, gorgeous. In a slightly feral sort of way. Gorgeous in the way a volcano could be stunning, right before it erupted and burnt down everything you loved.
The precinct waiting room was empty apart from the two of them; promptly abandoned ever since the hero had deposited the beautiful monstrosity on their front door and then left. As if the rest of them mere mortals were equally equipped to deal with super villains. Bastard.
"Besides. I'm cuffed and everything," the villain continued, jingling the chains. "I'm harmless."
"You're the bane of my working life," the detective grumbled without venom. "I'm going to have so much paperwork. This isn't even my job to do this. Stand."
The villain pushed gamely to their feet, stepping close and into the detective's space. The detective had gone through the whole routine - because the villain always escaped - enough times not to flinch.
"You look tired, detective," the villain said, a little softer.
"Bane. Of. My. Working. Life."
"I could bribe someone to do the paperwork for you."
The detective snorted, beginning to thoroughly pat the villain down. They extracted paperclips, and all manner of objects from the villain's pockets - knowing by now where to look in the hidden folds of material, knowing that everything had the potential to be dangerous.
They could feel the villain's eyes on them, intent and burning. They could feel the villain's breath, the heat of them, so close. They could smell the crackle of their power in their air, not entirely offset by the cuffs, only limited. If they shivered, well, it was because of that. A valid reaction to threat. Not...not...
The detective swallowed. "Stop that."
"You look like you're planning to eat me."
"How would you know that? My eyes are up. You're the one feeling me up."
"I'm not-" The detective bit their lip, gaze moving to the villain's.
The villain's eyes were very bright.
"You look like you're planning to eat me," the detective said again, and even managed deadpan.
"Well, we did cover that if I lick it, it's mine, already. Didn't we?"
They were not going to be flustered. They were not going to be flustered. They were not going to be-
The villain, lightning quick, lethally quick, pressed a kiss to the detective's blushing cheek. Exposing the utter uselessness of the denial. "I wouldn't mind," the villain said, against the detective's ear. "If you did. Feel me up. I know you wouldn't mind either."
The detective swallowed again, but it did nothing to make their mouth less dry. They kept their hands very professional. They did not jerk back, or jerk their head away, or admonish the villain.
They told themselves it was because it was only words, and far better than the villain snapping those cuffs like they were nothing, but...
Well. They were lying. It was true, but they were utterly lying to themselves, and they probably both knew it. The villain could no doubt dismantle and reveal that lie as easily as the rest.
The villain's teeth and tongue grazed, feather-light, against the shell of their ear.
If I lick it, it's mine.
"Right." The detective's voice was hoarse. "I think you're all done."
"Mm," the villain said, giving them a look of 'oh not nearly done enough with you, dear', though they let the detective step back.
No. Not let. They were cuffed. The two of them had only ever met when the villain was restrained.
"Let's go," the detective said. "You know how it goes by now."
"Indeed." The villain's head tilted. "You know there's a reason that hero of ours keeps dropping me off at your precinct and nobody else's these days. You know that right?"
The detective froze.
"Just something to think about," the villain said, and sauntered themselves off in the direction of the cells. "Come lock me up."
The detective released a shaky breath, and fovillowed.
We Both Win In The End (Alexia Putellas x Reader)
So i wanted to write this after the final but thinking about Ale crying was still a little too much. In honour of game day I wrote it today in hopes for some reverse karma. I hope you enjoy
Today was a day you were both excited about and dreading. You had been working towards this goal for the last 2 years and today was the day you finally got the chance to prove how far you had come. You were part of the Wolfsburg team that lost in the final to your current team 2 years previously and you never wanted to go through heart ache like that again. Lyon picked you up right after that final but you lost out to PSG in the quarter finals, you had played the first leg but missed out on the second through injury. So you were excited to have made it all the way this year and you were ready to play in front of the crowd.
The only reason you were dreading it slightly was the fact that your girlfriend, the best player to ever pull on the Barcelona jersey in your opinion, Alexia Putellas was part of the team you would have to beat in order to reach your dreams. You really didn’t want to crush hers in the process but you knew you would have too.
You and Alexia met when your Wolfsburg team knocked them out in the semi-finals the year you lost to Lyon. You had been slightly in awe of meeting the woman and it turned out that La Reina of Barcelona took and instant liking to you. She came and watched you lose in that final after which she took you out for your official first date, so that day wasn’t all sad.
After a few texts with your favourite midfielder you focused in on the game ahead, Carina had already headed down for breakfast so you knew you needed to hurry up. Not being public about your relationship made it hard to communicate properly sometimes.
When you walked into the room you could feel the mix of nerves and excitement hovering in the air. On one side of the room you had the younger or more outspoken players laughing and enjoying their morning together and on the other side you had the older or the more relaxed players quietly talking and preparing for the game ahead. You being only 23 should have headed to the more lively side but that had never been your scene, so you grabbed your food and went and pulled a chair next to Danielle who had been very supportive of you since she joined.
“Ready to show those Barca girls what we are made of?” Being a lifelong Barca fan didn’t help in this situation but you were playing for Lyon and you would always give your all to a game. “They might have the bigger fan base but we are still going to fight.” You sent a silent sorry up to your grandad for that one, you promised you were still a massive Barca fan.
The rest of the morning was a blur. You got the coach over to the stadium, walked the pitch with the team and met the officials, you got your warm up gear on and completed that and now you were in your kit ready to walk out the tunnel. You chanced a look forward and right only to find your favourite brown eyes to be looking back at you. You mouthed a good luck to which she sent you a wink before she turned and walked out.
You had done it. You had finally done it. Dan was the first to reach you after the final whistle blow, she had you in the air and spinning around. You had actually won the Champions League final. There was only one person you wanted to celebrate with but you knew you couldn’t, you still looked for her anyway.
After searching the sad faces of the Barca squad and not seeing your girl you pulled away from the celebrations, she had to be here. That when you spotted her, well her body lying on the floor sobs racking through it as she covered her face from the world around her. It was the most heart breaking thing you had even had to witness from afar. All you wanted to do was go over and comfort her but you couldn’t, you weren’t allowed to. You didn’t take your eyes off her until she was standing again, and when your team started to make their way to say their apologies you made sure you went straight to the woman you loved.
