#so i kind of spiraled yesterday and tried so hard to figure out what i could have as a plan B

[lizzieisright]

At least I got you in my head (8) (end)

(7)

Summary: Abby is straight. And then you move in with her.

Tags: modern au, fem!reader, straight!abby (she is doing some comphet bullshit), pining, idiot in love and it's abby, reader is gay and tired.

Notes: finally, you both figure your shit out.

Taglist: @abbyily @lillysbigwilly @gravygranules @blairfox04 @frogtits1 @ccinnamongrl @ninazenuk @urmomsgirlfriend1 @sunkissedbibi @couchgarbage @nil-eena @inlovewithelliewilliams @st4rluvrr @mai5mai @machetegirl109 @azelmawrites @rhae-blackqueen @vea-vea-vea @mnim58e @chubeline @strgrlxox @chrry1ovr @littletinyladybugs @shaemonyou @luvrmunson @saffronssapphic @zootedhoe @2012wannabe @elcantsleep

Thank you guys for reading this story and enjoying it! I was very excited when I wrote this chapter and I hope you'd like it too. For some reason Electric love by Børns was playing in my head the whole time as I wrote the reunion part. And the last lines are reference to the Sleepover by Hayley Kiyoko.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Abby spent her Sunday thinking and thinking and thinking. Even if she wanted to stop she just couldn't, spiralling into the rabbit hole of "does she like me? Do I like her? No, she doesn't like me. I do like her." on repeat. It was still hard to wrap her head around it - in two days her whole perception of herself just turned upside down. And it was good - it always feels good to get rid of this amount of guilt and shame - but it also left Abby in front of metaphorical crossroads and the obvious “what’s next?”.

Abby jumped from being so sure in her feelings to backtracking into “I just figured out my sexuality I need more time”, which was well, true - she did need more time to just..let the knowledge settle.

But you still weren’t home, and her thoughts were too focused on you. Yes, Abby just figured everything out, but the dam that kept her feelings unnoticed broke and now Abby felt everything. The itch she had in her hands before because she wanted to touch you? It was constant now. The desire to call you and just talk? Relentless. She never felt this way about anyone - which was understandable, it’s hard to fall in love with people you’d better be friends with - and the intensity of her feelings was scaring her at times.

Abby spent the first half of Sunday moping around while Ellie provided her silent emotional support and just played games with Abby to keep her occupied. But now and then she’d drift back into her spiralling.

“Abs, until you talk to her all your thoughts have some probability of happening. And it means you’re wasting time, okay? You need to chill.”

“Ellie. Two days ago I learned I’m gay and yesterday I realised I like my roommate. What chill are you talking about?”

“Okay, yeah, my bad. But this spin cycle won’t give any kind of results. Reflect all you want or whatever, but until you talk to her you won’t have an answer.”

“I’m not even sure I want one.”

“You want one, dude. Believe me.” Ellie said somehow menacingly, and Abby didn’t argue.

After Ellie left Abby tried to pick her thoughts apart again, but there was nothing new in her poor brain. Abby felt tired and not lost, but definitely in a dead end. So she decided to use one of her favourite coping mechanisms and hit the gym. The gym always helped, especially with emotions - Abby could box if she was angry or do compounds to concentrate on her form instead of her thoughts, she could stretch just to torture herself and concentrate on physical pain.

Abby packed her bag and went to the gym, hoping for some kind of relief and honestly? A fucking break. She was extremely tired of constant anxiety that changed to sweet memories of you and then changed back to anxiety. Abby wasn’t used to this, so it was taking a huge toll on her - a toll big enough to gain courage to tell you everything. Ellie was right - she needed an answer if she preferred to stay fucking sane.  

And the gym helped. Abby did her safest routine, worried she’d get stuck in her head and hurt herself if she did something different, and while Abby was counting reps and measuring time for the rest period, she didn’t think of you. Her only concern was her form and the mental maths of how much weights she needed to place, how to breathe properly and how to place her feet correctly for the squats.

But the moment Abby left the gym, her thoughts were back. Maybe you already came back home? All your books for tomorrow were at home, you needed them, right? Did you have spare clothes at Cait’s? (where else you’d be? At Vi’s? Abby didn’t even want to entertain the idea, and really, it didn’t seem like you) Abby wasn’t sure if texting you would be a right move right now - she needed space and you probably needed it too. But fuck she missed you.

Abby checked her phone in case there are any messages from you, any messages, even if you'd call her a bitch or something. Just. Any indication you were still in her life.

But no. There was nothing, and the apartment was silent and empty when Abby came back.

Monday went over Abby's head, she couldn't concentrate on her classes which was very surprising: she could go with no sleep and still be present during lessons, but today all she could think about was you. The guilt and shame mixed with excitement and hope and it was driving her insane, being pulled apart by polar emotions like that. Now all these stupid stories from how painful it was to be in love finally made sense to Abby - before you she was never really in love with anybody, but now? Now all these tears and desperation and grand gestures made sense. Coming back to exes? Made sense, because she’d crawl back to you without a question. Forgiving anything? Made sense too.

Fuck, people were really right when they said how powerful love was and what things it made them do for it. And even if it was painful and confusing, Abby felt happy about it, as if her unbearable feelings were a proof of her own humanity. A lot of people before told her she was cold and heartless - Ellie joked about it a lot when Abby didn’t hesitate to tell someone who liked her to fuck off - and sometimes it got to her. Now though? Feeling the sharpest needle going through her heart when she thought of you telling her to fuck off? This pain made Abby feel alive.

Later at practice Abby saw Vi - they didn’t train with each other, different weights, but the days were the same - and Abby expected Vi to be angry at her, but not only Vi wasn’t angry, she actually looked at her sympathetically, as if she knew what was happening in Abby's soul. The guilt and shame were back - yes, Abby was still jealous and yes she still wanted to break every knuckle on Vi’s hands for touching you - but she was self-aware enough to understand that Vi wasn’t a part of this. It wasn’t Vi’s fault that Abby had issues.

And the thing was - Vi was actually fucking nice. Abby didn’t talk to her a lot, but she knew Vi’s story and she admired how hard-working she was and how she stayed herself after all the shit she’s been through. Ellie called her cool, and Ellie didn’t call anyone cool, so Abby felt like she fucked up here too.

But the stakes weren't that high - it wasn't like they were friends in the first place - so Abby decided to make amends. She braced herself for the uncomfortable conversation and went over to Vi's locker when they were changing.

"Hey." Vi looked at her, surprised, but she didn't seem hostile, so Abby continued. "I wanted to say sorry for the other day. I was an asshole for no reason."

"Don't stress." Vi smiled. "I wasn't offended."

"Yeah well. I still said some shit. Sorry again."

"It's okay." Vi seemed to hesitate before speaking next. "(Y/n) was really upset."

"Yeah. I know." Abby nodded, trying to conceal her hurt.

"Do you plan on talking to her?" Vi asked carefully again as she put her shirt on.

"Yes."

"Cool."

It seemed like the conversation was over and Abby went back to her locker, taking her bag out and putting her sweaty uniform inside. She felt relieved after that - if this went well, maybe it will go well with you too. Vi put her things in her bag and walked to the exit while Abby was still changing, deep in her thoughts.

"Have you figured it out yet? Why you got so angry?" Vi asked cautiously, stopping right before leaving.

Abby froze, surprised, as she stared at her t-shirt.

"Was it really that obvious?"

Vi shrugged.

"Kinda. You know, the spidey sense. It's not about your looks, it's just… you can tell."

"Gay aura." Abby smirked, remembering Ellie’s words.

"Gay aura." Vi chuckled. "Good luck, Abby."

"Thanks."

And her words were genuine.

You were still pretty shaken up after the fight - not because of the fight itself or Abby’s words, but because it felt like you were hit with reality in a way that broke your stupid rose coloured glasses. And for some reason it was hard to come to terms with the fact that you overestimated yourself: how you acted based on your emotions instead of using your fucking brain - which is understandable, people lose their brains when they’re in love - and the result was the same. You weren’t planning on confessing at all, instead trying to get over Abby, and it led to the same outcome - you two weren’t talking.

You kept thinking about if you made the right choice by never bringing up the “maybe you’re not so straight” topic with Abby - maybe you should have? Just very carefully? Just nudge her in the right direction? Was it too late to do that now?

Huh, what a fun conversation it could be “hey, maybe you were so angry at me not because I made you uncomfortable in your own home but because you’re gay and jealous?” (which was in fact Cait's entire point about this fight). Even if this would go well, Abby being gay didn’t equal Abby being gay for you.

God, what if Abby would start bringing girls over once she would be out? “Thanks (y/n) for helping me figure out my sexuality, now I’m going to fuck every gay girl on campus because I’m hot as fuck and they all drool over  me”. Fuck.

At this point it was hard to differentiate between your rational thoughts and irrational thoughts: where did your concerns end and overthinking started? You felt confused and all over the place, and even though you knew the only way to fix it was to come home and face Abby, you were too much of a coward to do it.

Obviously you'd say you were sorry. And you would stop bringing girls over because she was uncomfortable with it and you weren't an asshole. But you felt like this talk would be only the cover of the real problem - this situation happened not because you were selfish (not entirely), but because you wanted to get over Abby as fast as possible. For some reason you felt like you had to tell Abby you were in love with her - otherwise you had a feeling you were taking advantage of her with the amount of touch and care that was between you. For you these hugs and cuddles and small kisses on your cheeks weren't platonic or friendly, and now when you finally admitted your defeat, you couldn't pretend it was something else.

So you had two choices: tell Abby you were in love with her and let her decide how to change her boundaries or distance yourself from her as far as possible. And if you were younger you'd probably choose the second option - it was way easier than being honest and getting rejected. But this way you'd lose her as a friend and leave both of you with hurt and anger towards each other. And Abby would probably call you out on this and you'd have to tell her what was wrong with you anyway.

So your only option was to confess and face whatever would come out of it. And it was scary.

That was the reason why instead of going home on Monday you still came back to Cait - you couldn't lie to Abby but you couldn't tell her the truth either, so, as one of the cartoon characters said, there was a third option: doing nothing. And you chose it.

Caitlyn wasn't happy with your choice, staring you down as you took your shoes off.

"You're running away from your problems."

"I'm doing nothing about my problems. There's a difference." You sighed tiredly and put your coat on the clothing rack.

Cait stared you down, frowning, but you didn’t have energy to argue with her, so you went straight for the shower. It didn’t help much with your thoughts, but the weight of your anxiety got smaller.

from: Vi

Abby just apologised to me

You stared at your phone as your feelings flooded your chest - Abby was stubborn but she was good. She was doing what was right, she fucking apologised to Vi, and here you were, too scared to face her. If Abby said sorry she felt guilty, and it meant she was hurting while you were hiding from her. You could wallow in misery all you wanted, but the thought that you were dragging Abby down with you made you feel sick. You loved her too much to let your fears hurt her.

to: Vi

How is she?

from: Vi

She got hit in the face

Three times

so

shitty

The guilt washed over you. For Abby to be this unfocused? It meant she was really worried and upset, and you needed to stop it. Fuck it if you couldn’t confess yet, but you needed to resolve this situation and stop indirectly torturing Abby.

to: Vi

Can we reschedule our lesson tomorrow?

from: Vi

Yeah no problem

You locked your phone and went over to Caitlyn, who was reading.

“I’m going home tomorrow.”

“Thank god.” Caitlyn rolled her eyes.

“She apologised to Vi.”

“Amazing.”

“By the way, can I give Vi your number?”

Caitlyn stopped reading and you noticed her pink blush. It was faint, but after years of friendship you knew what it was - you weren’t surprised, Vi was hot and Caitlyn thought she was smart, so of course your question got a reaction out of her.

“Aren’t you two involved?”

“We’re friends. If it’s a no it’s okay. I can totally see why it’d bother you.”

“It doesn’t bother me. I’m not an idiot, I’ve noticed how she looked at me.” Caitlyn was creepily observant and awfully honest. Thank god she didn’t embarrass Vi right then and there, because Cait was unhinged like that. “Give me her number, I’ll text her myself.”

“Cait, you’re terrifying.” You said honestly. “She is sweet, don’t hurt her.”

Caitlyn stared at you like you were an idiot and you just silently showed her Vi’s number so she could copy it.

Three days. It’s been three days since the fight and Abby was exhausted. She couldn’t even sleep, creeped out by the silence in your apartment, twisting and turning the whole night, and if she fell asleep she dreamt of you - either the fight played out differently (you didn’t leave and Abby confessed) or it was 100 and 1 scenario of your reunion.

But then Abby woke up and you weren’t there. She hated how quiet the place was.

At least Abby could concentrate during her classes, even though she opened her dms every 10 minutes trying to gain courage to text you. Why was it this hard? By the end of the day she chickened out and decided to text you if you wouldn’t be home today too. And for some reason Abby was sure you wouldn’t be home when she’d come from classes today. It seemed like you were still pretty mad at her - oh, that was why she was too afraid to text you. Abby - now calmed down, guilty Abby - was not prepared for your wrath if it was still there. And she’d prefer to have it fall on her in person than over a stupid text.

Abby opened the door to your apartment and froze right in the doorway. She could hear the TV from the living room, she saw the lights faintly lightning the hallway and fuck, there were your shoes.

You were home.

Abby took her shoes and her coat off in record time and stormed to the living room. You were sitting on the couch, your legs under you, and you smiled at her sheepishly, as if you weren’t sure that Abby’d be happy to see you. Abby took a deep breath as her heartbeat went absolutely crazy.

“You’re home.” Abby sighed, still so shocked she thought she was dreaming again, her bag falling from her shoulder to the floor with a thud.

“Hi.” You said in a small voice and Abby couldn’t take anymore - you were there and you were smiling at her and she missed you so fucking much.

Abby almost ran to you, scooping you in her arms as you yelped in surprise - fucking hell Abby was strong to pull you up like that.

“You’re home.” Abby murmured into your neck, breathing you in, the same spice and mint as always. You hugged her shoulders and breathed her in too - you missed her crazy. Abby was solid against you and her hand on the small of your back kept you pressed into her as if she was afraid you’d disappear. You clung to her, as you became aware how much you missed her warmth - how did you survive these three days without Abby?

“I’m sorry, I was so selfish.” You told Abby while she pressed you flush against her.

“God, I’m so sorry too, I didn’t mean a word of what I’ve said to you.” Abby said into your hair, her voice soft and quiet and full of remorse. You hummed, comforted by her arms around you, her blonde hair tickling your nose. Abby smelt like home, like someone who would protect you from anything and whatever she said to you on Saturday didn’t matter anymore.

Abby inhaled your scent and closed her eyes, basking in you. She physically couldn't let you go now when she's got you, knowing now why it felt so good to hold you and not being ashamed or anxious about it. Fuck. To hell with it, Abby's never been a coward.

"I figured my shit out." Abby's voice was steady, but her heart sounded like drums in her ears.

"What do you mean?" And your heart was not any better.

"You told me to figure my shit out. I did. I wasn't angry because you were disturbing me or something." Abby pressed you even closer, grounding herself in your presence. "I was jealous."

It was suddenly hard to breathe and you froze in Abby's arms. Did she mean what you thought she meant? God, please, let it be what you so desperately wanted it to be.

Abby moved away a little so she could look at you, because if Abby would get her heart broken now she at least could get it broken looking into your eyes.

"I like you." Abby breathed out and the wave of painful relief hit her. It was good to let it out, as if someone cut open an aching injury and yeah, she was bleeding, but it felt better.

Your brain fully shut down as your ears rang from her words - was it even real? Was it your Abby or another dream? But it was real, and Abby was looking at you, she was waiting for an answer and your own confession ripped out from your chest before you could stop yourself.

"I like you too." You felt your face heat up for some reason, but the way Abby’s eyes lit up made it all worth it.

Abby's eyes grew wide with surprise just before all her restraints crumbled. She took your face in her hands and did what she was literally dreaming about the past few nights - she kissed you. And everything exploded.

Your hands flew to Abby's face and you kissed her back desperately, pressing into her with all you had. Abby locked her arms around your waist so hard your back arched, she needed you close as badly as you needed her.

Abby never felt like this, like every move of your lips on hers set her alight and the hunger she never had before was suddenly making her greedy and desperate to touch you. As if under a spell, Abby pushed you to the couch until you hit it with the back of your knees and sat down so Abby could press you into the seat as you opened your mouth and let her tongue slip inside, making you both groan. Abby felt high from kissing you, the way you were all soft and gentle under her, but not delicate at all, she wasn’t afraid to hurt you because you were real and solid and your fingers on her neck were warm.

And it wasn't enough for Abby, she needed more, she needed to touch your bare skin - so she pushed her hand under your hoodie, kneading your side. You were warm and soft and your scent was all around her, and it was still not enough. She wanted to hear you make the same noise that you made that night for someone else - she wanted you to sigh and whimper and moan for her, she wanted to-

You pressed on her shoulders and Abby backed off, confused.

"We need to slow down." You panted, looking into Abby’s shiny eyes. She was blushing and panting as well, her hand was still on your naked waist, riding up your hoodie enough for her to see your lower stomach. Abby’s eyes went dark as she flicked her eyes from your face to your stomach and back.

"Yeah."

You both didn't move, staring at each other. Abby didn’t want to stop, she wanted to kiss you and touch you and if someone would move away first it would definitely not be her. And then you kissed Abby again, bringing her as close as possible, giving up on any rational thought in your head. You were weak, so when Abby pushed you down on the couch you happily spread your legs for her, getting wet in your pants from how delicious it felt to be opened like that. Abby’s hands roamed across your sides and your hips, groping and kneading your body as if she couldn’t get enough - and she truly couldn’t, appreciating every soft fold she made, every hard ridge digging into her palm. You sighed into her mouth and Abby just needed to press you down into this couch, moving one of her hands to caress your thigh and pull you closer. You felt dizzy, high on Abby's confident, hungry touch, the perfect balance of gentle and rough, so deliciously Abby. No one could touch you like that, like you were hers, your body and your soul, without a hesitation. Abby took what she wanted and you drank it all up.

Abby kissed your jaw and moved down to your neck, leaving an open mouthed kiss just below your ear and you let out a surprised sigh - and Abby’s brain fucking melted. She left more kisses, all shamelessly open, her hot tongue brushing over your skin just to hear you sigh like that. Abby pushed your thighs up so you could close them around her waist and slipped her hand back under your hoodie, getting dangerously close to your tits. That broke the spell on you, bringing you back to reality.

“Abby, wait.” You asked, not comfortable with how fast it was going. Abby looked up to you, waiting for what you wanted to tell her. “We really need to chill.” You caressed her cheek, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down.

Abby wanted to protest, but the horny fog started leaving her head and she understood how overboard she went just now, jumping you like this the moment you reciprocated her feelings. It was too fast.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Abby chuckled and tried to move away, but you didn’t let her, pressing her back to you.

“Just.. lie down.”

Abby listened to you, her hands still under your hoodie, but now she was just caressing your sides gently with her thumbs, sending goosebumps.

“I’ve missed you so much.” You told her as you stroke her hair.

“I’ve missed you too. The worst three days of my life.”

You laughed quietly.

“How did you figure it out?” You asked, curious. Abby sighed, but you waited.

“Oh man, this is embarrassing. I thought I was homophobic, because I hated that you were bringing girls over. Talked to Ellie, figured out I was homophobic to myself.” Abby laughed, and even though you could see the comedy in her words, you couldn't imagine what she had to go through.

“This is such a mind-fuckery.” You said sympathetically. “It must’ve felt so good to realise that.”

“It was. And then I saw you with Vi and what happened happened.”

“Oh god this is fast. Like, did you even have the time to properly process that?”

“Three days with myself would do.” Abby chuckled and you felt the guilt poking your heart.

“Sorry. I felt like I couldn’t just say sorry and move on without telling you about my feelings. But I was scared.” You admitted and Abby hummed, seeing your point. It must've been more scary for you as you knew what was happening in your head and the time turned your fear into full blown terror.  

"How long have you known?"

"That I like you? Pretty much from the beginning, but I tried really hard to stop it."

Abby laughed and you tilted your head to look at her, not understanding what was so funny.

"Remember when we hung out for the first time? When we watched that horror movie that offended you so much?"

"Yeah?"

"I was very confused why you were so far away from me. I was already into you by that point."

"I can't imagine what kind of mental somersaults you had to do to keep it hidden from yourself." You sighed and hugged her harder. “I’m very happy you’re free of the straight curse.”

Abby snorted and looked up to you, just staring, unashamed - everything about you was perfect.

“You’re so pretty.” God it felt good to say it freely, say it without shame, without broken syllables and mumbling.

You smiled and looked away, flustered, and Abby watched you with fascination - she’s never seen you like this.

“Thanks.” You tried to stop smiling but you couldn’t, and Abby’s curious and teasing gaze just made you smile more. “No, stop it.” You said, playfully stern.

“Nah, I’ll do it even more now. Seeing you crumble like this is even better than kicking your ass in Mortal Kombat.”

“Oh yeah? I still cook your food.” You threatened.

Before Abby could answer her stomach rumbled and you laughed.

“Let’s go eat.”

And everything was back to normal, but it also wasn’t. You chatted, catching up on these days you spent apart, telling each other the last gossip and complaining about classes - that was normal. But now Abby could hug you from behind and steal a kiss, her high making her bold, and you could abandon whatever you had on the stove and wrap your arms around her neck, kissing her back. Because now you didn’t have to hide from each other, second-guessing motives and actions. Now when you ate and talked you could hold hands and smile bashfully at each other, and the teasing could end in millions of short kisses. You finally let yourself hug Abby from behind while she washed the dishes and tell her what was happening with Caitlyn and Vi.  

Later you did your usual cuddle time, and Abby held you in her arms exactly like she wanted to. A few months ago you both sat on that couch - awkward and distant, too afraid of each other - to watch a movie, and now you were lying on it, kissing and cuddling, basking in each other as you gently and innocently explored what was an unattainable dream before, caressing sides and hips and ribs without heat but with a desire to get to know.

Abby swore she started to believe in magic when you touched her.

to: els

(the photo of you and Abby, Abby kissing the top of your head while you lie on top of her with the dopiest, lovesick grin on your face)

from: els

FUCK YEAH

you lucky bitch

You laughed when Abby showed you Ellie's texts and nuzzled into Abby's chest.

"Let's do a sleepover today." Abby said as she kissed your temple.

"Where?"

"In my bed."

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #aligyinmh

[quil12]

Maybe a little bit of souyo + yandere? Only if you feel comfortable writing that

I have to admit that this was really weird to write - it just goes so against my characterization for them lmao. Although, that's part of the reason why I wanted to do prompts from people - to push me a little outside of my comfort zone on things like this.

I decided to do it more on the subtle side of things.

(Sorry Rise)

Yu stared down at his phone, clutching it so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

He had woken up a few minutes ago to a phone call from Yukiko. Her words were still ringing loudly in his ears.

“Yu-kun, apparently they found another body this morning. I… From what I’ve heard, it was… it was Rise-san.”

There was no way. 

It couldn’t be true.

She wasn’t dead.

Just yesterday he had been talking to her about her dreams for the future and how she wanted to go back to being an Idol. How could the same person who had smiled so warmly at him be dead? She couldn’t be…

How had it even happened?

From the sounds of it, her body had been found in much the same manner as the other murder victims - strung up on a telephone pole.

He swallowed hard. She hadn’t deserved a death like that. No one did.

He took a deep breath, standing up. They had all agreed to go meet at the food court to talk about it. They needed to get to the bottom of this. 

He quickly got ready, then headed to the door, starting the walk toward Junes.

When he arrived, everyone was already there. There was a sort of stunned and uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the group. He sat down at the table in between Chie and Yosuke. 

“So, what exactly happened?” Yu asked, breaking the silence.

“They apparently found her early this morning. It was foggy out last night, so I can only imagine it had something to do with that,” Yukiko said, her gaze turned down at the table.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Chie said, her hands clenched into fists, “She… she was our friend and now she’s just…”

From beside him, Yosuke took a deep breath, “Could it be that because they failed last time, the killer decided to go after her again?”

They had at one point come to the conclusion that once the killer tried to kill someone that they wouldn’t try again, but could that have been wrong? What if he was going back to try and kill everyone that they had saved? 

“That’s a possibility,” Yu said. “Has anyone been into the TV World to see what was going on there?”

“I went earlier with Yosuke. It was hard to tell, but she had definitely been there,” Teddie said, tears in his eyes.

She definitely knew not to go into the TV World by herself. That could only mean that someone had forced her. It had to have been the killer…

“God damn it,” Kanji said, slamming his fist on the table, “How could we just sit back and let this happen? When I find this guy, I’m going to beat the shit out of him for this.”

Yu took a deep breath, “I think from now on, we need to make sure to check in on everyone every night - especially on nights where it’s going to be foggy. I don’t want anything like this happening to anyone else.”

There was a small chorus of agreement from around the table. 

They talked for a while longer, but they weren’t able to figure anything else out about what was going on. There was nothing that they could really do at that point. 

As he was getting up to start heading back home, Yosuke grabbed hold of his arm.

“Hey, Partner, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out today. Just to not be…” He trailed off.

A day spent with Yosuke. Despite everything, that sounded kind of nice. It would certainly be a welcome distraction from the guilt that was already spiraling inside his mind.

He nodded, “I’d like that.”

He gave him a soft smile, “What do you want to do?”

“Do you want to just come over. We can hang out in my room.”

“That works.”

At that, the two of them started walking toward the Dojima residence. He was walking a little bit closer to him than he normally would, but, if he was being honest, he enjoyed the closeness. After what had just happened, it was more than welcome.

They got back to the house, going up to his room, and sitting together on the couch. 

Almost as soon as they sat down, Yosuke wrapped an arm around him, hugging him against him. 

That was also really nice.

He closed his eyes, burying his face against his collar bone. He was just grateful for the closeness. It felt safe like this - almost as if nothing bad had happened.

“How are you feeling?” Yosuke asked after a few minutes. 

He took a shaky breath, “I just… It doesn’t feel real. I just talked to her yesterday and…”

There were tears in his eyes. He didn’t want this to be real. He wanted this to all just be a terrible nightmare that he was going to wake up from at any minute.

“Well, at least you don’t have to worry about her hanging off your arm all the time anymore.”

Yu stopped, furrowing his brow. Why had he just said that? That had been a weird thing to say. Yeah, that had made him a little bit uncomfortable sometimes at how forward it was, but it wasn’t anything that he had ever held against her. It was just her way of showing affection. 

Had he said that because he was trying to lighten the mood? There had been something extremely sincere in his voice though.

He pulled away from him, looking up at him, “Yosuke, that’s not funny. Don’t joke about things like that.”

His face immediately paled like he had just realized he had made a huge mistake.

“I… uh, sorry. I just opened my mouth without thinking. Sorry.”

Yu bit his lip. That had been really off. He genuinely didn’t seem the type to take something like this so lightly. Then again, it was possible that he really had just spoken without really thinking about what he had said. 

“Well, think more before you speak next time.”

He winced, “Sorry.”

He was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt on that. Even so, there was something tugging at the back of his mind, telling him that something was off.

He decided not to pull at that thread, instead, just laying his head back onto his chest, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heart.

Yosuke brought his hand up, beginning to gently run his fingers through his hair.

Gradually, his eyelids started to become more and more heavy as he fell into unconsciousness, so warm and safe in Yosuke’s arms. 

#souyo #fanfiction

[heliads]

hi, I just found your account and your Pietro imagines are just... I can't. Thank you so much, i feel blessed💕.

I'd like to request one: teen!Pietro realised he is crushing on y/n, hard. Now to figure out what she likes, get it and hopefully the outgoing y/n feels just the same, but he forgot the most important thing: ask her to be there for the surprise.

Again, such a blessing, I love reading your stuff so much!!!!!

pietro my beloved

masterlist

Pietro Maximoff has been working at this for weeks, and finally, finally, it’s all just about perfect. As he takes a final look around at his efforts, he has to force himself to not get lost in the pointless details. This is as good as it’s going to get, and as much as he would love to slow time down and give him even just a few more hours to iron out the last details, he’s done for now.

By his side, someone chuckles derisively at his nerves. Pietro glances over his shoulder to see his twin sister, Wanda, looking at him like he’s out of his mind. In all honesty, Pietro probably is. The stress of getting this right is making him lose it.

“I have to admit, I’m a little confused as to why you’re so worried about all of this,” Wanda comments, “Is she going to kill you if she doesn’t like what happens here? Is that why you’re trembling like a hypothermic child?”

