#I love these three idiots more than life itself

[hahahaillmurderyou]

I’m love sick

[dcxdpdabbles]

I love all your stuff! Are you planning to update Passion for Fashion, Child Support, or Congratulations It's Triplets soon? They are some of my favorites! If not, it's chill. Everything you write is kinda awesome so I look forward to anything you are willing to give

The Justice League has kept a weary eye on Danny Constantine because he is the son of one of their less than willing-to-work-in-team members and has found his way onto the youngest hero's team.

Robin, Abuse, and Superboy (the new one, not the Young Justice one) rarely went into the field. They mostly worked within Gotham, handling minor things until they got a feel for the dangers and the work of being a hero.

Bruce, assured everyone that within his city he was fairly sure he could keep them safe. (fairly because let's be honest, it is Gotham. That place was crawling with lunatics- Batman being one of them)

Clack would have preferred if Jon started in a smaller, less dangerous place, but his son has proven more than willing to sneak out to meet with Damian and Colin. It was no secret that Robin was the most trained and the most prepared to lead his team.

That didn't mean they were comfortable with three little children running around risking their lives. Phantom was the group's eldest but also the newest member of the team. He did struggle with his powers, but every day, under the careful eye of Batman's son, he grew more and more in control.

They were pleasantly surprised by how well he fit into the Super Sons. (A work-in-progress name developed when the team had only been Robin and Superboy.). The Justice League had been even more astounded by how careful Phantom was about property damage.

It's true that in a fight, they couldn't help with some damage, but Phantom always went out of his way to remind the other kids mid-battle to be careful and avoid breaking anything. He was more often than not racing after whatever car or building was thrown to faze it through other things.

He even helps the citizens take some photos for insurance purposes. It was shockingly refreshing to see someone worry about the logistics of being a hero.

When asked, Phantom would only blush in embarrassment. "My dad caused a lot of property damage when he drove. I got good at helping people file cases as an apology."

John denied it to everyone, but seeing as Danny's other father was literal Time itself, there was no way he wasn't the idiot on the road. Bruce prepared some lawyers for the people he may have hit and run.

It also helped that Danny seemed to be the new voice of reason within the Super Sons. One that wasn't convinced to try anything by Damian- --- Jon- or follow blindly behind Damian-Collin. He was respectful of Robin's role as leader but was always willing to talk him into respecting the team's suggestions and how to properly communicate. The success rates of Super Sons were skyrocketing with Danny, especially since Danny seemed to be great at PR.

Before Robin and Abuse were not as welcomed by the masses. Robin for being far more violent and rude than his pressors and Abuse for the absolute mountain of muscle that reminded people too much of Bane. Even Superboy was not as warmly noticed simply due to Gothamnics having a bitter rivalship with Metropolis City.

Phantom, on the other hand, was cheerful, helpful, and had enough of his father's sass to make even the worst of Gotham's grin. He also made time out of his day to help the community, walking people home, finding lost pets, cleaning up neighborhoods, and even appearing to clothe and feed whoever he came across.

Bruce himself claimed that a majority of the goons that Danny fought were slowly attempting to turn their life around. Danny had this strange ability to make people feel safe around him, and that let them get comfortable enough to talk about their issues.

It was hard to remember that Danny was blood-related to John Constantine out of all people. His civilian lifestyle, on the other hand, was completely different from his magical father in another way- he was a loser.

While Phantom had this glow, attention-grabbing charisma about him, Danny Constantine seemed to shrink in on himself and fumble with social interactions.

Bruce theorized that his human blood side lacked the near hypnotic attraction of Clockwork. Texts and tombs spoke of Clockwork as temptation itself, and he figured Danny had inherited that intoxicating ability.

This meant that Damian had to be worried about his teammate being bullied out of his sight.

It was displeasing to know that somewhere in the country, Danny was being made fun of, pushed around, or even attacked while he sat in the comfort of his elite school.

If there was one thing Damian Wayne could count as his flaw, it was being feireicly overprotective of those he considered his. That's why he strong-armed his father into paying for Colin to go to Gotham Academy while attempting to convince Clark to transfer Jon.

Jon himself didn't suffer from bullying, so he remained in Metropolis Middle School. His Beloved was moved to his classroom, where Damian had attached himself to his side and scared away anyone foolish enough to attempt to make Colin cry.

Beloved had awarded him with sweet kisses every time, so sometimes Damian hoped the fools of the Academy would try him more often.

Danny however, remained in some stupid school that had teenage boys bother him. John claimed he couldn't afford to send Danny anywhere better, and was seen stressing in the Watch Tower computer room looking into homeschooling.

Apparently, Danny's health depended on healthy relationships with humans. His biology literally attacked him if he couldn't be around people, and John was always pushing for Super Sons to have more meet-ups outside of suits as much as possible while trying to find a new school.

Danny has been moved to four schools already. The bullying just didn't seem to stop no matter where he went as a human.

"Father, it's important," Damian says for the fifth time. "Danny is struggling. It would be better to place him near us to provide protective support."

"Damian, I can't just pay for all your friends' education. It will get suspicious." Bruce sighs. "There are already rumors about Colin."

"But Father, you must think logically. Constantine may have sired him, but Danny is still Clockwork's son. He controls time. He is an entity we can not afford to make into an enemy. I highly doubt he will be pleased by how some mortals have been treating his son." Damian counters, ignoring the rage of the comment about his Beloved. He will find the mouths that will need to be taught to keep Beloved's name out of later. "This could stop whatever retaliation that is sure to be coming in its tracks."

Bruce considered it. "I could try to make it seem like Danny won something on his own....but I'm worried the board is starting to catch on. The other day Babs had to block an investigation of me possibly emblazing funds. "

"Father you do not understand-"

"Bruce!" Tim yelled, racing into the room, holding a laptop. "Bruce, it's Klarion! He's in Gotham."

Damian and Bruce both stiffen in horror. They dislike magic the most, seeing as it rarely follows predictable logic. Not that they couldn't eventually find the answer or the rules of whatever magic user was flowing, but it was a lot longer and headache-inducing. "Why is he here, and what does he want?"

"Well....he's not really doing anything bad?" Tim says, flipping the screen around. On it, the two Waynes can see a flouting teen snapping his fingers turning everything on the street into gold.

"If I was your husband, you would want for nothing!" Klarion cries, sinking to one knee before the startled-looking Phantom. "Oh, great heir of Clockwork, our union would be spoken for generations!"

"Lord of Choas Klarion, I am flattered by your offer but I'm not considering marriage right now." Phantom awkwardly says, rubbing his neck.

"But my young lord, Clockwork has proclaimed that your marriage partner is yours to make," Klarion says, snapping more of his fingers and turning the lined-up cars into large bouquets of roses. People scramble around from the demon, screaming as his magic nearly turns them. "Surely you see if our houses combine we would be unstoppable?"

Phantom's face hardens. "First of all, I don't date anyone for interest. Second, you're starting to bother the people of Gotham so cut it out. Third, I already said no so you-"

"Take a bloody hint and leave my boy alone!" John Constantine screams portaling into the scene with a wave of magic. He throws five powerful spells at the Witch boy who hisses back.

Hisses like a snake.

"Insolent mortal! This does not consider filth like-"

"Don't talk to my dad that way!" Phantom shouts cutting the Choas Lord off.

Klarion demonic features shrink back into a regular face as he blinks in shock. "This moral is your father?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Forgive my rude behavior, sir." Klarion's tone smooths out in an instant, snapping his figures to dust Constantine's shoulders. John frowns at him which makes the witch boy actually stumble. "Surely I can make it up to you? I am very interested in becoming your son-in-law and wouldn't want to make our relationship strain by my hasty behavior"

Bruce reaches over and closes the laptop before they can hear Constantine's response. "We are not dealing with whatever soap drama that was."

"Father!"

[izvmimi]

ember - izuku x reader

cw: spoilers to the end of the manga. reader with vaguely described quirk. izuku and reader are married. short and sweet. a/n: establishing my own new canon, tyvm.

On an evening out in September, six months after you tie the knot with Izuku Midoriya and three years after Izuku returns to active Pro Hero duty, you find out three crucial things about him.

One, Izuku meant it when he said he loves you possibly more than life itself; two, Izuku might not have lost all of the embers of One for All, after all, and three, Izuku is a fucking idiot.

Your body feels unbelievably rigid as though you were in a car accident, and in a way, you were, and your guts should be strewn all over this sparsely populated street if not for the fact that you’re wrapped up, safe, cocooned in your lover’s protective hold, his back curved over yours, and the truck that should have crushed you both instead is partially crumpled itself at its front end, metal twisting around Izuku’s raised forearm. The two of you are panting heavily, the adrenaline coursing through your veins giving you the sensation of having just run a marathon, and he’s looking at you with frantic eyes, scanning you for safety. That long familiar green spark in the air surges around him like electricity, the glow in his green eyes, fading quickly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breathlessly, not out of exertion but out of shock.

“I-Izuku, you’re not…”

He still hasn’t realized what has just happened, focusing on the fact that you’re alive and okay and didn’t turn into roadkill right in front of his very eyes. Unwedging his somehow intact forearm from the grille of the truck, he turns his body completely to you, rubbing his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, and helps you rise to your feet. The static feeling emanating from him slips away second by second and your lips wobbles as you’re at a loss for words.

“Are you okay?” he repeats again. He’s patting you over quickly, looking for broken bones, bruised skin, and your mind is still racing, computing what just happened and why you’re still alive.

He shouldn’t have been able to cross that distance so quickly - you were just waving to him from across the street, the road clear when you looked before crossing, and in seconds the vehicle had barreled at full speed out of nowhere; he couldn’t have moved before screaming your name fast enough, maybe years ago when you were both teenagers with impossible superpowers but not now, years later with superhuman gifts dwindled to nothing. 

He couldn’t have, but he did. 

“I-Izuku, the suit… you’re not wearing your suit,” your voice carries shakily, and as you see his eyebrows unscrunch and raise instead in surprise, he turns, and sees the stopped vehicle, the broken glass and distorted metal, a man hurriedly jumping out of the passenger seat and shakily apologizing, and finally his torn jacket sleeve and it occurs to him.

“Oh, fuck, I’m not.”

—

You watch Mei type on her computer, not bothering to try to decipher her thoughts from her facial expressions, knowing full well that she’s never been readable before. Even years after high school you find that this continues to be true, but the blank but friendly and entranced look on her face is somehow pleasant the more you think about it, and you let yourself let out the breath you’ve been holding.

It’s been just a few weeks since the night Izuku’s Quirk - at least some of it - flickered back into life for the first time, and after you’d berated him for using his literal body to shield you from a danger that could have killed you both, you’d taken the time that evening to use your own Quirk to see if something about his body had gone haywire. To both of your surprises, you’d gotten a flicker of something similar to the old him, but unsure and unwilling to get either of your hopes up, you’d decided to consult with Mei and other experts who worked with Quirk pathophysiology and augmentation (a few of which you’d taken courses with yourself years ago), and now you were back in Mei’s laboratory, trying to see if you could get to the bottom of this.

Since then, the following strange things had happened:

You’d dropped a plate and Izuku had dove for it, the wisp of a Blackwhip tendril just brushing it before it ultimately crashed to the ground, the two of you too stunned to speak.

A group of Izuku’s students heckled him as he leaned in to accept your kiss outside UA, and all of you ended up in a purple haze before you knew it.

Izuku’s midday nap on the couch found him face to face with the ceiling when you finally discovered him, and

A sudden unintentional use of Fa Jin made things very interesting in bed.

“I guess my baby’s doing a better job than I thought it would!” Mei grins. You hunch over her screen, while Izuku’s too hooked up to a tangle of wires to get a good view of the screen himself, and she compares Quirk levels from the beginning of the suit’s conception to now, a previously long-standing flat graph with a steadily rising bump. 

“A miracle,” you whisper under your breath.

“I find that personally offensive.” Mei replies, her facial expression lacking the cheek to compare to her statement as she watches Izuku watch you from behind the glass. She presses a button on the intercom; Izuku grins at you while Mei gives him the instructions to try to activate Blackwhip one more time, and you can feel warmed all the way through. 

—

Slowly but surely, over time, the Quirk levels start to recover, and you, Izuku and Mei try your best to keep it under wraps.

Of course, Katsuki finds out with direct questioning, the purple haze event showing up on an anonymous internet forum propelling him to show up at your doorstep and demand personally that Izuku tell him if he got his quirks back or not.

“We’re not sure how permanent this is, Kacchan,” he offers. Katsuki might as well spit on the ground before him in protest but you’re seated in the living room, and even Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight has enough decorum to not make a mess in someone else’s home.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Midoriya!”

“It’s not a lie!” Izuku insists, and he turns his gaze to you for backup which you swiftly provide.

“Listen, we’re not sure yet, and they’ll probably never get back to normal, but he’s doing his best.” Katsuki grimaces, which annoys you further.

“You’ll get your damn rematch, be patient.” you add, rolling your eyes. Katsuki leers, and his partner pats him on the shoulder.

“He’s just excited,” she translates for him, and Katsuki mumbles something about not needing her for translation every time which doesn’t waver her smile one bit.

“Excited to get his ass beat,” you murmur, reaching over to pour her some more tea. Izuku and Katsuki both stare at you, Izuku with nervous concern and Katsuki with irritation, and just like old days, you and Katsuki’s arguing match begins anew. 

—

As the two of you brush your teeth and prepare for bed, you do your nightly routine of checking how strong Izuku's reawakened Quirk is with your hand on his chest, and he presses his free hand over yours.

“You know, my favorite part of this is you’ll finally start to worry less.” He chuckles and squeezes your hand gently.

You let the water run and clear spittle from the sink, and gargle before you answer, your hand still captive by his, then look at him.

“To be honest, I’ll never stop worrying about you, Izuku. Even if you become God.”

But you understand what he means. You’ve had many a nightmare about suit malfunction, only a few of these you’ve shared with him, among other things that have to do with being a Pro Hero in the capacity he insists to be in. This is a small help. 

A small bit of providence.

He expected this answer, lips pulling into a smile as he takes your hand fully and pulls the fingertips to his lips to kiss them. 

“I’m glad that won’t change,” he replies.

Moments later, you’re laid in bed together, and as you both muse on the potentially altering future in quiet, love-flushed cheeks and hands intertwined, he turns to you suddenly.

“There’s one thing I’m still missing,” he says.

Your eyes refocus to him. He’s pensive now, not sad or upset, but thoughtful. You move closer to kiss him on the lips once before nodding for him to continue.

“What are you missing?”

“Danger Sense,” he says.

“But everything else is back,” you reply. He nods, letting his arm drape around your waist.

“Yeah, but I think I liked that one the most.”

You snort lightly. “Not being able to lift a train, or fly, but 'Super Anxiety' was your favorite?”

You’re making light of the issue to keep the mood from getting too heavy, but he frowns, and you frown back, apologetically. 

“Well, ‘Super Anxiety’ made it so that I knew when bad things were about to happen, and often these bad things could involve you.”

He has the tiniest scrunch to his eyebrows, one that in another situation would have compelled you to rub out with your fingertips, but now is not the time to be playful.

You twist your mouth to the side and a few more moments pass between you, before you add:

“I don’t think you need it, though.”

He raises an eyebrow, and you press a kiss to his forehead.

“All this came back because you wanted to protect me,” you remind him. “You moved without thinking, for me, as always, like you knew I needed you. That's better than Danger Sense by far.”

His face softens as he cups yours in his hands. You're thankful that you've reached him.

“Always for you,” he says.

Even if this miracle is transient and despite your best efforts, his quirk levels fall back to normal instead of steadily growing, the love he has for you, and the love you have for him, will never, ever burn out.

[ltash]

Pest Control 141

Taskforcexfemalereader

You were ready for anything—armed combat, hostile extractions, stealth missions. But what Ghost just called you for? Well, it wasn’t in the job description.

“Oi, get to the common area,” Ghost’s voice crackled through your comms. “We’ve got a... situation.”

You rush in, ready to face some unknown terror. Turns out, the "situation" is an eight-legged monstrosity clinging to the wall, looking like it’s planning world domination. Ghost is standing in the corner, arms crossed, keeping a good six-foot distance between him and the spider.

“You serious?” you say, trying not to laugh. “Ghost, the guy who can take down a platoon single-handed, is afraid of a little spider?”

“It’s not little. Look at the size of it!” Ghost says, nodding toward the creature. It’s huge. You’ll give him that. But still, the irony is too rich to ignore.

“Fine,” you sigh, grabbing a broom like a true warrior. “I’ll take care of it. Stay back, tough guy.”

You inch closer, broom in hand, ready for the mission. Ghost watches closely, clearly not trusting the spider to stay put. With the grace of a seasoned soldier, you raise the broom and swipe—only to miss entirely. Instead of falling to the floor, the spider launches itself… straight onto Ghost’s chest.

The next few seconds are pure chaos.

Ghost lets out a noise you’d never expect from him—half a growl, half a yelp. His hands flail as he tries to bat the spider away, but it’s too late. The thing is clinging to him like a special ops agent on a stealth mission.

“Get it off! Get it off me!” Ghost shouts, running around like he’s under enemy fire.

“Hold still!” you yell, trying to catch up to him with the broom.

“Hold still?!” Ghost snaps, dodging your first broom swing as you chase him around the room like a scene from a slapstick comedy.

In the middle of the commotion, Soap walks in, immediately bursting into laughter. “What the hell is going on in here?”

You barely glance at him, still in hot pursuit of Ghost. “Spider. On Ghost. Stand clear!”

“On Ghost?” Soap is doubled over now, laughing so hard he’s struggling to breathe.

Ghost is still running in circles, arms flailing. “For the love of—just hit it already!”

You aim another swing at Ghost’s chest, but he dodges, and the broom whacks him in the shoulder instead.

“That’s me, you bloody idiot!” he shouts.

“Stop moving, and I’ll hit the spider, not you!”

In one desperate move, Ghost trips over the couch, falls backward, and lands flat on the floor, the spider still crawling around like it owns him.

“Now’s your chance!” Soap shouts, cheering you on like it’s a championship match.

You raise the broom like a gladiator about to strike the final blow and bring it down. This time, you hit the target. The spider goes flying across the room, landing on the window with a satisfying *splat*.

Ghost lies on the floor, panting. “You hit me at least three times, you know that?”

“Yeah, but I got the spider, didn’t I?” you grin, offering a hand to help him up.

He swats it away, muttering, “I’d rather face a whole squad of enemies than deal with that thing again.”

Soap is practically on the floor laughing at this point, tears streaming down his face. “Oh, mate, this is the best day of my life. Ghost, scared of a little spider!”

Ghost pulls himself up, glaring at you both. “Say one more word about this, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Soap wipes a tear away. “Noted. But I’m definitely telling Price.”

You shake your head, trying to contain your laughter as Ghost storms out. Mission accomplished, but you’ll never let him live this one down.

[icallhimjoey]

fake joe! fake joe! we need him now more than ever PLEASE give us some of this soft idiot who loves us more than life itself? 🥺

all RIGHT, here we GO (quick psa: he's not extremely soft in this, but an idiot: always) enjoy! Wordcount: 3.3K

---

All The Aces

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe was wrong, you were stubborn, and it was all right.

It was all right.

You could do things yourself. It was fine. Not as fun, but… not to toot your own horn or anything, but you were pretty good at it. Have had a lot of practice, you see. Have been with enough other men who didn’t know how to do it quite like you could do it yourself, and so, you were fine. You were all right.

However, you weren’t feeling so great when your whole group of friends found out what Joe’d been doing. Friday nights at the pub were a long-standing tradition, and apparently the topic of conversation being your sex life was one too. 

Not a huge surprise, seeing as Izzy still had trouble looking Joe in the eye after witnessing what she had witnessed.

Within fifteen minutes, everyone was brought up to speed. Everyone got updated on what Izzy had seen and heard, got told about this stupid conversation you’d had that one night, and you’d revealed what it had resulted into.

“Wow... can’t believe you’re saying wild shit around Joe like that, you know what he’s like.” One friend had said, blaming you for your own current problem.

“Well,” Izzy had interjected. “Don’t feel too bad for her. You also know what she is like.”

It’d gotten hearty laughs from everyone but Joe. He’d just looked at you over a pint and tried working out what your smug little smile meant.

A couple of jokes later, he’d caught on.

“It’s good I’ve got that magic touch myself, you know?” you’d giggled into your drink, bumping shoulders with your female friends as they laughed and cheersed their drinks with yours as you took a sip.

Oh, Joe caught on all right. And he didn’t like it one bit.

Afterwards, in bed, with Izzy on the other side of the wall, you had only just gotten comfortable when Joe silently whispered, “I think you’re cheating.”

“Mhm, what do you mean, I’m cheating?” you whispered on the backend of a sigh, too tired to turn around to face him, but already gathering the mental strength in case it was going to be necessary.