Pulling Alexia into a hug you whispered so only she could hear “Lo siento mi amor, I wish there was another way this could have gone. You will be back and next year I’ll watch you lift this again.” As discreetly as you could you pressed a kiss to the woman’s neck before moving on to commiserate some of the other girls.
You mood didn’t really pick up after that, you put on a smile and celebrated the trophy lift and got your medal with the Lyon girls but seeing the love of your life that upset just wasn’t what you wanted. In the changing room after the ceremony the girls were deciding what to do about partying and when asked you said you wouldn’t be joining them.
“What? We just won the champions league and you aren’t coming out to celebrate. Come on y/n even Wendy is coming out.” The girls all laughed at Wendy’s protest to that comment but you were standing firm.
“I have somewhere else I really need to be, but have a drink for me.” With that you grabbed you bag and left, you could shower later.
Luckily Alexia had told you the hotel she was staying at and you knew from the fact that you had managed to facetime her the day you got there that she was roomed alone and want to be alone after that game. So you made your way into the hotel and up to the room you had seen on the call.
The first time you knocked you received no answer but you did here the rustle of a bed cover moving so you knew she was in there. You knocked again and this time you heard your favourite voice, slightly strained and tear filled but still your favourite. “Lo siento, I really want to be alone.”
Trying to keep your voice down but also not caring too much if her teammates found out you spoke lowly to the door in front of you “It’s me mi amor. Can you let me in before the hated opponent is caught in the Barca hallway por favor.” The door swung open and before you could even look at your girl you were being pulled into the room.
With the door shut just as you got through it, Alexia nestled her head in the crook of your neck and broke. All you could do was hold her as tight as you could and run your fingers through her hair as she let it all out. After a few minutes of standing in the middle of the room you led her to the bed to get comfortable.
“Why are you here? As much as I love it and I’m so, so glad you are you should be celebrating.” Alexia’s grip on your t-shirt tightened significantly when she said this betraying her sentence slightly.
“I am celebrating with the only person I ever want to celebrate with.” You pressed a soft kiss to the woman’s waiting lips. As you went to pull away Alexia chased you and initiated a harder more desperate kiss. You bit down on her bottom lip as she pulled away and enjoyed the breathy moan it pulled from her.
“I might not have won the trophy but I’m winning tonight.”
“stay in bed.”with le Reina 👸
"Stay in bed."
This is a follow-up ficlet from here.
You didn't know how long you had been awake but you had been in and out of sleep all night, wanting to make sure that Alexia was okay. The good thing was that she had slept the whole time, no doubt due to the alcohol she'd had before she'd turned up at your place. There was a part of you that was worried that Alexia would regret staying over with everything that had happened between the two of you but no matter what, you would always be there for Alexia in whatever capacity she needed you.
The sun had been up for a couple of hours at least and you hadn't been able to stop yourself from running your fingers in her hair, wanting to do your bit to keep her relaxed. It was fair to say that you had been lost without her since your relationship had ended a few weeks before so while you could, you were going to enjoy the closeness once more.
Your movements stopped when you felt Alexia shift slightly in your arms and you pretty much froze, worried about her reaction to waking up next to you when she had been drunk the night before. You didn't even know if she would remember turning up at your place. Dropping your hand to rest by the side of both of you, you tried not to move, not wanting to make things worse than they possibly were.
Alexia slowly opened her eyes and it took her a minute to get her eyes to adjust to the bright light, her head pounding from how much she had been drinking the night before. You watched her slowly shift until finally she lifted her head and you made eye contact for the first time that morning.
Even after a nights sleep, you could tell that she had been crying from how red her eyes were and it made your stomach sink because you knew you had been a part of it, along with the final. It had been a hard few weeks for the both of you.
"Hola," you whispered, not talking too loud because you didn't want to make Alexia feel worse than she probably already did. "There's some water on the bedside table for you."
No doubt finally realising where she had woken up, Alexia shifted off you and moved to lay on what had always been her side. You instantly missed the feeling of her body against yours but you weren't going to push anything. For all you knew, the night before might have been the last one you spent together.
"Lo siento," she murmured quietly, turning on her side so she was looking at you, her hand resting under her head. You'd lost count of the number of times that you had been in the same position, on a day where neither of you had nothing else to do. You could spend hours just talking to each other and that was one of the biggest things you missed about her. "I shouldn't have drank so much yesterday."
"You don't have to be sorry Ale…I understand," you explained, "I'm glad you came."
Alexia could have gone anywhere but she had chosen you. it was you that she had thought of when she needed someone and while you didn't want to think too much into it, it gave you a small amount of hope. The love was still there, there was no denying that from either of you but there had been so much pressure on both of your lives that it affected your relationship in a bad way. You probably would have worked through it if you'd just talked about it.
"I've missed you so much," she said abruptly and you turned to look at her properly, swallowing hard. You had been together for what could be considered a long time, so to not have her in your life the way you were used to had hit you hard.
"I've missed you too," you admitted, turning on your side yourself so you were laid down just looking at each other. Unable to help yourself, you reached out and held onto her hand, running your thumb over the top of her knuckles. You then entwined your fingers and gave them a small squeeze. "Something stuck with me last night that you said…how you weren't good enough and I want you to know that it's far from the truth. These last few weeks have been hell without you and I know it's been so fucking hard recently but you have always been good enough. In our relationship and as a player…"
At the mention of playing, she glanced down and you could feel the guilt radiating off her. Alexia had always been highly competitive and as captain, it was always going to hit her the hardest, no doubt blaming herself.
"I let you down..I let the team down," Alexia started but you quickly shook your head and shuffled closer, letting go of her hand so you could rest it on the back of her neck instead.
"No. You didn't let me down, you could never let me down and you definitely didn't let the team down. Football is a team game and we just didn't have enough to get over the line but we'll be back next year and that trophy will be ours."
You had never been so sure about anything because the team would use it as fuel for the following season. It was why you hadn't taken off the runner up medal, it was going to inspire you to be the best player you could be. The best teammate.
Alexia stared at you for a good minute or so, probably processing what you had just said and then suddenly she was shuffling towards you, placing herself under your chin while fisting the shirt you were wearing. Your arms instantly wrapped around her and you pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"Stay in bed." Alexia mumbled and you could only just hear her with how quietly she spoke. In a way of answering her, you tightened your hold on her even further and she nestled herself against your chest.
