#which is an odd way of saying yes i’m her father and i made her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mediumgayitalian · 1 month

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Nico really fucking hates capture the flag.

Well, not always. Last week was fun. Last week was the annual Everyone Against The Stolls (to atone for their crimes), and Nico got to chase Connor around at top speeds, cackling, committing his shrieking and begs for mercy to memory. That was nice. That almost made him forgive the fucker for digging a trench under Nico’s unwelcome mat for him to fall into at seven thirty in the godsdamn morning.

But tonight’s game is boring.

He’s been standing, alone, at the base of the flag for the past forty bajillion hours. He’d raised a few dozens skeletons to spar with at first, since animating them to fight himself isn’t technically against the rules, but that got dull fast. (It isn’t much fun sparring with a partner who doesn’t have a brain. He already has to do that enough with Percy when he comes to visit camp.) He’d climbed the various trees around the clearing, or at least he tried until he got reamed by the dryads for climbing on a manner that was too annoying (?), and tried his hands at a few summoning spells. Nothing held his interest long.

And now he’s just standing, doing nothing, and he’s not allowed to leave. He has to stay in this stupid spot on the off chance that someone comes stumbling over to fight him for the flag.

“You’re our best swordsman, she said,” he says mockingly, beaming the nastiest vibes he can manage in Piper’s vague direction. “We need you on our defensive line, she said. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”

His checks his watch. He groans. He looks critically over the grass, looking for a softer patch, and when he locates it he throws himself dramatically upon it, groaning louder.

“This sucks!” he yells, to no one.

“Will you shut up!” shouts back the dryad he pissed off earlier. “For the love of photosynthesis! Fuck!”

He bites his tongue hard to hold back laughter. (If he can avoid getting his entire cabin overgrown with prickle bushes again, that’d be great.) “Sorry,” he calls, trying with everything he has to sound contrite. Convincing his father to fight the Titan War was easier, actually. Acting is not his calling.

“Hmph!”

At least listening to see if she’ll come out and yell at him again provides something to ease his boredom. Yes, he’s going to regret bothering her, but in his defense, solo guarding is cruel and unusual punishment. He’d rather sit by an outlet with a fork and see if he can poke and let go fast enough to avoid dying. That at least would be interesting.

A rustling of leaves recaptures his attention, and he pauses.

“Holly?”

When no one answers, which is odd because she’s taken every opportunity in the last hour to either insult him or pelt him with stones, he lifts his head.

“You’re not going to scare me, dude. I had my fear glands surgically removed to become a better soldier.”

Not true. Obviously. But a fun bonus of being the camp weirdo is that no one doubts anything he says. He’s working on convincing everyone younger than him that he needs weekly tributes of chocolate delivered to his door every Friday or the dead are going to take over the world. So far, it’s working.

“Look, Holly, I’m sorry about the zombie, okay, I promise it didn’t mean to sneeze part of its brain on you —”

The rustling sounds again, only this time Nico can see that it’s not Holly’s tree, and in fact she is nowhere to be found. Alarmed, he jumps to his feet, shifting so he’s balanced on the balls of his feet, poised to attack. Is Piper’s plan failing? Has someone actually managed to make it all the way over here without getting (gently, probably, although they lost the last game and Piper gets cranky without dessert) maimed?

The rustling sounds for a third time. This time, an armoured someone stumbles out of the underbrush, tripping over their own foot and nearly landing flat on their face.

Nico has his sword at their throat in a millisecond.

“Wo-oah, Morbius. That’s probably my least favourite sword you could stab in me.”

Nico goes bright red. “I have never wanted to stab you more than right this second.”

Will, chest plate skewed to the right, quiver completely empty, and black paint smeared under his eyes, snickers. He puts a finger on the tip of Nico’s sword and pushes it away from his neck.

“The opportunity was right there, babe. I couldn’t not.”

“You really, really could. In fact at all times, you should remember these words of wisdom: shut up.”

“…Damn. Inspiring.”

Nico rolls his eyes, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the smile on his face and the obvious pleasure in his expression. He’s even feeling merciful enough to accept Will’s kiss, although his sword keeps a good amount of distance between them. (Will’s on the blue team, after all. It would be unprofessional to be fraternizing with the enemy.

…Well, too much, anyway.)

“What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the other archers, sitting in trees and causing havoc.”

Will shrugs, grinning lazily. “I quit. This game is senselessly violent and I’m Against It On Principle. I’m a pacifist, you know.”

“Uh huh.” Nico raises an eyebrow. “I assume this doesn’t count you choking Cecil out in a headlock, this morning.”

Will opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He closes it again.

“Cecil is my mortal enemy,” he grudges after a moment. “He doesn’t count.”

“‘Course not. Not like you cried for two hours when he went to visit his mom last weekend or anything.”

“Will you — stop saying I cried. I barely teared up, okay. Barely.”

Nico can’t quite force down the stupid grin that pulls across his face, matching Will’s, nor can he resist grabbing the leather straps of his boyfriend’s armour and hauling him close.

“You better not be here to distract me,” he mumbles, leaning close and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Will hums, settling his hands on Nico’s hips.

“Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Drama queen.”

“Excuse — I am the least dramatic, I’ll have you know. I’m a pinnacle of solemnity. I am a shining beacon of stoicism. I am — mmfh,” He trails off. “Okay, doing this now, mhm.”

Nico smiles triumphantly into the kiss. Will, he has found, is very easy to shut up, despite his long-running nickname of Motormouth. It’s almost like he has an off button that can be accessed only by Nico sticking his tongue in his mouth. Nico is doing his civic duty, honestly. He should be compensated for his service.

(‘Course, doesn’t hurt that Will smells, like, really good, all the time, and his lips are soft as hell and he is actually quite the kisser, in fact. That is definitely a fun bonus.)

He smooths his hands over Will’s shoulders, travelling up the sides of his neck and settling in his hair. Will keens, slightly, when he wraps a finger around a frizzy golden curl and tugs, slightly, when he scratches his nails along his scalp. The rush of power at the feeling makes Nico dizzy, and his sword clatters to the ground as he busies himself with more interesting — and important — things.

Like pulling more of those sounds from his boyfriend’s throat. Or making his knees buckle, again, like he did the other night — gods, that was good, it made Will flush scarlet and Nico feel like he was fuckin’ floating, to have Will so needy and touchy and totally at his mercy —

“Free line to the flag! Go go go go!”

Nico startles, whirling towards the sudden cacophony of noises. To his horror, what looks like half the camp, helmets shining with plumes of blue, comes pouring into the clearing, weapons raised, voices mixing in one long, victorious shout. He lunges for his sword, but before he can grab it, two strong arms tighten around his torso, pinning his hands to his side.

Immediately, he knows he’s been set up.

“Oh, you — fucker!”

He feels the curve of Will’s grin against his neck. “First shower privileges for a whole month, baby.” He noses along his jaw, pressing an apologetic kiss to his cheek. “Couldn’t resist.”

Nico struggles, aghast, watching the once-red flag shimmer in Lou Ellen's hold to a bright, shining blue. “I am breaking up with you, you traitor, you Iago, you vixen — ”

Will snorts. He ducks down and pecks Nico on the lips, again, and again, and then shifts to his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his temples, his forehead, and all over his face, making louder and louder mwah sounds until Nico is laughing, punching his shoulder and shoving him away.

“Okay! Okay. Let me go, you villainous toad. We will discuss how much you’ll have to grovel for my forgiveness after Piper finishes yelling at me for getting distracted.”

Will presses one last kiss to his nose, smiling cheekily before stepping away, heading towards his boasting team. “Enjoy that lecture! Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nico rolls his eyes, resting his aching cheek in his hand. “Love you too, asshole.”

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georgiapeach30513 · 6 months

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Inside Her Fantasy, Part 1

Summary: Ransom was a sweet playboy, and you are America's sweetheart. Two opposite people that met in an unlikely way. Things move fast when you're in the spotlight, and you fell more everyday. He was happy he had someone who he could trust with his vulnerable side. You were happy to have someone who could stand tall and not be irritated by your own fame. Fast love and living in a fish bowl isn't always easy. But can you and Ransom beat the odds?

Pairings: Ransom Drysdale X Reader

Rating: fluff

Warnings: none, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.5K

Series Masterlist

*Dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Early morning muffled giggles, and the pitter patter of feet make Ransom stir in his sleep. His face burrows deeper into the pastel pink ruffles. Feet hanging off the edge of the bed, but his eyes remain close.

“Daddy,” a giggly voice echoes in the hallway as she covers her mouth with her hand. “Uncle Ranny is in my bed again.”

“Is he,” the big beefy man picks up his littlest daughter, throwing her in the air. “Why are you sitting in the hallway?”

“Because,” she points a finger to her bedroom before covering her mouth with her hand. “I think he has twinkle toes!”

“Not the twinkle toes! Why weren’t you in your bed last night?”

“Uhh,” she draws out, shrugging her shoulders. Usually she didn’t sleep in her room on nights before her parents had to go to the hospital. “I — daddy, I slept in Maevey’s room. And then I wake up to go play, and Uncle Ranny is drooling on my satin!”

“Oh, dear. Let’s wake Mr. Twinkle Toes up, okay?” She responds with an okay, nodding her head while he walks into the room. Ransom let’s out a loud snore, hugging onto one of the little girl’s Squishmallows, and she giggles again.

“Ransom,” her father says, but Ransom snores lower. “Ransom!” He kicks the bed, and Ransom shoots up immediately, groaning before flopping back down on the bed. “You’re drooling on the princess’ pillow.”

“Yeah! That’s my pillow. Why do you always sleep in my bed when you have twinkle toes.”

“I don’t have twinkle toes,” Ransom harrumphs, flipping over to his side. He hugs tighter to her stuffed animal, giving her a peek. “Why are you up so early?”

“You do have twinkle toes! You always drool with twinkle toes!”

“Charlie, baby, I,” he stops talking looking at his best friend and teammate before nodding his head, “Yes, princess, I had twinkle toes, and pranced right in here. I’m sorry, but I’ll buy you a new squishy thing,” Bucky clears his throat, and shakes his head. “I’ll buy you something.”

“Ahh! Daddy, I need to see Maevey. Put me down,” she wiggles out of her daddy’s arms before darting towards her sister’s room.

Bucky gives a long look to Ransom before leaning up against his daughter’s dresser. “Yeah, I had twinkle toes, which by the way, why does your wife call it that?”

“Next time we’ll tell the kids you got shit faced, and stumbled into our house because you used my kids as an excuse to call a cab for some girl of the night,” rolling his eyes, Ransom turns his back to Bucky. “You deserve more than one night stands. Ones you can look at without your beer goggles.”

“Not all of us are cut out to marry our highschool sweethearts.”

“You think it was easy for us?” Bucky sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “She had Maeve when she was sixteen. Pregnant when she was fifteen, and yeah, we struggled and made it work. But you…”

“Grew up in a life of privilege. I didn’t buy my way into the NFL. I worked hard to get there,” Bucky sighs, watching his friend. It had become a frequent pattern with Ransom coming to his house to hide from his problems. The extra help with the kids was nice, but Ransom wasn’t living his life.

“Didn’t say you did. I’m saying those kids love you, and you adore them. You’re worth more than being a fake uncle,” yawning Ransom turns to look at Bucky with an unreadable face. There is zero emotions on his face as he looks at his friend. “There’s going to be some woman who the kids love, and she’s going to send you on a whirlwind. You two are going to fall so hard for each other.”

“Why are you in here, Buck?” He responds pitifully. Ransom was never much into love. It was a made up word that very few could ever hold in their hands. They made excuses and claimed they loved or were in love, but people always disappoint you.

“You’re in my house, and in my daughter’s bed. But Nixon has an appointment. We’re staying overnight, and the girls would rather…”

“You don't have to ask. I don’t want them with anyone else anyways. They’re the only women in my life that don’t make my life a living hell,” Charlie’s bedroom door squeaks open, and the little girl runs onto Ransom’s lap, while the oldest bashfully walks in. She looks at her dad before back at Ransom.

The tall man looks towards the teenager, narrowing his eyes, and pursing his lips. He’s seen this look more than once in his life. “What do you want, Maeve?”

“So, you know my favorite artist right?” Her voice is nearly a whisper. Almost embarrassed to ask Ransom this.

“Picasso?”

“No, recording artist,” she giggles, shaking her head. She whispers out your name, and looks back at her father quickly. “Umm, she’s playing Gillette tonight. Mom already said we could go, but…”

“Who is that?” Ransom asks, confused. “She…what do you mean she’s playing Gillette?”

“Well, she is the number one artist in the world right now. She’s doing this stadium tour, and she’s going to be here for a few days. I think the itinerary I got online is correct. I know you can’t always believe everything you see on the internet, but I really want to go. Charlie likes her, too,” her little sister nods her head, and whispers into Ransom’s ear about how pretty you are. “It would mean everything to me.”

“Maevey, if she’s as big as you say she is, I might not be able to get us in,” there was only one way he could get the girls in, and he really didn’t want to go down that road again.

“You’re literally the starting tight end of the Patriots,” Maeve wasn’t going to give up without a bit of a fight.

“Your dad is the quarterback.”

“And didn’t you date some…”

“Ahh! I didn’t date her! No, absolutely not,” Ransom decides quickly he isn’t going to ask his ex about tickets to one of the biggest concerts of the year. But then the littlest girl looks up at him, sweetly asking pretty please with a cherry on top, and he can’t say no.

You bite at your lip, getting a little slap on your wrist by your makeup artist. She hates when you ruin her work. Your lipstick was already on, and now she has to go back and fix it. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you hardly recognize that girl anymore. She’d been through hell recently. Bad breakups are never easy. Worse when the world can watch.

Sighing, you look towards the door. There is always something that bothers you about this talk show. She was invasive, and played up what the tabloids said. You couldn’t keep a man. You just date around to write songs. You were seeing just how many notches you could get. It was insulting.

You are sure you’re not the only woman in the world to date or date around. What you did just was viewed by the world. Growing up in front of the camera may not be ideal, but you didn’t know anything else. This life was all you knew. It gave you the world, while also taking away so much. You loved it, and feared it. You welcomed it, and also wished you could turn it off sometimes. There was never a break.

Someone knocks on the door, and whispers out your name, letting you know it was time to go on to the set of Leslie Locke. Your team always wanted you to put in a good face for this show. It was fun, and the fans enjoyed it, but too bad the press enjoyed your humiliation more.

You squint from the lights as you walk onto set, greeted halfway by Leslie when you take a seat in a chair opposite her. Her blue eyes give you a strange look, and you look out to the audience awkwardly. She was up to something. You just knew it, but what is the question?

“So you had a pretty rough start to the year,” you smile at her, and give her a nod. She was already starting in on you and your relationship. “But the good thing is I’m sure you got some good songs out of it, right?”

“I’d say most writers use their life experiences to tell a story. How is it any different than a writer of a book?” Leslie isn’t used to you snapping back. With age comes a need to protect your peace. Her mouth goes tight as she looks at the camera and then back at you.

“But aren’t authors embellishing the story?” With the breakup came a new realization that you had the power and voice. You didn’t need someone to protect you. You could do it yourself. “We all embellish. Even when I talk to my girlfriends, I’m embellishing the story.”

“So you admit that you use your songs to make yourself look better in the breakup?” She always twisted your words. It was her schtick. You smile, shaking your head no, but have no intentions of elaborating. It wasn’t worth the argument.

“Well, I want to play a game with you,” oh good grief. She loved these stupid games. “Since you’re back on the market, I thought it would be fun to show you some single men,” you turn to look towards one of the cameras with a deadpan look. “No, this will be fun. They’re hot men, just not your usual type.”

“Okay, fine,” you sigh, knowing that it would be easier just to agree.

“Good, good,” she holds up the first picture, and you roll your eyes, shaking your head rapidly. “What’s wrong with Dayton White?”

“I don’t date race car drivers.”

“You mean you haven’t, but you could?” This is a hard no. You wouldn’t date him. “Okay, what about this guy? Big, tall, buff, and he’s a boxer,” you wait a moment for her to give you a name. “This is August Walker.”

“I don’t like the mustache. I like mean without too much going on with their face. Clean cut, ya know?”

“Well, that leaves out these two. Okay, so he’s a football player,” you scrunch up your nose, already looking disgusted. Why would you date a football player? “He’s 6’5”, tight end for the New England Patriots,” not interested. “Blue eyes, all of 265 pounds of man, and a bit of a wild card,” your ears perk up because of course they do. You love those men that have that slight toxicity. They are your weakness. And you hate it.

“Completely baby faced, and he does love going out,” please be ugly. Please be ugly. “You have no idea who Ransom Drysdale is, huh?”

“Ransom?” She flips the card over showing you what he looks like, and you’re a goner. “Oh,” you stutter, trying to look away from his face. “Oh, he’s kinda cute,” the fact that he was holding a small little girl, while hugging another. It made him even more attractive, if his angelic face wasn’t enough.

“Kinda? That is one hell of a man,” yeah, he was. You can’t even imagine how big he would be next to you.

“He’s got kids?” They were adorable little girls. You didn’t think you wanted to date someone with kids, but he could be worth it. You had never dated someone with kids. No, it didn’t matter anyways. You weren’t going to date this man. You were going to look him up. Maybe check out a few pictures of him.

“No, these are his teammate Bucky Barnes’ daughters. He’s very close with the quarterback on the team,” sure he was. He didn’t have kids, that was better. You loved kids, but weren't ready for that. But him being good with kids is a good quality. “You have no idea what the QB does, huh?”

“He throws the ball? Catches it? Tackles?”

“Football isn’t your thing, I see,” she didn’t even answer the question. Fine, you made a public declaration of finding him attractive. Great. You can already see the tabloids writing some stupid nonsense. He is cute though. And somehow loving kids that aren’t his is making him more attractive. It shows he could be a father, but was smart enough to prevent it. Ugh, you can’t be thinking about things like this. You just know his name. But a name is a start. No! Not this one. You will not fall into this trap again.

Maeve plops down on the couch, sighing as she looks out the window. Ransom was running late, and that only meant one thing. She wasn’t going to the concert tonight.

“Maevey!” Charlie says, bouncing on her older sister’s lap. “Don’t be sad. Uncle Ranny is watching us tonight, and she’ll be at Gillette tomorrow night, too. Can we make bracelets again?” Maeve wants to say no, until she sees her sister’s dark green eyes pleading up at her. “Pretty please?”