“Well, you said... before, you said, sex wasn’t about the orgasm, didn’t you? That’s what you said.”

And, big annoyed groan. It was going to be necessary.

“And it isn’t.” You confirmed, just turning your head to find his eyes in the barely there light the outside provided you with.

“Yea, but...”

All right. You were turning over fully now. Spooning was nice, and not smelling Joe’s breath after he’d eaten what smelled like eighteen garlic cloves was lovely too, but this seemed like a chat that needed eye-contact. Or, at least, the ability to tell by Joe’s face if he was being serious or not. 

“But?”

“But then, what you said tonight. You’re just... you’re doing it yourself? All the time? You’re making yourself c–”

“Yea.” You interrupted. “So?” Had he really expected you not to?

“So that doesn’t really count then, does it?” 

You leant up on an elbow, mirroring Joe’s position, eyes level now, ready to tell Joe he was overreacting whilst also trying to keep your voice as quiet as you possibly could. This was the stupidest thing, and Izzy didn’t need to hear it. If she did, it would likely be the topic of conversation next week.

“What do you mean? You try not coming during sex and then wanking on your own the next day. It’s not exactly the same, you know?”

“Yea... yea, I know.” Joe was reminded of the bet that got him into your bed in the first place. That was essentially exactly what he had done for a full week - Joe very muchly knew it wasn’t exactly the same.

“But...”

“But?”

“I don’t know... I don’t like that.” Joe said softly and a little embarrassed. You could tell by his face that he knew you were going to laugh at him. Which you then did. Far too loudly, too.

You were immediately shushed.

“Baby, that’s okay.” Your amusement was audible in your voice, smile still there but eyes on the wall, because: Izzy. “You’re allowed to not like things, I’m sure you’ll survive just fine.”

You were ready to roll back over. Get back into your spooning position where Joe’s body heat would make sure you wouldn’t go cold throughout the night.

“No, I don’t like that.” Joe doubled down, foregoing the whispers, and you paused for a second. Froze, and waited for him to explain himself.

“I don’t want you to orgasm.” Joe then said, a bit softer, barely even saying the last word at all.

But you’d heard him.

Loud and clear.

It was enough to make you roll back slightly. Enough to look over your shoulder and see that... he wasn’t joking.

What the fuck.

You blinked at him a few times.

Gave him a second to maybe take back what he’d just said.

Then, when he didn’t burst into laughter like you thought he should’ve done, you said, “Hey so... remember when we talked about icks a lot?”

“Stop.” Joe rolled his eyes, already annoyed with your response. You weren’t taking him seriously at all.

“I may have just found one.”

“Stop.” Joe let himself fall onto his back and rubbed a hand over his face. It made you turn towards him more, sitting up slightly now. 

“You can’t actually be serious.”

And Joe looked like he was maybe trying to figure out if he was being serious. If maybe actually this was just to be funny. Just a silly goof to make you laugh. But then, he gestured a hand in front of two widened eyes that he let then drop onto his lap.

“Okay, so maybe you are being serious, but I won’t take it seriously.”

Joe gave you a look.

“I’m sorry. I won’t. I don’t think I can.” 

To that, Joe rolled back onto his side and let his fingers find the sleeve of your top to play with.

“Yea, but... do you think you could still be as certain about sex not being about the orgasm if you also then couldn’t orgasm in your own time?” Joe looked up through his eyelashes, big brown eyes trying their best to work their magic on you.

You just blankly stared at him.

Tried thinking of a time when he’d been more ridiculous.

Second-guessed if Joe even was someone you wanted to have in your bed with you right now.

Narrowed your eyes at him when he raised his eyebrows at you, his chin dipping down a little as he did.

“It’d be interesting to know…” Joe shrugged a hopeful shoulder up to his ear, and the little smile he flashed at you made you want to humour him, though not without a small little hint of sarcasm.

“Like a science experiment? Are you going to document your findings? Write it all down and send it in for a Blue Peter badge? What is even–”

But Joe couldn’t care less about how sarcastic you sounded. Didn’t even laugh at your Blue Peter joke.

“No, like me edging you and seeing how long it takes ‘til it drives you mad.”

“Drives me– …. Joe. Come on.”

You decided to turn over fully now. This conversation was done. Over. You were tired. Needed sleep.

“I’m not joking. I kind of, sort of, want to know. A little bit.”

You didn’t respond.

“Hey,” Joe tried.

“Joe, I have deadlines at work.” You let your head find a comfortable spot on your pillow, cheek rubbing into the soft fabric, doing your very best to dismiss Joe.

But Joe wasn’t going to give in so easily, unfortunately.

“So?” Joe cosied up a bit, hoping that maybe a hand on your waist and a leg sneaking its way in between yours would sway you into being a little more agreeable for him.

“So, I’m tired. Good night.”

Joe didn’t accept that.

“So you mean you admit you need to cross the finish line to be able to make deadlines at work?”

“Oh my God, you’re insane. No. Of course not.”

You were tired, but not any less stubborn. You’d happily die on this weird hill.

“So,” Joe let his hand slide over your stomach where it found the hem of your top to sneak under. “Let’s try then.”

“You’re insane.” you murmured into your pillow, ready for this conversation to be over,

God. It was late.

“Please?”

“Ick.”

You were so tired.

“Please.”

“Fine.”

You heard a small little gasp behind you, followed by a beat of silence and then a very quiet and innocent, “Yea?”

You had your eyes closed already, ignoring what you’d just said and determined to will yourself into REM sleep within about four seconds.

“You mean that?”

“Shh, go to sleep. I’m tired.”

And for a moment it was quiet, but then Joe snuggled up and whispered, “Okay.” before he pressed a small little kiss on the skin just behind your ear. “Good night. Hands to yourself.”

You couldn’t help the loud scoff that escaped you then. “I’m going to murder you one day.”

“Shh, go to sleep. You’re tired.”

Tired, and stubborn.

More stubborn than was good for you. Or, than made sense, unfortunately.

There was something about wanting to prove Joe wrong that seemed to be easily redirected, but still held you in its vice grip. You were never going to admit you were wrong. Wouldn’t dream of giving him that satisfaction.

It didn’t matter that you were quite literally driving yourself mad with it.

You would fucking win this, God damn it.

Joe was going to eat his words and you were going to be the one to feed them to him.

What you hadn’t anticipated when you’d snapped an irritated fine at him, agreeing to this ridiculous new bet, was how different having sex with Joe would become.

Different in a sense you wouldn’t have been able to predict at all.

Before, you’d let Joe sort of do what he wanted. Would let him work you up and then would follow his lead as he would make sure you’d feel good before he did.

Joe was good at foreplay. Enjoyed it lots himself too, if he was honest. There was something very enjoyable about making you all soft for him. About seeing the minuscule change in your smile as lust slowly took a hold of you. About the way you’d fight it for half a minute before you’d just entirely give in to him, and let him do whatever he’d want, pretty much.

And he still did that.

You’d claimed that those were the important things, so he made sure to always pay them close attention. To whisper all the right words. To let fingertips trail in all the right places. To squeeze where your body felt tight until it didn’t anymore.

He still did all that.

But once he would have you in the palm of his hand, he’d then just do what he liked.

Would touch you where he liked to touch you.

Would move you into positions he liked the feel of.  

Would chase and stretch his own pleasure, yours forgotten and left behind.

This was the bet.

The experiment.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t try pulling lovely sounds out of you. He enjoyed that too. Would spur him on like nothing else would, when he’d suddenly get you in a way that made you almost yelp.

But it was clear he did that shit for himself.

And you were fine.

Stubborn.

“How was that, baby?” Joe’d ask, still panting and wet with sweat, already smiling at his own stupid question.

But you’d just smile widely. Give him a little smooch, and you’d say, “Loved it.” which was never a lie.

You did always love it.

You really did.

Shut up. You did.

What Joe hadn’t anticipated, was that you reached a point where you were the one who’d started pushing him away when you’d feel yourself getting too close.

“Stop, stop... wait.” You’d still Joe. “We can’t, I’ve got to–” and you’d move to get Joe away from everything too sensitive.

It had really taken him by surprise, sort of confused him a second as he watched you breathe through flared nostrils as you tried to ground yourself.

And, shit.

If that wasn’t one of the hottest things he’d ever experienced.

The first time you’d done that, he’d immediately praised you. Got his mouth on your ear and whispered, “Good girl. My good girl, doing just as she’s told, isn’t she?” and you’d groaned and pushed him away even more, because that wasn’t helping.

But he was right.

You were being good, because you were stubborn, and you were going to win this because Joe was wrong.

You were being good at not letting yourself come when you had sex with Joe.

You were also being good at not secretly getting yourself off in private.

Made it seem so easy.

Too easy.

You hadn’t told Joe that you’d googled what hormones an orgasm released, and what other ways to get those same results, but that was neither here nor there.

You were being good.

Too good.

And then, one evening, after sharing dinner together at Joe’s flat, he suddenly seemed to question everything.

You’d just settled on the sofa when Joe decided to ask, “How do I actually know if you’re not secretly still touching yourself?”

You turned your head to look him dead in the eye. “Um, you trust me.”

That got him right in his funny bone.

“I’ve not been absolutely acing this just for you to turn around and tell me that you don’t believe me,” you scoffed full of disbelief, but still smiling, because you got your boy to laugh. “What even is the point then? If there’s no trust?”

Joe laughed louder, because if he was honest, there wasn’t really any point to this at all, was there?

“Might as well do it if you think I am, anyways.”

“You are, aren’t you?” Joe accused, and the absolute aghast face you made as you moved away from him was enough for him to immediately reel it back in.

“No, no, okay, you’re right, come here. I trust you.” Joe pulled you back into his side and gave you a tight cuddle before kissing into your hair and repeating, “I trust you.”

A moment of silence passed where you toyed with the idea of telling him you’d had a sex dream the other night.

You’d not had a sex dream in ages.

Knew you’d only had one because you weren’t left satisfied, so your mind started seeking it elsewhere.

But you decided against it when Joe then softly asked, “How do you do it?”

“Mental strength. Sheer determination.”

Joe silently laughed, “No, I mean. How would you do it yourself?”

You side-eyed Joe and tried to hide the growing smile on your face.

“You want me to tell you how I get myself off?”

Joe looked at his feet that rested on his coffee table as he shrugged.

“Yea. Would you do it in the shower after, sometimes?”

“Like you would?”

Joe made quick eye-contact as he guiltily smiled. You knew exactly what he’d been doing that one week of favours.

“Sometimes.” You then admitted, knowing this was a conversation that was going to work Joe up enough to probably maybe end up underneath him in his bed.

“Yea? Would you.. would you use the shower head?”

You couldn’t help the cackle that escaped you. “No, actually. Not enough pressure.”

“Fingers then?”

You frowned through a smile and pulled away from Joe a little to give him a good look.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” Joe was quick to argue, eyebrows raised in innocence. “I just want to know.”

You then just looked at each other a moment, and you saw from up close how Joe slowly let his bottom lip roll into his mouth to bite into.

“Yea my fingers.” You then said softly, and Joe let his head drop to the side as his eyebrows knitted together.

“Both hands, sometimes.”

Joe had to suppress a groan. Only managed it just about.

“Take my time. Do it real slow.”

“Yea?”

You let your eyes flick down to see if you could see enough of Joe’s crotch to witness him grow in his jeans.

You could.

“Mhm, touch everywhere that feels nice. Soft at first, but then a little harder.”

Joe turned his head and pressed his forehead into your shoulder as his breathing got a little heavier.

He was definitely getting hard.

Men were so easy, it was stupid.

“Gotta be quiet though...”

“Quiet, yea.”

“Can’t let anybody hear.”

“No, you–” Joe nearly choked on his spit. “You can’t.”

“Got a flatmate just in the other room.”

Joe shifted a little, pulled on the fabric of his jeans to give himself a little more room, no attempt to hide his arousal in the slightest.

Then, he cleared his throat before he hoarsely said, “No flatmate here though...”

You smiled and shook your head a little.

“That’s right. No flatmate here.”

Joe couldn’t stop looking at your lips, and you felt how he sagged into the sofa more. Leant into your side a little more heavily.

“But...” you then continued, giving him your most innocent wide-eyed look as you slowly shook your head. “Can’t do any of that, can I?”

Joe mirrored your facial expression and the head shaking, not even aware he was really doing it, easily agreeing with dazed half-lidded eyes, “No, can’t do that.”

“You told me no, didn’t you?”

“Told you no.”

Joe was straining inside of his dark blue no-stretch one hundred per cent cotton denim, and wasn’t it just delicious to give Joe just a little bit of his own medicine?

“So...” you suddenly spoke up loudly and slapped a strong hand onto his thigh. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

“I– what?”

You were already up on your feet before Joe’d fully landed back into his own living room.

“I promised Izzy I’d help her with–”

“No, you can’t do that!”

You turned around, phone in hand, checking it for any missed messages and smirked a little.

“Oh, but I think I can.”

“This is...” Joe let himself fall back into his sofa, shaking his head in outraged disbelief, “Unbelievable.”

Slinging your arms into your jacket, you couldn’t help but laugh.

Joe was wrong, and it would serve him right to feel how wrong he was too.

“You better believe it, baby!” you said theatrically, stepping closer and bending just to give Joe a quick kiss goodbye. “See you tomorrow?”

“I don’t like this.” He murmured against your mouth, but you ignored it.

“We can do lunch?” Easy-breezy. Very nonchalant.

“I don’t like this.” Joe repeated himself more urgently, voice raised a little more as he watched you leave the room.

You stopped in the doorway to throw him a last smile. Saw how Joe squeezed his erection over his clothes, face in a deep frown, so fucking annoyed.

You fucking loved it.

“Baby, that’s okay.” You cooed. “You’re allowed to not like things.”

You really were acing this stupid bet.

Joe was wrong, and you were stubborn, and you were going to make him feel how right you were in his bones until he’d admit it.

“I’m sure you’ll survive just fine.”

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @demonsanddemogorgons

@djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer

@everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @gri959, @hanahkatexo

@hazelenys, @imjustjen14, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven

@kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr

@munson-mjstan, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @notverywise

@pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid, @readergf, @royale1803

@skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson

@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @yunirgo

add yourself

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 3

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content eventually (slow burn), canon-typical violence

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits)

Part 2

Part 3

The journey to Lindon had given her time to think, but even after several days on the road, Linnea’s thoughts remained a muddle.

Not that she doubted what had happened. It was real, as real as the earth beneath her feet and the air in her lungs and the water that fell from the sky, a light rain on the third day. It was as real as the fire she kindled at night to make her tea. 

But it was…so much.

She had nothing but time to think as they traveled, seated next to one of the soldiers on the small wagon that held her belongings. More than she'd thought, given the damage, but still - two wooden chests, and a large basket, were tiny remnants of her former life. 

The siege itself was a blur. When the trebuchets had begun to fire, there had been no organized efforts to help the citizens; every soldier had been needed for defense. She had fuzzy memories of her father and mother grabbing a few things, shoving them into bags, talking in hurried voices about the best way to try and get out - 

And then nothing. 

By the looks of things, their shop had been hit by a piece of the city wall falling directly on it. She had regained consciousness half-buried in rubble, with no sense of how much time had passed, and she had drifted in and out for what had seemed like hours, until the fighting had stopped. 

When it had, and she had heard the voices of the Elves searching for survivors, she had managed to pull herself free, even with the metal piercing her arm. But she had been able to do no more after that, just sitting there waiting for something to happen. 

Well. Something had happened.

Gil-galad. Ereinion. He’d found her, helped her. Sung to her as the healer had tended to her. His voice had been beautiful, low and soothing, distracting her from how much her arm had hurt.

Would he sing to their children the same way? 

The thought made her cheeks tingle, and she smiled.

Before Gil-galad had left with the majority of the army, he had assigned the promised escort to her: the two soldiers that had begun helping her go through the ruins of her shop, and two more. Three of the four were survivors from Eregion’s armies, and those three had looked slightly terrified at his stern orders.  

She will be your queen. I expect you will guard her as such.

Her family had been of little consequence - crafters, nothing more. No great lineage for her, no famous deeds or epic tales of her forebearers. Just weavers, for the last three generations, perfecting their craft over the centuries. Her parents had chosen each other in childhood and had married young, and Linnea had been their only child. 

And now they were gone. 

The smile faded from her face as the images flashed in her mind, of what they'd found as she and the soldiers had slowly cleared the rubble, moving the stone blocks of the city wall away from the crushed shop and the residence area behind it. 

At least they hadn't suffered. At least it had been quick. 

“Lady? Is all well?”

She’d caught the attention of the soldier driving the wagon that day, and wrenched herself free of her thoughts as she offered him a tentative smile. “It is. Thank you. How much further is it?”

The soldier looked up, evaluating the road ahead of them. “By my reckoning, at this pace we are yet three days from Lindon.”  

Linnea nodded. They were using every second of daylight available, departing the moment the sun touched the horizon each morning. The Elves could have continued well into the night, despite the soldiers still healing from their injuries, but their horses needed both sight and rest. And so each night at dusk, they made camp.

Which was another event that reminded her of how different her world was now.

Somehow, she never seemed to need to put up her own tent. Somehow, she never seemed to have to fetch water. Somehow, there was always enough food made. She brewed her evening tea and shared it, but otherwise, she had barely had to stir save to gather her things and climb aboard the small cart when they were ready to leave.

This level of leisure was completely foreign to her. Her parents’ shop had been prosperous, their goods highly sought after both among the Elves and in trade, but they had still cleaned and cooked and fetched supplies.   

She supposed it would be the same in Lindon. The queen would never need to think about such things as clearing the ash from her fireplace or mending her clothes. But Gil-galad had promised her a workshop; she could still pursue her craft. She knew little of the court; perhaps there were others that might join her, or might like to learn the art. Perhaps there would be a community of weavers that would welcome her.

Yet that idea brought its own uncertainties. 

She did not know any of the other surviving Elves from Eregion, at least not well. A few faces had been familiar, but none of her close friends were among the living. But as she’d lingered in Eregion, packing her things, she hadn’t missed the sideways looks the rest of the survivors were giving her. The questions behind their eyes at the soldiers that shadowed her steps.

Especially at night. 

Messages were flowing freely between Lindon and Imladris, as it was beginning to be known. Even while the army was still on the road, Gil-galad was sending runners back behind him. There had been no secrets in the valley; everyone had seen how the runners came to her fire each night, pressing small folded messages into her hand marked with an unmistakable seal of twelve stars.

I hope you are well, beloved. I think of you, always. I trust that your journey, when you begin it, will be both swift and uneventful.  

Small notes. Small things, but she treasured each of them, refolding them and keeping them among her belongings. After the first, she’d scrounged for paper and ink, and had scratched out replies to send back with the runners.

I am well. We will depart soon. I am…I am anxious to see you again.

Yet another night by the fire, another quiet night only punctuated by the soft sounds of their small group getting ready to retire, the occasional stamp or whicker from the horses. Linnea had already made her tea, and the cup was almost empty; it would be time for bed soon. Three of the soldiers had already done so; the commander of the company, a Greenwood Elf named Arondir, was the only one still awake besides herself. 

Another night, but this night was different. This night was the last night. Tomorrow, they would reach Lindon, and the journey would be over.

Was she ready?

They would arrive, whether she was ready or not.

The time on the road had been a chance to order her thoughts, to understand the new fate that the Valar had laid down before her. But she did not feel much closer to that understanding at all.

How long had it been since the Noldor had had a queen? She didn’t even know. Turgon’s wife had perished before he had been made High King. Fingon had never wed. And neither had Lord Celebrimbor; there had never been a Lady of Eregion. King Oropher of the Greenwood was wed, but she knew next to nothing about his queen. There was no one she could look to to know what her future might be.

Linnea stared deeper into the flames, hugging her arms around her knees as she sat. What sort of wedding could she even have? There would be no meeting of their houses; her parents were dead, her friends too, and her eyes prickled with tears at the thought. A betrothal feast would be impersonal, obligatory because of Gil-galad’s rank, people she didn't know. 

It threatened to sweep her under the tides, as it had every time she'd tried to think of it. She could refuse this; she could step aside, she could tell him that she had chosen not to follow her heart. Those children she had thought of on the wagon, wondering if he might sing to them - they would never be. He would understand, as much as it might pain him.

For it would. And her, too. She would be condemning both of them to being alone forever, because their hearts and their souls had already been woven together. And that warp would never break. 

She could no more do that than command the stars to fall from the heavens so that she might decorate her hair with them. This was her fate. And it might be strange, and hard, and unexpected. But it was hers, and she would claim it, every bit of it. Every bit of him, lord and King and husband, hers forever. 

That made her cheeks heat, and her restless thoughts spin in a new direction.

He had kissed her so tenderly that first time. 

