#If he does ever manage to get up to something it's not even a tenth of the time he has with his husband

[tellyouily]

again, i'm fallin' headfirst

dnf - pure fluff - 2.3k words

read on ao3

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George thinks a lot about how love is a chemical in his brain.

More than anything, he thinks it’s kind of cool: here is this big feeling; this warm, fluttering truth that lives inside him and seems so impossible to describe – that, really, is no more than a mix of the right chemicals being released at the right time.

It’s cool. It’s knowledge that makes it a little less overwhelming to be right in the middle of it. 

George thinks, or rather, he has come to realise, that he is one of those people who feels things very strongly.

He remembers every sad movie he has ever watched, unable to forget them, and really good days have him wishing they will never end. He feels fully at home in Florida, at the same time as he sometimes misses London more than he will ever say out loud.

He’s not just in love with Dream – he’s so in love with him that he sometimes thinks it’ll seep into his lungs and make him choke.

Figuratively speaking, that is.

What he means is that he gets in his own way sometimes. In Dream’s way, too, really. Probably.

For George, loving Dream means wanting to shield him from all the bad stuff. Even the unpreventable bad stuff, which is an impossible task. He is practically bound to worry about Dream, which in return, is bound to make Dream worry about him back.

It’s less than ideal, to say the least.

But maybe it’s also just how loving someone works – caring so much that it hurts a little. George thinks so, anyway. It’s a part of the pact.

Ten a.m. finds him half-sitting up, half-lying down in Dream’s bed; wearing Dream’s clothes, scrolling through Reddit on Dream’s laptop.

The trip to Argentina had the unexpected effect of fixing his sleep schedule completely, a development which he has somehow managed to maintain in the last few days since he got home. In an unprecedented move, he fell asleep at a Normal time last night and woke up less than an hour ago, after a full, uninterrupted eight hours.

Dream, still fast asleep next to him, must be well into his tenth by now.

He’s lying on his stomach with one arm thrown across George’s waist under the covers. Somehow he is breathing just fine even though he has his face pressed into the bunched up sheets by George’s hip.

George knows it probably isn’t great to sleep much more than nine hours a night, but he is not about to wake Dream up. Sleep is kind of holy for them, it always has been.

Plus, there is a calmness to this particular morning, to them lying here together like this, that George doesn’t want to disturb. He’d like to stay here forever, actually.

Dream does wake up eventually, though, all on his own.

George is in the middle of reading a random post when Dream’s arm tightens around his middle, bringing him out of his focus. George turns and looks at him.

“Hey,” he says quietly, reaching out and running his fingers through Dream’s hair.

Dream shuffles closer, closing space between them that George didn't even realize was there. 

“Morning,” he mumbles.

Twisting one of Dream’s curls around his finger, George feels it was over him – that love he has for Dream – with a distinct warmth. He wishes there was a way to whisk Dream away to somewhere safe while simultaneously staying right here.

He supposes he just wishes right here was safer, its treatment of Dream more gentle.

Sleep is the medicine, though. And for Dream, distraction works well, too.

It was years ago that George first pledged to be there for Dream no matter what; to distract him from the bad stuff. To give him problems he can solve – something he can actually do something about.

Like George’s allergies, for example.

Although they have proven to be pretty unfixable, he has Dream to thank for the improvement since he first moved to Florida. As opposed to those initial few months, George is now no longer suffering in the mere presence of grass, or of Patches. Or of any of the million other things he is apparently allergic to.

Dream’s air purifier, the one that was bought specifically for George’s benefit and is currently humming softly from its place on top of the dresser making it so George can actually breathe, is proof of Dream’s efforts.

Along with every other purifier and humidifier placed strategically around the house.

George loves how much Dream cares. He loves that he is reminded of it every time he takes a nice, deep, uncongested breath.

Dream opens his eyes, pushing himself up enough to get a view of the laptop balanced on George’s stomach. Instinctively, George quickly closes the Reddit tab before Dream has settled down.

It’s dumb anyway, he doesn’t think he has seen a single good take all morning.

“Is that my laptop?” Dream asks, his morning voice zapping right down George’s spine.

“Yeah,” George hums. “Been reading all your secret emails.”

Dream huffs, probably too tired to laugh for real. It makes George smile, anyway. He settles his hand on the curve of Dream’s nape.

“From all your lovers,” he says.

Dream’s smile peeks out from the sheets.

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

George sniffles, sinking deeper into the pillow behind him.

In an instant, Dream’s eyes are on him, something like concern written in them. George smiles at him, sniffling again.

“Allergies,” he says.

Then, before Dream can ask if the air purifier has stopped working, like George knows he’s about to do, he adds: “I think it’s from the trip. It left some residue in my system or something.”

His best guess is that dust from the flight home, or from the stuffy airport, is still clinging to his nose. Or wherever it is that dust gets stuck. Either that, or it’s not allergies at all, but a cold that’s making him sniffle. He has been feeling a little warm lately…

“ Residue ,” Dream parrots him, mirroring his smile as well. Then, reading George’s mind, he says, “I hope you’re not getting sick or anything.”

George runs his fingers through the hair curling at the back of Dream’s neck.

He doesn’t say what he’s really thinking, which is that a solution to the problem is for Dream to breathe into his mouth 24 hours a day. That way no allergens can enter George’s system at all. A one hundred percent reduction of residue.

Upon closer inspection, though, it’s a pretty terrible idea. They’d be sharing the air, yes, but that means one of them would probably die from carbon dioxide poisoning at some point.

George doesn’t need Dream to tell him that.

“I’m not getting sick,” he says instead. “But guess what.”

He raises his eyebrows down at Dream, whose expression softens into one of openness. Like he just wants to hear George talk, regardless of what he has to say.

It’s a common Dream-expression – George tries not to let it get to his head.

“Happy Valentine’s day,” George says, pressing his lips together proudly.

He’s been waiting for the right moment to say it, and for once, he got to it before Dream. Not that it’s a competition.

Dream is clearly surprised.

“Yeah, happy Valentine’s day,” he says, sounding bewildered.

George smiles. “I won.”

“Yeah,” Dream laughs. “I’m actually impressed.”

“Thanks.”

Come to think of it, it kind of is a competition.

Dream is always first with these kinds of things – birthdays and Christmas Days and anniversaries – so George can’t help but feel a little smug. He won .

Dream lays his arm across George’s middle and leaning his head in his hand. “I have something for you,” he says.

He effectively blocks George’s view of the snoozing laptop screen by moving, but really, George would consider this an upgrade. He brings his hands to Dream’s stubble, cupping his cheeks.

“You have something?”

Dream nods. “A gift. For Valentine’s day.”

George pauses, raising his eyebrows. “You didn’t get me a gift.”

“I did,” Dream says, looking pleased with himself.

“You’re gonna kiss me or something and say that’s the gift.”

“I’m not!” Dream laughs. “I mean, I can do that too, if you want, but that’s not actually it”

Chances of him joking are high, George knows this. He narrows his eyes, trying to pierce through the innocent, honest look on Dream’s face to see if he’s just being an idiot.

It gets him nowhere, though. Dream doesn’t falter even a little bit under his gaze – his grin just gets bigger.

“I’m not lying, I promise,” he says. “Look, I’ll go get it right now. Stay here.”

“Wh–”

But before George can argue, Dream is out of bed, pulling a hoodie over his head on his way out of the room.

George stays, like he’s been told to do, his heart thumping in his chest for reasons he can’t quite place.

For one, he had no idea they were doing gifts this year. He doesn’t have anything for Dream, unless the stupid trinkets he bought for him in Argentina count. He’s pretty sure they don’t. He also has no idea what to expect from this so-called gift to be. Part of him still thinks Dream is making this all up, that there’s no gift – except for maybe that kiss they were talking about.

Surely Dream didn’t actually get him anything; between them, they are probably among the two people in the world who care the least about Valentine’s day. So surely not.

…unless he did.

Oh god , Dream totally does have a gift for him. An actual one. The realization has George sinking further into the pillows. He is determined to not be one of those idiots who smiles to themselves at the thought of their partner, but it’s taking some effort right now.

He can’t be seen like that. Especially not on Valentine’s day – that’s like a double offence.

Just then, Dream comes back through the door.

He still has that pleased look on his face, except now there is something in his hand, too. Something small and – George squints – white?

Dream crawls back into bed.

“I hid it in Patches’ room upstairs so you wouldn’t find it,” he says, a little out of breath.

George laughs. “Did you sprint there or something?”

Dream settles back into the same position as before, drawing a small ‘oof’ from George.

“Yeah,” Dream answers, smiling. “Here.”

He hands George what turns out to be a white jewelry box, sending George’s heart racing all over again.

“Oh no,” George says, staring down at it.

“Open it,” Dream counters, leaning his head in his hand again; watching him.

The box is light, the velvety paper smooth in his hands. George can feel Dream’s expectant gaze on him. He flickers his eyes up to meet it.

Dream’s expression is one of unabashed fondness. He laughs softly at whatever he sees in George’s face.

“Why’re you nervous?” He asks.

“I’m not nervous,” George lies.

“Well, good. You shouldn’t be.” Then, a moment later: “It’s not a ring, I promise.”

It makes George laugh, succeeding in dissolving some of his nerves. Emphasis on some .

“Okay,” he says, but the traces of hesitancy in his voice gives him away.

Under the covers, Dream’s hand slips under George’s (Dream’s) hoodie and settles warmly on the curve of George’s ribs.

“Open it,” Dream says again, more gently this time.

So finally, George does.

He grabs the lid and pries it open carefully – it’s one of those that comes off all the way – letting it slide down the sheets between them.

He expects a chain of some kind, but peering inside…

George almost doesn’t know what it is at first. He gives Dream a confused look and takes out the gold charm, small enough to hold between his thumb and pointer finger, and then–

Recognition dawns on him all at once.

He smiles. “No way.”

It’s gold instead of yellow, but the shape is unmistakable. It even has navy blue detail on its overalls and a mix of black and silver for its glasses. Or goggles – whatever they are. It’s perfect.

George looks up at Dream. “Where did you even find this?”

Dream laughs, shrugging. “At the jewelry place. It was like the first thing I saw when I came in, and I immediately thought of you.”

He went to the jewelry store . George raises his eyebrows. “So what, you went in there just to get me something for today?”

“I would never,” is Dream’s reply, paired with a smile that tells George all he needs to know.

That yes , he did go there just for this. Because of course he did.

“Thank you,” George says, putting the charm back in its box and letting his hands gravitate back to Dream’s face. Dream’s face with his idiot little smile.

“You’re very welcome. I’m glad you like it.”

He sort of sinks into George’s palms, making him look even more like an idiot. George barely resists the urge to lean in and kiss him.

He places his thumbs on the corners of Dream’s lips, instead.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything,” he says.

“That’s okay. I would’ve bought it for you anyway, Valentine’s day or not.”

“Still.”

George does mean it. Had he known they were doing gifts he would have put the effort in. He would have gotten Dream those shoes he was talking about.

“I don’t want your money, though,” Dream says, smiling.

George huffs, pressing his thumbs into Dream’s lips. “Yeah, you have enough, already.”

“Exactly.”

George isn’t entirely convinced, but he knows Dream is being honest. Dream has never been one for gifts, only for giving them. He’d probably just end up feeling bad if George got him anything expensive. Even those shoes.

“I know what you can give me though,” Dream says.

George has some idea of what he’s getting at.

He leans in and presses a single kiss to Dream’s mouth, which is soft and warm; smooth from his vanilla chapstick.

“This?” George asks.

Dream smiles, chasing his lips. He nods, “This.”

[daylighted]

alec mcdowell & transgenic!user - a million kisses ㅤ ┊ ㅤ (18+!)

i want someone to promise me a million kisses and more . . . or, he's your first everything; first, and second, and fifth, and tenth.

includes, MDNI. ㅤ explicit sexual content ㅤ (light ) breeding kink ㅤ unprotected p in v ㅤ first times! ㅤ fluffy smut ㅤ like genuinely sickly sweet ㅤ soft dom!alec ㅤ best friend!reader ㅤ dirty talk ㅤ talks you through it creampie (hate this word sm sorrY)

req by @foxylady493 hehe thank u for giving me an excuse to write ab rawdoggin alec mcdowell HAHA

word count: 6.2k and for what like genuinely.

★ ˚⋆

somewhere, in one of the books that joshua had stolen for you, with a well worn cover and soft pages, with faded ink painting the front cardstock, you'd read something that stuck with you. i want someone to promise me a million kisses.

it was one of those passing thoughts that embeds itself into your psyche, a physical thing lodged between the folds of your brain, making itself evident every time you tried to forget it. a million kisses... and you'd never had one.

hell, you'd never even wanted to. you were everything manticore wanted you to be; loyal to the greatest extent, dedicated to your training, dominating the rest of the x5 series by a long shot — well, alongside your best friend alec.

alec, who really kept you motivated and on your toes, because he was so effortlessly good. he could sprint the entire forest on the grounds' base three times while you'd be on your second. he could pick you up with ease, and often did, urging you to work on your strength that little bit more so that you could do the same to him.

he was lifting you with one arm, actually, when you'd both been called back to your cells abruptly. it was awkward, in a way, moreso than it would have been for any normal human being, because of how unfamiliar you were with awkward situations. having to be sat down so you could properly address the guard in front of you, the same one who'd just been watching the both of you try and lift each other like barbells?

it only managed to get worse, somehow, when you were both ushered into your cell, followed by one of the directors, a woman with short blonde hair and a fierce stare.

something about this felt like a punishment, or a bad omen. how could you know, then, what a turning point this was going to be for you? the both of you?

"stand down, 494, 490." her lips are quirked with knowledge she isn't sharing, her hands folded neatly behind her back. "no need for formalities. not... for this."

you know better than to say a word out of turn, and so does alec, but you feel his confusion radiating off of him, a mirror image of your own, in the way his shoulders tense back.

her lips curl higher, a tight lipped smile that looks almost sinister in the dull lighting of your cell. "you are both aware of the situation with our labs, i imagine," she continues, slowly, like she's waiting for one of you to piece it together. "all of our genetic data, up in flames, and no way to continue creating soldiers to uphold the legacy the two of you are sure to bring."

directors do not ever come in with compliments, especially so strong, without something up their sleeves. "unless..."

it's one word, but it hits you and alec like a wave. him first, as he draws in a sharp breath, and then you, your stoic expression faltering at once. unless they use their current x5s to make those soldiers.

"it's only natural to pair you two off, what with how... close, you've gotten, over these years." there was a shared trauma that rooted the two of you to each other. him, being a clone of x5-493, and you, of 491.

something was off in their coding, a mixture of genetics and dna that didn't mesh. people were tightlipped about 493 and the seemingly endless amount of death he left in his wake, but they were sure to remind you about 491, the only one who, seemingly, kept his head screwed on straight the rare times that it was.

i want someone to promise me a million kisses... did she feel the same way? did he manage a million before his life was taken? you couldn't help but wonder it, especially with how many times the words killer kisser were thrown in your face. maybe that was why you were so attached to the idea of being kissed. you were stuck on the outside of a secret, wondering how kisses could render a troubled man's mind silent for a little while.

you had zoned out without realizing, stuck in a past that didn't belong to you. "are we clear?" the woman asks, her eyes lingering particularly long on you.

your face flushes with shame. shame for not listening, for missing the entire purpose of this conversation because you'd been daydreaming about an obscene amount of kisses for one person to receive.

alec speaks up for you, saving you from a potential reprimand or punishment, as he often did. "all clear."

"good." her eyes stay on yours for a beat too long, like she's daring you to break, before she nods once. "you've got one hour."

and with that, she stalks out of the room, the guards waiting on either side of your open door stepping out of line to trail behind her. the door hisses shut, and then it's just you and alec. you should know why. if you'd listened—

"you could have been less obvious, you know," alec says with a scoff of laughter, as he breaks his straight-backed stance and crosses to your bed in the corner. he sinks down on it, strong enough that his weight bounces on the springy mattress, legs spread open as he made himself right at home.

you blink once, twice. "less obvious with what?"

"oh, i don't know," his lips twist in mock thought, before they tilt into a dazzling smile, "starin' off like you don't even know where you are."

"i was just—"

"not listening. yeah, established, nelly." alec's eyebrows raise in his amusement, strong arms folded nearly over his chest. "you're gonna be confused as hell when i start taking my clothes off, then."

you splutter, wordless sounds falling out in a flustered heap. "what?"

his head falls back in a fit of laughter, loud enough that it echoes off of the walls. "god, you really weren't listening!"

"just spit it out! what are you talking about?"

slowly, the smile tapers away, his laughter trails off, and you're just looking at each other. "gonna have to copulate, you and i."

your expression drops. any trace of amusement dissipates, a cold, icy feeling of dread flooding your veins. no. no. you couldn't. not with him. not when it would ruin—

a million kisses, a million kisses, a million kisses.

it always came back to that, didn't it? "no," you say aloud firmly, like your rejection can somehow reverse the fact that it has to happen. has to, because you would never betray a direct order. this was something being entrusted to you. "alec..."

"relax," he says, his hands up in surrender. "i'm not gonna just... force you to, nelly, c'mon." his hands fall into his lap again, a sigh leaving his mouth. "s'not easy for me either, this. i mean, you're my best friend."

was he suggesting that things would change once this started? that thought made your blood feel cold in your veins, ice crystallizing in the sinew, making your bones feel heavy and stiff.

"nelly." alec snaps his fingers, drawing your attention back to him and not the dread in your stomach. it always works, when he calls you the name he'd not-so-affectionately given you during training, once. negative nelly & smart alec. "c'mon, it's not— it's not gonna be that bad. kinda bruisin' my ego that you're this torn up about it."

you choke on a laugh, your fingers lifting to run through your hair. "shut up, alec."

"'shut up, alec,'" he mimics back at you, one corner of his mouth lifting higher in a softer grin. "has that ever worked, nell?"

you shake your head, in exasperation and answer, finally crossing the small expanse of the room to drop down onto the edge of your bed next to him. his thigh is pressed up against yours, a warm, familiar comfort when everything feels uncertain.

it's loaded now, this silence that falls between you. heavy like a weight and thick like fog. his eyes are on you —you can feel them, too— and it's jarring, how one direct order can flip an entire world on its axis.

you turn to meet those green eyes of his, and then alec's leaning in, suddenly, and it takes a blink for you to realize it. you startle, feeling hot and icy and flustered all at once. "i’ve never done this,” you blurt out, and how fucking embarrassing is that, confessing it like a sin? 

“in what world do you think i have?” alec shoots back, his eyebrows raising in punctuation to the question. “i’d rather it be with you than someone else.” 

your heart is racing uncomfortably quick, an unfamiliar flutter against your ribcage. “okay.” 

