#but now i have to have new intake talks and I'm a little nervous

[solarpunkvince]

on the train to my new gender therapist and looking out the window the world is so pretty <3

[willowsnook]

Wouldn't have it any other way

rye with salami, ranch, and mikes way please and thank you! (idk if i did that right, i've never done this before)

jack hughes x reporter!reader

she isn’t you

——————————————————

Working as a reporter covering the NHL was a childhood dream of yours that came true. You worked your ass off in college, having internships each summer which led to an opportunity at ESPN that turned full-time after you graduated. You were ecstatic when they moved you to New Jersey to cover the Devils. It had been six months and so far you had gotten along well with all the players…well except one.

“Ya we got whacked two games in a row, so the last thing you want to do is stand and talk in front of you guys,” Jack Hughes told the small group of reporters crowding his locker, you included. You rolled your eyes which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Something to say, sweetheart?,” he said, eyes honing in on you.

You felt your cheeks flush with anger at his condescending tone. "It's our job to ask questions, Hughes. If you can't handle that, maybe you should find a new career."

The locker room fell silent, all eyes darting between you and Jack. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer.

"And maybe you should find a new team to cover if you can't handle a little attitude," he shot back.

The tension was palpable. You'd butted heads with Jack since day one, his arrogance rubbing you the wrong way. But this felt different, more charged.

"I can handle you," you replied, holding his gaze. "Question is, can you handle the heat when you're not performing on the ice?"

A collective intake of breath from the other reporters. Jack's eyes flashed dangerously.

"That's enough," the Devils’ PR manager said, ushering the reporters out of the locker room. You shot Jack one last glare as you followed the rest of the pool out. You knew you were going to get your ass chewed by your boss but you couldn’t help it. Jack was infuriating.

Unfortunately, your phone rang the second you were out of the arena and you listened to your boss rant at you. The moment was apparently already blowing up on social media and it was not a good look for you or Jack really. Half of the internet said you were too young to be in your job and wildly unprofessional while the other half defended you, calling Jack a dick who needs to respect women. There was another weird fan side of hockey twitter that were now actively shipping the two of you together, claiming it could be a perfect enemies-to-lovers story.

—————————————————————-

Headphones in, you watched workers out the window as they loaded luggage onto your plane. New Jersey to Vancouver was a long flight so you had splurged, upgrading yourself to first class to try maybe and get some actual sleep. The seat next to you was still empty and as the time ticked by you grew more hopeful that it would remain that way but nothing good lasts forever.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” a voice called out next to you and you looked up to meet the eyes of none other than Jack Hughes.

Your heart sank as Jack glared down at you, his tall frame looming over your seat. Of all the people to be stuck next to for a cross-country flight, it had to be him.

“Why aren’t you flying with the team?” You questioned.

“I overslept and missed the flight,” he muttered and you snorted.

Jack huffed as he stowed his carry-on and slid into the seat beside you. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. You both sat rigidly, avoiding eye contact as the rest of the passengers boarded.

As the plane began to move, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at Jack. His jaw was clenched, hands gripping the armrests tightly. Was he... nervous?

"You okay there, Hughes? Not scared of flying, are you?" you teased, unable to resist.

He shot you a withering look. "I'm fine.”

But as the plane started to take off his breathing grew more rapid and you started to get concerned. You hit a bit of turbulence trying to level out, and Jack’s hand moved towards yours, gripping it tightly.

“Sorry,” he rasped, but you kept your hand in his, caressing his skin softly with your thumb.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “Just try and breathe.”

“I’m trying,” he snapped and you rolled his eyes. “I need you to distract me.”

“How?”

“Just tell me something about you I don’t know,” he asked looking over at you pleadingly.

“Hockey isn’t my favorite sport,” you said instantly. It felt like your dirty secret being a hockey reporter, but it was the truth.

Jack let out a strained chuckle, “oh yeah, what is?”

“Football,” you replied and he nodded at you to keep going. “I fell in love with it when I was just a kid watching Brett Farve. Him leaving the Packers was my first real heartbreak in life. I like college football more now and while I love the atmosphere of hockey, there is nothing like a Saturday night home game in the palace. The lights illuminating the fields, the smell of popocorn and hotdogs, the fight song playing in the background, and everyone knows that $20 beer tastes better watching your favorite team. What’s more romantic than that?”

If Jack didn’t have the history he had with you, he thought he might have fell in love with you right then and there. His grip on your hand loosened slightly as he listened to you speak, his breathing becoming more even. He found himself captivated by the passion in your voice as you described your love for football.

"I never would have guessed," he said softly, a hint of a smile on his face. "You always seemed so... intense about hockey."

You shrugged, feeling a bit vulnerable having shared something so personal. "It's my job. I take it seriously."

"Maybe too seriously sometimes," Jack muttered, but there was no real bite to his words.

The plane leveled out and you both realized you were still holding hands. You quickly pulled away, clearing your throat awkwardly.

"Thanks," Jack said, avoiding your gaze. "For, you know... helping me through that."

You nodded, unsure how to respond. This was the most civil conversation you'd ever had with Jack Hughes, and it felt weird. The rest of the flight went by without a spectacle; you were happy to catch some shut-eye, and woke up as you were about to land, Jack nudging you awake. He grabbed your bag for you, and you followed him off the plane, stopping when he turned to face you.

“Back to our regularly scheduled business of hating each other,” he said with a smirk, and you laughed.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way Hughes,” you shot back before heading off.

—————————————————————————

After a long call with your boss the next day, you were very irritated. Since the Devils were playing the Canucks, he wanted a short fluff piece about the Hughes brothers reuniting.

“It won’t be that bad,” Luke said after you tracked him down to tell him about the assignment. “You love me, and Quinn will love you.”

“I’m not worried about you two,” you told him with a look. “I’m worried about your other brother, who makes me want to jump off a cliff.”

“You’re dramatic,” he said, crossing his arms and you huffed. “We are all getting dinner tonight; just come with us. It’ll be a good chance to see us all off the ice.”

Later that night, you find yourself in the lobby with Luke, waiting on his brothers. Dressed down and out of your business wear, you felt more like yourself in a cute white sweater and jeans. Jack stepped out of the elevator and you immediately crossed your arms, already not in a good mood seeing him.

“Why is she here?” He asked Luke, completely ignoring you.

“She is writing a piece on the three of us, so I thought it would be nice to let her see the non-hockey side of things,” Luke explained and Jack groaned. Quinn stuck out his hand to introduce himself, and you smiled warmly at the oldest brother.

“So you’re the one who has little Jack by the balls?” He teased and Jack shoved him while you laughed.

You and Jack didn’t say a word to each other on the way to the restaurant and you luckily ended up being diagonal from him. It was a steakhouse but you weren’t that into steak so you opted for a grilled chicken salad with no tomatoes of course. Remembering that you were here for work, you kept quiet just observing the brothers.

"Remember when Jack tried to dye his hair blonde and it turned orange instead?" Quinn chuckled, earning a glare from Jack.

"Hey, at least I didn't cry when mom cut my mullet," Jack shot back, causing Luke to nearly spit out his drink.

You couldn't help but smile, seeing this different side of Jack. He was more relaxed, his guard down as he joked with his brothers. You caught yourself staring at him a few times, noticing how his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

The waiter soon returned with your food and you sighed as you watched your salad be placed in front of you with the tomatoes you had asked to be left out. You were never one to send something back, so you accepted your fate and unrolled your silverware.

“Everything look good?” The waiter asked. You nodded absentmindedly as Jack opened his mouth.

“She asked for no tomatoes,” he said, pointing to your salad. Your head snapped up and the waiter began to apologize.

“Oh it’s okay,” you said, trying to wave him off but Jack gave you a stern look that made you sit back.

“Don’t like tomatoes?” He mused. “Kind of childish, don’t you think?”

“You literally ordered a lemonade,” you shot back and his eyes narrowed at you.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s every kid’s favorite drink,” you retorted.

Jack scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Sophisticated Palette. Let me guess, you’re a black coffee type, right? So edgy.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your soda. “At least I don’t need a sugar rush to get through lunch.”

“And yet, here you are, drowning in soda. Classy.”

You gestured to his plate with a smug smile. “Says the guy who’s been avoiding the broccoli on his plate like it owes him money.”

Jack’s smirk faltered, and he glanced down at the offending vegetable. “It’s not avoidance. I’m saving the best for last.”

“Sure you are. Must be why it’s still untouched and getting cold.”

“You know, you’re a lot braver with your words when I don’t have a hockey stick in my hands.”

You shot him a fake, sweet smile. “And you’re a lot more tolerable when you keep your mouth shut.”

Quinn and Luke were thoroughly entertained as they observed the back-and-forth banter between you.

“You see what I have to deal with?” Luke said, looking at Quinn once you and Jack had finally stopped.

“Jack finally met his match,” he commented, prompting an eye roll from the mentioned brother.

The rest of the dinner passed with a mix of tension and grudging amusement between you and Jack, while Quinn and Luke kept the conversation flowing. As you all left the restaurant, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret at how quickly you and Jack fell back into your antagonistic pattern.

"So, got enough material for your fluff piece?" Jack asked sarcastically as you walked back to the hotel.

You sighed, "Probably. Though I'm not sure how to write about the Hughes brothers' dynamic without mentioning how insufferable one of them is."

Jack chuckled, surprising you. "Just make sure to mention how charming and handsome that one is too."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "In your dreams, Hughes."

As you reached the hotel, Luke and Quinn said their goodbyes, leaving you and Jack alone in the lobby. An awkward silence lingering in the air between you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” He asked and you gave him a weird look, trying to figure out his angle.

“Where else would I be? I’m always front row waiting for you to mess up,” you joked and he gave you a playful frown.

“Very funny,” he said before bidding you goodbye and going up to his room. Things felt different between the two of you tonight, and you weren’t sure how you felt about it.