Pietro scoffs, although his voice isn’t nearly as confident as he’d like. “Of course not. This is nothing major. Just a little extra effort on my part to make sure Y/N is even more inclined to say yes when I ask her out.”

Wanda rolls her eyes theatrically. “If the thought of some mild rejection is what’s making you so stressed, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down. There’s no way Y/N is going to say anything but yes.”

Pietro arches a suspicious brow. “How do you know that?”

Wanda shrugs her shoulders gracefully. “Everyone knows it except you. Both of you are head over heels for each other, it’s just that you two are too proud to admit it. Today should change things, though.”

“Are you sure?” Pietro asks, still desperate for some sign that he isn’t about to make a total fool of himself.

Wanda nods. “She likes you a lot. Just take a deep breath, okay? It wouldn’t do to have you asphyxiate before Y/N even shows up.”

Pietro does his best to keep his breathing even just as his sister suggested, but all the extra silence does is send his thoughts spiraling back into the same pattern of fears:  Y/N won’t like him, she won’t like this, she’ll laugh in his face when Pietro asks her out.

That’s what he’s here to do, after all, ask out the girl of Pietro’s dreams. It seems like just yesterday that Pietro met Y/N for the first time, but ever since that one brief encounter, he’s been hooked on her. He doesn’t think he could walk away if he tried. In his dreams, it’s just him and her forever, with nothing to get in the way of their happiness.

Obviously, that’s a little far-fetched. Sokovia isn’t kind to its dreamers, nor its lovers. It feels like the streets descend more into madness every day. Pietro knows he’s taken part in a riot or two himself, usually accompanied by Wanda to make sure one of them didn’t come home to an empty house. He’s heard rumors of protestors disappearing out of the blue, at least now they’ll know what happens if one twin gets dragged off.

Usually, Pietro’s mind refuses to stop tormenting him with thoughts of the desolation and despair that will surely befall them. He and Wanda have been on their own for a while now, and even though they’d swear to the stars and back that all they need is each other, it still hurts to be so alone. The shells haven’t stopped falling, and every time he hears that familiar whine of machine fire, all he can think about is that day he lost his parents.

He’s been trying to find a way to fight back for a while now. Pietro has heard talk of a scientist coming to Sokovia within a year or so, far enough in the future that he has plenty of time to think about it without committing to anything. Apparently, they’re offering a better future to anyone willing to sign up to help them.

The amount of radio silence regarding whatever that ‘help’ would be concerns Pietro, but it’s not like he’s got any better options. He’s spent many nights sitting in the darkness, their power out yet again thanks to the riots or bombs steadily dropping from their indigo sky. Devastation is his closest friend, it refuses to let him be.

That hasn’t been the case recently, however. Pietro never thought he’d find something strong enough to instill even a little bit of optimism in his sunken chest, but now he’s grinning like an idiot and practically skipping as he walks. He doesn’t know what sort of magic spell Y/N’s cast on him, but he’s enthralled by it now.

Perhaps being lovestruck is the best thing to happen to Pietro in his entire life. For once, he doesn’t see the dust caking the streets, nor the chunks of concrete spilling out from the sidewalks, but the dandelions determinedly sprouting out of cracks, the sunshine tumbling out from behind the clouds. He’s got reasons to make his life matter, and they’re not centered around a fight.

Love has changed him, certainly. Wanda likes nothing better than to tease him about how lost he is on Y/N, but he knows that she’s just happy to see him happy. Life has been hell for the Maximoff twins, at least one of them gets to find someone to make their world feel complete.

Pietro can’t stand waiting a day longer. That’s why he’s gone to the trouble of today, the perfect opportunity to ask Y/N out. After a week or two of careful consideration, he’s learned Y/N’s favorite food, her favorite flower, everything. He’s set out a picnic blanket in the intact part of their local park, and he’s just waiting for her to show up. It should take only a few more minutes now.

Wanda smacks his hand after Pietro tries to fix the napkins for the billionth time. “Those were folded at one point, you know,” she says, “Try to keep them that way.”

Pietro surrenders, removing his hands from the offending rectangles of fabric. “What do I do if she doesn’t like all of this?”

Wanda sighs, at last giving up her air of sibling superiority. “She’s going to love it, Pietro. Honestly. I wouldn’t let you embarrass yourself like this. Other days, definitely, but not today. This is going to go exactly as you’ve planned.”

Pietro nods, staring at his watch as if he expects Y/N to emerge from the cracked dial. “Then why is she ten minutes late?”

Wanda grimaces. “Maybe there was traffic?”

They glance around the streets, which are moving with perfect ease. Pietro’s mood worsens. 

“Maybe she didn’t want to come but couldn’t say it to my face.” He says tentatively.

Wanda swats his shoulder. “Y/N’s better than that and you know it. I’m sure something came up that she couldn’t avoid. Out of curiosity, what time did you tell her to arrive? We could be early.”

Pietro opens his mouth to answer her, and then a terrible fear settles over him. “I don’t think I told her a single time. I don’t think I told her at all.”

Wanda smacks a hand to her forehead. “Pietro, don’t tell me that you set up an immaculate outing without actually asking the girl to show up. Please tell me that you actually had the common sense to ask her here.”

Pietro grins weakly. “Well, at least I don’t have to worry about her ghosting me, right?”

He wants to hit himself over the head. Asking Y/N to meet him here was quite possibly the most important check on his list, and he didn’t do it. Well, at least now Pietro knows why he kept feeling like he forgot something. He forgot the girl. Wonderful.

Wanda catches at his sleeve. “Wait, you might be in luck. Is that Y/N crossing the street now?”

Pietro raises a hand to shade his eyes, and feels his heart leap in his chest. “It is. I might have a second chance.”

Wanda flashes him a thumbs up. “You’re going to do fine. I’m heading back home now, tell me how it went once the dust settles.”

His sister disappears back in the direction of their place, and Pietro is left alone with his fiercest hopes and dreams. Y/N is walking closer, although she doesn’t appear to have noticed him yet. The park is one of the prettiest places in their town, it’s why Pietro chose it as the place for their non-date. It’s no surprise that Y/N would want to walk here as well.

Y/N’s pace slows as she notices him at last. She makes her way over to him, raising an eyebrow at the setup behind him.

“Pietro, good to see you. What’s with all of this?” She asks.

Pietro chuckles awkwardly. “Nothing much. What are you doing over here?”

His tone comes out a little too forceful, but Y/N doesn’t seem to notice. “Just taking a walk. What are you doing?”

Pietro scratches the back of his head. His hair’s a little too long, it curls at the base of his neck, shading the skin. He should really cut it. He keeps seeing magazine covers, and some part of him kind of wants to bleach the curls, but it’s not like appearances should be his biggest priority right now.

“Well,” Pietro says carefully, “it’s a nice day, and I was thinking. I’ve actually set up all of this because I wanted to ask out the girl I liked.”

Pietro’s just getting started in his explanation, but the second he mentions a girl Y/N’s face falls. A sudden sadness strikes her eyes, and Pietro swears that he’s just watched a heart break before him.

She cuts him off hurriedly, as if she can’t wait to get out of here. “That sounds wonderful, Pietro. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

Y/N waves a quick goodbye and starts to head back the way she came, steps hurried. Pietro’s confused as to what just happened, and then it hits him. He never clarified which girl he’s asking out, and Y/N thinks he’s interested in someone else. Pietro still has a chance to fix this, though, Y/N’s just a few paces away.

He shouts out to her, hoping that she’s still listening. “It was you, Y/N. I was going to ask you out.”

Y/N freezes in place, then slowly turns to face him. This time, her eyes shine not with desolation but hope. “Really?” She asks, and Pietro nods.

“Really. The only problem is that I forgot to ask you here in the first place. I was so worried about getting it right that I didn’t remember the most important part, and that was you.”

Y/N’s smiling at him now, and Pietro feels as if the ground might fall apart beneath his feet, leaving him to float through the air on invisible wings.

He continues in a rush. “So, now that you’re here, will you do it? Will you go out with me?”

Y/N beams at him. “I’d love to go out with you, Pietro,” she says, and just like that, Pietro’s doing better than ever.

He tries to play it cool, of course, but she knows just as well as he does that Pietro couldn’t be happier. For once, everything is going well. Perhaps Pietro’s going to get that happy ending after all.

marvel tag list: @thatfangirl42, @rogueanschel, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @caswinchester2000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes

#pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff imagines #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff oneshot #quicksilver #quicksilver imagines #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver oneshot #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel x reader #marvel oneshot #avengers #avengers imagines #avengers x reader #avengers oneshot #mcu #mcu imagines #mcu x reader #mcu oneshot

[ayumistudies]

Wish I could just study languages for a living :/

#i think a combination of cold dreary weather with no socializing has made me kind of depressed lately #and i’ve been questioning my career choices but i have no idea what i’d go into otherwise #so i kind of spiraled yesterday and tried so hard to figure out what i could have as a plan B #everything i would be happy doing pays like shit or has no benefits #have no motivation to do my work because of how i’m feeling #really wish i could’ve gotten a therapist this past fall like i wanted to #but everyone and their mom is depressed rn bc of covid so there’s no spots open at the local places #☺️💕☺️💕☺️💕

[bucksangel]

A Love That Lasts

a/n: this is a REPOST from my old account @losaslut​ since i’m deleting that blog i’m reposting it here

Pairing: Hank Loza x Reader (non descript reader but if i missed anything please let me know)

Inspo came from this post by @withmyteeth 💕💕

Warnings: none except for tooth rotting fluff and so much love it’ll kill you

Word Count: 2.8k

Moodboard made by me

It’s nearing two in the afternoon, you’ve been cleaning and re-cleaning for about three hours now to distract you from the fact that Hank got called to go to the clubhouse. “It’s an emergency” is all he told you. Never mind that today is your anniversary, you’re more upset because it’s Saturday, a day both you and Hank agreed that nothing would get in the way of your time together. But, you understand, you’re always understanding. If the club needs him, then he’s there. But as understanding as you are it still doesn’t take away the ache in your chest from not having your boyfriend home with you.

Hence why you’re cleaning. It acts as a good enough distraction but you’re quickly derailed from your tasks by Bishop calling you, and concern is all you feel now. With the ‘emergency’ that’s happening at the clubhouse, your thoughts are spiraling, but the one at the front of your mind is that Hank is hurt, he must be.

You’re quick to answer the phone, fingers shaking and your heart pounding. “Is Hank okay?” You ask, demand really. You’re already shoving your shoes on before Bishop even speaks.

“You should get to the clubhouse, sweetheart.” Bishop’s voice is calm, almost melancholy, and you’re pushed into even more of a worry when the call cuts out.

You can’t help the tears that pool beneath your eyes, nor the shakiness of your hands as you fumble with the keys. Nor can you help the absolute dread in your heart at the thought that Hank could be hurt. He can’t be, your brain tells you, he can’t do this to you, not today. So, you rush out of the house, shoes untied, and make the ten minute drive to the clubhouse. Those ten minutes feel like ten hours, every red light only serving to aggravate you further, but it gives you time to think. Think, really, is not the right word. Worry is more like it. You spend those ten minutes worrying yourself into a panic, preparing for the what if’s.

And when you do finally make it to the clubhouse, you barely have the car parked before you’re tripping over yourself to run up the stairs and slam open the doors, searching frantically for Hank. You don’t find him though, in fact, no one is in the clubhouse. And if you weren’t in such a rush to get to your boyfriend you’d realize that none of the guys’ bikes are out front either. Looking around the room, your confusion triples. Hanging along the walls are fairy lights, meeting in the middle of the roofing to create a canopy that surrounds the lone table in the middle of the room. The lights have been dimmed, a single candle along with two plates of what you assume is Hank’s cooking (you’d recognize the smell anywhere) and an empty vase sit on the table.

You don’t have much time to figure what this could all be about before Hank comes out from the back, stepping into the light and wearing clothes he definitely did not leave the house in. He’s in his nicest pair of jeans (the only ones without grease stains), a simple black button up with the sleeves pushed to his elbows (swoon), and most notably: he’s not wearing his kutte. Now, you’re more amused than anything. It’s clear this must have been a set up, that Hank must have faked the emergency to set all of this up. For what, you’re unsure of. You could be pissed that he lied to you, pissed that he put you through the worry, and you are, sort of. Yes you’re mad that he tricked you, but you’re more in awe over the fact that he put this together for you, like something from a fairytale.

Hank is the first to step towards you, one arm is behind his back while the other reaches out to you. He takes slow and deliberate steps, and you take only one towards him before his hand grasps yours and you’re pulled into his chest, his arm wrapping around you. During this hug you recognize two things. One being that his heart is beating at a rapid pace, it thumps in his chest where your cheek lies. Two being that, with the way your arms are wrapped around his waist, you can feel flower stems. Now, it should be said that you’re not the most intuitive, but you’re starting to suspect this has to do with something bigger than just an anniversary date.

Before you know it, Hank has placed a gentle kiss to the top of your head and pulled back to really look at you. You’re starting to feel underdressed in just shorts and one of Hank’s shirts tucked into it, but with the way your man is looking at you, you can’t help but feel like the most beautiful person in the world. Your arms travel from his back to smooth over his sides and run up his chest, one hand placed behind his neck and the other one fiddling with the top two buttons of his shirt that are undone.

And you smile, you’re smiling so wide it hurts but you don’t care, all you care about is how Hank is staring at you. So much adoration pouring out of him that it makes you want to cry (but you’re using all your willpower to not, you’re going to save your tears for the end of the night). When Hank pulls the flowers from behind his back, four light pink roses (one for every year you’ve been together), you laugh. You’re not sure what else to do honestly, you’re filled with so much happiness and love for your man that it bursts out of you in a laugh that Hank swears is the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Baby-” You’re cut off by Hank kissing you, not too deep, not what some would call passionate, but a soft and slow kiss that lets you know that he’s here, he loves you and he wants you to know it. When he pulls back, your head is spinning for a different reason, spinning with love and thoughts of wanting this to last forever, until the end of time. “What’s all this about?” You breathe out, the wind almost knocked out of you while your brain tries to catch up to the situation.

Hank’s smile widens, and he lets go of you so he can walk over to the table and place the roses in the vase. Turning back to you, he extends his arm again, and once you’re close he lifts your hands up and presses a kiss to your knuckles. And once again, you’re swooning, heart so filled with something you’re sure is greater than love. “You didn’t think I would actually leave you alone on our anniversary, did you?” Hank chuckles softly, kissing your hands again before stepping to the side and pulling out a chair for you to sit in.

“How long did it take you to put this up?” You ask, looking around at the beauty that surrounds you, still in awe of it all.

“Well,” Hank chuckles again, “It was supposed to take an hour at most, but you know how the guys are with getting distracted.” Both of you laugh at this, because it’s true. You wouldn’t doubt that Angel and Coco were probably causing more of a mess than actually helping. Hank sits next to you, and takes your hand in his again. “But I will admit, this has been a few weeks of planning.”

Four years together and Hank still knows how to take your breath away, he still manages to surprise you in everything he does. But you don’t get a chance to speak before he’s pushing your plate closer to you (not his BBQ for once, but an alfredo pasta dish that you’re starting to recognize as the same dish he cooked a few weeks ago, and then again last week (probably preparing and perfecting the recipe)). So, you don’t say anything, you both dig into dinner while throwing glances at each other like teenagers going on their first date, and it’s perfect.

Dessert comes next, Hank goes to the back again and reemerges holding a pie that he definitely made himself (he’ll deny it if you tell anyone, but he does happen to be a pretty solid baker). Through dessert, you’re talking softly about anything and everything. You’re both just happy to be close and together that you don’t bother with any heavy topics. At one point, Hank makes you laugh so hard you throw your head back and snort (something that’s never happened before you met your boyfriend (because that’s how happy he makes you, so unable to control your reactions)).

And when you look up at him, ready to tell him about your adventures yesterday while visiting your mother yesterday, your voice cuts off. Hank is moving towards the bar where, how did you not notice it, a stereo rests. He’s quick to press a few buttons and a soft tune fills the air. It must be something from a symphony, with how melodic and peaceful it is. He returns to your side to pull you from your chair, and you don’t even have time to think when suddenly Hank twirls you around and pulls you into his chest. And the next thing you know, you’re being twirled all around the room, Hank’s hand covering your hand that rests on his chest and his other arm wrapped around your waist.

You’re giggling almost the entire time, both of you gazing into each other’s eyes and smiles so soft that if anyone were to see you, they’d probably be sick with how in love you two are. The songs flow into each other, and you dance for what feels like hours (realistically it’s probably been twenty minutes), no words spoken besides whispering I love you’s periodically. When the songs finally end and you’re both dizzy from the spins and the dips, you both step back from each other and again, the clubhouse is silent. It’s not an eerie kind of silence, but a pleasant one. Being with Hank has taught you that you don’t always need to talk to be able to understand what someone’s feeling. And what you’re feeling right now is an emotion so overwhelming, you do cry. You’re not sobbing, just letting out a few tears from the happiness that flows through your blood.

Hank wipes away your tears, presses a kiss to each cheek, and whisks you away to the back porch where, again, you’re caught off guard by the sheer beauty of it all. More lights are strung up on various boxes and around chairs. The fire pit is lit and the flames dance upwards, filling the space with light and warmth. It’s not until you turn around that you notice blankets and pillows piled together to create a make-shift bed. In front of the set up is the side of the clubhouse, empty. Your thoughts as to what this could be about are answered as Hank steps away from you to turn on a projector that’s sitting on top of a crate, a laptop next to it. You watch as he fiddles with the machines and when you turn back, the projector comes to life, casting light to the otherwise blank wall. When the opening credits of Little Women start playing (because let’s be real, it’s a cinematic masterpiece and the scene with Jo in the attic makes you cry every single time) you don’t bother to wait for your boyfriend while you rush to the pile of blankets (and wow does it feel like you’re on a cloud).

If you could see Hank, you’d see the nervousness plain as day etched into his face, you’d see how his hands shake ever so slightly, you’d see how he gazes at you with a love that even he can’t quite wrap his head around. But soon enough, he joins you in your own little paradise. He wraps you in his arms and lays you against his chest and kisses your head, and you know. You know that this is what heaven feels like. Laying in your man’s arms, feeling his feather-light kisses placed anywhere he can reach, feeling his love radiating off of him and getting absorbed by your mind, body, and soul.

You’re maybe halfway through the movie when Hank shifts and reaches into his pocket (trying so very hard to be stealthy so as to not alert you to what he’s doing (he does, but you don’t say anything)). When you’re both finally settled and the movie continues on, you don’t even realize Hank is fiddling with your fingers, nor do you realize the sudden cool metal that slipped onto your ring finger. It’s not until a whopping eight minutes later (Hank was counting) that he pulls your hand up to his lips and places a delicate kiss onto your knuckles. You turn in his arms, leaning your head back and using the hand that he was holding to rest on his cheek, and pull him down to meet your lips.

The kiss is soft and slow, like you’ve got all the time in the world to just sit here and relish in each other’s love. You move to deepen the kiss and then all of a sudden Hank’s pulling back, grabbing your left hand again, and placing another soft kiss to your knuckles. Only then do you realize why he’d been so focused on your hands, specifically your left one. Because on it rests the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen. Small diamonds line a gold band, with a slightly larger diamond in the middle. It’s simple, and with the lights all around you it glimmers with every twist of your hand.

You’re too stunned to speak, too in love with Hank to express how your heart is ripping apart and is being replaced by everything him. You’re staring at the ring, mouth open and tears now heavily pouring down your cheeks. And when you finally get your wits about you, you scramble to turn and face Hank, straddling him and placing both hands on his face, eyes searching desperately to find any sense of humor, any sign that he’s joking.

But you don’t find any of that. You find tears gathering in his eyes as he leans you forward to press your forehead against his. His voice is soft, almost afraid to speak too loud and ruin the moment. “Amor,” He stops, taking a deep breath before speaking again, “You’re my everything, my heart and soul, you’re the courage I need to take on anything and everything. You’re…” He pauses again, and a stray tear falls out of his left eye. He pulls you back a fraction so he can stare deep into your eyes, one hand holding your waist and the other takes your hands from his face so he can kiss them once again. “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. And I hope you keep happening to me for the rest of our lives. I’m pleading, make me the happiest man in the world and say you’ll marry me.”

Hank barely gets out the last word as you smash your lips to his, it’s a little messy, and you do miss his lips at first, but it’s perfect. You’re unable to sustain the kiss for long with how heavy you’re breathing, so instead, you peck his lips once, twice, and then one more time. And then you’re pulling back, and Hank will swear to the end of his days that you’re glowing, shining so bright as you stare at him, and he wants to make you feel like this always. He wants to make you so happy, he wants you to feel the love that he feels, the love that has consumed his entire being.

“Ask me,” You breathe out, lips curved up and shaking from the sob that’s threatening to burst. Hank looks confused at first, so you continue, “You have to ask me first, then I can say yes.”

Hank laughs, he tilts his head back to rest against the pillow behind him and looks up at you with the softest smile to ever grace his beautiful face. “I guess you’re right. So, will you marry me?” And this time, you laugh.

You’re giggling from the sheer happiness of it all, so much that you’re barely able to get out your answer, “Of course I will, handsome.”

The movie’s ended, but you and Hank are still lying wrapped in each other’s arms, content to spend the rest of your lives like this. And you’re hoping with everything in you that this love doesn’t fade, that you’ll be this happy and this in love when you’re both old and gray. But you also know that it won’t. The love you feel could never fade even if you wanted it to (and by the grace of god, you’ll never want to stop loving him).

And while you’re there, in your slice of heaven, you’re already planning the wedding in your head, too excited to become a Loza.

#let me know what yall think!! #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans fx #hank loza #hank loza imagine #hank loza fluff #hank loza x reader #my writing #bishop losa #angel reyes #ez reyes #taza romero

[tomtenadia]

A Little Braver - 17

So, as promised, part 17 is her.

Be prepared to submerge our bird boy with hugs, he will need them.

I promise the chapter will end in fluff and in a good note. The angst is only for the beginning. I need to douse it a bit since from ch 19 onwards the angst gremlin will be back with a vengeance.

I hope you will love it.

A big hug to all the people who commented, reblogged or loved this fic. Thanks to all of you.

A week had gone by and Aelin and Rowan had taken the official decision to try and go back and both deal with the mess of their lives. 

The week had been perfect. Rowan had taken her hillwalking everyday and slowly she had started to feel like herself again. His presence had helped immensely. In a very short time he had become her rock. Full recovery was still a long way ahead but she felt better and with him at her side she had no more panic attacks or nightmares. 

She felt sad at the idea of leaving the cottage in the mountains but they had promised to go back for some special occasion.

*

It was morning and Rowan was getting ready to go back to work. They had set a date for the inquiry on his student’s death and that would be the day.

For once Aelin was the one worried one. She could not forget his reaction to the movie or the night he came back drunk after Fuzzy’s death. She knew he had put up a wall but hoped he would at least let her in. 

“What are you going to do?” He asked her while adjusting his tie.

“I have a meeting with Dorian and the counsellor and then I will pop in at the station and say hi to the squad and apologise.”

“Good.” His tone was detached and she moved a step to him and hugged his waist from behind “are you okay?”

He sighed “nervous. This will mean revive the entire accident over and over again.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

He shook his head and kissed her “thanks for the offer but I will be fine. My squadron will be there and you have an important meeting as well.”

“Ok,” she wanted to believe him, but could not ignore his cold detached tone and Aelin had learned that it was his coping mechanism. He was not okay.

-

Rowan arrived at the airforce HQ and was met by Lorcan.

“Sir,” he stood to attention.

“At ease captain,” Rowan stood down from attention and placed his hands behind his back in a at rest pose “I am sorry it’s so quick. I knew you were coming back yesterday and I did manage to hold on until today.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Are you sure you are ready?” And for once Rowan heard concern in his CO’s voice “this is going to be brutal.”

“I know.”

“I am on the board too and we have Captain Walker from the 24th squadron and Captain Matthews from the 31st and two engineers. They have all copies of the inquiry sent to the board.”

“Who is the president?”

“Marshal Clark.” Said Lorcan in a preoccupied tone.

“Fuck. The man hates me with a vengeance.”

Rowan sighed again and sat on the bench just outside of the room used for the meeting.

His squad arrived a moment later and they patted each other’s back in support.

“We are all here.” Gavriel told him taking a seat at his side.

“Thanks everyone.”

One of the assistants appeared on the door and announced the board was ready to convene. Rowan quickly texted Aelin and switched off his mobile.

The marshal, being the president, was in the centre of the seating area. Rowan went to greet the other two captains with whom he got along nicely and had known for a long time. Then he went to the marshal and saluted as expected “at ease captain.”

Rowan went to his assigned seat and flipped through the folder in front of him. It contained all the documents they needed. His report of the accident, the reports from the engineering team and other supporting evidence.

Marshal Clark called everyone to attention and declared the board in session. He then proceeded to explain to the members the accident that had happened.

One of the engineers who had performed checks after the aircraft had been recovered was asked to present his findings “after the analysis of the recovered aircraft and after having studied the dynamics of the accident we have found out that the main cause for the engine failure was a disruption in the airflow in the port intake causing it to stall with enough yaw rate to induce a flat spin. Cadet Williamson, according to the records of the accident, flew in the jet wash of one of his classmate’s aircrafts. That caused the airflow disruption. The stall was unrecoverable.” explained the engineer reading from his report “with regard to the canopy, we have found a fault in some model of jets used by the students where the charges did not operate correctly, causing the canopy to separate incorrectly. All those planes are grounded and now being checked.”

“Thank you.” Said the marshal, then his gaze turned to Rowan “Captain Whitethorn, stand please.”

Rowan did so.

“Could you please re tell the board the events that lead to the death of the cadet?”

Rowan took a deep breath and retold step by step what happened. It was still vivid in his mind that it would take ages before he could forget it.

“Did you tell the cadet to eject?”

“I did, sir.”

“Why?” Asked the marshal with inquisitive tone.

“He had lost control of the aircraft. From the black box retrieved from his jet he had pulled 9g after he started spiralling. From my position I could see that he was about to pass out. Ejecting the seat had been the safest option. Little did I know that the canopy would fail.”

The two other captains nodded in agreement, knowing full well that they would have suggested the same thing.

“Would the cadet have survived if he had more high G training?”

“Sir,” Rowan almost growled at his superior “his jet was under 9g for almost ten seconds before crashing in the water. Not even an experienced and highly trained pilot can sustain or survive that.” He breathed again “and you know better than me that centrifuge training can be done only with some weekly limits due to its dangers.”

“Had the cadets received basic procedures on how to properly eject and when?”

“Yes, sir. It’s one of the first things they are taught. They are shown how to properly deploy their parachute and how to blow the canopy. Training is also done in different conditions to simulate possible combat scenery.”

“Training was not the issue here,” said Lorcan going in Rowan’s support “Captain Whitethorn is one of our most experienced instructors and hundreds of students have survived his crushing training and are still alive today because of what he has taught them.”

“The post mortem also backed the cause of death in the crash of the body against the canopy.” Added captain Matthews.

“What kind of training were you doing that day?” The marshal continued, ignoring the protests.

“We were going through some basic dogfight routines. The cadets were only five months out of the academy so we were just covering the basics as per fighter school curriculum.” Answered Rowan who felt lost all of a sudden.

“Would the manoeuvre you had practiced put the boy in a position to be in another jet’s wake? Didn’t you teach them how to stay away from the jet wash of another aircraft during a dogfight?” The marshal had an agenda, that was very clear to Rowan. He was trying to blame this on him.

Captain Walker stood angrily “why are we attacking captain Whitethorn? The problem was that the engine stalled due to the jet wash from another aircraft. An experienced fighter might have been able to find a way out of such deadly spiral, the gods know I have found myself in that situation and got out of it by pure damn luck. Not a cadet five months out of the academy. It’s our job to teach them such manoeuvres but only after they have mastered the basics.” He sat down again nodding at Rowan.

“A good instructor would have taught his students how to fly in close formation and to avoid the wake of a team mate. A captain should know what such manoeuvre could cause.” Continued the marshal who had taken the fight to Rowan.

Lorcan stood angrily “That is enough.” He shouted.

“I would suggest you to sit down, Air commodore.”

“Not when you accuse my best instructor of being the cause of the death of a student.”

“It is my job as president of this board to try and figure out what happened.”