“Fine, go get the stuff. I’m sure Ran will just have pizza delivered. And…we’ll watch her interview on Leslie Locke’s today,” it wasn’t the same as actually seeing you in concert, but it would be fine. Maybe you’d talk about some upcoming music. Maybe you’d talk about a new project.

Charlie runs into her room to grab up her beads and elastic. Anything to play and spend time with her big sister. Bringing it back with the biggest smile on her face.

By the time Ransom walks into the house, he gives Maeve a regretful smile, shaking his head, “Maeve, I did try. Me and Candy didn’t end well, so I didn’t think she would help me out. And hey, your dad is the QB, shouldn’t he be able to help?”

“They’re sold out,” her voice is flat as she returns to stringing on a bead. “She’ll be on Leslie’s soon.”

“Leslie Locke’s?” Ransom groans, sitting on the floor with the girls. “All that woman wants to do is hook people up with another celebrity. She’s obnoxious, but she asks questions that nobody wants to ask. You guys really watch that trash?” Maeve shrugs her shoulders, adding another bead to her current bracelet. “What is this?”

“I love friendship bracelets! Here, Uncle Ranny, you start one. You gonna get twinkle toes this weekend?” Snorting, he shakes his head no. Giving a groan when the Leslie Locke theme song plays in the background. It is like he was getting irritated by just the thought of having to hear her voice. “I like when you get twinkle toes. It means we’re going to wake up with you here.”

“I’m here now to watch you because,” he pauses, looking up at Charlie whose eyes darken a moment. “Nixon will be okay. They think there’s a new…”

“Ran, don’t,” Maeve pulls Charlie over into her lap, giving her tiny sister a kiss on the head. “He’s going to be okay, sissy.”

“Of course he is, princess. Nixie boy is going to be so strong, and going to be the best linebacker that the east coast has ever seen,” reaching out his hand, he gives the little girl a tap to her nose, “I promise, Nixon will be okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Hey, look! Maevey! There she is. Oh, she’s so pretty, huh, Uncle Ranny?” Both girls turn to look towards Ransom, and he is only staring at you as you wave to the camera. Giving the audience the prettiest smile. He’s notices the fake smile you give Leslie. He’s done it a few times.

“What do you think?” Maeve leans towards him, bumping his shoulder. “You have just as much chance as those normal people. But she has this tendency to,” Maeve’s words turn into mush as Ransom watches you. He hadn’t ever seen anyone more beautiful. He isn’t sure why he hadn’t ever thought to look you up. Especially when there was the rumor you would be singing at the Super Bowl.

Your fake little giggle as you look at Leslie is even adorable. He isn’t paying attention to whatever little game Leslie is playing with you until Charlie sees it.

“That’s me!” Charlie shouts, jumping out of her sister’s lap. “That’s me! Maevey, she’s looking at us.”

“Oh, my god,” Maeve chokes out, hearing you mention how Ransom was cute. “Oh my god! She’s seen my face. She…she’s — Ransom, do you understand what this means?” Ransom can’t think of anything other than the fact that you are staring at a picture of him.

“I have an idea. Ran, I have — Ransom Drysdale! She’s going to be at the children’s hospital before her concert. Ransom! Ransom, pay attention to me.”

You thought he was cute. You smiled a genuine smile looking at him. His phone hadn’t rang. Leslie wasn’t trying to put her meddling nose where it didn’t belong. He could call his people, and get them to call your people. This could work. One date. One night.

“Ransom!”

“What?” He asks, finally looking at Maeve.

“I have an idea, and you won’t have to get anyone’s teams involved. It would just be you and her. It’s perfect, and she loves simple things. She loves little sneaks. And I think she kinda liked the idea that you don’t have kids, but you’re around them. Ran, I know what we need to do.”

Performing was the easy part of your career. Having moments to tell your stories with a guitar in your hand. Nothing else matters. Just you and the movement of the lyrics. Looking up to see the children’s faces makes you smile.

You wanted a family. One day you would have some of your own. Even though you’re sealed up in a studio alone, this is one of your favorite crowds to perform for. Big beaming smiles as they hang on to every word that you say. They always called you powerful, but they were the powerful ones. Always able to have a smile on their face.

Smiling despite whatever was going on in their lives. Enjoying life regardless of what their diagnoses were. Simple. Peaceful. Looking back down at your guitar, you close your eyes for a moment, and just feel the music. Everyone always had something going on in their life. Money couldn’t buy you everything. Definitely couldn’t make bad stuff from happening to you.

Opening them back up, you look out into the small audience and choke. Having to look away from the handsome man that was standing in front of you. You had only just seen him in a photo recently, and there he was. It was like the clouds had opened up, and the sun shone right on him. His blue shirt setting off his eyes even more. And those jeans made his legs look days long. He is staying casual, even a brand new pair of Nikes on. He wasn’t even remotely your type, and still you feel drawn to him.

“Uncle Ranny she saw you,” Ransom shakes his head no. He imagined the crack in your voice when you looked up at him. He has to hold Charlie up, so she could actually see over the crowd in front, and Maeve leans over on his shoulder. “Yeah huh. She did. Or it was me.”

“It was definitely you,” Ransom responds without looking away from you. You looked delicate in that room all by yourself. Strumming on a guitar and peaceful. He didn’t have the best reputation in the NFL. The reputation of a perpetual playboy. Love them and leave them, so if you wanted to even talk to him, you would have to accept that. And from what research he did on you, any male in your vicinity was automatically your Prince Charming.

Two people from very different careers, and rumors that ruled your careers just as much as your talent. The rumors aren't always true. Some nights Ransom doesn’t even go home with those women. He crawls into a tiny little twin sized princess bed with pink ruffles. The tabloids could write what they wanted to. But this — this is an intimate setting, and he’s never seen anyone more beautiful than you.

You might not realize it, but you look at each child that is watching you perform. Giving them a moment of joy. There are no cameras, and nobody to see what you’re doing but these kids and family. And then he realizes he must look like the biggest asshole because he was here.

“We should go,” he whispers, and he swears he sees you shake your head no. Could you read lips, and were you asking him not to go?

“No, we can’t,” Maeve whispers, her eyes staying on you the entire time. “You have to give her what you made.”

“Maeve, this is silly,” she gives her quasi uncle a quick pinch on his forearm. Something she’s done most of her life. Her silent way of letting him know that she wasn’t going to change her mind, she needs to see this through. “I can just get…”

“She doesn’t like setups like that. She wants things to be organic.”

“I showed up at the children’s hospital to see her,” and saying it out loud sounds even more absurd than it felt. He was crossing a line by coming here.

“You are just bringing us to our parents, so we can check on our little brother because he’s going to have another surgery. This is as random as you can get,” Maeve’s words stop in her mouth as you smile at the three of them. Your eyes looking back to the kids in the front. You aren’t sure why they are there, but you aren’t entirely upset about it either.

He looks more handsome in person. And the way those girls are so comfortable with him. A quick Google search told you how close he was with his QB. How he spent a ton of free time with him, and his kids. You hope that they linger. You always want to give time to everyone before they are shuffled back into their room. Hoping a smile towards them, and holding up a finger, asking them to give you a minute will be enough.

You know it isn’t going to be long before you are going to be ushered away in preparation for the show. Taking a deep breath, you go to hug each and every one of them. Watching your PA from the side who is constantly checking on the time. Hopefully Ransom and his nieces understood it wasn’t being rude. She was always conscious of your time.

As soon as the last person is pulled away from your side, you stand up straight to look at Ransom with whatever smile your social battery will allow. Your PA says your name, and motions you with her head it was time to leave, “Give me ten more minutes?” She looks at Ransom and the girls, and holds up her whole hand. Five minutes was better than nothing.

“So,” you huff out walking towards them. Having to gulp when you realize just how massive Ransom is. No wonder the little girl looked tiny in his arms. “Uh,” you giggle, not knowing exactly what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“My brother is here,” the oldest girl blurts out, and pulls at Ransom’s arm. “He has something for you.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes. You do. He’s on the Pats. He tried to get tickets to your show last night, but they were sold out. I’ve always wanted to see you. I’m your biggest fan. My little sister, Charlotte, loves you, too. She’s just four, so she doesn’t understand all the lyrics. But I do. I love how you kinda tease your fans, and give us little Easter eggs in anticipation for your next album, or sneak things into your videos. It’s so cool,” panicking she looks up at Ransom. Realizing she had word vomited all of that to you. This wasn’t how she imagined meeting you would go.

“Maevey, breathe,” the little girl giggles, before hiding her face on Ransom.

“She talks a lot when she’s nervous,” Maeve gives him a pinch to his arm, and if you weren’t standing right in front of him, laughing a tiny bit, he wouldn’t do what he was about to do. “I did try.”

“Well, what if I told you that I have a few extra tickets to the show. I always ask for a box at these stadium shows to stay empty for me just in case. It’s still empty,” both the girls squeal, and Maeve tugs on Ransom’s arm a bit. “I should probably go, honestly. But…I’ll have my people call yours?”

“Uhh…where is,” You point over to a few hidden areas in the hospital. You had people everywhere. He’s sure most are for security. But still one could figure out what it was Ransom needed to do to get to the stadium. Maeve gives him another pinch to his arm, and he grunts as you start to turn around.

“Uh, me and the girls, we uh — we made you something.”

“That’s adorable,” you preen, looking between both of the girls. Ransom reaches his giant hand into his pocket, and pulls out a crude bracelet.

“We made friendship bracelets last night instead of watching your concert. I just brought them here to see their parents and baby brother.”

“This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” you’ve had sweet things given to you. But there is something about envisioning this man on the floor with two girls, and making a bracelets with those thick fingers. “Thank you. Honestly, I want to see you guys in the box tonight. Jared will get you all the info that you need.”

“Yes. Yes, you will. Ransom has nothing to do. Nothing at all,” you liked the teenager with him. Even when nervous, she still said what she thought.

Ransom sighs as you walk away. Thankful you hadn’t looked at what the bracelet said while you were in front of him. He could breathe again, but you couldn’t. Walking with your PA, your fingers play with the bracelet until you are helped into your car.

“June, he’s so hot. Like hot hot obviously. He’s so big and wide, and the way he delicately held Charlotte? Oh my god. That was the sweetest thing, and I need them at the show tonight.”

“Don’t let him be a distraction.”

“I won’t,” you roll your eyes, finally giving the bracelet a look. He was smooth. You stuff it back in your pocket. Smiling from ear to ear, and knowing that when you go alone, you were going to pick up your phone, and make sure that he had your number, too.

Masterlist

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#inside her fantasy #ransom drysdale #football player!ransom drysdale #football au #football alternate universe #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x fem!reader #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale fics #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale fanfic #chris evans #chris evans character

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separatist-apologist · 2 months

Text

Traitors Never Win

Summary: When Feyre Archeron's father promises she'll marry notorious crime boss Rhysand Moreno, Feyre will do anything to get out of the arrangement…including framing him for murder.

Rhysand isn't about to let her go so easily.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

In retrospect, the signs were all there. What were the odds the agent had the same name as her would-be fiance? Feyre hadn’t thought anything of it, even after she’d let him eat her out. It had been waking up at dawn, his arm draped over her, and a memory of Rhys jogging down the sidewalk after her weeks earlier.

He’d called her Feyre.

Not Sarah, like everyone–even Tamlin—did when they were in public. But Feyre. And for whatever reason, it had felt like a warning bell in her head that this man didn’t act very copish. He was chatty and didn’t seem overly concerned with rules. Casual in a way Tamlin never was. It was clear he had blood on his hands, but not in a sanctioned kind of way.

She just wanted to know. So Feyre had gone through his things until she found his laptop opened and unprotected…and the feed of his house running in the corner of his computer. She’d found the chats between himself and two people labeled only C and A documenting their progress keeping her sisters out of the loop while Rhys tracked her down.

She should have shot him. Feyre couldn’t stop thinking about it as they drove. He had her in handcuffs—because when he put her down in the driveway she’d slapped him so hard she’d busted his lip—and Feyre didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to take them off.

“You’re going to get caught,” Feyre taunted as Rhys drove, unconcerned and undeterred.

His amusement annoyed her. “We’ll see,” was all he said in response.

For a few hours, Feyre tried everything. She screamed at the top of her lungs and kicked at the dash until Rhys threatened to tie her up and throw her in the back. He sounded serious when he said it and Feyre believed he would do far worse if he felt like he had to. For a moment, she contemplated crashing the car and killing them both before she thought better of it.

With her luck, they’d both survive anyway.

Feyre didn’t want to die. What she wanted was for all this to end in a way that made them all happy and so, as they began climbing into the mountains, Feyre decided a different tact.

“I’m sorry I framed you for my fathers murder,” she said, not sorry at all. It sounded petulant even to her ears.

Rhys arched a brow. “Liar.”

“You purchased me—”

“I purchased your fathers business,” Rhys interrupted, gripping the steering wheel so tightly the whites of his knuckles were showing. “How am I supposed to know if he told you or not? Most women in your position understand the life and the expectations that come with it.”

“No one ever asked if I wanted to marry you. Which I don’t, just so we’re clear,” Feyre told him, twisting her cuffed wrists resting in her lap.

Rhys didn’t look moved. Still, Feyre had to keep trying.

“Look. What if I just—”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Rhys agreed, turning on his wipers as fog and a thin drizzle began to wash over them. “I won’t agree not to marry you in exchange for your terms. The only way out of this—for both of us— is marriage.”

Anger flared through her all over again. “I’m not marrying you!”

“You will,” he replied with more of that arrogance. “Or you would have shot me.”

“Are those my only options?” she demanded.

“I know you have no problems with murder, my darling. It should have been easy for you and yet here I am, and here you are.”

“You’re insane.”

Rhys only shrugged, allowing the pair to lapse into silence. Feyre didn’t know what else to say to him that might change his mind and so, maybe it was better to just try and understand him. If she could future out what made him tick, she could figure out how to beat him. Everyone had a weakness and that included Rhys.

“Have you been looking for me the entire time?”

“Yes,” he agreed, his shoulders still tight.

“To kill me?”

A sly smile spread against his face. “Not even close.”

He was absurd. Feyre didn’t believe for one minute that he’d spent the last five years chasing her simply because he wanted to be with her. No, this was punishment somehow.

Though…last night hadn’t felt like a punishment. That didn’t mean anything. Last night he’d been another federal agent who wanted to touch her and not…himself.

“What are you going to do to me?” she finally asked.

“The same thing we’ve been doing,” Rhys replied with easy finality. “I’m not going to kill you, Feyre.”

“But you won’t let me go?”

“Where would you run to? Your sisters? The life before? All of that is over,” he said, gripping the wheel tightly against the winding road. “There is nothing to go back to.”

“Except you?”

“I’m your future, baby,” he reminded her. A horrific future in which she sat quietly in their house while he continued to terrorize their city. A future in which she had no say, had to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. Feyre could wait him out. How long before the feds realized she was missing?

“I guess you haven’t been indicted, then?”

Rhys laughed, reminding Feyre that he was truly beautiful. Nothing at all like she’d imagined, with his dark hair and sculpted features. He looked very late twenties, early thirties—still young, still attractive and if the night before was any indication, virile. She’d been picturing someone her fathers age—old, and with a string of dead wives behind him.

Not that it made Rhys any less insane, of course.

“No, Feyre. They can’t indict me because this is one crime I didn’t commit.”

“But Tamlin said—”

“That everything hinged on your testimony?” he guessed, glancing over at her. “Yes, I’ve heard that before. What happens, my little love, when you can’t keep this act up anymore?”

“It’s not an act,” Feyre replied.

“Perjury is a crime, too,” Rhys reminded her.

“Who cares about lying?”

“The feds will care,” Rhys replied, reasonable as ever. “Especially when they can’t convict me because you’re a liar. They’re going to be pissed you squandered their best chance at taking me down and you’ll become their sacrificial lamb.”

“Let me guess. Unless I marry you?”

“Smart girl,” he praised.

“I could recant—”

“Back to jail for murder,” Rhys reminded her. It was easy to forget Feyre had actually killed her father. Somehow she’d divorced it from her mind, the actions belonging to someone who most certainly was not her. Right then, though, Feyre could remember picking up the cool metal of the bat and taking a swing. Her father had been facing his computer rather than her—he hadn’t seen it coming.

His head had bounced off his keyboard with a sickening crunch. She knew, right then, if she didn’t keep going that she would pay for what she’d done. Though Feyre hadn’t cared about being punished. It had felt good to have her retribution, to repay him for the years of neglect.

When she came back to the moment she found Rhys watching her. “I remember my first kill, too.”

“Was it your father?”

Rhys’s smile was soft. “My uncle, actually.”

“Why?”

“Well, he made a play for my fathers seat—that’s my official story.”

“But the truth?” Feyre questioned.

“I love my cousin,” he said quietly, eyes darkening in memory. “And my uncle did not.”

Oh.

“So you’re, what, a man with a code?”

Rhys shrugged again. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

But Feyre already knew the answer to that. Maybe that was what had compelled her to let him in without the usual protocol being adhered to. And last night…fuck. This was a kidnapping—she hated him.

And she was attracted to him.

It made him more dangerous than he already, especially now that he knew they shared this in common. She’d seen him naked, and she’d liked it. Had let him flip her over the bed and fuck her throat like…like a whore. Feyre had wanted to do more with him, had been thinking about him naked even as she opened his laptop.

She was thinking about it right then even as the cabin emerged from the fog. It was remote—that was her first thought. There was no one for miles and only one road that had branched from the main one miles back. It was becoming apparent that the only way in or out was in a car and if she wanted to escape, she’d need to get his keys.

A problem, considering he had her in handcuffs. But if she could trick him into freeing her…let him believe she cared about him and would willingly marry him, Feyre could get unrestrained long enough to incapacitate him and escape. She didn’t know where she’d escape to, but that was future Feyre’s problem. Getting far away from him was the first step, though.

Rhys was ever the gentleman, opening her door and helping her out only for Feyre to jam her elbow in his gut.

“I hate you,” she reminded him.

“As long as you feel something for me.”

“Disgust? Loathing?”

“Arousal,” he replied, hoisting her up in the air for no other reason than he apparently wanted to touch her ass. “I can practically smell it on you.”

“You’re disgusting,” she retorted, jamming her elbow into his neck. Rhys hissed, but didn’t drop her as he led her into the house.