She could still feel the softness of his mouth, the silken strands of his hair. Her lips trembled with the memory of the few kisses they'd had time for, and she shivered with the thought of more, a fire pooling low in her belly. A fire of a very different kind than the one in front of her.

She knew the basics, of course. Every Elf knew that much. But what really happened between a husband and a wife on their wedding night, and the nights thereafter…it was so private. She had assumed she would ask her mother for advice, if the time ever came for her. She knew her parents had thought it likely she would stay unwed, after she had reached two hundred years without finding the right match. And it had been centuries since then; she was now close to seven hundred years. She had been content with her weaving and the community of Eregion, wishing for no more - yet sometimes, seeing Elf children running in the plaza, she had felt wistful that that was not to be hers.

Or so she had thought.

Wife, queen, perhaps mother someday…the new parts of herself swirled and clattered in her head. Her boldness back in Eregion seemed so far away now - she chuckled as she remembered scolding the High King for not taking care of himself. But he hadn't seemed to mind. 

She wanted to please him, so badly. As long as she had been alone, he was so much older than she was. It had been much longer for him, waiting; he deserved for it to be perfect. Perhaps one of the Lindon healers could tell her more about the art of pleasure? But her face burned at even the mere thought of asking; no, this was far too intimate. Better to take what she knew about herself and bring it to her wedding night, with open hands and open heart, and trust that Ereinion would do the same. And that together they would learn.

The sound of rapid footsteps drew her attention, and Linnea looked up. They were the footfalls of an Elf, and Arondir was already standing, looking into the darkness. A moment later, a woman was coming up to the fire, her clothes confirming her as one of the Lindon runners. The sight was a surprise; Linnea hadn't expected one with only a day remaining to the journey.

As the runner stepped into the light, she bowed to Arondir, murmuring “Commander.” And as she straightened, she extended her hand towards Linnea. 

Even from a few feet away, Linnea could see the red wax and the stars that sealed the letter she held out, and the sight of it helped settle her churning mind. She smiled at the runner, taking the letter. “Thank you.”

“My lady.” The runner bowed to her that time. “If there is a reply, I will wait. But the High King’s orders were for me to return at once.”

Arondir nodded. “Come. Refresh yourself. I have my report prepared.”

With that, he led the runner off to the side where their supplies and the water bucket were arranged neatly - giving her as much privacy as possible. Linnea swiftly broke the seal, unfolding the paper, and brought it closer to the firelight.

It was short. But it was exactly what she'd needed.

Beloved,

I find myself waiting for the dawn with a child's excitement, eager to see your face as you behold Lindon. There is much I wish to show you as we begin this journey, and I beg you forgive me if I seem clumsy or my enthusiasm too great. It is not something I thought ever to do, to walk with my queen through our realm. 

I hope it brings you joy to make your home here with me.

I will save the rest of my words for the morrow, but I did not wish to leave you without something tonight. 

I am yours, melethel. 

Carefully, she refolded the letter, pressing the paper to her breast. She wondered if he was experiencing the same swells of emotion as she was, if his thoughts were as restless. Perhaps him sending the notes was his way of both reassuring her and showing her that he needed the same in return. 

She moved to her tent, kneeling down in the opening and rummaging through her bag. She still had a few sheets of paper left, more than enough to send a reply. 

But what to say?

She would see him the very next day. As he himself had pointed out - words could be saved until the morrow. So what to write tonight? What could she tell him that would carry him through the remaining hours?

There will be nothing to forgive, Ereinion. I never thought to do any of this. But at your side, I am ready. 

I am yours. 

She signed the bottom, and then folded the small note. Only a few words, but she hoped it would achieve her intent. And perhaps, keep his heart as much a-flutter as her own.

The runner was coming back, Arondir a step behind her, and Linnea stood up. The runner circled the fire to reach her; she handed the paper across, and watched as the runner tucked it into the message tube she carried, where Arondir’s report presumably already rested. And then, with a final nod to Arondir, she was off, running swiftly through the trees back the way she had come.

Arondir’s eyes moved to Linnea. He had joined the fight at Eregion, and afterwards, instead of making for his home in the Greenwood, had elected to remain with the High King’s forces. He was quiet, keeping his own counsel, but had been nothing but courteous to her during their journey. She offered him a small smile, kneeling back down to put her writing materials away.

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

“For what?”

“You offered hospitality while I wrote. I am sure she appreciated it, since I made her wait.”

“I am sure the High King will be grateful to receive a word from his queen.”

Linnea blinked, surprised. It was true that everyone had been treating her with that level of deference, but no one had actually said it to her face - and she hadn’t expected it, given that she wasn’t, not yet. 

“I - thank you. But you need not refer to me as such, Commander.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, and the corner of his mouth twisted up into a tiny smile. “You do not wish to begin to grow accustomed to it?”

“I…”

Her earlier thoughts about her future teased at her, tempting her. Arondir was old - he had been born in Beleriand, she knew that much about him. And now he lived in the Greenwood, where the king was married. Perhaps he might have some answers for her?

“I am not sure what to become accustomed to,” she said quietly. “I do not know what might be expected of me.”

She had opened the door, and she could see that Arondir had noticed. It was his choice whether to walk through it, and she saw a glimmer of sadness on his face before his expression smoothed out.

“I suppose not,” he replied softly. “I regret I have no counsel to offer you, Lady. Queen Tinnaril lives apart from the King Oropher; I have heard little of her for years.”

Linnea had heard of it, certainly, especially among the elder Elves. Wed for centuries, at times they chose to separate and pursue their own interests and gifts. At the moment she could scarcely imagine such a thing.

“I see,” she answered, offering a small smile. “Then I suppose I shall have to learn as I go.”   

“As it is with many things,” Arondir observed. “But you would not have been chosen were you not equal to the task. And I wish you and the High King every happiness.”

It was touching, especially since she didn’t know Arondir at all, and as far as she knew there was no especial connection between him and Gil-galad. But there was that hint again, that sadness and loss - and it was only a guess, but perhaps his wish was one he could no longer make for himself. 

“I thank you,” she murmured. “And I thank you for your care of our company, and of me, during our journey.”

“I only do my duty, my lady.”

There seemed to be nothing more to say then - and if she was right, if Arondir had lost someone dear to him, then the last thing she wanted to do was to rub his face in her own joy. It felt like a burning star inside her at times, when she remembered: the look in Gil-galad’s eyes, his voice saying melethel, the press of his lips. 

One more night. One more sunrise to wait. And the hours would pass more quickly in dreams.

“Then I bid you goodnight, Commander,” she said quietly. “Until the morning, then.”

“Goodnight, Lady.”

Gil-galad had awoken well before the sun rose, and he watched the dawn from the window of his bedchamber.

He had not yet fully dressed, simply wrapping himself in a nightrobe, his hair loose down his back and his crown left on his dressing table. In his hand he held Linnea’s last note, the one that had just been delivered to him as the runner had returned to Lindon.

I am yours.

It felt like someone had put a belt around his chest and tightened it to the point where he could scarce draw breath. Similar words had been exchanged over the days, but this was different. She would be here in a matter of hours; he could take her in his arms again, he could speak his heart to her face. He could ask all the questions burning in his mind.

Some of them were practical, of course. There had never been a queen in Lindon; the rooms directly below his had been used for other purposes. He had had them emptied out and cleaned and furnished, but she would need to decide what she wanted beyond that, and then there was of course her workshop. 

There was the matter of a crown. 

Perhaps a more delicate version of his own? He knew little of her style; he had seen her in precisely two dresses, one of them bloodstained and ruined. She had not worn any jewels, and her clothes had been simple. She would perhaps prefer the same in whatever she wore as queen - as much as she could, at least.

It would be her choice, as it would for all things that he could give her. Save one.

His own crown was not the only thing of value waiting on his dressing table.

A pouch of white velvet, as pure as starlight, sat there, and he didn’t need to open it to picture what it contained. The ring inside was silver, shaped of swirled and twisted metal, and it was set with a small pearl as the center stone, along with a plethora of tiny diamonds. A ring, his gift to Linnea for their betrothal, the sign worn on her hand that she was his.    

That belt around his chest grew tighter, as he let himself imagine it. Taking the ring from the pouch, showing it to Linnea, taking her hand and gently sliding it on her finger. It would sit there until he replaced it with a slender band of gold, plain and unadorned as was the tradition - as simple for a common soldier as for a queen.

Or a King. He looked down at his own hand, imagining that.

He might have lost all the hours until her arrival to that particular thought, but was saved by a knock on his door. His body servants, arriving to help him bathe and dress, were as punctual as ever, and that was good - it would provide him with occupation, preparing himself for the day. 

And he wished to look his best on this day. 

Some time later, dressed and ready, he settled at his desk. It was still early, and he had ample time before Linnea's company would arrive; Arondir’s final report, delivered by the runner along with Linnea’s note, had indicated mid-afternoon. He looked forward to hearing more detail regarding the roads from Imladris; travel between the two strongholds would need to be easy, and it would do well to plan for repairs or enhancements along with the rest of the work.

He sipped his customary morning tea, enjoying the flavor. The thought of food had been unappetizing to his nervous, jittery stomach, but the tea was pleasant and the warmth was soothing. 

“High King?”

It was the voice of one of his guards, and he turned as the door cracked open. 

“What is it?”

“Commander Galadriel, sire. She asks an audience.”

Apparently he was not the only Elf up early that morning.

Galadriel had returned to Lindon with the army, the better to complete her recovery. He had seen little of her over the last days, and had hoped that she was resting and regaining her vigor. The artificers and healers had said she was doing well, but he knew enough of her to predict that she would cease following their advice the moment that she had the strength to do so. 

“Admit her,” he said, and rose from the desk.

Galadriel came in slowly. It was easy to see that she was still coming back to herself - in more ways than one. She was strong and fierce, but her very soul had been affected. That was not something one recovered from overnight.

“High King,” she said quietly. “I apologize for disturbing you so early.”

“You do not disturb me,” he said. “Please, sit.”

They had reached somewhat of a detente in the days after Eregion. It was a fragile peace, and Gil-galad had no doubt that they would be butting heads again soon enough. Yet for all that, he did not care to think about what would have happened if he and Elrond - if the rings - had failed. 

She settled herself in the chair nearest the fire. Her color was still pale, but she was moving more easily than she had the last time he had seen her.  

“I understand your lady arrives today,” she said softly.

He couldn’t keep the small smile from his face. Word had traveled quickly, especially with the preparations he had had undertaken. His approach had been matter-of-fact, as if it were no more noteworthy than discussing the weather, but word had traveled. 

The Noldor would have a queen, for the first time in thousands of years.

“She does,” he acknowledged. “And it is my hope that all of Lindon will make her welcome.”

“To survive the siege of Eregion, she is possessed of an uncommonly strong spirit,” Galadriel murmured. “What is her lineage?”

Gil-galad tilted his head in curiosity. Galadriel was never one for small talk, and she would not have come here at this hour for that purpose. But he would let this play out; there was something guarded about her tone, something that told him there was more behind her question than it appeared. Fortunately - thanks to one of the soldiers from Eregion - he had an answer to give.  

“A modest one,” he replied. “Her parents joined Celebrimbor when he founded Eregion. There are those here who remember them before they left Lindon. She was born shortly after Ost-in-Edhil was established, and has lived there all her life.”

Part of him wished that he was among that number who remembered Linnea’s parents; they had been weavers, and his path had never crossed theirs. He had seen little of Linnea’s grief, but suspected that that time would come for her, and he regretted that he would not be able to share her memories. But he would be there for her, and that hopefully counted as much if not more.

Galadriel nodded an acknowledgement, but seemed distant, and he peered closer.

“What troubles you, Commander?” 

She didn’t answer him immediately, turning her head and staring into the flames for a long moment.

“He is the Great Deceiver,” she finally said quietly. “And yet, I almost believed him when he said I thought too much of him. That this was not his design.” 

She had spoken little, thus far, of her confrontation with Sauron. Gil-galad had let it be; there was enough to do for the moment, and he knew she would not withhold details that he might need immediately.

“It is not inconceivable that he meant matters to be delayed,” he said. “Completing the forging of the Rings with an army on the very doorstep seems ill-considered. But that he took advantage of the opportunity to gain that army…”

Galadriel nodded. “I agree. And yet we must consider the possibility that what occurred at Eregion is by his design, fulfilling some purpose we cannot yet know even beyond obtaining the rings.” She paused, and - with a clear effort - looked straight at him. “All that occurred at Eregion.”

Rage filled him. 

He saw clearly enough what Galadriel was implying, and it took a long, long moment for the red to fade from his vision. He fixed her with as stern a gaze as ever he had mustered.   

“I would consider your next words very, very carefully were I you, Commander. You question your queen.”

She didn’t flinch, and he was distinctly unsurprised by it. She had faced down much worse.

“I do not question her, High King. Only that Sauron may have been very deliberate in allowing her to live. His plans are laid across the centuries - who knows what he may have set in motion? It may not reveal itself for a dozen lifetimes of Men.”

He didn’t want to see it, but he could find the logic in Galadriel’s mind. She was right, after all; Sauron was one that would be willing to accept a loss now for a gain later. The centuries had taught him patience. 

And Gil-galad also had to admit that there was none better to know the Deceiver.

Galadriel had a point.

And perhaps the strongest reason in favor of the point was that if she was right, it would change nothing. Linnea was his; he was hers. That had been done and could not be undone, wedding or no.   

Gil-galad raised his head, letting his expression soften. “Sauron is a creature of schemes,” he allowed. “But he has never been a creature of the heart. He seeks to corrupt using evil and vice - pride, and greed, and ambition. The best in Elf and Dwarf and Man is a mystery to him, and he fears it. He would not know how to use love as a tool in his hand.”

“He knew how to use friendship,” she whispered.

He could well imagine what it had cost her to admit that, after everything that had occurred. And again, she was not wrong. 

“A twisted form of it,” he said. “Friendship may have served as hammer and tongs, but the metal he shaped was your own desire to defeat your enemy at any cost.” 

“And what if he now shapes your desire, High King? If your union, as joyous as it may be, plays right into his hands? Perhaps he relies on your bride being a distraction - and he may not even have a clear goal in mind, but has opened possibilities for himself that were not present before simply by allowing events to unfold…”

Her voice had risen at the end, and the agitation had clearly cost her strength. She sank back into the chair, breathing in deeply.

The rage had fled, leaving sorrow in its place. That Sauron had twisted Galadriel so, that she was so damaged by his lies. She would heal, he believed that, but it might not ever be truly finished.   

He took a moment to fold his hands in his lap, composing his thoughts, before he answered.

“Love is the province of the Valar,” he said, very softly. “I will trust in their designs in this more than I will seek out shadows where there are none to be found. And I ask that you do so as well, Commander. Think you that I could turn away now? That I could refuse what has been offered to me?”

He had chosen his words carefully. Galadriel still grieved her husband, and he had felt no need to explicitly remind her of Celeborn. Their kind loved once, for all their lives and beyond - she knew how this felt. 

And he could see she took his meaning. 

“No one wishes you joy more than I, High King,” she finally whispered. “I shall welcome our new queen with open heart. And may the Valar grant you every blessing.”

A tear made its way down Galadriel’s pale cheek, and he pretended not to notice. She would be grateful for it.

“I thank you,” he said softly. “Was this what you sought me out for?”

“No. I wish to return to Imladris as soon as possible. It will be easier to protect if at least one of the Rings is present. I sought your blessing to leave with the company of carpenters and masons that departs in three days’ time.”

Gil-galad nodded. She was right; they were managing at a distance, especially now that Cirdan had been advised and had brought Narya to bear. But he could feel the tug of Vilya’s power on him, not draining by any means but still requiring effort. Having Nenya there would ease the burden.

“I trust your judgment, that you are recovered enough to make the journey?”

She let out a soft laugh, looking back to the flames. “Not so long ago, you would have commanded me to remain if you thought otherwise.”

He echoed the chuckle. Yes, it was true - their relationship had perhaps entered a new era after recent events. And perhaps it would be a better one; they shared a stubbornness, more than he might like to admit, but there was an acknowledgment of it that had not been there in the past. They were aligned, and he was not too proud to recognize that knowing she had been right all along had softened his stance.

“It is indeed a time of change,” he said. “For us all.”

Continue to Part 4

[andreafmn]

Truth | Embry Call

Word Count: 5.4K Paring: Embry Call x Female!Reader Requested: Yes [@come-on-darling-honey | @treatiseofselena | @pinkdragonfandream-blog] Story Description: Embry and (Y/N) getting together was inevitable, and it seemed that the universe concurred. A/N: The requests didn't have any details so I grouped them together (hope that's okay.) I've never gravitated toward Embry so at first I had no idea what or how to write this.But I hope I did him justice with this fluffy friend-to-lovers. Now, I will definitely post more about him because I fell in love with my version of him 🤭🤭 Also, I'm trying to organize myself and my writing to upload more consistently, but chronic illnesses, family, and life always get in the way. Thank you to all of you who have bear with me for so long 🤍🤍 My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts to support me and my love of writing or buy me a coffee TikTok • Instagram • Business | MASTERLIST If you’d like to be tagged in any other story: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post!

Truth | Embry Call Oneshot

For the longest time, it had always been Jake, Quil, Embry, and (Y/N). The four of them had been friends since their childhood and had quickly become inseparable. If one was in sight, the probability that the other three were close behind was high. The group was simply thick as thieves. 

But there were two in particular that grew closer than the others. 

(Y/N) and Embry seemed to gravitate toward each other. Even when the four friends were together, the duo would be standing side-by-side. They understood each other in a way that Jake and Quil did not. Even without words, they could speak a language that no one else could understand. 

“You guys should just get together already,” Jacob had teased one day. “I mean, we all know it’s gonna happen sooner or later. Any day now you’ll tell us you’re a couple.”

“Oh please, Jake,” Quil laughed. “These two would be single their whole lives before they admit they like each other.” 

(Y/N) had thrown pieces of popcorn at them, chuckling dryly at their statements. “We’re just friends, guys,” she retorted. “With that logic, you and Quil should get together too.” 

“It’s just a joke, (Y/N). There’s no need to get so pissed.” 

“I’m not,” she quickly defended. “It’s just annoying that you guys bother us so much about it.” 

At that moment, Embry walked into the living room. He was quiet, as always, but vigilant. His eyes fell quickly onto (Y/N)’s. He could tell in an instant that something —more like someone— had made her feel embarrassed. 

“Guys, leave her alone already,” he quickly defended. “Can we not go one night without you guys bothering her?” 

“You don’t even know what happened!” Jake whined. “You always take her side.” 

“Well, 99% of the time you guys did actually do something to her,” Embry responded. “And I would bet everything I have that it’s not a 1% kind of occasion.” 

Quick and Jake slouched into the sofa, crossing their arms over their chests in defeat. Even though they were all similar in age, there was a sense of maturity in Embry that was unparalleled. At the end of the day, he was the voice of reason within the group. 

“There we go again. Her knight in shining armor,” Jake grumbled. “And they say they don’t have a thing for each other.” 

After the movies were done, Quil had long gone, and Jake mumbled something about going to bed, Embry offered to walk (Y/N) home. It was something he had accustomed to doing but it still made her stomach do a turn on itself. 

“So, what were those idiots talking about?” 

“The usual,” she sighed. Her hand was inches away from his. A simple stumble and she could have intertwined them. “How one day you and I will become a couple because of how well we get on.” 

“Oh,” he said coyly. 

“I know I should be used to it by now, but it can get pretty annoying, pretty fast.” 

Embry’s heart started to race as he listened to her words. He knew just how infuriating their friends could be, especially when it came to bothering people. But it only upset him because he did like her. 

At some point in time, his best friend had turned into the girl that he loved. She had become the protagonist of all of his fantasies, the reason for having a smile on his face, what he looked forward to every day. Somehow, she had become his center.  

“Why do you find it annoying?” Embry managed to croak out, suddenly finding his hands more interesting than the road ahead. “Like would it be that terrible?” 

“No,” she answered quickly. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was repulsed by him. Because all she wanted was him. 

Much like Embry, she didn’t know when that shift had happened. He was her best friend, her closest confidant, the only person that knew her better than she knew herself. But somewhere along the line, her heart would flutter at his nearness, a smile painted on her face at the mention of his name, her eyes trailed to his in every room they were in. 

“I don’t, uh. I don’t think it would be terrible,” she spoke meekly. “Do you?”

They stopped in their tracks, finally facing each other. 

“I could never find being with you terrible,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. With a surge of bravery, his hand lifted to her face, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “It would honestly be a dream come true.” 

(Y/N) gasped quietly at the sudden touch. Her breath hitched in her throat and her hand flew to grasp at his forearm. “Embry, w-what… what’re you saying?” 

“I like you, (Y/N), and I have for a long time,” he told her. His brown eyes stared intensely into hers, looking for any sign that he was losing her. “I’m not sure when it happened but one day you slipped into my head and you have not left it since. That’s why it doesn’t bother me. Because deep down I’ve always hoped that day would come.” 

