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jinchuls · 3 months

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𝒴𝑒𝓈, 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝐻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 ₊˚✩

ᡣ𐭩 various knight!character x fem!reader

includes 𝜗𝜚 iwaizumi hajime, kuroo tetsurou (nsfw), ojiro aran (nsfw - marking), takanobu aone

notes 𝜗𝜚 repost from previous blog, mdni

𝑰𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒛𝒖𝒎𝒊 𝑯𝒂𝒋𝒊𝒎𝒆 was the most responsible man assigned to you. No matter your request, big or small, he would execute them with perfection and a quiet “Yes, Your Highness.” He’d bow his head, stand close and make sure every step you take is safe. For the longest time, he seemed to have no interest in anything other than your father’s expectations of him. Not in you, or his fellow knights–he’d perform as he should but no more. You hated it. You hated the lack of attention, the simple responses and the silence as he stood at your side and, most of all, you hated how the small acts, the brief moments your eyes would meet and how those three words would make your heart skip. As you ignore the burning in your chest whenever he is near, you’re unaware of the effect you have on him. You’re oblivious to the shake in his voice when he does quietly respond to you and you don’t notice the gleam in his eyes when yours meet his–you look away before you can notice the red tinge painting his cheeks–and you had no idea the silence was caused by his pure inability to string sentences together in your presence. He wanted to, he wanted to hear your voice every second of the day or be the cause of your laugh. It’s your outburst one night that changes the course of your relationship, that starts something that would result in Hajime’s certain dismissal, with tears welling in your eyes and the frustration clear on your face you confess every emotion weighing down on your heart hoping, praying, he felt the same. He can hear his own heartbeat as it quickens, the pounding in his chest so loud he fears you can hear it from your position across the room; his face reddens again–you have to hide your smile to spare him any more embarrassment–and he begins to stutter. If he had found it difficult to speak around you, it worsened in that moment, but it was clear, no matter what the future would hold for your heart, your feelings were mirrored by your knight.

𝑲𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒐 𝑻𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒖 had mastered the art of trickery. In your family's eyes, he was the perfect candidate to keep you safe. He was that man, amongst all of his peers he was one of the strongest and most capable men that your parents could trust–he’d perfected their vision of him which only presented him every opportunity to show you the less professional sides of him. He was the man he allowed everyone to see but he was also the man able to rile you up, in all the right ways, with a lingering stare and a mischievous glint in his eyes or the touch of his fingers against the nape of your neck as he struggled with the clasp of your necklace. Your attraction to him was unheard of; you’d be ridiculed by anyone that found out. A member of the royal family and their knight? It was an impossible match Supposedly. They only thought that way because they didn’t know what happened when the door was closed; when the knight’s barrack was empty or any other moment the two of you found yourselves alone. There would be no more talk of the incompatibility of royals with anyone of lower status if they knew the way you’d find yourself bouncing on his cock as night settles around the palace. Or how you’d bite your lip to stop the moans from escaping you as he held your waist and the rhythmic movement of his hips had your legs shaking as each precise thrust pushed against every nerve sending you one step closer to bliss. None of it mattered, they could whisper and they could plan your betrothal: they would never know how comforted you felt wrapped in his arms or how protected you knew you were simply walking through the halls of your own home. No one could ruin what had been created and no one would ever know. Outside of your shared secret, all that was seen was your gentle orders directed at him, your voice soft but stern–as it was with every individual under your command–and his return the usual, the formal response everyone was expected to utter but his with a sly, subtle flirtation that left your legs weaks beneath you: “Yes, Your Highness.”

𝑶𝒋𝒊𝒓𝒐 𝑨𝒓𝒂𝒏 was perfect. Cheerful, strong, intelligent and, most important of all, able to cope with the incessant issues caused by the Miya twins (the knights assigned to your siblings. Days seemed to pass quicker when he was there; whenever time appeared to slow, he would be there to keep you company. There was no such thing as a dull moment when he was at your side. From the moment you met him, he was far too easy to get along with. Solid lines engraved in your mind were fading; the lessons taught to you as a young noble were forgotten and the very nature of the expected relationship between knight and noble was lost. You had never been happier. “Aran.” You’d whisper, fingernails digging into the skin of his arm; your head fell back against the pillows as he kissed your neck softly. “I know,” His voice would be no louder than yours, “Not where they can be seen.” With a kiss to your collarbone, he’d look between your bodies at the littering of fading marks he’d left the last time he’d had you in his arms. Across your chest, your thighs, anywhere where they would be hidden from eyes you did not trust. As always, he’d make a comment about how you looked beautiful with the evidence of him. And, as usual, it doesn’t take long before he’s darkening existing marks, kissing your chest. Biting your skin softly to hear those sweet sounds he adored, and leave behind reminders of the night for you to find the next morning. With more scattered across your skin, he’d sit up to look down at his masterpiece as you reached up for him, missing the warmth of his body closer to you. Your quiet mewls were heaven to hear. A smile sat on his face as he leaned down, chest against you and his lips grazing yours. He’d still, hips pressed to yours forcing whimpers from your throat–a silent cry for more–you’re too lost in ecstasy to give it up now. “Please.” You whisper, eyes meeting his. He grins, hands softly holding your waist as he slowly pulls his hips away again. “Yes, Your Highness.”

𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒃𝒖 𝑨𝒐𝒏𝒆 was quiet. From the day he was assigned as your personal guard, he’d barely uttered a word to you or to anyone. He’d simply nod his head to accept any order you sent his way and, miraculously, he’d found a way to relay any message from you wordlessly. You envied those able to understand the behaviour you’d never seen before and you found yourself wanting to be among those he seemed close to. You would watch his fellow knights approach him; you’d watch how Futakuchi would speak to the man and reiterate his silence into words during group conversations whilst you were left in confusion. Day in and day out, you’d find yourself watching him and the little interactions he would have with those around him, occasionally catching his perfectly gentle nature with small animals that roamed the palace gardens. You were certain he could feel your eyes on him but he never seemed to care; you knew words had got to him that you had been asking those he spoke to often to tell you about him but he never stopped your interest. And, as time passed, you found your curiosity had grown into something much more. You’d look away quickly when he would turn his head in your direction, eyes suddenly focused on the tea in front of you. Aone was quiet. Almost too quiet. But the red of his cheeks, that you caught for just a few seconds, was loud. You clear your throat, fearing your voice could break as you try once more to encourage a conversation with him. “The weather is lovely today,” you grip the teacup tightly, closing your eyes and wincing in the embarrassment, that wasn’t what you’d wanted to say. “Would you,” you quieten, looking anywhere other than where he is stood. “Would accompany me on a walk?” He waits a moment and you glance up, expecting to see a small nod, as always. He meets your eye, a soft smile on his face as he does so. “Yes, Your Highness.”

#𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝑒𝒸𝒽𝑜 ༉‧₊˚.#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo smut #kuroo tetsurou smut #ojiro aran #aran x reader #ojiro aran smut #aran smut #takanobu aone #aone x reader #haikyuy x reader #haikyuu smut

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peach-and-bugs · 11 months

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💚Lottie Matthews SFW Alphabet💚

💚Read the NSFW Alphabet here!💚

Fanfiction master list

disclaimer: don't repost my work. I only post on Tumblr and on Ao3. anything else is stolen and should be removed immediately

Warnings: Nope! All safe/fluff, mention of alcohol though

Word Count: 2,278

A/N: Hello Loves! Back again with more for Lottie! This time it's her SFW alphabter! As always, feel free to leave questions or comments in my comments or ask box, and happy reading!💚

Lottie Matthews Tag List: @elliesjoints

Yellowjackets Tag List: @frasersgf @minimickzy

General Tag List: @summergeezburr

-💚-

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Lottie does what I call quiet affection. She’s not into extravagance or making a huge display out of things and she never has. She prefers keeping your love private, but don’t mistake that for her keeping you secret! On the contrary, she’s very upfront about her marital status with others, it's just not all out and in your face. Her love languages are acts of service and touch for sure. She’s always got a hand on you in some way when she can help it and its very common to come home to her having done or actively doing a chore for you that she knows youve been dreading

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

As an adult, she doesn't seem like the best friend type. But as a teenager, she was the classic outgoing girl's best friend. She loved doing each other's nails, watching corny movies late at night with popcorn, and having sleepovers. She loves those moments of girlhood but craves them still as an adult. If she did make an adult best friend, in some way I think she’d try and reclaim and relive that feeling, as childish as it might make her feel

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Lottie is a huge cuddler. She loves being tangled up in you, face to face so she can press you into her chest and she can rest her chin on top of your head. She loves snuggling up under blankets with you to watch tv or a movie ans sneakily sliding her hand up your top

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Lottie adores domestic life. She loves mundane tasks like cooking and cleaning, especially when she can do those tasks for you. She enjoys the praise she gets and the relaxation she can feel in your body from having done a task for you. She doesn’t like living alone, so moving in together would be suggested and welcomed quite early. She loves sharing her space with you. She’s the type to want to go the whole ten miles. Living together, getting married, and having kids. She wants to give her kids some of the childhood wonder she worries she missed out on

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

I think she’d be shattered. I genuinely don’t know how she’d do it because I see her as someone as an adult who’s so careful with dating, that she’s only getting into a serious relationship when she feels she’s found the one. If she felt like she had to leave, it would likely be because she worried she was weighing you down. There would be a lot of tears and drama and she’d feel awful, but she firmly believes in the phrase “If you love something, let it go”

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quickly would they want to get married?)

This lady wants to put a ring on your finger so badly! I think she dreamed of a rustic farmhouse wedding as a teenager with all her closest friends and family, and now she envisions that with you both in white, out by her little part of the lake. I could see it taking some time though. She wouldn't want to rush into things and scare you off. She seems like the type to wait till you show obvious interest in big-life changing decisions that she can’t misconstrue, like getting married or having kids

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Lottie is just the most tender girl. She’s so fragile with every touch like she’s afraid of breaking whatever’s in her hands, you included. Sometimes her touch is so soft it feels like she’s only hovering over your skin. You have to remind her that you aren't going to fade away or disappear and she can hold onto you.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Her hugs are warm and enveloping like she’s wrapping you up in a blanket or a bubble made just for the two of you. She gets especially huggy when she’s tired or drunk

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

She tries to wait till you say it first but slips up and ends up saying it first. She says it very casually ans naturally too, likely after laughing at some corny joke you make without thinking about it. It takes her a moment to realize she even said it at all, but before she can worry and possibly take it back you assure her you love her too

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

I mentioned it in a headcanon request but Lottie is a self-pity type of jealous. She feels very secure in her relationship with you, but if before you established it and she sees someone flirting with you or she’s got something impairing her cognitive thinking skills (best example, she's drunk) she becomes a mopy baby, keeping you away not because she’s mad at you but she’s pitying herself

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Like everything Lottie does, there's a warm tenderness behind every one of her kisses. She loves kissing your hands and fingers, or holding onto your hips tight as she kisses your lips, smiling at the taste of you. She loves kissing your nose and the corners of your smile, as well as your thighs, collarbones, and neck. Any exposed skin she can get her hands on she’ll kiss you there, no questions asked

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

She’s great with kids! She loves just listening to them talk about the magical worlds that they come up with. I think had she not had all the trauma from the crash, in another life she became an elementary school teacher, maybe teaching between 4th and 6th graders

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Lottie is often up first because she’s got things to do, but she always leaves the coffee maker on for you and oftentimes gets some chores done around the house before you get up and she has to start getting to work. On weekends she likes to gently wake you up and bribe you with making breakfast

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

She loves listening to music while cooking dinner, often distracting you to dance and nearly burning whatever you might be cooking because she's just too infatuated with you and your laugh. She also enjoys late-night reading in bed with her glasses on while you cuddle up beside her. Her free hand often trails over your stomach and your side so that she can feel your breathing even out as you fall asleep beside her

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Lottie wouldn’t tell you a lot about the wilderness, at least not in detail. But I think she’d reveal details about her life pre-crash very freely. But her teen years during and post-crash are somewhat of a blur. Once a heavy level of trust is established between the two of you, I think she’d be a lot more open to talking about it, but only when you’re alone ans something reminds her of something that happened out there. She wants you to know what triggers her, what she did out there because she wants to be herself with you and be accepted and taken in full as she is, but that’s extremely hard out of her fear of rejection. It would take quite some time and trial and error, but overall, she feels like one of not the more open out of the yellowjackets when it comes to their time in the wilderness

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

She’s extremely patient, especially with you. They’re a very strong line of communication between the two of you, so it’s very hard to upset one another. However, if she’s already stressed, small things that other people do can tend to set her off. It’s pretty easy to catch these triggers, but settling her down again when she’s upset can be a challenge. She always feels bad after getting upset with someone but you assure her it’s alright end encourage her to apologize and communicate what she may have been feeling

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or do they kind of forget everything?)

Lottie’s mind is a steal trap. She remembers absolutely everything without even trying, but she doesn’t brag about it. She hopes that you don’t notice it

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

She often fondly thinks about watching you in her garden, admiring all her different plants as the sun shone down on you from above, illuminating the color in your cheeks and the sparkle in your eyes. At that moment, she realized just how beautiful she truly found you

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

She’s protective, but not in the way that she’ll get physically violent or aggressive with someone who’d bother you. She’s more concerned with getting you out of a bad situation than interfering with the perpetrator if that makes sense. She’d rather take you away and make sure you're alright because of your her priority. Not some asshole who felt the need to bother you.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, and everyday tasks?)

Lottie seems like a huge tryhard to me, so she’s gonna try in everything romantically because she wants you both to be satisfied to your fullest in every aspect of her relationship, so if there's something you want, she’ll attempt to achieve it to the best of her capability. But she prefers the small things, like taking her time doing a task for you, or when you try cooking something new for you both or coming home to a new bouquet that you picked from the garden that afternoon

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

She’s got a nasty habit of overworking herself, especially into the night. She often wakes up in the night when she’s overwhelmed or stressed and you need to pull her from her computer or the kitchen and back to bed before she wears herself out

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

She’s more concerned than you might think. Of course, she’s one to embrace the unique beauty that comes with age, however, sometimes when she notices a few more grey hairs than she expected or new wrinkles forming on her face it can get to her and she can grow concerned. You always tell her that she's always beautiful, even more so with age and she finds comfort in that

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

She hates to admit it, but she can be quite clingy. She doesn't like being apart for long and is at her most content when you’re within arms reach of her. Of course, she understands a need for time apart or if you want time for yourself, and that's something she’s willing to work on, but she adores you and at the very least wants to know how your day has been. She always calls if you're apart for a day to check in with you

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

I mentioned it before but she’s a big reader. She loves getting her information from books and it's quite common to find her curled up under a blanket in her free time, book in hand with a cup of tea sat beside her, her reading glasses sliding down her nose. But she’s the kind of reader that highlights and annotates her books, regardless of what they’re about. She just likes being able to flip to where she was and read sections to you without having to go on a wild goose chase to find them

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

She’s one of those people with the cilantro gene and she hates it, insisting that it tastes like soap. She’s not usually picky with food, but if she tastes cilantro it’s an absolute no

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Lottie twitches in her sleep and she sleep mumbles. She’s very clingy and always has a hand on you when she’s asleep, but she’s an active dreamer and will murmur things under her breath when she’s out cold. Often, when she’s not having nightmares she’ll say all kinds of sweet things. It's very sweet when she takes naps on the couch with you, her head in your lap while you read. She'll hum and smile to herself when you run her fingers through her hair and she’ll nuzzle into your leg. You know shes dreaming about you then

#◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ kay's at it again♡#fanfiction requests #fic request #yellowjackets #yellowjackets fanfic #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets thoughts #yellowjackers headcanons #lottie matthews #lottie yellowjackets #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews headcanons

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madneedshelp · 2 years

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Drunken Secrets-Robin Buckley x Fem Reader

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Summary: You and your friends have just defeated Vecna and EVERYONE made it out safe, so Steve threw a party to celebrate. After you and Robin get drunk together, you let more slip than you planned to…

A/N: don’t mind the aggressive “everyone” up there, I just can’t write a fic without it being some sort of fix it fic, so yeah, everyone is alive in this one because we need that.

You had never been one to fixate on impressing people. Normally, you didn’t really care. Except when it came to Robin Buckley.

Robin was the most gorgeous human being you’d ever laid eyes on, not to mention how incredibly funny and clever she was. Ever since you’d starting working with her at Family Video, you couldn’t get her out of your head. Not that you could tell her any of this, though. In a town like Hawkins, that kind of statement would get you ostracized faster than you could say “lesbian.” Besides, you didn’t even know if Robin liked girls, and trying to find out could easily ruin your friendship, which would be the worst possible thing.

So, even though you were sure you’d never tell her how you felt, you spent at least an hour getting ready for Steve’s party. It was summer, so you couldn’t go too overboard without being miserably hot, but you were damn near close to that point. This girl really had driven you mad. All this effort for a crush you couldn’t even act on.

Steve's backyard was already packed with people by the time you arrived. Not "people" like from his parties back in his King Steve era, but "people" as in the group of you that dealt with all of the Upside Down chaos. All the kids were here, as were Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, Eddie, and of course, Robin.

You hesitated in your tracks slightly upon seeing her. Damn it all, she'd worn eyeliner. Only rarely did you see it on her, but you absolutely loved it. Focus, you told yourself as you snapped back to your senses.

After greeting all your friends, you went to grab a beer from the cooler and some chips from the food table. As you stood there, you felt your eyes wander over to Robin. She stood with Steve, both laughing happily. Your eyes lingered a little too long, and you didn't even notice as someone sidled up behind you.

"Jesus, still can't keep your eyes off her, can you?" Eddie chuckled as he popped open his own beer can.

You jumped and whirled to face him, nostrils flaring slightly. "Oh, shut it, Munson. Don't act like you haven't been eyeing Harrington all night."

You and Eddie had formed an odd sort of friendship in the past couple of weeks. You both had sort of bonded over the traumatic events you'd went through. He'd been the only person to figure out your crush on Robin, and you'd picked up on some vibes with him and Steve. Neither of you had officially confessed anything on the matter, but there was a quiet sort of understanding between you two that you both realized you were...different from the others.

"That obvious, huh?" He took a swig and grinned down at you.

You laughed at his cheeky smile. "I mean, 'don't ya, big boy?' was pretty obvious."

"Well, so is the staring, so unless you want the girl to think you're a stalker I would cool it." He shrugged, giving you a sideways glance.

"The Stalker and The Freak, what a pair we make, right?" You downed the last of your beer and grabbed another.

"Hawkins' finest outcasts," He smiled and lazily clinked his beer can with yours.

As the night wore on, the younger crowd began dwindling. Eventually, all the parents had came and retrieved them all, so the older teenagers were left on their own. That's when everything let loose.

It had been a tense few weeks. All the murders and near-death experiences had definitely weighed on everyone's shoulders. That's how you all wound up drunk on Steve's patio.

You had never been more grateful that your friend's parents were never home. Beer cans littered the ground and the six of you were absolutely out of it.

As luck would have it, Jonathan and Nancy had split off to the side, as did Steve and Eddie. That left you to finally talk to Robin.

"Hey," You grinned sheepishly as you flopped down on the ground beside her.

"Hi," She returned your shy smile with a giggle, which was definitely courtesy of the alcohol.

Everything felt a little fuzzy as you sat next to the girl, the two of you kicking your bare feet in the pool. It took you a few minutes to remember that you should make some conversation. That came easier after a half an hour and another beer for each of you. Soon enough, you were engaged in a bubbly, buzzed conversation.

"Work has been soooo crazy, I'm absolutely beat." You groaned and laid your back flat on the concrete, dragging out your words slightly.

"No kidding." She huffed out a sigh and laid down like you had. "Especially... for... you." She poked your arm after each word, which had you chuckling.

"What's that...what's that s'pposed to mean?" You slurred.

"Y'know, the boys. Hundreds of 'em. Begging for your number and to take you on dates." Robin murmured lazily.

"So annoying! Ugh! I hate boys!" You blurted with a sudden anger. You'd had too many beers to sense that you were approaching on dangerous territory with your words. Something was bound to slip out, but you couldn't stop yourself now.

Something in your response caused Robin to dissolve into a fit of giggles. "Me too! Hate 'em!"

"I...I just want them to never talk to me again, y'know? No dates! No thank youuu!" Your voice had drifted off in a raspy singsong.

"Not even the nice ones?" Robin asked, her arm raised in the air as she tried to catch a lightning bug.

Your eyes were trained on her outstretched hand as it waved through the air slowly. "Nope. Doesn't matter if they're nice, silly."

She turned to you, confused. "Why not?"

You were faintly aware of a nagging feeling that you shouldn't tell her something. But why not? You couldn't remember. Everything just felt so warm and she was so pretty, you wanted to tell her everything.

"Because I don't like boys. Duh!" You giggled and booped her nose lightly. "But I don't think you're supposed to know that, so it's a secret."

"I have a secret, too. You want to know mine?" She leaned over and whispered in your ear.

You felt your face go even redder, this time from her proximity and not the mass amounts of booze you'd already consumed. You nodded, eyes wide.

She looked around suspiciously before whispering, "I don't like boys either!"

You both gasped, wearing matching expressions of shock. Quickly that dissolved into more laughed. Everything was just so funny for some reason.

"Want to know something else? I like girlssss..." You slurred between your laughter.

Robin sighed dreamily and smiled at you. "Me too, girls are just, I don't know, just so pretty."

"Girls are so pretty...you're so pretty. Maybe that's what you weren't supposed to know. That's another secret, 'kay? I don't think I was supposed to tell you how pretty I think you are, so don't tell Robin." You couldn't stop the words from flowing out of your mouth.

"I won't. My lips are zipped." Robin mimed pulling a zipper across her mouth and you chuckled. Suddenly, she seemed to have some sort of realization. "Oh! Wait! A secret for a secret. I have to tell you one now. Hmmm...wait, I've got it! My secret is...I think you're pretty too! But you can't tell Y/N either."

"I won't! Pinky swear!" You held out a pinky and the two of you clumsily shook pinkies.

At some point in your conversation, the two of you must've drifted off. The only reason you knew that was because of your eyes creaking opening slightly to daylight.

As you sat up, you were first aware of the killer headache you had. You took in your surroundings and saw a glass of water on the end table beside the couch you were currently seated on. You took a few gulps and glanced around some more. It looked like someone must've carried you into Steve's living room last night. Not shocking, you'd ended up here before on some rare occasions.

What shocked you was the sight of Robin asleep on the loveseat next to the couch. She began to stir as you noticed her, and that's when it hit you. It all came flooding back. You had told her! You had been stupid enough to get drunk and then tell her you liked her!

Quickly, you stood and hurried to grab your things and leave. Maybe she wouldn't remember what happened. I mean, you were surprised that you did after all the beers you'd had. Maybe luck would be on your side for this.

It appeared that it wouldn't be when a voice called out just before you reached the door.

"Y/N!"

You stopped and sucked in a breath before turning to face the girl. Robin's cheeks were slightly flushed as gazed at you. "Yeah?"

"Why are you, um, running off?" She shifted from one foot to another nervously.

Now it was your turn to blush. Great, you were embarrassed and she looked really cute when she was nervous, there was no stopping the heat rising to your cheeks in these circumstances.

"Um, I should just probably head home," You ducked your head to hide your reddened cheeks.

You turned to leave again, but she stopped you once more. "Wait!"

"W-what?"

Now Robin looked just as nervous as you. "I was, uh, thinking that maybe we should, I don't know, talk or something? I mean, only if you want to. We totally don't have to. I'm not even sure if you remember last night or what we, uh, talked about. But I do, and I'm okay with talking if you want to talk. If you want to..."

Your heart about stopped in your chest. She remembered, and she wanted to talk about it. Before you started jumping to conclusions about the kind of talk she wanted to have, you asked the first question on your mind.

"Did you mean what you said? About...girls? About me?"

Robin's cheeks flushed just as hard as yours were. She nodded. "Yeah...did you? Mean it, I mean. Did you mean it too?" She clarified, stammering slightly.

It was your turn to give a nervous nod. "I did, I do."

A moment of silence passed between the two of you. Neither of you were quite sure what to do with this. I mean, it's not like things had ever worked out like this for either of you. People that were gay weren't exactly out and about in Hawkins. So, what were you supposed to do when you actually found someone?