“I’ll be eating that pussy by the end of the week. You’ll beg for my tongue.”

“Maybe it’s you who will beg,” she replied, thinking about holding a knife to his throat.

“Almost certainly,” Rhys practically purred. “Welcome home, baby.”

He dropped her to the wood floor in a heap, chuckling as he made his way through the warm living room toward the kitchen.

“This isn’t my home.”

“Well, no. Our home is far nicer and closer to restaurants. But this could be your home for the holidays. I’ll teach you to ski.”

“You’re crazy.”

Rhys rolled his eyes, a glass of scotch in his hand. “This only ends in one of two ways for you and me, baby. I figure it’s better to choose my way than yours.”

“Your way is marriage, which means mine is—”

“Death,” he said, his voice roughening. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re planning, Feyre. You’ll leave with me as my wife or we won’t leave at all.”

“Because you’ll kill us both?” she accused.

“Because there are only so many places I can hide you before we’re found, and I’m not letting you go if we’re not married,” he bit back.

And that was that. Feyre picked herself up off the floor so Rhys could offer her a drink, which she accepted, and a tour, which she had no choice but to participate in. The cabin was nice—four bedrooms plus Rhys’s office, a basement that looked decidedly haunted, and a hot tub out on the deck she had no interest in.

“Which room is mine?” she asked when he was finally done showing her the scope of her new prison. It was a stupid question and one Rhys answered with a broad grin. Her room was his room, and right then Feyre understood exactly how things were going to go down.

Or, she thought she did until she saw the outfits he’d brought out for her.

“This is see through,” she said, holding up the panels of fabric clearly meant to be some kind of outfit.

“Is it?” Rhys replied, clearly seeing her hand through the transparent fabric.

“I’m not wearing it.”

“Even better,” she said with a grin before flopping to the bed. “That was my preference.”

Feyre tried to get into the bed wearing her jeans, but Rhys stopped her. “Pick.”

“You’re an animal,” she snapped, snatching the dress from the bed. “You can’t stockholm me into loving you.”

“You already love me,” Rhys informed her, so self assured that Feyre was momentarily taken aback. “You would have admitted it had you not found out who I am. I wonder where we’d be then, Feyre.”

“Hell,” she replied, stomach twisting at the thought, “because I would have killed us both.”

“It would be heaven, dying at your hands—”

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped, stalking for the attached bathroom. The sheer dress was exactly as bad as she’d imagined—she would have been better off naked. It was merely the illusion of privacy and what was worse was the knowledge that if she escaped, it would probably be in this.

Feyre came back out to Rhys, arms crossed over her chest. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to her. Not when he was already so pleased with himself. She imagined Rhys thought he’d won—that he was about to get everything he wanted if he just waited a little longer.

Feyre held out her still cuffed wrists. “Please,” she forced herself to say.

“Because you asked so nicely,” Rhys agreed, pulling the key from his pocket. It was a relief not to have the heavy, tight metal no longer twisting her delicate skin. Feyre forced herself into bed, trying desperately not to drink in the heady scent of him. Couldn’t he have been ugly, at least? His visual appeal didn’t help anything—Feyre couldn’t escape her attraction to him, which was muddling things, at least a little.

She let him hold her until he fell asleep. Feyre feigned it, evening out her breathing and keeping her eyes closed. And for a little while, as she waited, Feyre tried to imagine a life like this. Would he always make her dress like a whore? Would she be another little trinket to him, a toy to amuse himself with before he discarded her for someone more interesting. For all her fathers flaws—and there were many—he was always faithful to their mother. But Feyre had grown up in the life and she knew that was the exception and not the rule.

Rhys was beautiful. She doubted she’d get that kind of fidelity from him. Deciding she wasn’t going to ask him any of her questions, Feyre instead slipped from his loosened grip, quickly pulled on her shoes, and began searching for car keys.

Feyre was jumpy—every creak, every rattle of the wind sent her crawling out of her skin until she couldn’t take it anymore. Stealing his coat, Feyre decided she’d take her chances and just make a run for it.

The air was cold, seeping through Rhys’s warm jacket before the door was closed behind her. Feyre braced herself before taking the icy steps to the drive. His parked car taunted her and though it was tempting to damage the sleek, black body, Feyre didn’t have time.

She needed to put as much distance between herself and that man as she could before he woke up. Wishing she was stealthier, Feyre left the road for only a moment before realizing how slick and steep the sides were—she was likely to accidentally topple down an embankment and freeze to death.

She was likely to freeze to death anyway. There was no snow, no rain, but the wind was brutal and leftover liquid slipped into the cracks of her shoes until her feet were numb. The pure darkness around her did nothing to help. Every little sound was a predator coming to kill her. Feyre had assumed she could figure out her way back to the road, but after what felt like an eternity walking, she began to feel hopeless.

Scared, too.

What if she’d gone the wrong way and no one found her? Not even Rhys, who she knew would be out looking the minute he found her missing. Feyre took another step, slipping on a patch of unseen ice. Throwing her arms out to steady herself, she stumbled to the side and went tumbling to the side of the mountain they were on. Snow slipped through the openings in Rhys’s jacket and covered her face, muffling her panicked, desperate scream.

Certain she was going to die, Feyre squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for freefall. Instead, her body slammed into the trunk of a pine tree, keeping her from going any further. She was trapped in a coffin made of ice and her lungs hurt every time she took a breath.

And still, she was alive.

Feyre swallowed, looking up at the swaying branches overhead. Okay. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing. All she had to do was—

“Feyre?!”

“Rhys,” she breathed, strangely relieved to see him. The darkness was minutely illuminated by the headlights of his car, and when she squinted upward, she could see the dark outline of him peering down.

“Feyre?!” he yelled again and too late, Feyre realized he couldn’t see her.

“Rhys!” she called in return, the effort making her cough. It was enough, though—she heard him swear loudly before turning back for the car. She was so, so fucked and she knew it. Right then, though, Rhys was her salvation as he carefully made his way down after her.

“Are you trying to put me in an early grave?” he asked once he reached her. By then, Feyre’s teeth were chattering so violently she couldn’t speak. All she could do was press her frigid cheek to his warm chest when he lifted her into his arms. Somehow he managed to get her back up that hillside and into the passenger seat of his car.

He was angry judging by the tight set of his jaw and how roughly he gripped the steering wheel. And Feyre, for her part, was too exhausted to even try and do damage control. She merely let Rhys do whatever he felt was necessary, which included stripping them both of their clothes and piling blankets on top of them. She didn’t protest, either, when she felt the length of his warm body pressed against her spine.

“Just breathe,” Rhys murmured into her hair. “You’ll survive this.”

Feyre fell asleep like that and when she woke, she was sweaty and thirsty, but she was alive. Alone, too, judging from the lack of Rhys beside her. There were no laid out clothes and when she went looking for the sheer dresses he’d picked up for her, she found nothing but his clothes. Deciding on one of his shirts, Feyre pulled a long, black tee over her head before making her way to the main area of the cabin.

Rhys was waiting in a pair of charcoal slacks and a buttoned up, violet shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was texting on his phone, brows furrowed.

“Eat,” he said without looking at her, gesturing toward a plate of eggs. Was he really not mad? Feyre tried to think of something to say to him before deciding that really, this was his fault. He’d kidnapped her, after all—did he not expect her to try and escape him? She wasn’t going to apologize for trying.

Feyre did as she was told while Rhys largely ignored her, staring down at his phone reading whatever had him so captivated. He took her plate when she finished, sliding it into the sink before gesturing with two fingers for her to stand.

“You’re coming with me,” he said, his voice suggesting she do as he say.

“Rhys—”

“You could have died,” he interrupted, his eyes burning with the same intensity as the stars in the sky. “You would have died if I’d woken any later. So get up, Feyre darling.”

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked him, arms crossed over her chest.

“Get up, Feyre.”

“If you hurt me—”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he snarled, clearly offended. She believed him, thinking back to the night before when he’d carried her back to bed without a word. He hadn’t even protested when her frigid back touched his skin and Feyre knew she would have made him suffer alone beneath blankets had the situation been reversed.

“But you’re going to do something?” she asked. His eyes sparkled.

“Turn around,” he instructed. Feyre did, only to hear the clicking of the handcuffs.

“Rhys—”

“Shhh,” he murmured, running his hands over her shoulders. “I won’t have you hitting me in the face.”

“But I can kick you?” she challenged as he poked her toward the hall.

“You could try,” he replied in that good natured way of his. Rhys took Feyre to his office, closing and locking the door behind him. Feyre halted, barefoot on the soft rug, until Rhys poked her in the spine again.

“Sit,” he said, nodding toward his chair behind his desk. It was awkward given this time her hands were cuffed behind her back.

“What are you doing?”

“Teaching you a lesson,” he murmured, eyeing her with appreciation. “I have a few calls I need to sit in on and I clearly can’t leave you alone while I work. So you’ll sit here with me and keep me company until I’m done.”

“You’d let me hear all your dirty secrets?” she taunted, her tone implying she would absolutely tell a federal agent if she escaped.

Rhys didn’t take the bait. “My wife ought to know where our money comes from.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” he replied with a finality she didn’t bother arguing with. “Now spread your legs.”

“No.”

Rhys stared at her for a moment, head cocked like a predator assessing his prey. Feyre was certain she could outlast him, ignoring the bolt of arousal that had snaked up her spine the moment she realized what he wanted.

He wasn’t a serious man, she decided. He was wanted, on the run with a literal hostage and he wanted her to spread her legs? Not tie her up in his dungeon and withhold food or water until she broke…he wanted to eat her out.

The phone rang, causing them both to start. Rhys pressed a finger to his lips in a demand of silence, before pushing the speaker button.

“Go,” he said in that dark, rich voice of his.

“Boss, there’s been some shit—”

Rhys muted himself, only half listening as he murmured, “Spread your legs, Feyre, or I’m going to sit you on my cock for the next three hours.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed as Rhys began to sink to his knees.

“Wouldn’t I?” he murmured, grabbing her knees and wrenching them open. She was wearing only a shirt—everything else was soaked from the night before and Rhys had obnoxiously not provided any undergarments. He could see everything…though she’d already shown him two nights before.

Rhys leaned behind him, pulling his phone closer so he could hit the button and say, “Where is he now?”

“Dead.”

“Good. Tell me the rest,” he replied, clearly paying attention to the conversation in a way Feyre wasn’t. Then he was muting himself once again, pushing her thigh wide, and lowering his head.

“Rhys—”

“Shhh,” he murmured again. “I’m working, my love.”

She couldn’t focus on anything—not even kicking him in the face. He was so ridiculous, so beautiful, and he was on his knees trailing kisses up one of her bare thighs.

“How many—” Feyre took a breath when she felt her lips graze her pussy. “How many laundromats do you own?”

“We own,” he replied, the idiot. “Just four. I prefer car washes, personally. There is a little more overhead but it’s easier to…well. Easier to operate, let's just say.”

“Oh,” she whispered, not responding to what he’d said at all. Rhys was teasing her, his tongue just barely touching her clit before darting away back for her thigh. She didn’t notice him reach behind him for the button, though she did hear him speak.

“Kill him.”

“Kill who?” she asked. Rhys merely licked at her again, perhaps hoping to distract her. It worked for a moment—Feyre arched her hips closer, wishing he’d just get on with it.

“Needy,” he praised, dipping a finger into her slick pussy. “You’ll sit nicely in my lap.”

“Tell me who you want killed,” she repeated.

Rhys sucked at her, drawing a soft moan from her lips. “Hybern.”

“Who?”

“You don’t need to worry—”

“You said what was yours was mine,” she reminded him, twisting her lower half away from his mouth. She could punish him too it seemed, because Rhys looked up at her with frustration, a lock of his dark hair flopping into his eyes.

“A rival,” he finally said, easing her back in front of him. “Your fathers death opened a power vacuum I can’t close because the feds are always watching. He’s encroaching and I’m tired of it.”

“So you’ll kill him?” she questioned.

Rhys licked her again, toying with her. “I’d do worse if I could get away with it. Death is easy.”

“Is that the kind of man you are?”

Their eyes met. “Yes.”

Did that bother her? Strangely, she found it didn’t. Feyre let her knees fall wider and Rhys groaned as he pulled her closer to his face.

“I should have done this last night,” he whispered, his breath warm against her pussy. “You wouldn’t have left.”

“I would have,” she lied, unsure if that was true or not.

“It's my fault,” he murmured before taking yet another taste of her. “And I can’t forgive myself for any of it.”

She had the sense he wasn’t just talking about the night before. Feyre had always assumed Rhys must hate her—that he wanted her dead. He should have. Any reasonable person would. And yet right then, Rhys’s violet gaze found hers and she saw the anguish hiding just behind his cool amusement.

She felt pity. That was a mistake, to empathize with this man. One minute she’d be reassuring him he’d done nothing wrong and the next she’d have a wedding band on her finger as she drove their children to soccer practice.

Feyre could feel it, that tug toward fate. For one moment, Feyre knew the future that stretched before her—but it wasn’t in her nature to accept things blindly. If she was going to be his wife, she’d run toward it kicking and screaming.

Later, she decided. The kicking could come after he finished licking her.

Though Rhys very quickly tired of his little game. Deciding he’d sufficiently worked her up, if the way she was writing against his face was any indication, Rhys stood, revealing his own erection pushed tight against his pants.

She watched through half lidded eyes as he undid the button with his strong hands, admiring the veins snaking up his arms.

Rhys kicked them off, revealing mountains crowned with stars over his knees. “I swore I’d never kneel before anyone,” Rhys told her, sliding a finger into the waistband of his briefs. “But I’d kneel for you, darling.”

“You’re pathetic,” she breathed, transfixed on his now freed cock. It was exactly how she remembered—thick and long, the size of him demanding she look at him. Touch him. Taste him. Feyre could still remember her desperation to take him in her mouth and the pleasure she’d felt when he’d come.

“Up,” he told her, ignoring her insults. Feyre didn’t budge, legs still draped over the arms of the chair. That was no problem for Rhys, though—he merely lifted her up and sat himself down against the leather while ignoring the damp spot she’d left behind.

“Be my good girl,” he murmured against her neck. “Keep your legs open.” “Rhys—” “Open your legs, baby," he repeated in that soft, seductive voice of his.

She did, gasping when the blunt head of his cock stabbed her entrance. “Rhys,” she whispered, twisting in his lap as he wrapped his arms tight around her.

“You can take me,” he insisted, though Feyre didn’t think that was true. Rhys pushed her down just enough to take the first few inches while Feyre cried out, squeezing herself around him so tightly she didn’t think he could wedge the rest of him into her.

Behind her, Feyre could feel Rhys’s heart pounding through the shirt he still wore. “That’s a good girl,” he praised before sinking his teeth into her shoulder. “Take the rest.”

“It’s too much,” she whined, though in truth it was easier to adjust than she expected. Rhys must have felt her relax because he was back to impaling her with a few more inches, and then more still, until Feyre swore she could feel him in her lungs.

“Now sit,” he said, swearing softly when she squeezed herself tight around him.

“Sit?”

“Keep my cock warm while I work,” he replied, scooting his chair forward. The rocking motion made them both moan, though once he was close enough to his computer, Rhys went still again. It was torture to just sit there, aroused and needy from his teasing tongue and yet when Feyre tried to grind herself against him, Rhys swatted at her exposed pussy lightly.

“Don’t move.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll fuck that bratty mouth until you can’t even whisper,” he replied.

She wished, though she didn’t say. Feyre did try, too. She tried to sit still and pay attention to his conversations, the emails he wrote, the payroll software he used. She saw a message from his associate A—Azriel, she learned—and a long complaint about a woman named Gwyn who’d pointed a shotgun at his face and fired before he’d had a chance to say a word.

Rhys had chuckled when he read it, like the whole thing amused him.

But underneath it all, Feyre was distracted by his pulse hammering in his cock and the way his hand would occasionally drift up her thigh to tease her clit before dropping it again. She could never quite get comfortable, could never ease herself out of her desperate arousal. He kept her on edge while he himself did nothing except hold himself inside her.

How long could a man keep an erection, she wondered? How long could this man? Longer than most she supposed. Rhys took two more calls, leaning back so the angle changed and shifting just enough that Feyre had to swallow more than one whimper. His fingers teased and touched, feeling the place their bodies joined over and over. It was like he couldn’t help himself.

“Rhys,” she whispered when the call ended, twisting in his lap. “Let me go.”

“I can’t,” he admitted, arching his neck. “I need to fuck you.”

“Rhys,” she warned, but he was too quick. Shoving aside the things on his desk so his phone and mouse and keyboard all clattered to the floor, Rhys had her lying against the wood with his cock still buried inside her.

He pushed up her shirt, exposing her breasts before slowly pulling himself out. Feyre tried to arch up, forcing him out of her entirely, but Rhys was more practiced than most men. He didn’t flinch, slamming himself to the hilt back inside her body.

“Sneaky,” he praised. “I should spank you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she panted, arousal sparking bright and hot.

“I would dare,” he disagreed, wrapping one of his broad hands loosely around her throat. “The things I want to do to you…”

Maybe she didn’t want him to finish that sentence. She wanted to know about his fantasies, though. Rhys was so liberal with his praise, his thoughts, his desires. After years with Tamlin, it was strange to get an answer to her questions. Tamlin kept it all to himself—even asking him how he’d enjoyed the sex only ever earned her a murmured, “it was good.”

“You’re so fucking wet,” Rhys whispered, thrusting again. “So tight.”

Feyre couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her, arching into him as he brought himself lower. Rhys’s teeth grazed her throat, pressing a sucking, bruising kiss against her throat.

“You’re mine,” he told her, his next thrust punishing in its intensity. “Say it.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

His grip on her throat tightened. “Say it,” he warned, restricting her air just enough to make her want him more. She wished he’d just shut up and kiss her.

Feyre tried to turn her face but Rhys squeezed tighter still, hips pistoning into her with an unrelenting intensity. Feyre was drowning in pleasure and Rhys must have been able to feel it. His other hand was between her legs, teasing and touching her swollen clit until Feyre was clenching her teeth, desperate to stave off her orgasm.

“Say it!”

Feyre came so violently she felt her spine crack as she arched off the desk. “You’re mine,” she heard herself babbling, forgetting what, exactly, he wanted to hear. Rhys groaned, his own rhythm stuttering before he pushed deeper and deeper, all but rutting into her as he chased his own pleasure.