"We can stay here for as long as you need."
Inspired by this and this ~ rockstar!Billy with soft dom!Steve ~
• Billy becomes a really prolific musician, but he’s right in the sweet spot of being ultra well known and can still walk around without being recognized.
• He’s not sure if he really wants to be Famous™ but obviously record labels and management want to make as much money as possible off of him.
• Life is going really well but that doesn’t mean he has healthy coping mechanisms at all.
• His manager thinks he’s spiraling before he’s even begun and she’s like the one person who actually cares about his health.
• She boots his ass back to Hawkins so that he can see the one person he’s ever told her about: Max.
• Yeah, Max is fine and good and whatever, but it’s not like she and Billy are friends. So that’s a journey in itself because even with money, Billy is still Billy.
• Enter: Steve.
• Billy used to despise Steve for his money, but now it’s a saving grace, because Steve grew up with people dripping with money. Steve is still Steve, meaning he talks back and isn’t a door mat.
• He calls Billy a diva. Billy is...unsettlingly beginning to enjoy that.
• Max lets it slip that Steve listens to his music. If he’s got the late shift at the video store, he puts on Billy’s concert recordings on the overhead televisions.
• Billy’s manager likes this a whole lot and urges Billy to be proper friends with Steve.
• Billy fails. They get into another fight.
• Thing is...Billy is more relaxed than he’s been in years afterward.
• Billy’s manager has a long talk with him about certain people in this industry. It’s nothing to be ashamed about, so long as nothing is unethical.
• Billy doesn’t understand until she points to his own poster of himself wearing a fetish glove and says, “Give this thing to Steve with a bottle of lube and say please. Fuck like monkeys for gods sake.”
• That conversation is worth it for the look on Billy’s face alone. He’s not some cocky musician or guy who knows he’s attractive. He’s truly knocked off his platform with that one.
• Billy, like, knew what some of his branding was. A LOT of rockstar branding is straight out of queer clubs and sexual fantasy. But he’d always considered himself surprisingly vanilla when it came to his own sexual needs.
• But he’s got an assignment on his hands and he can’t deny that...he likes Steve. Getting beat to a pulp isn’t going to work for either of them, so unless they become wrestling partners or fuck buddies, something’s gotta give.
• So he walks into a late night shift at Family video.
• Turns off the lights, annoying Steve right off the bat because, “That’s some horror movie bullshit, Billy. What are you doing?”
• The televisions are left on - not Billy this time, but blissfully numbing music nonetheless - but the front windows are dark so there’s an illusion of privacy to what he’s about to say.
• “If you laugh, I’ll make sure you never breathe out of that nose again, and I’m only going to say this once.”
“Is it an apology?”
“What? No - ”
“Because the rational thing that you would never do is an apology.”
“Shut the hell up and listen to me - ”
Steve, the little shit, lifted the remote and turned up the volume on the store’s speakers. Billy breathed for control and circled the check-out counter to grip his shirtfront and crowded him against the counter. Got his mouth right up against Steve’s ear. “I'll only say sorry if you kiss me.”
He leaned back enough to watch Steve absorb that. The way he blinked back at him as if he wasn’t sure he heard right. Then -
“What if I’ll only kiss you if you apologize?”
Billy feels a sinking feeling in his body - it’s not a negative emotion. It was a strange thrill akin to dread but...opposite. Like the pain of relief.
“Apologize,” Steve said quietly, or a whisper compared to the noise overhead.
Billy’s breathing too fast, his mouth parted and throat dry as he can barely hear - thinks he just feels the motion more than auditory sound - “I’m sorry.”
Steve just keeps looking at him. Did he do it right?
“Ste-I’m sor- ” he stammered, but whether he was already shaking, or trembled when Steve licked into his mouth, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was the grip on his nape, the warm, slippery tongue passing between his lips, the sweetness of Starbursts on Steve’s tongue, and a blur of soft soft lips and a warm body through a tacky polo.
bc i’m sleeby and want cuddles and pancakes, i gave it to buddie. enjoy~
“Hmm.” Eddie wakes up to the sensation of fingers running through his hair. He twists blindly into the pressure, smiling slow and sleepy at the responding rumbled laughter. “Morning.”
“Morning.” Buck drags the pad of one finger along the folded edge of Eddie’s ear. “I was thinking pancakes for breakfast.”
“Yeah?” Eddie rolls towards Buck’s warmth, his cheek smooshing into Buck’s chest. He shifts until he’s comfortable, shifts a little more when Buck grunts softly at Eddie’s chin poking him too hard. “You making them?”
“Not like you would,” Buck says, as if he’s put out, but Eddie can hear the smile in the words, can feel it in the way Buck’s fingers trail down the sensitive skin behind Eddie’s ear, thumbing at the pulse in Eddie’s neck.
“You make ‘em better,” Eddie says reasonably, slinging an arm over Buck’s waist. He misses slightly and slaps Buck’s thigh and Eddie’s not entirely sure whose laughter has his skin vibrating with warmth.
“You just say that because you want me to make ‘em.”
“Mm-mm.” Eddie turns his cheek enough to press a kiss to whatever part of Buck’s in reach. “Love your pancakes,” he says, lips dragging against Buck’s skin. “Love you.”
Buck’s faux-groan rumbles into Eddie’s cheek. “How am I supposed to keep arguing when you say that?”
“You’re not.” The words are muffled as Eddie turns to bury his face in Buck’s shoulder, grabbing at the lingering edges of unconsciousness. “Just give in.”
“Hmm, alright.” Buck’s thumb finds the hinge of Eddie’s jaw, his fingers spreading out wide along Eddie’s throat, whisper soft. “I’ll make you pancakes.” Buck presses a quick kiss to Eddie’s hairline. “Love you, too.”
Here’s my second ever try at @galladrabbles! Thank you @ianstummy for the prompt “Pink”.
Mickey hesitates at the door tucked at the end of a deserted alley. It opens a crack to reveal a stern, well dressed man.
His face is blank as he asks for the password.
For a split second he wants to turn and leave, but he doesn’t. “Pink.”
The door opens, he enters a world he’d only fantasised about. Moody, dim lighting. Soft laughter and quiet music. People able to be free as they want - no matter their gender or sexuality.
