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secretkeeper13 · 3 years ago

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A year ago today, after a few months of lurking on Ao3 and Tumblr and reading without an account, I posted my first fic. I don’t know what possessed me to start writing. I think I was so desperate for some sort of creative outlet in the monotony of quarantine life that when I got an idea, I wrote it down. And here I am a year later, still writing, though not as frequently as I’d like. Thank you @thedistantdusk, queen beta, for all your help. To all the funny, lovely people I’ve “met” on Discord, thanks for brightening the past year. And thank you to everyone who read and commented on my fics. I truly appreciate you all!

A little (belated) Harry birthday fic below the cut or on Ao3

For many years, Harry hated summer. Summer was loneliness and boredom, monotony punctuated by growls from his stomach or his aunt’s shouts. Summer was endless daylight that stretched and languished well into the night, mocking him, a prisoner in his bedroom with barred windows. Summer meant isolation, locked doors, tossing and turning alone under damp, sticky sheets.

But what he once loathed had now become his favorite season, when three weeks ago, on the terrace of their garden, under the orange glow of the evening summer sun, he’d dropped to one knee, and with shaking hands, asked Ginny to marry him. She’d said yes, of course, yet part of him still couldn’t believe it- that after everything, horcruxes and hallows, Voldemort and the Forest, she would be walking down the aisle not to a faceless stranger, but to him.

In their bed later that evening, after a round of private celebration, the sheen of sweat still clinging to their bodies, she’d told him of her idea. A wedding at the Burrow, just family and close friends, and a surprise to all but a handful, planned under the guise of her birthday party. It would keep the press from getting wind of it, she’d said, and with the ink barely dry on Rita Skeeter’s latest “expose” (Ginny plying Harry with love potions in an effort to force him to propose), he’d thought it was a brilliant plan. And secretly, Harry thought that the limited window for Molly to fuss over wedding preparation was a bonus.

“Do you think it’s crazy?” she’d asked, as her fingers traced gentle patterns over his chest. “I know it’s barely a month away.”

“No,” he said, turning his head to kiss her bare shoulder, “I’m chuffed that you can’t wait to marry me, actually.”

She grinned at him, her smile bathed in moonlight. “Afraid I’ll change my mind if we wait too long?”

“Well, love potions don’t last forever, you know. And one of these days I may slip up and forget to put it in your tea.”

“No, no- you’ve got it all wrong,” she teased, jabbing him with her finger. “I’m the one who's dosing you, remember?”

“Ah, but Rita Skeeter never gets it right, you know that,” he replied, smirking at her through the darkness.

She’d thrown her head back as she laughed, that beautiful sound echoing in the stillness, then kissed him again, and he wondered, for the thousandth time, how he’d gotten this lucky.

And now, three weeks later, on the morning of his birthday, still enjoying the glow of their secret engagement, he sat on the sofa leafing through the sports pages of the paper when Ginny’s voice rang out from upstairs.

“Harry, will you come up here for a moment?”

“Be right up,” he called back. Assuming it was something to do with the wedding, he climbed the stairs and entered their bedroom. The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks.

Ginny stood near the foot of the bed, wearing only a Harpies jersey, her long hair swept over one shoulder, the bare skin of her other shoulder peeking out on the other side. The jersey was clearly his, as it hung on her like a dress, ending just below her bum, revealing almost all of her legs. At the sight of her, his eyes went wide and his jaw slackened instantly.

She grinned at his reaction. “Happy birthday.”

“I’ll say,” he replied, his eyes trailing down her legs, the creamy skin peppered with freckles.

She took a step closer, closing the gap between them. “I’m wearing your present,” she said, and he could tell that she was trying to sound nonchalant as she ran her hand lightly down his chest, pausing tantalizingly over the waistband of his joggers. “But I thought you’d prefer to unwrap it this way.”

“You thought right.”

He kissed her softly, his lips sliding over hers, his hands cradling her face. “Thank you,” he murmured, his lips moving to graze the shell of her ear, “I’ve been needing a new one, the old one is looking a bit worn.”

Before he could begin to move his lips down her neck, she pulled back slightly. She looked up at him, still grinning, her eyes glinting in the soft morning light. “That wasn’t why I got it for you.”

“Well, you know I’ve got a thing for you in your uniform,” he replied, leaning down for another kiss, but she put her hand lightly on his chest to stop him.

“I know- but that isn’t why either.” Her smile was so wide that her eyes crinkled at the corners. She was clearly enjoying this.

“I got it because…” She paused as she took a step back, positively beaming at him now. “You’ll be needing a jersey with my new name.”

At that, she turned so her back was facing him. And there, in bold, gold letters, the name POTTER was emblazoned above Ginny’s number.

He was stunned. They’d never discussed Ginny changing her name. He hadn’t even thought about it in the whirlwind weeks of their engagement. He’d simply assumed, given her career (not to mention her fierce sense of independence) that she would keep hers. It certainly didn’t matter to him- she’d said yes to marrying him, that was all that was important.

“Surprised?” Ginny asked.

“I, erm… yeah,” he replied, unable to form a coherent sentence as his mind raced to try to process it all.

For the first eleven years of his life, his name was delightfully ordinary. His aunt once said his name was common , the word dripping with disdain, as if it was the most grievous insult she could bestow. Her implication aside, it was true that his name wasn’t unusual. There was another Harry in his primary school. He’d seen other Potters, too. Once in the clinic, the nurse called out for “Mr. Potter,” and an elderly man rose as Harry stood. After the man smiled kindly at him and shuffled into the corridor, he’d asked Petunia innocently if the man was a relative. In response, she’d scoffed and told Harry that if he had other relatives, he certainly wouldn’t be living with her.

When he entered the wizarding world, his name ceased to be ordinary, transformed, like everything in his life, on that fateful day of his eleventh birthday. From then on, his name was notorious. It was whispered unsubtly as he walked down the corridors of Hogwarts. It was splashed across headlines in the Prophet. It was jeered by Death Eaters. Far too often, it was said with a reverence that made him exceedingly uncomfortable.

The thought of Ginny taking his name, and all that came with it, overwhelmed him. A lump began to form in his throat. He swallowed quickly, trying to compose himself, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“Love- are you all right?” she said, turning back around to face him.

“I… yeah,” was all he could manage, his voice cracking.

She placed her arms around him gently, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m just s-surprised,” he stammered. “We hadn’t talked about it, and Hermione’s always going on about how it’s sexist that the woman is expected to take the man’s name. And you’ve worked so hard to make a name for yourself in Quidditch. And you know, er, feminism and all…” He trailed off, aware he was rambling.

She smiled, pulling back slightly so she could look up at him. “Well first, Hermione’s right. It is sexist that it’s assumed that a wife will take her husband’s name. But I think it’s quite clear from your reaction that you didn’t expect me to or assume I would. Right?” She raised her brow.

“Of course I didn’t. It’s fine if you want to keep yours, really.”

“But I don’t,” she said, her voice firm and clear. “Plus, I think there’s plenty of Weasleys to carry on the family name without me, yeah?”

“I know, it’s just…” He swallowed, the lump in his throat growing larger. “My name- it’s a lot. And I’d understand if you didn’t want to take that on.”

She slipped her arms around him again, pulling herself to him until she was flush to his chest. “Harry,” she said, her tone soothing, her voice reverberating on his chest, “we’ve been together since I was fifteen. I understand everything that comes with the name Potter. And that’s why I want to do this, why I’m choosing to do this- I thought it might be nice if you had someone, family, to share that with. I think that sometimes it's lonely for you, being the only Potter, and I never want you to feel alone.”

She hugged him tightly. He inhaled, his breath shaky, as he let himself sink into her embrace. Seeing her in that jersey, knowing that she wanted to take his name, that they would be united together, permanently- he was overcome. He blinked rapidly and bit his bottom lip, squeezing her back tightly, determined not to spoil the moment.

As his racing heart slowed and he composed himself, he gently tipped her chin up to look at her.

“Gin,” he said, his tone soft and earnest, “I’d love nothing more than to share my name with you. I just don’t want you to feel obligated. We could double-barrell, if you wanted-“

She rolled her eyes, “I’d prefer if our children didn’t sound like posh twats every time they introduced themselves, thanks.”

He laughed, then realized- “Our children?”

She nodded and looked up at him through her lashes. “We have talked about that, you know.”

He felt as if he would burst from happiness. He leaned down and kissed her, trying with all his might to put into the kiss what he couldn’t find the words to say, to tell her, with his mouth and the trace of his tongue, how much this meant to him.

She sighed as they broke apart. “I take this to mean you’re happy that in a week I’ll be Ginny Potter?”

“Yes. Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it, really. Honestly, I’m so thrilled that you’re marrying me, it wouldn't matter what name you’d chosen.”

She smirked, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “In that case, I take it all back. I’m going by Ida.”

“Ida?”

“Yes, Ida Shaggem.”

He burst into laughter.

“No?” she feigned, mirth evident in her tone. “What about Anita Hardone?”

He was laughing so hard now that his shoulders shook.

Her smile grew wider and she bit her lip (he could tell she was trying very hard to keep from laughing). “Well then, I guess Ginny Potter it is.”

She burst into laughter and he pulled her to him, holding her tightly as he walked her backwards towards the bed, both of them still laughing, nearly breathless.

As they reached the end of the bed, her hands grasped the hem of the jersey to pull it off.

“Oh no,” he gasped, still trying to stop laughing. “You’re definitely leaving that on.”

#harry potter fanfiction #hinny #hinny fanfic #hinny fluff #one year writing anniversary #ginny potter

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scandeniall · 4 years ago

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falling in love | atsumu m.

pairing: atsumu x reader

warnings: few curse words. Yk the usual; aged up/post time skip

alternatively; what its like falling and being in love with atsumu

thank u all for the thoughts on the sakusa version. figured i’d give another boy a try and am considering making this a series

Falling in love with Atsumu feels like being on a roller coaster. There are so many ups and downs but you never want to get off. Falling in love with him requires time but once you do its the most amazing thing in the world.

Its meeting at Onigiri Miya after he’s had a long and rough day at practice and you two order the same meal. The order is called off and in a haze of exhaustion he thinks its his grabbing the bag almost immediately bumping into you and dropping the bag. Hes so so tired and so so hungry that he nearly tears up before mumbling a series of expletives, not even processing any of the spew of apologies you shoot at him. Even worse when he finds out it wasn’t even his order he dropped, because so much for a free meal. He’s in shock when you decline him buying you a new one because he “looks ready to drop dead at any moment.” He barely processes the way Osamu comes out both annoyed at the mess and amused at his frozen twin before telling you a replacement was on the house and forcing Atsumu to go nap in the back for a little because driving home.

Its how after that night, he’d started seeing you more and more at the shop, very brief conversations here and there leading up to him asking for your number since “ya seem to come here as much as me.” At some point he found out that its because its your roommate’s favorite spot and picking up dinner is on your way home (not that you've ever mentioned that you’d gotten to enjoy the view of both the cook and his brother.)

Its the friendship you develop with his twin and fit right in with their friends. In some whirlwind of conversation you expressed concern for him (as a stranger) to where his brother said it wasn’t unusual for him to come in, half dead, eat and sleep off some of his exhaustion before heading home. It wasn’t all the time, but often enough. However, accidentally stealing someone else's food was a new one for him. You jokingly called Atsumu sleeping beauty, which was the start of it. The two of you frequently teamed up against the twin, to tease at him and no matter how much Atsumu claimed to hate it and he wishes you two despised each other, he cant hide the smile that tugs at him.

Its the moments like the one when you met where you end up picking him from practice, catching a ride to the gym because he's so so tired and wants nothing more than to stuff his face and sleep for days. Just months into your friendship he’s trusting you with his car, because you seem that dependable. The praises of you being a good friend as his hand lingers against yours after passing the keys over to you. The way he looks slumped against the cars window has something stirring inside of you. You take a picture for blackmail later and to reinforce how much better he is when hes not talking.

Its how he sits on your couch eating all your snacks while he shit talks all the guys that appear on your tinder. Calls some of them jobless losers, and its the frist time he admits that he thinks you're hot. “Yer too hot for that guy”, while swiping left on all of them (even the ones you would’ve gone right for.) The way you retort confirming that he thinks you’re hot has him speechless and stuttering, insisting that he didnt mean it like that, yet can’t explain how he meant it.

The times you bicker and he suddenly becomes the worst friend you have. The time you two had stopped talking for like a month, mad over something you’d forgotten a week later. Yet, all you knew is that you were supposed to be mad. He could “go to hell” and you were “so fucking annoying.” Over the course of your friendship he’d made it a habit of taking things from you; your favorite mug because he still had a drink in it when it was time for him to go. Your fuzzy socks that he’d claimed during a movie night, because your apartment was way too cold. The spare reusable bottle because he forgot his and was already on his way to the gym. You’d resorted to trying to slowly get your stuff through Osamu, but by week 3 he’d grown tired of it. He promised you both a free meal if you came and helped him close up one night, before forcing you two to talk it out. Within five minutes the two of you are laughing.

Your first date had been one by accident of some sorts. You’d been walking around a shopping center at night and he’d caught view of a new ice cream shop. It was his cheat weekend and he suggested stopping. His treat. Some time in between you going home he’d teased that it felt like a date. You both were hit with a oh shit kind of moment because it was true. Throughout the night your hands had brushed several times, and you’d both even let the other use your spoon to taste your different ice cream flavors.

Atsumu’s feelings came relatively easy. He thought you were kind, funny, interesting, and of course attractive. You had a way of leaving him speechless with your quick and witty comeback, and it was refreshing. It’d been something he hadn’t seen much since his high school days with Aran. However he’d denied the feelings for the longest, swearing to himself that he’d never have a crush on you. You were just one of the bros, but better.But, after that first date its like the feelings just flooded out. It’d ended with you hinting that you’d be interested in going on another one, “perhaps a real one this time,” and he just nodded.

There weren’t many dates before the two of you dived into your relationship. Afterall, you’d been friends for over a year and if he’d thought you were annoying he wouldve “been gotten rid of you.” His first act of the two of you becoming a couple, was a cute picture for his new wallpaper. It’d been a hassle to get because with every picture, one of you had a problem. The first time his roots were peaking through too much and he fussed at you for not telling him he needed a touch up. Then the one he liked you were blinking, and hed insisted you looked good anyways (or that he did). He’d recounted a time where he didn’t care about making memories, but it was different now. They made him who he was, and wanted to keep the memories of your growth.

Its the nights before games that he spends with you doing self care (an act he used to pretend like he only did because you wanted to, before just begrudgingly admitting that he liked it too.) You’d gone to look for a specific face mask, before he admitted that he stole it and forgot to bring it back (when really he used it all up and was just waiting for you to buy another one so he could take that one too). When you rolled your eyes at him, he’d just brush it off a promise of returning it before opening his arms for you to return to your cuddle position. You were supposed to be watching a movie, but he’d pulled up old games of his future opponents and kept showing you interesting plays. One hand holding the phone, the other unconsciously rubbing circles onto your back. He asks if you’re paying attention to him and you admit that you aren’t at all and he sighs in over dramatic disappointment before locking the phone and focusing on you.

Its the argument that almost led to your breakup that happened due to a miscommunication. You’d been out with friends, Atsumu already trying and failing to coax you into staying the night with him instead. All it had taken was a picture taken completely out of context for him to feel hurt. He really really liked you (borderline was ready to admit loving you)!and thought you’d at least felt a fraction of the same emotion towards him. That night he hadn’t thought through anything before sending the picture (snapped on who knows who’s phone) to you with a simple ‘I see how it is’. What made it even worse is that you hadn’t seen the picture right away.

It’s how your heart dropped later that night when you were finally ready to head back to his, and your heart ached at how you called him several times only to be sent straight to voicemail. Your attempt at reaching his twin was lucky as he hadn’t even told him about what he thought had happened yet. Another strike of luck when Osamu believed you and ensured that this was a case of his brother acting first and thinking later.

The makeup had been one both of relief and realization that the two of you needed to talk. It’s when you found out that he was in love with you and that he really did love hard. Just like with volleyball, he wasn’t sure what kind of dumb shit he’d be getting into if you weren’t there. Having to sit through the conversation was uncomfortable for him as he was often the one doing the scolding to others. However the difference was that you admitted that you could’ve handled it better as well (something he doesn’t do when he’s complaining about others).

Its the nights where he hits you up at 2am already outside begging you to just take a late night drive with you. He knows you can’t tell him no so he’s offering a smirk pushing the door open as you sleepily make your way in. His eyes soften at how cute you look (he’s definitely known to slip up and talk in a baby voice like this and yes you’ve blackmailed that ass when he annoys you). You tell him that you look like shit at the moment and he agrees before backtracking and still saying you look good.

You end up at some late night drive through arguing about fries because “ya didn’t even wanna come out in the first place” and you both don’t need them. You could just share. The workers in the drive through literally have to tell y’all to hurry up to where he just glared at the faceless menu. You have to end up shouting over him the order that he still ends up complaining about. Even though you end up with the two different orders he eats all yours and every time you try and swat his hand away he exclaims that he bought them.

Those nights you wake up pretty easily because he lowers the windows and turns up his throwbacks playlist pretty loud and sings terribly and just looks so happy. Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney comes on and he loves grabbing your hand at it while singing along. Those moments are a different kind of joy from when he’s playing volleyball. He’s not focused on a win or his team and how to celebrate. He’s living in the moment, happy and carefree and with his favorite person.

a/n: um yeah cant lie I do like the sakusa version better but here we go. another middle of the night ramble.

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu imagine #hq imagines #atsumu x reader #atsumu imagines #hq imagine #haikyuu imagines

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favefandomimagines · 5 years ago

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Goodbye Love (t.h.)

Summary: Tom doesn’t realize how much being shipped with another woman hurts you, until you leave.

AN: i did a concept like this with a ben hardy imagine so I thought I’d do it with Tom. This is old and is one of the 41 drafts i have saved but too scared to post lol SO i hope you enjoy (using hailey bieber as a face claim cause i felt weird having a faceless photo of someone on a red carpet) xx

Ever since Tom had finished filming Spider-Man: Far From Home, the tomdaya shippers have been in full swing.

Shipping them ten times as hard as they did the first time. It was easy to ignore but now it was getting hard. Especially when Tom isn’t doing anything to make it stop.

His fans found an interview of him, being asked if he found his Liz Allen in real life and when he answered yes, the video was edited to show videos and pictures of him and Zendaya. Even though in that interview he was talking about you.

Currently in Atlanta, you sat on the bed you shared with Tom, Tessa laying close to you, almost as if she knew that you were upset. You were waiting for Tom to come home, though you were a nervous wreck. How were you supposed to tell him how you felt and that you were going home for a little bit?

“Love, I’m home!” Tom called from the living room. You didn’t move and neither did Tessa. Which was odd because she always left to go greet Tom when he got home.

He entered the room and saw you two on the bed. “There are my girls.” He greeted with a smile on his face. He walked over and tried to kiss your lips but you moved your head so his lips landed on your cheek instead.

Tom looked at you for a moment, a curious look falling on his face. “What’s wrong?” He asked. Tom knew you inside and out and he could tell something was wrong with you.

You didn’t look up at him, just handed him your phone with the screenshots and screen recordings, of people praising him and Zendaya’s nonexistent relationship and degrading you and your real one.

“Two years, Tom. I’ve been going through this for two years.” You finally spoke. “At first, I ignored it. Knowing I could put up with it for a few months while the movie was out and you were doing press. Then it just kept getting worse. Seeing people call me terrible names and wanting you to break up with me and wanting me to-” You started but stopping yourself, the more intense comments being worse than most. “Y/N-“ He tried to speak. “And you know what the worst part is? You haven’t done a single thing to end it.” You cut him off.

You still hadn’t looked at him when you got off the bed and grabbed the two bags you packed.

Tom watched you place them on the bed and his heart started to beat faster and his eyes widened. “W-What are you doing?” He asked. “I think, I should go back to LA for a little bit and just let you think things through. Is letting your fans have some fun with the idea of tomdaya worth losing me?” You replied.

“Y/N, please don’t do this. Please don’t leave me.” Tom begged, tears welling up in his eyes. “We’re just taking a break, Tom. But if you decide that I’m not worth it, that’s going to be it.” You told him. You picked up the bags and headed towards the door when Tom grabbed your wrist. “Please don’t leave.” Tom whispered.

You looked at him for a moment before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I have too.” You whispered back. Tom reluctantly let go of your wrist as you opened the door.

Tessa got down off the bed and began to follow you out the bedroom door. The dog began to cry softly as you headed towards the front door of the airbnb. “Goodbye, love.” You said to Tom before exiting the house.

Tom watched you leave, the tears falling freely at that point. He didn’t know it had gotten so bad for you. He’s ignored the shipping a million times knowing it was you he loved but he never knew you were second guessing everything about your relationship and yourself.

He ran his hands through his hair out of frustration before retreating back to the bedroom.

***

It had been three weeks. Three weeks since he had seen you. Of course he’d seen the photos of you in LA. Just because you’re going through something emotionally, doesn’t mean your career stops.

You had been doing a bunch of press for the TV season you had just wrapped before you went to Atlanta with Tom. It was the best idea you could think of to get your mind off of Tom.

He wasn’t having such luck. Everything reminded him of you and he wasn’t the same knowing that your relationship was in the balance. And everyone around him noticed.

“Tom, what’s going on?” Zendaya asked him one day. “Y/N didn’t leave for work, she left because of the fans shipping you and I. She couldn’t take it anymore.” Tom answered. “What do you mean?” She asked. “I’m supposed to be her boyfriend and you’re supposed to be her friend and yet we let thousands of people ship us together, without even thinking of how that could make Y/N feel.” Tom ranted.

Zendaya had never thought of that before. She didn’t realize just how cruel the fans were until she checked while she was talking to Tom.

“Oh yeah. This is, uh, very bad.” Zendaya said. Tom looked at her phone and noticed that there were new comments.

‘Y/N is so beneath Tom. Zendaya is a queen’

‘Y/N should just kill herself.’

‘Y/N’s show is gonna flop and then tom will see how much better zendaya is’

‘tomdaya is better.’

Tom’s stomach twisted seeing all the negative comments about his girlfriend and one wanting her to end her life. If they were really his fans, they’d support him 100%. “How could they be so cruel?” Tom asked. “I don’t know but maybe we do need to say something.” Zendaya replied.

“I need to get her to come back.” He muttered. “You setting your fans straight will do that.” Zendaya told him. Tom nodded his head before taking out his phone and posting an old picture of you at the Infinity War premiere.

@tomholland2013: i am going to be blunt and i’ve never done this before so bear with me. but the constant shipping of Zendaya and I, had gotten out of hand. I am in a happy and loving relationship with the woman in this photo. You don’t have to like it but you have to respect it. Y/N is the love of my life and seeing her being brought down my total strangers, breaks my heart. No fan of mine brings her down. And that’s that. @y/f/n_y/l/n

You got the notification that Tom had tagged you in a photo. Swiping your phone, you read the caption carefully. “He finally did it.” You said to yourself. But why now, two weeks later?

That conversation wasn’t one to have over the phone so you had your agent get you the next flight to Atlanta.

“Are you sure you want to leave half way through press?” She asked you. “I have too. Everyone will understand, they know how much Tom means to me.” You answered. “Okay. Your flight lands at 9:45 and pack an umbrella. There’s supposed to be a huge storm when you land.” She told you. You gave her a gracious smile before getting in your Uber.

***

Tom sat on the couch, quietly watching whatever soccer game was on, only wishing you were there next to him. You hated watched soccer with him because of how competitive he got but whenever he asked, you watched with him.

He was knocked out of his reminiscing by the sound of his phone vibrating. Seeing it was Harrison, he sighed but picked it up. “Hello?” He answered. “Are you still sulking?” Harrison asked his best friend. “What do you think?” Tom retorted. “You have to stop that, Tom. She’ll come back when she’s ready.” Harrison told him.

Tom sighed, knowing well that Harrison could hear. “Look, you saw the comments. They’re terrible. Telling her to kill herself so that you and Zendaya can finally be together. You don’t get over something like that over a few nights.” He added. “I know, but I just wish I could make it better. It’s been three weeks.” Tom said. “I know but you did all you can do. It’s all up to her now.” Harrison said.

Tom knew his best friend was right. He knew you needed time to yourself, to make sure you were fully ready to come back to him. “But, if it’s any consolation, I had a surprise sent to your doorstep.” Harrison added. “What?” Tom questioned. “And you might wanna hurry up and bring it inside before it gets absolutely soaked.” He said.

With furrowed eyebrows Tom got off the couch with his phone still pressed to his ear. “What are you on about?” Tom asked him. “Just do it.” Harrison ordered. Tom rolled his eyes and walked towards the door. He opened it up to reveal a soaking wet you.

“Hi, love.” You greeted him, the sound of the rain nearly drowning out your voice. “Y/N, w-wha- you’re here.” Tom stammered. “Yes, I am now can you please let me inside before I get pneumonia?” You asked with a small laugh.

Tom didn’t let you inside but instead hung up the phone and walked outside to pull you into him. He didn’t care if you were soaked from the rain or the fact that he was also getting wet as well. The only thing that mattered to him was you.

“Tom, you’re going to get sick.” You told him, breaking the silence. “I don’t care. That’s the last thing I care about. I just need to hold you.” He replied.

You let go and looked up at him for a moment. “Y/N, I was a mess without you. You are everything to me and not having you here was hell.” Tom told you. “I love you, I am so in love with you. And I’m so sorry.” He added.

You didn’t say anything at first but wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down closer to you, to place a deep kiss on his lips.

Pulling apart, he rested his forehead on yours. “Let’s get inside before you catch a cold.” You told him, pushing him inside the house.

Tessa barked and ran to you and a large smile made it’s way to your face. “Tess! I missed you!” You greeted the dog, crouching down to her level. Tom smiled at the sight, feeling as if everything was back to normal.

“Y/N,” Tom started, causing you to turn to face him. He offered you his hand, which you took, to help you up from your crouched position. “I will never make you feel unimportant again. I am so sorry.” He said. You gave him a warm smile before kissing him gently.

“I know. It’s okay.” You replied. “I love you, Y/N. With everything I have.” He told you. “And I love you.” You said, the two of you plus Tessa cuddling on the couch for the night.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #peter parker imagine #peter parker #spiderman #marvel #zendaya #imagine #Avengers infinity war

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pinkmingi · 4 years ago

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V.I.P // C. San ~ (m)

Description: A wealthy, rising young star stumbles into your camming liveshow one evening and immediately becomes your highest paying client. Needless to say- that role comes with certain added benefits, including private shows that San has every intention of using to his advantage.

word count: 5.3k

Features: San x Camgirl!Reader, mutual masturbation, cum play (light), edging, being paid for sexual services (i.e. camming) etc.

2:04am. You squinted against the harsh light of your phone screen as it vibrated in your hand.

New Message From:

Choi San- Tier 6

You hated the way your heart skipped a beat, even if just for a moment, when you saw his name flash across the screen. You weren’t exactly surprised, between his work schedule (from what little he’d told you about his work) and the time difference he tended to send his requests at all hours of the night, long after you’d finished your regular liveshow and gone to sleep—yet you always seemed to wake up when he messaged. If just 3 months ago you’d been told that you would be willfully getting out of bed to put on your prettiest set of pink lingerie and reapplying your livestream makeup for a single customer at 2 in the morning—you would’ve never believed them. Then again, 3 months ago there was no such thing as a Tier 6.

*3 months earlier*

“Thank you again to all my beautiful new viewers, I see some of you guys in the chat, don’t be shy say to say hello! I promise there’s no judgement here…” You smiled sweetly, flashing the camera your undeniably charming face that had so many clients coming back to your liveshows on a regular basis—you fulfilled their wildest fantasies and you did it with seemingly no effort.

“I’ve been feeling so restless lately, I don’t know what’s gotten into me—there must be something in the weather here…everything’s making me feel, hmm..needy I guess?” You laughed at the way you spoke so casually in front of an audience of strangers, though many of them were regulars and in that sense seemed less strange to you.

“How’s everyone been feeling lately? Don’t be afraid to open up, I really wanna know.” You smiled as you leaned towards the camera, casually showing off a bit more of your cleavage in the delicate and intricate lace bra that hugged you perfectly. 9.3k viewers, your streams really were growing fast.

Kinkydaddyxx76 (Tier 2) has sent you a donation!