"What do we do now?" Robin blurted the question you had just been debating internally.

You thought for a second, and then decided to muster up your confidence and go for it. "Well, I like you, and you like me, right?" She nodded with a shy grin. "Then I think we go on a date."

Her eyes widened. "A date?"

"Yeah, a date. We could go on like a picnic so people wouldn't see, or to be honest, no one would suspect a date right off the bat. They'd probably just think we're hanging out. We can go wherever you want, Robin, do whatever you want. So, do you want to go on a date with me?" You could feel yourself rambling like an idiot, but you couldn't stop.

"Yeah. Yes! I would, um, I would love to go out." Robin blurted nervously.

"Okay, okay, great." You chuckled nervously. "Um, how about tomorrow? I could pick you up at seven?"

"Yeah, sounds great," She nodded anxiously.

"Great! I'll, uh, see you then. Uh, bye!" You waved to the girl before stepping outside quickly.

You weren't entirely sure what just happened, but somehow you had landed a date. You were a bundle of nerves and excitement, but there was also an overwhelming joy above it all. Robin Buckley liked you back, and that was one of the happiest feelings you'd ever known.

#stranger things #fanfic #writing #imagines #x y/n #robin buckley #robin x y/n #robin x reader #lgbtq #wlw ship #wlw #self insert

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dholwrites · 1 year

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Calm Before the Storm

Notes: Commission piece! This continues a small part close to the ending of Endwalker. Relationship: G'raha Tia x Female WoL [Fuujin Lorelei] Rating: Explicit (so much fucking porn) Ao3 link

Summary: Fuujin lays in her bed, dreading the coming fight. Who will she lose at the edge? Who will be left to tell the stories? Luckily the person who could distract her from the plaguing thoughts is knocking at her door.

✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

The carbuncle clock clicks away as seconds turn into minutes and into bells. The sun had long descended and left the chill air to nip at her fingers. The Final Days were at their doorsteps, and the only thing she could do was lay on her futon and stare at the ceiling; the gravity of the situation she had put herself in is enough to pin her in place.

Marielle, Thancred's lover, had made her promise to bring him home; her words were spoken with a hint of desperation. It was no secret that Thancred would be the first to throw himself into danger for his friends, and for his family. The twins’ parents approached her for the same assurance. Fourchenault could barely keep his voice from wavering as he asked for Alisaie and Alphinaud to come home safely. Even with Ameliance there offering a comforting arm around his back, his eyes were already glazed over with tears. It’s not difficult to agree when she already has plans to keep them safe; if only it was easy to say “I will.”

Fuujin made plenty of promises over the years, yet vows never weighed as heavy as they do now; not when the voices in her head fill the silence of the room. Who will she lose in the battle? How many more people must be sacrificed for everyone to be safe? Who would be left to remember and pick up the pieces? The Scion’s lives are not the only ones on her shoulders. If they falter, if she falters, it would mean the death of the Source as they know it. Everything they ever cared for would be wiped out.

The knocking at the door slowly brought her back to the present. She turns on her futon to look, a thought crossing her mind to pretend to be asleep. Another series of short knocks followed by a sweetly familiar voice calling out to her, “Fuujin? Are you up? I have some treats you might like.”

Her stomach lets out an almost monstrous growl that echoes through the entire room before she could even answer. Grumbling, Fuujin pushes herself off her bed to shuffle down the stairs. Her fingers reach up to smooth down any bed hair, careful to make sure that her ring did not get caught, as her other hand twisted the knob.

“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your evening?” He flashes her a shy smile with two paper bags in his arms, marked clearly to be from the Last Stand. She couldn’t help but giggle while stepping aside to let him in.

“Not at all, but I am starting to wonder if you’re going to make a habit of coming to my room late at night.” G’raha froze mid-step and stammered at her teasing. With his face turning the same color as his hair, the miqo’te beelined for her kitchen with the scent of sugar trailing behind him and filling the apartment.

By the time she had turned around, the desserts were fully unpacked. Fuujin couldn't help but smile as he fretted, taking a seat on one of her carbuncle armchairs. It didn’t take long for him to set down plates of cinnamon rolls, cookies, and even a whole strawberry tart onto her table along with a fork.

“Did you buy every dessert they have, Raha?” Fuujin jokes, picking up the fork as G’raha returns to the kitchen. “Though I would never deny free sweets.”

“N-no! I mean sort of, but no!” Fuujin decides against teasing again as she digs into the cinnamon rolls. The frosting-covered pastry melted in her mouth, and along with it her worries.

She was lost in her personal heaven, floating from one sugary cloud to another. Just as she thought she was having her fill, a hand offers a cup of piping, homemade hot chocolate. A drink she is more than happy to accept, perfect for warding off the cold night and her spiraling thoughts.

"Are you feeling better?" He whispers, his eyes darting across her face. G'raha sits on the couch’s arm as he leans over her. His hand combs through her hair before rubbing at the base of her ears, gentle enough for her to purr at his touch.

"Just you being here is enough, Raha," she leans into his hand as she continues to sip the hot chocolate. "And yes, the sweets and hot chocolate are working."

"Then, if you don't mind me," before she could question what he meant, G'raha tucked his arms under her knees and around her shoulders. With ease, he picked her up and settled into her spot, placing her onto his lap. It’s a miracle that they managed to move around without spilling a drop.

Fuujin couldn't deny how she easily melts into him, her ear pressed against his chest, picking up the steady thump of his heartbeat.

"If you wanted to manhandle me, you didn't have to butter me up with sugar and chocolate." Despite her teasing, Fuujin’s tail brushed against his, purposely entwining them together. She could feel a giggle tickle at her throat as the thumping in Graha’s chest picked up.

"Consider it a small cost to pay to help you relax," G'raha admits as his hands return to her hair, his fingers once again tangling into the strands and undoing any of the knots that had formed. He plants a small kiss on the top of her head, whispering out his concern, "you've been locked in your room for the last couple of bells. I know that the coming trip is on your mind, but not taking care of yourself will only make things worse."

Fuujin lets out a soft hum which slowly rolls into a purr as he continues to brush her hair. His chest rumbles and vibrates as his sound tumbles out to match hers.

Her eyes close as she ingrains the moment in her mind. The soft touch of his hand, the scent of sweets, and the purr that she loves so much. She memorizes every little detail as if it is the last time; it’s hard to know when fate would allow her to be back in his arms when she is constantly stopping one apocalypse after another. G'raha sits in silence, his face slowly rubbing against her hair, the rumbling in his chest seems almost never-ending as he waits patiently until she is ready to speak again.

"I... I can't help but wonder if I’ll lose anyone in this fight. And who? How many will fall because of my mistakes?" There is a tightness in her throat that she has never felt before, one that makes her words feel like lead. Yet they came tumbling out as if a dam had broken, and her thoughts came pouring out like water.

"What would I tell Marielle? Thancred has always been the first to take action, even more now that he took up the gunblade. What if he got seriously hurt? Or even worse, killed?

“Alisaie throws herself into battle, blade first more often than not. She did it when we faced Emet and again with the Blasphemies. Alphinaud is doing a good job as a sage and protecting everyone, but I worry that it puts a target on his back." Tears well in her eyes with worry, the only thing preventing them from spilling is the reassuring arm wrapped around her waist. “How would I tell Ameliance and Fourchenault that I couldn’t protect them? I promised them that I would bring their children home. Should I explain to them that the twins fought bravely? That it's okay because they did what they thought was right? I have barely managed to save them before; when we were kicked out of Ul’dah, being accused of heresy in Ishgard, or even when we fought Emet-Selch deep down in the Tempest. I was one step away from losing them."

"I don't want to even get started with Estinien, Urianger, and Y'shtola. I only wish to go home with everyone. Alive. I want to make it back without worrying about breaking the news to someone." She lets out a shuddering breath, choking back the tears that are threatening to fall. Spoken out loud, Fuujin could not deny the weight they hold on her heart. The tangible stress is like a noose around her neck; the only way forward she could see is riddled with the blood and bodies of her family.

"Tell me that you won’t throw your life away just for me." Fuujin jabs him on the sides. The unexpected wheeze that came out of him was enough to crack the thick air and lighten the mood. “Swear to me that you won’t try to pull the same thing as you did back on the first.” There is no need for her to remind him of the promise of their youth. Back when he fell asleep inside the tower, she swore to be there, to be the first to say ‘Good morning’. That promise alone became one of the reasons why she pulled herself out of bed, why she continued to fight, and why she took up a sword and shield.

A moment passed, then another. The room fills with silence as she turns away from him. She was grateful that he didn't push for more. Some words are meant to be unspoken, lest she speaks them into reality. She had lost him once before, her heart can’t bear the idea of losing him again. Giving in to her insistence, he takes her hand and brings her fingers to his lips before pressing it over his heart. “I promise to uphold the vow I made on our wedding day; that I will be with you until we are old and gray.”

“Good, now say that you will bring sweets like this every night to me.” The huff that came out of him is enough to make her smile. She knows that he would make regular trips to the Last Stand if she asked nicely. Silence, once tense, has shifted into something more comfortable, more open.

"Do you remember the promise we made just before I locked myself into the tower?" G'raha started after giving her a moment to calm down, pulling away to take the cold cup from her hands and set it aside. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head while his fingers traced her cheek. Fuujin stared into his red eyes, nuzzling against his hand. He lightly bumped his forehead against hers, and she took comfort in the fact that she could feel the soft thumping of his heart and the sweet purrs in his chest. “When I woke up centuries later, I was devastated to find out that you had... That you were gone. I didn't believe them. It was impossible for someone as strong and amazing as you to simply be gone."

"I believed that it was my fault. Perhaps if I didn’t lock myself inside the tower, I could have been there to help you. Or at the very least, I would be by your side.” He brings a finger to her lips and shushes her before she could even begin to deny it. His voice grew tight and Fuujin felt like she could touch his palpable fear. G'raha leans in to bury his face in her neck. “I know you’d rather we stay here where it’s safe. But we do this because we want to, we want to take your burdens onto our shoulders. We don’t want to lose you. I don't want to lose you.”

Fuujin could feel him press his lips against her shoulder and along the curve of her neck to her cheek. G’raha placed kiss after kiss after kiss onto every inch of her face as if it would be his last. The scent of his soap tickles her nose and serves only as a reminder of where he had touched. And like ice, the weight on her heart melts away from his warmth. His hands, gentle and firm, held her as if she were a precious treasure that could shatter at a moment's notice. The warm, fuzzy feeling fills her more than the hot chocolate and desserts that he brought.

"Will you allow me to cherish you?" He asks when he finally pulls away while his hand drags down the length of her arm. His red eyes look at her wide and hopeful, and the decision came without a second thought; she leans forward and captures his lips for a kiss. He lets out a startled gasp, as if he wasn't the one that initiated the entire thing.

Fuujin pushed herself up until she could swing one leg over his and straddle him without breaking the kiss. Her heart flips when he gently sucks on her bottom lip, soft and wanting. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss as he pressed his body against hers, his breath running against her skin, his warm hands settling on her hips and fingers caressing the sensitive space behind her knees. Her own hands drag across his clothes, pulling at his scarf and tugging at his layers until they start to fall off. Her breath hitched when she accidentally brushed against the tent growing in his pants. She slowly pulls away, her eyelids fluttering open to see his face. His cheeks were tinted red, eyes half open and hazy, and both his ears drooped down. She looks back down only to catch a glimpse of tongue darting out to lick his upper lip. He looked positively drunk and his hands told her that he is hoping for another taste.

"Is that enough of an ans-!" Fuujin latched onto him without a moment’s hesitation as he suddenly stood up. By the time she had gotten over the initial shock, he had already carried her up the short steps toward the upper level with his arms around her waist, and her legs wrapped around his hips. This doesn't stop her from lightly smacking the back of his head for scaring her. “Warn me next time, will you?”

Her annoyance is quickly washed away when he gently sets her on the edge of her bed. Instead, her heart picks up at the sight of him kneeling between her legs. Piece by piece, he slowly peels away her layers. And with every ilm of skin revealed, he would press kisses that send shivers up her spine. From her thighs to her waist to her navel, G'raha left no space untouched, no place unloved.

She can feel the way his hands slightly tremble, his lips lingering a few seconds longer. Even when he takes her left hand into his, kissing the back of it, then once again just below her ring finger. Every move is made out of tender love and devotion. But she can sense the underlying fear of losing her once again.

Yet he looked at her as if she is a goddess and he was a follower to attend to her every want.

While her clothes were a mess at the foot of her bed, she felt none of the chilly air that had bothered her earlier in the night. Instead, her core felt like a furnace; Burning brighter and brighter with every second.

G'raha glides his hand up her leg again until he reaches her inner thigh. A pause, his eyes flickering up to look at her. Fuujin's only answer is to part her legs farther, revealing how wet she has gotten. His calloused finger stroked the folds of her pussy, drawing a needy whine from her lips. It was completely coated in slick before he pressed into her, gently caressing her insides and making her knees weak. Her body quickly betrayed her, legs snapping together, trapping him the second he pressed her sweet spot dead on. Which only encouraged him to slip another finger in to attack her weakness; his thumb grazed over her clit and worked in time with his fingers. Fuujin grasps his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as he pulled cry after blissful cry from her. If she had the time and concentration, she would admire the way his hair clips had slipped, causing his red fluffy locks to fall onto his face as he continued.

She could feel the near peak of her orgasm. His warm breath against her exposed chest, fingers curled inside, and his other hand firmly holding her leg in place. The knot inside grew tighter and tighter until the pleasure turned her mind into a blank slate.

"Was that a good distraction for you, my warrior?" His voice, breathless and husky, draws her attention back to him. Opening her eyes, which she doesn't remember even closing, Fuujin looks down to see G'raha licking her juices from his hand while his tail sways behind him in long, excited strokes.

While a good distraction, Fuujin craves something bigger, much bigger than his fingers inside of her, and it only reminds her that he is still fully dressed. Grabbing onto his shirt, she wordlessly pulls him onto her bed. The wide-eyed look on his face, his tail curling and ears perking up encouraged her to continue.

Her hands slipped under his shirt, fingers pressed down against his muscle as she pulled the fabric higher and higher. His body twitches and jolts under her touch, his own hands gripping her futon in an attempt to stay still. His eyes follow her after she pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it aside. Her nails have left crescent moon impressions on his shoulders, ones that she apologetically traces before she drifts down to his tattoo. Further and further down she went, memorizing the lines of his body. The thought still haunts her, the idea of possibly losing him at the edge of the world. Thus, she takes her time, memorizing every detail of the love of her life.

By the time she reached the edge of his pants, the red flush from his face had spread to the rest of his body. The tent could not be more obvious with the way it strained the front of his pants. Her hands tug at them until they fall off, pulling his aching member free; the tip already dripping precum despite being neglected this entire time.

Fuujin straddles his waist, her arms loosely wrapped around his neck. G'raha lifts her with each of his own and holds her over the head of his cock. Her heart leaped into her throat as she slowly sunk down, feeling every ilm being pushed inside, her walls stretching to accommodate his length.

She leans forward, kissing along his shoulders and up his neck, lips purposely following the outline of his archon tattoos. Behind them, his tail brushed against hers before they curled around each other. Moans and gasps spill from her mouth at every movement. A low purr rumbles in his chest, clearly enjoying the noises she makes until he finally bottoms out. Simply sitting there sends small shocks of pleasure through her body.

His hand rubs soothing circles around the base of her tail as the other guides her to ride him, lifting her up only to sink down once more in a rush of pleasure. Over and over, as the slick noises of their joining fill the room. Her mouth hangs open, the only thing coming out are moans, cries, and what syllables she could get out of his name before her mind is submerged in pleasure once again. She could not think about anything save for him and the bliss. As she nears her peak, he lifts his hips to meet her in the middle. Pulling a cry from her, her eyes roll from bliss. It feels as if he is going deeper.

"Fuujin," he mutters into her ear, his breath hot and heavy against the sensitive skin, and she could only respond with a whine. "I'm almost there ."

With her mind barely able to form any words, she did her best to nod. It was enough as he drove into her even harder. Between G'raha's powerful thrusts, gravity pulling her down to meet him, and the warmth of his cum filling her up to the brim from his release, she lets out a final cry before collapsing onto him. With no energy left, she stayed put in his arms as he leaned back to lay the both of them properly on the bed and pull her blanket over their bare bodies. Her eyes barely stayed open long enough to even wish him a good night before the darkness took her into a quiet, restful sleep.

Fuujin woke up to the feeling of gentle fingers combing through her hair, warm sun rays caressing her body, and soothing purrs coming from the chest below her. She pried open her eyes to look around, the stained glass window had shattered color across her room in a glow that makes her wonder if she is still dreaming. Turning to face G’raha, she places a simple kiss on his lips and whispers, “Good morning, Raha.”

#g'raha tia #GrahaWoL #ffxiv spoilers #ffxiv #writing commission #commission #lemon #lemon me this

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letsquestjess · 10 months

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Blood Daughter - Chapter 4: Tactical Thinking

Story Summary: After Kallar Viren flees the Empire, his daughter sets out to find him, only to discover he has been taken by Imperials. With help from Clone Force 99, Zeraphine pushes through her losses in a race against the clock to rescue her father or face the galaxy as the last of her family.

Warnings: None.

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

Read from the beginning.

-- -- -- -- --

Beyond the market, the hustle and bustle of the crowd gradually thinned into the hum of active engines and squeaking wheels. Merchants unloaded crates filled with goods from all over the galaxy, and affluent shoppers arrived in and departed the private landing pads, helpers and assistants hastening in their wake.

“I thought these would be like the lemon ones we found a while ago,” Omega commented, plucking a sugary orb from the paper bag and nibbling on the jellied sweet. “They’re nice, but not as sour.”

“Don’t eat them all in one go,” Hunter told her. “I’d rather not have a repeat of last time.”

“That wasn’t all my fault.”

“You challenged Wrecker to see who could eat more sweets. And then you both spent the night ill.”

The blonde clone gave a careless shrug and crammed a handful of syrupy treats into her mouth to prove a point. When Hunter moved to grab the packet, she yanked it out of his reach.

“Hand them over,” he demanded, lifting an eyebrow when she stood resolute in her refusal to surrender the sweets. “Now.”

“Zera?” Omega said, paying no heed to her brother’s disgruntled murmurs. Her wide, brown eyes sparkled, and she grinned sweetly at the Phominian in their care. “Can I keep them? Please? I promise I won’t eat all of them.”

“Sorry, kiddo, this is Hunter’s call,” Zeraphine replied.

With a defeated huff, Omega shoved the packet at her brother and he stowed the crinkling bag into his pocket. “Crosshair will get them for me later,” she insisted.

“No, he won’t,” Hunter said. “He was the one up all night with you and Wrecker after your competition.”

Zeraphine walked ahead as the siblings continued to bicker, remembering the times she and her sister had fallen into arguments. Granted, most of them had been started by her innate ability to cause and find trouble, but Amelina had never stayed mad at her for long.

“Omega,” she said, cutting off the dispute. “What do you plan on doing with the fabric you bought?”

“I’m going to make Lula a jacket,” the girl answered. “Tech has been teaching me to sew. But it’s a surprise, so don’t tell Wrecker.”

“Your secret is safe,” Zeraphine promised. “I am sure he’ll love it.”

“Hopefully he will. I haven’t decided on a design yet, though.”

As Omega rambled about her ideas, Zeraphine noticed Hunter’s lips slightly upturn into a tender smile, a subtle gesture of gratitude for sparing him from the argument he did not want to have. She lightly elbowed his arm and grinned in return. “I don’t know what it’s like to raise a child,” she whispered, “but you and your brothers are doing a good job. She is lucky to have you.”

“It often feels as though we’re doing the opposite,” Hunter admitted. “Our life is difficult, but she’s never once complained about it. Never once asked if we could find somewhere safe and settle down. Wherever we go, she follows, treats it as her duty.”

“And that worries you, that she already has that sense of duty, knowing how it weighed on you,” Zeraphine observed, her Force abilities automatically uncovering his doubts and interpreting them for her as if they were her own emotions.

“Sort of. I never want her to feel like she has to do everything in the same way we do just because of how she was made. I’m trying to help her live as freely as she can. Make her own choices and forge her own path.”

“Unless it involves copious amounts of sweets,” Zeraphine jested. “Trust me when I say she is perfectly happy with the life and the family she has. She holds no resentment, and she-” Like the point of a vibroknife, an intense flash of discomfort surged up her neck and drew her to the landing platforms behind them. Hunter rotated almost in unison.

Beside a small cargo vessel, a merchant and several of his crew huddled together while a trio of stormtroopers interrogated them. The man shook his head, his face a mask of anger, and he motioned wildly at the lowered ramp.

“Stay close,” Zeraphine instructed, glued to the three enemy troopers for a few more seconds before she urged Hunter and Omega onward. “Move slowly.”

Hunter’s senses heightened, and he took in the sight of the woman accompanying them, eyeing the graceful cup of her hand and the shiver of air dancing within her open palm. The muted flicker spilled out to encompass them in a spherical barrier. “Is that keeping us hidden?” he questioned under his breath.

“Kind of.”

“What do you mean ‘kind of’? Can those stormtroopers see us or not?”

“Yes, but I’m redirecting their attention if they do look our way. Just keep moving and stop distracting me.”

From the distorted light beneath the underpass, more shining white helmets clattered round the corner. Hunter guided Omega into a nook in the bridge and snatched hold of Zeraphine’s wrist, whirling her into the alcove. He motioned for them to stay silent and peeked out. A second group emerged, and he retreated.

“Hunter?” Omega uttered quietly, tapping on the bow clipped to her back.

“Negative,” he responded. “Too many.”

“There are multiple patrol units on the bridge,” Zeraphine said. “They’re crossing over now. On my mark, get into the underpass.” She tracked the movement, counting every signature and their proximity, and signalled for them to move.

Hunter manoeuvred them through the tunnel. Once they reached daylight again, he stuck close to the shadows of the bulky crafts and slanted walls.

“There’s more,” he pointed out, stalling for a moment before Zeraphine prompted them to keep going.

“They haven’t noticed us, and if they do, they won’t be interested,” she assured him, resuming her efforts to conceal them. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

“That was never in doubt.”

Zeraphine glanced at him before returning to the walkway, a discreet aura radiating from her and maintaining the protective barrier. With each passing minute, more and more stormtroopers appeared, and beads of sweat rolled down her temple. Diverting the attention of a few was effortless, but dozens required a concentration she hadn’t had to muster in some time.

Outside the ship port and away from the brunt of the danger, she faltered and doubled over. Hunter’s hands shot out to catch her.

“You good?” he asked, holding her steady.

“Using the Force while healing from multiple serious injuries is not a great idea,” she chortled in a wheeze and a cough as he looped an arm about her waist. “It’s been a while since I’ve done that.”

“I’d offer to carry you,” Hunter said, “but I think you might hit me if I did.”

“Probably.”

“Phominian dignity, right?”

“Course.”

He released a snort of amusement and assisted her into a slow walk. “In that case, let’s get you to the Marauder. Echo would never forgive me if I let you collapse after all the hard work he’s put into helping you recover.”

* * *

“It’s all about using the surrounding area,” Zeraphine explained. “Imagine a grid. In this space, about six paces by seventeen. The aim is to reach the other end before anyone else. Once you do, you have the chance to become a chaser, and it is your job to hunt the others and eliminate their markers. Each person has three.” She wandered to the crates and took the canvas straps they had arranged to use as scoring flags, dividing them equally between the two players. “One way of winning is to cut off your opponent so that they waste turns trying to get away, but that can also backfire. Consider your moves carefully after you make the block.”

“Okay,” Omega said, securing her markers to her belt and jittering on the spot. “I can win this.”

“Don’t be too sure,” Wrecker replied.

“Oh yeah? Who beat you at dejarik twice last week?”

Wrecker’s lively expression slipped, and his forehead creased. “You’ve been taking lessons from Tech and Crosshair. They always win.”

“Not always.”

Zeraphine hopped up onto the crates beside Hunter and the boxes creaked lightly with the added weight. “All right, you two. Stand at either end. Omega, you can go first.”

The clash of tactics started with brisk steps, each competitor making it to the centre of the game field in a handful of moves until their situations compelled them to pause and strategise.

