#anyways thank you for the prompt you may be regret asking me now
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mcflymemes · 10 months ago
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PROMPTS FROM LIFE IS STRANGE, SEASON 1 *  assorted dialogue, suggested by ismelodrama, adjust as necessary
everything is a picture waiting for be taken.
you're just jealous of me because i actually do the things you can't.
are you hiding something?
i'm sick of your disrespect. tell me the truth!
i don't want to fight with you anymore. i don't want to fight with anyone anymore.
i was eating those beans!
how the hell did you know about that photo?
always take the shot. my number one rule of photography.
you just don't listen, do you?
there's something weird going on with you.
you've only been here for three weeks and you're already causing conflict.
after this week, you are certainly not a little kid anymore.
not now. i'm contemplating shit.
are you fucking kidding me? this is major bullshit!
i didn't have all the evidence at the time.
we all make decisions we regret.
i'm not gonna make any excuses for my behavior.
i'd put stephen hawking against picasso any day.
it sucks to be dragged into the spotlight.
nobody believes me anyway.
you're exactly the kind of soldier i'd want by my side in a war.
why the hell not?
i almost asked you to hang out.
you should have asked me.
maybe we're too much alike.
i don't believe anything you say. you're full of shit.
eat a dick, [name].
i'll be in the tardis getting my delorean ready.
since you're the mysterious superhero... i'll be your faithful chauffeur and companion.
you don't know who the fuck i am or who you're messing around with.
where'd you get that? what are you doing? come on, put that thing down!
don't ever tell me what to do! i'm so sick of people trying to control me!
so you can't help me?
i told you before that i'll always believe you.
i may be a pest but... i'm a good listener.
you're the bravest person i've ever known.
for every action, there's a reaction.
i'm trying. but you have to understand my position.
i know i can be a pain in the ass... and you've always treated me like a person, not a beta nerd.
why do you want all your friends to die?
oh i see. i'm not important to you anymore.
nobody lectures me. everybody tries though.
do not analyze me! i pay people for that.
hey, that's total slander!
you don't know shit about my father, or me.
you're all fucked!
everybody hates me.
[name]... it's me. i just wanted to say i'm sorry.
i truly am sorry for being such a bastard.
you would have been cool to hang out with.
you might as well choose me.
i'm not perfect, okay?
you have talent, [name].
you don't have to push people out of your way.
thanks for admitting again that i have some talent.
do you think it's, like, fate we're not supposed to be friends?
nobody says we have to be friends.
everybody lies. no exceptions.
i came for all of you.
i'm in a nightmare and i can't wake up.
no wonder they call it a "web." nothing can ever get out.
i wish i could go back in time and erase everything.
just tell me you do have the photograph.
now shut up and listen.
i'm not a real scientist.
i was just happy just being your friend.
[name], i'm so sorry you had to go through all that.
i don't think i can concentrate on going out to the movies.
everybody pretends to care until they don't.
even angels need angels, [name].
i might be naive, but i feel their struggle.
why did you stop me from jumping?
this shit pit has taken everyone i've ever loved.
when a door closes, a window opens... or something like that.
i keep going back in time.
how could there be a more important moment in history?
thank you for trusting me.
hey... be careful out there.
what kind of friend are you?
you never understood me, or what happened to me.
i'll always be alone, thanks to you.
just in case we don't get out of this...
i'm going to make the right choices from now on.
i've been feeling like this might be actually the end of the world.
i hate to say that i'm glad to see you, but i'm glad to see you.
i wish i could stay in this moment forever... but then it wouldn't be a moment.
if that tornado came right now, i would just sit here and watch for a while.
i just feel like escaping.
i have total faith that you'll do the right thing when the time comes.
with great power comes great bullshit.
am i pushing myself too hard?
you like to hurt people, huh?
i'm glad you decided to escort me.
i know this is a bad time, but can i get one picture?
of course i believe you. you're the most amazing person i've ever met, and i'm glad you trust me.
i don't have a fucking clue what's going on.
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mollymauk-teafleak · 11 days ago
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could not foresee lying beside you
Another fic for the little mundane au! Huge thanks to @minky-for-short for the idea behind this fic and putting up with my current obsession.
Please reblog and comment over on Ao3!
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Jon has a very awkward conversation with Sasha that leads to a very good evening with his boyfriend Martin.
Note: contains sex favourable ace jon
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Jon had always thought he maintained a certain level of professionalism in the Archives. 
His department may have been the smallest, the least funded and, if the way the other department heads reacted to him was any indicator, the least liked out of the whole institute. But, as long as he was in charge, their professionalism would never be called into question. The work they did would always come first. 
Jon had always thought that. But things had changed lately and, to no one’s surprise more than his own, he was changing with them.
But old habits clearly died pretty hard. Which was his excuse for why he’d been hovering awkwardly in the break room, trying and failing to steer his conversation with Sasha in the right direction for most of lunch. 
Fortunately, Sasha had clearly worked with him long enough to not notice when Jon was being a few degrees more awkward than usual. She was well practised at keeping the conversation going with no input from him beyond stammerings and far off, distracted gazes. 
“So Eddie is swearing blind that this mirror was sent to storage but I checked twice and, if it’s there, the damn thing is supernatural enough to turn invisible!” she stirred her coffee with an irritated clatter, “Or grow legs and walk away. Neither of which were mentioned in the statement, just a lot of blood.”
“And the emaciated version of yourself for a reflection,” Jon mumbled vaguely, tapping his fingers on the wobbly little table they all had to squeeze around.
“Yeah, that too,” Sasha nodded, “My point is, that place has gone really downhill since I transferred…anyway, we’ve got five minutes left of lunch. So are you going to ask me whatever you’re chewing over or what?”
It took Jon a minute to realise what she’d said, his face realising first and taking the liberty of blushing darkly even before he could groan, “Am I being that obvious?”
Sasha smiled, tilting her head, “Not really. I’ve just gotten to know you pretty well.”
Not all that long ago, her saying that would make Jon squirm, feel like he’d been pinned under the glare of a microscope, like he was failing as a boss if his team saw him as a human being. But, again, things had changed. 
Jon swallowed hard, trying to poke nonchalantly at his salad like he hadn’t rehearsed these words until they’d worn thin, “Listen. This is me speaking as something other than your boss, okay?” 
“So…as my friend?” Sasha prompted him, with the patient smile you’d give a child. 
“Right,” Jon cleared his throat, “Um…so you know I’m with Martin…”
“Yes, I realised when you two snuck off from my wedding reception to hook up,” Sasha smirked.
Jon couldn’t help spluttering just a little, “We weren’t together together then…I had another month or so of being an obtuse asshole to get through…”
Sasha’s voice softened, turned kinder, “And you worked on yourself and now you’re both very happy together, the way you were always meant to be. So what’s the problem?”
“Me. As per usual,” Jon’s laugh didn’t sound completely convincing, not even to him, “It’s been a long time since I was in a relationship and I’ve never been in one where I wasn’t a total wreck. I’m realizing there’s a lot of Relationship 101 classes I missed somewhere along the way.”
Sasha tilted her head, her smile turning gentle in a way that managed not to be pitying, “That’s not you being a problem, Jon. There’s no time limit on this kind of thing, you can borrow my notes any time you like.”
Jon wondered if she’d end up regretting those words somewhere in the next ten seconds, as he realised he’d hit the point where he had to just cough it up and get it over with.
“I don’t…” he waved his fork vaguely in the air, “I don’t know how to go about initiating…y’know. Sex?”
There was a beat of silence as Sasha absorbed that. Jon wondered if she was comparing  him to the first version of Jonathan Sims she’d met, the one with the constant tremor in his hands and his too tight ties and short hair, if she was trying to imagine that Jonathan asking her about her weekend, let alone anything that involved taking off clothes. 
From the way she grinned, Jon thought she might prefer the version sat in front of her a little more, even if his hair was already falling out of its bun less than halfway through the day and he was drowning in a jumper Martin had knitted for him rather than a suit. Jon rather thought he preferred this version too. 
“Oh so it’s one of those questions, huh?” Sasha beamed, leaning forward with a new bright eyed energy that was only slightly terrifying, “This is so fun, I never got to play the cool big sister…”
“Ninety percent sure I’m older than you,” Jon rolled his eyes but her smile was infectious, he felt one pulling at his own mouth as he sat back and braced himself. 
“It’s a spiritual thing, Jon, don’t take this away from me,” Sasha waved her hand airily, “Okay. So you want to be straightforward about it? You want to flirt a little, make it a surprise, what are we looking for?”
Jon fidgeted with his glasses, pushing them up his nose, “I mean…I want to ask Martin if he’d like to have sex with me without sounding like a robot that was programmed to make people uncomfortable?”
Sasha chuckled, though not unkindly, “I mean, it’s always going to be a little uncomfortable, Jon. That's not something you can fix, it’s just something you learn to embrace and so do they.”
“I’m…starting to see that,” Jon nodded slowly, trying to chase down the feeling in his chest, pin it down clumsily with words, “I’m not used to wanting this. Wanting to be with someone like that, to make someone look at me in that way. I still don’t want sex the same way other people want it, I’ve sorted out that much. But I want it with Martin.”
“And how do you ask for something you’ve never wanted before?” Sasha nodded, sympathetic, “I hear what you’re saying, Jon.”
It was strange how such a simple thing, something most people never had to question, could mean so much to him. He supposed that's what came of actually choosing to speak, to ask. 
“Thank you, Sasha,” he smiled at his friend, sitting up a little, “So…how do I go about this?”
Sasha grinned, “Oh that’s easy. You have some fun with it.”
-
Jon thought he was doing pretty well. He’d only texted Sasha are you sure about this three times since Martin had left to go to the shops.
His latest message received the same answer as the first two, equally as patient and equally as reassuring. 
Trust me! As long as ur comfortable with it, he’ll <3 it
Jon looked at himself in the mirror again, trying to find something there that Martin would love. He sighed, picking up his phone again after he promised himself he wouldn’t.
And this worked on Tim?
A few moments of a reply bubble. 
He got a speeding fine driving home after I sent him pics of me in that pink shirt he has
Jon’s eyebrows shot up. That pink Hawaiian shirt was objectively hideous. 
Point taken. 
An older version of him would put the phone down then, nothing more to say. But he knew better now. 
Thank you for this, Sasha. 
He somehow heard her smile in the reply that pinged through. 
Don’t thank me yet. Gonna demand some details on Mon as tax. have fun boss!
Jon rolled his eyes, setting his phone down for good now. Martin would be back soon, allowing for how many of their neighbours he stopped to talk to on the way and if any of them were walking dogs he could fuss over. He gave himself a last look over in the mirror, not that anything would be different. 
He’d spent a long time choosing the right jumper out of the many Martin owned. He’d wanted one in green after his boyfriend said the colour brought out his eyes, an offhand comment from months ago but it had snagged in Jon’s mind. He’d wanted one of the larger ones so he didn’t freeze but not so large it didn’t skate the edge of his thighs and slide down off one shoulder in a way he thought- hoped- was sexy. He’d wanted his hair loose, lying across his shoulders in the way that had always been an invitation for Martin to run his fingers through it. 
Jon had planned out everything, this was exactly what he’d been picturing in his head in the hours since he talked to Sasha. And he still thought he looked a little ridiculous. 