Erenda_903 (Tier 1) has sent you a donation!

Justcurious111 (Guest) has sent you a donation!

Lovemeharddom_ (Tier 4) has sent you a donation!

You smiled to yourself as you thanked the members by name for their donations, it was about the personal experience for many of them, and as regulars of your streams you’d always found it important that they be recognized and treated with special care—it was one of the reasons that your streams had become so popular so quickly, despite only camming for a little over a year you’d acquired a large and dedicated group of viewers who you always made sure to treat with great care and respect. That was just part of the job.

“I’m gonna be wrapping up the general admission stream soon you guys, but don’t forget if you want extra access to the after party live show you are always welcome—I have 5 tiers of access available for my very special VIP members, the descriptions of each are listed on my profile. I hope to see as many of you there as possible, my members know how much I love an audience.” You winked playfully, adjusting your seat on the perfectly made bed, giving the camera a killer view of your legs and booty shorts as you read through the chat one last time before getting ready to log off. Just as you were getting ready to wrap up, however, a series of notifications appeared in the chat.

ChoiSinForMe has entered your cam room!

ChoiSinForMe has subscribed!

ChoiSinForMe is now a Tier 5 member!

You eyes widened as you read the last message again—Tier 5. You could probably count on 2 hands the number of Tier 5 subscribers that you had, it was a pretty expensive and elite level—and those who did purchase that level of subscription had been watching you since practically the beginning. You’d never seen this account on your streams before, he was completely new and already he’d become one of your highest paying clients. Taken aback, you nearly forgot to thank the new account for subscribing, your hands fidgeting slightly as you tucked a strand of hair nervously behind your ear. Who was this person?

“Uhmm, whoa…this is unexpected, thank you @ChoiSinForMe for becoming my newest member, welcome to the Princess Playroom, I hope you’ll enjoy your time here!” You smiled sweetly, still feeling a bit giddy and on edge at the prospect of the new member messaging you—that was a perk of Tier 5 members, they had the ability to private message you, as well as make special requests that lower tiers were not permitted to make.

You had just finished thanking everyone for coming, turning off the stream and sitting back against the headboard of your bed as you started at the computer monitor in front of you. You couldn’t get the strange new account out of your head…you couldn’t pinpoint why exactly, but there was something so sexy to you about the mystery. After what seemed like an eternity of staring at the private message tab of your account, a notification ding sounded through the otherwise quiet solitude of your apartment bedroom. Jumping slightly, you didn’t hesitate to scroll up, unable to contain the intrigued smile that played against your lips as you saw that, in fact, it was from your new subscriber.

New Chat!

ChoiSinForMe (Tier 5):

I’m sorry if I startled you in the live stream earlier

I’ll admit I liked the way your face froze tho

You wouldn’t like to admit the amount of times you read that message over again, overwhelmed with the butterflies you felt in your stomach, and the way your cheeks flushed at the idea that you were getting so worked up over a client. Sure, you’d heard of people camming and getting turned on by the people watching them, but you’d honestly never really experienced that with any one subscriber in particular—they were mostly just nice, slightly older men with more money and time than they could handle. So why did this feel different?

PrincessPlayroom (Host):

It’s nothing I can’t handle, welcome though ~ I’ve never had anyone become a member so quickly after entering my stream before J

His reply was fast, and it sent you into a state of shock almost as quickly.

ChoiSinForMe (Tier 5):

I know what I like. Figured this was the best way to get your attention

I have a proposal, actually—I don’t wanna waste your time, my tastes are specific and I don’t share.

I’m interested in private video calls, noticed that you don’t have that as a feature…but if you’re down to try something like that let me know. The price is…inconsequential.

My name is San, by the way.

You weren’t exactly sure what to say. He was right, that wasn’t something you’d ever offered before. No one had ever requested it before—that wasn’t to say you didn’t receive strange requests because your chat room was filled with out of the ordinary things. But for such a high-paying client to make a request for an individual stream…you weren’t sure what to say. For some reason, you weren’t ready to immediately shut down the request—maybe it was the prospect that this guy, at least from his messages, sounded like he was genuinely ready to pay anything for what he wanted. Something about that confidence made you squirm.

PrincessPlayroom (Host):

That’s certainly a unique offer, you’re right though—that isn’t a Tier 5 perk.

I’m curious though, indulge me in these “specific tastes” of yours, San

You couldn’t help but bite your lip at what he might say, subconsciously squeezing your legs together slightly as you waited for his reply. When your computer dinged again, the message was shorter than you’d anticipated, and very much left you wanting more.

ChoiSinForMe (Tier 5):

I’m not a big texter. Call me on Skype and we can talk.

(XXX) XXX-XXXX

And in case you thought I wasn’t serious—

Xoxo, San

ChoiSinForMe has sent you $1000!

Your heart was pounding in your chest and you could feel heat building in the pit of your stomach—should you call him? Who the hell was this guy, who sent you a grand just for entertaining the idea of calling him? Part of you wondered if something like this was really the smartest decision, but the other half of you couldn’t help but follow the intrigue of it all. This had never happened to you before, sure you had a few higher paying clients but none of them were like this. This man was something new. Without giving your mind time to cloud you with reasons why this probably wasn’t a good idea, you’d logged onto your skype account, connected your camera to the computer monitor and turned it on. Sitting upright on your bed, legs outstretched, you fixed your hair slightly before dialing his number. What the fuck were you doing…was this a mistake? Was he gonna end up being a creep or—the sound of the call being answered interrupted your thoughts.

“You look good like this, Princess.” His voice hit your speakers before his camera came into focus, but you swear if you’d been standing his voice alone would’ve been enough to make your knees a little weak. The instant his camera came into focus, your greatest worry came to life—he was ridiculously handsome. Maybe this was why you’d always preferred streaming to a faceless audience, it didn’t feel real. They were just names in the chat, but him? The man in the black t-shirt and grey sweatpants sitting on a king size bed with his head resting in the palm of his hand as he eyed you with a smirk on his lips…he was doing things to you. He was making you nervous, and you never got nervous over things like this. It’s just work, Y/N…it’s just work. He’s a client, that’s it.

“H-hi, I’m sorry, hah...this is all very new for me. I’ve never had a live conversation with a member before.” You blushed, running a hand through your hair as you watched San’s dark eyes, they never wavered from you as he clearly trailed the length of your body—taking his time as he took in the view.

“I guess I must be special then, hmm?” He smiled softly, leaning back on his hands and giving you an all-too perfect view of how tight his sweatpants already were. For some reason, this gave you a surge of confidence. Sure, he may be wealthy, and he may be getting special treatment, but this was your client. He was paying you, he wanted you—you were in charge. You smiled teasingly as you trailed your hand softly down the expanse of your body, stopping at the hem of your underwear as you casually played with the thin elastic band, biting your lip slightly.

“We’ll see…I’m charging you by the hour, by the way.” San laughed slightly at this, nodding in agreement.

“That’s fair…since you’re on the clock, why don’t you tell me your name?” He wasn’t jumping into any far out requests, even though a twisted little part of you wished he would. If he’d asked to see you undone for him right that instant, however, you might be embarrassed by how wet you’d already become.

“You can call me Princ-“

“Your real name, baby.” He interjected, his face unwavering. You never shared your real name with your clients, even your highest tier members.

“You sure do ask for a lot for a Tier 5, don’t you?” You teased, sliding closer to the camera as you watched his face give way to a sinful smile.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be a Tier 5 then…tell me.” He was breaking down your walls quickly, but the thrill of it all outweighed the reservations and rules you’d made for yourself when you first entered the world of camming—things like not letting a client in too close to your personal life, never blurring the line between customer and relationship, never—

“Y/n.” You blurted out suddenly, trying your best not to get flustered at the way San’s eyes twinkled and his pants grew tighter as he repeated your name aloud, humming in approval at the way it fell from his lips.

“Pretty…” He muttered softly, shifting in his seat on the edge of the bed as he watched your gorgeous frame, how your lace lingerie clung to your body just right and the way your hair framed that perfect face of yours—he was especially entranced by your thighs and the way they spread out perfectly against your plush mattress. God he wanted to watch you in every position imaginable.

“I know this must be a bit strange for you…why don’t you ask me a few questions, it might make you feel more comfortable. I’ll do the same, hmm? Let’s say, 3.” San suggested casually, rubbing his finger thoughtfully against his bottom lip as you blushed at the fact that you were supposed to be the professional, yet he was guiding the conversation. Laughing softly, you nodded.

“Hmm, someone seems to know what they’re doing, do you do this with other content creators here?” You were laughing, but a small part of you hoped he’d say no. San smirked, running a hand through his dark black hair as he shook his head.

“Is that your first question?” You blushed slightly, rolling your eyes as you nodded.

“Yes.” He smiled.

“No. I’ve actually never done this before either, I’ve always wanted to…but I never really found a person I was…interested in like this before.” He paused as you tried to hold some semblance of professionalism together, nodding thoughtfully as you felt your stomach knot.

“My turn…why’d you agree to try this?” You didn’t have to think long on your answer before you replied.

“You intrigued me, I think something about you was just…sexy.” You loved the visibly turned on reaction that San tried to suppress as the last word left your lips, his hand coming to lay across the inseam of his sweatpants in a half-hearted attempt to disguise what was becoming an increasingly noticeable erection. Clearing his throat, he chuckled softly. You knew what you were doing to him and it was driving him wild far more easily than he’d anticipated.

“How old are you?” You asked back, playing absentmindedly with a fluffy throw pillow on your bed, laying down in a more comfortable and relaxed position now as you felt the chemistry begin to unfold between the two of you.

“I’m 21. Younger than you’re used to?” You laughed softly, nodding. How was he so wealthy and still so young?

“So are you a self-made kinda rich boy, or the old family money kind?” A cheeky grin spread across San’s face as you asked your final question.

“I’m fortunate to have a good job, the details aren’t important but…it’s given me a comfortable life. I try to keep my work and private life separate, I’m sure you’re plenty familiar with confidentiality though…” You nodded thoughtfully as you eyed his broad shoulders and veiny arms, even through a computer screen his incredible shape was apparent.

“Last question, y/n…” He murmured softly, causing shivers to run down your spine at cadence of his honey voice.

“Mmm…” You replied, squeezing your thighs tightly together in a feeble attempt to relieve some of the built up tension this almost stranger was causing you feel. What he said next, however, would send you completely over the edge.

“Are you wet for me right now?” Your body froze as you attempted to collect your flustered self, hating the way he was clearly eating it up as his hand slowly palmed at his fully hard cock through the fabric of his pants, not even trying to hide the large bulge that was begging to be released.

“Y-yes.” You muttered softly, entranced by the way he took control of the situation. He hummed lowly in approval, sliding his hand underneath the waistband of his sweatpants as you watched the outline of his fingers stroke himself. He was ridiculously hot, but you figured he already knew that. You blushed, doing your best to bite back the sinful smile that threatened to flicker across your face as you felt your aching needs growing stronger by the minute. This man was really something if his presence alone was enough to make you falter—but you couldn’t forget, this was your show. Pulling your hair back away from your face and sliding yourself closer to the camera, you flashed him a knowing look as you tilted your head slightly. Your confidence was back.

“Did I say you could stroke yourself already?” Your soft voice echoed out against the speakers of his laptop like honey, and there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in his mind that if you’d been in the room with him this would’ve been the moment where he’d pin you against the wall and dare you to disobey him. Instead, he let out a low chuckle, his gaze low and his hair hanging over his eyes as he slowed the pace of his hand.

“Mmm, it’s cute you think you’re in charge, (Y/N)…Truly.” He wasn’t going to cave easily, you didn’t expect him to. Truthfully, you didn’t want him to. Something about the chase, the push and pull—the rising tensions of the seemingly endless back and forth, it fueled you.

Not backing down so easily, you retorted,

“You can’t even help yourself around me for five minutes—I think that’s proof enough.” San smirked, biting his lip shamelessly as he pushed his hair away from his face. Making eye contact with you through the screen, he watched in enjoyment as your cheeks flushed slightly while his hand tightened around the sizeable bulge in his pants, quickening his movements slightly and raising an eyebrow as though challenging your previous statement.

“I’m paying you to say pretty things and watch me jack off, princess—that doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you have your way with everything…” You could feel your core heating up when he called you princess, it’d always been a favorite pet name of yours. Fiddling with the hem of your panties, you slid a finger just below the waistband as you teased him with the image of what you’ll look like without them. It wasn’t hard to tell his eyes were glued to your body, his eyes dark and filled with lust as you continued to tease him with your words.

“Mmm…my show, my rules. I’m not just gonna sit here and obey your every order, yknow. I’m not that kind of girl, Mr. Choi.” His jaw went slack when you addressed him that way, his mouth hanging just slightly agape as he threw his head back, the prominent veins in his arms showing as he balanced his weight on his free arm that propped him up—his right hand pre-occupied as he continued to quicken the pace of his strokes. You could see the swelling in his sweatpants and you could feel your panties becoming soaked at the mere idea of him finally releasing the beast he was fighting to hold back. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower and more gravelly than it had been before, he was becoming more and more depraved the longer you teased him without touching yourself—without showing him everything he was hungering to see.

“A good girl?” You smirked, you had him exactly where you wanted him. You had to admit though, he may have had you right where he wanted you as well.

“I’m nothing of the sort.” His long strokes slowed slightly as he began to pace himself, not ready to tip himself over the edge without watching you cum all over your fingers. He could tell you were wet for him and, though he couldn’t be sure, he had confidence that that alone made him stand out amidst your other clients. He’d only just met you, but it only took one look in those sinfully pure eyes to know that he desperately wanted—no, needed—to make you cum.

“And what kind of girl are you then, hmm?” The heat and pressure rising in your core was too much to bare at this point, and you’d decided that the poor man had earned what he was so obviously craving—you. Without another thought, you unclasped the back of your bra, letting it fall to the side as your breasts were now fully exposed for him. A low groan sounded from your speakers and you could tell he was more than enjoying the view. Not finished with him just yet, you slipped your fingers under the hemline of your panties, sliding them down until the lace crumpled around your ankles and you were left completely bare on your bedspread. Spreading yourself out for him to see, you leaned back and slowly slid your hand down to relieve the pressure building up inside you. A low “fuck” hissed out between San’s gritted teeth as he edged his stroking along, the slow pace becoming almost excruciating.

“What kind of girl do you want me to be?” You teased, nearly breathless already as a single finger slid between your soaked folds, easing its way inside you with a few pumps as a small moan escaped your lips. San groaned as his grip tightened around his length at the sound of your pretty moans ringing in his ear, licking his lips as he finally couldn’t take the restrictive fabric any longer. Without hesitation, San yanked his sweatpants down until they were around his ankles where he effortlessly discarded them, his throbbing length proudly on display as a small gasp left your mouth. It wasn’t that you weren’t used to men jacking off to you—but you’d never seen it live like this, and something about it was ridiculously sexy. The fact that this particular client was Choi San didn’t hurt, though.

“I want you to be the kind of girl who rides her own pretty, little fingers until she cums to the sound of my voice. I want you to moan my name…my first name, like you’d give anything to be here riding my dick right now. Because I know you would.” This time it was you who was slightly at a loss for words, biting down hard against the insides of your cheeks as you sucked in a deep breath, nodding as you opened your legs to give him an even better view of your sinful touches. He was right, eyeing the long and girthy member pulsating in his hand you couldn’t help but wish that you had something more to get off to instead of just your fingers.

“Can you do that for me, baby…hmm?” He re-focused his strokes to just the tip of his cock, massaging the head with an unrelenting pace as he dragged the pad of his thumb over the tip, swiveling his wrist ever so slightly as he continued the shallowed pumps. You nodded.

“Mmmm, yes, San. Only if you cum for me just as hard…” His eyelids lowered slightly as his gaze became lazy, a small smile playing on his lips as he nodded, speeding up his strokes as he watched you slide another finger inside of your glistening hole, moaning at the added pressure as your thumb drew circles against your clit, pressing down with gradually increasing pressure to help you relieve the pressure you’d lost from opening your legs.

“Oh I plan on it, princess—now turn around for me. I wanna see that ass nice n’ high while you touch yourself.” You turned around easily, pressing your chest against the mattress and arching your back as your ass perked up, sliding your hand up between your thighs and griding your clit down against the palm of your hand as a couple fingers slid back inside your heat. San’s low groans grew louder and more breathless as his strokes became longer and more staggered, enjoying the view of you bent over for him and fantasizing about the way you’d feel if he ever had the opportunity to bend you over and rail you himself.

“Fuuck, just like that—mmmm, you are a good girl for me, aren’t you?” You moaned at the way his once soft, now raspy voice teased you. Propping yourself up with your free arm you turned your head to look at him over your shoulder, smirking.

“A good girl would beg you to stroke yourself slowly…so slow that you’re almost in pain, begging me to let you go faster and finish yourself off.” San smirked, not always liking the idea of submitting in the bedroom but willing to entertain this small idea for you.

“Does that mean you’re a good girl then? I mean, you are begging me…” You turned yourself back around, sitting in your knees with your legs spread as you leaned forward onto your hands as he watched the rise and fall of your breasts keep pace with your heavy breaths.

“I’m not begging you, I’m telling you.” This time, San listened, allowing you to have your way this once as he slowed his long pumps to a painfully slow pace, already feeling his load building and swelling in his balls as he adjusted himself on the bed, his breathing becoming even more ragged than before. You smirked, biting down on your lip as you took in the sight of his slightly sweaty body and the way his hair clung to the sides of his face from the building beads of sweat. He was completely strung out at this point, his gaze filled with pure lust and his lips barely capable of forming sentences as he threw his head back once again, echoing incoherent slurs of curse words and moans. The action alone was enough to send you over the edge, but you held yourself together as you pumped your fingers even faster inside yourself, your needy moans growing in volume.

“Fuck you look so pretty like that, Y/N….tell me how good it feels…” Screwing your eyes shut as you hit that perfect sensitive spot, a breathless moan escaped your lips as you nodded.

“S-so good…Aahhh, fuck you’d feel so much better, though…” A wide smile spread across San’s face as his eyes remained closed, nodding as he hummed in approval. His cock was throbbing even harder than before, hungry for release as he continued to obey you.

“Mmmm, I must be something special if you’re considering riding the dick of a stranger you just met…” His voice vibrating through the speakers made you wish his mouth was around your clit, sucking down hard as he groaned into your tight and aching pussy. You knew it was wrong, and that this kind of attraction to a client was completely foreign to you—but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Mmmff fuck, shut up and cum already.” You breathed out, whining against the sensations of your fingers as San chuckled lowly, breathing a sigh of relief as he finally began to quicken his strokes, feeling the pressures build as he neared his release. You were riding your fingers at this point, your breasts bouncing up and down as you picked up the pace, needy for your own climax as you watched the man you knew hardly anything about turn you on more than anything real you’d encountered in a very long time.

“Shit, Y/N…your body is fucking insane…” San breathed out, his strokes ruthless and sloppy as his hips bucked up to meet his hand, unable to express in words how badly he wished it was you on top of him instead. You moaned, feeling yourself teetering on the edge.

“Aahhh god I’m close.” You whined, curling your fingers up to stroke your pressure points as you arched your back and threw your head back from pleasure. This was all it would take for San to be tipped over the edge, his breathing hitched in his throat as he continued to speed up his needy strokes.

“Cum for me, princess—all over those pretty little fingers. I wanna watch you lick them clean…” With that, you managed a dazed nod before grinding your hips down against your hand one last time, the pressure becoming too much as you finally tipped over the edge and your orgasm ran through your entire body. Your pretty moans were enough to send him hurdling towards his own orgasm as you rode out your high. Breathing slow, you eased your fingers out and made eye contact with the man who’d made you cum with nothing but his voice as he groaned, stroking himself hard. He was ridiculously close, but the moment you bit your lip and slid your soaking wet fingers inside your lips, swirling your tongue around them and licking them clean just as he’d told you to—he couldn’t take it anymore. Thick, creamy white ropes erupted from his cock, covering his thighs and the bedsheet beneath him as he groaned, inhaling sharply and tilting his head back in ecstasy as you moaned yourself at the ridiculously sexy view. Several spurts dripped down his hand as he slowed his strokes, massaging the glistening head of his cock slowly as his eyes shut and he rode out one of the most intense orgasm’s he’d ever felt. Breathing heavily, the two of you were sat in euphoric silence for a moment as you took in the pleasure that was still coursing through your bodies.

‘Fuck…”He muttered out after a moment. You blushed slightly, smiling at the reassurance that he’d enjoyed himself.

“For someone who’s never done that before…you sure knew what you were doing.” He laughed breathlessly, running a hand through his hair as he grabbed a towel from nearby, cleaning himself off lazily as you did the same, smiling.

“Well it is my job…it was definitely something new though.” You teased, winking playfully as San smiled in return.

“So let’s make it a regular thing then.” He blurted decidedly. You gave him a questioning look. Sure a small part of you hoped that you’d get the opportunity to do something like this or more again, but you hadn’t held out hope. You’d assumed he was more of a “one time” client.

“For real?” He smiled, nodding as he slid his sweatpants back on, watching as you sat comfortably bare in front of him, adoring the way you allowed him to watch you.

“Yeah, of course. You had fun, I had fun—well, I had a lot of fun…no one’s made me cum like that in a while.” A small blush threatened to tinge your cheeks, though you crossed your fingers it wasn’t noticeable through the screen as he marveled in the idea that someone as sexy as him was turned on by you. Not sexy enough to get it for free though (at least not yet).

“And the price is…” You teased, taunting him. He smirked, shaking his head as he sat upright, his elbows on his knees.

“Like I said, baby—inconsequential. Get some rest, think it over, ok? Message me when you’re ready to say yes.” His confidence was insatiable, and you’d grown a taste for it. Biting your lip, you nodded slowly.

“And what if I decide a Tier 5 member doesn’t deserve all this special treatment, hmm?” He scoffed lowly as he ran a hand through his hair, leaning closer to the camera despite his voice being barely above a whisper.

“Then make a higher tier. Get some sleep now, ok princess?”

~admin liese

☆Requests Open!☆

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a-libra-writes · 5 years ago

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How the GoT Characters React To Your Scars

Really cool request I was looking forward to writing! i fuckin love this trope -why do YOu think SaNDOr Was M Y FIrST LOVE --

In this preference, you'll be with: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Dolorous Edd, Mance Rayder, Tormund Giantsbane, Theon Greyjoy, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jamie Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Beric Dondarrion, Gendry

NED STARK

You said nothing about it during your courtship, a combination of not having a chance to bring it up and not wanting to. It was a constant, nagging thought that followed until the wedding night. Ned noticed how you became withdrawn and he took your hands in his warm ones, trying to reassure you. As you began to undress and tell him a little of what happened, but only telling what you were comfortable with. While he listened, Ned found himself running careful fingers down the length of your arms, torso and legs.

There was clear pain in his face, as he hated you had to go through such a thing, but he’d kiss you deeply all the same. You were still beautiful, he assured you, and you were strong for carrying such a burden by yourself. Privately he hoped that, in time, you would tell him what happened, even if his heart ached to think about it.

ROBB STARK

You’d told him what happened in the past to cause the scarring, although you never showed the results. As far as he was concerned, whatever scars you hid couldn’t detract from your beauty or the sweetness he loved so much. It was easy to forget them around him, but during the wedding vows and the feast that followed, anxiety began to build in your chest. Robb wouldn’t care, you were sure, but …

That evening, as he kissed you and stroked your hair and removed your dress, he noticed you freeze up. Robb finally looked at the scars you talked about but kept hidden, and it startled him what you must have gone through. He noticed the look on your face and hugged you tight, assuring you that he still thought you were the most wonderful woman in Westeros and he was lucky to marry you. Robb made sure you were completely comforted before he continued.

SANSA STARK

Sansa overheard the handmaidens gossiping about you, and firmly put a stop to it. What a ridiculous rumor to spread, she thought. She'd known you for some time, and not only had she never seen them, you never mentioned it. She couldn't imagine you keeping something like that from her. Still, she'd hear more little whispers here and there. She noticed you never wore anything that exposed your back, you preferred to dress yourself and you took baths alone. It was all just coincidence, wasn't it?

You two were having a fine dinner until some drunk lady bumped into you and spilled wine all over your fine silk. Sansa followed you to your chambers, assuring you it could (probably) be washed. Before she knew it, you were removing your shoes and shimmying out of the dress. She noticed them at once, the twisted skin and large gashes. She hastily darted her eyes and fetched you a new dress from your wardrobe, helping you into it. You said nothing about it, and neither did she as you returned to the feast.

Sansa felt awful about her reaction, thinking she should have done something else. The next day she made a point to find flowers you liked and quietly ask if you wanted to talk about them. It was half curiosity, half her feeling a little put out that she didn’t know something about you.

JON SNOW

Wearing the heavy black furs and leather of the Night’s Watch meant that that wasn’t much skin to show. Back when you were friends with Jon, you talked about your scars and what caused them fairly easily, because you were sure he wouldn’t see anyway. When his hand was burned during the fight with the wight, you reassured him, reminding him you were just the same. Jon would wonder about these scars you mentioned, but that meant picturing you undressed, and he was not going to go down that road.

As you two became closer and more intimate, Jon noticed how you’d want to leave your shirt on or you were quick to bundle yourself in his. He felt the scars on your skin before he properly saw them, and he always reassured you. It was unthinkable to reject someone as wonderful as you for something like that. You became more comfortable and eventually didn’t mind being completely bare before him, and he was honored you trusted him so much.

BENJEN STARK

With all the layers you needed for the cold, it was easy to keep your scars from Benjen, your fellow ranger who you had strong feelings for. You both had shared some of your pasts, and while he understood you had hardship, he didn’t know the literal marks it left on you. He didn’t need to know, but you and Benjen already shared so much with each other. It was strange that this should be a secret.

After building up your courage, you waited for Benjen to come visit you when he usually did: once everyone had finished dinner and those with nightly duties began their shifts. With no one around, you removed your gloves, and removed his. Benjen’s questioning look was halted as he felt the deep, rough cuts and grooves in your palms. Benjen ran his thumbs over the worst of it and squeezed your hands firmly. Your cheeks were already burning, but then he kissed you. He was glad you trusted him with so much, and he wanted you to know it didn’t change how he felt about you.

JORY CASSEL

Jory was always told that southern ladies were perfumed and primped and full of pretentiousness. You were the only one who seemed to address him by name, and you treated him as a person, not some faceless lackey of the Hand. He hadn’t expected you’d be hiding such a thing, although ‘hiding’ wasn’t exactly the right word. You’d confided in him about a terrible accident you suffered in your youth, but you never mentioned carrying any marks from it.

When his hands ran along your legs under your dress, he was surprised by the twisted skin he touched, but he said nothing. He had plenty of scars from battle, after all, and he admired so much about you. Jory liked it when you touched and kissed his scars, so he liked doing the same to your’s, especially since your giggle was so cute.

EDDISON TOLLETT

It was easy to tell Edd about what happened, half because it was so long ago, and half because he was so good at listening. You explained your scarring was from an accident in your youth, and while your family was relieved you lived, it was obvious they weren’t happy about the scarring that was left behind. Edd listened to you, although it was hard for him to exactly picture it. You were always bundled from neck to foot, after all.

When he spent his first night with you, he was honestly thinking about a lot more than the scars. He noticed, yes, but quickly glanced over them, because you were just so beautiful and he had to take it all in. Even after you two were together for a while, Edd just saw them as another part of you.

MANCE RAYDER

While he understood the free folk found scars gained from battle, something to be proud of, he didn’t enjoy the way you’d sigh and try to rub old pains away. He’d seen a handful of your scars, as you didn’t mind removing some clothes to rub ointments on whichever one was bothering you today. Now and again, he’d ask you about it, and you’d tell him. As you two became closer, he was the one to remove your clothes and gently rub whichever part of your body was ailing you that night.

Whenever you two were cuddling under the furs, usually after being intimate, Mance would idly trace the scars on your back and hips. He was terrible about waiting for you to fall asleep and then stroking the deeper ones on your hips, just to make you squirm in your sleep.

TORMUND GIANTSBANE

You weren’t trying to hide them, but you were always wrapped up in warm furs and leathers, which obscured most of your body. You weren’t entirely ashamed of them, as they were proof of victory and resilience, but some days they bothered you with old aches. Tormund often noticed when you’d absently rub at your shoulder or the side of your leg in the evening, and he was genuine when he asked after you.