“Step to your left, Omega,” Crosshair advised. “Now you have a clear path.”

“Hey, stop helping her! That’s not fair,” Wrecker groaned.

The sniper rolled his toothpick between his teeth. Every so often, he offered another piece of advice to the smallest teammate, an amused smirk dancing on his lips as his brother grew increasingly irritated with his input.

“She’s quite good at the game even without Crosshair’s help,” Zeraphine said to Hunter as Omega slipped by Wrecker again. “You have taught her well.”

“She had to learn a lot, constantly jumping from one dangerous situation to another,” Hunter sighed. “It hasn’t been easy keeping her safe.”

“It never is,” Zeraphine exhaled. “Even when you go into a mission fully prepared, the scales can tip so easily.”

Wrecker made it to the other side of his trail and turned round with a booming laugh. Omega stood in amazement, her hands on her hips as she prepared to take on his challenge.

“Did you play this a lot as a kid?” Hunter asked.

“Yeah,” Zeraphine answered. “And I almost always lost. Lina was the best at it. She once completed her path in five moves and took all my markers in the next eight.” A sorrowful look crept across the sergeant’s face and she tapped her knee against his leg. “Don’t give me those eyes. Right now, I’m fine living in those memories.”

“And making new ones.” The team’s tracker motioned to the game at play and the two participants, a brief wobble from Wrecker sending them into peals of laughter.

“And making new ones,” she agreed.

Observing the rest of the match, she kept score and offered helpful advice when they hesitated until Omega’s split-second decision secured her a narrow victory with only a single marker left.

“Okay, rematch,” Wrecker said. His opponent readily obliged, passing out the markers and readying herself at her starting post.

As the next match got under way, Zeraphine spotted Echo peeking around the cockpit door and beckoning her over. She leapt down from the crates, hitting the grated floor with a metallic chime, and traipsed into the front cabin. “Everything okay?”

“I have decrypted the communication from your father,” Tech reported. “The initial message contained several inconsistencies, likely due to a last-minute change in destination, but I suspect his ultimate instruction was to go to Tel-Kren.”

“The underworld city near the Outer Rim?”

“Hm.”

Zeraphine scoured the decoded data, scouting for any hidden signals that could have been embedded within the message, but nothing revealed itself to her. When she found him, she would have to break the news of Amelina’s fate, and explain why it happened. She’d have to tell him that his eldest daughter had sacrificed her life while attempting to solve the code he had entrusted them with.

She drew in a deep breath and steadied her resolve to focus on the task at hand. “Is that all it says? There’s nothing else?”

“That is everything,” Tech confirmed, typing at his datapad and then at the console on his left.

“Tel-Kren is an odd place for a diplomat to go,” Echo commented, “but I suppose that’s probably the point. Who would expect a man of his status to travel there?”

In a thoughtful hum, Zeraphine leaned against the pilot seat, re-reading the message over and over again, lingering on the name of the unsavoury city. After being discovered by Separatists and threatened with exposure, her father had confided in her the truth of his business and begged her to use her skills to scrape away all proof of him being there. She recalled the uncomfortable sensation of her fingertips as they altered the information before it was handed over to the senate. He did it to protect his family, she reminded herself. To protect his home. To protect the Republic.

“Are there co-ordinates of where I’m to meet him once I get there?” she queried.

Tech shook his head in response, noting the nervous flicker of her lashes and the slight quiver in her hands. “He did not specify a meeting place.”

“But it’s a massive city,” Echo said. “You’re telling me there’s nothing to indicate where we’re to even start searching for him?”

Zeraphine hugged her arms to her chest and shuffled back, her breath ragged. “I might know where,” she mumbled, her voice barely discernible as she met with astonished stares from the other two. “Please don’t ask me to explain, I… I can’t. Not now. All I will say is do not judge my father too harshly when we get there. He had his reasons, and he was only trying to help.”

#star wars #starwars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #sw fanfic #sw fanfiction #star wars oc #sw oc #tbb #the bad batch #tbb fanfic #tbb fanfiction #sw the bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch fanfic #clone force 99

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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

Text

Safe

Pairing: SBI family x reader (platonic, one shot), BASED OFF FROM CHARACTERS NOT ACTUAL PEOPLE

Warnings: child abuse/neglect, bullying, alcoholism, death of a parent, mentions of panic attacks, injury, mentions of a dog’s death, mentions of eating disorders, mentions of suicide attempts, depression

Word count: 7,730

(A/N): if you’re not feeling safe at home or are being abused, please contact the proper authorities. Here’s the abuse hotline: 1-800-799-7233, my DMs are always open if you want to talk

You met Tommy and Tubbo when you were in third grade. You were a relatively quiet kid, the type to always keep to themselves and abstain from social activity. Mrs. Jansen, being the nice woman that she was, let the entire class choose their own seats.

“Welcome to your first day of third grade, class! I’m Mrs. Jansen and I look forward to getting to know all of you. As you can see, there are enough desks for all of you. You may sit with who you want.”

You shifted around uneasily and gripped your book in your hands as your classmates hurried to get the back seats. After every seat was taken, you walked to the only seat left in the front. You were between a girl and a boy. They introduced themselves as Dorothy and Samuel, and were relatively kind to you.

As the class passed their second week, two boys that sat in the back row made themselves apparent very quickly. They were both rambunctious, always disrupting the class with their giggles and whispers. Mrs. Jansen had warned them multiple times that she was going to separate them, but it seemed that they didn’t think she’d do it. One day, she finally had enough.

“Tommy, Tubbo. I’ve given you plenty of warnings, I’m going to have to separate you. Dorothy, Samuel, can you please switch places with them?”

You could feel dread wash over you. Why was she putting you between them?! What did you do wrong to deserve this? You could swear that you’ve done all your chores, you even made your mom smile at you! She never did that.

They pouted as they sat next to you, Tommy on your right and Tubbo on your left. You already missed Samuel and Dorothy. “Thank you. (Y/n), make sure they behave.”

You shrunk down into your seat as you felt Tommy’s glare burning holes into the side of your head. Tubbo, on the other hand, was watching the lesson with bored eyes and his chin propped up in his hand. You tried to take notes, but you kept getting distracted by Tommy’s heated glare. You were going to fall behind, you couldn’t have that. Mama wouldn’t like that.

After the final bell rang, you hurried out of the classroom to avoid Tommy’s wrath. You could hear him shouting for you to stop, but you never stopped until your hand was grabbed and yanked backwards in the empty playground. You fell back onto the pavement of the basketball court and whimpered at the sting in your palms.

Tommy glared down at you, “you gonna cry? Serves you right. Never tell on Tubbo and I. Got it?”

You tearfully nodded and he grinned maliciously at you, “good. Tubbo, let’s go. Wil and Tech’s probably waiting for us.”

The brunet was staring at Tommy with a shocked expression, unmoving. Tommy rolled his eyes and huffed before he grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the crowd of families. Tubbo looked back at you with an apologetic expression and watched as you looked at your scratched up palms.

You wiped at your tears as you stood up and started to walk home. Your neighbor’s dog behind the wired fence barked at you as you hurried past it. You never liked that dog; it was a drooling, angry, ugly furball. It scared you, but not as much as Mama did when she drank her adult juice. She was scary when she drank it. You tried hiding it from her once but she grounded you from eating dinner and snacks for half a month. You didn’t try to hide it again.

You trudged up the creaky wooden stairs of your porch and tried to open the door only to find it locked. You tried to knock on the door but Mama didn’t answer so you just sat on the front porch waiting for her to open the door. She did so when the sun was setting, surprise and then anger shining through her hazy eyes. She yelled at you before she sent you to your room for the night without dinner.

The next day when you were sitting alone at a lunch table, someone plopped down in the seat next to you. You jumped and scooted away from them, looking up only to see Tubbo. He was smiling at you.

“Hey, I’m really sorry about Tommy, he gets mad easily.”

You eyed him warily and clutched your open book, “...it’s okay.”

He grinned and scooted closer to you, peering over your shoulder at the book. “What’re you reading?”

“‘Harry Potter’.”

“Oh I love that book! My favorite character’s Ron, who’s yours?”

Surprisingly, the conversation was pleasant before he was dragged away by a glaring Tommy. You might actually make a friend after all. Later that day after school, Tommy once again stopped you in the school yard. This time, he shoved you to the ground and started to shout at you.

“You do not talk to him, freak! You’re gonna mess him up, he talks to me and me only. Do you unde-undastunend?”

You gulped and shakily spoke up, “yes, and it’s ‘understand’, not ‘undastunend’.”

His glare intensified before he reared back a fist. You yelped as you curled into a ball with your hands protecting your head. Before he could hit you, you heard the stomping of shoes against the concrete.

“TOMMY STOP.”

You could feel a hand on your back and a gentle voice asking if you were alright. You hesitated before you looked up to see an older boy with a mop of curly brown hair on his head and wire glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He reminded you of Harry Potter. Looking past him, you saw a tall pink haired boy glaring and lecturing Tommy, holding the struggling boy in place with a firm grip on his elbow. Tubbo was just behind him looking down and shifting on the balls of his feet.

“I am so sorry about Tommy, are you alright? He didn’t hit you did he?”

You shook your head and the boy heaved a sigh of relief, “that’s good. I’m Wilbur and that’s Technoblade, we’re Tommy and Tubbo’s brothers. What’s your name?”

“(Y/n).”

He smiled at you, “that’s a lovely name.”

“Wilbur, let’s go. This one,” Technoblade shook Tommy’s arm, “needs to talk to Dad.”

You watched as Tommy’s movements stopped and he looked up with wide eyes. “No, please don’t tell Dad. Please-”

Wilbur stood and helped you up before grabbing Tubbo’s hand and lead him away, “you aren’t weaseling your way out of this.”

You watched the brothers leave, feeling guilt wash over you. You didn’t want to get him in trouble, punishments were the absolute worst. Even though he shoved you and almost punched you, he didn’t deserve any punishment. With guilt weighing down on your shoulders, you walked home. At least Mama was in a good mood, she made you some mac n cheese for dinner.

The next day, Tommy trudged up to your desk and put a tupperware dish on your desk before sitting down in his seat and ignored you. Tubbo sat in his seat next to you and smiled at you.

“Open it,” he jumped in his seat slightly as he watched your expression change to shock. In the container laid five chocolate chip cookies. You had only had cookies once in your life and that was during a class birthday celebration a year ago. “They’re our Dad’s secret recipe, I helped make them! Um, Tommy wanted to apologize to you.”

You glanced at Tommy. He was glancing at you over his shoulder and blushed a bright red when he saw you looking at him. Tubbo cleared his throat and gestured at Tommy. The blond crossed his arms and looked off to the side. “Sorry,” he mumbled halfheartedly.

After that, they started to sit next to you during lunch. Tommy was a bit cold towards you, but you found yourself beginning to relax around Tubbo’s friendly aura. Soon enough, you started to supply him with more than a few words per sentence. Tommy eventually got bored of eating in silence and would join your conversation. You three became thick as thieves that year, you even met their Dad. He was very different from Mama; he never yelled at you, he was always giving you snacks, and he even smiled at you often.

That house became like a second home to you. Eventually, you ended up spending more time at the Minecraft residence than you spent at home with your mom. Over the years, she got worse with her drinking. She was always passed out on the couch and when she wasn’t, she was swaying on her feet in the kitchen staring at a portrait with dazed, wistful eyes. You can remember when you first realized that she had a problem and always being unhappy and drunk was, in fact, not normal for a parent.

It was a warm spring day in seventh grade. Luckily, you had your health class with Tommy and Tubbo. You were currently learning about alcohol dependency and the effects it had on the body. The teacher listed all the symptoms your mom had; the uncontrollable urge to drink, the aggression, the shakiness and dizziness, everything. When you came to the realization that your mother might have a problem, the teacher started to explain the disorders and diseases that could come from heavy drinking, most of them having the potential to be fatal if the drinking persisted. You felt like you were drenched in icy water as your body seized up in fear for your mother. You stared unseeingly at your notebook at the symptoms of alcoholism and associated disorders. You didn’t want your mom to die. You had to do something before it was too late for her.

“(Y/n)?” You jumped and looked at the person who called your name. Tommy and Tubbo were giving you worried stares. “Are you okay?”

You shakily started to put your supplies away into your backpack. The class had been dismissed and you didn’t even realize it. “Y-yeah. It’s just- I’m worried.”

“Yeah, I’m worried too,” Tommy laughed as you followed the two out of the classroom and to the courtyard. “That essay’s gonna be awful.”

“Oh god we have an essay?”

“Yeah, Mr. Smithers assigned it to us before the bell rang, are you sure you’re okay? You’re usually on top of this stuff.” Tubbo threw a worried glance towards you.

“Yeah, just a bit distracted today. I uh, have to go home. Like right now, my mom wants me home right after school today.”

You sprinted off towards your house. When you reached your neighborhood and ran past the wired fence. The bulldog that lived there was now old and gray. You found out that his name was Buster and he was actually a total sweetheart if you slept next to him on the other side of the fence on more than one occasion. Buster watched from inside his doghouse as you sprinted into the house. Luckily for you, the door was unlocked and your mother was passed out on the couch surrounded by glass bottles. You locked the door behind you as you rushed over to her intensely watching for any sign of movement. She looked dead, her skin was pale, her hair matted, and her mouth gaping open showing off her yellow stained teeth. She wasn’t moving, were you too late?

Just as you started to panic, she snorted and started to breathe. You slumped in relief as you stepped over the beer bottles into the kitchen. The table was sparkly clean with a pristine picture frame resting in the middle, a stark contrast of the beer bottles that littered the floor and the piles of dirty dishes in the sink. It was of a man standing stiffly in a military uniform saluting at the camera with a stern expression. He was an exact copy of you. Well, you were an exact copy of him; that man was your late father.

“Hey Dad, how was your day? Mine was awful, I learned about alcoholism and cirrhosis today and- and I’m worried about Mom. She’s been drinking a lot lately.”

You stared at your dad’s face behind the glass as if expecting a response. You wanted some reassurance from the man. You wanted him to tell you everything was going to be okay and that he’d handle it so you could be a normal kid. Like usual, his steely expression didn’t budge one bit.

You sighed to yourself sadly and trudged to the refrigerator opening the door. The beer bottles stared back at you tauntingly. Your fingers twitched on the fridge door as you contemplated the consequences of throwing away the offending glass bottles. You remembered in second grade when you hid your mother’s alcohol she punished you by withholding food from you. She’d probably do worse this time, but the consequences were worth it if you were going to save your mother’s life.

It took you ten minutes of tossing alcohol into the garbage can until the fridge was left barren of the drink. Without the green bottles, the fridge was completely empty with the exception of milk and a few probably rotten eggs. You struggled to take the trash out to the curb and started to work on homework in your room.

At seven at night, you could hear her roll off the couch and stumble into the kitchen. A series of frantic rustling and banging sounded downstairs before you could hear pounding footsteps storm up the stairs. Your door flung open to reveal your red-faced, livid mother.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“M-mom I hid them because we learned about alcoholism and cirrhosis and-” You cut yourself off when she walked over to you with her arms extended towards your trembling frame. You tried to scoot as far away from her as possible, but she grabbed your shoulders with clammy but firm hands, shaking you roughly.

“Are you saying I have a problem?! You spoiled fucking brat, you’re the problem! Everything was amazing before you came and fucked up my life. You took him away from me. YOU FUCKING KILLED MY HUSBAND.”

You could feel tears start to drip down your cheeks as you remembered that day in first grade when you begged your dad to get you some McDonalds for dinner. When he relented, you cheered and your mom laughed at your excitement. She was so full of life back then; her hair was shiny and bouncy, her skin was unmarked and flawless, her eyes were lively and bright. Her laughter was perhaps your favorite memory of her. Then everything went to shit when your dad never came home and your mom got a phone call saying that your dad was killed in a car wreck on impact. You could remember your mother’s heart wrenching sobs as she collapsed to the floor and pulled you tight against her body. As if she was trying to protect what was left of her husband.

You were snapped back to reality when your mom shoved you back onto your bed. The happy, beautiful woman that you saw was replaced by the shell of a broken woman. Her silky hair turned dull, her smile turned into a grotesque scowl, her loving eyes turned cold. She truly was a husk of her former self.

“Stop crying, you’re not the one who’s life was ruined. I want you out of my house in ten minutes. You’re gonna not step foot anywhere near here for two weeks. If I even see you on my property before those two weeks are up, you’re fucking dead.”

You frantically nodded and watched as she stumbled out of her room. You packed what you would need in your spare backpack and ran out of the house past your mother sobbing and babbling incoherently to your dad. You flinched when you could hear a bang and the sound of glass shattering when she threw a bottle at your retreating figure.

You ran until you couldn’t run anymore. Your legs brought you to the park where you spent most of your childhood. Everywhere you looked, you could see glimpses of your mom and dad pushing you on the swing, Tommy and Tubbo running from you playing tag, Mr. Minecraft putting a bandaid on your scraped knee. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you pushed yourself up and went to your safe place. It was a little nook deep in the vegetation where nobody could see you. You originally found this place when you were playing hide and seek with Tommy and Tubbo. They never knew where you hid.

Tears moistened the soil underneath you as you pulled out a blanket you had hid in a plastic grocery bag and spread it out on the floor. You curled up on it and cried freely into your hands. You didn’t sleep much that night.

That was the first time she had kicked you out for that long. You barely ate in those two weeks, wolfing down any food you could get your hands on at lunch. Lunch for you was the small scraps of food that Tommy and Tubbo shared with you. Mom never packed you lunches or gave you money to buy things anymore. To make matters worse, they had told their dad that they thought you had some form of eating disorder.

About a week into your exile, you finally visited the Minecraft residence after avoiding them for a week. You remembered how the blond man pulled you aside into the kitchen. He gently sat you down and pushed a plate full of chicken and vegetables in front of you. You looked at him confused as he gestured towards the plate.

“Eat that, I heard you haven’t been eating much lately.” When you made no move to eat, he smiled at you. “Go ahead, it’s okay if you don’t eat it all. Just eat some of it.”

That was all you needed to hear, you began to eat quickly like a starving wolf. It’s been a while since you had more than half an apple to eat, let alone an actual homemade meal. When you were done, you looked up to see the older man looking at you worriedly.

“...Are you not getting enough food at home?”

You scrambled to find a lie, “my- my mom is away a lot on business trips. We don’t really eat much.”

His worried expression grew tenfold as he moved to kneel in front of you and put his hands on your shoulders. “You need to eat three meals a day, especially now that you’re growing. You’re always welcome here when your mom’s away, our door’s always open. Is she away now?”

“Yeah, she won’t be home until next week.” You felt bad for lying to the man that put bandaids on your scraped knees and took you to the father daughter dance in fifth grade when he heard that your dad was dead. He was always so kind to you, which you never quite understood. Despite feeling bad for lying to him, you felt incredibly relieved that you didn’t have to be alone anymore.

From then on out whenever she kicked you out, you went to the Minecraft residence. They welcomed you with open arms and treated you like you were a part of the family. You and Techno bonded over your love for reading and mythology, Wilbur made sure you took care of yourself, and Philza (he told you to just call him Phil at that point) treated you like his own child. You didn’t think that it was possible for you, Tommy, and Tubbo to be any closer than you already were, but you three became inseparable. You told them everything one night when you couldn’t sleep. You told them how you felt like you were the cause of your mother’s decline and your dad’s death, how she would usually punish you, her ‘hobby’. They were about to tell Philza, but you begged them not to. After a while of pleading and assuring them that she’d never hit you, they hesitantly agreed and made you promise to call them whenever you felt unsafe in your home.

You kept to that promise, calling them whenever she would get too drunk to know what she was doing. They would calm you down from panic attacks late at night and invite you to their house in the daytime. They felt like your actual brothers and you started to refer to them as such. You three gave each other a shoulder to lean on and gave each other comfort when needed. One night when you were in your freshman year, however, your mother caught you sneaking out to see them after she sent you to your room. That was when she started to hit you.

Just as you were about to sneak out the front door, your mother started to scream at you incoherently. When you flinched away from when she got up in your face, she became even more enraged.

“WHERE WERE YOU GOING? I BET YOU’RE WHORING YOURSELF OUT, AREN’T YOU LITTLE SLUT?”

Without thinking, you yelled back at her, “I would never! Why-” You were cut off by a harsh slap to the cheek sending you to the ground. She quieted down and stared at you and her hand, a glint of shock shining through her dazed eyes. Without a word, she turned around and left to go talk to your dad. You sat there listening to her rant about how she failed as a mother, how she wanted to do better but she didn’t know how, how she wished that he was there with her. You scrambled up and ran to your room. You looked at yourself in the mirror, there was a bright red mark on your cheek in the shape of a hand. There was a small cut where her wedding ring connected with your cheek. A single drop of blood dripped down your cheek and curved down the dip of your chin before dripping onto your shirt. Without doing anything else, you plopped down onto your bed and sobbed into your pillow, crying yourself to sleep.

When you woke up in the morning, you realized that you slept through half of the school day so it was useless to go to school now. You reached up to run a hand down your face only to hiss and pull your hand away. You once again looked at yourself in the mirror.

You looked terrible. Your eyes were bloodshot and swollen like you were crying in your sleep. Hair was sticking up in all directions and matted slightly. The slap mark was gone, but the cut had bruising around the edges with dried blood crusted on your cheek and on your pillow. It was a small cut, but it bled a surprising amount overnight. You couldn’t see Tommy or Tubbo like this, they’d flip out. Luckily for you it was a Friday and you had the weekend to heal.

Your mother gradually started to hit you more and more. It started off as a once-a-week thing whenever she was really angry, but then it divulged into something that would happen daily over the smallest things. You became her punching bag for her to release some steam. Makeup became your best friend at that point; you used what little savings you saved over the years for dollar store makeup.

Soon after it became a struggle to hide the cuts and bruises from Tommy and Tubbo, so you gradually started to avoid them. Your face, once synonymous with the Minecraft residence and Tommy and Tubbo, became a rarity. They tried their hardest to contact you, but you always dodged their calls. After a few months of you dodging Tommy and Tubbo, you finally told them that you didn’t want to be friends with them anymore.

It broke your heart to say it, but it had to be done. They were getting too close to the truth and you couldn’t have that; the government would take you away from your mom and she’d end up dead. You were the only one keeping her alive at this point, she lost all motivation to eat. The only thing she did nowadays was hit you, drink, and hug your dad’s photo to her chest.

The beatings got to the point where you could barely walk without feeling pain. School became something that you’d rarely attend. Tommy and Tubbo stopped trying to talk to and call you. Buster, your previous confidant, had long since died so you were truly alone in the world. The neighbor’s yard looked barren without the dog house and the graying dog. The only person you had left was your mom.

When you had accidentally burnt dinner late at night, she completely snapped. She grabbed your arm and held it on top of the burner. Pain hit you immediately as you screamed and cried apologies to her. When you instinctively hit her with your other hand, she dug her nails into your arm and pushed your arm closer onto the burner. Nerve endings screamed at you to get away from the pain. The pain was becoming too much, so you looked on the countertop next to you for something to defend yourself with. A metal fork was lying close to your other hand.

You grabbed it and, with a distraught apology to your mother, drove the prongs deep into her arm. She screamed in pain and let your arm go. You ripped yourself out of her grasp and started to run for the front door. A force collided with the back of your shoulder making pain explode in the area. You didn’t know what happened at first, but after hearing the shattering of glass, you realized that she threw a beer bottle at you. You could feel the sting of alcohol and glass mingling with your open wounds on your shoulder. The sting was almost as bad as your arm, but you didn’t stop running especially when you glanced behind you to see her running at you with a knife raised and the fork protruding from her arm.

You flung open the door and sprinted out without bothering to close the door behind you. As your bare feet hit the sidewalk, you could hear your mother stop at the end of the stairs and shout at you to come back. You never stopped.

You didn’t stop until your feet took you to the Minecraft residence’s front door. Nobody was on the street as it was about eleven at night. You hesitated to knock on their door, you ignored the family for the past six months, and you weren’t sure if they even wanted you there. After five minutes of thinking, you just sighed as you walked back down the wooden stairs and walked back towards the sidewalk.