“I told two of my students they were too close. I advised another one not to drop below hard deck. I care about the safety of my students.” Rowan almost growled at the marshal “also, I stand by my decision to order cadet Williamson to eject. Had the canopy worked he’d be alive now.”

The marshal nodded and with a bored expression he then went back to the engineering team and they discussed the canopy issue.

Rowan let them talk and his brain disconnected completely and tried to ignore the pain from what had just transpired.

He sat in silence listening to the rest of the board discuss in the background. 

The marshal eventually called the board to attention “Following the evidence provided by the engineering team and the testimony of captain Whitethorn I declare that the death of cadet Williamson was caused by the port engine stall due to airflow disruption in the intake. The commission also noted that the flat spin in which the cadet went in was not recoverable. Captain Whitethorn is cleared of any faults.” Rowan noticed the disappointment on the man’s face for the fact the had been cleared of any faults.

The marshal then turned to Lorcan “Commodore, I expect you to keep the students grounded until the training jets have been fixed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The board is dismissed.” Clark stood and walked out.

The other two captain went to Rowan “I had no idea the bastard would try to blame you for this.”captain Matthews added with fury.

“I would have told my students to eject as well. It was the only option.” Added captain Walker.

But Rowan was not listening. It hurt too much, knowing that someone had tried to blame the death of his student on him. That the marshal had to question all of his choices and possibly his training methods.

Lorcan and his squadron were at his side as soon as the room was clear.

“The arsehole has some guts.” Commented Fenrys but Gavriel elbowed him.

Rowan stood in a daze and left the room ignoring the voices of his team calling him.

*

Aelin’s meeting with Dorian and the counsellor had gone better than she expected. Thanks to Rowan she had been able to open up and talk to them about what happened and how she had been before her escape and what had prompted her to flee. She admitted to them her fears.

She felt much better but she had confessed that she did not feel ready to go back in action. She felt okay about going back to the station and work from the office but was not ready yet to be in a fire. She was still too scared for that and Dorian and the counsellor accepted her admission.

So they had agreed for a transition period. Aelin was told as well to attend weekly sessions with the counsellor to track her progress and her mental health recovery. She would be on desk duty for a while and after that, Dorian was willing to send her back out but just at his side in a fire emergency allowing her again to be close to the fire scene and if that went well they could work on a plan on sending her back in. 

She had agreed with the final decision and had left the room with a smile and a light heart. She stopped in the corridor to check her phone but no news from Rowan. The meeting should be over by now. She hoped he was okay.

Happily she drove back to her squad and everyone was eager to catch up with her. Then Aedion stopped in front of her “never again,” he told her and Aelin went for a hug. He remained stiff for a moment, then his arms enveloped her in a bear hug “looks like your captain fixed you up nicely.”

“Hey, I would recover from anything if I had such man looking after me.” Said Ansel and everyone laughed.

“He has been nice to me.” But all she could think was his face from that morning.

 *

Rowan had been walking without a direction for a while now. He felt as if he had lost his rudder, he had spent the last twelve years of his life working for people who had been ready to blame on him the death of a student. He looked at his uniform and for the first time since he had worn it he felt no pride in it. He had been so tempted to resign his wings on the spot. No matter that he had been cleared, it stung so much, even if it had been the opinion of one man.

It had been too much. He knew the marshal was never a fan of his. The first student he had lost had been his son. But at the time as well the board had declared it had not been his fault. It had been the pilot’s mistake. The marshal never forgave him. Seeing him again at a board for a student’s death he had probably tried to punish him for what happened to his son.

In the distance he spotted a pub and decided that a drink might help. He got in and sat at the counter and ordered a whisky, but once the drink was in front of him he could not drink it. In his current state he would spiral down again to the same level of self destruction of many years before when he lost the marshal’s son and he could not do that again. He could not put Aelin through that pain.

So he did the only sensible thing. He called her.

Aelin was in the common room with the squad and they were having fun and the guys were telling her about some of the calls they had and then they were teasing Luca and his upcoming exam.

She was about to tell them to stop picking on him when her phone went off. It was Rowan and her heart stopped. 

She quickly left the room and went outside, sitting on the bumper of one of the engines “hey,”

“Hi,” his voice was low and flat and she feared for him.

“What’s wrong.”

Silence.

“Ro, are you okay?”

“No.”

Shit. She stood and started pacing “where are you?”

“At a pub.”

“Which one.”

He told her the name.

“I am coming. Just stay there.” And closed the conversation and almost laughed at the irony of the situation. A week before she had been at the receiving end of such conversation.

She ran back to the squad “guys, I need to go. Rowan. It’s not good. I just have to go…”

She didn’t even wait for an answer. She just rushed back to her car and drove to him. He did not sound drunk so maybe it was not all lost.

She arrived at pub not long after and stormed in. Rowan was sitting at the counter staring at a glass of whisky in front of him.

“Ro.” She walked to him and his green eyes fell on her. There was pain in them, so much pain.

“You are not drunk,” she told him.

“He ordered the whisky two hours ago and had been staring at it ever since.” Said the bartender.

“Hey,” she caressed his head and he closed his eyes at the touch “what happened?”

He shook his head “not here.” He stood and Aelin followed then came back and chugged down the abandoned whisky and went after him.

He was walking away and she ran after him “wait, you have long legs, damn you.” He extended an arm behind him and Aelin grabbed his hand “fine, we are outside, spill the beans.”

She definitely had no tact.

He walked silently a bit longer until they reached a small park and he sat down on a bench and Aelin took a spot at his side never letting his hand go.

And then he told her. Everything that had happened in the room. The results of the inquiry, the marshal’s accusations. The identity of the first student he had lost and his desire to quit.

“I wanted to throw my wings in the marshal’s face.” He looked down dejected “I feel lost now. I want to go back to my students, I owe it to them, to teach them how to be safe. But everything else… I don’t care about it anymore.” his head leaned against her shoulder and Aelin brushed his head with her hand and kissed it tenderly “Ro, how can I help you?”

Rowan turned his head to her and she thought his eyes were wet with tears “what you are doing just now is enough. Having you with me helps.”

“Do you need to go back to the airbase now?”

Rowan nodded sadly.

“Ok, I’ll drive you.” Aelin stood and Rowan followed but before moving he pulled her to him and drew her in for a kiss “I love you.” He said quietly.

She flicked his nose “let’s go.” She offered him her hand and together they walked back to her car.

They arrived at the airbase not long after “do you need me to come in?”

Rowan shook his head “my team is there. I will be fine. Gav will stop me from doing anything stupid.”

“Good. I am going back to the station.” She leaned forward to kiss him “Will you be okay? I am worried about you.”

“I am a big boy.” He joked.

“Ro…”

He leaned forward and kissed her “I do love so much when you call me Ro like that…”

Aelin smiled against his lips “don’t do anything stupid and tomorrow you can ravish me all you want. You can even be super creative.”

“How can I refuse such proposal?” He kissed her again “I will be fine.” His hand went to the door handle and opened the door “I will see you tomorrow morning at home. Have a nice night shift.”

Aelin’s heart swelled with joy at the word home. Their place. They hadn’t made it official but her house had become home. Their home. And she loved the feeling of it.

“Think creative, captain.”

He winked at her and left the car. Then he waved at her and Aelin left, he put his cap on his head and headed back inside the airbase.

-

Rowan made his way to Lorcan’s office and took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

“Come in,” came from inside.

Rowan entered the room and Lorcan looked up at him and he did notice the expression of disbelief in his CO’s face.

“Rowan —” but the other man stopped him.

“Thank you for today. For the support.” Rowan said quietly sitting on the chair in front of his CO.

“The man was out of line.” Lorcan growled “he knows what kind of instructor you are. How strict you are. The man was trying to get you sacked as a punishment for his son’s death knowing full well that again it was not your fucking fault.”

Rowan looked away, shutting away the painful memories.

“I already sent orders to start working on the canopies and check them all.”

Rowan nodded silently.

“I know what we can do to cheer you up.” Rowan turned his head staring at a surprisingly cheery Lorcan. Elide was really doing miracles.

“Grab you gear and let’s get out in the air, this man here needs to fly. It’s been so long that it’s a miracle I can still be called a pilot.” And he chuckled.

Rowan stood “Fine, be ready to be crushed.”

Lorcan grinned and stood as well “Oh, I submitted a proposal to allow women to serve in the airforce.”

Rowan’s head whipped to one side “who are you and what have you done with Lorcan Salvaterre?”

“The captain and Elide. Turns out we have both chosen very strong women.”

“I like that.”

“Me too.”

Rowan was doing his pre-flight checks when he noticed Lorcan joining him. The man had always exuded charisma.

“You should really send Elide a picture of you in a jump suit. I know how much Aelin likes it, I guess Elide might appreciate it too.”

Lorcan lifted an eyebrow while he reached his jet and popped open the canopy “you think?”

Rowan nodded “how is it going with her by the way?”

“She is incredible. She is tiny but fierce and stubborn and quite amazing.”

Rowan could not believe it, Lorcan was in awe of someone a feat that he thought was impossible.

“You are in love with her.”

“I think so.” said Lorcan hiding the words in a cough, almost embarrassed by his admission.

“Good.” Then he stared at Lorcan and he realised that going out out for a flight had been a good idea. They were evenly matched in skill and it was going to be a fun one. They had a few turbulent months but he had more or less always got along with him. Flying together again felt like the good old times.

“You missed a spot.” Rowan pointed at one section under the wing. 

Lorcan replied with a middle finger and it felt nice to have their old banter back when Lorcan could finally put aside his CO mask for a while.

“I am not a cadet, I know how to do my pre flight checks.”

“Well, you are not following the order we were taught at flight school, cadet Salvaterre.”

“Stop being a smartass, cadet Whitethorn.”

Rowan climbed in his jet and finished his checks inside and communicated with the tower to finalise the flight plan and get the authorisations required.

“Come on Lorcan, you are so slow. Tower gave us the all clear and the flight plan is in. Are you sure you still remember how to fly? Do you need any pointers, Chaos?”

Chaos was Lorcan’s callsign and he had earned it very early in his career for his flying skills.

Eventually they were both ready and the two jets got taxied away and not long after they were in the air.

“Rules of engagement: anything is allowed and two out of three?”

“Copy that, Iceman.”

“Good, be ready to lose.”

The two jets broke apart and went in different directions and for a while they just ran in circles above the airbase to study each other.

Lorcan hadn’t wanted to admit that he was a bit rusty and Rowan was indeed a nasty customer. 

Gavriel and the three young pilots were walking along one of the long corridors on the airbase when they heard the sound of jets in the air and ran to the next window to look who it was. The classes for the cadets were still grounded and the three of them were on ground.

“Holy fuck,” muttered Gavriel when he realised who was out flying.

He ran out to the viewing tower followed by the twins and Vaughan.

“Is that who I think it is?” Asked Connall speechless.

“Rowan and Lorcan.” The older man turned to the three young guys “you are in for a treat, they can make you feel like a newbie.”

Gavriel saw Rowan pull in a vertical and flying into the sun, roll on his back and continue in  straight line flying just a meter above Lorcan, finally flipped his jet once again and placed himself at Lorcan’s six.

Lorcan tried some evasive manoeuvres but Rowan did not let go, always at his tail attempting to get a lock on his CO.

Lorcan felt trapped and as a last ditch he went into a high G barrel roll to try and shake off Rowan.

“Rowan is going to overshoot,” said Connall who was silently watching the dogfight between their superiors.

Then Rowan pulled a trick out of the hat and kept his jet in line with Lorcan’s then rolled and found himself upside down and fired at the other man.

“Holy fuck,” was Fenrys’ comment at the scene.

“What did just happen? How did he even manage that?” Added Vaughan.

“That is Rowan for you. Now you realise why we can’t ever win?”

“One nil for me, Chaos.”

“You are a sneaky bastard, Whitethorn. And where did you learn such manoeuvres?”

Rowan laughed over the comms “get your act together, Commodore, and you can probably get me.”

The dogfight between the two went on for much longer. Lorcan did manage to win an engagement but Rowan still won 2-1. They landed back and they found Rowan’s team waiting for them.

“Good to see you two flying again. The youngsters never had the chance to see the pros at work.” Said Gavriel relieved that the two men seemed again at ease with each other.

“Oh, yeah. Our dear CO was a bit rusty and I took him out to stretch his legs and I handed out his arse to him twice.”

Lorcan gave him the middle finger in response.

*

Elide was in the ambulance doing some inventory checks when her phone pinged. She opened the text from Lorcan and almost fainted on the spot. It was Lorcan in his jump suit beside his jet and the man actually had a hint of a smile on his face. The second image was of him and Rowan standing back to back, their arms folded at their chest and both had a goofy smile on.

She jumped off the ambulance and ran to Aelin who was in the equipment room checking out their gear “Ace, look!” She shouted as she stormed in.

“What?” And she looked at the two pictures on Elide’s phone.

“Interesting…” Aelin stared with curiosity at the picture of the two men.

“He is soooo hot, I have never seen him in a jump suit and gods I don’t know? Want to remove it one bit at a time?”

Aelin laughed “that’s what I would do to Rowan right now if we were together in a private place. I would peel that jump suit off him until he is naked in front of me.”

She saw Elide blush “Lorcan and I haven’t… passed the kissing stage yet. He has never touched me. He is very considerate of me. But a few times he hugged me and I… felt him.” And she made a gesture and Aelin understood.

“Elide that is normal. How do you feel about the next stage? Like exploring each other’s bodies?”

“As in naked?”

“Yes, but you can start with keeping your underwear to have a barrier on if it makes you feel better.”

Elide sat on the bench beside her “I don’t know how to do this. How do I touch him?”

Aelin could see panic rise in the woman “ask him to show you and then once you feel brave enough to try just give it a go. It can be quite fun.” Aelin stopped for a second trying to find a way to tackle the next issue “Elide, have you ever… you know… explored your body? Down there?”

Elide blushed savagely “no.”

Aelin took the woman’s hand “take a nice warm bath and then…” Aelin wiggled her fingers “just put a hand between your legs and see how it goes, what you feel.”

“Oh.”

“At least once you two take the next step you have an idea of how it feels.”

“And Lorcan does that as well?”

Aelin nodded “yes, and if the man is as good as the others claim he might leave you a satisfied mess just with his fingers or mouth or both. A sort of appetiser before the main course.”

“Do you and Rowan…?”

Aelin nodded “and not just him to me but me to him as well.”

“This sounds so much.”

“Elide, look at me.” Aelin placed her hands on the woman’s shoulder “you do not have to take the next step until you are okay with it. Talk with Lorcan. Explain to him that you are getting curious and want to try more. You can use a safe word so that when you start to become uncomfortable, you shout that word and he has to stop.”

“Oh.”

“He hasn’t rushed you or anything?”

Elide shook her head “no, he has been so understanding, and never pushed.”

“Good. You set the pace. You are the one who needs time so he adjusts to you, remember. But if you feel like you are ready for another step just tell him.”

“Is it… is it as good as everyone says? Is it worth it?”

Aelin nodded “with the right person is something incredible. The intimacy… the connection…”

“Do you have that with your captain?”

“Yeah, and some.”

“Uhhh… are we getting serious?”

Aelin looked away for a moment “I loved Sam. A lot. We were good together but it was never like this. Never this deep.” She threw her head against one of the jackets “I don’t know how to explain it but my feelings for Rowan are so strong that sometimes I feel like I can’t breath.”

“I want that too.”

A moment later the conversation was interrupted by Lysandra entering the room “Here you are, why are you hiding?”

Elide showed Lys Lorcan’s picture.

“Oh mama…”

“Elide is feeling… curious.”

Lysandra hugged the woman “that is wonderful, darling. With such a specimen I’d be curious too.”

“Lys.” Shouted Aelin laughing.

“What? Fine the man can be an arsehole but I can’t deny that in that picture he is one hot bastard.”

“Show her the other.”

Elide showed Lysandra the picture with both Rowan and Lorcan.

“Ok, I really need a cold shower now.”

“I am pretty sure Aedion is available. Just keep it quiet.”

Lysandra laughed “don’t you think I tried? He said it would be against the rules.”

“I am almost done with equipment checks. This room will be free soon.”

“You are a wicked woman.” 

Aelin winked.

“Did you do it in here with the captain?”

“No, but his office is quite comfortable.”

“Nice.” Commented Lysandra.

Lys then took Elide’s hand “come on, we got a couple of things to finish.”

Once the two ladies left she phoned Rowan and he picked up at the first ring.

“I am jealous, Lorcan sent a picture of the two of you to Elide and I don’t get a copy?”

“You liked that?”

“You were both smiling.”

“We talked,” added Rowan “Lorcan was even more pissed than me. I think Elide did the miracle.”

Aelin laughed and relaxed at his admission “how so?

“He chuckled. Lorcan chuckled.”

She heard mirth in his voice.

“And the man is totally in love with Elide. I swear I never heard the man talk like that about a woman.”

“Interesting.”

“Also, apparently he has decided to support my idea of having women in the airforce and submitted a proposal to the higher ups and he is prepared to fight for it.” He told her, knowing she would love the news.

“Ok, I might finally start to like the man. What changed?”

“You and Elide apparently.”

Aelin smiled smugly “so he does listen, I am impressed. I don’t think I can cope with the idea of Lorcan not being the bad guy.”

“His job is very stressful and I don’t think I could be able to cope with the amount of shit he has to deal with.” He sighed “put me in a cockpit surrounded by enemies and I will be fine. But the idea of being stuck behind a desk playing the political game day in day out…. no. I will retire before it happens.” He added sadly.

“So, what’s on the agenda for the rest of the day, captain?”

“I am helping him with a few things. Then do more prep work for our performance review.”

“Do you think you are ready for that?”

She heard a lot of noise in the background and she guessed he was back in the hangar.

“Aye, we are good to go.” He was silent for a moment “I have to go, Fireheart.”

“Sure. Be safe and have a nice drill.”

“I love you. Have a nice night shift.”

“Send me that picture, Whitethorn.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She closed the conversation and relaxed heavily. Rowan sounded so much better and she was smidge less worried. With a big smile she went back to her work.

*

It was past 9pm and Aelin was in her office working away on some paperwork Dorian had sent over. She had a good day. It had felt good being back and she realised that Rowan’s help and their time away had helped very much. She felt saner and being at the station did not cause any problems. She was not ready yet to go back fighting fires, of that she was well aware. That was the last challenge she had to face but she and Aedion had discussed a training regimen that would slowly allow her to find the courage again to go fully back on duty and she felt excited at the idea.

She had been so engrossed in her work she did not hear the knock on the door. When it happened a second time she slowly raised her head “come in.” She said flatly and almost annoyed. 

A head of silver hair appeared on the door and she stopped “am I interrupting?”

“Of course captain. How dare you?”

He smiled and took a step in “I can go if you are working.”

Aelin rolled her eyes “get your arse inside and give me fifteen minutes of silence.”

He nodded and walked to her bookcase, giving her his back. His hand behind his back, his spine ramrod straight and his feet slightly apart in a perfect at ease position. She grinned. You could take the man out of the military but not the military out of the man.

She stopped working and rested her chin on her hands and a pen in her mouth. She studied him from behind and was impressed how still he could stay. A feat that had alway been impossible to her. 

Rowan grabbed one of her manuals and started flipping through it. It was only fair, she had done the same to his flight manuals. 

“A chemistry book?”

She eventually decided to stand and join him at his side.

“I hated chemistry in school. I was good at it but never liked it. I preferred physics.”

Aelin smiled and grabbed another book: fire science “this one might be more interesting.”

He had a look through it and smiled at her “can I take it at home or do you need it here?”

“You can take it home.”

Rowan smiled and placed the book on the sofa then cupped her face “hi, by the way.” And he kissed her.

“About time. I thought you were more interested in my books than me.” She teased him, pulling away briefly.

“You told me to stay silent for fifteen minutes. I was just following orders.”

“Screw that.”Aelin switched off her computer and walked to him, palm upturned, offering him her hand “follow me captain.”

“Do I need to be scared?”

She glared at him.

They walked along the corridor of the fire station and it was so silent and quiet compared to what he had seen during the day “where is everyone?”

“Resting. We got beds, you know? But Brullo and Ress are probably up watching tv as usual.”

They walked through the common area and as Aelin suspected the two guys were watching some  series on tv.

“Hi guys,” she greeted them.

They raised their heads “hi boss,” then noticed Rowan “oh captain, you found her. Good.”

“When I walked in I announced myself. I could not just waltz in.”

“Come on,” she grabbed his hand. Aelin dragged Rowan to the area where they kept the fire engine and the truck. She moved to the engine and opened a door on the side and pulled out two thick blankets then with them under her armpit, she started climbing the ladder at the end of the rig “Come on captain.”

Rowan looked at her puzzled.“Where are you going?”

He saw her rolling her eyes “on top of the rig.”

“If the alarm—”

“Captain, if the alarm goes off we have enough seconds to get our arses back down. They will not drive away with us on top of the rig. Do you trust me?”

He looked at her in a strange way.

Aelin threw the blankets on the top of the engine and climbed back down and marched to him, grabbing his hand “move.”

With force she dragged him to the ladder and prompted him to climb. He did as ordered and once at the top he stopped. Aelin stopped behind him, then in a swift motion she pulled her leg over the engine rail and climbed on its roof.

She took the blankets and placed them on top of all the hoses “it smells a bit of smoke. You’ll get used to it.”

He climbed over and stood for a second admiring the view from on top of the engine. When he turned he saw Aelin laying down on the blankets, her arms extended to him and a goofy smile on her face. He joined her and took a place at her side.

She nested against his chest and his arms looped around her frame.

“I come up here a lot on a night shift. I don’t sleep, I just relax, I love to imagine I am laying on the grass and that if I look up I can see the stars.”

“I do that when I am on an aircraft carrier and I am not on standby. I just walk on the deck along the rail, although is not as quiet as here as there are still flights happening, but it’s less busy. I just lean against the handrail, near the island and look out at the sea and I my case I can see the stars.”

Aelin turned in his arms and faced him “can you navigate by just using the stars?”

“We don’t use it much, GPS is a very handy tool, but it’s a skill we learn in case something fails and you are left with no GPS or any other electronic help.”

“What about you? Had a good day at the station?” He kissed the top of her head.

Aelin nodded eagerly “yes, I admitted I had a problem out loud and both Dorian and Aedion have offered to help in anyway they can.” She looked up at him “and you… you helped so much… and still helping…”

He smiled tenderly “it goes under my job description for boyfriend, I assume?”

She caressed his face loving the sound of him calling himself her boyfriend.

“Say it again,” she whispered to him.

“What?”

“That you are my boyfriend.”

He went for a deep kiss “I am yours.”

Aelin smiled against his lips “those are powerful words, captain.”

“They are true, though.”

Aelin’s heart raced and her hand went to his chest and found his doing exactly the same.

“I love this. Us. I really do…” she stuck her head in the crook of his neck inhaling his scent “but it still scares me because it happened so fast. One day I wanted to punch you, the next I wanted to kiss you. And it frightens me. I want this to work. I want us to work out.”

His hand covered hers still on his chest “you are not alone. This is a lot for me as well. But I am done fighting my feelings.” He hugged her closer “I love you, even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.”

Aelin kissed his chest “you are so cheesy it’s disgusting.”

Rowan pushed her away and she rolled on her back at his side, her hand still in his “I was trying to be romantic and you ruined the moment.”

She smiled “sorry, I used to do that with Sam all the time. He would say something super romantic and I would respond with a joke. When he proposed I replied that I had to check with my lawyer first.”

“You are a brat.”

“It was so funny. Then I texted him and said that my lawyer had agreed.” Aelin brought their twinned hands to her mouth and kissed them “I showed him later on that night in bed how much I wanted to marry him. He did not complain.”

“You really are a handful.”

“I know, but now you picked me and there is no turning back.” She said against their hands fearing she had gone too far.

“I love a good challenge.” He rolled over and was now half on top of her, his hand on her side caressing her gently.

Aelin grabbed his face in her free hands and kissed him stupid but Rowan pulled back when he remembered where they were. He was still terrified they would drive away with the two of them on top of the engine.

He lay back down and his hand started trailing along her injured arm exposed by the short sleeved shirt. The burns had healed but the skin remained marred. He traced the length of it and leaned over to kiss it.

“Does it bother you?”

“No,” he said softly while continuing to kiss her injured arm and her scars “you are my brave and fierce Fireheart. It scares me that I almost lost you. But you scars…” another gentle kiss “they don’t bother me.”

She snuggled closer and he enveloped her in his arms.

“I forgot.” He propped himself up on one elbow “I have received an invitation.”

“Oh?” Aelin did the same and faced him.

“This weekend the navy is throwing a launch party for the new aircraft carrier, down at the dockyards before she is set at sea for the trials and then off to deployment.” He explained “Me and the guys have been invited and I can bring a guest. Fancy being my plus one?”

“Are we going public, captain?”

“If you want to.”

Aelin thought about it “I could wear the stunning black dress I bought in Doranelle.”

Rowan remembered that dress and the effect it had on him when she wore it in the shop.

“Are you trying to give a heart attack to the whole Terrasen military?”

Aelin giggled “just going to show all those posh boys what an amazing taste in women you have.”

“That I do.” He flicked her nose.

Aelin was about to reply when dispatch alarm went off and she bolted on her feet and pulled Rowan up and grabbed the blankets “come on, captain.”

She climbed down super quickly and by the time he made it down, the blankets were back in the truck and the squad was getting ready to go.

“Showing the captain your special spot?” Joked Aedion.

Aelin nodded and patted his shoulder “keep the guys safe and you stay safe too.”

“Always.” Quickly Aedion ran to the truck and a moment later the squad was gone.

“It’s hard to see them go and not being able to be with them.”

He pulled an arm around her shoulder “come, I’ll make you hot chocolate.”

She followed him “that’s exactly how you woo a woman, captain.”

TAGS:

@rowaelinismyotp​

@jlinez​

@swankii-art-teacher​

@courtofjurdan​

@whimsicallyreading​

@tillyrubes10​

#rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowanwhitethorn #aelingalathynius #elide x lorcan

[lihikainanea]

what do you think about tiger waking up small and being embarrassed at the same time? like bill wakes up to an empty bed and she’s just padding across the apartment, subtly self soothing by wear huge sweaters or putting her nails near her mouth. he wants to just grab her and bring her back, but she’s not even looking at him and barely talking.

Nani, pull up a chair, sit down, put your feet up and relax because I'M ABOUT TO TELL YOU EXACTLY WHAT I THINK OF THIS.

AND I WILL *TRY* NOT TO DO IT IN ALL CAPS.

But oh, oh my god. How I love this. Ya'll know how to get me going, and it's always by mentioning anything like tiger self-soothing her own little pesky oral fixation without even realizing it, small tiger being oh so small and not wanting to wake her big dude up for comfort, so instead she tries to handle it herself but she's just so bad at it.

But like...why is she small that morning? Let's talk about that. I don't think they had a fight. I think maybe it's Bill's first night back from a shoot, and everything about the night before was gentle, sweet, slow. I think tiger really missed her Big Dude, I think she needed safety, and I think she forgot just how safe she feels when those strong arms were wrapped around her. How comforted she feels with his warm chest pressing into her. How shielded from the world, how protected she feels when his forearm rests on her chest, his thumb glides into her mouth, and his legs tuck up under hers.

And Bill is also thrumming off of all of those good caretaker vibes, those protector vibes, knowing how good he can make her feel just by being close to her. Knowing how safe he can make her feel with his presence is one of the biggest rushes he has ever known, and he's like an addict for it.

So like, maybe it's the morning after. And tiger woke up with his thumb tucked snug in her mouth, she woke up with his whole body wrapped around her. And she stayed like that for as long as she could, but eventually biology took over and maybe tiger has a bladder the size of a peanut or something--so begrudgingly, devastatingly, she untangles from his warmth and goes to the bathroom. And since she's up, she figures she may as well get the coffee going.

Maybe she figured Bill would probably be up soon, so she's puttering around and pulling out a few things for breakfast. She doesn't want to climb back into bed because she doesn't want to wake him--he's sleeping so peacefully. But like, here's the thing right? Bill is back from a gruelling shoot. He's been in 7 timezones in 3 days. Bill is sleeping hard, and one hour passes. Then two. Then three. And poor tiger, she's all up in ends because god she wants to be wrapped in those arms again but she doesn't want to disturb him because that would be bad and she's his good girl, and she wants to let her Good Dude sleep.