Finally, you simply told him that your old wounds were fussing again. You stripped off several layers to show him - you were aware of his crush, but you were still friends, and there was no point in being shy about this. Tormund’s eyes lit up as he marveled at them. He quickly adopted a favorite, but he’d end up asking about all of them as he helped you apply an ointment to help with the aches.

THEON GREYJOY

He shouldn’t have been so surprised. For one, Ironborns were no strangers to scars. They were marks of pride and proof of battle, even for women. It was just… strange. You were a proper lady, even if you liked playing at the sword and bow, and to see such a proper battle scar along your back was jarring. You didn’t even try to hide it. There were a few whispers and titters from other ladies, and some grimaces from men. Their reactions made him more upset than he thought. Here you were, dazzling the room in a fine gown and your lovely face, and they waited until your back turned to whisper about something that a man would be showing off.

So he took you in his arms and brought you into a dance. The skin along the scar wasn’t so rough, and it was hard to pay attention to that when you smiled so brightly. Sometime later he’d ask you about what happened. He had a feeling it was an interesting story, especially since your father trained you in arms.

YARA GREYJOY

Yara liked scars, she’d known that for a long time. She liked her own, and she liked them on other ladies, especially when interesting stories accompanied them. There were all sorts of interesting things about you, but asking about your scarring was a good way to start. It was a strange shape on your wrist, and she bought you a drink and all but made you sit and tell her about it. That was how your friendship began.

As your friendship became much ‘friendlier’, Yara got to see the rest of them. She was surprised by how many there were, and she knew right off the bat that they weren’t from battle. Yara wasn’t an emotional woman, but she knew why you’d become a little quiet and withdrawn as she undressed you. Her solution was always to take your attention away with her kisses and rough touches. You’d tell her eventually, she knew, but until then, she didn’t want you dwelling.

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

You didn’t bother hiding them before the Dragon Queen. While they weren’t the only striking thing about you, Daenerys did notice them as you two talked. She recognized a few scars from battle, similar to the ones her bloodriders and the Unsullied had, but others were obviously painful wounds that had healed improperly. She wondered what sort of life you lived before, because now she saw nothing but strength. She admired and was terribly attracted to that strength.

You told her the stories of your battle scars, but it wasn’t until you both were closer that you told her the rest. Daenerys understood, as you knew she would. She stroked the broken and twisted skin, kissing here and there as you slipped off your clothes. You liked to tease Dany about how much she liked them, saying you ought to wear a full suit of armor to keep her from getting distracted in her throne room.

JORAH MORMONT

Jorah hoped you didn’t notice his surprise when you removed some of your clothes to cool off from the Essosi sun. He masked it quickly, but it saddened him to see such strong, twisted scars on a girl so lovely and young. He couldn’t imagine what sort of hardship you must’ve gone through, but you were strong now, and he did his best not to patronize you. Still, Jorah is a worrier by nature, so anytime he noticed your trying to work the old aches and pains out of your back, he’d find some salves to ease the soreness.

When you two become closer and more intimate, he’d make a point to kiss and stroke your scars. Even if you insisted you didn’t need such comforting, he’d still like it if it made you breathless or even ticklish. He’d never miss a chance to call you beautiful, and it wasn’t ever flattery. He always believed it.

MISSANDEI

She had seen many scars in her life, and she knew the sort of injuries that caused them. Missandei noticed some peeking out from under your clothes as you moved, but she kept her business to herself. It wasn’t until you became friends that you talked openly about them, and she realized the extent of them. Missandei’s heart hurt at what sort of things you went through, even if you were stronger for it now, she felt it was just one more injustice in the world.

She couldn’t change the past, but she could help with the aches you’d suffer after a long day, or applying ointments when the skin became dry and flaky. It was a comforting, intimate time you both could share, and Missandei appreciated every moment. She never thought you less attractive for your scarring, because there was just so much more to you.

GREY WORM

He’d seen all matter of scarring and wounds in his life, and hadn’t batted an eye to them. From the start, it felt a little different with you. Even if your shoulders were lovely, if your dress pulled down a little, you’d quickly pull it up to hide the marks along your skin. You were friendly to him, even if he struggled to find the words to express how he felt, and he didn’t want to ruin it by bringing up something that might upset you.

Once you were comfortable, you told Grey Worm about what happened to cause your scarring. He reached for your hand and ended up holding it tightly as you spoke. Grey Worm felt a connection to you, like you both shared something, and he did his best to express that - but his eyes expressed far more than his words. It would still take time for Grey Worm to open up to you about himself, but you could tell this was the start of your friendship becoming more.

TYWIN LANNISTER

Because it was his business to know what others didn’t want discovered, Lord Tywin was aware of the rumors surrounding your family. By the time he was betrothed to you, several of your family’s servants quietly reported to his men that the rumors were true. To your credit, you didn’t flinch away from him as he disrobed you on your wedding night. You pretended the scattered deep cuts weren’t there, so he did the same. It didn’t detract from your beauty in the slightest.

You weren’t aware of it, but Tywin began to swiftly silence any further rumors of abuse you may have suffered. What you did notice is the absolutely chilling gaze he’d give your parents when you two ran into them at a tourney or feast - he refused to host them at Casterly Rock, and they weren’t fool enough to question it. He’d keep you close by, while his pointed glare kept them far away.

TYRION LANNISTER

You didn’t mention it in your courtship, as your family had shamed you for years about it. They refused to take blame for their role in the scarring, but they’d still make you feel terrible. By the time the wedding night came, you were so wound up that Tyrion took your hand, gave you a cup of wine and asked you what the matter was. He thought you were upset because of him, but once you told your story and showed some of the scars to him, he understood. Tyrion gave you privacy to dress into a nightgown, then tucked you in and gave you a kiss on your brow, telling you to rest for the evening.

Tyrion went out of his way to ensure you were comfortable; he always had such kind and thoughtful things to say. Scars or no, he thought the world of you. That’s why ever since your wedding night, he’d been planning a sort of revenge for your family. He wasn’t about to let them get away with hurting someone he loved so dearly.

JAIME LANNISTER

He’d heard all sorts of gossip about you before, all the cruel names and ridiculous stories, so it was jarring to see you in court. You were put together just as wonderfully as the other ladies, with a radiant smile. That smile was even given to him, the Kingslayer. And he noticed the supposed ‘horrific scars’ that everyone talked about: They were mostly covered by your dress, with only a little showing on the collarbone and and your neck. You maintained your elegance, even to the faces of those who talked about you.

It was hard not to be taken in by your natural charm. He told himself it was just to pass the time, but he began going out of his way to look for you. Jaime started telling you things without realizing it, and you did the same. Once he learned the story of your scars, it was much harder to hear the cruel whispers in court. A memory that kept coming back to Jaime was when he happened upon you in the vast gardens. He didn’t say anything, just watched you admire the flowers while you read. You wore a brilliant white dress that showed the whole of your shoulders and back, lovely as they were, and there wasn’t a bit of shame in your content expression. Even when Cersei was calling for him, he’d keep thinking of that white dress and your eyes in the sunlight.

SANDOR CLEGANE

He knew of an assassination attempt when you were young, something you told him about once you two were closer - friends, even, although Sandor just grunted and brushed it off when you said that. He never pushed you for more information, because you clearly didn’t like to remember it, just as you never pushed him to talk more than he was willing. The first time he was with you, he was so distracted by your kisses and touch that he didn’t immediately notice the scar twisting along your back and abdomen. It wasn’t until afterward, when he was running his rough fingers up and down your skin that he really felt it.

It was much worse than you made it out to be; you must have been close to death. That was something Sandor didn’t want to think about, not now. Afterward, anytime you cradled his face and kissed the ruined side with as much tenderness as you did the other, he’d remember to carefully run his hands down your back and hips. It was a stupidly sentimental thing to feel connected because of something like this, so he didn’t think too much about it.

BRONN

Most ladies wouldn’t tolerate speaking to a mercenary, regardless if he were a knight or friend to the Hand. Bronn found no joy in them, either, but you were also close to Tyrion and full of wit and fire. Teasing you was too fun, and you had no problem discussing his mercenary work. He thought it was interesting that it didn’t faze you, but he didn’t read much into it.

You ended up spending quite a bit of friendly time with Bronn, your favorite being nights when you sat in his lap while you both drank at one of the more lively inns. He touched wherever he pleased and you let him, because stringing the knight along was revenge for all the times he japed at you during the day. Bronn drunkenly asked you for a story, so you told him all about an assassination attempt when you were a girl. When he asked for a real story, you pulled your dress down to expose most of your chest - and a long, deep scar running between your breasts. He didn’t think it’d turn him on as much as it did.

PETYR BAELISH

It was easy to convince your handmaidens to give him information. Petyr had been interested in you since you arrived at the Red Keep and dazzled the court with your looks and charm, but he sensed something else was there. He’d heard of the incident you suffered when you were younger, and admired that you continued to radiate in court in spite of it. He couldn’t help but think of the duel and the injury he suffered from it, and it made him feel a little more connected to you.

Petyr already had a plan once he had you in his arms. He’d been wanting this for a while, but as he removed more of your dress, he saw the scars were much worse than people had whispered. Petyr kissed and touched each one. He assured you that you were beautiful, because he believed it more than ever.

STANNIS BARATHEON

You didn’t think Stannis was the sort of man to care about these things, even if they bothered you. True enough, while he obviously glanced at them when you both were together, he never said much on it. He asked if they hurt when he held you, and if you’d like the Maester to provide anything. He didn’t bring it up past that, but you could see a silent storm in your husband’s eyes whenever you looked through your closet for a dress that could hide them. Beyond that, you tried to set the scars aside and keep them from the court.

Then Stannis approached you, all but demanding you to confirm who did it. Someone told him - you don’t know who - and he knew your family was covering it up. It surprised you how upset he was about it. You had to calm him down, because he was insisting your family be punished, and he wasn’t pleased with the answer “it’s been too long, it’s in the past”. You could talk him down from that, but you couldn’t stop him from giving pointed glares and grinding his teeth whenever he was forced to interact with your family at court.

DAVOS SEAWORTH

He spotted some on your arms by accident, and rather than shy away, you just made a joke about it. Davos was open about his fingers, after all, and you trusted him. You knew he wouldn’t judge you. That was true, although Davos found what little he saw unusual. The shape and coloration meant they looked worse than you were letting on. He hoped you would tell him in time.

“In time” ended up being when you were curled up in his arms and almost falling asleep. You weren’t ready to be intimate yet, but you couldn’t resist Davos’ warm and comforting embrace. He stroked your hair as you told him what happened, since your scars were already on full display from your sleeveless nightshirt. When you finally fell asleep, he touched them absently, running his fingers along the grooved skin as you snoozed.

MARGAERY TYRELL

Margaery told you everything about herself and her family, because you were her dearest friend since she was young. Well, perhaps “friend” was too tame of a word for what she felt now, but she liked that you knew everything about her, and the opposite was true. Margaery was the only person besides your family who knew about the scars you hid carefully under your dresses, and she was the only one who helped you care for them.

Since she’d been with you since you first got the injuries, Margaery was a big part in helping you adjust to life afterward. Even though they were more than healed now, she still liked snuggling against your back and idly tracing them while you began to fall asleep.

BRYNDEN TULLY

The old knight was initially uncomfortable as he ran his calloused hands over your marred back. He was covered in his own fair share, but he was a knight, and they came from battles defending his home. It was upsetting that a lady he loved so much had to endure something that left these sorts of scars on her - he knew serious wounds, and how they healed, when he saw them. Brynden never once shamed you, it just made him feel a little forlorn, like he failed to protect you, even though you hadn’t known each other then.

Finally, he found something he could do for you. Brynden noticed how sometimes your back would ache, so he’d help rub soothing ointments into your skin. Touching you was a big bonus, especially when he’d work those strong hands into your back to relax your muscles, too. It was just the sort of spoiling he loved doing, and he was very amused when you wanted to do the same to him.

EDMURE TULLY

When he was younger, he’d heard rumors about a lady in the North who survived a terrible assassination attempt. Lysa and Catlyn told him all they knew about it. When he finally met you, he couldn’t believe it. It was easy to forget it, especially since you were all smiles and jokes. When you two were betrothed and married, it was a happy occasion. It wasn’t until the wedding night that Edmure learned just how close you were to death those years ago, and the long, jagged scar and frightful memories it left.

Edmure has always been considerate of you in this regard. He’d made sure you’ve had plenty of salves when the scar was feeling dry, and reassured you anytime you were worried about a dress that may have shown some of it. He was certainly eager to rub your back and legs if you needed it; sometimes the old wound would hurt.

BRIENNE OF TARTH

She understood what it meant to be pledged to your service. Your House had made powerful enemies in the Lannisters, and you continued to follow the war in spite of being a lady. Brienne was one of the finest knights you’d known, and she saved your life several times. As you became closer and opened up more about each other, you told Brienne about the early days of the war, when the Lannisters were raiding your home in the Riverlands. She was shocked you survived such an attack, and silently vowed to make sure nothing like that happened again.

It wasn’t until you two were cramped into a small room at a shabby inn that she saw the full extent of that incident. Your nightclothes exposed several scars running along your chest, and she just knew there had to be more.underneath. You took Brienne’s hand in your own and she completely melted, leading to the first of many kisses.

RAMSAY BOLTON

You didn’t care what Ramsay would think of them. In fact, if it kept him disinterested, that was all the better, wasn’t it? You didn’t fear him because you’d already endured enough. Ramsay sensed that lack of fear right away, and it intrigued him. On your wedding night, you bared your skin without shame. Contrary to what you thought, Ramsay focused right on them. He wanted to touch the twisted but sensitive skin, asking where they came from with a glint in his eyes. You were vague on purpose, and tried to redirect his attention to the actual matter at hand.

Even months after you married, Ramsay still wanted to trace them with his fingers. You began to notice that his disinterest was becoming more … angry. He still wanted you, but he didn’t want to touch them as much. Finally, Ramsay burst into your room in the middle of the day, demanding who had done such a thing to you. There was a smile on his face but his tone was absolute ice as he insisted you tell him so he could have a proper meeting with them.

ROOSE BOLTON

You weren’t going to apologize for them, nor were you going to hide in shame when it came time for your wedding night. They were just a part of you, and if your husband didn’t like it, too bad. Roose glanced at them but said nothing. They didn’t dampen his desire for you at all, but he was troubled by one thing. He figured you would tell him what happened in time, especially as you grew to trust him, but he wanted to know who. Roose knew scars and injuries well. He knew what you endured to end up with marks like that. Someone hurt his wife, and he was going to find them.

You’d never learn the sort of investigating he’d do, nor the outcome of it, he was careful. What he did want you to know is how he cared for you. He’d ensure you had any salves and oils to ease the pain and soften the skin, and he’d want to put them on himself. He’d give you a kiss when he was finished, seeking your approval.

OBERYN MARTELL

The politics of Dorne could be just as deadly as those in King’s Landing, something Oberyn knew well. From the moment he met you, he could tell you knew this and had survived the worst of it. Your lovely, flattering gown exposed several twisting scars along your legs and back, but you didn’t shy away from dancing and laughing along with the court in Sunspear. He was fiercely attracted to you, and wasted no time in pursuing you.

Much later, once you two were an established couple, Oberyn had all sorts of things about you to admire. The story of your scarring still sent his blood boiling, so he soothed himself by massaging the skin when they ached and giving you a breathless amount of kisses. You’d never be less than beautiful in his eyes, and your resilience and bravery only increased that attraction.

BERIC DONDARRION

When the Brotherhood found you wounded and dirty, lying in a ditch, they assumed you had been left for dead by Lannisters. Thoros and Beric were insistent on helping you recover, and you slowly but surely did, joining the Brotherhood in gratitude and because you lacked anywhere else to go. Often, Beric would glance over and notice a scar peeking out from under your sleeve or shirt. He was no stranger to having a myriad of scars, and his own bothered him, so he often wondered how you felt.

As you became closer and more intimate, Beric didn’t often think of your scars anymore. He had already gained several since you first met him, and there were so many other things to love about you. What he did like was a silly game you both had, you’d kiss one of his and he’d do the same to you,purposefully attacking your tickle spots first. Thoros said if you two kept at it, he’d stop patching you up.

GENDRY

You may have had the face and grace of a lady, but Gendry noticed a distant, cold look in your eyes when you thought no one was looking at you. You’d been through just as much as him in this mess of a war, and somehow you two and Arya were running away together, trying to find the way back home. Your occasionally distant attitude made sense when he stumbled upon you washing up in a river. Your skin was mostly healed, but the scars still looked frightening.

He couldn’t imagine what happened or what you went through, and after that Gendry kept Arya from bothering you when you were feeling quiet. In his own way, he became a little more protective of you and wanted to talk more to understand you.

#game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #got imagines #got x reader #meant to post last night but listen man #the siren call of animal crossing is too strong

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scarlettroubles · 3 years ago

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HPHM fanfic WIPs

I’ve actually been writing some fanfics for Eileen’s story as well as some Ryder Family lore for a while now but because of school I haven’t been able to get around to finishing any of them so I thought it would be cool to show you all some sneak peaks so enjoy!

In the Face of Fear chapter 2: of Faceless Strangers and Empty Halls

(The continuation to this fic)

She does not remember how long she has stood in this queue. Hell, she doesn't even remember what she's in line for anyway, not really. Logically she knows it's to get some important documents approved of before carting it off to the next sorry sod who was stupid enough to land themselves in this God forsaken place too. But she honestly couldn't bring herself to care. Politics, desk jobs, rules? She never cared for them really. Not even once.

She hated office work. Tulip had always found it dreadfully boring and the people who actually bothered with the crap even more so. So why did she take one?

The red head found herself racking her brain for answers as she waited oh so painstakingly for the queue to move and for her to be done with all this boring crap and lock herself in her boring little cubicle and bury her head under a shit ton of useless paperwork that, if she were lucky enough would hopefully suffocate her before this job did. But one look ahead of the line was enough for her to discern that it wouldn't be budging any time soon.

Why did she take this job? She hated the Ministry. Hated how suffocating rules and laws were. Sure, some were needed but that did not change the fact that Tulip Karasu did not like being restrained. So why the hell was she here? Working a dreadful job that was sucking the life out of her. Working for dreadful people who knew not the meaning of fun and only the meaning of responsibility, paperwork, and order and snuffing out the flame of good ol' fun chaos before it could really take spark. In a dreadful queue that was far too long to be normal with people and coworkers whose faces she always seemed to forget.

So why? Why here? She saw what this job did to people. How strict it made her parents. How high their expectations of her were and how they wouldn't accept anything less than perfect from their daughter. Despite most of the fog that clouded her tired mind she could still remember it so clearly... The promise she had made to herself so long ago. She had promised herself that she would never work here and would never be like her parents. Not if she could help it.

Did she finally resign to their wishes? Bowed like some obedient little servant and catered to their every whim? Had her fear of what she would do once she left Hogwarts finally override her logic?

Why did schools even do that? Why did the world do that? Telling students to make up their minds on what career to choose from such an early age? Tulip has seen what happened to the people that were unlucky enough to land themselves in a job that sucked the life out of them. She remembers how sometimes the most brilliant of students ended up having their spark extinguished as soon as they left school. Left to reminisce on their glory days and what could have been. The very thought of it made her tighten her hold on the documents in her hands.

Because everybody needs to know what they want to be at an early age. Everybody needs to know their place. They just have to have a place...

It was one of Tulip's greatest fears.

Ending up in a job that gave her zero satisfaction. A job that would end up isolating herself from everyone and everything because nobody wants to be friends with a traitor. A no good friend that turns on the other for their own gain. That's why Merula left-

Tulip was snapped out of her thoughts when she suddenly felt the sharp edges of the stack of documents she was carrying dig annoyingly into her side and moved to adjust them. Checking each one carefully to see if they've been ruined in any shape or form.

The last time she had presented a stack of reports that were ever so slightly crumpled and not properly organized to fit the pencil haired bastards ridiculously high standards she had been given such a withering gaze by her superior that she had felt herself visibly shrink just the tiniest bit. But the want to smack the arrogant sod and prank him mercilessly was stronger.

How she wished she could pull out a heap of dungbombs or any other joke shop product and just reign full chaos upon this hellhole.

She looked up and, to her relief the line had actually moved significantly. In fact, She was only three heads away from being in the front of the line. Huh, that was...Weird.

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Regrets of a Useless Man

(Context: A story told from Edward Ryder’s perspective and explores how he grew up mentored by his father, to becoming an Auror and meeting Julianna and to the tragedy that caused the Ryder Family to spiral down a path of grief and neglect).

Useless.

Edward remembers how often that word was hissed at him with such venom in his youth. How hard it would make him physically recoil, and if it wasn't the venom behind the words that stung, it was the pain and shock from the slap that would often follow next.

He remembers so clearly the sound of hand meeting cheek echoing so loudly within the Hunter's room of the Ryder Family Manor that day, and how the shadows in the dark room, the dancing fire in the hearth and the countless portraits of long dead ancestors were the only things to lay witness to it.

The day had started off simple enough. His father had brought him to the library for his afternoon studies on magical combat and magic theory. Edmund had forced the studies onto him when he was just 7, and Edward was now 12. Today though, Edward found it difficult to focus on reading the ink written words on the paper before him, he instead thought of the words his father said to him the day he had first started bringing him into this room every afternoon to ready him for what he claimed to the then 7-year-old, was his destiny.

"Your mother may think I'm being too harsh on you boy, but a child must learn sooner or later if he is to make his way in life. And you, Edward, my son…You will bring this family to glory. You will take back what once was mine... You will make me proud."

His father had made it his goal to have Edward become the next Head Hunter of the Hunters of Artemis. The group of bounty hunters and other unsavory individuals who were tasked in hunting down those The Ministry could not. Members were either recruited by the group's leader or were sentenced into joining it by The Ministry if they deemed the criminal guilty but useful elsewhere other than filling the empty cells up in Azkaban.

The title of headhunter used to be his father's. Back when Ryder was up against Ryder during the Wolves Rebellion. Edward remembers bits and pieces of the bloodshed. Their family's civil war had only recently ended after all. And although Edward was still young when the war was at its peak, he was there to see the ending of it.

His father had lost a duel to the death for the title of headhunter against his own uncle and just when he was about to be killed, he was saved by his younger brother, Octavius Ryder, who would later become the next headhunter and finally put an end to their Family's civil war. While Octavius was hailed a hero by his family, Edmund Ryder was left crippled and was left to depend on a cane for the rest of his life.

"Edmund's leg wasn't the only thing that was left crippled, his pride and soul got crippled too."

His uncle Octavius had once told him that. And he knew it was true. Edward had seen the photos of his father back when he was younger. Before the Wolves Rebellion and before being damned to rely on a cane for the rest of his life. Edmund Ryder was a fierce and strong man. A man whose tall stature and commanding presence left his enemies either fleeing from the sight of him or hesitating to raise their wands. Knowing the moment they did, they would probably end up dead. But now though? Now Edmund Ryder was just a bitter old man who resorted to chasing his glory days and what he thought was rightfully his through his eldest son.

It was rather pathetic of him, to be honest.

"Get your head out of whatever childish fantasy you've ludicrously conjured, boy!" His father's sharp voice cut in. Snapping Edward out from his thoughts. He met his father's heated stare and could only sheepishly duck his head in apology. Silently hoping his father would let it go, just this once. He was a child after all, he could be allowed to be one every now and then couldn't he? But in Edmund's eyes, being a child meant close to nothing. He was just another soldier to train.

Edmund looked hard and long at his eldest son before letting out a huff and stood up from his seat. grabbing for his cane, he motioned for his eldest son to follow him. Edward looked at the door and calculated in his still youthful mind if making a mad dash for the door and hiding ‘til his mother came back from whatever social gathering his father had set up for her would be worth it. He knew it would not though. The first time he tried to escape his studies and sneak off to play with his siblings it hadn't ended well for either of them.

And so, the child silently got up and dutifully followed his father out of the room and into the halls. He could feel the eyes of the animated portraits his family had kept for centuries dig into the back of his skull and Edward so very badly wanted to shrink and hide away.

"You need to be reminded of what is at stake here, Edward." His father said as the steady clank of his cane meeting the floor echoed within the Manor with every step he took forward before taking a sharp left. And with that left, Edward knew exactly where his father was taking him to.

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Expanded Ryder Lore: The Wolves Rebellion

(Sometimes, all it takes is a few words for a family to turn against one another.

When the Ryder family finds themselves being requested an audience with a man named Gellert Grindelwald, Esteban Ryder and his brother, Orion Ryder decide to entertain the man and accept his request, not knowing that by doing so, a fight for the title of head hunter would soon take place. A fight where each family member would find themselves asking if they’d rather be a dragon or they’d rather be a wolf).

The Wolves Rebellion refers to a civil war that happened within the Ryder Family during the 1920s and lasted until the 1940s. It is regarded as one of the most bloody civil wars that happened within the Ryder family and nearly led to the House’s extinction.

The fighting came about because of a speech. Not just any speech but one given by none other than Gellert Grindelwald, regarded to be one of the most feared and most powerful dark lords of his time. Grindelwald was just coming into power and was seeking out allies and followers all over the world in order to rally an army large enough for war. He had already managed to sway a majority of the influential pure-blood families in Europe to join his side, and was now looking for new allies in the British Isles.

He had the Malfoy's, the Black's, and the Parkinson's families in his palm in an instant. As the dark lord was mulling over what family to sway to his side next, one name had managed to pique his interest, The Ryder Family.

The Ryder's were a feared and well-respected family known for their ferocity in battle and for their loyalty. Grindelwald had heard stories of the Ryder's toppling down many dangerous adversaries and mighty beasts, one of them being the very beast they had as their house crest, a dragon. But that wasn't what really got the dark lords attention, no. What got it were the rumors. Rumors of the family having a unique short of magic which came in the form of instinct. Instincts so strong they knew when to block a spell from an enemy before it was even shot, instinct that helped warn them of danger before it even took place, and as a seer, an ability that granted the man the ability to see visions of the future, Grindelwald was all too eager to see if the rumors were true and to see just how useful and alike his ability was with theirs.

And so Grindelwald sent a letter to the Ryder family, requesting to have an audience with them. The Ryder's were definitely ticked off by such arrogance, but the head of the family at that time, Esteban Ryder and Head Hunter, Esteban’s younger brother, Orion Ryder, had been hearing of this man for months now and decided to entertain him and accepted his request if not to just satisfy their own curiosity about this strange wizard from Germany.

The dark lord was welcomed into the Ryder Family's home in a show of good faith however Esteban, surrounded by his hounds and seated with his wife and 4 children by his side, demanded that the man get straight to the point about what he wanted. Grindelwald obliged to the man's demand and told them. And told him they did for not even a minute later did the Ryder's find themselves entranced by the man's honeyed words.

As the man spoke of his vision and dream for a world where wizards and witches could be free and didn’t have to hide in the shadows, Esteban took a look across the room and let his eyes take in the faces of the rest of his family members, he felt a wave of unease wash over him and settle at the bottom of his heart as he saw the hunger that swam in their eyes that only grew larger with every pretty word and lie that left the dark lord’s mouth.

For when the Ryder’s fled to the British Isles following Adrian Ryder and his family’s betrayal back in the 17th century, The family of hunters suddenly found themselves being hunted. The Ministry had been informed by the new fledgling American wizarding government, MACUSA of the Ryder family’s possible involvement with scourers and of their bloody history of hunting down mercenaries and dragons, and so The Ministry did what they did best. They killed those who they feared and nearly had the entire family exterminated like rodents. It was only when the Minister of Magic realized that the Ryder’s would be more useful to him alive than dead did he decide to spare them and cease the bloodshed. The Minister had the Ryder’s and their hunters swear loyalty to The Ministry and the once proud family of dragons found themselves reduced to loyal hunting dogs.

Grindelwald knew damn well about the Ryder’s being reduced to such a sorry state and having their freedom stripped away from them so fucking easily. And cleverly used it to get them on his side. He told them, “why should you all be muzzled and treated like dogs when you are something so much mightier than that? You are dragons, and dragons do not cower in front of anyone.”

Grindelwald thanked Esteban and Orion Ryder for their time and bid them farewell, and as the dark lord left the family to contemplate on his words, he also left with them a seed. A seed of doubt and malice that would soon sprout and dig it’s vile roots within the Ryder family that would cause them to have a power struggle that would leave body after body in its wake.