———————————————————————-

The Devils beat the Canucks handily and you found yourself with a couple of other reporters waiting for Jack, who had scored, and a new girl that you didn’t recognize.

“Hi Jack,” the girl called out as he got settled and he looked at her amused. She looked like a puck bunny who had snuck in; beach blonde hair, fake spray tan, low cut top, you knew the type. Jesus, what had gotten into you, you thought, trying to shake off your cattiness.

“Hey, haven’t seen you around before,” he commented and she giggled. Literally giggled in response. The other reporters were amused but you kept your lips in a firm line.

“You were so great out there; it’s so impressive how hard you work,” she said and he smiled awkwardly thanking her. “Do you ever get scared when the puck comes at you?"

You couldn’t help but snort out loud when she asked that and Jack looked amused at you.

Jack’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his smirk growing wider before he turned back to the blonde with a practiced ease.

"So," he said, leaning casually against the bench, "you’re new to the media scrum, huh? They usually send someone more…" He glanced at you briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Experienced."

The girl giggled again, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, well, I’m just filling in today. I guess I got lucky getting to talk to you."

"Guess I got lucky too," he said smoothly, his tone playful. "Usually, I’m stuck with—" He cut himself off, letting his eyes flick to you with mock innocence. "Well, people who don’t seem to enjoy the job as much as you do."

Your jaw tightened, but you kept your face neutral, scribbling something completely irrelevant in your notebook to avoid giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"So," the blonde continued, practically glowing under his attention, "what’s it like to be so focused all the time? You’re just so… intense on the ice."

Jack chuckled, shaking his head. "Takes a lot of practice. But I don’t think I’m half as intense as you just now."

Her eyes widened, and she laughed, her cheeks turning a shade pinker. "Oh my God, stop! I’m just trying to do my job."

"And you’re doing it very well," he replied, his voice low and charming.

You shut your notebook loudly, drawing Jack’s attention as you stormed out of the locker room, your cheeks flushed with anger and... something else you didn't want to acknowledge. You made it halfway down the hall before you heard footsteps behind you.

"Hey!" Jack's voice called out. "Where are you going?"

You spun around, glaring at him. "Away from that circus. I have actual work to do."

He jogged up to you, a mix of confusion and amusement on his face. "What's your problem? Jealous?"

"Jealous?" You scoffed, crossing your arms. "Of what? Your ability to charm airheads?"

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "Wow, that's pretty harsh. What happened to journalistic integrity?"

"What happened to professionalism?" You shot back. "Or do you always flirt with reporters during interviews?"

His expression shifted, a knowing smirk appearing on his face.

“You are jealous,” he said confidently and you were about to argue back but he grabbed a door handle behind you, yanking the door open and pulling you in it. It was a smaller equipment closet, but you didn’t have much time to look around before Jack had you tight against his body.

“She isn’t you sweetheart,” he said as your body flushed against his.

Your breath caught in your throat as Jack's words sank in. The closet suddenly felt much smaller, the air thick with tension. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his chest rising and falling against yours.

"What are you doing, Hughes?" you managed to whisper, your voice betraying your conflicted emotions.

His eyes searched yours, intense and unreadable. "Something I've wanted to do for a long time," he murmured before closing the distance between you.

His lips crashed against yours, hungry and insistent. For a moment, you were too shocked to respond. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, you found yourself kissing him back with equal fervor. Your hands tangled in his hair as his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

The kiss was everything you never knew you wanted - passionate, electrifying, and months of frustration bubbling over. His hands moved under your shirt and up your back as his touch burned your skin. Resting your head back against the wall, he took advantage, latching on to your neck, sucking harshly.

“More,” you gasped. “I need more.”

He pulled your shirt over your head and you unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes glazed over, looking at your chest and you smirked before tugging at his shirt. He lifted it off and you admired his toned body, tracing your finger down his abs. His breath hitched as he watched you and you smirked seeing the bulge against his sweats get bigger.

Jack's eyes darkened as he watched your finger trail down his abs. In one swift motion, he lifted you up, pressing you against the wall as your legs wrapped around his waist. His lips found yours again in a searing kiss as his hips ground against you, eliciting a soft moan from your throat.

"God, you drive me crazy," he breathed against your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

Your hands roamed his broad shoulders and back, relishing the feeling of his muscles flexing under your touch. Jack's mouth moved lower, trailing hot kisses down your collarbone to your breasts. You arched into him as he took a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

"Jack," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair. He looked up at you, a mix of lust and something softer. “I need you in me.”

“Let me savor this sweetheart,” he pouted and you shook your head.

“Not the time or place,” you argued back and he sighed. Pulling down his pants, you spit into your hand before bringing it to his cock, pumping a few times, causing him to hiss. Shimmying out of your pants, you let him lift you against the wall, angling himself at your entrance.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked.

“Just this once,” you said and he rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see,” he replied and you started to argue back but he pushed in and your head fell forward onto his shoulder.

Jack began to move, thrusting into you with a steady rhythm. You clung to his shoulders, biting back moans as he hit just the right spot with each stroke. The closet filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing and the slap of skin on skin.

"God, you feel amazing," Jack groaned, his pace increasing. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, urging him deeper.

"Harder," you demanded, nails digging into his back. He complied, slamming into you with renewed vigor.

The tension that had been building between you for months was finally finding release. Every thrust, every touch was electric. You couldn't get enough of him.

"I'm close," you panted, feeling the familiar tightening in your core. Jack slipped a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he urged and you cried out, his hand coming up to muffle the noise. Riding out your orgasm, you were clenching hard around him and he grunted as he kept up the pace, pounding into you.

As your walls continued to contract around him, Jack couldn't hold back any longer. He buried his face in your neck, groaning out your name as he spilled into you.

For a few moments, all that could be heard was your heavy breathing as you both came down from the intense high. Jack leaned his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your skin. You both took a few minutes to catch your breath before Jack slowly pulled out of you. You winced slightly and Jack gave you a concerned look. He handed you your clothes and you quickly put them back on, refusing to look at him.

“Y/n,” he said softly and you finally looked over at him. His face was flushed, hair all over the place, but the look he was giving you made you want to take your clothes right back off.

“This was just two people blowing off steam, nothing more,” you said and he grinned widely.

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I hook up with that other girl next time instead?” He asked and you frowned before quickly morphing into a neutral expression but Jack had already caught it.

“Ugh,” you exclaimed before opening the door slowly, peeking out before you walked out. Jack was right behind you and you thought the coast was clear until you walked right into Quinn and Luke. You froze and felt Jack still behind you as he saw his brothers.

“What were you two doing?” Luke asked, a knowing smirk on his face.

“We were just talking,” you defended, not meeting his eyes.

“Oh yeah? In the supply closet?” Quinn teased.

“It was quieter than the locker room,” Jack said.

“Didn’t sound that quiet,” Quinn shot back.

Your face burned with embarrassment as Quinn's words sank in. You couldn't bring yourself to look at Jack or his brothers, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

"I... I have to go," you mumbled, pushing past Luke and Quinn without meeting their eyes. You practically ran down the hallway, desperate to distance yourself and the Hughes brothers as much as possible.

Once safely in your hotel room, you collapsed onto the bed, burying your face in your hands. What had you done? Hooking up with Jack Hughes in a supply closet was bad enough, but getting caught by his brothers? Your career could be over if word got out.

Your phone buzzed with a text. Hesitantly, you checked it, half-expecting it to be Jack. Instead, it was from Luke:

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with us. But you might want to figure your shit out with Jack ;)”

You groaned, turning over, trying not to think about what happened in the closet or what it meant for you and Jack.

[postwarlevi]

Protective

Content: 2.4k words of dad to be Jean worrying maybe a little too much about you and the baby.

a/n- first time with established relationship with Jean! Kind of got away from me but I hope you enjoy anyway :)

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

"What are you doing?!" You freeze at hearing your husbands voice ring out. Caught again!

"Nothing! I was just-" You don't even get to finish your sentence before Jean is scooping you up into him arms, off the first step of the little stool and back onto completely solid ground.

"You were just getting off of there!" He says, taking the stool and removing it from the kitchen.

"I was just trying to reach the flour!" You follow him into the living room, explaining yourself.

"I could reach it for you, just ask me." He says, turning back towards you once the stool is far enough away.

"Okay, could you get me the flour?" You mumble, not meeting his gaze.

He hugs you around the waist, petting you hair. "Flour would be for.. baking?" He asks in a way as if you are doing something wrong.

You huff at him. "Of course! I was just going to make a little strawberry dessert!" Just a little something!

"You know you can't have a lot of sugar." He speaks calming and still holds you despite your obvious rising irritation.

"Jean!" You whine at him. "I can't go the entire time without something sweet! And you love strawberries!" You would have preferred a blueberry dessert, but were hoping by making it strawberry, you could talk him into letting you make it.

He smooths your hair back and kisses your head, ignoring the daggers you shoot at him from under your lashes as you look up at him. "I told you, I wouldn't have it if you couldn't have it. And, you can't have it. Not yet." Not even strawberries would entice him.

"You don't let me do anything!" You sigh in defeat and lay your head against his chest, annoyed, but still showing him acceptance and appreciation, knowing that he has your wellbeing in mind.

"I'm going to let you give birth in a couple months." He chuckles, rubbing your belly.

Your mood changes instantly and you grin and hug him for real.

"Yes, a couple more months. A couple more months of not letting me do anything." You say playfully, looking up at him.

"I know. I know." Jean let's out a tiny sigh. "I can't help it. It's our first baby. I've always tried to keep you safe, and now I'm keeping both of you safe. It's stressful." He says, a bit of worry in his voice.

"Honey, nothing is going to happen. But I promise, I won't get on step stools anymore. And I'll keep my sugar intake down, mostly. And I won't go water the plants when it's too hot, and I won't get in the car when Sasha is driving, and-"

He cuts you off with a snort. "I know I can overreact, and I won't promise I'll get better. But you shouldn't let Sasha drive no matter what your condition." You both laugh together.

