#and yes i know these tags are putting way too much weight on a fictional interaction but good god

[sidewalk-scrawls]

Actually Izzy did not "want this," and it's weird that people keep saying that he did!

[good-beanswrites]

Can I request a director's commentary for the drabble that started it all? (Mahiru visits Amane)

Though since it's over 500 words (so much for "drabble=100 words"), I'd put more weight at the beginning.

LISTEN I didn't realize, I got it confused with Sudden Fiction (to be fair, that doesn't have as nice of a ring to it as "drabble") 😂 I guess I'll need to update my tag name hmm... But yes! The very beginning of OoA! I won't include it here because I know I've talked about it before, but there was definitely a lot of pre-planning for this scene just trying to get the au to work in general. I pretty much had to go with a injury swap because any other situation in which Kotoko was left alone with Amane would have resulted in her or Mahiru dying 😭

TW for Amane's cult beliefs and indirect talk of suicide

Mahiru could practically feel her heart shatter into a million pieces when Amane finally cried in front of her. She hadn’t shed a single tear yesterday – it was the shock, Shidou said. Mahiru was skeptical. After all, she had been shocked, too, and cried plenty.

I know it's cheap to try and jump start an emotional scene by just saying "they were crying" but I didn't necessarily want the reader to be upset yet, but I wanted the crying to be a warning sign for the reader. We haven't seen Amane allow herself weakness, so it's a big deal that she was pushed to the point of doing so. Mahiru, too, has constantly looked on the bright side and stayed positive in canon, so I wanted to make audiences aware that something That Bad happened to make her heart break too.

Amane woke as she came in with breakfast. She took a moment to survey herself, bandages peeking out from beneath her pajamas and an eyepatch securely over her right eye. As calmly as one might say “good morning,” she started to cry. Mahiru might have missed it, if Amane hadn’t wiped at her good eye with her sleeve.

The reality hits Amane in this moment -- the adults aren't going to let her refuse the medical aid. She fell asleep with everything torn off, so the fact that someone came in the middle of the night to put it all back on forced her to realize no matter how many times she takes it off, it won't be enough. As well as the pain and exhaustion, it's her defeat that makes her cry.

“Oh, sweetheart…!” Mahiru rushed over to her. “It’s okay, I’m here.” She wanted nothing more than to wrap the girl in a secure embrace, but she remembered the mass of bandages that were around her chest. Shidou had mentioned broken ribs and bruises. It took everything in her not to cry along with Amane, at the thought.

“I can get you another ice pack, if you need. Or more medicine.” Her mind spun with ways to help with pain. Many of the first aid supplies had been used to keep Fuuta from the brink of death, but surely there were extras to spare for Amane. 

I knew the reader would be thinking of it already, but I tried to highlight the miscommunication as best I could -- Mahiru thinks she's crying over pain, then the fear of Kotoko "punishing" her again, and only later realizes it's something else altogether.

The girl just shook her head. 

She muttered, “I can’t… I…I’m going to be punished, I’m going to be punished…”

Also. Um. How fucked up is that. Imagine being in a supernatural prison cut off from all reality and nearly killed by someone and your first fear is "my parents might be able to get in and hurt me more for accepting help from someone else." Ah.

“No! You’re safe now.” Mahiru placed her hands gently on Amane’s arms. “Kotoko’s not coming back. We’re all watching over you. You’re safe. She’s not going to hurt you anymore.” 

“That’s not…” Amane pulled away. Her voice stayed level, despite hiccups interrupting her. A hand reached up to her eyepatch. “It’s this. It’s all of this. It’s sinful. I took it off last night, but he must have…” She started unwrapping it. “They’re going to punish me...” 

She assumes it's Shidou, but honestly it could have been anyone who came to check on her. I played around with Mahiru confessing to doing it herself, but that made things messier than I wanted for this (though we did get a taste of that later on!)

With a careful motion, Mahiru held it in place and took Amane’s hands into her own. She’d been picking up on the signs ever since they arrived here together, and a final wave of understanding washed over her. 

I know people paint Mahiru as oblivious, but I think can read people extremely well (she just chooses to overstep or ignore things she doesn't like). Amane also doesn't really keep her beliefs and past a secret, so Mahiru would have always known what her home life was like. She's realizing right now just how dire the situation was, though.

“I can’t let you do that.”

Amane’s expression twisted, though words came out far more frantic than fiery. “Let me go.”  

Mahiru didn’t. “I’m sorry. Amane, you need this treatment.”

“That is not your decision to make. That is not any human’s decision to make.”

Mahiru pressed her lips together. “I know. But I can’t watch as you… I can’t sit by again while someone…”

"... kills themself when I could have stopped them." This is a really tough moment for Mahiru, because her theme with "letting others follow their beliefs" (Kotoko, Es, her bf) clashes with the feeling of getting a second chance at her crime. She's in the same position, and can save someone who's hurting themself, but she needs to be "cruel" to them to save them, a concept she still can't fathom.

She was careful not to apply any pressure, but she could no longer fight the urge to gather Amane up in her arms. “You don’t need to be afraid of those people, anymore.”

“I’m not afraid.” Amane hiccuped. “They love me, and I love them. I need to be good for them.”

I really wanted some line of Mahiru's thoughts here, some kind of emphasis of "NO! That's NOT love!!!!" but nothing felt natural, nor would it go over well with Amane (and Mahiru knows that). I went with the safe bet of her confessing her own love.

“I love you, and I don’t want to see you in pain.”

“You just pity me because I’m young.”

“Why does your age matter? You are a lovely young woman – you are my friend – and I can’t bear to see you in pain.”

The two sat in silence for a moment. Mahiru doubted she would take that as an answer; Amane had refused to call any of the others her friend.

I don't know if that's true in canon asdfsdf. She seems the type to keep things professional with the others -- she's here for judgement, this is no place for friendships. At the same time, she's the type with a big hear would definitely be kind enough to call everyone her friend... So at least for this fic, I liked the idea of her being very isolated in order to contrast how close she'd grown to Mahiru.

At least she didn’t argue. In fact, it seemed she was leaning into the embrace a bit more. She sighed a shaky breath into Mahiru’s uniform.

“Listen, Amane. Can you do me a favor? I’m trying to be a good girl, too. To make up for something awful, I need to make sure you’re alright. Can you help me? Can we be good together?”

Amane immediately sees through the trick. She knows that Mahiru's just trying to tempt her into agreeing by framing it as Amane being a hero and saving Mahiru, instead of the other way around. At the same time, no other adult has done something like that -- when adults want her to do something, they just demand it. By offering her a gentle excuse in the first place, Mahiru sways her a bit more.

And I mean, Amane also knows how honest Mahiru is. Even though Mahiru's framing things this way for the sake of the situation, she is actually trying to make up for her murder, and Amane does want to help.

A long pause followed. Amane’s voice spoke up, ever so gently.

“I suppose I can consider it.” She added quickly, “for the sake of your redemption. Of course.”

It's the most reluctant "yes" imaginable -- I suppose I can consider it for your sake -- but the important thing is it's not a "no." I couldnt picture Amane agreeing explicitly for a looong time -- maybe ever. By speaking it out loud it becomes real, but if she creeps around it with non-denials its okay...

"Of course."

[hellhoundmaggie]

5 comfort characters

Finally getting to this @cymatile. the notification email has been burning a hole in my inbox for weeks now and I'm glad to finally get to it!

The Beast/Prince Adam (Beauty and the Beast 1991) As a bookish autistic little girl, I of course identified very strongly with Belle. As a city kid in a small town, I still do sometimes. But as an adult, I find myself drawn to the other half of the pairing. Belle is of course a lovely young lady, and I appreciate how she only respects the Beast when he first extends respect to her. But let us face it, she is too perfect a character to be truly compelling. Beast is quite the work in progress, though, and that's what makes him so fascinating. You thrill as you watch him angst and snarl and throw his weight around -- first to frighten and threaten others, then to protect the woman he loves. You are charmed as he discovers joy and companionship, then mourn with him as he gives it up to return Belle's freedom to her. And you're just a little disappointed when he changes into a generically-handsome man, even if it does mean he and Belle get to live happily ever after. Plus, as the meme says: "I'll get that bitch a library. Bitches love libraries."

Shane (Stardew Valley) Okay, I've read all the criticisms many times. He starts out mean to you for no reason. He's a total slob and a sad sack. He never actually quits drinking. He looks like Ben Shapiro. And I gotta tell you: I cannot fault this very good chicken man for any of it. This is another guy that I feel no choice but to root for because he struggles with so many flaws. I appreciate that the game doesn't let you "fix" them for him: you only give him the help he directly asks you for. He makes the most important changes himself, and the stuff he doesn't change isn't a dealbreaker for me. Plus Shane kind of looks like my IRL spouse so I gotta love him just for that, y'know? I can't forgive him for liking gridball, though. As a nerd, jocks are my natural enemy. Sorry, I don't have a choice!

Entrapta (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power) Not a lot of people know this, but ND Stevenson called me up while he was developing the She-Ra reboot and asked for my input. I asked him, "Are you going to have a woman character with autistic coding in the show?" "Yes, we're going to have one of those," he said. "And is she going to have a special interest that few other characters in the show understand or empathize with?" "Okay, yeah." "Is she going to despair of ever finding genuine human connection and try to find solace in technology before learning that yes, there are people who care about her and value her uniqueness?" "Ooh, that's a good idea. Sure." "And can you pair her up with an angsty boy?" "I can definitely do that. Thanks, Maggie!" And that's why Reboot Entrapta is the way she is. You're welcome, everyone. 4. Wayne (Scarlet Hollow) I already post a lot about this guy, so I won't say much this time. I like him because he lets me explore the idea of being the subject of extreme passion and devotion in a way that doesn't put me in actual danger. I would never seek out that kind of relationship in real life, but love beyond proportion, beyond reason, beyond sanity is compelling in fiction. Plus he makes for some fun memes. 5. Mr. Pages (Fallen London) I love this big ol' nerd: its creative vocabulary, its book hyperfixation, and how bad it is at hiding the fact that it's not human. As soon as they put out the balance patch for Mask of the Rose, I am going to figure out how to smooch it, and you cannot stop me.

tagging nobody! Do this if you feel like it.

[scuttling]

Lean on Me

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Gender Neutral Reader Word Count: 4,717 Tags: SFW, Fluff, 5+1 Trope, Obliviousness, Mutual pining, Aaron Hotchner deserves good things, Canon typical injury Summary: Five times you want to kiss the frown off of your boss's face, and one time you actually do it. *Requested by Anon. Link to AO3 or read below! “It doesn’t make sense.”

You stick a tack in a photo of a murdered woman—unfortunately one of many you’ve stuck to this board—and turn to face Hotch, who is looking over your handiwork with a quizzical expression.

“What doesn’t?” He takes a few steps closer, crosses his arms in front of him.

“Why would the unsub leave his comfort zone? The first six abductions occurred within five miles of the college, so why did the seventh and eighth happen almost twelve miles away?” He reaches for the board, traces his finger along the circle Reid had colored in on the map. “We profiled that he’s disorganized and far from confident, so why would he do that?”

He looks over at you, frowns, and not for the first time your gaze is drawn to the little crease between his eyebrows that always forms when he is puzzled, worried, confused, stressed, or otherwise unhappy. In short, it’s there kind of all of the time.

For the first time, though, you think of how easy it would be to lean over, press your lips there, smooth it out, and maybe even get him to smile for a change. He has a great smile, when he lets people see it.

You shake the daydream, rewind back to the question he asked, and wrinkle your nose in thought.

“Maybe his circumstances changed? It's summer now, and there are still classes, but students aren’t living in the dorms. Maybe he moved back home or got an apartment off campus that’s within that area—or a job.” He sighs, runs a hand over the back of his head, nods.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. That’s good. I’ll mention it to the others.” He pulls out his phone, and you grab another photo, another thumbtack, but something stops you and you lay a gentle hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to think of everything, you know. That’s why you have us.” He exhales, his shoulders losing a little of their tension, and that forehead wrinkle gets a little less deep.

“Sometimes I forget that not everything needs to be done the hard way. Or by me.”

“What? You, Aaron Hotchner, doing things the hard way?” you tease, and you are gifted a glimpse of his rare, unfiltered smile.

“Okay, enough pointing out my flaws,” he says with a raised eyebrow, though he’s still smiling, and as he looks down to type out a text, you remember to pull back your hand.

“I would never.” He looks up from his phone at that—maybe at the conviction in your voice, which you hadn’t exactly intended—and his expression softens further.

“I know you wouldn’t.” You hold eye contact for a moment, and then turn to finish preparing the board, pinning up another photo of another woman and reminding yourself that they need you to focus on the task at hand. Two weeks later, you knock on Hotch’s office door, a stack of completed consults in your hand. He looks up, that familiar notch in between his brows, a scowl on his face; when he sees that it’s you, he tones it down a little.

“Draw the short straw?” he asks, and you figure that’s because everyone knows he is in a bad mood and they’ve been avoiding this office all day. You shrug.

“It was rock, paper, scissors, but yes.” He huffs a short laugh, and you smile, step toward his desk. “Anything I can do to lighten the load?”

“Technically you’re adding to it,” he says with a glance at the files in your hand, and you set them on one of the chairs with a purposefully loud thump and then take the other seat.

“Technically. But technically, you only need to review my consults; I can review theirs. Right?” He mulls it over a moment, like the thought never crossed his mind—of course Aaron I have to do everything myself Hotchner would never suggest such a thing, even as the team sits in the bullpen with nothing to do, seeing who can throw M&Ms into Spencer’s mouth from the furthest distance.

“Technically,” he agrees, and you pluck a pen out of his pen cup and take the first file off the pile, open it in front of yourself, careful not to cut into the workspace he’s occupying. You both smile softly down at your work, and you actively do not think about that wrinkle between his eyebrows.

About an hour later, he reaches for his mug out of habit but finds it empty; you stand, take it in your hand, and he makes a noise of protest.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you say, and you walk toward the door. “I need some too. I’ll be right back.”

You pass through the bullpen—apparently the M&M contest led to a sugar crash, because Spencer is laying with his head on his desk—and grab your cup off your desk, take both to the break room to fill them.

Derek appears next to you as you’re stirring your sugar in.

“Coffee date with the boss?” he asks with a curious expression, and you shake your head.

“Of course not. I’m helping him with the overwhelming amount of paperwork on his desk so his mood improves, instead of just ignoring him.” You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and Derek scratches the back of his head.

“Never thought of that,” he admits, and you pat him on the arm and take your coffees back upstairs.

Hotch looks up at you as you set his mug down, says a soft thank you, and you grab the pile of files you brought up, separate them, and head back downstairs.

“You review mine,” you say to Derek, handing him a stack, “Emily take Spencer’s, Spencer take Derek’s, I’ll take Emily’s.” They look at you like they have no idea what to say, and you just smile, tap the top of Spencer’s head with a folder. “I’ll come back down and grab them in a little bit.”

“Yes, boss,” Emily says, and you grin on your way back upstairs. Hotch is standing when you arrive this time, looking out the window over the bullpen.

“What did you do?” he asks, turning to you, frowning again. You’re so close that kissing that wrinkle would be effortless. All you’d have to do is lean in.

You smile.

“I delegated, Hotch. You should try it some time.” You put your hands on his arms and guide him back to his desk. “Now what can I help you with?”

By the end of the day, his desk is clean and his bad mood is long gone. He closes the last of his files, sighs deeply, covers your hand with one of his, and says thank you.

The next morning when you come in, there is a steaming latte and a cookie on your desk, and you can’t stop smiling the rest of the day. Your next case is draining, children abducted and left for dead, and everyone is on edge, but no one more than Hotch. You’re fairly certain his face hasn’t relaxed since the initial briefing, and he’d be a prime candidate for the old ‘your face will get stuck like that’ joke, if anyone was up to joking.

The team catches the unsub, saves one child, but not until after three are dead; you take a late flight home because no one wants to stay another night in a town it feels like you’ve failed, and everyone curls up to get some rest except you and Hotch.

You try to read the book you brought along—a science fiction dystopian novel, something to get you out of your head and away from real life problems—but you’re a little distracted by Hotch’s sighing. It’s become an every-five-minutes thing, and while you’re definitely on board with sighing as a way to decompress, he’s not decompressing. He looks like he’s in pain mentally, exhausted physically; you’re not sure how everyone else was able to ignore it and go to sleep, but then you figure everyone else may not be as in tune with him as you are. As observant.

As in love.

Not that that matters: you know your issues, and some of his issues, and there’s the whole superior/subordinate thing which doesn’t really do anything for you except give you a stomach ache. It would never work out, even if he somehow, miraculously, were to love you back—and that’s a pretty big if in and of itself.

But still, you notice him, can’t help it, and the sighing is getting to be a little much. You sigh yourself, put your finger in between the pages of your book, and walk over to take the seat next to him; he looks over at you, frowning just like always, and you carefully close his file and set it aside.

Neither of you say anything to the other, just look each other over for a moment, and then you lean lightly against his shoulder and flip back to the beginning of your book.

“I still dream of the island. I sometimes approach it across water, but more often through air, like a bird, with a great wind under my wings. The shores rise rain-coloured on the horizon of sleep, and in their quiet circle the buildings: the houses grown along the canals, the workshops of inkmasters, the low-ceilinged taverns.”

You keep your voice low and soothing, and you are just turning to page fifteen when you feel the weight of his head drop onto your shoulder.

The crease between his eyes melts away in sleep.

You read until you make it home, and you wake him up with a gentle nudge before the rest of the team drifts back to consciousness. He looks at you, blinks slowly like he’s trying to remember where he is, and then gets a little sheepish when he puts two and two together, realizes he fell asleep on your shoulder.

You just shake your head, give his arm a squeeze, and head back to your seat to gather your things. You, Hotch, and Emily are catching the elevator to the parking garage—after staying two hours later to work on some rush consults straight from Strauss—when he looks at something on his phone that makes him groan aloud. You and Emily share a look, and you ask what’s wrong.

“I just remembered I’m supposed to have a treat for Jack to take to school tomorrow and it’s, what, seven thirty?”

“So just stop at the supermarket on your way home; no one can tell the difference anyway,” Emily says, but you and Hotch both shoot her a skeptical glance.

“It’s all about the treats at a school like Jack’s,” you supply, and Hotch looks over at you like he’s surprised by your comment. “If they’re not homemade, the parents talk. Plus there’s probably an allergen list a mile long: no nuts, no eggs, no soy, no dairy. You have to pick him up from Haley’s tonight, right?” You’re pretty sure, but when he nods he confirms it. “So pick him up, go home and get some dinner, put him to bed, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way over with the goods. I have a great recipe for vegan apple cinnamon muffins that will go over really well.”

“You really don’t have to do that; I’ll figure something out,” he says, but you just shake your head and pull up the recipe on your phone.

“Forget it, it’s already done. I have everything I need at home already; let me help,” you murmur softly, and when he looks at you with the furrowed brow that comes with accepting kindness from someone else, you almost forget it’s not just the two of you in the elevator. It’s only when Emily clears her throat that the eye contact breaks. He nods.

“Okay. Thank you; I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” The elevator dings and it stops at the parking garage; the three of you get off and head in separate directions for your cars. “I’ll text you.”

“Goodnight,” Emily says with a grin, and you wave at her, hop into your car, and head for home.

About two hours later, you show up at Hotch’s door with two dozen apple cinnamon muffins, and unbleached, whole wheat flour in your hair, and he has coffee brewing, a smile on his face.

“You don’t know how grateful I am,” he says as he ushers you into the kitchen, takes the boxes of muffins from your hands, and pours you a cup of dark, delicious coffee. You sip it slowly, savoring the taste—you should have known he’d have incredible coffee—even though it’s far too late for you to be indulging. Unless you’re working a case, you usually switch to decaf by three.

“I know you are. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think you’d appreciate the gesture.” You lean forward, open a box, and pull out two muffins, handing one to him. “I made a couple extra so we could taste test; if I accidentally put salt in instead of sugar, you’re on your own,” you joke, and you wait for him to taste it before taking your own bite.

“That’s delicious. There’s really nothing unapproved in here?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“Nope, it’s all healthy and allergen free, except for the flour, but that wasn’t on the list you sent.” He reaches a hand toward you, and you don’t realize, at first, that he’s brushing the flour out of your hair.

“Messy baker,” he teases, and your heart feels really full, being in his kitchen like this, warm muffins and fresh coffee, even if your hair is a mess. You smile, and he smiles back before dropping into that serious expression, eyebrow wrinkle and all. You think about brushing your lips there tonight, but this feels like two steps forward, and you don’t want to risk taking that step back. “Next time I’ll help you.”

“Oh, next time? You plan on needing my baking expertise again? Fair warning, this is the only recipe I know, so I hope you like apple cinnamon muffins.” You take a sip of your coffee, look up at him, and he takes another bite, nods his head.

“I do. Especially these.”

In a perfect world, what comes next would be a cinnamony, coffee flavored kiss, but the world’s not perfect, and you yawn instead. You look down at your mug like it’s betrayed you, and Hotch chuckles low.

“It’s decaf. I know you usually stop in the afternoon; I wouldn’t forgive myself if you were up all night because of me.” You have always been a person who falls in love with all the little details about someone, so the fact that he’s noticed this, remembers this, makes your heart beat a little faster. “I should let you go. You’ve done so much today, between staying late and baking for Jack—for me. You need to get some sleep.”

He’s right, it’s nearly ten, and you should be getting back home, but this is a moment you never want to end.

You just nod, though, and he reaches out to brush his hand over your back when he walks you to the door.

“Thank you again. I really appreciate that you did this for me,” he says, soft, like he still can’t imagine you would.

“You’re welcome, Hotch. Any time, really; I’m happy to help.”

You get home, clean your kitchen, and have a very late dinner, and the smell of good coffee and apples and cinnamon is still in your nose when you drift to sleep. “You didn’t hear what he said,” Hotch snaps almost a month later, with one hand splayed on his hip and the other on the table in front of him. The moment you saw him engaged in an argument with a member of the Sheriff’s department, fire in his eyes, you’d grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into a small conference room, shutting the door behind you. It took almost three minutes of staring at each other for him to say something instead of just glaring at you for interrupting the pissing contest.

“I don’t need to know what he said. I know you, and I know you handle people like that with a quick, sharp remark and then you wash your hands of it. You don’t argue back and forth, you don’t draw it out. You would have regretted it if you did that today, so I stopped you.”

“You think you know me so well, do you?” he asks in an unkind tone of voice you can’t identify, haven’t heard from him before; the expression on his face is familiar, though, a scowl that only puts emphasis on his handsome features—it’s unfair, really.

You exhale, cross your arms.

“Yes, and I know you well enough to know you’re irritated with him, not me, so cut the shit.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever been quite that direct with him, and certainly the first time you’ve ever sworn at him; your immediate instinct is to apologize, but he surprises you by huffing a laugh. The angry lines of his face smooth into something softer.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. He just—I can’t stand people like that.” He scrubs a hand through his hair in irritation. “We’re here to work—to do a job they couldn’t finish on their own. Not to be… objectified.” He mutters the last word, so low you almost don’t hear it, and then there’s a knock at the door. Derek enters.

“Sheriff wants a word, Hotch; do you have a sec?” With one last look at you, he nods, brushes past him to leave the room. Derek gives you the barest hint of a smile. “He was defending your honor, you know.”

You frown. You didn’t know.

“That jerk was talking about me?” you ask, clarifying, and he nods.

“Something about assuming you’re an athlete because he likes your ass. Set the boss man off.” You walk over to him and leave the room together, heading back to your workspace.

“Well Hotch is right, we’re here to work, not to be objectified. I can see how he would get angry.” Derek shoots you a flat, questioning glance.

“You think he’d be getting that worked up if it was my ass that guy was talking about? Or Emily’s?” The two of you stop outside the conference room, and you cross your arms, lean against the doorframe, frown.

“So what are you trying to say? That he sees me as being weak, thinks he needs to defend me? I'm as capable as either of you.” That may not be strictly true, because you’re a little more brains than brawn, like Spencer in that way, but you can hold your own and you thought Hotch knew that.

Derek just laughs, shakes his head, and ducks into the room. You follow, so confused.

“I thought you were just playing it close to the vest, but you’re oblivious, aren’t you?”

“Oblivious about what?” Emily asks, pen between her teeth, feet kicked up onto a chair, and you shrug.

“I’m still not sure. Hotch got into an argument with a deputy about me, and I asked Derek if Hotch thinks I’m weak and that’s why he felt like he had to defend me.” She smiles broadly around the pen, pulls it out of her mouth with a grin.

“Oh, honey. That’s not it. You know that’s not it, right?”

“I clearly don’t know what’s going on at all, so no, if you’d care to enlighten me,” you say, sinking into an empty chair. “I hate it when you guys are cryptic.” You love your team, but they have a habit of doing this all the time, saying things to each other with their eyes, or just a few words that don’t have any sensible meaning that you know of. It’s like they live to talk over your head, to say things without actually saying them.

“Okay. Hotch has a thing for you,” Emily says simply, and you blink.

Well that’s the very last thing you’d expected to hear.

“He absolutely does not.” You look at Derek, who’s making a face like you’re the one being crazy; you laugh out loud, can’t help it. “He does not. I’m pretty sure Hotch doesn’t have things, and if he did, he wouldn’t have a thing for me.”

“Why not? Because that would be too convenient, since you have a thing for him too?” Derek asks, taking the seat across from you, and you grab the nearest case file, flip it open and focus your attention on it.

“I care about him, the same way I care about all of you, and he maybe needs a little more care—but you guys are reading into things.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to say anything more, because Hotch, JJ, and Spencer return, and you all have a lead to work.