She swore she felt him come, though maybe it was just the illusion of it. She certain felt the wetness of his come slip from her body as Rhys held himself still, chest heaving.

“I am yours,” he swore, his voice soft and low. “I always have been. I’ve been waiting for you—all five years with no one but you.”

“You’re insane,” she whispered with too much affection. His was merely the afterglow of her orgasm that made her soft and sweet.

Rhys withdrew himself, fingers pushing his own spend back into her body. What did Feyre care? She was on birth control, determined not to have a child until the whole ordeal was over. If she even wanted children—she’d never been certain of that.

So lost in her thoughts, Feyre didn’t notice Rhys sinking back to his knees. Not until he pulled her to the edge of his desk.

“The day isn’t over,” he said, sliding his fingers through the mess. “And neither am I.”

Feyre merely laid her head back.

Good.

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #is rhys a sane man?#no but you didnt come here for healthy depictions of relationships #you came to watch one man spiral out of control and i have provided that to you #free of charge youre welcome (dont tell your therapist)

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piggyinthesea · 4 months

Text

Lest You Ache My Wrath| mv1

part one, part 2

wrd count: 3.1k

warnings: alcohol, unprotected sex, reunion of teen lovers, mention of std, restrained during sex, foreplay (f receiving), some angst, inappropriate language

The stars illuminated the night sky like the way she stood out from the rest. It’s terrible, he knows it, yet he’s forced to answer the knock on his window. She was daring, clearly adventurous the way she always climbed up the garage into his window - knowing she’s not allowed in his house.

“Max, I have to go. I don’t know when i’ll be back. I’m leaving the state tonight.”

“Don’t! Please. You can live with me, I’ll… ask dad.” He knows he won’t say yes, but he’s gone far too down the rabbit hole of love to let go of her.

“Our dreams will hold us together. We’ll meet again. I’m sure of it.”

Her mind formed an endless cycle of anxiety-inducing thoughts. It wasn’t easy building her life from the shambles her deadbeat father had left her in. Throughout her adolescent years, tears were shed and wiped from her soothing cheeks.

It wasn’t so terrible, often times she met kind souls who’d lent her a roof over her head along with kind commodities such as food and clean clothes. She was alone, most of the time, but within darkness, there was light that had a warm grip on her. She thought she’d never see him again.

Years passed since she left that particular area, and her mind formed a haze around the memories she had spent with him. Her mind began playing tricks on her, and after a while, she began thinking that those warm nights wrapped around him were just a hallucinogenic side effect that came from her traumatic experience.

Those memories, sadly, began to fade like froth on a window.

She began to live a relatively normal life once she reached her 20s. She didn’t live paycheck to paycheck anymore, not usually, at least. She finally had enough to buy her own car, a trophy she held dear to herself. It was a reminder of the overwhelming struggles she endured and surpassed. She had normal hobbies and purchased normal things, much like everyone else. It felt weird to her, knowing she could blend in with everyone else, despite having a not-so-common upbringing.

She worked as a journalist, with a modest brand, and served the entertainment genre. When her boss called her into their office unexpectedly, neurons began connecting and triggered a flurry of speculative thoughts- such as the act of termination. It wasn’t that at all, in fact, her position in the company had been moved from entertainment to sports journalism. It wasn’t a huge leap of a career path, but it led her to contemplate the sudden shift of promotion. If, you could even call it that.

She was quickly informed that the previous sports journalist had quit, seeking larger pay from a rival journaling company. It seemed similar enough to her previous work, but she opted to play it safe rather than being sorry and promptly piled up on information for her upcoming interview.

There was a lot of terminology she had not heard of before, which made her second-guess her qualifications for her interview, but a job was a job and if she had disguised herself to appear knowledgeable, she would.

It was unprofessional of her employer to send her off on a job that required a person well-informed in the motorsport “Formula One”. Nonetheless, she was there, with a tiny microphone clipped to her collared shirt and an iPad with suggested questions.

It was odd at first. Not because of the awkward nature of the beginnings of interviews but because of a certain familiarity she thought she felt when staring at the driver.

Unbeknownst to her, he felt the same. He chalked it up to the subtle undeniable attraction he must have felt toward the interviewer, but the longer he answered her questions in a haze, the more he felt connected to her. His mind wandered off, did he know her from somewhere? Thoughts flourished to endless possibilities until was abruptly snapped out of his trance.

“Kind of lost you for a second there, didn’t I?” Her charismatic voice easily ushered the awkwardness away.

He shyly laughed, “Sorry, I’ve just kind of been out of it. What was your question?”

The tension became increasingly clear throughout the interview. The questions seemed to never end, and that was okay because Max was focused on figuring out who exactly was sitting in front of him. Could it have just been a sense of faux deja vu that lingered in the back of his mind, or did he truly know this woman?

All thoughts perished as the interview reached the end. He met her eyes for what felt like the first time, and immediately he felt a magical stillness sweep all lingering sensations in its enchanting embrace.

A sense of realization dawned on him at that moment, and the memories of whispered promises came back, despite his previous failed attempts to have them buried and forgotten.

His mind can’t help the gravitational pull of the vivid memory stored at the back of his mind, aching to be released. An incandescent flash of light transports him to a younger version of his naive self.

Recounting it felt like a haze, but he vividly recalled the hypnotic pull of her eyes that had irresistibly drawn him toward her lips.

“I won’t ever forget you, schat. Even after many years, you’ll still be on my mind. Even if I lose my memories, the dreams I’ll have of you will always hold us together.” He said, his words floating through the air as he shed a small, barely recognizable, tear.

With that, he’s pulled back to reality, and he’s faced with a sudden endeavor. His PR manager calls him over, but he can’t help but ignore him while he searches for the woman who has miraculously disappeared instantly. He danced his way around the endless crowd of people that served no use to him. He sees her, finally, and rushes over.

Feeling a tap on her shoulder, she turns around, and though he has seen her before, he can't help but still be captivated by her eyes, even after all these years. He doesn’t know what to say at first, what could he have said?

Did she remember? Or was this all just a misunderstanding his mind despicably played against him? But alas, his worries are washed away when she initiates the conversation with alluring mannerisms.

Though her upbringing was anything but soft and sweet, she embraced kind gestures with ease. Almost doe-like, her head tilts as she coyly states, “Hey, I don’t wanna sound like a stalker, but uh, I think I know you.” She’s sweet, and though it probably shouldn’t have mattered, Max felt relieved she remembered him.

His breath hitches. He feels his body acting faster than his brain when he pulls her in for a warm hug. The truth is, she didn’t remember who he was exactly- until he welcomed her with a warm embrace.

“Max? It’s you.” Her brows furrowed while the gears in her head began turning. All those years believing the nights she spent with him were fake, only to turn out to be incredibly real, dawned on her.

He was quick to drop his celebration plans for her, insisting he fell ill to the challenging cold weather. It felt, different. In a way, it was strange talking to your high-school sweetheart but after a few words into the conversation, they effortlessly fell back into their close bond.

Later that day, they decided to meet at a small local cafe. The vibe set around it was homey, with the color palette of the restaurant being in neutral shades of brown.

“It’s so good seeing you, seriously. Like, where have you been?” Max starts off, enthusiastically as he skims through the menu.

She chuckles, “Where haven’t I been? But seriously, I’m glad you’re where you always wanted to be.”

“How are you? So much time has gone by, it feels unreal that I’m even seeing you again.”

Their conversation was cut short by one of the waitresses. After writing down their order, the waitress leaves and allows them back to their conversation.

“I’m doing great. I continued school, you know? Went to college, and got a degree in journalism. For a little while, I thought you were just something my mind made up to cope with everything going on. But, here we are.”

He grimaces, internally. He knew of the situation her younger self was in and even after all this time, he still felt a sense to shield her from everything; just like his younger self.

His coffee comes in, as well as her macchiato. The rising steam vanished, unveiling a delicate pattern in the milk atop her macchiato—a subtle and artful touch to the rich espresso. His coffee was plain black, a simple reminder of their opposite environments.

“That’s great, I’m really proud of how far you’ve come.” He offers genuinely, a sliver of longing evident in his eyes.

“Me? Look at where you’re at. You know, I only just learned this recently but, you’re a 3x world champion. That should overcome any achievement of mine.” Her words echoed a camaraderie feeling between the two.

“It’s not that impressive, but please, keep raising my self-esteem.” His words are filled with friendliness, adding a familiar touch of friendship to the air.

She smiles and sips on her macchiato as the two exchange subtle but longing looks.

Soon enough, their drinks are empty and though she strongly resists, Max pays their tab and follows her out the cafe door.

“What now?” She asks, not quite wanting the day to end.

“Well… I did just win a race today. I think I deserve a celebration. My hotel room has those mini shots we can drink if you’re up to it. Or has your alcohol tolerance dropped over the years.” The playful banter exudes a familiar memory between the two, from when they were young, dumb, and incredibly drunk.

“You’re on, tough guy.”

His hotel room was impeccably furnished, surpassing her expectations. The aura of luxury permeated the space, enhanced by the balcony's view as the sun dipped into a mesmerizing palette of red and orange hues. It seemed like second-hand nature for him as he shamelessly guided himself towards the stainless steel mini-fridge, grabbing as many tiny one-shot bottles of liquor.

“Like old times.” She said, eyes trailing the mix of alcohol as he dropped them on the king-sized bed.

He glances up at her, a devilish smirk smiling at her, “Bottoms up!”. The tiny plastic bottle handed to her was already opened, and she sniffed the substance suspiciously before downing the drink.

It stung as it ran down her throat, though she victoriously held her poker face. Max grimaced from the taste, just a bit, enough so that he wouldn’t be a victim of teasing. Realizing she was the only one standing, she found her place on the king-sized bed, unintentionally causing a rift of tension in the air due to the close proximity.

A few conversations and tiny bottles later, the two had sufficiently numbed themselves to the point of no return. To them, the room spanned around them as they laid still on the cushioned mattress. A variety of bottles had been littered across the floor, taunting them, as if they knew the pain they’d share the next morning.

“You, kn-know, I’m really glad I met you- again.” Max hiccuped between words.

Her body turned towards him, facing his enchanting eyes as she dwelled on the weight of his words. “I’m glad I met you too. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

A comforting silence swept between the two of them, and though he normally wouldn’t, the alcohol gave him a bold boost of confidence as he innocently laid his hand on her cheek. The confidence was limited, he hadn’t yet dared to close the gap between them.

She read the longing aura he produced, and reached over to him, pulling him into a magical sensation as the two shared a kiss. It was passionate, but as she started to pull away, he pulled her back into a more risqué kiss. She caught onto the newfound energy, equally kissing him back with the same intensity. His tongue lapped into her mouth, exploring a territory he once knew all too well.

Tension impossibly heightens as he pulls her well-matured body closer while his pants begin to ache with a well-known sensation. The air was charged with a blend of emotions – passion, longing, and a hint of uncertainty. The past once shrouded amid fading memories, now resurfaced with vivid clarity. It was as if time had folded upon itself, bringing them back to a moment that had never truly left their hearts. Yet, as the kiss deepened, there lingered an unspoken question - what would this unexpected reunion lead to?

The chemistry was undeniable and unparalleled to anything else they had felt, a force that could not be contained pulled them even closer. Her body laid dangerously on top of his, and his hand seemingly burnt through her skin as they traveled down her waist. The tent in his pants was inevitable, she was far too seductive to his body. Her crotch glazed his cloth erection, and as though a flip had switched in him, he flipped her over and predatorily stared into her eyes.

“I need you to say you want this.” It’s a demand. His voice is dark and unamused, leaving a sense of sexual frustration in her.

“Please, I’ve waited too long.” Her whiny voice is laughable, and she feels like a lamb sent to slaughter.

He lifts his shirt off with ease, subtly inviting her to do the same, which she instantly does. It’s a game of haste that the two play as they scramble to completely undress themselves. She was bare and vulnerable - her seamless underwear being the only fabric on her.

His large hands cup her plump breasts, gently toying with the bud of her nipple. She pulls in his head for a swift kiss, nearly knocking the air out of him. He grinds onto her, flexing his chiseled jawline, as he embodies his soul into the kiss. Like an action in a script, his hands pin her own above her head, pinning her down as his mouth littered markings on her chest. Her body submits and she absentmindedly arches her back at the aching sensation.

One of his hands daringly dips down the hem of her underwear, as the other firmly held her pinned, and began rubbing circular motions between her wet folds. Her breaths became ragged, and the moans that left her mouth were timid and frail. The trail of goosebumps on her skin was like scattered dots among her skin. He ignored his own aching shaft - but it was okay, her pleasure was his.

His fingers worked wonders - a clear reminder of the practice he received with other women. However, it was different for him this time. The blurred past between them intensified the chemical-induced reaction and it heavily surpassed the average sexual encounter with women he did not know. The room seemed to fade around her as his fingers continued drowning in her slick; furthering her desires and inducing whines and mutters.

“Don’t leave again.” His words are firm and demanding with a mixture of hurt and anger lingering in the air. His pathetic self was tarnished and replaced with an aggressive, winner, personality - a stark contrast to the whimsical boy of the past. His finger dips into her hole, leaving her breathless with no time to respond, and curls around her flesh walls. Bodily fluids gradually increase, shamelessly, coaxing his finger in her own lubricant.

He slides his finger in and out of her whilst keeping a steady grip on her hands. His personality in the bedroom has changed dramatically - thanks to the women that had come along with the fame. He’s learned his kinks, and he’s more than enthusiastic to show you his gradual improvement. In the past, though it was unspoken, he knew he lacked the dominance one might perceive him to have. He was a foolish lovesick boy who was quick to beg and whine for an ounce of her sexual energy - with no complaints from either person.

His aura radiated a dark red color, a symbol of his dominance, while he shamelessly dragged her underwear down to her mid-thighs as he propositioned himself along her entrance. He slides his tip in - a meek whine escapes his vocals and he does nothing to hide it. Their breaths, now synchronized, are ragged and heavy. Her body willingly accepts more of him, urging for his all - and it’s more than acceptable because his shaft twitches at the idea of the fact that she needs more of him.

Her hands attempt to free themselves from his grip, and it only tightens in retaliation; a fair reminder of the strength difference. He starts by slowly thrusting into her, unintentionally but undoubtedly, carrying the weight of mutual sexual desires. Gradually, the passionate thrusts are replaced by aggressive fast-paced ones. One of his hands snakes down to play with her aching bud, subconsciously flaunting his improvements. It was a goal to show her what the new him could do. He nearly pities her, for she met the untamed and mediocre him.

His pace is brutal and his thrusts become sloppy. His breath is heavy; the sweat dripping down his forehead does nothing to help the increasing heat. A knock on his door interrupts them - causing a momentary pause as they share a look. Max locks eyes with her, and his pace increases, earning a shocked glance.

“Max? I know you aren’t feeling all to well, but I thought you’d like me to…congratulate you after a win.” A female’s voice echoes through the door with a laughable attempt at sounding seductive. Like a deer caught in headlights, he falters in his pace, refusing to gain eye contact with the women under him. Her gaze is strong and dangerous - he feels it.

One question flowed through her brain - who the fuck was that? Begrudgingly, she gave into her high as her cosmic orgasm shook the bones of her skeletal system. He gained momentum as his pace quickened, mercilessly abusing her sensitive folds.

“Maxie, are you there?” The foreign woman only seemed to agitate the situation further, and as soon as Max’s current lover felt a gush of warm substance in her, she peeled herself off him, dripping in his semen. She reclothed herself in a way that made it clear she was upset. Clearly, he changed in all the wrong ways.

Panic furls through him - he was put in a terrible situation. Had god truly not been on his side that day?

In a hushed tone yet malice tone, she spat out, “Should I get tested?”

He was in nothing but his boxers- an evident difference between them. “No, don’t leave. Please, I swear if you give me a chance to explain you’ll understand.”

“Fuck you.”

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #formula 1 #formula one #angst #fanfic series #red bull racing #red bull formula 1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #mature reading #my writing is so shit #im embarrassing myself

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xxx-silhouette-xxx · 1 year

Text

Am I the only one disappointed with season 3 of The Mandalorian?

Contains SPOILERS - so skip if you don’t wanna know

Tonight was, painful.

I’ve REALLY been trying to hang on with an open mind but after tonight, there’s no going back.

And I’ve got some things to get off my chest.

Din Djarin has had NO character development from the sacrifice he made for Grogu’s life. This has been inarguably, the biggest disappointment for me. I was hoping for a season of exploration of a man’s moral compass and worldview being hauled upside down, a young boy who’d been orphaned, traumatised and taken in by a cult that raised him with titanium religious beliefs. Who grew into a hardened bounty hunter but gave up everything he knew for the sake of a lost child. Became shunned for protecting said child and despite doing what he felt was right, strived to seek redemption and forgiveness. There was so much potential for Din as a character in terms of growth and development, all of which was swept under a rug within the first two episodes. He has instead become apart of Disney’s formula of “the boss ladies side bitch” with nothing to add to the scene but his catchphrase “this is the way”. That and the sudden revival of his hate for droids even though he had been working on that issue in past seasons.

Grogu is more or less the commodity Disney grew cash dollar signs in their eyes over for the sake of product marketing and just have him doing cutesy shit for the sake of being cutesy.

And then there’s Bo Katan.

Now disclaimer - I’m not the type that hates an actual person for a character they play. Yes, I’ve never liked Bo Katan (that much I’ve made clear in recent posts) but I also think that Katee Sackhoff does a brilliant job playing a character as such. And to see her come to life in season 2 was incredible and to me, Bo Katan from season two is the REAL Bo Katan.

Because I’m sure as hell disappointed with what they’ve done to her character in season 3. Bo Katan was a terrorist who broke away from Mandalore unable to accept a new direction in leadership from her own sister. She massacred and terrorised innocent people, she plotted towards the death of her sister, splintered off from her terrorist group after the throne of Mandalore was taken by Maul and continued to fight against his loyalists and later the empire itself.

And we all saw the look of death on her face when Gideon pointed out that the dark Sabre belonged to Din

This isn’t someone I was rooting for but this was someone who didn’t know when to give up and would go to any means possible to get what they wanted. This is the same woman who made an oath in the throne room of Mandalore, saying that an outsider would never rule the people. The odds were against her in many ways yet she still fought like hell…. Where is that woman? And who replaced her with Disney’s first emo teen princess whose suddenly forgotten her xenophobic upbringing?