You both find something to eat and settle down on the couch together and watch a bit of television. You sigh happily and kiss Jeans cheek, who smiles at you. You never really get mad at him, and neither of you can stay annoyed for long.

You try to be understanding. This is your first child, after all. Six months ago a little life had been created and now in three more months they would be here.

Though you've been a bit nervous, overall you've held it together. Children are born every day. There's no reason for any nerves. Your husband, however, is a different story.

Not only is he insistent on listening to your doctors to a tee, he has been reading baby books and perhaps has taken up a bad habit of searching the internet as well. Any little ache or pain you get, any sneeze, any new craving, Jean is right on it. He doesn't let you lift a finger if he can help it. He doesn't let you do anything that could compromise you. Nothing, at all. It's been a lot, and you would possibly kill for something sweet at this point. But you know he has yours and your little ones best interest in mind.

"I'm gonna go out with Connie and Marco for a bit tomorrow, is that okay? I could stay home if you want." He asks you as he puts his empty plate on the coffee table, making you almost laugh.

"Of course you should go, I don't want you stuck with me all the time. Save that for baby." The house to yourself? Even just for a little while? It sounds wonderful.

"Well, it's not stuck babe, but, thanks. Sasha said she'd come stay with you." Though he wouldn't let her drive you around, Sasha could come to the house.

"Honey, I don't need a babysitter." You almost pout. You love Sasha, she's your best friend, but you haven't had a moment to yourself in… months.

Jean takes your almost empty plate of healthy snacks and puts it aside, pulling you to his chest. "I know." He knows he's being silly, but with you, he wouldn't take any chances.

You put your arms around him and close your eyes. "Okay. Okay." You say quietly. Maybe girls day would be nice.

You're only allowed light duty at the moment and are lucky Jean let's you stand long enough to wash the dishes yourself. Though he is never far.

Later in the evening he helps you into the bath and you relax pretty good. You wonder if maybe you can talk Sasha into taking you for a walk in the park tomorrow. If it were up to Jean he'd push YOU around in a stroller. You just want to stretch a bit.

"I love you." He says to you once you're in bed for the evening, after helping you dry your hair. He has you pulled in close and strokes your hair.

"I love you too." You say softly, kissing his mouth lightly and snuggling in close to your sweet, warm lover.

Really, how lucky you are, that you have a husband so caring and loving and involved in the whole process. You would take that and not being allowed to get out of bed yourself over having to do this without a partner.

The next day when Sasha arrives she makes quite the entrance, making you light up.

"Worlds best auntie is here!" She sing songs and pats Jeans arm as she comes in.

"Sasha, please!" Jean tries to settle her down. "Remember what I said." He goes over a few things, like no sugar, making you roll your eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, leave, go, your wifey is fine with me." She comes over to hug you and you giggle.

"Go on you." You agree as you hug Sasha back, then go over to Jean. "I'll be good." You promise him, giving him a kiss before sending him on his way.

To Sasha's credit, she takes very good care of you. Helping clean up and doing whatever you want that's within reason. You do go for a short walk, but it turns out, you get tired fairly quickly and head back sooner than you thought.

Sasha also sneaks you a piece of dark chocolate, and you almost melt as you eat the semi sweet goodness.

"Thank you!" A little walk and a piece of candy and you are magically still in one piece. Perhaps you wouldn't mention some of this to Jean though. Especially when you realize your feet are swelling just a tiny bit.

"Can I feel?" Sasha asks you with wide eyes and an outstretched hand as you both sit on the front porch swing.

"Oh course." You stick your belly out more and smile as Sasha puts her hand on your stomach.

"Are you nervous?" She asks quietly, as if she's going to scare you or the baby.

"About giving birth? Yeah, a little."

And for the next little while you talk about the topic and how you're doing and how Jean is doing and if you're ready, and so on.

"The guys really had to convince him to go out today. He doesn't want to be without you." Sasha tells you.

"Yeah, I know. And it's great, really, though I appreciate you guys helping out. Jean is just so… worried." He kind of always has been anxious over things, it's gotten better over the years, though it's come back strong with the new addition coming.

"You help him through it, you know. He loves you so much." Sasha says of her friend. She's known him a long time and sees how good you've been for him. He deals with things much better thanks to you.

It's not long after that Jean is home and he and Sasha trade off. You say your goodbyes to Sasha and hug your husband.

"How was your day?" You ask as you sit on the couch and put your arms around each other.

"It was nice. I feel good. And, babe, I'm sorry. The guys were telling me to relax a bit, I guess everyone has been. I just want to make sure you're happy and healthy, that's it. I hope I haven't been… intolerable." He says with a grimace, realizing that he's only added to your limitations lately.

"Oh Jean, it's fine. You've been so wonderful. You're taking such good care of me, I feel like the luckiest woman. I know how much you love me, us." You put his hand on your stomach, making him smile and nuzzle you head with his chin.

"So very much, and, I worry, you know… which isn't an excuse really to have been acting like I have." He sounds disappointed in himself, making you give a sad smile.

It's really not been as bad as he's making it out. Nothing about this has been easy for either of you. More so, you've been worried about him, which he suspects, and is part of why he's feeling bad.

"It's okay Jean, really. I do understand and know you've been trying your best for all of us, and it's all I could ask for. And everything is going to be fine."

You feel him squeeze you a little tighter and he let's out a soft, "I know."

"And how was your day?" He asks, helping you off the couch and into the kitchen where he starts making dinner.

As you tell him small details of some of the things you did, you notice he does a slight double take and frowns. You pause, knowing you haven't said anything he should scoff at, so, it must be…

"Your feet are a little swollen. Did you go walking?" He asks, trying not to sound to disapproving.

You actually laugh. "Of course you noticed. Yes, yes, we went for a walk. And you and the doctors were right, I didn't get very far. But it was nice to do it anyway." You tell him, and he hears the satisfaction in your voice.

Almost done making dinner, he comes over and leans in to kiss your cheek. "Good. I'll rub your feet later."

Your smile brightens and you hug him, whispering. "I also had a piece of chocolate." You kind of broke your promise, but it really was a tiny piece.

Jean chuckles and holds your cheeks, looking into your eyes. "I'm glad. As long as you enjoyed it. Cause that's all you're getting for a while." He says teasingly and you both laugh together as you continue your evening.

The next few months go by faster than you can imagine. Jean is still very protective but tries to let you indulge sometimes.

Before you know it, a healthy baby boy is born, and you become the most happy, doting parents on the planet. Any tiny cry or cough and you are both right there. How Jean has been acting and treating you, you understand more than ever now.

Jean is still the more anxious one. He's ready to call the doctor over anything new or unexpected, no matter how small. He tries to be more calm so it doesn't affect you or the baby. He's been making pretty good strides the last few months.

"Honey, I think you can put him down now." You say one night, standing in the nursery, after finally getting him to sleep.

"I'm never putting him down." Jean says in the most sweet voice you've ever heard from him as he looks down at your sleeping son. This is not nerves but love, and happiness.

It warms your heart and you rest your head on Jeans shoulder, stroking your babies hand gently. "Our boy." You smile, and soon find yourself back in your bedroom with baby resting on Jeans chest as he sits up in bed.

"You can't sleep like that." You remind him that it's safer for him to sleep in his crib, earning a soft grunt from Jean.

"Just a little while longer." He says, pulling you close once you're in bed too.

"You're doing such a great job, daddy." You tell him, snuggling against his side, enjoying the quiet evening with your two loves.

"So are you, mommy. I couldn't do this without you" He kisses your head.

"Me neither." You whisper, making sure he knows how much you need him.

The three of you cuddle for a while until finally putting baby back in his crib.

"Maybe we can just put the crib in our room." Jean says as you leave the nursery, making you giggle.

You do not put the crib in your room, and your little one is right there, safe and sound in the morning, and every morning thereafter.

It takes more practice, on both your parts, but most anxiety of raising a child turns into positivity and creativity over time. There's still bumps as he grows and gets older and everyone experiences new and different feeling and emotions. There are highs and lows like doctor visits, losing a tooth, throwing tantrums, making friends, birthday parties, getting good grades in school, and sometimes not so good ones.

It all comes up again when baby number is announced, but the joy and love outweigh any nerves, as you and Jean look forward to meeting another new little life, ready to do it all over again, and give your son a sibling.

"And I promise, not to ban chocolate." He gives his word, and keeps it. This time around, both of you don't feel like novices anymore.

Though, you don't think you've ever seen quite the look on Jeans face when you find out this one's going to be a girl.

[cozzzynook]

Can we have more of when the team found out about murderbot bee? I'm very interested!

-ratchet wanted to do a full diagnostics scan on him to make sure he was okay but bee refused because he knew what that meant. It was when he was asleep did ratchet do a full scan and found bee’s frame was covered by the one they see now. Bee is pretty pissed when he finds out but Ratchet smiling throws him off guard. It’s when Ratchet shows he’s been working non-stop to remove the current frame so bee can have his original back.

-leaking lots of leaking on Bee’s part but he hides in his room when he does because he doesn’t want anyone to see him leak.

-surprisingly its prowl who goes in to comfort him. He’s not really afraid of bee being a murderbot since he’s run in with them before. Not to mention him & bee having a steadily growing connection and bond. Bee was annoyed at first but a hug from prowl was like candy to a kid for him and bee ended up spilling he could get his original frame back.

- out of the group it’s surprisingly optimus who is the most weary about bee. The moment he sees him in his original frame, more black than yellow, sleek frame with claws and sharp fangs not to mention door wings showing he was a hybrid murder bot and no autobot insignia. Optimus was on edge.