“Embry, I…” She stammered searching for her words, but nothing came out. 

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” he said sadly. “But I had to tell you already. It’s been eating me up inside for a long time and I had to confess before it consumed me completely.”

“No, Embry, I do,” she choked on her words, feeling the knot in her throat tightening as she spoke. Even if he was saying exactly what she had wanted to hear, emotions overwhelmed her. “God, I like you too. For a while now. I just never had the courage to say anything because I didn’t want to lose your friendship. You mean a lot to me.” 

“So we’ve been tip-toeing around each other for no reason then?” Embry laughed. “Are we seriously that oblivious to feelings?” 

“It appears so,” she responded with a chuckle. “What does this mean for us, Em? Where do we go from here?” 

“Well, first, I was thinking I could kiss you,” he smiled. “Can I?”

“I would die if you didn’t.” 

His hands cradled her face softly, his thumbs caressing over the apex of her cheekbones. He nuzzled his nose against hers, teasing her lips with his. He ghosted over the pink of her skin, wishing to the gods that he wasn’t in another one of his dreams. 

When he finally gave in, his lips crashed into hers and he could swear he felt the earth around him stop. There was no gravity, no air, no cold or warmth, it was simply him and (Y/N), and that was all that existed on Earth. 

“What’re we gonna tell the guys?” (Y/N) said as soon as they parted for air. “They’ll never let us live this down. And, honestly, I don’t think I could stand their pestering once they know they were right.” 

“We don’t have to tell them,” he responded, intertwining his hand with hers comfortingly as they continued their walk to her home. “We can have this just for ourselves for the time being. It will be our little secret.” 

“As much as I would love to shout it from the rooftops,” she smiled brightly. “But I like this too. Having something that is just for us. Something they can’t ruin.” 

“That does sound great, actually.” 

“Good. Because I don’t want anyone to ruin this. Especially not those two.” 

And for a couple of months, it was perfect. To their friends, it was business as usual. They were as friendly as ever, always by each other’s side, and taking Quil and Jake’s teasing with a grain of salt. No one could have known just how true their jokes had become. 

They got around with stolen glances, hidden corners, and nights. And how they loved their nights. They would spend hours curled up in each other’s arms after Embry would sneak into her room. They would talk about nothing and everything, they would sleep, and they would kiss. 

It was an easy routine to follow and they fell into it quickly and perfectly. In the morning, they were the best of friends. At night, they were falling more and more in love. 

At least, that’s what (Y/N) had thought.

She had fallen for him. Deeply. He meant everything to her and she thought the feeling was mutual. But when the first week of the second semester of their junior year came to a start and Embry had disappeared, she knew something was wrong. 

Not only had he missed school, but he also had completely iced out Jake, Quil, and, most importantly, (Y/N). He wouldn’t answer her calls, he stopped coming over, and he was nowhere to be found. Even his mother had told her that he wasn’t acting like himself and she was very surprised at his behavior. 

What none of them knew —what she didn’t know— was that Embry was going through the most surreal of transformations. He wanted to tell his friends, he wanted to tell her everything. 

Yet, bringing them into a world where the stories the elders told around the bonfire were real was something he could not do. Even if it meant that they never talked again, he would make sure to keep them safe from the dangers they did not know were real. 

He did everything he could to avoid (Y/N) specifically. He would never say it, or even think it now, but he was scared he’d do to her what Sam had accidentally done to Emily. Love wouldn’t protect her from what he was and what he could do to her. Avoiding her hurt, but not as much as it would if he did anything to her. 

But that Friday, after he had missed a whole week of school and he’d expertly avoided his group of friends for the past four days, everything had changed. As Embry walked the halls, careful not to run into any of his three friends, his eyes caught hers. 

That’s when it happened. The moment that changed his entire world. It hadn’t been meeting his friends, it hadn’t been his first kiss with (Y/N), and it hadn’t been his first phase as a shapeshifter. It was the universe telling him that it was her, and it would always be her. 

And it scared him. 

As she tried to move through the sea of students to get to him, all he could do was run away. Though deep down he hoped it was her once he knew what imprinting was, his fears of repeating history had grown. 

“Embry!” He heard her call out. “ Embry, wait!” 

But he was already out the doors and running to the only place he could think of. His brain was going a million miles a minute and his heart was tugging at his chest, begging to be with the piece that was missing from it. 

He opened the door to the small house, hoping anyone was inside. His breathing was staggered and his chest was hammering. He was panicking and had no idea how to make it stop. 

“Woah, Embry,” Sam called out. “I’m gonna need you to calm down, okay? You’ve gotta breathe, Call. Breathe.” 

“She’s… and I didn’t… I don’t,” he tried to speak. 

“Slow down, Embry.” 

“I can’t… I can’t do this to her,” the boy managed to croak out. “Not her.” 

“Is this about you imprinting today?”

“How did you…?” 

“Mind link, Embry,” the alpha reminded him. “I know everything that happens to you. Who is she?”

Embry sighed deeply, taking a seat at the dining table. “She’s my best friend,” he said. “And these past few months she became so much more.”

“She’s your girlfriend then?” 

“Well, we never labeled it as much,” he responded. “But kind of. Yeah.”

“Then why are you so worried? This is the best-case scenario.” 

“I don’t want to put her in danger. And her knowing the truth would put her right in the middle of it.” 

“And you don’t want what happened to Emily to happen to her,” Sam said softly. Embry’s eyes went wide as he realized what the man had said, quickly struggling to find a redeeming answer. “Don’t worry, Call. I wouldn’t want that to happen to anyone, for that matter. And as scary as it is to tell her the truth, you have to. As the days go by, you will both find it harder and harder to keep away from each other. It will be physically painful to stay apart.” 

“I can’t do that to her. She deserves to be safe,” he silently sobbed. “The further away she is from me, the better it will be for her. I can’t hurt her if I’m not with her.” 

Sam couldn’t help but feel pity for the boy. He had been in that very position not too long ago, running from the people he loved, fearing the hurt he could cause them. But he also knew how he could cause just as much pain by staying away. 

“Look, Embry, I won’t tell you what you have to do,” he said. “But speaking from experience, running away does more harm than good. Whether you like it or not, she is now a part of this world and the best way to protect her is by telling her the truth. Unlike with your mom, the secret of our tribe has to be shared with our imprints. She’s gonna need to understand why it hurts so much to stay away from you.” 

“What if things go bad?” Embry asked dolefully. “What if telling her pushes her away regardless?” 

“That is just something you’ll have to leave to chance,” Sam sighed. “But if you need any backup if you choose to tell her, you know Emily and I are here and happy to help.” 

“Thanks, Sam,” the boy responded. “But I think this is something I have to do by myself. I’m gonna tell her tonight and hope for the best.” 

“Well, I’ll be doing patrol tonight. So, if at my point you need me, just call out.”

---

“Wait, you actually saw him here?” Jake asked that afternoon as the three friends left the school. “I heard he was back but I have not seen him the whole week.” 

“He was standing in the middle of the hallway this morning and I tried to get to him,” (Y/N) explained. “But he ran away and literally disappeared. What the hell is going on with him?” 

“Apparently he’s been sneaking out of his house for a while now,” Quil added, making (Y/N)’s heart wrench in her chest. “And his mom says he wasn’t home that week he skipped school.” 

“I heard he’s been hanging out with Sam Uley’s gang,” Jake whispered. “That could explain why he’s acting so weird. He got involved with some shady shit.”

“Guys, this is Embry we’re talking about,” the girl defended, holding onto any hope that he was still the boy she loved. “Do you really think he would do something like that?” 

“You keep trying to defend your little boyfriend but it’s clear he wants nothing to do with any of us,” Jake spat. 

“He’s our friend, Jake,” (Y/N) seethed. “Sorry for actually believing there might be something else happening other than he might have joined a dangerous gang and has left us for dead.” 

“(Y/N)…”

“Whatever, guys. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She left both boys dumbfounded and disappeared into her home. Once inside she crashed against her front door and allowed the tears that were stinging her eyes to flow free. 

(Y/N) couldn’t accept that she had truly lost Embry. She couldn’t admit that she had fallen for someone that could act like she meant nothing to them, that could forget every moment they spent together, that could ignore everything they had admitted to her. She had trusted him with her heart and he had decided to shatter it without another thought. 

Somehow she had made her way to her bedroom and had crashed on her bed. When her eyes fluttered open again the sun had completely set and the moon was shining brightly in the sky. In the darkness, she searched for her phone, feeling the need to apologize to Quil and Jake for snapping at them. 

Yet, her screen lit up with Embry’s caller ID, showing her that it was the fifth call in the last twenty minutes. She debated answering the phone, wanting to make him feel just like she had the last two weeks. 

But her resolution was too weak.

“What?” (Y/N) spat. 

“Come to your window.” 

She walked to her window, her gaze falling on his figure on the road. Tears were quick to form in the corners of her eyes, her emotions close to their bursting point. “What do you want, Embry?” she asked through the phone, careful to keep her voice from cracking. “It’s late.” 

“I know, but I really need to talk to you, (Y/N).”

“So, you show up after two weeks of dead silence. Your hair is all chopped up, you’ve got a tattoo, and apparently, you’ve been hanging with Sam Uley’s gang. And you just come here and tell me now you wanna talk,” she scoffed. “Give me one reason why I should give you the time of day after all that?” 

“I know I don’t deserve another chance and you have every right to turn me away right now,” he told her. “But I promise if you give me a couple of minutes I can explain everything to you. After that, you can decide what you want to do. Please, (Y/N).” 

She kept quiet for a second, knowing that she didn’t have much to think about. Her heart knew exactly what she would answer before she could say it out loud. “Fine,” she said. “You’ve got ten minutes.” 

“Alright,” he smiled. “Come down.”

She couldn’t help the eagerness that overtook her as she wrapped a jacket around her and silently slipped out the door. And once she was face to face with him, it took everything in her not to run and wrap her arms around Embry. 

“Hey,” he smiled softly at her. “Been a while.” 

“Not really in the mood for jokes, Embry,” she responded. “I came out here to hear you explain. So explain.” 

“Okay, but I’m gonna need us to move into the woods.” 

“I’m not going into the woods with you, Em. Just tell me already.”

“Look, I know this is weird but I need you to trust me, okay?” he asked giving her those puppy dog eyes that she had missed so much. The same eyes he’d give her when he begged for a kiss or when he pleaded for a couple of more minutes away from their friends. “Please.” 

“Fine,” she sighed. “But your time is down to eight minutes.” 

“Alright. Just, come on.” 

Without thinking, he took hold of her hand, leading her to the darkness of the woods, searching for a place where no passersby could accidentally see him. 

(Y/N) found herself allowing him to drag her, remembering just how comforting his warmth was. Especially on such a cold night in January, it surprised her just how high his temperature felt. 

Once they were deep enough and Embry had halted them to a stop, she forced herself to drop his hand. She didn’t want him to forget the anger that still rushed through her veins, the disappointment that had found a home in her heart, and the hurt that she felt in every inch of her body. 

“Go ahead,” she told him, crossing her arms across her chest to keep them from reaching toward him. 

“Alright, first of all, I want to apologize for disappearing like that. It wasn’t fair to you or the guys. But you need to understand that I couldn’t tell you at the beginning,” he started. “(Y/N), what I’m about to tell you is gonna sound like the biggest lie you have heard, and you might even think that I’ve lost my mind. Still, everything I say is the honest truth.”

“Em, you’re scaring me,” she responded. “What’re you talking about?” 

Embry took a deep breath, finding every ounce of strength to be able to finally tell her the truth, to wrap her in the web of the supernatural and hope he was strong enough to keep her from the dangers of it. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to think back to all the stories our parents and the elders would tell us around the bonfire,” he said. “How our Quileute ancestors were shapeshifters and how it was their job to protect our land. When we were kids we thought that those were only stories, myths to keep us children entertained. But it’s real, (Y/N). Those stories weren’t just fantasies, they are our history. 

“The reason I disappeared was because I am now one of those shapeshifters. It happened the Saturday before starting school, at the back-to-school bonfire, when that guy was hitting on you when I walked away for a second,” he continued. His eyes never left hers, hoping —begging— that she believed him. “It happened so suddenly and I thought I was dying. I could feel anger taking over my entire body, filling me with this overheating rush that burned deep inside. 

“It was Jared Cameron that found me. He pulled me into the woods and I was so angry that I couldn’t even process what was happening. He kept telling me to give in to the change to listen to my body and allow it to do what it needed to. Suddenly, my clothes were ripped to shreds and I was this huge wolf. 

“After, Sam Uley and Paul Lahote joined him and walked me through shifting back, telling me to focus on my human form. It felt like everything around me was shaking, reacting to the way my body was transforming. And somehow, at just the right moment, I changed back into my human self. 

“I spent that week learning to control my emotions so I wouldn’t trigger a phase in front of everyone, learning about our history and our role in the rez. It turns out, those guys aren’t a gang, they’re actually a pack and our job is to protect the reservation from anything, supernatural or not, that threatens our land. No one can know about our existence other than the elders and current pack members.” 

“Wait, I don’t get it,” she stammered, her head spinning with all the information she was given. “This whole talk about wolves and supernatural beings… it’s crazy, Embry! A completely convoluted way of telling me it’s over.” 

“I can show you,” he added. “Just don’t move even an inch from where you are right now.” 

“What’re you…? Embry.” 

He put some distance between them, making sure he was safely away from her. He removed his shirt and unbuttoned his pants, ensuring his clothes were close enough when he phased back. He knew just how impossible everything he had said sounded. If he hadn’t phased that night, there was no way he would have believed it. 

But he needed her to believe him. 

One second he was standing before her in human form, and the next, a tall gray wolf with black spots was staring her down. She stumbled back as her eyes met the animal’s, a slight rush of fear flowing through her veins. 

Yet, she knew those brown eyes too well to be afraid for long. They were unmistakably Embry’s and they replaced her anxiety with a calming stream.  Something about him was calling to her, beckoning her to come closer. There was no danger, there was no panic, there was only calm. 

(Y/N) made her way closer to the creature, every step filling her with courage. The wolf didn’t move, his eyes simply followed her, waiting. Because he was the tactable answer to all of her questions. 

Her shaking hand raised and landed on the soft fur of the wolf’s head. As soon as she made contact, Embry nudged it, giving her the confirmation she was looking for. It was him and it was all true.

“You’re a wolf,” she softly chuckled. “You’re in front of me right now and you’re a giant wolf.” 

Embry let out a confirming growl that sounded almost like a laugh and nuzzled his nose against her. The small force knocked her back softly, siphoning from her the laugh he had missed hearing. 

“But if no one is supposed to know about you guys, why are you telling me all this?” (Y/N) asked before realizing he could not answer in his form. “Change back already. I have so many questions.” 

In the blink of an eye, Embry stood before her, scrambling to get dressed. “This is the most awkward part of phasing back,” he chuckled dryly. “It’s worse when you’re surrounded by guys you barely know.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” she sympathized. “Now, why me? Why am I the only one that you’re telling this to? Jake and Quil truly believe you’ve joined a gang and left us in the dust.” 

“Well, as with most things, there is an exception to the rules. One person that is allowed to know everything, even if they’re not members of the pack,” he explained slowly. “There’s something that happens after your shift that involves that person. It’s called imprinting. I’m the most basic definition: it's a soulmate. You are unconditionally bound to this person for the rest of your life, becoming whatever it is that they need from you —a sibling, a friend, a partner. Anything. 

“Your whole world changes,” he continued, his hands taking hers. “They become your gravity, your very reason for living. Even being apart feels physically painful. Everything falls secondary to them, and all it takes is one look.”

“This morning,” she breathed. (Y/N) had felt something change when they had locked eyes in the hall. His absence had become a harrowing pit in her stomach. “But I…”

“The bond affects the imprint as well,” Embry answered before she could ask. “But nothing happens without them wanting it. You are only what the imprint wants.”

“So it’s me,” she said, trying to hold back tears, her eyes falling to where their hands were clasped. “Is that why you ran away this morning? Because you imprinted on me? Was it… did you not want it to be me?” 

“No! I mean yes! I wanted it to be you,” he rapidly scrambled for his response. “But I was afraid of what the implications of you being my imprint would be.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“First of all, I could never forgive myself if I was the reason you were ever in danger,” Embry started, his hand cradling her cheek to lift her gaze to his, wiping away the strand that had fallen. “But what I was most afraid of was that it would make you feel things that you might not have felt had it not been for this supernatural intervention.”

“I’m not following, Em.” 

“Look, (Y/N), I love you —I’m in love with you. And I have been for a long time,” he confessed. “And even though I know you like me and we spent all this time together, I was afraid that if you felt more for me it would be because of the imprint bond and not really how you would have felt without it.” 

Finally, it was her turn to comfort him. “Em, I think I’ve loved you since the moment we met,” she grinned. “I don’t need a supernatural link to tell me how I have felt about you for the majority of my life. And I understand why you had to keep all of this from us. As much as I would love for Jake and Quil to know how much of an amazing badass my boyfriend is, we know how well I can keep a secret.”

Embry’s eyes opened wide at the word, loving how it sounded coming from her lips. “Boyfriend? You called me your boyfriend!” 

“Is that not what you are?” 

“Yes. Yes! And you’re my girlfriend!” he exclaimed as he hugged her waist tightly, twirling her in a hug. “God, being without you has made this the worst two weeks of my life.”

“I can tell,” she teased. “I mean you lost my favorite thing about you. I’m really gonna miss your hair.” 

“Unless you braid the wolf’s hair, I’m afraid we’re stuck with the short hair for a while.” 

“I can work with that as long as you don’t ever disappear like that again.” 

“I promise I will never willingly do that,” he responded. “I can assure you these past two weeks have been hell.” 

“Well, we won’t have that time back. But we can make sure we don’t lose any more.”

“I like the sound of that,” he grinned.

He placed both hands on either side of (Y/N)’s face, nuzzling his nose to hers as he had done the first time they kissed. He breathed in her scent. He listened to the patter of her heart, to the sound of her breath. He took her in completely at the moment, memorizing how she looked when they told each other they loved one another. 

“Are you gonna make me wait?” she let out a strangled breath. “Or are you gonna kiss me already?” 

“You waited two weeks already,” he teased. 

“So I’ve waited long enough,” she bit back. “Now kiss me, you dork.” 

Finally, he crashed his lips onto hers and everything felt like it had fallen where it was supposed to. There had never been secrets between them, and, now, there never had to be any more. The universe had simply confirmed what they already felt. 

---

“Well, Quil, looks like you’re gonna have to pay up, my man,” Jake joked a couple of months after that fateful night. All discord between the friends had died the second the boys that were kept in the dark phases as well. “I told you these two had been together for a while.” 

“No, you owe me,” he retorted. “They got together closer to the timeline I had set.” 

“Actually,” Embry interjected, his arm draped over (Y/N)’s shoulders. “If you look at the board of bets, you’ll see that I had put down the actual date and time that we got together.” 

“But that’s not fair! When we made that bet board we had no idea you two were actually together,” Quil whined. “There’s no way that should be an admissible bet.” 

“Not knowing the facts doesn’t exempt you from it,” (Y/N) chuckled. “A bet that falls under the set rules for that pile will remain intact, even if it’s under a loophole.”

“Of course you’ll say that, (Y/N),” Jake scoffed. “He’s your boyfriend after all.” 

“Don’t forget imprintee,” she grinned. “Now, both of you, cough up those twenty bucks.” 

Later that afternoon and forty bucks richer, (Y/N) and Embry sat in the Uley’s backyard, watching the other boys playing football farther away from the bonfire Sam had started. They had curled up together under a blanket, enjoying the fact that they were together, and the world seemed to grant them a day of peace. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” Embry whispered into her ear, pressing her tighter to him. “Because I do. So much.” 

“Hm,” she smiled, melting into his touch. “You’ve told me once or twice. But I’ll never get tired of hearing it. Because I love you too.”

“And I’ll never get tired of saying it.” 

“Good,” she beamed. “Because you’re stuck with me until the end.” 

“Couldn’t think of a better life than that.” 