You can’t help but wonder if you’re being obvious about your feelings, though, especially later, when you get back to the hotel and the group decides to have a drink at the bar.

JJ and Emily hit the pool table while Derek and Spencer head up for drinks, and you are left sitting with Hotch at the table, pressed together in the inside corner of a booth.

“Tired?” you ask him, because he does look worn out, his tie a bit loose, his eyes a little red. You know he doesn’t get much sleep when you travel, and you can’t imagine he’ll go to bed even when this little detour is over.

“Always,” he sighs, but when he looks over at you, he smiles, just a little. “Just can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Yeah, it gives Southern hospitality a whole new meaning, doesn’t it?” The people you’ve interviewed today are, on paper, quite respectable, but there’s a Desperate Housewives, ‘everyone is sleeping with someone else's spouse’ kind of thing going on, and it’s honestly exhausting. To your surprise, Hotch laughs.

“It really does. I don’t think I’ve ever missed the quiet solitude of my apartment quite this much.” You lean back against the vinyl of the booth, sigh.

“I miss my apartment, but it’s been too quiet lately. I prefer the sounds of someone else sharing space with me: the coffee maker percolating, the news in the background, the shower running, the sound of flipping the pages of a book or magazine.” You look down at your hands, because you’re getting a little more emotional than you usually let other people see. “Sorry. I’m not typically this open about being…”

You trail off, but Hotch looks over at you, concerned, the wrinkle between his eyebrows even more noticeable when you’re sitting this close. You think, just briefly, of running your thumb over it, but with your luck, Derek or Emily would see, and you’d never live it down.

“Lonely?” he finishes softly, and when you nod your head, he covers your hands with one of his own, bumps his shoulder against yours. “I get lonely too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” You look up at him, feeling a little vulnerable, and his expression softens. “When we get back, maybe you could come over for dinner some night. Nothing fancy,” he clarifies, and you smile, “just two lonely people being a little less lonely.”

“That would be really nice.” You can see Derek and Spencer approaching out of the corner of your eye, and Hotch must too, because he removes his hand, slips back into the slight, persistent frown you have come to know and love. Derek looks at you, raises an eyebrow, and hands you your beer. You try to tell him to shut up with your face, plan to follow up later to see if that actually worked. “We have an agent down on the second floor,” Spencer says into his comms, and you immediately want to slap him in the back of the head.

“Don’t say agent down, kid; I’m like, slightly wounded at best.” You hold a hand against the stab wound on your side—the unsub honestly just grazed you, and you’d knocked him out with a single punch, which made you feel pretty awesome—and reach out the other so he can help pull you to your feet. Your hand comes up to your own walkie button. “I’m not down, I’m fine—just slightly stabbed,” you add, and Spencer is getting his cuffs on the unsub when Hotch and JJ burst through the doors.

Well, Hotch bursts. JJ follows behind looking strangely winded for one of the most naturally athletic people you know.

“What happened? Are you alright?” he asks, and you lift your shirt to show him the sluggishly bleeding gash.

“I’m fine, see? It’s not even deep. Spencer saw blood and got a little ahead of himself.” You turn to Spencer, who sticks out his tongue, then back to Hotch, who looks haunted and pale, with that goddamn wrinkle between his eyebrows again. He’s bent down, looking over your wound seriously—you’ve had worse, so much worse, that you don’t understand why he’s so worried about it—and then he leans up, presses a hand to your cheek, and pulls you close for a soft, tender kiss.

If this were a movie, right about now a camera would be panning around you in a circle, as you wrap your free hand around his neck, pull him closer, melt against his body like it’s all you’ve been dreaming of for months, and the two of you would break apart smiling, maybe even kiss again.

It’s not a movie, though, so you just bleed out against your hand and freeze, because Hotch is kissing you at a crime scene and you almost got filleted, so you’re not sure if this is a you got hurt, so I’d better kiss you kiss or an I’ve been wanting to kiss you forever, and you got hurt so I have to kiss you kiss.

When he breaks the kiss, you’re both breathing a bit heavily, and you don’t know what to do, so you just lean in and press your lips to that wrinkle between his eyebrows that you’ve been thinking about so frequently since the first time you noticed it. You brush a hand through his hair, and when you pull back, he’s smiling.

“What was that?” He covers your hand on your side with his own and helps get you toward the elevator so you can be patched up by the EMTs; JJ and Spencer are left staring, open-mouthed in your wake, with an unconscious unsub at their feet, but neither of you are concerned about that.

“I’ve been thinking of doing that for months now: to kiss that spot between your eyes so you’ll stop frowning for a change. Since I couldn’t, I decided to find other ways to help you stop frowning so much. It kind of became my life’s mission.” He sighs, puts his arm around you and holds you close while you wait for the elevator to bring you to the ground floor.

“I stop frowning when you’re around because you’re around, not just because of the things you do for me,” he tells you, and he presses his lips to yours for another warm, soft, perfect kiss. “I’ve been thinking of doing that for months now.” You tilt your head, make a sound of contemplation, and he chuckles softly. “What is it?”

“I think those cryptic idiots we work with might be onto something,” you say with a grin, and when the elevator lets you off and Hotch helps you toward the ambulance to be patched up, Derek and Emily are waiting with concerned looks on their faces. They must be pretty confused to see you’re grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, you guys were right; Hotch does have a thing for me!” you call as you walk past them, and when your wound is properly dressed and wrapped, you put your arms around his neck and let him kiss you until the frown and accompanying wrinkle are nothing but distant memories.

*The novel excerpt is from The Weaver by Emmi Itäranta.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed

[justthehiddleswrites]

Eat Your Words | Tom Hiddleston x Loki x Female Reader

A/N:  It is Tom’s birthday!  My third one here celebrating.  And boy did I bring the filth.  Please read the warnings. And huge shoutout to @frostbitten-written​ for giving me the plot idea!  You are a smut sister of the first order!!

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Loki x Reader

Summary:  You mercilessly tease your husband about how amazing Loki is and how good he would be in bed.  You never realized that could be a reality.

Warnings: SMUT, sexual acts include: vaginal sex, anal sex, masturbation, anal fingering, double penetration (mouth and vagina, vagina and ass), oral sex (m receiving), a bit of voyeurism, a small bit of m/m kissing, cursing, aftercare, vaginal fingering

Taglists are open! Let me know if you wanted to be added to my tag list!!  Thank you for reading!

-

Tom knew about your not-so-secret obsession. You were a horrid liar and more so talking in your sleep.

“What are you reading, darling?” Tom tried peeking over your shoulder, but you slam the laptop shut.

“How about mind your business, Hiddleston?” You scrunched your nose at him.

“So more Loki porn.” he smirked as he walked past.

“The word is smut. And no.” You stared him down and he stared right back at you, leaning over the arm of the sofa. He raised an eyebrow. You squirmed in place. “It was fan art.”

“Cock or no cock?”

You grew hot. “Cock.” you threw a pillow. “Happy?”

Tom caught the pillow in the air and placed it back on the couch.

“No. How many times do I have to tell you to not throw the pillows?” His face broke out into a wide grin before plopping on the couch. “What is your fascination with Loki, darling? You realize I play Loki?” He clutched his chest. “If I wasn’t so self-assured, I might become jealous.”

You set your laptop down and sat up, rubbing his thigh. “Darling, I’m sorry…” Tom turned and smiled at you. “… but there is no way you can compare to Loki.” You burst into giggles and took off running, Tom fast behind you. He crouched down at the entrance to where the stairs are. The only thing between you and freedom was your husband.

“Take it back.” he growled.

“No. You are impressive, Tom. But Loki has the cock of a god.”

“One of these days you are going to have to eat your words.” Tom’s face broke out into a grin.

“Make me, Hiddleston.” you grinned back, bouncing back and forth.

He stood up, smile gone. “You don’t really want that, darling. Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh, what, you have Loki staying in the spare bedroom?” you mocked. “Get real, honey. Loki is a fiction and you are the man who plays him. You are my husband and I love you, but no one could fuck me like a god.”

Tom sighed. “I warned you, darling. If I catch you this time, I will show no mercy.” He chuckled. “And neither will he.” he muttered under his breath.

You barreled towards him before attempting to duck under his arm as you shoved all your body weight against him. Tom rolled his eyes and easily lifted you onto his shoulder.

“Put me down, Tom!” You pounded your fists against his back.

He carried you up the stairs and into the guest bedroom, dropping you onto the bed and walking towards a chair in the corner.

“Why am I here, Tom?” you glanced around.

Tom gestured to the other side of the room. “Ask your boyfriend.” he smirked.

You spun around to see a flash of light dissipate in the air. To find Loki standing there. In full armor.

“Now Thomas,” his voice deep and resonant. “We haven’t officially discussed my title.” he smirked as he strolled to where you are sitting.

Loki hooked a finger under your chin and took you in.

“What do you think?” Tom asked from the corner. He shifted in his seat. “She’s feisty.”

“Excuse you?” you snapped back. “I don’t know what you think you are playing at Hiddleston, but…” You stood, wagging your finger at him. Loki snatched your wrist, pulling you back against him.

“You married well, Thomas.” Loki hummed. Tom smiled from his chair. Loki cupped your cheek. “Very well.”

As he pressed you against his torso, you noticed Loki’s erection hard against you. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off… again.

“Tell me, pet.” His fingers ran down from your temple to your chin. “Is this how you imagined it?”

Your brow furrowed. “Imagine what?” You pushed away from him, only to slam back against Tom. “I don’t know what kind of joke this is…”

“Enough!” Loki yelled and turned away. “I know all about what you say about me, dove.” He settled into the chair once occupied. “How you read stories about my prowess in bed.” He took off his boots and wrist guard. “Drooled over art of my cock.” With a flick of the wrist, he removed his tunic and armor, leaving himself in just his trousers. He leaned forward licking his lips. “Dreamed of me fucking you.”

You gasped and glared at Tom. “YOU TOLD HIM!?”

“Not that he needed to.” Loki shifted in his seat and lowered his trousers just enough to pop his cock free. “Any hacker could find your browser history. And reading stories about being fucked by me and your darling Thomas…” Loki clicked his tongue as he stroked his shaft. “… naughty.”

Tom reached over and cupped your face. “Is this the fantasy, darling? Me AND him?” He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Just say the word.”

You stared up at him and then your eyes trailed down to find Tom sporting a raging hard on. You shifted your weight and peeked around Tom to spy Loki still stroking himself. He gave you a wink.

“I don’t have all day.” Loki called out.

You had to admit the thought of the whole scenario was too erotic for words. Your mouth was suddenly dry, all the moisture in your body, pooled elsewhere.

“Yes.” you nodded.

Tom smiled and leaned in to kiss you, slipping your straps down off your shoulders. You reached out and cupped his cock through his jeans. A flash of light covered you and Tom, causing your clothes to disappear.

“Much better.” Loki growled from his seat, now naked as well. He motioned the two of you towards the bed. “Go on. Entertain me. Show me how well you fuck your wife.” His lips curled into a devious grin.

Tom eased you onto the bed and crawled on top of you. He could sense your nerves. “Just think of it like when we met on set. And my modesty sock fell off?”

You chuckled and nodded. Tom nipped at the spot behind your ear and you let loose a soft gasp. His hands traveled down to squeeze your breast, teasing your nipple into a hard pebble.

Loki grunted through his teeth.

“Darling…” Tom moaned, twisted so you were on top. His fingers find your folds wet. “Wet already?”

“Of course she is.” Loki commented, he stood and walked towards the bed. He ran his hand down your back and cupped your ass before slipping down, plunging a long finger inside of you.

He hummed. “Thomas, if you don’t move things along, I may just take her myself and make you watch.”

“Why don’t you both take me right now?” you purred, placing kisses along Tom’s neck and chest while Loki curled his finger inside of you and Tom lazily played with your clit.

“What a splendid idea, pet.” Loki commented. “The best idea I’ve heard so far.” He grabbed you by the waist and hauled you up, placing you on the bed on all fours.

Tom shifted around to be behind you, smoothing his hands over your ass. He bent over to whisper in your ear.

“Remember darling, how you commented about the cock of a god?”

You noticed Loki kneeling in front of her. His cock dripped pre cum from the tip. He was big, even bigger than Tom.

“Fuck me….” you hissed. Tom pushed into you with a snap.

“As you wish, darling. But now it is also time to eat your words.”

Your jaw dropped open to snap back at Tom, when Loki pushes his cock into his mouth.

You groaned against his cock, gagging slightly as he pushed most of his impressive length down her throat.

Loki groaned. “Thomas, she is exquisite. Why have you been hiding her away?”

Tom gripped your hips and snapped against you. “The same reason I hide everything away from you. I don’t want to share.”

You moaned as they thrusted into you in conjunction. Loki was more forceful than Tom. You hollowed your cheeks to suck off Loki.

“You’ve never had a problem sharing before.” Loki growled and pulled Thomas towards him, leaning over you by the scruff of his neck.

Loki’s lips pressed against Tom’s and he moaned. Loki pulled Tom’s head forward and slipped his tongue into Tom’s mouth. Tom groaned as he did the same.

You overheard the lips smacking and the mental image tipped you over the edge and you screamed around Loki’s cock and clenched hard around Tom, shuddering.

Loki pulled away and chuckled. He lifted your face to stare at him. “Did you cum little pet at the sounds of me making out with our dear Thomas?” Loki averted his eyes to stare at Thomas, who had pulled out of you, blushing. “What a naughty girl.” He shifted to lie back on the pillows. “My turn, Thomas.”

Thomas grunted. “She’s not prepared for me yet.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at him. “Whose problem is that?” Loki spread his legs wide. “Come here, pet, and ride me.”

You crawled over to Loki and straddled his hips. You grabbed his cock and lowered yourself onto him.

“Oh god…” you moaned as you settled against his thighs.

“Yes I am.” He gripped your hips and rocked you back and forth.

Tom stared at Loki. “Can you at least hand me that bottle?” He gestured at the bottle of lube on one pillow.

Your eyes widened. “You’re not going to…”

Loki magicked the bottle into Thomas’s hand. He squirted some on his fingers.

“You’ve been training, haven’t you? Wearing the plug I got you?” Tom’s hand slid between your cheeks, massaged your tight entrance, pressed you against Loki’s chest. “Or is that something else you have been lying to me about?” He slowly sunk his well lubed finger into your ass.

“FUCK…” you hissed. Tom stilled as did Loki to allow you to adjust.

After a few moments, Loki gave you ass a soft smack. “Pet…”

You rocked up and down on him as Tom slowly plunged his finger in and out of you. Soon he added a second one and you cursed again as he scissored them inside of you, opening you up.

“If you would train properly, this would be easier.”

Loki cupped your face. “And next time it will be me.” He kissed your lips. “Although I must say, fucking your cunt is a treat. So wet and tight.” He growled.

Tom pulled out his fingers and squirted out some more lube and ran his hand along his shaft.

“Loki…” Tom gave the god a knowing glance.

“Right…” He pulled you tight against him and kissed you with a passion. His fingers found your clit and stroked it.

Tom eased into you, he panted when he was fully seated against your ass. You were so incredibly tight around him.

“My god… darling… why have we… Loki….” Tom threw his head back when he gently thrusted into you.

Loki released your lips softly, a small trail of saliva connecting your two lips. Your eyes locked for a moment and you saw it, those same kind eyes. Loki smiled which turned to a smirk and soon he was full on grinning.

He bucked his hips and gasped. “You clenched even tighter around me.” He leaned down to purr in your ear. “Let’s see how you milk my cock as you come undone.”

The two of them alternated thrusting into you. Soon you were reduced to a whimpering moaning mess. The only words you knew were “yes” and “don’t stop.” Soon your orgasm washed over you, stronger than ever before.

“FUCK!” you screamed in a now hoarse voice. You spasmed and clenched around both of them before your vision went white.

“Ah… AH!” Loki moaned as he thrusted twice before spilling inside of you. Tom soon followed with a deep grunt, filling your other hole.

You fell against Loki’s chest, sweaty and spent. Loki smoothed down your hair. “You were exquisite, pet.”

Tom crawled beside the two of you, rubbing your back. “You did so well, darling.” He leaned down to kiss your cheek and lips and then pecked Loki’s lips.

“Hmm…” you hummed, still coming down for your high. “Thank you.”

Loki pushed the two of you up and leaned you into Tom’s arms. “Why don’t the two of you get cleaned up and meet me downstairs?” He licked his lips, taking in your form. “We have much to discuss.”

[musical-chan]

Screw it! I'll take that imaginary tag!

How many works do you have on AO3?

18! Not too bad considering I only started in November or so.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

212,094, most of it is in Father of Time.

How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

All Zelda currently but back in the day I used to write for more! Sailormoon, Inuyasha, Shoujo Kakumei Utena, World of Warcraft even!

Top five fics by kudos:

"Father of Time" with 296 kudos! Not bad! It's my longest fic and ongoing so I'm always happy when I get new people to it. I wonder if I'll get to 300 sometime soon.

"A Wild Time at Calamity Ganon" with 222 kudos! This is my rising star and I wonder if it'll pass FoT someday soon. It's my newest non-FOT fic and was a gift to an artist I really like, who in turn drew more art for the fic itself! Amazing how popular it's been!

"Defeat or Deity" with 155! This was one of my early fics and an LU one. Sky versus Time trapped in the Fierce Deity mask. It's one of my shorter ones but it was great fight writing practice.

"The Unbearable Weight of Three Days" with 109. I love this fic. It's another LU one and honestly the whole premise for it was so great. I always wish this one gained more traction because the interactions between Time and Young Link are so interesting. Well, at least I enjoy it.

"You Want to Talk to Link, Right?" with 91. This one was *fun* and I started writing a second part to it but it went in a direction I wasn't ready for so I'm thinking on it. Basically, the Chain finds out that a song Time plays actually tries to contact someone named Link! I wonder who it is?

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! Almost every single one! I won't always respond to every nested comment if it seems like the conversation is over with but I love engaging with commenters on my fics!

What’s the fic with the angstiest ending you’ve ever written?

I haven't really been doing a lot of angst in my current return to fandom writing but I'd say "Time and Time Again" probably has the most bittersweet ending. "The Silent Realm" maybe comes in as a close second?

Do you write crossovers?

It depends on how you describe a crossover. I have in the past but not really much in my current Zelda phase. But I've had thoughts about crossovers if that counts!

Have you ever gotten hate on a fic?

No real hate yet! this is not an invitation to send me hate, haha.

Do you write smut?

Naw, that's not really my jam!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not as far as I know

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Oh gosh, this is a hard one because I like to leave options option, you know? I really do love Skyward Sword Zelink though; they are adorable and I want them to be happy forever. I'm also very partial to OOT Malink because I feel like Link wouldn't handle Zelda's rejection well and Malon is just a cutie.

What’s a wip that you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

I had to look through my docs for this but there was a fic I started back in the beginning that was basically what BotW Link experienced while he was in the 100 year sleep. I almost forgot about that! It's a neat idea but I don't think I'll get to it anymore. You never know though.

What are your writing strengths?

I like to think I have a nice style, that I try to write in a way that makes the words flow well through one's thoughts. Maybe that's just me but I always try to write in a way that makes my brain happy. It means I spend a lot of time re-structuring sentences until they "flow" well but it's worth it.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I probably over-think phrases and passages too much. It's hard to let go and just let something be.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fics?

I think if you know multiple languages and can do it well, it's great! I'd love to put more languages in my fics but even fictional ones can feel awkward at times.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Probably Sailormoon, officially. I don't think I ever wrote them down but I definitely had a lot of story ideas in my head for, like, Xmen and stuff in the 90s.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written so far?

Father of Time, definitely. I write this one because I love it and I need to see it through to the end so I know what happens. I like all my fics and I could gush here about every single one but yeah, I think I'd always come back to Father of Time. Fierce Deity my beloved. <3

Oooohh, I should tag some people maybe! @aeghina I usually tag you, haha. Man, my brain is mush. Please someone else join in as well!

Ao3 tag game!

THANKS @ragecndybars FOR THE TAG I APPRECIATE IT

*cracks knuckles* lets do this

How many works do you have on AO3?

24 works! I would have never expected to have that many 5 years ago, hahaha

What's your total AO3 word count?

186,291! oh wow, almost 200k!! (unsurprisingly PT minato takes up over a third of that LMAO)

How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

10 fandoms! I'm counting Persona 3, 4, and 5 and separate, but I'm grouping all the Zelda fandoms together since it's all Linked Universe fic.

Here's the breakdown!

The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms (6)

Persona 5 (5)

Persona 3 (5)

SPY x FAMILY (Anime) (3)

Wizard101 (Video Game) (3)

SPY x FAMILY (Manga) (3)

Runescape (Video Games) (3)

Pirate101 (Video Game) (3)

Persona 4 (2)

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom (2)

Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga (1)

Star Wars - All Media Types (1)

The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors (1)

Top five fics by kudos:

The Ghost of Mementos/Stygian Ringlet (Persona3/5) - to the surprise of absolutely no one, since this is currently my longest fic. I'm very happy with Stygian Ringlet being the top because I love my boys :)

True Crime Special on the Midnight Channel (Persona 4/5) - my Ren has a TV Dungeon fic! also very proud of the dungeon concept for this one, I really need to finish the last two chapters

Dark Clouds on the Horizon (Linked Universe/TOTK) - I feel like this one got a lot of momentum partially because it was directly in the wake of TOTK's release, but I'm happy with how it turned out :)

Strangers Are Just Friends You Haven't Met (Persona 3/SPY x FAMILY) - this was a collab series with mewrose and a few others in the marigolds discord! we were throwing ideas at the wall to see what stuck and I really had a lot of fun with Shinjiro-related prompts, because I LOVE him and hitting him with the isekai baseball bat into a universe with Anya brings me great joy

Salt Tears and Raindrops (Linked Universe/TOTK) - directly related to Dark Clouds, and I'm glad people enjoyed good ol' fashioned angst >:) (I do need to post more of my wips, I do have a couple more roleswap AU wips that I want to post)

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I almost always do because I really appreciate them and its my way of saying thanks for the comment! If I don't comment it's because I lost track of it or because I can't think of a response.

What's the fic with the angstiest ending you've ever written?

Probably Salt Tears and Raindrops. I was in a Mood and decided to go for the tried-and-true method of putting fictional characters I like through the emotional wringer. That's how I got the rough draft for this fic :)

Do you write crossovers?

*looks at my persona fics and recent LU fics*

...I think it's safe to say most of my fics these days fall under crossovers lmao

Have you ever gotten hate on a fic?

I wouldn't say I have? One or two comments that came off as rude, but no actual hate, thankfully. If I did, I forgot about it. I've been blessed by wonderfully nice readers <3

Do you write smut?

Nope. I don't read it, so I wouldn't know how to write it anyway.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of? I sure hope not.

I have seen a couple short fics slightly imitate Ghost of Mementos though, which I thought was really sweet that they liked it enough to inspire their own writing.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope, but I'd definitely be open to it!

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

RYOMINA. Hands down. I love them so much, I am so mentally unwell about these two

What’s a WIP that you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

My two Runescape fics, Whispers in the Temple and Welcome to the Jungle. I absolutely loved going hogwild with rewriting old quests in Runescape, but I psyched myself out of Welcome to the Jungle because I got overly anxious about accidentally doing bad representation.

(in hindsight, it probably wouldn't have been as big a deal as I thought; it's hard to make it worse considering how bad Legend's Quest was with the british-african stereotypes. that quest DID NOT age well.)

I also want to finish Snake in the Grass; that was my first attempt at a genuine mystery plot and I really liked playing with Warriors in that fic in the context of the gang trying to figure out who the heck is trying to murder him.

What are your writing strengths?

I feel like I'm pretty good at dialogue! I try to make sure it matches the character's speech patterns and personality. Really well-written dialogue can tell you who's speaking without actually telling who it is. (For example, the way I write them: Minato speaks as few words as possible and has very little filter with his observations when he does share them, and Shinjiro is pretty rough around the edges, with shortened words and the occasional swear. Warriors is good with words and wit, but he has a certain military-esque directness and doesn't dance around the topic.)

I do try hard to keep the plot clear and understandable over everything else, so probably that as well.

Also, now that I think about it, maybe fight sequences? I don't do them much, but I do enjoy the challenge of making a clear sequence of what happens in a fight and trying to make it understandable. Fight sequences are easy to skip or gloss over, but I think of them like their own miniature plot. What happens? What surprises are there? What are their movesets? How do they get the upper hand? (and of course, what looks cool as fuck)

What are your writing weaknesses?

Time management. I tend to over-proofread since I beta my own work, and often I'll go back to tweak stuff if I had additional thoughts to add to it, or extra insight. Lately, it takes longer to write chapters than I'd like.

Also, dialogue-heavy scenes often get very chaotic in my WIPs because of the way I rough out fics. I'll throw together a bunch of dialogue bits I think would be cool to include, and sometimes they'll clash or get really messy, especially if there's lots of characters (looking at the latest two chapters of Stygian Ringlet)

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fics?

I think it's cool! It adds flavor to fics. If it's more than one short phrase though, or if it's story important, then I do prefer that there is a translation in the author's notes. I haven't done any non-English dialogue in fics, save for one memorable adventure into trying to figure out how Latin grammar structure works for a character that didn't speak English.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Wizard101 and Pirate101. I was obsessed with those two for YEARS. I really, really liked pirate stories in high school, and having a cast of crewmates that accompany you throughout the game really inspired me to write my first fic featuring my OC. (I was also into One Piece at the time, but I never wrote for it.)

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written so far?

Stygian Ringlet. It's really dear to my heart. I have poured so much love and effort into that fic, and the reception on it has completely blown me away.