But now his reflection wore a soft smile, a little shy, a little uncertain but it was there. It was still hard to believe there was anything in the mirror that Martin would love but Jon did see something he wanted to give him. And that felt good.
A creaking floorboard somewhere out in the hallway sent him scrambling for the sofa. Damn it, he’d been counting on Mrs Nowack and Biscuit keeping Martin occupied for at least ten minutes, she must have had somewhere to be. He had just enough time to arrange himself in a vaguely casual position against the cushions, one leg up, the hem of the jumper sitting just right, before he heard the front door to their flat open. 
“Jon? I’m back,” Martin’s voice was a little winded from the long climb up the stairs but it still had that bright smile in it, “They had that mango juice you like!”
Jon chuckled softly as he heard shopping bags hitting the floor, Martin shrugged off his anorak, boots being kicked off, “Nice…I’ll put it all away, just leave it there.”
“What? No, no, I’m already on my feet,” Martin’s voice moved, going towards the kitchen, “You stay comfy, I’ll put the kettle on…”
Jon struggled not to laugh, he hadn’t accounted for this, for being tripped up by his boyfriend’s implacable politeness. He tried to figure out how he could coax Martin into the living room without being obvious, while their ancient kettle rattled and wheezed towards boiling point and the man he was trying to seduce whistled as he put away the shopping. He should have just sent a picture. Or maybe an embossed invitation. Skywriting, possibly?
Though, Jon had to admit, there was a distinct satisfaction as Martin walked in, saw his boyfriend sprawled on the sofa in nothing but one of his own jumpers, and dropped two full mugs of tea on the floor. 
“I’ll clean that up later,” Jon grinned, watching the heat rise in Martin’s face, “Do you…do you like it?”
“I…I…you…you’re so…” Martin’s jaw worked but his brain clearly wasn’t, his eyes wide like they wanted to take in every inch of Jon. 
“Thank you,” Jon shifted onto his knees, rather enjoying the way the fabric pulled higher on his leg and Martin’s eyes snapped to it like a cat watching prey, “I wanted to surprise you.”
Martin swallowed hard, like his mouth was dry, “Do you…I mean…can I…do you want…”
“Very much so,” Jon purred, freeing one hand enough to beckon him, “Come here, darling.”
“Oh thank god,” Martin groaned, rushing forward and sweeping him into a kiss that told Jon he’d done a very, very good job. 
The moment their lips met, Jon realised he had what he wanted, even if he couldn’t put a name to it. This closeness, this warmth, all the emotion he didn’t have words for expressed physically instead. He could never say what Martin meant to him, he couldn’t ever thank him for the way he took the parts of Jon that were broken and malformed and sharp and pressed them close without fear. 
But he could kiss him. He could root his fingers in those loose red curls, he could part his legs and make room for him between them, he could moan softly as their tongues brushed each other. And Martin would just know. 
“I can’t believe you did this for me…” his words were breathless, coming between a smile and hungry kisses that trailed down Jon’s neck, to where the jumper revealed his collarbone.
Jon’s words came out shaky as Martin’s leg pressed between his own, his nerves sparking at the contact, “Wanted to make it clear...wanted…fuck, Martin, I wanted you…”
Martin drew back, an expression softened with a heartbreaking mix of disbelief and joy. An expression that told Jon he’d never expected to be here, holding him and hearing those words, believing them, “You have me. You always have me.”
So Jon gave him no doubt, rolling his hips against him, sliding his hands down and under Martin’s shirt, across the warmth of his skin, “I love you…”
“I love you too,” Martin helped him pull off his shirt, sending it to the floor, his jeans and boxers pushed down enough that Jon could wrap a hand around his cock. 
Jon pulled back, eyes travelling across Martin’s body. He’d always felt the need to study the things he felt drawn to, to tag and categorise and collate until he understood them down to the last atom. Martin was no different. Jon found himself making an index of every little detail that made his heart beat faster and the muscles low in his stomach twist, Harvard references to the desire racing through him. 
Freckles, face. Freckles, shoulders, collarbone, like someone had taken a paintbrush full of ochre and flicked it at him. Stomach, soft, rounded, perfect to rest on. Hair, soft to touch, heavily dusting his chest and running down his stomach, between his legs. Cock, thick, heavy enough in his palm to make his wrist ache, slick warmth running between his fingers. Noises, moans. Noises, gasps. Noises, fuck, Jon... 
He guided Martin’s cock between his legs until he felt him press against where Jon was so hot and wet it felt like he was melting. Like their bodies would just run together like candle wax, into one whole and they’d never have to be apart again. 
“Easy, Jon…” Martin’s voice was tight, trembling like a plucked violin string, “Don’t want to hurt you…”
“You won’t,” Jon’s voice came out a raw moan, halfway to a growl, his heels pressing into Martin’s back, urging him forward.
It wasn’t a complete lie. Martin was a big guy in every sense of the word, there was a bite, a stretch his body wasn’t used to and cried out at. But the word pain implied something bad, something he didn’t want. That burn meant Martin was sharing his body and, right now, he wanted that more than he wanted air in his lungs. 
“Fuck, Jon, darling…” Martin groaned, his face pressed to the side of his neck, one hand wrapped around his waist, the other braced on the arm of the sofa behind him. 
Jon panted heavily, waiting until enough of him broke the surface to think again, to form words, “I’m all yours, sweetheart. Take me.”
More references, more data points rolled in as Martin shifted his weight to his knees, leveraging enough to rock into Jon. Arms, strong, enough to make him feel small in the best way. Scent, warm, amber, heady. Muscles, deceptively hidden under layers of softness but the feel of them tensing, relaxing, tensing was intoxicating. Stubble, rough in the best way as it scratched his shoulder. So many things thrilling Jon, leaving him utterly helpless to his most base instincts, so many things that made up his Martin. 
“More, Martin, fuck, faster…” he begged breathlessly, digging his fingers into his boyfriend’s shoulders so tight there would be marks in the morning.
“I got you, Jon…”
Martin was already thrusting so hard the sofa was creaking dangerously but, just because Jon had asked it of him, he found a way to go harder, faster, hitting Jon’s sweet spot every single time like his whole purpose for existing had become giving him pleasure. It gave what was coming the inevitability of a law of physics, something comfortingly certain, something Jon knew couldn’t be taken away from him. 
“Martin, darling, I…I think…” his voice broke, words unravelling, dissipating when he tried to grasp for them.
“I know,” Martin gasped, voice raw, “I’m with you, Jon, I’m with you, let go…”
It hit Jon with the force of a wave, shattering his control and leaving him reeling. It could have burned up into panic so quickly but Martin was there, heat flooding into him as he came with a soft, sweet cry. There was a long moment of ringing tension that hung like a droplet of water before falling, breaking, and suddenly Jon was back in his body. 
His laugh was half a gasp as Martin collapsed on top of him, the two of them left giggling like teenagers. 
“God, sorry…” Martin panted softly, grinning, trying to shift off of him.
But Jon held on tightly, nuzzling against his shoulder, “Don’t you dare, Martin Blackwood.”
Martin grinned, fingers trailing across the sleeve of the jumper that was now rucked up just underneath Jon’s chest, after their activities it looked like he was going to have to return it in a far worse state than he found it. It seemed like he’d be forgiven, though. 
“Good to know my first attempt at seduction was a success,” Jon smiled, combing back Martin’s curls where they’d stuck to his forehead. 
“Your first huh? Could have fooled me,” Martin snorted, leaning into his touch gratefully, “Where did you even get the idea for this, what on earth possessed you?”
Jon opened his mouth and closed it again before his smile turned slightly coy, “Um, might not be a conversation you want to have while you’re still, y’know, inside me…incidentally, if Sasha looks at you weird on Monday, don’t worry about it.”
Martin, to his credit, managed a whole two seconds before he burst out laughing, which was more than Jon had expected from him. He just had to cling to him, grinning and kissing him until he had no choice but to shut up. 
“You are so adorable,” Martin gently extracted himself from Jon, sitting back and letting his boyfriend pillow his head on his chest, “What happened to the Mr Sims who insisted on strict professionalism on Archive property?”
Jon rolled his eyes at the poor impression, though he couldn’t help smiling at the answer that rose to his lips as he reached up to kiss him softly. 
“You happened.” 
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vodika-vibes · 1 year ago
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oh may I request the "if you had the guts, [name], you would have kissed me." "you think something is stopping me from doing that right now? prompt for Alpha-17? I just love that big grump 🥹
thank you very much:)
Challenge
Summary: You're at a medical seminar, and Alpha-17 is there to play bodyguard for you. And your relationship changes.
Pairing: Alpha-17 x F!Reader
Word Count: 1930
Warnings: Smut, shameless smut
Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni
A/N: This wasn't going to be smut when I started to write it, but Alpha took control and said that this is happening, and I'm apparently weak for him. I'm so sorry if this isn't what you wanted.
Divider by Saradika
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“This place is awful,” Alpha-17 grumbles as he folds his arms over his chest and glowers at a scrawny Doctor who looks like he’s about to come over and talk to you.
“You didn’t have to come to this seminar, Alpha.”
“I’m following orders,” He replies sarcastically. “General Ti said you needed a bodyguard. So here I am. Guarding your body.”
“Hm…and what are you guarding my body from, exactly?” You ask, as you flip through the brochure, “What kind of food do you want me to order for us tonight, by the way.”
“Hm?” He glances at the brochure over your shoulder and taps a restaurant, “They have good curry, according to someone else’s bodyguard.” Alpha replies, though he doesn’t finish answering your question until you grabbed the menu for the restaurant that he indicated, “Anyway, I’m apparently protecting your body from horny scientists.”
“...wait, what?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you seriously scaring off potential dates? Alpha!”
“You don’t need a date. You’re here for work, remember.” Alpha snarks.
“You sound jealous.”
“I’m pretty sure that guy can’t go up a flight of stairs without needing to pause to catch his breath.” Alpha says snidely, “He definitely wouldn’t be any fun in the sack.”
“Why are you even thinking about my sex life?” You ask.
“I have a lot of free time.”
“Which you spend thinking about me being naked.”
Alpha tilts his head and drags his gaze down your body, humming thoughtfully, “I have a very vivid imagination, princess.”
You scowl at him, and ignore the way that your face burns with the ease of long practice. You take a deep breath and look away from him, “You talk a good game, Alpha. But what would you do if I actually took you at your word?”
He arches an eyebrow at you, and you roll your eyes and shake your head.
“If you had the guts, Alpha, you would have kissed me already.” You say as you turn and meet his gaze evenly. Challenging Alpha is never a good idea, on account of the fact that he always wins. But you’re so tired of him flirting with you and then not doing anything about it.
Alpha straightens, and his gaze is locked on your face, “You think something is stopping me from doing that right now?”
“I don’t think you will. I think you’re all talk.”
Alpha stares at you for a long moment, absolutely silent, and then he smiles, slow and dark, “Okay.”
You pause and shoot him a strange look, “Okay?”
“Okay.” He repeats, his smile never once changing.
“Okay…” You say slowly, and then you turn your attention towards the brochure rack. However you expected him to react to your challenge, that wasn’t it.
You jerk when you feel his finger trail up your spine to stop in the middle of your neck, “You might just regret that, princess.” Alpha breathes in your ear, and then he’s no longer touching you.