And that's the thing with tiger when she's small--the rational side of her brain kind of shuts off, and she can't process something simple. It's all just...good or bad, in her mind. And she wants to be good, she so desperately wants to be good for him. But now she's spiralling a bit, she's getting into a bit of a rough headspace because she just wants comfort and safety and she's not getting it.

This is where this ask gets so beautiful--the self-soothe. Ugh, nani, you'll always get me with the self-soothes, because they are so innocent and so delicious. Tiger goes to the laundry bin and pulls out the big sweater that Bill was wearing yesterday, and wraps herself up in it. She keeps padding softly by the room to see if he's starting to wake, but every time it's the same visual--Bill on his stomach, naked, a sheet covering his peachy butt with one long leg hitched up. He's not moving, snoring softly, and if tiger really squints she can see the faint smattering of stubble on his jawline. The tiger plushie is cuddled in the crook of his elbow.

So she keeps trying to find things to do, and the whole time she’s just getting more and more small, more and more needy. She tucks up on the couch under a blanket, gnawing on her nails in that way she does when she doesn’t even realize that it’s because she wants her mouth full. She tries unpacking his suitcase, but she’s overwhelmed with the smell of his cologne on the clothes and she slams it shut, going back to the couch.

And that’s exactly how Bill finds her--and he wakes up because he’s missing that warm body pressed up against him, missing that soft wetness that envelops his thumb, misses the smell of her shampoo wafting into his nose. So he cracks an eye open, and then he listens for her--and when he doesn’t hear anything, he shakes the fog from his brain and gets out of bed.

And he finds her there on the couch, gnawing on her thumbnail, her features pinched in a cute frown. God she looks small for him, her shoulders all hunched over as she’s curled in on herself, his big sweater bunched all around her.

“Hi sweet girl,” he rumbles, and his voice is all raspy and gravelly. Her eyes snap to his, and then just as fast--she averts her gaze downwards. He doesn’t ask why she’s up, or why she didn’t come to get him if she needed him--there will be time for that later. Right now, he just wants her back in his arms and back in bed as fast as possible. So he walks over, bends down, and lightly pulls her thumb from her lips.

“Mine,” he murmurs, running his own thumb along her bottom lip before pushing it inside. She sighs, closing her eyes and sucking at it.

“Good girl,” he praises, and she coos. She wraps her hands around his wrist, making sure that glorious thumb doesn’t move from her mouth. “I wasn’t done with you, kid. Come back to bed.”

He goes to pick her up but she whines--she doesn’t want that thumb going anywhere--so instead he stands, pulls her to her feet. He smiles gently at her, bending down to loop an arm under her bottom and lift her from there. She wraps her legs around his waist, resting her cheek under his chin as he carries her back to bed.

DELICIOUS GODDAMNIT

(they definitely have a good talk after, once she’s in a better headspace, about how he always wants her to wake him up when she needs him, when she needs some comfort.)

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #bill skarsgard fanfic #bill skarsgard fic #BFF!Bill #sub tiger

[whump-a-la-mode]

Gilded Cage - Part 4

Once again, A won in a landslide. I hope the choices this time around will be a little more interesting. As a result of A winning, Journalist will help Villain.

Both of the options from last time around led to separate twists. It may be a little confusing at first, but I promise, it’ll make sense!

Again, the suggestions I received this time around were amazing!

I hope you enjoy!

CW// Imprisonment, collars, shock collars, villain whumpee, talk of torture, talk of blood, explicit discussion of injuries, medical discussion, deciding whether a person will receive medical treatment, mention of pneumonia, amnesia, panic, talk of law enforcement and criminal charges

The news segment began with its cheery jingle, starting with a light whistle, and crescendoing into an orchestral sound.

The video dawned on Journalist’s set. Behind the camera stood their crew. But the show’s usual host was nowhere to be seen. Instead, having been replaced by two other reporters, sitting behind their table. In their chairs.

“Hello, everyone.” One of the reporters spoke with a nod of the head. Their practiced, fine-tuned smile was present on their face, but there was a level of appropriately moderated sadness to their tone. “We hate to inform you that the previous host of this show, Journalist, has unfortunately left their post.”

The other reporter spoke with a similar tone, looking up at their cohost. “Shall we get right to it, then?”

“I suppose there’s no point in beating around the bush.”

“No. There’s not.” The reporter shook their head. “Your regular news for this segment will be moved to tonight’s News at 10. After much discussion, we figured it was only right to address the situation regarding this segment’s former host.”

“Yes. I am certain that many of you have seen this video on various social medias.”

In the corner of the screen, a panel faded into existence, showing a silenced video. Only a few frames long, looping every time it finished.

The video was of remarkably low quality, and taken in remarkably low light. The faces of only one of those in it could be made out-- that of a bloody, bruised, yet alive Villain. They who stood over the injured was little more than a shadow in silhouette, face never once turning towards the camera. After a few repeats, the video skipped around, showing different frames. Always in shadow. Never showing more than a hundred pixels or so.

The action within could only truly be seen if the viewer was to squint. Or, if they knew what to look for.

“This video was released by the Organization of Heroes, late last night.” One of the reporters spoke up, after the display was finished and faded away. “It was taken by one of the employees of their headquarters, shortly after this very news segment was filmed yesterday, in that very headquarters.”

“The Organization stated that it released this video to promote transparency regarding a current investigation. Though the exact details have yet to be revealed, this video is harrowing on its own.”

“We do not know why Journalist would do this.” The reporter’s gaze met with that of the camera lens. “We all have our own opinions about Villain, but no opinion can justify beating someone senseless. We all knew Journalist. We never thought there were capable of such a horrible thing. It is believed that, after filming an interview with Villain, Journalist led them to an unused room, and beat them severely. This video shows the incident.”

“The Heroes and local law enforcement have stated that they are currently pursuing a manhunt for Journalist on charges of assault and battery.”

“To dispel rumors that have been spreading: As of only a few minutes ago, the Organization of Heroes has reported to us that Villain is alive and well. Rumors of their death are greatly exaggerated. Journalist is not being pursued as a murderer.”

“Villain is currently under the care of in-house medical professionals of the Organization. They are in critical condition, but are expected to recover.”

“If you believe to have spotted Journalist, please call the number on screen. This is a tragedy, but together, we can at the very least bring this criminal to justice. Thank you.”

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“Can they hear us?”

“No, no. They’re asleep.”

Villain’s eyes twitched, the voices above them hazy, coming from behind a layer of fog. Still, they thought they knew them... Maybe. The effort of recognizing who was speaking when made their head hurt, but their heart was beating far too fast to allow them to fade back into sedated bliss.

“Good.” Teammate muttered, their hand shifting the hospital bed ever so slightly as they placed it upon the bedrail.

“Yeah, good.” Hero’s grunt dripped with sarcasm.

“They need their rest.” Villain didn’t quite recognize the third voice, though they could only assume it was a doctor. “They’ve regained consciousness a few times, but they‘re somewhat sedated, right now. We can’t risk them choking.”

Choking. Villain knew that word. They remembered it being shouted, over and over again, next to them. Their mouth tasted so much like copper...

“I wish they’d choke.” Hero growled. Villain didn’t need to open their eyes to feel Teammate’s glare.

“Well, we’re not going to let that happen.” Doctor shook their head. “What we need to do is talk about... well, you’re in control here. We’re under your command. We have them stabilized, but if you want them to do anything more than lay in a hospital bed, we need to talk about what comes next.”

There was a moment of hesitant humming, before Teammate asked, tentatively:

“How bad is it?”

Villain had heard that question before, in a tone of panic and screaming. Who had said it?

Again, hesitance.

“Bad. Really bad.” Doctor sighed, straightening their tone to something more official. “We’ve seen some possible early signs of pneumonia, but, well...” Another deep breath. “Their torso sustained several dents. There’s risk of internal bleeding. That’s not to mention three snapped ribs, five additional broken or fractured ribs, and fractured clavicle. And the leg.”

For a moment, the nerves in the doctor’s voice turned to fury.

Villain knew that fury. The fury of someone who was watching the person they tried to protect die. Why didn’t they remember?

“A spiral fracture. I’ve never- I have no damn clue how you managed to do that. It’s generally only seen in falls, or industrial accidents, but... yes. There is a spiral fracture in their left tibia. We believe it’s shattered into five separate pieces, though we won’t be able to tell for sure until we can perform exploratory surgery. Villain will need to be a lot stronger before that, though.”

“Okay.” Teammate gritted their teeth. “And that’s all... bad.”

“Very bad.”

“Well, they’re not dead.” Hero hissed.

“They may as well be.” Doctor snapped back.

“Hey, who here is paying you-”

“Shut up, you two.” Teammate growled. “Are they going to die?”

“As it stands now... no. We have them stabilized. Any external bleeding has been stopped. But if our suspicions of pneumonia and internal bleeding are correct, then they could very well die, if we don’t act quickly. That’s what we wanted to ask you about.”

“Whether or not to save them?”

“Essentially.”

“Do it.” Hero’s tone was firm, though still frustrated. “At least for a bit. The edited video will go out on national news tonight. If this assault investigation turns into a murder one, it’ll be more scrutiny than I care to deal with. The less anyone looks into it, the better.”

“Having them back on camera so soon may not be a great idea, sir.” Doctor’s voice had practically turned to a whimper.

“Well, how soon can we expect them to be healthy enough for it?”

“A month-”

“A month?!”

“One month for the initial recovery. And at least four for subsequent physical therapy. They should not engage in any strenuous physical activity for at least that long.”

“We don’t have a month. Much less five.”

“Well, I’m a doctor, not a miracle worker.”

“I need them on the air tomorrow. Either tell me a way to make that happen, or I’ll find a better doctor.”

Doctor’s footsteps could be heard against the tile as they stumbled backwards.

“I guess there’s...”

“What is it?”

“The miracle drug. That’s what they call it. It’s certainly not a miracle, but... I’m sure you’ve heard of Hollywood medicine. An injured actor getting up the day after a car crash, looking good as new.”

“You can do that?"

“Well-”

“Then do it!”

“It’s not that simple. There’s no such thing as a miracle drug. Painkillers and steroids won’t fix their injuries, but with the right mix of them, they can be as good as new tomorrow. Well, along with some seriously good makeup work. Those injuries are... not pretty.”

“Then do that. The news is coming back at 9. Now, was that so hard?”

“Wait.” Teammate interjected. “It can’t be that simple. What’s the catch?”

“The catch?” Doctor began. “The catch is kind of the whole matter of the thing. This treatment, it won’t actually do anything. We’d be blocking pain signals to their brain, and giving them enough strength to press on despite their wounds. But that’s all. The injuries will still be there. And the longer they’re untreated, the worse it’s going to get. Especially if Villain is up and moving.”

“But they’ll be able to appear tomorrow night?”

“Yes. They’ll be good as new.”

“Then...” Teammate hesitated. “You treat them like normal, and we just give them some kind of miracle drug whenever we need them on stage?”

“Again, it’s not that simple. This treatment, it’s going to destroy any possibility of a normal recovery. It’s either or, not and. Either we treat them like normal, or we have them ready to perform tomorrow. It’s your choice, but I’m sure you know what I recommend.”

“They’re performing.” Hero spoke with such a force that it was known in the room that no one could hope to oppose the decision. “Get them up and moving. How long will this work? This miracle drug?”

“There’s no way of knowing, really. They run the risk of collapsing at pretty much any time. We’re tricking their mind into thinking it’s unharmed, but we can’t do that with the body. The wounds are still going to be very, very real.”

“Just give me an estimate.”

“I don’t know, two weeks? Less if the pneumonia gets bad.”

“And then?”

“And then they collapse. Kaput. Gone. The human body has its limits, superpowers or not.”

“I can work with two weeks. I want them back in their cell by tonight, understood?”

“Understood, sir. They’ll be as good as new. And, lay off the collar, please.”

“That depends on if they choose to behave, or not.”

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Villain wasn’t sure when the rough linen of the hospital bed turned to a duvet made of plush, laid atop an impossibly soft mattress that sunk several inches under their weight. They must have been moved at some point, they certainly didn’t remember walking. They couldn’t so much as feel their legs, so walking would have been an impossibility.

One hand curling around the plush on which they lay, they fought against their leaden eyelids until they finally relented and opened. The ceiling above them was one they knew far too well, having spent far too many sleepless nights staring up at it.

They blinked a few times, waking up their mind, which was rapidly beginning to panic.

Had they been dreaming? The day before, had all of it simply been a horrid nightmare?

Sitting up took only minor effort, and as their lungs filled with air, they felt no pain. In fact, their whole body was absent of any pain at all. Even their leg felt to not have lost an ounce of its strength.

It couldn’t have been a dream, could it have been? The pain had felt so real, but...

They raised a hand, drawing it to their ribs. Pressing down prompted no pain, only a vague soreness. But even with their limited medical knowledge, Villain knew full well that ribs weren’t supposed to fold inwards like that.

Nope. Definitely not a dream.

At least, that part wasn’t. Maybe? Trying to think about it was so difficult, causing a horrible, gnawing pain at the back of their mind. Closing their eyes to aid their focus, they did their best to recount.

They had eaten lunch, they believed. There had been others at the table. Visitors. Government representatives? The mayor, maybe? That sounded somewhat right. But then, no, that couldn’t have been right. They remembered the burning of stage lights so strongly, it must have been a news crew.

And then...

Then pain.

They didn’t remember the circumstances in any detail, but they remembered exactly how it felt for a boot to collide with their flesh, crushing all in its wake. They remembered how it felt to have every nerve alight in artificial agony.

After that, there was shouting. Someone was touching them, helping them sit up. It mustn’t have worked, though, for a moment after, they were on the ground, and there was more shouting. More yelling. Screams.

Then nothing. Next thing they could remember, they were swimming through sedatives and painkillers in a hospital bed.

And now they were here.

They looked to the clock, noting it to be late in the night. After the time at which the Heroes would have eaten dinner. There were never any appearances at night, so they would be left alone until it was time for lunch.

It probably would have been best for them to go back to sleep, to rest and recover, but now that they were awake, they couldn’t help but feel that such a thing would be impossible. Warmth ran through their veins like alcohol, making them feel more alive than they could remember having felt in quite some time.

Villain couldn’t sleep, but perhaps they could do the next best thing. They felt around their nightstand, finding eventually the television remote, and clicking on the TV mounted on the wall before them. It was what they spent most of their time doing, anyways. Staring at the screen and rotting.

The screen blinked on, displaying something that caused Villain to do a double take. They looked at the info for the channel, double checking its number.

It was the news. The Heroes had always kept every news channel, or really anything that talked about current events, firmly out of their reach. Yet, here one was, playing right in front of them.

They couldn’t help but feel a dull ache in their neck.

Still, who would catch them? No one would be coming in at this hour. Perhaps they could, at least, peek into the outside world. Hell, they would have been grateful to know the weather.

But what was playing was not the weather.

A banner on the bottom of the screen read, in big white letters, “News At 9.” Two presenters sat behind a table, a brief moment of silence hanging between them as a video played in the top right corner.

Villain saw their own face. Their own bloody, beaten face.

“It is believed that, after filming an interview with Villain, Journalist led them to an unused room, and beat them severely. This video shows the incident.”

Journalist.

Villain did not know that name, but it made their stomach twist in on itself.

Their nausea turned to panic in an instant as they heard a quiet knock, echoing against the door to their room. Already shaking, they lunged for the remote, tapping in a random number and willing the channel to change faster. By the time the doorknob twisted and the door opened, they were sweating bullets.

They looked to the doorway, doing their very best to pretend that they had only been innocently watching an approved channel.

They had expected Hero, or perhaps one of the others on their team, and they supposed that they weren’t entirely wrong.

Hero had long since stopped having a singular sidekick, stating that such a thing was horribly inefficient. Instead, they had multiple at any given time, training each for several months before sending them off to other duties.

Sidekick was one of the newer trainees. Villain couldn’t quite remember what exactly their powers were, though they remembered that this trainee in particular was one of Hero’s favorites. They were younger-- not a kid, but firmly college-aged, though their stature was far too muscular to suggest such a thing.

They had painted on their face the same smile that Hero always presented to the media. It made Villain shudder.

After flashing that bright smile a moment, Sidekick turned, closing the door with notable care and approaching their bedside. Villain turned off the television, shifting to face their visitor. Sitting up straight, drawing their shoulders back, showing all the respect that a trainee of Hero deserved.

“Can I sit?” Sidekick pointed to a spot on the bed.”

“Yes! Of course.”

They nodded, sitting down. There was a remarkable care in the way they moved and shifted, as if they were terrified of making even the slightest noise.

“Turn the TV back on.”

“Um- okay. I promise, I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to, it just turned on, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, please don’t-”

“Shh, shh. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m not going to hurt you. We need to be quiet.”

Villain nodded, turning on the TV. The noise practically drowned out Sidekick’s voice, and they couldn’t help but feel that that was rather the point.

“Villain. You know me, right?”

“I wouldn’t say that I know you very well.”

“That’s okay. I’m Sidekick, and we want to help.”

“What do you mean ‘we?’“

“Me and your friend. Journalist. They couldn’t be here, it’s too dangerous, but... I know you don’t know me very well. And to be quite honest, I don’t know you very well, either.”

Sidekick raised their hand, causing Villain to flinch back. But they were not struck. Instead, the hand was presented as if offering a handshake.

“Villain, I need you to trust me.”

They felt their mouth grow dry as they looked at the offered hand.

“I know we don’t know each other well, but what I do know is that you’re suffering, and you need help. In three days, you’re going to be at a live press conference, down on the East side. There’s going to be a signal. When the sun disappears, that’s your signal. You’ll know what I mean, okay?”

“I don’t know if I-”

“Please. When you see the signal, you need to cause as much chaos as you can, okay? I mean, don’t hurt anyone, or at least try not to, but do what you need to do to get them running. That’s all you need to do. We’ll take care of the rest.”

“W-Why?”

Sidekick moved their offered hand closer.

“Villain, do you trust me?”

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What should our Whumpee do? It’s up to you to decide!

There are two options, each one leading to a separate story branch. Alongside each option is a question specifying what exactly will happen. Answering this question is completely optional, but it is great if you have any particular ideas! Otherwise, feel free to just put a letter.

To vote, feel free to use any means you would like to contact me. Replying or reblogging this post works just fine, as does PMing me directly or sending me an ask. I am unsure when I will be writing the next part, so as long as the next part hasn’t been posted yet, voting is still open!

I will choose the story path based on which option has more votes, and will choose whichever answer I find the most interesting to base the next part upon. The choices and questions for this part are as follows:

A) Trust - Should Villain go along with the plan? B) Refuse - Should Villain report the infraction?

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to contact me. This is my first time doing anything like this, so I apologize if it’s odd or confusing ^^

#whump #whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #villain whumpee #gilded cage #choose your own adventure #choose your own whump #hero villain whump #hero villain prompt

[writinglizards]

Make me Happy

Summary: "I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous." - Mary Shelley's Frankenstein He is created. He is abandoned. He is found.

Read on Ao3

The first thing he knows is agony.

He feels set on fire from the inside, bright white pain arcing through his veins. He cries out, voice hoarse. The sharpness of it ceases as quickly as it came, but the ache persists.

A clatter to his left draws his attention. He shifts. Distantly, he’s aware of the scratch and shift of the rough-hewn shirt and trousers he’s dressed in, but there are larger concerns, at the moment. His limbs feel awkward but otherwise cooperative, so sits up.

There is a man across the room with his back pressed against the counter. White hair, a beard. The man’s face is drawn in an expression he can’t parse. Beneath the man’s feet are shards of glass.

He doesn't understand where he is or what's going on. He opens his mouth to speak--and finds he doesn't know the words to communicate this. He makes a quiet, wordless sound, questioning. He hopes it's enough for the man to understand. He so wants answers.

In response, the man jolts for the door.

He starts at the abrupt movement, makes another quiet noise of surprise, reaches out a hand toward him, wait, please--

The man makes a shrill noise, "Stay away, you, you--" he flings the door open after a brief scrabbling with the lock and bolts, a high pitched terrified noise leaving his throat. He throws the door closed behind him, but it hits the doorframe and bounces back, hard.

He follows because he doesn't know what else to do. The other man is scared. Should he be scared?

He lets the smell of terror, sickly and awful, lead him down a spiral staircase and out a partly concealed door onto the street where he's abruptly hit with an overwhelming wave of scents and sounds. It's too much for him to understand; all he knows is he needs to find the man again. He hopes he can help.

He sees someone, not the man from the room, on the street a few feet away. He approaches, timid. He's trying to work out how to ask what he wants to know--where did the man from the room go?--when he catches the other's attention.

"What the--what the fuck?" He doesn't understand the words, but the tone--the man spins on his heel and sprints away, terrified. It catches the attention of several people up the street. The first man was scared, but these men--help, maybe?

He takes a few slow steps in their direction, still trying to figure out how to ask what he wants to know when he catches the glint of steel. He freezes. He takes quick stock of their expressions, the naked weapons in their grips, and hesitates.

"You'll get the fuck out of here if you know what's good for you, monster." He doesn't understand, doesn't know how to respond in a way that will ease the aggression of their posture. He just wants help.

"Well? Get," one of the men shouts, rapping the flat of his blades together. It makes a harsh sound, makes him whine with how the sharp noise hurts. He ducks his head, cups his hands over his ears to try and make the hurt stop. "I said get," the man shouts again, repeats the movement of his weapons. He keens, a low, quiet sound full of pain. He doesn't understand--

"You got to the count of fucking three," another says, and he doesn't wait for them to make the noise again. He runs.

Every person he sees in his mad dash down the street and away from the pain reacts similarly. Either they flee or they bare steel and make threats, loud and angry. The mixing scents, the noises, his own fear, it's all too much. He doesn't know where he is or where he's going. He just runs.

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By the time the sun is beginning to rise, he's finally broken out of the rows and rows of buildings and into the trees, where he runs until his lungs burn and his feet hurt before he collapses in the shade at the base of a tree. He doesn't know where he is or what's going on, doesn't understand the fear and hostility of the people he'd seen. He sits there, somewhere in the middle of the forest, and finally feels it hit him. He doesn't know, he doesn't understand. He sits and he cries, deep chest wracking sobs, until he's too tired to keep his eyes open. He curls himself up small and tight in the roots of the tree, and sleeps.

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He's woken some indeterminate time later, to the sound of footsteps. Lots of them. The sky is going grey at the edges, so he knows he must have slept a while. There's shouting coming from the direction he came from yesterday, words he can't understand in a tone he can--they sound like the men who made the awful noise.

"If you see that fuckin beast, just kill 'em. No need to leave him loose to terrorize the city again."

“Nah, the mage wants ‘em. Said--”

“I know what he said and I’m saying just kill ‘em.”

They're not that far. He knows enough now that he doesn't want to run into these people, doesn't want a repeat of last night. He rises very quietly, and treks farther into the forest, away from the sounds of the approaching men. He'll walk all night if he has to.

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He walks until he can't hear them any longer, and then he keeps walking, for good measure. He walks until he stumbles across another group of buildings, much smaller than the one he'd fled last night. He lingers at the edge of the trees, watching a trio of young women leaning against a wooden fence not far, talking. One of the women has something she appears to be eating in her hand, and his own stomach growls loudly in reminder that he has eaten nothing since...he doesn't know when.

These women look nothing like the men with their weapons, which is the only reason he steps out of his hiding spot in the trees, starts towards them.

"Sara, look--" one of the women catches sight of him and goes pale. She steps backward, hands shaking, and he freezes. He doesn't want them to be afraid. He only wants--

The one eating turns to look back over her shoulder and their eyes meet. She drops the thing she'd been eating. There's a shriek--the third woman--and then all three of them are running pell-mell back towards the rest of the buildings.

He tamps down on his hurt and darts forward to scoop the food off the ground--an...apple?--and then he's running again, farther into the forest. He knows better than to stick around for the angry men and their weapons.

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He doesn't pause until he feels he's far enough away he'll be able to hear anyone coming with enough warning to escape. He settles at the base of a tree and gnaws on the apple slowly, trying to savor the small thing. It's a little better than nothing, but it reminds him he's hungry, sets his stomach to rolling uncomfortably. When he's gnawed the thing down to its core he finally sets it aside, disappointed.

He’ll have to see if he can find more food, or venture back towards the buildings to see if there’s anything he might be able to take that won’t be missed. But not tonight.

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In the end, he ends up doing quite a bit of stealing from the village at night while he hides in the trees during the day, watching the way the people interact with one another. He feels bad about just taking, but there’s nothing much that can be done for it--there’s no easily accessible food in the forest and the people still spook and run at the sight of him.

So that’s the way he survives, for a bit. It's not a comfortable existence and he knows the people of the little town both know he's there and are upset by it. He tries not to scare them, only slips down into their fields at night, when most are asleep, only takes as much food as he needs to quell the emptiness in his stomach.

Watching the people interact with one another is helpful, though, even if he can’t approach them. The field workers do a lot of talking to one another as they work, and over time he starts to pick up what the words mean, in a roundabout kind of way. So he lingers and he watches and he hopes for...something he can't put a name to.

He's finally forced to move on when he tries to slip down into the town about three weeks later and there are men with swords again, lining the outskirts of the village. He knows enough about people at this point from what he's observed and he doesn't want problems. He moves on, just picks a direction and starts walking.

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When he stumbles across a tiny cottage out in the woods all on its own, he assumes it must be abandoned--people don't live alone, after all. He would investigate further, but the sun is already peeking over the horizon, sky dusting pink, and he knows he needs to find somewhere to settle before daybreak.

There are several little shacks sprinkled around the clearing that he doesn’t know the purpose of so he picks one--the shack behind the cottage--to test the door and finds it unlocked. It's a storage shed and moderately well-stocked, despite how the little room seems to be on the verge of collapse. He settles to the ground on the far side of a crate and tucks himself into a tight little ball. He'll stay here today and investigate more closely tonight.

Shortly, he dozes.

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He wakes much too soon to the sound of...something. He's never heard it before, this softly twanging noise. It's good. Nice.

He knows it must be well past mid-day from the way the light slants in through the chinks in the walls. He's just thinking it's too early to try venturing out when the singing starts, soft and lovely and he thinks, oh, It's a person.

He rises very slowly and quietly and crosses the tiny storeroom to the wall that's shared with the cottage. The music is a little louder here, and he can make out the words, a story of a knight saving a fair maiden and true love's kiss. He can understand what those words mean a bit now--language has come slowly, but he's getting better at piecing together bits and pieces from the things he's heard, although not all of it makes sense all the time. And well, some things just feel right, like he's known them all his life. Language has been a little like that, even if speaking is a challenge.

So he can follow the story, vaguely, even as the song ends and another quickly takes its place. He hears no other voices or movement in the adjoining room, just that smooth tenor singing of heroics and heartbreak. He settles down beside the wall, rests his temple against the rough wood grain, and listens.

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He wakes again an indeterminate time later. It's late, the sun is down and the man in the cottage sounds as if he's retired for the night. It's quiet. He...probably shouldn't stay here, but it's warm and quiet and the man sings so beautifully. He borrows a small meal of hard bread from the stores and tells himself he won't be back when he slips out of the storeroom to stretch his legs.

By the time the sun rises, he's tucked back into the storeroom anyway, curled up against the wall that joins the cottage. What's one more day?

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One day becomes two days becomes a whole week. He's reluctant to leave the security of the little storeroom, the pleasant singing. A few days in, he finds a chink in the wall that lets him see into the cottage room and he now spends his daylight hours pressed to that wall, watching, listening. The man is...beautiful. He looks like they would be of a height, even if the man is a little leaner than he himself is. Despite that, the man is still broad-shouldered and strong looking, with brilliant blue eyes and a sweep of brown hair he can only think of as pretty. And he can tell the man is not just beautiful; he’s also intelligent, witty. He talks to himself constantly, sings, reads, dances his way around the room. The man moves through life as if he has not a care in the world. He wants so badly to be a part of that.

Despite how much he yearns to join the man, he still won't reveal himself, too afraid of the potential reaction to him. He finds himself growing attached, despite how much he shouldn’t. If this soft and delightful man is as afraid as the village people were, it will break him.

So he watches and he dreams and he tries to help around the cottage, at night. It starts with some chopped wood when the woodpile gets a little too low, which the man reacts to with delighted confusion. Then it's a few rabbits and other small animals, here and there, to replenish some of the food stores he's been dipping into to feed himself.