“(Y/n), what are you doing here?” You froze up at Tommy’s sleep riddled voice. You stayed frozen as you heard him stomp over to you. He placed a firm hand on your injured shoulder and forced you to turn around. His angry expression faded into a concerned one when he heard you start to sob and flinch away from him.

“Wha- shit are you bleeding?” You nodded slightly and he gently turned you back around to see a patch of darkened cloth on your shirt. You could feel him shaking as he grabbed your arm and pulled you into the house. He plopped you at the dining room table and told you to wait there. With that, he sprinted up the stairs and brought back a serious Philza holding a first aid kit.

When he saw you bruised and battered, you could hear him take in a sharp intake of breath and saw unbridled anger flash across his face. You flinched away from him when he approached you.

“Hey,” he said in a gentle voice, “I won’t hurt you. Can you show me where you’re hurt?”

You eyed him warily like a scared wild animal and reluctantly moved your burned arm away from your chest and showed it to him. This was the first time you saw your forearm; it was an ugly red that expanded up the majority of the underside of your forearm with skin burned off at the edges. Yellow, fluid-filled blisters were starting to form.

You could hear Tommy’s horrified gasp as he turned to run out of the room. You kept your gaze downwards as Philza warned you that he was about to put disinfectant on your wound. He apologized to you when you whimpered in pain at the sting of the alcohol on your exposed nerves. After he was finished wrapping your arm, he asked you to show him where else you’re injured. You turned around so he could see the growing patch of blood staining your now ripped shirt. You could feel him gently move your shirt to the side and heard him wince.

“Shit, there’s glass in here. I’m going to have to get some tweezers to get it out. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” You were then alone in the kitchen for a moment before he came back with a worried Wilbur and Techno in tow. The brunet pulled up a chair next to you and asked if it was alright to hold your hand. After you hesitantly nodded, he grabbed your hand and started to run his thumb over your knuckles. Techno held a light close to your shoulder as Philza started to tweeze out the green tinted glass from your shoulder.

Every time you would suck in air through your teeth and muffle your yelps with your other hand, Wilbur would whisper reassurances to you and hold your hand tighter. After the glass was out, the wound was disinfected, and wrapped in gauze, Philza told the boys to leave the room. He grabbed both of your hands and gave you the best reassuring smile that he could.

“Tell me what happened.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you felt tears well up in your eyes, “I tried Phil, I really did. She never got better no matter what I did.”

“What do you mean, are you talking about your mom?” You could hear the angry undertone of his voice. You tensed up and nodded.

“She… she needs help. She was never the same after Dad died, she started drinking. It started off with only one beer a day, but after seventh grade she was going through an entire case in a day. She’d punish me if I said or did anything about it. No dinner for a week was a popular one until she started to ban me from the house for weeks on end. She never went on business trips, Phil. She got a knife today. I-I thought she was actually gonna kill me this time, I was so scared.”

Without another word, he pulled you into a tight hug, letting you sob freely into his shoulder. “It was my fault, I couldn’t help her! She- she needed me and I couldn’t help her.” You said between sobs. He hugged you tighter and started to rub your back, making sure to avoid your shoulder. “None of this is your fault, you can’t help someone if they don’t want help. Sometimes you can’t fix someone who’s too far gone.”

“Am I too far gone?”

“No, you aren’t. We’ll help you through this, we won’t let anybody hurt you ever again. You’re gonna go on to live a good life.” You passed out in his arms after a while of crying.

When you woke up, you were in Tommy and Tubbo’s room. The two boys jumped to your side and pulled you into a tight group hug. After you tried to apologize to them for how you treated them in the past six months, they shushed you and just sat there in silence hugging you.

Later that day you found out that your mother was found by your neighbor on the front porch with her wrists slit and empty beer bottles surrounding her. She was breathing, but just barely. Currently she was in an unstable condition in the hospital. You had a full breakdown when you found out that she almost killed herself because of you. You had run out of the house and to your safe place in the park. You hadn’t been there in a few years, so you hoped that it was still there.

Sure enough, it was still there albeit a bit overgrown. The blanket in the plastic bag was in the same place where you left it. You had no idea how long you were sitting there crying and having a panic attack, but when you came to your senses it was dark outside. You could hear crickets chirping and the rustling of leaves in the entrance of your hideout.

A brunet head poked itself in and smiled when he saw you. Tubbo fully came into the nook and gestured for someone to follow. Tommy’s blond hair made itself apparent before he joined you two inside.

“Nice little place you have here. It’s… homey.” Tubbo rubbed his hands together and blew warm air on them. You threw one side of the blanket at him and pulled your knees up to your chest. “Thanks, I used to sleep here sometimes… How’d you find me?”

“We could hear you,” Tommy pulled out his phone and typed something on it before pocketing it and sitting next to you. He covered himself with the blanket as Tubbo followed suit. You sat in silence before Tommy broke it.

“How long has she been hittin you?”

“Tommy!” Tubbo scolded him.

“She started about six months ago.”

“Six months ago… that was when you cancelled plans! I knew something was wrong Tubbo.”

Tubbo said nothing as he looked at you with a helpless expression. Just as he was about to open his mouth, you interrupted him. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. Everything’s my fault. I’m the reason my mom’s in the hospital right now fighting for her life. I wasn’t there for her.” You would’ve started crying if it weren’t for the fact that you just felt so drained and numb.

“The fuck do you mean? She was about to kill you! You told us that she was about to stab you, what else were you supposed to do, just let her kill you?!” Tommy exclaimed.

You shrugged, “maybe. If she did she’d be happy, I was just a burden to her. I- I just wanted her to be happy and I would never be able to do that as long as I’m alive. If she killed me she wouldn’t be in the hospital right now.”

“What the fuck (y/n),” Tubbo shouted, startling you. He never shouts, let alone swears. “How could you even say that? I don’t know what I’d do without you, everything would be so boring and nothing would be the same without you. Fuck her happiness, she’s a wretched woman if the only way she can be happy is when you’re dead. Fuck her.”

You and Tommy stared at the seething boy in shock. He never shouted when he was angry, he only did that once when he found out that Tommy was being bullied. Whenever he sweared, that’s when you knew his emotions were hitting him at full force. Tommy quickly recovered from his shock to join him, “yeah fuck her, man! She can go suck a dick.” He was interrupted by his phone buzzing.

“Dad’s here, c’mon he’s worried sick about you.” After they helped you out of your safe place, they both wrapped an arm around your shoulders and walked you to the parking lot. You could see the headlights of the lone car in the lot turn off before the door swung open and a figure rushed towards you. You pushed yourself behind Tommy and Tubbo and hid behind them fearfully. They both turned around and put a hand on your shoulders. “It’s okay, it’s our dad.”

You peeked over their shoulders and saw a mop of disheveled, long blond hair. Philza looked like he was just told that there was an antidote for a fatal poison he just ingested, despite the flash of hurt that showed on his face. His blue eyes were accentuated by the redness of his sclera and you can see the relief painted in them. A gentle smile was on his face as he moved his arms up. Without another word, you launched yourself at him and pulled him into the tightest hug you could manage with your shoulder.

“Are your accusations true, Mx. (L/n)?”

Your gaze flickered over to your mother sitting on the other side of the courtroom. She looked at you with no expression on her face. Her wrists were wrapped tightly in a white bandage that was a stark contrast to the bright orange prison uniform and the silver of the handcuffs. She wasn’t the woman you knew when your dad was alive. The life was sucked out of her the second she picked up that phone call.

You looked back at the lawyer, “yes sir.”

“I have no further questions, your honor.”

“You may return to your seat, Mx. (L/N).”

You stood up and walked as confidently as you could past the dull eyes of your mother and back to your seat between Tommy and Tubbo. You held their hands tightly as the trial moved onwards. Buster’s owner even stepped up to the witness stand to give his testimony. Apparently he knew about the abuse from your late night conversations with Buster. He had contacted CPS and the police multiple times but the case was always dropped for some reason that you couldn’t bring yourself to ponder. A few of your previous teachers even showed up to give their testimonies. Their words, though true and slightly sweet, rubbed you the wrong way. If they ‘knew something was happening at home with you’, then why didn’t they do anything when it was happening? You tried to focus on the rest of the trial.

Your mother’s only witness was herself, and she did a piss poor job at it. She was basically digging her own grave with every word that came out of her mouth. The entire time, she was staring at you with her infamous dull eyes.

“Do you have any further points you would like to add, Mrs. (L/n)?”

“Yes, I have always loved my child. They were my husband’s pride and joy, the splitting image of him. Their rightful place is safe with their real parent at our home.”

You could feel Tommy attempt to stand up, but you pulled him back down; now was not the time for him to start yelling in anger. Tubbo squeezed your hand in reassurance and glanced at you. You were staring at the woman you called your mother with pain and hate filled eyes. You wished her words were sincere, but you knew fully well that they weren’t. The words that left her mouth would’ve been one hundred percent true and genuine when your dad was still alive, but he’s buried six feet under in a military cemetary now and he has been for years. You would’ve given anything, even your own life, for those words to be true a month ago, but you knew better now. Mothers don’t treat their kids like this, they’re supposed to give their children their unconditional love and take care of them. As far as you were concerned, she was no longer your mother. She forfeited that title the second she turned to the bottle. Philza is and will always be more of a parental figure than she’ll ever be.

After the jury left to discuss, the court was in a recess. You slipped out of the room and speed walked to the bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror. You could see heavy eye bags under your dull eyes. The dullness of your eyes, to your horror, reminded you of your mother, so you splashed your face with water. That fixed it, your eyes were slightly brighter. You could still see the faint outline of the scar on your cheek from when she first hit you. Small scars littered your face from the more recent wounds she gave you before you ran.

A knock sounded at the door, “(y/n), the recess is almost over.” It was Techno.

You patted your face dry and went to leave the bathroom. The pink haired boy that you now saw as your older brother was waiting patiently for you on the other side. He put a gentle hand on your shoulder and led you back to the courtroom. There, the rest of the Minec- no, your family was waiting for you. Just as you reached them, the judge announced that the jurors would be arriving back. The entire courtroom stood as they walked in.

“Have you reached a verdict?” The judge asked.

“We have.”

“Mrs. (L/n) and Mr. Langsburg, would you stand and face the jury? You may read the verdict.”

“We the jury of the state court find the defendant guilty under the charges of child abuse and child neglect.”

Tommy clapped a hand on your shoulder as Tubbo squeezed your hand. They both smiled widely at you. You, however, didn’t acknowledge them. You were only staring at the empty eyes of your mother as she was looking at the jury. Her reaction was akin to her breaking a pencil, like it didn’t matter to her. Like all the years abuse that she put you through didn’t matter was as trivial as breaking a pencil.

“So say you all?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“I hereby sentence Mrs. (L/n) to twelve years in the state penitentiary with no opportunity of parole. Mr. Philza Minecraft shall be bestowed the custody of Mx. (Y/n) (l/n) as they do not have any next of kin. Court is adjourned.” With that, she banged the gavel and the courtroom exploded in the bustling of people. You never took your eyes off from your mo- no, the monster with the dull eyes as she picked at something in her nails boredly. Just as she looked up to meet your gaze, Tommy pulled you into a tight hug, lifting you off the ground slightly. You were passed around the family in the courtroom for their individual hugs. Philza’s was comforting, Tubbo’s was congratulatory, Wilbur’s was warm, and Techno’s was slightly awkward, yet soft.

At home, you spent most of your time in the spare room Philza had given you. He had offered to help you decorate it, but you had no idea where to start. You were never allowed to have decorations in your old room. You kept the room simplistic and your possessions light.

You often stared at your dad’s portrait on your nightstand wondering what your life could’ve been like if you never asked him for McDonalds that day. Your family probably would’ve been stationed in who knows where and moved around often, as is customary in most military families. You probably would’ve never met Tommy and Tubbo in third grade. You probably would’ve never met your now older brothers and new father. You didn’t want to imagine a life without them.

After a few days of you being locked up in your room, Tommy and Tubbo came into your room with mischievous grins. You knew them like the back of your hand, so you knew the second you saw their faces that they were about to do something. You sat up and looked at them suspiciously.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re not doing anything, (y/n). Right Tubbo?”

“Right Tommy.” Tubbo nodded curtly. They still had grins on their faces. They walked over to your bed before they picked you up and walked you out of the room. You didn’t have the energy to fight them, so you laid limp in their arms. They eventually took you down to the living room and plopped you down onto the couch between them. Techno tossed them a blanket when they then used to wrap you tightly into a blanket burrito. The home screen of Disney Plus was pulled up on the TV and the curtains were drawn. Philza and Wilbur exited the kitchen with glasses of water and two big bowls of popcorn.

They smiled widely when they saw you squashed between your brothers, putting a bowl of popcorn in your lap and three glasses of water nearby. The two next to you dug into the popcorn as the rest of the family made themselves comfortable on the couch.

“What are we doing?”

“Movie night! We’re gonna binge the Marvel movies, your favorite!” Tubbo grinned at you, practically bouncing in his seat.

“Just double checking, the order is Captain America, Captain Marvel, Iron Mans One and Two, Incredible Hulk, Avengers, Thor-”

You cut Wilbur off with a mumbled “first Thor, then the first Avengers movie.”

“Glad I asked then! The timeline would’ve been thrown off.”

As the movies progressed, you started to finally feel like you belonged as a part of the family. Laughter came easier to you, mingling effortlessly with the family’s laughter. Every time you laughed at a scene, they would give you a smile and laugh alongside you. Eventually after about halfway through Captain America: The Winter Soldier, everyone had fallen asleep on the couch. Soft snores and the quiet sounds of the occasional fight scene filled the room as your eyelids started to close involuntarily. You looked around the room at the rest of your family. They all looked peaceful in their slumber. Tommy and Tubbo’s protective hold of their arms around your shoulders made you feel safe. It was in that moment that you realized that they would never let anyone hurt you ever again. You were a part of an actual, loving family. With that, you let yourself fall asleep into a peaceful slumber surrounded by the people that loved you the most.

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@crybabyjabby @izzybobizzy13 @goldenstarofthunderclan @bunnyz-pxstel @averytiredfanfictionwriter @dcml04 @sparkling-gayyyy @bbigbbrainn @thaticecreambish @kiinokochii @satansphatass @bxkubitch @bxmentchildxx @roxy3457 @montygator17 @feverish-dove @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @jichuuchaeng

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nowandajenn · 3 years

Text

Blue Christmas- Ten

Pairing: Chris Evans/OC Kelly

Summary: After almost three years of marriage, everyone would tell you that Chris and his wife Kelly are the most stable, solid couple they know. But behind closed doors, things are tense as they keep trying for a baby, to no avail. When a secret threatens to shake their solid marriage to it’s core, will they be able to pick up the pieces?

I do not consent to have my content, whether it be this story or anything else of my creation, posted by a third party on any other platform other than right here without my permission. This blog is 18+ and is not intended for minors. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Heed the warnings.

Anesthesia is a warm, heavy blanket covering me from head to toe that makes it impossible to want to climb out from under of. My limbs feel like they weigh a thousand pounds, and my head is full of cotton wool. People are talking around me, but everything sounds distorted, like I’m underwater. There’s an itch under my nose, but the thought of lifting my arm to scratch is seems like an insurmountable task.

I feel a huge, warm hand wrapped around my much smaller one, their thumb running soothingly over the skin on the top of my hand. God, that feels nice. Soft, slightly chapped lips press lightly against the pulse point on the inside of my wrist, and I immediately know that it’s Chris sitting next to me. I’m safe. As long as he’s here with me, I’m okay. I’m okay. With that thought in my head, I allow myself to drift a little bit deeper into the abyss.

Chris sits next to the bed, unable to take his eyes off you in case something happens. It’s been about an hour since you were moved from recovery to your private room, and he’s been sitting next to you the whole time, willing you to open your eyes.

The nurse that’s in the room taking your vitals stops and starts entering information into the laptop on her cart.

“Is she doing okay?” Chris asks, swallowing hard. He’s not used to this. He’s not used to feeling so out of control. He’s not used to seeing you laying unconscious and broken in a hospital bed. He’s desperate for reassurance that you’re going to be okay.

“She is.” the nurse tells him. “She’s probably going to be in and out of consciousness today between the anesthesia and the pain medicine, and that’s perfectly normal. As long as her vitals stay stable and she’s not having any trouble breathing on her own, things are good.”

“Okay.” he breathes. He looks down at his cell phone that’s sitting in his other hand, debating on whether or not he really wants to do this. According to Meghan, someone had covertly taken pictures in the hospital waiting room of Chris and your families and posted them online, prompting rumors to start swirling around. She had told him it might be better to address it and set the record straight about what was going on than to let people get started with wild assumptions.

Sighing, he types out a quick post on Twitter.

“Hey man, how’s Kelly doing?” Josh asks.

“She’s still out of it. Listen, I don’t want to leave the hospital if I can help it, and I was wondering if you could run by the house really quick and grab some stuff for me.” Chris tells him.

“Sure, just let me know what you need.”

“My phone charger, definitely. A couple of changes of clothes for me, and a change of clothes for her. They had to cut off her clothes when they brought her in, so she doesn’t have anything. Her coat got trashed when they were pulling her out of the car......” he stops and takes a deep breath, trying to get his emotions under control.

“Listen, don’t worry about it. I got you guys. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll go ahead and take Dodger out and feed him while I’m there.”

“Thanks, man.”

Chris hangs up the phone and sighs, running his hand over his beard.

“So, how long did it take you to come up with this plan?” Connor asks from his seat on the other side of my bed.

“What are you talking about?”

“This. The canceling everything you’ve got going on, the whole loving, concerned husband thing. What do you think? You think she’s going to get out of here and go back home with you and everything is going to be fine? You’ll take care of her and she’ll just decide to forget about the fact that you cheated on her, and she’ll just forgive you and you’ll live happily ever after? Is that it?”

“Will you give it a goddamn rest? Look, you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate me and you think my guts would look great decorating your wall, but seriously.....just......”

A small groan makes them both turn their attention to me.

“Kelly? Honey?” Chris whispers.

“Will you two....knock it off? Please? My head.....” I groan softly. For some reason, my throat feels raw and tender, like I just spent the last day screaming my head off for no reason.

“I’ll go see if I can find her nurse.” Connor says, getting up from his chair.

Chris scoots his chair a little closer to my bed, and brings my hand up to his lips.

“Hey, sweetheart. Can you open your eyes for me?”

I groan softly, turning my head to the side. With a monumental effort, I crack my eyes open a little bit, only to close them right away against the bright sunlight streaming into the room.

“Too bright.”

Chris gets up to pull the drapes shut a bit, and Connor and my nurse walk into the room.

“Good morning, Mrs. Evans. My name is Andi; I’m your nurse. How are you feeling?”

“Hurts.” I rasp.

“That’s to be expected. Can you do me a favor and open your eyes for me, so I can check your pupils?” she asks.

I scrunch my face in distaste but slowly open my eyes again, pleased that the room is a little dimmer. The nurse shines a flashlight in my eyes, checking my pupils, and then putting it away in the pocket of her scrubs.

“Very good. We have a respiratory therapist outside, and he’s going to give you something to drink and a little snack so he can check your swallowing. You had a tube in your throat for the surgery, and he just wants to make sure that everything is okay with your throat. While he’s doing that, I’m going to go ahead and page your doctor so she can come in and talk to you. Okay?”

I nod softly, wincing at the pain in my neck.

Chris and Connor stand off to the side, out of the way, while the therapist tests my swallowing. The heavy, drowsy feeling starts to wear off a bit, and I start to become a little bit more aware of what’s going on. My left arm is heavily wrapped and in a black sling across my chest, and there’s a hot pink cast on my left leg from my foot to my knee. My ribs ache, and I can feel a bandage on my stomach. The oxygen tube up my nose and the IV bags hanging on the pole behind the bed are the final touches that let me know that whatever happened was pretty serious.

The doctor comes in right after the respiratory therapist leaves, and she introduces herself as she shakes my good hand gently.

“Mrs, Evans, it’s good to meet you. I’m Dr. Richards. I’m the one that admitted you when you were brought in this morning.” she says.

“Hi.” I say softly. I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing that I’m about to hear news that’s going to severely impact my life for the forseeable future, and I’m not ready. The monitor attached to my finger picks up my increased heart rate as I slowly start to spiral into panic mode, and the monitor next to me starts beeping more intensely.

“Mr. Evans, Mr. Sullivan, why don’t you give us a few minutes alone to talk? Go ahead and let your families know that Kelly is awake. I promise to let you know as soon as we’re done.”

I look over at Chris with tears in my eyes, and I can tell that he doesn’t want to leave, but he also doesn’t want to overwhelm me with so many people being in the room.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I promise.” he tells me, dropping a kiss to my forehead.

Once the door closes behind Chris, Dr. Richards pulls the chair next to my bed closer and sits down as I start to fidget with the sheet that’s covering me.

“I know waking up like this is really scary and overwhelming, and you have no idea what’s going on, so I’m going to tell you the same thing I told your husband this morning; I’m going to be completely straight and honest with you about what’s going on. I’m going to tell you exactly what happened and what to expect in the next couple days and weeks, once you get home.”

The next time I blink my eyes open, the drapes in the room have been opened again, and by the position of the sun and the shadows in the room, I’ve been out for a few hours. After speaking with the doctor and getting the full picture of my injuries and what my recovery was going to look like, along with some other news, a panic attack had set in and the doctor had ordered medication to calm me down, which also knocked me out almost immediately.

I groan softly as the pain in my body settles in, and I look over to my right, expecting to see Chris, but I’m met with the sight of my mother.

“Hey. How do you feel?” she asks.

“Like I went head to head with a brick wall and lost.” I croak out. My throat is so damn dry and sore still.

I point to the pitcher and cup on the overbed tray, and she gets up to pour me a cup of water, holding the straw to my lips so I can drink.

“Where’s dad?” I ask.

“He and Connor went back home to drop Olivia off. She was getting a little antsy. I’m going to go ahead and tell dad to go ahead and clean up your old room and get it all ready for you for when you get out of here.”

I turn to look at her, confusion clouding my mind.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re going to need someone to take care of you when you get out of here. You’ve got a long way to go before you can take care of yourself.” she tells me.

“And you, what? You think I’m going to come back home and let you do it?” I ask incredulously. Oh Lord Jesus, this must be some sort of nightmare I fell into.....

“Kelly, you’re going to need help. You’re a mess right now. Chris said he had cancelled everything on his schedule for the next couple months, but are you really going to make him do that to take care of you? He has so many important obligations....and honestly, since Connor told us you’ve been staying with him, I didn’t think that you’d want to go back home right away.”

“So, you don’t REALLY want to take care of me, and help me heal. You’re offering out of obligation. Because you think my husband is too important and too busy to take care of me. Am I getting this right?” I ask, getting angrier by the second.

“Kelly.....”

“No. Absolutely not. You didn’t even want to take care of me when I was a kid, when it was your goddamned job. You haven’t made it a secret my whole life that I was unwanted. You had Colleen, and then you were going to have one more, and you were done. But then one turned into two. I was the bonus baby that you got stuck with. The extra that was always too much trouble. You make me feel like a fucking inconvenience at every turn, even now. And it’s not enough for you to make me feel like I’m an inconvenience to you, but like I’m one to my husband too. Maybe that’s why he cheated on me. That, and the fact that I couldn’t give him a baby. What do you think?” I ask, my breath hitching in my chest and tears filling my eyes. The heart monitor starts beeping rapidly, signalling my distress.

“Honey, that’s not-”

“Get the fuck out. I don’t want you here. I don’t want to see you.” I sob out, all of my emotions crashing down on me at once.

The nurse runs in with Chris hot on her heels just in time to see me pick up the small water pitcher and throw it at my mom.

“Get out!” I scream.

Chris stops my mom just outside of my room. “That’s it. I’m done watching you hurt her. I’ve watched it for years, and I haven’t said shit because I felt like it wasn’t my place. But this is my place now, between you and her. I don’t know what the hell you said to her, but you’re not going back into that room. You’re not going to see her unless she explicitly says that SHE wants to see YOU. Until that happens, you’re not going to come near her.”

Chris walks back into the room to see the nurse next to your bed, checking the incisions on your stomach to make sure that you didn’t pull any sutures. There’s two medium size incisions from where they took your spleen laparoscopically, raw and freshly stitched, and seeing them makes Chris almost burst into tears.