Twilight Taglist: @winter-soldier-101 @zheezs14 @a-sifu-hotman @sunflowerleii @dyslexicatterpillar @blackbluerose666 @slutforsainz @kortniec696 @xcastawayherosx @minhaimaginacao @bluebirbnamedjay @sirenheadenby @andreiaafaria @bluetreecloud20 @sunshine2894 @valejewel @mushroomelephant @locokoca @esposadomd @this-is-a-bad-idea @nocturnalherb16 @rosalie-whitlock @nyctophilia710 @blueshoelaces @ems-alexandra @then-worship-at-my-altar @six-call @witchofhawkins @lovel-blog @sugajar @goodpeoplegotohellanyway @yuki254 @616wilsons @nyenye @lunaOoO @avis15 @captainrogers-19 @honeylovemoon @wonieeee @baebeepeach @skyesthebomb @krazyk99 @catgirlpwr @klf1999 @sl-ut @adaydreamaway08 @cinffy23 @toomanythoughts33 @sugasthreedollarkookie @fandomonetwo @fruitylilfuck

@a-slut-for-loki-bucky @honeywxter @haroldpotterson @kaita11 @gangstalicious06 @uwunuggetchan @elijahssuit @multifandomreader73 @ellabellabus07 @your local gay @blackloveangel13 @mar

[heresthestorymorningglory]

Unfinished Business

Summary: Our boy has some unfinished business

A/N: Listen y'all this NSFW 18+ should be par for the course at this point. So like….just don’t okay?

As always, the inspo is thanks to the Goosecord and my beautiful partner in crime @ken-dom who constantly receives messages from me in the dead of night needing reassurance or "Hey what about if THIS happened?!"

Bless you my new found chosen sister for putting up with my antics!

This is a continuation of the first part Hello Nurse which you guys absolutely raved over and I am SO flattered (no really some of your messages really had me tearing up)

Like I said last time, this won't be the last you see of SIx

Enjoy my loves! <3

You let out a heavy sigh massaging your temples as you sat at the nurse’s station; the fluorescents were giving you a migraine and the phone had been ringing off the hook all night long. It rang again for the four hundredth time and you picked up the receiver 

“Fifth floor nurse’s station” 

“Hey, you” 

Your face broke out into a grin and you sat back in your chair twirling the phone cord around your finger recognizing his voice immediately. “Hi” 

“You on a secure line?” 

You scoffed with a small laugh “You know I’m not” you went through this every time he happened to call, and yet, he always asked. “Where are you?” 

“Somewhere cold” he always kept his answers vague. 

“Being safe?” you asked, reaching over the desk to take a clipboard from a coworker 

“Course” 

“Are you lying to me?” You asked, with a smirk cradling the receiver on your shoulder as you typed the information on the clipboard into the system. 

“Never” 

You stopped typing paying more attention to your call “You better come back to me” you said with an air of seriousness to your tone. “In one piece” 

He laughed softly on the other end 

“I’m not kidding, all your fingers, toes and…appendages” 

This caught the attention of your coworker who tilted her head curiously with a raised eyebrow; you just shook your head, hoping she’d get pulled away before you’d have to answer questions. 

“Hmm, well I’ve got some bad news sweetheart…” 

“You better be joking” you dropped your voice to a whisper 

“Would you love me any less if I weren’t?” 

You huffed with annoyance rolling your eyes “No, you idiot; now come home…I miss you” 

A page overhead for you caught your attention and you sighed “I gotta go, be careful, please” You knew better than to hope for that, he was never careful, everyone else came first. “I love you” 

“Me too, sweetheart” 

You hesitated holding up a finger to a coworker motioning overhead “Court”

He sighed and you could practically see the look on his face

“I’ve got all day” 

“No you don’t” 

“Then I guess you’d better hurry up” 

“I love you too” 

“I’ll see you soon?” you asked, knowing he wouldn’t give you a concrete answer 

“Soon” he confirmed before the line disconnected. 

You swallowed hard, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding as you pushed up from your chair. You had signed up for this, you knew that, but the knot in your stomach never untwisted itself completely until he was standing in front of you; admittedly usually covered in blood and bruises, but here and alive. 

***

It had been six months since that fateful night on the staircase; and Six had been gone for three of them. Thankfully you had managed to keep yourself busy with work, keeping your mind off of it, most of the time. 

Then you crawled into bed, alone, or he called to check in and that knot in your stomach just tightened. 

You did have to admit that when he was just a fleeting stranger who had saved your life once, and occasionally darkened your doorstep it had been a lot easier and you worried significantly less, but you wouldn’t trade that man for anything. 

You had to keep it relatively secret; it was safer that way Six had said, you were in less danger. You disagreed but he would rarely listen to reason on the topic; or he had fallen asleep before you had gotten the chance to broach it again. 

You laid in bed that night after work, wondering for the first time in a long time about Six’s past. Even though you had convinced him you didn’t need a 24/7 bodyguard and could in fact take care of yourself on occasion, and you had been….”together” for the last six months; the personal details you knew about the man were very few. 

You knew that was by design, but the thought of your parents immediate disapproval made you giggle to yourself; would be just like you ending up with the ex-convict who would end up on the wrong end of a gun one day because he showed up on your doorstep one night looking like wounded puppy.

Not that Six would even entertain the notion of ever meeting your parents so it didn’t really matter. 

***

He unlocked the door before putting the key back and quietly slipping inside before locking it behind him. 

He stumbled up the front steps, weak with exhaustion; the house was dark, but your car was in the driveway. Checking his watch, it was creeping into the one o’clock hour.

He shook the spare key out of the bottom of the ceramic goose you kept on the front porch; he had told you at least a hundred times that was an awful idea and you had reasoned if someone was going to break into the house, they weren’t going to use a key to do it. 

He slid his boots off, shedding his t-shirt as he climbed the stairs. You were curled up in bed sleeping peacefully, on his side. 

He smiled to himself, stripping off the rest of his clothes before gently shifting you to your side, you hadn’t even stirred until he climbed in behind you; arms wrapping tightly around you as he kissed your shoulder. 

“Hey,” you turned over, voice thick with sleep as you wrapped your arms around his neck “You’re home” 

He kissed you properly before you nestled against his chest “I missed you” 

He kissed the top of your head, pulling you against him as you drifted back off almost immediately and he followed suit. 

The next morning he stirred awake, the sensation of your lips across his bare chest  and up the side of his neck to his face and finally landing on his lips; your weight heavy on his midsection. 

"Good Morning," you smiled kissing him again 

He smiled, reaching to tuck a chunk of loose hair behind your ear, his large hand cupping your cheek. 

"All in one piece" you smiled, your cheeks had started to hurt from doing it for so long. 

"Satisfied?" 

"Not for months" your lips moved against his as you deepened your kiss. 

With minimal effort he flipped you on your back, pinning you to the mattress underneath; wrists on either side of your head. 

“Let's fix that then” 

Before you had a chance to respond, his lips were pressed firmly against yours, strong hands gripping your wrists as his hips made languid movements, his hard cock pressing against the inside of your thigh, your legs dropping open with ease. 

You hummed into your kiss as his tongue tangled with yours before kissing down your neck and chest. 

A small gasp escaped as his warm wet mouth enveloped your nipple. Your back arching off the bed, needing more, wanting more. 

He sucked gently, tongue grazing over the hard bud, making you shiver before trading sides and administering the same treatment to the other side. 

His hands slid from your wrists, over your sides and came to rest on your hips momentarily as he dipped lower, settling between your thighs. Your fingers pushed through his thick blond hair as he kissed the inside of your thighs. His breath hot against your core made you moan, leaning back into the pillow. 

“Court…please “ you breathed. 

Like an answered prayer, he licked a hot stripe up your centre, making you cry out, pulling hard on the hair trapped between your fingers, making him grunt against your clit before sucking you into his mouth.  

You writhed in the sheets, heels digging into the mattress. 

His hand sliding from your hip, two thick fingers pushing inside you with ease, pumping slowly as his tongue teased your clit. 

Your sighs and moans were like music to his ears. A glance up from between your thighs, your eyes were closed, face contorted in sheer pleasure, mouth open as you whined to the ceiling. 

Your entire form shuddered under the hand holding your hips steady. 

Your breathing came more laboured and shallow as he watched the flush creep over your naked body, his tongue flicking a little harder, fingers pumping a little faster, hand pressing firmer on your hip, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he kept you from twisting out of his grip. 

Your muscles clenching around his calloused fingers coated in your arousal as your orgasm tore through your body; pulling his fingers from inside you, tongue lapping up everything you had to give. Shudders wracking your entire form, your clit sensitive and overstimulated. 

You collapsed, completely spent as Six crawled back over top of you, kissing you deeply as you panted against his mouth. 

“My turn” you smiled breathlessly as you shifted, Six propping himself against the headboard as you put yourself between his knees. 

Without hesitation, you swallowed down his length, slick with precum. A loud groan of approval over your head as you bobbed slowly, sucking gently as you felt his hands find their way into your hair. 

A loud thud, what you were certain was his head making contact with the headboard. 

His hips bucking up, forcing him further down your throat. 

The soft “Fuck” assuring you, you were doing something right. 

You moaned around his shaft, relaxing your throat to take as much down as you could manage. You let him take control as much as his position would allow letting him fuck your mouth hard and fast. 

Grunts a mixture of effort and pleasure as he slid with ease between your lips. 

His massive form twitched and he stopped abruptly, the hot, thick rope hitting the back of your throat, swallowing what you could before it became too much to handle, the excess spurting from the throbbing tip as you released him to take a breath.

You moved to wipe your mouth on the back of your hand and Six’s hand snapped out, closing around your wrist. 

You looked up and he was shaking his head. “Don't”

You tipped your head curiously with a smirk as he pulled you closer, you climbed in his lap, arms draped over his neck as he kissed you harshly, tasting his release on your tongue as he was sure you could taste yours on his. 

He scooted back down, lying you on his chest as you sighed with a satisfied hum. “God I missed you”

He chuckled softly, taking a deep breath, breathing you in, your scent invading his senses, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I missed you too sweetheart” 

He sighed, your eyes saying the things your voice wasn’t. 

Six’s time at home had been fleeting this time around; he had been here and gone again within a day and a half.

A quick kiss and he tried to fly down the stairs, unsuccessfully because of the hold you’d had on his wrist. He stopped turning to look at you. 

He pulled you against him, burying his nose in your hair as he kissed the top of your head; your arms wrapped tightly around his back as you fought to keep your composure. 

“Two weeks, tops” he whispered into your hair; you only hugged him tighter, knowing he couldn’t possibly know that for sure. 

“Make someone else go” You muttered against his chest “You just got back” 

He laughed softly, big hands rubbing up and down your arms. “I can’t…”  he pushed you back gently so he could look into your eyes “This one is personal” 

Your brow creased as your frowned “What do you mean personal?” 

His shoulders dropped as he let out a heavy sigh and it clicked “Lloyd…” you sighed

He nodded “He won’t stay in one place very long”

A strong finger under your chin lifted your head and you sighed looking up at him, the worry clear as day on your face. 

You let out a slow breath swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat; eyes  dropping to look at your shoes.

You had never met this man, but the stories were enough to never want to and even those weren’t many. He had injured someone in Six’s care, and was the reason the only person Six had even remotely considered family had died. He was a monster. 

“Please be careful” you whispered softly 

He nodded dropping his hand “Always” 

You scoffed “Not always” You reached up to cup his cheek “You better come back to me” 

He didn’t answer, just leaned forward, claiming your lips in a gentle kiss as the tears you had been fighting to hold back slid silently down your cheeks. 

He pulled back and you sighed with a sniff, wiping the tears from your face. “Promise me” 

When he didn’t say anything you closed your eyes taking a breath “Just this once, promise me, if it goes sideways, you will get out…please” 

You stood eyes locked with his, seeing that emotionless mask crack for the briefest moment before he nodded. “I promise, just another Thursday.” 

You huffed pulling yourself against him, burying your face in his chest. “No it isn’t, and you know it” 

He pulled away then and you let him go; you knew if he was going to catch this bastard he had to leave and he had to leave now. 

“Here,” he undid the watch around his wrist, holding it out to you 

You shook your head “I can’t take that; it’s too important to you” 

“Then keep it safe for me” he wrapped it around your wrist, having to do it up on the last available hole in the band so it would fit around your wrist. 

He took your face in both hands, giving you one final bruising kiss; whispering a barely heard ‘I love you’ against your lips before he was down the stairs and gone. 

You turned, going back inside, the door closing heavily behind you as you locked and leaned against it. A flurry of emotions bursting through the dam in your chest as you finally let yourself cry. You slid down the door, settling on the floor with a hard thump covering your mouth with your hand as the tears streamed freely down your cheeks. The fear, the sadness, the sliver of hope that he hadn’t just walked down those stairs to wherever, and you’d never see him again. 

You cried so hard you nearly made yourself sick before you got yourself under control and pulled yourself to your feet. 

You took a deep breath, wiping the tears out of your eyes and off your face as you made your way to the kitchen. 

You stopped halfway through the threshold, breath catching in your throat seeing the man you didn’t recognize sitting on top of your counter with his arms folded and ankles crossed in front of him. 

“Hiya Sunshine,” he smiled in a way that made your skin crawl as he hopped off the counter and your heart slammed in your chest.  

“Can I help you?” You fought to keep your voice even as a thousand thoughts raced through your mind one after the other; trying to place this man. 

“You really are easy on the eyes, aren’t you?” he asked, ignoring your question, advancing forward and you instinctively took a step back, 

“Do I know you?” you asked, mentally cursing yourself for never counting how many steps were between your kitchen and front door, but not daring to turn your back and bolt. 

“Your boy certainly does” 

Lloyd.

Your blood froze, you were sure all the colour had drained from your face then. 

“Based on the doe eyed bambi look on your face, I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and say you’ve heard of me” 

“I don’t know-”

“Oh please,” he rolled his eyes with a dismissive wave of his hand “Don’t pull the ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about’ card, it’s just disrespectful”

You didn’t answer, just kept moving slowly backward into the living room as he moved closer across the kitchen. 

Your eyes scanning his form, not seeing any blatantly obvious weapon easily within reach. 

You took your opportunity and turned swiftly on your heel and raced for the door. 

In a flash your hand gripped the doorknob and had it been unlocked you would have been free. Instead, Lloyd shoved you against the door, his body pinning you to the unforgiving surface as he laughed maniacally next to your ear; a fistful of your hair in your hand as he pulled your head back hard, making you grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut briefly 

“Oh no, no, no, no, no” he shook his head “We’re gonna get more acquainted; see if I can figure out what it is about our boy that you like so much” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” you asked, voice strained as you turned your head as much as his grip in your hair would allow; he was watching you with a raised eyebrow waiting for you to finish. “He’s got a massive-”  Before you could finish, your head banged hard against the wooden door and Lloyd scoffed with disgust. 

“Don’t be gross, it’s unladylike” 

You scoffed with a laugh trying hard to ignore the instant throbbing headache “That’s your mistake for thinking I’m a lady Lloyd” 

Your composure was quickly slipping away as you were running out of ideas for an escape. 

“And the lady has me at a disadvantage,” Lloyd spoke slowly, his breath hot against your ear making you cringe. “I don’t really need to know your name anyway, doesn’t matter much, you’ll scream all the same” 

You scoffed “He’s gonna kill you”

“Oh sweetheart, not if I kill you first”

That was the last thing you heard before it all went dark.

[mhsdatgo]

Since GOT they’ve been using rape and abuse to humble or break a woman/Girl because they aren’t the “right” kind of woman. They don’t ride a dragon or yield a sword. They don’t fight against their period typical role in life that they were born and raised in. They’re not “A guys girl” or the “I don’t have any girl friends, they’re too much drama” types who prefer the company of men to women, who would rather train with a sword and not learn embroidery. They don’t have dialogue that vaguely sounds more 21st century than Middle Ages.

These women are seen as of less value than our little dragon riding, sword and fist fighting tomboys. So they need to be taught that if you had just been more like this or more like that you wouldn’t have been brutalized and abused. The things that were done to you by other people is all your fault and you deserved it.

This show/franchise is not even in the same room as feminism.

👏👏👏 Nothing more to add anon. No lie was told.

The sad thing is, this is not what I got from the books of asoiaf at all. Women's experience was never told in juxtaposition to others. There is no humbling or brutalizing other women as a "punishment" for not being better, more rebellious, or bolder than others. The books tell stories of suffering and that's it. The way shows and fandoms decide to try and force other characters into another one's story for the sole purpose of comparing them so they prove that stanning one means having a moral high ground over another character's stans is the most idiotic thing to ever have happened among fandoms, to say the least. Especially when the two characters in question don't even know each other.

Just look at the way Sansa and Dany are treated in the fandom. Have a shot for every time Sansa in King's Landing is called a tradwife as if this wasn't a girl in middle school trying to survive they're talking about, or for every time she's called jealous of Dany. Imagine if a stranger girl with three dragons cames knocking on your door demanding that you and all of your people and their mama bend the knee to her and you are the jealous one and the villain because you just... Don't? Also, you deserve to be threatened with death when you pose a reasonable question, and you need to take it and be better and shut up. Then you're a "girls' girl" deserving of respect, etc.

We want strong female characters to think for themselves, except when that "thinking for oneself" isn't the same thing as kissing the ground the fan favourite girl walks on.

If only fandoms paid more mind to what makes a character likeable or unlikeable in their eyes BASED ON THE CHARACTER ITSELF, and not on their perspective on their faves, interacting with them would be way more fun. Books/shows like asoiaf/GOT or F&B/HotD aren't places where you just choose a character you like and that's it, she's an icon she's a legend and she is the moment. If it was, it would either be a story for kids or a hell for Mare Sues' fans. As long as you treat asoiaf characters like deities that can do no wrong and everyone else as villains in need of redemption, you should step back and read something else.

This is something that needs to be accepted even between writers and directors, btw. Just look at what F&B was turned into. Girlboss vs Girlfail. Blacks got the Girlboss, the virtuous rightful heir, good mother fine ruler, Greens' got the Girlfail, the rape enabler, the boy mom, the tradwife, you name it.

No, it doesn't matter that the latter is doing everything she can possibly do. She was a piece of shit the moment she stopped toiling behind the former because everyone is meant to be like or kneel before girlboss with dragon. Only then are your ambitions respectable. If not, fuck you, you're nothing. Everything that happens to you is your fault. I'll be in the front seats cheering for when everything you love is ripped brutally from you.

Even when your grown-up son rapes a maid. Even when girlboss with dragon threatens to put your people to the torch because you won't bend the knee.

TL;DR: There's no need to compare/stone certain female characters for being what they are instead of a completely different type. If all of them were tomboyish with swords or feminine with embroidery, it would be boring. You aren't better than anyone for having preferences. Also, learn how to blame men when they fuck up. It's great for the bowel.

[pillow-anime-talk]

Hii, congrats on 4K followers! May I request 54 nsfw + Louis from Moriarty the Patriot with she/her pronouns? It can be enemies with benefits/or to lovers type of thing. Thank you :)

# tags: scenario; enemies with benefits; kinda pwp; little bit of romance; mostly drama; nsfw

warnings: mention of sex and sexual activities, quickie, no condom, no kisses, no after care, cigarettes after sex

includes: female reader ft. louis james moriarty {mtp}

author’s note: thank you too! sorry for waiting so long :(

54. “I’ll kill you next time.”

You and the Moriarty brothers had been fighting anonymously for a very long time. You were an elusive woman with a cunning gaze, a passion for firearms, and the only creature you loved more than life was your cat – Lucius, a black and white stray soul that you found three years ago outside a brothel. You lived modestly, although from robberies, frauds and thefts you had quite a large sum of money saved up; however, for years you had dreamed of moving to another country, hence your frugal and organized approach to spending money. However, you did not spare pounds on your cat, that was an exception to the rule.

Although you and the three brothers had had a quiet war between them and you for years, and although they saw you as an enemy, they never had enough evidence that you were responsible for the aforementioned robberies or bankruptcies of high-ranking people or their businesses. And even if the youngest of the three brothers was incredibly close to you, so close that he was fucking you on your couch, he still couldn’t get confirmation from you that you were responsible for these situations.

Louis was a handsome, calm and composed man, and he was also a great cook and had high personal culture and respect for women or the elderly. Nevertheless, your nature didn’t allow itself even an ounce of feeling towards him, much less confirmation of his and his two brothers’ thoughts. You were like two opposite poles that, if combined, could cause a disaster. At this moment, however, thoughts about your differences were muffled by the sound of bodies bouncing against each other, your moans and the sighs of the man with light blond hair.

“You’re really beautiful when you’re not robbing banks.” He murmured in your ear, and you only rolled your eyes, squeezing his bare shoulder.

“I’ve never robbed a bank, idiot.” You answered falsely, with a hint of irony in your voice, to which Louis only laughed. “What? I’m telling the truth.”

“Sure.” His movements were quick, a bit sloppy, although you wouldn’t argue saying that he was the best lover you’ve ever had. Although he gave you indescribable pleasure, deep down you hated him as much as he hated the other side of you, which was evil incarnate, a cheater and manipulator. That’s why your sex was based only on a quickie, a few exchanges of words, sometimes a cigarette lit together, but nothing more. No kisses, no hugs, no questions if it hurt and if it was good.

When you changed positions and you were on top, Louis only suck your nipples and bite them with his white teeth. Your body went through a dozen shivers per minute. The couch under you was wet, and your bodies were sweaty. Heavy breathing interspersed with orgasm ended this meeting. Tired and with cum leaking from your pussy, you reached for a cigarette and a black lighter. Louis put his clothes on without a word, then turned to you in the doorway.