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Two Lesbians and a Baby

(Context: A short story that takes place in the AU Eileen and Merula end up together during the Second Wizarding War).

“I thought you said not to get attached to the baby.”

Merula jumped in surprise from the voice behind her, causing her to jostle the baby cradled in her arms. She took a quick look down to make sure it was still sleeping and not getting ready to scream itself hoarse for having its nap interrupted and was relieved to find the little thing not making a fuss like it normally had these past few weeks of taking care of the insufferable thing.

The cursebreaker let out a sigh of relief. Glad that she didn’t have to deal with the nasty bugger before turning her attention to her wife and giving her her best withering glare. The kind that made most of her pathetic coworkers back at Gringotts cower beneath the powerful witch’s gaze. But Eileen, who had been married to Merula for 2 years and had known the Slytherin for far longer merely chuckled into her hand, completely unaffected by the threats and death glares her wife sent her at this point which was something Merula wasn't all too happy about.

“Have you gone mad Ryder? Of course I haven’t gotten attached to this pathetic, smelly little hell spawn!” Merula huffed as she straightened her posture and looked up at her dearly detested bastard of a spouse.

Eileen merely gave the shorter woman an amused look as she stared up and down at the way the Slytherin was unconsciously angling her body to better shield the baby from any potential danger. Her eyes softened as they landed onto the still sleeping bundle in her wife’s arms which only caused Merula to feel annoyance start to claw up her throat.

“If there’s anyone who’s getting attached to this thing it’s you! You’ve been acting all soft and dopey eyed these entire two weeks of caring for this brat! Honestly, the way this thing has gotten you wrapped around it’s tiny little finger is pathetic even for you, Ryder.’ Merula spat out venomously.

"Oh, and you haven't? I've seen the way you look at the little fella when you cradle him in your arms, or the way you give him one of your rare gentle smiles the few times you managed to wrangle a giggle out of him. Or how when he wakes up in the middle of the night and it's your turn to take care of him, you grumble about it but sing him back to sleep anyway. You may deny it but you secretly love caring for this little bundle of joy that you lovingly call a 'hell spawn'.

“Face it Merl, you're completely enamoured with this little guy."

#eileen ryder #edward ryder #merula snyde #tulip karasu #hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery mc #hogwarts mystery #the ryder family #ryder family lore #keep in mind I'm still new to writing ya'll #its only in this fandom that I finally got the nerve to well #write and actually post that writing so yeah #hope u all liked it #I made #an entire timeline for the ryder family #just to keep track of the lore and eileen's story #as well as a family tree just so I could write the wolves rebellion lore #my writing

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kiruuuuu · 4 years ago

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Doc/Lion oneshot in which Lion suffers from the consequences of being tortured. (Rating M, hella angst + some comfort, ~3.3k words) - written for @renegad3spectre! Thank you a ton for commissioning me, I really really enjoyed this prompt, just took it and ran with it. It was a pleasure, all the love to you 🧡🧡🧡

Horrifically, it’s his grandfather delivering the blows.

He’s got fond memories of him, of sweets smuggled into his pocket, repeated stories ever-changing from one retelling to the next, quiet banter loud enough for him to hear but muffled enough that he suppressed his own laughter. He smelled of books and wood and old people, and that must’ve been it – the building had held a heavy, stale air which probably triggered the association, unwanted as it is.

So now the creature in his head, the remnant, the ghost haunting his mind wears his grandpa’s face like it owned it, like it had absolutely any right. It hurts more this way. It hurts to be called a disgrace, worthless, useless. It hurts to be disowned, it hurts to hear I have no grandson and it hurts to be accused of killing them, you killed them, your hand held the scalpel and this particular voice coming from his grandfather’s mouth is even more disturbing.

Who do you work for, he yells, unforgiving, merciless, and now his features shift, skin discolouring and eyes sinking into their holes to make way for nothing but darkness, and soon it’s the familiar sight of a brutal, faceless monster, concealed by a mask, surrounded by others looking exactly like him, supported by clones. Where are they, they scream at him in unison, who else. And he wants to answer, wants so desperately to reply to make it stop, is willing to give up anything, everything, if only it means this unbearable noise in his head quiets down. But his thoughts are made of tar, spread slowly and directionless, impossible to wade through. Words elude him, fade like smoke whenever he attempts to grasp them, endeavours to put this horrendous suffering into a single sentence.

Not like any expression he knows would be sufficient to describe this torture.

He doesn’t know what’s real. At times, he’s losing himself in a loud beat and a steaming crowd, coloured lights sweeping overhead and music seeping into his bones, and he knows he needs to reunite with his friends to keep partying, keep the night alive. It’s convincing enough he can taste the cheap drinks in his throat and feels naked, sweaty arms brush over his own on the dance floor – and the next second a blinding light pierces his skull and there are too many people around him he doesn’t know. They sound alarmed, eyes wide, and it sparks an instant, shrieking panic: something is wrong and he has no idea what it is. The strangers refuse to let him go, hold him down, and he tries to explain while the sterile stench they exude causes his stomach to churn and turn.

Most of the time, his ears are filled with accusations. The source is constantly evolving but what stays is the nauseating sense of dread. His heart races against the rest of his bodily functions and easily wins every time since his senses are sluggish, his perception unreliable and his thoughts wrapped in cotton. Grimaces of fury are persistent companions, and though he can’t put a name to all of them, their familiarity cuts deep. His mother, his former friends, his father, his sister. Alexis. Claire. The guy he met in Marseille who pretended to be his friend. Doc. Thatcher. An abomination from that cursed city Lion tries so hard to forget. Doc. The masked entity, omniscient, omnipotent, terrifying. Alexis. Doc.

He understands.

Why people would betray their loved ones, their country, their morals – he understands now, and the realisation is as chilling as the experience. He begged to be able to tell them. Begged for his life, begged for his life to be taken. Begged for peace as opposed to the chaos inside him, and he knows now most people have no idea what chaos really means. They humanise it, award it positive or negative qualities yet Lion would tell them it’s neither malevolent nor merciful. It just is. Against it, he is nothing, smaller than a speck of dust, utterly inconsequential and unimportant: in the face of true chaos, he’s meaningless. All he can do is hope he survives it.

The room is empty, his eyes tell him, and his ears tell him the same, but his brain is convinced of someone’s presence, just out of sight. Pitiful noises fill the barren, bleak chamber and they come from him, but at least they summon another human. A human with Doc’s face, and then with a mask, and then it’s Doc’s face again. Lion buries his fingernails so deep into his arm he tastes copper on his lips and pleads for him to stay. He sounds like a broken record, this voice isn’t his, the syllables barely intelligible among the dry heaving and the sobs. Music starts playing, a loud riff reminiscent of his teenager years, signifying rebellion and freedom and the worst fucking period of his entire life, and Doc says your hand held the scalpel and he’s gone again.

More, he implored as if anything he said would sway them, yes, please. And he looked at the needle and hated it, despised himself for craving it like this, abhorred the ones who turned him into this, and simultaneously he needed. He needed it so much. Without it, he was broken.

His throat is hoarse from screaming, so the visions morphed from atrocious to tragic until he had no more tears left to cry, and then they went for the very core of him. And this, too, he understands now: why anyone would go above God and decide existence isn’t worth it anymore. If he’s being tested, he’ll gladly fail as long as it means silence. If he’s being punished, he’s ready to receive eternal punishment for it can’t be any worse than this.

Someone is calling his name. The man – the men – knew it because he told them, it was one of the many things he told them, so he fights tooth and nail to continue drifting in this vegetative state, but it grows ever more insistent and strips away the layers of mud obstructing his consciousness, leaving him no choice. He can’t remember what it’s like, to have a choice, to choose.

Long words are being thrown at him. He deciphers none and yet an image forms below his eyelids, less blurry with every new description. The professional tone of voice pushes him gently back to his days of studying, a time filled with diligence and the hope to make a difference, and his despairing brain latches on to the information like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood.

Delirium, the familiar voice lists, agitation, seizures, anxiety, hallucinations. Too many syllables to fully absorb, and still he deconstructs them halfway. The mask wouldn’t know them. And if it did, it wouldn’t use them around him.

He’s safe.

He must be, it’s the only valid conclusion, but why does his existence still hurt this much? Why is the world shaking, why is he slowly drifting away from everything he ever held dear, from his life, this earth, himself?

They have Alexis. The realisation jolts through him like an electric shock. He needs to rescue him somehow, together with the people by his side, yet he can’t shoot at the maniacally cackling crowd running away from him because he’s not sure which one of them has him, and he can’t risk hitting his own son. Risk harming his most important footprint on this world. The masked grimace tells him he’ll be too late, and besides, it was his own fault anyway: Lion willingly told them about Alexis’ whereabouts in exchange for his next fix.

And he did do that. He did that. These are the consequences of his own actions, his punishment for complying with minimal resistance instead of staying strong, remembering his training. He sacrificed his son for something this trivial. Offered him up in exchange for complacency. Put himself first.

People are screaming, Claire, his colleagues, his family, and he knows he must interfere if his life is meant to be worth anything anymore, and there’s a small voice inside his head, an old companion. Full of vitriol, pulling at threads to make him come undone, scratching at scabs to cause scars, widening holes so he’s incomplete. It suggests a scenario and with petrifying speed, he’s there to live it.

He has a choice. On the one side is his son, gagged, tears in his eyes, struggling against his restraints. On the other side is –

There’s a –

It’s a syringe.

“-s alright. You’re alright. Take a breath, Flament. You’re safe, you have nothing to worry about. Do you need to throw up?”

Paying no attention to the words, Lion is flailing, sitting up abruptly and touching his legs to check whether they’re still there, touches his face and feels blind panic flare up the moment he spots the object in the crook of his arm. He’s narrowly stopped from ripping it out by an iron grip against which he struggles wildly, demanding to be let go, knocking something over and shattering it.

The vice-like grip never once wavers, and gradually his surroundings begin to sink in. He’s in a hospital, it seems, and the person by his side is none other than Doc, trusty (your hand held the scalpel) Doc who’d never let a patient suffer more than absolutely necessary. Bleeding heart Doc. Doc with his stoic face which barely contains the rage undoubtedly roaring in his chest (and is it directed at Lion?).

From one second to the next, Lion deflates and sinks back into the pillows, thoroughly fatigued. His adrenaline wears off quickly and makes way for uncomfortable nausea and the sensation of itching limbs. He needs to move, needs to shake off this horrible feeling of having slept a decade, but he doesn’t trust his body. The hand finally lets go of his wrist and leaves behind a print even lighter than Lion’s skin already is.

“Alexis is safe, too”, Doc assures him.

Lion jumps at this. How does he know? His throat closes and opens, produces a dry rasp and forces him to cough. Next to him, Doc is waiting patiently. “Where is he?”, Lion eventually gets out.

“At home. He never left.” He sounds composed despite the storm clouds visible in his expression, so Lion isn’t the intended recipient of his cold fury. “You kept calling for him, so I figured you must be worried. But there’s no need for concern.”

“What happened?”

Doc pauses for a few seconds. “We apprehended the ones responsible. Fortunately, we intercepted their outgoing messages, so what little information you gave them never reached anyone else.”

If this was true, Lion could exonerate himself. He also takes note of how Doc is silent about the before. He must guess Lion remembers being captured, remembers what they did to him. Bruises on his body are evidence for some of it, and the hellish trip tells the rest of the story. “How much did I say?”

“Doesn’t matter. We caught it.”

“How much?”

“You shouldn’t worry about -”

“Gustave!”, Lion roars, desperate to be either condemned or redeemed. He needs to know, must know so he can better assess his own mental strength. So he knows what to confess. So he can pray for forgiveness.

Doc’s lips are a thin line. “I don’t know. Grace and Mark had an agreement with Harry not to disclose any details. He says it’s standard procedure to prevent potential animosity.”

Not good enough. He’ll never be able to look Alexis in the eyes again if it turns out he did mention him. How much of his memories are real, how much were part of his nightmares? “What about my son?”, he whispers and Doc just shakes his head.

“As I said: I don’t know. Try to get some rest, Flament.”

Just as he exits the room, Lion spots the deep scratches on Doc’s forearm. Please stay, just please, he yells at Doc in his head, unable to bend his lips around the words. Don’t leave me alone. Don’t leave me.

He starts crying again.

So weak is he that the tears won’t stop, can’t stop, a broken silhouette in the shape of a man. Fragmented, just like his thoughts. He can’t remember ever feeling this terrible, hasn’t felt this frail and fragile in forever. His body doesn’t feel like home.

No time that night is spent sleeping. Restless, he crawls out of bed, explores the room that isn’t his while dragging his IV stand along, lets his eyes wander over pages not belonging to him, books left on his nightstand on accident probably, and doesn’t absorb a single word.

Once his thoughts are his own again, he utilises them with newfound fervour. He requests his phone and types until his thumbs hurt, types and deletes, corrects, amends, reinvents.

This is a theme in his life, an endlessly repeating circle: arrogance begets punishment. A boastful adolescent loses his innocence by nearly terminating an unborn life, by indulging vices too great for him to understand. A reformed young man deeming himself competent is burdened with death and riddled with blame (your hand held the scalpel).

A man, feeling invincible, having repaired bridges, full of empathy, is beaten bloody and broken.

He hasn’t updated his will in years – a symptom of a much more dangerous cause. Rainbow instilled a delusion of grandeur in him, promised him a future, coloured his life vibrantly and provided a new motto. Not me. He won’t be killed in the line of duty, not with these people by his side. He’ll be fine. Whatever happens, he’ll be fine.

This was a close call. Targeted and much more efficient than Six anticipated, or else Lion never would’ve been captured in the first place. If this is a sign, it couldn’t be any clearer: he’s not only not invincible, he’s delicate. This was just one weakness they could’ve exploited, Alexis obviously being another, his family as well. He won’t be as cocky when embarking on a mission from now on, and he’ll try to convey to the others how easy it is not to return.

It’s an earth-shattering wakeup call.

And so he types until the letters blur before his eyes, and says things which needed saying years ago. And he vows that this change in perspective will be a permanent one – he’ll never open himself up like this anymore. He’ll stay alert. He’ll fend off complacency.

And then Montagne is by his side and says a thing too chilling to be true. He’s gone, it drips from his lips like poison, and Lion knows with absolute certainty that it’s the truth. Doc accompanied him on the mission, Lion failed him, only he was saved. Endless protest is shushed by a sad shake of the head, a head with a face so ashen Lion can tell he’s not the only one filled with sorrow at the news.

There’s so much left unsaid between them, so much admiration and respect bottled up in order to show no weakness, and now he knows it’s useless to suppress emotion due to pride. Neither of them had managed to move on and now that Lion was willing to offer introspection and the admittance of possible mistakes in the shape of good intentions and the only course of action he saw, Doc would never be able to accept any of it.

Doc would never tell him he did a good job again. He’d never show him this grim smile again, the one he wore whenever he was satisfied with Lion’s work despite the outcome, laced with pride almost – or maybe this is wishful thinking, because after all they’ve lived through, a part of Lion still craves his approval so desperately that every positive word makes him glow from the inside, only he’s gone now, and Lion will never tell him –

“Olivier.”

Drenched in sweat, a pounding headache and with trembling limbs, he wakes up. Still in the hospital, still with Doc by his side. Of course: his demons have been depriving him of all things positive in his life, so why not him too? Nightmares know no bounds and refuse to accept Doc is sacred.

The other man is flushed slightly, dressed immaculately as always, but most importantly: alive. His gaze is turned downward to where Lion is gripping his wrist so tightly his knuckles are white. “I’m here”, Doc says gently. “You can let go. I’m here.”

Lion considers complying, though when it registers that Doc called him by first name, all he does is loosen his grip. “I dreamt you died”, he admits, staring up at the irregular patterns on the ceiling. He couldn’t ever convey this emotionless void Doc’s death caused in him, the utter emptiness – somehow, it was as if he’d lost his life’s goal. Which is insane, because his aim is to better the world. Not win Doc over.

“I could tell”, says Doc.

He must’ve been distraught, calling out in his sleep, reaching for his colleague. A question occurs to him which he should’ve asked sooner: “Is everyone else alright?”

“Yes.” Hesitation. “Ying has a black eye. When we came, they were currently depriving you.”

Lion figured as much. “I need to apologise to her.”

“You weren’t yourself.” Doc’s eyes meet his. “That wasn’t you.”

His relief must be palpable. Hearing it from Doc’s mouth doesn’t make it true, but it drowns out that malicious voice which never fucking shuts up. Giving up their secrets, thirsting for a meritless high, attacking blindly – even himself: he’s more than that, and knowing Doc is fully aware of this causes him to fight back tears of gratitude. “No. It wasn’t.”

After a moment of silence, Doc’s arm twists around and offers his hand, which Lion immediately accepts. For now, there’s no second-guessing motives, no long deliberation as to whether Doc is helping a co-worker, a friend, someone more than that, whether he’s volunteering support or understanding or something else entirely. All he knows is: the hand is warm, so warm it spreads a soft calmness all throughout him.

“I brought you music.” Doc indicates an old iPod on the bedside table next to the stack of books (which has grown), a vase with flowers and a few cards. Lion either failed to notice them before or they’re a recent addition. “Dominic helped with the selection.”

This is good news. Lion hopes for unfamiliar bands – he’s not sure what kind of reaction the ones from his youth might trigger in this state.

“And I spoke with Harry.” The segue is too casual. Lion has become proficient at reading between the lines with Doc, and he translates it as I gave him a stern talking to. “He said to tell you the information you gave was deemed ‘insignificant’.”

The wording doesn’t escape him: there’s no certainty in what -

“And you didn’t even mention Alexis.”

Lion takes a deep breath.

Between the constant pressure against his temples, the rolling stomach and nauseating dizziness, he’s felt better, but trusting Doc’s words to be true settles something inside him. Doc wouldn’t lie about this. “Thank you”, Lion replies and hopes his earnest gratitude is audible.

There’s so much to say between them his thoughts are going haywire considering just a fraction of it. All their arguments are ultimately the same as Lion’s treason: insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Something invisible connects them and it should be time to drag it to the surface, but not now. Not when he’s barely begun to heal from his outside and inside wounds.

Instead, he asks: “Will you stay a little longer?”

This time, Doc nods and remains where he is, a bastion of calm. And when Lion squeezes his hand, Doc returns the gesture and it’s all he needs for the moment.

It’s enough.

#rainbow six siege #doc #lion #doc/lion #fanfic #oneshot #commissions #my internet search history is very suspicious now #they're tired of dancing after this #there's more important things than beating around the bush

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acespec-ed · 3 years ago

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hi!! I was wondering if u could help me? I’m alloaro and I just discovered the term aromid… and it makes me question myself. I’m very unsure if I’m on the asexual spectrum or if I just experience sex repulsion sometimes? I’ve looked at so many acespec labels and cannot find one that actually fits me. literally I’ve seen them all. I haven’t really felt comfortable calling myself ace and I do enjoy saying I’m alloaro but I wonder if I’m actually on the ace spectrum as well… how do I differentiate between sex repulsion and asexuality? For one, I’m hypersexual and feel the need/pressure to be sexual or I’m not good enough… and I do want sex I think? I fantasize about it and I enjoy smut and some art .. but when I visually see nakedness or irl sex… it makes me feel very uncomfortable and I don’t enjoy that. I enjoy the thoughts and fiction and when people are only partially clothed…. but I just have this feeling of repulsion and fear of actually doing it irl (what if I hate it and it makes me uncomfortable?) and when I think about it I do imagine myself and this other person but it’s also hard to actually see us and not just faceless non existing people… and idk how much of me wanting sex is just pressure from hypersexuality or me genuinely having sexual attraction … idk if I really have much of a libido or want for sex?? would I be able to call myself alloaro AND aromid.. as in I’m alloaro but possibly SOMEWHERE on the ace spectrum?.. or maybe I’m just sex repulsed and fully not ace at all? I feel like my situation here makes me unable to call myself alloaro but I AM alloaro and I love being alloaro… I don’t wanna stop saying I am but it also feels like there’s more to it?

same anon from before! I read a post of yours about the umm “allos see ‘cake’ and immediately know they want to eat it” and it confuses me … idk what I experience? I see fictional characters and I can go “they look sexy I am attracted to them maybe if want to have sex with them?” I see people and ??? idk sometimes I get unwanted thoughts of having sex with friends when I don’t actually want to or find attractive…I can see people and think they’re sexy/attractive .. but idk if I’d think “yeah I’d have sex with them” I mean it depends bc I think someone can imagine having sex with someone and enjoy it and want it but would they actually wanna seriously have sex with that stranger without having any connection with them…? Sex is scary so I’d need to know and trust them maybe… be scared to show my body..but I don’t think I’d be comfortable calling myself demi? Idk I don’t get this .. do I look at someone and immediately think whether I’d want to have sex with them or not? I really don’t know … also.. so…. Libido is just wanting sex in general and sexual attraction is wanting specific people?… how do I differentiate all of this it’s so confusing! I guess MAYBE I do look at peopl and go “wow they’re pretty/sexy id want sex” BUT I DONT KNOW LIKE IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT… am I not allo WHATS going on here .. can you explain what it would be like to be sex repulsed AND allo instead of ace? and the difference between that and being ace and sex repulsed? thank u

I’m so sorry I’m saying so much I just have no one to talk to :C … but um… someone told me “if you’re sex repulsed .. you’re still allo unless you feel like u don’t relate to being allo anymore” and I’m honestly so confused because…. do my weird feelings towards sex influence my sexuality? do I still feel connected to being allo? personally I feel like these feelings are ones allo people don’t typically have ..plus I’ve always felt bad for not being sexual enough or feeling the same sexual feelings as people/ (also why do I have sex repulsion I don’t think I rlly had much sexual trauma going on.. some little incidents but still??) and if I told allo people these feelings… they would not relate and would think I’m weird for it ..but an ace person might relate and would understand … I feel like it does influence how I see my sexuality/attraction and complicates things…however.. I feel like I can’t call myself acespec bc often I want sex (even with a specific person.. although they look different when I imagine them and also don’t exactly have a Look/face/body in my head..same with me) often and I’m hypersexual so I like over sexualizing myself …plus I like saying I’m alloaro and don’t want to let go of it… nor do I want to ID with a specific ace spec label.. I’d like to just say I’m ace (just like how I call myself aromantic even when I’m specifically gray romantic) why can’t I just be ace and not ace at the same time or in between I don’t know 😭…. what do allos experience how is their life like with sexual attraction and how is someone’s life like without sexual attraction … I don’t get it at alllllll

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I saw you sent three asks and decided to combine them all in this post to make answering this easier. Just reading these asks are making my head spin, so I can only imagine how confused you must feel. And it's fine that you're sending so many asks- I know what it's like to have no one to talk to about things.

I'll start this off by saying you can call yourself whatever you feel most comfortable calling yourself. And if it's alloaro, then of course you can keep calling yourself alloaro. You do sound like you could fit somewhere on the ace spectrum, but I couldn't tell you where.

A lot of what I'm about to say you might already know, since it sounds like you've been doing your own bit of research, but here I go.

Whether or not you desire sex on its own doesn't determine if you're asexual. If you've never felt any urges to have sex with anyone specific, then you haven't experienced sexual attraction. So it's helpful to remove your interest in sex itself, along with libido, when questioning. Focus it all on if you've wanted sex with anyone in particular. If the answer is no, or very rarely, it's likely you could be on the asexual spectrum. You mentioned you've experienced it towards someone specific, so it sounds to me like you'd be in the gray area, if on it at all.

I will say, it is totally normal to be nervous, and even scared, of having sex at first. A lot of allos are able to get over this fear- possibly because of sexual attraction. I first felt sexual attraction towards my boyfriend, and though I was repulsed, I wanted to do sexual things with him so bad I was able to get over the fear and disgust through slow exposure. So I think sexual attraction on its own is a huge motivator to "get over" sex repulsion and go for it.

Of course, you should never do anything you are not comfortable doing. And never force yourself into doing any sexual activities. A lot of aces have ended up with trauma over that sort of thing. The reason I went for it was because I naturally became comfortable with things escalating as time went on. Kinda like exposure therapy, I guess.

I'm not sure if you already saw it, but I did write this post on an experience I had where I was sex-repulsed by someone I was sexually attracted to. So it is possible to be sex-repulsed and sexually attracted to a person, but I understand how hard it can be to tell for sure.

I can't tell you what it's like to be allo. But other than the few times I've experienced sexual attraction, I lived my life with a libido directed towards no one, fluctuating between being sex-indifferent and repulsed, and occasionally getting a crush I had no sexual attraction towards.

As for what it’s like being sex-repulsed and ace: I can’t imagine having sex with anyone. I just can’t. Every time I get a crush, I try to imagine sex with them, and my brain just shuts that off. It wants nothing to do with those thoughts. Sex-repulsed with sexual attraction: It’s only happened twice and the first time (with my bf) I had no idea wtf was going on and it was 10 years ago so I can’t remember enough to tell you aside from what I’ve already said. The other time though, I wasn’t 100% sure if it was sexual attraction at first- but my body became aroused at the sight of him, and the arousal went away when he left. But when I thought of sex with him, I was grossed out. But I kept forcing myself to think of sex with him, and grew more comfortable with the idea. And the more I thought about it, the more I figured, “hey, maybe I am sexually attracted to him.”

Every person is different though.

I can totally understand your confusion because some of your experiences sound like you’re allo and some sound like you could be acespec. I honestly don’t know what else to say or what answers to give. I will say this though: I strongly doubt any allo has had to question their allosexuality as much as you are.

But circling back to what I first said: you can label yourself as whatever you feel most comfortable with. It’s okay if you don’t fit the exact definitions of an identity 100%. Every person is different, even those sharing the same label. And if you decide your experiences are just too complicated for a label, you don’t need one either.

Sorry if this was all over the place, but I hope it was somewhat helpful!

#asks #side note but if you have any follow up questions i probably won't get to them until tomorrow evening cuz work

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katlyn1948 · 5 years ago

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An Unexpected Journey Part 13 “Fury is Coming”

So...I finally finished the chapter! There is a lot that goes on in this chapter and I apologize if it ends up a bit choppy towards the end. I really wanted to get this out before tomorrow and I had some downtime here at work, so I finished it during that. I did enjoy writing most of this chapter, but what I am really looking forward to is the next chapter. It is the last one and then after that is the epilogue. I do want to warn you that there is a mention of rape in this chapter, so trigger for anyone. I will also be editing the tags to reflect that. Don't worry, thought all will reveal it self in this chapter. I want to fully let all of you know that the last chapter may not be posted until the end of July or beginning of August. I work the next 17 days straight and will have little to no time to write. I will try to get drabbles up for my other collection of fics to pass the time, but as far as a long chapter, don't expect it anytime soon. I tried not to leave this on a cliff hanger...I may have subconsciously have done so idk. Anyway, I really hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think!! As always, happy reading...maybe?

Fury Is Coming

Arya slipped out of Stonehelm without being seen. She had her satchel filled with a dress, shoes, and a pretty little face. She hated that she had to kill Jeyne Swann, but her family came first and if it meant disposing of an evil wench, then she wouldn’t hesitate. But she still couldn’t shake the feelings that had returned when she slit her throat. It was almost as if she missed the feeling; like it was an extension of her being that had repaired itself. The worst part was that she liked it. She liked how it felt and how it made her feel. She liked that she had taken a life again and some part of her couldn’t wait to do it again.

This feeling reminded her of her list that she so many years ago. Although fulfilled, she could remember each and every name upon it. There were a few names that had been removed in light of certain circumstances, but it still remained as such: a list of people that she would kill. She had new list now, and Lord Swann was at the top. She couldn’t believe the audacity that the man had! To plan the heist and to willingly kill your high lord. He was a stupid man to think that Bran would let him live after such things. The worst of it was that he decided to bring his children into the scheme, endangering not only himself, but his entire family.

Arya would make the man pay even if it meant the death of her.

As promised, she reached the camp before sunup. Her horse was beyond exhausted and even her own body ached. She had bandaged her stab wound on her arm during the ride back, so the ties were not as tight as she had wanted them. She was no stranger to stab wounds, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt like seven hells. She knew Jon would reprimand her, but they didn’t have time silly squabbles. She had to get back to her tent and turn into Jeyne Swann.