You glance at him, he looks completely calm, though his gaze is locked on your face and the promising smile on his lips hasn’t wavered. You take a steadying breath, and turn to him, “Do you see anything you want to do?” You ask, as you motion at the stand.
He doesn’t take his eyes off of you, “Yeah, I do.” His grin grows when you shift slightly under his heated gaze, “But I don’t see anything on the stand I’m interested in.”
“Great!” You reply as you quickly spin away from him, “Then I’ll just grab a few of the restaurant menus and then we can go.” You hear him chuckle behind you, and you kind of want to pout. But you also brought this on yourself.
You grab a handful, necessary since you’re going to be here at this seminar for the next week or so, and then you turn to head towards the lift. Alpha, dutifully, trails after you and settles against the wall inside the lift.
He slams his finger against the button that shuts the door, causing the doors to slide shut before another scientist can enter the elevator with you.
“That wasn’t nice,” You say as the lift starts moving.
“I’m not nice.”
“Hm. I don’t believe that.”
“You just keep digging that hole, don’t you princess?” Alpha murmurs, his eyes glittering.
You consider him for a moment, and then you lift your chin, defiantly, “I still think you’re all talk, Alpha.”
His smile grows into a grin, and he reaches out to brush his thumb over your lower lip, “You know why I didn’t kiss you in the lobby?” He asks conversationally.
“Because you don’t mean it.”
“Because I fully intend to have you naked as soon as I have you in the room, and no one is allowed to see that but me.” Alpha growls out, “Especially not those scientists down there.”
Your lips part slightly, “Oh.”
His thumb presses a little harder against your lower lip, “Unless, princess, you’re not interested.”
“I never said that,” You reply immediately, and Alpha smirks at you, his gaze heated, but drops his hand as the doors open. He allows you to lead the way to the room. He waits patiently as you key in the door code, and he waits patiently for the door to slide shut behind him.
And then he’s on you.
Your back is pressed against the door, and his lips are warm and demanding against yours. He uses his teeth and tongue to devastating effect, and when he breaks the kiss, you’re flushed and breathless.
He takes a step away from you, and you whine low in your throat, “Alpha-?” As he backs into the room and settles on the couch.
“Come away from the door, princess.” He orders, his voice a low rumble. And you obediently step away from the door, and get to the middle of the room, before his voice stops you, “Stop there.” Alpha leans back against the couch, his legs splayed, as he palms the obvious bulge in his pants. He lazily frees his cock from the confines of his pants, and smirks at you, “See something you like, princess.”
Your gaze is locked on his cock, and you take half a step towards him.
“Did I say you could move, princess?” Alpha asks, his voice low.
You hesitate, but move back into the original position.
“Good girl,” He praises as he lazily strokes his cock, “Strip for me, my pretty girl. I want to see you.”
With shaking hands, you start peeling your clothes off. First your shirt and bra, and then your pants and underwear. And as soon as you’re bare in front of him, you fold your arms over your stomach.
“Beautiful,” He murmurs, his gaze hungrily dragging down your body. Alpha considers you for a moment, and then he smiles, “Come here, princess.”
You cross the short distance quickly, and Alpha pulls you to balance on his knee, rather than pulling you flush against him like how you wanted. “Alpha-” His name slips from you in a whine, and he leans in to kiss you, turning your whine into a sigh.
He pulls away and leans back against the couch, “Touch yourself,” Alpha orders, his gaze dragging down your body to linger on your pussy, “Make yourself cum, princess.”
Your fingers twitch towards his cock, and he laughs softly, “I know what you want, princess.” One of his hands ghosts across your breasts, and he rolls one of  your nipples between his fingers, and he’s rewarded with a moan, “Can you do this for me, princess?”
You release a shaky breath, but you nod, and your hand slides down your body. You ease in a single finger and you thrust slowly, as you twist your wrist so you’re able to rub the little bundle of nerves that brings you so much pleasure.
You fall into your usual habits, your free hand coming up to clamp over your mouth to muffle your needy moans. 
Alpha releases a growl and tugs your hand away from your mouth, “I want to hear you.” He threads his fingers with yours, and he’s not the least bit surprised when you tightly squeeze his hand.
And when you’re right there, right on the edge of reaching your climax, Alpha grabs your wrist and pulls your drenched hand away from your body. “No…’m so close….” you whine out, writhing on his lap for the friction that you need. Though you stop moving when Alpha takes your fingers into his mouth and starts licking them clean.
He releases your fingers, and pulls you a little closer, his lips catching yours in a heated kiss, and you moan at the taste of Alpha mixed with the subtle taste of yourself still on his tongue.
Your hips jerk when you feel the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, and slowly, very slowly, he pulls you down his hard length. He’s big, much bigger than your fingers or any of the toys you’ve used in the past. It’s a little uncomfortable, but as you settle fully on his length, the discomfort fades into pleasure.
Alpha breaks the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, as curses fall from his lips at the way you’re fluttering around him, “So fucking tight,” He groans, “Let me know when you’re ready to move, princess.”
You press your face against his neck, your hands curling tightly into his shirt, and you nod. Slowly you rock your hips, unsure about the unfamiliar position, and it takes you a moment, but you eventually find a rhythm that has the coil in your stomach winding tight again.
“That’s right, princess. Use my cock to chase your pleasure,” He groans in your ear, shallowly thrusting up into you.
You release a quiet whine when you realize that you can’t quite push yourself over the edge, “Alpha-”
“Shh,” He soothes you with a hand down your spine, “What do you need, Princess?”
“I can’t-”
“I have you.” Alpha murmurs, “Wrap your arms around me.” You do as he instructs, wrapping your arms tightly around him, and then he thrusts up into you roughly, as one of his hands slides between you to quickly roll his thumb over your clit.
And finally the coil snaps, and Alpha’s name falls from your lips like a prayer. And he continues fucking you though your orgasm, chasing his own release as he holds you tightly against his chest, praise falling from his lips as you slowly came down from your high.
His thrusts become shallow, and his lips crash against yours as he pulls you down around him, hard, and then he holds you still as he spills his release deep inside you. 
Alpha keeps you flush against him, staying buried deep within you as he presses lingering kisses against your neck and throat. And neither of you speak until you both have your breathing under control.
And then he tilts his head back to look at you, a smug smirk playing on his lips, “Do you believe me now?”
You blink at him, slightly bewildered, and then you pout, “Yeah. I guess.”
His smirk widens, and he lazily smoothes his hand down your spine, “So, Princess, how long do you think you need before round two?”
You release a breathless laugh, “Can we at least move to a bed, please?”
“Not a bad idea,” Alpha murmurs, “This time you’ll be under me, princess.” He kisses you deeply, and then stands, his arms strong around you.
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kitsune-oji · 1 year ago
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Hi! Nice to find your blog! I just read your "There is no guarantee you will be different", and I loved it! I was wondering if I could request the same thing for Lucifer? And/Or Satan? Especially as these two have anger issues. And I think it could be interesting?
I especially loved to finally find a prompt/story where it's relatable for this type of trust issues. Thank you!
There's No Guarantee You will be Different
Mc who has been hurt a lot in the past (betrayed, lied to, used) even by those that promised otherwise and were nice at first and struggles to trust others because of it. Not understanding why someone would actually like/love them or not believing them, being scared of getting hurt again and again like in the past.
Of course! Sorry this took so long but I hope you like it :)
Characters: Lucifer, Satan
Other: Barbatos & Beel, Mammon
-> feel free to request this with other obey me characters too
Warnings/tags: hurt/comfort-y, implied intimate actions (Lucifer), implied violence against third parties (Satan)
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"You keep saying you love me, you keep promising that you will never leave, that you'll never hurt me... How do you know that? There's no guarantee. In the past, I've trusted those who told me all that and in the end, they ended up breaking all their promises anyway. Please, don't promise me things you can't keep. Even if you think you can keep them now, you don't know how it will be in the future. Maybe you'll get sick of me too, just like everyone else. I love you too but... I'm just scared. I'm sorry."
Lucifer
"...no, I guess I don't know that. You're right but you're also wrong. I love you right now and that is the truth. I can't see myself not loving you in the future and you can't expect me to act the way others have before me. ...their actions say nothing about your worth, even if it may be hard to recognize that. I'll make sure you will understand your worth. You should be proud to be yourself."
Lucifer is upset over the fact that you would hold him to the same standards as those who have hurt you in the past but after the initial displeasure, he understands that that isn't what he should be focusing on
He's convinced that the main problem is the fact that your confidence and self image has been damaged from your prior experience and that helping you build yourself back up will make you less anxious about the relationship you two have
Honestly, he's not wrong
Lucifer pays attention to verbally recognize any achievements you make and praise you for them
Sometimes, he asks you to tell him good things about yourself and will reward you for every thing you can list with confidence. Your rewards depend on what you like, obviously ;)
It's incredibly sweet when someone like Lucifer makes an effort to voice and show you how much he thinks of you. Not just the affection he as for you, which is plenty, but also how he appreciates you as another person. The skills you have, how much you do for him and his brothers, the effort he sees you put into your self-betterment and anything else positive he sees
You're an amazing person and in his eyes, everyone who has hurt and left you in the past are downright dumb and not worth your time anyway
Satan
In the first moment, it pisses Satan off so badly to hear those words that he has to go outside and search out the street cars he regularly goes to just to clear his head
Once he isn't so angry anymore, he feels bad over the fact he just stormed out like that
"I'm sorry. I'm not angry at you, just at the fact that you feel this way. They had no right to hurt you like that and I can't understand how they couldn't see how wonderful you are. You weren't appreciated by those you loved in the past but I'll make sure not to make the same mistake. I know it's hard for you to trust me but please, give me a chance to show you I'm different."
Satan regrets his initial reaction and wants to make it up to you even more
Honestly, there's a part of him that wants to make the people who hurt you pay and if you let him, he will. You won't have to hear about it if you don't want to, everything is up to you
He tries to find romance stories where the main character has gone through similar pain as you did and find love in the progress of the book with the intent that it may show you that there is always hope
If you want, he can read them to you as well
Little notes of poems and anecdotes are scattered everywhere from your school books to your lunchboxes talking about Satan's love for you and what makes you so lovable in his eyes
He makes a list of all the romantic dates he has heard or read about and wants to try with you. You can rank them with him and then Satan will do his best to make everything come true one by one
Yet the most touching and convincing situation for you were the times when Satan was so lost in his rage that he couldn't see clearly and yet the mere sound of your voice calmed him so quickly that you almost go whiplash from the way he switched around
Even cats didn't always work to make Satan get out of his blinding wrath but every time you manage to do just that, it makes you feel that you truly mean as much to him as he claims and it reassures you that maybe, this time will be different after all
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Congratulations to (almost) 500 followers! 🥳 Let the fun begin. I'm curious about L & 12 for the precious Darkling. Maybe the darkling never admit his feelings for the reader and now it seems like it is to late for any confessions... Thank you for the opportunity for this special prompt game. 🥰
Thank you. And thanks for all the support you have given me over the past few months. 🥰
I had my outline for this one almost finished before I realised you probably wanted one where the reader is arranged to marry someone else, making the Darkling think it's too late to be with her. But unfortunately my brain had already gone down a different road, and this plot bunny had already made residence with no hope of getting rid of it.
Anyways, I hope you enjoy the end result, even if it is different from what you were expecting. As you say, let the fun begin!