And as for Lizzo and Jack Black’s appearances in episode six?

My partner said it best when he commented that they turn the whole show into a parody of itself.

Personally, I found Christopher Loyd’s character as flat as cardboard and an absolutely pointless goose chase used to build up momentum all to throw away the opportunity for a twist ending.

It really breaks my heart to see the series diminish into what it has. The whole reason people fell in love with the show was due to Din and Grogu’s father son dynamic and that’s all been thrown to the side in favour of other characters, setting up for the future of other shows and tying off the ends to the sequels.

Season three completely lacks the drive and purpose of the previous seasons.

It should and could have been so much more than what it is.

And Din Djarin deserved more depth in his story then to be abandoned to the side lines.

#the mandalorian #mandalorian season 3 #din djarin #pedro pascal #star wars #mando #mando spoilers #mando fanfiction #katee sackhoff

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altheasmeadow · 1 year

Text

Cat Nap

Word Count: 696

Warnings: Mentions of narcolepsy (incase that's triggering) none other than that.

Summary: In which sharing a sleep schedule in separate time zones was not a good soul bond.

“Good news it’s not narcolepsy.” The doctor hummed looking down at her chart with an odd look.

“Then what is it? Because falling asleep in the middle of work is something I can't afford.” She frowned, twiddling with her fingers trying to wring out her anxiety.

“Seems it’s your soul bond, you’re connected by sleep.”

“Oh that’s perfect!” Her father cackled, finding the whole things amusing.

“Dad!”

“What? I’m not wrong, you are paired with someone who sleeps a lot, it would explain your recent insomnia spells if you live in a different time zone.”

“Let’s not go into time zones, maybe they work a night shift.” She groaned, packing her bag after filling out the necessary paperwork to leave.

“I don’t know honey.”

“Are you packed?” She wondered, hoping to change the topic, her father rolled his eyes, putting the car in gear and backing out of his parking space.

“Yes, I am. But I’m not comfortable leaving you here alone.”

“I’m a fully grown adult.”She deadpanned, not liking that her father was babying her.

“A fully grown adult with a soul bond that causes her to sleep sixteen hours a day, I mean come on, is your soulmate a cat?” He argued, turning a corner.

“Probably, you know I’m a cat person.” She shrugged, not even thinking twice about the joke her father had cracked, “I can survive alone.”

“No you won’t because I think you should come with me.” He blurted, earning an eye roll.

“This is ridiculous.”

“No it’s really not, if you’re here you’ll eat during the night and it’ll mess up your systems more and make you sick. So come with me and I can monitor you. You’re already basically in Korea’s time zone with the way you sleep so you won’t have to readjust much.”

–

And that’s how she ended up in Seoul, South Korea. Her father had a huge conference to attend here and so she was mainly left to her own whims. After about two days she realized she really was on Korea’s time, she slept perfectly through the night and woke up more energized than ever, and her father was rather smug about this when he noticed. One day she was taking a walk near the river when she saw six men playing around in the grass, one of them looking her way when he noticed the eyes, he gave her a weary bunny-like smile before turning away. She looked around to find a bench, though someone was already sitting on it, there was enough space for her to give them distance. So She sat on the edge of the bench and looked up at the clouds with a soft smile, not noticing the soft gaze she received or the thrumming under her skin from the bond, all she knew was the most relaxed she had ever been, and as she dozed off, the man next to her followed in suit. And so they rested, the most content faces being shown to the members nearby who knew Yoongi would never fall asleep next to a stranger, so he must’ve fallen asleep before she sat. Jungkook walked over and woke his hyung up but was startled by Jimin’s gasp, he glanced back to see what was going on and followed Jimin’s eyes to the woman on the bench began stirring, which really didn’t make much sense, they hadn’t made any noise.

Yoongi grumpily woke up, shaking Jungkooks hand off of his shoulder, reaching out to the woman subconsciously, and when their skin connected, the thrums were impossible to ignore for her, making her gasp loudly.

“Oh My God.” Taehyung watched on with wide eyes as Yoongi initiated affection with the stranger, Yoongi pulled her close nuzzling into her neck sleepily which she squealed a bit at.

“Are you actually a cat? Cause if you are, my dad is going to love this.” She teased, causing Yoongi to bite her gently in defiance. It might’ve been too soon for that in normal relationships, however soulmates were known to basically jump each other on sight so he’d say this was pretty tame.

“Oh you are such a cat.”

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fortheloveofwonderland · 8 months

Text

Midnight | Chapter 10 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - Luke becomes suspicious and starts his own investigation in your whereabouts.

A/N - this chapter is entirely about Luke and the BAU. We resume our regularly scheduled programming soon. Also Luke’s birthday isn’t mentioned in canon so I used Adam Rodriguez’s birthday for the sake of this chapter.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - overprotective Luke, swearing.

WC - 4.4k

Chapter 10 - Why Worry?

Luke Alvez was not a naturally suspicious person. Despite his years in a job in which he was trained to be apprehensive, to keep his guards up and not take things at face value, he was on the whole an exceptionally trusting guy.

It wasn’t like him to jump to conclusions, but the current situation was an exception to his rule. Maybe it was because it pertained to you, one of the few people in this world that Luke would go to the ends of the earth to protect. He had real sister’s he’d never felt he needed to look after the way he did you, possibly because they were older and always made it clear they could handle themselves.

But you could most certainly take care of yourself. You were one of the toughest people Luke had ever met in his life. You were fearless, he’d always admired that about you. But it had also never stopped him from wanting to shield you from harm since the day he met you.

It sometimes felt his job was just as much an FBI agent as it was your very own personal protector. If he allowed himself to dig deeper into that he would probably realise it was because he had feelings for you that went way beyond simple found family. But he would never admit that even to himself.

After receiving the vague phone call from you three days ago, and then the strange text, he’d thought of nothing but while the team had been away on a case. Everything was adding up in his mind, all the odd little details of your leaving the BAU and the new cell phone and he didn’t like the answers he was getting. It was like constantly trying to calculate two plus two but somehow making five. Nothing made sense to him.

He wasn’t proud of his decision to call your father but he needed answers. He’d met your parents several times over the years and he knew your dad was quite fond of him, so he hoped he wasn’t completely overstepping any boundaries.

You dad answered on the third ring as Luke was pacing his apartment a few hours after wrapping up the BAU’s latest case. Roxy watched him from the couch, clearly perturbed by her owner’s inability to stand still. He answered in a chipper voice that Luke had grown used to from your father.

“Oh hey, Mr Y/L/N, it's Luke. Alvez.” Luke scratched the back of his head, feeling a little foolish for this.

“Luke, hi. How are you?” Your father sounded surprised but not disturbed to hear from him.

“Yeah, I’m not too bad, thanks.” Luke continued his pacing. “Say, I was trying to get hold of Y/N but her cell phone keeps going to voicemail. Could I speak to her, please?”

The outcome he desired was that your father would hand the phone over to you and you would rip him a new one for his paranoia. But he was almost positive it was not what would happen.

“Uh,” your dad’s confusion was evident. “Y/N isn’t here, Luke. She hasn’t been home in months.”

And just like that, Luke’s heart fell into the pit that had formed in his stomach. He wasn’t exactly surprised, but it didn’t make the news any easier to swallow.

“What’s going on? Is everything ok, Luke?” Your dad sounded suddenly concerned and Luke scalded himself for worrying the older man like this.

“Yeah, uh…I’m sorry to have bothered you. I must have gotten my wires crossed somewhere.” Luke pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Is my daughter ok?”

“Yes, yes she’s fine. I just…I must have misheard her. I thought she said she was taking a few days off to come out to visit you but now that I think about it I think she was visiting some college friend.” Luke tried desperately to cover his tracks.

“Do you want me to call her for you?” The older man still sounded concerned.

“No, honestly it’s fine. Please don’t worry about it.” What the fuck am I doing?

“You’re sure? Do I need to be concerned, Luke?”

“No! No, of course not. Clearly I’m just a really bad listener.” He forced himself to laugh. “I’ll get hold of her. Please don’t worry about it.”

It took a few more minutes but he managed to talk your father down from the ledge in which Luke had led him to in the first place. He mentally berated himself once he was off of the phone for bothering your father like that. But it did confirm that you were not in fact in Philly like you’d said.

And before Luke could think much of it, he was leaving his apartment again after giving Roxy a little pat on the head and promising the dog he would be home soon. His investigation wasn’t over yet.

***

After getting off the phone to your dad, Luke tried to contact you on the cell number you’d called him from but found it was switched off. Then he decided to drive over to your apartment.

He let himself in with the spare key you’d given him several years ago. He was tentative as he opened the door, not sure what he expected to find.

It wasn’t entirely surprising that upon first glance, the place looked completely normal. You weren’t the tidiest person in the world so the half empty coffee mug on the kitchen counter, or the jacket over the arm of the chair weren’t out of place. Neither was the pile of washing up in the sink or the towel he found thrown on your unmade bed.

On further inspection he found some empty hangers in the closet and a couple of items of clothing he knew you loved were missing. Your favourite pair of jeans which you always told him made your ass look incredible, something he never admitted he agreed wholeheartedly with, your college hoodie which you almost always wore when you were home and a few t-shirts you wore frequently were gone. Your toothbrush was missing from the bathroom, as well as your hairbrush. A few other items seemed to have been taken too so you’d definitely gone somewhere.

He found your cell phone on the nightstand, its battery flat. He located your charger and plugged the device in, sitting on your bed while he waited for it to charge enough that he could switch it on. A few minutes passed before the little white Apple logo appeared on the screen and then he was being promoted to enter the passcode.

Your passcode had originally been your birth month and day because you were useless at remembering any other dates. He remembered telling you how easy it would be for someone to hack if you lost your phone and you’d rolled your eyes and huffed as you set a new one at his insistence.

You’d changed it to the only other date you could think of at the time: Luke’s birthday. It wasn’t exactly the most secure four numbers, but he’d been mildly flattered that you remember his birthday in the first place and so he didn’t argue it. He quickly tapped in the code, 0402, and the screen sprung to life.

He admittedly didn’t feel good about this but he was desperate. Again he didn’t know what he expected to find but he had to check. He went through your recent text messages and calls and found nothing out of the ordinary, most of which in fact were to and from him. He supposed you could have deleted something if you didn’t want it to be found, but he didn’t think you’d have a need to do that.

Nothing was out of the blue, nothing that would suggest where you might have gone and why you’d gone there in such a hurry.

He unplugged the device and left it where he found it in case you came home, before he was heading out as quickly as he arrived. His last stop before he went home was to check the parking garage around the back of the building because if you’d gone somewhere, wouldn’t you have taken your car?

He didn’t know what to think when he found your vehicle sat in its usual spot in the garage. Of course you could have flown somewhere, but it still felt strange that your car should be here. He didn’t have a good feeling about this.

***

The following morning when he got to Quantico, the first stop he made was in Penelope Garcia’s bat cave. She was sipping from her unicorn mug when he entered and she glanced at him with a roll of her eyes.

“May I help you?” She grumbled like helping him was the last thing in the world she wanted to do.

“If I gave you a phone number,” he spoke quietly, like he was imparting a secret. “A pay phone number to be specific, can you find where it is?”

Garcia pulled a face and set her mug on the desk, shaking her head in frustration at Luke.

“Newbie, when will you learn that I can find just about anything regarding anything. My superpowers are so much more advanced than your macho fugitive hunting brain can handle.” She scoffed, turning to the computer screen and hovering her fingers over the keys. “Give me the number.”

He opened his phone and found the number you’d called him from a few days ago and ignoring Garcia’s slight against him, read it out to her. Her fingers flew across the keyboard and soon enough a map popped up on the screen along with a loading bar which quickly finished its search and zoomed to a point on the map.

“Looks like that particular payphone is located on the corner of Troy Road and Oak Hill Manor in Edwardsville, Illinois.” She looked up at him to see him frowning at the screen. “Why am I looking at this? This isn’t part of any case.”

“One more favour,” he pulled up another number on his phone. “Could you look this up?”

Penelope rolled her eyes again and with a sigh that told Luke she wasn’t happy about this, she tapped the number into the computer.

“It’s unregistered. Probably a burner.” She shrugged. “What’s going on, Alvez?”

“Thanks, Garcia.” He ignored her question and turned on his heels towards the door.

“Newbie, don’t you dare walk away from me!” She called after him.

“Gotta go, thanks, really.” He flung open the door and before Garcia could scald him further he was gone.

***

Luke felt stupid when he’d explained to Emily in great detail about how he’d completely invaded your privacy. Saying it out loud made him feel like a jealous and overprotective boyfriend and punctuated most of his sentences with “I know I shouldn’t have” and “I didn’t mean to”.

By the time he was finished he was slightly out of breath and Emily was staring at him with her mouth slightly ajar in a combination of confusion and mild amusement.

“So yeah,” he exhaled. “She was in this little Podunk town in Illinois and I have no idea why but I just feel like something isn’t right, you know?”

Emily closed her mouth and rolled her lip between her teeth while she mulled over Luke’s words.

“So, what are you asking me here, Alvez?” Her brows furrowed. “Do you want to go out there?”

“Would it be a huge inconvenience if I said yes?”

“It certainly wouldn’t be ideal.” She rubbed one eye. “But I agree this all sounds a little suspicious and I don’t think you’re going to be fully here with the team until you check it out.”

“You mean…” His face started to light up.

“I can give you a day. Twenty four hours. But that’s all I can offer you Luke. I need you back here. And you’ll have to make your own way there, I can’t let you take the jet.” She laid out her orders but Luke was already grinning, bouncing up and down a little on his feet.

“Thank you Emily, thank you so much!”

“I mean it, Alvez. Twenty four hours.” She told him sternly.

“That’s all I need.” He nodded.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“I promise.” He continued to nod as he backed towards the door, wanting to get out before she changed her mind.

He would book the next available flight down to Illinois and with any luck he would be able to get hold of you and find out what was going on. He needed to see you, until he did he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking the worst.

Little did he know the worst that he could think of didn’t even come close to the reality you’d found yourself in.

***

Luke arrived in Edwardsville, Illinois that afternoon after a 2 hour flight from Washington National Airport to St Louis and then a thirty mile drive back to the small town.

He found the pay phone with relative ease thanks to Garcia’s impeccably detailed directions. It was located almost directly opposite a quaint looking B & B and figured if you were staying here then calling him from that specific pay phone made sense.

He made his way over to the farmhouse style building and followed the hand painted signs to the lobby. A blast of air conditioning hit him in the face as he entered and a shiver ran down his spine thinking it was not quite hot enough to warrant AC. But oh well, it wasn’t his electric bill.

He strolled over to the counter where a plump older woman greeted him with an amiable smile.

“Good afternoon, sir, can I get you a room?” She beamed.

“Uh, no.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out his credentials which he flashed at the woman. “I’m SSA Alvez with the FBI’s Behavioural Analysis Unit. I’m looking for someone.”

“FBI?” She gasped. “Oh wow, we don’t see much of you around these parts. We’re just a quiet, small town.”

“I’m investigating a potential missing person.” He knew Emily would have his head for treating this like a proper investigation but he also knew he was more likely to get answers this way.

“Ok.” The woman toyed with the sleeve of her cardigan.

Luke got out his phone and pulled up a photo of you he’d taken about a year ago but you hadn’t changed much since, and turned the screen to show her.

“Have you seen this woman? We have reason to believe she used the pay phone out front a few days ago.”

The woman scrutinised your picture for a few seconds before shaking her head.

“No, sorry. I don’t recognise her.”

“Do you have security cameras?”

“Sorry, no. Like I said, we're a small town. We don’t get much trouble. No need for cameras.” She shrugged sadly.

“Can I see your guest log?”

She nodded and reached under the desk for a battered old notebook which she handed to Luke. He flicked back to Tuesday, the day you’d called him and saw only a handful names down as checking in on that day. Martin Collins paid cash and stayed one night. Laura and Hugo Perez paid by credit card and stayed for two nights. Andrew and Rose Burnett also paid cash and stayed one night.

He sighed and handed the book back to the woman with a half-smile of thanks.

“Is there anything to do around here? Somewhere someone out of town might hang out?”

“We’ve got a couple of bars around here but if you’re looking at Tuesday night, your best bet is the Corner Tavern, it does two for one shots on a Tuesday. It's about 4 miles north of here. Take Troy Road up about a mile and take a left onto Illini Drive, which will turn into Plum Street which will turn into Main Street. Keep going for about three miles and take a left on Union.” She spoke quite fast and Luke made a mental note of the directions even though his car had GPS.

“Thanks.” He nodded, pulling a business card out of his pocket and sliding it across the desk. “If you happen to see anyone who looks like her, call me, please.”

“I will.” She nodded, taking the card.

Luke trudged back outside to his car, praying to god he would get a better lead at the Corner Tavern and that he hadn’t completely wasted his time coming out here.

***

The Corner Tavern appeared to be closed and if the sign on the saloon door was to be believed, it didn’t open until six pm. Luke was most certainly not waiting that long. He nudged the door with his hip and found it open and saw a light on inside.

He tentatively walked inside, quickly spotting a long haired man behind the bar cleaning glasses. He glanced up when he heard footsteps on the floor and waved a hand at Luke.

“Sorry pal, not open. Read the sign.” He called over flippantly.

“You open for FBI?” Luke retrieved his creds and flashed them at the slightly greasy young man who pulled a face and put the glass down on the counter.

“We ain’t doing nothin’ illegal here. We’re a legit business.” He smiled a crooked smile across the bar top.

“I often find, legit businesses don’t have to proclaim their legitimacy.” Luke glared at him. “What’s your name, kid?”

Kid? Jeez I sound like Rossi. But this kid is at least twenty years younger than me.

“Connor. Connor Danvers.”

“You have any kind of seniority here, Danvers?”

“I’m the duty manager.” He looked pleased with his title. “So what does the FBI want with the legit Corner Tavern?”

Luke pulled out his phone and showed Connor the same photo of you he’d shown the woman at the Heartland but Connor barely glanced at it before shrugging.

“She may have been here Tuesday night.” Luke tried to jog his memory.

“Lotta people come through here. ‘Specially on a Tuesday. It’s our busiest night, what with the two for one shots and all.” He grinned that smarmy smile was rubbing Luke the wrong way.

“Look closer.” Luke spat, moving the phone closer to Danvers face.

“I don’t recognise her man! Sorry.” He pushed the phone away.