"Well, looks like we've got ourselves an admirer," the man says softly the morning he finds the first rabbit. He'd been...nervous about leaving the little thing. Nervous it might upset or scare the man. Instead, he looks...pleased. He smiles all day, even when he comes back in from caring for the chickens, which he knows the man dislikes. It's nice, kindles a warm feeling in his chest.

He wants to be the cause of that smile more often.

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A few days later, he wakes to the sound of more than just the man in the yard out front. There are several people he can't see but he can hear them, carrying things to and fro.

"Jaskier, where do you want this?" one of them asks.

"Oh, that's fine there," the man says. Something flutters in his chest. Jaskier.

There's a few more crates the other men bring into the cottage that he can see through his chink in the wall. The man, Jaskier, watches the stacking of these crates on the far side of the cottage along with another man who stands at his elbow. Compared to Jaskier, the man is very broad and well built with short cropped dark hair. He carries a sword on his hip and stands like he'd be ready to draw it at a moment's notice. He reminds him of the men who'd threatened him the first night.

"I should also warn you there's been sightings of some kind of monster lately." Jaskier turns to the man with the sword, effectively presenting his back to the chink in the wall. He wishes he could see his face.

"What kind of monster? Monsters have been gone for almost a hundred years."

The other man is already shaking his head, "not a monster, monster, no. This is some kind of abomination. Looks like a man but...not. Wrong. He's been spotted at one of the nearby villages as little as a few weeks ago."

"And? How do they know he's a monster then?"

The man puffs out a tired sounding breath, "I'm just relating what I heard, Jaskier. I don't know."

"Of course not," he says, tetchy. There's something beyond the words that have upset him.

"Look, I--"

Jaskier pulls away from the hand hovering over his shoulder. "I don't care, Vincent."

"Jask, you know I didn't--"

"We're not talking about us," Jaskier says, tone sharp in a way he's never heard, "just...let the men finish and then you can run on home to father and tell him what a good little disowned son I've been, hm?"

Jaskier doesn't give him a chance to respond, just steps over to watch the men bringing in the crates more closely, steps just a little too heavy.

When they're gone, he watches Jaskier cry, head in his hands. It makes his chest uncomfortably tight but there's nothing he can do.

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When night falls and he's sure Jaskier is asleep (and he feels a little flutter of delight in his gut when he thinks the man's name, elated that he knows it after all this time), he slips out of the storeroom and into the pooling moonlight of the little clearing, stretching his legs. His goal tonight is to chop some more wood so Jaskier will have enough to stay warm tomorrow. Then...maybe a walk. He'd seen some blackberry bushes a few nights ago. Maybe he'd pick some, leave them for him in the morning.

The wood chopping goes quickly and he stacks the split logs nicely with the other chopped wood against the wall by the front door. He does so quietly, not wanting to rouse his sleeping friend. Not that he thinks it likely the man will rouse tonight. He'd been somber the rest of the day and he'd cried again, curled in his bed when he should have been sleeping. He finds he wants to do something to ease the unhappiness that's settled over him since the men had come by.

It's with that thought he wanders off in search of those blackberries. He takes one of the wooden buckets Jaskier usually uses for gathering eggs and sets off to find the blackberry bushes.

They're right where he remembered them, just a short walk from the little pond where the ducks gather from time to time. He goes about picking them to fill the bucket, careful of their little thorns. He gets the bucket three-fourths or so full before he calls it good. By then, he's covered in sticky juice and the sun should be up soon. He's got just enough time to visit the pond, wash off his hands and leave the bucket out front before he’ll settle back in the storage room.

The pond is silent and still when he wanders up, the bucket dangling from one hand. He sets it aside on the shore and kneels at the edge of the pond. He tries not to peer into his reflection in the water, even as the moonlight reflects back off its surface.

Unbidden, then man's words resurface in his mind. Like a man but not. Wrong. He knows he looks...different. There are harsh scars scattering his face, his temples, his arms, his torso. His eyes are wrong, too bright, too strange a color. His hair is unnatural, too pale, too wild. He understands why the villagers are startled by him, understands why they react with fear. He's...wrong. He just doesn't know what to do about it.

He pushes the thoughts from his mind and doesn't let himself linger. Instead, he washes up quickly and treks back over to the cottage. He leaves the bucket of berries on the doorstep and retreats to the storeroom.

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He rouses just a little when Jaskier rises. He listens to him sing and go about his morning routine with half an ear, still mostly asleep. The sound of his friend awake and back to normal is a comfort, so it's disturbing the way he abruptly goes silent when the door creaks open.

"Oh--" he's obviously found the berries. The quiet stretches out for a beat too long and then there's a sniffling noise. "Shit," Jaskier mutters. The door clunks back shut. He hears the noise of the bucket being sat down somewhere in the cottage. "'s stupid to fucking cry over berries, Jask, pull it together," he tells himself, voice thick with tears.

He can't help the surge of alarm that rolls through him--he didn't mean to make Jaskier cry. He presses his face to the wood, eye at the chink in the wall, and is surprised to find him smiling despite the tears, gazing down into the bucket of berries as if they are something far more precious as he wipes aggressively at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Blackberries," he repeats, once his breathing is a little more under control, "I'll have to make a pie." He's still smiling. Maybe they weren't such a bad idea, after all.

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Jaskier continues with his daily routine after that, and he lets himself sleep again, after a time. He's fairly attuned with the noises of Jaskier going about his day, so he doesn't startle when Jaskier begins going through the crates of supplies the men brought yesterday. By the time he realizes what that means, Jaskier's already at the door of the storage shed, dried goods tucked under his arm.

He lays very, very still where he's curled in the corner, pressed against the wall of the cottage, eyes squeezed shut, and waits for the inevitable.

The gasp is expected. The sound of the bundle Jaskier is carrying hitting the ground is as well. What is not expected is the hands that land on his shoulder, tug him over gently. He blinks up at the face of the man he's only watched from a distance, startled. He expected revulsion, fear, the sound of footsteps fleeing. Instead, he's peering down at him with concern.

"Oh, thank the gods you're alive," he sighs out on a breath, patting reassuringly at his shoulder where his hands still rest. "What are you doing in my storage shed, darling?"

And oh, this is...not something he'd been prepared for. He swallows hard and can't seem to force words out.

"You don't have to tell me," Jaskier says softly, "but let's get you inside, alright? It can't be comfortable out here."

He follows in a daze when Jaskier tugs him gently upright and leads him into the cottage. This doesn't feel real. He must be dreaming. Why else would Jaskier be looking at him like that?

"Have you had anything to eat? Are you hungry?" Jaskier asks once he's settled at the table. He at least can follow that much so he shakes his head, still afraid to speak. Jaskier jumps to preparing him a small meal of hard cheese and fresh bread. “Sorry, I haven’t had the chance to make that pie yet,” he says as he sets the little plate before him and settles across the table from him, smiling. "Go on, eat," he says, and he doesn't have to be told twice.

The food is the best thing he's ever tasted. The pleased look never falls off Jaskier's face. "Thank you," he whispers once the plate is empty, wincing when the words fall rough like gravel from his disused throat.

"Oh," Jaskier breathes, freezing with his hand outstretched to take the empty plate. He thinks maybe he's made a mistake, but Jaskier's smile stretches impossibly wider, eyes sparkling, "you're very welcome, dear heart." The look on Jaskier’s face, that tone, settles something warm in his chest.

Jaskier puts the plate on the counter and resumes his seat. He doesn't know what to do with himself in the face of Jaskier's kindness and keeps his eyes averted. Jaskier doesn't give him time to start feeling self-conscious, though.

"I'm Jaskier. Do you have a name, darling? Something I can call you?" And he knows Jaskier’s asking a question but--

Jaskier can tell his mistake almost immediately. “Oh! Um,” he fumbles to press his hand to his chest, “Jaskier,” he repeats, and he nods. Then, tentatively, Jaskier holds out his hand to him. He doesn’t move, not quite sure what Jaskier means until his palm makes careful contact with his chest. His breath catches. “You?”

He shakes his head, understanding that Jaskier is asking for his name. He feels a bubble of shame rise in him. It's not his fault he doesn't have something to go by like everyone else, he knows, but that doesn't lessen the feeling he's let his friend down.

"Oh, sweetheart," Jaskier breathes, and he doesn't sound upset. Or at least, not at him. "What should we call you then?” He looks thoughtful for a minute before, “Hold on, I’ve an idea.”

Jaskier rises and crosses the room, bringing back something from one of the shelves. “I’ve got a book here,” Jaskier says, settling it on the table in front of him, “It’s a storybook, but I could read you the names of the characters here until you find one you like?” and that was a lot of words but…“Just nod if you hear one you like, yes?” He can do that.

So Jaskier flips through the book, stopping periodically to read out the names as he finds them. And they’re...fine. But none of the names sound right to him.

“Hm, Eric?” He shakes his head, “No, I agree, too bland. Jakob? No? Alright then, Alice? That’s typically a lady’s name but--nope okay, um, Geralt?”

And that’s--“Yes,” he says softly. Something about that feels right.

The smile on Jaskier's face is small and delighted. "You want to be called Geralt?"

"Mm." And something about choosing the name makes his face hot. He ducks his head.

The grin that stretches Jaskier’s face looks like it hurts it's so wide. "A good name. Heroic. Kind." His gaze softens as he reaches across the table to rest his palm on Geralt's forearm. The touch is reassuring, even as he burns hot under Jaskier's fingertips. "It suits you."

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He doesn't pressure Geralt for an explanation of anything, but he reassures him several times that he can stay, that it's no trouble. He even sets him up with new clothes, soft cotton that isn’t as scratchy as what he’d been wearing.

"Really Geralt, I have to insist. I won't be able to rest knowing you're out there somewhere with nowhere to stay. And," he continues, “if you stay long enough, I’ll even send for some clothes of your own, if you’d like.” And well. He can't let Jaskier worry (and the new clothes would be nice, too).

He sleeps on the little divan and marvels at how quickly Jaskier drifts off, breaths evening into sleep. The trust inherent in the action shakes him to his core. He follows a while later, chest overly tight.

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They settle into a habit surprisingly quickly in the weeks that follow. Geralt picks up many of the tasks he'd already been performing for Jaskier in the twilight hours and Jaskier provides excellent company. He still sings and plays his lute in the evenings, preening to have an audience that Geralt is happy to provide.

He's thankful Jaskier asks no questions, although it's obvious Jaskier would like to know more about him, about what happened. He catches him staring at the scars when he thinks Geralt isn't looking, but it's not with revulsion. Geralt can't name the emotion on his face, but it's not a bad one necessarily.

There's only one question he does ask.

"So, do you know who my admirer is?" he says finally. Geralt’s just starting to feel truly comfortable here with Jaskier and is less worried about Jaskier changing his mind about keeping Geralt around. He’s proven he’s helpful and he’s trying very, very hard not to scare him (he’s beginning to think Jaskier can’t be scared, actually).

Geralt's in the middle of chopping wood when he asks. "Because you know, it was really very sweet of them." He's grinning.

"Uh," is the very elegant response Geralt comes up with, cheeks hot. He’s not sure why he’s embarrassed. Jaskier obviously knows it was him. He chops the next piece of wood with a singular focus, doesn't shift his gaze back over to Jaskier.

"He must have very fine arms. He chopped all my wood for weeks, you know," Jaskier says offhand, and oh. He's teasing. His tone is friendly. Geralt only flushes harder. He’s not sure why Jaskier can fluster him so quickly. "Not as good as yours, I'm sure," he continues, and Geralt nearly jumps when Jaskier's hand settles on his bicep, squeezing. "Mm, not sure anyone's as deliciously built as you are, darling."

"Jaskier," he finally bites out, mortified. He feels--he feels--he doesn’t know the word for it, but he’s pretty sure it’s not appropriate. Jaskier laughs.

"It's alright sweetheart," he grins and shoots him a wink, "your secret's safe with me." And Geralt doesn't know what to do with himself, but he likes the way his stomach clenches when Jaskier touches him, the soft way he speaks. And he does trust that he's safe with him. It's...reassuring.

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Despite how safe Geralt feels, he still can't bring himself to tell Jaskier how he ended up hiding in his storeroom. He's fairly certain Jaskier won't care at this point, but every time he tries to say something, he finds the words have abandoned him. Unlike Jaskier, he struggles to voice his thoughts, even when he has the words neatly arranged in his head. Jaskier reassures him that it's fine, not everyone is gifted with their speech and it's normal for words not to work the way you'd like, but it frustrates him anyway. He...cares...about Jaskier. He’s…different. He wants to share this part of himself with him. He just doesn't know how.

His efforts are further complicated by the way his stomach flips uncomfortably every time Jaskier is close. He's not an idiot, he knows what it means (Jaskier is a big fan of love ballads, the raunchier the better, he says and it’s…that) but it feels...dishonest to entertain Jaskier's subtle flirting, especially when Jaskier knows nothing about who he really is, how he came to be. After all, who could love a monster?

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"Geralt," Jaskier calls from his mound of blankets as Geralt stokes the fire for the last time that night, "come to bed with me, darling."

Geralt can feel himself flush. "Jaskier," he admonishes, but Jaskier only laughs, lifts the corner of the blanket invitingly.

"It's been cold at night and it will only get colder. Come on, Geralt." He bats his eyes enticingly, pats the corner of the mattress again.

"I can't," he says, quiet, and something in Jaskier's expression softens.

"Alright, darling," he says, letting the blankets fall closed around him, "but that's a standing invitation."

"Hm."

Jaskier doesn't press further, but Geralt lays awake thinking about it for far longer than he should.

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"I'm a viscount," Jaskier says apropos of nothing a few days later. It's early morning and they're outside, returning from the chicken coop. Geralt turns to where Jaskier's stopped in the middle of the yard, bucket of chicken eggs forgotten on the ground beside him. "Or at least, I used to be. My father disowned me about a year ago now."

"Why?" Geralt asks, because Jaskier seems to need the encouragement. He wouldn't have brought it up if he hadn't wanted Geralt to know.

"I...embarrassed him. With who I chose to take to my bed." He's staring hard at the tree line opposite the cottage. He's not even facing Geralt. "My father's head of the guard. Vincent."

The name brings to mind the day the crates were delivered. The man with the sword who stood too close.

"I was disowned either way and I knew that, but Vincent..." he trails off.

"Thank you, Jaskier. You don't have to tell me." His eyes meet Geralt's finally and he smiles. It's a tiny, watery thing.

"No I--he chose to stay. With my father. And I'm...here. It bothered me. For a long time." He's quiet so long Geralt thinks maybe that's the end of it, but when he steps forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Jaskier, he keeps talking. "I thought...who would want a disowned viscount? Vincent certainly didn't. I'm damaged goods."

"Jaskier, you're not damaged," Geralt says, horrified at the prospect. Jaskier is...wonderful (even if he talks a little too much for Geralt's taste, sometimes). How could anyone think him lesser for loving who he loved?

Jaskier extends his hand to catch Geralt's and squeezes tightly. Geralt squeezes back, stomach fluttering when Jaskier smiles at him. "I know," he says softly, "and I know you’re not ready to talk about yourself yet, but whatever it is, it’s okay, okay?" And when Jaskier says that, looking at him the way he is, Geralt can almost believe him.

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They settle deeper into their routine, something Jaskier calls "disgustingly domestic" with a smile that nearly splits his face, so Geralt's pretty sure he doesn't think it's a bad thing, actually. Geralt certainly enjoys it.

Jaskier talks incessantly about anything and everything and Geralt likes listening.

“You know,” Jaskier says one night, after he’s wound down his playing and put the lute away, “I haven’t had many guests out here since I was disowned. It’s been...nice.”

“Why not?” Geralt asks, stoking the fire before settling back on the fur rug. Geralt can’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to spend time with Jaskier.

“Being disowned is…” he pauses, obviously searching for the right words, “it’s not something that’s done lightly. It means the people I grew up with, the people who were close to me, they can’t see me anymore, or risk having their own reputation tarnished.”

Geralt feels his lips twitch in a frown. Jaskier laughs.

“Oh, don’t make that face, I know. But that’s how it is. I’ve spent some time with the village locals, but it’s...not the same. I’m still nobility to them and I’m no longer nobility to the actual nobles.” He shrugs, but Geralt can see the thought still bothers him.

“You were lonely,” Geralt says. He’s not sure he should have pointed it out, but Jaskier doesn’t seem angry.

“I was,” he agrees softly. Something in his eyes pins Geralt to the spot, “until you.”

And that’s...too much to think about. “Hm.”

The smile that creeps over Jaskier’s face is blinding. “Yes,” he agrees, “hm, indeed.”

------------------------------

"My father's men should be stopping by in the next few weeks," Jaskier says on a morning like any other.

"Did you want me--"

"No," Jaskier corrects hastily before Geralt can offer to hide, "No, I want you here. I just--wanted to give you a heads up."

"Oh."

They don't talk about it again. They probably should have.

------------------------------

"Jaskier?" Geralt calls across the small space of the cottage, sitting up.

There's banging outside. People. Jaskier shifts in his cocoon of blankets that is his bed, only the top of his head visible. "No," he mumbles fuzzily, "don't wanna." He's...not really awake.

"Jaskier," Geralt rumbles, voice still thick with sleep himself, "we should--"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before the door is swinging open and a man is striding through. When he sees Geralt, his hand lands on his sword.

"Jaskier, what the fuck--"

"Vincent," Jaskier gasps, nearly tripping in his haste to extract himself from the blankets. He’s eyeing the space between Vincent and Geralt with panic, "ever heard of fucking knocking?" he bites out, shifting to put himself between them as much as possible.

"Jaskier, you've got a--"

"Don't finish that sentence," he says, tone flat and threatening, "and I'd appreciate it if you'd give my companion and I some fucking privacy. I'll meet you in the yard in a moment."

Vincent's hand tightens around the pommel of his sword, "I don't think--" he starts, but the look Jaskier pins him with is cutting. He hesitates, but he leaves without another word, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Fucking prick," Jaskier growls, stalking over to his wardrobe to put on some clothes before facing their company.

"I should--" Geralt starts, but Jaskier cuts him off.

"You should get dressed and let me drag you around the yard to hang off of while I make sure my father hasn't fucking shorted me on supplies. I'm already disowned, what more can he do to me?" The grin on Jaskier's face is brittle.

When they exit the cottage, Vincent is hovering by the door, obviously nervous. He's still got his hand wrapped around the pommel of his sword like a lifeline. Jaskier scoffs at it, but Geralt stays carefully back and works to make his posture non-threatening.

"Jaskier," Vincent says the minute he's out the door, "what is--"

"This is Geralt," Jaskier cuts in smoothly, "my companion." Vincent winces.

"He's--"

"My companion," Jaskier reinforces.

"The mage in Novigrad is looking for him." Geralt stiffens.

"I assure you we have no idea what you mean," Jaskier bites out, even as Geralt feels his stomach drop uncomfortably. The mage. The man from the room. He no longer cares one way or the other who the man is or what he wanted from Geralt. He’s happy here, he doesn’t want to leave. Vincent opens his mouth to respond, but he snaps his jaw shut a moment later with no protest.

"Okay," he sighs. Then-- "Where do you want the supplies?"

The men don't stay any longer than they need to, but it's a tense affair for everyone involved. Jaskier takes Geralt's hand in his and doesn't let go until long after Vincent and his underlings have left.

------------------------------

The rest of the day, Jaskier’s filled with a frantic sort of energy. He breezes through chores, drags Geralt on a walk with him out to the pond where he paces the water’s edge for near an hour before they head back. And it doesn’t dissipate even after they’ve returned to the cottage and had dinner.

The fire’s lit and Geralt is settled on the fur rug before it the way he normally does. Usually, this is about the time Jaskier would fetch his lute, or perhaps a book to read from. Instead, he’s still pacing.

“Jaskier,” Geralt finally says, breaking his focus as he comes up short in another circuit of the room, “come sit. Your pacing makes my head hurt.”

“Sorry,” he huffs, flopping down beside him with a heavy sigh. He leans against Geralt’s side for a bit, but he’s still restless, still shifting.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says again and Jaskier sighs hard. He pulls away only to lay beside him, pillowing his head on Geralt’s thigh. Immediately, Geralt slips his fingers into Jaskier’s hair, soothing.

"So that was awful," Jaskier mutters.

"Mm."

He rolls so his face is pressed to Geralt's stomach. Geralt's fingers stay tangled in his hair, gently petting.

"I don’t want you to go," Jaskier says into the silence, muffled against Geralt's bulk.

Geralt’s chest siezes.

“I know you aren’t ready to tell me anything and that’s okay, but I--” his breath is warm against the thin cloth of Geralt’s shirt, “If that mage really is looking for you, I don’t want you to go,” he repeats, voice small.

Geralt feels as if his throat has closed. "I'm--I want to stay here,” he forces out, swallowing roughly. He should explain because Jaskier doesn’t know, but Jaskier sags with relief, presses his face closer to Geralt's stomach, fingers digging into his side and Geralt doesn’t want to take that relief from him, not now.

"That's--I'm glad." They don't say anything else for a long time as the fire burns down.

------------------------------

Geralt can’t stop thinking about the fact Jaskier doesn’t know, though. He needs to tell him. So that he’ll understand. Geralt owes it to him to tell him, whether he wants to or not. And if Jaskier wants him gone after? It will hurt, but he’ll go.

"Jaskier, do you have a minute?" he asks while Jaskier's tuning his lute that evening. He'd been getting ready to play, as he usually does.

"Of course, sweetheart. What is it?" he asks, strumming through a simple, uncomplicated tune. He meets Geralt's eyes with a playful smile, but his expression sobers when he sees the seriousness in Geralt's gaze.

"You asked me," he says carefully, "about before."

"Only if you're comfortable, dear. You don't have to--"

"No," he says, "I do." He needs to understand. He drops his gaze to his lap where he's wringing his hands together nervously. He stills them with effort, but that only makes the scars there stand out more starkly. He startles when Jaskier catches his hands in his own, traces those scars tenderly with lute-calloused fingertips.

"Well then, I'm listening," he says and smiles, small and encouraging when Geralt's gaze flickers back up to his face. It makes his chest tight. He doesn't deserve this. Jaskier. He tries to take in his face now, that tender care, that concern. Just in case it’s gone, after. So he knows. So he can remember.

Despite the fear churning in his gut, he takes a deep breath and starts talking, gaze glued to their still joined hands.

"My earliest memory is--uh. I. I woke up in a...room. I didn't know where I was. There was...a man. The mage, I guess." Jaskier is very, very still but his thumbs rub soothing circles against the back of his hands, a grounding point of contact.

"I tried to ask him what was going on, but I--" he trails off, unsure how to phrase what he means. He shakes his head. "--I didn't know how. I didn't have the words. And I--scared him. I think. He ran."

Jaskier sucks in a noisy breath and squeezes his hands briefly. "Go on," he encourages when Geralt glances back up.

"I followed him. I didn't know what else to do. I was in a town, I think."

"Novigrad," Jaskier interrupts before wincing. "Sorry, go on."

"The people there--I tried to ask for help but they--" he can feel the tears burning in his throat and tries to breathe through it, keep going, "they either ran or they threatened me. I didn't know what was going on." He feels the tears spill and ducks his head. If he stops now, he won't be able to continue. "I ran."

"Oh, Geralt," Jaskier whispers. He lets go of one hand to bring his palm up to Geralt's face. His fingertips brush the corner of his eye, wipe the tears away gently.

"I ended up in the forest. There's a village not too far from here," Jaskier makes a quiet noise of acknowledgment. It’s the village Jaskier goes to sometimes when he needs things his father won’t or doesn’t send. "I stayed around there for a few weeks. Until the men with the swords showed up." Jaskier makes another small noise, rubbing his thumb along Geralt's cheekbone. Geralt closes his eyes. "So I picked a direction and started walking. And I found you."

"And I'm glad you found me, love. Sounds like you've had quite the rough go of it."

The calm acceptance is...too much. Does he not understand? He's a monster. Not natural. The mage wants back his creature. "Jaskier, I'm--"

"Shh," he cuts him off, grip still tight on his hand as he caresses his face, slips his fingers back into his hair, "I'm glad you told me, darling, but it doesn't change how I feel about you. You're a good person." He tugs him into his arms, gentle. Geralt goes, feeling like he did when he woke--unmoored, lost. He feels the tears slip down his cheeks, feels the way his breath catches on a sob. "I love you."

"Jask--" he can't get the words out past the lump in his throat so he just tucks himself a little closer, presses his face into Jaskier's neck. His lute sits forgotten beside them.

"You don't have to say it back, sweetling. It's okay," he says, stroking his free hand through Geralt's hair, the other tucked around his waist.

"I do, though," he whispers, lips brushing his throat, "I do." Jaskier sucks in a shuddering breath and holds him tighter, presses his lips to Geralt's temple, right over the mass of scars there. It's gentle, reverent.

That night, Geralt sleeps in Jaskier's bed, curled against his chest. He’s nearly asleep when the gentle tenor of Jaskier’s voice cuts through the soft haze of near-sleep. “--don’t know where I’d be,” Jaskier is saying softly, lips pressing intermittently to the top of his head, “gets hard being alone out here. And you’re so--” he cuts off, presses a kiss to Geralt’s hair again. He obviously thinks he’s already asleep. “You keep me grounded,” he says. “This is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.” He breathes it like a secret.

As Geralt lets sleep finally pull him under, swimming in Jaskier’s quiet confession, it's the most cared for he's ever felt.

------------------------------

And that’s how things continue, for a long time. Jaskier frets over who may or may not be looking for Geralt and vacillates wildly between stressing himself out about it and pretending it’s not a problem. Vincent and his men show up about every eight or so weeks with supplies from Jaskier’s father and Jaskier drags Geralt out with him to watch every time. Vincent eyes Geralt skeptically still, but he no longer comments or reaches for his sword. And as Geralt begins to experience what contact with other people is like when they’re not running from him or threatening him, he’s further convinced that Jaskier is special. He doesn’t feel this way about Vincent or the other men who deliver their supplies, or the people in the village who Jaskier’s taken him down to meet a few times now (they still won’t come anywhere near him without Jaskier around, but Jaskier is insistent they treat him like anyone else and it’s...it helps).

But Geralt doesn’t know how to make it clear to Jaskier that he’s interested in more. They share Jaskier’s bed, they touch frequently, but things are...remarkably tame. They already say “I love you.” At some point, Jaskier’s flirting had tapered off and now he’s just...sweet. And Geralt loves it, but he also wants...that. The raunchy flirting and the...the things that come after. And the happy ending, like the ones from the fairytales Jaskier readers, sometimes. He just doesn’t know how to let Jaskier know that he wants everything.

It turns out he doesn’t have to ask at all.

"So I know this is a dumb question but," Jaskier's paused over making their eggs one morning, gaze downturned and intense, "I'm--uh. I mean, you--fuck. I have no idea how to say this," he huffs, taking the pan off the open flame and tipping the egg onto a plate. "You want to stay. Here. With me." It's obviously supposed to be a statement, but it sounds like a question.

They’ve already talked about this, haven’t they? "Yes, Jaskier," he says softly, "as long as you'll have me."

Jaskier lets out of a gust of breath, "Fuck okay, so--" he turns to face Geralt, egg abandoned, to take his hands in his, crouching at Geralt’s knees, "I want you here with me, too. More than I, uh, probably should."

Geralt makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat. This sounds like--

"And I know there's no real practical purpose for it since I have nothing but this--" he gestures around them at the cottage, "--to give, but, um. I'd--If you'd be so inclined I'd like to marry you, Geralt." He pauses, eyes downcast and face flushed. Geralt for his part can't seem to put words in any order that might allow them to come out of his mouth and communicate just how much Jaskier's offer means to him.

"It's, uh, a little bit of protection. If the mage does come back for you, or something. But," he's rambling now, words falling from his lips so quickly his tongue is almost tripping over them in an effort to get them out faster, "but it's not like I don't want to marry you, or anything like that. I've been thinking about it quite extensively and I--"

"Jaskier," he cuts in, and he shuts up immediately, wide eyes focused on Geralt's face, nerves pouring off him. "Yes," Geralt says simply, and Jaskier gives a giddy little laugh, tips forward to hide his face in Geralt's lap.

"That's--yes. That's good. I'm glad." When he pulls back to look up into Geralt's face again, his eyes are shining. "Thank you, Geralt."