He looks towards the bar and sees the redhead waiting for him. Ian smiles and waves him over.
If I’m going to keep writing random slivers of scenes, I should probably collect them on AO3?
Lalwendë ushered her siblings into a small parlor near the grand hall of the royal court, shut the door behind herself and turned to look them all over in all their finery. It was a showing of silks and shining splendor entirely befitting the royal House of Finwë at this 300th begetting day feast of their king and patriarch. Fëanáro’s was draped in jewelry of his own working, of course. The others were all at least partially draped in the same, because one couldn’t deny Fëanáro’s skill, and it was a good show of unity for the occasion.
Arafinwë looked nervous beneath his festival robes, and a bit tired, understandable for an elf with one newborn baby and one rambunctious toddler. Findis looked downright uncomfortable, accustomed as she was to a reclusive Vanyarin scholar’s simple garb, and was hiding it beneath and upturned nose and disdainful gaze. Having been in a room together for more than ten seconds, Fëanáro was glaring hot pokers at Nolofinwë, and Nolo was staring coolly back as though completely unaffected, and not at all deliberately making it worse.
Lalwendë planted her hands on her hips and stood in front of the door so none of them could escape.
“Alright, listen up you little shits,” she snapped. She added quickly, “Not you, Ara, you’re a blessing and we’re thrilled you’re here,” and focused her fury on her older siblings—her older two and a half siblings, as Fëanáro was so keen on reminding everyone.
She met his glare especially, but didn’t stint to share hers around.
“I have spent most of a year planning this party. This is for all the Noldor. This is for all the Eldar. This is for Father. I don’t require that we all act like a happy family, but if any of you ruin this event—if you start a fight, if you respond to provocation to a fight, if so much as imply with a glance that someone’s shoes are in poor taste, much less their latest academic paper—Findis and Fëanáro, that means you—then so help me Relentless Hunter and Deathly Fate, I will make the rest of your lives seem like a vacation in Utumno, until the End of the World itself! Am I clear?”
Fëanáro looked down his perfectly arched nose at her. “I certainly have no intention of interrupting Father’s party.”
“Nor do I,” Nolo said primly.
“Why is Ara not being scolded with the rest of us?” asked Findis, in a tone that might have been detached curiosity rather than whining, if Lalwendë didn’t know her sister, even when said sister had been home about twice in the last five decades.
“Because I’m not worried about him making trouble,” Lalwendë snapped. “And he has the most important job, and he knows it.” She swung to her little brother, making him jump in place. “Which is…?”
“If Father starts to look distressed, I put a grandchild in his arms,” Arafinwë recited dutifully.
“Good,” said Lalwendë, satisfied.
Fëanáro opened his mouth. Lalwendë cut him off: “None of your children are small enough for him to conveniently hold anymore, Fëanáro. Curvo is a small, inexplicably adorable version of you, but you should focus on being charming as your full-grown self—with Nerdanel’s help, as she wills. I’ve already briefed Maitimo on managing the rest of the kids.”
Fëanáro narrowed his eyes, of course, at the entirely correct implication that his eldest son was more responsible than he was. Nolo, at least, refrained from comment. So did Findis (though how could she comment, when she barely saw any of her nephews?). Ara looked at the wall and visibly wished to be elsewhere.
If Lalwendë kept them all in a confined space any longer, someone was going to start a fight and the entire point of the exercise would be defeated. So, with one last quelling glare, she opened the door and stood aside.
In good faith prompt - hair
He’s drunk enough one night that he ends up in the web archives of the Westerosi Chronicle because he’s tired of pretending not to care.
There are several filter options. The mouse hovers over the drop down menu. Selects From Earliest to Latest.
Sansa Stark. Two words, 10 letters.
Three pages of results appear.
STARK TRUST HOUSES THOUSANDS OF THE CITY’S HOMELESS, Eddard Stark and a smiling Catelyn at some gala. Robb is at their side, a stone faced teenager, trying so hard to be his father’s son.
It’s her mother she’s trying her very best to emulate, beaming into the camera, missing teeth and all. Her father’s hand holds her shoulder and her mother’s hand holds hers.
A team player, even then.
Jon scrolls down.
THE WOMEN WHO SPENT THEIR MOTHER’S DAY HELPING OTHERS. Alerie and Margaery Tyrell, Wynafred and Wylla Manderly, Maege, Dacey, and Alysanne Mormont. At the very end, Catelyn and Sansa.
She’s older, here. 12 or so. Her mother’s arm is around her shoulders. She’s still wearing her hairnet, something her and the Mormont’s have in common. Even tired, she still remembers to smile.
Then, she isn’t anymore.
He has to scroll past them, all of the titles beginning with her father’s name. The pictures of her wearing black. It’s like pressing on a bruise. He remembers his father’s funeral, how he felt at the sight of the cameras outside of the church, the rage that rose up in his throat like bile—
He never gave her much; always took. But he would allow her to keep this.
RHAEGAR TARGARYEN CELEBRATES 20 YEARS AT TARGTECH.
The night they met.
An entire article, waxing poetic about his father’s improvements and accomplishments. Pictures of him everywhere. He’s always haunting him, but tonight, Jon is preoccupied with another ghost. It’s the only reason he doesn’t click out of the article, the only reason he keeps going despite the tightness of his throat—
She was beautiful.
And he’d been so angry that his father thought fit to trust him with something so beautiful, something so delicate. Innocent. Big blue eyes, waiting for him to prompt her to speak. Gloved hands holding a flute of champagne, skimming the pearls strung around her throat. Red hair pinned artfully at the top of her head to reveal the slender slope of her neck. To tempt him.
When he got home, must have told himself a thousand times that it didn’t work.
In this picture, they are strangers, surrounded by people that are much more familiar to them. Dany is to his left and Robb and his wife are to hers. His hand is high on her waist. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
She’d asked him if he wanted to dance, and he said he didn’t like dancing. His first time being a disappointment. Not his last.
And just a week later, their very first event as a couple.
Some dinner for the Stark Trust. Them leaving the hotel where the party is being held, hand in hand. The very beginning.
A museum opening. Them on the steps, hand in hand. She’s smiling. He isn’t. An official confirmation.
It was more than enough.