“yeah?” he asks, and his large hand lifts, too, to rest his warm palm on the side of your cheek. his fingertips graze behind your ear, tangling in your soft hair. “yeah, okay, nelly.” 

his thumb grazes gently over your cheekbone, like a final reassurance before you’re no longer dipping your toes into this idea but diving fully into its depths. his fingers on the back of your neck guide you toward him, until your breaths are mingling and getting to know each other. 

your lips meet. the world stops.

it makes sense, now, how 491 could leash 493 with nothing but the press of her lips. it also makes sense why she stayed, despite all of the warning signs he must have given off, if alec’s lips were any indicator of how ben’s were. 

the kiss is tentative at best, at first. he’s not coming any closer, and you’re sat ramrod straight on the bouncy mattress, and the only thing connecting you besides your mouths is the hand he keeps on your cheek. you imagine that this is how first kisses always feel; awkward and uncertain, as this new kind of trust builds itself from the ground up.

one kiss out of a million. how were you supposed to kiss anyone else, now, when this one felt so special?

he pulls back first, but his hand stays on your face, the other sneaking its way across the space between you and landing on yours in lap. 

“not so bad, was it?” alec asks, a reassuring smile gracing his face. his thumb returns the gentle strokes over your cheek, his eyes sweeping over the expression you wear. 

no, it wasn’t that bad. but your mind isn’t on the kiss but what’s supposed to come next. “how long are we supposed to… um…” 

you’d never been the shy type around alec, but suddenly now, it feels like every word is lodged tightly in your throat. suddenly, he feels like a stranger instead of your best friend, this territory unfamiliar and scary, in its own way. 

“until you’re pregnant,” he says easily — and of course it’s easy for him, he’s not the one that has to carry a genetically enhanced baby to term. “but—” 

“no,” you say, raising a hand to cut him off. “no, i heard you.” 

“but, we don’t have to start now, nelly,” he slows his words down, like delivering the blow more gently will somehow lessen the sting. “we don’t. it’s… it’s an order, yes, but you’re still my best friend, and i want you comfortable.”

that did reassure you. you’d have to commit to the orders given eventually, but for now? this was just… a prolonged break in the courtyard, where you could hang out without precaution. 

“kinda like this new development, though,” he adds, that wicked grin of his tugging up onto his mouth, as he wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up. you barely manage to squeak out the noise of surprise caught in your throat, before you’re settled in his lap. alec’s always been strong, but it’s so different, having him use that strength with you. “could get used to it.” 

“shut up,” you grumble half-heartedly.

 he grasps the collar of his shirt to drag you in. “order received.” and his mouth closes around yours once again; your second kiss of a million. 

★ ˚⋆

“stop it, that’s not—” you huff out a hard, frustrated breath, your fingers closing around alec’s wrist. “that’s not what where your hands are supposed to go.” 

alec had you sat comfortably in his lap again, after the day prior, you both learned that, despite the circumstances, it was a nice place to be. you were close enough that you could smack him if you had to, and clearly, you did. 

“s’not my fault that you’re being a tease,” he grumbles in your ear, his lips so close to the sensitive skin that shivers trail down your spine. “sittin’ all pretty in my lap, not letting me follow orders.” 

“oh, bite me,” you shoot back at him, your grip on alec’s wrist tightening as you yank it away from your ass. you can feel the heat of his skin even through the thick fabric of your camo cargos, and it’s completely distracting. 

his free hand’s finger comes up to jab you firmly in the sternum. “you won’t let me.” 

“i thought this was hard for you, too,” you argue, reaching up to grab his other hand now, the former still tightly in between your fingers. you knew the second you let it go, he’d not-so-subtly slide it right back down to your ass all over again, and where would you be? a rock — you — a hard place. 

alec snatches his hand back quickly before you can grab that one, his eyebrows bouncing once in his amusement. “trust me, nelly, it’s very hard.” 

you stare at him, unblinking for a long few seconds, before it clicks in your mind — and the feel of what was very hard presses against the core of you. your hand releases his, and you smack him once with the left, twice with the right. “alec!” 

alec cackles, head falling back with his laughter. his hand, always so much quicker than you, catches one wrist, and then the other, in his lithe fingers. his other arm snakes around your waist and there’s a blink before you’re suddenly flipped on your back.

on your back, and he’s hovered above you, your pinned wrist firmly above your head and pressed lightly into the mattress. “you’re getting soft on me,” he pants, settled in between your legs, knees nudging them further apart. “you used to beat my ass when we’d spar.” 

“you’re playing dirty.” 

“am not,” he huffs out like a petulant child, “you’re just not playing. too worried up in that head about all of the logistics here.” 

“aren’t you?” you ask him, and it’s genuine; how had 24 hours passed, and suddenly this was something he could just accept? you and him, engaging in things that best friends didn’t do. did they? “aren’t you afraid of…” your face reddens, your turn now to feel like a little kid. “doing it?” 

alec’s shoulders lift. “not when it’s with you.” 

he says it so genuinely that you know it’s true, the confidence of the words enough to take your breath away. 

you’d never thought of it like that. sure, it’s intimidating, breaching this gap of things you’d done and things you hadn’t, but… with him, surely it couldn’t be anywhere near as bad as you were thinking. 

“plus,” he adds as an afterthought, “we already agreed it wasn’t going to change a thing, didn’t we? s’just work.” 

just work. it didn’t feel like just work, but you were always reading too much into things, anyways. that’s why you and alec just worked. he was the laidback to your on edge.

you sigh. he’s getting to you. he’s unnaturally good at reading all of your fears written in your eyes and unpacking each of them, explaining them to you so they weren’t so scary anymore. “just tell me what to do. we can lie to the directors again, if we have to, if you just wanna… i dunno, chill out. could kiss again.” 

“alec.” 

“suggestion!” he raises his free hand in defense, before he lets it drop down to your thigh. “just a suggestion.” 

it was a good suggestion, too. unfortunately for you, fortunately for him. you didn’t want to get too comfortable in these uncharted territories, out of fear it’d all get muddled and then where would you be? too uncomfortable to be friends, too familiar not to be. 

“kiss me.” your mouth moves before you’ve even realized the words are out, floating between the two of you like a declaration.

he moves his hand from your wrists and lets it fall in the open expanse of your neck. his fingers are cold this time, even though your blood is hot. “yeah?” it feels achingly familiar to the gentle way he’d said it the day prior. “alright.” 

“alright.” 

is it supposed to be this awkward? firsts were always awkward. this had to be normal. if you started to think about how maybe it wasn’t normal, and you were embarrassing yourself, and he was embarrassing himself, and everything was about to be ruined, you’d—

alec leans in again, but he doesn’t kiss you on the lips, like you expected. instead, his mouth finds your jaw, teeth grazing the skin lightly, lips pressing reverently on the bone as he sucks the little mouthful of skin between them. 

you gasp, your eyes fluttering closed, eyelashes as soft as butterfly wings on your cheekbone. “relax,” he breathes, hot breath on hot skin making you squirm beneath him, “i know what i’m doin’.” 

“oh, do you?” you smile, a bit dazed as his tongue traces along the line of your jaw until he reaches the space beneath your ear.

“mhm.” he leaves a trail of wet, warm kisses down the side of your neck, then back up your throat. “thought about this all night. know what i’m doin’.” 

oh. no wonder he’d been pretty accepting of their circumstances. alec spent all of night prior thinking about you, and how he’d pick you apart. 

the thought makes another shiver run down your spine, a warm pool in your lower stomach. “alec—” 

“here,” he interrupts, halting your train of thought before it delves again. “put your hand here,” he pants softly into your sensitive skin, his fingers finding yours and guiding them underneath the gray fabric of his shirt. you feel every muscle on his abdomen, feel each flex beneath the cold touch of your fingers. “yeah, that’s it.” 

alec straightens up a little so that he can curl his own hands beneath his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. it falls in a heap at his feet, and he’s on you again a second later, his lips marking a wet trail of kisses up your throat. once he reaches your chin, he continues the onslaught, capturing your lips in a firm kiss. 

this one is different than the one the night prior. it’s more confident, sure of himself. his tongue swipes at your bottom lip, and in your surprised gasp, he tucks it between your lips. that part of the kiss is tentative, like enacting the things he’d thought about was more nerve wracking than he’d let on.

you smile. he drags his teeth across your puffed bottom lip. “oh, you like that?” he asks against the soft skin of your mouth, arrogance coating every one of his words. “mm, okay.” 

his hands run down your sides, hooking beneath your shirt and bunching it up in his fists. “this okay?” he asks, lifting his head enough to search your eyes.

you nod, taken aback, almost, by the flood of black overtaking his irises. “it’s okay.” 

his grin is mesmerizing. had he always been so attractive? had he always looked like something sculpted and molded, just for you, and you’d only just noticed? “okay,” he echoes, and he nudges your extended arm with his elbow, “lift your arms for me.” 

neither of you really know what you’re doing, but he has a little bit of an upperhand, what with the fantasies he’d created in his head. 

“what all did you think about?” you ask him, tracing your eyes over his face to keep from thinking about how he was undressing you, and you were slowly being beared to him fully.

alec’s eyebrows twitch, his eyes lifting from your bare skin up to yours again. “last night?” 

“yeah. i wanna know.” 

he shakes his head. “no, nelly,” he laughs under his breath, his heavy-lidded eyes raking over your body again. “m’not lettin’ you know. you’re shakin’ in your boots already.” 

“well, then what did you do? just lay in bed, thinkin’ about me?” you shoot back, your mouth dropping into a pout at the denial. 

alec’s lips quirk. “something like that.” 

“alec—” you’re cut off by his lips pressing to yours again. his fingers run reverently down your chest, his touch shuddery as they graze over your breasts. he groans, and the air in your lungs stutters hard in your chest. every thought is shattering to pieces before you can think them, focused instead on the feel of his hands on you in places that you didn’t think anyone would ever touch.

“i know you’re scared,” he mumbles in your mouth, his hand drifting lower, slowly but steadier than before. “so i want you in control. in case—” his touch comes to a stop at the buttons on your camo cargos. alec pauses like he’s dazed, clearing his throat. “in case you want to stop. at any point.” 

he’s such an arrogant dickhead most of the time, one that you’ve come to adore in every possible way, but here? now? he’s the sweetest person you’ve ever met. 

“here, lift your hips for me,” his nimble fingers have already undone the button, before you’d even blinked, “good girl — see? m’so proud of you, baby.” 

baby. he’d never called you baby before. your smile is immediate, even as you feel like you’re being electrocuted with how your skin is buzzing. his knuckles light a fire down you as they brush lightly against your thighs, your calves. 

your hand lifts to rest under his chin, tilting his head up to look at you again. how many kisses is this now? you can’t even think, now, not as you drag him in for another kiss. five? six? not enough, is the simple answer.

alec entertains the kiss for a few seconds before he’s pulling back, even taking a step away. your body chills at the loss of his heat, and the self awareness of how you must look to him. mostly naked, sprawled backwards on your bed, looking up at him with big, wide eyes. you open your mouth to say something snarky to him, anything to quell the heavy silence, when he whispers, “you’re so damn beautiful, nelly.” 

he undoes the buttons on his pants quickly, shoving them down his muscular thighs and pooling at his ankles. it’s intimidating, staring into the eyes of someone who was your best friend through and through, while neither of you are wearing anything besides undergarments. 

this was the guy who’d talked you out of making any rash decisions after you’d had the insult of killer kisser thrown in your face, all because of the girl your dna was cloned from. who squeezed your hands and told you to fuckin’ ignore them. what do they know? who’d been a cell apart from you in your psyops isolation, making sure he wasn’t infected with whatever rotted ben’s mind into darkness, and you weren’t susceptible to falling into hi

alec steps around you to sink onto the mattress beside you, shifting backwards until his back hits the concrete wall, turning so that he’s facing straight forward. his hands pat his thighs, nodding his head in gesture — or maybe to get you to stop ogling him like he was someone new and not your alec.

“lookin’ at me like you don’t know me,” he mumbles, reaching out to snatch your elbow when you don’t move. it’s intimidating. sitting in his lap with so little separating the two of you? of course you were hesitating! “don’t be ridiculous. m’still the guy you pushed down the stairs five years ago.” 

“that,” you exhale shakily, as you sit down on his thighs, desperately trying to ignore the heat beneath you, and the heat between your legs, “was an accident.”

“bull.” he moves his hands to the clasps of your bra, undoing each hook individually, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “i saw how you looked at me before you did it.” 

you bristle, shoving him back by the shoulder until his back presses against the cool concrete. “like i’m looking at you now?” 

slowly, he tugs the straps of your bra down your arms, his grin faltering as his eyes drift downward at the same time. “yeah.” he clears his throat. clears it again. “yeah, like you’re lookin’ at me now.” 

your eyes follow his, and you suck in a slow, deep breath. somehow, the fucker had talked his way into taking your bra off without you even noticing. kept you distracted long enough to not fuss over it. 

how many kisses out of a million could one man give? you hoped all of them. you hoped more than a million. 

the silence is heavy but it’s less awkward now. most of the hard parts were over, and you’d already established there was no reason to be nervous, not with alec. never with alec.

“here,” he says, his voice still coming out rasped even through his attempts otherwise to quell it. “hips up again f’me… yeah, just like that.” alec’s fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down until they’re caught where you’re straddling him. “left leg up… perfect, baby, right one… perfect, baby. absolutely perfect.” 

the praise makes you feel hot. sure, he’d said things like this before, praising each of your actions when you’d done good at training, or came back from a mission successful. this is different. intimate. 

"keep 'em up real quick, alright?" he murmurs, shifting beneath you enough to lift his own hips up, hands pulling down his boxers over his thighs. his hand slips, giving way to the nervousness he had buried deep, as it slaps against your bare thigh. "my bad," he chuckles lowly, kicking them off with the foot closest to the bed's edge. his fingers curl around your leg, kneading at the soft flesh. "you've got me all messed up in my head."

"enough to hit me?" you tease, your smile returning again to your lips. "that's cruel, alec. you said you weren't playing dirty."

"m'not," alec insists, his thumb catching your chin and dragging you down into a kiss, and then another.

you laugh on his lips, trying to shake free from his grip. "are too."

he sits up, chasing your mouth when you start to pull away, swallowing your lips in an onslaught of kisses. "i can show you 'playing dirty'." his hands slide down your sides, fingers brushing your ass as they firmly grasp your thighs, flipping the both of you so that your back is against the mattress.

you're strong enough to flip him back. to tackle him onto the mattress, to wrestle like you used to do when you were younger, and things were easier. you don't.

alec settles between your legs, using his hold on your thighs to lift your hips and align your entrance with the cock you have not looked at, nope, it feels too real to—

your eyes fall anyways when his do, watching him line himself up. all of his nervousness is gone again, like he teeters between it, only ever seeming to get nervous when it comes to addressing you. what you are. what this means. 

“still okay?” at your nod, he nods too. “okay, sweet girl. let me just—” his hand comes between the both of you, grasping his cock between his fingers, as he pushes the thick head of it inside of you, his head falling back as your wetness coats it. “jeeeesus.” 

“what?” you ask breathlessly, shifting to rest on your palms, glancing from his face to where he’s pulling out of you.

alec shakes his head, a grin spreading across his face. “nothing. nothing at all.” he pushes in again, slowly, deliberately, this time keeping his cock inside of your tight walls. “just thinking about you. always thinking about you.” his free hand goes to your shoulder, pushing you lightly back on the bed. “you just lay back and relax, alright? get out of that head.” 

how were you supposed to get out of your head when now, the thing circling around in it is how he so casually declared that he was always—

it’s uncomfortable, as he fills you up. like something is wrong, doesn’t belong. you were definitely wet enough to take him, but it doesn’t stop the feeling of something being off that tingles up your spine. 

“fuck, you’re so damn tight,” he groans, his voice as rough as gravel. alec rubs soothing circles into your skin with his thumb, before he lets his hand fall down to one of yours, grasping it in his. “squeeze if you wanna stop.” 

even through the discomfort, you didn’t want to stop. not only had the gap already been bridged, but… you liked it. liked him. more than you ever would have realized on your own. the further he pushes into you, still in that achingly slow pace as he lets your pussy adjust to the feel of him inside of it, the easier that adjustment gets. 

your fingers play with his, tracing over his knuckles, as your breaths tumble out in soft little pants. everything feels like its at a boiling point, like it’s seconds from spilling over. 

“you asked why i wasn’t scared,” he says under his breath suddenly, eyes lifting to meet yours through the deep dark of his eyelashes, once he’s to the hilt deep inside of you, his pelvis pressed to yours in a sharing of blistering hot skin. “do you want to know why?” 

he finishes the sentence, and slowly pulls back until his cock rests halfway inside of your throbbing pussy. the movement makes you whimper in your throat, the sound of it rough already. his fingers clamp around yours in reassurance. “i’ve thought about this a lot. that’s why.” 

“liar,” you manage to rasp, a breathless moan of laughter punctuating the words, “y’don’t have to make me feel better anymore. i’m not scared.” 

“i always,” alec thrusts into you again, quicker this time, already pulling back out, keeping that slow, leisurely pace until he’s absolutely certain you’re alright with the next part of it all, “always want to make you feel better.” 

another thrust in, and something shifts this time. you can feel every inch, and suddenly, a tremor of ecstasy replaces the full discomfort. you gasp, and he surges forward to hover over you properly now, like that one little noise was enough reassurance for him. 

“always want to take care of you, always want to make sure you’re happy,” alec continues, soft grunts slipping between his ramblings, “hell, i’ve thought about putting a baby in you before. just not… in this setting.” 

the words shoot straight downwards, making your already aching pussy throb, clenching tightly around him. “i’m not gonna break, alec,” you say, forehead pressed to his. you dig your nails into the back of his hand, not squeezing it so he doesn’t stop, but urging him further. “stop acting like you’re gonna snap me in half. i’ve pushed you down the stairs before.” 

alec laughs, but it works. he pulls out further with each thrust, slams into you harder, burying himself deeply inside of your wet pussy. “yeah, you have.” the sound of skin slapping together starts to echo around the room with the change in his pace, interrupted only by his throaty groans and your soft moans and, god, isn’t it awkward that there are guards outside? that this is what they’re subjected to hear every day, until you’re—

“you wanted— a baby with me,” you say, not as a question, and through the deep haze your mind is slipping into. 

“wanted to do this. wanted to fuck a baby into you. see you full of me,” he answers, and it must get him going, the image he paints for the both of you, because he speeds up further, drives deeper, and you can feel the head of his cock pushing against your cervix, making you groan aloud into his skin. “only at night, when it was just me, and i wished you were there, keeping me company. any time else, i could pretend like it was fine.” 

you laugh softly, shaking your head, and then he’s laughing too. “fucked up, schoolboy-manticore crush, huh?” his head falls further into the crook of your neck, pressing gentle kisses to your collarbone. “only this place could get me daydreaming about filling this pussy up with my cum. could get me - wanting to fuck up our whole friendship, just to hear those pretty sounds of yours.” 

your face flushes at the filthy words, even as it only stirs your arousal further along. you can feel it in the base of your spine, and suddenly, by their own volition, your hips are pressing against his in tandem, meeting each of his thrusts inside of you. he groans, the sound hot and vibrating on the sensitive skin of your neck. 