Geralt's not sure why Jaskier is the one thanking him when Geralt's the one who will most benefit from the arrangement, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

------------------------------

Jaskier makes a special trip to the village to bring the priest of Melitele back to their cottage to officiate the hand fastening less than a week later. Geralt's nervous the man will balk when he sees him, but other than going a little pale at the sight, he stands fast. Even the temple boy that he brought with him doesn't do more than flinch when Jaskier levels him with a look.

"Are you sure--" the priest begins, but Jaskier cuts him off quickly.

"We are. And we want a small, private affair. No fanfare. I'm disowned, remember?" he says sardonically, and Geralt knows it's a tactic to keep the man from asking too many questions, they'd talked about it beforehand, but it still makes his chest ache. Jaskier is so good, he doesn't understand why everyone isn't as drawn to him as Geralt is.

"Now?" The priest asks, fiddling with the cord he's brought with him.

"Geralt?" and Jaskier's expression is so cautiously guarded--

"Yes," he agrees, stepping forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with him in their little clearing, just outside the door of the home they've already shared for months. The priest heaves a gust of breath.

"You'll need to kneel," he says, "Jaskier, give him your right hand. Uh--"

"Geralt," Jaskier supplies, eyes hard.

"--Geralt, give Jaskier your left." They kneel before the priest, hands clasped and held up in offering. The priest slips the cord around their joined hands, talking all the while. "Now, you don't untie this once it's done. Bad luck and all that. Ready?"

"Yes," Jaskier says, and Geralt nods.

"Alright." The priest waves the boy over to watch and serve as witness, and then he begins.

"As this knot is tied," he says, twisting the cording together in the first of several knots, "so are your lives now bound."

Jaskier squeezes Geralt's hand so tightly he can feel how he trembles.

"Woven into this cord, imbued into its very fibers, are all your hopes for your new life together." Another knot.

"With the fashioning of this knot do I tie all the desires, dreams, love, and happiness wished here in this place to your lives for as long as love shall last." He ties off the third and final knot and leans backward.

"Hold tight to one another through both good times and bad, and watch as your strength grows." The silence that rings out after the priest ceases speaking is deafening. Geralt can hear the blood rushing in his veins. "It is done."

"Geralt," Jaskier whispers as their joined hands fall to rest on Geralt’s thigh. He can't help but follow the movement of those lips with his eyes. "Kiss me, Geralt." And who is he to deny Jaskier anything?

He squeezes their joined hands, free hand rising to cup Jaskier's cheek. The look in Jaskier's eyes, the tenderness, the love, the thinly veiled excitement, twists his chest. How could he have ever feared this man would reject him?

"Geralt," Jaskier says again, and Geralt doesn't make him ask twice. He leans forward and presses their lips together in a tiny, chaste kiss, hardly more than a brushing of lips. It's still electric, especially when Jaskier makes a tiny, wounded noise and presses in closer, nearly in Geralt's lap.

Somewhere behind Jaskier, the priest clears his throat and Jaskier draws away reluctantly.

"You'll make it official in the books?" Jaskier asks without actually moving from where he’s perched on Geralt's knees.

"Of course. Should I send word to your father?"

"No," Jaskier scoffs, "don't bother." Geralt sees the priest nod behind Jaskier's shoulder. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome, son. May Melitele bless your binding. Come, boy." Before Jaskier or Geralt can say more, the man is hurrying away with the temple boy who's eyes are still wide and fixed on Geralt.

"I'd like to see them take you from me now," Jaskier says once the man's footsteps have faded from hearing, "husband." Something in Geralt trembles at the word.

"Husband," he repeats slowly, testing out the word on his tongue and finding it to his liking. Jaskier grins, wide and bright.

"Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" He leans forward to kiss Geralt again, as if some dam has broken and he can't help himself. "My beautiful husband," Jaskier breathes against Geralt's lips.

When he pulls back, breathing hard, Geralt brings their still bound hands up to his lips to kiss Jaskier's knuckles, tender and reverent.

"How could anyone not look at you and see how sweet you are," Jaskier breathes, pulling his knuckles away from Geralt's mouth to give Geralt's scarred fingers the same treatment. "So beautiful, so full of love, my husband is."

"Jaskier--"

"Shush, I'm basking," he teases, giving another deliberate kiss to the back of his hand.

"I'm not--"

"No," Jaskier corrects immediately, "you just don't see yourself the way I see you. You're beautiful, Geralt and I love you very, very much."

He feels his face heat, ducks his head so his hair falls in the way, hiding his eyes.

"And I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it. I love you and I'm not going anywhere. And--" he continues, slipping the fingers of his free hand under Geralt's chin and tilting his head up until their eyes meet, "--I'm not letting anyone else have you. You're mine, husband dearest."

"Yours," Geralt agrees easily. The mage may or may not be looking for him, but it doesn't matter. Geralt wants nothing to do with him anyway.

"And I'm yours, darling. As long as you want me."

"Mine," Geralt echos, "Always."

And that's enough.

#witcher #witcher fic #geraskier #lizard writes #my baby! she lives! #a love letter both to geralt as a character and frankensteins creature

[starlightrows]

Exactly The Way You Are

Pairing: Modern!Boba Fett x fem!reader 

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: EXPLICIT self body shaming, potential body dysmorphia, hurt/comfort, body worship, oral (f receiving), soft!Boba 

Summary: You’re feeling insecure about your body and start changing how you dress in attempt to hide from your negative feelings. Boba is not having any of it. 

AN: Requested by @otp-lovers   

Every single one of you is beautiful, exactly the way you are

Early spring is not usually the optimal time for spending the day at the beach. It’s still too cold to swim, and at times too cloudy to tan. But if you’re heading to the coast to enjoy some fresh air, listen to the waves crash on the beach, and enjoy a bowl of clam chowder it’s perfect! You and two of your girl friends decided to drive out for the day to get some lunch, take a nice long walk and catch up on life. Normally you would have liked to do a day trip like this in the company of your boyfriend Boba, but he’s been exceptionally busy with work the last couple days. 

“You’re tempting me to play hooky and just go with you in that sundress baby,” he pauses by the door taking the time to rake his eyes over your form. 

“You could, I don’t think the girls would mind,” you smile sweetly batting your eyelashes for him knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to say yes. You just wanted to tease him. He groans in response, but shakes his head, also knowing he is not at liberty to accept your offer. So instead he tells you to go enjoy yourself, say hello to your friends for him. 

The drive down to the coast is pleasant with good music, your friends singing and talking and laughing, and the weather is actually even nicer than you expected. And there isn’t even a line to get into your favorite restaurant in the area. After a lovely lunch you and your friends take off your shoes and walk down the beach to dip your toes in the water. 

There are a couple groups of people sunbathing, children splashing in the water, playing volleyball. It’s like summer has come early, you almost wish you’d worn your swimsuit. You and your friends decide to kick off your shoes and wade in the water a bit and take some pictures together. Another group of girls a little ways down the beach also taking pictures and laughing approach your group asking if one of you would be willing to take some group pictures on them, and that they would be happy to return the favor. 

As your friend took one of the girls phones to take some nice group pictures, you stand off to the side and can’t help but stare. These girls all have gorgeous hair, long sleek legs, flat tummies with belly rings, and perky full breasts. Not a blemish on their perfectly tanned skin, though you suspected their tans may be less than authentic given the current time of year. Still you couldn’t help comparing yourself, you felt a bit pudgy in your sundress wishing you had ordered something lighter for lunch, and mentally cursing the wind for blowing your dress around you and making you look bigger and more awkward as opposed to windswept and attractive like these girls. You think about the upcoming summer, and your collection of swimsuits at home… true they’re pretty and comfortable but you wish you could wear and feel confident in the kind of swimsuits these girls are wearing. 

The other group of girls finished up their pictures and you tried your best to appear confident and unbothered when they turned the camera on you and your friends. You didn’t want to bring down the mood, so you plastered on a smile and tried to laugh along with your friends for the remainder of the trip. 

After dropping off your friends you head home, anxious to take a shower and get the sand off of your body. Unfortunately you knew Boba would not be home until very late, so it would just be you for a bit. Oh well, that just means watching whatever you want on tv with no complaint. You shower and wash your hair, taking your time to fully feel clean. Stepping out of the shower and ringing out your hair, you feel a lot better now that there wasn’t sad in places it should not be. 

You cross into the bedroom and slip one of your favorite nighties on to relax for the evening, but when you turn around and catch sight of yourself in the full length mirror you stop and stare at your reflection. You frowned at yourself, turning to your side to catch a glimpse of your profile and finding it no better in your opinion. You turn away from yourself and remove the nighty tossing it unceremoniously onto the chair at your vanity table. Instead you dig out an oversized t-shirt and a pair of Boba’s sweatpants. You look back at yourself in the mirror and shrug your shoulders… good enough… before heading back out into the living room to put on some mindless tv and waste time on instagram and tik tok. 

That was a horrible idea. You spent hours down the social media spiral, looking at pictures and videos of seemingly perfect people with perfect lives and perfect bodies that always seemed to know the perfect thing to say. It made you sick to your stomach. Eventually you fall asleep laying on the couch with the tv still playing. By the time Boba gets home you’re lightly snoring and your arm is hanging off the side of the couch. He chuckles at finding you in such a disheveled state, but takes care to carefully lift you up off the couch and carry you to bed. 

In the morning you wake up to the sounds of him moving around in the bedroom, though he is trying very hard to be quiet and not wake you up. He notices you stirring and returns to the bed to sit next to you. He’s fully dressed, ready to head out again. 

“Hey,” he whispers, stroking your hair. You smile sleepily at him, and mumble some kind of greeting. “I’m just about to head out. I’ll be home late again tonight, try to go to bed before you pass out on the couch,” he teases. You scrunch up your nose and nuzzle your cheek into his hand. 

He leans down and gives you a kiss on the forehead, “Only a couple more days of these long shifts baby. You’ll have me all to yourself again come this weekend,” 

“Good,” you murmur “I don’t like going to bed by myself,” 

He chuckles again, and gives your three more little kisses before saying goodbye and leaving the bedroom. It’s still pretty early and you went to bed very late last night, so you rolled over and went back to sleep for another hour or two. When you do get up to start your day, you find that your closet full of dresses, skirts, and generally fun cute outfits does not bring you the usual joy of picking out one to wear. The thought of showing off your figure makes you feel anxious and unwell, so instead you opt for a pair of comfortable joggers and another baggy t-shirt.

The day passes by slowly going about your errands and daily chores getting less work done than you would have liked. You feel a little blah, and just can’t seem to shake off the brain fog that’s plaguing you. You eat dinner by yourself, and turn in early for the night once again wearing Boba’s clothes that are far too big for you. He likes it when you wear them anyway. At some point in the night, Boba comes home and happily slides into bed next to you to catch what little sleep he can before getting up for an early start once more. This time he’s already gone when you wake up, but you can tell he’s been around. His clothes are in the laundry basket, and there’s a coffee cup in the sink. 

To your delight, there is another cup of coffee poured sitting in the refrigerator chilling. You happily mix in ice and creamer, thinking about how lucky you are to have a boyfriend that takes that extra step for you. One of his many little ways to let you know he loves you. It lifts your spirits a bit, but not enough to shake you from standing naked in front of your closet glaring at your clothes. They offend your eyes, and make you long for things you shouldn’t. So you settle for another haphazard outfit that hides your figure, and dampens your mood. 

The day passes you by though you are able to be a least a little more productive than yesterday. You start the laundry, and wash the dishes. Call to reschedule your dentist appointment, and even get in a couple hours of actual work for your job. But this looming cloud of distraction and general sadness prevails, and you don’t get to many of the other things on your list for the day. As you get ready for bed, wearing Boba’s clothes for the third night in a row you took comfort in the knowledge that tomorrow when you woke up, Boba would be there and he would not have to go to work. Surely that would make you feel better. 

In the morning you happily roll over and cuddle into Boba’s warm chest. You had made a reservation for the two of you to go to brunch, but that isn’t until 10:30am so that leaves plenty of time to snuggle. Lazy kisses and whispered good mornings shared across the pillows and under the sheets. Eventually though you do both get up and get ready to go out for the day. You choose a pair of jeans and a nice-ish t-shirt that you tuck in, you feel a little better than you have the last few days and take the time to do your hair and makeup. 

Boba turns when he hears you coming towards the living room, and he has to put in real effort not to let his face show his concern when he observes your somewhat drab outfit you’ve chosen. You never give up an opportunity to get dressed up cute, especially when he’s taking you out on a date. 

“Is that my shirt?” he asks, extending a hand out for you to take, you accept his hand but feel your anxiety rising in your throat and burning your cheeks. 

“Yeah… I’m sorry, I can put on one of mine if it bothers you,” you drop your gaze and shift uncomfortably. Boba is unsure of what to make of this, so he proceeds cautiously.

“Hm… how about that blue dress? The navy one you like so much,” he suggests running his thumbs over your knuckles and swinging your arm just a little to get your attention. But you keep your gaze fixed on his shoes, and give your head a little shake.

“I… don’t want to wear that one today,” you say, pulling your hand away. Now he’s really concerned, you were fine when you woke up this morning, what changed. 

“Sweetheart you love that dress, what’s wrong?” he asks 

“It’s nothing I just… I just don’t feel particularly dressy at the moment” you admit, rubbing your arm and still making every effort not to look at him. 

“And why’s that?” he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him “Come on kitten, there are no secrets between us,” 

Your lip quivers a bit, you don’t want to verbalize what’s been bothering you. But his eyes are so tender and concerned, and his grip on your chin is insistent and firm. So you relent. 

“I spent too long on instagram looking at influencers and celebrities, and me and the girls took some pictures for another group of girls at the beach the other day. They were all so beautiful with their flat stomachs, perfect tans, and full breasts. I’m sure they work hard to look that way, and I’m sure they have their own insecurities, but I look at them and I think… why can’t I look like that?”

“I don’t want you to look like them” he says 

“What?” you jerk your head back just a little and look up at him. 

“I don’t want you to look like anyone else in the world, I want you to look like you. Exactly the way you are” he slides his hands under your shirt, pulling it out from where its been tucked into your jeans, settling on your hips. He takes a step closer and dips his head down to kiss each of your cheeks. 

“I want you to wear whatever clothes you like, especially the sweet little dresses I know you love so much,” be begins pressing kisses down your neck, and sliding his hands down over your ass. “I want you to know that you’re my girl. My absolutely gorgeous, perfect girl” 

He’s leading you back into the bedroom, walking you backwards slowly and carefully, whispering praises into the skin of your neck between hot kisses. The backs of your knees hit the edge of bed, and you lower yourself down onto it. 

Your hands rest on his sides smoothing over his soft tummy through his shirt, you think about his body. It doesn’t fit society's view of an ideal man, not overly muscled, spray tanned and polished. In the same way you’re not like the models and celebrities you’d been comparing yourself to. 

He pushes you down by the shoulder, coaxing you to lay down as he runs his big hands up and down your sides, dipping down under your shirt and reaching up to palm your breasts. His rough thumbs brush over the quickly stiffening peaks of your nipples. His lips drag over your jaw and you moan at his ministrations. 

“Babe,” you manage to get out, “we’re gonna miss our reservations,” 

He releases his hold on your nipples, and strips off your shirt. He hikes you up higher on the bed, and captures your lips in an insistent kiss. 

“Don’t care,” he growls, “this is more important,” he licks a stripe from your chin all the way down your neck and sucks a mark between your breasts. His fingers work to rid you of your bra. When it’s been discarded somewhere into the room, he turns his attention back to your nipples and takes one into his mouth and suckles on it, rolling the other between his fingers. Your soft moans and wandering hands encourage him, and he switches to your other nipple. 

After a minute or two he releases your nipple from his mouth, and comes back up to recapture your lips. His hands trail down, fingers dipping into the waistline of your jeans. He breaks the kiss, as he undoes the button and zipper of your jeans pulling them down slowly over your ass. You kick them the rest of the way off and spread your legs a bit so he can settle comfortably between them.  

“Your cute little dresses usually make this a lot faster, princess. But I don’t mind taking my time,” he rasps. Your breath hitches as he slides your panties down, and drops his head down in between your thighs. His breath ghosts over your core, already beginning to get a bit wet in anticipation. His hands rub up and down the outsides of your thighs as he begins peppering gentle kisses over the soft skin of your inner thighs. Climbing higher and higher until he reaches your lower lips. 

Without warning his tongue darts out and splits your lips, licking a broad stripe up from the bottom and stopping at your clit to latch on and begin sucking. His tongue continues prodding in and out as he devours your wet cunt. His hands cup your ass and squeeze, pulling you apart further. Your chest is heaving and your mind feels like it’s narrowing in on the building feeling of your impending orgasm. 

“Boba,” you gasp out “I-- I’m gonna cum… I-” 

He doesn't answer in words, he growls into your aching cunt and moves his tongue faster to get you over the edge. Your orgasm is blinding in its intensity, sending your mind reeling as your choke out strangled cries of pleasure. As you’re coming down from your high, Boba releases your swollen clit from his lips and kisses his way back up to you, dragging his hands up with him. He whispers the sweetest words into your skin.   

“Mmm you’re my girl. My sweet, perfect girl. I’ll spend the rest of my days showing you how perfect you truly are,”

#Star Wars #Boba Fett #Boba Fett x reader #boba fett x female reader #Modern!Boba Fett #Modern!Boba Fett x reader #Fic Request

[addercharmer]

Aizawa Shōta blinked slowly at Tsukauchi Naomasa, the detective was standing on his door holding the hand of a small child, looking somewhere between having a full nervous breakdown, crying, and worryingly serious. 

“Tsukauchi, what can I do for you?” Shōta asked, his voice rough with having been forced out of a nap. 

“Aizawa.” The detective started, paused, took a deep breath and tried again. “Aizawa, could we please come in and speak to you and Yamada?” The hand that was being held by the small child jerked a little to show who ‘we’ were. 

Opening the door further, Shōta turned his back on the detective as a way of granting them entry. He turned on his heel and made his way to the kitchen. He felt like he was going to need several pots of coffee to deal with whatever the slightly older man was going to dump on him. 

The quiet thump of shoes and click of the door shutting were the only indication of the two following his silent invitation. The light steps that he could hear coming closer then further away told him that Tsukauchi was headed to the living room of his home was enough of a warning to have Shōta calling his husband instead of texting like he had been planning. 

It took all of six rings for the other man to answer. "Shō! What's up?" Yamada Hizashi sounded a little breathless as he answered. 

"Tsukauchi is here, with a kid." Shōta grunted into the mic of his cell. "Come home." He ordered the blonde, and hung up before even giving the blond a chance to say anything. 

Shuffling his way into the living room without his coffee, and eyeing Tsukauchi with wry dark eyes, Shōta stiffly sat in his favorite spot on the loveseat that was kiddy-corner to the couch that was being occupied. 

"Yamada is out. I called him to come home, if this can't wait for him then we can get it over with." Shōta told Tsukauchi after he had made himself comfortable. 

He watched closely as Tsukauchi eyes the kid sitting next to him, still gripping his hand tightly. The detective looked closer to having that breakdown the longer he looked at the kid, it was honestly starting to worry the underground hero a little. 

The silence felt like it dragged on far longer than the forty-seven seconds Shōta counted. 

"Probably best to wait, you both will need some support." The last part was muttered under Tsukauchi's breath, and Shōta figured that he wasn't supposed to hear it. 

The next twenty minutes were spent with idle chatter, both adults in the room getting tencer as each minute passed. At twenty-two minutes the front door opened and shut, the sound of heavy boots clunking on the floor as they were taken off and dropped pushed the expression on Tsukauchi's face closer to resigned and sad. 

"Ah, hello Tsukauchi. You needed me home?" Hizashi's voice called from just outside of Shōta's peripherals. 

"Yamada, Aizawa." Tsukauchi's tone was a forced flat, Shōta recognized it as the one that was used for grieving families. 

"I offer my condolences Aizawa. Your sister Midoriya Inko was found dead yesterday morning, the investigation is still open and I cannot share much more." Shōta froze, he hadn't spoken to his sister since his wedding, not that they had much contact before that even. It had caused all kinds of issues when Inko had shown up and recognized Hizashi as someone she had had a one night stand with when they had met at a college party when Shōta and Hizashi had been sixteen. 

"That being said, Midoriya Inko's will stated that her daughter Izumi would go to you and or her biological father first, in the event that she was not welcome there she was to be put in foster care." Many things in Tsukauchi's tone were sending off very loud warning signals that Shōta wasn't sure he even wanted to hear much else. 

Hizashi had grabbed his hand from where he had seated himself next to Shōta when the news of his sister's passing was delivered, he squeezed tighter when the kid was brought up. 

"Yamada, your daughter was dropped off in front of the police station six days ago where officer Sansa and myself have been taking care of her, until her paternity test came back." At this Shōta felt Hizashi stiffen next to him. 

"I would like to introduce you to Midoriya Izumi. She is your niece Aizawa, and your daughter Yamada." The strain in Tsukauchi's voice was very clear, and Shōta idly wondered how his sister had hidden a full on child from him for four years. 

"What?" The question was quiet, but full of hysteria. "No...I...what?" Hizashi tried again before Shōta felt his body just collapse in on itself. 

The words Tsukauchi had said were making their way through Shōta's brain but they weren't fully being processed. 

The sniffle caught his attention finally, it was the first sound he had heard from the kid. Giving his head a firm shake Shōta finally took a look at the kid. 

The kid's hair was a wild mess of waves and curls, it was black but it looked to have lime green highlights naturally sprinkled through it, her eyes were the same toxic green as Hizashis' they even had darker green that spiraled out from the pupil. 

The freckles that were dusted across pale skin reminded him of his own mother, she had been of mixed nationality, holding citizenship in both Japan and Canada. His own freckles would show up when he had been in the sun, which made him avoid the giant ball of burning gas even more no matter how much he missed and tried to remember his mother. 

The kid's ears were starting to turn red much like his own do when he is overly emotional. That observation finally kicked his numb body into moving. 

Still holding his husband's hand in a death grip he dropped off the loveseat and onto his knees in front of the kid who was holding onto Tsukauchi so tightly that her knuckles were white. 

"Hey kid, did Inko ever talk to you about me?" Shōta asked, trying to distract the kid from the coming tears.

The kid 'Izumi' he forced himself to recall shook her head and nibbled on her lip like she wanted to say something. 

"Do you know who I am?" He tried, it was highly unlikely that the kid knew him, but the nod shocked him into staring at toxic green eyes longer. 

"How?" Was out of his mouth before he could stop it. 

"Pictures. Inko had pictures with names and days on the back." Okay there were a lot of things in that sentence and tone that needed to be analyzed later, but Shōta pushed it aside to get some other questions answered. 

Nodding, Shōta asked his next pressing question. "Do you know who he is?" He jerked his head towards the silent blond that was in a still unresponsive heap next to him. 

Izumi nodded again, her ears taking on a deeper red color. "Pictures?" Shōta asked, getting another nod in return. 

Squeezing his eyes closed tightly and shaking the hand that Hizashi was still holding roughly, Shōta was in no way prepared for the next words that were spoken. 

"It's okay if you don't want me, Inko and Hisashi didn't want me, that's why they left me at the police." It was so quiet that Shōta wanted to convince himself that he had imagined it. 

Shōta stilled, he wasn't sure what to say, and he was pretty close to either a panic attack or disassociating much like he husband was doing. 

Tsukauchi cleared his throat, it jerked Shōta out of his thoughts long enough for the detective to say. 

"We came for introductions and to share the information, Izumi will be staying with either myself or Sansa until you two have made your decision. I know it's not protocol...just give me a call later." 

That said Tsukauchi scooped the kid 'Izumi' into his arms and quickly left the two pro-heros alone. 

The click of the door shutting sounded like an explosion to Shōta, it jolted him again just enough to turn to Hizashi and work on bringing the man back to the real world. 

Yanking hard on the hand still gripping his own he unbalanced Hizashi enough to get a stutter in his breathing. 

"Zashi. He's gone, you gotta come back." Shōta demanded quietly. 

Wrapping his free arm around Hizashis' chest Shōta started to tap out the rhythm of an English song that Hizashi had used to randomly belt out in highschool. Giving himself and Hizashi something to focus on would be the only way to keep them grounded, usually it was Hizashi bringing him back but it worked both ways. 

Shōta was just starting the song over for the third time when Hizashi shifted against him and groaned. 

"I'm so sorry Shō. I didn't know. I swear." We're the first words that spilled from Hizashi's mouth. 

"Oh shut up you overgrown cockatoo." Shōta gently in his own way told his husband. 

"You have a daughter that was hidden from you, I have a niece that was hidden from me. My sister is dead, Tsukauchi said nothing of Inko's husband." Saying it wasn't helping it sink in, but he needed to say it. 

"She, Izumi, knows who we are in relation to her. She should be around four?" That question seems to jolt Hizashi a little, and a look between concentration and befuddlement is plastered across his face. 

"Un, three going on four at the youngest." Is the very quiet reply to the question about Izumi's age. 

Shōta pulled in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before letting it out in a rush. 

"Tsukauchi and Sansa are taking care of her, and Tsukauchi asked us to call him later." Shōta told Hizashi the last piece of information.

Feeling the nod against his chest, Shōta just kept tapping the song out. 

"I'm sorry about your sister Shō." Hizashi whispered into the fabric of Shōta's sweater. "I know you weren't close, but, still." 

Shōta shrugged, "Honestly, part of me forgot I even had a sister." He told Hizashi bluntly. "So her death isn't going to bother me too much." It was harsh, but Shōta was being honest. 

"Okay, next thing." Hizashi pulled himself away a little but still kept close enough in Shōta's personal bubble that they could comfort each other. 

"Izumi?" Hizashi asked, Shōta nodded when he realized that it was a question of her name. "Izumi was dropped off six days ago, she had a paternity test done to find her father. I am her father." Hizashi's breathing picked up again. 

"Okay, just stop, let's look at this differently." Shōta spoke quickly. "My sister is dead, she had a daughter, her custody was given to us in the will. I know we have only been married a year…" Shōta paused to take in a deep breath and release it again. "Do you want to take in the kid?"

Hizashi stayed quiet for what felt like forever. "Can we talk to her first?" Was the tentative question. 

Shōta let out another sigh, this one partly relieved and nodded.

#dadzawa #dadmic #bnha #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #naomasa tsukauchi #blue tongue #chapter1

[radiosandrecordings]

One idea I love is that the reason there are So many timeline inconstancies is that Micheal would randomly go though and change some of the dates as a form of petty revenge

Okay not exactly what you’re talking about but I was talking about timeline inconsistency yesterday and came up with... It’s not a theory, more just a concept that I think is neat to fill in an error? 

So Michael Shelley was marked by the Spiral as a child because he saw his childhood friend get got. His whole thing in the archives was also that he never realised about the powers or their full implications, despite being around All Of That and also believing in them due to that prior experience. 

And I imagine the fear caused by being around so much of the entities but having no reasonable explanation for them is tasty to the Spiral. I mean, look at season 2 Jon, he knew something was up but not what and it drove him to act like that. But Michael Shelley, from the tiny bit we’ve seen of him, didn’t seem like the type to go full ‘It’s 2am and I’m in the tunnels’, more ‘Something is wrong but I can’t figure out what and it’s terrifying, but if I speak up to my co-workers they’ll just laugh at me’. 

But also, it’s probably pretty hard to work around all of those people who do know about the powers and not find something out, right? Fiona worked to keep him ignorant and I think maybe she at least thought she did? But I think the Spiral, having a fun time with the confusion Michael is under about all this, might have decided to step in a little, since he was already marked. 

So my idea is that he learns. And then he learns again. And he keeps finding out in a recursion where every time he finally sees the truth, knows what the others know, he just kind of... Resets. Like a kind of save-state of ignorance. I realised after to explaining this to some people yesterday that the best way I can describe it, is y’know the “This is the Bad Place!” montage from The Good Place? Just jump cuts between different scenarios of Michael finding out and being equally shocked every time. He finds Gertrude’s notes and reads them. He finds the entrance to the tunnels and meets Leitner. Eric tries to tell him when he plans to leave the Institute, he’s left Michael in ignorance as what he felt was a mercy, but now he’s offering him a means of escape, and when Michael finds himself sitting at home with a screwdriver in his hand and bandages on the table, he isn’t sure what he got them out for. The Spiral keeps resetting him so that his confusion and fear can keep feeding it. And Fiona never even realises that that’s what has happened! She just knows that every once in a while, maybe months, maybe years apart, Michael goes a bit odd. It’s never that he forgets his job, exactly, but he’ll start asking where certain files go that he’s dealt with multiple times in the past, or put the wrong year down on a statement, or not recognise one that he himself had typed up recently. But it always works out, never enough to be concerned about, just a ditzy spell from silly, naïve Michael. Don’t think too hard about it. Though if they tried, they probably couldn’t. They’d forget he’d ever been acting strange.