- bulkhead still saw bee as his little buddy. He gave him a big teddy bear hug and was the first to tell bee he had pretty optics. His original optics are orange and they really are very pretty. They’re still big and have an innocent look to them especially when bulkhead pats his head careful of his sensitive floating antennas. Ratchet even gave him a hug which bumblebee returned immediately.

- its prowl who helps bee get used to his frame again. None of them are educated on wing culture so they don’t know bee is pretty nervous by how his door wings stay low. Eventually prowl figures it out and in true familial bond fashion takes bee out to the forest to talk.

- bee still doesn’t want to share that part of himself or the reason why he still hasn’t gotten the autobot symbol put on his chassis. Prowl doesn’t push but lets him open up about how he can sense optimus being weary even frightened by him. He thought it would be ratchet who would be prejudice of him not optimus.

- Prowl doesn’t take well to that information not one bit.

-optimus gets a very frightening wake up call the next cycle when its prowl hovering above Optimus as he lays in berth and covers his intake while holding a shuriken to his neck cable.

- “either you work out your fears towards bee being a murder bot or i do it for you. I trust you’ll make the right decision?”

-Optimus after a long days thinking and still remembering how frightening prowl looked hovering over his berth many many hours ago, he sits and talks with bee.

-“ i- i’m sorry bee. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just-never expected you to be a murderbot or a hybrid. I can tell by your claws and door wings. I didn’t mean to look at you any differently i just couldn’t stop myself. I was wrong to treat you different. If you can forgive me i’d love to go sparring with you.”

- a dazzling smile of innocence and door wings fluttering before resting facing out, bee forgives him even hugs him. Optimus really was trying when he said he’d love to spar with him. No one except decepticons would trust sparring with a murderbot so he really appreciated Optimus saying that.

-later that night when Optimus was half in recharge Prowl crept down from the ceiling and nodded at him smiling before leaving to go check up on bee.

- optimus had a new fear and it wasn’t bee. It was cyberninjas. Terrifying, silent, calm overprotective cyberninjas.

-“ you know you didn’t have to threaten him.”

“Someone needed to get his helmet out of his aft.”

“You’re a really good older familial.”

“Heh, I know.”

- protective younger familial bee on the battlefield when they face the cons for the first time since he went back to his original frame. Prowl got hurt by Lugnut smashing his arm in and Bee locked his sights on Lugnut only. His face shield came down and his optics burned orange just like his arm canon. His arms were small but his canon packed a punch.

- surprise from the team. Pure shock and surprise as Bee went pede to optic with Lugnut. Literally. Bee smashed his optic in and tried to claw off his servo in retaliation for hurting his familial. He was halfway through the war plating till Blitzwing grabbed him and his hot head face plate declared his spark for him.

- that knocked out all the fight in everyone, bee included.

- blitzwing was serious he was literally offering his spark to bee and bee alone.

-prowl was not having that.

- a shuriken to the optic and blitz is only half aware of bee being snatched from his servos before the autobots disappear.

- prowl getting patched up by Ratchet who keeps making jokes about prowl being an overprotective big familial.

- bee telling prowl not to worry but prowl sees the blush on his cheeks and no. Bee you can’t not him. Anyone but him.

-“jazz & lockdown are courting you. Don’t even start.”

“Thats different!”

“No way he’s a bounty hunter!”

“I can beat him!”

“Yeah cause he’s too busy being charged to actually think!” “Don’t deny i’ve seen it!”

-prowl trying to pull the “you’re too young to court,” servo and Bee just “i’m 10,000 years old i can court who i want.”

- prowl wants him to wait until he’s 1 million. Its ratchet who breaks up the argument by just telling them to go to bed in separate berths until they can settle this like grown mechs. That snaps them out of it.

- familial’s always sleep in the same berth no matter how many bots in their family. Ratchet knew this. He gave himself a pat on the back watching the two talk things out like grown mechs instead of sparklings.

- bulkhead trusts bee to make his own decisions but backs prowl up in threatening blitzwing.

- just bee assuring them if blitz tries to hurt him he’ll slit his neck cables before he even knows its coming.

- blitzwing falls more in spark and the autobots are both happy bee is safe but disturbed at how casual he said it.

- just bee being very comfortable with offling and blitz offering his spark again that same cycle.

Hope you like this, sorry i took so long to respond

[camp-counselor-life]

Ok, so I'm going to talk a little bit more about this, because I feel really strongly about it.

TW: dieting, weight, disordered eating

I do track my food, but not for weight. I have been having some health problems and have lost significant weight. Now, I'm not underweight at this point, but I am starting to get to a place that I'm nervous about. None of this is intentional, and I'm told it's due to the med change, but like, don't lose anymore weight.

I use an app paid for by my insurance company, in an effort to save them money (99% sure they're losing a looooot of money on me). But basically, I check in with a "health coach" dietician. Due to... circumstances, I have a new one, and she was really flustered when we first met.

So between that and the joys of AI, I have had a sugar restriction diet added to my to-dos, against my will. I had a minor meltdown in the health coach chat at like 7 pm last night.

You absolutely cannot automate health care in this way. The one size fits all approach does not work. You cannot AI your way for everyone to fit in your box.

Also, why is my sugar intake so high?

I eat so much fruit.

That's right folks, natural sugar, perfectly acceptable, has triggered the AI.

This is why you can't automate health care. Because my diet is actually just fine.

And this is how you get disordered eating in people who are already struggling. This is how the weight loss fears drive people into unhealthy habits and cause more problems than they solve.

My dudes. Folx. Tonight I am mad at the diet & healthcare industry.

Where we are so obsessed with weight loss & one sized fits all solutions that it was just recommended that I, who continues to unintentionally lose weight and can't get enough calories regularly, start a restrictive diet.

I absolutely cried out of frustration.

[he-calls-me-kitten]

Only Human

Human!Simeon struggles with his secret urges. F! MC knows.

"Here, MC, this is the book I've been talking about." Simeon pointed at the art book on his bed. "Come sit I'll show you."

You sat down, perusing through the illustrations and it's intricacies. "It really is beautiful beyond words." Simeon explained the message and artstyle, his thigh pressed tightly against yours.

You smirked as he grabbed your thigh while explaining one of his favorite pages. Does he think he's being subtle?

"Simeon."

"Yes, MC?"

"How much longer do you think you can keep up this act?"

"I- I don't understand what you're talking about, MC. Have I been acting any different than usual?"

You stood up, placing an arm on each side of him, trapping him in your accusatory gaze. His eyes looked nervous but eager.

"I'm talking about this,my angel." You palmed his swollen crotch. He had a raging boner. "You've been dealing with these for a while now haven't you..? Ever since you turned human."

Simeon lowered his head, he didn't dare reply. Heat crawled onto his cheeks, at your intense, undivided gaze.

"I know you've been watching me, Simeon." You continue. "You even watched Solomon fuck me every other weekend, didn't you?"

Simeon gasped. "You...you knew?" He could die of embarrassment at being found out, all the while his crotch only grew tighter against your touch.

"I assumed I moaned a bit too loud and I'm sure you only came to see if we were hurt. But once you saw...you couldn't leave could you? You enjoyed the show too damn much. Did you imagine it was you instead? Taking me from behind like that?"

The way he shyed away from you, all the while his body betraying him and reacting to your every word, unlocked your feral side. You leaned forward until your noses touched.

"But looking isn't enough anymore is it, Simeon? You've been aching to touch me." You took his hand and placed it on yourself, letting him feel the fullness of your breast. "Just like this."

Simeon didn't pull back. He let his hand stay, unwilling to let go. You smiled knowing you're right.

"You've been pressing into me whenever we use the same bus. You lean in so close to talk, like you want to kiss me. You ask me to read notes over your shoulder to feel me press against your bare arms, even during class."

"Why didn't you say anything before? Before when you noticed this?"

"Because I didn't want to you to stop."

"Then don't hold this against me, MC." He brushed a finger across your lips before pulling you in with a heated kiss. "I have waited to taste you for too long..."

He slipped his tongue in. He reminded you of a teenage boy trying to kiss for the first time.

You pulled away and lay yourself down on the bed right next to him. He didn't waste any time at all, his hands working diligently to uncover you. He placed open mouth kisses on every inch of new skin he exposed.

"Mhmm.." He hummed as he tasted your skin. It was even better than he dreamed. You cup his face and pull him in for another kiss, while his impatient hands already prying off your panties

"Simeon we're home. Are you in there?"

Luke and Solomon. What horrid timing. Well, Simeon might just have to wait a little longer.

You simply shrugged and sat up, starting to fix yourself. Simeon groaned in annoyance before he grabbed your arm, dragging you to his dimly lit bathroom.

"Simeon wait...here?" You saw him in the mirror as he locked the door.

"Shhh...not a sound, MC." He bent over the sink, and knelt down to the ground, his hands digging into your thighs.

Excitement pooled between your legs, leaking onto his tongue. He took you in, dilligently, tongue slipping in easily through your slippery folds. You had to clamp your mouth shut with your hands.

"Your turn." You panted, pushing him against the wall. As got your knees for him, undoing his pants, he felt oddly jealous and agitated. He'd seen you do the same for Solomon.

He took a sharp intake of breath when your tongue touched his tip. Simeon had never felt like anything like this before. He stared down in desperation as he watched your pretty lips wrap around his length.

He dreamed of this so desperately, he could almost cry. He grabbed at your hair, pushing you take in more of him. "Oh fuck...MC..." He hissed. This is sinful. Why does it feel like utter bliss? Can he really hold this sin against humans?

"Ahhh!" He almost screamed as he came. He covered you from face to chest, dripping farther down your belly. He slumped onto the floor before you, grabbing paper towels off the counter to clean you off.

"Seriously where did Simeon go?"

"Did you try calling his phone?"

"Looks like next round will have to wait, my angel." You stood up, fixing yourself again. He pressed more kisses on the back of your thighs as you looked into the mirror, finger-combing your hair.