Once she reached the edge of camp, Jon came bursting out of his own tent ready to greet her. He gave one glance in her direction and immediately called for a maester to treat her arm and her swollen eye that she hadn’t realized was injured.

“What happened?” He asked her as they were seated in his tent.

The maester was stitching her arm and she had a wet cloth pressed to her upper right eye.

“She fought back.”

Jon chuckled, “Yeah, I can see. Did you…get it?”

She knew what he was asking. She pulled her satchel from the chair beside her and threw it over to her brother. Jon caught it with ease and carefully lifted the opening, revealing a freshly carved face with light blonde hair. His face went pale and he tried to swallow the lump that had risen in his throat. It was hard to hear Arya’s story when she told him, and he knew that she had to do those things to survive. He just never believed that she could be capable of something like this. Jon still believed Arya to be his sweet little sister that didn’t like to do lady things, not some killer assassin capable of becoming someone else.

He placed the satchel down and returned his gaze to his sister. The maester was nearly complete and the swelling around her eye had gone down to it normal size. He could see the tiredness across her face and half a mind to tell her to rest when he remembered that, not even he could make Arya do something she didn’t want to do.

“So, what’s the plan?” He asked her.

Arya removed the wet cloth from her face and pulled her shirt over her head once the maester had finished with his handiwork. She knew what the plan had to be. She was a master at deception and would use what the faceless men of Braavos had taught her.

“I’m using Jeyne’s face to get into Storm’s End. I need two of the gold cloaks to shed their armor and wear the Swann’s armor to accompany me. I was able to grab a few before I left Stonehelm. I must admit that their soldiers aren’t as well trained as ours and could be easily over taken…if I can get in. The sun is coming up and I can make up some excuse that Stonehelm was taken by Gold Cloaks. I’ll say that I only managed to get away. They have no choice to let me in, especially if I look like Jeyne. Then night will come, and I will sneak passed the guards and open the gates. The Swann men and who ever else that conspired with them will have no choice but to lay down their weapons. Jon, I want as little blood shed as possible. These men are only taking orders from a fat pompous pig with no moral code and don’t deserve to die.” Arya laid out the plan before her brother and she could see the wheels in his head turning.

He took in every word she said and couldn’t deny that it was a bloody good plan. Even better than the one they originally planned. Her way would prevent unnecessary death and give the men following Swann time to surrender. But Jon still felt cautious. He didn’t want to risk the life of his little sister and this plan put her at the very center of the chaos.

With a reluctant sigh he nodded his head in total agreement.

“I will let the men know while you…change.”

Jon left the tent and left Arya to her own devices. She began to pace the large tent studying the situation at hand. All she had to do was wear Jeyne’s face and pretend to be her for a short while. This would be easier that imitating the guard she had killed. Arya had known Jeyne. She knew how she walked and talked and could easily become her. But she wasn’t sure if wanted to become her. With Jeyne’s revelation that Arya may be pregnant, she didn’t want to run any risk of harming the babe. But there was a possibility that Jeyne could have been lying about Arya’s condition in order to distract her. She wanted to ask the maester then and there, but Jon had been present and if he knew that she may be carrying he would have put a stop to the plan altogether. Arya couldn’t have that. If she was indeed pregnant than her child would know who their father is. She had to save Gendry because the thought of raising another child without him was unbearable.

Arya grabbed the satchel from where Jon had left it and reached into the bag, pulling out her new identity for the next full day.

Putting on Jeyne’s face had proven more difficult than what Arya had suspected. She never put on a face of someone who she personally had known. Sure, the other faces she stole, she had to observe the person and their mannerism. She had to see what they did and how they talked and how they walked. But she never knew them. Arya had known Jeyne. She had carried conversations with the woman and had threatened her from time to time. It was at that moment, when she put on Jeyne’s face, that she truly understood why the faceless men became No One. You weren’t supposed to have feelings about the one you kill. It is supposed to be emotionless and void of relation. Putting on the face of someone she knew had felt different than those she didn’t know. Walder Frey or even a lowly house maid was easy to pretend, but Jeyne Swann without a doubt in Arya’s mind was her most difficult face yet. It took her a few tries to get Jeyne’s mannerism exactly right and imitating her voice was a test in it of itself. With only a few more hours until the sun hit the horizon, Arya became Lady Jeyne Swann.

She was dressed in one of the dresses Arya had seen Jeyne wear numerous of times. It was a long silk dress with long sleeves that flared at the bottom. The neck line was shaped like an V and stop just above the breast bone. Her waist was cinched with a large leather belt and the floral design had given the dress a light-hearted feel. Arya felt too exposed in the dress but had to wipe the feeling away. She wasn’t Arya Stark anymore, she was Lady Jeyne Swann and Lady Swann never felt exposed.

Arya tussled her hair, letting the long blond curls cascade down her back. She gave herself a small cut above her lip to make it look like she was hit with a fist. She had to play the part of escaped hostage and couldn’t show up to the gate without a scratch on her. She gave the dress she was wearing a few tears and pulls to make it look like it was nearly pulled off of her. Once satisfied with her look, she exited the tent.

Jon was waiting right outside with the two guards she had requested.

His face when he saw her was nothing short of disbelief. He knew it was sister standing before him, but if he hadn’t known it was her he would never be able to guess that real Jeyne Swann was dead.

“Arya? Is that you?” He asked her as he got closer to where she was standing.

“My name is Jeyne Swann and I am your captor. I escaped the raid at Stonehelm and made my way here with two of my guards to meet my father.” Arya said calmly.

Jon pursed his lips, “Right. Jeyne Swann.”

He pushed passed Arya and followed the path leading down to Storm’s End. Arya mounted her horse and followed the two guards, slowly trotting behind them. Before they reach the castle gates, Jon stopped the party and moved his horse to ride next to Arya.

“I have to leave you here now. Be safe and give ‘em seven hells.”

Arya couldn’t help but smile. She gave him a small nod and watched as he galloped back towards the woods. She was surprised at how well Jon had taken her face stealing. She had expected a bigger blow up from him; instead she was greeted with the same old Jon concerned about her wellbeing.

She turned back to the guards and motioned them forward.

The trek up to the castle gates didn’t take long. As she got closer she began to observe the outside of the castle. There were three soldiers standing guard and four patrolling the wall above. All were dressed in the Swann armor that the two Gold Cloaks were dress in now.

“Halt! Who approaches Swann Manor?” One of the soldiers standing before the gates yell.

Arya mentally laughs at the deluded name Lord Swann had given Storm’s End. As if a castle as mighty as this one would even be named something so puny. It was no more than a mockery for the castle and Arya could feel her blood boil at the name.

“We’ve come from Stonehelm with Lord Swann’s daughter!” The gold cloak on the right responds.

“Please ser, I wish to see my father! Stonehelm was attacked! I hardly made it out alive!” Arya whined. She did her best to imitate Jeyne, thinking of the many times she had whined to her father.

There were small whispers being exchanged between the soldiers and for a moment Arya was beginning to get nervous. She was sure these men had no idea what Lady Jeyne Swann looked like, thus allowing them to enter. If they were smart, they would bring someone out to greet them; to make certain that it was indeed Lady Jeyne Swann.

“Stay there! We will bring someone out to you to confirm your identity.” The same soldier stated.

They aren’t as stupid as they look. Arya mentally noted.

They waited for several minutes before the large iron gate opened. A small figure emerged from the entrance and Arya recognized the auburn hair immediately. Rena had looked beaten and broken. Her hands were bound with chains and her Arya could see the raw skin where the shackles chaffed against her wrists. Rena’s left eye was swollen and bruised, and her bottom lip was busted open. She was dressed in no more than a thin cotton sham; her nipples protruding through the thin fabric as the wind swept passed them.

Arya wanted to scream. She wanted to run to Rena and shield her from any more harm. It took every ounce of self-control in her body to not jump off her horse and slay every single soldier in that castle. She hated seeing her friend in such a manner and could only imagine what they did to her. But if it is one thing that Arya knew about Rena is that she was unbreakable. They could beat her and burse her, but she would not break.

“Is it her? Is that Lady Jeyne Swann?” The solider asked Rena as he pushed her forward.

Rena lifter her head and looked Arya in the eyes. She studied her face for a moment and Arya was hoping she couldn’t see through the façade. After several minutes of observation, Rena said, “Aye, that’s her.”

The soldier grabbed Rena’s arm and threw her to another patrolling soldiers. “Take her back with the others.”

The soldier nodded and began escorting Rena back into the castle. Arya saw her figure retreat and wanted nothing more than to follow her to where she was going.

“Come on, your father is waiting for you inside.” The soldier motioned them to enter. Without a beat, Arya urged her horse forward through the castle gates. Aside from a few burnt canopies and an empty forge, the inside looked unscathed. Arya recognized several of the castle workers. The looks on their faces were that of fear and dread. It would be no surprise if they had complied to Lord Swann’s demands. They were just trying to survive.

They led Arya to the stables and docked her horse into an empty pin. It wasn’t until she stepped down from her horse that she noticed the dead one it the corner of the stables. It was Windbreaker, Lyra’s horse. No doubt the coup had scared the poor creature and instead of calming the beast, they shot her dead with arrows.

“What happened?” She asked one of the soldiers as she passed the dead horse to exit the stable.

“It tried to run over your father. We had to shoot her down. It’s a shame, really. I heard she was a fast one.”

The soldier led her to the grand hall situated in the middle of the castle. There were scarcely any workers; not like it had been one a week ago. It was a strange sensation to Arya; being in a familiar castle, yet having it feel so foreign. It was Storm’s End, there was no denying that, but it didn’t feel like Storm’s End. To Arya, it just felt like on big cage trapping her inside.

They entered the grand hall and the first thing Arya noticed was Lord Swann along with his two sons seated at the main long table in the front of the hall. It made Arya sick to even look at the pompous man sitting where Gendry sat. It took everything in her to keep down what little food she had eaten on the journey here.

At first, Lord Swann was oblivious to her presence. He was preoccupied with shoving his fat face with whatever meat pie the cooks had scrounged up for him to eat. He was talking with his sons, going over some battle plan, and Arya could see his half-chewed pie spew out of his wide mouth. This man was truly grotesque, and the more Arya stared at him the more she struggled to keep the bile in her mouth.

“My Lord, your daughter Lady Jeyne, has arrived.” The soldier swiftly interrupted.

Lord Swann suddenly stopped from his conversation and looked up at them both. His eyes went wide with shock and he was suddenly descending from the high table. Arya had no inclination that that man could walk as fast as he did. Every time she meet the man he would swaddle back and forth like a woman heavily pregnant with a babe. He couldn’t take two steps without huffing for air, yet the moment he saw his daughter he had gotten over to her position in record time.

“My sweet Jeyne, what happened.” His voice was soft as he spoke to her.

Arya had to swallow her illness and pretend to be a distraught lady.

“Oh father! It was horrible! They raided the castle, the kings men, and began killing everyone they saw! I tried to escape, but not without being caught. A man grabbed me and hit me across my face. I didn’t know what was happening! If it weren’t for the two guards I rode with here, I would surly be dead.” Arya sobbed. She ran to Lord Swann and buried her face into his chest. She had to restrain herself from gagging as she smelt the stench of sweat and stale ale on his clothes.

“My sweet girl! Why was no raven sent? How did they even know we had taken Storm’s End?” He questioned as he rubbed her head.

“It seems as if a letter was sent from here before the raid had ceased. And the worst part is that they have that treacherous Arya Stark with them. Oh father, it happened so fast! They killed everyone!” Arya rolled her eyes as Lord Swann continued to sooth her.

“Hush now. Why don’t we get you cleaned up and get you some food to break your fast. Then you can rest.” He reassured her.

Arya shook her head in agreement.

Lord Swann beckoned for a chamber maid to be brought to the grand hall. After several minutes, a girl Arya knew had entered. She was one of the chambermaids for little Lyra and was a sweet girl. Now, she looked terrified and fragile.

“My name is Desa, my lady.” She said to Arya was she curtsied.

“I don’t care who you are, just take me to my rooms.” Arya spoke. She hated that she had to be so mean to the girl, but she had to be believable.

“Of course, my lady. Right this way.” She motioned for Arya to follow her.

Before exiting the grand hall, Arya turned to ask Lord Swann a question, “Father? Perhaps after some rest I can be taken to where the prisoners are. I would like to laugh upon them at their failure.”

Lord Swann’s mouth turned into a wide grin, “Yes, my sweet, I would love to give you that pleasure.”

Arya gave a small curtsy and followed the chamber maid to her rooms. She scoffed when she had been escorted to her old chambers from when she first arrived at Storm’s End. She had never slept in them, of course, but she did go in there a couple of times for new clothing when her and Gendry were sneaking about their relationship.

“Here you are, my lady. Is there anything else I can assist you with before I leave you?” Desa asked her in a small voice.

“You can tell me where the prisoners are.” She stated.

Desa’s face paled, “Your lord father stated that he will take you to the prisoners after you’ve gotten rest. Besides, you really should have the maester take a look at that lip of yours.”

“I know what my father said! But I am asking you a question that I expect you to answer.” Arya’s voice was stern and hard.

Desa swallowed, “They are being held in the Round Hall, below the Lord’s chambers.”

“Why there? Why not the cells below the castle?” She asked.

Desa shrugged, “From what I’ve heard, they want to be able to keep an eye on all of the prisoners at once. But that is all I know, my lady, I swear it to the old Gods and new.”

“Oh, stop rambling like an idiot. That will be all.” Arya shooed the chamber maid away.

Desa gave a quick curtsy and left her in her chambers.

Arya let out a sigh as soon as the door closed. She was relieved to finally be alone. Keep up this charade was proving difficult and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend to be Jeyne Swann. As every hour passed, the overwhelming feeling of wanting to pull of her face was increasing. She had to last until night fall. Once the stars were above head she would be able to shed Jeyne’s face and slay the soldiers guarding the front gate, allowing her brother and the troops to take the castle back. Arya had reminded her bother to inform Brienne and the Tarth men to enter the castle through the secret entrance when they heard the fighting. All she could do was hope the message was relayed in time.

Arya couldn’t waste time. She had to set the plan in motion and that started with getting a message to the prisoners letting them know help was on the way. After she had gathered herself in her cambers, Arya exited the room and began ascending the stairs to the Round Hall. She couldn’t wait until supper time to see them and she had to warn them to the impending raid.

As she reached the Round Hall doors she spotted two soldiers guarding the entrance. She had no doubt that there were probably more inside.

“Good day, sers. I’ve come to see the prisoners.” She said calmly.

“And who are you?” One of the soldiers asked.

“How dare you?! I am Lady Jeyne Swann, Lord Swann’s daughter! My father said that I could come see the prisoners and that is what I am doing.”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but no one comes in or out without the permission of the lord.” He replied.

Arya pursed her lips. She remembered the scowl Jeyne used to give her and etched it across her face.

“You question me? Once my father hears about this, he will have your heads.” She said as she began to turn on her heel.

The soldier quickly raised his hands, “No! I apologize, my lady. Of course, you may go in.”

A sly smile formed on Arya’s face and she thanked the young soldiers as they opened the door to the Round Hall.

Her heart sank as she saw the people she loved huddled in a corner of the Round Hall looking defeated and beaten. Everyone she cared about was in that hall. Rena and Archie along with their children were shackled together. Arya saw the tear streaked face of little Ginger clutching onto her father’s arm. Their babe, no more than ten moons was cradled in his mother’s arms. Joanna and Aster were holding onto one another for dear life. Arya could tell that Joanna wasn’t the same Joanna she had left a week ago. She was bloodied and bruised and looked so frail. Arya noticed that she was in same thin sham as Rena had been in. It did little to cover their bodies, leaving the women vulnerable to prying eyes. Arya also noticed the blood stain situated between Joanna’s legs. That sight nearly made Arya faint with pure anger. She vowed that she would find the man that took her maidenhead and flay him for all to see. Arya racked the room and noticed that Ser Davos and the head cook were also shackled together. They didn’t have many cuts or wounds on their body, but they could have looked better. It wasn’t until her eyes landed on Gendry that Arya nearly reeled the contents of her empty stomach. He was beaten so badly that his left eye was swollen shut. His nose was bent in an odd direction and he was clutching his side from what was no doubt several broken ribs. His wrists were bound together, like everyone else in the room.

Arya made her way to the group of prisoners despite the warnings coming from the guards. She shouldn’t have been thinking like Arya Stark, but she couldn’t help it. Her instincts were telling her to save the people she loved, but her mind was telling her to stay put. She had a job to do and if she blew it now, then they would all be dead before sun down.

“My lady, please do not get to close to the prisoners.” A guard warned.

“Shut your mouth! I will do as I please.” She scolded.

This elicited a reaction from Gendry. He had recognized that voice and it wasn’t Jeyne Swann’s. It sounded similar to the Swann girl, but there was no denying that there was a hint of a northern accent in there too.

“Lord Gendry. Look at the trouble you’ve gotten yourself into now.” Arya teased. She tried to make it sound as if it would be something Jeyne would say, but she was finding that it was something she would say.

“What do you want, Jeyne? Come to torment me? Do your worst.” He casually spoke.

“No, I came to see my father’s prizes. I told you we would get Storm’s End, one way or another.”

Gendry scoffed. He was becoming annoyed with the Jeyne look alike. He wasn’t positive if it was indeed Arya, or if his mind was playing a cruel game. Perhaps the blows to his head had finally caught up.

“What do you want, Jeyne? Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be back at Stonehelm?” He questioned her.

“Thanks to that whore Arya Stark and her bastard brother, Stonehelm is gone! They attacked us in the dead of night a swarmed the castle. They came from both ends, they did. I barely escaped with my life!”

“And you expect me to feel sorry for you?”

“You stupid bull! Of course, you should!”

Gendry’s eyes snapped to hers. She gave a small wink and a small smile made its way to Gendry’s lips. He knows! Arya thought. She was relieved that Gendry was able to pick up on the subtle clues. She just hoped that he understood the plan from the elaborate story.

“Well, I do apologize, Lady Swann, but I have no ounce of sympathy for you.” Gendry spat. He tried to make his voice sound harsh, but failed at doing so. Arya tried to suppress a chuckle, not wanting to blow her well-guarded cover.

“Guard, I think I am done with seeing the prisoners for today. Please escort me to my room.” Arya said to the nearby solider. She tried to sound as spoiled and whiney as Jeyne had been. It was difficult, but she believed she pulled it off.

The solider led her to her chambers where she stayed until the dinner bell rang, indicating supper was now being served.

She made her way to the great hall and took her seat next to one of Jeyne’s brothers. Arya noticed the Great Hall fill with guards and soldiers alike. Most donned the Swann banner, but there were a few with banners that Arya had yet to learn. For the last three moons, she had been trying to learn all of the House Banners of those under House Baratheon. She was able to remember all but three and the one banner that had just walked in was unfamiliar.

“Lord Storm! So good of you to join us! We do appreciate lending a few men to fight in the heist.” Lord Swann’s voice boomed as he entered the Great Hall, taking his seat at the head of the main table.

“You are welcome, my lord. House Caron will help in any way possible.” The man answered.

Arya finally realized that the man standing in front of them was Rolland Storm, Lord of House Caron. It was surprising to say the least, considering House Swann and House Caron despised each other just a few short moons ago. Each had laid claim to being the oldest of the marcher lords, causing some unresolved conflict over the last decade.

“As promised, Stonehelm will be yours once we rid of the world of the last Baratheons. Although, I must regret to inform you that Stonehelm was taken the night before by the King’s men. Among them, the bastard Jon Snow and his wench of a sister, Arya Stark. My poor daughter hardly escaped with her life.” Lord Swann announced.

There were hush whispers that sounded the Great Hall. Many were surprised by the false information given to them. They hadn’t heard of an incoming army and were no way prepared to fight a crowd that large.

“I do beg your pardon, my lord? Stonehelm was taken? Should we have concern that they will attack Storm’s End next?” Questioned Lord Storm.

The whispers now turned to frantic conversation and Arya began to see the gaps in the already crumbling armor of what was Swann’s men. They weren’t well trained and most seemed genuinely terrified to fight an army of that of the Gold Cloaks and Unsullied.

“Silence! There is no cause for panic! Even if they march here to Swann Manor, they have no way of taking the castle. We can last a siege for years. If Arya Stark wants her bastard boy, then she will have to come and get him directly.” Lord Swann’s voiced echoed across the hall.

The very sound of his voice made Arya’s skin tingle with disgust. She couldn’t wait to gut him like the pig he is.

The chatter began to quiet and Swann’s men along with those of House Caron continued eating their meals.

Arya turned to her own plate and suddenly felt sick to her stomach. It was filled with foods like grapes, sweet apples, and chicken. A piece of brown bread sat on the edge of her plate while a large chunk of what looked like boar sat in the center. It was fine food, but the very thought of consuming any of it made her insides churn. Not even the mild ale would tame her grumbling stomach.

“Are you going to eat that?” The man sitting beside her asked.

She turned and was greeted with the male resemblance of Lady Jeyne. One of her brothers, no doubt, and perhaps the younger of the two. Arya did not know much about the Swann family, but she knew that Lord Swann had three children. His oldest and heir, Donnel Swann was married to a fair lady from the Stormlands. They have three children and from what Arya can remember, a forth on the way. Manfred Swann was the younger son and the middle child. Just from observation, he seemed to be the dimwitted one with no couth.

“Uh…no, I’m not.” Arya stated.

Manfred reached over and plucked the plate from in front of Arya and settled it before him. She was surprised by his gesture, but grateful that the smells of the food were no longer wafting into her nose.

The dinner seemed to last for hours and waiting made Arya tick. She hated the waiting and the staying still. If her hands weren’t doing anything to occupy the time, she would become impatient and fidgety. She was lucky that no one seemed to care that Lady Jeyne Swann was in their company, leaving Arya to her own thoughts and devices. It wasn’t long before she grabbed a large piece of brown bread and began tearing off chunks to pass the time.

After several hours of men eating and drinking their bellies full, most began to retire for the night. Some would go back on patrol while a few others would roll into whatever cot was available and sleep on their wine.

Arya was hoping that most would sleep, giving her brother and his men the advantage. Of course, they wouldn’t even be able to get into the bloody castle if Arya didn’t escape from this dreaded dinner soon. She glanced over towards the end of the table and saw Lord Swann falling into his cup. She gave a sly smile and lifted from her chair, making her way towards to the stout man.

“Father, perhaps it is time for you to rest?” She encouraged.

Lord Swann looked up at her and gave a short nod, “Of course, my dear.”

He lifted from his own chair and stumbled over his feet, causing a few of the maids to catch is falling body. Arya could hear a frustrated sigh come from behind her. She turned to see that Manfred had lifted from his seat to help his intoxicated father.

“I’ll get him to his chambers.” He stated. He began to guide his father out of the Great Hall and down a corridor that Arya knew led to the nearby chambers.

Arya turned on her own feet and began to walk out of the Great Hall herself when a voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Mother would be proud.” It was Donnel, there was no doubt.

She turn to face him; her body half outside of the Great Hall doors.

“I beg your pardon?” She asked in an innocent voice.

“Mother would be proud that you are taking care of him in her absence. You really have grown from your childish ways, Jeyne.”

Arya narrowed her eyes. She better than to press a conversation that had clearly ended, but her curiosity got the better of her.

“Would mother be proud of you? Chaining women and children together?” She pressed.

Donnel’s eyes widened.

“You saw them? When?”

“This morning, shortly after I arrived. I understand that they are the enemy, but was it necessary to do that of small children?” Arya’s voice cracked ever so slightly, but she quickly reeled in her emotions.

“It was father’s idea. All of it was. I never wanted any part of this, if I am being honest. And why do you care so suddenly? You loved the fact that father had arranged this heist! What changed?” He began questioning her.

Arya remained calm and answered him with ease. “I only wanted Storm’s End and Gendry, I never wanted children to be harmed, even if they are brats. And you really didn’t want to do this? Any of this?”

He grunted in frustration, “No Jeyne! I was content living with my wife and children. I didn’t want to be dragged into this mess. I only went along with it because it was father! I actually like our High Lord and think he’s done a splendid job.” He paused and took a deep sigh, “I left Stonehelm after I married for a reason, Jeyne. I didn’t want to be a part of politics. Yet, here I am caught up in a heist that will surly get me killed, all because I can’t seem to shake our father’s demands.”

Arya’s face went soft. She understood Donnel’s predicament. She knew what it felt like to be caught between family duty and doing the right thing. It was a hard thing to choose between.

“You’ll live. I know it.” She gave him a small smile before turning and making her way up to her chambers.

Once safely inside, she latches the door behind her. She quickly tears off Jeyne’s face and tosses it into her satchel. She shed her dress and quickly jumped into her breeches and jerkin, securing Needle and Cat’s Paw on her waist belt. She reached under the bed and pulled out a bow and arrows, fastening the bow across her chest, while hooking the arrows around her waist. She tied her hair into a bun atop her head. It had grown out considerable and was more practical up then the normal half up half down style she preferred to wear. She slipped on her leather gloves and gave herself a once over in the large mirror situated in the corner of the chamber she was in. It was her simple get up and reminded her of her garments she had worn during the Battle of Winterfell.

She studied her reflection longer than normal. She looked the same, but there were features that had noticeable changed. Her face was rounder and her hips seemed wider. Her normal cloth to lay down her breasts felt more unconfutable than usual and her breeches seemed tighter around her waist. She turned to her side and noticed, just barley peeking, was a small swell curving on her lower abdomen.

She had ignored all the signs and chalked it off as stress, but now, as she looked at herself she realized that she was in fact with a babe. The thought terrified her but she also couldn’t shake the slight excitement she felt as well. She thought it impossible for her the carry children, yet there she was cradling the small bump. This was all the more reason for her to save the people she loved. To save the man she loved. She couldn’t stand the thought of having her child grow up without their father. It was a horrible experience that she had the misfortune of going through.

Once satisfied with her look and final realization that she was pregnant, Arya slipped out of her chambers and scurried through the dark corridors of Storm’s End.

She was quiet as a mouse and swift as a cat. Not a single soul would know that Arya Stark was inside of Storm’s End, aside from Gendry.

Arya made her down to the holding cells below the castle. Surprisingly there was not a single soldier or guard watching over the place. She slipped past several cells and made her way to a small passage that led straight to the beach. The tunnel was small, but she knew that wouldn’t stop someone like Ser Brienne of Tarth or her men. Arya was out of tunnel in minutes and was greeted by the warm salty air of the Stormlands. She looked off into the distance and notice a band of men gathered around a small campfire. By the looks of it, there were at least 50 men ready to fight. It hadn’t been the number Arya had hoped for, but it was sure to be more than enough to help take back the castle.

“Ser Brienne.” Arya spoke, startling some of the Tarth men. She had come upon them in silence, no one noticing she had even arrived.

“Lady Stark, a pleasure to see you again.” Brienne greeted with a bow.

“Likewise. I see you revived my brother’s letter?” Arya inquired.

Ser Brienne nodded grabbing the scroll from her satchel. She handed it to Arya and Arya took it gladly, giving the contents a quick read.

“Perfect. If you and your men are ready, then I can lead you back to the castle. We must hurry. I still have to let my brother in.” Arya motioned for them to follow her.

Brienne gathered her men and marched forward to the tunnel entrance. Just before entering, Arya turned to Brienne.

“I will go forward. You’ll know when to join?”

Brienne gave a short nod and Arya turned, running through the tunnel. She smoothly glided over rock and stone, making sure to not catch her foot on one. Once back inside Storm’s End, Arya ascended the stairs and like before, moved through the castle without making any sound. She made her way to the empty forge and observed the soldiers guarding the main gate. The forge gave a good vantage point where she could see all without being seen herself.

There were two soldiers along the tower above the gate and two standing right outside. With a shaky breath she docked an arrow into her bow and pulled it tight. She exhaled slowly and let the arrow fly, striking one of the soldiers taking guard by the gates, right in the neck. He slumped down in his place and before the other solider could react, Arya let another arrow fly, striking him square in the eye.

The guards above were oblivious to the dead ones below. There weren’t able to see them due to the angle of the tower. Arya discarded her bow and swiftly made her way up the tower stairs. She released Cat’s Paw from its hold and gripped the handle tight. Just like at Stonehelm, Arya sunk her dagger into the guards next, causing him to gurgle his own blood. The other guard saw the encounter and was about to ring the warning bell when Arya took the dagger and threw it, causing it to stab the guard in his hand. He yelled in pain and struggled to unsheathe his sword. Before the guard had time to realize what exactly was happening, Arya stabbed him in the heart with Needle. The guard stumbled to the floor clutching his chest.