“I know this is rough, and I know you’re in pain and you’re hurting, but if you don’t calm down, we’re going to have to sedate you. You’re going to hurt yourself even more if you’re not careful.” Andi tells me.

“Go ahead! That’s the best fucking idea anyone’s had yet today!” I practically growl.

She just quirks an eyebrow at me, a small smirk gracing her features as she tries not to laugh at my spitfire attitude.

Once she gets done checking me over and changing out two of the bags of medicine I’m hooked up to, she takes her leave, telling me and Chris to call if we need anything.

I look at Chris and we just stare at each other for a few minutes, neither one of us knowing what to say. He doesn’t know what to say to reassure me or comfort me. I’m afraid if I open my mouth to say anything to him, the news the doctor told me will fall from my lips and be out in the world, unable to be taken back. And I’m not ready to face that yet. I can barely wrap my own mind around it.

“We ran a ton of labs on you when you came in, which is normal for trauma cases. When we got the reports back, we found something. Your hcG levels are high. A lot of women have low levels of the hormone even if they’re not pregnant, but your levels indicate that you are. Looking at the numbers, it looks as if it’s very early, probably only a few weeks. A normal pregnancy test wouldn’t pick it up because the levels aren’t quite high enough to show up on a test, but the labs don’t lie.”

“That’s.....no. That’s not right. We haven’t even had......” My mind is working ten to a dozen, trying to focus and make sense of what I’m hearing.

“Two weeks ago. But that’s too soon. It wouldn’t show up yet.”

“In early pregnancy, hcG levels double every two to three days. We’ll keep an eye on your levels while you’re here, and you should make an appointment to see your OBGYN in a few weeks.” she tells me.

A broken sob works its way up through my throat.

“We’ve been trying....trying to have a baby....for over a year......and then my husband.....he cheats on me, and I end up pregnant. Isn’t that.....isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

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#blue christmas #chris evans fic #chris evans x oc #chris evans x kelly evans #accident #pregnancy #surprise #rpf #long road to recovery #family drama #ohthankevans13 #jennmurawski13

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spectral-musette · 3 years

Text

She touched his face, fingertips light along his temple, nails delicately scraping through the short beard on his cheeks, lingering on the cleft in his chin before resting on his mouth.

“I thought…” she began, but then choked on a soft sob as the tears began to run down her cheeks.

“I thought you would be angry,” he said instead, nuzzling his cheek against her hand and then kissing the palm.

“I am furious,” she assured him, tenderly. “I am incandescent with rage.” Her lips were against his, her breath uneven in his mouth.

Directly following the Deception arc (Clone Wars Season 4 episodes 15-18), Obi-Wan asks for Satine's forgiveness for letting her believe he was dead.

Just over 2000 words, M in AO3-style rating, probably part of a longer work if I can ever finish it and think of a title.

. . . . . . . . . .

Obi-Wan had not protested very much when Padme offered him the use of her family’s lakeside retreat in the aftermath of the attempted abduction of the Chancellor on Naboo. He had, however, expected a slightly more modest structure than the sprawling villa he’d found upon his arrival. Despite the droids on staff, the place seemed empty, hollow, as though it still echoed with the voices and laughter of a happy family. So fresh from his undercover work, he wasn’t sure isolation was the best remedy for his rumpled spirits after the ordeal, but arrangements had been made, and he supposed he could make the best of it for a few days.

In some ways, he was eager to leave Naboo. The memory of Qui-Gon’s death still cut like a keen-edged blade here. But perhaps that meant he should stay, to meditate on his old grief.

Painful as that prospect was, at least it sounded more surmountable than returning to a Temple that had been mourning him.

He’d have to, eventually. Anakin’s (justified) expression of betrayal and Ahsoka’s wounded demeanor still stung, and he didn’t look forward to repeating these painful scenes with other dear friends, with Luminara, or with Quinlan. But until the GAR red tape was untangled (at least a few days), he was still officially dead, and granted all the freedom of a wandering ghost.

He felt a little like the ghost of his old self after a quick swim as he climbed out of the lake onto the patio by the house. He sat heavily on the flagstones, still warm from the sun even as the stars were coming out. The constellations of Naboo seemed startlingly familiar considering the few times he’d seen them. The span of nearly 15 years felt short tonight. Perhaps it was the mere stubble of hair on his skull, shorter even than a padawan’s. Perhaps it was the ache of his old Master’s absence. He tried to ground himself in the present; as he toweled off his wet limbs, the ugly burn scars from his duel with Count Dooku shone pale in the moonlight, and his face still hurt from the dreadful biotech that had transformed him into the Mandalorian marksman.

It was always Mandalorians, wasn’t it? Proof that the Force possessed a sense of dramatic irony that the brethren of the woman to whom he’d lost his heart seemed to continually haunt him.

The guilt of it weighed like a stone on his chest. The mission had dragged on far too long for Satine not to have heard news of his apparent death. He had hoped it might all be resolved before… Well, it had been an unlikely hope, anyway. Padme almost certainly told her immediately.

There hadn’t been anything for it. To ask for permission to tell Satine the truth before the charade would’ve been tantamount to confessing his feelings for her. Had there only been the censure of the Council involved it might’ve been one thing, but any careless word to the Chancellor’s staff could’ve proven disastrous for Satine and the gossamer-fine line she walked to keep peace and authority on Mandalore. He’d been keeping her safe even as he wounded her.

Just like the old days, pulling her out of harm's way, or shielding her with his body.

Only this wasn’t an accidentally scraped knee or bruised arm. Perhaps it was vain of him to assume, but he knew how deeply she cared for him, how intense her feelings ran…

He’d tried composing a message to her so many times. Even still in the guise of Rako Hardeen, when he caught a moment’s rest, he’d gone over it in his mind, lulling himself into an uneasy sleep as he tried to find the words to ask her forgiveness.

In the end, a forthright Forgive me, was the best he could muster, hastily sent to her private channel as soon as he’d gotten access to a comm unit at the conclusion of the charade. If you’ll listen, I’ll try to explain, but nothing will excuse what I’ve put you through. Know that I am so very sorry.

She hadn’t replied. He checked the comm unit again as he pulled his undertunic over his head, the rough linen soaking up the last of the lake water on his back, seeing only his own message, stark and insufficient.

He didn’t blame her, truly.

He’d slept since sending it, through the afternoon, reveling a little in the luxury of resting when he felt tired, regardless of the local daytime cycles. And he dreamed in disjointed flashes, mostly of her… her grief, her melancholy, her ire… of the glint of tears on her dark gold eyelashes, the quaver of anger in her beloved voice.

He wasn’t sure if he ought to just sleep again, now that night was here. Weary as he was, he felt he could sleep for days.

He heard the door from the house to the patio open. He didn’t look immediately, as it seemed likely to be one of Padme’s droid caretakers, there to ask if he required food or clean linens. But there was no whirring of servos, and the footsteps on the flagstones sounded too soft. He caught a whiff of an achingly familiar floral scent just as he turned.

She must’ve been too much in his thoughts already, his mind too clouded with guilt and regret and weariness to clearly sense her presence.

But Satine stood, silhouetted by the dim illumination of the house, resplendent in the scarlet gown she’d worn the night they’d met in secret on Coruscant, though her hair was loose about her shoulders, pale and shimmering in the moonlight. For a moment she was utterly still, then she merely raised a hand to her mouth, stifling a soft gasp.

He scrambled to his feet, keenly aware that this was not the state in which he wished to appear before his lady. His trousers were still sopping, his undertunic open to the navel, and his hair had barely grown in longer than the stubble on his jaw. But her eyes were only on his, and shining with tears. She took a few steps towards him, then swayed a little. He lunged to catch her around the waist; the last thing she needed on top of all the rest of the suffering he’d caused her was bruised knees. She twined her arms around his neck, and his knees gave a slow surrender too, such that the pair of them sank to the flagstones, wrapped in each other’s arms.

She touched his face, fingertips light along his temple, nails delicately scraping through the short beard on his cheeks, lingering on the cleft in his chin before resting on his mouth.

“I thought…” she began, but then choked on a soft sob as the tears began to run down her cheeks.

“I thought you would be angry,” he said instead, nuzzling his cheek against her hand and then kissing the palm.

“I am furious,” she assured him, tenderly. “I am incandescent with rage.” Her lips were against his, her breath uneven in his mouth.

He tasted it in her kiss, a fleeting note of bitterness and sorrow amid the heady sweetness of her relief and joy, the fire of her desire.

“I am so very sorry,” he repeated, abject.

“Oh, I hope so,” she replied, breathless.

As usual, Satine had the last word, as neither of them could speak for some time after that.

. . . . . . . . . .

She lay on her side, half propped up on her elbow, her head against the pillow and her hair spread across it in a tangle of pale spun gold. The bedclothes were pooled around her waist, and he deeply felt the intimacy and vulnerability they shared in that moment. He thought this image of her would be vivid in his mind for the rest of his days, however long that might be: the pale morning light on her bare skin, her flushed cheeks, the glint of unshed tears in her eyes, the soft swell of her breasts with her sharp, uneven breaths as she tried not to cry again.

Finished with his abridged account of the awful ordeal, he reached out to run the backs of his fingers along her arm.

“Say something,” he begged.

She sat up a little more, her hair falling across her face as she wrapped her arms around herself and turned away from him.

“It might be… easier to accept, if you’d done it for the sake of someone … worthy of all this pain. To protect Anakin or Ahsoka or Padme or…”

“Satine, I can’t decline a mission to protect the Chancellor simply because I dislike the man.”

“It isn’t a matter of dislike. There’s something… so… wicked about him. Manipulative and scheming. Don’t say it’s because he tried to put troops on Mandalore, and don’t you dare say it’s because he’s a politician.” She turned back to him, her gaze challenging.

“No,” he agreed prudently. “I won’t say that. I don’t disagree with you. He’s been a mentor to Anakin and to Padme for as long as I’ve known him, but I can’t help thinking it’s always been somehow for his own benefit. He steered Padme to get himself elected in the first place, and his grip on the office has been white-knuckled since. I can’t very well blame him for the war, but despite his lipservice towards peaceful resolution, the GAR keeps swelling its ranks.”

“I’ll blame him. Unfortunately, there’s no evidence to confirm it aside from my gut feeling.”

He placed a hand on her waist, his thumb tracing around her navel. “I’ve learned to trust your gut feelings. But dislike him, distrust him or not, my duty is to the Republic.”

He started to pull his arm back, but she gripped it by the elbow. He slid his hand to the small of her back, pulling her closer.

“What of your duty to me?” Her voice was quiet, but not without a note of beskar.

“Is it duty?” he asked. “I thought it was love.”

“Perhaps it’s very Mandalorian of me,” she said, “that we hold our most sacred duties to be to those we love.”

“Satine, I cannot put my devotion to you above the will of the Council or the good of the Republic. Not while I serve the Jedi Order.”

He almost expected her to pull away in anger or distress, but she shifted closer, pressing her face against his shoulder. “I know that. I’ve always known that. But it hasn’t hurt like this before.”

“Not since I left?” he suggested, burying his face in her hair and holding her tightly.

“No. Not even then. It wasn’t losing you, it was letting you go. This was… like I had died too.”

The guilt of it made his stomach turn. “I am so sorry, Satine. If there had been time to find another way… to spare you this…”

“The worst of it is that you knew how it would hurt me,” she accused. “And you still did it.”

“I knew,” he confirmed, regretful. “The Chancellor insisted on knowing everyone who was privy to the plan, and I had no time to even find the opportunity to disobey. I thought… the risk of revealing that you should be told…”

She let out a breath, hot against his skin.

“I think I’d have much rather run that risk than think you were dead.”

“If I’d had time to think it through, perhaps I’d have decided differently. But everything was snap decisions, and my instinct was to protect you.”

“And I can’t even be angry at you for that.”

“Of course you can be angry,” he soothed.

“Oh, what good does it do?” she demanded, lifting her head, fair brow furrowed. “Just wasting time quarreling when we have so little time together anyway.”

“Then you forgive me?” he asked humbly, kissing her forehead.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, stroking his cheek. “I know that I still want you, though.”

“Then I am yours,” he promised, kissing her fingertips.

“At least it’s not an offense that’s very likely to be repeated,” she reflected, shaking her head a little.

“Not very,” he agreed.

“I feel like I ought to extract some promise… some penance. But I expect you’ve punished yourself enough.”

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back. “The thing itself was terrible too. Not that I’m suggesting that what I went through can compare to-”

“Hush, darling,” she scolded. “It can be terrible on its own.”

“Sometimes I thought my death might end up not being a lie after all,” he said softly.

“Do you want to tell me?” she asked, her fingertips light across his brow.

He shook his head. No, he didn’t want to see how it would pain her, to think of him in danger, forced to behave as an utter villain. “Not now. Not more than I already have.”

She kissed him then, deep and ardent. “Then forget, for a while,” she said, breathless, her lips still brushing his. “Let me forget again. Make me forget.”

She hitched her leg around him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he shifted onto her, into the blissful oblivion where she was the center of the universe and the Force sang in resonance with their love.

#Obi Wan/Satine #obitine #Star Wars fic #Clone Wars fic #I wrote a thing #long post #Obi Wan Kenobi #Satine Kryze #guys I am so bad at titles #I have been trying to write something about this for ages

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Meng Yao manages to follow Nie Mingjue after the whole torture incident and it results in sad frantic banging where Mingjue is actually at a physical disadvantage and they both know it.

ao3

Meng Yao didn’t know why he was here.

It was dangerous, approaching Nie Mingjue now – the man had very nearly killed him in the hall of the Sun Palace just the day before, life-debt or no life-debt from saving him from Wen Ruohan, and it was only Lan Xichen’s timely intervention that had stopped him from killing Meng Yao and then himself. To come here to his rooms now, in the late evening, when Lan Xichen was asleep and could not act as a shield was unbelievely stupid.

It was also pointless.

There was nothing more he needed from Nie Mingjue: he had already achieved all of his desires, his father having promised him a new name, the private ceremony welcoming him into the Jin family scheduled for the week’s end, and he had already traded the life-debt Nie Mingjue owed him for the man’s agreement to swear brotherhood with him – that ceremony, too, would be in only a few days, following right after the one with his family, but public, their oaths to each other be sworn for all to see.

Meng Yao had no illusions that Nie Mingjue’s agreement meant forgiveness, or even fondness – he hadn't yielded at all to Lan Xichen's excited suggestion, and Meng Yao had been forced to 'graciously' offer up that life-debt when he really would've preferred to keep it in reserve for a later time – but it didn’t matter; the man was honorable, painfully so, and having given his word he would fulfill his oath in the spirit in which it was meant. Having Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen as his backing would give Meng Yao the foundation he needed to be secure in Lanling City, to make himself valuable enough so that his father wouldn’t have him conveniently murdered the second they were out of sight.

So, being as coming here was stupid, pointless, and dangerous – why was he here, lingering outside Nie Mingjue’s door in restless anticipation?

Before he could talk himself into leaving, the door abruptly jerked open, and Nie Mingjue’s tall form filled the entranceway.

“Either come inside or don’t,” Nie Mingjue said, voice harsh as always. “Lack of resolve was never one of your faults.”

Implying, of course, that Meng Yao had others. Which he supposed was fair – he had many.

He followed Nie Mingjue into the room he had been given.

A few lanterns still burned, their light low but enough; the table was messy with papers, suggesting that Nie Mingjue had fallen back on the bad habits of cannibalizing his sleep to carve out sufficient time to run his sect. It was such a familiar sight that Meng Yao briefly felt the urge to go and arrange the papers, to gently scold Nie Mingjue for letting them, and him, get in such a state…but of course such inclinations were mere nostalgia, as demonstrated by the way Nie Mingjue swept the papers away into a box. Nie Mingjue would not allow Meng Yao to touch his sect’s secrets now.

Meng Yao was no longer Nie Mingjue’s trusted deputy, nor his friend or even his lover – not even, yet, his sworn brother. He had no role here, no purpose here.

And yet it seemed that Nie Mingjue was not surprised to see him there.

He finished arranging the papers, closing the box, and then started to remove his clothing.

Meng Yao started, surprised.

“What?” Nie Mingjue asked over his shoulder. “Don’t pretend that this isn’t why you’re here.”

Meng Yao supposed he deserved that.

The last time they had been intimate was before he had departed the Nie sect’s base camp at Hejian, heading towards Langya – or perhaps more accurately, that had been the last time they had had sex. There was a certain intimacy in the way Nie Mingjue had rushed to save him, even after he had seen him murder a man in cold blood; an intimacy in the way Meng Yao had used the affection of the lover he had had to work hard to coax into bed despite his reservations to his own advantage, to cut off his spiritual energy using the same technique Nie Mingjue had himself taught him in order to protect himself from any among the armies he led – many of them imperfect men, Nie Mingjue conceded, but war against a larger, more well-armed foe was not a time when they could afford to be picky – that might think themselves permitted to take liberties.

There was intimacy, too, in their interaction in the Nightless City just the day before, when Meng Yao’s hands had run across Baxia in implicit threat, knowing that he was verbalizing his lover’s worst fears, the ones that tormented him in his darkest nightmares.

He had come here –

Yes, he supposed he had come here for this.

Nie Mingjue’s body had always been beautiful to him, strong and powerful – muscles meant for use rather than show, skin and sinews toughed by the power of his shining golden core, cultivation so strong that Meng Yao sometimes imagined he could feel the very heat of it radiating out of him. It had always been a thing of wonder to him that Nie Mingjue entrusted him with his body, that he let him have whatever control he wanted in order to feel safe – and Meng Yao craved control, craved power, with the endless greed of a man who would never be satisfied.

It was still beautiful now, even – as it was.

There was a bruise in the center of Nie Mingjue’s chest, still purple; Meng Yao did not need to measure it to know that it matched the size of Wen Ruohan’s foot, from when he had stepped on him, crushing him to the floor, the mark burned in deeper over the mark of Wen Ruohan’s fist – perhaps somewhere in that mess of tortured flesh there was even the mark of his own foot, which had first kicked Nie Mingjue down. There was a cut on his collarbone from where he had been hit by one of the pieces of the sword Meng Yao had tried to stab him with, which Nie Mingjue had shattered in the nick of time; all up and down his torso there were the marks of how Wen Ruohan had dragged him across the floor of the throne room.

Beneath those injuries, there were still more.

The marks of Yangquan: the frenzied battle fought to a loss, Wen cultivators throwing away their lives by the dozen to bring Nie Mingjue down alive. The transit back to the Nightless City afterwards, with Nie Mingjue bound and gagged and blindfolded, a helpless prisoner for any of the survivors to abuse as they would – Wen Ruohan had pretended to be above it all, both as they traveled and in the throne room, but Meng Yao had been his right hand; he had seen his erstwhile master disappear late in the night, only to return with blood on his hands, radiating satisfaction, and he had known the blood was Nie Mingjue’s.

The Sun Palace had only been the day before.

Even with Nie Mingjue’s strength, he would be a long time healing these wounds – and his strength was nowhere in evidence, still exhausted from the battle, from his rage, from everything that had happened. His bright and shining golden core was dull from strain and over-use; Nie Mingjue had used reserves that should not be touched to fight Wen Ruohan, drawing recklessly upon his future life, undoubtedly thinking that if he didn’t act at that time then he wouldn’t ever get a chance.

He was as weak now as he had been on that day in the battlefield in Langya, when Meng Yao had sealed his spiritual energy and frozen his body, when he had left him behind, left him kneeling there, utterly helpless before any enemy that might have found him.

Meng Yao had never found him more beautiful.

“Do as you will,” Nie Mingjue said once he was naked, even though Meng Yao was not – Meng Yao had liked that, before; he’d liked having Nie Mingjue unclothed and vulnerable before him while he remained garbed. It’d been a game they’d played.

This wasn’t a game.

Meng Yao stepped forward and reached out a hand, and Nie Mingjue did nothing to stop him. Might not be able to do anything to stop him, even if he wanted to. Maybe he did.

His hand hovered above the dark bruise in the center of Nie Mingjue’s chest, not yet touching. If he did, it would hurt.

“Are you sure?” he asked. He didn’t know why he asked it – Nie Mingjue had been the one to start this. And yet…

“Do it or don’t,” Nie Mingjue said, and his words could almost be said to be indifferent if it wasn’t for the agonizing pain apparent beneath them. Lack of resolve was never one of your faults.

Meng Yao suddenly became aware of a sudden feeling in his chest: that there was a choice ahead of him, but he couldn’t see what the options were. Couldn’t use his logical brain to decide between them, to coldly weigh the options both good and bad, the gains and the losses – he didn’t even know what the choice was, only that whatever that choice was, it was why he had come here tonight.

He let his hand touch Nie Mingjue’s chest.

The bruise was hot under his palm. Boiling blood, running through Nie Mingjue’s body – he’d choked on it during the battle, coughing it up in spurts.

The Sun Palace had been only the day before.

Meng Yao wondered if he would still taste the blood when he kissed him.

He didn’t get a chance to find out until the very end. Nie Mingjue allowed him to do as he liked to him, allowed him to touch him and move him, to fuck him and be fucked by him; he didn’t close his eyes once the entire time, and even when Meng Yao put him on his hands and knees to get away from that too-intense gaze, he only turned to regard him over his shoulder – but he didn’t lean forward to kiss him, not once, even though that had always been the thing that Meng Yao had always let Nie Mingjue take the lead on.

It was only at the very end, when they were both drained, that Nie Mingjue rolled over and leaned down and kissed him.

It was a softer kiss than Meng Yao had been expecting.

Maybe if it had been earlier it would have been different: more teeth, more passion, wet and sticky and filthy. Love and hate, rolled up into one.

This was gentle. A press of Nie Mingjue’s lips to his, neither questioning nor demanding – a stolen breath shared between them.

And then Nie Mingjue pulled away.

“I’ll see you at the ceremony at the end of the week,” he said, and got out of bed, starting to dress himself.

Meng Yao rolled over and looked at him, the ruined body that was so damaged that he had been unable to leave any further marks disappearing underneath clothing that left him looking as composed as he’d ever been. The cuts from the injuries to his head were hidden by his hairline, and the rest – torn lips, bruised cheek, marks on his neck in the shape of fingers – were easily overlooked as the unfortunate sequelae of battle and little more.

“Mingjue-xiong,” he said, a closeness he'd only allowed himself to use when it was just the two of them. He did not know what he meant to say after that.

Nie Mingjue didn’t stop. He always used to stop when Meng Yao said his name like that, intimate; he would always look a little soft, a little vulnerable – he would always listen intently.

He wasn’t listening now.

He was getting dressed, and once dressed, he picked up his box of papers and his saber and he slipped out of the room without a word, as if he’d been the one who had come to Meng Yao’s room rather than the other way around.

At the end of the week, Meng Yao got the name he’d always wanted, the sworn brotherhood oath he’d schemed for, the position in the Jin family that had been the pinnacle of his ambitions.

Nie Mingjue’s gaze went straight through him.

There hadn’t been a choice after all, he realized. By the time they got to that night, the choice had already been made.

It had only ever been a goodbye.

#mdzs #jin guangyao #meng yao #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #goodbye #nieyao

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princessjaqulinechess1031 · 3 years

Text

by the bedside

Characters: Damian Wayne, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Adrien Agreste, Jason Todd

Summary: A job goes wrong, and Marinette fears the worst until Damian wakes up.

Notes: Cross-posted on Archive of Our Own.

Sequel

"À la claire fontaine," a soft voice sung, pulling Damian out of his hazy daze. "M'en allant promener, j'ai trouvé l'eau si belle…"

Damian groaned and tried to turn on his side, to try and reach whatever it was singing, but the moment he did, the song stopped and was replaced by a gasp. Damian blinked his eyes open, ignoring the sting, and saw sitting next to him was a disheveled and red-eyed Marinette sitting next to him.

"Damian….," she whispered. Damian tried to reach out a hand to her, but found that it felt like lead. Moving it felt like a splitting pain, and it was weighed down by a cast. Damian shut his eyes and leaned back into the pillow. The building, the explosion, and –

"Adrien?" Damian croaked. Marinette nodded her head and took the hand not enclosed in a cast in her hands. She gave it a gentle squeeze and smiled.