"I'll make sure to take us somewhere far away. Somewhere noone can find us." Simeon smiled, closing his eyes, already reminiscing about your mouth. "Somewhere we'll get lost."

[pbandjesse]

Today was a pretty good day off. I didn't accomplish everything I wanted to do but I did a good job. I am very tired right now.

I slept okay last night but I woke up with a sore throat I think from the heat being on so high. I don't remember James leaving for work. But I woke up at 8:00 and I felt okay. I would stay in bed until about 8:20 and then I got up and got dressed to wait for my telehealth doctor's appointment.

I got dressed and I thought okay but I was full anxiety. They called me at 9:00 to do the intake and pay for the copay which I think is annoying was the same cost as if I was in office. But whatever. They were really nice on the phone. And when I talk to the doctor she decided she wanted to put me on a pill that will treat my aches and pains and psoriasis and all of the issues that I'm dealing with. But it's a stopgap until the other medication starts working. I've never tried this one before so I'm a little nervous. But she said that it's pretty normal to go on this but I have to have some form of birth control while I'm taking it. Because the side effects to a potential fetus would be so bad that we can't even risk it. So I'll be on this for a few months I guess. All the other one is getting sorted out. Which thankfully they do seem like they are covering it now so that's something. I don't know what my copay is going to be but I hope it's not outrageous.

They called my prescription into Walgreens and once I was off the phone I was just kind of poking around the apartment like I have been doing the entire phone call. I was just circling. So I picked up some stuff and started cleaning things. I decided I would clear out the fridge. Well I baked some chocolate cookies to go in our cookie boxes. And I took everything out of the fridge and tried to wipe down all the surfaces. It is shocking how dirty for just get for no reason. Like we didn't smell anything so why is it so dirty.

I had to text James some pictures because I wasn't sure what they were and if they needed to be thrown away. But we got all leftovers that were too gross to eat out of the fridge and it looks a lot nicer in there. Our friend is up very bad shape and I always feel like we never have enough room and it's just an awkward space but I try my best to keep it clean.

I finished catching up on my temperature blanket and enjoyed just laying in bed. Texted Jess and it was a nice day.

I would take a walk to go and get my medication. Once they called me I got dressed and walked over to the Walgreens. I really like my new coat but the metal of the button smells bad so I tried washing them off with Clorox wipes but I'm not sure if there is a better way to get that smell off.

It was really nice out and it's definitely getting colder but it was a good walk and it was nice and sunny. I got to the Walgreens and I got my medication and after I walked around the store for a bit I headed home.

I got back here and put some stuff away and read about the medications and kind of got a little nervous because of the side effects that it can cause. She gave me a vitamin supposed to help with preventing this side effect so I have to make sure I take that everyday and not miss any days. And got a little scared because the medication is also used to treat cancer. And that is wild to me. I know it's cuz it's immune suppressant but it is a little scary. Unknown.

I spent the afternoon working on some sewing stuff and wrapping gifts and I wanted to make more cookies but I got really winded and dizzy and I just felt like I couldn't do that. I did make ramen which was really good and I'm glad I did it because I hadn't made ramen in a while. I made it just a little spicy and I put an egg in it and it was great.

James had some stuff they had to do after work. Went to go pick up something for me from the Kinkos and then when to the grocery store and their parents house and they would bring us home of Frozen pizza. I got a little over tired having to stand in a very long line at the grocery store but they would come home and everything would be okay.

When they got back they realized they left their phone in the car so while they went to go settle down I went to get their phone because I had to get a couple things from the car anyway. I wanted to get my panda duffle bag that I've been using in the trunk to sort some stuff and fix the zipper. Now that I know how to install a zipper I thought that would be a good project. I would also take apart the straps and move them to a better placement. And the zipper didn't come out perfect then I'm really happy with how I did. I get better every time. Practice makes perfect.

I've been in bed for a while now. I was going to do some stuff. I painted my nails. But I just feel very tired. I took the first round of medication tonight. I had to take five pills. And next Wednesday I will take six. And then we can continue on. But it's wild to me. I'm going to be trying to monitor myself to see if anything's unusual but it's hard because sometimes I'm fine all day until the night time and sometimes I'm a mess for no reason. So who knows what will happen. I just got to be careful I guess. Apparently those medication can make me very susceptible to bleeding. So I have to make sure I don't hurt myself because I can just be bleeding all the time. Scary.

Now though James is playing D&D and I'm going to go take a bubble bath. I'm already thinking about Christmas and I would love to open a gift tonight but I'm trying to save all of them because I know we did not get each other a ton of stuff this year. And yeah I just hope that tomorrow is a good day. James made some more cookie dough for me so I will bake more of those tomorrow and hopefully I feel good and everything will be good and great and nice. I hope you all sleep well tonight. Good night everyone.

[reinvent-and-believe]

saying your names

Prompt: hallucination Relationships:  Geralt & Visenna  Rating: T Content Warnings: unintentional but constant misgendering by a parent; depiction of gender dysphoria in a small child; reference to child self-injury (scratching); abandonment issues; minor book spoilers Summary: Visenna's child is claimed by a witcher through the Law of Surprise. When she bears a daughter instead of the promised son, she thinks she's cheated Destiny. But Destiny rarely accepts such defeat. (Or - the trans Geralt mommy issues fic)

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​

-

i. The Brave Knight

There’s an old fairy tale from far-away Toussaint, one Visenna remembers her grandmother telling her when she was little more than a babe, of a cohort of the bravest knights who gathered at the behest of the first duke to slay monsters and defeat villains and protect the land from all manner of evil. They were five in total, but none rivalled the gallant Sir Geralt, who defended the innocent and the weak, who perfectly embodied the Virtues, who fearlessly and faithfully loved the beautiful maiden Liliana. It’s a story like no other, full of heroics and chivalry, grand quests and epic romance. Visenna remembers sighing as a little girl, of braiding flowers into her shining copper hair and pretending to be Lady Liliana, rescued by that most puissant and most chivalrous of knights.

She hopes that her own daughter will love the tales as much as she did, so she recounts them while Greta lies in bed, wide dark eyes barely blinking as she soaks in every detail. She’s two now and obsessed with stories, any silly rambling thing Visenna remembers from childhood or improvises about the forest creatures near the village, but none have captivated her quite like this tale.

The next day, Visenna hears her daughter whacking at the swaying cattails at the bank of the river with a stick. “I defeat you!” comes the tremulous cry. “I Sir Geralt! I brave knight!”

It’s a small thing, and silly, yet Visenna goes cold.

ii. The Babe

When she realizes she’s with child, Visenna knows it will be a boy, feels it as sure as she feels the wind on her face, the blood pounding in her veins. She’s happy for a time. She knows the horrors women face, has seen, has felt firsthand the cruelties the world inflicts on beautiful little girls. Better a boy, then. Better a boy with a chance at a good life, a boy she can teach and train, a boy who won’t beat or violate or torment.

A mere month before the babe is due, the man returns, and finds her with child, and tells her what he’s done. He blames Destiny and the Law of Surprise and Tradition as Visenna learns a new type of cruelty men can inflict.

And so she hardens herself, tells herself that she will not become attached to what’s growing within her, this life promised to pay a life debt. “Don’t be absurd,” her friends tell her, through nervous glances. “You always assume the worst. It may well be a girl. The witcher won’t have need of a girl.”

But Visenna knows it, feels it with every spark of chaos within her and every pulse she sends out. The babe will be a boy, and she will have to give him up to the witchers, to be trained and transmuted into something other, something more and something less than the child she’ll birth.

And so Visenna grows cold.

When the midwife puts the squalling red girl with dark hair and wide dark eyes in Visenna’s arms, she sobs for days, sobs until she has no tears left and her eyes are raw and swollen. She won’t let the tiny thing out of her sight, barely lets others hold the babe, even in her utter exhaustion. Destiny may have promised her child to the witchers, but Destiny made the folly of giving her a daughter instead of the promised son.

iii. Greta

Greta will not wear her clothes.

At first, it’s almost a game. Visenna dresses her in a frock while the three-year-old protests then glares in turn when she’s overridden. She moves stiffly in the garment, pulling at the sleeves and tugging at the skirt, but she complies. But the minute she’s out of her mother’s sight, the dress comes off, and Visenna finds her naked, regardless of the weather. And the process repeats.

The struggle over clothing is only the beginning. Generally obedient, respectful, intelligent, Greta is nonetheless not an easy child, prone to inconsolable fits of panic and distress, prone to disappearing if not constantly monitored. It’s as though Visenna has birthed two different children. There’s the sullen, timid girl who hates wearing clothing, who barely speaks, who flinches at the sound of her own name, who stiffens in panic sometimes when she’s called, who cries at the slightest provocation, who goes missing only to be found after a frantic hour of searching lying on the floor in the narrow space between her bed and the wall, staring blankly, hearing nothing, seeing nothing. Then there’s the other child, the one who cuts dark curls short with the pruning shears from the shed, who runs fearlessly through the woods, slaying invisible monsters all around, yelling and laughing and breathless.

When a young couple with a son not much older than Greta moves into a nearby cottage, Visenna hopes that companionship will stabilize her daughter’s volatile, inexplicable moods. Instead, it leads to an immediate altercation: on the first day Greta and the boy Marek play together, the boy’s father shows up on Visenna’s doorstep, furious, with a wide, bleeding gash in his hand. He’d found them wearing each other’s clothes, he tells her. Greta had refused to surrender Marek’s clothes, and when he moved to force her out of them, she’d bitten his hand. “Like a rabid beast,” he spits out as Visenna runs past him to the small shack where Greta makes herself as small as possible, shaking all over.

Visenna shoves a few coins at the man with a glare. “Buy your son another outfit,” she snaps, and when she kneels down to Greta’s level the terrified child’s arms wrap immediately around her neck. She takes her child home in the roughspun tunic and trousers.