Arya turned and made her way down the stair to open the gate for her brother and his men. It gave a loud groan as the hinges sung open. Arya looked off into the distance and could hardly see the figure approaching her. There, riding in on his horse, was Jon.

“What took you so long?” He questioned as he dismounted.

“I had to kill four guards. Thank the Gods they didn’t know how to fight.” She said with a soft chuckle.

Jon pulled Arya into a warm embrace and gave her a soft kiss atop her head.

“I’m glad you’re okay. Now, let’s go save a stag.”

Arya nodded and they made their way into the castle. Grey worm and the unsullied along with several Gold Cloaks were close behind. She led them to the Round Hall where her family was being held. There were several guards at the door, but the moment they saw Jon and Grey Worm, they laid down their weapons and let them pass with ease.

Arya burst into the room but immediately stopped in her tracks. Lord Swann was in the Round Hall with a knife held to Gendry’s throat.

“You must think me stupid, girl! I received a letter from Stonehelm shortly after my son took me to bed. There never was a siege! And now they can’t seem to find my daughter! Have you turned her? Where is she?” He yelled. His spit spraying everywhere.

“Lord Swann, it is over. Lay your weapon down. You men will not survive what is to come.” Jon spoke.

Lord Swann’s face went red with anger. “Not until you tell me where my daughter is. Or by the Gods, I will slit his throat!”

Arya could feel the bile rise in her throat. She wanted nothing more than to run to Gendry and save him from the pigs clutches. She swallowed the lump in her throat and took a deep breath before answering.

“Your daughter is dead, Lord Swann. She has been for nearly a day.” Arya’s voice was shaky as she spoke. She was terrified of what Lord Swann would do at the news.

“Liar! I sat with just a few hours ago. Now tell me where she is!” He yelled. The knife in his hand began to dig into Gendry’s skin and Arya could see a tiny drop of blood appear.

“That was me, Lord Swann! I killed your daughter, I stole her face and I wore it to get inside the castle! She is dead and if you don’t release Gendry, you’ll be next.” Her voice was calm and icy, sending chills down Lord Swann’s spine.

Arya’s hand rested on her dagger. In one easy move she could throw it and have it pierce Lord Swann’s eye. Gendry noticed the gesture and gave a look to Arya that screamed no.

“I-I don’t believe you! It was my daughter, I know it.” Lord Swann’s voice began to quiver causing his grip to loosen on the knife. This gave Gendry the opportunity to break free from his grasp. In one swift motion, he brought up his chained hands and pushed the knife from his neck. The movement surprised Lord Swann, causing him to stumble back. Gendry was able to pry the knife from Lord Swann’s hand and plunged it into his fat belly. The lord grumble in pain, clutching the gaping wound left by the bloody knife still in Gendry’s hands.

Arya moved to where Gendry was standing and grabbed the knife out of his shaking hands. She passed it to Jon and returned her attention to Gendry.

“Arya, I-” She quickly cut him off by crashing her lips to his. She could taste the stale blood from his healing lip but at that moment she didn’t care. She was so close to losing him; so close to never seeing his face again that nothing, not even the uncomfortable stares from the surrounding people, could tear her apart from him.

They pulled apart after a few minutes in each other’s arms. Jon and Grey Worm had unchained the other prisoners and a maester had been summoned to assess their wounds. Arya knew the physical wounds that they endured would heal, but the mental wounds would forever stay imprinted.

Lord Swann had succumbed to his wound, passing nearly instantly.

When the rest of them exited the Round Hall and made their way to the courtyard they saw all of the Swann men with their weapons on the ground with the Tarth men with their weapons raised against them. Brienne had a man half her size in a head lock, trying to keep him from escaping. Arya recognized the man instantly. It was Lord Rolland Strom of House Caron and he was whimpering like a baby.

“Take him along with any other man not willing to surrender to the holding cells. We will deal with them accordingly come the morn.” Gendry instructed.

Ser Brienne nodded and instructed one of her men to escort Lord Storm into the holding cells beneath the castle.

There was much to do in the night. Most of Lord Swann’s men had surrendered and agreed to swear their allegiance to Storm’s End. The men with Lord Storm were stubborn and agreed to stand by their lord, earning them a stay in the holding cells. The few bodies that dropped were put in the stables until a proper pyre could be built.

The maester finally attended to Gendry after he insisted that everyone else that was in the Round Hall with him were treated first. It was late in the night, with the sun just a few hours from rising. The maester stitched his open lip and applied a salve to his swollen eye. He gave him milk of the poppy for his broken ribs and instructed him to sleep. Of course, being the stubborn bull he is, he insisted on not taking the dreaded concoction and promised he would rest once the usurpers were dealt with.

“I will make him rest, thank you, maester.” Arya smiled.

“Of course, my lady.” The maester turned to exit the chambers they were staying in, but Arya stopped him before he could leave.

“Tell me, how are the other? The children?” Her eyes were pleading.

“They had minor injuries. The children are doing just fine.” He said with a small smile.

Arya nodded, “And what of Joanna? When I saw her she-she…”

Arya’s voice trembled as she remembered the blood stain on her white sham.

“Her moon blood. They hadn’t given her the proper materials to clean herself. She has assured me that her maidenhead is intact. They did nothing to her but give her a broken nose.” He assured Arya.

Arya let out a sigh of relief and escorted the maester out. She latched the door and turned to climb into the bed beside her sleeping bull.

She studied his face for some time. She wanted to remember every inch of it, even if she had seen his face a thousand times over. She truly loved this man and couldn’t imagine another day without him in it.

Tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll tell him.

And she drifted off to sleep.

#Arya Stark #Gendry Baratheon #gendry/arya #gendry x arya #arya/gendry #fanfiction #got #got s8 #non canon #baby #pregnant #shit goes down #omg i cant believe i wrote that

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nancywheelxr · 6 years ago

Note

Kara and Brainy being captured together and realizing they have feelings for each other

Gosh this grew way bigger than I expected. Hope you enjoy it, anon!

Kara punches the glass doors again.

It’s useless, she knows. It didn’t work the first dozen times and it’s not going to work now, but going through the motions, burning through the adrenaline, the ache on her knuckles, it all makes her feel a little better, a little more in control.

“Supergirl?” his voice is cracking, but it’s there, and Kara rushes to the wall between cells, as close as she possibly can. “Where are– oh, no. We were captured.”

It’s not a question, she can see him remembering their fight this afternoon– the Children of Liberty surrounding them, so many of them, faceless with their masks, and she had gotten separated from Brainy, and she couldn’t see him in the sea of people, and then suddenly someone had dragged him forward, unconscious, pressed a gun to his head, and he had been so pale, blood trickling down his temple and disappearing on his black shirt, and his heartbeat had been so faint, so when the man yelled at her to give up, Kara had simply raised her arms behind her head and let them cuff her.

“How’s your head?” She asks gently, fingers itching to reach for him, “they hit you pretty bad there.”

His hands fly to the dry patch of blood, coming up thankfully clean. “It’s healed. But I’m afraid I might be slightly concussed,” he frowns, gingerly touching the back of his head, where Kara remembers he had hit his head on the bench when they carelessly tossed him in the cell. “What about you? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she shakes her head, glancing at the walls, “but I still can’t get us out of here. I think they’ve got inhibitors like the ones in Shelley Island. Are you sure you’re okay? There was so much blood, I– just, I was so worried, you were out of it for so long, I thought–”

“I’ll be fine,” Brainy reassures her, standing up shakily. He needs a minute to steady himself, before shuffling to sit in front of her, leaning against the back wall. The glass between them is no more than four inches thin, but it feels terribly far from where she’s standing. “I heal faster than humans, the concussion will be gone soon. Do you know where we are?”

“No,” Kara sighs, mirroring his position and leaning back, hugging her knees to her chest. “The van was lined with lead. It’s like– they are scarily good at this.”

“Indeed,” he raises his hand to his forehead, closing his eyes. The crease on his brows deepens, “I cannot connect with anything either. These cells must be blocking any signals from coming in. It’s as if they had been prepared for me as well.”

“I don’t like this,” she shakes her head, “Lockwood is in jail, they should be scattering, not upping their game.”

Before any answer could be given, the door at the end of the hall is thrown open, three men stalking past it. They all look more or less the same– tall, burly, scowly. Their leader, the one with a scar above his right brow, steps closer to their cells, grinning, “now that’s a sight to see,” he crows, “not so super now, are we? But don’t worry, Blondie. We’re not here for you this time. We just wanna test a new toy our sponsor sent us.”

Dread pools on her stomach and Kara is on her feet before Scarface over there can finish pressing a button on a device he brought. She tries to run forward, but a high-pitched noise pierces the room. It seems to be too high for humans to hear, but even as she falls to her knees, Kara sees Brainy stumbling too, his image glitching and shimmering as his image inducer gives out.

And if this is hurting her ears, it looks so much more painful for Brainy, Kara has to– nothing. Like this, barely able to stand on her own, there’s nothing she can do.

“So it does work, uh?” Scarface laughs, turning on his heel to leave, his minions in tow.

She waits just until the ground feels steady under her feet, ignoring the ringing echoing on her head. “Brainy, oh my god, you’re bleeding again–”

“It’s– well, it’s not quite alright, but it does look worse than it is,” he’s breathing heavily, and when he coughs, she can see the blood on his palms. “There are more pressing things to worry about. Did you see the logo, on the device?”

Unfortunately. “Yeah. That’s not good, we need to tell Alex and the others.”

“They talked about a new sponsor, but why would L-Corp– why would Lena do this?”

Kara feels her own face hardening, “no, not L-Corp. Lexcorp.” This is really not good, they have to warn Lena, too. “But Brainy, they don’t seem to care what we hear. And they weren’t wearing masks this time. You know what that means, don’t you?”

He coughs again, wiping the blood from under his nose. “It means they’re planning to kill us.”

There’s a tiny window above her head, allowing natural light to spill inside their cells. Kara watches the sunlight move across the room as the hours pass, disappearing into pale moonlight by the end of the day. And then, she watches it again.

And again.

The days pass in a blur of awful helplessness. Without her powers and with little to no contact with their captors, Kara isn’t sure what she can do. There’s no one she can try to talk down, there’s no superpower to help her kick down doors. Their food comes only once a day, and the water too, only enough to keep them feebly alive.

One thing is for sure, these people are much better at kidnapping than the last crew.

“How long until Alex finds us, do you think?” She sighs, leaning against the wall between the cells, her legs stretched in front of her.

“No more than a day, I’d say,” Brainy guesses, the same guess he’s been answering her every time she asks. They’re sitting back-to-back, so Kara can’t see his face, but she imagines it must be as despondent as she feels.

“We need to come up with a plan of our own,” Kara suggests, awfully aware their time is running out. “Before they decide it’s not worth it to keep us here anymore.”

“They must need us for something,” he says, voice flat, “or we would not still be alive.”

At the very least, Brainy looks better, she concedes. His concussion did heal itself with time, and so did his cough, and his skin isn’t so pale anymore, but Kara hates to see the strain on his eyes. She absolutely loathes to see him hurting, and she hates even more that there’s nothing she can possibly do. He’s here, so close they would be touching if it weren’t for the glass, and she can feel the warmth radiating from him. Glass is a good heat conductor, she can almost hear him saying.

“That’s a smart one, uh?” Scarface is back, slamming a magazine against the glass door to her cell with a delighted smile and she hates herself for not hearing him approaching. It’s a Catco magazine, and Kara’s heart cracks at the cover. No more Age of Heroes? Supergirl MIA! “I can’t have you popping up dead, now can I? Oh no, then everyone would be crying their heart outs for you. I don’t need a martyr. No, I need you alive and breathing, so at the end of the week, you can tell all those nice people you could have stopped all these terrible, terrible fires. That shootout in City Hall? Shame you didn’t feel like stopping that one, uh? Yeah, wonder how your little fan club will feel after that.”

“Okay, look,” Kara sees the opportunity there, and scrambles up to snag it, “you want to discredit me right? You don’t need him here for that, he’s got nothing to do with this. Just let him go, and I’ll do it. I’ll say whatever you want me to say– just let him go.”

Scarface laughs a full-bodied laugh that echoes all around like nails scratching on a chalkboard. “You ever played poker, Blondie? Oh man, you’d be terrible at it. Rule Number One, never show your hand, man!” He shakes his head fondly, as if he had been dealing out real advice for her. “See, I already know you will do whatever I tell you to. Because pretty boy over here is my insurance. You think I’m gonna part with my insurance? Of course not, especially now that you just told me how much you care! I was banking on your whole self-righteous moral gig before, but boy, oh boy, did I hit the jackpot with this one– it’s personal for you!”

The magazine slides to the floor as he leaves, still chuckling.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Brainy says as soon as the man is out of earshot. He’s standing now too, face scarily blank, and Kara wonders if it’s too late to gather back her cards, hide them back up her sleeve along with her heart. “What if he had accepted your offer? It would have jeopardized your work as Supergirl– my well-being is not worth it. When the time comes, you must promise you will not do as he asks.”

“Brainy, what–”

“Promise me.”

“What? No, I will not,” she shoots back, stalking to the glass wall, “what are you talking about? Brainy, my reputation, Supergirl’s reputation, I can rebuild. With time, the people will trust me again– I did it before, I can do it as many times as I need. You being safe– that’s all that matters right now.”

His eyes are wide, and she can almost see the gears turning behind them, parsing through her words. “I don’t– the man with the scar on his right brow said it was personal for you. What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve been calling him Scarface in my head, actually.”

“Oh, yes, that is a better one!”

Kara’s ticking clock just got a new deadline, and she supposes now that she’s aware of this thing herself, it wouldn’t take long until Brainy figures it out on his own. She never learned how not to wear her heart on her sleeve. And besides, if they don’t make it– she might not get another chance to say this. “Well, first of all, my decision on this would be the same no matter who was here with me. It could be a freaking stranger– any life is worth more than the public opinion,” she swallows, fidgeting with her cape, before taking a deep breath, steeling herself, “that being said. When he says personal, he means I’m in love with you.”

A whole minute goes by in silence. Kara wonders if she broke Brainy. Then, she wonders if he’s wishing he would have been kidnapped with somebody else, someone that isn’t stupidly making him more uncomfortable than those ratty, lumpy mattresses. Then, he speaks, “and is that what you mean?”

She smiles, relieved, “yeah, duh. Even out kidnappers can tell,” her heart is fluttering as she presses a hand to the glass, “it took me a while to realize it, and I kind of hate that I’m saying this for the first time in a prison cell, but Brainy. I’m in love with you.”

He raises his own hand, pressing against hers in answer, just a few inches away from touching. “I wish the circumstances were better,” he says, “I wish I had better words to offer you, but until then. Know this, my heart is yours, Kara Danvers. I love you as well.”

In a perfect world, this would be the moment they would kiss and fireworks would burst in the sky and everything would be alright. But in reality, Kara can only wish fiercely for a happy ending yet.

“Brainy,” she decides, “we are getting out of here. Scarface talked big game about not showing his cards, but he did give us something to work with.”

Brainy raises an eyebrow.

“He can’t kill either of us, not until after the weekend. When they come to move us, that’s when we escape,” a spark of hope is igniting a wildfire on her chest. Now that she has a plan of action, now that she knows this thing between them is real and possible and so, so close– Kara has never been more alive. Right now, she could reach for the stars.

“It will be difficult,” Brainy reminds her, but his voice sounds just as sure as hers, “they’ve defeated us before. But it could work.”

“It will work,” she states, no room for doubt. Then, because it still feels as if she’s melting inside, “but you know, I could really use seeing your smile right now.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head, but his lips curl in the most beautiful smile in the whole wide world if you ask Kara.

“Now I know, everything is going to be okay.”

They never make it to the end of the week.

It couldn’t be more than a day when even Kara’s powerless hearing picks up on the commotion outside. She stands to the attention, nods at Brainy who is doing the same in his cell. “Looks like it will be sooner rather than later.”

“Good luck,” she bites her lips, “and be careful.”

The door at the end of the hall swings open and half a dozen agents of liberty fill the room, throwing their cells open. “Change of plans,” one of them says, dragging her out by the arm, “time to sing, roach.”

There are guns pointed at them, and somewhere there’s a dog that just won’t stop barking, and the commotion outside is still raging on, and in the middle of all the chaos, Kara looks away and meets Brainy’s gaze. He nods back. They spring into motion and she has to trust he can handle himself in the fight.

A bullet grazes her shoulder. She punches someone’s face. Her side hurts. A punch to the stomach. It goes by in a flurry of motion, her training kicking in automatically, muscle memory taking over. Kara makes a mental note to thank her sister for all that hand-to-hand in the Kryptonite room.

The agents of liberty might have been better equipped this time, but between the two of them, they still fall down one by one.

“We did it?” her voice echoes in the hall.

“We did it,” his arms wrap around her waist.

And the fireworks might just be an automatic gun emptying its clip somewhere upstairs, and her shoulder is aching where it bleeds, and Brainy has blood on his temple– and none of it matters, because they’re finally, finally, free and he’s kissing her and she’s kissing him and that’s all there is.

Until the cocking of gun, gunshot loud in the silent room.

“Well, well, well, sorry to interrupt,” Scarface says, not smiling for once, gun aimed steadily at them, “but I’m afraid there’s been a change of schedule. Let’s see how well you wear martyrdom, shall we?”

Seriously? is all Kara can think while staring down the barrel of his gun, hasn’t it been enough?

The safety is off. She sees his finger ready on the trigger. Time slows down. And–

“Supergirl,” Alex is suddenly there, throwing something high in the air, and the whole place burst with blinding light.

Yellow sun grenade.

Kara grins, feeling the rush of power thrumming once again underneath her skin, and god, she puts herself in front of Brainy, the rain of bullets bouncing off harmlessly off her. “What took you guys so long?” She laughs, ridiculously relieved, “this place has the worst room service.”

“What? It’s not my fault, these idiots kept setting buildings on fire,” Alex shrugs, faking nonchalance even as she pulls her into a tight hug, “I was so worried.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” she reassures her sister, “we’re fine.”

“Thank you for the rescue, Director Danvers,” Brainy comes to stand beside them, wheezing when Alex hugs him just as tight, “but there is much that needs to be discussed. We have gathered quite a bit of intel.”

“Well, silver linings, I guess?” Alex makes a face, “I need to check on my team, but you two– stay here. It’ll take me two minutes, don’t you dare move, hear me?” She leaves, grumbling, “god knows I don’t want either of you out of my sight for the next ten years.”

Finally, Kara breathes.

“I think that cut might need stitches,” she says softly, fingers tracing gingerly along the edges, “how do you feel about needles?”

Brainy catches her hand, gently turning it around to kiss her inner wrist, just below her pulse point, and she shivers. “Terribly,” he says, eyes shining mischievously, “I guess you will have to hold my hand until it’s over.”

“Gladly,” she tells him, “and I’ll kiss it better after.”

He smiles.

And Kara thinks, yeah, everything will be okay.

#look an ask #kara danvers #querl dox #brainy #supergirl fic #karadox #brainiac 5 #alex danvers #karadox tag

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yourhero404 · 6 years ago

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Mortality.

Yay, it’s finally the 19th for me! Now, I’ve never participated in any sort of ‘week’ challenge... thing, but I couldn’t pass up @shigarakiweek! I love Tomura as a character and I really loved working on all of these ;u; Here it goes!

DAY ONE Prompts: family/childhood/redemption

Description: Year after year, the anniversary passed by Tomura’s eyes, but apparently, time never heals all wounds.

He never remembered his entire childhood like others seemed to. Needless details, mundane and repetitive actions- how would something so bland stick within his memories? It was a needless action, reminiscing, and he hardly spent more than a mere moment attempting it. Something about today felt different- off, really- he couldn’t pinpoint what the issue was exactly.

What day was it again? The cold chill that penetrated through the layers of his hoodie told him more subconsciously than he wanted to hear; He knew what day it was, he just didn’t want to acknowledge its presence or give the hurtful memory the satisfaction of plaguing his mind. Playing aloof was a better option. A walk should help him clear his head.

Yes, a walk. He hardly goes out anymore, which isn’t all that surprising. He never really went out before, either. Perhaps he did as a small child? But ever since he had been under the care of his Teacher, he’s been more of a recluse- timid, afraid, hateful of anything that existed beyond those heavy doors that separated them. He preferred living within the 4k landscapes that rendered across the TV screen- he could change his scenery instantly with a different disk and that’s all that mattered to him. Talking to NPCs, witnessing entirely different worlds, changing his story and who he is in the matter of seconds without a second thought to the consequences- yes, he truly did enjoy spending his teenage and early adult years within the fantasy worlds. But being outside... something about it felt needed today- the cold air swirled around him and the fresh air made him feel less like he was being suffocated and more like he was free for a moment. Free to breathe, to think, to feel and to... remember.

His mindless walking brought him to a park and he decided to sit on a bench and just... observe.

The sounds of children are what caught his attention- disgusting sounds really. The way they laughed and screamed, their innocent fun repulsed him. They were so carefree, never stopping to think about the evil around them; None of them worry about horrific things happening to them or their families, all they need to worry about is tagging the next child to keep their game of Tag going. Wasn’t his life just a big game of Tag with consequences? The childish game was now a full-scale problem; The villains form some sort of attack on the general public, scaling up to antagonizing the heroes- the heroes attack the villains right back and lock them up behind cold, metal bars. It was like... Freeze Tag.

Freeze Tag, that’s it. That’s what those children are playing across the way. One would two-hand touch another, laughing as their friend stood frozen in place- they seemed to stay in the funniest position they could until another ran by and ‘unfroze’ them. He focused so deeply on their actions, that the scene in front of him started to change.

What was he seeing? It seemed... hazy and most of the surroundings were unclear- the clearest portion was the kid at the center. That kid was no longer some stranger, it was... him? Yes, it was him- it had been so long, it was hard to recognize himself. He was smiling, laughing, absolutely beaming- how weak. The children surrounding him were nothing but faceless figures, but he can certainly hear their voices. They all called out for him- hearing his true name made him feel ill- they laughed, mixed voices telling him to run, others taunting him with how they were right on his tail. The large smile on his face showed him that he was having fun, letting childish play be simply that- play. One kid’s taunts struck a nerve, it scared him. The look on his face flipped a switch from joyous to fearful and he turned abruptly to run towards a pair of outstretched hands- that's all he recognized, the hands. The larger hands moved to rest against his ribs, the thumbs hooking underneath his arms and swiftly lifting him off of the ground and into safety; It was warm and inviting, he could almost feel the same sensation against his skin now- but with one blink, the scene before him diminished.

A glint of light hit the corner of his eye and he turned to face it. A small metal cart was being pushed around, a soft chime of a bell followed it around. What was this person selling again? The line of cones and cups across the top answered is question- ice cream. When was the last time he had some of that? Did he even like ice cream?

Yes- yes, he did, he remembered. Cookie dough was his favourite; It was the most nostalgic flavour after all, it had pieces of actual cookie dough in it. He wondered if they had any in the cart- would it taste the same? Would the flavour be just as surreal now as it was to him then?

A pair of children ran up to the cart, then. Tomura watched them stand on the tips of their toes, holding onto the small ledge in front of the clear window displaying the tubs of ice cream below. The smiles on their faces shone brightly- one eagerly held out a fistful of dollar bills while the other excitedly pointed from the display cone to the ice cream of their choice. He focused on the one pointing and before he knew it, their appearance shifted; Their hair was light blue and shaggy, holding their hand out for the ice cream. He could hear the warning, telling him to be mindful of his hands and watch what he was doing- he didn’t think much of it. Red eyes were wide and full of amazement at the size of the scoop resting in the cone, his tongue was just about to reach the cold substance before a voice halted his movements. His smile wavered as he listened to this voice ask if he was positive about his ice cream choice- why wouldn’t he be? Raw cookie dough was made with eggs, and raw eggs were harmful- or so he was told. It was his first time trying this flavour, would it truly make him sick? With tears pricking the corners of his eyes, he glared at the dessert with a heartbreaking pout on his face as he tried to process just why a sweet treat would try and bring him harm. The voice he heard before laughed heartedly, those familiar hands reaching out once again and landing on his shoulders this time; He felt comforted, being told the ice cream was safe and that it was a joke was reassuring. The hands sent warmth throughout his entire body in place of the cold of the ice cream. Just before his cheeky smile met the cone, he blinked once, twice, three times and the images were gone. The children came back into view, some sort of green ice cream within their hands instead; They ran off with a giddy laughter echoing behind them, leaving an annoying ringing in his ears.

Tomura couldn’t take it anymore- he started to get antsy and his head started to throb. Perhaps it had something to do with the sudden flush of unexpected memories. Were they truly memories, though? Or where they something his brain made up just to compensate for the loneliness?

Heading back to the Hideout, he passed a set of people- these two stood out to him more than anyone else he passed by. It had only been a brief moment, but it felt like several minutes; He watched a young child run down the sidewalk, laughing and smiling as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

Tomura hadn’t realized it, but he held his breath as the child tripped over an uneven break in the sidewalk and landed face down. As the child pushed themselves up, he saw tearful red eyes that mirrored his own; He saw his own wounds- the tripping hazard being the untied laces of his shoes rather than uneven ground. Lip quivering, he sniffed and attempted to hold back tears as he nursed the large scrape on his knee, letting out a whine when he realized he started to bleed. He looked around for someone- he knew who he was looking for, but couldn’t find them. The tears started to pour as a heavy sob shook his body; It was the first time he felt so alone, hurt with no one in sight to care about him- it was a feeling like no other. He could feel the burning on his skin as he pulled the wounded knee to his chest and curled into himself in an attempt to stop the pain- both physical and emotional. Where were they? Why weren’t they helping him? His thoughts had been cut off by the warmth of a hand landing on the back of his head. He could hear a soothing voice from behind him say that he’d be alright, he just had to push past the pain and learn to prevent it next time. Hands moved to grab onto his laces and teach him how to tie them, the warmth on the back of his head lingering as though the hand was still there.

The child got back up on their feet and the image of himself faded as they ran off, laughing at themselves and their blunder. He was done for the day; his body was cold and he couldn’t spend another minute surrounded by the noise. A walk did him no good in the end.

Reminiscing was a useless act; A needless action. The past was going to do nothing for him in the long run, and it certainly wasn’t going to change- no matter how hard he wished for it to do so.

The walls making up the alleyway to the hideout seemed much narrower than they previously have been- they made him feel a bit caged in, as though they were guidelines he was meant to follow to stay on his life’s path. That’s right- memories were futile and were just distractions.

Mundane childhood acts were things he need not worry about anymore.

He knew what today was- it's been haunting him no matter how hard he worked to bury it.

“It’s all for you,” he started speaking softly to himself.

His hand removed the item he had been toying with in the front pocket of his hoodie. The hand was cold as he placed it upon his face- the warmth long gone from the hand he once placed his entire life within.

“Father.”

#shigarakiweek #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #shimura tenko #tenko shimura #aaaa i had so much fun #i hope you all enjoy uh the pain(tm) im bringing this week #<3 <3 <3 #bnha drabbles #mha drabbles #uh oh yeah i gotta tag it as #bnha imagines #for people to blacklist on my page o o f #bnha #mha

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theadorablespderman · 6 years ago

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Hair: Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Ash

Description: After a fire the ashes remain, alone and deserted. And Peter always hated being alone.

Spideychelle

F/M

Notes: CHAPTER 3 IS UP! My gosh, everyone has been so amazing and supportive of this story! I do want to apologize for how long this chapter took to complete, so thank you all for sticking it out! This chapter is gonna be a long one so I hope you guys enjoy! You guys can also read the fic here on AO3.

Big shout out to my amazing beta @literalprincess for being amazing and being such an awesome help this chapter! Seriously, look this girl up because she’s fabulous! Also another shoutout to @you-guys--are-losers who was a great friend and help during this chapter as well.

Enjoy guys! :)

Peter had never been the type of person who enjoyed being alone. After he’d come to live with May and Ben when he was little, May had said he’d barely ever left their side. They’d cleared Ben’s office out to make a room just for Peter. He never slept in it. He’d slept with them for a year until they started prodding him to his own bed. He’d hated it. The night always was far to silent, too easy to disrupt. Without his Aunt May’s steady breaths brushing his neck or Uncle Ben’s snores right in his ear, he couldn’t know that they were safe. Bad things happened to people, and if he wasn’t there to stop the bad things, how could they be safe?