THANKS FOR THE TAG!! Uhhhmmm for tags I'm going to go with @skyward-floored, @catreginae and @breannasfluff (but only if you want to!! no obligation of course)

and of course any other writers that want to do it as well!! go forth

[bewitchedbodyandsol]

If I Were Not Myself

Description: Reader is a mandalorian from Din’s covert who was manipulated into taking off her helmet. HEAVILY based on Pierre and Natasha from Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812. Takes place before the child (bc age reasons and character development has not happened). Trying to stay as close to the approximate ages in Great Comet/War and Peace, putting Din at 27 while reader is 19. 

 Notes: Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 makes me absolutely mad. The only spoken lines in the musical and it makes my heart shatter. Okay, I don’t think Din would be as courteous towards a dar’manda as I write him but also like, this is a Din/Pierre hybrid, so. And yes I know that based on these ages Toro Calican would have barely been born, but um, yeah <3. IT’S MY FIC AND I CAN DO WHAT I WANT.  Also, this is my first time writing and posting fan fiction so um, yeah <3

Word Count: 2.9K

Rating: G

Tags/warnings: Thoughts of death (in an almost philosophical way). fem!reader Dar’manda!reader, war and peace au? No use of y/n, slightest hint of Toro Callican x reader and Paz x Reader (like they’re mentioned), age gap

If I were not myself,

But the brightest,

Handsomest,

Best man on earth,

And if I were free,

I would get down on my knees,

This minute,

And ask you for your hand.

And for your love.

The mandalorians-the mandalorian and the dar’manda, stood in front of each other. The air still. When he had initially seen her he ran towards her, he stopped less than a foot away and reached a hand out to her, but instead of taking his outstretched hand like he had expected, she slowly moved past him. She put an awkward amount of distance between the two. The gap between them too large for how friendly they normally were, while anything closer seemed too overwhelming. Din knew he had to stay far enough away to keep himself from completely engulfing the girl in an embrace, fists curling at his sides to stop himself from reaching out to her again. 

---- 

Din had known the young woman her entire life, for she was born shortly after he had been taken in as a foundling. While all families in the covert were friendly with one another, theirs had been especially close. And they had been especially fond of each other. The age difference caused them to participate in different activities and talk with different social groups but did not stop them from interacting completely. In fact, the two mandalorians had grown to be close friends. The young girl confided in Din about her newest crush on the covert while he doted on her for it and she would laugh at the gruff noises he made while being teased by peers, watching him try to act tough while knowing he would huff and puff to her about it later. 

He had watched her grow, from a nervous young girl who stood in the middle of a room filled with people simply to make them listen to her sing, to a young woman who knew how to carry herself and gain the attention of her peers from sheer presence. At the same time, the girl watched Din grow from a flustered teenage boy to a closed off young man who became more and more stoic with each passing visit. 

As the years went on the two became distant, caught up in the paths life had put them on. Din started running with Ran’s crew, his visits to the covert became few and far between, while she had stayed and chose to act as a nurse for the foundlings. Their friendship seemingly evaporated, dissolved to nothing but pleasantries. The young woman noticed the growing weight on her dear friend’s shoulders, but was unknowing of the whirlwind he found himself caught in. His growing reputation, worrisome discoveries he made about himself, and the insatiable twi’lek girl he had gotten tangled with. 

During his last visit home, Din had introduced the young woman to his friend Paz Vizsla. The two had known of each other for quite some time but had never formally been introduced, and quickly after he acquainted them Din felt a shift in the air, as if he was intruding on something he was not meant to see. He had not expected the pair to become so infatuated with one another. Aware of Paz’s past, the hardships he faced, losing not only a wife but a child at a young age, and the battles he fought; and the young woman’s naivete, having rarely left the covert herself and her general lack of life experience. So when he heard that they planned to wed, he had been surprised to say the least. 

That had only been one year ago. A year, and yet so much had changed. Din truly had not planned on a return home for quite some time. While he had been on the planet for a while, as the crew had a job that stationed them there, he had not planned on visiting the covert. As he had no obligations to do so, prior to the holo he had received from the girl's aunt in which she explained the situation to him and pleaded for him to return. She explained how the girl had broken off her engagement to Paz and made plans to run away with Toro Calican, whom she had only known for a few days, instead. Din had heard of Calican before and had even had the ‘pleasure’ of meeting him once, he found the suave young man obnoxious and to be nothing but trouble. Oh but what angered him the most about the young man, was seeing his own worst qualities reflected right back at him. His fears and flaws were flaunted by the young mercenary. When Din heard it was Calican the girl had become involved with, he didn’t even have time to think before it had slipped past his lips that the young man himself was married, and unlike Paz his wife was still alive. The girl’s aunt had begged him to return to scare Calican off the planet and to attempt to speak some sense into the girl. But when Din had returned it had been too late, she had revealed her face to an already married man, and unknowingly to her, his friends as well. Leaving her dar’manda. 

--- 

It felt almost inappropriate to stand in front of her in this state. With her lack of armor and helmet, she might as well have been naked from a cultural standpoint. She stood in the middle of the room in her thermals. Her beskar had been stripped from her, no doubt to be given to someone more deserving, a foundling most likely. Her back towards him, Din noticed her arms hung still next to her, obviously too exhausted to even subconsciously twiddle the edges of her shirt like she used to do when she was a younger, more nervous girl. When she turned around and looked at him, it felt like she could see into his soul. The helmet prevented her from looking him in the eyes, but having worn a helmet herself and interacting with so many others who did the same, she easily knew where his were hidden behind the mask. And when he looked into her eyes, Din could see the weight of the galaxy crashing down on her. 

“Din Djarin.” She tested out his name. And something in him shattered. No one had referred to him by name in so long, simply referring to him as ‘mando’, but Din Djarin was not the name she had used the last time he saw her. No, she had simply called him Din. The sudden change in formality made tense, as he took a second to respond. “Din” He took a breath and corrected her. It wasn’t until the girl’s face shot down did he realize he had started leaning forward, his weight shifted to the balls of his feet, left hand flexing at his side. 

He hadn’t seen her face in six years. No one had. Like most in the covert the young girl had sworn the creed promptly at the age of 13. After swearing the creed she had grown into herself, the young nervous girl Din had become friends with was replaced by a confident young woman. A skilled fighter and diplomat, yet as charming and giddy as ever. He could only imagine how she had grown ever more captivating as time went on. Din had never thought it to be a shame if a beautiful face was hidden behind a wall of beskar, his religion more important than simple vanity, and yet. As he saw her face on full display, he understood. Understood how someone who had become so enamored by the girl could do such a selfish thing, ask her to take off her helmet. 

“Vizsla was, Vizsla is your friend.” She corrected herself. Her ex-fiancé had fought in a far off battle for so long she had developed the bad habit of assuming him dead. Once again, the girl’s sudden formality was not lost on Din, referring to her ex fiancé as Vizsla rather than her usual endearing Paz. “He once told me that I should turn to you.” 

He had always reproached dar’mandas, finding them to be less than. Thought they had already shown themselves to be unworthy of the mandalorian title and armor if they could so easily take it off. That it took a truly weak man to break from The Way, from a people that loved fiercely and unconditionally. He wanted so badly to despise her. To give her the same scowl and acid laced words he might anyone else. But there was something about the way the young woman held her head. As if, even though she no longer had her helmet, she still did not want her face to be shown, and at that any chance of reproach towards her had died. Instead it was replaced by a feeling of pity. He had wanted to believe he felt nothing but pity for her, but he knew that wasn’t right. There was something else, something he was unable to place. 

“He’s returned. When you see him… Can you please tell him to, please tell him to forgive me.” She moved as if she meant to wring her hands, but when her fingertips found skin instead of leather gloves, they quickly shot back down to her sides. 

“Yeah, I’ll-I’ll tell him.” Din’s throat tightens as he recalls his conversation with Paz. How his friend returned from battle only to hear of his fiancé having an affair, removing her helmet in front of people who were not her riduur or ade. Recalling Paz’s posture, his voice almost malicious yet so pained when he said he could not forgive the girl of her actions. How the image of Paz, a man Din looked up to, had been shattered with a few simple words. “But-” 

“I know everything’s over, that chance of anything is gone.” Her head shot up, as if she had read his mind, anticipated his words. “But still, I’m haunted by what I’ve done, what I’ve done to him. Tell him please, to forgive me. For everything.” 

“I’ll tell him to forgive you. I’ll tell him everything.” Din nodded, as he thought of his next words carefully. “I want to know one thing. Did you really love him? Did you love that bad man” His voice sounded hoarser than usual. 

“Don’t call him bad.” She spat out. “But I, I don’t know. I really don’t.” Though the speed of her response told Din her real answer. That in some said way, yes, she really had loved Toro Calican. The man who had pushed her farther than anyone else had, pushed the boundary most important to anyone who shared their creed. Pushed her to do something she had never previously thought about. So uncaring of consequences. And if she had not loved him, she at least still held strong feelings for him. For the man who had manipulated her.

The young woman turned away from Din and began to cry. And he could hear the dam of emotions she held back break in the sob she let out. He could do nothing but watch as she began to crumple in on herself. The same feeling of pity from earlier returned, but it was now accompanied by a tenderness he had become unfamiliar with and that same something he was still unable to place. Din felt the tears pool at his jaw before he was even able to comprehend that he had started to cry. Thankful for his helmet as it prevented anyone from seeing the tears that rolled down his cheek. 

“Hey, we don’t. We don’t have to talk about it anymore, ner vod.” The familiarity slipped out of his mouth, meant to comfort them both. He slowly made his way towards her, reached his hand out the same as he had done earlier. “But. I’m still, your friend. And if you ever need someone to talk to, or someone to open your heart to. Not now, but, when your mind is clear. Think of me.” 

Din grew confused.

He had no idea where any of this was coming from. Especially after her had become so closed off over the past few years. He had felt more in the past few minutes here with her, warm and tender feelings that he had not realized he so dearly missed, than he possibly had in years. And there it was, that feeling he had been unable to place, unable to give a name, coming to the surface. Love. He had always carried affection towards her, in one way or another, but this was different. Love, something he had started to wonder if he was incapable of. 

“Don’t talk to me like that.” She snapped. “I don’t, I don’t deserve it.” Came out softer, sadder, and she practically scurried away from the man. Like she truly believed it. 

“Stop! Stop. You have the rest of your life-” The first stop a command, the second a plea. The girl stopped, her back still faced him. 

“The rest of my life? My life is over.” The girl reached the doorway she had entered through earlier, a tight grip on the wall. 

“Over.” He repeated. Looking at the girl, he saw a reflection of himself. His fears and flaws hung heavy around the girl. The same horrible thoughts that had plagued his mind not so long ago. 

The knowledge that one was capable of hurting people doing bad things, the thought that death might be more accepting and caring fate. The fear that life had ended before it even began. But unlike when he had seen those same traits in Toro Calican, who wore them with pride, he saw the same level of fear in the young woman that he had felt. 

And suddenly, everything stopped. 

“If I were not myself.” 

The young woman froze at his words. Din had not even registered that he was speaking until he had finished. 

“But the brightest, handsomest

Best man in the galaxy” 

Din had done bad things. Din had done bad things and enjoyed doing them. He had dangerous thoughts, dangerous intentions, and a dangerous way of life. He knew he was still not the man he needed to be. So much to improve upon before even thinking of settling down with someone, let alone the young woman in front of him. Though she was not perfect either, not the woman he knew she was capable of becoming, but he still thought she was deserving of perfection. 

“And If I were free-” His throat threatened to close. 

The Xi’an of it all was, Din was not in the position to be offering his love to someone else. And while they were not the ideal couple, he was still tied to her. He had his suspicions that the twi’lek girl might have been seeing other men along with him, but it did not stop him from remaining faithful to the girl. Along with the weight of his relationship on his heart, was the beskar lock he kept tight on it. His creed, the most important thing in his life. What he held himself to above all else. She was dar’manda, while he was not. A fact he could not simply ignore. Any hopes of a relationship between the two had been destroyed when she revealed herself. But he could not stop himself from loving her, from wishing he could do this one thing for her. 

“I would get down on my knees this minute 

And ask you for your hand” His voice strained. It could truly be that simple, they could be married in the matter of seconds. Vows exchanged, tied to each other for the rest of their lives. It was something he had never dreamed of, but as he stood in front of the young woman now. There was nothing he wanted more. 

“And for your love” 

The young woman turned around.

And reality comes crashing down. 

She makes her way over to him faster than Din thought safe for someone in her state. Her breaths jagged as she tries to control her tears. Tenderness replacing the earlier weight in her eyes. 

His breath hitches when her hand touches the cheek of his helmet. But he lets her, trusting her single hand to not make any bold moves, knowing the girl would not dare to lift the helmet off his head, to damn him to the same fate she had damned herself. Din’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes closing behind his helmet as he leans into her hand. A tear rolls down his cheek. The young woman simply looks at the man in front of her. And she gives him the softest smile he has ever seen. 

“Oh Din,” she whispers. ‘Thank you’, she means to continue, but the words are caught in her throat, leaving her to simply mouth them instead. She lets her hand fall from his face and leaves the room, smiling. 

Din stands and watches her leave, trying to hold back any oncoming tears, and lets out a shaky breath. Realizing his job here is done, he turns around to leave. Bumping into the doorway on his way out, he takes a deep steady breath, and makes his way to the Razor Crest.

[nurseofren]

I haven't been able to stop thinking about Philip Altman since that little chat on Discord this afternoon. What if he found out about his girlfriend's obsession with Kylo Ren and fucked her while making her call him Commander/Supreme Leader?? (sorry if this is request is a mess. i'm a mess rn)

Title: A Phillip Altman Halloween

Relationship: Phillip Altman x Reader

Summary: Phillip wants to make up for his reaction to finding out your obsession with Kylo Ren, and he’s a bit... inspired.

Words: 2.6k

Tags: role play, begins with angst, Oral sex (F receiving), delayed orgasm, degradation, PIV sex, choking, bruising.

ST Rambles: This request has existed for MONTHS, and I had the thought to implement it for Halloween. Because like, why not? It’s fun and cute and timely. I think this is the first one shot that I’ve given a decent amount of plot? Anyway, I hope you enjoy and that it is not too corny (:

--

“Hey, Philly? Your sister called and asked if we could take the kids trick-or-treating tomorrow,” you called through the house, setting your keys in the collection bowl. “I told her we would. I hope that’s okay.”

The door clicked shut when you reached to sift through the pile of mail stacked on the credenza’s corner. It was nothing important, just mindless political ads and local festivity promotions.

“Philly? You hear me?”

“And then Kylo Ren thrust his entire, throbbing length into your pussy in one. Fluid. Movement.”

Astonishment captured your every vein with every over-exaggerated word that came from Phillip’s nearing voice. Your thoughts raced, thinking back to the last time you’d used your tablet, trying to remember if you’d exited your most recent AO3 tab before putting it away earlier.

“This, though, this is my personal favorite part,” Phillip came into view, sauntering through the living room, your tablet held in one hand while his other gesticulated.

“Phillip Altman! Stop right now!” you seethed, feeling your dignity slip away as you rushed him.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” He held his hand out and struck you with that heart-stopping smile of his. He continued to back away with every step you took, voice half-giddy at the sight of your attempt towards intimidation. “With his gloved hand wound tight to your throat, cock twitching inside your soaked cunt - fucking shit, babe--” Phillip shook his head in disbelief, face still beaming at you “--the Supreme Leader fucked you until the only thing you could process was the sensation of his cum-,”

“Phiilip. Stop. Now.” You walked him against the couch, reaching for the tablet only for him to step up from the floor and onto the cushion.

“Let me finish!” There was nothing but pure, shocked joy tensing his words now. His free hand raised to keep his balance when he next spoke. “The sensation of his cum filling you and seeping down your inner thighs, all the while-,”

“NO!” you shrilled, stepping up on the couch cushion and making a swing for the device he was reading from. To no avail, Phillip lifted his arm away and blocked you from taking the tablet from his grasp.

A string of hearty, deep howls of laughter interrupted his reciting of your most recent fictional endeavor before he could continue. “All the while, the vibrations of the hilt of his alight weapon sending shocks of pleasure from your clit all. The. Way. To your toes.”

“You’re such a fucking dick!” You pushed against his chest and smacked the side of his arm with the intent to harm him. “What is wrong with you?” 

Phillip lowered his arm and offered you back your tablet, your fingers snatching it away from him and tucking it below your arm. He looked down at you and attempted to cup your face, only for you to slap away his touch. His brow furrowed and his mouth twitched.

A short, breathy laugh left him. “Hey, you know I’m just teasing, right?”

“I don’t really care, you know that, right?” Acrid hate flooded your tongue. He’d invaded your privacy and taken something you deemed rather sacred and made fun of it. He was a jerk. You could barely stand the sight of him right now. “I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight-,”

“Oh, come on, babe! I’m sorry, I just never thought you were into-,”

“Do not talk to me right now.” You hopped off the sofa and started toward the stairs. “You need a costume for tomorrow. Your nephews asked that their favorite uncle take them around the neighborhood for candy.” A grunt of frustration left you before you passed the threshold into the plain spare room. “It’s too bad they’re not old enough to know how much of a fucking ass their uncle really is!” 

With probably too much force the door slammed shut and shook the hanging photographs against the wall, your flop onto the bed not helping the matter. For whatever reason it really stung that he’d taken it upon himself to so entirely dismiss something so special to you. He may not have meant it, but he’d been cruel. And the only thing that would heal the wound was time and distance, so you curled under the down comforter and willed yourself to sleep, no matter if it was only six in the evening. 

--

Wendy backed out of the driveway and waved through her window before leaving view. You stood on the front porch and returned the gesture, inwardly dreading heading back inside. Yes, Phillip and you still took the kids trick-or-treating, but there had been scant exchanges of words throughout the day. Phillip had struck a nerve, and you weren’t ready to forgive him for it.

A few more moments longer you found yourself dawdling in the cool October air, but eventually, reluctantly, you took a deep breath and made your way to the master to grab some pajamas for the night. Finding the room vacant, not knowing where Phillip had disappeared, you opted to change there. A pair of black lace boy shorts found their way around your waist before you went to grab one of Phillip’s shirts from the drawer.

“You won’t be needing that.”

A gloved hand encroached upon your forearm, finger and thumb grasping around your wrist so the remaining three pushed the drawer closed. 

“Phillip, stop, please. I don’t want to fuck you right now.” You shook his hand away and twisted to face him, tucking the shirt under your arms to conceal your bare chest. When you caught first glance of him, you didn’t know whether to scream or laugh.

“Who’s Phillip?”

He’d gone as a half-assed Batman earlier, but without the faux abs and the plastic mask, all that remained was an all black ensemble, complete with the floor-length cape, a pair of leather gloves, and a new addition of a rigid line drawn over the right side of his face, starting over his eyebrow and scraping down his neck. He’d even gone as far as to buff out the edges and blend it into his skin. 

“You look...”

“Tell me,” he huffed, brushing a thumb along the taut edge of the t-shirt, “how does your Supreme Leader look?” 

“Phillip, what are you-,”

Two long, gloved, hot fingers hooked over your tongue and pressed to the back of your throat, only pulling back when you gagged on his fingertips. A whimper left as your arm sprung up to take hold of his wrist, stunned by his actions and completely forgetting the shirt you’d been using to conceal yourself. It fell to the floor with a soft whisper of its weight.

“Have some respect,” he slipped his remaining hand along the curve of your side, warm leather sliding with ease and stealing your breath. “You are speaking to the ruler of the entire First Order, after all.” That hand found its way to the base of your breast, fingers cradling it before his thumb wound a circle around your stiffened nipple.

It made you shudder, not only his touch, but how different he really did seem. There was a sense of dedication to the role he’d assumed, something haunting about how demanding he was being. The thought made your insides clench, achingly aware by how hollow you felt. You needed him - Phillip? Kylo? - inside of you, to feel him buried in you and revel in the way he made you feel so complete.

“Now, be a good girl and lie back on the bed.” Those two fingers left your tongue and fell in line with his hand as it momentarily squeezed your throat, holding you for a moment so he could lock you in his stare.

If he was committing to the scene, it only made sense that you should too, right? “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

You crawled up so you could rest against the pillows, hands cradled below your neck and eyes tracking his every movement. Though you tried to contain it, a smile crinkled your eyes.

“You know, this is really swee-woah!”

Phillip grasped both your ankles and dragged you down so your hips were at the edge of the bed. He knelt between your legs, eyeing you from the floor, your elbows digging into the mattress so you could see him.

A hand first smoothed up your calf and led its way under your knee, a thumb stroking your thigh when he was pleased with his hold.

“What did I tell you, officer?”

His voice was so low, so close to unrecognizable; it stole your smile and flooded your veins with adrenaline. A gasp parted your lips, his brow lifting in expectation. “Lie back.”

His other hand reached up to your sternum and pressed you down, wandering again lower to your folds, two seams petting over the supple skin. It felt like heaven, the warm gloves and the pressure of his touch. And maybe you would have said it was, only for him to part you and drag one over and around your clit.

The grip over your thigh tightened to keep you from moving, your hips bucking up at the seam’s sensation. A whine, small and grunted, left, your face growing hot when you felt the tip of his nose press into your inner thigh.

Phillip hummed, a growl, fingers dipping lower so he could coat them in the fluid dripping from your cunt. Fingertips teased your entrance, barely pushing into you. A grunt vibrated against your skin, his nose trailing to our mound before he breathed in a glutton of your scent.

“Don’t stop, Phillip,” you plead, nudging your hips into his face, wanting more. Begging for more.

Two slicked fingers pushed into you in full; it choked you, the sudden sensation of him inside. He didn’t let you get a word out before mouthing at your clit, the tip of his tongue circling it before he took you between his teeth and teased. Your fingers flew to his hair, nails scraping at his scalp and pulling him into you.

The hand wrapped around your leg unhinged your fingers from his head, thumb pressing pain into your palm. You winced, his thumbnail biting a crescent into your skin, the ache intensifying the pleasure between your legs.

“So desperate,” he drawled, rocking his fingers into your core at a devastating pace, so slow and paced it burned at your sanity. “Sit up, I want to see you say my name.”

You obeyed, keeping your legs parted, looking down at him. His cheeks were flushed, mouth glistening with your want, the fingers latched around your hip leather-wrapped and stinging. The sight of his fingers pushing into you sent your head back for a moment, feeling him press into you at the perfect spot. You moaned, soon seething when he bit the flesh of your inner thigh.

Your focus fled back to him, a smirk acknowledging your attention before it grazed down to your slit. “What’s my name, again?”

His fingers were taunting, crooking just right to leave you flayed on the edge. You were so close, his breath washing over you in its proximity, the ghosted sensation tingling down your spine. He watched you, listened for absent words, the faux-scar on his face convincing in the low light. 

“If you want to cum, you’ll say it,” Phillip’s tongue trailed his bottom teeth, “or is the slut at a loss for words?”

Every nerve lit at the term, your hand reaching toward his face to thumb at the scar. The way his hair fell, the cape pooled at his feet, the tease of his tongue glinting in the light; it all combined to push you toward belief. It warmed through you, seeing him for what he wanted to be for you. Pushing your hand through his hair, fingertips lingering under his chin, you fell into what he was offering.

“No, Kylo, I would never disrespect my Supreme Leader in such a way.”

There was a heavy need in your tone, Phillip’s face lighting for half a second before he quickened his machinations and brought his lips back to your pussy. He laved at you, circling and crossing and - you regarded eventually - spelling the words “Kylo Ren” over the flourishing nerves.

He could see you gearing toward climax, feel it in the way your cunt squelched with each push of his hand. You saw him consider something for a moment, a surge of cleverness ignite his features. And then he stopped. Every movement gone, his fingers absent, your body searching for where the promise of fulfillment had gone.

“What the hell? Phil-,”

His mouth took yours when he leaned over you, his hands pushing his pants down. He groaned when his cock bobbed free, hitting the insides of your thighs, his hand claiming your neck and pushing you down onto the mattress. The slowed blood flow dizzied you, his lips rapturous as both of your groaned into each other.

His remaining hand clasped onto your hand and locked your arm above your head. The shock of his grip made you grimace, a haunting sense of pleasure behind each new ache. Soon, though, you could only focus on how he thrust his entire length into you, your back arching into him, a grating cry echoing into his mouth.

“You want me to fill you up, huh? Little fucking whore, want your last thought to be of my cum leaking out of you?”

“Yes, yes Kylo!” The thought catalyzed your climax, skin singing for release with each of his thrusts, legs quaking with anticipation.

“What do you say?” Each word came between a breath, hands biting harder into both fixed positions, your head spinning and hand throbbing.

“Please!” 

“Who’s cum do you want?”

“Yours, Supreme Leader. God, it’s all I want, fucking shit, please, please!”

He hand left right as your brain flooded with pleasure, muscles locking, eyes rolling back, lips parting and orgasm fleeing. His hips stuttered and he cried out along with you, your tight cunt milking him for every drop of cum he had to offer. His lips met yours with a sloppy, breathy plead of a kiss; his hands now cradling your head.

An overwhelming push to mirror his actions stole your breath, hands flying into his hair and pulling him that much closer, feeling his cock slip free from you and streak spend over your belly. He grunted when your legs locked around his waist.

Kisses slowed and you found yourself smoothing your thumbs over his temples, looking over the sweat at his brow. This wasn’t Kylo anymore, this was too sweet. This was the Phillip you knew. The Phillip you loved.

He observed you with the same fondness you were him, his hand brushing back your hair. “Mm, sorry.”

It took you from bliss. “What are you talking about?”

Phillip sighed, kissing the tip of your nose before he continued. “I was an ass yesterday. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Phillip Altman knew exactly how to apologize. “All is forgiven... Supreme Leader,” you lowered your voice to imitate Kylo Ren, the two of you laughing for a few seconds before finding each other in adoration.