(Maybe she should punish the child for biting, but Visenna knows the ways men can be cruel, had seen the terror in her child’s huge brown eyes. Even if he meant no harm in trying to retrieve his son’s clothes, she can’t help being glad the child bit him rather than permit his touch.)

Visenna has never listened to Greta’s thoughts before, rarely listens to anyone’s on purpose, hates the uneasy sense of violation the act stirs up in her. But as she carries the silent, shaking child home, the thoughts ring so loudly she can’t keep them out.

Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl.

Then:

Not a girl.

Not a girl.

Not a girl.

Not a girl.

iv. The Child

The morning after the incident with the neighbor, Visenna lays two outfits side by side on the bed: the tunic and trousers nicked from the neighbor boy, or the dress most frequently tolerated, a plain shift of soft linen, comfortable and loose.

"Which would you rather wear today?" Visenna asks, making the beds as usual. She hears the sharp intake of breath, sees out of the corner of her eye the hesitation, and then the child grabs the boy's clothes and cradles them in trembling arms.

Visenna visits a tailor and trades in little frocks for breeches and shirts. She watches her child’s face light up when she presents them, watches the child run reverent fingers over each garment, little hands doing their best to neatly fold each piece.

She stops calling the child Greta; stops calling the child anything but child. The child doesn’t seem to mind this namelessness; on the contrary, the child thrives. The too-thin frame rounds out with healthy, nearly chubby development as the child begins to eat more than a few bites at each meal; weak, skinny arms and legs grow strong with constant running and playing in the woods near the house. Banished is the pale, terrified little girl; only the rambunctious, talkative, joyful child remains.

"When I'm a knight," the child tells her one day, coming in from the yard wearing a bucket as a helmet, "I'm going to ride a big horse."

"Oh, a big horse," Visenna echoes, ladling the soup into a wooden bowl and blowing gently to cool it. "What will you name the horse?"

The child considers this. "Does it have to have a name?"

"All creatures need a name."

The child doesn't speak for a long while. Then that piping, gentle voice rings out. "What if the horse hates its name? It won’t be able to tell me."

Visenna sets the bowl down on the table. She doesn't ask any of the questions pounding through her head as she looks at her nameless child, lost in thought. She doesn’t think about Destiny, how a witcher may well show up at her door at any moment looking for their payment, doesn’t think about taking the child there herself. "Helmet off," she says instead, running a hand through dark curls when the child obeys. "Come, eat your soup."

v. The Butcher

She first hears whispers of the Butcher of Blaviken when she’s traveling through Poviss, brought north by an outbreak of smallpox needing healers. She hears of the vile, deranged, white-haired witcher who slaughtered nearly an entire village unprovoked, even women and children. She thinks little of it. The child she left with the witchers over half a century ago had brown hair, and the years would not have turned it so quickly, not on a witcher.

If he’s even still alive.

She puts the thought away, carefully, as she has for decades.

She thinks of it a little more in Kovir. “You’re one of them!” shrieks a woman in the tavern, pointing at a bulky man sitting in the corner. “One of them witchers like that Butcher! I seen your wolf necklace!”

All eyes train onto this disfigured witcher who is not Visenna’s child. (Does her child bear scars like this? Do his shoulders stoop in such defeat?) He scrubs a square hand over his face, looking almost pained, before he shoves away from the table in silence and leaves.

School of the Wolf, then, just like the witcher she’d surrendered her child to with naught but a letter left at the inn where he was staying. Your Child Surprise will be at the crossroads by the river at midday. A few brief, stilted sentences explaining that the child was different from other boys but Destiny had chosen him nonetheless. A terse plea that the witcher treat the child with kindness, to protect him if he could. A postscript, written in a shakier hand than the rest of the letter. My son’s name is Geralt.

Vesemir. The child’s father had called him old, grey-haired even then. Is Vesemir this Butcher, the ruthless, barbarous old witcher who leaves a trail of fresh corpses in his wake? Had she entrusted the helpless child to a merciless brute all these years ago?

It’s not until the notice board outside of Tridam that she understands. It’s a fairly standard notice concerning some vague, nondescript monster that’s caused disappearances, pleading for help from any witcher, excepting the butcher Geralt. Show your face in Tridam and we’ll finish you off like they should have done in Blaviken.

Her child, the Butcher of Blaviken.

She doesn’t know what happened in Blaviken, can’t find a clear telling. Killed a woman, some say, killed an army, killed all but three people, killed everyone down to the dogs and cows and sheep in his rage. Tales grow in the telling, she knows, but she can’t dispute it. Perhaps he is evil incarnate, perhaps by sending him to the witchers she doomed the continent to bloodshed, perhaps he is the monster in these furious whispers.

But she can’t help remembering the tiny, terrified body, rocking in the corner of a shack, those wide eyes staring up at her in panic. “Like a rabid beast,” the man had said, but Visenna found only a petrified child shaking in the corner.

vi. The White Wolf

The young man swaggers towards Visenna. Between the bright turquoise doublet, the enormous feather swooping dramatically through the air on his jauntily tilted hat, and the self-assurance of his stride, he looks like a veritable peacock.

It’s her own fault. She knows she’d been staring, but the sound of that name on his lips…

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” His smile is bright and surprisingly genuine, reaching all the way up to his eager blue eyes. He’s younger up close than she’d imagined from across the tavern, barely more than a boy. “Though not half so lovely as you, I daresay. Might I interest you in a drink?”

She nods, silent. Watches him charm a passing barmaid who blushes and quickly returns with the desired ale. He slips into the chair across from Visenna, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his long fingers together beneath his chin, fixing her with a wide-eyed, adoring smile.

Before he can speak, she asks, “Your song. About the witcher.” She pauses, unsure what she means to ask. “Did you write it?”

Somehow the boy looks even more delighted. “Indeed I did! By the gods, it’s wonderful to chat with a fan. It’s one of my most recent compositions. How did you like it?”

“Hmm.” The boy’s song had been so jarringly different from any reference to the child she bore than she’s ever heard. In the bard’s honeyed voice, he sounded almost heroic. She hesitates. “Do you know him?”

“Only a little,” he admits, but there’s a slight flush on his childish face that he attempts to cover with bravado. “The song is the true telling of our grand adventure. I accompanied the White Wolf on his quest to defeat the Devil of Posada, the most terrifying monster to ever...well, terrorize the good people of the Valley of the Flowers.”

“And he’s...he’s not what people say?” Those huge brown eyes staring up at her, tiny body trembling. “Not a butcher?”

“Oh my good lady, not at all!” The bard’s expression of dismay is guileless, earnest. “He saved me, put himself between me and harm’s way when we were captured by the elves, offered his own life for mine.”

A life debt. Just as the child’s father had promised the Law of Surprise to the old witcher, the vow that had set the course of Geralt’s life before he was even born. And now this strange boy owes Geralt a life debt of his own.

“So that’s why,” she confirms cautiously. “Why you write songs for him. Make him the hero when men would be more than happy to remember him as a monster.”

The boy hesitates, his charismatic blustering slipping as he bites at his bottom lip. He reaches distractedly into his pocket, finding some trinket he rolls about in his palm to occupy his busy, nervous hand before he slowly answers. “Even if he hadn’t saved my life I would have written about him. Well, not if I hadn’t survived that particular encounter, of course. But if I’d gotten away myself, or if I hadn’t followed him into the wild in the first place, I would still have written about him.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I…I don’t think he’s known very much kindness.” The bard doesn’t look at her, quite, as he speaks, slower and softer than before. “You ought to see the way he responds to a simple compliment, you’d think his head might explode, he twitches and looks bewildered and grunts angrily. It’d be amusing if it weren’t so very sad.” He’s quiet for a moment, tracing the wood grain in the table with his eyes as he gathers his thoughts. “But he’s kind, even if the world isn’t. He gave his reward for the contract to the…well, to someone who needed it more. And before that, he…” He glances down at the dull gold coin between his fingers, rubbing absently at worn, beveled edges, his face flushing prettily. “He liked my singing.”

She watches the bard, lost in thought and fiddling with a lone coin, for a long while.

vii. Geralt

A slip of a thing running through the woods. Frightened. Alone.

A fight. Gruesome, brutal, fast.

The stench of decay.

“And me? What did I do? I bandaged a wounded man who’d fainted away and put him on my cart and didn’t leave him to expire. It’s an ordinary matter.”

“It’s not so ordinary. I’ve been left...in similar situations...like a dog.”

Blood. Not running, red and healthy and clean; slow. Thick. Dark. Foul.

Infection.

Youths dancing in lusty delight on a warm spring night. A woman with raven curls, naked and wistful in his arms, the warmth of a bonfire lighting her face a beautiful gold. Children screaming, playing in a dried moat. A queen, formidable and sneering, full of contempt.

Hideous wounds, threatening the leg. Amputation may be necessary, without immediate intervention.

Resin in the air.

Ashen hair matted over the clumped, drying cake of blood deforming half of a pale face.

Black potion with a green seal. And then darkness.

Visenna awakes with a start.

The druids’ campsite is still, the last embers of the fire the only light in the darkness of the forest. She pulls the woolen cloak around her thin shoulders, grabs her medical bag, and goes to find the witcher that was once her child.

She finds him a pale and bloody mess on the back of a cart, eyes open and unseeing. He’s racked with feverish chills as his body desperately attempts to fight the infection poisoning him.

She helps the merchant move Geralt carefully onto blankets on the ground. She tends to him, as she’s tended to thousands of others. She cleans his wounds, scraping destroyed, decaying flesh away from healthy tissue, pulling the gentle pulses of chaos from the earth to purify his blood, draining infection and necrosis and narcotic alike from him.

She’d cleaned blood and dirt and debris from scraped knees, once, the too-fast beating of a little, huge heart pounding so loudly she could feel it. The wounds of childhood.

His pulse is slow, the drumbeat of a dirge.

She’s warm all over, suddenly, then cold. Her vision swims before her eyes.