“I’ll catch you next time, Y/N.” He smiled and leave after a moment.

“I’ll kill you next time.” You replied, blowing out the choking smoke from your lungs.

The truth was, he would never catch you red-handed, nor did you ever intend to kill him. After all, you wouldn’t last longer than three days without each other, because that was your limit when it came to sexual abstinence.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 28, Unwanted - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, violence, death

Word Count: 861

Previously On...: You're boyfriend's back and Jade's gonna be in trouble. Hey na, hey na...

A/N: THREE MORE CHAPTERS LEFT OMG HOW DID WE GET HERE?!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

Jade was dragging you through the hallways of the base by your hair as she frantically searched for an exit that would keep her out of Bucky’s reach. At first, you tried to keep track of the path you took, making note of turns and counting doorways as you were pulled down long corridors in case the opportunity to escape presented itself and you had to retrace your steps, but the route was so convoluted, and your head so battered, that you quickly lost track of where you were going, and any sense of direction you’d been able to hold onto. 

“I need eyes,” Jade said, more to herself than to you, and soon she was shifting directions. Within moments, she was throwing open a metal door that appeared to lead to a security center. Tossing you unceremoniously inside, she bolted the door behind her and heaved a heavy breath.

“What’s the matter?” you asked, your tone dangerously mocking. “If he loves you as much as you think he does, you shouldn’t have any reason to run from him.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Jade chanted. She moved over to the row of security monitors and began quickly cycling through the screens. “Gotta find an exit,” she murmured to herself. “There has to be a way out where he won’t see.”

You took the opportunity her distraction provided to study the rest of the monitors, hoping to find some subtle way to contact Bucky, to let him know where you were or, at the very least, to try and find an escape route of your own. 

“How did he know where to find you?” Jade muttered as she continued to flip through the feeds.

You opted not to answer; you’d be a fucking idiot to reveal your distress bangle now. If you could keep it a secret from Jade, you’d ensure that Bucky would have the ability to find you, no matter where she ended up taking you. It would also let him know you were still alive.

You scanned the rest of the monitors, instead, and were shocked by what you saw: Room after room was littered in corpses; bloody, mangled, bodies where there had once been Hydra agents. Your eyes landed on a monitor in the far left corner of the room, and you saw him. Bucky was covered head to toe in the blood of his enemies, dual guns raised in the air as he opened fire on anyone who stood in his way. Though you couldn’t hear the words coming from his mouth, you could read his lips well enough to know he was screaming your name, searching for you as he tore through the facility, slaughtering every Hydra operative that crossed his path.

You had never seen him so enraged before. Yes, you knew that, as the Winter Soldier, he’d been capable of immense violence– you’d seen video footage of him in action, after all, but this? This was so much worse than that. Because Soldat complied. And Bucky Barnes? He was out for blood.*

You should have been frightened by the blatant display of absolute brutality, should have been repulsed by it. But instead, it excited you. It thrilled you, because you knew that he was doing this for you. To get you back, to keep you safe. He was willing to damn his soul to hell to protect you when you needed him. You should have been disgusted, but you’d never been more turned on by him in your life.

“Gotcha!” Jade exclaimed, drawing your attention back to her. She’d stopped her cycling through the security feeds on a non-descript door that, so far, seemed to have been spared from the ongoing carnage. Moving to a locker beside the desk, Jade reached inside and pulled out a handgun and several clips of ammo, tucking them snuggly into her belt.

“Come on,” she said, reaching out and grabbing your hair once more. “You’re my human shield for getting out of here.” She dragged you back out of the security station and into the hallway, looking both ways before turning left and sprinting down the corridor. It was all you could do to keep up; you had no doubt that if you faltered, she’d drag you across the floor behind her without a second thought. 

In minutes, you were at the door you’d seen in the feed. Jade let go of your hair and trained her gun on your head. “Open it,” she commanded. 

You winced in pain as you yanked on the door with your right hand, the left dangling limply and uselessly at your side. “Hurry up!” Jade shouted at you.

“I’m trying,” you grunted as you pulled. “The door’s fucking heavy, and in case you forgot, I’m down an arm because of you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jade grumbled, reaching around you to yank the door open, herself. “Do I have to do fucking everything around here?” She jabbed the barrel of her gun into your back. “Go,” she urged.

You stepped into the darkness of the open tunnel and, doing your best not to stumble or jostle your ruined arm, began to walk.

<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->

[hitlikehammers]

intimately entwined

rating: e (but not how you think) ♥️ cw: the deepest intimacies in the most unexpected places knocking someone on their ass  ♥️ tags: established relationship, care-taking, casual intimacy, fluff, relationship development, slice of life, idiots in love

for @steddielovemonth day three: Love is wanting to do everything with someone, even if its nothing special

and yes, again: these boys probably grow up to star in the rockstar-husbands-with-the-sex-toys fic je ne regrette rien which will have a sequel flavoured revival via @subeddieweek in April whaaaaaatttt

“Another.”

And the way it’s said: it’s almost fucking expectant too, Jesus Christ, this man.

“You’re sure this is okay?”

Because, like, Eddie needs to know it is. He needs to check, then double check, then triple check because…because this feels like a wholly different step, y’know? This feels like crossing a kind of line they haven’t even dared to tiptoe near just yet, wholly different from all the other lines they’ve navigated, both reckless and careless but together, always, and that helps, in theory. It helps to know that no matter how they’ve fumbled or triumphed in this, between them: it’s been hand in hand. Before, and during, and after.

Still, though. This is…this just feels very fucking different. The kind of boundary with implications that feel heavy and expansive under Eddie’s ribs. Maybe it should seem less monumental compared to other shit they’ve done, and most of that with far less deliberation and hesitation for them, at that. But this does, it…Eddie genuinely believes this pumps weird and novel through his veins, because it is different; and incredible for it, no question. Terrifying. Wholly beggars belief, honestly, and Eddie never really understood that phrase meant but.

He thinks this thing fits it, to a T.

“I said it was, didn’t I?”

Eddie blinks, recenters: was it okay?

And this, this…brilliant perfect little shit: Eddie can hear the smirk in his voice without even looking. He can hear the amusement as much as the loose-ends of frustration. Like Eddie is being absurd here.

Which: what the actual fuck; seriously.

Like, like: goddamn seriously.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, a little hesitant, a lot fucking dazed; “yeah you did,” because…he did. From the beginning, from even before they settled int to start this: Steve had been…vocally enthusiastic. Not that Eddie hadn’t been! He’d mostly just, he’d just been—

“You think I’m fucking with you?”

Again: without having to see Eddie clocks the eye roll, the not-even-subtle challenge in it.

Alongside the nugget of genuine hurt held for if it turns out true and that: no.

No, Eddie will not fucking have that, so.

Okay, he won’t have that, but also first:

“I mean, yeah—“ because umm…their sex life is a little undeniable.

Steve snorts; how. How

“Here and now, jackass,” he snipes back and Eddie…Eddie really and truly doesn’t fucking know what to do with this. How cal, Steve is. How focused and dedicated to the task. How monumentally and profoundly, just…

How this is sitting in his chest as so much more than the rest of it somehow in a way Eddie cannot wrap his mind around to understand and it’s frightening. Not understanding something so clearly and intimately important; so clearly fucking intimate.

“Not exactly,” Eddie ultimately settles on speaking rather than continuing to gape, continuing to stew in his terror as his heartbeat picks up but speed, it comes out more choked than he’d been hoping; less convincing by a mile as a result. “I don’t think you’re fucking with me like, like it’s something intentional,” and Eddie seeks out Steve’s gaze directly then because that’s it, that’s the hurt part he needs to root out and not crush to bits because he doesn’t crush any part of the man he loves, ever; no.

No, Eddie needs to root that out so he can draw it into the pounding in his chest warm and safe to be cradled and adored until it snuffs itself out in contented fucking joy, for being loved right. Like it deserves.

Which might be part of the problem in the present case just: this time it’s a problem for Eddie.

“Like not mean or anything,” he reiterates, to make absolute sure of this part too; “I just…”

Steve watches him as he struggles to put any part of it into words, can’t even move, or fidget like this: caught, and kinda giddily so underneath everything else, and maybe he needs to lean into that base sensation, see if he can chart his way out from the center versus stumbling around the sides:

“It can’t be, like, enjoyable,” is what he ultimately settles on saying as clear as he came because honestly, that sums up the bulk of it.

Plus he’s learned by now to trust Steve to reach around his rougher edges and find the heart of his meaning, or else, and probably more often: hold his hand as the send out a search party between them for the right words.

Because that’s still it, isn’t it: together.

And of everything else, Eddie doesn’t have to even pysch himself up to trust in that; it just it. It comes natural like breathing.

“Umm,” Steve draws out, a little incredulous; “why not?”

Why not? Why isn’t this exchange clearly one-sided?

“Because,” Eddie tries to find his words, or at least some of them: “I guess, what do you get out of it?”

Steve’s the one glancing to lock their gazes and Eddie…Eddie doesn’t feel ashamed where he might have early on. But he recognises the similar dive where it still lives in his stomach for the gentle warmth that Steve stares into him. Like he sees Eddie’s question, and loves Eddie enough that he won’t dismiss it.

“One more,” Steve instructs confidently, just-shy-of-demands.

“Steve—“

“If you hate it we never have to do it again,” Steve counters; a compromise; “promise.”

“That’s not—“ because fucking hell, as if Eddie could ever hate it.

“One more,” Steve reminds him with the patience of a saint and…Eddie’s moving almost without any thought for it at all, like his body runs the way of his heart and moves for Steve be rote, which.

Kinda, yeah.

“Blow,” Steve’s instructing and Eddie’s doing the moving-by-instinct-because-Steve-says thing again; knows he’s blinking owlishly as he purses his lips and does as he’s asked.

Blows. Ever-so-gentle.

“Okay,” Steve assesses and then grins: “okay, that’s it. Perfect.”

Eddie won’t fucking argue. Not least because it’s true.

Though he’s more invested in the perfection looking up at him like this.

“Verdict?”

And okay, Eddie thinks maybe he has words now, at least inside his head: intimacy wasn’t something he’d ever had before Steve, and frankly was never something he was hanging hopes on ever getting, again—before Steve.

But it wasn’t just because he didn’t have other options that Eddie banked on intimacy equalling sex, either. Because once he did have Steve, it just shifted to the idea of sex as a way of showing love. The more of himself he could give to Steve, the more intimate they’d become: the more of him that was Steve’s for the taking, the more of Steve he look reverent into himself, body to body: that was intimate. That was a relationship, how it looked as it grew. First time Steve came inside him. First time Eddie licked him open. First time he fucked Steve’s gorgeous goddamn thighs.

That kind of thing.

But Eddie’s not sure even the heaviest, headiest sex has ever left his heart as much of a thumping, fluttery mess as just this, which doesn’t feel like just anything: Steve. Sitting in front of him. With a bottle he drove out to Indy to get just for Eddie. Because Eddie wanted it. Because Eddie would like it. Because it might make Eddie happy and it did, it really really did, and—

Steve’s just painted his fucking nails the most gorgeous shiny black, only the slightest bit straying off on the skin, too, and it’s somehow hitting Eddie deeper than the first time they fucked, the first time they stretched each other open, the first time they 69’d in the sheets.

This is apparently what knocks Eddie on his ass for just how deep the love goddamn goes.

“That.”

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, blinking back to the moment where he was busy getting caught up in the new revelation of what intimacy looked like, not to mention caught up in admiring his nails: “what’s ‘that’?”

And Steve’s smiling beatific, incandescent, as he pokes Eddie’s cheek, no, more specifically: as he pokes Eddie’s dimple.

“What I get out of it.”

And Eddie flushes hot under Steve’s touch, then, as it all adds up and seeps in strong enough to shake his core before reshaping him from the inside out as Steve taps the little divot in his skin playfully:

“That.”

Which is how Eddie realizes full on and forever, probably something he already knew, just somewhere under the surface: the intimacy was the sharing of the joy. And in love, especially a love like this one: joy itself is the payoff.

Joy, like everything, is shared by default.

Eddie lifts his eyes, meets Steve’s smile so wide, and relishes the color on his nails as a sign of it for seeing; relishes the dizzy cadence pumping in his chest as proof for the rest of him, to feed and nurture this depth of loving for all the simple things, undimmed and forever until his heart stops doing anything at all. Because there is no pay off, even if there is always something to get out of it. Out of all of it.

Because love is them; together.

Intimately entwined to the goddamn cells.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland

♥️

divider credit here

[crusty-chronicles]

🎪Crusty's Masterlist of Madness🎪

A Masterlist of all my current works so things are easier to find. An 🔞 marker for any smut fics. Everything else is just fluff.

RULES FOR REQUESTING- please check this out before requesting. Thank you 😘

Airheaded S/O Headcannons: Just a bunch of head cannons of characters (mostly anime) who I feel would thrive with a very stupid, yet incredibly strong S/O

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

*old* The Guide To An Idiot's Heart: A Viktor x airheaded s/o fic.

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

Hunter x Hunter

Multi chapter fics

Moon and Sun:(Platonic) Older reader goes soft after unexpectedly looking out for two boys. Whether it be troubled past or mutant ants, their promise to protect will never waiver.

🔞Forgiveness and Acceptance:

It's been a little over a year since the Chimera Ant Incident. A year since you'd made that fateful decision to run away during the fight with Pitou, leaving Kite behind in the process. A year of trying to cope with the aftermath. Blaming yourself for his death and subsequent resurrection, coming back as the very creature that had ended his life. Trying to navigate through your relationship with guilt weighing heavy on your shoulders. So much so that you'd do just about anything for him. Kite however, doesn't view your relationship through the same negative light you do.(Confirmed sequel to Moon and Sun.)

🔞Sandwiched Between:Getting a little too drunk, you and your friends start getting frisky. Unfortunately for you, you're sandwiched between a man who wants to ruin you and another who treats you like glass. PART 1 2

🔞Love Me Like I'm Your Last: A quickie with Kite leads to more than you expected. PART 1 2 3

One shots/Headcannons/Drabbles

🔞Med School Won't Pay for Itself: In which Leorio seeks a different means to make money for med school

Why MaS Reader Doesn't Get Along With Kurapika

🔞Kite with an S/O on Their Period

Kite As A Dad

Kurapika with a Phantom Troupe Hating S/O

HxH Men Throwing Down with their S/O's Plushies

Kurapika With An S/O Who Hunts Down Their Family

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

Yu Yu Hakusho

Multi chapter fics

Not so Bad: The gang find a small, frazzled reader after being sent to stop a demon trafficking ring. Upon arriving to the location, they quickly realized everyone was dead, everyone except you. Reader is taken in and becomes attached to a particular demon with three eyes. PART 1 2

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

One shots/Headcannons/Drabbles

Just Friends: In which our favorite fox realizes something while you tend to his wounds

Hiei Courting Headcannons: How our favorite three eyes demon courts Reader

Stubborn: In which our two favorite demons tend to and scold Reader for being careless during a fight.

Hands Off: What happens when someone tries to woo Hiei's very stupid S/O. What happens when they move in to kiss. Absolute madness is what.

Hiei with a Tall S/O

Reactions to Reader Being Hit On and Going to Them for Protection

Yu Yu Hakusho Men Receiving Flowers

Revelations: It's no secret Kurama's soft on you. But when his demon form finally sees the light after hundreds of years, the fact only further cements itself.

Jin With A Human Bookworm S/O

Hiei Bringing His Airheaded S/O To Demon World

Kurama With An S/O Who Loves Plants

Yu Yu Hakusho Men Reacting To Their S/O Singing

Hiei and Kurma Seeing Their S/O at the Dark Tournament

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

[regulusrules]

Ranking the best 10 Merlin episodes + a fic rec based on each one:

(absolutely not based on how gay they were) ((no order for the eps; they're all chef's kiss)) (((last two fics have a hold on me that levels the show itself; worth scrolling for)))

1. The Poisoned Chalice

Look. There is something just absolutely entrancing about introducing this episode in the first five of the entire show. Like, this hands-on was the sole reason everyone fell for those two idiots. It beautifully captured how the saving each other thing is reciprocal, because the first three episodes you just have to watch Merlin run around saving Arthur, never the reverse. Producing it early on in the show was the decision that, in my opinion, held everyone in their chokehold for eternity.

Fic rec: you are my favorite mistake (it can only be fate) by @multifandom-jess.

2. The Death Song of Uther Pendragon

I could go on and on for how this episode singlehandedly carried s5 on its shoulder. Like, okay I unfortunately love s5 with all my fucking heart, but this episode was perfect. Ghosts? Check. Banter? Check. POETRY?? Check check. A slap to Uther's face? Oh how beautifully checked.

It's so easy to recall how Arthur truly loved his father, but in this episode, the turmoil you see in his eyes from the actions of his father and how he resorts to saving the ones he loves (Merlin) over his father, is just too beautiful to be overlooked. Ever since Arthur became king, we see him struggle from his father's legacy. But in this episode, he begins to detach both consciously and subconsciously from him. Whether it's in his decision to save the old sorceress in the beginning, or to shun Uther's ghost, both the literal and the figurative, from his life any longer. This was one of the episodes that captured the true essence of King Arthur.

+1: the innuendos of this episode were 🤌. They knew what they were doing, you can't convince me otherwise. (are you threatening me with a spoon? / I'm teaching him some poetry.. he can't get enough of it! / what was that? h-horseplay. why don't I show you?)

Fic rec: My heart is readily yours by @regulusrules. (absolutely love how after all this introspection, i decided to throw it all away and made uther stab merlin in the fucking heart instead. but still it was my honourable attempt to shit on the finale and give them the happy ending everyone deserved).

3. The Sword in the Stone pt. 2

OKAY. This episode! Aside from how badass Merlin was in both pt.1&2, but here, especially in the part where us audience were impatiently waiting for the revival of the sword in the stone, there could've been nothing more perfect. Just like their adaptation of the round table scene, this was perfect in its own way for how different it was. They didn't make it so that people will finally find a king; they made it so that the people believe in their king. And more than that, for Arthur to believe in himself. With the estrangement and losing his crown, the writers gave him the best way to re-establish his inner glory. And Merlin being this guide; what more perfect culmination to their relationship?

You have to believe, Arthur.

Iconic.

Fic rec: Couldn't choose between Only Friend by @captain-ozone, and Fathom Me Out by @supercalvin. Brilliance ahead in both of them, I tell you.

4. The Eye of the Phoenix

Magic. Gwaine. Quests. Need I say more to explain that this was the show's holy trinity?

Fic rec: From Past to Present by flowersheep. (Prince Merlin. Archer Merlin. Perfection my friends).

5. A Servant of Two Masters

Look look; if there's an honourary wall of opinions for all the people who've watched Merlin, I DARE you to find just one who disliked this episode. Like, the series was so full of BS sometimes, but this episode was above all. The level of brilliance in this episode; showing Dark!Merlin, who's at the same time hilariously funny, and seeing him BAMF his way with Morgana, even when he's chained and tortured.. oh dear holy Lord. His "do me a favour, could you? let Arthur know." was able to steal all breath from my lungs the first time I saw it (and until now).

And don't get me started on the Protective!Arthur we got. Caring for Merlin, screaming for him when the rocks fell between them, silencing Agravaine immediately when he told him he's sorry for losing such a loyal servant because bullshit if he doesn't reign down hell before he loses Merlin. And ofc, Courage and Strength on their way to find Magic, which just filled my heart with an 'aaahhh!' moment, because we didn't get enough Gwaine-Arthur-Merlin shenanigans. And at last, the Hug™. Fucking screamed let me tell you.

It is an episode that truly showed everything; from comic elements to fluff and angst and everything. The only thing it lacked was, as always, giving Arthur the space to know. Because ffs what would they have lost if they made Arthur understand that Merlin's under Morgana's control? It wouldn't have exposed shit. It would've just been a plus to us to see Arthur caring for Merlin even more. They tried so hard that it completely backfired sometimes.

Fic rec: Still I Surface in Morning Light by @queerofthedagger. (I swear to you, anything written by this author, I readily throw whatever in hand to read it).

6. The Dragon's Call

Let thy gif caption speak.

No but really, that first episode was the stuff of legends. I could list down tens of tropes they did in just that episode alone. Honestly, no "family" show I've ever seen had started this powerfully. Just the music alone, the beauty of beginnings, not the CGI, was truly so gripping. Also bonus points for just Colin Morgan's sass abilities. None can compare.

Fic rec: This Time Around... series (incomplete) by Oneiric (lkdaswani). (this is a time travel AU, but the way the writer rewrote this episode was one of the best deviations I've read for an episode I already find near faultless).