“Oh, and sorry.” A knowing smirk took root in his features.

“Phillip, what-.”

“No lightsaber for your clit?” His brow lifted in suggestion, your tongue circling your canine.

You pulled him down into one last deep kiss, bringing your lips to his ear when you unlocked from him.

In the faintest whisper, your tongue first following the curve of his helix, you taunted him.

“My vibrator is in my top drawer.”

[wackybuddiemewbs]

Random Buddie Fic Snippets - no title, just (bad) vibes

Here’s to another snippet of things that ghost through my Word files. This one’s particularly headache-inducing for me personally. For one, trigger warnings galore. And then I have *checks file* 41k (!!!) words worth of non-fic noted down, but it’s really just unassembled bits and pieces of mostly dialog. Grrrrrrr. 😖

Since such a fic would take a lot more planning... which is basically the antithesis of me for all intents and purposes... I pester you with snippets like they are pestering me. Said it before and can only reiterate: I make you suffer with me. *cackles*

Basically, the story plays on the idea that Eddie and Buck grew up together due to plot convenient purposes and meet again at the fire station after years apart. Anyway, here’s to more madness mingled with angst! Cheers!

Buck slings his duffel bag over his shoulder when his phone vibrates. Sighing, he shifts his weight to take it out of his pocket and take the call. A smile creeps up his lips when he sees the picture flare up on his screen.

“Hey, what’s up, Mads?”

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know that you were right about that little bakery downtown. It’s so worth the twenty minute trip,” she nearly groans. And Buck can relate. When he found that authentic Mexican bakery on a long run through the city, he may or may not have shed a few tears of happiness. And he may or may not have bought pastry worth a hundred bucks.

Totally worth it to run all those extra miles for the carbs, though.

“How many conchas did you have?” Buck asks, chuckling softly.

“I’m pleading the fifth.”

“Did you drive back to get more?” he questions, though Buck is fairly sure what the answer is already, which comes promptly, “Which is why I might be late for work.”

Buck laughs, leaning back against his car. “They are in the top 5 of conchas I ever had, which is saying something. So yeah, I get the feeling.”

And he should really know, he’s had the best in the world and no. 2 and 3 also. Though those are not up for sale.

“So, I need a bit of distraction to keep myself from digging through the remains of the bag before I make it to the car,” she tells him.

“Sure, what do you want to hear?”

“Howie told me that you’re getting someone new on the team today. Are you excited?”

“… Oh, ugh, sure.” Buck can feel his jaw cramping at that.

“You know you just sounded more excited about me being on a sugar high thanks to Mexican pastry than you are about your new teammate arriving.”

He’d hoped to avoid that conversation before he got over with it. Because that’s how he normally rolls with it. He gets over with it.

Works with band-aids and most situations that give you discomfort.

But Maddie has maybe not the sixth but seventh sense apparently big sisters seem to inherit by birth, so it appears that not even the most amazing conchas up for sale in all of Los Angeles will spare him having that conversation now. Which is the equivalent of tearing duct tape off, but slowly.

“I’m a huge concha fan, what can I say? And sure, it’s cool. It’d be nice to have a partner on the team, like, permanently, like Chim and Hen, more like.”

Buck rolls his eyes back as far as they will into his skull. It’s a small wonder that Maddie doesn’t buy his bullshit. He was fine just dodging the topic until now, it’s what normally works best for him. But yeah, Maddie just knows how to coax it out of him, and he loves and hates her for it.

“Talk to me, Buck.”

Buck looks up to the sky. “… I guess I’m just a bit nervous.”

“You are nervous? Don’t you think it’s up to the new teammate to be a bundle of nerves?”

“That’s kind of my thing, though,” Buck argues.

He has been ever since Bobby announced that they’d get a newbie, not a probie, but someone to be on the team with them. Dutifully, Buck laughed at the comments about how Bobby seemingly hired him a babysitter to make sure he doesn’t do reckless stuff all the time.

The nervous energy settled in when he got home that day and his leg wouldn’t stop bobbing well into lying in bed, trying to sleep. He only fell asleep halfway through reading the Wikipedia list of minor planets named after people.

“Then why do you feel nervous?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You know you can tell me,” she says softly.

Buck closes his eyes. He understood by now that yes, he can. But that doesn’t mean he wants to. Most of the time, Buck wished he didn’t have to tell anyone anything ever again and simply exist in the here and now. Because the here and now is sunny and tastes of pretty damn awesome conchas.

“I know it’s stupid, but…” His voice trails off.

And maybe she can read his mind, Buck wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be the case, because Maddie goes on to say, “You know he’s not taking your place, right?”

“What? Yeah, I mean…” Buck chews on his bottom lip. Whenever Maddie starts to talk like that, he feels like he’s sitting with a therapist. And suddenly, what he wants to believe are just his antics sounds like food for the shrinks.

“This is supposed to be your partner. Someone to have your back, not stab you in the back,” Maddie points out.

“Rationally, I know all that. It’s just…” He stretches out his legs.

“It’s just what?” she asks in a gentle tone of voice.

“What if he’s better than me?”

What if they realize that he’s expendable after all? What if someone comes along who can do things better than Buck without the attitude? What if he can’t prove his worth anymore because that guy can do it just as well, maybe even better?

“Then I will be glad because that means someone capable is watching out for my baby brother,” Maddie answers, pulling Buck back to the current conversation, not the fictional ones inside his head.

“What if we end up hating each other’s guts?” Buck continues. He had to restrain himself from actually typing a list of all those questions on his phone when his mind went spiraling upon receiving the news. Because that’s what’s been going on ever since Bobby announced. And Buck knows how stupid it is, but his brain didn’t get the memo. There are so many what ifs that it’s making him dizzy thinking about them.

“Then you talk about it like actual adults. And anyway, no one can hate you to your guts. You’re amazing.”

Buck has to fight hard not to blush. “Thanks, but you’re biased because you’re my sister.”

His heart still beats a little faster every time he says those words out loud. Something that comes so light and casual these days, though it isn’t. It is closer to what it should be. Because it should be casual, natural, given.

But apparently, the world didn’t get that memo yet. Seemingly a pattern.

“And as your sister, I’m also always right.”

“Are not.”

“Are too.”

He laughs. She chuckles back.

“Listen,” Maddie continues. “Just be yourself. You’re going to figure it out. This is exciting, Buck. More people to add to your family, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” he croaks.

“I’ll call you during lunch time, unless you’re out on a call. And then I want all the details on the newbie.”

“Alright. Pro tip: Put the bag of pastries in the trunk of your car. Only way to keep your paws off of them while driving.”

“I may actually crawl back, but yeah, it’d require a lot more effort.”

He smiles. “Drive save.”

“Will do.”

“Alright, I’m heading in,” Buck says, pushing away from his car. “Or else I will be running late, too.”

“Love you, little brother.”

“Love you, too. Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Buck hangs up and stuffs his phone back into his pocket.

Maddie is right. There is nothing to be nervous about. He has a team now. No one is leaving. New people are arriving. That’s how it works. That’s normal. And he gets to pester the newbie. So he should really be excited, as Maddie said. Buck knows he should focus on that. On how great this could turn out to be. On having a partner. Someone to have his back. All the time.

He sucks in a deep breath as he comes to stand in front of the door leading inside the fire station.

“The door is not closed,” he mutters with closed eyes, grabbing the handle. Buck pushes inside. He is greeted by the familiar hum of the fire station coming to life. People are talking over coffee, some are still fastening the buttons on their shirts as they make up the stairs.

And there’s no place he’d rather be. Buck knew that the moment he first walked into the station for the first time, and that assessment hasn’t changed since.

Buck makes for the locker rooms to change, not wanting to run late like Maddie. Once changed into his uniform, Buck finds himself a little more at ease. Athena once pointed out that they wear those uniforms as a way of protecting themselves. You take them off after work and leave all the bad behind that you’ve witnessed on a call. For Buck, the other way is just as true, though.

When he puts on that uniform on, he can leave his anxious, knee-bobbing self behind and do something meaningful. Because that’s what he found here, beside the team that means so much to him. He found a purpose. A way of answering a calling that lies far back in a past he can’t and won’t remember. To save lives.

Buck looks at his reflection in the mirror, straightens out the collar, makes sure his hair sits perfectly. His glance lingers on the name tag a moment longer, brushes his fingers over the metal plate, the one thing he can’t fix or straighten out.

But that won’t make me flinch. Ever.

“Buckaroo! Time for coffee and talk! I need new material on that show Denny and you are watching and that you need to update me on, so I don’t have to watch it!”

Buck smiles as he closes the locker to see Hen standing there with two cups of coffee.

“Coming.”

But that fixes a whole lot already.

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

Hen sips her coffee in silence as Bobby goes on about who is doing what for the day. She is glad that she isn’t assigned truck cleaning duty. That’s one of the best things about newbies and probies coming in. They get to do the dirty work for a bit. She had to jump those hoops, too, like everyone did, so it only seems fair.

Chim nudges her in the side, pulling her out of her musings. “Have you seen the newbie yet?”

She nudges him back a bit harder to tell him wordlessly that he is supposed to stop doing that. “If I had, don’t you think I would’ve told you by now?”

“Just saying, being late on the first day is not a good sign.”

“Can I help you with something, Han, Wilson?” Bobby calls out. “Care to share with the rest of the team?”

Buck laughs beside them, earning himself a nudge from Hen. That kid is going places sometimes, but Hen learned to love him fiercely after he stopped being a punk.

Fine, he’s still a punk sometimes, but we got to see there’s a heart of gold underneath all the punk and muscle and hair gel.

He grew on her the way he managed to grow on anyone, even the Captain who doesn’t like to admit that more than anyone around the station. He fired the boy first week in, and it was well-deserved, but he proved capable and kind.

Hen knew she was done for this humanoid golden retriever when she fussed over not having a babysitter for Denny and Buck jumped in after he’d just done a double-shift. She and Karen were still working things out and he just made the room, even though the boy deserved bed more than anyone else. Still, he took Denny to the park, finished homework with him, and got him to go to bed even though the kid is not so much a negotiator as he is a small dictator when it comes to bedtime. Karen and she found Buck passed out, snoring like a lawnmower, a book still in his lap while sitting next to Denny’s bed.

“Nothing, Cap,” Chimney answers. “Just sharing excitement about the newbie.”

“You’ll meet him shortly. He had to pick up his gear first and talk to the higher-ups another time. Once he arrives, you can pester him with questions as I know you will.”

“On it, Cap.”

Bobby rolls his eyes, but then his mind goes back to the clipboard and the rest of the chores yet to be divided among the firefighters on shift. The rest of the morning routine goes without further incident, so the three are soon walking down the stairs to their designated task of checking their stocks on medical equipment.

“Okay. That is a beautiful man,” Chimney says, suddenly stopping in his tracks.

Hen trains her eyes on the dark-haired Latino, putting on a shirt. That should be the newbie, then.

“Where’s the lie? And I like girls.”

“Eddie…,” Buck breathes beside her.

Hen whips her head around at the sound.

“Wait, you know this guy?” Chim asks, but Buck doesn’t say anything. Instead, he starts to walk towards the new guy, or almost staggers, she should rather say. The newbie only takes notice of him when his head pops out from the shirt.

“Buck?”

To Hen, it feels like the two just go in slow motion while the rest of the fire station is crazy and busy as always. As though the whole world disappeared around them.

She can’t make out whatever words may be exchanged between them before the new guy covers the last few steps between them and pulls Buck against him in a tight hug. Shock is written all over his face, but also huge relief. Though Hen honestly wished they stood the other way around, because she would like to know just what expression is flitting across her little golden retriever’s face.

“What on earth is going on here?” Chimney mutters.

“I ain’t got no clue.”

The newbie pulls away, smiling over both ears, both hands deftly resting on Buck’s arms. Even though Hen still can’t see Buck’s face, it seems that the guy is doing all the talking for a change. Then he is hugging him all over again.

“I repeat, what on earth is going on here?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Before they can overcome their paralysis, Buck starts to move, gesturing behind himself. The new guy nods with the brightest of smiles, not once letting go of Buck’s arm as they start to walk towards them.

Her confusion is multiplied by the way Buck carries himself, eyes downcast, looking nothing but nervous.

Did someone exchange the 118’s golden retriever this morning, or what’s going on here?

“... can’t believe we meet again in this place of all places,” she can hear the new guy say as they approach.

“S, same.”

Buck is stuttering. To repeat the repeat: What on earth is going on here?

“We have so much catching up to do.”

“Yeah.”

“Buckaroo?” Hen calls out, or maybe demands. She no longer cares for the details here. She needs to get down to the bottom of this. Fast.

“Oh, sorry, I just… this is Eddie.”

“Hi.”

“Hi Eddie, it is a pleasure meeting you. We will greet you good and proper in only just a moment. Hold the line,” Hen says, before turning her attention back to Buck. “Now to you, Buckaroo. Spill the beans.”

“Yeah,” Chim agrees.

But Buck is not forthcoming. Boy looks like a fish out of the water, his mouth opening and closing without any sounds coming out. This makes the sirens ring inside Hen’s head, not the ones at the station. Because their Buckaroo never stops talking, even when he should sometimes, and even when he wants to stop talking, he will keep talking. So him not finding anything to say may or may not force Mother Hen to have to look after her punk chick here.

“We grew up together,” Eddie says after a pause, still all soft smiles and maybe even softer curls, by the looks of it. Hen will worry about that later, too. “I honestly had no clue he was working at this station, let alone that he was in L.A. Color me surprised. Abuela will not believe this.”

“Abuela?”

“My grandmother. She’s the one who fostered him before…,” Eddie continues, but then stops himself when he notices the look of sheer panic on Buck’s face. “They do not know this.”

Buck shakes his head.

“Dios.”

“Wait, you were in foster care?” Chimney almost cries out.

“In Texas?” Hen adds, her mind still short-circuiting thanks to that input.

“Yeah. I was adopted by the Moores after that.”

Chimney gapes at him. “You were adopted?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, they don’t know about that either?” Eddie asks, now almost as frantic as they are.

Welcome to the club, hon.

“Now they do,” Buck mutters.

“But Maddie isn’t adopted. I should know.” Chimney lifts his index finger.

“Right,” Hen agrees.

Eddie makes a face. “Who’s Maddie?”

“My girlfriend, Buck’s sister.”

“You have a sister?” Eddie slaps his hand against Buck’s arm, shock taking the place of confusion.

“Wait, you grew up with him and don’t know his sister?”

“It’s a long story,” Buck sighs.

“Like how you’re Texan?” Hen scoffs.

Buck holds up his hands. “Okay, guys, can we stop spiraling for a second?”

Hen opens her mouth to give him a piece of mind, but she’s abruptly cut off by their captain standing at the top of the stairs. “Buck! I could use a hand up here!”

“On my way, Cap!” Buck yells back, the amount of relief to opt out of the conversation more than imminent. “Sorry, duty calls!”

“Hey no,” Chim hisses, but Buck isn’t having it. He pats Eddie on the shoulder. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay.”

With that, he starts to jog, or rather run, up the stairs. All watch him go, before their eyes fall back on the people standing right in front of them.

Well, if that’s not awkward.

“So, ugh. Hi again,” the new guy says, smiling sheepishly. “Eddie Diaz, your newbie.”

“Hi. Hen Wilson.”

“Howard Han, but you can call me Chimney or Chim. And why I’m called that is between me and God.”

“Okay. That may be only the second most confusing thing to happen on my first day.”

“We don’t normally act like this,” Hen tries to reassure him.

Chim makes a face. “We don’t?”

Hen nudges him in the side hard enough to make Chim gasp.

“Wilson, Han, you’re supposed to get on with the stocks!” someone calls out.

“You’re not our boss!” Chim shouts back at what turns out to be that jackass Lambert from B-roll no one likes because his attitude stinks about as much as his aftershave.

“But Cap is and he told me to tell you to move it!”

“I hate that guy,” Chim grumbles.

“I think I’ll like it here,” Eddie chuckles.

“They are so young and innocent when they join,” Chim snorts.

“Welcome to the 118,” Hen says, giving the younger man’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I suppose you should go up there as well and talk to the captain.”

“Alright, I’ll see you around.”

“Most certainly.”

“That was only mildly threatening,” Chim laughs, rolling his eyes well before Hen jabs him another time.

“Good to have you here,” he adds.

“Indeed.”

“Good to be here. See you later.”

“Later,” both say in unison.

Eddie smiles at them before climbing up the stairs.

“You try to get a hold of your boo, I’ll see what info I can squeeze out of Cap or Buck, whoever I get my hands on first.”

“Aren’t we supposed to get on with…”

Hen glowers at him.

“I said nothing.”

“Less talking to me, more talking to your girlfriend.”

Chimney makes a mock salute, before walking away while fiddling with his phone. Hen let’s her gaze wander up to the gallery with a grimace. Something is not right, but she is going to figure it out. Because Hen Wilson keeps all her little chicks on track, even more so now that they got a new one to take care of.

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

Eddie tosses the sponge into the water bucket. Getting some of the crappier chores for the day is something he fully expected to happen. What he didn't expect, not in a million years, was running into Buck. Eddie’s head is still reeling because of it. And for what it seems, the same is true for Buck.

Buck.

To say that he seemed shocked is an understatement. Eddie knows the way Buck expresses panic. He’s grown up making sure the kid breathed instead of keeling over when it hit him, so Eddie knows that this was not just surprise, this was fight-or-flight level panic. Eddie knows by now he was so panicked because his colleagues didn’t know about the fostering or adoption – and he could still kick himself for bringing it up unawares.

He jumped to the conclusion because Buck used to talk about it freely to anyone who asked, especially after he was adopted by the Moores. Because it was his way of signifying to the rest of the world that he’d made it from being abandoned to finding friends and family. So Eddie assumed that Buck wouldn’t act any different around his colleagues.

Far from it!

“Eddie, my friend.”

Eddie nearly jumps when Hen and Chimney materialize next to him.

Speaking of…

“Hi,” he greets them.

“How’re you liking it thus far?”

“The detergents smell not as bad as some others do,” Eddie snorts. “But I’m pretty sure that’s not what you came here to ask me about.”

“Just so that you know, you can tell us anything,” Hen says in that mild tone of voice, though Eddie is pretty sure she only says it this way not to scare him away.

“You are looking for bribing material on Buck, I take?”

“We always appreciate it, but we are more like… trying to get up to speed. Until you came to the station, we didn’t even know he’d been fostered,” Hen answers.

“Or adopted,” Chimney adds.

“In Texas.”

Eddie chews on the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, about that. So he actually found his sister?”

If seeing Buck nearly floored him, hearing about his sister was definitely not adding to Eddie’s calm.

“Yes, she’s my girlfriend. You’ll get to know her soon enough.”

There is a part in Eddie that’s very much relieved to hear that Buck found at least part of his family, but another part of him hurts at the news just as much. Because that means Buck likely learned some very uncomfortable truths about his past that won’t have added to the man’s confidence.

“Back in Texas, we knew nothing about where he came from, including whether he had siblings or not. There was an assumption, but no one could be sure.”

“How old were you by the time your grandmother fostered him?”

“I was eight years old.”

“Eight years old… Buck made it sound like he and Maddie were out of touch like, only by the time she got to know Doug.”

Eddie frowns. “Who’s Doug?”

“No one you want to know.” Chimney shakes his head.

Eddie shakes his head. All of this starts to make less and less sense. Why didn’t Buck tell them about any of this? Why didn’t he when he apparently found his sister? Why are they about as clueless as he is, even though they’ve been working side-by-side with him for how long now?

“We lost sight of each other when the Moores moved away from Texas. So they aren’t around anymore?”

Hen shrugs at that. “Let’s say we’ve never met them, never talked about them, or seen any pictures.”

“Kid arrived here with a travel bag and the will to become a firefighter,” Chimney adds.

Eddie can’t help but smile at that. “That sounds like him.”

“You sound pretty clueless actually, and not gonna lie, that is strangely reassuring,” Chimney snorts.

“I prepared for meeting many new people today. Not my best friend back from childhood.”

“Aw.” Hen clutches her hands in front of her chest.

“I just hope he’s not mad at me.” Eddie grimaces. There is something tugging at his heart, just thinking about it. A memory that goes way back in time. When he thought he’d messed it up with Buck forever and always, but he forgave quicker than Eddie could forgive himself.

“I don’t remember our Buckaroo being capable of keeping grudges for long.”

“Then that hasn’t changed at least,” Eddie sighs.

“I think you two should definitely get something to drink after work, reminiscence about the good old times. Catch up. Report back to us in the morning,” she says, her voice trailing off.

“You are aware that they are childhood friends.”

“But I can be far more intimidating.”

“I think getting something to drink and catch up is actually a good idea,” Eddie ponders. “So thanks.”

“You, I like.”

Eddie grins.

“You still missed a spot, though.”

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head. Buck made some good friends here, for what it seems. And he is more than glad for it. They can surely figure this all out.

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

Waking up this morning, Buck thought his biggest worry would be to sort himself out with regards to the newbie and his standing on the team as a result. While that remains true, he just didn't imagine for one hot second it may be Eddie of all people in the entire universe.

Eddie.

When Buck saw him at the station, he didn’t know how to breathe. Even though he hadn’t seen him in years, he knew instantly, only to know that he suddenly knew nothing anymore. Buck used to think he made his peace never seeing Eddie again after they moved away, but then Eddie was hugging him and all those things Buck made sure to bury deep in the ground started to crawl up through the dirt, scratching at a way too thin surface.

And now he is sitting at a bar, nursing his alcohol free beer – because he doesn’t drink when driving, he has to get people out of cars thanks to that behavior way too often, thank you very much. He is at a bar. With Eddie. His Eddie. Because Eddie invited him to get a beer after the shift, and Buck didn’t know how to say no.

Story of my life, isn’t it?

“… I don’t even know where to begin,” Buck admits after a while of awkward silence spreading between them, wherein both men just started peeling the label off of their bottles of beer.

“Same. I mean, you got a sister.”

“Yeah, ugh, I would have told you that, but Chim is still over the moon with her, so of course he mentioned her before I could. They are cute together, but at the disgusting kind of stage,” Buck ponders.

“I’m just so happy for you that you found your family, Buck.”

He manages a feeble smile. Because Buck knows that Eddie means it, understands it perhaps better than most. Because he had to deal with it growing up, had to deal with Buck dealing it growing up.

“I didn’t really find Maddie. We just… happened to meet again. Like us two did today.”

Eddie blinks at him. “Really?”

Buck nods his head. The universe always had the strangest kind of humor when it came to him.

“She’s a dispatcher now. We talked over dispatch for a while, not knowing who we are to each other. We decided to hang out. As friends. She didn’t know people in the city after she moved there only recently, so we also went to a pub and… we started to talk.”

Déjà-vu much, huh?

“Over time, I told her some stuff about my past and, well, Maddie realized that the timing seemed oddly familiar to the brother she thought had died,” Buck continues. “DNA test confirmed it.”

“I was wondering about that,” Eddie sighs, still trying to process that input for what it seems. “I mean, I really put my foot in it, just blurting out with this.”

Buck holds up his hands. “Eddie, no. You had any reason to believe I had told them. I suppose I’ve been blowing this up out of proportions anyway, so this is really just on me.”

“It’s your choice what you want to share with people about yourself, Buck.”

Buck blinks. Sometimes, he forgets how wise Eddie used to be already at a young age. He was also a dumbass a lot of times, but when it came to talking about Buck’s feelings instead of his own, the guy always knew how to make sense of the chaos and make Buck feel like his feelings weren’t just a tedious affair best ripped off like band-aids.

Eddie always understood Buck, even when he couldn’t understand himself. And Buck wants to think that the same was true the other way around, for as long as it lasted.

“Thanks.”

Eddie smiles at him, sipping from his beer.

“Speaking of, thanks to Maddie I now know my official name,” Buck continues, doing his best to sound jovial. “Evan Buckley.”

“Buck-ley. Well, that explains how you got the name,” Eddie ponders, before tilting his head to the side with a cocked eyebrow. “So do I call you Evan from now on?”

“If you want me to call you Edmundo?”

Eddie narrows his eyes at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Buck sniggers. “You should know better than to tempt me.”

“Evan.”

“Edmundo.”

“This sounds all kinds of wrong,” Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “For me, you can only ever be Buck.”

“Which is convenient, because I can only be Buck.”

There was a brief moment in time when Buck considered changing his name, taking on that identity, the one intended. In the end, he dropped the idea for what he hopes to be for good. He doesn’t know who this Evan Buckley was or what he’d be now. He knows what Buck was like growing up. He knows what the guy is up to these days. And while they have their qualms, he’s mostly at peace with Buck.

Even a name tag doesn't change a thing about it.

Because he’s Buck. And thankfully, Eddie sees it the same way. So maybe he’s not entirely crazy for holding on to that, however schizophrenic it may be in the end.

“Anyway, part of the reason why I managed not to let anyone in on this is that Maddie agreed to run with not mentioning it. We just stuck to the part where we lost sight of each other and found one another again when anyone asked. And until now, no one really questioned the timeline.”

“And no one ever made the connection between Buckley and Buck?” Eddie asks.

Buck shakes his head. “Maddie’s married name is Kendall. She considered changing it back to Buckley after she broke up with her scumbag husband. But when she found out what kind of scumbags our parents are, it was out the window. So no one had reason to question the difference in names and just assumed that Maddie’s birth name was Moore, too.”

“I take that there is no good explanation as to how you ended up in Texas, then,” Eddie sighs. Buck can tell that he’s trying to sound casual, soft, but the white-knuckled grip on the beer bottle is an entirely different story.