A little more. The pulsing wanes, wavers as she begins to join him in the dark void beyond consciousness.

No.

She breathes, her eyes closed, then returns to her work.

She feels him stirring before he makes a movement, senses him swimming to the surface, coming to. He’s quiet, still, blank. When his eyes open, he’s staring at the treetops above them. His face is impassive. Lifeless.

The way she would find him, sometimes, after he went missing as a child. Staring at nothing. Trying not to be.

She can hear it in his voice. He knows.

His leg will heal, now. She’s done all she can.

She moves on to the bedsores, massaging ointment carefully into the open wounds. His body is stiff and unyielding beneath her touch.

She gives him what she can. “It’s my profession,” she says. Her voice is steady, cool. It’s no excuse, no answer, but it’s what she has. “The only thing I’ve ever been good at.” This much at least is true. This much she can give him.

She’s always known she would meet him again. She never sought him out, never avoided him. “People linked by destiny will always find each other.” She hears it, as though it’s someone else’s voice.

“I want you to look at me.” It’s a snarl. Not a sound she’s heard from those lips before. “How do you like my eyes? Do you know, Visenna, what they do to a witcher to improve his eyes?”

She knows enough. She meets his gaze.

Those eyes, the greatest marker of his difference, his inhumanity. They’re golden, now, instead of brown. His pupils are wide, round, black, pained. They aren’t so different. So monstrous.

Just the eyes of a terrified child lashing out in desperation.

“Do you know it doesn’t always work?” he demands.

“Stop it, Geralt.”

And something breaks.

“You don’t get to use that name!” There’s a frantic rage dripping off every syllable, hatred and agony, like a festering wound ripped open and left to bleed. He glares at her with a wild fury. “Vesemir gave me that name.”

And he’s a child, he’s three years old and screaming like he’s being tortured when she calls his given name. He’s five and distraught over the thought of a horse who hates its name and can’t tell anyone. He’s four and he’s a trembling mess with blood beneath his fingernails, shaking and unable to stop ripping at his own flesh.

“You trusted Destiny rather than trying to find me yourself,” he begs.

A child with nothing in the world running through the forest and into the arms of a witcher.

There’s a tear running down her face. It’s the only thing she can feel. “Don’t ask me any more questions,” Visenna says softly.

“Why?”

She’d known since before he was born that she wasn’t to keep him. That Destiny had other plans.

When she thought she had a daughter, there was hope.

“The answers will only hurt us both.” Carefully, Visenna presses him back into the makeshift sickbed.

“Yen was right.” His voice is low, barely audible, a broken murmur. “It’s not enough to be destined for each other.”

A child runs through the woods and finds a witcher waiting.

Brown curls become ashen locks. Eyes swirling brown and gold and green.

“Something more is needed.” He’s not speaking to her anymore. He’s staring up, at the treetops and through them to the stars above, his eyes losing and regaining focus. “I...I want…”

“No.” Her voice is soft, and she sees him relax into the smooth cadence in spite of himself. “Go to sleep, Geralt.” She hesitates as his eyes grow heavy, begin to drift shut, and she can’t help leaning toward him to gently whisper, “And just between us, Vesemir didn’t give you that name.” She lets herself reach out, carefully brushing white hair off his sweating brow. “It doesn’t change anything, but I’d like you to know that.”

“Visenna…”

“Sleep. I was just a dream.” She hesitates, watching silently as he fights the exhaustion, like a child fighting to stay awake past his bedtime, begging for one more story. “Sleep, Sir Geralt.”

He does.

viii. Sir Geralt

She does not see him again.

She travels to Sodden and heals the injured, soldier and mage alike.

She hears tales, as she has for years.

Geralt’s kidnapped a young Cintran princess for unspeakable, nefarious purposes.

Geralt died on Thanedd, caught up by chance in the mages’ bloody revolt.

Geralt led the forces of Lyria and Rivia against Nilfgaard, earning himself a knighthood and a position in Queen Meve’s army.

(She doesn’t believe any of them, doesn’t let herself care either way, but she hopes the latter is true. Hopes he lives out the rest of his days a brave knight, as he always dreamed of becoming.)

Visenna works. Cleans and stitches and bandages wounds, wanders from battleground to battleground. There’s no shortage of work for a healer.

So many tales of Geralt the witcher, Geralt the traitor, Geralt the butcher, the knight, the outlaw, the hero, the father. Of his victories and defeats, his loves and enemies, his transcendence, his demise.

Visenna listens to them all. Collects the stories, the lies, the praises, the calumnies. She draws them carefully within her. Carries them with her as she continues on the path.

For all the rumors and speculation and ballads, of all things, for all the different Geralts, there’s one that’s hers and hers alone. A skinny, adventurous child with brown curls and a bucket-helmet falling into his eyes who swings a gnarled oak stick as a sword. He’s ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the weak against the unrelenting onslaught of monsters only he can see.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ DID YOU CANCEL YOUR PLANS FOR ME? ❜

❚❙ ANGEL REYES MASTERLIST.

✨ REQUEST by @rocketqueen: hey Aurora! first of all: i love your blog. I guess you know that by that point cause i’m always here, but i’d like to say it again just for you to be sure of the amazing blog you have. And I’d like to do a request from January. The prompt is number 15 “Do you cancel your plans for me?” (it’s the fluff prompt list) with Angel Reyes, please! Thank you 💘

Gif credit: to the awesome @angels-reyes.

WORDS: about 1k.

❚❙ A/N: first of all, thanks for requesting. You don't know how happy you make me every time I see you in my notifications and I'm glad that you enjoy my blog this much, I really appreciate it. I'm sorry it took me so long and I know this should be part of ‘January of Prompts’, but I decided to take it as another request due it has been impossible for me to write this challenge. Concretely, this work is the first I write for Mayans after two months of suffering a writer's block, so I hope with all my heart that you all really enjoy it. As always, thank you for all the support you show me every day.

❚❙ MASTERLIST.

❚❙ JOIN MY TAG LIST.

You haven't ever cared about your friends' opinion. You haven't ever cared about what they used to say about Angel, about his man-reputation, nor about the fearsome Mayans. You know him ever since, you know how he behaves, how he acts, his red flags, his unconscious tics when he is nervous or happy or hurt. You know him better than yourself. That's why you haven't cared either about your friend making you choose between them or he, thinking you would choose them. They were wrong. Unlike your inner circle, Angel has never said a single bad word about them. He has always protected you, taken care of you, given you the best advice, motivated you to continue studying Medicine, and helped you to chase your dreams.

Tonight you were supposed to spend it with your friends and family, but you know you wouldn't have any fun hearing all of them criticize each other under sarcasm and fake laughs. Stabbing their backs and pretending it's okay, it's something normal in society nowadays. And there you are, hands within your pockets, crossing the junkyard alley straight to the clubhouse. Soon, the latin music fills your surroundings starting to sound louder as you reach the epicenter of the party. The night Angel becomes a full member.

He didn't ask you to come, even if there wasn't he desired the most than being with you. He knew about your plans and he didn't have the right to put you into a corner. He said you could celebrate the next day. What Angel didn't know is you had your preferences clear and a decision was taken. With a smile from ear to ear, your gazes find the other. He's sitting close to the bonfire with his brothers and some of Vicki's girls trying to catch his attention, drinking and pretending he is having a good time. But the gesture on his face changes completely at the moment he realizes that you are really there. It's not a vision, it's not a dream, it's not alcohol intake.

Cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand after a sip from his beer, he leaves it on the ground standing up from his chair. Even if the talks continue around the two of you, you have earned every single pair of eyes there, following the new brand member walking towards you.

“Shouldn' yo—”.

“Maybe”. You interrupt him, shrugging your shoulders and stopping your feet some inches away from him.

“Did you… cancel your plans for me?” Angel asks, trying to hide a funny and triumphal smirk while tangling his hands on his abdomen.

“Maybe”. You repeat licking your incisors to gulp a giggle.

“Your family must be… very disappointed”.

“You are my family, Angel”.

The fleeting shine that crosses his black orbs gives you shivers. The way he has to lick and bite his bottom lip lets you know he is somewhat nervous after hearing it. You're more than aware that he has strong feelings for you. Real ones. You aren't a game for him. You aren't a possible one nightstand. Seeing you there, hearing you say those words get his heart racing at the edge of collapsing.

Angel doesn't hesitate to rest a hand on your cheek to place a warm kiss on the other. His lips are trembling, just like his fingers, and you can swear that it's the sweetest thing you have ever experienced. You can't help but close your eyes when you feel his mouth coming a little closer to yours with short and clumsy kisses, feeling the fear on him of you pushing him away in the last second. But you can't move.

When his lips find yours, fireworks explode inside your belly. The Big Bang happens around you. The time stop. His breathing gives you goosebumps and his tongue parting your lips to play with yours gives you shivers. You haven't ever felt this good, as if you had the world in your hands as if nothing were impossible. That's what Angel provokes in you. Sensations and emotions that you can't explain, but the kind of ones that made you and made him addicted to each other.

“Ain't nothing without you”. He whispers too slowly, dragging every syllable through his tongue, not being able to open his eyes yet. “You're the air tha' keeps me afloat”.

“Angel…”

“No, listen… I'd never do anything to hurt you, you know it, right? Despite… wha' people think, I can make it work. You and I. The club, a life together”. His lips brush yours so soft that it's making your legs tremble, having to tangle your fingers in his kutte. “I've always wanted you, I've always loved you even when I couldn't love myself, 'cause you have done it fo' me”.

“It will work, Angel. I know it. We'll make it work”. You cheer him up, feeling how the smile on his lips becomes a little bigger. “I adore you... You're a blessing to my life, mi angelito. I wouldn't rather be in another part of the world than by your side”.

As soon as his strong bare arms wrap your mid back while a purr escapes his throat, you break into giggles putting your hands on his nape. Angel embraces you as much tight as he can, practically melting into one figure for a couple of seconds. He's a true angel from heaven, but his hugs are warm like hell.