7. The Sins of the Father

I might be subjecting myself to true wrath with my upcoming statement, but here we go:

S2 sucked.

From the beginning of the season, Arthur's shift in characterization from the honourable lovable prat of s1 to a letting Merlin act as a horse stool got me going wtf? It was like they deliberately ruined everything in their relationship and started out fresh just to force the Arthurian narrative of Arwen. And it's fine by me, truly, even if I'll never ship them, but they could've developed Arthur's character SO MUCH in that season beyond comic relief and romantic rendezvous.

Anyway so that I don't stray so much from the topic; this episode was, by fair comparison, the best in the entire season. By now it's pretty obvious that I gravitate towards all the episodes that give Arthur a semblance of agency. Him going against Uther and his maniac murderous agenda was the start of actually seeing King Arthur in front of us. Also, him listening to Merlin when he was on the verge of committing patricide was one of the things that gave me hope in how there's still hope in them. Even if they ruined it with making Merlin lie to Arthur, but the writers practically ruined every good episode with this.

+1: Morgause's intro was badass.

Fic rec: The Sins of the Father (and how to right them) by @cupcakezys. (what we deserved. to see arthur with agency, with an ability to decide for his future without being lied and deceived to).

8. Diamond of the Fucking Day

No matter how much I hate this episode, I can't, in good conscience, deny its hold on my heart. As I wrote before, there could've been no better magic reveal than this. And for all of my bitterness over their decision to kill Arthur, I sanely admit how it was a decision that insured the immortality of this fandom. It's been ten years since that episode aired, and I bet my ass off that it will still feel the same even after countless more decades.

Fic rec: literally the entirety of the fandom's fix-it fics. We all started from there, didn't we? Choosing only one would be so undervaluing to all the brilliance I've seen. However, my tags filter for it usually include: fix-it, angst with a happy ending, court sorcerer merlin, shitting on bbc writers 101, canon era, not canon compliant, everybody lives especially king arthur you mfs.

Update: I subconsciously took all these tags and wrote them in a fic

9. The Wicked Day

Throw me from the highest tower there is because every time I remember this scene, I just want to fade into the light. The sheer level of love and understanding shimmering between those two. Sometimes I marvel at the choice of bringing Colin and Bradley together, because no two could have achieved such chemistry, platonic or not, as those two did. This whole episode of showing Arthur's grief, and Merlin's desperation to heal it, was truly unforgettable. I try not to linger on its ending, Arthur denouncing magic for the millionth of time, but other than that it was a gem served to us on a silver platter.

Also seeing Uther finally die was a plus.

Fic rec: As much as I'd love to recommend my own fic for this, but honestly, whenever I get the chance, I will always take it to scream and wail about one of my absolute favourite fics of all time, which really isn't given ANY of the goddamn credit or attention or kudos it deserves. Beauty in the Ashes of Our Lives by Fulgance. I swear to you, you will never read something as beautifully heartbreaking as this. This fic resides in my mind rent-free. Basically any work by Fulgance is amazing, but this fic— oh God, my heart cannot take it sometimes.

10. Arthur's Bane pt. 1

Fuck, that episode was a masterpiece. You know, if it was all in my hands, I would've magic revealed at this particular episode. It was just.. the perfect opportunity. King Arthur in his glory, beginning of the season, enough time for Arthur to fully understand the depth of what Merlin did for him. Also, the range Arthur was given starting from here; God it's what we deserved. I always blame the writers for being inconsistent with his characterization (s2 and all), but they beautifully crafted it in the end, and it was their perfect chance to even explore the whole extent if only they made the magic reveal earlier.

Fic rec: Our broken pieces by @aramblingjay. Okay so this fic rec isn't necessarily linked at all to the episode, but I can't, in good conscience, recommend fics and not include it. Technically context wise it fits s5, for in it you see Arthur in his grandeur as king. This shall be my only exception because it's the only fic that was able to make me cry. Truly, I never shed tears, but in this, my heart stuttered. The fact that it is so unnoticed makes my blood boil because of how much praise it deserves. I can never recommend it enough.

To conclude, BBC Merlin has a powerful hold on everyone because of the fact that they knew how to eternalise it. It is significantly unique in its interpretation of legendary figures. I think I watched nearly all adaptations of King Arthur throughout the years, but even with how great some really are, to me none compare with this sword-swishing, banter-driven, CGI-messing, emotionally-killing 2008 show.

Honorary mentions:

| The Labyrinth of Gedref | Gwaine | Le Morte D'Arthur | Lancelot | The Coming of Arthur | The Moment of Truth | The Hunter's Heart | His Father's Son | The Darkest Hour |

[More fic recs]

[chaotic-iguana]

Home

masterlist. ao3.

Summary: reader leaves joel and sarah to pursue a job offer in nyc, thinking it would be easier than watching the relationship die from a distance. she soon realises her mistake and scrambles to fix it. based on this request. 

Pairing: joel x fem! reader (no use of y/n) no outbreak au

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings: no smut, just a lot of angst, fluff and attempted humour

A/N: So, I’m clearly incapable of writing short drabbles (sorry lmao) let me know your thoughts!

“‘M just not gettin’ why we can’t make it work?” Joel throws his hands up, hot at your heels while you wipe your eyes on your sleeve and rush to the bedroom. 

“I’m not saying I don’t want to. I’m just saying its unfair to the both of us. I don’t know how long I’ll be down there. What if we find other people? Long distance never works, Joel. I don’t get why you can’t just let it go.” Yelling over your shoulder, you start shoving your clothes into your suitcase, wincing at the harsh scoff he lets out. 

You’d known how this was going to go. You loved Joel, so much. But you had worked practically your whole life to get the job you’d been offered last week. It started in a month, but it was all the way in New York. And you’d known while reading the email, as your initial excitement settled, that the slimy feeling coiling in your gut was right - you’d have to leave Sarah and Joel behind. 

Your experience with long distances in relationships wasn’t great - and more importantly, it would be unfair to both your boyfriend and the girl you considered your own daughter for you to expect them to sit around and wait for you, indefinitely. Because you truly had no idea how this was going to go, at all. 

You wanted to wait until the flight tomorrow morning to break things off with Joel, but he’d been so sweet while helping you get everything together last minute and he’d figured out that something was up almost immediately. So now, here you are. Having a messy breakup with the love of your life 9 hours before your flight to New York. Where you’d live, for god knows how long. 

But this was good, wasn’t it? You were finally reaping the benefits of all the summers spent indoors and working, the missed birthday parties, the cancelled plans. You were finally getting everything you’d ever wanted, right? Except your palms felt clammier, your eyes glossed over with tears and your mind was completely blank as each sharp breath you gulped made you wince like a shard of glass. 

Joel stood to your sight, arms hanging limp to his sides and his eyes on the ground, brows furrowed. He looked heartbroken, and it felt like it was physically tearing you apart not to go and smooth his frown away, kiss away his scowl. You wanted to fix his hurt, but you couldn’t - you were the one hurting him. It was for his own good though. He’d find someone nice, how could he not, and he would be happier. The thought of him holding someone else, of Sarah running up to anyone else with that twinkle in her eye, of someone else fitting into your family made your chest ache.

Nothing is permanent, and they know I love them. They have to know I’ll always love them. They’ll get someone better, they’ll be happier. It’s going to be okay, everything’s gonna be just fine. A stream of rambling consciousness starting playing like a broken record player in your mind, reasoning and justifying what you were doing even as your body-your whole fucking being was protesting it. Your hands were trembling, it’d taken you three tries to close the damn zipper and you knew it. 

Turning to your Joel-not anymore, is he? you’re letting him go, you goddamn idiot (helpful supplication, brain, thank you for making me cry harder)- you sidestep him, leaving him standing dejectedly in the bedroom to drag your suitcase to the curb. The image of him with his head bowed; shoulders slumped as he closes his eyes and clenches his fist, agony radiating from him, is one that sears itself into your memory on your way out. Double checking your passport, boarding pass and phone, you walk in to stand in front of him again, gently bringing a hand up to his cheek to make him look at you. When he opens his eyes, they’re completely bloodshot and lined with unshed tears, breaking you; using all your willpower not to break down and pull him closer, take his pain away. Reigning your raging feelings, you stand on your tiptoes to brush a kiss against his cheek. “Be happy, Joel. Tell Sarah I love her.” You whisper into his skin and turn to leave, startling when he grabs your wrist. 

“Tell her yourself. ‘S gonna break her heart tomorrow mornin’ if she wakes up an’ you’re not here.” He’s searching your sorrowful eyes, watching his words break your façade as you clamp your teeth down on your bottom lip and shake your head fast as more tears spill down your cheeks. 

“C-can’t. I can’t. Please.” 

Joel wants to gather you in his arms, stroke your hair till you calm down. But you’ve got your walls up now - crumbling, shaky walls but still, a barrier you’ve very much built between the two of you. He wanted your happiness, your successes, more than anything, but he wanted to cheer you on by your side, too. He was willing to wait, to call when you could - phones were getting smart now? - but you’d convinced yourself you were doing yourself and him a mercy by ending it. So he just nods, once, before gulping and pawing at the table to swipe his keys. The question written all over your face makes him want to laugh - did you really think he loved you so little he’d leave you to find your own ride to the airport at 9 fucking pm even if you couldn’t stand to look at him anymore? 

So he hauls your bags off the curb and into his truck, yanking the passenger side door open and gesturing for you to sit with a jerk of his head. Once you clamber in, he walks over to the other side and starts the truck, hating every second of this. He wants to scream, shout, and beg you to stay so badly. But if you think this’d make you happy, he’d do it. Anything. 

He just couldn’t understand why you kept saying he’d find better, be happier. As if he’d even try. Sarah’s mother had left, and he’d been crushed - had sworn off dating altogether. But you had come along; your lilting giggles and twinkling eyes carving a place in his heart. He hadn’t been with you because he was looking for anyone, he’d been with you because he thought he had found the one. But clearly he was wrong. Again. 

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he clenches his hands tighter around the wheel to steady them . His mother had always told him if it’s meant to be, it’ll be - and you won’t have any say in it. He knows it’s cliché, but if there’s even a grain of truth to be found in it, he’ll treat the saying as if it were gospel.   

He can hear you sniffing your way there, heart breaking at the soft sobs that escape you, but he makes no comment. There’s no need to make this harder for you. You’d nearly fallen apart when he mentioned Sarah, and he could see in your eyes that if he asked you to stay with him, to sacrifice everything entirely, you’d do it without thinking. But he didn’t want that- could never want that for you. And so he stayed quiet, the stifling silence of the truck broken only by your muffled crying. 

Pulling up outside the airport, he steps out and takes your bags down in complete silence. Itching to fix the awkwardness, he smoothes his hands over his shirt and sneaks a glance at you. You-his headstrong, terrifying little thing - looking this small, this defeated  - feels so wrong that he can’t help but grasp one of your hands in his. Hooking a finger under your chin, he tilts your head up and smiles softly when you meet his eyes. “‘F you ever need me, you call me, you hear? Don’t matter if it’s five am and you’re thousands of miles away. I’ll find you, okay?” Your head barely dips in a nod as you stare at him like you’re trying to memorise the curve of his nose; the set of his jaw. 

Releasing you and stepping back, he plasters a wider grin on his face as he ushers you inside, stopping only to whisper “Don’t be a stranger, hotshot.” The tiny grin blooming on your face sends victory-fueled adrenaline pumping in his veins, his stomach twisting with butterflies at the final step: watching you walk away. He waits till you’re inside and out of his sight, letting a long breath loose in resignation. 

He can see how unsteady your feet are, how you stumble and nearly trip over yourself. She’ll be okay, she’ll be happy. If Joel was a better man, he’d try and understand why you just left him. He would gladly have learned it all for you - the SMS texting, even the Skype stuff he’d heard of from a colleague; apparently you could see someone on your phone while talking to them - even if he was all thumbs at it. Sarah would likely have helped him with it, too, the girl loved you so damn much she would have gone outta her way to find ways to make the distance feel as normal as possible. But you didn’t ask for any of that. No, you asked him to let you go. So he would. 

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

You sit in the lounge, miserable. Forcing yourself to take your mind off the clusterfuck that your life has become, you reach out for a magazine and start flicking through some mindless droning bullshit about a celebrity being spotted at a bar. Anxiety and unease had the wheel now, so you decide what the hell, and walk to the airport bar, ordering whiskeys one after the other until your head is swimming and you can’t remember how to stay upright walking in god knows which corridor of this too-big airport. Funnily enough the only thing the alcohol isn’t strong enough to wipe is Joel. How you didn’t even say goodbye properly, not to him and not to Sarah. They deserved better. You’re doing them a favor by leaving. 

Your head swarming with stinging taunts directed towards yourself, you stumble into the bathroom and begin a four-hour-long stint of curling up next to the milky white porcelain, hurling intermittently as you lay on the filthy vinyl floor and relish the cold bite against your burning skin. Drinking on an empty stomach had been shit oversight on your part, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d made more mistakes than one tonight…

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

Your job was all you could have asked for. The opportunity of a lifetime, with a salary high enough that your account was close to hitting 6 figures in less than a year. It had taken a long time and a lot of hard work to reach here, but it was worth it. The job was, atleast. But when you swung your door open late at night, walking into a dark, cold apartment; when you got sick and had to lay shivering in bed alone for a week; when the weekend rolled around and all you could do was curl up in bed and sob into your pillow - you knew that this wasn’t worth the cost of your relationship. You’d lost weight, your eyes had semi-permanent bruises under them, your hands shook most of the time now. 

It was getting worse and worse, until one morning when your alarm went off for work, you just shut it off and slept in some more. Then cleared out the depressive clutter that had started to overflow on every table, in every cabinet. Threw out the half-empty liquor bottles and for the first time since you had landed here, you knew what you were doing.

You were going back to Texas. Fuck your two-week notice. You’d made enough money to sit on your ass and do small jobs for the rest of your life if you wanted to. The eight-month stint at the firm you were currently working at - even just summarized in two lines on your CV - would help you get better jobs than you were doing before. But you weren’t going back to Austin for work, not really. 

You missed Sarah like a phantom limb; it felt like someone had ripped away a part of you and forced you to live with it. You missed her jokes, her laughter, the way she’d get excited about something and talk your head off. And him. You didn’t miss him, you fucking ached for him like a lovesick puppy. His name alone made you ache, and he plagued every single minute you spent awake since you left. You kept replaying that night over and over again; every single minute of it immortalized in your memory like your own personal purgatory (fun!). Joel, who would have held your hair back when you hurled your guts up at the pavement on the bad nights. Joel, who would have held you and fed you and loved you and why the fuck did you ever think it was a good idea to leave him, again? 

Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you packed your things into the same bag you’d arrived with. You hadn’t even bought anything to furnish the apartment, making do with the too-small bed, cabinet and wonky table the landlord had provided - as if you’d known you wouldn’t stay. And you suppose, perhaps, a part of you did know. How was any of this worth anything if he wasn’t with you? The long-term good can go fuck itself. I need to see him. Should I just knock on his door randomly like a creep? No, that’s weird. What if he has another girlfriend now? Yeah, I should ask him before showing up. What if he doesn’t pick up? Where will I go if he isn’t there? God, fuck this. Get on a goddamn plane before you change your mind, idiot. 

With these (wonderful) thoughts dizzying you, you reach the airport and ask the counter for a ticket home. Turns out there’s a flight in thirty minutes - which is great because on one hand you can get rejected earlier - but also means that you need to decide whether or not to text him beforehand. Within the next half hour. Which you then spend wringing your hands, pacing, and by the time you decide to text him, your phone has run out of battery. See this? This, my friends is luck. (or, you know, dramatic plot writing.)

Huffing, you debate yourself every single step of the way onto the plane, practically having a panic attack by the time you find your seat and settle in. There are just so many reasons this could just be another shitshow. You can’t go back in time and fix what you did, but you owe it to yourself and to him to apologise and give him the truth. And so you lie back in your seat and browse yet another crappy magazine to pass the time, eventually giving up and fitfully sleeping through the turbulence. 

By the time you reach his door, its eleven pm on a Tuesday night. Meaning Sarah’s gone to bed, and Joel’s halfway there himself. This is not the time. Or the place. But you don’t find yourself having any better, genius ways to do this - so before you talk yourself into going home quietly - you’re rapping a fist against the door, careful not to be loud enough to wake Sarah up. It’s a school night. Holding your breath, you become suddenly all too aware of your flushed face and the sweat on your palms as you hear familiarly heavy footsteps reaching the door. One half of your mind is yelling at you to turn the fuck around and run what are you doing he won’t take you back you broke his heart get out get out get out while the other half seems to have just short-circuited, leaving you frozen on his porch as his door swings open. 

You watch his eyes widen in surprise, and the slight furrow in his brow as he starts scanning you - for injuries, you realise - he thinks you're hurt or that something’s gone completely sideways. Clearing your throat, you wait for his gaze to snap back to yours before flashing him a meek smile. “C-can I come in? Please?” He just stares at you for a second, and then he’s nodding, stepping to the side and opening his door wider. And God, even that’s enough to have butterflies fluttering in your stomach, your throat going dry. He’s clearly mad at me, but he’s letting me in. At eleven pm. Fuck, I love him. 

You sit on your side of the couch and the sheer mundanity of it hits you like a brick to the face. Joel brings you both beers from the kitchen before sitting across from you, still eyeing you with equal parts suspicion and concern. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, looking down at your hands and trying to figure out what the fuck to do with my mouth what do I even say until he breaks the silence. “So, how’s work been?” 

And now your hands are shaking again, and you freeze. Because what do you say now? Work’s great, practically a corporate wet dream, but useless. See, turns out I made the biggest mistake of my life by leaving - fucking moped about like an idiot the whole time, was practically a minute away from writing you some big shitty sonnet or something to beg you to take me back. Decided against it because that would have taken like $50 dollars just to SMS. ‘Course I could have boom-boxed it, ‘Say Anything’ style, but recording a fucking sonnet on a cassette would probably have shredded my dignity irreparably. Not that this isn’t, it’s just less of a socially-masochistic option, you know?

And it isn’t until you hear him choke on his beer and look up at the amusement on his face that you realise you just said all of that, out loud. You slap a hand to your mouth just as he starts laughing: head bowed, eyes closed and his shoulders shaking - just like that night, but he’s not in pain this time; he’s practically howling with laughter, clutching his stomach with one hand and holding his beer in the other. 

You freeze again, eyes wide and staring in shock at the fact that that just came out of my mouth. And he just heard it. He shakes his head, still chuckling, and pointedly wipes a tear from his eye. Bastard. You, on the other hand, are completely panicking still - that was the shittiest apology you could have given him and where the fuck did that messily written draft you wrote drunk on the takeout bill last night go? It isn’t until he’s looking right at you with a shit-eating grin on his face that you react, blinking and looking down at your hands again. 

“What I meant to say was that I’m sorry. I think I was just so convinced that I’m not the effort of you trying to stay with me long-distance that I convinced myself the only thing possible was to end it. Which, y’know, of course it wasn’t. And I didn’t even say bye properly. You drove me to the airport and I said nothing. I was trying so hard not to cry, because I thought I needed that job since I’ve been working for it so long, but fuck the job. I mean, it was amazing, don’t get me wrong. Great pay and everything, the work itself wasn’t too bad. All in all, amazing. But I was fucking miserable without you. And I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve what I did to you. I fucking love you and Sarah. You’re my whole goddamn world, y’ know? Sundays weren’t the same without chocolate chip pancakes and Sarah telling me about something that happened at school first thing in the morning. I just-I get if you’ve found someone - and feel free to tell me to fuck off even if you haven’t - but I just can’t anymore, I can’t stay awake every night and cry in bed and feel like shit all the time and not tell you that I just miss you so much all the fucking time and I’m so-“

“Breathe.” One word, he’s cutting your rambling off with one word, and you’re fucking obeying it. You swallow a deep breath before opening your mouth again, before he cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours. It’s not a soft kiss, but it isn’t forceful either. Desperate, like he needed to touch you again - the way you’ve needed to every single minute of every single day. Resting his forehead against yours, he’s smiling again. “Sonnet, huh? Would’a been a pretty shit one, I reckon. Lost your train a’thought like four times there, sweetheart.” Your stomach is doing somersaults at the fact that he’s abandoned the beer to cradle your head against his, at how he’s right there and he isn’t pushing you away. 

“Wasn’t right, what you did. But we can’t make the right decisions all the time. I know you thought you were doing us a favor, but thinking you weren’t worth the effort? Now that’s a fuckin’ lie, baby. Woulda learned all kinds of phone voodoo to talk to you, and it would have been worth every damn secon’ of my time if it saved you from whatever the hell New York has done to ya. Staying awake every night and cryin’ in bed?” He tuts disapprovingly, continuing: “Shoulda called me, honey. How’s this: let’s get into bed now, an’ I’ll make you those pancakes tomorrow mornin’, I promise. And we can figure it out from there, okay?” And it takes you a second to process the fact that everything’s okay, before you’re nodding and your face is scrunching into a sob. His hands are immediately cradling you on either cheek as he’s shushing you softly, moving closer to move you into his lap. You were right. No matter how far you went, nothing could replace this right here. This; Joel; Sarah. After a long, tiring, painful eight months, you were finally home.