There’s a set of photos for almost every couple weeks that they were together, accompanied with a story. Not his father’s doing, even with how much he used to talk about legacy, and not Robb’s, who hated any kind of press. It was just…them. The rebellious heir to a weapon empire who seemed to be falling in line, and the stunning spare. An unexpected, charming match. A dangerous one, too.
People watched them. They were worth watching.
Jon scrolls, flexing his hand. As if he’d be able to feel hers inside of it if he tried hard enough.
JON TARGARYEN, ROBB STARK, RENLY BARATHEON, AND MORE HIT THE PITCH FOR CHARITY BASEBALL GAME.
The last good day.
Towards the end, they were having more and more of those, and it was starting to scare him. That he was picturing her as someone that could be permanent, rather than what she was. A distraction, young—
Someone who deserved better.
She gently pestered him until he let her put sunscreen on his face—multiple times. She cheered him on from the sidelines. She fussed over his resulting injuries, insisting on bandaging him up herself. Alright, darling, she’d say, after he told her that he’d be going in every time she tried to convince him to sit the next round out.
There’s a picture of her leaning down from the bleachers to talk to him, pig tails hanging from her shoulders. Jon doesn’t remember what they were talking about. He wishes he could remember. He wants to know what he said that made her smile.
There’s no article about the split.
It wasn’t a public thing. It helped that it happened cold turkey. That one day they were together, and the next day they just weren’t. By the time he realized what happened, she already left. He stopped going to parties, to galas, to luncheons—there was no need for that anymore.
It took a minute for people to catch on, and when they did, it was after the funeral, and his father was dead. That overshadowed everything else.
Besides—she was just gone. There was no story in that.
Jon clicks in the third page, even though he knows what he’ll see.
Willas, holding her hand. Willas, carrying her on his back. Willas, with his arm slung over her shoulder. Willas making her laugh, and Willas making her smile—
It always reaches her eyes. Makes the corners crinkle.
He always makes her happy.
Jon shuts his laptop, leaving himself vulnerable to the dark. He tries not to wonder, selfishly, if he could have ever done the same. There’s no point.
She might be back, but she’s still gone. Lost to him.
Billy’s life, his real life, doesn’t start until he’s 22 years old and high-tailing it out of Hawkins, hitchhiking in the bed of some bumpkin’s truck.
His dad has long since left, abandoning the Mayfield’s when he’d thought his fuckhead son had well and truly kicked the bucket. Max has long since forgiven him, ripping her brother back from the other side of Hell with a bigger heart than he could ever understand. Susan has long since stumbled back on the road to recovery, picking up the pieces after years of bitterness and guilt and horror and Nothing will ever be okay again—
They’ve all had enough doom and gloom. There’s no time for his old anger. No time for cursing and spitting at the world. Not when he can finally feel the fucking sun again and breathe clean air.
He has one last drink with Maxine—milkshakes at that shitty diner that’s about to get demolished for Starcourt 2.0. The times really are changing.
They visit his grave, for old times sake. There’s fresh graffiti dripping off the headstone, and Billy pisses on the thing for good measure.
Max calls him a pig and stomps back to the car. And when he finally heads over to the main road to catch his first ride out of town, she holds on tight and almost doesn’t let go.
He hops between trucks and buses and even trains—Go West, young man.
He crosses each state like a finish line, the swell of the sea getting louder and louder in the back of his head. And fuck, is this what happiness tastes like? Giddy and greasy with his head sticking out of some random asshole’s convertible as they race past Welcome to California?
Meanwhile, Max is shooting the shit with the rest of the Party in downtown Hawkins, cackling with her arm thrown around Lucas and her leg sticking out for Mike to trip over. They settle down in this new, ridiculous 24-hour brunch spot that El’s been desperate to try while she’s still in town.
The talk and bitch about their parents and argue over their plans for college, and the world miraculously doesn’t blow up. It’s nice. It’s what she’s been burning for, ever since her mom nudged her into a brand new house with two brand new assholes to contend with.
She’s been fighting an uphill battle ever since, and for fuck’s sake, she’d never in her wildest dreams thought that she’d be so desperately wishing the universe to let him be happy. Just fucking let them both be happy.
And for now, at least, it looks like she’s finally getting her way.
My final thoughts before ST4?
Please, for fuck’s sake, just let them both be happy.
See you on the other side.
Note: It's just Will cleaning Hotch up after the battle with Foyet. Quick and dirty, no plot, I can't seem to wrap my mind around any of my WIPs today. (~970 words of gentle Will and grieving Hotch // AO3 if you prefer)
An eerie silence fell over the apartment while Will took in the sight. What he'd anticipated, especially after seeing the house Hotch and Haley had shared, was nothing like what he saw. Everything in that house was tidy, decorated like a showroom, immaculate and impersonal. This was chaos. There were stacks of boxes against the walls collecting dust, the dining table littered with case files and books. What looked like a nest of blankets and a pillow on the couch told Will that Hotch probably wasn't in the habit of making it to his bedroom many nights. None of it fit the careful persona he walked out the door wearing every day. Will threw open a window and pushed back the curtains, letting the fresh air waft in and drench the place with the sounds and smells of the city's bustling afternoon. Car horns, people chattering, flowering dogwood, he was acutely aware of all of it as it rushed in to fill the void.
Hotch sat hunched over on the couch like he was taking up space in someone else's home, not his own. A small bucket, neon green plastic made for playing at the beach, filled slowly with cold water in the kitchen sink while Will rummaged around in the freezer for an ice cube tray. He thought about his own freezer, everything in a chaotic disarray, if he ever managed to find an ice cube tray it would probably have been put back with only one or two broken cubes left. Neither he nor JJ were particularly good at maintaining kitchen organization. Hotch's freezer, though, was stark contrast to the chaos of the apartment. Small boxes of single serving microwaveable dinners in a neat stack, some ice packs with Batman and Wonderwoman symbols dancing over their clear plastic covers and two full ice cube trays that looked like they were regularly changed out or used.
Cracking the ice into the bucket, he swished the cubes around and glanced up at the man on the couch. He hadn't moved, not even a little. Staring somewhere into nothing, straight ahead but not at anything in particular, Will wasn't sure he ever really left that house. If he was crying he would try to hide it, wouldn't want Will to see it and he understood that. He took his time, made a little extra noise as he hefted the bucket of ice water out of the sink to give Hotch warning that he was coming.