#My Post #Asks #Michael Shelley #The Magnus Archives #Anonymous

[teshamerkel]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 10] (19 Pages)

<< First | < Previous | Next >

Team Scarlet takes on their first mission as Seekers! Unfortunately, it isn’t quite as exciting as Tobias would hope. 

-

When Tobias blinks awake, chasing away the heavy fog of sleep, it’s brighter than it should be. He lifts his head from his nest, frowning. What time is it? Yawning, he glances over at Nia, seeing her still curled up fast asleep. He stumbles to his feet, stretching, and makes his way out to the room’s main quarters.

The sun is up.

Tobias freezes, blinking at the faint sunlight coming in through the gaps in the walls. He always wakes up at dawn, so it shouldn’t be this late! Was he that tired from yesterday’s training? The charmander hurries back into the alcove, shaking Nia awake. The riolu grumbles and tries to bat him away with a paw.

“We’re late, idiot! Get up! All the good missions are gonna be taken!”

Tobias gives her one more shove before scrambling to get their bag and items together. They need to go! Where’s Maggie? Why didn’t she wake them up?

Tobias hefts the bag onto his shoulder and turns to Nia, growling when he sees her still asleep. He uses all the strength in his sore muscles to completely roll the riolu out of her nest. She yelps, sitting up with wide eyes and lopsided ears.

“W-What?! What’s happening?”

“We’re late!” Tobias says, waving her to the doorway. “C’mon!”

He bolts into the hallway and hears Nia stumble and bump into the wall with a quiet “Ow!”

“Great Entei, you’re slower than a snorlax! Come on!”

Nia runs out after him, eyes wild, and he takes off down the hall of the medical ward.

“W-What time is it?” Nia asks, sounding like she’s still shaking off the last bits of sleep.

“A lot later than it should be!”

“Are we still gonna drop off my scarf so we can dye it?”

“No time! We’ll do it when we get back!”

They quickly patter down the steps of the tree, making good time. If only they hadn’t woken up so late!

“What about food?” Nia asks between breaths.

“Later!”

Nia makes an unhappy sound, but doesn’t stop. At least they still have the bag packed from yesterday and don’t have to stop to restock. By time they make it to the bottom floor and up to the E-rank mission board, they’re both panting hard. There are only one or two other teams wandering around and leaving for missions, and Tobias hurries to skim through the board’s listings.

Nia searches as well, pointing at a mission. “What about this one?”

Tobias follows her claw and scoffs. “Two other teams already have that one. Look at the serial numbers in the bottom corner. The psychics update them every hour when a team takes on the job.”

“S-So no?”

Tobias rolls his eyes. “There’s no way we’ll catch ‘em and finish the job first.”

Nia nods, and they continue looking at the listings. He can’t believe this—so many of them are already taken! Surely all of them can’t be, right? Tobias searches the papers, increasingly frantic.

“Oh! What about this one?” Nia asks.

Tobias looks at the mission, noting first that there aren’t any other teams listed for it. Great! What’s the job—

Oh. Oh no. Not that one. Anything but that one. Tobias quickly skims through the other missions one more time, hope slowly crashing and burning. Finally, Tobias, groans and hangs his head. Fine. That one it is.

__________________________________________________

“S-So why is this guy so awful? The job said we just need to harvest his berry trees for him, right? And pick up branches and stuff? That doesn’t sound too bad.”

Tobias, stalking through the undergrowth ahead of the riolu with a scowl on his face, only grumbles, “You’ll see. Old guy’s super weird.”

Nia doesn’t answer, probably focusing on traversing the path through the woods. It’s a bit overgrown, but Tobias wouldn’t usually mind since it prolongs the time until they reach Hadley’s place. However, he can’t help eyeing the foliage they pass, brushing his hands along yellowed, too-dry leaves. He hates rain, but it’s been far too long since it rained anywhere near the Haven. It makes him nervous about a forest fire breaking out, especially with the uptick in natural disasters. This much woodland in every direction is a deathtrap in a drought, especially since there are so many grass and bug types living in the area. Fighting off a shudder, Tobias tries to smother his fears. There are hardly any fire types near the guild—aside from him—so that’s good, at least. They’ll be fine. Rain has to come soon.

Soon enough, Tobias recognizes the little hut ahead of them through the trees, and he’s not sure whether to dread the upcoming tasks or feel relieved for a distraction from his concerns. A nice garden of flowers lines the dirt beneath the hut’s windows, and with the sun shining through the trees the whole place looks rather quaint.

“Oh, this is lovely!” Nia says, stepping out of the woodline. 

“Thank ya, sprout.”

Nia yelps and jumps away, and even Tobias flinches at the sudden deep, raspy tone. Hadley has somehow appeared right behind them, as if he materialized out of thin air. It would be impressive for a golisopod to move so silently in the middle of the forest if it wasn’t so unsettling.

The golisopod continues as if he didn’t just scare the daylights out of them. “I do try my best, even if those darn yungoos pups won’t stay out of my garden.”

“Mr. H-Hadley?” Nia asks, voice shaky.

Tobias supposes Hadley would look intimidating to someone who had never met him. He’s giant, even for a golisopod, easily seven or eight times their size, old but still heavily built. Scars line his shell and despite the patchy sun hat on his head, his blunt claws and armored appearance give him a warrior-like look.

“Aye, that’s the name, lass!” Hadley says. “What can I do for ya? You here for battle lessons? My cake recipe? You can have it over my empty shell! Gahaha!”

Nia tilts her head, looking rightfully confused. “U-Um. No, sir, we’re here about your, uh, berry trees? You put in a mission request? We’re from the guild, and—“

Hadley squints at the riolu and crouches down an inch from her face, not commenting on how she leans back with a squeak.

“Do I know you? My memory’s a bit spotty nowadays.”

“N-No. Uh, sir. My name’s Nia. I’m new here.”

“Ah.” The golisopod leans back. “Where ya from? The Bylur mountain range? Ghatha?”

Nia shoots Tobias an uncertain look. He shrugs. “U-Uh, no. I’m um. I was actually a human, before?”

The golisopod stares at Nia. And stares. Just as Tobias is about to say something, Hadley tips his head back and roars with laughter. Nia jumps.

“Oh, I like you!” He says, tapping the nervous riolu on the snout with a single long claw before standing and trudging away. “Come along then. There’s work to be done.”

Nia blinks, as if unsure of how to react.

“Told you he’s a weirdo,” Tobias mumbles, following Hadley. Nia scurries after them.

“I need you two to harvest the berries from the trees around my home, and pick up any fallen branches ya find along the way. In return, I might be able to offer you an interesting tidbit of knowledge about humans, miss Riolu.”

Nia straightens up, smiling. “Really?!”

“But you’ll still give us the other rewards, right?” Tobias asks. He didn’t come here just for Hadley to spin tall tales to Nia.

“Rewards?” The golisopod stops, squinting his eyes and looking up into the trees. “What did I say I had?” Tobias opens his mouth to snap out an answer, but Hadley waves him off. “We’ll figure it out later. Enough gibber-gabber! I need this done before those spinarak kids come back.”

“I thought they were yungoos?” Nia whispers. Tobias, busy massaging his temples to ward off the headache he feels coming on, just shrugs. Heck if he knows.

Hadley finally stops by two large baskets. “Here ya go. Use these to gather the berry crop.”

“Those are almost as big as us!” Tobias protests. How in the world are they even supposed to pick them up?

“Eh? You two want to be Seekers, right? Buck up! You’ll have tougher battles than with a couple o’ baskets!”

“But—you don’t—ugh! Whatever! C’mon, let’s hurry and get this done so we can leave.”

Tobias marches over to one of the fruit-heavy trees, sizing up the bark and digging in with his claws. When he thinks he has a strong enough hold, he begins hauling himself upwards. In just a few moments, he reaches the lowest branches and carefully plants his feet on the bark as he stands. He looks down to see Nia watching from the ground, brow furrowed.

“U-Uh. Do you want me to come up too, or..?”

“Stay there so I can throw the berries down to you.”

Nia nods, eyeing his footing with obvious concern.

“I’ll be fine,” He says, rolling his eyes. “Drag the basket over and we can get to work.”

The riolu hurries to follow his instructions, grabbing the giant wicker basket and dragging it across the grass to the shade under the tree. Tobias nods and turns to begin picking. The quicker they get this done, the quicker they can go home and look forward to a better mission tomorrow.

Tobias plucks the purple and yellow chesto berries from their stems, cradling the spiraled fruit before turning and dropping them into Nia’s waiting arms. He snaps at her to be careful when she drops one or two of them, casting a glance at Hadley’s hut, not even sure if that’s where the golisopod had wandered off to. Who knows what the old coot would do if he saw them messing up.

The work is boring and tedious, silent but for the quiet rustling of the trees and the sounds of forest Pokémon. Still, as long as Hadley stays out of their path, Tobias supposes he can handle it. It’s not the worst thing they could get stuck with. Within the hour, Tobias is finished with one tree, passing down the last of the berries before carefully moving on to the next tree. He doesn’t even realize how glad he is that Nia is doing her job silently until she speaks up.

“S-So, uh...what’s your favorite kind of berry?”

Tobias pauses, persim berry in hand, to scowl down at her. “Why?”

She shifts on her feet, shrugging. “I-I just thought we could get to know each other better. Y’know, since we’re partners now, a-and we aren’t too busy to talk.”

Great. The last thing the charmander wants to do is join in on Sharing Time. Just to shut her up, he goes back to work and calls out, “Rawst berries.”

There’s a beat of quiet that Tobias prays will last, but instead Nia says, “O-Oh! Those’re the minty blue ones, right? The way they taste reminds me of chewing gum. Um. A human thing, I think.”

Tobias doesn’t offer a response, focusing on his work. Nia only waits another minute or two, tops, before she asks, “What about music? Wait, do you guys have music or—“

“Of course we have music,” Tobias snaps. “Just not a lot of musicians at the guild. And I dunno. Stringed instruments, I guess.”

“That’s awesome! I, uh, grew up around a lot of country music, I think. I’m pretty sure I did, at least. I-I’m not sure what my favorite type of music is though, since I can’t really remember much. I’ve been trying to remember some of the songs I liked as a human. Will we ever run into any bands or musicians?”

“Probably.”

Another blessed moment of quiet, but Tobias doesn’t trust it. He can feel irritation bubbling in his gut, can feel himself growing tense and angry. He knows it’s coming. Any second now.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Arceus, Nia! Why does it matter?” Tobias snarls, turning to look down at the riolu. Her ears pin back and she ducks into herself, not offering an answer.

Tobias feels a prick of guilt for yelling at her, but just huffs out a wisp of smoke and goes back to business. From then on the two work in silence, Tobias passing down the berries and Nia taking them while somehow managing to avoid his eyes. He will not feel bad about it. He refuses to. Why is she so nosy, anyways? They aren’t friends. Their relationship is more that of...business partners. Yeah.

The pair work in a tense silence that feels out of place among the soothing atmosphere of the shade-dappled woods. As the sun travels across the sky, they move from tree to tree, slowly gathering all of the berries from the trees surrounding Hadley’s land. They’re on the second-to-last tree, Tobias picking away at the cheri berries and resisting the urge to snitch one, when he turns to drop the berries and sees Nia completely distracted. She’s staring into the small puddle at her paws, head tilted. Tobias squints, trying to see what’s so interesting.

“Hey, heads-up.”

Nia startles, looking up at him. “Oh! Sorry!”

Tobias drops the berries down to her waiting arms. Curious despite himself, he asks, “What were you looking at?”

Nia gently dumps the berries into the top of their second wicker basket, then turns to give the puddle a perplexed look. “I’m...not really sure. I thought I saw something. P-Probably just the trees.”

Tobias carefully backs down the tree he was perched in. Once he reaches the ground, he takes a moment to look at the puddle, but doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Together, the pair push the giant basket, heavy with the fruit they’d gathered, underneath the last tree.

“Last one, right?” Nia asks, looking around.

“Yeah. Good thing, too. My fingers feel like they’re about to fall off, and I’d like to get out of here before Hadley decides he wants to cut us up for stew or something.”

“Oh! I didn’t even think about your fingers. D-Did you want me to go up instead?”

Tobias gives her a raised eyebrow, gaze flicking down to her paws and back up. “Yeah. I’d like to see you try.”

Nia looks offended. “H-Hey! I used to be a great tree climber when I was human! I taught my—“ She trails off, eyes going vacant and distant. “My...” She frowns, blinking out of her stupor and looking frustrated. “I taught someone! I-I think.”

Tobias snorts, gesturing to the tree in front of them. “Be my guest.”

Nia seems a little uncertain, or maybe just thrown by her moment of amnesia, but then shakes her head. She looks up at the tree’s branches with clear determination. Then, with a quiet “Hup!” she tries to jump up to cling to the bark with her claws, back paws immediately slipping. She yelps as she slides down to land harshly on her tail. Tobias, caught off-guard, barks a laugh.

Nia shoots him an embarrassed look. “That worked better when I had normal feet,” she mumbles.

“Clearly,” Tobias says, throwing himself onto the trunk and hooking his claws into the bark. He propels himself upward, climbing easily to the first branch to perch smugly on top.

Nia looks up at him with a frown, almost pouting. Tobias snorts, then turns to finish the job, plucking at the dull yellow aspear berries loaded throughout the tree’s branches. He makes pretty great time, rushing a bit to finish with the last tree as the sun begins to sink towards the horizon. He reaches out for a far fruit, balancing on a thin branch with some help from his tail. Just a bit further, come on—

His feet slip off the side, and his stomach drops. He flails and manages to slam his arms around the branch, his legs scrambling to get a hold and haul himself back to safety. After a few heart-pounding seconds, the charmander manages to right himself, laying along the branch while he catches his breath.

“Are you all right?” Nia calls.

Tobias peeks open an eye, sharp retort on his tongue. He’s surprised to see the riolu directly below him, wide red eyes staring up at him, body tensed and arms at the ready, as if she were preparing to catch him if he’d fallen. Something about that makes his gut turn uncomfortably. This stupid riolu has no sense of self-preservation. The two of them are about the same size and weight—the only thing Nia would have accomplished was hurting herself.

“I’m fine,” he rasps. He pushes himself back to his feet, gives the booby-trapped fruit a doleful glare, then shuffles back towards the trunk, where the branches are wider. He doesn’t take any more risks, slowing down his gathering time as he plucks the last few aspear berries from the tree. By time he slides back down to Nia he’s calm again, beyond relieved to feel solid ground and grass beneath his feet.

“That’s the last of the fruit,” Tobias says, shaking out his hands. They feel gritty with bark. “Let’s push this over to Hadley’s hut so we can collect branches and get out of here.”

Nia nods and helps him push the basket over to a spot near Hadley’s doorway, then follows him when he goes to collect sticks and branches along the forest floor. The riolu is quiet as they work, and by time they’re finished it’s nearing sunset.

“That’s the last of it. Let’s let Hadley know we’re done so we can head back.”

Nia nods, and they head to the golisopod’s hut. It’s nearly dark inside, so they pause at the doorway, knocking against the wooden frame.

“Hadley?” Tobias calls. “We got your harvesting done and picked up around the place.”

A muted thud sounds behind them, and Nia yelps while Tobias spins around with his claws at the ready. But it’s just Hadley, suddenly behind them with a calm, contented expression. Did he—did he just jump down from the roof? Or the trees, even? Where was he this whole time?!

Tobias decides he doesn’t care enough to ask (he does care, but he knows he won’t get a straight answer anyways). Instead he growls, “We harvested your berries and picked up branches. We’re done.”

Hadley smiles. “Oh! Good, good, youngins!” He shuffles a few steps away, looking around at the trees and undergrowth. “You two did a fine job.”

Nia finally recovers from the fright to smiles proudly at Tobias’ side, and he sighs, crossing his arms. “Good. What about our rewards?”

Hadley turns to them, claws clicking thoughtfully. Then, he perks up. “Oh, yes! I was going to tell you about humans!’”

Nia’s ears prick with interest. “Y-Yes! Do you know anything about them? Or how to get to the human world?”

Hadley laughs. “You sound like you believe those silly old tall tales, too! I have an old friend who still insists she was once a human. Daft gal, that one.”

Nia steps forward, sounding excited. “Wait! Really? C-Could you introduce me to her?”

Hadley looks down at Nia like she’s turned zweilous and grown a second head. “You want to meet Hazel?”

“Yes! Please!”

“Strange one you are. Fine, fine. She does make a mighty fine cup of tea. Last I saw of her she was living in Afon’s Cap, with her daughter and grandkids.”

Nia bounces on her toes, beaming. “Hazel at Afon’s Cap. Got it! Thank you so much, Hadley!”

The golisopod rumbles another laugh and waves her gratitude off with a claw.

“Old man,” Tobias says, reaching the edge of his patience. “Rewards?”

“Ah, yes! Hold on a moment.” The golisopod trudges over to the nearest basket of berries and plucks a couple off the top, turning to hand them over to Tobias. “There ya go. Nice and fresh!”

Tobias looks down at the handful of incredibly common berries he’s holding, biting back a burst of frustrated embers. This is all they’re getting?

“Don’t forget to log your Seeker points now!” Hadley says cheerfully, either entirely missing Tobias’ fury or ignoring it. Probably the latter.

Knowing complaints won’t get him anything more than a scolding or straight-up laughed at, Tobias shoves the berries into their bag and turns to leave. He pinpoints his location relative to the guild, then sets off through the underbrush without a word.

Nia stammers something behind him, probably an apology, and calls out, “Bye, Hadley! Have a good night!” before rushing through the ferns and bushes to reach his side. “Have you heard of Afon’s Cap?” She asks immediately, eyes shining. “Is it close?” She doesn’t even look upset about being stiffed on rewards. She got her precious gossip about “humans” so she’s happy. It makes him angrier.

“It’s not far,” Tobias grits out between clenched teeth. “Half a day’s walk.”

“That’s perfect! Can we go there?”

“If we get a mission there.”

Nia seems to deflate. “Oh. S-So we can’t just go there on our own?”

“We could,” Tobias says, pushing a small branch out of his way. “But we have more important things to do. We need to complete missions and gain Seeker points so we can rise in rank.”

Nia doesn’t answer, and when Tobias shoots her a glance, she looks hurt, arms crossed and eyes downcast. Good, at least he’s not the only one upset now.

“This Hazel lady probably isn’t even there,” he scoffs. “You saw Hadley. Old guy’s not as sharp as he used to be. He didn’t even tell us what kind of Pokemon she is.”

“Y-Yeah, but...” Nia’s voice drops, almost inaudible. “I’d still like to check.”

“Fine. If you find a mission that takes us there, then we’ll look for this supposed ‘human,’” Tobias says, knowing it’s rare for any Afon missions to land on the E-rank mission board.

Nia doesn’t perk up at the offer, just nodding with her tail almost trailing in the dirt. When they’ve almost reached one of the main tunnels back into the guild, Nia speaks up.

“What were those Seeker points Hadley mentioned earlier?“

Tobias snorts. “They’re basically all we’re getting for completing this mission, that’s what. Usually Pokémon give you rewards for helping them out, like that teddiursa and roselia did, but you’re also awarded a certain number of Seeker points. The more points you have, the more respected your team is. It’s how you advance in ranks”

“Oh...So after we get so many points, we’ll go up from E-rank to D-rank?”

Tobias nods. “The first few ranks go by quick, but it gets more difficult the higher up you go.”

“Makes sense,” Nia murmurs.

They finally reach the old hollowed-out tree entrance, and they both climb inside to carefully slide down into the tunnel system. When they reach the bottom, they take a moment to dust themselves off in the crystals’ blue glow before setting off.

“When we get back to the room, we need to input our mission’s success into our badges,” Tobias says, glancing over at Nia to be sure she’s listening. “Got it?”

The riolu nods. “Are you going to eat soon?”

Tobias yawns. “Yeah. I’m starving after seeing berries all day. Let’s get your scarf first and drop it off to be dyed.”

Nia doesn’t object, and the two make their way through the tunnels, past the notice boards, and trudge up the stairs to their quarters.

“They should really install an elevator in this place,” Nia mumbles at one point, a humorous edge to her voice.

Tobias gives her a dry look. “No idea what that is.”

Nia opens her mouth to respond, then hesitates, looking thoughtful. “W-Wait. Are there any, uh...Pokémon that can’t climb the stairs? Who were injured or can’t walk properly? What do they do?”

“We have psychic types who can levitate and teleport them around the guild when they need it,” Tobias says, pausing in his explanation as they pass a jumpluff and a bellsprout. “They get set up with a device that notifies a psychic type on duty when they need a lift.”

Nia looks impressed, eyes wide with wonder. “Wow...”

“What, you thought we’d just kick out any disabled Pokémon?”

Nia winces at his scathing tone. “No! Of course not! I just hadn’t seen anyone l-like that yet, so...”

Tobias doesn’t respond, and they make the rest of the trip in silence. When they reach Maggie’s quarters, the meganium is reading up on some herbal remedies.

“Well hello, you two!” She says, warm voice immediately soothing Tobias’ weary mind. From the way Nia perks up and smiles, it does the same for her.

“Hi, Maggie! How was your day?” Nia chirps.

“Oh, fine, fine. These old bones are still getting me where I need to go! How was your first real mission?”

Nia’s enthusiasm dims. “It was, uh...great.”

Tobias snorts. “Liar. We picked fruit for weird old Hadley. It was boring.”

Maggie somehow manages to look both disappointed on their team’s behalf and scolding all at once. “Tobias, we’ve talked about this—his name is just Hadley. He’s a very sweet Pokemon. At least you got your Seeker points, right?”

Tobias sighs. “Yeah, I guess.” He goes back into their nook, throwing Nia’s scarf out for her to grab as he rummages through their bag for their badges. He takes a second to input their success and watches their Seeker points rise from 0 to 10. Something in his chest lifts proudly despite their awful day.

After putting everything away, Tobias walks back into the main area to find Nia eagerly questioning Maggie about Afon’s Cap, attack scarf in her paws.

“It’s a port town,” Maggie explains as she works. “Well, sort of. It’s a freshwater lake port off of a river channel. Huge lily pads grow there, so it’s named after its founder, Afon. He was a Ludicolo, a Pokemon that grows a lily pad on its head.”

Nia is listening with fascination, and Tobias rolls his eyes and makes his way towards the door. “I’m going to get food.”

Nia cuts herself off, smiling at him. “Oh! Do you mind waiting just a minute?”

“Yeah, I do. I’m starving,” Tobias huffs, heading towards the door. “I’ll see you down there.“

Nia must decide to continue her questioning later, because a moment later she hurries to catch up to him, reaching his side and looking troubled.

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing,” she mumbles.

The two make their way downstairs in an uneasy silence, only stopping to drop Nia’s scarf off with Vera to be dyed a similar red to his own scarf. The leavanny peers closely at the scarf around Tobias’ neck for a few moments, mouthing notes to herself, before waving them off.

They continue down the tree, eventually reaching the cafeteria. Luckily it isn’t too crowded since it’s later than most Pokemon prefer to eat in the evening. As they move to join a food line, Tobias sees a familiar huge shape at one of the tables, eating while surrounded by his tiny charges. Arlo must’ve brought the kids down for dinner tonight.

A heartbeat later, Luca looks up from his meal and notices Tobias. The little shinx bounces up on his seat and calls, “Toby! Hey, over here!”

The charmander hears Nia murmur, “Toby?” but pays it no mind, immediately heading over to the table. He wishes Nia wasn’t here to see him soften up for the little guys, but there’s no way he’s going to ignore them either.

“Hey, Luca. Anything good tonight?”

The shinx grins up at Tobias. “Yeah! They made oran berry pie! Arlo said that if we don’t make him go gray before the meal’s over we can have a piece!”

“That’s awesome,” Tobias says, biting back a laugh. Poor Arlo.

“Hi Toby!” Luca’s sister and brother, Laine and Leor, chime from across the table, waving at him with their tiny paws. He smiles and waves back.

A lot of the other little Pokémon chirp their own excited hellos—the skwovet kit, the zigzagoon pups, the older kids like the petilil bud and the oddish sprout. Tobias patiently and happily returns their greetings, giving them a few fist bumps or messing up the fur or leaves on top of their heads to hear them squeal with laughter.

He almost forgets that Nia is even there until Luca pokes his head around Tobias and asks, “Who are you?”

“I’m Nia,” the riolu says, smiling with a little wave.

“I’m Luca!” The little shinx nearly shouts, sticking out his tiny chest. His siblings and a few of the other children cry out their own greetings.

Nia laughs. “Nice to meet you all!”

“Are you Toby’s friend?” Laine asks.

“Um...” the riolu shoots Tobias an uncertain look, and he sighs.

“She’s my Seeker partner.”

Immediately the children are in an uproar, abandoning their meals to jump up and ask him a slew of questions.

“Whoa, guys, chill! One at a time!” Tobias laughs, hands up in defeat. Nia looks overwhelmed.

“Children!” Arlo bellows, stepping into their conversation for the first time. “No pie unless you settle and eat your food. Tobias and Nia cannot answer you all at once.”

The kids hurry back to their meals with intense focus, clearly willing to do just about anything for a slice of pie. A lot of them still peek up at him and Nia, though, or just push the food around on their trays.

Luca and his siblings don’t even pretend to eat, but they do sit back down, tiny tails lashing. “You two are a Seekers team?!”

Tobias feels proud looking into the shinx cubs’ starry eyes. “Sure are.”

“Awesome! What’s your team name?” Laine asks.

“Team Scarlet.”

Leor breathes a quiet, awed noise, and Luca beams. “That sounds as cool as Xander’s team!”

Nia’s brow furrows, probably trying to figure out how the three know Xander. Tobias barely manages to keep his expression neutral as the luxio is mentioned, biting back a scowl for the shinx cubs’ sake. “They’re Xander’s younger siblings,” he whispers.

“Oh!” Nia looks surprised, glancing between Tobias and the shinx cubs.

Tobias turns his attention back to the shinx kids. “We’re gonna go get some food. Mind if we join you guys?”

They’re better company than Nia, by far. The kids cheer and excitedly call for them to sit down at their table, and Tobias and Nia head off to grab some trays and load them up with food. Even though Nia’s presence is an unexpected and unwelcome addition to Tobias’ dinner with the nursery crew, the meal is nice. Being around the younger Pokemon—the shinx siblings especially—always cheers the charmander up, especially after such a long day.

And tomorrow has to be better.

#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokemon #golisopod #pmd seekers of soul #tesha draws #tesha writes #charmander #riolu

[bumpthumpwhump]

Snippets from in the cellar

This is my first piece with original characters/content that I’m posting anywhere ever (so please let me know your thoughts) but when I saw this prompt (see below) I knew I had to write something. The only trigger warnings for this would really be: held captive with injuries, a little swearing and heavy angst, smaller reference to non-con if you squint hard enough to see it, so if that’s not your thing then please don’t read. Story under the cut. 

This is from a prompt I saw by @whumpthencomfort (I tried to tag you for credit but it wouldn’t find your blog):

“The whumper lives in a nice suburban street where nothing bad ever happens and keeps the whumpee in their basement a secret from their family. One day, during a neighbourhood barbecue, the whumpers kid and couple of their friends break into the basement expecting to find alcohol - only to discover the terrified, traumatised whumpee who had just about given up hope that anyone was going to save them.”

He’s jerked into consciousness from the impact to the side of his face and the breath being forced from his chest as he’s thrown to the floor, with his hands tied behind his back he had no way to lessen the impact or protect his already bruised body. Drowsily he looks around and takes in the room he’s lying in, a wine cellar, he realises. As his eyes try their best to adjust to the bright overhead lights and tries to shake off the drug in his system, he feels chains being fastened around his ankles “wha… what?” He asks, his mind struggles to keep pace and make sense of what’s happening. He’s no stranger to waking up from being high but this is too different.

The rough voice comes from behind him as he feels chains being wrapped around his bare wrists “Shut the fuck up” he’s told as the zip tie that had been securing his wrists is cut off, the knife nicks the side of his wrist.

He weakly protests as he tries to wriggle away from the man “N…no… you can’t…” but he’s cut off by a thick cloth gag being put between his lips and tied at the back of his head.