---
L. Arranged marriage 12. ‘I’m trying to help you, dammit!’
Kirigan watched as you hopelessly tried to clasp the necklace behind your neck. It was a fiddly little thing, and you had been trying to put it on for the last five minutes to no avail. He had offered to take care of it for you, but you had just about bitten his head off when he so much as stepped close to you.
Not what he had ever envisioned married life to be like, but then again, yours wasn’t a normal marriage.
Two months ago, the King had announced to Kirigan his plans to marry off his niece to a suitor of his own choosing. One month after that, the two of you had been married.
The worst part was that Kirigan genuinely loved you. He had done for ages. Your position in the Grand Palace meant that the two of you had met frequently, and you had developed a mutual respect. Some would even call it a friendship. And you were just so… kind. And cheerful and beautiful and smart and a million other things that made falling in love with you impossible to resist.
He had never admitted his feelings, however. You were not Grisha and he would lose you in the end, so he had preemptively shielded himself from that pain.
And now it was too late to change his mind. He doubted you would ever love him now that you had been forced to his side. You wouldn’t even let him put a damn necklace on you.
‘Please, milaya,’ he said. ‘Just let me do it for you.’
‘I told you not to call me that!’ you snapped as you once again failed to loop the chain into the clasp. ‘I don’t need you.’
‘I’m trying to help you, dammit!’ he snapped back. He regretted it immediately, but there was only so much of your stubbornness he could take. ‘Why must you fight me on every little thing?’
You put down the necklace and then turned to face him, eyes narrowed and full of righteous anger. ‘What did you expect?’ you seethed. ‘For me to be an obedient little wife? Someone who is happy to be nothing more than a pawn in some political chess match. Well, tough. I am neither of those things and I will continue to make sure you don’t forget it.’
‘I am not responsible for this,’ said Kirigan through gritted teeth. ‘The marriage was your uncle’s idea. Not mine.’
‘But you still accepted,’ you said, surprising him. He hadn’t realised you had known about that part. ‘My uncle gave you the choice. You could have said no to the whole thing. But you didn’t.’
‘Because then he would have given you to someone else!’
That, you hadn’t known about, judging by your shocked expression.
At your fearful look, he sighed and lowered his voice. ‘The King had a whole list of possible suitors for you. I was just at the top of it. He would have let them do what they would with you as long as he got an advantage out of it. I know I am not who you would have chosen for a husband, but I couldn’t let something like that happen to you.’
You may have shared a bed, but Kirigan had never touched you. And he never would, not without your consent.
He doubted the other men on the list would have had the same reservations.
‘Why not?’ you asked in a small voice. Kirigan wasn’t sure if he was saddened or insulted.
You must have realised how your question had sounded, because you soon rephrased it. ‘I mean, why do you care so much that you would make such a sacrifice for me?’
He would have liked to have been able to say that it was for completely selfless reasons, but that would have been lying. You weren’t totally unjustified in your anger towards him. He did have completely selfless reasons… but he also couldn’t stand the thought of you being someone else’s wife.
‘How could I not?’ he asked instead. When you didn’t answer, he held his hand out. ‘Please, milaya. Let me be a proper husband for you. Let me help. That’s all I want.’
You stared at his hand for a moment before you picked your necklace back up and carefully placed it in his palm. You turned around, baring the back of your neck to him.
He fought the temptation to bend down and kiss it.
Instead, he draped the necklace around your throat; no more and no less than what he had offered to do.
‘I would have chosen you,’ you said suddenly, making him fumble with the clasp.
He got it secure on the second try, but he didn’t step back, frozen in place by your words. He met your eyes in the mirror in front of you and saw the same longing that was in his own.
How had he ever missed it?
You turned, bringing you both chest to chest, so close that you were sharing the same air. ‘If I had known you cared so much, my uncle would not have had to put you on a list.’
His response to that was to crash his lips to yours, pouring all his hope, longing, and fears into the kiss. It was only a second before you were returning it with equal passion.
Maybe it wasn’t too late after all.
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tathrin · 2 years ago
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6... on a falling tear and 38... because they're running out of time (^ω^)
Oh how lovely and tragic, very nice choices! Thank you very much for the ask. I'll split them up into two separate posts because I'm incapable of ever writing anything succinct though, sigh! Prompt taken from this; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time, I don’t care how long it’s been. (Just maybe add some context to your ask if it’s been like a month or more since I posted this, because otherwise I won’t know what to do with the random number in my inbox lmao).
#38....because they’re running out of time. [mood music anyone?]
“Never thought I’d die as a diversion,” Gimli muttered, watching as Sauron’s army poured out of the Black Gates and surrounded the two small hills on which Aragorn had arrayed their forces.
Gimli could not count the teeming numbers of the enemy that stood before him—they were too many, too foul—but Legolas had the keen eyes of the elves, and he had told Gimli that their force of six thousand was outnumbered at least ten-to-one. They were not all orcs, either, which would have been bad enough; for surely each troll should be counted six or seven times at least.
The hills would help, Gimli thought numbly, at least a little; the incline would grant the defenders an advantage over the enemy that would have to scramble to climb up at them, and the slag pools of fetid Mordor that surrounded the low hillocks would be another impediment—but it would not be enough.
They had known it would not be enough even before they set out for the Black Gates, and they had all of them come anyway. Gimli did not regret his choice to follow his friends into doom, no; but that did not make the moment of the end any less bitter. And that moment was almost here, now; they were running out of time.
The enemy paused at the feet of the hills, hissing and cursing and some of them even spitting, and Gimli spun his axe to stretch his shoulders in anticipation of the battle to come.
He stood near the front, with Aragorn and Legolas and most of the mightiest of their fighters, where the attack would surely be the thickest. He eyed one lumbering troll that was pushing its way through the milling ranks of orcs, an ugly line of drool hanging off one side of its jaw where broken teeth distorted its already ugly grin into something macabre and ghoulish.
“Gimli,” Legolas said, standing so close beside him, his voice light with echoes of distant birdsong, and Gimli could feel himself smiling in instinctive response even as his heart twisted in sorrow at the thought of what was soon to come for them both. “Gimli,” Legolas said, “may I—I would ask a very great favor of you, my friend, if you would indulge me, please.”
“Of course,” Gimli said immediately. He turned to look up at the elf beside him, standing like a slender ray of sunlight in that bleak land, and tried to hide his breaking heart behind his smile. He could not imagine what sort of favor Legolas might ask at this late juncture—or if he could, then it was a favor that need not be spoken aloud, for Gimli had already vowed to himself that he would not allow the enemy to take this elf alive for torment when the battle ended and their defeat enfolded them.
“Anything, Legolas, you know that.”
Legolas gave a strange, half-choked laugh, and pressed his free hand to his face as though smother some strong feeling; with his other, of course, he held the mighty bow of the Galadhrim that the Lady had given him, and Gimli’s heart gave another pang at the thought of three golden strands tucked away safely behind white walls far away, waiting for a dwarf who would never return to reclaim them—but then Legolas moved, and Gimli’s eyes were drawn instead to tight golden braids that swayed before him as the slender Wood-elf suddenly swayed like a falling sapling and bent down close to Gimli’s face.
He caught Gimli’s bearded cheek with his hand and turned the dwarf’s face up to meet him, and then—oh, and then Legolas was kissing him and Gimli’s mind seemed to dissolve in a blaze of starlight. His whole world narrowed down to those smooth lips pressed so tight and hungry to his own; those long fingers twined so gently through his beard to cup his chin in their narrow palm; the brush of heavy golden braids against Gimli’s shoulders as Legolas bent low over him...
Belatedly, Gimli realized that he had reached up to press his hand to the elf’s face as well; he only noticed when the pad of his thumb brushed against the tip of one long pointed ear and Legolas’s breath hitched in both their mouths.
The drew apart, Legolas swaying back upright with a last lingering flutter of his fingers against Gimli’s beard before he pulled away. Gimli’s jaw worked soundlessly around words that would not come,his wide eyes fixed so fervently on the beautiful, beardless face before him that he almost forgot the stink of the orcs and the jeers of their ugly voices in his ears.
“Forgive me the liberty, I pray,” Legolas rasped. His mithril-bright eyes shimmered with unshed tears, in that moment looking suddenly so like the pool of the Mirrormere that Gimli almost felt as though he had been transported somehow back to the hills outside Khazad-dûm, and this desperate death at the doors of Mordor made into naught but a terrible dream.
But the creeping tendrils of fear that marked the approach of the Nazgûl was no dream; nor were the thundering steps of the trolls as they began to scale the hills, nor the shouts of the orcs as they struggled to follow. In moments, the enemy would be upon them. There was so much Gimli wanted, needed, to say; but they were running out of time.
“There is—there is nothing to forgive, Legolas,” he managed to croak.
“I am relieved to hear it,” Legolas replied. “For I could not bear to die without ever kissing you, Gimli.”
Gimli reached up for those golden braids and bright eyes again. “Legolas—!”
Legolas flashed him a brief, bright, heartbroken smile, and then turned away to face the enemy as the orcs rushed towards them. Gimli raised his axe more out of habit than intention and stepped up beside the elf. “Legolas...” he tried again, but his head was reeling and he could not find the words he wished to craft; they all slipped through his mental fingers, like he was trying to scoop cave-cold water with naught but his bare hands.
Then the first troll reached them, bellowing as it knocked three soldiers of Gondor off their feet to tumble down the hill towards the waiting blades of the orcs below. Gimli growled and gripped his axe, and then suddenly Legolas was scaling the troll, blasted fool of an elf that he was!
“Legolas!” Gimli shouted again, and raced to follow him into the fight.
The troll was too slow to catch the nimble elf, but its attempts to do so blunted its attention to the axe in Gimli’s hand as he hacked at its knees. The creature roared belatedly in anger, even as thick blood wept down its legs. It reached down to try and swat Gimli away, and Legolas scampered across its shoulders and drove his long knife in deep into the troll’s eye. Even that was not enough to kill the beast, but when two Rohirrim came up with long spears the troll was too woozy with pain and blood-loss to bat the weapons away from its throat.
It went down with a thud and a cry of rage rose from the orcs in response. Legolas skipped away from the body and landed on the ground again at Gimli’s side. Shaking with fear, anger, and adrenaline, Gimli caught him by the wrist and gave the elf a shake. “Don’t do that again!” he shouted. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”
Legolas laughed, fey and unfettered, his merriment as sharp and keen as his arrows. He slashed his knife through the throat of a climbing orc and twisted easily away from the resulting spray of black blood. “Gimli, we are all going to die here,” he said, wiping the blade clean on the skirt of his tunic before sheathing it and drawing his bow once more. “Put aside your fears, my dear; we have moved beyond that now. All that is left to us is to make our deaths worthy of those that came before us, and to sell our lives dearly enough that we might hope to buy enough time for others to save all those who may come after from this Shadow.”
His arrows flew true, burying themselves in throats and eyes and black-blooded hearts even as he looked back at the dwarf more often than he did at the oncoming orcs. In Legolas’s eyes, Gimli could see the glimmer of all the years together they would never have; could see the crumbling eternity of an immortal life cut short and the unscalable chasm that lay forever between the fates of elves and dwarves, sundering them from one another for all time even unto the breaking of the world.
This, he realized, was all the time they were ever going to have.
Tears stung his eyes, hot and bitter. It was not enough. It would never, ever be enough—and it did not matter, because there was no more to be had.