Luke clenched his jaw and huffed out a breath. One of many things that hadn’t been sitting right with him was the close proximity in time in which you and Spencer left the BAU. Was there more to it than simple coincidence? On a whim he found a photo of Spencer and turned the screen back to Connor.

“What about him?”

This time, Connor took a closer look, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he scrutinised the photo. After a few long seconds he shrugged.

“He kinda looks familiar.” Connor agreed. “There was a guy in here on Tuesday that looked a little like him. Definitely an out of towner, I’d never seen him before. But that’s not usual on a Tuesday. He was making out with some blonde but then another girl came in, maybe the one you showed me, and they started having it out. Assumed it was his girlfriend or his wife or something. Anyway they started arguing and she stormed out. He followed her and that’s the last time I saw him.”

Luke pocketed his phone and took in the information as he glanced around the bar.

“I suppose it would be stupid of me to ask if this place has security cameras?”

“We do not.” Connor chuckled. “Owner forked out thousands on redoing this place like a year ago but never sprung for cameras. Truth be told, we don't get a lot of trouble. Tourists are usually on their best behaviour and locals know better. Sure we get the occasional scuffle out in the parking lot but once they walk through those doors, ain’t our concern anymore, you know?”

“Of course.” Luke spoke sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve been a great help.”

Luke turned on his heels and headed to the door, not feeling much lighter than when he walked in. He got back in the hire car and called Emily. She put him on speaker with Garcia and he filled them both in what he’d found. Or more accurately he supposed, what he hadn’t found.

“You think she’s with boy wonder?” Garcia gasped.

“I mean the timeline fits.” He shrugged. “And they were good friends.”

“I tracked Y/N’s credit card and it hasn’t been used since last Saturday night at McCleary's.” Garcia told him a little sadly.

“Yeah I was with her.” Luke pinched the bridge of his nose. “What about her passport, has it been used lately? Her car was at her apartment, but she must have gotten to Illinois somehow.”

“Checking, checking.” Garcia tapped away on her keyboard for a moment or two. “Nada on her personal or department issued passports.”

“How about Reid’s?”

“On it.” Garcia started typing away rapidly.

“Y/N doesn’t need a credit card. In the FTF agents usually have certain provisions set aside, you know if we need to suddenly disappear. Weapons, money, cell phones. They’re virtually untraceable. She could have gotten her hands on a fake passport pretty easily too, I just don’t know why she’d need to.” He filled Emily in while Garcia continued her research.

“Ok, Spencer has not used his credit card in weeks. His last purchase was for a worrying amount of scotch at a liquor store near his apartment. His cell phone is off, no surprise there it has been for a while, and it last pinged off a cell phone tower near his home. No activity on his passports either.” Garcia sounded downtrodden.

“What about his car? Has anyone seen it at his apartment? I can’t remember if it was there or not when I went.” Emily asked them both.

“I don’t remember.” Garcia agreed. “I think Jayje is going over there this weekend to check on him, I can ask her to look.”

“Thanks Garcia.” Emily spoke and then she sighed and was taking him off speaker and he heard footsteps. She didn’t speak until she was in her office with the door closed.

“Luke, I know you care about her but just take a second here.” She sounded mildly frustrated.

“What do you mean?” Luke frowned at the device in his hand.

“I know in our line of work it's hard not to jump to the worst possible conclusion but did you consider she just wanted to get away? You’re hearing hoofbeats and jumping to zebras.”

“No,” Luke was quick to counter. “She tells me everything. Something is wrong here, Emily. I know her. She wouldn’t do this.”

“The evidence is not pointing to anything suspicious, Alvez.” Emily exhaled loudly.

“Not suspicious?” He scoffed. “She lied about where she was going, she’s using a burner phone. She got down to Illinois without her car or the use of her passport. My gut is telling me something isn’t right, Emily.”

“I’m sorry but I need you home, we’re swamped as it is. I’ve given you leeway on this, but it’s time to come home.”

“Yeah, I know.” He agreed sadly. “I’ll catch a flight later today. I’m gonna keep trying to call her on the off chance I can get hold of her before I leave.”

“Good idea. Stay safe.” Emily agreed.

“Bye.” He disconnected the call, feeling thoroughly downtrodden.

Something really didn’t feel right in his gut. And Luke Alvez always trusted his gut. As the sinking feeling really started to set in, feeling like a gaping hole in the pit of his stomach, he stared at his cell phone and begged it to ring.

Tell me not to worry, Y/N, just call and tell me not to worry.

But of course the phone didn’t magically start ringing. This worry wasn’t helping anyone, it was only causing him to feel sick. But he wouldn’t stop until he’d gotten to the bottom of this.

This sinking feeling sets,

It feels just like a hole inside your chest.

I know you're thinking,

No, no, no, no, it is easier said than done.

But please let me attest,

I know it's hard.

You're feeling like you're trapped,

But that's how you react,

When you cannot see the light.

But try and see the light,

I'm tellin' you,

No, no, no, no.

You're the only one,

Standing in your way.

Just take a breath,

Relax, and tell me,

Why?

Please tell me why do we worry?

Why?

Why do we worry at all?

Why?

Just tell me, why do we worry?

When worry is never helping,

Tell me why, why worry at all?

Why do we insist,

On crossing bridges that do not exist?

Let's take these issues,

Step by step by step, to work it out.

Day by day by day we're falling down,

But life goes on.

I've got some questions,

Are you sick of feelin' sorry? (Uh huh)

And people sayin' not to worry? (Uh huh)

Sick of hearing this hakuna matata motto,

From people who won the lotto,

We're not that lucky.

Have you noticed that you're breathing? (Uh huh)

Look around and count your blessings (Uh huh).

So when you're sick of all this stressin' and guessin' I'm,

Suggestin' you turn this up and let them hear you sing it.

Why?

Please tell me why do we worry?

Why?

Why do we worry at all?

Why?

Just tell me, why do we worry?

When worry is never helping,

Tell me why, why worry at all?

Chin up, quit actin' like you're half dead,

Tears can only half tell how you're feelin',

Don't worry, be happy baby.

Stand up, life is too damn short,

That clock is ticking.

Man up, if ya feel me,

Everybody sing it,

Why?

Please tell me why do we worry?

Why?

Why do we worry at all?

Why?

Just tell me, why do we worry?

When worry is never helping,

Tell me why, why worry at all?

Why?

Please tell me why do we worry?

Why?

Why do we worry at all?

Why?

Just tell me, why do we worry?

When worry is never helping,

I'm not buying what they're selling.

So if worry is never helping,

Tell me why, why worry at all?

@andiebeaword @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @justreadingficsdontmindme @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle @bubblebuttwade @jay-2s-world @daddy-dotcom

#spencer reid #unsub! spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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orangepanic · 4 months

Text

Baatar Sr. adopts Asami AU for @thatoneguy56fanfic

In spite of their chef’s best efforts the girl—young woman, he supposed—only picked at her food. A small bite of fish here. A single sliver of purple sea onion. She tucked each one into her red-lipped mouth as if putting marbles back in a sack after playtime. Not an ounce of pleasure on her face. Baatar found his eyes drawn to her again and again in the same way one might watch the aftermath of a head-on collision. Asami Sato, both body and ambulance.

“She’s your daughter’s age,” Suyin teased as soon as they were alone.

“It’s not funny,” he replied. An uncharacteristic disagreement. “Spirits, Su, can you imagine? Opal said they’d only just reconciled.”

The laughter in his wife’s face faded as she turned away. “No, I can’t,” she said. “But I do know something about not having a father.”

Baatar sucked in a breath. He’d walked right into that one. “I’m sorry, darling,” he said, pulling her close. Suyin slotted against him, so warm and familiar. Her delicate breath tickled his neck. “It’s not a comparison. I only wish we could do more than give her somewhere to visit.”

“Because we don’t have our hands full with Baatar and Kuvira right now?”

“Because Baatar and Kuvira are the reason Asami doesn’t have a father.”

Su had nothing to say to that.

The next day Baatar began his project. “Excuse me, Asami?” he asked after breakfast. “I wonder if you could lend me a hand?”

Her eyes met his, hollow. “What do you need?”

What Baatar needed took most of the morning. He hadn’t really required a second person to help him move his chalkboard from one side of his workshop to another where the light might be better, but in the end it was nice to have a capable set of hands to balance and measure and mark on the wall. Asami proved swift and efficient. Once the final screws were screwed and they were both thoroughly covered in white chalk dust Baatar asked her if she might review his plans for an expansion of Zaofu’s opera house later on. As a favor. Asami said yes.

They continued like that the rest of the week. Every day Baatar created a project for which he might need the assistance of a fellow engineer. Some were items on his long to-do list; many he simply made up. And every day Asami agreed to help, and spent anywhere from an hour to half the day working on whatever it was he’d decided needed doing. At first Asami mostly took instruction. But as time passed Baatar started to press her for her own ideas. Did she think the lift should be hydraulic or not? Which way should the road cut? Had she come across a better material for the coating in her own work? To these questions he also started adding the odd bit of fatherly advice or occasional terrible pun. It took three days for Asami to laugh at one of his jokes, but eventually she did. And Baatar found that not only were her ideas often good and not at all what he would have done, but that he got more done that week than he had in the whole two months prior.

“I’ve missed this,” he said one afternoon as Asami tightened the lug nuts on the last tire of the new heavy duty motorized garden wagon he’d decided the estate somehow needed. Hu Meng was getting old, and while they could simply hire another gardener he’d never much liked changes in staff.

For a long time Asami didn’t say anything. Sweat dripped down from her hairline into her tank top as she strained against the wrench. But finally Baatar heard it, just a whisper. “Me, too.”

That night he talked to Suyin again. What was one more child after all? With Opal moving in with Bolin they even had a spare bedroom.

“It doesn’t have to be forever,” he said. “Just until she finds her feet again.”

Su gave him a knowing smile. “Sure, Dad,” she said.

#asami sato #baatar sr #tlok #legend of korra #fanfic #drabble

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boliv-jenta · 1 year

Note

Hey Liv, I hope you had a good weekend☺️ I’m not sure if you take requests but I can’t stop thinking about Steve finding fem reader passed out in the embassy somewhere because she’s pregnant with Javi’s baby👀 Maybe she’s been off a while and Javi’s away somewhere with Carrillo

Disclaimer: I didn't finish Narcos and I got so excited to get a request I stayed up to get this out.

Warnings: Mentions of smut. A little angsty. Pregnancy related illness.

WC: 1.8k

Uncle Steve

The office was empty. The silence was only interrupted by the ticking of the clocks as he passed them and the click of his shoes against the floor. Each step finally taking him home to Connie. He's almost at the elevator when he sees the light on. It's odd, no one should still be here. They've been quiet as hell if they're still here. Putting it down to someone being forgetful, he pops into the office to switch off the lamp. That's when he sees you. Laying on the floor.

Panic flares in him, but he tries to stay calm. No good will come of him losing his head. What does he do? Pulse. Recovery position. Airways. Words whizz through his mind as his hands work. You're warm, that's good. His hand searches for yours. He doesn't know why, to comfort you? His fingers graze your wrist, and he feels it. A pulse. He didn't have to look too hard for it. It must be strong. At that point, you started to come around. Thank fuck because he had no idea what to do. Connie!

"Hey. You're alright. I've got you. I'm gonna call for help." You give a weak nod as he pulls your head into his lap. The phone crashes to the floor as he reaches for it. "Shit!" Pulling on the cord, he fishes it back. It takes five rings for Connie to answer. He counts while he prays.

"Connie. I'm at work. One of the women I work with, I found her passed out." Give him a gang full of guns to face and he'd keep his head. Medical emergencies were not his forte.

"I'm okay." You managed, hearing the frantic worry in his tone.

"She's conscious? Be careful letting her sit up. You don't want her passing out again. Get her checked out right away." He hears Connie's advice. Like he wasn't going to take you straight to a hospital as soon as he could.

"Thanks, Con." He is genuinely grateful. He hated the moments it was just him dealing with this.

"Woah. Take it easy." He tries to slow you as you sit up, Connie's words in his head. Please don't pass out again.

Leaning back against the desk. You crack your eyes open to look at Steve. He looks how you feel. "I'm okay. I just need to eat, I think. My head hurts too."

Steve notices the red mark on your forehead. Maybe from the desk on your way down. He's on his feet and to the kitchen. He raids the cupboard for sweet treats. Grabs a cup of water. Then he grabs the ice pack Javi keeps in the freezer for those really bad hangover days.

Returning like a triumphant Labrador with a ball, he places the items next to you. All except the ice pack, which he gently holds to your head.

Your pride hurts more than your head as you let Steve care for you. It was stupid to skip dinner but this lead could bring Javi back. He was out there chasing leads when he could be here. He needed to be here. There were some things you couldn't talk about over the phone.

"Here." Steve holds up a packet of something covered with coconut. The smell turns your stomach. He jumps when you start to wretch.

"I'm sorry. It's the smell of them." A connection instantly is made in Steve's mind. One that terrifies him as well as angers him.

"Are you pregnant?" His eyes are wide as he asks. "We need to get you, both, checked out."

"I'm fine. Like I said, I need to eat. Just something without coconut." You fish out a much more appealing plain cookie.

"You've been here all hours. And out in the field. If you were my wife…" He regrets the words as he says them. He doesn't know what your situation is.

Shame blushes your cheeks. Steve takes a stab in the dark. "Wait, the father doesn't know, does he?"

"No. Not yet." You confirm his suspicion.

"You need to go get checked out. Is there someone you can call?" It's at this point Steve realises that he knows nothing about you.

He knows that you are a hard worker. Diligent. Somehow, in an office full of men you manage to keep off the radar. Objectively, he knows you're beautiful. In most places like this your presence would be like throwing a stake to a pack of wolves. He would have thought every single, and a few not so single, man in the office would be sniffing around you. Somehow you've managed to command respect without creating waves. Everyone keeps their distance and lets you work. Even Javi toed the line. He never flirted with you. He was always polite with you. Come to think of it…no. There was no way. You wouldn't give Javi the time of day, you were too smart to get mixed up with him or anyone in the office.

The cookie you ate wasn't sitting right. "I feel sick."

"Come on. We're taking you to the hospital."

An hour passed before they would let Steve see you again. He paced the floor like it was his child you were carrying. Something about seeing you on the floor. Looking so fragile and helpless. Even when you were anything but. If it were Connie, he'd want someone with her. When he entered your room, he was happy to see you looked much better. He came to sit beside you. "How are you?"

"Better. I told you I just needed to eat." You nodded at the discarded tray on the table.

"You did." He smiled before adding "So do you want me to call Javier?"

There was no point in denying it, Steve was obviously more observant that Javi had given him credit for. Even though you had been incredibly careful at work. No longing glances. No favouritism. Minimal conversation. Come to think of it, maybe you had gone too far the other way. Javi was charming. Who wouldn't want to talk to him or to curry favour with him?

Javier burst through the doors two hours later. Running right into Steve. "What happened? Where is she?"

Anger boiled in Steve. You'd been working hard to look for leads for Javier yet he had no idea what was going on with you. Grabbing Javier by the shirt he slammed him into the nearest wall. "You fucked around in the office and now I'm dealing with it. Did you know? Is that why you ran off on this lead?"

Confusion furrows Javier's brow. "What? Know what?

"She's pregnant." Steve loosen his grip a little. It seemed like Javier was genuinely stunned and concerned.

"No, I didn't know. I had no idea. We've only…a few times." Javier knew than didn't matter or that he'd uses a condom. It only took one swimmer as his sex Ed teacher once said.

"So she's just some casual fuck? In our office, really?" Steve's head spins with the momentum of Javier changing their positions.

Steve is the one now pinned to the wall, with his partner's fist twisted in the front of his shirt. It takes Steve a minute to see where Javier's anger is coming from. "What? Don't you like being called out on your bullshit?"

Javier bares his teeth before his gaze flicks in the direction of your room for just a second. Then it all becomes clear. "Shit. You care about her, don't you? Poor girl. That might actually be worse."

Javier huffs a laugh in agreement.

"How long have you been…?" He pressed for details.

"We've been dating for seven months."

"Seven fucking months? And dating? With like flowers and shit? Since when do you date?"

"Since her." A smile tugs at Javier's lips.

He started dating because you told him he'd have to work for you. You told him that he could have one night with you now. A night that you would completely make worth his while. Or he could work for it. He could get to know you then he could have more than one night. For the first few weeks that night became more tempting. Everything about you enticed him. Then as time wore on he knew he couldn't settle for just one night. It took five months for you to give him that night. But how right you were, it was completely worth his while. Javier had been with a lot of women on and off Uncle Sam's dime. None of them could hold a candle to you. You kept him up to the crack of dawn. Taking your pleasure from him and returning it, what felt like ten fold, to him. He was already hopelessly in love with you by then. He confessed as much the next morning as you lay on his chest. Since then he'd taken you on dates, treated you like a queen. Things had come up to keep you apart so he'd only known you touch a couple more times. He couldn't work out what type of luck it was that you were now carrying his child.

"Are you okay?" Javier's words ghost across your forehead as his lips leave a kiss there. "Are you both, okay?"

Damn, Steve. "Yes, we are."

"Steve told me.It is mine, right?" Fuck. He curses himself. Of all the stupid things to say. Especially when he's into too deep to care. Part of him wouldn't give two shits who's it was. As long as you were his.

"You'd think it was Steve's, the way he's been clucking about." You joked to relieve his obvious tension. "Yes, Javier. It's yours. I'm keeping it. I can do this by myself. You don't have to.."

Javier couldn't even stand to hear you finish that sentence. He silenced you with a press of his lips.

"I will be here. For them. For you if you want me to."

"I do, Javi."

"Good because Steve might kill me."

"DEA agent slain by partner is not a good headline."

"Ex-partner."

"What?"

"Let's quit. Let's go back home. Let's do this right."

"Are you serious?"

"I have done and seen so much bad shit here. The only time I don't think about or see it when I close my eyes is when I'm with you. I'm not risking losing that or our baby." His warm hand spread over your stomach.

Steve paced the hallway again. He was starting to think he might actually wear a groove in it. Then Javier appeared, a smile on his face even wider than the one he'd had all those months ago, the last time Steve had been pacing outside your hospital room.

"It's a girl. I have a daughter. You wanna meet her?" Javier slapped his ex-partner on the back in a celebratory hug.