"He's fine," Marinette said. "He's doing damage control with your brother."

Ah, yes. Dick. Nightwing had come to Paris as one Dick Grayson, something to do with Wayne Enterprises or other, when he had realized what Damian was up to. Robin had become an unofficial third member of Paris's own dynamic duo, Ladybug and Chat Noir once all their allies identities were exposed. Hawkmoth was long gone, so it was just petty criminals and the like, but adding a fourth member to that so suddenly had thrown everything off. Even if it was for one mission. A bomb was missed, and now –

"How long was I out?" Damian asked. He narrowed his eyes and looked around and saw a familiar location had enveloped him. "And ho-how did we get to the Batcave?"

"Two days," Marinette said breathlessly. "And a Zeta tube."

Ah, Zeta. He should have known. Damage control probably meant making sure Paris still had someone patrolling and keeping it's citizens safe.

"Nightwing insisted we bring you back here," Marinette said. "Said you should be with family."

That meant it was touch and go for a moment. Damian felt unfrazzled by the brush with death, how many times had he had one since he was born? Not to mention he actually had died once. He looked down at Marinette's outfit, and saw she was wearing the same purple sundress she had been wearing before her transformation two days ago.

"H-have you been here the whole time?" Damian asked softly. Marinette looked down at her fingers sheepishly.

"I-I had to be sure," Marinette said. "When the Lucky Charm didn't work, and –" Marinette cut herself off with a chortle of tears. "Ma moitié, I had to make sure you weren't dead."

Damian shut his eyes. This was what frazzled him. He knew in their line of work, one got hurt. Sometimes you didn't walk away. But to hurt Marinette, to make Marinette feel hopeless and lost as Damian fought on a hospital bed. Marinette was the one good, pure thing he had ever been able to keep, and to make her feel pain felt like a betrayal.

"You should have gone home," Damian said slowly. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

Marinette shook her head and squeezed his hand.

"If you expected me to do that, then you don't really know me."

Damian turned his head to the side, and tried to ignore the sharp burst of pain at the top of his back from the movement. But try as he might, he still winced. Marinette reached forward and put a hand on his shoulder to try and steady him again.

"Be still, ma moitié," Marinette said. "Monsieur Pennyworth said it was best for you to remain as you are."

Marinette was so polite, and despite Alfred's continued insistence, Marinette continued to call the man by his proper name. Damian found it was one of many adorable things about her to love.

"Nawaret aynaya," Damian said, "I promise I'm fine –"

"No you're not!" Marinette busted out. "You're hurt, you- you nearly died! All because I couldn't keep my team – I got distracted and –"

The young girl burst into tears, and Damian took his hand from her grasp and reached up to caress her cheek. Oh, Marinette. She always took ever mistake, every misstep, as some misgiving on her part. To Marinette, the safety of all Paris and all of her friends sat squarely on her shoulders. She might shoulder that responsibility with her brother Chat Noir, but Marinette would always hold it as a personal stake in her heart.

"It's not your fault, nawaret aynaya," Damian said softly. "This – this comes with the mask, you know that. If you had or had not been there, this would have happened eventually." He wiped away a tear form her cheek, and Marinette reached for the hand still caressing her. "I love you Marinette. And I know you would never hurt me. So stop blaming yourself."

Marinette gave a weak smile.

"If you expect me to stop just like that," she hiccupped, "then you don't really know me at all." She sucked in a deep breath and rubbed her thumb across his wrist.

"I love you too," she said. Damian's heart sang. For seventeen years he had waited for something and someone that would look at him and not see a monster. Not see an assassin or a danger or someone to fear. And by some miracle, that person turned out to be the love of his life.

And he'd be damned if he let her go.

"He's flatlining, I'm calling it," a voice said, breaking the moment around them. Damian retracted his hand and Marinette wiped away a last tear. In the doorway stood one Jason Todd, mask gone but still wearing spandex and his leather jacket. "Mari, time of death?"

Marinette bit her lip and looked down at her hands, but Damian could see the beginnings of a smile on her face. Jason stepped into the room and dragged a chair from the corner and sat down next to Marinette with a loud thud.

"Papa Bat should be here in a little bit, Brat Bat," Jason said. He took out his gun and began to fiddle with it, probably to clean it since he pulled out a white cloth from his pocket. Damian frowned.

"I'm not a brat," Damian said. Jason rolled his eyes.

"You might be seventeen, but you're still a brat sometimes," Jason said. Marinette looked up from her hands, that familiar mischief shining in her eyes.

"You're kinda. Sometimes," Marinette said softly. Jason laughed and slung an arm around the girl's shoulder.

"Ah! I got the girlfriend on my side!" Jason said. "I win!"

Normally Damian would keep going and insist he wasn't a brat, but Jason was as transparent as a plane of glass. Jason was trying to cheer up Marinette with this joke, and Damian was not going to try and ruin that. Marinette was going to be happy and not worry too much about Damian, that was his mission.

"What did you win?" Adrien asked, popping his head into the med bay. His blonde hair was still damp, meaning he probably just got out of a post-patrol shower. He came up behind his adopted sister and hugged her from behind, placing a kiss to her temple.

"Marinette admitted Damian was a brat sometimes," Jason said.

"I am not!"

"Yeah, you are," Adrien said. Tim and Dick entered the room, and Tim was texting someone on his phone. Probably Stephanie, telling her he was okay. Dick pulled a chair over to the other side of Damian's bed and leaned back, his long legs stretching out underneath the medical bed.

"Be nice to the injured child," Dick said. Damian frowned.

"I am not a child," Damian said. "I am the same age you were when you went solo, Grayson."

Dick raised a brow. "And? I was a child then, henceforth, you're a child now."

Damian furrowed his brow again and Marinette laughed softly, but once again he did not fight. If it made Marinette smile, it was worth it.

His father finally materialized, Alfred behind him. His father was as stoic as ever, his eyes steeled and guarded thanks to the new visitors to the Cave. Despite the Miraculous duo having been unofficial members of the Batfamily for a year and a half, Father still seemed opposed to giving them official membership. Damian wondered if it had anything to do with Marinette being his girlfriend. He hoped not.

"Master Damian," Alfred said, and a phantom smile overtook his professional form. "I see you are recovering well. I assume Miss Marinette has made sure you've stayed where you should?"

"He only woke up a little while ago, Monsieur," Marinette said. Her lips upturned wickedly. "The real problems in that regard have not started yet."

Adrien laughed and hugged his sister tighter.

"Trust me, mi'lady is here is plenty capable of keeping Damian in line."

Once upon a time, Damian had been jealous of Adrien's nickname for Marinette. Now Damian knew better. Adrien may have once been desperately in love with Marinette and Ladybug, but once one Kagami entered the picture it was game over. Now, the nickname was mere relic of that time and a testament to the depth of their bond.

"I expect nothing less," Alfred said. Father stood at the foot of his bed. He was still dressed in his suit, but his cowl was down, revealing his identity. That made Adrien and Marinette's lack of inclusion even more baffling – they knew who all of them were, the biggest secret they had.

"Are you alright Damian?" Father asked. Damian nodded.

"Yes Father," Damian said. A sigh of relief left his father's form. Despite medical evidence, after everything that happened with Jason, Father would never be certain of his kid's state until he heard from them exactly.

"Well, I mean, wasn't he just fighting with Jason?" Tim asked. He looked up from his phone. "Me and Dick heard them outside. If he's in a fighting mood, he's fine."

"I almost died, and you guys treat me this way," Damian said. Jason rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, this is how we show our love," Jason said. He eyes Dick. "Except for Dick. He does the whole normal shit. Damn well-adjusted asshole."

"Damn non-well-adjusted asshole," Dick shot back. Marinette giggled. Father turned to Marinette and Adrien.

"You two can stay here as long as you need, to make sure Damian is okay," Father said. Damian tried not to let his surprise be palpable. Marinette and Adrien were barely allowed in the Batcave half the time, now Father was offering to let them stay while Damian recovered? What had happened in the time he was asleep? "You can Zeta home for clothes, if you need them. But we have enough clothes that might fit you Adrien, and I'm sure Cass left some things behind before going to Hong Kong."

"Thank you, Monsieur Wayne," Adrien said for the both of them. Marinette smiled and then turned her attention back to Damian.

Damian for seventeen years wondered what it would be like to be purely loved.

Now he knew. It came from Marinette Dupain-Cheng, that kind of true love

#miraculous ladybug #batman #BatFam #daminette #Damian Wayne #miraculous marinette #marinette dupain cheng #damian x marinette #angst #fluffy angst #hurt and comfort

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theeslytherinslut · 3 years

Text

12 Grimmauld Place (5/?)

Pairings: Sirius Black (post Azkaban) x reader, Remus Lupin x reader’s brother, Sirius Black x Slytherin!reader

Word Count: 2,909

Warnings: lil angsty

A/N: The longest chapter yet and it’s entirely in Sirius’ perspective! Hope I wasn’t too far off from his inner monologue. Also lots of spicy Tonks cause I love her.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6

Sirius’ POV

Feeling intrusive, I caught Tonks’ eyes as Remus and Y/N hugged each other, her sobbing into his shoulder. With a quick twitch, I signaled to her that we let them have a moment. She nodded and followed me into the living room.

“Still haven’t gotten around to cleaning anything, have you?” she teased, gesturing to the layer of dirt and dust that seemed to cover every inch of the house.

“Whenever you feel up to joining in...” I teased back.

“Well, it looks like you’ll have Y/N to help you with that,” she responded, raising her eyebrows at me in a funny way.

“What?” I asked.

“Y/N,” she looked at me meaningfully. But not knowing what she meant, I stared blankly back. “You men--it’s a wonder you make it up in the morning by yourselves...Obviously, her flat is no longer safe. She’ll have to stay out of sight for a while too. What better place to both be safe and stay out of sight than here?”

“Stay here?” I asked dumbly. Sure, I figured she’d stay the night, but it never occurred to me that this would be the best place for her. But now that Tonks pointed it out, it did make sense. Not like she could go back to her blown flat; besides, she was vulnerable there. Vulnerable and alone.

“Yes, cousin. Are you alright?” she laughed at my bewildered state, but I didn’t find it so funny. It was difficult to ignore my feelings for her when I wasn’t seeing her every day. How was I supposed to manage now?

At school, it was easier to manage. In the hallways, I’d look at anyone but her, smirking at any girl I caught looking at me, any sort of distraction. But when Moony wanted to go have a chat with her, well, I’d have to plainly look away, instead contenting myself with glaring at passing male members of her house, daring any of them to speak up or look at her.

Remus had made his views very clear in the year of her arrival. He’d been gushing about since first year, always saying how she’d enjoy something or another. I still remember her terrified face during Sorting dissolving into a bright smile when her eyes found us seated at the Gryffindor table. Remus waved excitedly at her from his seat, the rest of us doing the same--all hoping she’d soon join us. However, upon seeing the rest of us with him, her face turned bright red, and her eyes went terrified once more. Before I could even shoot her a reassuring smile, she’d turned back to McGonagall. Unfortunately, she’d been placed in Slytherin, something we never let poor Moony forget. That night in the common rooms after everyone else had long gone to bed, he’d made us all swear to never lay a finger on her--to essentially be another three big brothers--never to look at her in any sort of way. Of course we all made the promise, but I couldn’t honor it.

I still found myself scouring the Great Hall for her face at mealtimes, ducking around shelves in the library in between classes looking for her. I always made sure to be on my best behavior in front of Remus, but behind his back, my eyes couldn’t wait to hungrily devour his sister. Her witty remarks as some Gryffindor teased her, her filthy mouth when a fellow Slytherin made the wrong comment--and just when I thought I couldn’t fall for her any more deeply, I’d caught her hexing a Gryffindor in the corridor. The poor bloke came out a few seconds later, clutching his jaw and nose, both of which were expanding at an alarming rate. She came skipping round the next moment, smiling broadly at her achievement. It was all I could do not to kiss her right then.

“Sirius?” Tonks asked, pulling me from my memories.

“Sorry, yes?” I asked, trying not to appear as anxious about it all as I was.

“What’s your problem?” she asked. Looking at her, I weighed my options. On the one hand, the only living soul who knew about how I felt about Y/N was now no longer, in fact, living. On the other, keeping it such a secret allowed me to continue in my friendship with Moony. Lovely as she was, I couldn’t have anything come between us. Not when we were the only ones left.

“I--” I started to begin the story, but upon remembering James, I stopped. “Nothing.”

“Sirius,” Tonks started, an offended look on her face. “I am your cousin. You tell me right now, or I’ll go get Remus, and he will.”

“You would, wouldn’t you,” I said, a fond smile coming on my face as I looked at her.

“I most certainly would.” she threatened. With her hands on her hips, I was suddenly reminded strongly of Mrs. Weasley, which only made my smile bigger. “Now, go on and tell me, you grinning git!”

“Alright, lower your voice. Can you keep a secret?” I asked, looking at my hands.

“Course I can,” she indignantly responded.

“Well, there’s a, a slight--er, problem, with Y/N staying,” I said quietly, keeping an ear out for her sniffles.

“Problem? What problem? Not like you don’t have enough rooms. Or is it you fancy her or something?” she said, laughing. I kept quiet, and after a moment or two, realization began dawning on her face.

“Oh, but Sirius, she’s Remus’ sister!” Tonks said, looking at me scoldingly.

“Don’t you think I know that, Nymphadora?” I barked, angry that she responded the way I feared.

At the sound of her birth name, her hair began burning bright red, and I retreated.

“Sorry, it’s just--I know, okay? I’m very much well aware of the fact she is Remus’ sister. Why do you think I’ve kept my distance all these years?” I said.

“Likely cause you were in Azkaban,” she pointed out. I gave her a nasty look, and she smiled softly. “Next time, don’t use my full name.”

I rolled my eyes and began anxiously pacing the floors. This was wrong; this was all wrong. The one girl Remus said was off-limits. All he let me get away with all those years at Hogwarts. With a fresh pang of guilt, I recalled a put-out looking Remus looking at me while I talked to a tall, blonde Ravenclaw during Charms. It was only years after I learned he’d had a thing for her--but to my defense, I’d have backed off without a complaint if he’d only told me.

“All these years?” Tonks said, liking working things out in her head. “Surely that doesn’t mean...since Hogwarts?”

“Yes,” I admitted miserably. “Since her first year.”

“First year?” she shouted.

“Keep down your voice.” I hissed at her, pausing to hear Remus speaking softly to Y/N.

“Sorry,” she winced. “But really, since first year and you’ve never said anything?”

“Well, I couldn’t. Remus made us all swear to leave her alone--and bloody hell, was that a job. After school, it was easier, once I was able to keep my distance. Out of sight, out of mind, as the Muggles say. Sorry, you know how Arthur loves his Muggles.” I laughed as she gave me a funny look. “And then--as you so astutely pointed out--I was in Azkaban. So it really hasn’t been a problem these last few years.”

“But now she’s living in your house,” she pointed out.

“Precisely,” I responded, running a hand over the scruff on my face. She remained quiet, looking thoughtful for a few minutes before responding.

“Well, this is just bloody ridiculous. You’ve got to do something,” she said.

“Do something? Do what? How could I betray Remus like that? He’s the only one left, Tonks. How am I supposed to betray him this way, especially after James, and then all the time apart, and then managing to let Peter slip through our fingers? I can’t do this to him.” I reasoned, beginning to harden my resolve.

“Oh, you are bloody ridiculous, you know that?” she sighed, running her fingers through her now bubblegum-pink hair.

“Excuse me?” I said, stopping my pacing to glare at her.

“Bloody ridiculous!” she repeated, “Sirius, that was years ago. That was a feeble promise forced to be made by an older brother before his friends got horny and couldn’t think straight.”

“What?” I said, pulling a face as I considered her words.

“Remus made you all promise that so young so she wouldn’t become a plaything of yours, especially when the both of you turned out to be such whores.” Tonks laughed.

“Whores? I was not a whore! And certainly not James, why after fifth year I don’t think I ever heard so much as a comment about any girl besides Lily.” I defended the both of us, vaguely aware of how I’d ridiculously brought my hands to my hips in indignation.

“Sirius, you’re family, you know I love you--but Merlin, you were the biggest sodding slut the whole of Gryffindor has ever seen! I’d bet there isn’t a room in the castle you haven’t done something naughty in.” she laughed once more. I opened my mouth to protest, but couldn’t come up with a room fast enough--only proving her point.

“Now, you two are not schoolchildren anymore. You are a grown man, Sirius. There’s no need to honor such a trivial and unnecessary pact.” She took a step towards me and put her hand on my cheek, dropping her voice. “Think of how much you’ve suffered, Sirius. Think of what you’ve lost; think of who you have lost. Remus has suffered the same loss. He lost James just as you did, but he also lost you. He thought you’d gone bad, thought Peter dead--James and Lily were dead. And then, years later, you return--innocent. You came back to him, and he, you. Things like that change a man. I’m sure there’s no one on this planet he trusts more with his sister than you. Don’t sacrifice your happiness for one more minute, cousin. Especially not when things look so similar to how they looked before, back when it all went wrong. Don’t waste another minute; I’m not going to either.”

Shaken at her words, I remained quiet for a few moments. So much had changed since that night in Gryffindor tower. Maybe he wouldn’t mind the idea so much anymore. Besides, he trusted me enough to keep her safe.

My happiness...I’d never given the idea much thought, never considered it much of a possibility after being imprisoned. Never had reason to since. But now, my brain was swimming with possibilities.

“Hang on,” I said, remembering the end of her monologue. “You aren’t going to either?”

She cursed under her breath before looking at me.

“Noticed that, did you?” she grimaced. I merely looked at her expectantly. “Alright, fine. Can you keep a secret?”

“I mean, if I outed you, you could just out me,” I pointed out.

“True, alright. Well, it’s Remus,” she whispered, avoiding my eyes.

“You and Remus?” I asked, frowning in thought.

“And what about it?” she said, looking at me testily.

“Well, nothing really. It’s just I never thought about it...are you sure?” I asked after a moment. I loved them both, but the thought had never even crossed my mind once. Surely if there was something between my cousin and my best friend, I’d have suspected something by now.

“Of course I’m sure, you git,” she hissed at me.

“So then why aren’t you together?” I asked. I couldn’t think of any reason they shouldn’t be if they both felt that way. Not like I had a sit down with the lot of them about not dating her.

“Because he too is being ridiculous. Refuses to even look at me most of the time. Says I’m too young, says I deserve better than him.”

“Better than Moony? Good luck with that one, cousin.” I laughed, shaking my head at the thought.

“That’s what I keep saying, but he’ll hear none of it. Says I deserve better than a shabby, poor old werewolf.” she rolled her eyes.

“Is that really what he thinks of himself as? A shabby old werewolf?” I asked, sad for my friend. If anybody deserved happiness, it was Remus. Before she could answer, we heard him calling.

“Pads?” I suddenly heard. He entered the room alone, smiling softly at the two of us.

“Hey, mate.” I smiled at him, opening my arms once more. Remus had always grudgingly accepted my affection, which only made me more inclined to give it knowing it bothered him. And as I knew he would, he rolled his eyes and smiled as he accepted.

“Perhaps we should stay...” Remus said, looking to Tonks and then back to the kitchen.

“Ooh no, you don’t. We’ve got to go, cut up sister or not. Besides, who better to take care of her than Sirius? Isn’t as if he’s got anything better to do. Perhaps she could persuade him in actually cleaning something in this wretched house.” Tonks added, gesturing to filth. I glared at her but remained silent; she was right. The house was filthy, but it was painful enough to be here, let alone restore the bloody thing.

“Suppose you’re right...” Remus said after a moment, “Take good care of her, Pads.”

“Course I will, Moony. Always took good care of you, didn’t I?” I jeered.

“Not bloody likely! And don’t you go taking credit for that, that was all Madam Pomfrey,” he scolded, wagging his finger at me like he used to as a Prefect. “The group of you could hardly stand to sit still in the hospital wing for half an hour, let alone get me through a transformation!” As Remus told his story, Tonks looked at him with a funny look, and with an alarming pang, I realized Y/N often shot me the very same look. Did that mean she felt for me as Tonks felt for Remus?

“That is bang out of order, mate! I worked hard at becoming an Animagi! Took years, it did. Don’t remember seeing Madam Pomfrey out trotting about with a teenage werewolf. Besides, kept your arse out of trouble!” I bantered back, smiling jovially.

“Oh, it just as easily could’ve gotten me in trouble,” Remus shook his head at the memories.

“But it didn’t, did it?” I teased, “You know you loved it just as much as we did, Moony. Try as you might to remain all high and mighty. Ickle Prefect Moony,” I jeered, poking at him as he laughed.

“Alright, alright. C’mon, let’s go before the two of you really start down memory lane. We’ve got to meet Dumbledore.” Tonks said, gently steering Remus towards the door.

“Hang on, you’re going to Hogwarts?” I asked. I couldn’t help but be jealous.

“Briefly. That wretch woman gets nosy when we’re there for more than a quick pop in.” Remus said; the disgusted look on his face told me he meant Umbridge.

“Ah, well, say hello to Harry for me if you see him. I hear the little scamp likes roaming round nearly as much as we did.” I smiled after them.

“That he does; I still remember catching him with that map...I don’t even know how he got ahold of it. James would’ve been so proud, out in the dark corridors taunting Snape. Like father, like son.” Remus smiled fondly at the memory before hanging his head slightly and ambling off to join Tonks. My chest hurt at the mention of James and Harry, and I was once more painfully reminded of my solitude. What I wouldn’t give to see James again...

I followed them to the door, waving goodbye as the two of them popped out of sight. I stared longingly at the spot where they’d disapparted.

Standing in place, I gave myself a moment to gather my thoughts before returning to the kitchen.

Tonks had made many good points, but were they just good because I was looking for any kind of reason to be with her? Did they actually make sense, or was I just looking for an out?

Remus had only made us promise once in the wee hours of the morning in the Gryffindor common room. Besides, if family was off-limits, well, that made him a right hypocrite, didn’t it? He did leave her here with me though, with the promise I’d take good care of her. That meant, to some degree, Remus trusted me with her. Would I be breaking that trust by going with my gut with Y/N?

Good and evil continued to argue on my shoulders, but if I waited for a decision, I might be here for years.

What’s more, was she even interested in me? I mean, sure, I’d caught her staring in school--but that was years ago; a lot had changed since then. But then there was the blush that always colored her cheeks every time I said something cheeky, the relief on her face when I’d met her in the port key room. Surely she wouldn’t let someone she detested bathe her, right?

I resolved to simply flirt. If that went well, then she felt something too. And if she felt something too...well, let me not get ahead of myself.

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Taglist: @geeksareunique @fredweasleysbitchh @green-intervention @stopbeingcurious

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marvelyningreen · 3 years

Text

Andante

[Peter Maximoff x reader (X-Men: Apocalypse)

Summary: When an injury brings Peter’s superhuman speed to a screeching halt, you figure he could use some company and cheering up.

Warnings: mild language

Notes: could be interpreted as romantic or platonic, if that’s more your speed]

You hurry in from the rain, pausing just long enough to shake off your umbrella on the doorstep before closing the door behind you. You take a moment to wipe your shoes on the mat in an attempt to keep them from squeaking in the tiled halls of the mansion.

The floorplan of this rebuilt version is practically identical to the original. The design and decor are much the same, too. Still… You feel a bit like a stranger, or maybe the mansion itself does.

With everything else that’d happened, you hadn’t really had a chance to process your own experience that day. One second, you were trimming the hedges by the mansion’s front steps. The next, you were a hundred yards away, surrounded by the students and staff, and the mansion was exploding, and suddenly there in your midst was your childhood best friend – Peter Maximoff, all grown up.

It’s funny how someone you knew for such a short time could’ve made such an impact on you. Really, you and Peter only knew each other for two years. It baffled the teachers how a quiet goody-two-shoes like you could be thick as thieves with resident mischief-maker Peter Maximoff, but you were practically inseparable. Perhaps it was partly due to some truth in the old saying about opposites attracting. But there was more to it than that. You and Peter shared a secret.

Your sporadic telekinesis had nothing on Peter’s incredible speed, but he never seemed to mind. You were both just so happy to finally have someone who understood, who you didn’t have to hide from. Those two years were some of the best of your life.