“No, not really. As far as we understand it, our parents moved across state borders under the pretense to get treatment for me. Then they just dropped me at a fire station and drove back. They told Maddie I died.”

“Why would they do that? Why would anyone’s parents…?” Eddie shakes his head, disbelief settling in. Buck knows the feeling oh too well. When he found out, it didn’t make sense to him at all. But as more details were added, the clearer the bigger picture became, though it turned none the brighter.

Buck looks around, just to be sure none of the 118 was sent here to spy on them. Once he is sure there is really just them, Buck hunches forward in his seat.

“Well, I was a big, fat disappointment, I guess. They had me to save their oldest son, Daniel. He had juvenile leukemia. I was… I was a savior baby. Just that… ugh, I didn’t save him. My guessing is that they never wanted me, so they gave me away after Daniel died. I was just there for spare parts anyway.”

Buck suddenly feels something cold in his neck, only to realize it’s Eddie’s hand gently squeezing it. Buck tenses for a moment, then eases to the familiarity of the touch, suppressing the urge to lean into it like he used to.

“I’m so sorry. I would’ve hoped for something else to come out of this.”

Buck manages a feeble smile. “It’s fine. I got a sister now I never expected to find. That’s great. Over the moon kinda great. And now I also ran back into you, too. So I’m one lucky bastard after all.”

Eddie’s hand lingers for a while, no words spoken and yet all is said between them. And how much Buck missed that. Not having to say things for them to be understood.

Eventually, Eddie’s hand falls on his shoulder, giving it a light pat before returning to his beer. “So we’re still friends after I spilled to your colleagues?”

“I didn’t stop being your friend after you got so mad for me saying that you couldn’t bake for shit, so you covered a balloon stuck to a cardboard box in frosting and told me you’d baked a cake and I cut the thing only for it to explode in my face.”

“To this day one of my proudest achievements when it comes to pranks,” Eddie snorts, breaking out laughing at the memory.

Buck can’t help but laugh along. Many of those memories got stuffed away alongside the ones he’d buried in the ground. He had no reason to unearth them because he chose not to tell anyone. But with Eddie, those things come back to light and they shimmer like gold, even after all those years of packing on dust.

“Laugh it up all you want, I got back at you eventually.”

“Don’t remind me,” Eddie groans. “I got grounded for a month because you led my parents to believe I’d be stupid enough to have a folder for porn on the family’s computer and made a message pop up every time that the folder was overloaded and created a system error.”

“Yeah. That was a masterpiece,” Buck sniggers. “But anyway. If that didn’t cancel our friendship, I think we’re fairly good with all this here.”

“Then I’m glad. When you fled the scene, I got kind of worried.”

Buck shrugs. “You know me. I’m a whirlwind of emotions, so I thought it’d be best if I took the time to cool down.”

“That was definitely not how you went about it before,” Eddie argues.

And Buck can’t argue with that. Back in the day, Buck just let the storms rage, never minding the consequences. On the job, that’s still how he rolls, but it was also how he talked, how he presented himself. After he got to meet the Diaz family, he stopped hiding a lot of things. He screamed when he felt like screaming and he cried when he was sad. He laughed when he was happy. And sometimes he even cried because he was that happy, but he learned that this was okay. Abuela always told him this and he took it to heart.

At least for as long as I could.

“Which is why I’m working on it. But anyway! Enough of me. Tell me about you. How long have you been in L.A.? What got you here?” Buck asks. Judging by the look on Eddie’s face, his transition of topics is not nearly as smooth as he’d want it to be, but Eddie rolls with it anyway.

“I moved here only shortly, for the job,” he says. “Before that, I was working some odd jobs. Before that, Afghanistan.”

Buck winces. “Shit.”

“Yeah, that’s one way of describing it. After I came back home injured, I couldn’t do this anymore. I had to set priorities differently, and somehow… I ended up in L.A.”

“Fresh start.” Buck nods his head. There is still so much to unravel in just those few sentences. Afghanistan. Injury. Priorities. Eddie tends to hide a lot more in his words, even more so when they are scarce. But for what it seems, he will now get the time to dig deeper. Because that is what Buck knows someone has to do in order to understand someone like Eddie Diaz.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“I get that feeling,” Buck says. “Los Angeles is great for that, worked out for Maddie and me, too.”

“We’ll have to drink a lot of beers to catch up on all those years we didn’t hear from each other to wind up having a fresh start in the same city.”

“Then it’s a date.”

Eddie wants to say something, but then his phone vibrates. “Sorry about that.”

Buck holds up his hands. “It’s fine.”

Eddie takes out his phone and checks his messages. Buck can see the instant shift in the other man’s demeanor. He knows that change like the back of his hand, even with years between where they parted ways and now crossed them again. Eddie’s shutting down.

“Hey, uhm, sorry, I gotta head out. It’s urgent,” he says, grabbing his wallet, clearly embarrassed and beat-up for having to leave so suddenly.

Some things don’t change, do they?

“Hey, it’s fine, man. We, ugh, we are stuck together now anyway, right? We’ll find enough time to catch up. It’s a date, after all,” Buck assures him. “Also, you’re not paying for the beer, unless you wanna pick a fight with me. Just go.”

Eddie smiles at him wryly. “Thanks. I’ll pay next round?”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Now off you go.”

“Sorry another time. I really gotta…”

“See you at work!”

“See ya!”

Buck manages to keep up the smile until the door shuts behind Eddie. His shoulders drop and he sucks in a deep breath. He pays for the beers and nearly flies out the door.

He makes for his car and climbs in. Buck realizes only now how badly his hands are shaking. Struggling for breath, he takes out his wallet again and fishes out that one crumpled piece of the past he carries with him whenever he’s not on the job, so to be sure it doesn’t get further damage.

Buck unfolds the faded photograph with shaky hands and presses it against his mouth, breathing hard against it. The tears keep coming, no matter how hard he tries to stop them. They are happy and sad. Desperate and relieved. Everything and nothing. And all that at the same time.

Eddie is back.

Eddie is back in his life, just like that, after the years it took him to accept he’d never see him again. That he’d moved on as he should have.

How do you rip off the band-aid or duct tape for that?

Or maybe that’s just the universe telling him that some things really can’t be fixed.

Because apparently, the universe is still mocking him.

[generallynerdy]

Direction (SPN Michael X Soulmate!Reader)

Summary: Michael feels empty. And sitting here, on a park bench, watching humans pass him as they buzz with life, such little, meaningless life, Michael feels it more than ever. Then, his father appears and gives him a nudge in the right direction.

Requested by Anon: omg yes i agree!! and i was wondering if you could write a soulmate au like the lucifer one where michael has come out of the cage and instead of chuck being evil he instead helps him find his soulmate? i just want him to be happy tbh that angel has been through too much and he deserves to be happy so whatever u come up with will be great! and thank u so much the both of you are amazing writers! ❤️

Key: (Y/N) - your name, (e/c) - eye colour Warnings: mentions of God and Lucifer, God & Lucifer Turned Good AU, I only mentioned Gabriel twice how could I, Adam is the CHILLEST bastard don’t worry about him, Michael’s a little depressed, mentions of God’s emotional abuse which out of context i would probably be crucified huh Word Count: 1,163

Note: wowowow three requests in a week who AM I also this is soft hskldfdskj it ends kind of abruptly but i hella vibe with it

     The world was still a strange place. Michael knew it would be, when he freed himself of the Cage, but he hadn’t realised it would change quite so much.

    Father was benevolent now. He and Lucifer had made their amends, both turning over a new leaf, supposedly. Gabriel was gallivanting the world as he usually was, but without the weight of family drama on his shoulders this time around. None of them had come to check on Michael, but he was unsurprised.

    He’d decided to wander, for a time, to allow Adam Milligan to truly experience life again.

    Adam was...well, Adam was content. He was without purpose, without direction, and yet he had no desire to find one. Humans, Michael thought, were odd. This one simply wanted to enjoy each day, each meal like it was the only thing he would ever need.

    Michael, on the other hand, was restless.

    All his life, he had been preparing for Armageddon. All his life, he’d served his father, served Heaven, in preparation for the End. But now, apparently, it wasn’t happening.

    He was empty.

    And sitting here, on a park bench, watching humans pass him as they buzzed with life, such little, meaningless life, Michael felt it more than ever.

    Which is why he had to fight off the surge of joy he felt when the shining light that was his father sat down beside him. A festering anger replaced it, driven by memories.

    "What do you want?" he asked bitterly, gritting his teeth.

If his father wanted to start another apocalypse, he might actually team up with Lucifer this time. Or maybe he would join Gabriel and drink copious amounts of alcohol. That sounded good right about now.

"Peace, Michael," his father said with that sort of smile that made him uncomfortable. "I'm not here to ask you to do anything."

He snorted. "That's a first."

God grimaced. "I know." With a sigh, he leaned back onto the bench. "You feel directionless. You need something to do, something to chase."

"What would you know about it?" he asked with a glare.

Michael had always played the perfect child. He had done everything his father asked. Everything and yet he got nothing but suffering out of it.

He didn't want to say Lucifer was right about everything because he wasn't, but he was definitely onto something. Their father was nothing like Michael had once thought. Maybe he was getting better now, thanks to the Winchesters, but that didn't erase everything that led them to this point. That didn't erase what he'd done to them.

"I know you'll never believe that I've changed and that-- that's fair," he sighed. "I just want to help you."

Michael scoffed. "What could you help me with?"

"Your brothers found things that made them happy, but they had starting points. You don't. I was hoping to give you a little push."

He raised an eyebrow, already concerned. Hopefully it wouldn't be a 'little push' off the edge of a cliff. That would be very much like his father.

"Humans are very surprising, I've found," God said, gesturing to them. "You know, I made one for you."

"You...what?" Michael asked, his throat suddenly dry.

"I made one for you and for each of your brothers. I didn't exactly mean for you to ever find them, but they're actually all alive around now."

He blinked a few times, utterly speechless. "And what would I need a human for?"

His father smiled. "Companionship, in any way you want. I dunno, it's up to you. That's the beauty of humanity; choices. You get to make all of them."

For a moment, Michael wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't entirely sure this was a gift, a blessing, anymore than it was a curse. What was a human meant to be to him?

"They're called Soulmates," he continued. "They're made to be your other half. You'll feel an immediate connection or draw to them. They can see your wings, too-- that's how you know you've found them."

"So you want me to seek out this Soulmate?"

He shook his head. "No. I wanted to show you to them. They're already here."

God gestured across the park. Michael followed his gesture to a tree off the main path, under which a human sat. Under which you sat.

"That one?"

God nodded. "That one."

"And what's so special about them?"

"Well, nothing and everything," he said with a shrug. "Humans are like that, you know, special in their own little ways. You'll like this one-- (Y/N)."

Michael glanced back at you.

You were a funny thing, he thought, sitting under a tree with an open book. There was music coming from your phone, quiet enough that it wouldn't bother any passerby but loud enough that it was no doubt the only thing you could hear. He couldn't see the title of your book, but it looked big enough to give any regular person a headache.

"They're clever, that one," God continued, "and patient. As patient as they'd need to be to put up with you, anyway. They're curious, too, more so about stuff that other people don't think is normal. The supernatural, the fictional; they like those sort of things. They like an adventure."

Michael frowned. "So you think that we would...get along?"

"Oh, you will," he said with a firm nod. "I made sure of it."

"And...they can see my wings? They can know who I am?"

"Yes. And the Winchesters already know who they are, too. I told them, just so they can keep them out of danger if you're not there," he explained.

Michael...hesitated.

It was unlike him. But really he was just unsure. He’d faced down the worst his father’s worlds had to offer, but this had him pausing. At least he knew what to expect from his brothers, from demons-- you were a complete mystery.

“Don’t feel obligated to try anything,” his father said quickly. “I just wanted to give you the option, son. Good luck.”

And with that final word, God was gone, leaving Michael to think.

He stared for a long, long time.

Finally, a voice that he knew as Adam echoed through his brain. They’re pretty cute. You gonna go over there?

Michael grimaced, glancing down at his hands. I haven’t decided.

Well, uh, it looks like they decided for you, his companion laughed.

He looked up abruptly and found himself met with an awestruck, (e/c) gaze. You’d turned off your music and were now openly gawking at him, glancing over at both his wings.

You tucked your book into your bag and stood, surprising him.

When you were a few feet in front of him, he stood as well, tucking the pair of bright white appendages closer to himself a little self-consciously.

“Sorry, but, uh…” you said hesitantly. “You have wings. Does-- does nobody else see those?”

Despite himself, Michael smiled.

Supernatural Tags: @missihart23

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

Masterlist

[miss-eucatastrophe]

Pairing: Levi x Erwin x Mike x Thick!Reader/PlusSize!Reader

Summary: When you purchased your first home you’d anticipated it being a turning point in your life. You just didn’t anticipate that turn to give you whiplash. 

A new home throws you into a new lifestyle you would have never thought you’d find yourself in-- with three men you’d never expected to be with. 

Rated: Explicit [18+]

Main Tags: Polyamory/Polyamorous relationship, BDSM, Attack on Titain Modern AU, Slow Burn

A/N: Hey all, Just some things about the reader in this fic before you get invested:

I keep the reader ambiguous in appearance and use [y/n]. Use of [y/n] becomes minimal in favor of pet names as the story progresses. 

One thing that is not ambiguous is that the reader is thick, you could also say plus sized though because that’s different in every country I favor the word thick. I also think its kind of a sexier adjective. 

Reader has self consciousness issues and anxiety, both are being treated/have been treated through therapy. I keep it ambiguous as to whether or not the reader is still in therapy-- regardless the reader is insinuated to be far along and doing well in her treatment. Shout out to my peeps who are/have been in therapy, your mental health is important and you’re doing great no matter where you are in it. 

Reader is in her mid to late 20��s because realistically purchasing a home before that is near impossible. Hell even in our 20′s its hard. I also wanted to give a little love to my thick girls in their later 20′s because we out here. 

A lot of AOT reader inserts, if not completely ambiguous, often emphasize a super fit form. Which makes sense in the typical setting when the reader is in the AOT world and maybe a soldier-- but I wanted to give some love to our fuller body types. Maybe I just got tired of reading “...reader’s flat/muscular stomach...” and going-- ooh can’t relate! Haaa. 

That being said, you can read this no matter what your body type because everyone’s perception of self is different-- I just wanted to give the heads up because the reader does struggle a bit with her sense of self in the story because of her body type as her self confidence continues to develop. 

BDSM dynamics ultimately take place in this fic. Some are good BDSM practices/etiquette, some are not good. Professionals know the difference and this is not your guide to polyamory or BDSM. The poor etiquette will be rather obvious but if you’re interested in pursuing BDSM in your real life, please don’t use this work of fiction as gospel. Do your research and practice safely! 

My fictional stories are for ADULTS. Do not read them if you are under the age of 18. 

With all that out of the way, Please enjoy~ 

Chapter 1:

“I got this,” A panted breath.

“I got this,” A strained grunt.

“Nope I lied.” A loud thunk of a heavy box hitting green grass.

“Told ‘ya so.” The brunette breathlessly quipped from her position beside another box, her arms haphazardly flung over its surface. “Can we please take a break now?”

Admitting defeat, you fell in a heap on the lawn and nodded your head, but not before running your forearm across your sweaty brow. “Okay, yeah,” your reply was just as breathless although your friend had given up long before you. “Like five minutes.”

The other female placed her chin on the box, framing her head between her outstretched arms. “Okay, yeah, like fifteen minutes.” She echoed in a tired din, attempting to get you to thoughtlessly agree to her editing of the time.

Though tired with your legs and arms throbbing under the surface of your skin, you shook your head. “No Sasha,” you said firmly. Though it sounded like you were trying to convince yourself over her. “If we take longer than five minutes, we’re gonna quit and we’re almost done!” You gestured with an open palm to the admittedly small moving van parked in the street in front of you. You’d made good headway with it. It was amazing how much stuff you could fit in such a small van.

It was amazing how little space said stuff could take up in such a big home.

Well, big might be a little generous. It was by no means a mansion, certainly not as big as some of the other models on the same street, but it was bigger than your previous living conditions.

More importantly it was yours.

Yours.

You smiled, looking up at the bright sky above you, dotted with a few fluffy clouds.

Your first home.

Your heart sped up when you reminded yourself. You had doubts that it would ever happen. Saving enough money to put a down payment on a home without loans or handouts was no easy feat. But you did it, and that hard work had paid off in achieving your goal. Your down payment was enough to make the house payments bearable; though for the first few months you could see that a majority of your income would go back into the home either in the form of said payments, filling the home with furniture, or renovating some of the areas that needed love.

Like the front yard.

The front yard needed some love.

Not the lawn. The lawn was good. The lawn was providing you and Sasha with a much-needed reprieve. Yes, the lawn could stay.

You loved lawn.

Lawn loved you.

Until your arms started to itch. A less than intimidating growl left your lips as you quickly sat up, your nails digging into your skin as you scratched at it for some relief before flailing your arms about to try and save them from the irritation—as if you could shake it off your flesh.  

“Back to work.” You chirped, making Sasha groan.

“Remind me what I’m getting out of this again?” She mumbled, her face planting itself back to the box to muffle her protests.

Kicking yourself up to standing, you looked over your shoulder with a playful smile, “I’m feeding you.” You reminded her.

After a long pause, perhaps letting your words sink in, Sasha released a huff, lifting her face and flexing her small arms in her baggy t-shirt. “Second wind!” she shrieked by way of a battle cry, her hands clenching the cube between her legs in a vice grip as she moved to a squat, yanking the box off of the pristine lawn.

Who would take such good care of a lawn but ignore the rest of the yard? The previous owner apparently. Then again, it made a bit of sense. It was easy to turn on a sprinkler system to keep a lawn looking fresh whereas the things you wanted to add would take work. Like flowers. You loved flowers. Though you’d struggle on and off with a potentially green thumb, unlike your mother who could make anything grow. Planting flowers was a must. You would work your way to the backyard. But the front yard was like a first impression and you wanted it to be pretty for when friends came over as well as for the strangers that passed by. You wanted people to say, “Oh what a cute house. Whoever bought it really spruced up the place. It looks much better. Oh, it so does, blah blah blah.” Should you care what other people said? No. But you were human. Besides, your mother always kept an immaculate home, you wanted to emulate her in the maintenance of your own home.

As always you were getting too ahead of yourself. You were thinking twelve steps beyond where you were. That could be dangerous. Such thoughts could stimulate anxiety. Something you were unfortunately prone to. You took a deep breath, stealing your resolve to focus on the present moment.

You lifted your gaze, letting it drag over the neighborhood. “Find every color.” You murmured to yourself.

Red, the roses on the bush two houses down.

Orange, the moving van.

Yellow, your shirt.

Green, the lawn.

Blue, the sky.

Purple, your struggled to find purple and made a note to plant some purple pansies to rectify that.

Pink, the flowers of the magnolia tree next door.

You took a deep breath. This was your favorite grounding exercise you’d learned from therapy. It forced you to stay in the moment, steel yourself, and stop racing thoughts—often times before they happened since now you were much better at recognizing the warning signs. It took a lot of work to get to this point. It was work you were proud of.

You took another breath.

First the van. Empty the van. One thing at a time.

A huffing and puffing Sasha stumbled down the shallow steps of the front door—your front door you though joyously—with her hands on her hips, bent slightly at the waist to pin you with judgement. “Excuse me? Am I do’n all the work around here?”

You smirked, nudging the box in front of you with the toe of your shoe, the memory of your struggle to lift it still fresh in your mind. You weren’t in a hurry for a repeat performance in spite of your hassling of Sasha. “Depends, how big of a meal you want?” You teased her.

The brunette scoffed. “If you want me to go at it alone then you better be treating me to a buffet.”

You giggled, though a twinge of envy settled in your chest. Sasha was a petite thing considering how much she ate. You were not. The fact that she could eat so much and still keep her shape while you struggled around your weight made you jealous. The thought of going to a buffet filled you with dread. You always wondered what people thought when they saw someone of thicker size stepping into one of those. It triggered the self-consciousness you were working on diminishing. It wasn’t as though you were lazy, ugly, or any other stereotypical term that so wrongly coincided with your set. Hell, you’d moved over half your old residence by yourself. You were strong! Your body could do amazing things. You just didn’t match the image plastered all over social media and society of what a woman “should” look like.

Size 0 mannequins could go fuck themselves.

You had hips, you had a butt, you had ample breasts—all things sexualized excessively in the female form—you just also had a little extra. Thick thighs, a bit of a tummy—society wanted you to have tits and an ass but when you had the addition that often went with those things naturally, you were frowned upon. It was a complete catch 22. However, society wasn’t going to change, not overnight. So instead you worked on yourself—or rather your perception of self. Therapy helped, but it was an everyday battle to combat two parts of your brain. The half that liked and appreciated the many elements of you, including your body—and the half that was an asshole.

Right now, the asshole was winning. Because of this you had no interest in taking Sasha to a buffet—which meant you had to actually pick up the box you were glaring at.

Bending over, you hoisted the box into your arms with refreshed energy and groaned as you started to your home. “Remind me again why we didn’t recruit the guys?” You mumbled; your voice strained with effort. You probably had books in there. Yeah that was absolutely the book box. Should have spaced those damn things out. What kinda dumb ass were you to put almost all of them in one box?

“Oh, it’s not that much and they’re working, we can totally handle it.” Sasha said, her voice mimicking yours as best it could, though laced heavy with sarcasm. “That’s you. That’s how you sounded.”

You were kicking yourself, “Talk some sense into me next time.” You called, over your shoulder, dropping the box just inside the door where it was going to stay until you either, one, had the energy to move it, or two, had finished putting up your half book shelf.

It was probably going to live there for a while.

“Already thinking about ‘next time’? Oh, no, you’re not moving for at least 10 years. You can’t get me to do this again before that.” Sasha said sternly when you walked back outside to meet her by the van. “I’ll book you for 10 years from now.” You agreed, leaning against the side of the vehicle while Sasha took a moment to fix her ponytail which had gone messy with her unloading efforts.

Walking around to the back of the moving van, you leaned down to pick up another box, a smaller one than the last and took a moment to look over what was left. Just a few bigger items. They were bulky but between the two of you they wouldn’t be difficult to manage. Getting the bed frame and headboard up the stairs was going to be a pain in the ass, luckily TV’s were thinner now so that would be easy to get inside, the bedside tables were small and each of you could carry one of those, the dresser was going to be a bit of a bitch…

You bit your lip, looking over the items and making a list of difficulty in your head. Once again you were filling your mind with ‘to-do’s. Luckily, a voice pulled you out of your own thoughts as you backed down the van’s slope.

“Hello girls!”

You turned around to see an older woman toddling down the driveway beside your own, holding a tray with cookies and two glasses of what appeared to be lemonade.

Putting on your best ‘first impression’ face, you gave the woman a bright smile and placed the box down at your feet to greet the woman who was undoubtably one of your new neighbors. “Hello ma’am,” you said politely. Sasha was too busy drooling over the cookies in the woman’s hands.

“Please, please, call me Della.” She said, lifting the tray in her hands to present the offering to you and Sasha, who was quick to snatch the lemonade and two cookies, chewing both of them at the same time with happy hums and grumbles. You nudged her with your elbow silently scolding her for bypassing the introduction process. Della waved you off, having noticed the subtle action. “She’s absolutely fine! I’m thrilled to have someone enjoy my baking so much.”

All the same, you introduced yourself before taking your own cookie. “It’s nice to meet you Della. I’m [y/n] and this is Sasha.” You took the tray from her and placed it on one of the taller boxes so you could shake the woman’s hand. “Thank you so much for the lemonade and treats.” How on earth had the woman baked that fast? You’d only been there about two hours and these cookies were absolutely fresh out of the oven. Clearly you were living next door to a witch. A kitchen witch. You were totally okay with that so long as she directed her baking powers on you regularly.

“These are amazing.” You mumbled around a mouthful of warm cookie, the flavor sitting on your tongue for a moment, only to have your pallet cleansed by the lemonade.

Della gave a bright smile, “Well thank you dear. It’s nice to have another darling couple to bake for.”

Sasha spit out the lemonade she was sipping, her eyes popping out of her head as she coughed.

You swallowed your bite to try and keep from choking yourself. “Oh! Oh gosh no. No Sasha is just helping me move in. She’s my best friend.” You clarified calmly.

Sasha was thumping her fist to her chest in an attempt to clear her esophagus. “Connie would kill me.” She managed to choke out between wheezes.

“I think he would be down.” You murmured around another sip of lemonade, teasing her.

Della however covered her mouth, looking a little embarrassed by her assumption. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I guess I’m just so used to our other neighbors.” she trailed off, gesturing to the house on the other side of yours. You took that to mean that your other neighbors were a gay couple.

You shook your head, “Don’t worry about it!” Honestly, you were pleasantly surprised to have an older woman be so openly accepting and progressive. Having a neighbor like that wouldn’t be half bad. Especially if she made a habit of sharing her cooked concoctions.

It seemed you’d managed to move to a rather well-rounded neighborhood. It made a smile tug at your lips.

“Will you be living alone, dear?” Della asked, smoothing her hands over the apron tied around her waist. The action cause tiny plumes of flour to drift in front of her before her green eyes came up to regard you with her full attention. It must be her way to ask if you had a significant other that would be moving in alongside you. To some it may seem prying, but you didn’t blame her for wanting to know a little more about the person living right next door to her.

Nodding your head, you reached for another cookie. You probably wouldn’t have normally, sometimes you felt odd eating in front of others— it might have something to do with your negative self-image—but in this case it seemed rude to not show how much you enjoyed the treats after your neighbor slaved over them for you. So, you justified the second as you answered her question. “Yep, just me.”