Crouching on the floor, knees popping loud on the way down, he took Hotch's hands in his own with all the gentleness he would use on Henry's scraped knees. He unbuttoned the cuffs of Hotch's bloody shirt, pushed them up his forearms carefully and examined the damage. He was no doctor, wasn't looking for anything more than what he could do to get him cleaned up. Make him comfortable.
“Probably not gonna like this much...”
He plunged Hotch's hands into the water after a nod of acceptance, silent understanding, and watched him wince at the shock of the temperature. Ice settled against the open wounds and his shoulders tensed, he drew a hissing sound in between clenched teeth. It was the first sound he'd made since they entered.
“Y'all got a first aid kit?”
Another nod and Will was off again, ready to rifle through the cabinets in the bathroom for what he needed. He was a simple man with simple needs. Some ointments and some gauze, a bottle of peroxide if he could find it. While Hotch's hands trembled in the water he wiped at the blood on his face until uncovering the gash across his nose that was the culprit. It didn't look bad once it was cleaned up. If it was Henry, he would have told him it made him look tough, asked him to make his tough face, but he thought it only made Hotch look sadder.
Wrapping the gauze loose around Hotch's hands, like taping up a boxer, was easier than he'd anticipated. Everyone warned him he was in for it, Hotch was a terrible patient, he'd play nice until they got back and then he'd put up a fight and refuse care...but they'd all been wrong. Maybe none of them could bear the thought that this was enough to take the fight right out of him and in a way, Will was glad to be the guardian of that. If they asked, he'd say Hotch gave him hell...why not? Not much else he could do, nothing that Hotch would ask of him certainly, so he cleaned up the mess he'd made and refilled the ice cube trays while vowing to do the same at home.
“Guess I'll be off,” he said, clapping Hotch's shoulder and giving it a little squeeze. “I should get back to the scene, see if I can help. You gonna be okay for a bit?”
Hotch nodded solemnly and Will forced a weak smile. “Jennifer and I will bring you dinner later, when we bring Jack home. You sure you're okay?” He wanted to stay, thought he should, but he got the impression Hotch would prefer to be alone. Couldn't blame him, really, but still hated to leave. With no answer, Will let out a soft sigh and made for the door.
“I'd like to lie down,” Hotch called after him, his voice cracked and raw. Will turned and in Hotch's eyes he saw the hurricane, his father in his home alone and dying, every day since missing a person who was so much a part of him. “Would you...please...” He couldn't seem to form the words for what he needed. Will nodded anyway. He didn't need to hear the words to understand.
“I'll let Jennifer know.”
“--t. Fucking answer me.”
Jim has a headache. And a backache. Ow.
What happened...mm. Okay. Jim remembers coming to the GCPD. It had been for work-what do they need, funding, equipment, what-but it had also been, he’ll admit, a nostalgia visit, a drop-in on old friends. He’d been late getting there, though, it had been after eight. Traffic. And he’d run into...into…
“That’s an order.”
One of Hood’s boys, that’s right, dropping off a mime(?). That had been interesting. And then the...building…
The building came down. Bomb. That’s right. That explains the headache.
“Somebody pick up!”
Hood? No, Hood wasn’t here, Jim would have noticed. Is he here now? Why would he be here?
OH. RADIO. Okay. Okay. Jim...should probably find it. Or something.
There’s a rush of static, followed by Hood’s exhausted-sounding, “What the hell happened?”
“Building came down.” Where is he? He sounds close. “I don’t have anything better for you, sir. Sorry.”
“Don’t know. Can’t really get up and see.”
“Talk to me.”
He is close. Like, five feet away. His goggles are still on, but his gas mask has been pulled down around his neck. He’s also pinned under a desk and a beam. That...can’t be good.
“Whacked my head on something,” he’s saying. “Think it broke my earpiece.”
“Cracked ribs, I think. And I think my leg’s broken, but I don’t wanna try and find out.”
“Don’t. Okay...yeah, that doesn’t look good.”
“I’m looking at a video. What the hell--it’s gonna take us a little bit to get down there. Do not move. Are you in imminent danger of bleeding out?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Keep it that way. We’ll be in contact. Doc says no naps.”
“I’m an adult, I’ll nap if I want.”
Another voice comes in. An angry voice.
“If I get there, and you’re anything less than perky, it’s your ass. And by your ass, I mean we’ll donate you to a beauty school.”
“I’ll be perky.”
“You’d better be. Over and out.”
He sets the radio down and Jim makes his way over. Across the room, Harvey’s doing a roll call.
“Mayor.” Now that he’s off the radio, his voice sounds a lot more strained. “You good?”
“Better than you.”
“I’ve had worse. Got stabbed a few years ago; that was nasty.”
“Anything I can do?” He doesn’t want to move anything. Not unless that’s literally the only option.
“Nah-uh. They’ll be here soon.”
Jim sort of doubts it, but he keeps his mouth shut.
“So which one are you?” he asks instead. Hood’s got a few of them-nobody’s really sure how many-but the only one Jim can pick out for sure is the giant. This one just laughs, tight and pained, and takes a shaky breath.
“Let’s not get into that.” Another slow, careful inhale. “We both know you won’t like the answer.”
Hi! Could I ask for a fluffy parental Shaak Ti ficlet with either little Domino squad or some tubies (or both)?
So this is literally one of the sweetest things I have ever thought of, I don't know why I never thought of writing Shaak Ti with the tubies before!
But anyway, thank you @babynonbinarywitch for the prompt. I had a lot of fun writing this, especially of thinking of it from the tubies point of view and how they know how they're feeling but they can't put the words to it.
Got a few more words than the last one, 532 words in 20 minutes, which I'm quite proud of. Thank you to @eyayah-oya for giving it a quick read for me, as I didn't trust my work tired eyes to notice any mistakes.
Word of warning, there is a slight undertone/hint of child neglect on the part of the Kaminoans but nothing is explicitly said.
Ship: No ship
Warnings: No warnings apply
Tags: Tubies, Shaak Ti, baby Fives, slight undertones of child neglect, from the point of view of a baby
He didn’t have the words for it, but if he did he would say that the world around him was bright. When it had been so dark for the months that he had been inside, the bright white of the room around him was too much. It made his eyes water and when he cried they watered even more.