Maybe he thought he was stronger than he was, but every car-ride, every place they went, he needed to be right there beside them. Peter made himself sick with worry when they’d leave him with a babysitter. He’d sit on the couch, waiting for the phone to ring or a knock on the door. The sounds that changed his life so easily, so suddenly, before May and Ben.

As he grew older—wiser—the anxieties faded, but never left. He spent more time with Ned, but not once did he sleep over like other kids did. Peter couldn’t be away from May and Ben for that long. He was convinced something would happen to them. He needed to make sure that, whatever that thing was, it could never hurt them.

Once he hit his teenage years, Peter was able to function normally. He did his school work while Ben tinkered with old computers. Sometimes, Ben would let Peter help once he got all of his work done. They’d watch movies as a family nearly every night, half the time with Ned included. When the nights came to a close, Peter slept in his own bed, rarely worrying about a faceless threat to Aunt May or Uncle Ben.

After the spider-bite, Peter found his anxieties nearly quelled. Ned and him had sleepovers. He went to parties. He lived the life of a teenage boy.

Peter had been at a party the night Uncle Ben died. His uncle had gone out to the nearest store for milk and never come back. The police had quickly caught the man responsible. He’d still had blood on his shirt when they found him, and yet he never confessed to the crime. When asked, he wouldn’t give information. Nobody really knew how everything had progressed, or how the confrontation ended so tragically. All they knew was that Ben been stabbed in the chest, and when the police had found his body an hour later, his wallet had been missing.

Peter knew damn well that if he’d been there, the way he would have been any other night, he would have been able to stop it. It wasn’t a what if question. He knew that if he’d been there, his uncle would still be alive.

Spider-Man was born of the loss and loneliness that came following Ben’s death. If Peter could save people, put criminals behind bars, he could make sure nobody had to suffer the losses he’d suffered in his life. If he could just be like Iron Man or any of the Avengers, he could keep the bad things from happening. He never felt isolated again; he threw himself into Spiderman instead. Alone wasn’t something he could feel when he was helping old ladies with directions, stopping arms dealers, or trying to prove himself to Mr. Stark. He couldn’t possibly feel the void when he was helping to keep others from experiencing it.

So, when it happened, he couldn’t cope. Turning to ash—dying—it had been all too real, too much.

He had never experienced a pain so intense that it felt like he was being ripped apart by a fire. Fire that consumed organs and bones. It charred his skin until there was nothing left but ash, carried away in a breath of wind.

The pain wasn’t the worst part of it. Begging Mr. Stark to save him wasn’t what gave Peter nightmares—it was the loneliness that followed.

Others had described the Soul Stone as comforting. They said it was harmonious, that they never really missed home while they were there. Peter didn’t know what that was like. He’d spent hours, months, decades alone. Completely and utterly alone. He was confined to his room, just beyond his windows an endless plane of water the same golden color as the sky.

The people that were still alive, the people that needed him were unprotected. He couldn’t leave his damn room, and everyone he loved was either gone, or unreachable. Not knowing anything about how, or where, they were destroyed him.

Confined to the four falls of his room, an island on the water in total isolation, Peter spent days, years, or maybe even minutes—he’d never know—waiting for Iron Man to save him. He waited because he was scared, and a kid, and sometimes he needed to be saved instead of vice versa. Over what felt like an eon he tried every possible way out of the room. Nothing would budge: the window stayed intact, the walls survived his beatings, and the door remained unmovable. Eventually he spiraled into despair. The inferno urging him on turned to nothing more than ash as he spend more unmeasurable time in silence, utterly desolate.

When his soul was pulled back, the first thing Peter saw was the warm, swimming eyes of Tony Stark, and he knew he was home. Peter had cried, sobbed, because he wouldn’t spend eternity rotting away, wondering if the people he loved were safe and if he could have ever saved them.

Peter had come back, back to where he could feel the heat of the sun on his face, and the chill whisper of rain as it rolled down his neck. There was warmth when he heard MJ laugh, and calm when Aunt May sang. There was passion when he saved civilians, and happiness from joking with Ned.

The memories were ones he repressed, and Peter never talked about his time in the Soul Stone. Peter actively forced down the panic when he found himself alone in his room as it glowed gold when the sun set in the sky. He forced down the anxiety when May left for the store and Ned canceled plans. Forcing it all away was better. It was selfish of him to dwell on the ash or the island—the pain and the isolation—when so many others had suffered worse fates at the hands of Thanos. Others would give up the earth and sun to have a miracle like his.

For the past twenty-four hours, however, the welling panic of desertion continually forced its way into Peter’s thoughts. He knew why the anxiety was slowly building, tangling knots and snarls in his chest. It wasn’t a mystery to him why he felt the singe of desolation coiling in his abdomen.

One day—a total of eleven and a half hours—ago, MJ had stormed out of his apartment, after confirming that she and Ned were romantically involved. He hadn’t heard from Michelle since. Which may not sound unusual, if it weren’t for the fact that she had made a habit of texting him in the middle of the night, just to wake him up with random memes. He’d slept through the night, much to his concern. Her lack of communication had only served to water the seed of Peter’s anxiety. The loneliness spread far beyond just that. His two best friends had been a couple for god knows how long and had seemingly kept it a secret behind his back.

Peter ignored a fleeting moment of scathing bitterness when he saw Ned leaning against his locker waiting for him. Strolling up and throwing a strained pleasantry to the shorter boy, Peter worked on opening his locker, stalling so as not to have meet Ned’s eyes. The blue paint around the lock was chipping, showing muted metal underneath.

“Hey.” Ned began, a weary tremor in his voice. “So, uh—do you know if MJ is ok?”

Peter yanked his physics textbook from his locker, his eyes fixated on the cover, still unwilling to look at Ned. “I was going to ask you the same question.” The malice in his voice was nothing like his usual tone. Guilt panged in his stomach, but he said nothing to rectify the statement. He only turned, finally looking at his best friend, the same best friend who had shared every secret with him since elementary school. It felt like he was staring at a stranger. How many times had he kissed MJ? Peter blinked the abrupt thought away. It didn’t matter. At least that was what he told himself.

He and Ned started navigating through the hordes of students. Peter wouldn’t admit it, but he was still attempting to avoid looking at Ned. “I figured you’d know if she’s ok.” It was his lame attempt at diffusing the tension, even if there was still a small bite to his statement.

Ned shuffled between a few cheerleaders before catching back up with Peter’s brisk stride. “Why would—Oh right. Um, yeah. She hasn’t talked to me.”

“So how long has, uh—you know, it been going on?” The words stumbled off his lips, half of him not wanting to know, while the other really did. The question had been burning the corners of Peter’s brain since MJ had said yes to his question last night. When he’d asked if she and Ned were an item.

Ned slipped next to him. Peter threw his arm out, steadying him. “W-What?” Taking the opportunity to meet his eyes for the first time, Peter silently asked what he couldn’t bear to aloud. Why had they never told him? Why had they kept it a secret? Just, why?

Peter smiled reassuringly, trying to be genuine and focus on being happy for them, if only shortly. “I’m just curious, Ned. I had no idea.” His head gestured for them to continue.

“Um, not long. It’s a, well—um—It’s’a still a’pretty new.” Ned’s voice turned into a horrible Mario impression, obviously trying to lighten to mood.

“Seriously? I’a know you can’a do a’better than that.” Peter glanced back at Ned while they walked through the door to first period. The ghost of his smile was still on his face. For a moment they fell back into their usual rhythm, until Peter’s nagging brain grew unsatisfied, wanting answers that weren't vague deflections hidden in the guise of the Italian plumber.

“Anyways, it’s new then?” Peter once again prodded, hoping for an actual answer. His carefree, happy friend instead looked like he had hidden a body. “Hey, you ok?”

Ned answered while they took their seats at the front corner of the classroom. “Yeah. No, I’m cool. I’m fresh. It’s all good.” His smile was wobbling, strained.

Seeing Ned flustered wasn’t unusual. He rambled more times than Peter could count. This time was different though. If Peter knew any better, he would have thought that Ned was hiding something.

“Did you just say that you’re fresh?” Peter’s smile broke through for just a moment. Ned’s vernacular never ceased to amuse Peter. “But seriously, what’s going—”

The warning bell cut through the air, effectively cutting off Peter’s conversation with Ned. People who hadn’t already filed into class began pouring in. Flash was among them, he smacked into Peter’s shoulder on his way to the back of the class. “‘Sup, Penis Parker?” Ignoring Flash had become habit, but it didn’t stop Peter’s temper from rising particularly quickly.

“You’d think someone that’s as smart as you claim to be would be able to come up with a better insult.” It was neither Ned or Peter who had spoken. MJ had come through the doors, slipping through people like silk. She walked directly past Peter and Ned, not even acknowledging their existence.

“Shut up, MJ.” Flash snarled.

“Wow, another stellar response from the resident dip-shit.” Her voice was her usual cool melody.

MJ had wrangled her hair into a ponytail, a drastic contrast to the bouncing mess of tangles she’d sported the day before. Her face was composed and her eyes their normal, critical selves. She looked the opposite of the rolling anger Peter experienced just the night before as she’d stormed out his apartment. The rays of the morning sun bounced off of her cheeks and nose. Her deadly eyes turned copper in the sun, glaring down at Flash, MJ was as indifferent as always. Instead of turning around and sitting next to Peter—on his left side as always—she slouched into the unclaimed corner seat in the back of the room.

The seat was broken, which was why no one sat in it. Peter knew she was pissed, but he didn’t think she was that pissed.

He turned in his seat. She’d taken her sketchbook out; her hand was already flitting around the page. “MJ,” Peter couldn’t say anything else before the final bell rang and the physics teacher came bounding into class, already shouting out the page numbers to open their books to.

Throughout class, Peter desperately tried to get MJ’s attention. He had absolutely no idea what he would do once he got it, but he wanted to see her steely gaze just to verify that he wasn’t invisible. Never once did she look up.

Half-way through the lecture on nuclear fusion, Peter turned to Ned, who was busy scrawling notes over the page. “Dude, how can you read that?” It was all a jumbled mess of ink and maybe hieroglyphics. How the obscure text translated into something, Peter had no idea. Ned opened his mouth, ready to reply, but Peter didn’t bother waiting for it. That wasn’t what he cared about anyway. “Why isn’t MJ sitting with us?”

Ned’s head remained down, his hand furiously producing more notes. “Maybe she wants space?” He glanced up to the whiteboard. Peter found it odd that Ned wasn’t even gracing him with a sidelong glance.

“Shouldn’t you know, though?” Catching another glimpse of MJ over his shoulder—her head bent down with her bangs shielding her face from view—Peter felt his breath catch somewhere behind his sternum. Her hair was a haloed brunette-copper, a realization of celestial beauty. Why was her hair so perfect?

“Know what?” Ned’s response brought Peter’s attention careening back to reality. The reality in which he had just been making googly eyes for his best friend, who happened to be dating his other best friend.

Clearing the knot that was forming into a stone in his chest, Peter distracted himself with copying down the notes he had abandoned while he had been focusing on MJ. “I’d think that since you guys are, well, you know—” The stone was impeding the word from taking shape. He deserted the words all together, clearing his throat. “I just thought you’d know why she would decide to sit in the Broke-Back-Mountain chair instead of by us.” The way in which the desk had acquired that name was too long, and too graphic, of a story to tell.

Ned snuck a look over to MJ, as did Peter. She was shifting in the cracked seat, looking uncomfortable. Her eyes momentarily flitted from her notebook up to Ned. She completely ignored Peter. Peter didn’t even have enough time to form her name on his lips before her eyes flitted away, latching attention onto her notebook. Her gaze never wavered back their way.

“I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably just having an ‘MJ’ day.” On some days, rarely, and out of the blue, MJ would barely talk to Peter and Ned. Peter always felt like she’d gotten trapped in that brain of hers and couldn’t find her way out. There was always a dazed, introspective look to her. But she never actively ignored them.

Peter turned back, clenching his jaw. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

When the bell rang Peter fought against the rush of students stampeding toward the door, wanting to catch MJ before she left. However, her newly found spot was empty, much to Peter’s surprise. Broke-Back-Mountain stood alone. Peter whipped his head toward the door, at a loss for words. How had she managed to sneak to the front without him noticing? Yet, there she was. The shoulder of her leather jacket was peeking through the crowd, her hair floating like a cloud over her head.

“MJ, wait up.” Peter was hurtling desks to close the distance. He needed her to see him, to listen to him. She needed to understand how badly he felt about the previous night. “MJ! Hey, come on, wait up!” When she ignored him yet again, Peter groaned, following her out the door. “MJ?” She wasn’t in the hall when he emerged from the classroom. Her mess of waves and curls had completely vanished.

Ned appeared next to Peter holding the boy’s forgotten backpack out to him. Aimlessly, Peter accepted the strap of his bag, swinging it onto his back.

It felt like a small part of his chest had fluttered away into ash.

…………………………………………………

Decathlon practice had yet to be canceled. Peter took this as a good sign, seeing as MJ was the captain of the team. Both Ned and Peter headed to sixth period in silence. Ned had been acting odd all day, and Peter was still trying to understand why MJ was upset enough to not even be talking to him, much less Ned, her boyfriend. No matter how many times that word rolled around in Peter’s head regarding Michelle and Ned, it never felt right.

There was no conversation between the two as they weaved through the hallway. Peter braced his hands on the straps of his backpack, trying to gently approach the topic that he so desperately wanted more answers to. Answers about the one and only Michelle Jones, who, over the course of twenty-four hours, had become a complete enigma. “So, why do you think MJ’s so mad?”

“Seriously, Peter?” The exasperation in Ned’s voice wasn’t unearned. Peter had been subtly prodding all day. Not so subtly.

Peter responded with a shrug of his shoulders, flashing a quick closed-mouth smile, feigning innocence. “I’m just wondering.” Ned looked completely unconvinced. Peter dropped the act, his face shattering into an anxiousness that was slowly spiraling out of control. “I mean, I get why she’s upset. I didn’t think she’d be this mad though.”

Ned pushed open the doors to the library, turning to head into the private study rooms where they met for decathlon practices. “We all kept digging into her love life after she told us not to. She got mad at me for pushing during lunch, and then you and Gwen kept asking her questions. Can you blame her?”

Peter stopped short outside of the study room. Through the windows he could see Flash leaning back in his chair and Cindy going over notes with Abe. MJ was nowhere to be seen.

Right before Ned closed his hand over the door knob, Peter’s full attention latched to the boy. “Wait, why were you poking around at lunch yesterday?”

There were more than a few things Peter knew about Ned. One of the defining things about his best friend was that he was not good under pressure. “What do you mean? What makes you think I was poking around?”

“Stop answering my questions with more questions, Dude!” The librarian a few bookcases over leaned her head into the open to shush them. Peter lowered his voice to a strained whisper. “You’ve been doing that all day.”

Ned’s eyes blinked rapidly. “Why are you so interested, anyways?”

“Why are you not? She’s your—” The word still wouldn’t crest past the stone. “Well, you know.”

“I am worried about her. But she probably wants space. As she explained to me yesterday, sometimes girls just need time to think.”

“When did she say that?”

“After she stormed out of the lunchroom.” Ned said.

“And why did she storm out of the lunchroom?” Peter set the bait.

Ned took it. “Because I was digging into her love life, at lunch, just like you and Gwen did last night!” Another shush from the librarian. Ned’s ears turned minutely darker, blushing.

“My question is, why would you be digging into MJ’s love life.”

Checkmate. Peter could feel it, something was going to happen. Ned looked on the verge of cracking when a voice sliced through Peter’s mind and body. “Can you move?” It was authoritative with none of the usual malice.

When Peter flipped around, there, in her shining glory, was MJ. Three academic decathlon study guides were hooked by her left arm against her chest. Hanging from her opposite shoulder was her bag, riddled with patched holes and broken zippers. Her face was cold, the depth of her eyes closed off, housing emotion so controlled Peter couldn’t tell if there was any left. Maybe she’d used them all up the night before.

MJ elbowed past Peter and Ned, throwing open the doors to the study room. Peter and Ned stumbled in after her. “MJ—”

“Alright! It looks like everyone’s here—”

“Mr. Harrington’s not here.” Flash interjected.

“Flash, I swear to God.” The animosity in her voice was enough to shut Flash up. It was enough to scare Peter.

MJ situated herself at the table in the center of the room, right in between Cindy and newcomer Alexa. “Anyways,” MJ continued, controlling her voice, yet again, into her usual aloof tone. “We have the first qualifying meet for Nationals this weekend. We need to hit this one hard if we want any chance of defending our National title this October. I’ve printed up the quiz sheets. They’re color coded by subject. Answer sheets are stapled on the back.” She slapped a stack of papers on the table and continued. Her devotion to organized study guides was something the team was used to at this point. “Okay,” She clapped her hands. “Let’s run some drills.”

There was literally no opportunity for Peter to get a word in. She kept the meeting packed with non-stop questions and drills. She never picked Peter to do any. She called Flash in every time. Flash. Peter could tell everyone thought it was odd, but no one was willing to call her out on it. She looked like she had just killed twenty people and buried the bodies.

Sixth period eventually came to an end. Peter tried yet again to get a word in with MJ. She was just as elusive as he was persistent and managed to slip away yet again.

Peter elbowed Ned. “Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

Ned rolled his eyes, muttering something about ‘stupid love’ before following her nonetheless.

“Wait, did you say ‘love’?” The stone in Peter’s chest exploded to the size of a boulder. Ned never responded, already taking off after MJ, not hearing Peters quiet whisper.

Peter stood, a feeling of desolation creeping along his skin.

//////////////////////////////////////////

Ned plopped down next to where Peter was sitting against the wall of the hallway. Two days of MJ avoiding Peter had passed, and today was the decathlon meet.

Ned handed Peter a breakfast sandwich still wrapped in paper. Peter blindly accepted it, his eyes still glued to the study guide in his lap. “Thanks.” He deftly unwrapped the sandwich and took a large bite.

“What happened to your face?” Ned tucked into his own sandwich, eyeing the bruise that had bloomed across Peter’s eye. “Don’t you have like, healing powers or something?”

Peter quickly shushed Ned. “It’s not ‘healing powers’, it’s enhanced healing.” Again, concentrating on the study guide, his lips pressed into a thin line. “A mugger punched me.” The smirk in his friend’s voice caused Peter’s shoulders to sag.

“You swung into a building, didn’t you?”

“Maybe just a little.” Peter replied

The snicker shielded behind Ned’s hand was the only response.

“It’ll hopefully be gone in a few hours.” Peter stated.

“Must’ve hit pretty hard.”

Peter folded up his study guide and tucked it into his bag. “So, have you talked to MJ?” For the past two days Peter had been asking the same question, with the same result. Each time Ned replied, Peter’s chest constricted farther. He found asking somewhat doused the blistering fire ravaging the cage of his ribs. Each day, he snuck more questions about MJ and Ned into conversation, hoping Ned would take the bait. Peter told himself he was only being inquisitive, told himself that the flame licking his interior was nothing more than curiosity.

“Actually, yeah,” Peter’s eyes zipped over to Ned’s, searching to find any extra information. “She answered the phone last night.”

Peter’s entire body pivoted towards Ned. He was up on his haunches now, ready to pounce. Grabbing Ned’s shoulders, Peter pulled him the smallest bit closer. “Well, what did she say?”

The natural almond shape of Ned’s eyes rounded. The shoulders beneath Peter’s increasing grip, stiffened. “Uh, nothing much. We just talked.” From the pitch of his voice, Peter found Ned’s statement unconvincing.

“Dude, you know I can tell when you’re lying right?”

Ned shrugged himself out of Peter’s hold. “Well, we did. We talked. That’s what people do on the phone.”

“What did you talk about?” Peter’s felt like all heat in his chest was aimed into lasers cutting Ned open.

Ned scrapped his teeth along his lip. His eyes broke away from Peter, all cylinders firing. “I, uh—I can’t tell you.”

“Why?” And then, the most horrific reasoning shot into Peter’s brain, as violently as possible. Maybe they’d not talked about the fight at all. Maybe, they’d talked about intimate things. Oh god. “Were you guys talking about—” His tongue suffered some type of temporary paralysis. He muddled through, forcing out the next words. “—like, sexual stuff?”

It was the first time Peter had seen Ned turn totally red. It wasn’t just a slight coloration under his dark skin. No, he was confident saying there was a full blush taking hold of his friend’s entire face. “No! Oh my god, no. That’s just—ugh,” His body managed a quiet shiver. “That’s so not what happened. That’s just gross.” He was still shaking his head, face blown into utter shell-shock.

Peter recoiled. “What did you say then?”

Ned, still reeling from Peters question, took a large chunk out of the breakfast sandwich dangling in his hand. “No. I mean, MJ’s great and all, don’t get me wrong. Super pretty, nice when she wants to be. But no, I’m just not into her that way and—” He froze in the middle of his sentence, mid chew on his sandwich. Peter could see the sense of doom crawling over his friend’s face. Something horrific was playing behind his eyes.

“Hold on, what?” Peter managed. There was a concoction of dangerous emotions welling up around his lungs, causing the air suck in. He hated to feel so relieved, Ned had sounded so dismissive to MJ, she didn’t deserve that. But then again, Peter had never known Ned to be so heartless with other’s feelings. It was like a frenzy. The fire was lighting in so many places across Peter’s body. Electricity felt like it was crackling in the air.

On the other hand, Ned looked completely shell-shocked. War veterans may have thought the poor kid had gone through some gruesome battle with the empty, terrified expression he wore. When his breathing picked up after it’s momentary pause, two small words wheezed out of his lips, “Oh shit.”

“What do you mean, Ned? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Peter tried again, not willing to let this opportunity slip him by. Ned had been acting weird ever since the secret came out about MJ and him. “What’s going on, dude? Seriously, you can tell me. Just what’s going on with you and MJ? Why aren’t you talking to me about it? You haven’t told me anything.”

Ned stood up, clearing his throat, searching for a way to escape. Peter could see the flight response in his eyes. “MJ has been all we’ve been talking about for the past two days.”

“No, you’ve been avoiding all of my questions. What aren’t you telling me?”

Ned glanced down the hall, chuckling. “You know, I think I dropped my study guide down the hall.” He tried to slip past Peter. Peter caught him by the arm, the momentum swinging them around. Somewhere behind them Flash made some lame joke about them dancing together.

Peter, hand clasped around Ned’s arm, begged him silently to talk to him. “Look, it sucks that you and MJ didn’t tell me about your relationship. I thought we were friends and you guys have totally shut me out and it’s seriously freaking me out. I just want to know what’s going on. Please, just, don’t shut me out.” Peter let his hand drop from Ned’s arm, too tired to fight the crush of desertion as he spoke what had been boiling under the surface for days.

There was a moment of silence, of understanding between the two. Ned was the first to break it, a sharp breath sucked in before he spoke. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” A smile stretched across Ned’s lips. Not the reaction Peter was expecting. “You’re totally digging MJ.”

“What? No. That’s not what’s—No. I’m not into—She’s your girlfriend. That’s just—” It just wasn’t true. MJ was his friend, just a friend. So, what if she had incredible hair, or soothing eyes? And, yeah, maybe he loved it when she watched Star Wars with him and her arm touched his just slightly, but Peter definitely didn’t love her. Peter didn’t love how when she looked into his eyes it was like he had never known loneliness. He, for sure, didn’t love that when she sang under her breath she captured the world’s attention with her melody. He didn’t think it was amazing that her hard exterior could handle anything the world threw at her, and it definitely wasn’t his favorite thing about her. Peter didn’t love Michelle, didn’t like her in any way beyond a platonic kinship. There was no way he had feelings for his sharp, sarcastic, and intelligently annoying friend. No way that he secretly loved that her style was a kaleidoscope of weirdness, or when her hair was secured to her head or floated around in natural coils. There was just no possible way that Peter felt that way about Michelle Jones.

“Peter, you’re awesome and all, but sometimes you’re actually really stupid.” Ned’s words broke Peter from his stupor. Ned was only smirking at him, no signs of betrayal that his best friend liked his girlfriend. Suddenly the anxiety, the fire in Peter’s chest, made so much more sense. The light bulb flickered on. Peter felt the realization crash into him. The circuitry in his brain fired and sparked. “Oh, dear god.” He tried to gauge Ned’s response. “I’m—I think... What am I gonna tell Gwen? Oh god, Ned, I’m so sorry.” He was frantically gesturing, as though to show just how sorry he was.

Ned reassured him with a calming smile. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? You’re dating MJ. How is this not a big deal to you?”

Sighing, Ned rolled his eyes. “Dude, did it ever occur to you that maybe MJ and I aren’t dating?”

Peter stopped. “No, Ned. That was not something that crossed my mind.” Peter kept his voice level, but his brain was raging. “Wha—why would she say you guys are a couple then?”

Ned waved down the hallway, a smile breaking on his face. “Hey, MJ.” Peter jerked his head over to look. Walking down the hall, the light from the windows dancing across one side of her face, was MJ. Her teeth bit aggressively into the apple in her hand, and she raised her brows in greeting. “Maybe, she just wanted people to stop asking so many questions.” Ned answered under his breath as she approached.

“Alright Losers,” MJ said as she pulled open the door to the practice room. “Let’s hit the drills one last time. We’ve got three hours before we need to check in.”

Mr. Harrington, who had been awaiting MJ outside the practice room with everyone else, sighed. “Michelle, how many times do I have to tell you not to address the team as ‘Losers’.”

Ned pushed the still miffed Peter into the room after the rest of the team. Peter glimpsed MJ moving the table around and setting up the chairs on one side. “It’s just a simple team motivation strategy, Mr. Harrington. Makes them work harder.” She shot him an innocent smile and Peter thought maybe the room had exploded. There was no excuse as to why it took him so long to notice how his fingers and toes seemed to tingle around MJ, or how her smile caused his chest to swell.

“Bro, pull yourself together. Stop staring before it gets weird.” Ned hissed in his ear.

Peter blinked a few times, effectively cutting off his wandering thoughts. “MJ, do you think—”

“Alexa, you’re going to be put in for the competition. Justin can’t make it.” MJ’s eyes were focused on the study sheet in her hands. She marked something on the paper before shoving the pen behind her ear.

Flash scoffed. “Are you serious, Michelle? She’s brand new. I’ve been on the team for a year.”

Scowling, MJ turned to look at Flash. “Maybe it's because I don’t want to screw this up. You’ve never answered a single question during competition. And what you do answer during practice is wrong half the time.”

Flash started complaining to Mr. Harrington.

Peter turned to Ned. “Why is she still so pissed at me? You said she talked to you.”

“I told you, I can’t tell you.” Ned shrugged off his bag. “Just try talking to her yourself.”

Laughing quietly, Peter dropped his own bag to the floor. “Right, I never thought about that. How silly of me.” His eyes were murderous. Ned only shrugged before taking his seat at the table.

“The next person to talk is going to end up with a leather boot up their ass.” MJ wasn’t looking at Peter, but he snapped his jaw shut nevertheless. Peter plopped in next to Ned, shooting daggers his way.

From his chair behind MJ, Mr. Harrington let out a long, tired sigh. “Michelle, no threatening the team, and please watch your language.”

“Sorry,” She cleared her throat, readying her papers. “Alright. Economics. If the money multiplier equals eight, the reserve ratio equals?”

……………………………………………………………………..

Quarter to one o’clock, the team started to get ready to head backstage. Everyone was placing their cell phones and study guides into their bags, some of them sliding back into their bright yellow coats. Peter slid past Ned and dropped his sheet and phone into his bag.

MJ was marking something else on her study guide in the spot she’d been standing throughout the practice. When she placed the pen between her teeth, folding the paper neatly, Peter lightly pushed her by the small of her back out of the room.

“What the hell?” When they were in the hallway, tucked away in a classroom doorway, she elbowed his hand off her back.