Humming her understanding, Della nodded in response. “Well don’t you worry. This is a very safe neighborhood. I’ve never felt nervous living alone.” She assured you.

It was not something you’d even considered. You’d lived on your own before, in truth you just slept with a baseball bat under your bed or a heavy flashlight by your nightstand. You’d never had to use them of course, but better have it and not need it than to need it and not have it. You were confident in your ability to defend yourself. As confident as an untrained baseball bat wielder could be anyway. It’s not as though you knew martial arts.

“That’s reassuring.” You told Della with a smile who returned your kind expression. “If you ever need anything, do let me know,” she said softly, picking up the tray as you and Sasha placed your glasses on it—though she handed you the plate of cookies which was for your to consume at your leisure.  “Us girls gotta stick together.” She winked, pulling a giggle from you before she gestured with her chin to your other neighbor’s home. “We’re outnumbered by boys after all.” She was just teasing but it clarified your suspicion of your other neighbors being a male couple.

“They’re very kind,” she added, “So I’m sure they’ll tell you the same. It’s a very lovely neighborhood.” She gave a little curtesy since she couldn’t wave. “I’ll let you girls get back to it!” She called as she walked back up to her driveway.

You smiled back, waving as she made her way to her home, “Thank you again! It was nice to meet you!” You raised the plate of cookies to Sasha’s view once the woman had retreated into her house after the brief welcome. “These are gonna be gone.” You whispered, walking past her to get them to the empty kitchen before you and Sasha could turn them to crumbs.

“Don’t you owe me a debt?” Sasha called after you, picking up the box the tray had once sat on top of.

You gave her a look over your shoulder. “I’m not giving you all my welcome cookies. I’m ordering pizza later.” For a moment you contemplated hiding the sweets. But that wouldn’t protect them from you. Just Sasha and her ravenous hunger.  

It took a little under an hour to get the remainder of the van emptied, without any interruptions—no matter how pleasant. Assembling the bed was a bit of a pain, as suspected, but it was the only piece of furniture you were going to rope Sasha into helping you with. You’d bought a few new pieces of furniture that were still in boxes, which made them easier to pack, but you still had to assemble them. You were confident in your ability to do so on your own. You’d put together enough furniture in your time; and Sasha had done more than enough to earn her pizza.

Thus, the remainder of the evening consisted of eating said pizza, demolishing the plate of cookies, and yelling at reality stars through the television about their actions even though they couldn’t hear you nor Sasha. Thank god you had gotten the cable hooked up day one. You at least needed internet to watch Hulu and Netflix.

Your spunky brunette friend didn’t stay too late. Bless her, she took it upon herself to take the van back to the rental facility for you so you could continue to get settled. The most important piece of furniture was already complete, ready for you to pass out on it when you gave up on the boxes.

To your credit, you managed to unpack most things that didn’t involve the furniture still needing to be assembled. In fact, you unpacked and sorted all your kitchen ware very easily. The kitchen was a good place to start because it didn’t require the rearrangement of furniture which would inevitably come with unpacking areas like your bedroom. Empty cabinets, drawers, and countertops were a blank slate that only required methodical stuffing. Most people’s kitchens were relatively similar in where cutlery went, mixing bowls, cups, pots, and pans—there was only so much variability. It wouldn’t require the careful placement needed to make a space cozy and inviting. It just had to be functional and neat.

Another aspect that made the kitchen simple was your lack of items. Again, this home was much larger than your previous residence. It had much more space for things. Things you didn’t have but would come with time. You were rather excited to shop around for new things to fill your kitchen as well as the rest of your house.

You’d also managed to unpack some knick-knacks and items that would be set on already constructed furniture, like photographs of your family and friends. One of your favorite pictures included you, Sasha, and Connie in Disneyland. Because you were never too old to enjoy Disneyland. It had been your first trip with friends instead of family when you’d reached adulthood. You smiled fondly back at the joyous photo, all of you wearing Micky Mouse ears and grinning at the camera.

Connie and Sasha were two of your closest friends and though they were together romantically they never made you feel like a third wheel. You enjoyed their company dearly. The picture would get a place of honor in the living room before you went to bed that night, concluding your first day of unpacking.

-

The next two days went by in a blur of screws, hammers, nails, bubble wrap, newspaper, and boxes as you unpacked neatly tucked items and assembled furniture that was somehow always missing a screw or two that probably wasn’t important to the overall design anyway. Hopefully, the instructions were more like guidelines. So long as the furniture was sturdy and looked the way it did in the picture, it was fine. A lot of it was place holder furniture anyway. Rather cheap IKEA stuff that would serve to fill space and allow storage as you’d slowly accumulate nicer goods overtime.

It was a process, you reminded yourself, and the home wouldn’t be perfect or look like a catalog home right off the bat. It was what your mother had told you as well when you told her you were buying your first home. Her encouragement and soothing words also helped to keep you grounded much like the techniques you were still learning and utilizing from your time in therapy.

You’d hardly been out of the house since Friday when you first moved in and in spite of your fatigue caused by tedious unpacking, you were itching to start work on the front yard.

Not the backyard.  

That was an adventure you weren’t ready for. You didn’t have an idea mapped out for that yet and weren’t going to spin out trying to construct a plan for it. The backyard would be last. Mainly because that was going to be a big project. It wasn’t poorly maintained, but it was empty. It had a nice lawn, much like the front yard, but that was it.

A blank slate almost overwhelmed you more. It allowed too many options. When you were ready, you’d likely ask the opinion of your parents or friends. Picking their brain for ideas would be helpful and take some of the burden of decisions from your shoulders.

But that was another day, likely many weeks from where you stood now.

Where you stood now was The Home Depot, in the gardening section, looking over the flowers, shrubs, pots, and yard décor they had to offer.

As you promised yourself earlier, you picked up some purple pansies, leaving every other flower and shrubbery up to the whimsy of your mood. Once you had enough plant life to fill the sparce areas of your new home you picked out a few more gardening essentials that you were severely lacking in. Such as gardening gloves, a trowel, and a small bag of soil to fill the few cute pots you would put on the front porch containing succulents. Because succulents were hard to kill—and admittedly you were still a bit green regarding the whole gardening thing.

Pun very much intended.

You snorted at your own stupid joke.

People looked at you in the checkout line.

You looked away, chagrinned.

Quickly, you paid for your greenery items and scurried out to your car. You would start planting right when you got home. It was still early in the morning, hardly 9:00 am. Way earlier than you liked to get up if you were being honest. But, if you started now you could get most of it done before it got too hot.

-

This was Mike’s favorite way to start the morning. With his heart pounding in his ears to the tune of his running mix, his nose filled with the fresh scent of the creek’s running water, and his bare shoulders gently warmed by the sunlight dancing through the canopy of trees overhead.

Almost every day before work, Mike would jog down to the creek trail not far from the house, enjoy the scenery, make a loop or two around the two mile-long path, and then jog home. It was a routine that never changed. He’d been doing it for years now and the consistency was part of what grounded him. He would credit his morning run with assisting in coping with his PTSD. Going without triggered his anxiety and instantly set a poor tone for his day. As such, his boyfriends were good about allowing him to untangle from the sheets every morning, despite one not being a morning person—because he hardly slept in the first place— and the other being a bit of a cuddlier, though he would insist Mike was the cuddlier. Not himself.  

A smile tugged at Mike’s lips at the memory. He wiped his sweating brow with his shirt which was draped around his neck rather than on his body. He’d discarded it early in his run in favor of feeling the light breeze tickle over his bare torso.

His breathing changed as dirt road turned back into concrete when he turned from the creek trail back onto the sidewalk of the main streets of his neighborhood, making his way towards home.

As home came into view, his jog slowed to a walk, allowing his muscles to feel the rush of blood flow under his skin, the tingling throb of adrenaline cycling through his system becoming more noticeable with the shift of pace. Mike’s arms stretched over his head before bending at the joints. His hands folded behind his skull just under the knot of his blonde hair—the half up hairstyle keeping his shaggy bangs out of his face.

Getting closer to his home, he noticed a difference in the normally consistent pattern of houses along the street. A person was in the yard of the house beside his. Their old neighbor had never spent time tending to the yard. He hummed a curious sound. He hadn’t yet had the opportunity to introduce himself to their new neighbor. The “for sale” sign had been taken down days ago, and he vaguely remembered the presence of a moving van without occupants when he’d left for work that Friday.

Mike pulled his phone from his pocket, pausing his music before taking out one of his earphones as he got closer to the house. Though his own music was silenced, a new tune hit his ears, getting louder the closer he got to the kneeling form. The music wasn’t so loud that he would have to yell over it—he could probably clear his throat and the stranger would hear him.

With every intention to politely do just that, he opened his lips and—

Stopped dead in his tracks the moment he got behind the stranger because of what he was greeted by.

There you were, in front of him, on your hands and knees, back arched and your body at an incline as you dug the hole in front of you. But that’s not what got his attention. It was that your legging covered ass was perfectly on display, high in the air, round and inviting.

Mike stood there; mouth partially agape without realizing it. It was a few moments of ogling before he could take in more than that. He picked up your gentle voice, humming to the tune of what was playing on your portable speaker, he picked up the scent of flowers and damp earth, and he picked up on your doe like eyes wide with surprise. It was only then he noticed you had turned around away from your project, hand on your heart as you let out a yelp of surprise at finding someone standing behind you.

A giant standing behind you.

“H-hello…” you murmured, collecting yourself as you moved to turn down your music to a gentle background noise.  

Mike was able to take that time to gather himself. He quickly closed his mouth, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck. The man made a conscious effort not to stare, though now that he could see your face it was becoming even more difficult. A cute face to go with a nice ass. A blush dusted his cheeks. Hopefully covered by the sun kissed pigment of his skin.

God willing.

“Uh sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He lifted his hand not currently on the back of his neck, pointing to the house to his left, the one with the magnolia tree. “M’name’s Mike Zacharias, I live next door.” He put on a smile though it was no less sheepish than his previous expression. “I hadn’t had the chance to introduce myself yet.” He was thankful to have a cover up to his staring.

You paused for a long moment, the gears in your head almost audible—then recognition flashed over your face. Part of you was trying to recall the conversation you’d had with Della on move in day, the other part was mesmerized by the husky voice.

The sudden brightness that filled in your eyes when you smiled had Mike’s heart in his throat.

“Oh! Yes,” Pulling yourself up to standing, you rubbed your palms together to brush off the dirt and then pulled off one of your gardening gloves, extending a clean hand to him. “I’m [y/n] [l/n]. It’s nice to meet you.” You were extremely eager to make a good impression on your neighbors. You thought you had done a pretty good job with Della—though her cookie offering had done most of the work for you. It was imperative you get along with Mike and his partner. After all, you’d gotten very lucky with most of your neighbors throughout your life. Most of that was due to your parents. Your mother was friendly, polite, and warm. Your father was boisterous, funny, and generous. You strived to offer the same mix to your neighbors and have a good relationship.

You had seen enough episodes of “Fear Thy Neighbor” to understand that a poor relationship on either side of you could wreck an otherwise comfortable home life.

Of course, “Fear Thy Neighbor” was the most dramatic of examples often leading to violence and murder.

You should probably stop watching the ID channel.

Stick to the stupid reality shows.

Mike swallowed thickly, the dusted pink in his cheeks brightening. His large palm engulfed yours and it was as if his blush traveled from his face, down his arm, through your hands and up to your own cheeks. His hand was huge, it practically swallowed yours. Your palm was completely swaddled by the deceptively gentle squeeze of a rough hand, slight calluses made firm by some sort of labor you couldn’t name.

With your surprise having warn off from the initial contact you found yourself fully registering the man in front of you—

And holy shit if your brain didn’t almost immediately short circuit again.

First of all, he was a giant. Already established—but something you didn’t truly comprehend until you’d stood and fully approached him from your botany project. If you dug the hole you were working on a little deeper, you were pretty sure you could plant Mike up to his knees and he’d continue growing into the tree he so clearly was.

Second of all there was his face which was generously exposed by his tied back dark blond hair. Hazelly-green eyes, pronounced nose—that fit him perfectly, and a strong jaw lightly bearded along it as well as his upper lip.

Your eyes followed the curve of his jaw down his neck, past his broad shoulders and onto a sparsely haired chest just where his defined pectorals met. If you followed the path from his chest down to his toned stomach, which you absolutely did, you found the same light etching of hair extending from his navel down to his—

Your eyes quickly darted back up to his face, your own heating up substantially as your hands all too soon disconnected.  

Mike placed his hands on his hips which served to flex his strong arms and momentarily distract you again.

If you could have slapped yourself subtly, you would have done so. But with those hazel eyes boring into you, you settled for mentally berating your thirst. ‘Get it together woman. He’s taken… and gay.’ But gay came second to taken. It was important to respect a preexisting relationship. It was important to respect sexuality too.

But—

You could look, right? No harm in looking. That’s why people went to museums. To drool over the Statue of David.

That throaty voice pulled you back to focus. “So, is it just you?” If you weren’t completely sure that the man in front of you was gay, the question would have sounded hopeful.

He must have just been asking so he could introduce himself to any other potential newcomers.

“Yep just me. It’s my first house.” He didn’t ask for that second part, but you were proud. You were proud of having your own home and doing so alone. You didn’t have to depend on anyone to get to this important step in your life. That wasn’t something many people could say. You weren’t trying to brag—it was just that residual excitement of having achieved one of your life goals.

Mike to his credit seemed excited for you. His eyebrows raised, as if impressed. Buying a home was getting harder and harder for every generation. Though he didn’t seem too much older than you. Probably in his early 30’s. Even if he were ten years older than you that would be a generational gap and that meant the struggles to find a home were different between the two of you. However, you didn’t think he could be that much older than you considering you were in the later part of your 20’s. 30’s seeming to creep ever closer. But seeing Mike reminded you that your 30’s didn’t make you old in the slightest. The more you looked at Mike, the better your 30’s looked. Because fuck if Mike wasn’t fine as hell.

You were thinking too far ahead again, this time years.

To pull yourself from your spinning thoughts, you looked back at Mike’s face. The smile momentarily dazed you. Because of course he would also have perfect teeth. “Congratulations, that’s wonderful.” He murmured, looking to your house for a moment and then back at you. The house was rather large for one person. “No significant other chomping at the bit to invade your space yet?” The tone was teasing, and you managed a laugh which dispelled your previously spiraling thoughts. God, sometimes you didn’t even notice when they were spiraling.

Mike seemed interested in your relationship status. It put little butterflies in your stomach which were squashed when you looked down at yourself. Even if Mike were interested in females, why would he be interested in you?

You growled internally at those disparaging thoughts to shut the fuck up. You counted to three in your head, a brief distraction from those thoughts used to ground you in the present.

Normally, you preferred your longer methods of distraction, like your colors. However, those weren’t feasible when in the middle of a conversation with your hot neighbor.

“Nope, no boyfriend or anything. Just me and maybe a dog or a cat at some point.” You grinned at the idea, reminding yourself that now that you had your own home no one could tell you if you could have a pet or not. No landlord, no parent, no roommate—no permission needed.

The twinkle in Mike’s eye was easily missed. “My votes’ for a cat,” he murmured offhandedly.

“Not a dog fan?” You asked playfully. Though maybe he was worried about you having a yappy dog that he would have to listen to all day. Understandable.

“No, I like dogs too,” Did his voice get a little deeper? “Just always been fond of kittens.” His eyes slid over you, a smile tugging at his lips that made your blush from earlier give an encore performance.

‘Taken. And. Gay.’ You reminded yourself, willing the blush to dissipate and scolding yourself for reading too much into his gaze. Schooling your expression with the same friendly smile you’d given Della; you nodded your head. “Well I’ll just have to drag you along when I adopt one, then you can play with some pussy.”

Oh lord.

That was a Freudian slip if there ever was one.

You felt your face go hot and resisted the overwhelming compulsion to connect your palm to your forehead. Inappropriate joke for a first meeting—for sure.

Mike’s eyes flashed with something you couldn’t name, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I’ll take you up on that,” he grinned, and the expression was playful, putting you a bit more at ease. “It’s been far too long since I’ve played with a cute pussy.”

Your thighs squeezed together. Unnoticeably, you prayed.

Mike must have been messing with your somewhat unintentional word choice. Though you were happy that Mike seemed to be the lighthearted type. You could see yourself forming a friendship with the man. Hopefully, his boyfriend (husband?) was half as laid back.

You also hopped his partner was half as sexy.

Because if he was just as sexy as Mike, you were going to suffer a heat stroke.

The giant grinned, tilting his head to gesture to his home. “I gotta get ready for work.” Was it your imagination or did he look a bit reluctant? His grin was back in place too soon to really tell. You nodded your head politely with a little wave just before he turned away.

“It was nice to meet you.” You called, getting back on your knees next to the little pit you’d dug for your shrub.

The blond looked over his strong shoulder as he made his way down the sidewalk and threw you a very obvious wink. “Catch ya later, kitten.” He replied before he rounded his driveway and walked up to his front door, giving you one more glance and disappearing inside the much larger home.

Blinking, you sat frozen for a few moments before your eyes drifted to the hole beside you. Maybe if you dug it a bit deeper you could bury yourself in it.

Because Mike was surely going to be the death of you.

-

When Mike got back into the house, he had to lean against the door, tilting his head back to let the cooling air of the AC drench his heated skin. Though at this point the heat was less from his run and more from the cute new neighbor. It took everything in his power not to pin you to the dirt right there. He let out a little groan, hardly audible.

But just audible enough.

A voice, smooth as honey called from around the corner. “Mike? You alright?”

Mike hummed an affirmative and pushed himself off the door to make his way to the kitchen where the voice was coming from. If he didn’t answer right away, he knew the male would come searching for him and instantly begin to drill him on his mental state. There was no need for that.

His mental state was good. Very good this morning.

His large palm came up to slide over the marble of the kitchen island as he bypassed it to get to the fridge, sticking his head in for longer than necessary to retrieve a water bottle. A soft crack filled the room as he twisted the cap, breaking the seal as he turned to face the kitchen table. Two sets of eyes peered over at him. One set a bright blue; the color of the ocean, the other a stormy grey sky.

The honey voice spoke again, the blue eyes having been peering behind a newspaper completely revealed by its placement on the table. “Good run I take it?”

“Looks a little too happy about a run, Erwin.” The stormy eyed male murmured from behind a teacup held at the rim.

Mike smirked a little. Levi always was perceptive. They both were. But Levi noticed subtleties far more quickly than Erwin did. “I met our new neighbor.” He brought the opening of the bottle to his lips, letting the chilled liquid sooth his throat of the dryness from his run.

“Oh?” Erwin asked, leaning back in his seat and tilting his head back as a silent hint for Mike to lean down to him. Levi was good at noticing subtleties, but Mike was good at reading hints. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Erwin’s, his own cool and water glazed compared to Erwin’s soft and warm ones. “Mm hm,” He confirmed while righting himself. “And Levi,” Mike moved to the other side of the table, tilting Levi’s head back with a fingertip to direct his gaze to him which had been glued upon the novel in his left hand. The ravenette looked up from his book with the giant’s prompting, gaze aloof and seemingly disinterested. However, the look in Mike’s eyes gave him pause.

Since Mike knew Levi, really knew him, he noticed the curiosity lingering behind that seemingly blank expression.

Mike pecked his lips to the shorter male’s, whispering against them. “She’d be perfect.”

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 3 | And Miss Out on Mum Meeting the Girl You Married Without Telling Her? Not a Chance

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Molly finally gets to meet Luke and they try to convince him that this marriage is not some elaborate plot to manipulate the press.  And Tom makes a critical error.  We learn more about Molly and her past. 

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

–

Tom regretted drinking two cups of espresso the next morning before heading to Luke’s. He definitely regretted not eating anything more than a piece of toast with butter and marmalade. Even after Molly offered to make something for him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to make you eggs, an omelette? I could probably manage some French toast before we have to leave.” Molly sipped her tea as she ate some oatmeal. 

French toast sounded divine at the moment as Tom’s stomach did somersaults. Molly’s knee bounced in the passenger seat on the way to the Prosper office. 

“Do you think Luke will yell at me?” Molly asked. “I don’t do well when people yell at me.”

Tom’s head snapped over at her. She sighed. 

“Foster parents are not always kind. Bio parents can be worse.” She wrung her hands. 

He reached over and squeezed Molly’s knee. “I promise I won’t let him yell at you.” 

“Thank you, Tom. Are we telling him the truth?” 

“Only if necessary.” 

“Then what are we telling him?” 

“That I went to Vegas, and I fell madly in love with you and on a whim we got married.”

“A fanciful tale.” Her head dropped to her chest. 

“Oh, I don’t know, darling. You sell yourself short. You’re bright, funny, caring and dare I even say easy on the eyes.”

Molly blushed. “Thank you. You are not so bad yourself. Although I seriously question your dietary habits.”

Tom chuckled. “I’ll work on it. And I hope after all of this we will be good friends.”

“Me too.” 

“Looks like we are here.” Tom parked the car on the street. He hustled around to open Molly’s door and help her out. “Time to face the firing squad.” Her eyes widened. “Kidding!”

By the time the meeting was done, Molly wished it had been a firing squad. 

-

“Luke, this is Molly Bishop, now Hiddleston.” Tom wrapped his arm around her waist. “My wife.” 

“My condolences.” Luke shook Molly’s hand. 

Molly’s brow furrowed. “I…” 

“Of all the stupid shit you have ever fucking done—” Luke started in on Tom. 

“Luke, watch your tone.” Tom jabbed a finger in his publicist’s face. “You are not to yell at Molly.” His bright blue eyes flashed and his fists clenched. 

Luke took a step back. “Right. Take a seat and let’s see if we can straighten this out.” 

They sat next to each other. Molly reached for Tom’s hand and he took it. Luke sat down behind his desk, staring at the two of them. Luke pinched his nose hard and took several deep breaths. Before speaking, he poured a glass of water and dropped two Alka-Seltzer into the water. Molly stared at the whole thing. Tom leaned over. 

“For later. Luke says I give him indigestion.” he whispered.

“And headaches.” Luke added.

“I can understand the feeling.” Molly muttered under her breath.

“I beg your pardon!” Tom twisted around to face Molly. “Et tu. Is this about the vegetables?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to eat one every so often. You’re not 21 anymore.”

Tom gritted his teeth. “I said I would work on it. Can we not talk about this right now?”

“You’re the one who brought it up. I was just making a comment.”

Luke’s head bounced back and forth like watching a tennis match, a smirk growing on his face.

“You two are good. Really good. Damn Tom, the lengths you will go to… hiring an actress to pretend to be your wife, that’s—”

“We got married, Luke. In Vegas.” Tom retorted. “Darling, do you have the copy of the license?”

Molly grumbled. “I do, but we are not done with the whole diet thing.” She rummaged through her purse and produced the folded piece of paper. “Show him the photos.” She whispered to Tom as she handed over the license. 

“I’m not showing him the photos unless I have to.” Tom hissed.

“Show me the photos, Tom.” Luke beckoned him. 

Tom side eyed Molly and handed over the license and his phone. Luke glanced at the license and then scrolled through the photos, eyes growing wider. He zoomed in on one and squinted. 

“Is that a spider ring?” he asked.

“His name is Clive.” Tom deadpanned.

Luke cuts his eyes at Tom. “Of course, you named it. You wouldn’t happen to have the ring, would you?” He turned to Molly.

She let loose a breath, exasperated. “Honestly,” she jabbed a finger at Tom and then Luke. “I was not expecting the Spanish Inquisition.” She dug through her purse again. “You are both lucky that I planned ahead.” Molly slammed the two Tiffany boxes on the desk. “There, here is your pound of flesh.”

Luke opened the boxes and found the spider ring and plastic gem ring. His eyes went to their proper rings and then ran his hands through his hair. 

“Holy shit, you got married.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “I have been saying that for the last 24 hours, mate. Can we move on?”

Molly giggled. 

“I… I… apologize. Sorry.” He sputtered, he turned to Molly. “I’m sorry, Molly. You have no idea the things this man has put me through.”

“I can imagine.”

“Hey! I—”

“Not talking to you, Tom.” Luke held up a hand. “I am talking to your bride. Clearly the reasonable one. Although she did marry you, so…”

Tom slumped in the chair. “Two of you. I thought you were on my side.”

Molly reached over and rubbed his arm. “I’m always on your side, honey.”

Tom smiled and leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, darling. Do you believe me now, Luke?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes, I do.” He slammed his hand on his desk, rattling his water. “Now let’s talk about these.” He held up several newspapers.

Forty-five minutes later, they finally ended the meeting. Tom was starving. Luke grilled Molly about her background. By the end of everything, Tom now knew that Molly spent the ages of 12-18 in foster care, went to college where she worked two jobs to make ends meet, and has no contact with her younger brother who was adopted. Tom felt a twinge of guilt listening to Molly tell her life story. He never really bothered to ask. 

Luke led them to the door but stopped short. 

“How did your mom take the news, Tom?” Luke asked. Tom froze and paled. Luke leaned in. “You did tell her?”

Molly glanced between them. “I thought you called her when we got home.”

Tom ran his hands through his hair. Little bits stuck up. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened. “I forgot. I was distracted by someone yelling at me.”

“You haven’t told your mother about us?!” Molly screeched. 

Luke chuckled, which soon turned into a full belly laugh. “You are so dead, Tom.” Molly gasped. “You will be fine, Molly, but pray for your husband. There is nothing scarier in this world than Diana Hiddleston mad at her only son.” 

Molly gulped. “I will keep that in mind. Now if you excuse us, we have some calls to make.” 

Tom nodded, still reeling from the fact he didn’t tell his mum, or his sisters, that he got married. Fake or not. He hoped she hadn’t seen any of the photos yet. But knowing Emma and Sarah, they sent her the links. “Right, calls.” 