“look at me, will ya, pretty thing?” he asks, nose nudging your chin up to meet his eyes. blackened pupils swallow up the jade green of his eyes. your lips part as the pleasure builds and builds, each of your noises crescendoing in pace with alec’s relentless thrusts. “god, nelly—” 

you tip your head up a little more, enough to catch his mouth in a warm kiss. “it’s okay,” you say against the soft pink of his lips; your turn to comfort him, even if that’s the last thing he probably needs. 

“yeah,” he mumbles on your mouth, stealing a fervent amount of quick kisses. it might as well be a million right then, with the way you can’t clear your head enough to count.”s’all okay. more than okay. always okay with you.” 

“you don’t even know—” you choke out, interrupted by the desperate moans falling from your lips, free hand coming to hold onto his side and keep him deep, deep, deep. “don’t even know what you’re saying,” you manage to laugh.

“no,” alec laughs too, letting go of your hand and moving it and his other one to hold onto your thighs again. “no i don’t. lift this one up for me, yeah?” 

you uncurl your bent knee and rest it across the length of his body, and the new angle only makes it that much more intense. “m’not gonna last much longer.” 

alec is a nervous laugher. he can’t seem to stop while he thrusts into you. your defense mechanism is panic, his is undiluted joy. you hope it never changes about him. “thank fuck.” he turns his head to press a soft kiss to your ankle. “‘ve been hanging on by a fuckin’ thread.” 

“seriously?” you cackle. “alec.” 

it’s sweet, really, how even when your entire dynamic flipped on its head, neither of you changed. just like you’d promised. you’re still laughing in the heat of the moment together, still teasing each other in every possible way you could. “told you ‘ve been thinkin’ about this,” he grumbles in his defense, the little pout on his flushed face only pulling you closer and closer into your release’s tight grips, “can’t even blame m—” 

“oh, fuck—” you can’t blame him, because you never gave him the time to pitch his argument fully, cutting him off. each breath you draw in is strained, in time with the pounding he’s giving to your clenching pussy. “oh, fuck, alec—” 

“hey, language, pretty thing, there’s—” one last thrust, harder than the others, his hips stuttering their movements as he pushes out a shaky exhale into your shoulder. your head falls back into the mattress, dug into the springs as you buck into him, his cock against your cervix as he spills his cum inside of you. the feel of him twitching inside of you, of the warmth seeping from your fluttering walls and warm down your spread legs, reducing you to a muddled mess of pleasure in his arms. unintelligible words on your tongue, pleads or his name or something, you don’t even know, don’t even know what you were trying to say. 

alec brushes his fingers across your forehead, pushing the sweaty hairs off of your skin. “was gonna tell you to watch your mouth, but i’m pretty sure you just swore me up and down in three different languages at once.” 

your limbs feel boneless, but you do manage to swat at his bare chest, heated skin on heated skin. “shut up.” 

“nah.” he scoops you into his arms, not yet having pulled out of you, as he cradles you to his chest. “we’re just gettin’ started, aren’t we?”

the answer is that one man can give a million kisses, and it doesn't take a lifetime — just a director's order and a dream.

tags, @jasvtsc @deanswidow @ostaramoon @angelblqde @depressionbarbie2023

@poughkeepsie99 @chi-raz @beausling @artyandink @figthoughts

[cattimeswithjellie]

An Excerpt from Tango's 6/10 Livestream Recap

In case anyone is wondering why I think it's a good idea to recap livestreams, the following excerpt from the one I'm doing right now should explain it. This needs to be preserved for posterity.

2:15:10 Tango asks if Scar wants to do something dangerous. Scar immediately says yes. “Like really dangerous?” Tango presses. Scar nods. Tango tells Scar to follow him. He leads Scar over to the hole. Scar asks if this is where Decked Out 3 is. Tango confirms it totally is Decked Out 3. Scar looks down the hole and asks where it goes. Tango encourages him to drop down and Scar does, using his elytra for a soft fall down the two-wide hole. Tango follows, expecting Scar to have fallen into the void, but find him two blocks away in a two-deep hole in the bedrock. Tango tells him he missed. Scar gets himself out of the hole and immediately falls into another one. He climbs out, says “Jeez, there’s holes everywhere!” and instantly falls into the void hole. Tango cackles madly.

2:16:10 Tango freecams into the void and finds Scar rocketing around under the bedrock, calling for him and looking for the hole. Tango encourages him to “follow the sheep!” Scar makes several passes by the hole before managing to find it and shoot through it. Tango cheers and pops back into his body just in time for Scar to die of experiencing kinetic energy. Tango tries to figure out where Scar’s bits went. He uses freecam to search up to farm level, where he finds Skizzleman wandering around the edge of the hole. Chat informs him that Skizz (who is also streaming) has collected Scar’s things.

2:18:20 Tango flies up the shaft and finds some of Scar’s things at the top of the hole. He also finds Scar, who bounds over yelling “THIS IS A HELL-HOLE MURDER CHAMBER!” Tango compliments Scar on doing a great job getting out of the void. Apparently falling into the void resurrected all sorts of traumatic Season 8 memories of being thrown down the Boatem Hole. Skizz is nowhere to be seen at this point. Scar asks where the rest of his stuff is. Tango says he doesn’t know, but that he suspects there is someone else around here. Scar threatens to shove an askalottle in their face. He jumps back down to the hole and asks if he flew all the way up here, even as Skizz makes an appearance. He is wearing Scar’s hat and giggling.

2:19:10 Scar greets Skizz as “Skizzie-lizzie!” then asked Tango if he really flew all the way up that hole. Skizz thanks Scar, telling him that he has been streaming for seven seconds and he already has what might be the best blooper reel moment ever. He explains that he was sneaking up on Tango and happened to turn around just in time to see Scar for a tenth of a second before he exploded. Skizz returns Scar’s things to him, telling him that he made himself into a chest to collect Scar’s stuff for him. Scar, who is digging in his ender chest, suddenly realizes that he has found “The Flatulenster” who was making the fart noise earlier. Tango laughs. Scar confronts Skizz, who tells Scar to put his ender chest back on the ground and open it, then look for the “thank you” he owes Skizz. Tango points out that Skizz was not online when the fart occurred.

2:20:30 Scar thanks Skizz for saving his things and apologizes for fart-accusing him. Skizz doesn’t even know what Scar is talking about. Scar proceeds to tell Skizz the tragic tale of his visit to Tango where he just wanted to compliment some asskalottles and was accused of a fart he did not commit. Skizz commiserates, saying that the same thing happened the last time he streamed with Tango, and that he suspects it is Tango’s fault and/or imagination. Tango insists that his chat heard the fart too. ((The fart noise is audible on VOD review.)) Scar says they need Mrs. T to confirm that Tango is a fart-denyer.

2:21:50 Skizz is still wondering why Scar exploded. Tango explains it’s because he jumped down the hole. Scar leads Skizz over to the hole and encourages him to jump down, saying it’s fun. He tells Skizz that it is cool, and the reason that he died was because he came up too fast and had an accident. Skizz leans over the edge for a better look and Scar, in the least surprising act of Betrayal-By-Scar since The Lion King, kicks him down the hole. Skizz yells and begins attempting to rocket out of the hole with limited success. Scar insists he needs to go _down_ the hole, it’s super fun! Skizz manages to escape the hole and says no, because he doesn’t want to die. Tango and Scar assure him he won’t die (if he’s competent, Tango adds parenthetically.)

2:22:40 Resigned, Skizz asks if there’s a side he needs to jump down, then flings himself into the hole. He does a perfect full-send fall, right into the void, and falls out of the world. Tango shrieks in horrified delight. Scar calls down the hole that he feels bad now. In chat, False says “oof.” Tango demands to know why Skizz didn’t deploy his wings. “He would never have survived Boatem,” Scar observes dolefully.

[nevvaraven]

At least I’ve got you

Regulus keeps getting surprise visits from a dog? 

“Oh for fucks sake- REG! Your stupid dog’s back.”  

“How many times do I have to remind you that he’s not mine?”  

“Well maybe try reminding him, this is the like the tenth time he’s wandered in here now!”

Regulus peeks his head out of the bathroom to see Barty angrily stuffing the contents of his desk into his book bag, whilst simultaneously sending irritated looks over to the familiar black dog now resting casually on Regulus’ bed.  

The dog bares his teeth and growls slightly towards Barty when Regulus finally steps out but the minute he does so, the dog’s head snaps towards him with an excited bark, and any previous aggression vanishes as his tail begins to wag.  

“I’m going to the library with Evan, I’ll see you later.” Barty huffs out, practically stomping out the room, “and that thing better be gone when I get back!”

The door slams on his way-out causing Regulus to roll his eyes, and if he didn’t know any better he’d say the dog lets out a little huff of laughter at Barty’s dramatic exit.  

“Back again, are we?” Regulus asks approaching the now clearly appeased animal with a soft smile. The familiar creature lets his tongue wag out and smiles widely as Regulus begins stroking his head.

He isn’t quite sure where exactly the dog always come from.  

The first time Regulus ever saw him was after one of the less fortunate quidditch games a few weeks ago, they had lost rather pathetically, and he had stayed behind in the changing rooms not wanting to deal with the aftermath of it all.  

He remembers it had been a particularly rough day, with not only his mother having sent him a humiliating howler at breakfast about not screwing up at his game but also since it had been Sirius’ birthday. Regulus had refused to even glance in his direction following the silence after the howler had ripped itself to shreds but he knew he was watching him, half the bloody hall was, he just couldn’t bring himself to look back. Too afraid of what would follow, what he would see.  

Afraid it would be a stranger.

He knew perfectly well the extent to which he was no longer a part of Sirius’ life, he didn’t need the reminders.  

Regulus had been sat in the changing rooms long after everyone else had already left, head in hands and still in his kit when the dog had wandered in, at first he had looked around in confusion wondering where the owner was, but no one had followed the animal in. And when the dog placed its head on his lap, Regulus felt no desire to really go looking.  

It was sort of ridiculous but in that moment, Regulus had needed someone, anyone really, to prove to him he wasn’t as alone in this world as he felt. The whole day had felt like one punch after another, and for whatever reason, when the dog looked up at him, it felt like he understood. Like he was telling him it was all going to be ok. He knows logically that can’t be true but, in the moment, he felt some odd form kinship with the dog. And call him crazy but he thinks the dog felt it too. Why else would he keep coming back?

Ever since that day whenever Regulus has had a bad enough day that he can’t hide it in his expression, the dog always somehow shows up and offers him that small amount of comfort that keeps him from feeling like he’s fallen over the edge. It didn’t make sense then and it doesn’t make sense now but for better or worse this dog has managed to keep finding his way back to Regulus when he needs him, and Regulus has undoubtedly grown very attached to him.  

He tried hard not to, but these days there aren’t a lot of people he feels comfortable talking to about the things that play on his mind, and something about the dog just makes him feel safe enough to open up in a way he just can’t seem to with anyone else.  

“How do you even get in here?” Regulus asks lying down next to him.  

The dog responds by placing its head softly on his shoulder.

“I feel like I should have a name for you by now.” Regulus says laying his head against the dog, “never really been quite good at names though,” Regulus murmurs stroking the dog’s head, “how do you feel about.....Noir?”  

The dog lets out a huff in response.  

“Ok clearly not,” Regulus laughs, the smile dying on his face when the next thought appears, “you know who’s great at names? Sirius.”

The dog’s ears perk up at that, they always seem to whenever he mentions his brother. He had been on Regulus’ mind all day, they had run into each other in the hallway earlier and Sirius had been holding hands with that friend he’s always staring at, Lupin. They looked at each other in a way that friends just don’t. It was so plainly obvious. To all of them it seemed since Sirius had ripped his hand away the second he had spotted Regulus. Regulus had immediately turned in the opposite and despite hearing his brother call for him, he had continued walking.  

He knew. Of course he knew. But he wasn’t going to be able to say the right things. He never has. So he’d rather say nothing at all now. It’s easier this way, spilling his heart out to an animal who doesn’t really comprehend anything he says.  

It’s not real.

“He used to play this game when we were younger,” Regulus starts as the dog perks up, “where he’d look out the window and make up stories for every person who walked by the street, he’d give them names and backstories and explain why they were out that day, it was all so ridiculous. He used to do it to cheer me up whenever mother got angry.” Regulus feels tears begin to prick in the corners of his eyes as the longing for a person who no longer thinks of him begins to build up in him, “I still do it sometimes, when I go home. I try to think of the kind of stories he’d make up for people but they’re never as good. One time this kid with long hair walked past and I nearly ran outside because I thought it was him,” Regulus laughs through his tears at the absurdity of it. “It wasn’t.”  

When he looks back at the dog he’s surprised to see there are tears in his eyes as well.  

“It’s ok,” Regulus whispers, stroking him again in what he hopes is a comforting motion, “I actually saw him today.”  

The dog raises his head from his shoulder to look down at him, eyes unblinking. 

“I think he’s happy. He looked happy.” Regulus admits, the dog looks away from him for the first time and gazes towards the window, “I didn’t know what to say to him, I know he must’ve been scared not knowing what I was thinking, but I’ve never known what to do with his fear. Which is a shame since he always knew exactly what to do with mine.”

The dog looks back at him then, he almost looks sad.  

“I don’t think I’ll ever get to tell him, but I’m glad he’s happy. Even if I don’t get to be a part of any of it.” Regulus whispers, “one of us should be.”  

The dog whines and for a moment Regulus thinks he’s crying. The sight of it for some reason is too much for Regulus to handle.  

“I think you should get going buddy,” Regulus says wiping at his own and sitting up, “Barty and Evan will be back soon, and I don’t think they’ll be as happy to see you as I am.”

The dog sniffles and crawls into his lap, his front paws come all the way up to Regulus’ shoulders and he leans his head against Regulus’ chest. There’s only one person Regulus has ever accepted a hug from and as he sits there in his room holding on to the small creature that can’t possibly understand the comfort he provides him, Regulus wishes not for the first time, that his brother was here. 

“It’s ok,” Regulus whispers into the dog’s fur, “at least I’ve got you.”  

[denimbex1986]

'“The Giggle” has been. The outcome: Ncuti Gatwa IS the Doctor! AND David Tennant IS ALSO the Doctor!

Well, people said they wanted a multi-Doctor story, I guess.

So what’s happened, what does it mean, and will anyone ever get to read the original version of this article that I wrote in an extremely broad German accent?

In the final act of 60th anniversary special “The Giggle”, David Tennant’s Fourteenth Doctor was shot with a massive laser by The Toymaker (Neil Patrick Harris) and started to regenerate. However, the regeneration energy disappeared, and the Doctor asked his friends to pull. The Fifteenth Doctor (Ncuti Gatwa) emerged as a new incarnation, leaving the Fourteenth alive and well and slightly confused. This is a ‘bigeneration’.

What the Flip Is a Bigeneration?

It’s apparently a Time Lord myth, and like many good Time Lord myths we’ve never heard of it before. It is essentially a regeneration where the old and new incarnation both survive to interact, the old one gets to grow old and – potentially – regenerate into the new one at a later date? Not 100% sure on that last bit, but it can be inferred from 15’s saying to 14 “I’m fine because you fix yourself”.

Showrunner Russell T Davies has suggested, in the commentary for this episode (available to stream on BBC iPlayer in the UK) that this concept might have spread throughout the history of the show, explaining fan theories such as the one surrounding Season 6B (the idea of 6B being that, after Patrick Troughton’s Second Doctor disappears into the void in “The War Games”, he doesn’t immediately regenerate into the Third, and ends up being used as an unofficial operative for shadowy Time Lord affairs – I know, imagine!). To be clear: this is not something Davies has confirmed for the future of the show, but it was mentioned as a possible way to have previous actors return to the role.

Is There a Precedent For This or What?

Absolutely not, no. However, there wasn’t a precedent for the first regeneration in 1966, which was a workaround prompted by the ill health of First Doctor actor William Hartnell, and fans eventually managed to cope with that one.

Two Doctors: No Peril?

Well, there wasn’t a huge amount of peril before, was there? Previously, the Doctor regenerated and we said goodbye to the old incarnation (barring multi-Doctor specials) and hello to the new. That’s still the case, really, so the actual threat level is pretty similar: we always know when a regeneration is coming so it’s not a huge surprise. The difference is that the previous incarnation is still cutting about somewhere.

What Does It All Mean for the Whoniverse?

Ah, I see you’ve adopted the official branding. Well, we don’t know the full ramifications yet. We don’t know if Ncuti Gatwa’s Fifteenth Doctor will regenerate or bigenerate. We don’t know if David Tennant is on speed dial for future series finales. What we know is there is potential here, and if we’re honest it could go either way.

Bigeneration felt like a farewell to Doctor Who (2005 – 2023). It needed a rest. The Fourteenth Doctor looked like an older Tenth Doctor, who brought down a government by saying “Don’t you think she looks tired?” in his first episode. Doctor Who (2023 – ) is still the Doctor Who that started in 1963 and restarted in 2005 (with a delightful barrage of references to demonstrate that), but it’s also a new start.

It’s quite a symbolic gesture to mark a significant change, which is a bold move given that the one thing Doctor Who fans cope with worse than change is symbolism.

The positives are the sense of closure it can give to the previous incarnation, who gets to hear the new one say “Don’t worry, I’ve got this”. There’s a support system in place, a reduction in post-regenerative trauma. The previous incarnations get to play their age in scenes like Tales from the TARDIS. There’s increased potential for stories. Also, if apparently set-in-stone aspects of the series can be challenged – and with the Time Lords currently dead again – who knows what that means for history?

But Does It Undermine Ncuti Gatwa’s Doctor?

Maybe. The worry is that – while the intention is for fans to fill in the deliberate (Curator-sized) gaps – the presence of past incarnations can loom over the current Doctor.

You remember the pressure on Matt Smith when he took over from David Tennant? That was without the in-story possibility of Tennant turning up again. Ncuti Gatwa is clearly positioned as a new start and the future in “The Giggle”, and the hope is clearly that the show will move forward and not have to look over its shoulder.

The expanded universe spin-off series that are expected to arrive will also provide a training ground for potential future showrunners. There’s clearly a plan in place to ensure that Doctor Who is a long-term concern.

However, we’ve just had the return of David Tennant and Catherine Tate as the Doctor and Donna. These characters are still around. We know that ‘Mad Aunty Mel’ (the returning Bonnie Langford, reprising her role as Mel after her brief two-series tenure as companion in the late Eighties) is back in Ncuti Gatwa’s first series, and surely the Fourteenth Doctor and Donna will be asked about.

Essentially we’re in new territory here, and at the start of something. Unlike “The Timeless Child”, which came in midway through Chris Chibnall’s time as showrunner, we know Ncuti Gatwa has at least two series to go and explore these ideas (as opposed to Chibnall having one COVID-abridged series in which to wrap everything up).

The gamble is whether or not folk will accept Gatwa as the Doctor to the extent that the past is remembered fondly and warmly but still very much considered The Past. The worry is, having brought Tennant and Tate back for these three specials and allowing them to be both nostalgia and a foundation, the audience that is brought with them pines for them in their absence. The new cast is haunted by the spectre of the old. Ncuti Gatwa’s era is hobbled by its opening gambit.

Or, alternatively, we might never hear about bigeneration ever again.