He feels the mans breath on his ear as he leans in close “Oh but I can… I can do whatever I want now…” the man trails off as words send a chill down his spine, almost as though he’s pausing for effect… it’s followed up with a tug on the gag, it pulls at his mouth as he’s told “There, that’ll keep you nice and quiet.” The man pats the side of his face and it sends his world spinning again. He thinks that he should’ve seen this coming, that they should’ve been more careful. He knows he can’t let this happen, so he takes as deep a breath as his bruised ribs will allow and tries to scream. It comes out in the form of a muffled cry, he’s still too weak to make it count. He works to regain his breath.

His attention is drawn towards the door to the cellar, where the man stands chuckling as he shrugs and tells him matter of factly “Go ahead, scream as much as you want, no-one would hear you even if you weren’t gagged.“ As the man turns and pulls the door open, from his position on the ground he can blearily see that it leads to a smaller room with another solid looking door. The man turns back and reaches his hand towards the light switch “I’ll give you some time to rest and think about why you’re here.” He then smiles and tilts his head as he adds “oh and I’d try not to fall asleep if I were you, you might be have a concussion” as he flicks the switch and closes the door behind him, the room plunged into darkness and the sound of the locks on the door turning echo through the room along with it’s captives shaky breaths.

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

He’s sitting on his mattress against the wall eating the sandwich he’d been brought, he doesn’t know how long he’s been down here, he’s lost count of how many times he’s asked this, how many times they’ve been through this routine now. He can’t tell how long he’s been here for, but he’s betting it’s been a while. In a show of desperation he sighs and asks the man sitting opposite him “Please, Paul… I won’t tell…” he interrupts the story about the mans family, the trophy his daughter had won at school yesterday.

Rolling his eyes at he stands, his captor asks “How many times?” Gesturing around the room with his hand extended he continues in sorrowful tone with an underlay for warning “…Do we need to get rid of these again… start from the beginning?”

At those words his mind flashes back to the last time he’d tried to escape, not long after he’d been captured, when he’d tried to overpower his captor and he had to start fresh, being drugged twice a day, having to behave and show Paul that he wasn’t a threat… all so that he’d get his mattress and lamp back. He never thought he’d be grateful for, or treasure, two small things like these. He’d do anything to not be forced to go through withdrawal tied up in the dark on a cold stone floor again. He’s snapped back to reality by a questioning “Well do we?”

Quickly he utters “No I’m sorry… I, I won’t ask again” as he moves into the middle of the mattress in an attempt to stop it being taken, the chain connecting his ankle to the bolt in the wall rattling as it moves with him.

The smile that spreads across that face that he’d love to punch again manages to stir up a burning hatred in his chest, it’s a feeling he didn’t know he was still capable of feeling for the man he’d never thought could harm him, the same man who has managed to reduce him and his world to this existence in this room. He receives a nod “Good…” as they both move back to their original positions, him sitting against the wall as he resumes eating, and the man sitting back down on his chair that he brings in with him, but higher than him, always higher than him.

The next thing the man says feels like a punch to the gut “Besides, no-one’s really missed you…” He pulls back from the bite of the sandwich he was about to take, his hands falling to his lap and his eyes following them, he unconsciously winces as he looks at the scars around his wrists, the sandwich falls to the floor. It can’t be true, he knows there’s at least one person that would still miss him. He opens his mouth to say something as he looks up, any kind of cutting reply would be fine, but all he can do is take a breath as the words die before they’ve even been formed, he looks back down to his lap. He shakes his head in place of the words he can’t say. Almost as though he’s speaking out loud anyway, he hears “They’ve all moved on… moved away…” the voice grows closer and he sees the boots in front of him stop at the edge of his mattress “and when they come home? You’re not even mentioned anymore…”

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

When he wakes up he realises he’s on the stone floor again, he’s not sure how long he’s been out for this time. Willing his arms to work and carry him this time, he manages to crawl the rest of the short distance to the wall and slowly prop himself up against it, though by the time he’s managed it his vision is fading at the edges again and it hurts too much to sit up, there’s too much pressure on that place he’d never known could hurt like this until he woke up in this room… In fact, everything hurts more than it did before he’d moved. As he gingerly eases himself back down to a lying position, he looks around the room slowly, but doing both things at the same time still makes him dizzy. There’s not much to see anyway from the tiny beam of dull light sneaking in from under the door, but he knows his mattress, water and lamp will be gone. He instantly dismisses his idea of using his shirt to wipe the blood from his eye, he couldn’t manage to get the damn thing off his body anyway.

As he settles on the floor and wills his body to stay as still as it possibly can he silently curses himself… he’s not quite sure whether it was the smugness of that voice, or just the words that Paul had spoken that made him jump up and punch the man under his chin, or whether it’s just that he’s finally snapped and doesn’t really care whether he lives or dies anymore… Either way he knows it was a stupid mistake, he’d barely had time to think about his next move before he was jumped on and pinned down to the mattress “Stupid fucking mistake…” the stern words whispered in his ear somehow felt like they were being screamed as the punches started. He knows he blacked out after he half turned round and was hit on his chest and face with part of the chain that connected his ankle to the wall… he can hazard a good guess what happened next as he takes stock of each ache and pain in his body. He knows he won’t be walking or standing for a while.

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

He wakes with a start as he hears the first door being opened carefully, he knows what’s coming next, and his breath quickens as much as the battered body will allow it to. He can’t have the drugs, not now, not like this. He knows he won’t last, and for the second time in his captivity he thinks maybe it’s better that he doesn’t come out of this anyway…

The door to the cellar opens slowly, pulling him back from spiralling, it lets in more light, and the footsteps stop in the doorway from the sound. They’ve done this dance once before, and this time he can’t bring himself to look up, what’s the point, he’s accepted his fate, probably couldn’t fight back even if he wanted to… he can hardly breathe without it hurting. His body seems to have a different idea though, as he automatically pushes himself up a little and scoots back, subconsciously moving until he’s propped up with his back is against the wall and he’s squashing down a pained groan from the movement.

Its the sharp intake of breath from the doorway that finally makes him look up, but it’s not the silhouette that he’s become so familiar with that’s standing there now. “I… you… I… b-but… no…” the figure in the door stumbles over the words, and he knows now that he’s officially lost it because it can’t be… Paul said they’d all moved on, moved away… and the voice sounds shocked to see him… Then he realises what this is, that this is the final play in the cruel game that Paul’s been playing for however long he’s been kept down here.

Ignoring the aches that explode everywhere on his body, he pushes his body to curl into a ball because this is the thing that will finally break him, and he’ll hide from it for as long as he can. The footsteps come closer, and they sound almost tentative as they come to a stop before him, almost where Pauls had stopped at the edge of the mattress. He curls tighter into himself and manages to croak out “nnn… no… p-please?” as he shakes his head slightly and the world spins around him as the edges of his vision go dark.

He knows he’s fading as he slides down the wall and meets the ground, faintly hears the far too concerned voice calling the name that he’s not been called in who knows how long, his name… “Sebastian stay with me!” But he can’t make himself stay awake, his eyes close as the world fades away.

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

If anyone is interested in more from this, I kind had a whole universe in my head while I was writing, so I have a few ideas for other stories, so just let me know :) - Also let me know your thoughts on this one! Thank you for reading!

#whump story #captivity whump #held captive #restrained whumpee #whump prompt #beaten up #emotional whump #drugged #drugged whumpee #injured whumpee #physical whump

[korgidorgi]

OUAT Regina Mills x Reader

Word count: 1637

Warnings: Like, one curse word

Summary: Takes place around S3 Ep13. Reader just arrived back in Storybrooke the previous day. They are chilling in Granny’s Diner, looking through some writings when Regina joins them. They have a chat about something strange that reader (you) had experienced in the past year. It had happened before, but when they were a kid, and it felt so real.

Gender is not specified.

Sitting in Granny’s Diner, you take a sip of your drink while flipping through the pages of two notebooks. One notebook has pages upon pages of storyline and sketches of characters. The other notebook contains notes about the first one, and this little town called Storybrooke, mostly about the people you’ve met in your short amount of time of being in this town since you arrived yesterday. Apparently, Emma, your childhood friend, is in the town too, and her son, Henry, who you haven’t seen in a year.

Emma had invited you for dinner with her, Henry, and a few friends last night, which you politely declined, but ended up going anyway. That’s where you met Mary Margaret and David. You’ve previously met Regina staring at your vehicle when you stopped in one of the stores yesterday when you first arrived; she was at the dinner too. Everyone was very nice, but something was bothering you, you didn’t know what it was at the time, but you’ve figured it out now, you think.

There’s something awfully familiar about the town and it’s people. Flipping through your journals, you finally connect the dots. Sitting in the booth behind you-

“Hey, do you mind if I sit with you?” A tentative voice brings you back to earth.

You look up, finding the dark haired woman from last night, and the same one you asked Mary Margaret about earlier this morning when you went to pick something up from her apartment that you’d left the previous night.

“No, not at all. Here-” you scramble your notes together to clear the table at least a bit from your spiraling ideas.

Regina takes a seat across from you as you try to organize your belongings, a little embarrassed about the mess.

“Sorry it's such a mess.” You apologize, throwing the loose papers and notes into your bag.

“It’s quite alright.” She responds, flashing you a small smile. “What are you writing?”

“Oh, I uh, I’ve been writing a story. Inspired from my dreams.” You nervously answer, not knowing where to look. “It sounds weird, right?”

“No, not at all.” She reassures, hesitantly placing a hand on top of yours briefly. “May I ask what your dreams are inspiring?”

“I’ve actually been writing in these journals for years, since I was a kid. I’ve always had really vivid dreams, and it was like they’d go in order, like episodes for a tv show.” You begin. “I got so into them, I started writing them down, and sometimes I’d draw some of the people as best I could from memory, but I was a kid, so they didn’t turn out very great. I’m currently looking back into it because I’ve had them again this past year, but they’ve suddenly stopped now. At least my sketches are better.” You chuckle.

“Well, they say follow your dreams.” She smiles over at you, pulling some hair from in front of her eyes. “What were they about?”

“I’m a pirate, I think, and during this past year I met a supposed “Evil Queen”, who I had met in my childhood dreams before.” You begin. “The first major scene I had was following her into a castle and trying to talk some sense into her before she tried to put a sleeping curse on herself. She told me she really missed her son, that there’s no reason for her to continue with her life. I felt bad for her and she poofed me away with some magic and I couldn’t find her again.” You tell her one of the major scenes in your dream, flipping through the pages of the first notebook you used at the re-beginning of the dreams and stopping on a certain page.

Flipping the notebook around for her to see, you let her take in the pencil sketch in front of her. The graphite etched into the paper depicts a mourning Queen sitting in a stone bench of a large room, her hair tied up and her body adorned by an intricately patterned dress, a dark cloak draped over her shoulders. In her hand, she holds a long needle, the tip coated with some dark substance; a potion or curse of some sort. Her features are soft but full of anguish, her eyes holding the most dejected look one could ever see as she looks down at the needle in her fingers.

You watch Regina take in the drawing for a moment before she finally speaks. “That’s very well drawn. And that’s from memory.” She comments, raising her eyebrows as if she’s impressed.

“Thank you, Regina.” You bashfully accept her compliment. “That’s how vivid these dreams are.” You add. “They feel like I’m actually experiencing them. Like I’m traveling to another world and living it.”

She nods at your statement, eyes fixed on the sketch again.

You speak up again, “Can I tell you something? It’s going to sound crazy, but I need to get this out of my head.”

“Of course.” She returns her gaze to you, awaiting what you have to say.

You think for a moment what you want to say first before finally saying one of your thoughts that’s been bugging you ever since you first saw her. “Have we met before?” You blurt out the question, not able to keep your words in check. “I just can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen you somewhere, that I’ve known you from somewhere.”

“I don’t think we have.” Regina answers. “I think I’d remember someone as-” She cuts herself off, pausing for a moment to look for the right words. “Someone as adventurous as you.”

“Oh. Okay.” You look down, “Sorry, that was a weird question.”

“No, not at all, Dear.” Regina reassures you.

You flash her a small smile, catching something out of the corner of your eye. A man passes your booth, not noticing your glance at him and leading Henry out of the Diner, to watch over him, you suspect. Regina notices your look, but before she can say anything, you’re flipping through the pages of your journal, muttering to yourself about “where is it”. Regina watches you as you finally stop on a certain page, completely confused and utterly shocked.

“I’ve seen him before…” You gape at your journal.

A sketch of a pirate’s portrait takes up the upper half of the page, as if drawn for a character profile in a novel with a description underneath the sketch. The man has short but well kept hair, one of his eyebrows raised slightly as if to taunt whomever it is he was interacting with at the time of the sketch. His stubble beard brings out some of his more attractive features and he sports a small black earring, almost covered by his black coat’s collar.

“Somehow, my subconscious knew him, and here he is.” You marvel.

“It might just be a coincidence.” Regina suggests. “Your brain doesn't forget faces, maybe you’ve seen someone like him somewhere and your mind just put him in there.”

“Maybe. But how weird is this?”

“I’ll admit, it is pretty weird.” Regina says. “Hey, I’m gonna go grab a drink from the counter, I’ll be right back.” Regina gets up to make her way to the counter of the Diner.

You flip through your journals, looking at all the characters you had sketched from your dream. You notice Regina saying hi to Emma and continue trying to think through what you had just confessed to Regina. Is it weird you told her something so bizarre even though you’ve only just met her yesterday?

Suddenly, the door bursts open and Mary Margaret’s friend, who was going to help her with the baby, walks into the diner. The aura around the woman wasn’t like anything you’d felt. She looks to be intimidating everyone in the diner, yet Regina doesn’t seem to flinch at the sudden entrance like everyone else. The woman waltzes right up to Regina, vengeful determination written all over her features. You watch as she gets up in Regina's face, trying so hard to intimidate her, but failing. You stand to go join Regina at the counter and try to see if you can get another drink.

“Oh, she never told you?” You hear the strange woman say, as she goes on about her being Regina’s sister.

“Of course she didn’t tell me, otherwise I’d know I have a sister.” Regina snaps back, holding her ground.

You interject before the energy in the room gets even more uncomfortable. “Ok, you’re making kind of a scene and people are staring. So, whatever sibling rivalries you have, can you put them on hold and sort them out somewhere else so you don’t cause a scene?”

“Who do you think you are?” The woman sneers. “Do you even know who you’re talking to?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” You simply state, before trying to shoo the Karen out. “But if you’re going to bring drama in here and bother everyone in the Diner, Karen, you can leave, please and thank you.”

You guide her out the door and watch her huff as she turns to walk away. “Regina, meet me tonight, we’ll settle our differences then. You all haven’t heard of the last of me!”

You turn back to Regina to find the whole diner looking at you. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

Regina approaches you, placing her hands on your upper arms in an attempt to comfort you. “No, you’ve done nothing wrong.” She reassures, looking out the door to watch the woman disappear from view. “Thank you for kicking her out.”

“You’re welcome.” You respond, still slightly nervous. “She was being a bitch to you.” You mutter.

Your response causes Regina to release a small chuckle. “I have a protector now?”

“I guess…” You mumble.

#ouat #regina mills x reader #regina mills #once upon a time #x reader #fanfiction #ouat fanfiction #storybrooke

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 1

Rating: Explicit. 18+

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Bad girls are sad girls! Always wondered what goes through the mind of a spoiled, rich but intelligent and perceptive teenager? Have you found yourself craving that adrenaline rush, the danger of a forbidden fruit? Okay. That was cheesy as hell. Gross.

Let's try again. Sarcasm? Check. Vine references? Hell yes! Crude humour? Check. Blunt honesty? Double check. We're living in a Lana del Rey song, ladies.

The author doesn't actually condone codependent relationships in real life. This is a filthy little fantasy. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub​ @mostly-marvel-musings​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She deserves all the love 💙

Pining. I was pining after Stark and it made me upset. I thought I was better than that. Better than acting the part of a lovesick puppy, begging for scraps of attention- a kind word, a pat on the shoulder, a blanket thrown over me in my sleep. Even if he was my Mount Olympus, I wasn't exactly on board with starting the whole damn journey in the first place.

Most of all, I hated being a cliché. I tried my best to avoid showing how I felt and with time, I think I excelled at it. I am really good with things if I really put my mind to it. Was it a blessing, or was it a curse? Only the future will tell. I try not to think about it, as I prefer not to stress out too much. Peter was the anxious kid and I was the calm one. I was the Ying to his Yang. He flipped his shit often and I always calmed him down and cleaned up after him. No complaints there, Pete is pure and precious and I would kill everybody and then myself if he actually got hurt.

I'm only a year older than him and that year feels like an uncrossable bridge to me. We get along like a house on fire and I delight in the way he starts smiling when we're paired together for a project. Deep inside I'm sure he thinks of me as one of his best friends, his homies but-and there's always a but-I can't reciprocitate that. He goes to decathlon after school with his wholesome BFF duo, I go to a local dive bar with a fake ID I'd made sometime when I was about 15.

Peter has everything I wish I've ever had. Good for him. I'm not going to mess that up, no matter how much my angst demands I throw a tantrum and become, like, a supervillain or something.

I banter, instead. I chit-chat. I laugh and I repeatedly make a joke out of myself. Nobody suspects a thing, and I'm not surprised. People always see what they want to see. I've been the weird loner since middle school. Not the sad kind, of course, my pride wouldn't let me. I'm too good at things to be completely ignored. Teachers adore me, the event planning committee approaches me every year with tentative pleas for advice. The list goes on and on; what they don't understand is that it's just High School. Another year and I'll be out of there and nobody will be wiser.

I feel like a liar every time I'm excited. Because I'm not that - I don't care about their stupid field trips or collaborative projects. My mind is five steps and two hops ahead of that bullshit. It has to be or I just won't make it in the world.

"Parker-pen, Mr. Stark. G'day, sirs," I nodded, entering the lab, looking straight ahead. They both were hunched over... Something vaguely mechanical and I was terribly, horribly hungover. Saturday night was Science night but I'd gone to bed around 2PM after a party ran way too late.

"Hi," and "Powerpuff girl," came from them respectively, and they didn't even lift their heads.

I wondered if I could just skedaddle and leave them to their big brain time. "Is this a bad time? I can come tomorrow instead," I immediately regretted speaking, even to my own ears my voice sounds scratchy.

"No, actually, Dr. Ban-Bruce-wanted to talk to you," Peter mumbled out half-coherently. Tony kept ignoring me and I was fine with that. The less temptation I have the less trouble there will be.

"I'm not playing with his zucchini again," I groaned, causing the intricate pile of metal to squeak sadly as Pete tripped over his own damn body, jostling the prototype in the process. I could have sworn the room got several degrees hotter from the boy's blush alone.

Tony cackled, shuffling away from the newly ruined prototype. "He won the damn contest, you should've seen the judges faces," The engineer's grin threatened to split his face in half. I poked at my phone in muted interest. "Hold up, Friday has a recording. I definitely recorded the thing."

A holo-screen popped up. Tranquil scenes of a local fair, gourds and other assorted vegetables of various grotesque sizes were scattered throughout the square. An unmistakable mop of curly greying hair posed proudly next to a zucchini half the size of Hulk - I was fairly certain genetically engineering the plant was cheating and warned him so but somehow Banner managed to persuade the judges into letting him participate, and ultimately win, the competition for the Biggest Zucchini. Some of them were quite shocked at the size of that thing and well - well, their glances were quite contemplative to say the least.

"Damn, Tony, that blonde chick's face tells me all I need to know," I gave a lopsided smirk in the engineer's general direction. That was our thing, you see? He called me these ridiculous cutesy nicknames and asked me about getting my nails done or going to the mall and I'd make salacious comments and go on an occasional flirtatious spree. That was comfortable. We both enjoyed making Peter blush and giggle like the little schoolboy that he was.

"Our Brucie bear is a freak, don't let him tell you any different, Princess," Tony winked at me.

"Oh, I know all about it, Tones," I suggestively wiggled my eyebrows. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Peter groan and palm his face. I briefly bumped my knuckles to Tony's outstretched hand and made my way to the adjacent lab that hosted the second resident crazy scientist.

"Bruce?"

"Oh, hi there, come on in," He smiled warmly at me and I relaxed, shrugging off the tension in my limbs that seemed to appear every time Tony was around me. Banner's soft, friendly nature always made me feel welcomed and appreciated.

We made small talk as I threw on a lab coat and some protective glasses and discarded my bag in the far corner, away from any possible explosions. I congratulated him on his recent victory - here is when I say that despite what most will say, Banner has a serious competitive mean streak and isn't afraid to get down and dirty when it comes to matters of his personal pride.

That's what makes us alike, I think. I have too much dignity and self-respect to walk around Tony with stars in my eyes and hang around his neck like yesterday's tie.

The quiet, even pace of doing lab work made me completely lose track of time. Some time passed as I felt the crick in my neck become noticeable, and the deep ache in my calves from standing and dancing yesterday worsened. I hopped onto the nearest table, hunched over a tablet, eyes skimming over research articles - most of it didn't register at all in the wake of a dull throb behind my temples. My hair limply hung over my face - I had to wash it to get rid of the stench-hard liquor and cigarettes - but I was way too lazy to style it properly.

I ignored the swaying strands until a large palm gently tucked them behind my ear, a white lab coat coming into my field of view. "You okay?" Banner's quiet voice interrupted my reading. I lifted eyes enough to see he was wearing a dorky button-up in some gross shade of blue under the lab coat. His eyes were affectionate behind thinly rimmed glasses.

"Rough Friday night?" He questioned.

I chuckled. "Yeah, I'm hungover as fuck." There was no point in hiding the obvious; I'm sure the bags under my eyes already had tattled on me.

He chuckled, too, leaning his hip against the table, one broad arm coming to wrap around me in a hug. Usually he wasn't so touchy-feely; but I wasn't complaining. Banner was really, really warm. "I'll spare you the lecture on underage drinking," He said with another chuckle.

"Yeah, it's pretty pointless. You'd be three years too late."

A deep sigh left him, both of his arms wrapping around me in a comfortable embrace. I rested my chin on his shoulder, trying my best to really avoid showing how touch-starved I was. I was a hundred percent sure they all figured out my family life was difficult; the last thing I needed was their pity.

"Y'know, we should sit down and talk someday," He said after a brief moment of hesitation. "About your future. College, maybe?"

I gave a non-committal hum, basking in the warmth of the hug, staring straight ahead with unseeing eyes - behind the glass divide, I could faintly distinguish Tony's and Peter's shapes, still bent over that bench the pile of metal.

"You have a lot of potential," Banner continued, his tone developing a gently admonishing hint. "I understand if you want to take some time off from your studies but I'd rather you succeed and not let all that potential go to waste," He finished, patting me on the back with a gentle hand.

I tried not to preen under his touch. "Are you attempting to guilt-trip me over a party, doctor Banner?" I teased him, expecting the smile that I felt being hidden by my hair. Sometimes I felt that I could read the man like an open book, he was so earnest about his interactions.

"I just - we want you to stay safe, okay? Don't blow your future for a little bit of fun," He shrugged carefully.

"Okay, Bruce," I simply replied, meaning it this time

He kept hugging me, running his hand over my back absentmindedly. Probably thinking about his recent science bender. I wasn't upset: my own brain tended to get tangled in personal projects, too. I had only one complaint and it was that the cuddle was making me sleepy.

I yawned, startling the man. Pulling away from the hug wasn't really an option. He was broad and quite strong, probably courtesy of the Hulk and radiation in his blood.

"Why don't we put you in a guest room for tonight?" He inquired and I nodded. "Call your parents for me, okay?"

"My mother is in Vancouver for the week and I doubt she would care anyway," I rolled my eyes. "She's in the middle of some shitstorm with OsCorp and their marketing department." If anything, I was grateful my mother was preoccupied with her job. Being around her was like hanging out on top of an iceberg in the far end of the ocean.

I felt Bruce's frown. His body tensed briefly, blink and you'll miss the hunch of his shoulders. "What about your dad?"

I cringed. "He's been in Ibiza since the season opened, no doubt snorting miles of coke and... " I hesitated. "You can guess the rest."

My dad was kind of a dick, but I don't blame him at all for being the way he is. My parents have been married for twenty years. They were happy, once - I saw their college pictures with my mother's bright smiles and bushy hair, and my dad's terrible fashion sense and their dog, a funny little runt with an atrocious name. Then mother had me and for a while, they were happy too, but it lasted about until she landed her first prospective job. Kind of cliché.

Bruce sighed again. "Okay. You hungry?"

"No, I'm not going near food until tomorrow. Nu-uh," I fake-retched next to his ear, making Bruce shiver and playfully pinch my side.

"It'll help with your hangover. Doctor's advice."

"You're not even that kind of doctor," I laughed, very gently poking him back, somewhere around his stomach. He squirmed.

"I have seven PhDs," Bruce smiled as he rested his chin on top of my head as he adjusted his torso to prevent my fingers from reaching his ticklish spots. I poked him again in retaliation, fully enjoying the snort and squirm I caused. Soft™. "Let's go get you settled in," Bruce, seemingly without any difficulty, picked me up, propping me against his hip like a toddler. It probably looked awkward but what the hell, I haven't been carried around since I can remember myself. My legs wrapped around his hips for balance, butt resting on his forearm.

"You're a showoff," I couldn't help but snort, getting a lopsided smirk in return.

He made his way over to the elevator with me dangling and examining my nails in an expectant fashion. Tony's jokes aside, I really enjoyed getting them done and weird colors were a quest of entertainment for me. I obviously couldn't have them very long because I worked in a lab so I chose outrageous prints and decorations instead. This week, each of my nails had a different style - thankfully my aesthetician was professional enough to make it look somewhat put together even if it took a good chunk of my allowance and an hour long Uber ride to get to her salon.

I noticed the dimmed lights in Tony's lab and none of Peter's usual mess scattered on the tables, figuring he'd already left. Stark himself stood propped against a table, watching something, smoothie in hand.

For only a brief moment, I let my eyes rake over his body, his beautiful, sculpted physique hugged by a pair of fitted jeans and an old Led Zeppelin tee. Tony's handsomeness wasn't obvious, it wasn't in-your-face kind of appearance like Captain America's, but the engineer was built sturdy and his arms - the only bare part of him - were riddled with scars. He used his strong, bulky body for work.

I turned away before I got too ahead of myself. Bruce smelled like lab equipment and rubbing alcohol, something that made me sober up and snap out of my daydream before Stark took notice and started teasing me about ogling him. My once-over lasted barely three seconds yet with Tony's genius, I always had to be on my toes.

I saw movement in my peripheral. Banner waved before entering the elevator - at Tony, probably, so I looked back, seeing the man watching us, content replaced with a contemplating frown. I waved at him, resting my cheek on Bruce's shoulder. "Tony's having a big mood," I noted quietly in the scientist's ear.

"You know Tony," Bruce sighed, adjusting his hold on me as the car ascended to the housing floors. "His brain runs a mile a minute and he can't make sense of it for the biggest part. Give him some time and he'll be back to his annoying self."

I didn't see Tony as annoying in any way, but then again, I was severely biased. The billionaire was quirky venturing into absurd but also clever and brilliant.

We had reached our destination and Bruce carefully set me down on my feet once the door to my room was open. A large queen bed, TV and another door to an adjacent bathroom. It was really simple but luxurious nonetheless - I had the exact same carpet at home, having heard my mother bitch about it's cost after seeing me spill soda on it way too many times.

"I'll let you get settled in. Ask Friday if you need something," Bruce awkwardly shuffled his feet, taking off his glasses and briefly examining them before putting them back on again. "Breakfast here is on the 74th floor starting around 7AM, someone will probably get you around nine if you sleep in," He finished, giving a shy tilt of his lips.

"Thanks, Brucie-bear," The nickname easily slipped from my lips. I didn't resist the urge to hug the kind scientist, quickly wrapping my arms around his middle, delightfully sighing when he immediately returned the gesture.

"Good night, Princess," I had to suppress a happy squeak when the man kissed my forehead before retreating and closing the door behind himself. A quick shower and a quest to find a power outlet to plug my charger into preceded my less than graceful flop into the bed. It felt like sleeping on a cloud, honestly, it had nothing on my mother's orthopaedic memory foam mattresses. I passed out faster than I’d ever had.

#Bun writes #party favours #Tony Stark x y/n #Tony Stark x reader #Bruce Banner x reader #Bruce Banner x y/n #Stephen Strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n #We're going to Hell y'all