Gimli shook his head, swallowing down the urge to weep; he had to focus on the orcs. There were too many coming up the sides of the hill now, too fierce; it was all Gimli could do to swing his axe in time to block their blows and cut them down. It was all he could do to keep close to Legolas’s side, the elf now reduced to fighting with nothing but his long white knife. There were maybe half a handful of arrows in his quiver yet, but even elvish speed was insufficient to allow for proper archery at sight a tight distance in this tumult.
Oh, why had Gimli not seen to it that his elf was better armed before they rode off to this final battle? Legolas was deadly with that little knife, yes, but oh it seemed so short in his long fingers. Why had Gimli not sought the armories of Gondor, and borrowed some mightier blade for his friend? Why had he not sought the forges, and made him one to suit his lanky frame?
He was such a fool. What had he been wasting his time on instead, when he could have—should have—been seeing to Legolas’s safety?
When he could have been kissing him?
Gimli growled, and swung his axe harder, and watched one burly uruk go down gurgling and clutching at its guts. Gimli swung again, and its head toppled free and he could turn to the next enemy, the next threat. Beside him, Legolas whirled and slashed in a flurry of golden braids and a black-blooded blade. He lunged over Gimli’s head to slit the throat of an orc that was angling a spear towards Gimli’s ribs as Gimli kicked-out low and took the feet out from under another orc that had managed to get a grimy hand around one of those bright braids.
“Away from him!” Gimli bellowed, and the orc feel back squealing over the stump of its arm. Gimli stepped closer to the elf—his elf—and they ended up fighting back-to-back, or back-to-shoulders at least; their disparate heights should have made them terrible battle-partners, but it was so easy to fall into a rhythm with Legolas, a balancing of their skills and statures. Legolas spun high with his short knife and Gimli swung low with his broad axe, and the enemy gave way before them.
But more came, replacing those that fell. Always more came, and the fight went on. Gimli could feel his limbs tiring, his bones aching from the weight of his blade and the blows that had glanced off his mail. A dozen small cuts he could not remember taking bled sluggishly, adding a dull sheen of red to the viscous black liquid that splattered his armor and his skin.
More came, and the Nazgûl followed, and all around them men shrieked and cowered beneath that mindless fear. Gimli fought on, so numb with grief that he barely startled at the cry that the eagles had come. That felt unreal, like something out of some other story; one that had a better ending than theirs. Despair rolled thick across the Host of the West and even Gimli, stout-hearted dwarf that he was, faltered for a moment before it—
And then Legolas laughed.
There was nothing merry in that sound, and the only brightness was the sharp brightness of a pale blade flashing out of the shadows of tall black trees. It was a laugh full of teeth, and claws, and all the dark and dangerous things that lurk within a wood. It was the sort of laugh that would send wise folk fleeing for strong walls and sturdy doors; the sort of laugh that might send children shivering to hide under their beds and wait for dawn. It was the laugh of a wild thing, untamed and dangerous, and it rang out light and sharp-edged above the gutteral shouts and screams of the orcs and the roaring bellows of the trolls.
Legolas laughed, and Gimli smiled to hear it. He lifted his head high against the weight of Mordor’s bleak despair and raised his axe high once more. Legolas was right; there was no longer any cause for fear. They had faced the end already, and the end was here; there was no sense cowering before it. Better to stand tall, and die fighting proud and unbowed, defying the power of the Dark Lord to the last.
And then—and then, on the other side of fear, after all hope seemed so long lost it was little more than a memory, everything changed.
The Nazguûl fled; the army crumbled; the towers fell.
Sauron was destroyed. And they had lived.
They lived.
Gimli could hardly process it. He turned to Legolas, still at his side, the both of them weary and blood-stained and heartsick from the tangled mingling of hope and despair, and he opened his mouth to speak—but no words came out.
He saw all their tomorrows flow suddenly back into Legolas’s bright eyes and the elf swayed, as though the sudden lifting of the Shadow had left him unsteady on his light feet. Gimli caught his hand and held him steady.
“Legolas—” Gimli began.
“Tomorrow,” Legolas interrupted him with a smile. “Let us help the wounded now, Gimli; we will talk on other things tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Gimli said, rolling the taste of the word around in his mouth; rolling the feel of it around in his mind. “Yes,” he said. “Tomorrow. To think that there will be such a thing!” He laughed from bewildered joy and squeezed his elf’s hand once, tightly, before letting go and turning back to the grim battlefield. “Tomorrow. We will talk on all things then.”
Legolas bent and pressed a light kiss to Gimli’s cheek. “Tomorrow,” he said again, the word heavy with promise, and then they walked off together into the carnage of hopes renewed and deaths well-fought.
“Tomorrow,” Gimli murmured once more to himself, and there on the bloodstained soil of the Black Land, he smiled.
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glass-frogs-and-dragons · 1 year ago
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Who would you call if the world was ending?
Prompt 887 by @creativepromptsforwriting (@creativepromptfills xo)
Fandom: DC
Summary: The world is ending and, of all the people he could have called, Jason ends up calling Bruce
Pairing: Jason Todd/ Roy Harper (minor)
Beep beep. Beep beep.
The caller you are trying to reach is occupied or out of service. Please, leave a message.
Beep.
Hey Bruce, It’s… It’s Jason. I’m pretty sure you already know, given that it’s you and all, but… yeah. The world is ending and people are doing jack shit about it! Big surprise there. I… you weren’t the first person I was planning on calling. I mean, you didn’t even make the first fucking ten, but… Look, I didn’t want to tell you about this, but Roy’s also doing it and I suppose I should too. Come clean about shit, I mean, tell you stuff. 
I’m not going to apologise for what I did. We both have different ideas of justice and yeah, I killed, but I killed because those fuckers had too many second chances and didn’t fucking take them. I may have gotten a morbid sorta thrill out of it at first, but I don’t fucking like it. I do it ‘cause it’s what I gotta do now. But, whatever I do, whatever your fucking reasons are not to let me come back home, I’m not the only one at fault here.
Dickface always said that taking care of family is one of the most important things, hypocritical as that may be, and I ain’t gonna be at fault for that. I have taken care of my family as well as I fucking could, and the fact that none of you bats have noticed should give you a hint about the problem, huh? The fact that none of you knew? 
Joder, no puedo hacer esto. Esto ha sido un error.
I have a husband. I have a daughter too, and they are the best fucking thing to happen to me, possibly in my whole life. I feel the luckiest man to have them, and I honestly don’t fucking get how you could fuck all of us up this badly if this is what having a child feels like. The reason I never told any of you (except for Alfred. You can’t hide secrets from Alfred) is because… well… they’re my family. You would judge and think they’re not enough, or that I’m not enough and drive us apart somehow, even if you don’t mean to.
And that’s without mentioning any bat business.
I- Roy is asking me not to be too mean to you. I guess he’s right, but he can’t really have a full conversation with Ollie without it ending in a screaming match, so who’s winning here?
Okay, he’s telling me now that he can, thank you very much, but Oliver’s a fucking prick so he won’t even try to. And he’s also telling me that daddy issues aren’t a competition, Jaybird. Que se joda.
Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that… yeah, well, the world is ending and there is nothing Roy or I could do about it. I mean, is there anything anyone can do? Arrows and guns? How the fuck would we be useful? 
I know that if you had actually answered the call, you would be yelling at me about duty and shit; asking me to do the fucking impossible like always. Well, guess fucking what? I am doing my duty to my fucking family because they are the most important to me, and I fucking wonder what-
Roy’s telling me to stop fighting with you, and he’s right. It ain’t my business anymore. What you decide to do with your fucking dysfunctional family, leave me out of it. I was just hoping, for their sake… Fuck, I’m going to regret this, aren’t I? But hey, the world is fucking ending, so who cares, right?
I miss my dad, okay? I miss the guy who would take me to museums and watch movies with me and comfort me when I had nightmares. Yeah, he might have kinda sucked at it but at least he was trying and he was there and I thought he might have fucking loved me. Because a parent’s love is meant to be unconditional and maybe the other brats and Dickface miss you as much as… as much as I do. 
You can actually be there for them, make me the guinea pig or whatever.
I wanted… I wanted a home and a family to come back to when the world was crumbling down and mira por dónde, now it is! And… and Roy and Lian and I will stay together as a fucking family until we get pulled under. I called to apologise, but fuck that. I doubt you’re even at home with your kids, so right now I don’t owe jack shit to you because you can’t do the bare fucking minimum to be a father. 
I guess… I guess this is goodbye, then.
Seems fitting that the one chance I get for this you can’t even answer the damn phone.
Goodbye da- Goodbye, Bruce.
____________________________
Unread messages: (1)
From: B stands for Bitch
Come home, Jaylad. The whole family is here. Bring Roy and Lian too, they’ll be safe… Read more
Translations:
Joder, no puedo hacer esto. Esto ha sido un error.→ fuck, I can’t do this. This has been a mistake.
Que se joda→ He can go fuck himself
Mira por dónde→ guess what
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too-destiny-panda · 1 year ago
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Wyllvember Day 2: Wyll and Tav/The Devil
A/N:This time I switched Day 3 and Day 2 of @sagscrib 's prompt list to better fit the Wyllweek one by @commander-yinello. Hopefully you guys enjoy and thank you for the feedback on the first one, it warmed my heart that I haven't lost my touch as much as I thought:)
This would have been much, much longer than it already is, but I figured there would be another time for me to elaborate on this relationship. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!
WC:820
Ah, how quickly one’s fate can change. Be it through physical or mental changes, it truly puts into perspective how flitting one’s sense of self is in the grand scheme of things. Our minds and bodies ever aging, ever changing. A small cut from a stray cat and your appearance is altered, no matter how small or unperceivable that change may be. The only exception to this is the celestial, fey and fiendish beings, perhaps, and even then, they may pick and choose how to manifest themselves to the mortal eye. And if a mortal soul does indeed at some point decide to drastically change their physiology, be it a druid using their wild shape or a bard deciding that their hair needs a different hue, they do so mostly willingly, and the majority of the time, the change is temporary. Not all are so lucky.
When Mizora enacted her punishment for the breaching of her contract (because it is her contract, no matter how technical one gets), she dragged Wyll Ravengard through the burning river Styx, through the hottest hellfire, and turned him into a devil. Gone was his warm brown eye, replaced by a pool of blood red in a black expanse. His neck was forced to begin to adjust to the curved horns now framing his head like a twisted halo as ridges grew into, and on, his skin, his tongue dividing, ears elongating and nails growing into claws. Where once stood the human Blade of Frontiers, the beloved folk hero, was now unrecognizable to many of his admirers as they cowered at the sight of a devil, crying for their hero to save them from himself.
Such trauma is impossible to overlook. A change so drastic, so shocking, and yet it happened in just a few moments. His entire body changed into one so foreign he almost wanted to believe it to be a bad dream were it not for the weight on his head and the occasional glances from camp members as well as the stares of anyone they met. It is no wonder that the Blade avoided mirrors, for a long while, despite the assurances from their leader and a few others that he was still the handsome Wyll they all knew. It was still too overwhelming, and despite being assured in his choice, having no regrets, it was not something he liked or wanted to think about.