So There Might Be Absolutely Nothing to Worry About?

In the context of Doctor Who, ja.'

[formercreepypastakid]

Musicduo AU

Tags: Found family, fluff

Summary: Wilbur is a traveling musician, one day he meets a little girl that plays the flute.

Wilbur has been a traveling musician for years now. For a long time now it had been him, his caravan, and his guitar. He doesn't need much more.

Until one night. He had his caravan just outside a village and as he was getting ready to sleep, he heard a noise outside and he went out to investigate.

What he found surprised him; a little girl trying to steal some berries from the basket he had forgotten outside. She froze when she saw him, like a little racoon that was caught. Wilbur only laughed.

"Those won't keep you full for long. Come, sit down and i'll make you something"

She does sit down, and Wilbur manages to get some information about her.

She’s running from her orphanage, he can only imagine why, but apparently she has been playing the flute in exchange for a few coins and getting by with that.

Wilbur would find it amusing if it weren't so sad, so instead of asking for more information, he asks her to play for him. "In exchange, I'll give you a ride to the next town, what do you say?" 

She plays a cute tune for him, and he lets her stay the night, fed and warm.

The next morning, she sits next to him as he guides the horse, and Wilbur asks for her name.

"I don't have one."

"Not even an artistic name? You need one of those to be a musician." He says  with a lighthearted tone, but his heart clenches.

She looks at him almost embarrassed. "Would you help me pick one?"

Wilbur hums in thought. His hums turn into a tune and he gasps with an Idea. "How about Tallulah? It sounds like singing." He says, she laughs.

"Alright. Tallulah is my stage name!"

When they arrive in the nex town. Wilbur suggests they play a duet in exchange for another ride. She, again, accepts.

In the next town he proposes the same deal

With the extra money they get, he buys her a sweater, saying that an artist always has to look nice so she can't keep using old thorn clothes.

The third city they visit together, almost a week later, Wilbur says "We might as well stick together and be a duet!" 

Tallulah doesn't protest. They play together in every town, and during the night they play together around the campfire.

On the fourth town Wilbur suggests they stay at an inn for a few days instead of the caravan.

When they get back to the caravan Tallulah finds two beds on it instead of a bed and a cot.

On the fifth town, a month after they met, Wilbur buys her a red beanie. "Winter is near, you should stay warm." Tallulah thinks it might be because she can't play if she’s sick.

Wilbur thinks he can't even stand the thought of her being ill.

In the tenth town, nine months after they met, Wilbur sings Tallulah a song as he brushes her hair.

One year after they meet, Tallulah slips up and calls him dad for the first time.

One year and 2 months after they met, they are Wilbur and Tallulah Soot, the famous father-daughter duo of the northern land!

Tallulah had been a traveling musician for years now. Ever since she can remember it was her, her father and their caravan. She doesn't need much more.

[inxumerable]

|Okay! So multi muse blog is officially up and ready(ish!)

CURRENTLY UNDER CONSTRUCTION

Under the cut is the current muse list:

Prodigal Son:

Malcolm Bright (;Brightish;): FC Tom Payne,Canon plot-Malcolm is the son of famous serial killer known as the surgeon and works as a special consultant with NYPD. Due to his history Malcolm suffers from severe PTSD and commonly experiences tremors. He also some sociopathic tendancies. 

(;LikeSurgeon;) In this verse Malcolm takes after his father, inheriting the traits that canon Malcolm feared having. The surgeon was never turned in and Malcolm learned the tools of his trade.  

Martin Whitly (;surgeon;): The father to Malcolm Bright, A serial killer known as the Surgeon, who is currently locked up in the Claremont psychiatric hospital. (or other plotting him can put him after he succeeds in escaping (or prior to being brought in.)

Doctor Who:

Victorian-Clara Oswald (;Victorian;): FC Jenna Coleman, Clara is barmaid in Victorian london, who also double as a governess when she meets the Doctor. In this AU she doesn’t fall and travels with the Doctor. Other AU’s can include her having adventures with Vastra’s gang, modern day AU’s, or anything we want to plot.

Jack Harkness (;harkness;): FC John Barrowman, Jack is still doing jack, aka always looking for the doctor and/or adventures but this jack takes place after losing Ianto.

-Alternative verse (;mirror harkness;) Is set in universe where Jack was a companion to a darker doctor. While he retains much of his personality, he is a bit darker. (Plotting can weed out specifics!)

Mr. Clever (;cyberplanner;): Clever managed to beat the Doctor at chess, and managed to take over completely. Or so he thought. While he did take over control of the body, the Doctor is always there as an extra (annoying) consciousness. He does have the TARDIS, but half the time she doesn’t behave for him.

Amy Pond (;thelegs;): The other half of Amy and Rory! In canon after being sent back she lived her life with life with Rory. Outside of canon? She can be placed anywhere and in anytime. Probably would be pre-angels. 

Fob!watched Missy (;Disguisedsleuth;): FC Lara Jean Chorostecki, After being shot by simm!master, She still managed to regenerate and hid her self, becoming tattle-crime writer Freddie Lounds. Even after opening the watch she still tries to be good, hoping the Doctor finds her. Or she can horribly fail and revert to her old ways.

Tenth Doctor (;allons-y;): The main timeline is post end of time where he is fighting of regeneration. But very much not set in stone!

Hannibal:

Freddie Lounds (;crimesleuth;): Freddie Lounds is journalist for tattle-crime, not afraid to push boundaries when she wants something. Most come to believe its for a sense of Justice. But Freddie has a dark secret, too. (AUish) 

Hannibal Lecter (;ripper;): Hannibal Lecter, also known as the chesapeake ripper is a therapist who also doubles as a cannibal?? Plot wise he can be anywhere but will primarily placing for surviving the fall if not specified. 

Will Graham (;Graham;): In canon (formerly) works as a special consultant for the FBI. Primarily putting him in season 2-3. Can also be post surviving fall.

Baldurs gate 3:

Karlach {;Infernal Engine;): Karlach is tiefling set in the world of baldurs gate 3. She is red skinned and has two horns, however one of her horns is broke off. Her heart? Yeah its engine thats only getting hotter. She served for ten years in avernus, unwillingly a champion to Zariel. Until she escaped, but is she ever really free?

Isobel {;let me be your guide and I'll show you the light | Isobel;}

[irenadel]

And if the devil… 9/10

Aemond Targaryen X Maid!Reader I do deeply apologize for the surprise tenth chapter but the nineth chapter was growing too long AND thematically muddled, so you are getting bonus Alicent and Otto not being paid enough to deal with this shit next chapter. Meanwhile enjoy Aemond being very dramatic and justified in his dramatics for once. Thank you to @barbieaemond for letting me use her beautiful gifs to make this lovely fic banner. As promised am tagging @prettyduckling22

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 10

The night he had lost his eye, there had been pain, so much pain he thought he would die of it, dissolve in it. He thought he would stop existing and only pain would be left behind… then there had been nothing. The oblivion of milk of the poppy. The velvety unreality that had let him say it when not a bone in his body believed it.

It was fair. An eye for a dragon.

There is no milk of the poppy for this wound

So he is glad, today, when the pain does wash over him and there is nothing left of Aemond Targaryen.

Nothing left to mourn a child that never was.

When he follows your aunt through the streets of King’s Landing, that is what he says, nothing. Someone else is speaking he knows, again and again and again: The blood and the darkness and your wedding bed.

There is no Aemond to answer them.

They walk for hours, your aunt and he. They go through the entirety of the neighbors. To the Sept and the Street of Silk in desperation. To the surgeon’s, though you yourself had taken no coin to pay even a barber with. When they speak to the shop owner, he seems to feel a spark of something inside his hollow bones. A thought of maesters who would never attend you… but he cannot even conjure up hate when he realizes this is the stinking, dreadful place you’d have to go to if you could manage it and what it would leave of you, if they can ever find you. There is almost enough Aemond to wish you well of your own annihilation when the pain takes over.

When they question the miserly merchant who employed you, he does not know who it is that breaks the man’s mouth after he calls you an ugly dullard of a wench for not arriving to work today or yesterday. It cannot be Aemond One-Eye. That boy is dead.

Whoever it was, he does not hurt the butcher. He is too old and kind, telling them what little he knows. Even bids them good luck. He has the grace not to mention how transparently royal your aunt’s companion looks, a young man hiding silver hair underneath a black and green hood. But Aemond almost wishes there was enough left of him to gut both aunt and butcher when he learns from her heaving sobs that she regrets advising you to marry the old man… instead of immediately dragging you back to the Red Keep.

Back to him.

But in this world of ugly, small houses and ugly, small people there is space to dissolve and it is easy to let it happen. After all, what use is Aemond here? Unable to fix anything by taking flight on Vhagar and burning it all to the ground. Your aunt had not come looking for Aemond’s sword or his dragon or his love for you, but only for the coin to pay off the people she questions.

She uses it to buy him something to eat. He looks that poorly, enough that this nameless woman should feel afraid for what is left of him. She sits him down first on a barrel by the docks, where the butcher had sent them, in a gesture so like your own that there is nearly enough of himself left to fall into her arms and weep. But even that belongs to another life. Whoever he is now, he finds it easier to sit and stare at the dirt.

It’s there he sees the roses bloom.

His head between his knees, the stench of fish guts all over his mouth and nose and he fights hard to remain gone, to stay away from being Aemond Targaryen, because that man has brought him nothing but sorrow. He fights the scratching of Vhagar’s fury in the back of his mind, sweeping flight over the failing light of the evening, demanding her rider’s attention. Her rider is gone, he thinks wistfully.

Gone into the blood and the darkness and the sea.

Gone like the flowers blooming red on the streets of King’s Landing.

And he is Aemond in that moment again, because Aemond Targaryen knows his sister Helaena and her strange moods. At least he does now. He has begun to know her enough to hold her words dear and remember them. Aemond Targaryen can see fish blood on the dirt, spreading its tendrils out like petals. He’d seen the roses bloom outside your home, just as Helaena had. The flowers made of your blood and the knife he had already lost…

He is almost gone in the pain again. His babe, the secret hope that it had survived in spite of it all, dashed against Helaena’s urgent pleas and his comprehension, his bitter, bitter realization of the meaning behind her words. His face in his hands and the tears so hot they burn, he remains Aemond, resisting the siren call of dissolution, because only Aemond Targaryen would weep for this child. This knife. A blade to cut both himself and its mother.

The sheath she had said, his sister, his beautiful sister who he had never loved half as well as she deserved. The sheath lost to the tide, to the sands and the darkness at dusk. Not yet. Not dusk yet. Not time yet for the crabs to come take you away into the sea…

And your aunt sees only the blur of his cloak and its windswept hood, silver hair behind him like a mirage, before Aemond Targaryen is back and gone again. Off to find his wedding bed.

You dream of the Dothraki Sea.

No stench of iodine. No sand sticking to your clammy legs. No roar waves and dragon.

You dream of grass and the sun baked earth. The smell of horse sweat and fresh mare’s milk and the day your father had tried and failed to teach you the bow. Strong enough to bend it, even at five, but your aim is too poor to hit a target without his instructions.

“Blind as a man with both eyes plucked out.”

Your father had never said that, had never been so cruel. He’d been patient that day, but even through a veil of unshed tears and poor eyesight, you had still seen the fear and disappointment in his face. You knew he wondered what would become of you, a dothraki who could not aim a whip or bow or arakh.

“Even you see it,” you hear Princess Helaena say tiredly. “Even you see the rivers of coin he’ll drown us in, when blood is the only currency the realm knows. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe you should lie down to sleep.”

That’s what I’m trying to do, you wanted to answer them, father and princess. But the stones of the cave are harder and less comfortable than you remember, without a royal coat to cushion them, without a warm body wrapped around yours.

“The water isn’t. The water will welcome you in.”

But you don’t listen. You dream of the Dothraki Sea and the sun beating on your reddened skin. You dream of running into the grass. Your mother’s voice, so long ago you forget it in the waking world. She sings songs of stone houses and steel dresses and khals that set the sky on fire.

You dream of putting a bow in a boy’s hand. In your dream he looks like your father, down to his black hair. You dream of hoisting a girl up into the saddle… dragon or horse you cannot tell. In your dream, her eyes aren’t dead as her parents’. They are alive with purple flame.

It’s a good dream. It cannot possibly last.

“You cut off your braid.”

You do not want him in this dream. You do not think you can hear his voice and not weep until drowning in the tide is better than drowning in tears. Go away, you want to tell him, go away if you’re not staying Aemond. Go away unless you are coming into the sea with me. I am tired of thinking of you.

You do not know how much of it you have said out loud. But he does.

“Take one step out of the cave and I will cut you down.”

It sounds so like him that you almost double over in pain. Your dreams should not sound so like reality. They should offer you kindness at least. A lie of comfort.

“You shouldn’t have cut off your braid.”

And that is how you know it is not a dream. Because you never heard Prince Aemond sound like that in the waking world. You have no memory to recall, to make him sound like that in your dreams. Like he’s ten years old again, crying to his mother that they gave him a pig, choking on the words of comfort he would have offered Laena Velaryon’s girls if he had only known how to.

When you open your eyes he is standing by the mouth of the cave. You almost see the boy he was, in a green doublet, red cheeks and windswept hair.

You look at each other and there are angry words blooming on both your lips. There is a fight that was never won by either side, shouted recriminations, none of them fair. You should have told me. I would’ve killed him for you, for me, he would have said. You left me to die. You knew where you were sending me and you left me to die, you could have answered.

But your dress is stiff with dried blood and Aemond is staring at your shorn head like he will go mad from it. Like defeat has ground him down to dust. Like he would tear his own silver hair out if only it mattered. If only it made a difference. And you know in that moment that you will forever swallow down whatever hatred you could have had for him because he looks at you like he knows. When he reaches for you, you nearly recoil from his embrace, but he doesn’t even try to offer it. He falls to his knees and lays his head upon your lap, upon the dried blood on your dress. He does not scream but you hear the dragon scream for him, so awful a sound, the whole world reverberates with it. You cover your ears to keep out Vhagar’s long low moan of pain and loss, but it is no use. It washes over you, smashing the dam of your sorrow to pieces and you are crying. You are screaming with her. With Aemond. Your hands are tangled in the silver strands of his hair, reaching for him, for whatever else is left for you that is not comfort. There is no comfort left for either of you in the world… but there is this.

Because you know for certain that no one else will mourn the child you had unknowingly carried in your belly. No one else will dream of putting a bow or arakh in their hands or a dragon’s egg in their cradle. No one else will regret their death. Because for the rest of the world it will be better this way. A shame, but simpler like this. But not for Aemond One-Eye. Nor for you. Foolish though it had been. Impossible dream. Still he had wanted it, now you know, had wanted you and the child and all of it. He had come looking for both of you, his face on your bloodied skirts tell you, mother and babe. And for this moment, that is enough. For if there is no comfort left for you in this love, then there is at least joy. The fierce joy of shared pain.

Aemond feels the moment your legs buckle under you, heaves you up, close against his chest. You are still half-conscious and he drags you to your feet even as through the press of your face against the crook of his neck, he feels the fever burning inside you.

He chokes back the sob in his throat. He wishes he had angry words for the gods. Some snarled bitter thing to spit back at the world as he held you in his arms hauling you off the ground. Something other than what he is when stripped bare, as his sister had named him, all awful fear and longing. Longing for the promise of safety you and he had created together, where you and his sister and the children of his blood had been able to shelter. But it is a lie. As damnable a lie as any in his life.

Aemond knows no safety but the shadow of Vhagar’s wings.

She calls to him still through the roar of the sea and darkness and it is her outrage, her own heartbreak for her rider’s grief that lets Aemond swallow the wild, animal panic clawing at his throat. He kisses your burning forehead and takes you to the only home he has ever known.

[hermitdrabbles56]

Caffeine Shots

No beta no read over no nothing here we fucking go. Hyrule after downing WAY to much fucking caffeine because you can not convince me that stamina elixirs aren't just artificial expresso shots. Or a monster mixed with a five hour energy

@whatcouldpossiblyg0wr0ng

Warriors world officially sucked worse than his own. Apparently since their last visit a rip in time had grown unstable and split into his Hyrule. Again. In fact it was through that rip that they'd gotten there! From Hyrules world! The event leaving half of his castle town displaced into a battlefield where further rips had monsters from his world spilling out like a rapidly drowning boat. 

So here he was. 3am. Desperately trying to help the nurses hold soldiers together that had ran into battle with no plan in an attempt to get ahead of things. 

He'd been using his magic since noon and very barely managing to keep on his feet with the magic potions Legend had been trying to keep in stock. The veteran in question currently unconscious after having drained his own magic supply taking out a mob that had tried to attack the base a couple hours ago. 

Four was down, the fall through time having been like a portal jump from hell leaving him disoriented enough he can't string a sentence together. So he was actually curled up with Legend. And the others were all out still fighting. 

Even if he wanted to, he couldn't sleep. He wants to be here for them when they get back..he needs to know if they're okay. 

Letting out a heavy sigh he reaches a shaky hand into his pouch and pulls out yet another stamina elixir from Wild. Popping the cork and slamming it down all in one go. 

With the barest hints of sunlight comes another round of potions. He can't even taste the nasty alchemical solutions anymore after having so many. And his stomach feels like he drank lizalfo acid, but that doesn't matter. As the dawn also brings the Fierce Deity carrying an unconscious Warrior's and a very out of sorts Wind. Quickly followed by Wild who frantically looks like he blew himself up a couple dozen times. 

So he slams an extra magic potion for good measure before rushing over to them. 

By noon there's a buzzing sensation washing over his skin. It's too hot in the tent with all the injured bodies, it's too hot outside because of the summer sun. So he spends three hours in a fitful sleep that's more akin to him forcefully holding his eyes closed before he gives up. Dragging himself back onto his feet and over to where Wild had been brewing potions since returning to base. 

The champion is gone now. And it looks like Legend is on his feet and gone. So it's just the captain and the sailor curled up with four in the nest of bedrolls and pillows they'd built in the corner of the tent. Warrior's looks like he still needs healing. So, Hyrule grabs up a couple red potions and uncorks another stamina elixir before heading over to do just that. 

 

A couple hours later and Warrior's has gone back out too fight. Wind is looking after Four who is slowly starting to comprehend things again. And Hyrule has no idea how long he's been staring at the two trying to put together one of Legends puzzles before a gentle hand is placed on his back. 

Just one of the nurses, he couldn't tell you who given that everyone is kind of blurring together. And maybe swimming a bit. But who ever it is places a hot cup of something warm and bitter in his hand. Pointing off to the back of one of the tent to let him know there's more if needed. 

Takes him a moment to realize it's coffee. Straight black coffee, so hot that it almost burns. Or maybe it does. Either way it's sharp enough to cut through the groggy fog in his head. So he has a couple more and somewhat manages to choke down some bread. 

One more hour, and that buzz won't stop. It's maybe gotten worse. And he's maybe on his tenth cup of coffee. And he maybe can't remember which way is north. Or were the exit is. 