The blanket that he was wrapped in was scratchy. He didn’t know that the feeling had a name but he knew what the feeling was. It made his skin feel wrong in all of the wrong ways. He wanted the warmth of the water back. When he didn’t have to think about anything, when he never knew hunger or tiredness or pain. When he last felt safe.
He could feel the plastic walls around him, when he managed to free himself from the blanket he could feel the cold and the hard material above him and to the right and left. He couldn’t move like he used to. He couldn’t understand that before he was also encased. He couldn’t comprehend that there was a time before now. He only knew the now, the next meal, the next change.
And sometimes, sometimes he knew the warmth.
Someone would come. And she was colourful. And her voice was soft and kind and she held him close and she fed him and she changed him and she sang to him and she played games with him and she soothed the pains that he had and she never left him to cry alone.
He couldn’t understand what she said, he didn’t even know they were words, but he knew that the sound was comforting.
“Hello there again little one,” Shaak Ti spoke softly as she scooped the tubie out of his bassinet. The label on the edge of the cot labelled him as CT-5555. Shaak Ti had learned to process through her feelings when she saw the tubies numbers, instead of names. She had wanted to name them, but the older clones had explained the importance of choosing their names and what it meant to them. And she would not take that away from them. She rocked the little one in her arms and smoothed a hand over the forming curls. “Time for a bottle I think.”
The child gurgled, and Shaak could feel his joy at her hold radiating out into the force. She knew that they all benefited from the touch of another living being but she was only one person, and she could not give them all the contact they needed every single day. But while she could she stretched herself as far as possible and moved between different batches.
“And this is for you,” Shaak smiled as the child let out a squeal and sucked hungrily on the presented bottle. She held him as close as she could, for the time that she could, and she would never let them hurt the babies again. “I’m sorry I can’t hold you for longer little one, but while I am here, know that you are loved. And you are your own person, and one day you will grow into a strong and determined young man.”
Thirst imagine: I catch my respective duros husband fresh out of shower with nothing but towel on his waist.... Oh boy the things I would do 😏.
Oooh, imagine indeed...
Warning: Adult themes / implied adult scenarios
Cad Bane would be amused, and most likely unable to hide his conceit or egotism if he caught you drooling over him in a towel.
He knows he is desirable and uses this to his advantage.
He would tease you on purpose.
He might even give you a little show if he’s feeling in a playful mood just to get you all riled up before he either kriffs your brains out, or leaves you high and dry, depending on if he has any prior engagements, though he can stand a quickie.
Cad had taken a trip to the refresher – that was nothing out of the ordinary, but you were somehow still amazed at the affect his wiry form had on you in nothing but a towel. His head and chest was bare, but his waist was covered; watching him made you feel somewhat like a voyeur – ohh, and he was muscular, lean; fit like a well-oiled machine.
The Duros caught you staring; your mouth was hanging open - you had let the datapad you were enthralled with rest upon your lap. His arm went up; he pressed an elbow into the frame of the refresher door; crossed his shins, his ruby eyes blinking languidly at you before he glanced down casually. He studied his adept hand; his own fingers, in a show of pure, nonchalant amusement at your arousal - he drawled out a joke to your surprise. “Keep starin’, gonna hafta charge you, lil’ lady.”
Shriv would most likely be minding his own business, not thinking anything one way or the other about the fact he was almost naked, or that there might be any repercussions for this as you witness him loafing about the base in nothing but a towel.
When he catches you staring, he might blush, or slowly start to realize you are having sexy thoughts about him.
He would take the opportunity to crack a joke unless he’s feeling shy for whatever reason. Maybe that salacious look you gave him set off something in the “prey “ side of his brain. ( She’s after me, run!!)
Of course, he wouldn’t turn down your advances unless he has places to be, such as a very important meeting with the general.
Shriv emerged from the refresher after a long, luxurious shower – it was a luxury in the middle of a Rebellion, and he savored it; made sure not to take it for granted. He had nothing but a towel on that was wrapped around his waist as he meandered throughout the dorm, looking for his uniform. You had laundered it, and forgotten to put it back where it belonged.
“Hey, fullua? Have you seen my-”
You were staring at him, your datapad’s stylus locked between your teeth – you looked like you planned to eat him, and it sent a shiver of fear down Suurgav’s spine – the good kind.
“M-my .. my uh .. uniform?” He stuttered out, his hand rising to cup the back of his bulbous head. He rubbed it, one eye squinting in a display of incredulity. He’d seen that look before and knew what the kriff it meant.
“Ooh, you’ve gotta bad idea
Meowmoru - a fic prompt
A long time ago, somewhere between kitten herding videos and deciding Mamoru likes back scratches more than your average person, I had a silly idea.
Below is a fic snippet I wrote, and the prompt is just to write what happens next. I thought it'd be fun to see what other people come up with.
Who is Usagi with?
And yes, how could they tell??
~ * ~ * ~
"Usagi, why did you bring all these kittens home???"
"Because one of these is Mamo-chan and I can't tell which one and he'd be so mad if I left him at the pound! I'm already so embarrassed I can't tell him apart from a real cat!"
Imagine, after Akari discovers a way to return home and tells Ingo, he agrees to accompany her as it’s not safe to travel such a dangerous track alone. He informs the Pearl Clan of his ￼ decision, Irida is saddened to say goodbye but understanding of his choice to return to the time he came from. Then Ingo tells his Lady Sneaseler…
He expects her to be upset by his choice, after all she had done form him. Saving his life in the icelands, giving him a purpose among the Pearl Clan, becoming his closest friend in a way that reminded him so much of those warm purple flames that haunt his memory.
Instead of anger or betrayal, she just nods, before turning away and climbing up the mountain. Ingo is left standing alone in the cold wind as he watches her ascent. He then straightens up, tugs his cap down over his eyes, and returns to Jubilife Village.
Hours later, as they’re all saying their final goodbyes before Akari summons Arceus, Ingo can’t help but glance toward the mountains after every hug or handshake. Irida tries to comfort him, assuring she’ll make absolutely sure that whoever fills his position will take the best care of Lady Sneasler and her kits.
It’s then that the clawed Noble of the Highlands makes her ￼appearance, accompanied by some of her mature sneasel offspring and her basket clearly carrying something heavy within it. Ingo is surprised but grateful to see her one last time.