Which is how he found himself alone, with a goblet for company as cheers and laughter, and some singing, rang through the air at the party behind him. He couldn’t bring himself to join them, to walk into that space and bear witness to how conversations turn hushed, and laughter quietens at the sight of him. As the Tieflings, despite knowing it’s just him, feel instinctual fear, drilled into them from Avernus as they regard a devil. So, he doesn’t, choosing instead to spend a night meant for revery in the pits of self-reflection.
When Tav had joined him, he felt both a sense of relief and guilt. Relief that he was sought out, that someone cared, and guilt that his choices were pulling them from a celebration of their victory. As he listed all the reasons why he shouldn’t be seen, they listened patiently, offering soft counterpoints and comforting words where they were needed. He truly believed this night was as good as it could get when they asked if they could kiss him. Their words and facial features feigned confidence as their eyes betrayed fear and anticipation, the corner of their lips twitching in anxiety where they formed a small smile. And he meant to refuse, he should have refused, but he just couldn’t. Not when they looked at him with such sincerity and bashfulness that was beginning to turn into embarrassment and regret as his silence extended for longer than he meant it to. And so, he conceded, deciding that this couldn’t be considered selfishness on his par if they offered, as he leaned in to bestow one single kiss upon their mouth. And oh, what a good decision that was.
Their lips were soft and pillowy. Tav’s kiss was tender, uncertain, as if they didn’t really know what they were doing, but he attributed it to nerves and rustiness. When their fingertips carefully brushed the underside of his jaw, he forced himself to pull away, to put some kind of distance between the two of them, before he wouldn’t have been able to stop. Their giddy smile, heated cheeks and starry eyes made him almost regret that choice, but as they parted ways, both leaving the other some space for their thoughts, he knew there would be a better fitted time for them.
And as he laid down for the night, his dreams already drifting towards the person of his developing affection, he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of dancer they were.
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hiddentrails7 · 11 months ago
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Prompt: Favorite Things
Pairing: Vincent Valentine/Veld|Verdot (Implied) + Veld|Verdot/His Wife (Just a bit)
Tseng asks Veld an unexpected question– making Veld realize he misses his family a lot more than he thought... including Vincent.
“Sir, may I ask you a question?”
One of Veld's eyebrows raise, curiously studying Tseng for a moment before nodding to him, wordlessly telling him to continue.
Tseng inhales, drawing in a deep breath before exhaling his sentence. “Do you keep sentimental items..? Or is it too distracting?”
Veld's expression shifts to a look of slight confusion, but after a moment, he can't help but chuckle softly. “Of course I do, Tseng… Why do you ask?”
Tseng shakes his head. “It simply came to mind. I apologize, the answer should have been obvious to me.”
“...Here. Let me show you something.”
Tseng perks a little at Veld's words, watching as he reaches into his suit jacket for something. Veld should've just showed him the ring on his prosthetic– a reminder of one of his many mistakes… but at least it was a pretty mistake. He didn't regret marrying her, no matter how long he stared at the metal parts that make up his arm.
But no: instead he thought to pull out a set of dog tags and place them on the desk.
“These were my previous Turk partner's. He…” Veld falters for a moment, searching for words he thought he already had. “He's been lost for about twenty years.”
“I'm… very sorry, sir.” Tseng says with a small dip of his head, which Veld shakes his head at; gesturing at Tseng to lift his head.
“I wanted to show you, Tseng. No use in apologizing for something I did willingly.” Veld looks down at the tags, his thumb gently feeling the embroidered text. “It's fine to have reminders, Tseng… Hell, I wish I had more.” He leans back in his chair, swallowing the lump in his throat as he thought about what little of his family he had left in his home. One image from his wedding survived the fire, as well as a little project Elfe had done as a toddler. Once kept in a drawer, now rested on his nightstand every night; along with Vincent’s dog tags.
It takes Veld a while to notice the silence, and he clears his tight throat to save Tseng from the awkward quiet he had created. “W-What I'm saying is… It's okay to reminisce.”
“...Thank you, sir.” Tseng murmurs, sharing a long look with Veld before excusing himself.
Shortly after the door closes, Veld slumps against his desk and breathes in deep, trying to power through the tight knots in his throat. One of his hands rests in his hair, allowing him to rest his head against his arm, and the other still holds the tags.
Feeling the name engraved: over and over... He wishes he could've done something. Anything, for them. His chest aches, and the metal that makes up one of his arms burns– a throbbing he can feel up to the prosthetics' fingertips.
He had already come to terms with the fact he loved Vincent and his wife– and only a day or two before she died, he told her that. She understood. She accepted it, and loved him anyways.
He didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve Elfe, the sweetest little girl he could've asked for, either...
But despite all that, he couldn't think that about Vincent... it was Vincent, and for whatever reason, that's all it took.
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abeinginsand · 1 year ago
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Swiftli + videogames for the hc ask? (are videogames one word or two...?)
Thank you for the ask and, yes, videogames works as a one-word prompt! :) Ao3 ---- "Hey, Link..."
"Hm?"
"Link, c'mon, let me ask you something."
Lincoln's half asleep, watching Taylor play some persona series game in the Swift family living room on a Friday evening. Was it persona 3? 4? ...Or maybe 5? There were probably other numbers, either way, something about watching Taylor stubbornly replay a dungeon fight for the sixth time was quite the effective lullaby.
"Liiiinnnkkk"
At least, it would be if his friend stopped trying to get his attention.
"Yes," The athlete says after a few minutes, closing his eyes and resting heavier against Taylor's side.
"You haven't heard the question yet! What if i asked you something weird?"
"Weirder than that time I carried you on my shoulders and used your feet to signal you when to strike?"
"It's not weird if it's cool."
"Mhm, fair point, rule of cool....is cool, yeah, dude."
His head is resting on his shorter friend's own as he talks in an increasingly quieter way. It would be a lie to say their hair was soft and comfortable. The grease prevented that but at least the somewhat messy hair smelled nice. Like a mix of cherry blossoms and honey, a side effect of Taylor's want to try a new perfume and body wash out each month. Personally Linc preferred sticking to generic non-scented brands for himself (or whatever was available).
He's picturing a soccer team full of walking and talking body care products when Taylor, having enough of being ignored, pauses his game and squeezes one of Lincoln's hands. His tail was wrapped around one of the soccer player's legs before. Now it was lightly smacking against the couch. Linc gets the signal that this may be something more important than he assumed. He sits up, eyes opening, and looks over to his friend.
"Okay, I'm sorry. Really tired today, but you've got me now, Tay. What's up?"
"Can I stay over at your house next week?"
"Yeah, of course," Lincoln replies, making sure to squeeze Taylor's hand back now. Though its not combat, he finds himself switching quickly over to protective paladin mode. Looking Taylor over for scrapes or other signs of discomfort. Its not the first time the anime-lover asked to come over, but it is one of the rare times Taylor's happy tone doesn't match his gaze. "Is your mom okay?" "Yeah, she's good. I got a text from her earlier and--" Taylor smiles, because he loves his mom and will take most opportunities to talk about her and her work. The text sits heavy in his stomach anyway. Feels like the expired bag of pocky he had one time at a con and he was hoping gaming would help get rid of the feeling. (It hadn't) "She said there were technical issues with the recording equipment and stuff, so she'll be gone for another week." "Oh, that's..." "And I don't mind. Mom seems really happy with this gig and we're going to voice call on Monday too." Taylor lets go of Linc's hand now, arms crossed as he presses into the arm rest. He's got his arms resting on his knees now, legs pulled close to himself as he keeps on talking. "It'll be great and we'll go out to eat when she gets back. I'm thinking about sending her a cake today." "Shouldn't she be sending you one? It's your birthday on Monday." Whatever smile Taylor had on falls completely and Lincoln regrets blurting that out right away. He really did like Ms. Swift a lot, but sometimes Linc...felt frustrated with her on his friend's behalf. She'd missed his birthday last year too--and like fair, there was a whole apocalypse going on. But how many other birthdays had she missed before all of that? There's a sound of a sniffle and Lincoln refrains from saying anything else on the topic. He watches Taylor rub at his face with a hoodie sleeve. The athlete moves over to his companion's side of the couch and offers a hug. His friend is quick to tackle him, leading both to fall and lay onto the couch cushions fully. The game controller topples to the floor and seems some button got pressed to resume the fight. Music plays as the sniffling turns to muffled sobs. "Better think about your game. Are you sure your next move's the right one for you?"
Link's only sure of his worry at the moment and tries to ignore the noisy song. Taylor's laying his head on his chest and Linc has one arm around him, the other gently combing through his hair. A few more verses pass them by as the shorter teen calms down. "You'll never see it coming. You'll see that my mind is too fast for eyes!" The taller boy looks up at the ceiling, trying to think of what to say to cheer his friend up. "...Hey, Taylor," He says in a similar tone as when the other teen called to him earlier and then adds, "I have a question." Link feels a little squeeze of his shirt in the hug and continues talking. "Its about the game and I figured you're the best person to ask." His friend's demon tail is now moving again, swaying in the air from side to side though Taylor keeps their face hidden in the fabric of Link's garfield comic strip patterned hoodie. Lincoln hears the gamer take a shaky breath. "What do you wanna know?" "If we could army of two beat up the...phantom...phantom uh insert name here. Could we take the whole group down? If we met them in some place like goofs realm. Instead of that evil baby, we have a kitty with a sword to fight. How would that go?" Taylor starts laughing a little at the 'insert name here' and 'evil baby' comments. Link grins at the sound (and the feeling of the vibration too). Success The song lyrics fade into the background. Afterward, the ranger lifts his head up. Any tear tracks are overshadowed by the passionate twinkle now back in his gaze and tone. He rambles about how they'd take on the phantom thieves properly together. Lincoln still doesn't know much about the game, but its always nice to hear Taylor talk about something he loves. He listens mostly and adds in his thoughts or more laughter here and there. Eventually, the two end up falling asleep, this time Taylor dozing off first. Disappointment, frustration, and the game itself all but forgotten for the moment. .
.
. Lincoln wakes up the next morning to find a blanket wrapped around them both and the game screen on a paused battle success image. There's the sound of Mr. Foster very loudly bumping into stuff in the kitchen too. Probably due to wings if Lincoln had to guess. Its easy to notice who it is anyway based on the familiar low voice sputtering curse words and pondering 'where the hell does Cass keep the sugar again?' After all the chaos of the world was mostly dealt with, Taylor's dad was making more efforts to visit more. Especially when Cass had to go on long trips like currently. The revelation of the hell prince being there leads to him nudging Taylor awake. He's about to offer his companion their cane until Taylor winces. Its easy to carry him into the kitchen instead though and nice to get the chance to hold onto Taylor a little longer. After some hugs and other greetings, the three have a nice breakfast. All of this may not make Taylor miss his mom any less; however, its a heartwarming reminder that he isn't alone this time. That he's still surrounded with his loved ones. He will have that chance to celebrate next week whether it be through the phone, sharing breakfast with his dad before he heads to work, or with an exciting week-long sleepover with his best bud.
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nsfwordwitch · 1 year ago
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Kinktober 2023 Day 5
Prompt: Embracing (SFW)Pairing: Astarion x nonbinary tiefling Tav597 Words
🔞Adults Only Blog🔞
(This story is safe for work though!)
Astarion wonders if Weft and Halsin think they're being quiet when they sneak back to camp from the forest. The slapping of water in the canals does cover sound quite well, but dear Weft can't keep their laugh down to save their life. Astarion sees the two of them enter the camp, hand in hand, then share one last kiss before parting. It makes his chest hurt, but in a good way, he thinks.