Molly pushed Tom out of the office and towards the elevator. She waved bye to Luke as the doors closed. 

“That went better than expected.” Molly shifted her weight from side to side.

“Yeah, yeah!” Tom blinked and came back to reality. “You were brilliant. What made you think to bring the rings?”

“People have the tendency to believe you when you can present physical evidence. That, coupled with the photos, lends credibility. I mean, who gets married with a plastic spider ring?” She laughed and Tom joined in. 

“Genius, really. Luke would have never—” Tom’s stomach rumbled. He blushed. “You were right I should have eaten something.” 

Molly stretched to reach his cheek and gave him a quick peck. “You will soon learn I am always right. Let’s find you some food and then you call your mother.”

“Fine.”

-

They found a place for Tom to grab a sandwich since it was too late for breakfast and not quite time for lunch. Molly stared on as Tom inhaled the sandwich, a bag of potato chips, and a bottle of water. 

“Did you taste any of that?”

Tom glanced up at her as he poked the last bit of the sandwich into his mouth. “Yes.” 

She shoved a napkin towards him. “You have crumbs on your face.”

Tom swallowed. “Thanks.”

“Call your mother.” 

Tom slouched. “Can’t we wait until we get home?” 

“No.” She stared him down. “If you don’t do it, I will.” Molly lunged for his phone, but Tom was too fast and grabbed it first.

“I’m calling her right now.” He held the phone to his ear, praying it would go to voicemail.

“Tom!” Diana’s warm voice filled his ear. “How are you doing, love?”

“Doing good. A bit of jet lag, I was in Vegas over the weekend.”

Diana hummed. “And how is Luke?”

Tom chuckled. “Angry at me as always.”

“If you would just listen to him…”

“I like her.” Molly popped in.

Tom waved her off. 

“I know, Mother. Listen,” He fidgeted with his hair again. Molly realized it was an absolute tell when Tom was nervous. “I was wondering if you might like to grab some lunch this week. We can catch up. So much as happened since I last saw you.”

“I would be delighted, Thomas. Why don’t you come up to the house? Does Wednesday work for you?”

Tom mouthed “Wednesday” to Molly, who shrugged her shoulders.

“Like I’m doing anything? You and Luke are the only people I know here.”

“Right.” He returned to the call. “Wednesday is perfect, mum. Noon?”

“It’s a date. Don’t forget to bring that wife of yours, Thomas. I am quite keen on meeting her.”

All the blood drained from Tom’s face. “I… I… can explain—”

“I’m sure you can. On Wednesday. I have to go, love. It was good to chat.” The line went dead.

Tom stared at the phone. “I’m so dead. She knows about you.”

“Oh, she knows. You are her son. And didn’t you mention having sisters? They totally ratted you out.” Molly smiled at him.

-

Tom had some appointments on Tuesday which kept his mind occupied from seeing his mother the next day. Molly took some time to figure out how to change her name, get a new passport, and figure out how to maneuver life in a foreign country. Tom took her to get a phone that would work. 

“Here you go.” 

The first thing she did was snap Tom to add to his contact list. He was laughing in the photo.

“Don’t use that one!” Tom pouted. “Let me pose.”

“But I like this one. It captures your essence.”

But now it is Wednesday morning. Tom woke up early to go for a run. Molly was already up, sipping tea in the living room.

“Can I join you?” she asked upon seeing Tom in workout gear.

“I run about three miles…”

“Sounds perfect. Give me two minutes.” She bounded off the couch towards her bedroom. 

Tom fiddled with his headphones until Molly emerged in sneakers and workout leggings. Over the ear headphones around her neck. 

“Ready to go.” She tucked her phone into a pocket. “I will just follow you.”

“Let me know if you need to turn around.” Tom winked as they set off.

They returned home about thirty minutes later.

“Sure you don’t want to go another mile?” Molly bounced on her feet. 

Tom breathed hard. “Maybe another time. I’m a bit out of shape. You run?”

Molly nodded. “Most days I run. If I get up in time. I miss the gym.”

Tom chuckled. “We need to get you a membership. And I need to ..get into shape myself. Can’t let my wife show me up in paparazzi photos.” he half-joked. 

Molly coughed. “They take photos of you running?!”

“Sometimes.” He took a sip of water, his heart rate going back to normal. “Definitely now with you in the picture.”

Molly raised an eyebrow, stepping towards him, grabbing the water bottle from him. “Think they are out there right now?” 

Tom glanced around and sure enough, he spied a few cameras with zoom lenses down the street.

“Yup.” 

Molly wrapped her arms around his neck. “Maybe we should give them a more scandalous photo.” 

Tom leaned down. “What did you have in mind?” he smirked as Molly tugged his head towards her and her lips crashed against his. She sighed and Tom slipped his tongue into her mouth. Molly did the same. As he fisted the back of her shirt, Tom noticed one of Molly’s arms moving. 

“AH!!” He screamed as the cold water poured down on his head and Molly jumped back laughing.

“I thought you needed a little cooling off.” she laughed.

Tom lunged for her with a smile on his face, droplets of water falling from his hair. 

“You’ll pay for that!” Tom gave chase, while Molly dashed into the house, screaming and laughing.

She made it as far as the living room before Tom’s long legs caught up with her.

“Got you!” 

Tom grabbed her by the waist to pull her towards him, but their feet slipped and they ended up on the couch. Tom on top of her. Their eyes locked for a moment before Tom scrambled to his feet. 

“I’ll get you all wet.” he commented nervously. “I should…”

“Right.” Molly nodded, sitting up. “I’ll make some breakfast. Eggs and toast. I don’t know what your mother is planning on for lunch.”

“A light breakfast would be best.” Tom shook out his now soaked t-shirt and Molly caught a glimpse of his abs. 

“No problem.” She smiled. 

They both headed off in different directions. When it was time to leave for Diana’s house, Molly fidgeted with her casual dress and knee-high boots.

“Do I look okay?” she glanced at Tom in jeans and a sweater. “I’m overdressed. Look at you, casually gorgeous. I’m going to change. I have nothing to wear. Nothing to wear…” Molly’s face broke down.

Tom wrapped his arms around her. “What’s going on, darling?” She buried her head in his sweater. “You didn’t freak out like this when we went to go see Luke.”

“That was business. This is your mother. I don’t do well with families, particularly mothers. What if she hates me?” 

He kissed the top of her head. “First off, you look beautiful. Second, if my mum hates anyone between the two of us, it will be me. She is going to love you, darling.” 

Molly sniffled and dabbed her eyes with the back of her fingers. “Really?”

“I am 100% certain. Now let’s get on the road.”

Molly smiled and nodded. The fear wasn’t gone, but she felt better knowing Tom would be there with her. That fear came rushing back as they stood on the front step of the house of Diana Hiddleston. Tom reached for Molly first. 

“I’ve got you, darling.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek right as the door opened.

“Gross, Tom. And at Mum’s house no less.” Emma gagged.

Tom’s cheeks turned a bright pink. “Emma! I didn’t expect you to be here.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “What a surprise.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “And miss out on Mum meeting the girl you married without telling her, not a chance.” Emma turned to Molly. “Emma.”

“Molly B… Hiddleston.” She smiled and extended her hand. Emma shook it with a firm grip.

“The papers didn’t give a name. She seems nice, Tom. Clearly she doesn’t know the real you.”

Tom continued to blush. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Em. Can we come in or are we eating on the front step?”

Emma held the door open wide and stepped aside. They stepped inside. “Mum’s in the kitchen.”

As if on cue, Diana’s voice rang out. “Is that them, Emma?” 

“They just got here!” she yelled before turning back to them. “She’s been cooking all day.” 

Molly gulped. Tom squeezed her hand. An older woman with grey white shoulder length hair. She came up to Tom's shoulder, if that.

“You were supposed to tell me when they got here.” she scolded Emma.

“I was on my way to tell you.” 

“Go take the food out of the oven.”

“But…” Emma protested.

“Go, child. You’ll have the entire meal to listen to me yell. Right now I need a word with your brother.”

Emma pursed her lips as she walked into the kitchen but made a slashing throat gesture, mouthing the words “you’re so dead” at Tom before disappearing. 

Diana wiped her hands on her apron. “Now where is my new daughter-in-law?” 

Molly raised her hand. “That would be me. Molly, ma’am.”

Diana held open her arms and wrapped them around Molly tight. She realized where Tom got his hugging skills. 

“You are just a doll. Is my son treating you well?”

Molly nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“So polite and much shorter than the last one. Right at eye height for me.”

“Mother…”

Diana waved Tom off. “And please call me Diana or Mum or Mom. I promise I don’t bite.”

Molly giggled. “Yes, ma.. Diana.”

Diana hugged her again before spinning to face her son.

“Tom.” She crossed her arms.

“Mum.” Tom grew very interested in the rug on the floor. 

“Do I get a hug?” Diana smiled. 

Tom looked up and grinned. “Always.” The two of them hugged tight, Tom bending at the knees to wrap his arms around her. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Diana pulled back.

Her hand reached out and smacked Tom right upside the head. Tom cowered, covering his head.

“Mum!” he howled.

“You got married and didn’t tell me!”

“I was getting around to it. Luke distracted me!” Tom explained. 

Diana smacked his arm. “Do not blame Luke for this, he is a saint! You were keeping this lovely girl away from me.”

Molly beamed as Diana smacked Tom one more time. 

“You think I’m lovely?” she asked.

Diana turned to Molly. “Oh dear. You are perfectly charming. Unlike my wretch of a son.” Another smack to the chest.

“Really, Mum? In front of our guest?” Tom flinched.

“Molly is family.” Diana stopped, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Now with that sorted, let’s go eat.” She spun on her heel and headed back to the kitchen. 

Tom hooked his arm with Molly’s. “My mother.”

“I like her.” 

-

Emma and Diane pumped the two of them for every detail about this abbreviated courtship.

“A chapel in Vegas, Tom? Romantic.” Emma sneered.

“I thought so.” Molly added.

“Thank you, darling.” Tom leaned against her. 

“Awww.” Emma commented.

Diana stood to clear the dishes as Emma examined Molly’s ring.

“Let me help you.” Tom rose to help, taking the rest of the dishes. Diana grabbed his arm when they reached the sink.

“I really like her, Thomas. You did well.”

“Thank you. She is something.” Tom smiled.

“Much better than the last girl you brought home.”

Tom frowned. “Mum, I…”

Diana held up her hand. “I know. Don’t mention her. But I will say this. There was something about her that didn’t sit right with me.” 

“You never said anything to me.”

Diana smiled softly and cupped Tom’s cheek. “You seemed so in love and happy. And all I have ever wanted for all my kids is to be happy.”

“Oh.”

“But none of that matters. You have Molly now and the two of you have years of happiness ahead.” 

Tom glanced over to where Emma and Molly hunched over Emma’s phone. Tom’s heart twinged with guilt. 

“Right. Of course.” He smiled.

Molly burst out in laughter.

“What is so funny over there?” Tom called out, heading over to the table.

Emma giggled. “Just some old pictures.”

Tom’s face fell. “No, you didn’t…”

Molly giggled. “You were so skinny and that hair!” 

The two girls fell into a fit of giggles as Diane placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“Yes, I like her very much.” she whispered. “Why don’t we pull out the old picture albums?”

Tom groaned. 

[rachel-matteo-merlin-recs]

Canon Era - Single Fic Arcs

Rheged

Author: McShame

Description: 

Post S5 (AU): canon to the end of S4 & part of the way through S5. 

Gwen and Arthur have been married for several years, Merlin’s magic has been revealed and Arthur has now reached a kind of cold peace with it.  Then a delegation arrives from a kingdom based on magic, and suddenly Destiny is starkly and ruthlessly thrust to the fore.  The question is should - can - it be avoided? 

Word Count: 124,383

Completed: Yes

Comment(s): 

Definitely might want to pay attention to the tags on this one; one scene can be interpreted both as dubious consent (but more like a I want this, but I can’t do this type of situation), as well as mentions of infidelity and attempted suicide by magic because Merlin just doesn’t want to deal with the fallout and aftermath of his and Arthur’s actions and the consequences it has on their relationships with Gwen and Gwaine.  But if you can handle the rough spots, this fic is truly spectacular.  

Whispering Your Name

Author: CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

Description:

A different take on the dorocha.  Instead of them being faceless screams that attack you, they are actually figures of the dead.  Merlin doesn’t quite realize how much death affected him until him and the knights go to close the veil.  

Word Count: 22,517

Completed: Yes

Comment(s):

One of my absolute favorite fics of all time.  It also has a bit of Uther redemption in it and Lancelot lives! It also has one of my favorite interactions in a fanfiction: 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Arthur growled, throwing up his hands.  “That thing murdered my people and you allowed it to live--” 

“You murdered my people and I allowed you to live,” Merlin said sharply.  Gwaine felt his eyes widen.  Bold words.  Part of him wanted to ‘ooh’ at it but knew it would lead to a very bad outcome.  

Dower the Stars

Author: RurouniHime

Description:

During a time of great prosperity in Albion, the Druids offer Emrys a precious gift.  Arthur is not amused. 

Word Count: 40,654

Completed: Yes

Comment(s):

A super fun but also very romantic fic.  Druids far and wide come in and kiss Merlin, hoping that their magic will react a certain way with Merlin’s and he’ll bond with one of them.  Merlin however decides to throw a wrench in his plan when he chooses to bond with Arthur instead after almost losing him.  

Overstepping

Author: Masked_Mayhem

Description:

Merlin knew he was pushing his limits, that he was millimetres away from overstepping the invisible line that Arthur had wordlessly set and the warlock had been careful not to cross, but he was never one to listen to the rules that were set for him.  Especially not when he was afraid. 

Agravaine had managed to weasel his way into his king’s mind and ingrain doubts in the people he loved, the people that loved him...doubts that only took place and bloomed as the traitor lied and deceived and planted things against them. He had gotten rid of Gwen easily enough, and had almost gotten rid of Gaius. Merlin was afraid. Were a few words and items all it would take for Arthur to turn against him too?

Word Count: 51,915

Completed: Yes

Comment(s):

Merlin steps over a line and Arthur punishes him for it.  Later, when Merlin was right, Arthur regrets his decision and saves him.  Romance blooms between the two, but a wrench gets thrown in along the way with the reveal of Merlin’s magic and deeds in Arthur’s name.  There is a lot of angst, but I like to feel as if it’s a happy ending for the two.  

Springes to Catch Woodcocks

Author: myashke

Description:

When Arthur pushes Merlin away to protect him, what lengths will Merlin go to remain in his life

Word Count: 83,292

Completed: No

Comment(s): 

Unfortunately the only negative that this fic has going for it is that it doesn’t seem as if it’ll ever be finished.  There are 7 chapters and they were last updated in December of 2011.  Still worth the read.  

Two Souls

Author: Naelyn

Description:

A few days after Camlann, Merlin and Morgana find themselves imprisoned in the same place, and forced to spend their days together.  Basically, this is just a pretext for non-stop Merlin and Morgana interaction once the Emrys reveal has been made. 

“I’ve gone soft over the day, you know.  A few months ago, I would have killed you where you stood.” 

“A few months ago, you did try to kill me where I stood,” Merlin reminded her, and she could hear the smirk in his tone.  

Word Count: 11,417

Completed: Yes

Comment(s):

One of the only fics on this list that won’t be specifically a Merthur fic; but it still isn’t Mergana either.  The idea is that after the revelation at Camlann, one can assume that Arthur lived and that Morgana wasn’t killed; that Merlin had been banished or sent away for the lies he told and somehow was subsequently captured.  

What starts out as a hostile interactions between Merlin and Morgana leads to understanding and apologies that lead on a path to healing.  The end is left open ended, it’s implied that they are sent to their deaths in another kingdom without hope of being rescued, but you can use your imagination to decide if you wanted them to have a happier ending.  

The Patter of Tiny Feet on Cold Stone Floors

Author: TheAvalonian

Description:

When Guinevere finds that she is unable to bear Arthur a child, Merlin offers her the perfect solution: an ancient spell which can create new life out of love, if that love is pure and powerful enough.  But after the ritual, it becomes increasingly obvious that while Gwen has indeed become pregnant, the child she carries might not have been created from the love between Arthur and his wife - but rather from the love between Arthur and his Court Sorcerer.  

Word Count: 79,131

Completed: Yes

Comment(s):

Merlin and Arthur have a baby!  But it’s not an mpreg fic.  Guinevere discovers that Arthur and Merlin are more tied together than she and Arthur are - and while that is difficult for her to come to terms with, she concedes that Arthur has the chance that she never had with Lancelot and doesn’t want to stand in the way.  Queue of course evil plotting on behalf of Morgana and a kidnapping of the queen and princess - who happens to have shown gifts of her own - and it’s a rollercoaster of a tale that leaves you wanting more.  

Metamorphose

Author: clotpolesonly

Description:

When Merlin falls into bed with Arthur, he doesn’t expect to wake up alone.  He doesn’t expect Arthur to give him the cold shoulder either, but there is something else he expects even less which forces him out of the kingdom for over a year. 

He returns to find a traitor in the court, an army on the way, and a love he’d thought all but lost waiting for him with open arms.  

Word Count: 33,753

Completed: Yes

Comment(s):

I don’t usually enjoy mpreg fics because they don’t make sense to me from a biological stand point and usually get explained away as “because reasons”.  This fic is an exception, it does a good job of explaining why it is that Merlin might wound up in his situation and it deals with difficult question about how to handle the knowledge and who to share it with.  

Flowers in the Wind

Author: the_seaworthy_muffin

Description:

A thousand and five-hundred years ago, Arthur Pendragon is sent to the god Emrys as Camelot’s yearly tribute.  He comes to befriend the god, and as the prince continues to spend time on the god’s island, something more seems to blossom between them.  But then the Lady Morgana goes missing, and Arthur betrays Emrys to his father in a moment of misguided trust.  Emrys’ island burns, the heart-broken god refusing to fight for his life.  In dying, he puts a terrible curse upon the prince: to live forever, and never forget. 

A millennium and a half has passed.  Arthur is being slowly torn apart from the inside-out, memories of the past an ever-growing weight in his chest.  When he finally finds Emrys again, he is elated - he’s ready to beg, weep, anything, if only he can find blissful forgetfulness.  But while the god’s power has not faded, his memories have, and he lives his life as young artist Merlin Emrys, believing himself to be a simple man with interesting gifts.  And Arthur’s hopes are dashed.  But there is one last way: Arthur can try, and make Merlin remember again. 

Word Count: 67,366

Completed: No - but it is being continuously updated

Comment(s): 

This is a truly spectacular work of fiction and I almost didn’t give it a chance.  I am so glad that I did.  Honestly, this is now one of my favorite authors on AO3.  

Peace, Plum, Pear

Author: sweetestdrain

Description:

How in his tenth year of rule King Arthur chose a man to take the role of Court’s Magician, and how Arthur made his decision.

Word Count: 13,700

Completed: Yes

Comment(s): 

Merlin fled the kingdom after Uther found out about his magic, and now it’s been ten years since the old king’s death and Arthur’s ascension to the throne, and yet Merlin is still nowhere to be found.  

Arthur gives in and holds trials for the new Court Sorcerer and in walks in an old man named Myrddin Wyllt.  But, there’s more than meets the eye to this strange and mysterious magician.  

Deluge

Author: Suaine

Description:

In the aftermath of Merlin’s battle against Nimueh, the rain seems a minor complication, perhaps even a cleansing influence.  When the rain doesn’t stop, Camelot is pushed to the brink once more.  This time, Arthur may be in over his head.  

Contains: a lot of wet boys in emotional scenes, Arthur knowing more than he lets on, Merlin being an idiot, both of them being a bit stupidly heroic, telepathic chess, rain (lots of), war, making out against a tree, coincidental druids, co-opted history, co-opted myths, magic, coming of age (metaphorically), and more magically annoying yet surprisingly un-floody water than you can shake a stick at.  

Word Count: 50,565

Completed: Yes

Comment(s):

Beautifully written fic, truly a great addition to the fandom. 

Idiosyncratic Romance

Author: F0rcryinoutloud

Description:

“And what about your destiny?” Gaius asked softly.  “Merlin, you know Arthur needs you - whether he realizes it or not.  You won’t have to hide from him forever.”  

Word Count: 13,942

Completed: Yes

Comment(s):

Beauty in the Ashes of our Lives

Author: Fulgance

Description:

After Merlin is executed for Uther’s murder, Arthur’s world falls apart. 

Word Count: 21,599

Completed: Yes

Comment(s):

Arthur makes a huge mistake when he executes Merlin following the reveal of his magic.  

Tiercel 

Author: waldorph

Description:

Arthur is constantly at war. 

Word Count: 6,571

Completed: Yes

Comment(s):

This is a wonderful magic reveal fic where Merlin goes out and discovers more about magic while still taking care of Arthur and protecting him; Arthur is constantly at war because Uther has decided he wants to take over and unite Albion.  

[winchesterandpie]

Small Gestures (Fili x reader)

Pairing: Fili x reader

Word Count: 1340

Warnings: anxious reader, fluffy Fili (yes, this is a warning)

A/N: I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s had some anxious days during this whole thing and wanted comfort from fictional characters! If you guys ever need to talk, I’m here for you! I couldn’t help the Princess Bride reference! Also, I know I promised another piece of Part of the Company, but this jumped in my face and demanded to be written, so that's been delayed a little bit. Sorry it’s so short - I can’t seem to write anything close to 2000 words anymore! Gif is not mine!

Happy Fili Friday!!

Fili had a bounce in his step as he headed through Erebor’s torch-lit halls, Thorin’s steps more weary beside him. There had barely had time for Fili to have dinner with his wife before the last of the many meetings that had taken up his entire day. He understood it, of course, as he was Thorin’s heir and had dealt with many such days in the past. It didn’t usually bother him.

Today, however, the prince found himself becoming irritable as the meetings went longer and further over time. Something felt off, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on the meetings served as nothing more than obstacles to figuring it out. In any case, now he was free and looking forward to returning to his beloved Y/N.

Bidding his uncle goodnight, he turned down the hall that split away from the King’s chambers, not seeing his uncle’s fond smile. Thorin had loved Y/N the moment Fili introduced her to the family, patiently nudging the two together when they danced around feelings for each other so long ago. 

A bright smile spread across his face as the door to his chambers came into view. He could almost feel his One’s arms around him already and was thankful there was yet time in the day to just enjoy her company.

Quietly, he slipped into their rooms, hoping to see her delighted smile when he managed to surprise her. Excitement morphed into concern when he saw her, for she lay in a crumpled heap on their shared bed, dressed in one of his shirts. 

This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Fili knew that Y/N’s mind fought against her, whispering (and occasionally shouting) to her of fears that, in reality, were mostly far off. She knew it too, but sometimes she was too tired to fight and her mind got the better of her. Those days often ended with her curled up on the bed in the early evening, as she was now.

Fili saw the tear tracks glistening on the side of her face as he sank onto the bed, his arms wrapping around her middle to gently tuck himself around her. She was trembling, though the prince wasn’t sure if it was from her fears and exhaustion or from cold since he could see that the fire had gone out. Against the possibility of cold, he tugged their fur blanket up to cover the two of them. 

After a minute, Y/N rolled over in his arms to bury her face against his chest. He undid her braids then, setting the beads aside as his fingers worked over her scalp. If this was what she needed, Fili was more than happy to hold her and trace little patterns across her back, but he could tell that the tension wasn’t fading from her shoulders. And he was concerned by how abnormally cold her skin still felt. 

“Let me draw you a bath, love,” Fili murmured in her ear. 

“Don’t gooo,” she grumbled quietly against his chest, wiggling even closer. “Cold.”

“I’ll be right back, alright?”

With a final grumble, she relinquished her place in his arms, allowing him to get up. He carefully tucked the blankets around her more tightly before making his way to the washroom. It didn’t take long to fill the large tub the hot water and sprinkle in some salts and lavender oil, and soon he was returning for the dwarrrowdam lying on the bed, gently helping her strip and step into the steaming water. She caught sight of his hair pulled back (except for his frontmost braids, of course), one of her favorite looks on him, and a small smile tugged at her lips.

The drastic temperature change made her flinch initially, but she soon settled in, leaning back against the now-warm stone of the tub. When Fili’s calloused hands started working on her shoulders, she sighed in relief. Gradually, her muscles loosened and he pressed a kiss to her skin before shifting to wash her hair.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, melting into his hands as he leaned her back to rinse the shampoo out. The blond dwarf hummed in response, bending forward enough to kiss her forehead. His braids tickled her face as he pulled back, eliciting a tiny giggle that made his heart soar. 

“How do things look, kurduwê?” He broke the silence when he finished with her hair, resting his chin atop her head.

“It’s looking up a little,” she sighed, twisting just enough to kiss his jaw.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Mmmmm, I… not just yet.”

“That’s perfectly alright. I just want you to know I’m here if you do.” It cut at Fili’s heart when she seemed to shrink at that question, and he was quick to reassure her. “I’m going to get the fire going in the room, ok?”

When she nodded tentatively, he pressed a reassuring kiss to her hair before setting off on his quest. She had been doing well lately, these attacks seeming to come less frequently, but the lion prince still knew that she didn’t eat as much as she should on such days.

The kitchen staff was long familiar with his evening visits, barely pausing to greet him politely before returning to their work. He pulled out what he needed to make a simple meal, knowing Y/N wouldn’t want to eat much. One of the cooks set a small tart on the counter by his elbow, and Fili smiled gratefully at her. No matter what Y/N might think some days, Fili could tell that the dwarves of the Mountain adored her, as was evident in this small gesture by the kitchen staff.