Except it’s not the last time at all, as Lady Sneaseler hands her eldest kit a razor claw and then joins Ingo beside Akari as every one watchers her kit evolve into the next Pearl Noble of the highlands.
After the ￼initial shock Ingo quickly realized what this all meant and is so very moved that she would choose to stay beside her warden. He asks if she’s sure, as while he can’t remember the details of his home, he knows it’s dramatically different from Hisui and she may become the only one of her kind. She just smirks and opens her basket to ￼reveal her latest clutch of eggs, safely secured in enough fur, feathers, and foliage for a safe travel to their new home.
And so, this is how just a few weeks later, after finally being reunited at long last with his brother, Emmet got to experiance the joy of being severely poisoned by a half dozen tiny purring sneaslets.
The Church of Saint Pearl, patron of the harvest and victory in battle. They say she so loved her kingdom that her soul was intertwined with its very soil, that it could be felt in each new bloom and green stem. They say she was a powerful warrior who battled demons and monsters, seeking peace and glory. They say that when the fires and floods came to burn her crops and wither her people she gave everything to save them; they say the Sun and Moon shone bright in her eyes until the end.
There’d always been something familiar about her. He could never quite place it, exactly, but… sometimes, in the candle-lit emptiness of the church, he thought he could hear her laugh. It was a mischievous laugh, kind and easy-going, and he would smile at the sound—how could he not?—and he’d turn as though to greet her, and only then would he remember. He was alone, of course. Just an angel and the painting on the wall.
Scholars had long debated over those strange shapes behind her: an unusual red, curling up the way haloes don’t. But they, too, felt familiar to him, in a way that made his hands shake and his mouth go dry. He never mentioned it, of course. It was unbecoming of an angel to dream of smoke and rot. To wake with the taste of iron on his tongue and an ache behind his eyes, echoes of a horrible regret burning through him. No, he would say nothing, and let them trust in him as a protector. Just as Pearl—no, Saint Pearl, he corrects, his gaze drawn back to her smile—just as she had been.
They say she was a martyr, but he always felt like she could have been a friend.
“My body is buried in the woods.” Danny said one day, completely randomly to his number one bully since junior high. Dash Baxter stared at him, hand still grabbing a fistful of the other guys shirt while he processed the preposterous words spoken in that moment. He drops Fenton.
“Harhar Fenton, real funny.” Dash rolled his eyes, while he still bullied Fenton, it wasn’t like he didn’t also find his weird antics kind of funny. He was a freaky dude, and everyone knew he said the most out of pocket things. It made him unique in a strangely endearing yet annoying way.
“I’m being serious.” Danny says with a completely serene face, “It’s under a nice flowering tree. I buried it there myself you know.”
Dash backed up and laughed nervously, “Alright Fenton. I get it I’ll back off today. You’re being fucking weird today.”
Danny shrugs, “Just wanted to get it off my chest. Bye.”
The nerd walked off, holding his bag and disappearing around a corner to get to class. Against his better judgement, Dash felt strangely terrified feelings rush up his spine. He finds himself thinking about the exchange all day, not that he tries too hard to forget it.
Two nights later Dash is hauling a shovel into the woods with Kwan, who thinks he’s being dramatic, to find a flowering tree.
To his surprise he finds bones.
Alternative: Zuko goes to a bingo game and is adopted by the local senior center.
High school AU.
The bingo center seniors watch as some really expensive car slams to a stop in the middle of the street, just out front. It is the middle of a thunderstorm, raining in absolute sheets, and the driver (is that Ozai? CEO of Burn Puppies It's A Renewable Resource, Inc?) gets out in an absolute RAGE, stomp-splashes around to the passenger side, and hauls out said passenger by the arm. Dumps him in the street. Drives away, with very little regard for whether his limbs are out of the way.
Enter Zuko, drenched to the bone, who is huddling in the entryway to get out of the rain while systematically dialing through his contacts for someone who can give him a ride, maybe a couch to sleep on for the night, no uncle it's not an emergency, he didn't realize you were still out of town at the pai sho tournament, NO absolutely do NOT come home it's not important and he's hanging up now BYE--
"Bingo," says Bumi, who does not have a bingo, but somebody has to break the silence.
"You absolutely do not," says Pakku, who is promptly elbowed by the Ferry Ticket Lady.
The soaked teen is now on call three, I understand that your parents are home, Mai, but I really did mean the couch--
"Why don't you take a seat, young man," Gyatso says, sometime after call number five.
Hama grudgingly makes room for him under the prime Heating Vent Seating, but only because Kanna shoves her butt over.
Anyway that's how the Gaang show up to collect their respective elderly family members at the end of bingo night
Only to find Zuko, terrifying transfer student, wrapped up in every available afghan, aggressively learning how to knit.
different kind of writers be like..........
Zeus slammed down the doors to Olympus, storming into the room with enough rage to cause the room to flash with lightning.
“I THOUGHT WE HAD AN AGREEMENT!”
The gods that had gathered blinked in confusion, looking around the room to see who Zeus was yelling at. It was quickly deducted that the lightning god was glaring at the god of the underground, who jumped at the realization.
“Are… you mad at me?” Hades asked.
“YES I’M MAD AT YOU! We had an AGREEMENT! No more demi god kids!” Zeus fumed.
“Aren’t we past this? Only you and Poseidon broke that agreement. And Nico happened before that agreement so he didn’t count. You two are the fuck ups.” The dark god huffed in annoyance.
“Oh? You’re innocent, huh?” Zeus sneered before he stormed over to his brother and slammed down his fist in front of him. “Then explain THIS!”
Zeus opened his fist to reveal a small, pale, teenaged boy with raven black hair and pale blue eyes. He glanced around the room in confusion, then up at the arguing gods, “what the fuck-?”
“DUDE THAT’S NOT MINE,” Hades exclaimed.
“Do the thing,” Zeus commanded the kid.
The kid just shrugged and then suddenly, white rings wrapped around his waist and split, running up and down his body and changing his appearance, no, his form. All the gods in the room recognized the feeling of death the moment the boy changed.
“THATS YOUR KID ASSHOLE!” Zeus shrieked.
Hades in turned scrambled onto his chair the moment the kid changed, as if spotting a mouse scurry along the floor, “WHAT THE FUCK-?!?”