Halsin goes toward his tent, and Weft heads for their own bedroll, by the fire. A look of delight blooms on their face when they find Astarion in it. "My sweetness and my light, you waited up for me?"
"Of course," he says, setting down his book and making room for them beside him. They flop happily into the empty space and wrap him in their arms. He drinks in their scent, suffused as it is with Halsin's. To be locked in their embrace, held close without feeling possessed…. It's a joy he never thought possible. "Gods you're heavy! How does he turn your bones to lead every time?"
"Are you actually asking?" There's an impish smirk on their face.
"Not tonight, no. Just let me whine, why don't you?"
"Have I ever been able to make you stop?"
"Hm, with a kiss perhaps?"
Weft's smile softens, and they pull him closer for one chaste kiss.
He sighs. "What was I complaining about? I've completely forgotten."
"Thank the gods." They thread their fingers through his hair, and a feeling of peace seeps through his body. But they have a serious look on their face, so he doesn't let himself get lost in it. "This arrangement still works for you, right? Me and Halsin, I mean. It's been a couple weeks now, so…"
"So far so good, my dear." He slips a hand into the back of their trousers, just to have something to hold. "Frankly it's…a comfort to know you're getting satisfaction from someone else. I don't have to wonder if every little touch is a request for satisfaction from me."
They smooth his eyebrow, and he can see the regret in their eyes. He knows it pains them to think they ever hurt him, that their warm touch may have felt like ice. But as far as conversation goes, it's ground they've well trod by now, so they say nothing.
"In any case," he says, squirming his body into theirs, tangling their legs together, "I still get to use you as a personal heater, which was what I really wanted, after all."
"I knew it," Weft mumbles into his hair. "But, you know. This was always your favorite part anyway."
"What was?"
"The after part. Even though I didn't know…you know…what you were going through, you seemed much more yourself in the afterglow."
"Really." He lets out a puff of laughter. "Well, you weren't wrong. This was the part I didn't have a script for, after all."
They're stroking his hair again, and the shadows that have been threatening his thoughts all night ebb away. "No more scripts," they murmur, "just you being yourself. That's all I want."
He looks up at them, their blue skin shimmering in the moonlight, glowing eyes full of concern, and— well. Something else. A great deal of care. "May I kiss you?" he asks, voice thick.
"You may." He takes their chin in hand and pulls their face to his. They give him the same peck as before, but he holds them there longer, this time. He hopes they hear what he can't bear to say.
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wonda-fhr · 2 years ago
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Hey! 🌾 for David 🌿 for Lia pretty please? :)
More snippets for the soft ask prompts. They're getting longer, I'm afraid. The idea of answering them in this way carries me away a bit. (But it's so much fun) 😅 Thanks for your ask 😘
🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them. For David
"Ric, we have all these paperwork to fill out and these horrible reports to write, and we'll never get it done if you stare dreamily out the window after every other word, grinning like an idiot in love. Well, I know I'm going to regret this, but tell me what's going on now so we can get to work after this.
As soon as the conversation shifts from work, Ortega's feet land on the corner of his desk and his arms cross defiantly over his chest. "Do I have to apologize for being happy for once? But if you really want to know. We've become closer, much closer, and I'm happy about it."
"I'm happy for you too, for both of you. But are you sure he's still the same guy you fell in love with?" Instead of the expected rational conversation, the rose-tinted glasses jump back into Ric's face and turn his voice in romantic colors.
"He doesn't have to be. I'm not either. He doesn't need to be the same, as long as I know he's the one. And he's Chen."
Accepting that the paperwork will probably have to wait longer, Chen gradually puts down his pen and turns to his friend with a slight sigh. "I may have been too suspicious in the past, but I can't quite get rid of it. I still see someone with too many secrets, who is dismissive, scared and cynical, I didn't expect that this would make you happy".
"You don't know him, not really. There's a lot buried deep inside him, but the closer we get, the more of it comes to the surface. There's so much joy in him, so much empathy, caring. He takes care of me much better than he would admit in front of you, or who do you think took care of me the last time I had the flu? This time I didn't have to ask you to bring me something to eat, did I? I would have loved to stay sick longer.
Did you know how much he loves music? Probably not. You should hear him play the piano, as if he immersed himself in another world with you. That alone would be enough to captivate me forever. When we dance, it is not like in the past when we used to tease each other about who was the more gifted dancer. This is different. As soon as his hand is in mine, we become one, just flowing together and dancing. You can get lost with him in little perfect moments.
We haven't forgotten how to tease, of course, he can do it just like he used to, maybe a little more biting, but less vicious. Not as cynical as you think. It's as if we've found a balance in that as well, which makes us happy. You can have a lot of fun with him when he is in the right mood.
He's such a delicate being. So fragile. You're right, he's scared and that still paralyzes a lot of things in him. But a lightning should execute me if I do not protect him from what frightens him."
"I would feel better if we knew what he needed to be protected from."
"I don't care if it's the whole world. I'll get it done."
With hopes of a meaningful conversation about David's concerns dashed, Chen tosses a pen into Ric's lap. "Okay, wonderful, now take all your reality-free optimism and fill out these papers to make the world a better place."
-------------
🌿 What way does your OC show that they care without using words? What way do others show your OC that they’re cared about without using speech? For Lia Let's look through Luke's eyes during a conversation at lunch. He knows her a little better than the others.
"Why are you so sure you can trust her? I can understand her arguments, maybe even your cooperation. But why are you friends? She would work with me too, but I think she would hate me anyway. Why do you think she likes you?"
There is actually some concern in the Captain's otherwise confident voice. You know he doesn't trust Lia, but he trusts you, more and more since he understood that your lunch meetings are not necessary for a collaboration. The terrain of lunch is now familiar enough for him to ask you more personal questions.
"Lia is something more than a villain on the rampage, and I trust her completely. No, she doesn't go around pouring her heart out to everyone, giving them hugs, and telling them how great they are. She's not like that. There are other things that tell me that she cares about me. She never brings me the wrong coffee, she knows exactly which drink I prefer in the evening. I think she knows all my habits, but she doesn't judge any of them. She knows the names and the history of my whole family. And when I'm sad because something reminds me of my brother, she has the courage to ask me about it and relive the moment with me instead of just distracting me like my former friends would have tried to do.
We've been through a bit together now. I like to think of myself as a pretty down-to-earth person, nothing gets me upset easily. But when it does, her hand is in the small of my back before I even realize I could use some support. She protects me. Like a shield, she does it so subtly that I haven't noticed it for a long time. She walks through every door before holding it open for me. She takes a half-step in front of me when a situation becomes the least bit disturbing. But she also protects me from decisions that would weigh on my soul, she takes a lot on herself rather than leaving it to me. As a lawyer, you are used to a lot and you are never completely safe, but since she is here, I feel safer than ever.
But you know what the best part is? That almost everybody thinks like you. No one who meets her trusts her because they only see a small piece. I see much more. I am allowed to cuddle her when we are alone. Or hear her laugh and make silly jokes with her. I can even catch her when she falls. And afterwards, I get to have fun with her over stupid questions like yours that only prove you don't have the slightest idea who you're dealing with."
"Ouch, that was mean, but probably a little deserved. Maybe I should take a closer look. If I try to be less suspicious, would I also have a chance to be cuddled by you?" With a charming smile, Blaze strokes back his brown hair with its tantalizing honey sheen. The sight of him doesn't fail to have an effect on you, as the tingle in your body clearly shows, but it takes more than that to make your poker face waver. Unimpressed, you calmly look at your watch. Then you look deep into the eyes of your attractive interlocutor and send him directly onto the slippery ice with the remark, "It depends on whether two hours are enough for you."
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jueunbe · 3 months ago
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perhaps you notice that your vocal coach seems to be looking at you a bit strangely today, as if considering something carefully. maybe you pretend not to notice and tell yourself that it’s all in your head, that there’s nothing special going on. however, any doubts you may have had are all erased as the lesson draws to a close and the instructor asks you to hang back for a moment, explaining briefly that he has something to discuss with you.
“i won’t keep you from your next lesson too long,” he begins, that same contemplative look still on his face as if he hasn’t truly made up his mind about whatever he’s thinking about. “but one of our in-house producers has asked me for a favor. he’s not much of a vocalist himself, you see, and i guess the singer who usually does his guide tracks suddenly signed on with another agency, so there’s bad blood there now. anyway, to make a long story short, he needs to borrow someone to sing the guide track for a song he’s presenting for a potential comeback for one of your seniors and asked me to pick from our trainees.”
the coach hesitates one more time, looking you up and down, before sighing and finalizing his decision. “you’ve been working hard and it’s in your range. i’ll give you this opportunity to work with our producers just this one. don’t make me regret it.”
the warning seems to be a formality more than an actual threat or concern about your performance, but it doesn’t stop the coach from shaking his head as if he can’t believe that he’s really doing this.
“come find me during your independent practice time and i’ll introduce you to the writer. it shouldn’t take too long.”
without any further fanfare, you are dismissed to your next lesson.
OOC:
thank you for redeeming your chance token! your muse now has 0 chance tokens remaining.
please post this prompt (even without a response) within a week of receiving it. the point changes from the prompt must be applied to your points sheet even if you do not write a response.
INSTRUCTIONS: 
respond to this prompt with a solo of any length about your muse’s reaction or their experience participating in singing and/or rapping the guide track for a senior group.
no form is necessary to submit to the points verification blog, but please publish this submission and link to this post on your points sheet.
please tag this post and your solo (if posted separately) with #be:takeachance.
POINTS RECEIVED:
+3 sing OR rap
+3 composition
+2 solo performance
POINTS LOST:
none!
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coloursflyaway · 9 months ago
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Hii coloursflyaway 🪶🦉
Firstly thank youu ♥️ and it's sooo good to hear that you will be writing them again at least a bit 😆 You're going to regret saying that to me 😂 Imma be all up in your asks cause of it!
Aw I absolutely love interacting as well! I'm completely fascinated by people's different personalities! How different we can be yet have so much that's similar 😊
I'll definitely send you asks now and then!
What has your interest these days now that you've strayed away from zowens? Do you still watch wrestling or nah? What are some of your favourite movies?
Is there a zowens fic you want to try writing? A prompt or prompts that are calling out to you!? If there is I'd love to read it if you ever write it. Otherwise I'm more than happy to request for a fic myself 😂
So here's another request if you can't come up with one. (But you can keep this on the back burner and do it whenever you please, when you have the time and inclination 😁 considering you just did one.)
may be one where there's a bit of longing on both sides, possibly throw in Kevin being self conscious about the way he looks not knowing that Sami thinks he's the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on.. Sami then trying to convince Kevin of that fact but Kevin finding it hard to believe but after much convincing he finally incredulously believes him?? Ikd 😩 do what you will with this request 😂😅
OR one where their friends get involved in trying to get them to admit their feelings. Could be anything, I'm not fussed. May be throw in jealous/possessive Kevin (you can tell how much I love him like that 🙄😆)
anyway sorry imma shut up now! Looking forward to your answers 😊😊
Hi anon!
I definitely don't mind that, you're very nice to talk to!