"Well, if that isn't karma. When she's all grown up you'll be chasing off men like you."

"That's not funny, Steve."

"Oh, it is."

"Shut up, you fucking hillbilly."

This first Javier's daughter hears of her Uncle Steve is his laughter over the grinding of her father's teeth.

Tags @kirsteng42 @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid2 @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @graciexmarvel @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass @mandoloriancookie

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #javier peña x reader #steve murphy #no proofreading we die like men #late night writing

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lunar-years · 9 months

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i think i remember you mentioned how jamie’s love confession to keeley had nothing to do with how he felt about her romantically and i’d love to hear more of your thoughts on it. jamie’s so strange throughout the ep, and considering it’s right after the man city confrontation with his father, it’s probably not too far of a stretch to say he’s thinking about his own father’s death and having a bit of an existential crisis himself. i think jamiekeeley is cute btw and i’m all for ot3 roykeeleyjamie! just wanted to pick your brain about this. and apologies if you’ve never posted about this and i’m remembering the wrong user

Hi! I’m pretty sure this wasn’t me who said it (but never say never because I sure say a lot on here, lol). However you might have still seen it on my blog, because I think I responded to an ask recently with the same opinion!

Regardless, my personal view on it is that Jamie was definitely speaking romantically, BUT I’ve seen a bunch of people think otherwise and it’s fun to explore different viewpoints so I'm gonna talk about my opinions on the funeral episode anyway lmao :)

I think the funeral is soooo interesting because Jamie AND Roy AND Keeley are all acting kind of strangely. Even when we figure how why Roy is being so odd (Grandad Emotions), but there's still whatever is going on between Jamie and Keeley. Because like, yeah, Jamie definitely should’ve 1) realized his boss' father's funeral wasn’t the time nor place for love confessions and 2) probably not done it regardless because, yes, it is kind of out of pocket to tell your ex-girlfriend you’re still in love with her when she’s currently dating someone else (who just so happens to be your current football coach who just helped you during a very traumatic experience)…like ohhh Jamie. Messy!! But I love mess. So therefore I did love this. 🤷‍♀️ However…the topic is not necessarily as ~coming up out of nowhere~ as it first seems, I think. Importantly, Keeley is also acting weirdly!!

I was staring at this gifset recently and thinking many a Keeley thought, and to be honest I think feelings and big emotions were being stirred up again on BOTH sides at that event. It’s interesting (and I think rings true to other insights we've gotten into her character) that as soon as things get a little dicey with Roy, Keeley starts looking outside her relationship, either for people to confide in (as she does when she tells everyone but Roy about the problems she’s having with Roy in Headspace) or to reflect on what she no longer has but is suddenly wondering if she might miss and possibly still want (her contemplative looks at Jamie at the funeral, “you look nice Jamie” etc…. Maybe this is an unpopular take, but I think Keeley is also feeling some type of way that day, about Jamie in particular. And yeah I definitely think that has an impact on why Jamie chooses then to confess to her. He's sensing a different vibe between them suddenly and is reminded, I need to do this.

The other reasons in Jamie’s head imo are 1) Jamie is just generally very open about most of his feelings and I think he’s coming at it from, a 'you should tell the people you love that you love them!' place, right or wrong 2) as he later tells Roy, the funeral made him uncomfy!! and AS YOU SAY yeah i do think there's definitely an connection between that and his dad abusing him in front of the whole team, which has just happened very recently. PERHAPS he is already Not Doing Great, and watching his boss who he doesn't really know act Weird during the eulogy for her Dead Father has him extra off-kilter. 3) as we learn in s3... his dad disappeared after Wembley. No calls, no texts. Nothing. Now, we don't have categoric evidence that this is unusual, but to ME James Sr. doesn't seem like someone who typically leaves well enough alone. I can definitely see Jamie still being freaked out over this very big thing that happened that his dad has got to be incredibly angry about. Perhaps there is still a part of him very much waiting for the other shoe to drop! Which is to say, I do think you're right that there's an element of existential crisis going on here.

Also, while I do personally think Jamie's confession is romantic in nature, I do not think it is conditional in intent. Jamie isn't telling her with the expectation that she's going to dump Roy immediately and tell him that oh yeah, she loves him too. Like, Jamie isn't an idiot. I think he does at the heart of it just want to thank her and he's been meaning to thank her for a while because she means SO MUCH TO HIM that it all has to come spilling out as some point. And a part of that love is romantic, yes, but he also loves her in so many ways. I think Jamie is perfectly content to put it out there and let her set the terms of their future friendship/relationship. Most important to him is that she knows.

So anyway, sorry this got so long and that it isn't really what your original question was about (for anyone who thinks the confession wasn't about Jamie loving her romantically, please feel free to chime in/reblog and add your thoughts!) but in summation, I think: Roy being upset about other things (Grandad) causes him to stir a fight with Keeley -> The fight with Roy causes Keeley to re-evaluate some things and part of her focus undeniably lands on Jamie -> Jamie senses something has changed between him and Keeley and because of that, in addition to the lingering aftershocks of a recent very traumatic experience, confesses he's still in love with her at a funeral.

Which is to say, as I DO always say here at lunar-years, these three's stories have always been irrevocably intertwined since the beginning (regardless of the ot3 as a ship) and the funeral is another example of that. Also it is totally crazy that we never get an explicit follow-up to Man City until episode 11 of the NEXT SEASON and that is one of my biggest grievances on season 2.

#thanks for asking :)#jamiekeeley #royjamiekeeley #ted lasso #jamie tartt #keeley jones #asks #ted lasso meta #Keeley in that episode re: Jamie is so similar to how she is about him in early s3. like. I'm thinking thoughts.#something something even when she's with roy there's still a jamie shape in the corner...something unfinished there between them #and they were always going to come back to it. of course they were.

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rmtndew · 2 years

Text

Chapter 15

Summary: The Great Depression took its toll on a lot of people and some had to get creative to survive. Seraphina’s father decides his solution is to sell his only daughter to a much older man. But when Sy overhears a conversation about the young woman, he makes a decision that will change his life - and Seraphina’s - forever.

(An arranged marriage AU with Captain Syverson)

Pairing: Sy and OFC Seraphina

Word count: 4,200+

Warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of abuse, implied smut.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16

. .

Time had an odd way of passing. In one way it seemed slower than molasses in winter, barely trudging on. But then again, it felt like I just turned around and Hazel Mae was already five months old. I couldn’t believe it. It felt like she was going to be small enough for me to hold in the crook of my arm forever, but it wasn’t long before she was big enough to sit up. She still needed help or she’d fall backwards, but when she had it, she loved to move and wriggle around all she could. Which was why she couldn’t be left in her bassinet while I did chores no more; she’d tump it plumb over trying to get out. Mrs. Anderson had shown me how to make a sling out of fabric to wrap around me for her to fit in so I could carry her with me, and once she started moving, she had to be with me or Sy all the time.

She didn’t like doing the laundry with me none and I couldn’t blame her. She was always trying to grab hold of the dirty clothes and I was constantly pulling things out of her bitty fists or her mouth. And I wasn’t a big woman, so holding a baby while bent over a scrub board washing took its toll on me. So one morning, me and Hazel Mae decided to take a break from all the washing and sit on the porch swing together. That’s where we were when Sy joined us. He called out as he was coming up the steps and she started turning her head around like a little owl, searching for him, as her legs got to moving.

I smiled. “Somebody hears her Papa.”

He came and sat next to me and she tried everything she could to get to him. I finally took her out of the sling and handed her over to Sy. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said. “Did you miss your Papa?”

“Ba-ba-ba-ba,” she babbled, then stuck out her tongue and blew bubbles.

“I missed you, too.” He bent forward and kissed her cheek and she grabbed hold of his beard and pulled. He hissed but didn’t say anything. She gave it a few good tugs and then let it go.

I leaned my head over on his shoulder and watched her jump up and down in his lap. “She’s been going strong all morning. I hope she tuckers herself out and has a good nap soon.”

“Maybe we could have a little time for Momma and Papa if she does,” he said, then gave me a sly look.

I laughed. “Depends on how tired I am by the time she goes down. I might be taking a nap with her.”

“Then maybe Momma and Papa time is us taking a nap, too.” He smiled at me. “How’s that?”

“You just want to get your hands on me, is all,” I teased.

His smile grew bigger as Hazel Mae started chewing on her fingers, causing drool to drip down the front of Sy’s shirt. He didn’t pay it no mind. “Yes, ma’am, I do want to get my hands on you. I like holding you. Like having you tucked right up against me, feeling your soft skin against mine. There’s nothing wrong with that and I’m not going to apologize for it.”

“I didn’t ask you to apologize. I like it, too.”

“And what do you like, exactly?” he whispered, leaning his head closer to mine. “Because it ain’t my soft skin.”

“You know good and well that I like your muscles and how strong you are and all that hair,” I said quietly. “I ain’t ever seen no one as manly as you.” I looked up at him. “But it’s not just all how you look and feel. You know that right? No one’s ever made me feel as safe or loved as you. And that’s what I like about being tucked up in your arms the most.” I felt my face flush. “But the hair and muscles are good, too.”

He laughed and Hazel Mae started giggling around her fingers, more drool dribbling out and down Sy’s shirt. “That’s good to know, Mrs. Syverson.” He kissed the top of my head and Little Bit took her hand that wasn’t in her mouth and walloped Sy’s face, getting his attention. When he turned back towards her, she tugged on his beard again. “What? You need a kiss, too?”

He lifted her up and kissed her cheek again then rubbed his nose against hers. She thought that was funny and started giggling even harder than before. He did it again and her giggle turned into a right belly laugh that made Sy and me both start laughing with her. He kept at it, making her cackle, and I smiled so hard my face hurt. There wasn’t nothing better than that feeling right there with the three of us happy as clams. It didn’t matter what was going on in the world, as long as we had each other, we was going to be alright.

The next day I was sitting on my tree swing with Hazel Mae strapped to me and we were swinging while Sy worked a little bit aways from us. She liked being close enough to Papa to talk to him and see him, but it vexed her something awful that he wasn’t playing with her, so he’d have to keep taking breaks to come pay her some attention. Other than that, though, she enjoyed swinging.

That’s where we were when Reverend Anderson pulled up. Sy waved him over and he let himself in through the gate. I stayed sitting as Sy moved over to my side and the Reverend joined us. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Sy joked.

Reverend Anderson smiled a little but it didn’t last long. “I’ve got a favor to ask of you.”

Sy’s face turned real serious. “Alright. What do you need?”

“The church is having a little ice cream shindig for the kids up at McCoy farm today and we sent some of the older ones to go see if any of the kids in the community wanted to come and join us. Edward and Dinah went up to invite the Bailey kids to come over and apparently it don’t look too good up there.”

“What do you mean?” Sy asked.

“They said all them kids looked spooked and the young’uns were dirty head to toe, few of the older ones had some bruises but the momma looked like she’d taken a right bad beating. Eye swoll shut and everything. Meanwhile H.C. Bailey just sitting piled up, yelling at the kids to wait on him hand and foot,” Reverend Anderson said. “Me and a couple of fellas are gonna go have a talk with H.C. about it. Thought you might wanna come along. Men like H.C. tend to listen better when men like you are there with me.”

Sy nodded. “I remember you taking Pa with you to have talks when I was younger.”

“Most times he just had to be there with me. A few times I had to excuse myself and your Pa had some...private words with them. Either way, I don’t know of a single man that didn’t stick to the straight and narrow and look after his wife and kids once we left their house,” Reverend Anderson said. “Everybody’s struggling right now, can’t argue with that, but men have a duty to take care of their families. If you’re out of work, that’s one thing. But that don’t mean you take it out on them.”

“I agree,” Sy said. “I’ll go with you.”

Reverend Anderson clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

Hazel Mae started babbling and reaching for Sy. She caught hold of his shirt and started tugging on it. He wiped his hands on his pants, getting off whatever dirt he had on them, and bent down to get her loose from the sling on my chest. Happy to be held, she rested her head on his shoulder and he hugged her close.

Reverend Anderson smiled at her. “Why don’t all three of y’all come on over to McCoy farm?” he suggested. “We sent someone after Dr. Bradford so he could take a look at Mrs. Bailey and the kids while we talk to H.C. but I don’t know when he’ll get there and I wouldn’t want you leaving Seraphina and the baby behind. She can come and socialize with the ladies and enjoy some ice cream while we’re off doing business.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” I said.

He shook his head at me. “Nonsense. My wife would be mighty glad to have you there. If you weren’t already married to Sy, I think she would’ve gone and adopted you for a daughter herself.”

I smiled. “It would be awful nice to see her and the other ladies. It’s been a while.” I looked up at Sy. “I think me and Little Bit will tag along with you.”

“Alright,” he said as Hazel Mae tried sticking her fingers in his mouth. He carefully pulled them away and looked at Reverend Anderson. “We’ll get loaded up and see y’all over there.” While he was talking, she managed to stick her hand in just enough to grab his bottom lip. He pulled his head back and her hand fell away. He was real gentle as he took hold of her hand, keeping it against his chest as he looked at her face. “Hey, Papa’s talking.” She shook her head, rubbing it against his shoulder. “Yes, he is. Be good.”

“I’ll leave y’all to it and let you finish up whatever you’ve got to do and I’ll see yuns over at the McCoy’s in a bit.”

Reverend Anderson left and me and Sy got ready to follow after. When we were in the truck, I looked over at him. “Are you really going to hurt that man?”

“Who? H.C. Bailey?” he asked. I nodded. “If he’s been putting his hands on his wife and kids and he won’t listen to reason, then…yeah. I will.”

“And your Pa used to do that?”

“Occasionally.” He glanced down at me. “Why? Do you not want me to?”

“No, it ain’t that…”

He put his hand on my knee. “What is it, honey bee?”

“Just wondering what Daddy would’ve done if somebody like you or your Pa would’ve come and had a talk to him when I was younger. I wonder if it would have changed anything or if he’d kept on being cruel.”

“I don’t know, baby. I wish somebody had been there to give him a talking to. I wish I would have. It breaks my heart thinking about anybody being mean to you, but especially your own daddy. I just…” He looked over at Hazel Mae sitting in my lap. “I don’t get it.”

I kissed his shoulder. “That’s ‘cause you’re a good man and a good Papa,” I said. “And you saved me when it really mattered.”

He returned my kiss to the top of my head then lifted his right arm out. “C’mere,” he said. “Let me love on you while I drive.”

I scootched over and got tucked right under his arm that he wrapped around my shoulders. I could feel how hot his skin was through the light cotton of his shirt as I rested my head against his chest. Hazel Mae liked that and did the same to me, resting her little bitty head on my chest as her toes squished against Sy’s leg. She liked being in bed with us when we were all cuddled up and loving on her and I reckon she thought that’s what we was doing.

The farm wasn’t too far away and when we got there, me and Hazel Mae were welcomed by Mrs. Anderson. She came and gave me a big ol’ hug and led me over to the shade where some of the women were talking. It wasn’t long before Dr. Bradford arrived. Ruth was with him and she came and joined us ladies as he left with Sy, Reverend Anderson, and two other menfolk up the road towards the Bailey house.

“I hope it doesn’t resort to violence but if it does and a brute like Hoyt can’t make Mr. Bailey see reason, then there’s no hope to be had for him,” Ruth said.

I didn’t like nobody calling Sy a ‘brute’, ‘specially not her, but she was right in a way. I’d seen Sy put Jud Boswell in his place before. I knew he could get right feral when he was fighting. And the day of our wedding, he’d stood up to Daddy and told him off for selling me like cattle. So if it came down to it and he needed to get physical with H.C. Bailey, I knew he would. That’s why I bit my tongue and didn’t say nothing, bad as I didn’t want to.

“All men have hope, Mrs. Bradford,” one of the ladies said.

But I thought about Daddy and I wasn’t so sure that was true.

The men had been gone for close to an hour when Hazel Mae started bouncing like crazy on my hip, her hands reaching out as she babbled something. I looked over and saw Sy and the other men heading down the lane. Hazel Mae had seen her Papa and wanted him to get her. I tried to soothe her while we waited but when he saw her reaching for him, he jumped plumb over a ditch and cut across the yard, making a beeline right for us.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he said, holding out his arms. “Let Papa get you.”

I handed her to him and he hugged her real close, kissing her head as she hugged him back. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath while he cradled her.

“Are you alright?” I asked him.

He didn’t say nothing for a second, then finally he nodded before opening his eyes to look at me. “Yeah,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I just…” He let out a shaking breath. “How in the world could anybody hurt their babies? How could you ever put your hand on them and not feel so rotten you’d want to kill yourself?”

I reached up and touched his forearm. “Was it bad?” The look he gave me was all the answer I needed. “Do you think he’s going to listen to y’all?”

“I’ll make sure he does, ‘cause if he lays another hand on his wife or those kids, I’ll do a whole lot more to him than what I did today.”

“Sy…” I didn’t know what to say. I just gripped his arm a little tighter.

I could tell he was near crying. He sniffled and tried to hide it, then pulled Hazel Mae back so he could see her face. “Why don’t we give Momma a break and you come with Papa to see some baby animals, how’s that?” he asked her. She didn’t know what he was talking about but she seemed happy all the same. He glanced at me. “Did y’all already go look at ‘em?”

“No. I was a mite scared of the goose they got back there.”

He smiled. “With good reason. Geese can be mean.”

“I know it. I got bit by one when I was little.”

His smile grew. “So last week?”

“You hush now,” I said, smiling back.

He moved Hazel Mae into the crook of his arm so she could see while they were walking and she started bouncing again. She may not have known what they was going to do but she knew her Papa was taking her somewhere and that’s all that mattered.

I caught Ruth looking after him as he held our baby in his arms and I knew she wouldn’t dare admit it, but she knew right well that he wasn’t just a brute. She knew it from her time courting him, I was sure of it. There was no way Sy would’ve been anything other than a gentleman during their time together. But he was even softer once he became a father and I knew without a doubt she saw that in him.

We didn’t stay too much longer at the McCoy’s because we still had work to do back at home. Sy really put his all into the chores once we got there and I knew he was trying to get all his anger at Mr. Bailey out. He wouldn’t tell me just how bad it had been there with the kids but he told me that he’d broken Mr. Bailey’s hand. Dr. Bradford bandaged it up some but Sy said he made sure he wouldn’t be able to take his fist or belt to none of them for a good long while.