Her glare was piercing, but Peter’s was growing with intensity too. The burning anxiousness that had been creating hopeless ash over the past two days burst into anger. “I could ask you the same thing.” His voice hissed, his words a snake, leaking the venom that had been shut inside him for days. He stepped closer, eyes just barely having to glare up at her. If she were barefoot she’d be the same height as him, but her clunky boots always gave her the advantage. “You’ve been ignoring me for days. I’ve tried to talk to you and you didn’t listen. I’ve been worried. You can’t—” Peter managed a strangled breath, pushing back down the words he couldn’t say. The words that showed Peter Parker couldn’t handle three days of being ignored by her because he felt abandoned. Instead, he averted his eyes, trying to come up with the right words. “I’m sorry about the movie night. Gwen pushed and so did I, and you’re right, it’s nobody’s business. I was just curious who you liked, and when Gwen started asking about you and Ned. I thought you guys were a couple and didn’t tell me. I never wanted to make you so upset, but I just—I can’t keep wondering if you hate me over this. If you want to flush a year long friendship down the toilet because of one mistake that’s your decision, but I don’t agree with you on that. You just mean—”

“Peter, calm down.” Her voice, smooth, with just enough edge, brought him back. He realized he hadn’t really been seeing anything at all until her eyes enveloped his vision. The steady, unwavering, gaze that he’d been striving to connect with for days was now focused solely on him. Her hand reached over and gently squeezed his wrist, spreading a cool warmth up his arm. The feeling of desolation—of being the boy stuck forever in the prison of a room—was fading, floating away into the wind. “I’m not angry.” She still wore her dissociation from the world like a mask on her face, but it was just a mask. Peter could see the emotion brimming in her eyes. The guilt. “I was embarrassed. Really embarrassed, about letting everything boil over like that, and then yelling at you. I feel so bad about it.” She was fiddling with the paper still clutched in her hands.

This was one of the few times Peter saw MJ lacking her hardened exterior. He could see the uncertainty washing over her face. There was even the slightest blush kissing her nose and cheeks.

Peter crushed her into an embrace, his chin resting perfectly on the curve of her shoulder. Her body froze. In all the time Peter knew MJ, he couldn’t remember a time when they’d ever hugged. “I was so worried you’d never talk to me again.” MJ’s heart was beating against his chest and it was the most wonderful thing he’d experienced in his life. It was home. “Next time,” He spoke into her hair, which smelled like lavender, “I’d rather you yell at me for three days than ignore me.” She laughed against his shoulder, just a chuckle, but he felt it soothing the barbed knot that had been tightening in his throat.

“Fair enough, Loser.” When her slender arms wound around his shoulders, he was no longer grounded to the earth. He was grounded to her.

“Peter?” He knew the voice. He broke away from MJ, and if there had been a sound of their embrace breaking, it would’ve been a booming crack.

There Gwen stood, dressed in her Student Council sweater and a flowing tulle skirt that was the same cream color as her hair. Her eyes shot between Peter and MJ, calculating. “Gwen, hey. Uhm, MJ and I were just having a friendship moment there.” Guilt was clawing his stomach to shreds. He wasn’t planning on breaking up with her until after Prom. He wasn’t going to be the heartless dick who broke up with her a week before the biggest dance of the year.

Gwen smiled, her teeth perfectly straight and white against the peach coloring of her lips. Peter sensed no malice behind her smile. “I’m glad you guys made up.” She motioned her head down the hall, her fingers folding into both her pockets. “But the decathlon is about to start, and I’ve been tasked to come find you. So, you might want to book it in there.”

MJ stuffed the paper in her pocket. She glanced at the clock above the lockers on the opposite wall. It was five to one. “Oh, Shit!” MJ was already sprinting down the hall.

Gwen, with her hands hidden in her sweater, her smile turned into a sweet grin. The smallest drop of sadness in her eyes. Peter stepped toward her, reaching out. He wanted to explain, tell her that he didn’t know this would happen, that he didn’t want to hurt her. “Gwen—”

“It’s ok, Peter. We’ll talk later.” She bumped her shoulder against his, that same wonderfully kind smile was still on her lips. In a way, he wished she’d just be angry with him, her kindness was making him feel worse. “Now go. You’ve got a competition to win.”

…………………….

“We are now entering sudden death. The next team to answer this question correctly will win the District Competition and advance to Regionals this June.” The host of the decathlon presented a showy smile to each side, gesturing with a manicured hand to the small trophy the winning team would receive as a physical prize.

Peter shifted in his seat, setting his elbows on the table. There were bells placed in front of each of the twelve participants. Six on each team. Everyone was gearing up for the question. “Alright, here is our final question of the night!” Each person on both tables leaned forward just the slightest bit. “This is an Economics question. The question is: If the money multiplier equals eight, the reserve ratio equals?”

MJ’s hand slammed down on the buzzer. “Midtown Tech?”

Peter couldn’t believe their luck. The question was exactly how they’d studied it during practice. Mr. Harrington had even mentioned that the money multiplier wasn’t mentioned in depth in the practice guides and studying it wasn’t crucial.

MJ shrugged, turned her head towards the official, and Peter could see the slightest twitch of her lip. There was the glimmer of pride in her eye. He could see how much this meant to her. “Twelve-point-five percent.”

There was a drawn-out silence. The entire team knew they’d won, they were all trying to keep their excitement to a minimum until it was officially announced. Peter clasped Ned and MJ’s hands under the table. “Midtown Tech has won the District Division!” The team immediately ruptured into shouts and chants. Peter swept MJ out of her seat and hugged her. The entire team joining in. He could feel her quiet laughter bubbling over everyone’s happy shouts. Her beaming smile was pressed against Peter’s neck. Out in the crowd somewhere, Peter could distinctly hear May screaming over the applause.

The group-hug lasted only a few seconds more before the team broke off. They all collectively walked over to shake the other team’s hands. A particularly greasy looking kid gave MJ more of a sneer than a polite smile. Her face remained cold as ever, but it didn’t stop Peter from glowering at the kid when he shook his hand.

Before Peter could even reach the next person, the kid called over the official. The crowd was still cheering, Ned was pushing at Peter to move, but something bad was about to happen. He could feel the tingle rushing over his arms, up his neck. When the official arrived at the boy, Peter perked his ears up. Pushing away Ned’s jabbing hands, Peter shushed Ned as the official leaned his ear to the boy’s mouth.

Peter picked up the conversation easily, it was second nature by this point. “Sir, I don’t mean to be a poor loser. But, I’m only concerned about Midtown Tech’s captain.” Peter’s eyes shot over to MJ, she was shaking the last person’s hand, starting to move toward the edge of the stage. “Sir, I only noticed that she has a paper sticking out of her pocket, I was concerned that it was possibly a guide or quiz answers. I found it suspicious she knew so quickly the final question after my team had only begun working it out.” Peter’s heart stopped. As the kid had said, there was a folded sheet of paper barely sticking out of MJ’s back pocket. It had been hidden up until this point by her decathlon jacket. When they’d all hugged her, it must have pushed her jacket behind the paper. Peter knew with absolute certainty MJ had no idea it was still there.

With a few words into a walkie-talkie, the official called for MJ to be taken aside. Peter had managed five swift steps towards her, but she was already to the edge of the stage, just out of his reach, when a security guard pulled her off to the side. Mr. Harrington arrived beside her just before Peter did. “Miss, we’re going to have to ask to see your pockets.”

Mr. Harrington interjected, “What’s this all about?” He shoved the glasses back up his nose, his eyes carrying over the officer.

“Sir, your student has been accused of cheating—”

“What?” MJ’s arms swung out, nearly elbowing Peter’s gut, before she folded them firmly across her chest. Peter attempted to slip his hand into her pocket, just enough to grab the paper and store it in his own jacket.

“Sir,” The officer’s tone was unyielding, and Peter’s head snapped up. His fingers were inches from the paper, but the officer was right there, his eyes clearly staring at the little corner of white peeking out of MJ’s forest-green jeans. “I see what you’re trying to do, and you need to back away.”

MJ twisted her head around, her glare finding Peter’s fingers inches from her bottom, and inches from the paper in her pocket. Her indifference broke so thoroughly, so quickly, Peter felt like he’d been gut punched. Stoic and unbreakable as MJ was, it was like crushing diamonds when her eyes burned out. The flicker of fire in them giving way to dread.

“It’s mine!” The confession was easy. He needed to save MJ from that look plastered on her face, from the thing inside her that was causing her eyes to dim so drastically. He could save her from it. Peter knew he could. He stepped in front of her. Looking the officer dead in the eye and lied. “It’s mine, I was planting it on her.” Four pointed knuckles jabbed into Peter’s back, He shot MJ a hard glare over his shoulder, urging her not to intervene.

The officer crossed his arms, unconvinced. “Why would you sabotage your own team member?”

The entire team was starting to circle around. Mr. Harrington was trying his best to push them back, as well as get a word in with the officer. Peter spoke over him. “I, uh—hate her. I’d rather see the whole team go down than have her win for us.”

The officer swept Peter out of the way. “Look, kid, I really don’t have time for heroics. Come on, Miss.” MJ stepped up to the officer, oozing broken confidence, and pulled out the paper in her back pocket. Her fingers dropped it into the officer’s hand.

An official showed up, talking over the radio. Midtown’s principal trailed behind. “Is this her?” The official asked. The officer nodded, and before Peter could get another word in, they were taking MJ away with Mr. Harrington in tow.

The entire team converged on Peter. Flash was grasping their newly won trophy like an idiot. “Parker. What just happened?”

The anger was tinting his world red, he wanted to punch that sniveling kid who’d ratted on MJ. He looked over. The kid was gone. Flash was the only asshole available. “Put down the trophy, Flash. You didn’t even compete, you look like an idiot.”

Flash’s chest puffed out, his nostrils flared, and Peter was ready to aim his fist right at them. “Say that again, Penis. I dare you.” Flash growled.

All Peter needed to do was cock his fist back and let it fly. He got as far as snapping his back his fist before two small hands were pulling his arm down. Two more arms were holding him back. Ned was yelling in his ear to leave Flash alone, that he wasn’t worth it.

“You’re so fucking full of yourself!” Years of pent up anger, of swallowed pride, was bursting from Peter at the seams. Ned was dragging him back with the help of the mystery hands. Abe was grasping with all his might to keep Flash from launching at Peter.

When the stage door closed and there was nothing but the silence of the hallway and the shimmering light of the evening sun filtering through the glass, Peter finally shrugged Ned off.

“Dude, what was that?” Peter turned to Ned and could only stare at the scrape on the peak of Ned’s cheekbone.

“Where did—? Ned, did I do that?” A rush of shame hit him. He’d hit his best friend. He’d lost his temper.

Ned touched his cheek lightly, checking for blood. “It’s not a big deal, Peter. You just bumped me.” He smiled, as if that would fix Peter’s impending guilt.

“Peter, what’s going on? What was that?” Gwen stepped out of nowhere, Peter assumed she’d been the other set of hands pulling him back. He rapidly checked her for any bruises, but she seemed fine. Her ponytail was now slightly askew.

The hum in Peter’s bones, the memory of MJ’s face, crippled him. His back smacked against the wall and he sunk. The ground smacked his bottom hard, his head fell between his hands. “They think MJ cheated. When I talked to her before we went in, I’d grabbed her before she put her study guide away. We had to run to get in the gym on time and she must’ve put it in her pocket without thinking.” He sighed. “They could expel her.”

“I don’t think they’d expel her. She’s an amazing captain and she’s got amazing grades. There’s no way they’ll expel her for cheating. She didn’t even cheat, we both sat by her, there’s no way she cheated.”

Peter knocked his head back against the bricks of the wall. “May’s probably wondering what’s going on. Why she hasn’t seen us yet.” Peter stood, ready to go seek her out and explain what’s been going on.

Gwen helped him up, worry etched into her brows. “Ned, maybe you could go get Peter’s aunt and then meet us by the principal's office? That’s probably where they took MJ. Is that ok, Peter?”

Peter could only stare for a long moment. Gwen was a gorgeous and wonderful person. He could only hope that she found a guy that deserved her. “Yeah, that works.” Ned headed off down the hallway, leaving Gwen and Peter alone.

Peter risked a glance at Gwen. He knew the conversation was coming, and he had no idea how to broach it.

The subject was addressed by Gwen right away. “You love her, don’t you?” There was a long spell where she gave Peter the time to find his words. None of the words or sentences he could think of would do. He didn’t even know if he loved MJ, but he sure knew that he liked her a lot. After a reasonable amount of Peter’s floundering jaw, Gwen cut in again, her voice sweet and calm. Her hands were tucked into her yellow student council sweater yet again. “You do, even if you don’t want to admit it. I have a good eye for these types of things, always have.” Her smile was small, understanding, and he ducked her head down. The fine hairs on her ponytail hovered in the minuscule breeze walking created. “I know this isn’t the time to bring this up, but were you going to tell me?”

Peter finally swallowed his tongue and managed to find some words. “Yes. I mean, I only figured it out today—that I like her. I was going to tell you as soon as I could, though. But I didn’t want to tell you before Prom and ruin it for you. I asked you and I still want you to have a good time, it’s just—”

“I’m just not the person you want to be with the most.” She shrugged. “I’m not going to say I’m not upset. I do like you, Peter. You’re very kind and funny, but I’m sure that this won’t hurt for too long.” Peter cocked an eyebrow. She laughed. “You know what I mean. We’ve barely started this,” She motioned between the two of them. “Thing.”

Peter laughed this time. “I really am sorry. I didn’t want you not to have a date for Prom.”

“Oh, I’ll have a date. You can’t get out that easy, Parker. I’d love to go as friends, if you’re not set on dumping me completely, that is.” She bumped her shoulder into his, stopping outside of the darkened front office. Peter could see a sliver of light under the door.

He took a glance away from the door and smiled at Gwen. Her eyes were soft, if a little sad, but in all she looked okay. “Nope. I’d be honored to take you out.” Gwen smiled back at him. She wrapped an arm around Peter’s bicep. It was comfortably platonic and did well to help calm the anxieties rearing their ugly heads.

There was a door between MJ and himself. He could be doing so much more to help her, but he was stuck on the wrong side of the door.

When Aunt May and Ned showed up, they had half the team in tow. They’d ended up camped outside of the office, waiting. The afternoon light turned into the blue ashy color of twilight. May had been trying to get ahold of MJ’s mom, but it repeatedly went to voicemail every time. Peter mentioned that MJ had said last week that her mom was going to be out of the country on business. May left multiple voicemails and text messages just to be safe.

By the time the lights flicked on in the hallway, Cindy’s head was on Alexa’s lap and her feet in Abe’s. Ned had placed both MJ’s and his bag beside him against the wall. He was going through his phone to pass the time. Gwen had also stayed, her head resting against Peter’s shoulder as she to scrolled through her phone. Seeing how she switched her position every ten or so minutes, Peter realized he was nothing more than a more comfortable cushion than the wall.

May checked her watch. “They’ve been in there for a while.” She eyed Peter with a sly smile. “You think she’s putting up a fight?”

“If she didn’t I’d be worried.” Peter said. The light under the office door flickered. Flickered again.

May’s smile turned into a retrospective, prideful one. “That’s my girl.”

Then Peter could see people through the glass. He bolted up, Gwen and Ned following soon after. The decathlon official, with her curly red hair and snug high-waisted khakis, emerged first, casting a curious look towards the group of kids sprawled on the floor. The officer then emerged, followed by Mr. Harrington. May shot over to Mr. Harrington instantly. They began talking in hushed whispers, as was common with adults in situations like this.

MJ snuck around Mr. Harrington, her eyes never rising from the floor. Peter couldn’t see the brown of them beyond her bangs. He took a small step forward, before Gwen grabbed his wrist. So lightly that only he could hear, Gwen whispered. “I don’t know her like you do, but she doesn’t look like she wants to talk right now.”

Peter was just about to discount what Gwen had said until MJ’s eyes finally, painfully slowly, dragged up to meet Peter’s. The blood in his veins came to a complete halt, he felt the impact deep in his chest, piercing the place where everyone he cared about was kept.

Michelle Jones was crying.

Her eyes were puffy, red, and even as she looked at him a tear skidded down her cheek, crashing into her lips. Her throat visibly contracted. Her eyes bounced between Ned and Peter, Peter and Gwen.

Peter had no idea what had happened, what had gone so wrong as to cause MJ to cry. He never thought God himself could make MJ cry. It just wasn’t possible.

“MJ—” He reached out, ready to catch her, wanting desperately to heal her. “What happened?”

His only answer was the quiet shake of her eye as she averted her eyes once more and walked down the hallway. Everything was silent. May had halted her conversation, eyes raking over MJ, just as shocked as the others.

Ned called after her so did Peter, neither one knowing if they should run after her or not. She disappeared around the corner, looking like a specter floating aimlessly away. “What do we do?” Ned asked the question, Peter needed the answer. He was so close to running after her, he would have if the shock of what just happened hadn’t immobilized him.

May stepped between the boys, her eyes never leaving the corner MJ had disappeared behind. “You don’t do anything right now. I’ll go talk to her, see what I can do.”

Neither boys argued, they merely watched as May disappeared around the corner after MJ.

Taglist: @themainek @monikastec @psychicrunawaybouquet-aus @avengers-gonna-avenge @nerdofthehighestcalibre @itsrockannelove @ladybugrodriguez @you-guys--are-losers @princessechahrazad @whydoineedtowriteanamehere

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1984fm · 2 years ago

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1984FM. an independent and private writing blog for SLOANE KELLY, a stranger things original character running an underground radio station that keeps a keen eye on everything happening in hawkins and cautions its listeners to question everything, and never take what they’re told at face value. written by selena, 29, she/her.

temporary rules + character info below the cut

001. selective and private. I prefer to build strong plots and connections and thus won’t be following a large amount of blogs for that reason. if I can see our muses interacting, I’ll follow. if it’s been a few weeks without any interaction or plotting, etc. I’ll likely softblock just to keep my dash tidy.

002. activity is on the lower end of the spectrum. this isn’t my only blog and I have a full time job and do streaming on the side to help cushion the cost of living. I’ve also got a weak immune system and am chronically ill, so I’m prone to getting sick and taking small breaks from tumblr in the interest of my health. your understanding is appreciated.

003. general rp etiquette rules apply, as well as the common sense “be a decent human being” rules. don’t be hateful, don’t guilt trip, don’t try and start anything, etc. we’re all here to unwind and have fun, right?

004. I generally enjoy shipping but prefer to feel out chemistry. don’t let this hinder you from throwing out plot ideas that could lead to a ship; even if it doesn’t, we can definitely make something just as good work.

005. psd is lavishly by creation color. I’m iconless because I’m lazy but all graphics are by me unless otherwise stated.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄.

full name. sloane elaine kelly. age / dob. 17 / march 15 1969 gender. cis female sexuality. bisexual ( closeted ) occupation. high school junior, underground radio host ( unpaid ). parents. angela kelly and the late oliver kelly. general backstory. a good student, sloane kelly comes off as painfully ordinary and unassuming to all at hawkins high. she doesn’t go out of her way to put herself out there and people write her off as another shy wallflower when she’s more interested in breezing through school and getting out of hawkins. what the student body isn’t privy to is the fact that sloane spends her nights and weekends pulling together THE WATCH, the hottest ( and only ) underground radio show in hawkins. her devoted audience knows her only as THE OBSERVER, a nameless and faceless harbinger of the hidden truth of what’s going on in the shadows of hawkins.

#PINNED.

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reylo-is-strong-in-this · 7 years ago

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Can you write a scene in a soulmate AU? I just love that dynamic, don't worry about your grammar I'm sure It will be fantastic.

Thank you so much!

It’s not good, but I really do hope you enjoy it.

I tried to write it in Canon-verse, but somehow i just couldn’t.

Rey used to be fascinated by the idea of soul marks when she was young. Growing up in an orphanage with no one there for you tended to make a girl daydreamed about her very own prince charming. She used to spend hours imagine how their first encounter would be like. She had always been an optimist, according to people around her.But when her soul mark appeared on her wrist on her first day as a barista in a coffee shop near her college, she couldn’t help but cringed.‘BENJAMIN SOLO, 31 Oct, 1990’The name was not common enough for her to think it could’ve been someone else, but the TA from her history class was just so…awkward. He kept to himself and rarely ever spoke, she just found it hard to believe the universe would pair her up with someone so…dull.It didn’t help that soul marks are exclusive for female either. She couldn’t tell if he was interested in her at all, or if he knew that they were soulmates. He just came in the coffee shop daily for coffee and stayed at the table in the deepest corner of the shop, never said anything to her more than a coffee order.Triple-shot espresso with no sugar, like his aura was not gloomy enough.She sighed, whipped her cell phone out to check for e-mails and text messages. It was a slow afternoon and she was bored out of her mind. She just hoped the person she texted last night responded.‘I don’t think she even know I exist.’A small smile crept on the face as she read the text.Kylo Ren was an exact opposite of Ben Solo, this friend she only met online was charming, lovely, and had a wicked sense of humor that always cheered her up on her bad days. She had been talking to Kylo for the past three years since she joined an e-mail pal program her orphanage organized. They made her used a pen name in order to make her more comfortable to open up with a faceless stranger, from then on, she was Kira, a normal girl with a normal friend whom she had never met.Not that she minded though. It was easier for her to keep her crush on Kylo a secret when he couldn’t see her face.Especially when he was head over heels in love with some girl that did not even acknowledge his existence.Rey kept telling herself that it was for the best they hadn’t met, Kylo had someone out there who rightfully belonged to him, she couldn’t have him no matter how much she wanted to.And she was stuck with Ben Solo.‘Don’t say that. I’m sure she is well aware of you existence.’She typed. Kylo mentioned on several occasion how tall he was. Rey liked to imagine resting her head on his broad chest and listening to the steady beats of his heart.‘It’s not fair. Why are girls allowed to know who she’s gonna spend the rest of her life with and I’m stuck in this stupid guessing game?’She could sense irritation from his text. Clearly Kylo was having a bad day.‘Maybe you choose try and talk to her. Maybe she IS your soulmate, but she is to shy to tell you that.’It pained her to play cupid for a guy her had feelings for, but it wouldn’t be right to tell him to give up. She just want Kylo to be happy.‘She covered her wrist with a huge ass wristband and looked at me like I insulted her father every time we met. I really doubt that’s the case.’“Oh. You poor thing.”She mumbled, resisting the urge to ask him for this bitch’s location and hailed a cab there to knock some sense into her.Rey looked down at her own covered wrist, maybe she was not the one to talk.‘Try to break the ice. Start a conversation. Who knows, you might get a good friend out of this.’She tried to cheer him up. Some woman chose to stay single or marry someone who was not her soulmate and stay friends with the guy who was chosen for her by the universe. It was a rare occasion, but not entirely impossible.‘You know what? I might try that. I mean, it’s not like I’m asking her to marry me, right? Just…wanna talk…’Kylo also did mention in the past that he was not as good at interacting with people as he seemed to be with her. At first Rey didn’t think much of it, but it’s been three months and Kylo still just follow this girl around like a lovesick puppy without so much as a glance from her. Maybe she needed to step in before Kylo did something stupid and sent the girl running.‘What do you plan on talking to her about? You know any of her interests?’Rey typed. ‘Coffee…Plants…Books… I’m pretty sure they are something along that line.’Simple enough.‘Start with something broad, see if she is interested in the topic. You can do it, Kylo.’ She hesitated, then typed. ‘If it didn’t work out. You still have my shoulder to cry on.’‘I really wish you were here.’She smiled at the text, before looking up when she heard a cough. “Umm…”Ben Solo was standing right in front of her. The poor lad looked like he hadn’t sleep in days. But even with that deep shadow under his eyes and his quiet personality, he still was a very attractive man.She just wish he would be more…Kylo.“Yes, sir. How can I help you?” She forced a smile onto her face. Even if Ben had done nothing to her, his mere presence was more than enough to make her felt uneasy.“Do you know that if you drink two cups of coffee daily, you will decrease your risk of committing suicide by 50%” Rey blinked at him. She had no idea how to respond to that.“Umm. 1 cup of triple shot espresso, please.”It was his second cup of the day, so she couldn’t help herself but asked.“Are you trying to lower your suicide risk?”“….”He just stared at her awkwardly. So Rey continued to do her work and just ignore him as usual.When Ben was gone, she picked up her phone again.‘I screwed up. Now she thinks I’m a weirdo!’‘Well, at least she know you exist.’ Rey didn’t dare ask what he said to that girl.‘I wish I was born like 80 years earlier. You know, back in the day, my grandfather just told my grandma he hated sands, and the next thing he knew they were having twins.’‘You father must have been very hot.’ That was all she could reply.‘He was.’‘How about you pretend to bump into her. Or drop something for her to pick up. You know, like a proper high class lady you are.’ She teased. Suddenly, a sound of a coffee cup shattering the floor caught her attention. She almost rolled her eyes when she saw Ben knelt down to pick up the pieces.“Let me do it.” She told him and knelt down beside the tall figure. They were so close she could feel the burn of her soul mark, begging for her to tell him he was the one.“Sorry.” He mumbled. His voice sounded deeper when he was close. He looked nervous and guilty.It made him seemed a little more approachable somehow, and for a moment, Rey even thought that expression was rather cute.“No problem.”Rey said, looked away from Ben’s face. It was her job to clean up after customer anyway.When she got back to her phone, there were tons of texts waiting for her.‘Nope. Didn’t work.’ ‘And I pretty sure she hates me now.’‘Kira. Do you think it’s time we actually meet up?’‘I could really use a friend right now.’Rey felt her heart slamming into her rib cage. They had talked about meeting up from time to time, but it just didn’t feel right. Even calling each other on the phone didn’t feel right, so they stuck with texting ever since.But she sensed that Kylo really could use a shoulder to cry on right now.‘Sure. I’m working part time in a coffee shop right now. I’ll sent you a location.’She knew Kylo was near by. He mentioned working in this area after quit from his mother’s company.‘What?’That was the only thing the test said after he got her location.‘What’s what?’ She typed, and that was when her phone rang.Kylo names flashed across the screen, considering how long she had his number, this should not be surprising to her, but she couldn’t help but swallowed at the thought of hearing Kylo’s voice for the first time.“Hel- Hello?”“Kira?”His voice sounded shocked, shaken, and very, very Ben Solo.Rey looked up from the counter. Ben Solo was staring at her with his mouth wide open. Rey couldn’t do anything but staring back with exactly the same expression.“Ky- Kylo?”He hung up the phone, walking straight to her. Rey should have run. She should have said something.Instead, she just froze.Kylo bit his lower lip. His eyes dropped to the wristband on her wrist.“I’m sorry. I should have gotten the clue.” He pointed at her wrist. “He is a lucky guy.”“I-”Rey couldn’t wrapped her mind around the thought. It has never occurred that they could be the same person.“You are…different from what I pictured.” That was all she could mutter. and she regretted it the second it left her mouth.“Yeah. I’m kind of a freak in real life.” He scratched his neck, heat crept from his face to his neck and ears.And somehow, Rey found that quite adorable.“Don’t say that.”She said, slowly pulling her wristband off her wrist. “You are not a freak.”His eyes widen as he saw the name written across her wrist, branded her as his by the universe.But instead of being happy, Kylo just looked hurt.“Am I that much of a disappointment that you chose to cover up my name and pretend I don’t exist?”“What? No!” Rey cried. she bit her lower lip, and decided to answer him honestly. “When your name appeared. I was already in love with someone else.”Kylo looked like he just got punched in the stomach. “He was my first friend, my only friend, the only person in this world who gave a damn whether I lived or died.” She looked into his eyes, and continued. “We fit together. When I talked to him I felt like I wasn’t alone. Like no matter how far away he was, he was still right there for me.”Kylo just looked confused, which make her confession harder than it already was.Rey sighed.“I fell in love with him even without knowing his real name, what he looked like, or what he sounded like.” She smiled softly. “Well, not until today, at least.”Kylo’s face looked almost comical when he came to realization of what she just said. His face broke into a smile for the very first time, and Rey felt her heart beating rapidly inside her chest.“I…” She blushed, looked down to her feet when she talked to him. “I don’t like sand.”She heard a soft chuckled forming in his throat. Man, she could listen to that sound all her life.“Careful there, I heard having twins is a lot of work.”“How about we grab something to eat first?” She relaxed. That was Kylo she knew.“Sure, and on our way back to the campus we can pick up some onesies for the twins. You can’t be too prepared.”“Shut up, Ben.” Rey smiled.“See, we aren’t even married and you already know how to boss me around.” He teased. “Oh. And I have one more question?”“Yeah?” “What’s your name?”

#reylo #reylo prompt #kylo ren #ben solo #rey #my first prompt ever!#star wars #i don't know how to grammar

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