I still watch a bit of wrestling but I am more on the AEW side of things, so as much as I love the boys, I mainly see Zowens on gif sets now 😊 fortunately there are so many talented people around who make absolutely stunning ones!
Two of my absolute favourite movies are Sunshine, Silence and the Nice Guys, but I enjoy most genres (apart from most romcoms tbh). Also LotR, but I feel like that doesn't even work on a normal favourite movie list 😂 what kind of movies do you enjoy? I love recommendations 😁
I'm definitely putting those prompts on my imaginary writing list! Especially the one about their friends trying to get them to confess, that's soooo cute 💓
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kianbe · 1 year ago
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𝒊 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆.
CW /  none.
perhaps you notice that your vocal coach seems to be looking at you a bit strangely today, as if considering something carefully. maybe you pretend not to notice and tell yourself that it’s all in your head, that there’s nothing special going on. however, any doubts you may have had are all erased as the lesson draws to a close and the instructor asks you to hang back for a moment, explaining briefly that he has something to discuss with you.
“i won’t keep you from your next lesson too long,” he begins, that same contemplative look still on his face as if he hasn’t truly made up his mind about whatever he’s thinking about. “but one of our in-house producers has asked me for a favor. he’s not much of a vocalist himself, you see, and i guess the singer who usually does his guide tracks suddenly signed on with another agency, so there’s bad blood there now. anyway, to make a long story short, he needs to borrow someone to sing the guide track for a song he’s presenting for a potential comeback for one of your seniors and asked me to pick from our trainees.”
the coach hesitates one more time, looking you up and down, before sighing and finalizing his decision. “you’ve been working hard and it’s in your range. i’ll give you this opportunity to work with our producers just this one. don’t make me regret it.”
the warning seems to be a formality more than an actual threat or concern about your performance, but it doesn’t stop the coach from shaking his head as if he can’t believe that he’s really doing this.
“come find me during your independent practice time and i’ll introduce you to the writer. it shouldn’t take too long.”
without any further fanfare, you are dismissed to your next lesson.
OOC:
thank you for redeeming your chance token! your muse now has 2 chance tokens remaining.
please post this prompt (even without a response) within a week of receiving it. the point changes from the prompt must be applied to your points sheet even if you do not write a response.
INSTRUCTIONS: 
respond to this prompt with a solo of any length about your muse’s reaction or their experience participating in singing and/or rapping the guide track for a senior group.
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please tag this post and your solo (if posted separately) with #be:takeachance. 
POINTS RECEIVED: +3 sing OR rap +3 composition +2 solo performance
POINTS LOST: none!
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flydotnet · 1 year ago
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Noli Me Tangere
WHUMPTOBER 2023, DAY 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.” Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”
I wrote like the two first paragraphs while at work like a month ago, and then didn't touch it until today. Wow, past Fly, very useful of you! Well, at least, I had the idea on a silver plater. Skipping the brainstorming part was nice ngl.
It didn't mean I didn't struggle with it though lmao, because I did. For some reason, my brain's been somewhere else altogether today, so stringing thoughts interesting enough for this fic has been hard for no reason whatsoever. I hope tomorrow will go better!
Anyway, I love those two's relationship so much, man, I wish more people would write them more - especially platonically, there's little of that out there, sad.
For some reason, the quote prompt + "touch aversion" felt like such a Nitta combo to me, I had to slap him onto those prompts so bad. Maybe that's why I ended up sticking to my guns harder than I thought I would!
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Noli Me Tangere
Summary: Urabe knows something's up with his teammate, but he's still got to find out why - no matter what, because he's the captain and he intends on upholding that, thank you very much. Unfortunately, Nitta is just as stubborn as he is, and isn't about to let him see what's so ugly with him, apparently.
Fandom: Captain Tsubasa (it's canon-compliant too!)
Word Count: 1.5K words
AO3 version available here.
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Hanji has always tried to be a good senpai, he really has. And you know what? He really thinks he isn’t half-bad at that. He has the pseudo-big bro vibes that being one requires, for some reason (most likely his tenure as a captain, twice over) and he has a sense of responsibilities he carries to this day as a player, future tofu shop heir and national winner in his own right (kind of).
So why the hell does his junior refuse to talk to him about anything ever that isn’t bragging rights about his shooting ability?
Nitta’s always been a bit difficult to handle, to be honest. He always rushes ahead without thinking much and relies solely on being fast, good at what he does, and maybe his bonds with most of the team. He didn’t worry about it nearly enough when they were in middle school, but now that age has sobered the both of them, Hanji’s starting to grow somewhat concerned of the brazen attitude.
Maybe that’s what growing into a brother figure means. It’s starting to see untreated bruises on his junior’s arms and legs, risen cuts and dark rings not even exams could justify, and the barely contained urge to do something about it. He’s now regretting keep his instincts in check, because it’s not helped anything; damn, it may have made things worse, actually, right under his watch.
However, Nitta is the sort of guy you don’t ask about this sort of things. Not only is he not going to reply, he’s also just going to say “whatever” and continue as if having so many untreated small injuries wasn’t going to worry people. Even Nakazawa’s warm kindness and Nishimoto’s sharp eyes (not to mention the patience they both have) haven’t gotten him to open up about anything – well, at least, it means it’s not personal.
That’s the only silver lining with this situation that feels like a heavy balloon that’s slowly been swelling in the background, under their eyes yet still somewhat out of view. The lack of care hasn’t gotten any better, because of course it didn’t. Why would it have? If Nitta has issues with self-care or… worse, God forbid, then not doing anything about it wouldn’t change anything, let alone make things better.
Whatever, this was then and now is now, and Hanji’s tired of playing sitting duck with a guy who can’t even admit to feeling sick on a good day.
Today’s worse than what came before it because, to put it as bluntly as one could: Nitta looks like he shouldn’t be nowhere near a school. He didn’t look good earlier this week, swaying on his feet whenever he wasn’t leaning on anything, head heavy on his neck and a lot – and he means, a lot – of throat clearing. Even his running felt slow, sluggish even, and that should’ve been enough to cause a strategic meeting to know how to deal with the situation. (They didn’t end up doing anything).
Even now, he finds his old pal zoning out near the clubroom, sometimes coming in and out of there, all without any semblance of a reason why he’d do that. He decides now’s a better time than never – and corners his own friend in the clubroom, having entrusted Kishida and the managers to keep everyone else out. The guy must know something’s going on, considering the tension in his shoulders.
“Hey, Nitta, what’s wrong?” Hanji asks, as nonchalant as he usually comes.
“Leave me alone,” he spits back out almost immediately.
Maybe Hanji’s not a good actor, (he really isn’t, actually), but still…
“That’s a weird way to reply to that.”
“I’m fine. Leave me alone, Captain.”
The mere use of that name rings an alarming bell inside Hanji. How long ago was it when Nitta stopped calling him that, for obvious reasons?
“You’re sure about that? You’ve not been lookin’ good these past few days, man.” He stops for a moment, for once calculating a move (it doesn’t come naturally). “Everything’s fine at home?”
Now that he has time to look at him, it’s obvious Nitta isn’t fine: his skin’s ashen, his eyes are just unfocused enough for that to be creepy, and good God is everything about him slow and achy just to look at. It’s a wonder how he’s not in fucking bed. In fact, it’s almost amazing how Hanji has never seen someone want to lie down so badly yet refuse to do so this stubbornly. He really is stupid at times.
“Yeah, it’s all good,” Nitta finally replies after a long pause. “Why?”
Hanji steps forward, but he gets greeted by a step backward. No dice, no surprise.
“You don’t look like it, honestly. If you’re sick, you should be at home, Nitta. Not here practicing.”
“I’m fine, I tell you!” He proceeds to cough, very harshly, into his fist.
“You don’t sound like it either.” Hanji puffs his chest in hopes that a leader will be more convincing. “Just… This isn’t against you, y’know. I’m just worried.”
He tries to once more get closer, and when he does, he uses a moment of lull in Nitta’s reflexes to try and make sure he doesn’t have a fever – but he ducks under and, back against the wall, glares right at him with nothing short of feral eyes.
“Don’t touch me!!” He screeches, once again devolving in coughing.
It’s bad, really bad; and the fact Hanji gets to rub his back as the fit drags on is nothing short of a sign nothing’s right.
“Are you okay?” He asks as soon as it ends.
Nitta actually has to take a moment to recover his breath, and when it does, it’s taken him a visible amount of effort. Poor guy’s spent.
“Kinda,” he answers with a voice much hoarser than before. “Okay, maybe I don’t. I feel like shit, senpai.”
Hanji gets his hands further, as he no longer needs to cross a boundary.
“Why would you to class in such a state anyway?”
His junior’s gaze suddenly sharpens, as if turned on.
“I need to show everyone I’m reliable, and a reliable player’s always here for the team,” he replies without delay.
It explains a lot, considering how stubborn and adamant on being a good successor Nitta has always been. The sentiment, on the other hand, and quite hypocritically so on his end, is scary. If he can put an end to it before it turns into the shitshows guys like Tsubasa, Misaki and… well, Hanji himself, he realizes. Goddammit, he’s been a terrible role model all along, hasn’t he?
“I admire the sentiment, really, but it doesn’t really work that way. You’re just a burden when you’re sick.” Shit phrasing. “Uh, what I mean to say is, when you’re sick, all you need to do is to rest and not worry about the team. That’s what being responsible and reliable also is, you need to know your limits. You catch me?”
“I getcha, yeah.”
There’s actual relief on Nitta’s shoulders, who’ve dropped far lower than before, and his entire posture has relaxed immensely – which is a relief to Hanji as well, of course.
Still, and unfortunately, there’s… one last question he needs to ask, before he can let his friend go and get the rest he deserves.
“Also, your parents let you go to school in that state?”
“They’re, uh… they’re not at home right now,” Nitta replies with too low of a voice, closer to a confession than anything else.
Oh, fuck, right. His parents are always on the move. How did he forget that?
“What the…? Do you need a place to crash at? My pop and mom wouldn’t mind.”
“N-no, it’s fine…” He sighs. “Actually, I… dunno. I just wanna sleep…”
The boundary’s been set, Hanji, don’t breach it again. Even if it’s tempting.
“Do you want a place to sleep, then?”
“Maybe… Shit, I… just dunno, man…”
Nitta rubs his eyes before coughing again, which means it’s time for a good, final decision; and Hanji knows just want to do, even if it won’t please his reluctant comrade, it’ll have to do. It’s the right thing for him, after all.
“Okay, now that we’ve gotten that over with, I’m asking Sugimoto to drop you at the infirmary and—”
“Captain, no, I—”
“—and you won’t put up a fight. You’re doing bad as is.”
Nitta deflates, the sickly red hue of his cheeks growing just slightly brighter.
“Unless you want another escort?”
“N-no, Sugimoto’s… fine, I guess,” he gulps, eyes darting aside. “I just don’t wanna… go there.”
An endeared sigh escapes him. Aw…
“Nobody wants to see the infirmary, Nitta. It’s just for your own good, y’know?”
“Yeah, I know, I know…”
“I’m sorry, Urabe, I’m… I’m s’pposed to know better, right?”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. Just don’t come back here until you’re healthy enough again.”
“Gotcha.”
Slowly, without a single touch, he walks his junior out of the clubroom and, soon enough, in the trusted hands of their youngest manager.
For some reason, he has the feeling this isn’t going to go as smoothly as he wishes it would…
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