That evening when it was time for his bath, me and Hazel Mae sat in there with him. He wanted us right close so I sat beside the tub and she was in my lap. She held onto the side of it and pulled up, then bounced up and down. Sy was washing his head with the soap when she reached out and smacked his shoulder. He looked over at her and laughed.

“Can I help you, missy?” he asked. She babbled out something that didn’t make no sense but he nodded solemnly. “Is that right?”

She growled at him and I got tickled. “You sound like a little bear,” I told her, kissing the back of her head. She blew her tongue out at Sy and then fell down hard in my lap.

“Little Bit the little bear,” Sy said. He leaned his head over so he could peek down at her in my lap. “Momma calls Papa a bull.”

“You are my big bull.”

He smiled. “And I’m mighty glad of it.”

“What am I?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I ain’t falling for that.”

“Falling for what?”

“You don’t like no animal name I call you so I ain’t going to say you’re anything. You get to pick,” he said, then put the soap away. “I don’t got no intentions of making you cry or get upset with me tonight.”

“But you had intentions of it before?”

He laughed. “No, ma’am I did not,” he said. “But I’ve learned my lesson.”

“You always called me something crazy, though. Like a monkey or a possum or hog or -”

“Nope. I never called you a hog.” He bent his head down and rinsed the soap from it. “I distinctly remember saying I was going to fatten you up like a hog but I didn’t ever say you were one. I may say a lot of things without thinking but I wouldn’t ever call a woman a hog - ‘specially not you.”

“Daddy used to call me little lamb,” I said. “I thought it was sweet ‘til I got older. Then I realized lambs get led to slaughter and they’re expected to stay quiet all the while.” I looked at Sy and saw him watching me, water clinging to his pretty eyelashes. “Some quiet helpless thing. That’s what he wanted me to be. I didn’t like that.”

“You ain’t a helpless thing.” Hazel Mae started fussing some and he reached his hand out to lay over mine. She settled down a little from feeling him. “It might not be an animal but you are my little honey bee,” he said. “You’re sweet and you work hard but you’re willing to fight back against anybody that says something about your family. You’re fiercer than anyone I know, Seraphina. You were like that when it was just me.” He smiled. “Little bitty ol’ thing like you smacked Jud Boswell when he was bad mouthing me. Nobody else would’ve done that for me. And now with Little Bit?” She took his finger and started gnawing on it. “You’d light up anyone that even so much as looked at our baby sideways.” He lowered his head to look me in the eye. “Your daddy had everything wrong. Everything. You hear?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I hear.”

Hazel Mae kept chewing on Sy’s finger but in a few moments started fussing. He moved his eyes from mine to look down at her. “You mad ‘cause there ain’t nothing coming out of there?” he asked.

I smiled. “I think that’s what it is. It’s time for her to eat and go to sleep.”

He carefully pulled his hand away from her. “Why don’t you take her on then? I’ll be out in a minute. I’m just going to finish up in here and empty out this bath water and I’ll join you.”

“Alright.” I leaned forward and he gave me a kiss. Hazel Mae wriggled in my lap and whined until I held her up so that Sy could kiss her, too. Once she got hers, we got up and I carried her out of the bathroom.

We’d been sleeping on the back porch because of the heat. Sy had Hazel Mae’s crib out there with us. So I took her outside and we got settled down onto the bed. She was getting tired and hungry, so I opened my nightgown and helped her get latched on. She was already sweating just being so close to me, her short hair curling up from it, so I blew on her head to try to cool it down while she ate. It made her close her eyes and it wasn’t long before I felt her unlatch from me. I looked down and saw her smack her lips in her sleep, milk beading up at the corner. I wiped it off and held her, contemplating whether I should wake her up to keep feeding or not. I knew she was tired but I hadn’t meant to put her to sleep before I was empty, and that’s exactly what I’d done. Looking at her sweet little face, though, I knew I couldn’t wake her. I’d have to go to bed uncomfortable, but I weren’t going to disturb her right then.

I held her until Sy joined us. He came and squatted down next to me, his hand going to my back, rubbing it gently as he looked at Hazel Mae. “She good and asleep or you want me to wait a little before putting her down in her crib?” he whispered.

I sighed. “No, she’s been asleep long enough. You can put her down.”

He looked at me, his eyebrows creasing together. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. She just fell asleep a little earlier than I needed her to. I’m still pretty full.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Tell her goodnight and I’ll take her for you.”

I pressed a kiss to both of her fat cheeks and one to the top of her head. “Goodnight, sweet girl. I love you.”

I held her up to Sy and he took her from me. She waved her fists in the air, startled by the sudden movement, but he patted her bottom and rocked her enough to get her settled down again. Then he kissed the top of her head. “Papa loves you, Little Bit. Sleep tight now,” he said before carefully easing her down into her crib next to us, then covering her up with her thin blanket. He turned back to me as I was trying to pull my gown back together. “How bad is it?”

I looked up at him as I scooted over so he could have his spot on the bed. “How bad’s what?” I asked. He nodded to my chest. “Oh. They’re still pretty full and a little sore. I ain’t ever hoped for her to wake up in the middle of the night but goodness I hope she needs to feed later,” I said, finally covering myself.

He sat down next to me and put his hand on my knee. “What if you let me help?”

I laughed. “What are you going to do? Milk me like one of the cows?”

“No,” he said, his voice all husky. “Not at all like one of the cows.”

I felt my cheeks grow warmer than they already were. “Sy…”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t,” he said. “But don’t turn it down on account of me.” His thumb stroked my skin. “‘Cause to be honest with you…this ain’t the first time I’ve wanted to try it.”

“I mean you’ve kind’ve tried it already. When I leak when we’re coupled up…”

“I have but I don’t want no couple of drops. I want everything you’ll let me take,” he said and I didn’t know how in the world those words could ever set a flame under my skin but they did. He kept stroking my knee. “But like I said, if it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t push it.”

“It don’t make me uncomfortable,” I whispered. “I trust you.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his eyes going dark in the moonlight. All I could do was nod. “Lay on down, then. Let me take care of you, baby.”

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill fan fiction #Captain Syverson #Captain Syverson fan fiction #Sand Castle Netflix #Sand Castle fan fiction #Henry Cavill fan fic #Captain Sy fan fiction #Where Kindness Grows

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mrmxlemons · 1 year

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WIP Last Lines Tag Game

Share the last 7 (or more) lines from a WIP

— I am posting nearly a whole scene from the WIP but either way… thanks for the tag @cindle-writes and @leafiloaf, I am tagging @coiled-dragon @cornerstoreclown @cannibalinc @bonkin @arabellatheauthor (no pressure!)

Premise: In a Voldemort Wins Alternate Universe, Harry is friends with Tom, the only son of the Lord Voldemort, and following graduation from Hogwarts he’s invited to stay at the Palace Eternal for the summer. It means Harry gets to spend time with Tom. It also means Harry has to meet Tom’s father. (Tomarry, eventual Harrymort, might even become A/B/O who knows)

In which Hermione and Ron express their concern for Harry.

“You’re going to stay with Tom for the summer?” Hermione asks, her brow arched, “Don’t you think that’s a little… odd?”

It’s about the response he expects from her. Ron doesn’t need to say anything for Harry to know the suspicion is mutual between them. Hermione and Ron had never been fan favorites of Tom. “He invited me to the Coronation,” Harry explains. Not that it’s a reason to be there all summer long.

Her expression morphs, “Oh, Harry! That’s so amazing! It’s an honor to go. You must be excited.”

Ron scoffs. Harry expects that, too. The feeling is moot. In a historical sense it might be interesting, but only Hermione would see it that way.

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, “that’s one word for it. Tom’s dad is a prick. Real excited to see him get crowned for, what, the fifth time?”

It feels weird referring to Tom’s dad so casually. Tom himself doesn’t even refer to Lord Voldemort as father, but Harry surely isn’t going to give him the honorific title in a conversation where he could help it. Sovereign Undying is an ego inflating mouthful, anyways.

Harry doesn’t realize he’s said something that’s shocked them until he breaks from his thoughts, noticing their eerie silence and horrified faces.

“What?” He presses.

Hermione murmurs urgently, “I don’t think you’re allowed to say that.”

Harry nearly rolls his eyes. He stares at Hermione, unconcerned. “Are you going to tell on me?”

He is surprised it’s Ron that responds this time.

“You don’t know who’s listening, mate. That’s why my dad made the whole ‘no politics at dinner’ rule, what with all the portraits lying around.”

“I know about the portraits, Ron.” Harry says testily.

“Yes,” Hermione eases, “everyone knows about the portraits. We’re not saying you don’t, Harry. I think what Ron is trying to say is you can’t be too careful.”

“I can be careful. I’m not stupid.”

“No, but you are brash.”

“And bold,” Ron adds.

“Those words are synonyms for each other, yes,” Hermione says, firm even in her gentle instruction, “Nevertheless, I think Ron brings up a good point. Your… affinity for speaking out is something you’ll have to consider if you’re going to be staying with Tom for a whole summer. Where his… where Lord Voldemort could be in earshot.”

Harry waves her off, “Tom hardly sees him, anyways. They’re practically estranged.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Ron whispers, looking around the room for invisible ears. “There’s been a new chair added at the Wizengamot. My dad thinks they’re adding a new position.”

Harry could see where this is going, but Ron’s tidbit certainly piques Hermione’s curiosity even if Harry knows its bullshit.

“What position?”

“I dunno. An advisor, maybe? I mean, who else would it be besides…”

“Tom would’ve told me about that.” Harry interjects confidently.

Both Ron and Hermione are silent, and unlike before it seems as though neither of them have anything to say. Harry might’ve cheered if their quiet didn’t sound like disagreement.

“He would’ve,” Harry insists, “He doesn’t like his father much, either. I can hardly blame him.”

Ron and Hermione exchange a side eye. “Does he tell you that?”

Harry reddens. It’s not a blush. He’s thought about this before, he isn’t completely unaware of what words can do. But even if Tom doesn’t say ‘I hate my father’ Harry can read between the lines. Tom’s never spoken highly of Lord Voldemort. All of the times he’s brought up in conversation it dwindles to Harry being glad he has no parents in comparison to Tom’s own situation.

“I mean, no—not directly, but he doesn’t need to. He’s quite attentive when I complain.”

“Are you sure he’s not trying to set you up?”

Harry can’t hide the agitation anymore. He really wishes his friends would at least pretend to like Tom. “Ron, I know you don’t like Tom but he’s good to me.”

“We just want you to be safe,” Hermione says.

Harry scoffs, “And you think me being safe includes staying away from Tom.”

“Yes,” Ron says.

“No,” Hermione glares at him. “But it’s good to be cautious. The Palace Eternal is a beautiful place, but it’s not necessarily safe. Most people that stay don’t leave.”

“Yeah, my dad’s only been there, what, once or twice? And he’s had a chair on the Wiz for years.”

“It’s just for a summer,” Harry reaffirms, “And if what you’re saying is true, if Tom is going to be an Advisor, I don’t know how much I’ll see him after, anyways.” Harry looks away from them. He really hopes it isn’t true. He really, really hopes Tom’s not going to be an Advisor to Lord Voldemort. “Besides, I’ve got to find work, I don’t know what I’m going to do still.”

“You’ve still got the offer from the Chudley Cannons, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if that’s what I want though. I’m hoping Tom can help me figure something out.”

“You know, you’re always welcome to stay with us at the Burrow. No rush finding a job, either. Mum would be more than happy to have you.” Ron assures, “Fred and George are always looking for new employees.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, “That’s because Fred and George harass their employees with pranks until they leave.”

“Yeah…” Ron agrees sheepishly.

“Regardless,” Hermione starts, “whatever you do, write us. Let us know you’re okay.”

Harry laughs, “It’s not like I’m going there to die, you’ll see me again.”

Hermione and Ron don’t laugh. Harry’s not worried, but they don’t share that sentiment.

#Tomarry #Harrymort #Tag game #no pressure my friends just extending an option

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i-am-bitterly-jittery · 7 months

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On Death's Doorstep (pt 35/?)

[<First],,,,[<Prev],[Next>] [ODD Masterlist]

Word count: 1231

Rating: Teen

Pairings: Anxceit, platonic Loceit

Warnings: unhealthy family dynamics

~~~START~~~

Logan was feeling… conflicted.

On the one hand, he had done it. Not only had he conquered death, but he had his daughter back in his life, and she knew who he was.

On the other hand, Remy hated him.

And of course, on some level he understood where she was coming from, he hadn’t been around to raise her, he was a supervillain, he had inadvertently made her incapable of escaping building collapse, and he had technically experimented on her without her consent, but none of that changed that he was her father. He loved her, everything he did — as an inventor, as a supervillain, as a scientist — had been for her, whether he’d known it at the time or not.

Still, she hated him. She wanted to stay with Virgil rather than with him — which, if Logan thought about it with his rational mind, made sense; Virgil was a superhero and a public figure; children in the city had been encouraged to go to him if they needed help for years.

The rational part of Logan’s mind, however, was not currently in charge, a fact that was further exacerbated by the knowledge that his mother, through little fault of her own, was incapable of giving him the privacy he needed to work through his thoughts and feelings.

“You just need to give her time, dear,” Barbra told him over breakfast, grating at his already frayed nerves by turning his thoughts into their topic of conversation. For several days now, Logan had been feeling like a teenager again, his thoughts open for public discussion — he was well versed in sidestepping his mother’s abilities, yes, but one could hardly spend their entire day focusing on Windows 95 screensavers.

“She likes Janus more than me,” Logan pointed out petulantly. Normally, he would not admit his petty feelings out loud, but saying them rather than thinking them at least gave him the illusion of sharing information of his own accord. “They are a supervillain just the same as I am. The twins I could understand as they have no plans or ambitions past acquiring pretty things and having a good time, but Janus is functionally no different than me!”

“They didn’t come with confusing labels for Remy to wrap her head around,” Barbra said. “They’re a supervillain and a random stranger; you’re a supervillain, a random stranger, and her estranged father that she doesn’t remember. She needs time.”

Logan frowned. His mother had had dinner with the rest of the household the previous night, which was nice insofar as it gave Logan a small reprise to think, but terrible because he could now add her to the list of people Remy liked better than him.

Barbra’s face softened before twisting up in surprise. “Oh!”

Before Logan could ask her what she had seen — and he knew that she had seen something — there was a frantic knocking at the door. Knowing that whoever was waiting on the other side was the source of his mother’s surprise — distress? — Logan went to answer it without questioning his mother further.

On the other side, he found Janus, practically doubled over from exertion.

“Janus–”

“Virgil’s gone,” they panted, thrusting a paper into Logan’s chest.

Logan would question them further, but his mother was there, leading Janus into a chair and handing them a glass of water before he could even begin to form a follow up question. Virgil? Gone? With his cuffs removed he certainly had the means to leave, but why would he?

Belatedly, Logan remembered the paper Janus had given him, he unfolded it to find a hand-written note. Whoever had written it had remarkably neat handwriting, with only faint lines where the writer had foregone picking their pen up all the way between letters betraying the writer’s anxiety.

Dear Janus,

I’m sorry about leaving this way, but I hope you can understand that I had to…

The letter went on to describe how Virgil’s fathers had been kidnapped by a supervillain, how Virgil had been almost certain that this was a trap that had been laid for him, and how he hoped Janus would look after Patton until he returned. The only thing that suggested that Virgil did not think he would come back was the section where he implored Janus to give Patton the letter Virgil had written for him when they felt he was old enough.

Logan stared at the letter for a moment longer.

“You have already checked Roman’s apartment?” He finally asked, certain he already knew the answer. There was a feeling building up in Logan’s chest that he could not identify, but he did not enjoy it.

“Dread,” Barbra said, softly so as to not interrupt Janus.

“I did, Patton was thankfully still asleep, but Remy was awake. Virgil left her a letter too, explaining that he’d gone.”

“Right…” The gears in Logan’s brain were turning, he didn’t have quite the full picture yet, but regrouping in Roman’s apartment seemed like the best course of action; have everyone all together both to plan their next steps and to look after Patton when he inevitably learned that he was — at least temporarily — down now two fathers. “Mother, if you could–”

“Already on it, dear,” Barbra assured him, slipping out of the apartment to go wake the twins.

“Janus,” Logan started once she was gone. “I believe it would be best if we moved this downstairs.”

“He didn’t even try to ask for help,” Janus said, they had finished catching their breath from the climb up to Logan’s apartment, but Logan now realized that they were having a greater emotional response than he had anticipated. “Why didn’t he ask for help? I would have dropped everything to help him.”

“I–” Logan started before deciding that honesty would be a better tactic. “The first thing that you need to remember about most superheroes is that they are, at their core, self-sacrificing idiots — that is how they became superheroes — and the second thing you need to remember, this time about Virgil specifically, is that a dangerous combination of too strong a hero-complex, and too little self-worth, have made him incredibly easy to manipulate, even if he knows that it is happening.”

“Why is he like this?” Janus groaned, barely paying attention to Logan at all.

“I do not know, but either way, I believe it would be best that we do not leave Remy on her own when Patton wakes up.”

“Shit, Patton!” Janus lurched to their feet. “I don’t know how to be a parent!”

“We can cross that bridge if we come to it,” Logan assured them, gently coaxing them towards the door. “But if it does come to that, you are hardly alone, and I assure you, Patton is quite fond of you.”

“Logan,” Janus gasped, turning their full attention on Logan for the first time since handing him Virgil’s letter. Logan had never seen his friend quite so uncertain in their eight years of friendship.

“I know, Janus,” he said, placing a steadying hand on Janus’s shoulder. “But we will fix this. We will get Virgil back.”

Virgil was a part of their family now. Janus had certainly started the process by insisting that they keep him, but Logan had finished it by asking for Virgil’s help and figuratively laying himself bare before the hero. They would get him back.

~~~END~~~

I've had this done for like a week now, but I thought the chapter was going to keep going so I didn't post it. But as it turns out the next part makes more sense as Janus POV and I think it was gonna get kinda long, so it's two separate chapters now

ODD taglist

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @arsonic-knight @misunderstood-shadowling @lost-in-thought-20 @remy-the-lemon-berry @jinxcrafter @apinkline2715 @gothfoxx @donutsarepartybagels @xoaningout @meganmoneky14

#sanders sides #ts sanders sides #logan sanders #janus sanders #on death’s doorstep #superhero au #thursday writes #my writing #sanders sides fanfiction

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