For once he's thankful for having an iron stomach because otherwise he's fairly certain the burning roil in it would have made someone else throw up. But the time to dwell on that ends when Twilight comes in with an unconscious Time hoisted up onto his back. And Sky passed out on Epona. 

So, for a quick moment he sets down his half empty coffee mug. Uncorks and dumps the next round of potions into it. Then chugs the whole thing before stumbling off to help.

Thankfully it wasn't anything serious. Or was it serious? He can't remember because everyone looks too fucked up at the moment. 

"-Link?" 

Something touches his shoulder. Just a light careful little touch but it startles a yelp out of him. His head snapping up so quickly the world spins on its access and oh, he's falling. 

No wait.

He's not falling? 

Two big arms catch him. Least he thinks they do, he can't tell. That buzzing makes it really hard to feel. 

"Woah woah…easy there traveler." Twilight murmurs as he carefully sets Hyrule back on his feet. "You okay? You're shaking like a leaf."  

A small nervous sounding laugh comes rattling out of Hyrule before he can even attempt to think. "Hehe I think my heart just stopped? Oh hey..when did it get dark?" 

"YOU THINK WHAT?!" 

"Chillio dog boy it's fine." 

"The fuck it ain't." Twilight huffs before insistently places strong fingers against the vein on Hyrules wrist. "Oh- sweet mother of Faron..that's…that's not normal." 

"Normal? You really think my death would be fucking normal?" 

"Your heart didn't stop, you're not dying….least not yet. But this certainly explains why I thought I was hearing it from ten feet away. It's racing faster than a hummingbird." 

"Mmm f-fairies works really similrat to humming hits hits h..ummin birbs it's berry hard for us to sit sit still." 

For a moment Hyrule stops to try and process what just left his mouth. Shaking his head a bit to try and clear it. Which must have been a bad ideas see as he definitely wakes up on the ground this time. Night sky spiraling above him. 

"Deep breaths buddy..you're okay…" Twilight murmurs again as he leans into view. 

Smacking his lips a bit Hyrule blinks slightly. "My mouth feels fummy…." 

"Yeahh…yeah you just threw up. Like a lot. What the fuck have you been drinking?" 

"Things!" 

Twilight levels him with his best impression of the stare. "What things?" 

"Uhhhhhhhh…last thing was a coffee with two stamina ichsers..and…gren….it's was all very gren…" 

"Dins tits no fucking wonder. How many of those have you had??" Twilight questions. 

Hyrule stares at his hands and he swears has a few more that usual. All the extra fingers making it a little difficult to count. 

"Mmn…a number?" 

"How long have you been awake..?" 

"When the fuck did we get here?" 

"Okay….let's..let's get you some water and make sure you don't have a fucking heart attack." Twilight says with a stressed whine as he carefully scoops the shaking fairy boy up. 

"Nuuu!!! I need to…what the fuck was I doing…?"

"You've been staring into space for the past two hours what you need is to be knocked unconscious." 

"Fuck." 

[rcksmith]

Spring breeze — Spencer Reid

Sumarry: Spencer never thought about falling in love with someone, but he certainly didn't expect that he would fall in love with Gideon's daughter. — season 3 —

Part.2 Part.3 Part.4

A/N: I am marathoning Criminal Minds again and I can not express how much I loved the interaction of Gideon and Spencer!! So this idea came as an epiphany, and I love the conception of love at first sight. Maybe this becomes a serie...

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple:Spencer Reid/Gideon's daughter!reader.

Warnings: nothing, just very fluff.

— — — — —

Something was different. Maybe it was the way the sun's rays cascaded down in an atypical way, maybe it was the breeze that carried a more lyrical intonation on its back, or maybe it was just the Earth that was adorned by an ethereal veil. Spencer didn't know how to point out what was really different, but he felt in his soul that something in the hemisphere had changed.

At first, when he took the subway to work, Spencer thought it was just an ephemeral sensation, just like those seconds when you feel the breath of the breeze more cold. But it didn't. The sensation accompanied him to work, to the plane, to the case, it stuck to him like a tattoo and Reid found himself looking around for answers that did not exist physically.

He considered all the theories that were possible to explain that destabilization in his subtly balanced world. But he found none.

“Are you feeling anything different today?” That's what he asked Morgan.

Derek shrugged, finishing packing up at the police station so they could go back to Quantico.

“No.” Then he looked Reid whit his obsidian eyes “Is something bothering you? Is the Genie feeling any peturbation in the Force? ”

Spencer chuckled through his nose at the Star Wars joke, but just shook his head in a 'No'. And the conversation died there. How could he explain something that even he didn't understand?

Trying to ignore the way his heart was beating fast, for no reason, in anticipation of something Spencer himself was unaware of, he wondered how long he was going to have that sensation. The feeling of euphoria, the taste of something, there was something exciting in the air, almost angelic.

But how long was that going to accompany him? One day? One week? Whole life? For the first time, Spencer didn't have the answer. And that was disconcerting.

When BAU's glass doors opened for agents to settle on their desks and Hotch and Gideon go to their respective offeces, a wave of icy breeze from the DC air reverberated through the enclosure. Spencer can see that Morgan shrugged in the wind, Emily looke for a coat in the black suitcase, but his own body didn't seem to be hit by the same breeze. For Reid, it had been a caustic, lyrical, almost spring, wave that carried the promise of something extraordinary on back. Almost divine.

In that split second, in a time as short as a blink, the feeling that his life would never be the same made him losing his breath. Spencer does not know what attracted his gaze to the BAU door, nor what made his whole body turn in that direction, like a magnet, like a wanderer in the desert who finds his Oasis. But he had been attracted, and as soon as a female hand pushed through the glass door and her figure came into view, Spencer understood the extraordinary thing that him heart was beating for in anticipation.

You.

It was as if the universe had been preparing him all day for that moment. As if the body itself tried to prepare it. Because if Spencer hadn't fell those feelings of euphoria all day, he would have drowned in his own reactions to seeing you.

In a burst, like a violin string popping, Reid understood what was different about the hemisphere, because why the air was ethereal, because why the night felt like poetry, and why the moon whispered swears of love. In that moment, Spencer understood the mysteries of the world, unraveled the riddles of life, drank from the wisdom of The Oracle of ancient Greece. In an instant, watching you enter, Spencer understood the reason for his life.

In an instant.

The world shuddered in slow motion, capturing all your movements, all your graceful gait, all your glory. An elegant black dress with thin straps modeled your body in an arcane, almost divine way, your legs were supported on black high heels, making your walk seem like a glide of honey.

You were not beautiful. You are gorgeous. You shone. Sparkled.

And, like an atrocious wave that broke over Reid and pulled him into the sea, that whole feeling that stuck with him all day came to accompany the female figure. Following in your footsteps like the tail of a long dress.

Spencer was sure that his life would never be the same.

They hadn't even sat at their tables when you showed up. Like the muse that came out of an action movie. And when you got close enough to attract the attention of Emily and Morgan, whose Derek opened his mouth when he noticed the female figure that was the personification of Female Fatal, Spencer felt himself letting out the breath he didn't even know he was holding. He knew that anyone with eyes and a little common sense would notice how overwhelmingly beautiful you were, so when Morgan turned his body fully towards you, Reid was not surprised.

“Hi." Your voice, to Reid, had a floral intonation “Do you guys know where I can find Jason?”

When his eyes met yours, Spencer felt his breath being stolen from him once again. Usually, girls like you didn't look twice at guys like him, Spencer knew that. Girls like you liked men like Morgan. Athletes, strong, Alpha Male. And because of that, it was an explosion in Reid's system when you took a few seconds longer in that eye contact and a delightful smile appeared on yours lips. As if you appreciate what you were seeing.

That was a shock. Was it true or was he misinterpreting the signs? Was him mind playing tricks on him, like the flickering shadows of furniture under the darkness and the flame of a candle? Spencer would not be able to say a word without stuttering at that moment even that him life depended on it. In fact, he was already starting to feel cheeks heating up. So he thanked any deities that might exist when Morgan and Emily responded to you and broke the eye contact between the two of you.

“Jason Gideon?” Morgan frowned slightly.

“He's in the office but...” But Emily couldn't finish the sentence before Gideon's voice came out over everyone's:

“Y/n?” It was in a tone that no one there had ever heard in Gideon. A sweet, loving intonation... paternal.

None of the three agents present there had time to express their thoughts in facial expressions before you said:

“Dad!”

Then the whole world took a turn and seemed to be terrified, making them feel as if they had been thrown out of the tenth-floor window. This time, Reid's eyes widened at the two friends, who also had puzzled expressions. Everyone knew that Gideon had a past, probably with divorces and children, a life he had left behind, but no one expected...that.

Perhaps Gideon's vision of a family was something that was only in the imagination, never something tangible. Until that moment. Until the most beautiful girl Reid had ever seen was the daughter of one of the men he respected most. Until him heart soared at alarming levels for him boss's daughter. Spencer had been in trouble before when it came to matters of the heart, but the trouble gained a position in the top 3.

“What are you doing here?” A rare smile appeared on Gideon's face, his brow slightly furrowed.

“We were going to dinner today, remember? In that new Japanese restaurant.” Your tone of voice was not resentful or hurt by the situation that was explicit there.

The life of a BAU agent take many things, some with a more atrocious force than others, and one of them was the availability of hours. commitments that count on presence.

“I totally forgot, I'm sorry.” Gideon's voice was always calm and controlled, he managed to speak from the most tender emotions to the most heinous crimes with a peaceful intonation. But to perceive traces of parental love was new. “The case was very complicated, my cell phone died and...”

“It's okay, Dad.” You smiled, making a casual gesture with your hand “I thought this happened, but I thinking it best to come here to see if everything was okay instead of waiting until tomorrow.”

Your smile, despite being the simple one, was the brightest for Spencer.

Gideon still had a fatherly look and a chaste and grateful smile when he turned to the other agents who were still puzzled.

“Y/n, these are agents Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss and Dr. Spencer Reid.” Jason introduced them to you “Guys, this is my daughter, Y/n.”

“Is a pleasure.” You smiled genuinely at them.

“I had no idea that you had a daughter!” Emily gave a low, slightly bewildered laugh that also made you laugh.

“Everybody says that.” You looked at your father again, having fun.

“I'm just going to go over some reports with Hotcher before I leave.” Gideon kept a chaste smile. “Why don't you wait here and then let's go get something to eat?”

“Of course, no problem, Dad.” You agreed, adjusting the thin shoulder bag that was on your shoulder.

As Jason went up to Hotcher's office, you turned to the agents again, with a gentle smile on your face.

“My dad said great things about you.” Emily smiled at your statement.

"I'm still chocked ." She laughed, and Morgan added:

“ I really need to know...” he looked around, in a playful suspense “Is Gideon really that serious outside the FBI?”

You laughed “Oh no! Definitely not.”

So you reached for your phone in the litlle bag, hunting for a photo on it and showing it to the three agents. It was a recent photograph where you and Gideon had their faces painted in easy ink. You had a skeleton mouth made with white and black paint, and Jason had a pink glitter butterfly covering his left cheek. You two were laughing in the photo.

Morgan was the one who let out a loud, dripping laugh, with a few tears accumulating in the corners of his eyes.

“How is this possible?” Morgan was trying to catch the air.

“It was at the last Halloween, he and I bet that whoever lost in the snooker that day would have to paint a butterfly on their face.” You laughed.

“And did he lose?” Spencer found a voice for it, his mind failing to process the image of Gideon losing any game.

“I have my suspicions that he let me win” You joked “But I enjoyed the victory just the same.”

The conversation was light after that, Spencer refrained from much of the dialogue, a little fearful that you could hear him heart beating loudly whenever you smile in his direction. As the minutes passed, Derek and Emily had to go back to their duties and finish their reports, while you were sitting in one of the chairs at an empty table.

It was one of those moments when Reid tried to focus on the files in front of him to exorcise what was going on around him. Paperwork had always brought the lull needed to make Spencer meditate. It was almost like relaxation. But in moments like this, when something in the environment around him pulled his attention so much, he stayed on the same page for long minutes.

That must be why he didn't hear the wheels on your chair approach, and he didn't even notice that you were so close until you said:

“Are you really a doctor?” Your voice was low, soft, as if you didn't want to disturb the other agents who were working.

Spencer turned his head towards you, only to find the modern personification of what would be the Athena de Troia. You were close, not close enough to touch, but close enough that he could smell your perfume. You smelled like the night, the excitement of nights and the brightness of the stars. And if Spencer looked deeper into yours eyes, he would sure they contained shine moonlight.

He swallowed, the mania for blinking compulsively returning a little.

“A-ahm yes. Not really a doctor, but m-my 3 Phd’s make me a doctor.”

He might be mistaken, but the smile that spread across your face was not just friendly, it wasn't curious, it was… delighted. As if the roles were reversed and he was the most fascinating thing in that room, not you.

The glow that was adorned in yours eyes had something lyrical, ethereal, wonderful. As if the brightness of all the galaxies were inhabiting your irises, moving in your orbit. At that moment, Spencer was deeply grateful to have eidetic memory, because 10 years from now he could still remember how you looked like a muse over there. DC night came in through the big glass windows, and if Reid had to describe that moment with the five senses, he would say that the world had turned the light down to a rose tone, the smell was heaven and your smile promised to contain wonders of the world.

Holy Mother of God, you are so, so beautiful!

“My dad said there was a genius on the team.” You said, your attention on him is always tender, adoreble. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

Your perfume invaded him sense of smell once again, and he felt his heart beat faster once more. Spencer would have told you all the secrets in the world if you asked. He would have told all own secrets.

“No way.” He sat back in his chair to look at you better, oblivious to the exchange of looks that Emily and Morgan gave.

You rested your arms on Spencer's table, the chair next to his.

“You never thought of being like... the wizard Doctor Strange?” You hoped that Spencer knew Marvel “Before he was a magician, of course. But why didn't you want to be a surgeon or something?” You laughed “There is a phrase him says: I have a photographic memory and this is what made me ..."

“ ‘Get my diploma and doctorate at the same time’ " Spencer completed you, laughing softly “I know the HQs. Did you know that the Doctor Strange character was created during the Silver Age of American comics to bring a different type of character and mystical themes to Marvel Comics? It him has an intellectual coefficient close to 177 points and I have… ”

The more he rambled, the more a stunning smile spread across your face. As if you were enchanted with him. And you were. Everyone was noticing the way Spencer seemed to have you curled up on his finger, your eyes sparkling and a silly smile twinkling on your face, paying attention to every word he said. It was an overwhelmingly lovely sight to behold.

But just as everything had a time, an hourglass, your time had reached the last grain of sand.

“All right, Y/n.” Gideon went down the stairs, cutting the end of Reid's sentence “Ready?”

You stood up, agreeing with your father and smoothing the dress. When you put your hands on the chair, ready to take it back to place, you turned to Spencer once again:

“I'm going to bring my dad to BAU tomorrow, do you think me and you can meting and you give me the answer to the question tomorrow?” Your smile was able to light up the whole of Washington.

“S-sure!” Spencer's voice went up more high notes than he would like to admit.

And, even when you left, even when Morgan and Emily jokes him about it, and even when he finally lay down on his own bed, you were still the only thing that occupied Spencer's mind.

[pigeonp0st]

Hi I love your fics!❤️

Can I request a WandaxReader where Wanda is still new to the Avengers and so people are still pretty afraid and a little hostile towards her but Reader(a trainee or whatever) is one of the few people who aren’t scared of Wanda and the two end up getting close. Idk if that’s too much or not 😅🤷🏽

Wanda Maximoff x Reader #1

Words: 1,561

Warnings: Food, burn

Notes:

Thank you <3 and thanks for my first Wanda ask! I hope you enjoy. Sorry for all spelling/grammar mistakes ;)

(Imma head to bed now...if I can anyways. I’m super hyper for some reason)

———

There’s a new girl walking around the tower when you come back from your mission. You have to ask Tony to explain everything to you so you can understand why.

Apparently she was their enemy...and then their partner, and now a new avenger. You’re happy to have someone else on the team but everyone else seems...skeptical of her.

They get silent when she walks into a room. They don’t make much of an effort to talk to her, and they’re just all around...petty.

The new girl doesn’t seem to mind though. She just sits still and looks like she’d rather be anywhere else with her eyes darting around the room.

—-

Steve confronts you the day after you try to talk to Wanda during dinner. He warns you that she’s dangerous, and that he doesn’t trust her yet. He says not to become too close to her. The rest of the Avengers agree with him.

You just stare at them in mild disbelief. “Steve,” you tell him, incredibly disappointed in him, and the rest of the avengers, “she has lost everything. She looks lonely and depressed most of the time...how could you—how could you find evil in that?”

Him and the rest of the avengers don’t try and stop you from talking to her after that.

—-

“Train with me, Wanda.”

Wanda looks up from the book she’s been studying with narrowed eyes. “What?”

You grin at her cheekily and hold out a hand, “I wanna kick your ass. You can use your powers.”

Her eyebrow quirks then, surprised and apprehensive, and rightfully so. No one else even considers training with her. “I knew everyone here disliked me but I didn’t think they’d want to…’kick my ass’”

Your eyes widen comically. “I—what—no, no, no, I don’t want to—it’s an expression Wanda I swear, god, of course I don’t want to—I mean I do, but like in a friendly way—”

This, this moment right here is the first time you see her smile. It’s the first time you stop and notice how beautiful Wanda is. It’s the first time making someone else’s smile fills you with such a great sense of accomplishment.

It leaves you unexplainably breathless for a moment.

“I was kidding,” Wanda informs you, taking a hold of your hand and shaking it to seal the deal. It’s the first time you two touch. “I’m going to be the one kicking your ass, Y/N.”

She knows your name. Wanda knows your name. “I’d like to see you try.”

———

Wanda does end up kicking your ass, but she does it gently...if that’s possible. You challenge her again and again after that, only to end up losing each time.

Wanda keeps accepting, even though she looks more and more hesitant each time you ask, like she thinks that maybe this time will be the moment you realize she isn’t worth it. That she’s a monster.

You don’t. You don’t get bitter like she imagined either. You just get up each time with playfulness and a tiny bit of awe and fight again, but you never look at her with fear.

To Wanda, this moment means more than you will ever know. To Wanda, this is the moment she realizes that she wants to keep spending time with you, and that maybe this place won’t be that bad. Maybe she doesn’t have to be miserable any more.

To you, this is where you decide to keep surprising Wanda. Each time you get up again, each time you laugh, every compliment you give to her powers, she lights up just that bit more. You want to be someone Wanda can enjoy.

——

It’s about the fifteenth ass kicking that you decide, breathlessly, that you two try to fight without Wanda using her powers.

Wanda agrees cockily, which is why it’s such a surprise when you manage to knock her flat after the first five seconds.

You laugh loudly at her pout, so hard that your body shakes with it, but you manage to get out, between fits of laughter; “why the fuck were you so confident?”

Wanda rolls her eyes at you and kicks your feet out from under you but you couldn’t care less. You’re too busy laughing, and she joins in after a moment.

When the two of you calm down you turn your head to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed from laughing, and her hair is messy on the ground, but to you; she has never looked more beautiful. She has never looked so happy.