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings @suckerforfanfic (sorry this tag wasn't working earlier)

[fawnsflowerbed]

His One Weakness || Part 2

Find part one here!

You’ve been beside Leon for as long as you could remember, but you both quietly yearn for more. Until a trip to Spain turns your world upside down and forces feelings out.

Warnings/content: RE4R Leon, fem reader, 2nd person (you/yours), violence and slight gore (obviously), swearing (also obviously), angsty yearning, two idiots in love.

Word count: 4,400 est.

━━━━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦━━━━━━━━━

What you really wouldn’t give to be back at the shooting range right now. 

After an overall disastrous fight against a crowd of ganados to get a bridge down - obviously including some lovely ladies with chainsaws - and a near impossible fight against two El Gigantes, you felt just about ready to fall on your ass and take a five hour long nap. Strenuous labour was always expected in this line of work. Taking down monsters four times the size of you? A bit of a surprise. 

It was worth it in the end, though. Hand heavy with the dynamite you’d swiped during your dangerous journey deeper into the mineshaft. Knife blade dull from being boosted up by Leon to stab at the parasites poking out of the giants. Door swinging open thanks to Luis on the other side. It all still hurt like a bitch though, especially after getting backhanded into a wall by one of the giants. And climbing stairs with an injury like that? An absolute nightmare. Sure listening to a brief history on the religion suffocating the small town helped ease the pain, but what you wouldn’t give to slow down for a second.

The job description couldn’t have been further from the truth; get in, rescue the President’s daughter, get out. You should have read the fine print, squinted between the lines to decipher each lie. Should’ve known it wouldn’t have been easy, not in this field of work.

“I think my spine’s about to collapse in on itself.” You puffed out, wheezing, fighting with your oesophagus to take in any type of air no matter how smoggy. Arms leaned against the safety rails of the platform. The top of the staircase was as good a spot as ever to stop, it seemed. It gave the three of you some time to get your heads on straight.

 A leather clad hand in fingerless gloves passed you a vial of crushed herbs mixed with water.

Leon offered you a smile that was obviously masking his amusement. “Bottoms up.”

Taking the vial with a snort, all you could do was sigh. Time to take the usual steps. Give it a quick shake in hopes of making it taste just a little better. Unscrew the lid. Drink it down and hope the taste doesn’t have you gagging. No matter how many times you’d done it it still tasted just as horrible and went down just as hard. Yes, it was literally leaves and water. But what you wouldn’t give for even a drop of alcohol, maybe something sweet, to help soften the blow. A hoarse cough flew out of your throat while you punched at your chest to get the remaining herb down. Then you sighed again. “I hate my life.”

“Yeah, you’ll get used to it.”

“Will I though?”

“Probably not.” He gave you a soft punch to the shoulder as a sign of reassurance. Your usual action used to tell one another to keep your heads up. Starting at boot camp, continuing in times of peril. Times like this one.

The rest of the journey seemed to be fairly tame, walking up through another mineshaft tunnel dug out in the dirt and stone, supported up by shaky beams. More discarded crates, bags and barrels could be found, it was almost hard to not trip on them. Despite the town looking so small and vulnerable when you’d first arrived, it most definitely ran deeper than you expected it to. Yet again so did the mission. If you knew you’d soon end up in a castle you would have packed your finest ball gown (ha). 

As you got to the end of the shaft and shuffled through the stone archway all three of you were hit with an overhead spotlight. It was shining down onto a rickety looking minecart rail. The whole interior was much bigger than you were expecting it to be, with reinforced roofs and walls, and carved out brick blockings that had been worn down from years of support. The place had clearly been used many times before. Skulls mounted on wooden posts like not-so-subtle warnings to outsiders, a tipped over minecart left to the dirt. A few buckets and wheelbarrows, and some obviously rushed fences tied together with coarse rope. You were surprised some of it was still standing. You felt like a mere speck in comparison to the size of the room’s interior.

The real star was that track though. Leading into a tight tunnel that would surely drive you to more fighting to get back to the surface. It was an easier option than walking, though, and it also seemed to be safer than any other way. From here you could see what looked like steel beams holding up the top of the shaft. This track was obviously used often, which meant it was reliable. What kind of idiot would refuse such an opportunity?

“You’re not suggesting we ride this thing?” 

Leon. Of course Leon would refuse such an opportunity. Or at least try to, anyway. At first he was sceptical.

“Do you see any other way?” Luis asked. There was a clear mock curiosity in his tone; he knew this was the only real solution to getting out of here.

You, on the other hand, were already looking down at the cart mounted up onto the rails. Despite the rusted edges and one of the wheels being slightly out of line it seemed fairly safe. A quick nod of approval.

“It’ll hold us, we’ll just have to be careful on any turns.”

Luis clapped his hands together in celebration, just once. A small sign of a clear win. “Then let’s make haste! To  Princess Dulcinea!”

Everyone else was in clear agreement, all that was left was Leon. He put his hands up for a quick moment of surrender. “Fine. Not like we have a choice. Let’s go.”

With one last final assessment of his resources - scanning over how many herb vials he had left along with his ammunition - Leon gave his sore shoulder a quick roll. His left one to be exact. The one he told you about, when he’d gotten shot back in Raccoon City for all of the wrong reasons. Every now and again you couldn’t help but notice how he gave his hand a quick shake, like the ends were starting to flare up again, fraying to an awful fuzz. It wouldn’t be surprising if he had nerve damage from the incident. 

“Shoulder playing up?” Your voice had an edge of worry.

“Just a bit. I’ll be alright.”

Part of you believed that, the other part didn’t. Leon wasn’t one to openly talk about his pain, be that either mental or physical. He never had been. Shrugs of disinterest, half-smiles biting at his lips. He didn’t like showing it. Maybe someday he’d finally knock down some of those walls for you. Rebuild a few arches so you could walk right in, carve out the holes for windows so the select few could peek at his true self.

He was waiting for that day just as much as you were.

Hopping down onto the rickety track with a soft clunk, Luis was quick to hustle himself up and into the car. Just like you and Leon, he was ready to get out of here. Practically shaking with adrenaline. At this point you may as well have attached him to the back of the cart to shoot you down the mines like a rocket. He definitely had the energy for it.

Leon, however, was clearly teetering on that edge of indecisiveness still. Was this really the best he could do? No other way to get back to the surface?

No turning back now. Not from the way you were looking at him, anyway. 

When would you learn to stop staring into his soul like that? Big round eyes boring through his skull so it might crush into pure ivory powder. The once mighty Leon S. Kennedy had fallen prey to his one weakness.

You.

“Will you be alright sitting in the back?”

You couldn’t help but soften out at his words. For someone who claimed to have changed so much he still had the time to ensure your safety and comfort no matter how harsh the scenario.

But where was the fun in that?

So in return you offered up a rather rough pat on the shoulder.

“If anything I’ll be thankful, less axe-wielding maniacs to stare at. That’s all you now, squire!” You grinned at him. Leon looked far from impressed, in fact on the very opposite end of that feeling.

“C’mon, not you too.”

“Has a nice ring to it, can’t help it.”

The blonde scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

Once you’d dumped your case of gear into the bottom of the cart and ensured Leon was fine having his ass planted on scratched leather, you were getting ready to leave.

“Give us a push, Sancho!”

“Who’re you calling ‘Sancho’?”

“Offer on Rocinante still stands.” You grinned, foot outstretched to hop off the wooden ledge. 

“Ha. Hilarious.”

Finally you could make some ground, finally you could get one step closer to rescuing Ashley and going home. You could almost smell the overpriced aeroplane snacks from here, the plans for when you returned running rampant in your head.

You’d help clean Luis’ record and find him a good spot in a research team, somewhere safe on the sidelines. You could already see him getting along with the rest of the crowd thanks to his charisma and enthusiasm.

As for you and Leon, maybe one of you would finally grow a pair and ask the other out. Maybe lunch, maybe dinner, you’d even settle for a walk in the park at this point. You just wanted to be closer. 

But just as you went to jump down onto the tracks and follow, something reached out and grabbed you. Harsh hands gripped your shoulders and dragged you backwards away from the tracks.

Not knowing how else to react you yelped out in surprise, foot kicking backwards to knock your attacker away. An instant struggle.

You never were one for environmental awareness. 

Leon’s voice shouting your name broke through the mineshaft, drowned out by the frantic raving of the ganado you’d now shoved. He was already reaching for his pistol. Running up to disarm them would’ve been too risky with the cart already making a slow start. If he got too sloppy they’d all lose their chance. He just couldn’t risk it no matter how hard his head was yelling ‘help her’. He knew you knew that too.

Between the chaos none of you were aware that Leon’s leaning on the cart for support made it start moving. Slow at first, hardly a shove, but it’d managed to budge the wheels.

“¡Oye! Where do you think you’re going?” Luis yelled his question to you from within the minecart, tugging on Leon’s arm to signal they were approaching the beginning of the mineshaft.

“It’s fine! I’ll grab the derailed cart. We’ll meet up at the next stop!” With one swift kick your attacker was thrown backwards enough for you to get a grip on things. It was too dangerous to try and catch up now, and you didn’t trust running on the tracks this high up. You had to see your plan through. 

“Stay safe!” Leon called out, watching you turn to offer him a half-smile.

“Aye aye, captain.”

Just as you sliced through the ganado’s jugular you could make out the faint sound of their conversation. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this..” That same tone of his. Begrudged, in awe of himself really. Maybe in true disbelief of doing this without you.

“Hey, we’re in a hurry, right? Sooner we’re there, sooner we see her. Oh, by the way…”

“What now?”

“Hope you like thrill rides!”

You couldn’t help but scoff to hold back a giggle at the sound of Leon yelling out in shock and surprise when the cart hit an obvious dip. Luis didn’t seem too phased by it - if anything you thought you could hear him laugh. Those two were an unusual pair. 

Maybe staying back wasn’t so bad after all. This way you were less likely to experience blockages or unwanted attention on your journey to the next stop. True, that was a stretch (thanks to your awful luck) but there was no harm in having a little hope.

You’d spotted your derailed transportation when you’d first stepped onto the rickety wooden platform, sat just behind the shoddy fencing and left to rust. Now was its time to shine. 

Pulling the tipped over cart upright was easier than expected, it’d looked heavier than it actually was. Fairly smaller, potentially faster compared to the larger one the boys had taken. It was probably a storage cart of some kind, one they’d hook onto the back of the main cars for things like coal. You’d fit though, and likely pick up some speed, meaning you’d reach Leon and Luis in no time. 

Clunking harshly against the rails of the tracks, you lined up the shaky wheels just right. You knew your job was done when a few stray sparks flew from the steel. Finally things were going your way. With a quick swing of your arm, you let your attaché case sit at the bottom of the minecart, giving it a nudge to see if the wheels worked. Sure enough they squealed out in protest, but that didn’t stop them from moving along the rail by a few inches. Bingo. A harsh tug backwards had it stalling to a stop. Now you were getting somewhere. Retrieving your knife from the corpse back up on the platform had you feeling pretty confident in your chances.

Past tense was important in this situation. Things quickly went wrong. Something moved somewhere. You didn’t know where, couldn’t spot much change in where you stood. That definitely wasn’t a rat though. 

All air was knocked from your body when a hard arm was thrusted against your gut, winding you. Pain shot through your whole body, eyes scrunching. With a groan you doubled over onto one knee to clutch at your stomach.

Someone was still here with you.

And they were laughing at you. Cackling.

“Well, if it isn’t the most promising newbie in my squad.”

That voice. That fucking voice mocking you like it had so many years ago. The one that belonged to heavy scars and the raining of bullets. Added insult to injury in your military training. 

No. Surely not. It couldn’t be. They picked you up by the back of your shirt, twisting it to hold you like one would a wet cat.

“Never were one for environmental awareness, were you?”

A harsh toss sent you back to the solid rock of the platform, your clothes skidding roughly across the ground.

Your eyes were shot wide in disbelief, in fear.

The person that led you on endless missions through an overgrown environment, void of hope and packed with constant challenges. Who was with you when you’d barely survived once, fighting for your lives in the jungle. 

“Major Krauser? What are you- But, how? Why?”

You’d wept over this man, you’d been told of his presumed death after the incident associated with Operation Javier. A crash, a slip up, something that went wrong. Something that led to a corpse they called his. They deemed it was him, dental records and all.

You were stupid enough to believe it. 

“Oh y’know. Just thought I’d do a little pest control.”

But this man was so clearly alive and kicking, not a bead of sweat, not a shake of nerves in his body. All you could see was a knife in his hand, a large jagged scar down the left side of his face, and a pair of bloodshot eyes set on one thing.

“There’s been these three rats really getting on my fucking nerves.”

Killing you.

Rolling to your side gave you some time to get your footing, but it also gave you more room. This was definitely not the ideal place to be fighting for your life. Not against someone like your Major. 

This felt wrong. He was dead, you’d attended the wake. The funeral too. All you knew was he’d died in some type of accident some time after, the details had never been explicitly given to you. Something the government refused to tell any of you, Leon included. 

Spitting your blood into the dirt, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Not anything new. Your lips fell into a grimace. “I won’t fight you, Major. You know I won’t. This isn’t you and you know it.”

“That was always your biggest weakness, newbie. You’re vulnerable, you’re emotional. And it’s going to get you killed!”

Krauser made a quick dash towards you to throw you a forceful kick, giving you an opening to duck under his leg and slide across the waitpoint. Crouched down with a hand planted on the ground, you gritted your teeth. That’s what he hadn’t taken into consideration; you could match his pace if he got too cocky. But you’d been taught to do the exact opposite. His laugh was bitter when he skidded to a quick halt.

“Good. You haven’t lost your edge.”

“And you haven’t lost your dick attitude.”

He simply sneered at you. Snapped like a rabid dog. “C’mon, fight back! Give me some kind of struggle. Put your training to use and I might take pity on you.”

Fine. Not like you had a choice in this anyway. It was either that or have your shit rocked instantly without any fair chance.

Readying the knife from where you had it holstered, you tossed the handle over in your hand, trying to pump yourself up. You needed that extra adrenaline to flow through your veins and wash out any of the parasite at that moment. Maybe if you focused hard enough you could use some of the virus’ strength for your own advantage. Maybe. You took your stance, words spat from your mouth like a spray of venom.

“Fuck it.”

At least you’d die knowing you put up a fight, right?

Yeah. Die with some dignity. Good thinking.

You hadn’t been in a knife duel, not in a long time. You and Leon would spar sometimes to brush up on your skills, watching the quick flicking sparks when blades collided much like yours and Krauser’s currently. Sarcastic banter met with cocky comebacks. A fistbump afterwards.

Only now this was so very real. No hands meeting in truce, only the sharp ringing of your blades. You had to put up some sort of struggle now that you were forced into combat. You weren’t going down without a fight, no matter how ridiculous this felt.. Clearly that’s what your past Major was looking for.

“Ha, that’s more like it!”

A deadly silence fell between the both of you, no sound echoing out into the open air except steel on steel and your rushed breathing between each swing, block and jab. Every dodge you could anticipate, every time you stumbled leading to a harsh cut to the skin. Still you hissed out and kept going.

“Of all the fucking places to see you again. We thought you were dead! I mourned you!” With the way you screamed you were lucky if the rest of the mine didn’t hear it. Every ganado in earshot reaching for pitchforks and axes. But it was true. You’d sat beside Leon for hours as he processed his mentor’s death, not a single tear shed from you nor your partner. He just stared dead ahead, like the ghost of Krauser was standing in front of him and delivering some harsh lecture on how he had to keep moving. His voice was haunting the both of you, just in drastically different ways. Now that same cackling bastard was back from the dead like some off brand grim reaper.

Obviously you were doing better than you thought, because after a quick slash to the arm he was staggered. Your foot collided with his ribs to shove him further away, surprised to not yet hear a crunch or snap. Still nothing. Your boots were steel capped, it was hard not to break a bone. Fuck. He’d gotten stronger.

“And what a fool you were for that.” He spat back at you. With a quick roll of his neck he got right back into battle. It was like your hit didn’t even land.

“Oh get fucked.”

So it was true. Any humanity or honour he once felt had now been sucked from his skeleton, not a bone in his body could care less. Someone you once looked to for answers was now trying to kill you, someone you couldn’t think of hating no matter how hard you tried. He was your Major, he was your teacher, and despite how much of a prick he could be those words of snark and bite encouraged you to keep going. 

The impact of his attacks had you staggering every few steps which gave him an opening to slash at your ankle. And it cut deep, deep enough to throw you off.

“Sloppy!” He snapped.

Blood was good. Blood meant your opponent had a weak point. Blood meant your opponent was mortal, was breathing, and would soon die. Blood meant victory.

Blood was bad. Blood meant your opponent had found a weak point. Blood meant your opponent was focused, was quick, and would soon kill you. 

Blood meant defeat.

Now you couldn’t get a handle on him. Sure, if you got lucky you could overpower Leon a few times. While he was strong, you were fast. Lighter on your feet and harder to catch. If he was a condor then you were a saker falcon, a pair in a two-bird inseparable flock since you’d almost fallen flat on your face on training day. Despite joining later than him and a lot of the others, you tried your best to keep your footing, persevering through thick and thin, mud, rain, and snow. Leon admired it. You admired his grit. Maybe that was your weakness, how easily you found yourself thinking of your mission partner and how far he’d come ever since his stories of the Raccoon City disaster. Maybe your former mentor was right about you.

Krauser was an exception because he was everything both of you were and so much more. It was worse than that though. Whatever they’d pumped him full of made fighting back even harder. He’d fallen for their mutters of salvation and power, clearly working alongside the cultists plotting against the four of you - Luis, Ashley, Leon, and of course you. 

Blood was seeping out into the fabric of your socks and streaming down into your shoe, a painful reminder of Krauser’s upper hand on you.

Every chime of blade rattled your brain into a different moment in your life. Collide. Posing for your FBC photo. Collide. Getting pushed face first into the mud. Collide. Holding back the urge to kiss Leon on the journey back home. Collide. Meeting up before getting deployed to Spain. Collide.

But your muscles were burning. Too used to the sloppy attacks of ganados or a quick parry before a roundhouse kick. Now you were up against someone with equal if not better combat skills.

And he used that to his advantage.

Then it was over just as soon as it had started, in the same way too. An overwhelming pain in your abdomen, his foot swinging right into your stomach with enough force to throw you to the ground with an unsettling crunch. It felt like your organs had been crushed. Knife tossed from your hand thanks to the impact. Your face collided with the coarse, splintering wood of the ground beneath you, blood seeping out into the boards as a permanent stain on the land. This marked where you’d been defeated. Where you’d died. Where you’d failed your mission. Most of all, where you’d lost your chance to so much as ask Leon to dinner.

You knew if Leon saw what had become of your Major he’d react much differently. Try to reason with him mid-fight, tell him he’s been brainwashed or controlled or some other hero complex bullshit that was admired no matter what.

You knew better. 

You could see it in his eyes, the way he showed zero remorse for you. How he spat on the ground as he walked towards you with that look. The same look he gave you when he shoved you into the jungle floor. Trapped in a chilling jolt of deja vu that chose to bare its ugly head in the worst time possible. Wood now felt like coarse mud. Walls turned to pouring rain that drowned out every coherent thought. Limbs sore from fighting for your life replaced with pains from hours of training.

His most promising newbie because they always fought back, right until the end. 

But it wasn’t a knife in his hand anymore. You couldn’t make out what it was through the heavy blur of tears in your eyes. It could’ve been anything - a gun, a grenade, a flashbang. Whatever it was, he was fast approaching you with it. Still trying and failing to recover from his kick at your gut, shaken limbs made an attempt to drag your body towards your discarded blade only to be shoved back down by Krauser’s arm pressing against your windpipe, kneeling next to your defeated, broken body. You felt like a worm, an insect about to be crushed under someone’s boot. You didn’t even have the energy to react to the pain, all you could do was struggle.

“Something tells me we’re gonna have a coward on our hands. If he wants to back down, maybe the rookie needs a little convincing. What do you think, newbie?”

You couldn’t think no matter how hard he pressed. Tired hands clawing at his torn skin. Keratin on flesh with no resistance to muscle. All that came to mind was fighting for your life and Leon’s voice calling your name from a mere few minutes ago. Now your own hoarse response was fighting to come out, a pathetic croak against the painful squeeze on your throat.

All rational thought was focused on the stinging pain in the side of your neck, a tight squeeze of pressure against the skin, and your vision slipping into complete darkness.