And years passed, and you grew up. You kept your abilities hidden, but you kept the memory of Peter with you. You’d think of him often, hoping that he was doing well, wherever he was. You never expected to see him again.

Lost in thought, Hank hurries around a corner and nearly bowls you over. You both apologize to each other, laughing, and continue on your respective ways.

It feels strange being back here after… Well, after everything. Everyone is doing their best to settle back into a routine, but it isn’t quite working yet. Maybe it won’t ever feel the same.

The students either converse too loudly or are oddly subdued, with very little in between. Scott Summers’ group of close friends is never far from his side, and the faculty likewise seem to hover around the professor. It’s difficult not to dwell on how bad things had gotten, and how much worse everything could’ve been.

And if it’s difficult for you, you can only imagine how it must be for the person you’re here to see. You pause to knock politely at his door, and the voice that answers sounds oddly terse.

“You can come in.”

You slip into the room to find Peter scowling morosely out the window. He’s still laid up in bed, his broken leg in a cast and propped up on a pillow. He’s got a wicked case of bedhead, and there are dark rings under his eyes. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so tired.

There’s an odd sound you can’t quite place – like the low hum of a fan or the purring of a cat – and you realize that it’s just Peter drumming his fingers restlessly on his nightstand at impossible speeds. He turns his head, and when he sees that it’s you walking through the door, his expression shifts into one of relief.

“Oh, thank God,” he says, “I thought it was somebody coming to make sure I’m still “resting.” C’mere! Have a seat!”

You grab a nearby chair and drag it closer to his bedside. You hate to see Peter cooped up and frustrated like this, but it’s good to see him, period. You don’t like to think about what could’ve happened to him in Cairo.

When you look back up at Peter, his hair is smoothed down neatly. You snort involuntarily. If he's feeling well enough to be vain, it must be a good sign.

“How are you holding up?” you ask.

Peter slumps against his stack of pillows and groans dramatically, letting his head fall back.

“I’m bored out of my mind. Do you know that they’re not letting me walk for a week? A whole week! Something about a risk of my leg not healing right if I move too fast on it. I said I’d walk like a normal person, but they apparently don’t trust me. Can you believe that? Don’t answer that. So I asked them just to drug me, knock me out for the rest of the week so I can get it over with, but they won’t do that either. This blows.”

It’s hard not to smile, but it’s just so good to hear his voice. And, damn, people say you talk too fast. You’d forgotten that Peter was the true motor-mouth. Maybe he’s where you picked it up from. Though he still looks annoyed, Peter seems a little more relaxed after all that. Apparently he needed someone to vent to.

He rolls his head to one side to look at you, and his brows furrow. “Hey, are you okay? You look tired.”

“I look tired?” you say, “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“I haven’t, actually, because the mirror’s all the way over there, and I’m stuck in bed. You wouldn’t guess that having to sit alone with your own thoughts would wear you out, but apparently it does.”

You’d had a feeling that the broken leg isn’t all that’s weighing on his mind. There’s still the whole Magneto business.

You almost ask him about it, but you think better of it. Peter’s got a lot to mull over on that front. If he wants to talk about it, you’ll be there to listen, but you don’t want to bring it up when he doesn’t have any way to exit the conversation if he needed to. You decide to change the topic slightly.

“Listen,” you say, “I never got a chance to thank you. You saved my life. You saved so many people. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t turned up at the mansion when you did.”

Peter ducks his head a bit as he smiles, probably pleased to get a little recognition. There hadn’t been much time for gratitude in the moment. There hadn’t been much time for anything, really. And there certainly hadn’t been time to reconnect.

You’d chased after Scott and his friends into the wreckage, trying to make sure none of them got hurt, and then things went from bad to worse. Suddenly, you found yourself tagging along with these immensely powerful teenagers on a fly-by-night rescue mission. It’s a good thing you did, too. Who else was gonna fly that getaway plane?

Your own mutant abilities had never been particularly strong, not in a combat sense. You’d learned to be a pilot in an effort to make yourself useful. You just hadn’t expected it to pay off in a situation like that.

“What can I say? Right time, right place… Right speed.” Peter’s grin turns rueful as he glances down at his busted leg. “I mean, by all rights, I should be thanking you, too.”

You’d been trying not to dwell on that whole experience. It makes you feel a little sick to remember seeing that familiar silver streak darting around while Apocalypse was tossed in the air like a ragdoll, and then feeling the hope choked out of you as you heard Peter scream in pain.

You don’t know how you managed to scramble down out of that second story ruin after Hank and Scott without hurting yourself any worse, but you did. You tried to shake it from your mind – the feeling of shrapnel and energy battering the telekinetic field you’d struggled to maintain around Peter and Mystique.

You clear your throat, as though that’ll somehow clear out the memory as well. “Yeah… I guess sometimes you don’t know what you’re capable of until it’s literally do-or-die.”

“I don’t just mean Cairo.” Peter shakes his head. “Well, that, too. But I don’t just mean that. I mean when we were kids. You always had my back.”

Just before middle school, Peter’s family had moved away. You weren’t quite sure why, but it seemed like something had happened and Peter wouldn’t talk about it. He spent his entire last week in town with you, and on the very last day he hugged you tightly and promised that he’d come back and visit if he could.

You never heard from him again.

It was only years later that you’d put the pieces together – the Maximoffs’ sudden move, the well-dressed men turning up at the school and asking strange questions. Peter must’ve gotten caught using his powers, and his mother packed up the whole family and fled to protect him.

“For weeks, months after we moved away, Mom was so scared. She wouldn’t let me out of the house. She thought that, any second, somebody was gonna show up and… I dunno, take me away, I guess. But I wasn’t worried. I was a cocky little shit, y’know?”

You snort. “‘Was?’ Pretty sure that part of your personality hasn’t changed.”

Peter laughs, but it fades quickly.

“I heard that people came to our old school looking for me. And, hey, they never found me and Mom, so I figured you must’ve covered for me.”

If there was one thing you were grateful to your younger self for, it was your instinctive distrust of these suspicious strangers.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” you say, and Peter nods.

“I knew you wouldn’t. But this one day, something hit me. What if they found out that you were a mutant, too?” Peter shakes his head, biting his lip. “I was terrified. I thought they were gonna find you, and… and I don’t know what I thought they’d do to you.”

You feel cold all of a sudden. That thought hadn’t occurred to you. You’d been so focused on trying to keep Peter safe that you never once considered that you might be in danger, yourself. All those news articles about what Bolivar Trask had been up to ten years ago come flooding into your mind. You brush them aside and focus on what Peter’s saying now.

“I wanted to run back there, make sure you were alright; maybe – I don’t know – take you with me and run away so we’d both be safe. I actually bought one of those AM radios, if you can believe it. Every night, I’d use the skip to listen to the news back there. I never heard anything about you, so I had to make myself believe it meant that you were okay. Otherwise I would’ve gone crazy, y’know?”

He laughs again, but it sounds a little shaky.

“Yeah, I know,” you say quietly. The air in the room feels sorta heavy now. Damn it, you’d come here to cheer Peter up, and it’s about time you get to it. You change topics with all the grace of a sledgehammer. “Speaking of none of this, I brought you something.”

Peter immediately perks up. You rummage in your backpack and pull out a box of Nutty Buddy bars.

“I remember these where your favorite when we were kids. I didn’t know if you still liked them, so I brought some Star Crunch, too. But you don’t have to-”

Peter seems to blur for a moment, and suddenly both boxes are torn open and several wrappers are arcing their way into the trash can. Peter lets out a satisfied sigh. You might’ve remembered his favorites, but you’d forgotten his habit of absolutely inhaling them.

“Okay, I guess I shouldn’t have worried,” you say.

“What else you got in that bag?” Peter asks. “It can’t all be snack cakes. Unless it is…?”

He’s joking, but you can tell he wouldn’t be disappointed if the answer was yes. You heft your heavily-loaded backpack onto the edge of the bed.

“I figured you’d be bored, so I brought some books over in case you… What?”

Peter never had a great poker face. You can tell that he’s definitely trying to smile, but that expression is a pained grimace. He laughs ruefully.

“I might not be able to walk, but my hands still work. And my eyes. Did you know I can read a whole bookshelf in two hours?”

“Oh…”

You hadn’t thought of that. You look down, crestfallen. Of course, if something can be done at speed, that’s how Peter will do it. So that rules out all the other usual time-killers – crosswords or jigsaw puzzles or craft projects.

But you remember Peter enjoying some things that can’t be sped through – live music being the main one. You start to wonder about the logistics of sneaking Peter out to take him to a concert or a play or something, but that’d be difficult to pull off without the professor catching you. Hmm…

Peter’s brow furrows for a second, and then his expression brightens.

“Hey, why don’t you read them to me?”

You blink in surprise. “What, me?”

“Yeah, you. Who else?”

At this prospect, you’re suddenly rethinking everything. For all Peter might call himself a loser, you’d always seen him as infinitely cooler than yourself.

“I don’t know. These are some of my own books, and I don’t know if you’ll actually like any of them.” You can feel yourself blushing preemptively, certain he’ll judge your taste in literature. “Maybe if I run to the library instead-”

“No, don’t go!” Peter interrupts. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there, and I’m sick of being alone. Come on, read me your nerd books. Please?”

He turns those big, pretty, puppy-dog eyes on you, and it’d be almost impossible to say no, even if you wanted to. Which you don’t. You sigh, smiling at him.

“Alright, you win,” you say, “But you have to at least pick which one.”

His face brightens into a full thousand-watt grin. “Done!”

Peter blurs once more as he shuffles through your selection of books. Then suddenly he’s still again, tilting his head as he studies a stout little paperback.

“Hey, didn’t they make a movie out of this?”

He tosses it to you and settles back against the pillows, watching you expectantly. You pull up your legs to sit cross-legged on the chair and take a deep breath. Here goes.

“‘Carl Conrad Coreander – Old Books.’ This inscription could be seen on the glass door of a small shop…”

You read on, interrupted only by the odd quip or question from Peter. You hardly mind his commentary. You’re just happy that the story seems to be entertaining him. He’s a far cry from the agitated ball of nerves he’d been when you walked in.

You glance over at the clock and see that two hours have gone by. You wonder if Peter would mind you taking a quick intermission to give your voice a break. But as you turn to ask him, you fall silent.

Peter’s head is lolled back on the pillows, his eyes closed, his lips parted slightly. His chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths – sound asleep.

You smile fondly at him. Poor guy. He really must’ve been exhausted.

Telekinetically, you switch off the lamp. The atmosphere in the room softens to the grey light filtering in from the rainy day outside. There. That’s more conducive to sleeping.

You make note of the page you’d left off on and close the book, picking up your copy of Howl’s Moving Castle instead. Moving as carefully and quietly as you can to keep from waking Peter, you make your way over to a more comfortable spot on the window seat.

You’d hate for Peter to think you’d run out on him after he fell asleep. You’ll stick around. And if he needs anything when he wakes up, you’ll be here. That’s what old friends are for.

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #peter maximoff fluff #x men fanfiction #fanfiction #okay listen XP #we’re in the middle of a pandemic #and if writing something silly and self indulgent will cheer me up #(and hopefully entertain other people)#then I’m gonna write it XP #just shouting into the void #peter maximoff fanfiction

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

Hope on Board

Chapter 8 – Walking My Baby Back Home

Chapter 1 Chapter 7

“Are you sure you should be lifting that?” Dick asked anxiously. “Maybe I should…” He reached out and grabbed the bolts of fabric out of Marinette’s hands. Marinette squeaked in surprise as the weight of the fabric was suddenly lifted, nearly falling backward from the shift in weight. Dick groaned under the unexpected weight, not expecting fabric to weigh so much.

“What are you doing?” She asked amused.

“You’re pregnant. You shouldn’t be carrying this much weight,” Dick insisted. “How were you carrying this much weight? I swear this weighs more than you do.”

Marinette chuckled. “This? This is nothing. I grew up in a bakery and helped stock the flour. Do you know how much one of those bags weighs?” She looked away with an indulgent smile to look through more fabric.

Dick cocked his head to the side to think about her question. How much did industrial sized bags of flour weigh? He honestly had no idea. But the idea of Marinette, little tiny, pixie-sized Marinette carrying heavy loads didn’t seem possible. “No. How much?”

Marinette blinked a few times not expecting the response to her rhetorical question. She wrinkled her nose as she thought about it. Dick smiled at her expression, wishing his hands were free to pull her into a tight hug and snuggle. “Um... I don't know in American measurements. But a lot. Like… 1000 hooves.”

Dick blinked at her a few times this time. He looked at her uncertainly. Was that a French term? Was it a mistranslation? That couldn’t have been what she meant to say. It had to be a baking term. “Hooves?”

“I don't know. I made up a unit, just like Americans do. So, 1000 hooves.” She nodded in confirmation.

Dick leaned his head back to fully laugh, eyes crinkling, chest rocking. Marinette took a moment from her search to appreciate how gorgeous he was when he laughed. “Wow. That much huh?” She nodded solemnly. “I apologize for doubting you. Now quit foal-ing around. What do you think of these fabrics? Yay or neigh?”

Marinette stared at him open mouthed for a few seconds. “No. Nope. Nuh uh. I already have to deal with Papa and Adrien. You are not allowed to make puns too.”

“So you’re saying I need to reign it in or you’ll bolt?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. She rolled her eyes at him but couldn’t stop herself from giggling and he laughed again. He stared at her for a few more seconds before sighing. “I wish I wasn’t carrying these so I could kiss you.”

Marinette looked back in surprise until a sultry smile overtook her lips. “You could always set them down on the cutting table over there, you know.”

Dick followed where she was pointing and grinned back. He quickly made his way to the table to drop off the bolts and rushed back to her side, picking her up as he rushed to her, then backed up between two overstuffed aisles. Marinette let out a surprised giggle that turned into a full belly laugh at his excitement. Dick’s watched her dreamily as she laughed. “I hope our baby laughs like you.”

Marinette quieted immediately and looked at him in awe for a few moments. She smiled lovingly and traced the smile on his lips. “I hope the baby has your smile,” she looked up to peer in his eyes, “and your eyes. You have the most beautiful eyes and the most captivating smile. Your smile makes it hard to remember my name sometimes.”

Dick gazed at her, studying her features and thinking again how lucky he was to have her. How amazing she was, kind, thoughtful, brilliant, creative, brave… he could list attributes all day. “I like your eyes and smile better. I guess we’ll have to have a second so they can have yours. And that one can have my laugh.”

Marinette gaped at him, her face turned deep red. “Um… how about we get this one out before we plan the next one.”

Dick’s face fell. He’d pushed too far. He’d gotten carried away again. He was going to scare her at this rate. He stopped when he felt Marinette’s kiss on his lips. He melted into the kiss and moved to deepen it. She pulled away after a few moments. “I like that combination though. And once I don’t feel like throwing up constantly, maybe we can think about starting to practice for the next one.”

Dick’s face lit up and he nodded excitedly, but quickly became concerned. “How are you feeling now? Need to sit down? Need water or food?”

Marinette giggled and pecked his lips quickly. “I’m okay for now, but I anticipate needing something in my stomach in like… twenty minutes.”

Dick furrowed his brow. “We should probably get going then. It’ll take that long to find someplace and order.”

Marinette looked around anxiously. “Good point, but I’m not done. It’s… I need more time. I don’t want to have to come back. I’m actually feeling not terrible for a few moments today. I can push it a bit.”

Dick shook his head and leaned his forehead on hers. “The baby doesn’t like being pushed. It’s quite insistent. I’ll grab something quick and not messy from the store next door. That should give you a bit more time, right?”

Marinette looked up at him relieved. “Yes, thank you. A snack should help.”

“I mean, I’m already right here,” he gave her a sly grin. She cocked her head to the side in confusion. “I’m a snack and I’m right here for you.”

“Oh my God,” her cheeks flushed and she buried her head in his chest. She shook her head and gave him a playfully dirty look as he folded over in laughter. “Believe me, I agree. You are. But, how about one the baby can appreciate, not just me?”

He smiled and kissed her temple. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay. It should just be a few more minutes. Like… thirty minutes?” She offered apologetically.

It was not. It was two hours and several snacks later by the time she had finally compared, sketched, tested, and finally selected the fabrics and taken them to get cut. But that wasn’t the end of it like Dick expected. That just led to the next phase in shopping, the accessories. She scrounged through all of the buttons, zippers, clasps, inserts, thread, and ribbon.

Dick had never known there was this much thought in an outfit. And this was supposedly just a quick trip. He couldn’t imagine a full trip. He would have to make sure to be busy when that happened… unless she wanted his company or asked, in which case he’d say yes. He sighed at himself. He was whipped. He looked over at Marinette’s shining face and couldn’t bring himself to care that he was. He would happily be whipped for her as long as he got to see that smile and be a cause for it. No matter what she said, he hoped their baby had her smile. All of them.

“Hey, there’s a good little diner around here. Want to get lunch there?” He asked when she was finally done and had arranged for them to drop it off later.

Marinette nodded happily. “Yes. I think the little one wants food now. No more snacks.” She absentmindedly rubbed her flat stomach. The motion made Dick smile. She was already so protective of the baby, which he could understand, he was too, of the baby and her. He pulled her closer into his side and leaned down to kiss her cheek. She looked back up at him with a brilliant smile and oh yeah, he was gone.

As soon as they walked into the diner, there was a loud, enthusiastic greeting for Dick from an older woman and a smile from the man in the kitchen who had peeked around to see him. “Dickie! It’s been too long. How are you?” She brought him in for a hug. Before he could answer she looked over at Marinette with a kind smile. “And who is this? Don’t tell me someone has finally caught you.”

Marinette smiled back at her and waved. “Hi. I’m Marinette, madame.”

The woman moved quickly to pull Marinette in for a hug as well. “Now, none of that. I’m Kora. Any friend of Dickie’s is family here.”

Marinette giggled and looked up at Dick with an impressed gaze. “Dickie is that good, huh?”

“Best teacher my grandson ever had. Only one to get him interested in something constructive. But, come, come. You didn’t come here to chat.” She showed them to a table. “Here are a few menus. Let me know when you’re ready to order.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind catching up for a second. How is Eddie? How about Rachel?” Dick spoke up before she could get far away.

“Oh, you know Eddie. He’s trying to stay out of trouble, but not too hard. It doesn’t help that the police keep an eye on him constantly. Makes him jumpy. Makes all of us jumpy. Rachel is doing great. Eddie’s making sure she stays safe. More responsibility than a young kid should take on, but what else can you do? She loves school. Taken a liking to clothing if you can believe it.” Marinette perked up instantly. “Decided she’s going to start designing them at fourteen. Saves money I suppose.”

“Would she like to see someone do it? Design I mean?” Kora looked at her questioningly. “I’m a designer. I actually moved here because I’m working on designs with Wayne Enterprises. I could take her with me to a meeting, if they are okay with it. There’s some top secret things going on, so they might not want anyone else there, but if they’re okay with it, I can show her the process.”

Kora looked over to Dick looking for his input, but Dick was too engrossed looking at Marinette in awe to see Kora’s inquiry. Kora laughed at him. That was endorsement enough for her. “Yeah, I think she’d like that. I’ll give you my number. We can arrange something.”

Marinette smiled excitedly and bounced in her seat. “That sounds great!” She looked back over to Dick as he took her hand.

“We better order before you start feeling sick. Know what you want?” When she nodded, they both placed their orders.

“I was fourteen when I started entering design contests,” Marinette said excitedly. “Hey, do you think Tim would be interested in sponsoring a design contest for kids? I think kids like Rachel and me at that age, would really love it.”

Dick smiled proudly at her. “I really think he would. And I think Jason would probably be willing to help out too.”

Marinette nodded decidedly. “I’ll talk to Tim about it at our meeting on Monday, the contest and Rachel.” She looked to the side for a moment and returned her gaze to him with a sly look. “So… you teach gymnastics to kids?”

Dick looked down shyly. “When I can. I haven’t in about a year because of other obligations, but… I miss it. I really liked doing it.”

“I would pay to see that. I bet it’s adorable.”

He smiled at the memory of the kids. “Yeah they were.”

“Them too.” She smirked and took a drink of her water, enjoying the sight of Dick blushing. Her expression slowly morphed to more dreamy. “Maybe you can teach our baby.”

Dick perked up at the idea. “I can’t wait. I started when I was in diapers. I’d like to pass that on to my kids. Oh, speaking of that, I was wondering if you might be interested in doing some pregnancy yoga classes or we can YouTube it and do it at home.”

“We?”

He shrugged. “I thought it might be something we could do together.”

“Yeah. I think that might be fun.” She squeezed his hand and blushed when he pulled her hand up to his lips to kiss the inside of her wrist.

They pulled apart when Kora came back with their food. She gave them a knowing look as she set the food down for them. “Young love. You two are adorable.”

Marinette blushed but Dick grinned. “Hey, Kora?” Dick spoke up before she could turn to leave. “What do you mean the cops are keeping an eye on Eddie?”

Kora sighed out. “It’s like they’re waiting for him to mess up. They’re constantly watching him. We try to make sure he’s never alone and there’s always surveillance cameras somewhere but it’s just about impossible. Honestly, I almost trust the gangs more. At least they’ll try to keep him safe.”

Dick shook his head. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

Kora shrugged. “No accountability and a gun. Who’s going to stop them?” With that, she walked away to let them eat, leaving Dick to consider her words.

<><><><><>

“So you’ve been doing gymnastics since you were in diapers?” Marinette prompted Dick as they walked hand in hand through a park on their way back to her apartment.

Yep,” Dick confirmed doing an aerial front flip without breaking his stride.

Marinette pulled him to a stop so she could gape at him. “Oh yeah, by all means, pretend that’s completely normal.”

“What?” Dick asked innocently.

“Don’t give me that, show off.”

“What that ? Oh! That. That was nothing. You should see what I could do if I was trying.” Dick shrugged casually, but the smug grin on his lips gave him away.

“Oh yeah, I could do that too, if the idea of being upside down didn’t make me want to throw up. But just wait, in 10 months or so, I’ll show you a cartwheel that will knock your socks off,” she mock threatened him.

He grinned, a sincere, warm look in his eyes. “I can’t wait to see it.” He did a side flip into a walk out without losing his breath. “I’m going to have our baby out doing you by the time he or she is one.”

Marinette playfully narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay Mister gymnastics is in my blood. Let’s see what you can do when you try.”

Dick grinned and leaned down for a quick kiss before moving a bit away to start. “Don’t blink, you’ll miss some amazing moves,” he winked at her before launching into a completely unprepared gymnastic routine. He did flip after flip, moving through the air with an ease she didn’t even think she had even as Ladybug. He jumped on the back of a bench with a single fluid movement, using it to launch into a double summersault flip. It went on for a few minutes at dizzying speed before his finale, using a water fountain to give him enough height for a triple flip. Only he didn’t quite land it right. He landed in an awkward, painful looking roll until he was laid flat out on his stomach.

Marinette stopped breathing as she waited for him to move. After a few seconds he still hadn’t moved. Her heart faltered. “Dick?” her voice was weak and uncertain. “Dick? Are you… are you okay?” the anxiety was becoming more apparent with every word. “Dick!” she ran to him, cursing herself for encouraging him and pushing him. “Dick!” Her hands were trembling as she turned him over to face her.

He looked up at her with a radiant smile. “I guess this means I fell hard for you.”

She stared at him for a few seconds while he curled up from laughing so hard. Tears started falling down Marinette’s cheeks while Dick continued to laugh. He immediately froze when he heard her let out a sob. He looked up at Marinette but she wasn’t kneeling above him anymore. She had backed up a few feet and was sobbing into her knees. “Marinette?” He reached out for her tentatively, her whole body was shaking. “Marinette? Are you okay?” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t funny. I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over again in her ear, breaking it up with the occasional kiss to her temple.

After a few minutes her cries started to quiet. Dick brushed her bangs out of her eyes and wiped away her tears. “I’m sorry, Marinette. I wasn’t expecting you to take it so seriously.”

Marinette’s eyes flashed from distressed to anger in the span of a second. She backed away and shoved him in the shoulder. She wanted to punch him instead but she wasn’t at a good angle to punch his perfect jaw and even as upset as she was, she knew that wasn’t okay. “Seriously? I wasn’t supposed to take it seriously?” Dick stared at her in confusion… and pain. That seriously hurt. “I thought I pushed the father of my baby into killing himself. I thought you got hurt or broke your neck because of me. I thought you were hurt and I caused it,” she repeated again, tears starting to form again.