“I’ll train you,” you promise her, offering a smile that’s gentler than you intended.

Wanda nods, suddenly sheepish. “And i’ll train you.”

You remind her softly that you can’t use powers like her, but she smirks at you deviously like she’s already very much aware.

“I was not talking about your fighting skills,” Wanda huffs. “I tried one of the cookies you made the other day...and let’s just say they were not very good.”

The glare you send her way isn’t like the ones the avengers have been giving her—it’s completely playful. “I doubt that you’re baking skills are much better.”

“You will see.”

—-

Wanda is awful at baking you learn. The lesson she tried to give you ended with the kitchen almost burned down and the entire avenger squad rushing into the smoke filled kitchen.

What they come to see is Wanda, covered in flour, glaring at black bundles of ash that were meant to be cookies, and you doubled over in laughter in no less of a state of messiness.

Wanda swats at the back of your head, not noticing the avengers, and you try to hug her consoling despite your laughter.

Thus, the avengers realize with no small amount of amusement, that maybe Wanda can be trusted.

No villain can look that upset over burnt cookies, and no villain can look at someone with that amount of softness.

—-

The avengers warm up to Wanda quickly once they actually start talking to her, but she always clearly prefers to spend her training with you, and she never stops your baking session, even despite how awfully they always go.

You’ve also developed... feelings... for Wanda. It must be obvious to the rest of the avengers but it doesn’t seem to be as obvious to Wanda herself.

At least, you don’t think it is. You don’t think she likes you like that anyways...

Well, not until about your tenth baking lesson with her.

—

She’s grinning at you with the amount of joy you’ve finally become accustomed to seeing on her, and holding out (with her adorable mittens) the first set of non-burnt cookies that you two have ever made.

She looks so accomplished and so smug that you can’t help it. You kiss her. Right there in the compounds kitchen, with flour all around, and sugar in your hairs.

You kiss her and she kisses you back, tasting like your favorite dinner, and hot chocolate on a winter day. Kissing her is like coming home after a long day out, kissing her is like coming up for air after being underwater for much too long, kissing her is like—

“Ow!” You yell, pulling away abruptly and looking down at the red burn mark on your hand.

Wanda stands there blinking for a couple of moments, first at your lips, then at your burn mark, and then at the still hot ban still in her grasp.

When she’s able to snap out of her daze she sets the pan down and hugs you, with your burned hand between your bodies. “Sorry,” Wanda whispers.

“It wasn’t your fault.” It wasn’t. You were just too overwhelmed kissing her to remember the pan she was holding. Speaking of… “would you like—to you know...do that again sometime?”

Wanda releases you from her hug to give you an amused smile. “I’ll do you one better,” she says, cupping your cheek. “Be my girlfriend?”

You certainly weren’t expecting that. “Shouldn’t we at least go on a date first?”

Wanda tilts her head, confused and hesitant. “Haven’t we gone on ten now?”

You gape at her, bewildered. “I—um...I didn’t know...you know what, never mind. Let’s just...you’re my girlfriend now. Okay?”

This was not how you were expecting your day to go, but you're not even close to disappointed because Wanda gives you a beaming smile and nods her head repeatedly before drawing you back in for another kiss.

She pulls away after a moment. “I know they weren’t dates, but they might as well have been now, right?”

You wonder if everything you say to each other is going to be a question, and whether or not she’s doing this on purpose.

“Right.”

“Cool.”

“Cool,” you agree, rolling your eyes playfully. “Wanna treat my hand for me now that this is all settled, and since you're the one who burned me?”

“You said that wasn’t my fault!” Wanda huffs.

“Yes, well now that I want something from you it is.”

“Ah, I see. That’s how it works.”

“Yep.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

You flick her gently between the brows with your non-injured hand. “Stop it.”

Wanda smirks. “Or what, you’ll fight me about it? Do you think it’ll be your first win?”

“Dickhead.”

“Very professional, Y/N. Very professional.”

[eirikaanemo]

Venti's crush is a sister in the Church of Favonius. That's the entire prompt. Okay, she may have overheard Venti when he asked for the Holy Lyre and maaaaybe she gave it to him (in the name of freedom!), but she probably wouldn't be a sister after that.

Venti x GN!Reader

1.7k Words

Warnings: Eviction? Kinda?

Notes: So, halfway through I remembered "Sister" is a gendered term, so I switched it to "Disciple". Hopefully that still works!

Part 2: His Fight

His Lyre

He first caught your attention while he was doing a street performance. You were walking down the street, minding your own business, when you heard a melody so beautiful that you swore it had to be Barbatos himself. Following your curiosity, you found him performing a ballad for a group of children. His clear tenor painted looks of wonder on their faces as he regaled them with tales of Vanessa and the revolution of freedom.

You couldn’t help but stop to watch as well. He had captivated you as much as he had the children and you didn’t regret a thing. After Vanessa’s tale he sang of the fall of the storm god, the rise of Barbatos, the shaping of the lands, and the rise of Mondstadt. Every song seemed almost more amazing than the last.

It was getting close to evening by the time you were able to free yourself from his spell. Or rather, he stopped casting it. His last few notes rang out and faded into the darkness. You almost didn’t dare to breathe in fear of breaking the serene silence that overtook the scene. Then his eyes opened.

This was your first real chance to get a good look at them as he was usually facing just slightly away from you. Everyone else had gone home, so as he scanned the area, his eyes fell on you. And suddenly all you could see was his eyes. They’re beautiful, you thought to yourself, a hint of blush warming your cheeks.

His braids swayed a bit as he tilted his head curiously and a smile flashed across his lips. “It’s not often I see a Disciple here, tell me, did you like what there was to hear?”

“I did,” you confirmed. “I’m very impressed! It was almost like I was listening to Barbatos himself!”

He looked stunned for a moment, then an odd look crossed his face before he quickly covered it up with a broad smile. “Thanks! I appreciate the sentiment! That’s really quite the compliment.”

You were able to spend the next little while chatting before you had to go, but similar scenes occurred fairly often as time went on. About the tenth time or so he decided that you were friends, which you had no objection to. Though there was always a small twinge in your heart whenever he called you that for some reason.

Along with becoming friends, you started to notice some things. His songs are… very detailed in a way that makes them line up with records that rarely see the light of day. While you do your best to share Barbatos’ gospel of freedom with everyone, some records are just too fragile to be available to the general public. So the Disciples, like you, memorize them and tell them to the worshipers who come to the Cathedral.

However, either on purpose or by accident, most of the time Disciples will mix up little details or paraphrase things or skip over sections in a way that can confuse the story some. But Venti’s songs match every detail shown in the records, and more. You had checked multiple times and it always came out the same way. He was one hundred percent correct, in every song he played.

Then there was his hair. You’d never seen anyone with their hair being tinted at the ends like that. And you couldn’t find the hair dye he used either. And oh boy had you looked. You wanted teal in your hair too dang it! And when you finally asked him where he got it he laughed and said it was natural. How is that fair?

And then there are the times where he just didn’t act quite human. Like forgetting to eat all day without realizing it. Or referring to other people as “humans”, as if he, himself, isn’t human. Or how he only ever wears one outfit. Or the way anemo energy seems to flow through him instead of around him. You wouldn’t even have noticed that last one if it wasn’t for the fact that you are hypersensitive to it due to how you use your anemo vision. From all of that, and more, you can just tell that something isn’t quite what it seems about him.

So when you’re cleaning the cathedral in the back and hear him out himself as Barbatos to Sister Gotelinde something just clicked. Oh, of course he was Barbatos. What else could he possibly be? Too much added up for it to not make sense! Unfortunately by the time you were done reeling from shock Sister Gotelinde had sent him right out the door.

You had caught enough of the conversation, though, that you knew that Venti- no, Barbatos had need of his lyre. So you came up with a plan. This was going to get you in so, so much trouble. But this is what needed to be done. You need to get him his lyre.

It was surprisingly easy to swipe the lyre from its pedestal and avoid the other inhabitants of the Cathedral by taking back passageways. You had almost made it out, you were so close when you suddenly ran into someone.

Holding a hand to the point of impact starting to swell on your forehead, you squint over towards the other group. When your brain registers that you just ran into Venti you gasp and scramble to your feet, still holding the holy lyre to your chest. “Oh my goodness, I’m so, so sorry Venti,” you apologize. “Or, uh, would you prefer I call you Barbatos?”

Your friend blinks once, then twice, dumbstruck by the situation. “Venti is fine,” he scrambles to assure you after a few moments. “How did you know?”

“You weren’t exactly the quietest when speaking with Sister Gotelinde, Venti. And I was cleaning just out of sight. It made a lot more sense than some other explanations for your weird behavior that I’d come up with.” You admit sheepishly. “And I believe this is yours.”

His face lit up as you held the holy lyre out towards him. “The Lyre de Himmel! Thank you so much! See that, Traveler? We didn’t even have to steal it! I promise to do my best to take care of it.” You quirk an eyebrow as the Traveler finishes shaking off the effects of running into you.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, and you better.” you tell him pointedly, causing him to giggle nervously. “Besides, the two of you need to go! I… didn’t exactly tell anyone about this. Good luck with Dvalin, Venti, Traveler. May Barbatos be with you!” You called out the last part out of habit.

Moments later you felt a hand clap onto your shoulder. “Dear,” Sister Gotelinde drawled slightly. “Please tell me you didn’t hand our sacred treasure over to that alcoholic bard.” You’re silent for a moment before years of being at the Cathedral won over your common sense. “You know I can’t do that, Sister.”

She sighs from her position behind you and her hand tightens on your shoulder. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how much trouble you’re in, especially if it doesn’t come back in one piece.” You gulp.

“Yes, Sister Gotelinde.” You murmur.

“Good, now get back to cleaning.” She instructs you curtly.

Nodding, you turn and walk past her towards where you were cleaning. She continued on, likely going to report the situation to Sister Barbara. You really hope that Venti keeps his promise.

While you try your best to put the situation out of your mind, your thoughts keep drifting back to it the whole next day. The nightmare you’d had that night hadn’t helped either. It had been a morbid scene, a broken lyre on the ground with an equally broken Venti as a triumphant Stormterror screeched over their still forms. You’d woken up sweaty.

Logically you knew that Barbatos- no, Venti wouldn’t fall to Stormterror. But the scene still wouldn’t go away. And neither did the awkward feeling that accompanied your usual duties as a disciple. Some of your regular duties were suddenly almost… laughable? You now knew that Barbatos didn’t care about a good chunk of what you did in the Cathedral that some considered absolutely essential.

Your attitude didn’t help your position though, not with everyone now knowing what you did and watching you closely. The day is long and you feel trapped every second of it. Then Venti returns victorious with a broken lyre and everything crumbles around you. You’re kicked out, banned for life, right after him, with a suitcase of your stuff chucked out after you. Even though he ‘fixed it’.

Part of you wants to just lay there and regret your life choices; but you can’t help but smile when Venti reaches a hand out to lift you up, laughing about the irony of the situation. A small smile manages to reach your face as Jean starts chuckling too.

“Don’t worry too much, I know you’ve done a great good for Mondstadt.” She reassures you. “I know you have a vision, an anemo vision at that.” She gives Venti a pointed look. “How would you like to become a knight?”

Your smile grows into something a little more natural. “I’d like that, thank you Jean.”

“It’s no problem, really the least I could do. I’m sorry it had to end like this. Now, come to my office when you have a moment so we can formalize it. But for now I need to go and formally close the Stormterror case.” With a sigh she walked past you towards the knights headquarters and the inevitable paperwork which awaits her.

“I’m sorry that you got kicked out,” Venti apologizes once Jean’s out of sight. “All you did was help and you got in trouble for it.”

“It’s alright, Venti,” you try to claim. “It was kind of awkward knowing that you are Barbatos anyway.”

“Still,” he pressed. “You put everything on the line for me and I really appreciate it. I’m really sorry I didn’t follow through. I’ll have to make it up to you. And I know just where to start.”

His kiss to your cheek was quick but sent a warmth blooming across your face, contrasting with the coolness of his lips.

“Of course,” you mumble, embarrassed. “It was your lyre anyway.”

“It was,” he agreed. “But you believed me. And that really does mean a lot to me. Thank you, really.”

[zeroweeenies]

Yuuji and Megumi sfw and nsfw relationship hcs pleathe 🤲🏽

this is my first time doing a hc fic and sfw >.<

n/sfw relationship headcannons

Character(s): yuuji, megumi, and todo

Rating: 18+

Todo (SFW)

🍓 He’s a big teddy bear 🥺 todo gives you the best hugs and loves to pick you up like you’re his little doll wherever you go.

🍓 Todo will definitely beat anyone up for you. Someone’s being mean to you? “Point them out to me, I’ll take care of it” he won’t let anyone hurt his precious baby

🍓 He was so shy around you when you first started dating. Whenever you came around he was always blushing and scared to talk to you despite being so tough.

🍓 Treats you like a princess and spoils you with tons of gifts for no reason. Your birthday is March 3rd? This guy buys you gifts for your “birthday” on the same day each month

🍓 “Happy birthday, baby” he hands you some expensive looking necklace that he somehow managed to afford. “My birthday was four months ago” “everyday is your birthday to me” 🥺

🍓 Mean to everyone except you and doesn’t let anyone get his attention but you. If another girl tries to flirt with him he flicks her away like a bug. “go away whore”

(NSFW)

🍓 He’s a service top idc. His sole purpose in bed is to please you. Whispers sweet praises in your ears when he’s splitting you open on his fat cock. “you’re so good for me baby” “you’re gonna take all of it right? good girl” ughhhh

🍓 This man makes my size kink go brrr. He loves how much smaller you are than him when you’re undneath him as he obliterates your cunt.

🍓 King of praise. Whenever he lets you top him and your legs get tired he’ll encourage you to keep going.

🍓 “Come on baby, keep going.” “I know you wanna cum, you can do it” fuckkk >.<

Yuuji (SFW)

🍓 He’s such a clingy baby :( he always wants to be under you. Laying on your chest, hugging you from behind, looping his fingers in the belt loop of your pants to follow you around. if you even go anywhere too far away from him he’s like “where are you going?” “can I come with you?”

🍓 When you say no he gives you the silent treatment till you apologize. “you’re so mean to me” with his cute lil pouty face 🥺

🍓 Yuuji always keeps his promises.

🍓 He goes all out on days that are really important to you. If it’s your birthday he throws you a huge surprise party.

🍓 “Surpriseee!” The lights flicker on and confetti guns are shot into the air, covering you. You’re surrounded by all your friends and family with Yuuji in front of you, his cute little birthday hat titled to the side and party horn in hand, too excited to surprise you.

🍓 He just loves doing the most for you, he’ll do anything to protect your smile.

(NSFW)

🍓 Don’t let that sweet exterior fool you this man is a dom to the maxxxx

🍓 His specialty is definitely aftercare. He can go from degrading you so fucking hard “Get that fucking tongue out you dirty bitch, I wanna see you drooling all over my cock” to giving you affirming praises about how good you are for him while he takes care of your sore body “You did so good for me baby, so good”

🍓 breeding kink breeding kink breeding kink. He has to cum in you at least four times cause he wants to see you when you’re all swelled up with his kids.

🍓 Loves the way his cum drips out of your pussy after he’s stuffed you full with multiple loads, there’s no way you won’t get pregnant.

🍓 “I can’t wait to see you filled up with my babies, gonna breed you so fucking good” he thrusts into you as he cums inside you for the tenth time that night.

Megumi (SFW)

🍓 Loves when you play with his hair. He can be the most nonchalant person in the world but immediately goes soft when your fingers are on his scalp, he cuddles closer to you and falls asleep on your boobies when you keep doing it.

🍓 You made a playlist of songs for him that reminded you of your relationship and he plays it nonstop whenever he has to go away on long missions while all he thinks about is getting back home to you

🍓 Pays attention to detail. If he sees you looking at something you’re interested he’ll buy it for you and surprise you with it. He loves seeing that beautiful smile when he pulls the boxed anklet from behind his back that you were eyeing in the store.

🍓 “Baby, no fucking way did you get this for me!” You practically jump in his arms giddily. That thing had to cost a fortune “It was nothing” it really is but he doesn’t care, he’ll spend his last dime on you if he has to.

(NSFW)

🍓 Dominant all the time. Very rarely will he sub for you but when he does he’s so whiny. He’ll beg you to let him cum when you’re stroking his dick while you’re rimming him.

🍓 “Please let me cum, mistress” you pump him faster until he reaches his peak, ruining his orgasm as white ropes spill on his stomach.

🍓 He cries as his torso is coated with his cum, his whines muffled by you scooping it up with your fingers and pushing them into his mouth. “If you keep bratting off to me, this little dick won’t ever cum again” his dick flexes painfully when you degrade him. He won’t admit it but he loves when you dom him.

🍓 Definitely a sadist. He only gets harder when he sees you underneath him squirming from overstimulation and pain

🍓 “It’s too much? That’s too bad. I’m not stopping until I’m done with you”

🍓 Doesn’t stop until you’re literally shaking and crying. Trying to crawl away? He pounds you harder. If he’s going down south and you try to push his head away to escape? Hell pin your wrists down and keep eating you long after you cum.

🍓 “I told you baby, I’m not stopping until I see you crying on my dick.” And just like always, he keeps his promise.

[donutloverxo]

Mobster Steve always ready to shut anyone up by his excessive pda in front of anyone and everyone .. cries .. a dream

Thanks for the request and sorry it took so long. I'm combining this and another anon who asked for a reader standing up for herself hopefully thats okay. Warnings - daddy kink, mob!Steve, misogyny. Dividers by @whimsicalrogers.

The yelling out 'daddy!' In public but was inspired by @cruelfvkingsummer s sugar daddy!August Walker.

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs and welcome and much appreciated. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+. Please🙏🙏

*gif is not mine*

"You're gonna have to make a decision someday, cap," Sam chimed in, reminding Steve of the time crunch.

He only hummed in return, having had about enough of working the whole damn week, what's worse was that he couldn't even spend the weekend with you.

His frown quickly softening and turning into a smile when he saw you come out of his car, "Daddy!" you squealed, jumping up and down in excitement as you ran to him and threw your arms around him.

He was taken aback a bit, stumbling back a few steps but he managed to catch you, burying his nose in your hair as you nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck.

"I missed you so so much!" you sighed, finally happy to be with him.

He tried to set you down to your feet, so he could get a good look at your face, but you refused to stop clinging to him,"How was your trip, princess?" he asked rubbing your back, which was exposed since you were wearing a flimsy backless dress, he didn't know how he felt about that.

"Oh my gosh!" you squealed again, standing ok your feet so you could look up at him, "We had so much fun! I bought so many new pretty things, hot some for you and your friends too," you blinked.

He hummed, pulling you into him and crashing his lips over yours, he had missed you, it had been less than a week and yet it felt like months. He was well aware of Sam, Bucky, Peter and his bodyguards eyes on you, some of them had the decency to avert their gaze while Sam and Bucky smiled and stared as if they were proud parents.

You giggled, your cheeks warm and head dizzy from the kiss as he let you go.

"Yeah, what'd you get us, princess?" Bucky teased.