He returned quickly, setting the tray down on the bed so he could stoke the fire. Once he deemed it warm enough in the room, he made his way back to his wife. She leaned into his chest as he wrapped her in a towel and his arms, resting her weight against him wearily. He let her stay like that, pulling her with him in shuffling steps back into the main room, never once losing his careful hold on her.

His legs hit the bed first, forcing him to fall backwards onto it. As a consequence, she was pulled with him, a breathless laugh escaping her as she fell atop him. Luckily, neither of them landed on the tray of food.

“What’s this?” she asked when she rolled over and noticed the tray. “Oh, Fili, you really didn’t have to.”

“ I know you don’t eat much when you are troubled. Come, kurduwê, we’ll get you dressed for bed and then,” he helped her sit on the edge of the bed before retrieving her sleep-clothes, “I’ll read while you eat.”

.     .

.     .

Eventually, the quiet peace of the night and the warmth of Fili’s arms soothed her troubled mind. Of course, it helped when she put words to her racing thoughts, allowing the golden prince to assuage some of her worries. Now, she lay half-asleep on his chest, snuggled under the fur blanket he’d pulled over them. 

“Please, keep going? I like listening to you read,” Y/N mumbled when he stopped.

“I thought you’d fallen asleep, ghivashel,” Fili chuckled, tilting his chin down to drop a kiss to her forehead. She hummed in response, her arm tightening around him where she’d thrown it across his middle. 

“Thank you, Fee. For all of this. For putting up with me,” Y/N said after a moment.

“Hey, what’ve we said about that?” He was quick to catch the self-loathing thought before it could spiral.

“That you’re not ‘putting up’ with me.”

“That’s right. I love you. And that means that helping you is never a burden to me.”

Fili felt her nod against him before she spoke quietly. “I love you too. Thank you.”

“So are you gonna keep reading now?” He really laughed then, the rumbles shaking through his chest to her.

“As you wish.”

Thanks for reading!!

Khuzdul Translations:

Kurduwê - my heart

Ghivashel - treasure of all treasures

Forever Tags:

@riddikulus-obsessions @addictionmarvel @peppermint--teas @mercedesbarnes @javapeach @thophil2941btw @legolaslovely

Tag list is OPEN! Shoot me a message or an ask if you want to be added!

[thickenmyblood]

I love how you really put a lot of thought into how you regard and read fanfic as well as how you respond to questions about how you feel aout it. Can I ask what are some parts/ideas in fics that really made you go wow, this is well planned or like I never would have thought about this or I forgot that this plot point and device were even a thing! I hope this makes sense

I love you, kind stranger. Thank you for reading my delirious posts and giving me the chance to scream about fics, which is always a pleasure. 

Note: If your fic is in this post and you don’t want it to be, let me know and I’ll take it down. 

Zeitnot by thereshaegoes

I love the idea of time travel, so when I read this fic’s summary I bookmarked it instantly. At first, I thought it was going to be eight chapters of Laurent waking up the day of the battle of Marlas, but the author really surprised me.

I loved that someone died at the end of each chapter (at first, at least) but what really made me go ‘oh’ is when Lauret realizes the Damen from “this new reality” is, in fact, his Damen! 

Damen not being with Jokaste was weird to me, but I shrugged it off as a personal choice the author had made. Then, when Damen was talking about abolishing slavery, I was still in denial. ‘Oh, well, some people don’t like to write Damen as a slave owner, which is cool’. And then, when the big reveal finally came, I was just… amazed. I literally put my phone down and went, ‘okay, this person really knows what they’re doing when it comes to writing’. 

I love the little plot twists. In my head, a plot twist most basic example is ‘oh, X is a traitor’ but… this? This is so much better.

Between the Shadow and the Soul by Anonymous

This work was… insanely refreshing, innovative, transgressive, and outrageously good. It does feature a lot of sex scenes, but at the same time, it felt like sex was the least important part of the story. I don’t know how to explain myself when it comes to this fic (and God knows I’ve tried) but… The sex scenes aren’t there just for the smut of it all, if that makes any sense. 

Auguste as a narrator is so unusual, and yet it made the fic so painful and enjoyable! I loved the way it left you wondering just how accurate his POV was. I loved the sex scenes with actual characterization. This author never, not even for one second, stopped focusing on the dynamic between Laurent, Auguste, and Damen. It could be argued that the Laurent/Auguste bit weighted more than the overall OT3 bit, but still… I had literally forgotten what sex scenes were for until I read this fic.

Sex scenes, especially in this particular work, are not parentheses in the story. They’re not there for the reader to take a break from the “actual plot” or “narration”. They are what holds the story together, and they’re opportunities for the reader to learn more about the characters

.

Cherry Wine by SteeleStingray

Yes, I’m back on my bullshit. Yes, I’m talking about CW again. But I’ll make it short because there is no way you don’t know how I feel about this work. If you don’t, check out this comment (which, by the way, is not even a fraction of what I wanted to say to the author when I read the fic). 

What I found innovative and made me go “is this allowed?” about CW is not the idea of an OT3, but rather this particular take on a relationship that consists of three people. I’ve read a few published books that feature similar couples (all of them suck, and when I say they suck I mean it) so I was very hesitant to read this because of that reason. 

Usually, when people write OT3 they pepper in a lot of stuff I don’t like to read about: extreme jealousy, misunderstandings, cheating, weird dynamics that feel stilted, awkward sex scenes where one of the three just sits in a chair and watches the other two like some voyeur from Juan José Saer’s stories. Guess what doesn’t happen in CW? 

Another thing I liked about this work is that it reminded me that themes in fiction aren’t limited to one specific work. This author really likes nicknames. At the time, when I had only read CW, I thought it was just a one-time thing. Turns out, it’s not. An emerald-coloured nightmare also features nicknames. I like this idea that you can tell who wrote something based on little details and narrative choices. It’s like the author is winking at you, going ‘ha, did you get it?’

Ink on Paper by deripmaver

I don’t usually like fics with non-linear narrative because I’m a lazy bitch who can’t keep up. I’d never really seen the point in using flashbacks, scenes from the past, or anything like that because my writing style (oh, fuck off, my writing style, who the fuck do I think I am) is more about references. And then I read this fic. And I was like, ‘okay, I’ve seen the light of not writing everything linearly like an idiot’. 

The Mannequin Gallery by marrieddorks

Yes, I realize I’m talking about all my favorite fics. I feel no shame.

This fic is a Modern AU. Everyone who has ever written a Modern AU knows that one of the trickiest parts is finding characters professions that make sense with who they are/what they like/what they’re good at. This story features Damen as an influencer. That’s it, that’s my whole tweet. 

It reminded me that even when you’re writing a Modern AU (or any sort of AU, really) it’s important to know what the essence of the characters you’re writing is. The way even Jord’s job makes sense… And how it feels like the author didn’t just steal the characters’ names and use them to create a random story (which is valid, too)... and… Okay, this has nothing to do with a plot twist or a narrative device but have you read this Nicaise? Have you? You haven’t read Nicaise until you’ve read this fic.

(and that's why) you're so beautiful now by iwasgonegonegone

This fic is 612 words. It has no plot. One of the tags reads, “listen they're in love and they're cute and that's all i have to say” and I… yes. This fic inspired me to write plot-less stories again. Not only that, it made me enjoy writing them. 

Lately, I’ve been talking to a friend of mine about a new pairing we both like a lot. We go back and forth for hours sometimes just talking about what they’d do, details about the worldbuilding, a billion ‘what-ifs’... and I love it. If one of us sat down to write a story based on all our conversations, it would be a character study fic. It would have, maybe, some plot to it, but… Plot would feel like an excuse to talk about their relationship. And I love that. I fucking hate plot, I hate it, and this… Yes. This fic is like a little slice of life. The author has mentioned before that they enjoy writing poetry (more than longer pieces of fiction) and this story reads like a poem. You know when you read a poem and you get this weird tingly feeling? Read this and feel that, you’re welcome.

The Life We Live by homewithyou

I’ve said before that I don’t go looking for mpreg. Sometimes, mpreg has come looking for me, and I’ve closed my door on its face. I read this fic mainly because I never pay attention to the tags on AO3 (healthy, I know) and I was too busy making myself toast to read the summary. 

I was five paragraphs in and this bit hit me like a fucking electric hammer to the head: “...which had been going haywire more often than not since the pregnancy began five months ago.” I was like, ‘wait, did I—am I reading—why am I—’ and then I just shut my mouth and continued reading. I’m glad I did. I’m glad I didn’t let my narrowmindedness stop me from giving this fic a try. I’m glad people out there are writing stories that they enjoy, about topics a few others would deem controversial. 

This also applies to the Lamen/Auguste fic I mentioned above. What’s the point of writing if you’re not going to take risks and be honest about what you like to write about? It takes honesty and commitment to write anything that strays from the norm. And so I’m glad this person posted this story, because it changed me in a small way (‘what if I shut the fuck up and read more mpreg instead of instantly clicking out?’).

This is another perfect example of how plot is poison and you don’t need it in your life (unless you enjoy poison. In that case consume the plot, write the plot, sniff the plot. And die). A morning in bed, just nuzzling and talking… living life… Again, this made me realize that you can say a lot about two characters just from a morning in bed. It made me want to write 25 pages of dialogue in bed (this and Manuel Puig’s book titled Kiss of the spider woman, which I recommend fervently). 

Plot? In this house? We don’t know her. You’re a strong, independent writer. You don’t need no plot.

For a more general response, I’d say that Steele’s worldbuilding is impeccable and made me look at the setting of stories differently. 

Foreshadowing is always amazing, but I haven’t read a lot of fics where it’s a prominent element (which is not to say authors aren’t good at it, I just don’t read enough fics to give you a good example of this). 

I really like oxymorons and when writers use funny adverbs. GallaPlacidia’s adverbs are to die for, so definitely check out her stories if you’re interested in that. 

I also love the way xlydiadeetz writes archs. She does this thing where she divides the story into different… timelines? archs? I… don’t even know. Amazing.

I hope this answer made sense. 

[cordonian-literature]

The Aftermath - Ch. 12

Hidden Feelings, Sad Feelings

SUMMARY: Drake tells Savannah what’s on his mind, and Gabriel goes through his own emotional turmoil

Word Count: ~3.3k

Warning: Mention of character death

*All characters belong to Pixelberry, except those that are unique to my story (I’ve also used some characters and fictional instances from Donna Tartt’s “The Goldfinch”)*

Catch up here!

Tags: @captain-kingliamsqueen @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @gkittylove99 @lovablegranny @loudbluebirdlover @mom2000aggie @kingliam2019 @queenrileyrose​ @shanzay44​ @cordonianroyalty​ @hopefulmoonobject​ @hopelessromanticmonie​ @cinnamonspongecake​ @queenjilian​ @kuladekiwi​ @twinkle-320​ @iaminlovewithtrr​ @charlotteg234​ @amandablink​ @texaskitten30​ @tinkie1973 @louiseingram1208 @queencatherynerhys​ @pens-girl-87​ @missevabean​ @ladyangel70​ @sanchita012​ @cordonianprincess​ 

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- Drake - 

“So…,” Savannah starts after putting a pair of Bartie’s shorts into a suitcase. They were all bringing their things over to Riley’s house from their hotels since Mrs. Brooks let them stay over. “How are things going with Jessica? Saw you talking to her on the phone outside the hospital the other day.”

Drake helps fold his nephew’s shirts while Savannah moves on to Bertrand’s things. “Yeah, we talked.”

“And…?”

“And she… said that she stopped by my place,” he continues absentmindedly

“Really? And what did you say?”

“Told her I was in New York.”

Savannah stops what she’s doing and stares at Drake, hoping that he would take it as a sign to continue, but he keeps folding Bartie’s vests.

She coughs exaggeratedly to get his attention, but he only glances up and goes, “You okay there?”

“Come on, Drake. Won’t you talk to me about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Of course there is! Come on, please?”

“Savannah, I’m telling you—”

“No, Drake you’re not telling me anything! For the last two years Jessica’s been all you can talk about. A couple months ago you came over to dinner telling me that you were going to marry her, now you’re—”

“Look, I just haven’t talked about her because I’ve been stressed with everything going on with Brooks.” He felt weird saying the nickname that he had for her, and wondered for a second if he should start calling her “Blaise.”

Savannah puts a hand on her hip and raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes!” he whines, avoiding eye contact.

“Really?” she continues, irritated. “You don’t want to talk about your fiancée because of Riley? Or… not fiancée? I don’t even know, because you haven’t told me.”

“Pretty much.” He closes the suitcase and pulls it out into the hall. Maxwell told him that he didn’t unpack, so Drake goes into his room and pulls out the suitcase, not checking to see if there was anything Maxwell left behind. After Savannah pulls out her and Bertrand’s things, he leads them to the elevator.

Drake taps his foot, waiting for them to reach the lobby, and Savannah starts asking questions again: “You know you’re doing the same thing with her as you did with Riley?”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You used to talk about Riley like crazy… and then when she went away, you stopped. And now you’re doing the same thing with Jessica. Why?”

He gives out a large sigh. “I just… wanna focus on one thing at a time. Wanna be there for Liam. He’s got Brooks back in his life, and I just wanna make sure her transition back into court life is easy. Keep her safe from all the crap that made her leave, y’know?”

“Huh… so it has nothing to do with the fact that you had feelings for her?”

He gives a little jump. “No! Why would you think that?”

“Because you’ve been acting weird around her. Have you had a straight conversation with her like the rest of us?”

“Yes—”

“No, no… I’m not talking about the questions that you guys asked, I’m talking about how we all introduced ourselves to each other, talked like old friends.”

“Yeah, and? I introduced myself. What more was there to say?”

“Drake….”

“Listen, Savannah,” he turns to face her and his knee bumps into a suitcase, which makes it go rolling towards the wall of the elevator. “It’s a bit of a shock, okay? Everything with Brooks being married and… having two kids, and… and Liam being a dad. He’s been having a hard time with this. He… he hasn’t talked to me about how he feels about everything with Gabriel.”

“Maybe you could… ask… Bertrand?” Drake makes a face at her. “He was overwhelmed when he found out that he was a father. Maybe ask him how he dealt with it?”

“Savannah, I’m not gonna ask him that. And I doubt Liam will, either. He’s been so… closed off. And now he’s even more closed off. Except when he’s with the kids, which is… I don’t know. Weird?”

“So you want him to confide in you? That’s why you’re—.” The elevator dings, and they roll everything out. The limo waits outside, and the driver puts everything in the trunk, which already has Liam and Drake’s things.

Once they’re seated, Drake puts his head in his hands.

Savannah puts her hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Drake, you can talk to me.”

He sits back up and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “There’s nothing to talk about, Savannah. I just… wanna help Liam and Brooks with whatever they need.”

“But it’s okay if you want to focus on yourself—”

“Come on, Savannah, don’t give me that. Who am I? I’m nobody. Liam… he’s the one who’s got a lot on his plate. Introducing his son to the country, getting Riley’s memories back, figuring out what he’s gonna do with Eleanor. He doesn’t talk about it to me, but I know he’s not doing too good. And….” He looks down at his shoes.

“And… what?”

“I… wanna make sure we don’t drive her away like we did before.”

“Drake, that’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

He turns to look out the window, hoping that she wouldn’t ask more questions. When they reach Riley’s place, they silently take everything out and go up to her floor. Inside, they find Bertrand, Charlotte, Liam, and Riley having a conversation in the living room.

Liam stands up once they enter, announcing that he ordered lunch for everyone. He says that he’ll get everyone else from downstairs, and steps away. Riley stands, and Drake goes to get her crutches from across the room.

“Agh!” she exclaims. She put too much weight on her injured foot and begins to fall forward. Drake abandons the crutches and runs for her, catching Riley right before she reached the ground. He hooks an arm under her knees and carries her to the dining room. Charlotte holds out a seat, and he puts her down.

“Warn me next time you take a dive. I might not be able to catch you in time,” he tells her, pushing in her chair.

She laughs. It’s something he hasn’t heard in years. He stops in his tracks, worried that it was a brief hallucination, but there’s a grin on her face. “Just want to keep you on your toes.”

He sits down, a sense of déjà vu overtaking him. He looks around at the activity in the room. Two people in the building’s staff uniform are setting down containers of food on the table. They leave, and everyone begins serving themselves. Drake doesn’t move, and accidentally makes eye contact with Savannah from across the table, who has her eyebrows raised suspiciously. He quickly looks away and starts making himself a plate.  

- Gabriel -

Don’t get me wrong, the Cordonians were nice and everything, helping Mom get her memory back, and making sure that Ella and I were okay because of what happened to Ella’s dad… but I wanted them to leave. I wasn’t comfortable with them in the living room, so I would make an excuse to go to my room and would take a nap (most of the time, I couldn’t sleep). I knew that Liam wanted to talk to me more about everything, and I knew that it would be better to talk about away from Ella but I didn’t want to be around him.

I didn’t want to be friendly with him, either. I was fine with Ella being friendly, but for me it was different. If I actually got closer to him, I would have to call him “dad” or at least refer to him as my dad. And I didn’t want to. He didn’t do anything that was like a dad. Ella’s dad was supposed to be my dad. He was the one who taught me everything I knew: from the alphabet to tying my shoes to navigating the subway to finding the best seat in a movie theater. He was the one who taught me how to ride a bike in Grandma’s backyard. He was the one who would pick me up from school when I wasn’t feeling well.

I don’t know if it was normal for me to think that way, but I didn’t care. I missed the feeling of calm that came with being around him. The protection.

This one time, I think I was three or four, I was fooling around in the kitchen and grabbed a knife the wrong way, which let to deep cuts on the fingers of my right hand. Mom was the one who ran in and patched me up, but Dad was the one who made sure I could function properly. Because of the Dora the Explorer bandages (they were Ella’s, I swear), everything I held would slip out of my hand. Like the glass of orange juice. It slipped right through my fingers and broke on the tiles of the kitchen. Dad heard the sound of the crash and came running in. I remember wanting to cry and hide my face, thinking that he would yell at me. And he did yell, but he only did that to tell me to stay where I was. He went and grabbed his own shoes, put them on, and came rushing towards me, the broken glass crunching under his slippers. Dad had scooped me up and brought me to the living room to check that I was okay.

I imagined him scooping me away and bringing me back to him. Mom and Ella would be fine, they were taking a liking to Liam and his friends, and I didn’t want to ruin the mood. And during that time when Mom didn’t remember us, she was unconcerned for our well-being. Maybe that would happen again, and I could go stay with Dad in peace. Wherever he was.

…

The day after they moved all their things into our home, Bertrand and his family said that they had a reservation for dinner, Rowan said that she had to step by her place and pick up her things (since she was also staying over), and Grandma was asked to work the night shift because the hospital was short staffed.

That left Mom, Ella, and me to have dinner with Liam.

I didn’t know the name of the restaurant that he ordered from, but there were different types of pasta, soft bread rolls, chicken, and lots of cheese.

Grandma had taken Ella to have another ballet lesson today. She asked me if I wanted to take a soccer lesson, but I said that I wasn’t feeling up for it.

Ella told us about what she learned during her lesson, and Mom and Liam were both fully focused on her. The adoration that was once on Dad’s face was mirrored on Liam’s face when he asked her questions about her lessons. I looked away from him.

After Ella’s done with her story, Liam announces that he has to go back to Cordonia soon, and that he hopes that we will join him.

“Mrs. Brooks told me that your doctor estimated that it would be safe for you to travel after a week of rest, and that you cannot overexert yourself on the trip,” Liam tells Mom.

“That makes sense,” she tells him.

He clears his throat and stiffens for a moment. Looking back at her, he continues, “I know that… being in the spotlight can be stress-inducing, so I want to promise you that I will not force you into it until you are ready. I’ll have Duke Bertrand and Lord Maxwell help you refresh some skills.”

She laughs. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Just need my leg to get better and I’ll be good to go.”

He grins at her as if Ella and I are no longer in the room. “I’ll have the best doctors my country has to offer, and I’ll always be at close proximity.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She reaches out to pat his hand, letting it linger for a moment. Liam looks at her the way Dad used to look at her, and I want to scream at him to get out.

Finally, he turns to look at us. “I wish I could return with you all to make sure you settle in comfortably, but you three will be on a different flight.”

“Why? Ella asks.

“I don’t want the press knowing that I’m bringing you all back with me,” he explains. “We’ll make an announcement when the time comes.”

“The press?” Ella asks.

“Like, news reporters or paparazzi,” I tell her.

“Do the paparazzi like you?” she asks Liam.

“Yes, you could say that. They like to know of my comings and goings.”

“Why?”

“Because I am their king.”

She turns back to her plate shaking her head, a goofy grin across her face. Mom and Liam share a laugh, but I can’t make myself join them.

“What about school?” I speak up, hoping that’s enough excuse for us not to go. “We still have a couple weeks left.”

He swallows his food, then tells me, “I’ll speak to your grandmother about that.”

“Are we going to go to school in Cordonia?” Ella questions.

“No, you’ll continue the rest of your education with tutors, but don’t worry, I’ll be there to help you with anything that seems difficult.”

We continue to eat in silence, but then Liam speaks up again: “What are your favorite subjects?”

“I like reading!” Ella tells him.

“As do I,” he tells her. “What’s your favorite book?”

“I don’t really have a favorite, but in school right now we’re reading ‘Charlotte’s Web’… but I don’t really like it.”

“Don’t you mean Grandma’s web?” I whisper our and Grandma’s inside joke at her, and she bursts out laughing.

Liam didn’t hear me, so he waits for Ella and I to stop before asking again, “Why don’t you like it?”

“Because it’s sad,” she says plainly, then continues eating.

“I don’t enjoy depressing books, either.” He looks at me, his expression welcoming, but I don’t want to be welcomed. “And what about you, Gabriel?”

I shrug, not wanting to say anything. “I like history class. The teacher is pretty fun.”

Liam’s face lights up. “I love history. Perhaps I could teach you Cordonia’s history and you could tell me what you know about American history?”

“Cool,” I say, and go back to stuffing my mouth so he wouldn’t ask me to talk. I have to cough, but I hold it in so they don’t pay attention to me.

…

For the past few days, I had been sneaking Dad’s computer out of his office and into my room. I would search up “The Met bombing videos” because I had heard Grandma mention that they were using security footage to try and figure out who set up the bombs. To my luck, they had posted those videos online.

And I watched them. Some were the same video but in a different angle, but I didn’t care. I watched all. I wanted to see if I could notice Dad in the videos, just to try and figure out where he went.

I couldn’t spot him. It was like playing Where’s Waldo but someone had dropped a very dark liquid on your page. When I tried to look for someone who looked like Dad, I couldn’t find anything, and I got a little sad thinking that I didn’t remember what he looked like.

The videos of people being violently thrown off of their feet was mesmerizing, and they eventually found their way into my dreams.

And I began to have nightmares. A large gust of brown fog racing towards me, engulfing Dad, then Mom, then Ella, before it finally reached me and threw me backwards onto a statue or through a painting.

After the dinner with Mom, Ella, and Liam, I had gone to bed and had a similar dream. I jolted upright, my body burning even though there was a fan right next to me.

I got up out of bed, nervous of sitting still. I looked out the window, and found no moon, but thick clouds. It looked like it was going to rain. I silently hoped it would be a hurricane, and that it would last for days so that we didn’t have to go to Cordonia with Liam.

It wasn’t just that I didn’t want myself to go, but I just felt weird around Liam. I didn’t want him around my family, because he wasn’t my family, no matter how nice he was trying to be with Mom.

And… God, Mom didn’t even remember him! Why was she so okay with going to a different country with him and leaving Grandma behind?

The anger and questions built up inside of me, and tears collected in my eyes. I rushed to Mom’s room, ready to give her my full sleep-deprived argument as to why we shouldn’t go with him.

When I reached her room, I saw her lying awake with Ella’s head on her stomach. My sister was asleep, her mouth slightly open, and I could hear her breathing. Mom notices me.

“Gabe? What’s wrong?” She extends her arm towards me, and I suddenly forget about all of the things I wanted to tell her. I let my tears fall and rush to her side. “What’s wrong, baby, what happened?”

I cry quietly, careful not to wake up Ella, occasionally coughing into Mom’s side. After a few moments, I tell her that I miss Dad.

“Oh, Gabe, I know. I miss him, too.”

“Do you—” I hiccup “—did you see him? When the bomb went off?”

She’s quiet for a few moments, and I hear raindrops tapping on the window. “I don’t actually. I don’t remember the day it happened. The doctor said the memories of that day might come back but… I half expect him to just come home from work.”

“Without his jacket?” I joke. Dad always forgot his coat in his office when he rushed to make it home in time. He’d forget it when it was freezing cold or raining outside. Mom would always yell at him for that.

She allows me to cry a little more. When I calm down, I tell her, “I don’t want to go to Cordonia with Liam.”

“I know, baby, but we have to.”

“No, we don’t!” I argue.

“Gabe, come on. He’s your father.”

“But I don’t even know him!”

“So wouldn’t it be nice to get to know him?”

I don’t say anything else. She doesn’t understand what I’m trying to tell her.

“Liam said that we would leave in about a week. At least try to be friends with him.”

“Are you friends with him?” I question.

She chuckles. “I mean, yeah. Apparently I have a kid with him. If we weren’t friends before, we better be now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, but I start crying again. I don’t want to talk about Liam anymore. I want him to disappear.

Eventually, I fall asleep, hoping that within a week’s time, something would happen that would stop us from going, or that Dad would come back and stop Liam from taking us, even though I knew that was unrealistic. I tried to promise myself that I wouldn’t be friends with him, no matter how nice he was or how much candy he brought us, but I feel so tired that I decide to stop thinking until the morning.