Dick’s expression softened and turned to guilt. He was an idiot. She was pregnant. Her hormones were going crazy. Not that he was stupid enough to mention that in his apology. He watched her cry over a commercial the other day, not even a particularly sad one. She was not in the frame of mind to accept jokes like this. “I’m sorry,” he said again as he rubbed her arms and pulled her back into his chest. “That was thoughtless and mean. I’m sorry.”

After a few minutes she pulled away just enough to look up at him through glassy eyes. “No, I’m sorry. I absolutely should not have shoved you. Normally I would have just rolled my eyes and pushed you back down, but these damn hormones.”

Dick nodded. Again, not something he wasn’t going to agree with verbally though. “Maybe I’ll do it again later.”

Marinette scoffed but pushed further into his embrace. “Nope that one is done. You’re going to have to come up with a new one. I’m sure you can do something with flipping or flopping or making your heart do cartwheels.”

Dick grinned and hugged her closer. “You’re taking all the best ones.”

Marinette smiled back and wound her arms around his neck. “I already have the best one.” She pulled him down for a kiss pushing all her anxiety and relief into it.

Chapter 9

Tags:

@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat #Dickinette February #dickinette #Hope on Board #Knocked Up AU #platonic jasonette #platonic adrienette #prompt - smile

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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

Love, fear, peace.

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: “I wanted to request an imagine where the reader and Ivar have a 4-5 year old daughter. And while Ivar is usually very cruel, he'll do anything for his little princess. And she asks to paint his nails and have him join her for a tea party, so he does, as long as it's a secret between them but the reader ends up seeing them and her thoughts on it? I'm in a big mood to read Ivar fluff”

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: A lil bit of angst, my best attempt at fluff, just soft stuff all around, probably ooc

A/N: My friends, may I interest you in an AU where all five sons of Ragnar are alive and happy? We call it ‘denial’ where I’m from, but yeah, in this universe they’re all alive, Sigurd married off to some Saxon Princess, Ubbe in Dublin, Ivar King of Kattegat and Hvitserk with him with a family of his own goddamit, Björn fuck-knows-where avoiding commitment like he was born to do, and that’s it. Ta-da.

Ástríðr is a name derived from the Old Norse elements áss "god" and fríðr "beautiful, beloved"

Taglist: (If you wanna be added or removed lemme know!) @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss @peachyboneless @encounterthepast @maggiescarborough @chibisgotovalhalla @receptionistfromhell

Hvitserk greets you with a kiss on your cheek, and you thank the gesture with a smile, though your eyes are scanning the main hall.

“Where’s Ivar?” You ask as he walks at your side, greeting a few people with false smiles and courteous nods.

Hvitserk only shrugs, “I thought he was with you.”

“No, we were supposed to talk with one of the earls about the effect of a high tide, but he wasn’t there.”

“And how was it?”

“Dull,” You reply sincerely, “But I have an idea of where my husband is.”

The other man betrays a smile, “Can you blame him? It is hard to say no to her.”

Oh, you know that. She has him -and you- powerless to deny her anything since she first came to this world.

Try as he might to deny it, to keep the idea of the ruthless king that loves nothing alive, to mantain the façade of how nothing makes Ivar the Boneless falter; your daughter is an adorable force to be reckoned with, capable of making even the King of Kattegat surrender.

It is no secret, for you or any soul that encounters your husband, that Ivar loves his family, his wife and daughter, like nothing else.

The world will never forget the battles he’s won and lost, the wars he started, the kingdoms he reduced to ash, the lands he conquered. The world will never forget of all he did in the name of his ambition, in the name of his fame.

But the world will never forget what he did in the name of love either. Countless deals made, countless fights, countless plans devised and even more sacrifices made so that he could grant his daughter the safeties she deserved; so that he can give her the world and, when time comes, have her step sure, knowing the very earth and the very skies are hers.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you blink past the sleep that weighs on your lids. You find yourself as you were, resting comfortably on a seat that has progressively become just a pile of pillows and furs since the start of winter.

You still feel the comfortable weight of Ivar’s head on your lap, and you can make out his voice speaking quietly. Looking down you find him talking to the small bump on your stomach, the evidence of your child growing inside of you.

At the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, Ivar looks up and offers you a smile, before scooting even closer to your stomach.

“Tell your mother to go back to sleep. You and I aren’t done talking, Princess.”

A part of you is tempted to taunt him about how the might Ivar the Boneless is so smitten by a child not even born yet, but you choose instead to bask in the softness in his expression, in the happiness that curves his mouth.

Still, after a few moments, you offer, “They could be a Prince. Ivarsson.”

Your husband hums, presses a kiss against your stomach and settles again on his back with his head on your lap.

“We will have sons, I know,” He tells you, smile faint as he closes his eyes, “But first, we will have a daughter.

He speaks with such certainty that you cannot help but huff a laugh. Still, it is a nice thought, to have a Princess to call your own, a little girl, blessed by the Gods.

“She will be just like her mother, and she will be ours to spoil and take care of.”

“You speak as if you wouldn’t spoil our sons, Ivar. Someone else might believe that lie, but not me.” You tease, eyebrows lifted.

“Mhm, but a father grows jealous of his sons, and their fame, their triumphs.”

“No daughter of mine, or of yours, will be content without her own triumphs and conquests.”

“I know,” He replies without hesitation, proud smile widening and eyes opening to gaze up at you, “Like I said, she’ll be just like her mother.”

It was never a secret, a surprise, for you to witness Ivar love your child before she was even born; to feel his joy and his anticipation and his love in the way he spoke of that daughter you’d have, and all the sons and daughters that would come after.

You learned to love him years ago, and found beneath the cruelty and venom and bloodthirst a man that loves intensely, that willingly gave his heart to you to keep safe the day he made you his wife. So his love doesn’t surprise you, his devotion to his family doesn’t make you falter.

There were still many things that made you falter, that made you see everything with new eyes, during those months while you carried Ástríðr and in the years you’ve been fortunate enough to have her.

One of them was how the sons of Aslaug, much to your surprise and despite all their other failings, had been raised to be utterly devoted to their families. Hvitserk was almost giddy at the possibility of a niece or nephew that he could keep close to him, unlike Ubbe’s children all the way in Dublin. Ubbe, always the father figure, visited more than once and kept watchful eyes not only on you and his brother, but on everything, as if from Dublin he could look over all of you like he did while growing up. To your surprise, even Sigurd, past the animosity between him and Ivar -and all the disagreements he has had with you over the years, of course- sent word from Northumbria wishing you three the protection of the Gods.

Another of those discoveries, sadly not as heartwarming, was to witness the burden your husband carried and not being able to do anything about it. The more easily-soothed fears, like what your daughter would think of him, or whether she would be born healthy, were quietened by your voice promising him over and over that any child of yours would love him like no other, or by the soft kicks of your daughter against where his palm rested on your stomach, making tears shine in Ivar’s eyes every time.

There were deeper fears, and fears that plagued you too, that you couldn’t so easily soothe. The whisper in the back of his mind that happiness is nothing, that everything you love eventually you lose, that all his cruel ways and his mistakes would one day cost him what he holds dear. The blue eyes of the man you love, so used to seeing what others cannot, so used to planning ahead and seeing the world like his enemy does, seeing a world where at any time his fame and his conquests could cost him your life or your daughter’s.

For a man as cruel and vicious as Ivar, it is easy to forget he is not something otherworldly, some demon like the Christians say, some beast like your own countrymen claim. Sometimes, in all his rage and all his chaos, it is easy to forget he is a husband, a father, a man.

And like any man with a beating heart, especially a heart so wholly owned by his wife and daughter; Ivar fears.

Ástríðr blinks big and strikingly blue eyes, and you smile widely, unable to keep yourself from bringing your daughter closer and pressing a kiss on her head, delighting yourself in the familiar and comforting smell of your baby.

“Good morning, little one.” You whisper, and she coos in response, as if she understands.

“Is she…is she alright?” Ivar asks, moving closer to you and looking at her over your shoulder.

“Of course she is,” You smile down at your daughter, your finger tapping the tip of her tiny nose. “Our beautiful girl, she’s more than alright. She’s perfect.”

“She was…coughing.”

“That’s something babies do, Ivar, she’s fine.” You reassure him, only slightly bothered by the fact that he woke you up because your daughter coughed. You adjust your grip on Ástríðr, let her nuzzle against the column of your throat and find her sleep again.

Ivar drops his head to your shoulder, sighing against your skin and laying quite a bit of his weight on you. You sit there, your daughter against you and your husband letting you hold him up as he releases a tension you didn’t realize was there, and feel a pang of something in your heart.

After a few moments, you hold back a sigh, you try biting back your worry, and whisper, “You should sleep, love.”

“Mhm,” Ivar mumbles, but it is an argument, even if he doesn’t find the words to voice it yet. “Later.”

He has taken the awful habit of not sleeping at night. Each night when you settle in bed with Ástríðr nestled close to you, and Ivar holds you both close in his embrace; he remains awake, vigilant and expectant, watching the shadows for ghosts and enemies. You’ve noticed him faltering during the day, worsening his pain by not letting himself rest like should.

And it has only been worse since Hvitserk has been gone.

You know there are few people Ivar trusts fully, even fewer he entrusts the safety of his wife and daughter to. With just being here, Hvitserk granted his brother a peace nothing else can, a certainty that there was someone’s back to lean his own against, a promise that he could lower his guard and rest assured he wasn’t alone.

It is just a matter of days before Hvitserk returns, but you refuse to let Ivar run himself ragged.

So, you use your and not holding Ástrídr to wrap around his waist, and slowly move the three of you, as well as you can manage, back to lay on the bed.

With a slightly startled breath Ivar opens his eyes, focuses almost frantically on you and Ástríðr. You sigh again, but make use of the loss of his weight against you to settle against the pillows, holding your daughter better against your chest, your hand covering her back and holding her gently.

When you’re certain she’s comfortable, you lift your free arm and run your fingers through Ivar’s hair.

“You’ll rest.” You order, your eyes on your husband’s. He wants to argue, you know he does, a war between exhaustion and stubbornness, but it seems the pull is strong enough to even make him cave.

Ivar settles on your opposite shoulder from your daughter, his hand warm and rough as it settles over yours on her back. You chase tension off his back by running your hand up and down his back, and as both he and your daughter sleep safe and warm against you, you allow yourself a whisper of gratitude to the Gods.

You never knew what the Seer had meant when he told you so many years ago that ‘he can only use one hand and chooses to hold the sword, and for that you’ll need to hold the shield’, but now, as you hold your world close against you, you dare think that you understand the Ancient One’s words.

Eventually, the fear of something stealing her in the middle of the night passes. It always returns, that irrational fear he has that he will lose it all, that frantic paranoia that if he doesn’t plan, if he doesn’t prepare, they will take you both from him.

But as Ástríðr grows healthy and lively, the fears dwindle, or maybe they just change. And for a man that scorned the very uttering of the word, Ivar finds peace.

Through the halls, you follow the familiar sound of Ivar’s war cry, though quieter, and the adorable giggles of your daughter. Walking into your rooms, you make sure to remain hidden as you watch Ivar on the floor, holding himself up on his arms, mocking a taunt towards your daughter, daring the little shieldmaiden to attack.

A part of you is glad that this is a secret, a side of your husband, of your family, that the world will never know of. The world needn’t know of how easily Ástríðr makes her mother and father cave to her every wish, the world needn’t know of how fiercely and uncondicionally she is loved; only she needs to know of it, andn you and Ivar have made sure she lives a life knowing how loved she is.

You lean your shoulder on a pillar near the door, arms crossed over your chest but still betraying a smile.

Ástríðr brandishes a wooden sword at her father, big eyes strikingly alike Ivar’s when she focuses and finds her determination.

“I will defeat you!” She exclaims, the seriousness in her expression making your chest warm.

“You’re just a shieldmaiden, you can’t defeat me!” Ivar replies without missing a beat, faking a monster’s swipe with a hand that tries grabbing at her small foot.

Your daughter jumps out of the way with a squeal, but quickly furrows her brow adorably and lifts her chin, stubborn and arrogant.

Gods, Ivar is right, she looks so much like you.

“I am Ástríðr Ivarsdottir, I’ll always win!”

“Ah, you will, won’t you?” Ivar teases, letting go of the role of whatever beast he was supposed to be, grabbing onto your daughter and falling on his back with her in his arms, lifting the girl up and making her giggle. “Mighty shieldmaiden you’ll be, my sweet.”

“I know.” She replies without hesitation, startling a laugh out of you.

Two pairs of blue eyes turn to you, and Ástríðr wastes no time in calling out for you, squirming her way out of her father’s grasp and skipping towards you.

You kneel on the ground and welcome your daughter’s enthusiastic embrace, even if it was only this morning you last saw her.

“Did you defeat him, little one?” You ask her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Of course I did, mama.” She replies, almost offended. Of course, look whose daughter you’re asking about a victory in battle, imaginary or not.

You catch Ivar’s eyes and whatever intent you had on chastising him for leaving you to deal with the earl alone vanishes at the softness in his gaze at he looks at you both.

Not many know of Ivar the Boneless’ love. Even fewer know of his fear.

But there’s only a few lucky ones that have seen his happiness, his peace.

You two share a look, a look that speaks not only of gratefulness for one another, but of gratefulness for this perfect blend of the two of you, of your stubbornness and his drive, of his eyes and your hair.

Ivar betrays a small smile and his eyes go to the discarded wooden sword at his side.

“Oi, shieldmaiden!” He calls out, and Ástríðr turns to him without hesitation. “You never leave your weapon behind. It is the one thing, besides your mother and me, that you can trust blindly in this world.”

Ivar motions for the sword, and your daughter dutifully goes to pick it up, only to be ambushed on the way, Ivar’s eyes trapping her to his chest.

She is startled, and lets out a loud and adorable laugh as her father once again drops to the furs at his back, his smile blinding.

“You see? If you’d had your sword, no monster would have gotten you.”

Ástríðr grumbles an argument, but Ivar only snorts a laugh. His eyes lift to yours, and he lifts his hand, calling for the touch of yours, calling for you to join them.

You sigh, but still walk to them and stretch on the furs near the fire, accepting the embrace Ivar offers you when he lifts his free arm.

You nuzzle your nose against his throat, reaching with your hand and taming Ástríðr’s wild hair.

“Do you think one day I could defeat a dragon, like the warriors you tell me about?”

“Mhm, of course. You’ll be the most famous shieldmaiden who has ever lived.” He promises her, pressing a kiss against her hair, his arm tightening and trying to bring you closer even if it is impossible.

___

I struggled a lot writing this, I don’t really know why bc it was a lovely request. I tried my best :)

I hope you liked this, lovely anon! And I’m sorry it took me so long to get it done! I love you!!

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar

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melzula · 4 years

Note

Could you write a Fire Lilies blurb about Princess! Reader and Zuko 's date night in their tale of Ba Sing Se?

a/n: you have no idea how excited I was when I got this request!!!

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

It’s a quiet day in Ba Sing Se as the Princess sweeps the floor of the tea shop and prepares for the morning rush of customers. She doesn’t get paid nearly as much as Zuko and Iroh due to only working part time, but she makes up for it by working in the dress shop across the street. It’s easy work and her employer is very kind so she can’t complain. Besides, this was the kind of simple life she had been longing for ever since her departure from home. The transition hadn’t been easy, especially not for Zuko, and she knew it would take some time to get used to, but now that they were in Ba Sing Se they had all the time in the world to settle down and finally begin a life together.

Across the way at the front counter Zuko watches y/n work silently, an unreadable expression on his face as he does so. He’s doing his best to at least try to make a life here despite how adamant he feels about the city being nothing but a prison, if not for him then for her, because she deserves it after all. It was something he had promised her long ago, and though their relationship had become worn and strained it was still there altogether, and the knots that had formed along the way were finally beginning to loosen now that they were here in Ba Sing Se.

“You know, it has been a very long time since the two of you last had the chance to be alone,” Iroh points out. “Perhaps the Princess would appreciate a romantic night out with her boyfriend.”

“There’s nothing to do here,” Zuko complains. “Where could we possibly go?”

“I’ve heard they have a beautiful fountain here,” Iroh suggests.

“I have to work.”

“Nonsense. I can cover your shift for you so that the two of you may go out together,” his Uncle offers, and before he has the chance to protest y/n approaches the counter with her dustpan and apron in hand.

“The shop is ready for customers,” she says with a small smile. “I should get going. Miss Tai asked me to open up the store today.”

“Of course. Zuko, is there anything you’d like to say to the Princess before she leaves?” Iroh asks, giving his nephew a gentle nudge to the ribs. Zuko scowls before clearing his throat and attempting a gentler approach to the question as you stand there expectantly.

“Would you like to go out on a date tonight?” He asks in a strained voice, obviously uncomfortable and out of his element. He’d never really had to ask her on a date before, she’d always just kind of been there, by his side and ready to spend time with him. Since when did a simple bowl of ramen together not count as a real date?

“I’d love to,” she giggles, obviously appreciative of his efforts, “you can pick me up from work.”

“He’s looking forward to it!” Iroh grins, and Zuko blushes with embarrassment at the delicate laughter that escapes y/n as she exits the shop and heads to work. Spirits, help him.

~~~

Zuko waits impatiently outside of Miss Tai’s shop, a permanent scowl on his lips and the urge to fuss with his hair stronger than anything he’s ever felt. He isn’t sure why he allowed his Uncle to do his hair or why he’s putting so much work into a date with his longtime girlfriend, but he knew Iroh had been right about the fact that it had been much too long since they’d last went out like this. But it wasn’t Zuko’s fault, at least not in his eyes, because he had been busy and couldn’t tend to y/n right away like she had hoped he would. The pair had been so close together yet so far apart in his years of hunting the Avatar, and when it was quiet enough his thoughts were often loud with doubt over whether or not she still loved him as much, if at all, as she did when they’d last met in their secret tunnel.

A muffled giggle is what catches his attention, y/n’s hand held over her mouth as she tries to stifle her laughter for Zuko’s sake. He wants to complain but the words die in his throat at the sight of her. Dressed in Miss Tai’s finest silk dress, the Princess looks absolutely radiant and quite literally takes Zuko’s breath away.

“Do you like it?” She muses with a sweet smile. “Miss Tai let me borrow it for our date.”

“You look... really pretty,” he finally says with a small smile of his own.

“And you look absolutely adorable!” y/n squeals, prompting Zuko’s smile to immediately morph into a scowl. She gives his cheeks a light pinch and laughs when he gently swats her hand away. “You should do your hair like that more often.”

“It took Uncle ten minutes to do my hair,” Zuko sulks as the Princess finally puts him out of his misery and ruffles the awful hairdo away.

“I’ll have to thank him when we get back,” she giggles before taking his hand and dragging him off to venture out into the city. “So what should we do?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko grumbles. “This city is nothing but dirt, I don’t know how I can possibly enjoy it.”

“Well you can’t enjoy it with an attitude like that,” the Princess argues. “There’s a cake stand over there. You like cake, don’t you?”

“I’m not in the mood for cake.”

“Then what are you in the mood for?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, and the Princess’s once cheerful demeanor dwindles into one of disappointment. He doesn’t want to be here, she knows that better than anybody, but she had hoped that maybe by going out together he’d at least warm up to the idea of living in the city. Y/n loved Zuko more than anything in the world, but she was starting to doubt whether or not he still felt the same way about her. Their flame was beginning to dwindle and though she was desperate to keep the fire going it seemed that wouldn’t be possible without his help.

“Maybe you should just go home,” she offers quietly, releasing his hand and turning her back towards him in order to hide her growing tears. “That way you won’t have to be here when you don’t want to, a-and I can just explore the city by myself.”

Guilt weighs heavily upon Zuko’s shoulders at the sound of her trembling voice as he yet again manages to disappoint her. He wants to apologize but the words are stuck in his throat, so instead he lets out a small, awkward cough before coming up and gently resting a hand on her shoulder.

“That fortune teller booth looks kind of fun,” he suggests, and when she gives him a pointed look he says, “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Okay,” y/n sniffles quietly, a weak smile present upon her features as Zuko intertwines his fingers with her own and guides her towards the booth. He doesn’t miss the manor in which she tightly holds his hand, almost as if she’s afraid she’ll lose him if he lets her go, and it urges the Prince to increase his pace as he guides her towards their destination.

“Yes, step right up, lovebirds!” The eccentrically dressed man encourages, immediately taking the Princess’s hand and yanking her forward to read her palm. Zuko bites back the threat that rises up his throat, and y/n watches with childlike excitement as the fortune teller scans the grooves and lines of her hand. “Ah, this is very interesting.”

“What is it?”

“I see that you’ve lived a very happy life, though it hasn’t been easy as of late. The love you have in your heart is strong, but this love will be put to the test when the time comes.”

“Sounds like a bunch of nonsense,” Zuko mumbles only to earn a glare from the Princess in return. Put to the test? Hadn’t they already been through the hardest parts of their relationship already? What else could possibly make things worse?

“You will live a content and comfortable life and die a peaceful death. Oh, and you’ll most definitely be having twins!”

“Twins!” Y/n repeats delightedly, but all color drains from Zuko’s face at the idea and suddenly he feels very lightheaded.

“Okay, thank you, that’s enough,” he finally interjects, making sure to pay the man before dragging you off to your next destination.

“We’re going to have twins!” The Princess squeal delightedly.

“How do you know he’s not just some crazy old man?” Zuko retorts.

“He could be,” she admits with a shrug, “but it’s nice to have something to hope for even if it isn’t real.”

He says nothing in response to her wishful thinking, but he must admit that he does enjoy the idea of settling down with the Princess, starting their own family, creating a new legacy. Maybe staying in one place wouldn’t be so bad after all.

After a few minutes of aimless walking the two stumble upon the famous fountain of Ba Sing Se, though it doesn’t look like much to either of them due to the fact that the lanterns aren’t lit.

“This is the fountain everyone always talks about?” The Princess retorts with obvious disappointment. “I thought it would be prettier.”

“Hold on,” Zuko says, and before y/n can question him the Prince begins to use his bending to light the lanterns around the fountain. It’s dangerous and absolutely foolish to use his bending out in the open like that, but he’d rather be thrown in jail by the Dai Lee than have his Princess be upset. Her eyes sparkle with complete and utter awe at the sight of his fire bending, recognizing the flow of his movements and admiring the beauty of the flames that dance among the lanterns.

Now lit in all of its glory, the two stand side by side and admire the shimmering water that flows from the fountain. Zuko wraps an arm around the Princess’s waist, and she happily rests her head upon his shoulder once she’s safely nestled into his side.

“Thank you for taking me out tonight,” she murmurs quietly. “I’ve missed spending time with you like this.”

“Me too... I know I’ve been difficult with the transition into our new life here, and it’s going to take some time for me to get used to. But I also know that this should have happened a long time ago, and I’m sorry it took me this long to fulfill my promise to you.”

“I don’t care about how long it took us to get here,” y/n replies earnestly. “All that matters is that we’re finally together in Ba Sing Se just like we planned all those years ago. We can be happy now, but only if you allow yourself the chance to enjoy it.”

“I want to,” Zuko utters, turning to face her and gently cupping her cheek with his hand, “and I know with your help I can.”

The Princess smiles faintly at his proclamation, and when he leans down to kiss her she meets him halfway to seal their lips together in a tender kiss. It isn’t very long or very passionate, Zuko still not used to the idea of public displays of affection due to the fact that he’d refrained from act during his time on the ship with the crew, but it’s special and beautiful all the same.

Ba Sing Se is the start of a new beginning for the a coupe, a second chance at happiness and a place where they can start over. It won’t be easy, and the transition won’t happen over night, but at the two kiss underneath the ember glow of the fountain’s lanterns, the Princess knows that they’re finally going to get their chance at happiness, and so she savors the feeling for all it’s worth.

Because the spirits know it won’t last for very long.

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#zuko #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko imagine #zuko and the princess #avatar the last airbender #atla #atla x reader #tales of ba sing se #fire lilies #request #gif used above is not mine!

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