Steve shot him a look, knowing that he was only joking but that pet name was reserved for him, only he got the privilege to call you that.

"Ooh! I got you some magnets to put on your fridge and a nice shirt."

"Alright, princess, let's get going or we'll be late," he urged you. Not ready to share your attention with his friends, not after having you back in his arms after so long, and dreading the party you were both going to.

"Did she give you any trouble?" he asked Peter. He had sent the boy with you and your friends to Milan to protect you and make sure that you stayed out of trouble.

"Uh... no, sir. But..." he hesitated, he thought of you as a big sister and would never want to rat you out or get you in trouble, but his loyalty lied with the mob boss, "She might've maxed out your platinum card..."

"Don't worry about that..." he chuckled and thanked him for taking care of you.

"Daddy," you whined, squirming against his side, you had been acting antsy ever since you got in the limo, pressing kisses to his neck and his collarbone, pulling at the collar of his dress shirt, "I missed you sooo much..."

"I missed you too, baby. But we need to talk," he propped your chin up so he could look into your beautiful eyes, "You'll need to be careful with the card from now on. You can't just blow money away just because we have a lot of it."

"Bu... but," your eyes tearing up and your bottom lip wobbling, "I thought what was yours was mine. You said so yourself..." you sniffled, trying to keep your tears at bay, he had told you that when he asked you to leave your shitty studio apartment and move into his brownstone in Brooklyn, he let you decorate the place however you liked and let you have access to his accounts so you let yourself think that what was his was truly yours. "My mom was right..."

"Right about what?"

"She told me never to move in with a guy until I'm engaged. I'm just like... a kept woman for you..."

"No...no...no, honey," he sighed, stroking your cheek, "It is yours. Everything that is mine is yours. Even my heart," he said putting your hand over his heart, "my soul, it's all yours. More than it is mine really."

"And... I'm just looking for a ring, baby. You know I'd be an idiot not to give you my name and make you my wife. But we need to be cautious, what if we spend all our money and don't have any in case of an emergency?"

"All right, that makes sense. I'm sorry, daddy, I promise I'll be careful."

"I know you will, baby. You're my good girl right?"

"Yes," you nodded, clenching your thighs together.

"Are you wet, honey?" he smiled.

"Yes," you giggled. "Will you fuck me right now, please?" pulling your doe eyes so he absolutely won't be able to resist you.

"Not in a moving car, honey," he said, pulling on your bottom lip with his thumb before pushing it in your warm mouth, "I want to take my time with you. I haven't had my most favorite meal in days, so I'll have to do that first, for at least an hour, and then you are good and show me that you deserve it, I'll let you ride my cock."

His words sent shivers up your spine, you gulped, you were bound to be sore tonight. But there was still the matter of your needy pussy, and you weren't patient like your daddy.

"Can I at least suck daddy's cock then?" you requested.

He chuckled, "You just never take no for an answer do you, baby," as you shook your head. He unzipped his pants, pulling his hardening cock out of his pants.

"I'll mess up your hair," he said as you got down to your knees, between his legs, "I don't mind. I want my cummies," you excitedly wrapped your hand around his length, wrapping your lips around his tip.

He pushed your head down, making you gag, "We have to hurry, baby, we'll be there soon..." he moaned as he threw his head back.

He kept fucking his cock into your face, trying not to mess with your pretty hair which was your done up, your makeup was already ruined though, "Here it comes, baby," he warned you before releasing in your mouth.

You swallowed all of out, so that you could impress him and show him that you were his good girl, and because you were looking forward to the, hopefully huge, diamond he was going to buy you.

You were never a huge fan of parties like these, bored out of your mind, you couldn't even talk to anyone, Sam and Bucky seem to have wandered off somewhere while Steve was too busy making small talk that would literally put you to sleep.

"I'm bored," you told him for the tenth time, you would've even stomped your feet and thrown a full blown tantrum if you weren't aware of everyone's eyes on you, "And my feet hurt from these heels."

"I told you to wear something sensible, doll," he sighed. "Just an hour or so more and then I'll give you a foot massage, okay?"

You only huffed, four inches were more than sensible, you were going to wear the killer eight inch stilletos you bought in Italy with your friends but didn't knowing he'll scold you for it.

"Whatever," you mumbled.

Walking towards a group of women, who looked like they were mob wives and mob mistresses, you could talk to them to kill time.

'She's such a gold digger, I've heard Rogers has a lot of money.' You stopped in your tracks as you heard one of them say.

'You have to be hot to be a gold digger,' another voice snickered.

"Oh shit, I think she heard us..." she whispered as they both looked at you.

"Hello," you gave them a sweet smile, "were you both talking about me?"

"Yeah..." the blonde girl, Stacey you recalled her name was, "It's only the truth," she shrugged. "Nothing wrong with it, go get that money, girl!" She tried to salvage it but the damage was done.

"I think you're mistaken," you said as you propped your hand on your hip, "I'm not a gold digger. I love Steve and I do like how rich he is, but I'd love him even if he didn't have the money. Is it possible that you were projecting your own Insecurities on me? You're the one who wishes your man would leave his wife for you, not me. I'm going to be Mrs Steve Rogers. So you should watch how you speak about me if you know what's good for you."

She was about to quip back but then you felt his arm around you, "Good evening, ladies," he said to the small group of women, "Mind if I steal my fiance for a second?" he asked.

They all stared dumbfounded as he whisked you away.

"Not gonna lie, I would've loved to rescue you and be your knight," he told you as you both walked towards your limo, ready to end the night. "But I'm still so proud of you. You're my sweet strong girl."

"You'll always be my hero, daddy. No matter what."

[feralthoughtdump]

Till Forever Falls Apart

CW: angst, death, squid game spoilers, a little bit of fluff, hurt/comfort I guess?, wrote this while concussed

Word Count: 1.5k

The blinding white room did little to help her headache. Her stomach grumbles from the little food she was given and the fight that broken out the night before kept her up. 

She pulls her jacket around herself, basking in the little comfort it provides her as the other players shuffle around her, collecting into teams of ten. 

It was hopeless, trying to find anyone that was willing to take her in. She barely made it past the finish line during Red-Light, Green-Light, hiding behind the other players and hoping to god that even the smallest amount of movement would go undetected. 

She wanders around a little more before taking refuge in the corner. 

She’s broken from her train of thought when someone crouches down in front of her. Despite the grim conditions they were stuck in, his handsome smile still managed to meet his eyes. 

“Hey,” He offers her his hand and she notices the 325 on his jacket. “I’m Bucky. I see that you don’t have a team.” 

“Yeah. I um, I don’t.” She whispers. 

“Join ours then. We’re short of one and you seem like a smart girl.” 

She takes his hand and he gently pulls her onto her feet, escorting her to a group of men and women sitting on the ground. 

“Looks like you’ve found our tenth.” A redheaded woman smiles. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

She’s quickly introduced to the rest of the team, recognizing Steve and Pietro as the first to cross the finish line, Wanda and Peter who had expertly carved out the umbrellas in the honeycomb, and Bruce, the doctor who had kindly tended to the cut on her forehead. Natasha, Clint, and Tony quickly introduced themselves to her before they were ordered to proceed. 

As they all shuffled into the room, she looks up in awe at the two platforms standing before them. From her peripheral, she sees two guards carry a large rope. 

The teams.

The platforms. 

The rope. 

Tug of War.

They were going to play tug of war. 

The guards hold up the numbers. Seven and Four. 

Everyone watches in silence as they ascend up the towers and have their hands shackled to the rope. 

At the gunshots, the teams start pulling at the rope, groans, and cries echoing through the arena. 

She watches wide-eyed, mouth agape, knowing what’s to come, but she uselessly hopes that no one has to die.

And though she knew it was coming, she still can’t get over the screams of agony as the players slip from the platform, dangling from the rope. 

She claps her hand over her mouth, watching the blade fall. A whimper slips past her lips as she watched the players on team seven falls, still attached to the rope. 

As they replace the rope, the next numbers are drawn. 

Team Two and Team Five. 

“Don’t worry,” Natasha says. “Steve and Bucky are pretty strong. They served together.” 

She doesn’t respond, only quietly standing and walking with the others to the yellow elevators. 

As Tony discusses strategy, she fidgets with her fingers. Her heart pounds and her hands tremble. 

Tony’s plan was simple. They were to stand in alternating positions, grip the rope with their armpits, and for the first ten seconds, bend backward.

Steve was placed in the front, and then Bucky, while she stood in between Natasha and Wanda and the end of the rope. 

They immediately bend back at the sound of the gunshot, keeping their feet planted on the platform. 

The strategy was working fairly well, they held their position and kept a strong grip on the rope until the other team started tugging harder. 

Panic fills her chest as her feet start sliding forward. 

She starts screaming, almost losing her grip. 

She thinks of all the times she’s played tug of war on the school playground, wracking her brain through all of the tricks that would be the most useful in this deadly situation.

The only one that comes to mind is a risky one. But given their desperation, it was a risk she’s willing to take. 

“We need to take three steps forward!” She screams. 

“Are you insane?” Peter retorts. “That’ll kill us!”

“If we do it, they’ll trip. It’ll give us an upper hand.” 

Everyone exchanges quick glances of hesitation before Steve nods.

“Alright.” He tightens his grip on the rope. “We’ll give it a shot.”

“On the count of three!” She yells. “One! Two! Three!”

They all step forward, nearly toppling over the edge, but thankfully Steve and Bucky help them hold strong. 

Their opponents falter and trip, just like she said. 

“Pull!” She screams. “We have to keep pulling.”

It’s as if her adrenaline has hit an all-time high. Her only focus was survival. Her own, and her teammates. 

The muscles of her arms burn but they continue pulling and pulling. Everyone screams in frustration, but she can only hear her heartbeat. 

With one final ragged yell, they pull the rope back and their opponents slide off the edge. 

She falls onto her back, guilt already creeping into her as she listens to the screams of their opponents and wincing at the sound of the rope being cut. 

Everything around her dulls, Natasha’s words never reaching her ears. Wanda reaches out a shackled hand to rub her shoulder, trying to soothe the distress growing stronger inside of her, but it does nothing. Sobbing, she curls into her body and lets her exhaustion take control. 

… 

“Are you okay?” 

She looks up to see Bucky standing in front of her, holding a plum in his hand. Her eyes cast downward as tears start to prickle at her eyes. 

“No.” She whispers, voice cracking. “I-” A sob breaks through her chest. “All those people… They’re all dead.” 

He sits down next to her, placing the plum in her hands. 

“You did what you had to do to survive. And you saved us all.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that they died for us to live.”

She buries her face in her hands, sobs wracking through her body. 

Bucky stays by her side, gently rubbing her back.

“Why?” She whispers. “Why did you want me to join your team?” 

“Because you’re smart.” He hesitates, but places his fingers under her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. “I saw your little trick with the honeycomb. ” 

She scoffs. 

“What does that have to do with any of this? Hmm?” Her brows furrow and her voice filled with anger. “The game started off with over four hundred people. And look at us now. There are only forty of us left.”

She’s tired. So tired. Tired of all the debt she owed, tired of watching the people around her die, tired of all of the spilled blood. At this very moment, she could care less about staying alive. She had been stripped of a name, simply reduced to Player 28, starved, and had to face death far too many times for someone her age. Paying off her debt wasn’t worth this. Neither was living. 

“Tell me something, Bucky. Is paying off our debts worth all of this? Each game is just going to get worse. When the final game rolls around, we’re going to have to kill each other. Hell, we’re already killing each other!” 

Despite her anger, she keeps her voice low. Not wanting to attract anyone else to her hidden spot behind all of the beds. 

“Hey,” His thumb brushes away her tears. “Listen to me. We don’t know what the next games are going to be. But I’m telling you, I know you’re going to make it through. We’re going to make it through. You’re a strong girl, I believe in you.” 

She looks into his blue eyes, searching for any deception, but she’s only met with sincerity. 

Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the knowledge that any one of them could die tomorrow, or maybe it was Bucky’s words, but she leans forward and presses her lips against his. 

“Oh my god.” She pulls back quickly. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t”

“Doll,” Bucky cups her face in his hands. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” His thumb brushed over her lips. “I liked it.” 

He pulls her towards him, passionately kissing her. For the first time, ever since getting into this hell hole, she feels safe. Safe with him, in his arms. 

“I promise you,” Bucky presses his forehead against hers. “We’re going to make it out alive. Together.”

And for once, there’s a little spark of optimism inside of her. 

“Together.” She whispers.

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.19

The True Heir

03/09/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,781

Warnings: angst, depression, pregnancy, marital troubles, pining

A/N: There is very little editing. Forgive me. I’m sleepy. I’ve been up writing all night. I’ve also been hurting, but it’s all good! I’m so happy to get this chapter out. *insert evil laugh* If you happen to reblog, thank you so much for helping me spread my work! it truly means so much, more than you know. xoxo

Sunday

Today you do nothing.

You’d opened up your laptop last night and attempted to scribble a few lines for your next book, but all you could think about was Thor, Jane, the babies to come, and where exactly you fit amongst all of it.

After typing Thor’s name along with a few other random words for the tenth time, you gave up and shut the laptop. You’d crawled into bed, bundled up under your fluffy comforter, and bid goodbye to the world as you caved in to unconsciousness.

The fact that morning is here, you find that your hope for today to be better than  yesterday was silly. How can anything ever be good again?

You place your hands on your lower tummy, caressing what feels like a very slight swell. It’s just barely harder than the rest of your stomach. Firm. Despite the happiness that your baby brings you, you stare across the room at your computer and can’t find it in you to get up and work.

Instead you roll over onto your other side and pull Thor’s--that is to say, the one he’d used while he was here--pillow over to cling to.

Thor’s texts are also still fresh in your mind.

Sleep didn’t dull their effect on you or the confusion they raised.

Did they mean that he wouldn’t get an annulment? That’s sorta what you were getting from them. His declarations that he couldn’t live without you and that he would die for you and that he missed you so much at his side sounded like he was also telling himself how he felt. As if he were, not so much convincing, but reaffirming what he already knew.

You reach over and switch your phone on, clicking through to your messages to find that Thor must have stolen his phone back from Loki at some point.

Thor: Good morning, my cherub. I hope you slept well.

Thor: I could hardly sleep with you absent beside me.

Thor: Our bed is too big without you in it.

Thor: Have you seen the doctor yet? You’ll text me as soon as you get a diagnosis, won’t you? I’ll be waiting.

Thor: Loki insists that I give you some distance to rest but being apart from you is torture.

Thor: Would you be very angry with me if I came to see you?

Thor: I have some things I must deal with here before I can go though. Loki is right. I should allow you rest and fix things here before I come to you.

Thor: Are you still sleeping, cherub? I’m sorry if my messages are disturbing you. I haven’t gone this long without talking to you since...I wish I’d met you years ago. When things weren’t so complicated.

Thor: Would you have let me court you even though I am the God of Thunder? Future King of Asgard? Would you have married me when I came back with my people to live here on Earth?

Thor: I think if I had to choose all over again, you’re still the only woman equal to the task of being my Queen.

Thor: And the love that has grown between us is...I will never take it for granted…

As you read that last message, you assume he wants to say he won’t take it for granted again. He’s already let it slip through his fingers, although he doesn’t know it yet.

Thor: Perhaps this can be that break you were talking of. For our baby? Maybe we do need a little bit of relaxation to let our bodies recover?

Thor: And yet, I can’t wait to start a family with you, cherub.

You’re bawling all over again, your eyes flooding with tears as you bury your face into his pillow and sob loudly.

He’d said that he missed your body next to his. You can relate. You want to feel the heavy fall of his chest, the deep breaths that fill his lungs and escape through his lips in a quiet little snore that always makes you cuddle into his side.

Normally, he’d respond by turning to face you and holding you right up against his chest.

The comfort that simple thing would give you right now when your heart is aching so painfully is what you so desperately need. But...you’re so angry too. You don’t want him near you.

The images that flood your mind are torture. Mixtures of pleasant, happy moments now marred by the betrayal and anger that has taken hold of your heart.

You bury your face into the pillow and scream until your throat really does go hoarse. Frustration at the force of change you’ve had to make in the past twenty-four hours.

You’re startled back to the present when your phone rings. You make a small attempt  to clear your throat then answer and the absolute gravel voice you use settles any wondering as to whether your illness is real.

“Hello?” you whisper, clearing your throat to no avail.

“Oh, cherub, you sound terrible.”

Your heart panics. How are you supposed to talk to him?

You don’t want to talk to him.

“I can’t really talk,” you say weakly hoping he’ll take the hint.

“Did the doctor see you already?” Thor asks, his worry evident in the quiet tone of his voice.

“Yes, he gave me some medicine and told me to try not to talk,” you lie, surprisingly easy right now since you don’t want to talk.

For your emotional sanity, you need to hang up soon.

“I’m so sorry, love. I wish I could take this illness from you. Where’s David? I’d like to talk to him.”

You panic again, floundering as you cough and clear your throat to buy some time.

“He’s not here. He went to the store to get some groceries,” you hope he buys it.

“I’ll call him a little later then. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll get it for you.”

“Thanks, Thor,” you mumble, suddenly not wanting to hang up.

How can one person give you so much ease and worry all at once? How can he be your source of agony and comfort at the same time? It’s not fair.

“I have so much to tell you, but...now is not the right time. You need to get better first.”

Nevermind! Fuck this guy. Your heart sinks.

“I have to go,” you tell him, hoping he’ll just hang up and leave you be now.

“Very well. I love you, cherub.”

How do you answer him without giving anything away just yet?

“Me too,” you choose. And it’s true.

Even if he’s torn your heart into pieces, he’s still the father of your baby and you still love him.

Whatever madness overcame him when he’d suggested to Loki getting an annulment was the best course of action seems to have passed. Loki must be right about him.

“Bye, Thor,” you whimper.

“Bye, Y/N,” he says your name, making your heart quake a bit.

You hang up and quickly dial up David.

He answers after two rings.

“Hello? How is my favorite girl in the whole wide world?”

He sounds amused by something, or just happy. It’s such a difference to how you feel at the moment that it breaks you and you sob again, renewing your tears.

“Y/N? What’s the matter?” David demands, clearly now beginning to fret over the way you sound.

You tell him everything. Somehow you manage to get it all out minus one important detail and when you’re done recounting the most horrible night of your life, David sighs heavily and you can almost picture him settling into a deep armchair with massive worry weighing on his shoulders.

“Well, the good thing is, if he goes through with an annulment, you’re to be given a monthly allowance for the rest of your life. It was a condition in your contract, should Thor change his mind about marrying you. But he didn’t so it was moot, until now. You will be a very rich woman. More so than the small fortune you originally inherited.

“I know that money is hardly a consolation for the man that you love-” David sighs again. “Perhaps he said it in madness? He must have been very upset. Caught by surprise?” David offers.

“Even if he doesn’t mean it or doesn’t go through with it, I know that for you the point is the thought was there.

“However, I do think we must make allowances for Thor. I’m sorry to say. He is a king and he’s responsible for his entire people. A baby would give them security. Stability. A legitimate heir would tie them to Earth forever.

“We musn’t make light of his choices. This isn’t a common situation to find one’s self in. For either of you.”

“David, I’m pregnant.” You finally explain, knowing that it will maybe just show him a little bit more of what you’re facing. “I went to tell Thor and that’s when I overheard them.”

For a moment he’s speechless. When he speaks again, his voice is heightened.

“Congratulations! I-I knew it would happen eventually. The timing is a little-”

“I haven’t told him yet, clearly.”

Silence again. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I was so happy when I went to tell him and then I heard their conversation and I-I just can’t find the strength to do it right now. Not until I know whether he wants the annulment.”

David breathes in deeply and then exhales slowly into the phone. His breath is light and soft.

“You’re afraid that he will only stay with you because of the child,” a statement.

David knows you better than anyone else in your life. It’s not surprising that he’d make the leap so quickly.

“He’s willing to leave me and marry Jane because of her baby. It’s possible that he’ll stay by my side only because of our baby and I’d rather he do what’s best for our people than to stay with me because of a sense of obligation.”

“It could be that Jane will not want him. She might keep her child away from the Asgardian royal court. Didn’t she refuse to marry him because she didn’t want to be Queen?” David’s voice is pensive. “This might all feel much larger than it is. I suggest you take some time to really think through your actions before making any decisions.”

“I’m not going to never tell him, David. He’s the father of my child. He has to know that he has two and not just the one. I don’t think I could do that to him. I could never keep him from his children.

“Either of them.”

“You are magnanimous, Y/N. More than even I thought you were capable of.”

“Bullshit. I ran away and am refusing to see him until I get my week of space,” you nod firmly. “But David-?”

“Tell me,” he urges you, recognizing your tone of anguish.

“I-I know that I accepted this marriage hesitantly. It wasn’t like I asked for it and you know how I felt before Thor asked me to marry him. You know how s-scared I was about marrying someone who was in love with someone else, and now...now he’s-”

“He’s married to you, Y/N. Not Ms. Foster. And from what I have been able to see, he does love you. Not Jane. This is a temporary setback. If you’re angry at him, be angry at him. Don’t pretend you aren’t. If you’re hurt, show it. Wear your heart on your sleeve.

“Loving someone is one of life’s greatest blessings. Sometimes that love doesn’t last, sometimes it takes a beating. But you must choose whether your love is worth fighting for.

“You’ve also got obligations that you cannot escape from. Duties to your people as their Queen.”

“Assuming Thor doesn’t leave me and take my crown,” you scoff.

“I’m with your brother-in-law. I don’t think it will come to that. I think Thor was a little shocked and thrown by Ms. Foster’s news. Now that he has had some time to think, I believe he’ll do right by you and when you tell him, your child.”

“I won’t tell him until he makes up his mind,” you insist.

“That is your prerogative. Do what you need to. What can I do to help? What do you need from me?”

“Just be prepared for any eventuality. I’m not sure what’s going to happen at the end of this week. Oh, and if Thor calls you--just make something up and tell me what you say. He thinks you drove me from the airport and have been staying with me.”

“Using me as your alibi so that your husband won’t come looking for you,” David clicks his tongue. “How much detail shall I give him?”

“You’ve got a job too, just tell him you’re coming and going. Tony had his staff install some security on the house after the honeymoon. I’m safe here. He’ll believe that I’m safe if that’s all you say.

“Anyway, I need to go. I have two more calls to make before I can relax and enjoy my break from the throne.”

“If you need anything, you know how to reach me. Anything, Y/N. I mean it.”

“Thanks, David. I can always count on you,” you smile.

Just a tiny one. A very subtle curve at the corners of your lips.

“Well, you do pay me,” he jokes, which actually pulls a small laugh from you.

“Right. Bye, David.”

“Goodbye, Your Majesty.”

You take only a minute to think about your conversation with David before you make the most important calls of your week in solitude.

The first one is simple. Just a reminder of doctor-patient confidentiality. He understands what you’re saying even if he doesn’t practice by that mentality.

Dr. Wilson’s phone call is more difficult. She wants an explanation. She wants to know why she’s not allowed to tell your husband, the King of New Asgard, that he’s finally got what you and he have been wanting.

An heir!

It’s painful to talk about but you tell her what’s happened. You tell her that Thor doesn’t know that you know about Jane’s baby.

She’s very quiet as you talk. She assumes things and you can hear her anger when she starts to ask for what she can tell Thor.

“He didn’t cheat on me, Dr. Wilson,” you explain, hoping that this will ease her anger.

You’re angry at Thor because of the annulment, not because he and Jane have created a life from their love. You’re hurt because he’s willing or was willing--you’re not sure yet--to leave you to be with Jane, even if not for love but for the baby growing within her.

You’re hurt because the man you love was choosing his duty over his feelings for you.

Even though you know that he’s right to do it. Even though you know that you should understand because he’s King and you also took an oath to put the people of New Asgard first.

It’s your duty to put their well-being before your own. That doesn’t mean you have to like it.

In Thor’s mind, his only duty is to his child. Jane’s child. He doesn’t know you’re carrying one of your own yet. Even though that would probably make sure that he stays with you because of the baby, you don’t want that to be the reason he stays.

Proud fool.

“Thor slept with Jane the same night he proposed to me. This was before we loved each other, when leaving Jane was the hardest thing he’d had to do. I don’t hold that against him.”

You don’t tell her about the annulment. She doesn’t need to know how messy this all is.

“He’ll probably call for you and Dr. Alric soon. Loki suggested they get Jane checked so act surprised? But please don’t tell him I’m pregnant. Not yet. He’s coming to see me at the end of the week and I’ll tell him myself then. Please?” And it really is a genuine plea.

“I’ll do whatever you need, Your Majesty. I would like to come and check on you. You don’t sound well.”

She’s very sweet and her concern is touching.

“Thor will probably send you to me eventually. He’s worried but he’s clearly got other things on his mind.”

“I’ll make arrangements to head over there tomorrow. Oh, can you hold for one minute Your Majesty? I’m so sorry.”

“Of course.”

There’s silence on the phone for a few minutes before she comes back.

“It was His Majesty. He’s told me about Jane but she’s not available for an examination until later in the week. So, he’s asked me to come to you first. I’ll be there tonight.”

For some reason, the idea of having her with you eases some of the stress you’ve been carrying with you since yesterday.

“I’ll call and have a car sent for you.”

“Actually, His Majesty has promised to bring me straight to you via bifrost.”

“Wait, what?” You sit up in bed, clutching your blanket to your chest as your nerves suddenly fray and panic begins to build up within you.

“Should I come by plane?” She asks, worried by the sound of your voice.

You can’t see Thor. No. You can’t.

“No. I’ll just be going out later tonight to pick up a few things that I need here at the house. Toilet paper, napkins, laundry soap. I just didn’t want you to get here when I was out, but I’ll text you the passcode to get in.”

You’ll just have to make sure that you’re not at home when they come. That’s what you’ll do. This is a perfect excuse to be out since you need to get the stuff you listed anyway.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t just like me to come by plane?”

“No, really. The sooner you get here, the better. The car ride is so long from the airport. I’ll see you tonight, Dr. Wilson.”

“Bye, Your Majesty.”

Even though you know that you have hours upon hours until Thor brings Dr. Wilson here, you force yourself out of bed and abandon your plans to wallow in your feelings so that you can shower, get dressed, and leave the house.

If Thor’s coming, you’re going to be as far away from your house as you can be. You’re not ready to see him again just yet. You only have small errands to run but you’re gonna stay out all damn day if it’s the last thing you do.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday

Thor is at a loss. Completely and utterly lost without you.

If he was ever in doubt as to how he really felt about you--which he never has been because he knows himself well enough to know better--he knows now that you are the light of his new life here on Earth.

His reign would mean significantly less without you at his side.

Even though the time you’ve spent together has been a short few months, they have been the best months of his life.

If he’d had one of those other women he’d interviewed become his Queen, this life he’s chosen to lead would have felt empty and tedious. Instead of watching his Queen spend her time with his people leading the way in progress.

You’re so eager to be part of the Asgardian populace. They’ve embraced you so fully.

With a sigh, Thor leans forward and buries his face into his hands as he mentally trashes himself for the absolute fool that he’s been about this entire situation.

The fact that he’d even entertained the thought of leaving you.

He wants to cry and tear his hair out in frustration.

Should he tell you that the thought was weighed along with many others at Jane’s news?

And Jane.

Thor groans.

She’s been avoiding him since she told him. He can’t exactly blame her for it. He hadn’t exactly taken the news well.

He had no reason to expect her to be receptive to him after he’d basically accused her of being confused about it. She knew her own body. If she said she was pregnant, what reason would he have to doubt her?

He’s messed everything up so much and he’s terrified to tell you about Jane.

What if you have the same idea he did? What if you decide to leave him in some foolish attempt to have him marry her and legitimize his future child?

It’s something you would do. Sacrifice yourself so that he could do the right thing.

The thought of living this life of rule without you at his side is unbearable.

With another frustrated groan, he gets up and moves to pace the length of the room, ignoring the large pile of paperwork on his desk as his mind moves in circles.

It always comes back to you.

And then you’d been out when he’d gone to drop off Dr. Wilson. He hadn’t expected you to be gone. He’d wanted to see you. To hold you. Touch you. Hear your voice after so much turmoil.

You are his only solace.

Going so close to you and not seeing you has left him with a terrible pain in his chest.

His phone rings.

Thor dives for his phone and fumbles with it as he grabs it off the bed. He almost loses it over the opposite edge.

He literally throws himself towards it and lands with a grunt onto the bed as he catches it.

He presses the button on the screen without looking to see who it is because he only wants it to be you.

“Cherub?” he gasps, his voice an octave higher than normal with the little bit of exertion he just underwent.

“Oh, no. Sorry, Your Majesty, it’s Dr. Wilson. I was just calling to give you your daily report on Her Majesty’s health.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry. I just haven’t heard from-” He clears his throat, sits up, and slides to the edge of the bed. “No matter. How is my Queen, doctor?”

“She was asleep. But just woke up. She’s very tired. Her throat is better, but she’s had a fever every morning since Sunday.”

Thor sits up straighter, hand clenched into a fist around the edge of the bed as his heart starts to thrum loudly.

“Is she seriously ill?”

“No, of course not, Your Majesty. But she really does need rest. She has been under severe stress and I’m sorry to say that your constant messages are not letting her rest.”

Thor’s heart drops and buries itself into a hole at the bottom of his stomach. He feels numb suddenly, fearful of what he might be doing to you. The guilt of what he knows he must tell you soon also weighs down on him.

“Are you saying that I should leave her be until she is recovered?” Thor checks, just in case he’s not understanding correctly.

“I’m saying that if you want her to get well quickly, you must give her what she asked you for. She needs rest.”

Thor hates that he can’t be there to check on you. He wants to feel you close. He wants to see you. What if you’re deathly ill and you’re telling Dr. Wilson to lie for you?

You abhor lies and cherish honesty , but he can see you lying in order to spare him pain. Just as he is lying to spare you the worry of all this uncertainty with Jane.

Although he knows that he can never lose you now and even with a child coming with Jane, you are his wife and he can’t leave you. He was stupid to think he could even try. The thought was a sin and he’ll never forgive himself for thinking it.

Loki was so angry with him.

Rightfully so.

The good thing is that you’ll never know how bleak things looked. At least he has found his sanity again.

“Will you keep me informed? I’ll stop contacting her if you will promise to tell me how she fares. If she gets worse, I want to know.” Thor insists, his voice passionate and begging.

“You have my word, Your Majesty. Have you heard anything from Ms. Foster? Do we know exactly when we’ll be running her tests?”

“She’s very busy. As of now, it’s looking more and more likely that we won’t be able to find the time until the week’s end. After we confirm her pregnancy, I’ll tell Y/N. I’m sorry that I’ve asked you to collude in this business.”

There’s a long pause and for a moment Thor thinks that maybe the phone has disconnected but then Dr. Wilson sighs, “I cannot wait for this week to be over. Will you come back for me then? When she’s ready?”

“Yes. I’ll pick you up in the same spot that I left you. My wife wasn’t too upset about her lawn, was she? Only, Stark seems to get irritated with me every time I land on his.”

“No,” Dr. Wilson chuckles once. “She was not upset. Again, there’s little more than her throat, head, and fever on her mind. I’ve gotta go. She’s gone out into the garden for some fresh air but I need to get her back into bed.”

“Please take good care of her, doctor. She’s...well, she’s my wife,” Thor finishes heavily.

The phone goes dead and Thor sits there staring at his phone until he can find the strength to get to his feet and go off in search of Jane. They really need to talk.

~~~~~~~~~~

Friday

Thor is upset.

He’s beyond frustrated by now.

He’s irritated.

It’s a week tomorrow since he’s seen you and he can’t stand the distance anymore.

Dr. Wilson snuck him a photo but you’d been sitting on your sofa, looking weak and withdrawn.

He’s not sure what exactly is making you sick, but he knows that he can’t go another day without seeing you.

He needs to get Dr. Wilson back here and he needs to get confirmation so that he can have something to tell you once he sees you.

He won’t lose you over this.

It was one last time. One final goodbye with Jane and he’d thought she was on her birth control but apparently she hadn’t been so he hadn’t bothered to protect himself from the possibility of getting her pregnant.

Why hadn’t she said anything?! Why hadn’t she told him that she wasn’t on her pill?

He knows it’s wrong to blame her. It took both of them to make this baby, but being away from you for so long is wearing thin and he’s losing all semblance of patience.

It takes some very careful maneuvering. Heimdall is sent first, then Hilde, then Loki.

None of them know why they’re going in to corner Jane in the tower except for Loki. Well, Heimdall knows, but there’s no hiding much from Heimdall. He pretends not to know and that’s good enough for Thor.

Loki is just stepping out of the tower when he turns to look at Thor with a grave almost exhausted expression.

“She’s up there,” he assures Thor, frowning as he shuts the heavy door. “When will this end, Thor? Are you going to keep the Queen away forever?”

Thor says nothing, he’s too upset to speak. He pulls the door open roughly and stomps his way up the steps taking them two at a time until he’s standing on the top floor landing.

He can see Jane biting her lip, pacing the length of the room until she turns and finally sees him.

“Thor…” she gasps, not expecting to see him.

“We have to talk, Jane.”

She looks away, turning her back on him then moves towards her laptop which she carefully closes. She puts her hand up to her throat and turns to face him.

“I will have Dr. Wilson brought in and Dr. Alric to give you the same tests they have been giving Y/N. They will be confirming your pregnancy and once we have that, then we can all sit down and figure out-”

“I’m not pregnant,” Jane gasps, her voice filling the room despite the quiet breath that escapes her pink lips.

Thor’s stomach twists. It’s agony.

On the one hand, the words she’s just spoken are...they’re a celebration. They’re simplicity. They’re peace and a return back to normal where in his life there is only you.

On the other hand, he’s just lost a baby he never had. An heir that he’d been expecting and now can never get back.

He’d made plans for this child. He’s pictured his life with them, the happiness and joy that their birth would bring to the people of New Asgard. The assurance that they would always belong to Earth.

He’d picked names for boys and girls. He’d begun to make a list of nursery items they would need even as he lamented that the baby was not yours but Jane’s.

This baby would have, and had already begun to change his life.

And now this?!

“What?” he very nearly spits.

Jane is so flustered she’s wringing her hands hard, welting them red.

“I’m...I didn’t expect to come here and see you with her and see how fast you just-” she waves her hand as if shooing away some animal. “-moved on. It’s like you were never with me.

“You were both so happy and talking about the future and I just lost it for a little bit,” she shrugs. “I have no excuses, Thor. I’m sorry if what I said hurt you. It was selfish of me and I just loved you for so long. You were mine, you know? And now you’re married, planning to have kids, and your wife is so nice and considerate and even though she has every reason to hate me, she was polite and so damn perfect…

“I’m not afraid to say that it made me hate her. I’m ashamed of it, but not enough to take it back.”

The silence is thick. The air suddenly grows charged and Thor’s eyes shine a bright sparkling blue.

His hands crackle and his eye spits as if full of blue fire.

The sky overhead thunders and the world shakes with the boom. The lightning strikes sharp and fast, shaking the tower so that for a moment, Thor can see how Jane thinks it might topple.

His anger gives way to betrayal and his lightning fizzles out as he takes a step towards her, his brow furrowed, eye full of pain as he stares at her, searching for the joke that this must be.

There is no way that this is really happening.

“You lied to me?” Thor accuses.

Jane blanches, her lips going pale as she takes a step towards him.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie, I just-I didn’t want to see you with her anymore and I wasn’t thinking straight so I just said it before I could stop myself. I know that it was wrong and I didn’t think it would go on for so long. I wanted to tell you almost as soon as I said it that it wasn’t true, but then you just took off and then the Queen left and I wasn’t sure if you told her and maybe that’s why she wasn’t here.”

Thor shakes his head, turning away from her as he paces towards the stairs but then turns back, his anger returning but full of pain now.

“I defended you. When Loki insisted I have you tested I asked him if he doubted you and I assured him that you would not lie about something this important. What reason would you have to lie?” he demands, almost of himself instead of Jane.

“Thor,” Jane begins.

“How long were you going to let me think you were carrying my child? How long were you planning to con me?” he accuses and his words seem to hurt Jane.

Thor can’t find it in him to care too much.

“I wasn’t-that’s not what I meant to do, Thor. Please, you have to believe me. I just didn’t know how much seeing you with her would-”

“You have no right to be upset!” he booms, his voice loud and it startles Jane quiet.

She’s never heard him angry like this. She’s never heard his voice raised.

“I gave you every opportunity to be with me, to marry me, to build a life here with me and be my Queen. You didn’t want it! You flat-out refused to be tied down by me and this Kingdom but now that you see me and my wife happy, you change your mind?

“You have the audacity to raise obstacles between us because you have regrets?”

“Thor,” she tries again, but Thor won’t let her speak.

“Get out,” he says sternly, turning to move towards the stairs.

“What?!”

“I said, get out. You are no longer welcome in my home. Pray no one ever finds out of your treachery. And should you have the urge to return for any reason, don’t.”

Thor storms down the steps, so angry that each step shakes the tower.

He’s breathing heavily as he slams the door shut behind him.

The storm air helps to calm him a bit. It clears his mind at least and the past week zooms by him like an unpleasant movie.

All of that worry and the plotting and planning. The agony that he felt wondering if you’d leave him when you found out about his child with Jane was the most unbearable.

Your face flashes before his eyes and he knows that there’s only one place he can be right now.

He throws his hand out and a metallic whistling rushes closer before his fist closes around his hammer.

He swings it firmly and throws it up into the air as he makes for your home.

Now that he has nothing to keep him here, he’s eager to get back to you. He’ll tell you everything and hope that you can forgive him for lying to you about Jane.

Even though it was a lie by omission, it was still a lie.

“I’m coming, my cherub,” he whispers, so eager to have you in his arms again.

Nothing will ever tear him from you again. He is certain. Nothing. Not a false heir, or a former love, no doubts exist within him anymore. You are the one.

The only one.