“Are you gonna show me your new patches, ah?” You are very curious and interested when he pulls himself away to hold your hands, noticing them on his flaps.

He nods his head with a proud grimace, pointing at them and the absence of the prospect one, before turning around to show you the bigger one. Mayans MC insignia. Colorful and clean. You can't help but trace it with your fingertips.

“You like it?”

“Pretty much. Looks good on you”.

“Everything looks good on me, baby”. Clicking his tongue and raising his eyebrows, Angel faces you again to start to walk backwards to his brothers.

You roll your eyes inevitably, letting him guide you to be greeted by his new family. A family you are now part of.

[trentaafcsblog]

Writing Challenge - Angst

“Please say something” - Leon Goretzka

Thank you to the beautiful @penguintransporter for this one 🤍

The corridor of the familiar Gründerzeit residential building seemed to be darker than it used to be; longer and wider, and yet, it was the same as when she had left it, thinking that it would be the last time that she was walking the black-and-white, tiled floor.

There was still the same dried out monstera plant in the corner, the same advertisements on the cork-board, same basket for the wet umbrellas that no one really used, and the same line-up of the vintage lamps mounted on the wall – illuminating the darkness which seemed to be present even in the middle of the sunniest days.

Emelie had to take a deep breath, exhaling softly.

To say that it didn’t feel strange to be there again, after seven months, would be a lie, and as she made her way towards the winding stairway that would take her to the fourth floor, she felt a wave of melancholy wash over her. Everything was the same, and yet it felt so different – walking down the corridor without stopping to check their mailbox, holding onto the railing, yet feeling detached from it as if she wasn’t really present; seeing only his name written on a silver plate on the doors.

She didn’t belong there any more.

Her hand was shaking as she knocked on the doors, and taking an insecure step back, she breathed out a slight and nervous breath she was holding in. She hadn’t seen nor spoken to Leon since she had moved out, wheeling the last bits of her belongings in a small suitcase while he was still at the training, proudly keeping her tears away – a flower pot with devil’s ivy pressed against her chest.

Seven months of denial, fake smiles, and crying when no one could see her.

Seven months of telling herself that she will be okay, that she needed to accept that he wasn’t part of her life any more, and that she had to move on and try to forget.

As if that was an easy thing to do.

Emelie’s heartbeat quickened when she heard the familiar sound of the locks being twisted, and when he finally opened the doors, she felt as if there was no air left in her lungs—just painful scratches while she tried to stay composed.

“Hi, Emelie,” he greeted her, giving her a small tight-lipped smile, and she waved shyly, as if they were just some random strangers, and not two people who have spent more than five years sharing the ups and downs, laughter and tears, sorrow and happiness.

“How have you been?” Emelie asked, trying to keep her voice steady, but under Leon’s gaze, she felt like she was about to crumble any second. “Sorry, I am a bit late, you know – the traffic…as usual,” she trailed off nervously as if she needed to explain herself for being late.

“Don’t worry,” Leon nodded before leaning against the door frame casually, sticking both of his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans. “I’ve been good. Yourself?”

“Same,” she smiled weakly, but his face expression didn’t change, as if he knew she was lying; as if he didn’t care. “I’ve been good, too.”

She wasn’t.

Emelie missed him, more than she dared to admit out loud, and no amount of overcrowded clubs every other weekend, new haircuts, and listening to her friends and family badmouth him—none of it helped. If anything it made her only feel miserable, lonely and reminiscent of what she once had with Leon.

They were each other’s worlds, centers of gravity – pulling one another, reading each other’s mind, and Emelie knew that what she had with him will stick to her for as long as she's breathing. Impossible to erase — a part of her body; a vital organ that kept her alive.

“Do you want to come in? We don’t have to talk at the doors,” Leon suddenly asked, pushing himself away from the door frame with ease, “it’s a bit weird, no?”

Emelie didn’t know what to say, so she only shrugged in response. She knew that it was a bad idea to follow him, and yet, when he stepped aside, her legs carried her inside as if she had no power over them, and before she knew it, Leon was closing the doors behind her, trapping her in the hallway of the place she once used to call home.

It still smelled the same - airy and clean. The walls were still white, and the side-table was still littered with envelopes, magazines, and random leaflets of his favourite take-away restaurants. His raincoat still hung where it used to, and his sports bag was on the ground, haphazardly discarded, as many times before.

The only thing that was missing was a framed photograph that used to hang on the wall – the two of them on their first hiking trip together all those years ago – all smiles and slightly sunburnt under the Pyrenees’ sun. Emelie felt her eyes brimming with tears as she stared at the discoloured spot on the wall – a simple square of shadow, silently narrating their story – a story of something that used to be, but it's not anymore.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, looking away from the wall – words rolling off of her tongue on their own accord—unstructured and unplanned. 

“For what?” he asked, picking up the box that was on the floor behind him. “For the package? It’s okay. I don’t blame your aunt for sending you a present to this address. It was probably a force of a habit. Stuff like this happens.”

Emelie forced herself to nod – her emotions boiling inside of her. 

She wasn’t sorry for the present that was delivered nto the wrong address – far from it. Emelie was sorry for everything she had done, had said, and how she acted in the past; all the times she was overprotective, jealous and overbearing. She was sorry for all the matches she had missed because she was selfishly needing time for herself, she was sorry for letting go of what they had; for not fighting harder.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” she finally managed to say, taking the box out of his hands before holding it to her chest, and hooking her finger around the cord that held it together.

There was a brief moment of silence as Leon looked down at his watch before glancing at her. “Well…,” he started, running a hand through his hair, and Emelie could remember how his locks felt under her own fingertips—soft like a feather; comforting.

“Leon—,” she started before stopping to take a deep breath.

“Yeah?”

Now or never.

“I will probably regret this later, but I’m—I feel like I need to…” Emelie began, surprising herself with her own courage as she hugged the box tighter. It wasn’t particularly heavy, but in that moment, it weighed like a tonne. “I lied when I said that I am feeling good, because I am not,” she stopped for a second, sucking in a deep breath—her chest feeling like if it was on fire, “—I’m aware that the last year of our relationship wasn't something to be proud of, we misunderstood each other, and we said some really awful things we never should have said, but, Leon…” Emelie felt the tears prickling her eyes yet again as she glanced back at the square shadow on the wall, “Leon, I miss you. I miss what—“

“—Emelie,” he interrupted her, running a hand through his hair in frustration as he took a step back, but she couldn’t think straight. 

Her brain was racing, her heart was breaking all over again, and she needed to get rid of the heaviness that was pressing on her chest.

“Please…,” she whispered, glancing down at her shoes – the uneven wrinkles on the sides of her red Vans greeting her, “—do you think we can give it another try? We fought before and we always...”

Emelie bit down at her lip, not able to continue her thoughts. 

“Emmie,” he finally whispered, still avoiding to look at her, and her heart soared at the sound of the nickname he had for her. No one else called her Emmie. No one, but him. “Don’t ask me that…why are you doing this?”

“I think if we only sat down—talked the things through, no?” Her words were leaving her mouth quickly and desperately – running free after being trapped for too long. “I'm doing this because I still love you.”

There it goes. Four little words to break her all over again.

“Emelie,” Leon sighed quietly - both of his hands cradling his face.

They stood in silence, and below the surface of the pain she felt, Emelie was falling deeper and deeper into abyss of regret. Each second felt like an eternity; each intake of a breath unnerving and more painful than the previous one. She was watching him – his jaw clenching as he looked everywhere but her.

“Please, can you just say something?" Emelie asked in a small and timid voice, "Leon, it’s me, please—”

“—What do you want me to say, Emelie? I didn’t expect any of this—” His voice was louder than before, and it made her take a step back, and not because she was scared, but because she realised what she had done. “I miss us too sometimes, but I—,” he looked down at his own sock-clad feet. “I’ve been moving on Emelie. It's been seven months.”

“Oh—,”

“—I am seeing someone else.”

Emelie didn’t say anything, fighting back the tears as she took another small step backwards – her hands feeling sweaty as she brought the box closer to the chest. Leon was watching her – his face full of concern and a mixture of realisation, but she just smiled at him – brave as big girls do before turning around, putting her hand around the door handle; lingering for a second.

“I am happy for you,” she whispered, "I'm happy you're able to move on."

“I’m sorry, Emmie."

“Don’t be.”

Emelie felt nothing, and yet she felt thousands different emotions as she made her way downstairs. Like a ghost, she floated in the sea of the memories – tears trapped on the surface of her eyes. Pushing the heavy doors open, she exited in the sunny afternoon before looking up at the big window on the fourth floor, only to find him watching her – arms resting against the window sill.

With a small wave, she smiled up at him – one of the smiles that only a heartbroken people knew how to paint on their faces, and crossing the road, she turned her back to the past she once thought was her future.

“You wear your heartbreak like your body is a world at war; and every time a soldier dies within it he whispers one last word, and always, it is your name.” - N.G

This imagine is in collaboration with CoppaFeel! 💗 please feel free to follow the link if you would like to donate, but as always, there is no obligation 🦋 if you have the time, then please have a little look at their website and check out the amazing work that they do 🤍 they also have a free text reminder service where you can receive a monthly reminder to check your boobs, as this is something that is often forgotten about 🍒 a lot of celebrities are also ambassadors for CoppaFeel! - Perrie Edwards, Giovanna Fletcher, Frankie Bridge - so keep your eyes peeled on their social media accounts for any campaigns or fundraising events that may be coming up (they trekked through the Himalayas in 2019 and raised over £1 million!) x

[wishiwasntstillhere]

artless in my affections––but i'm learning, i promise

Touch, too, is a language. And Kyoya is far from fluent––but. Tamaki.

He holds out his hand between them.

Tamaki’s head turns. He looks at the hand, then up at Kyoya. His face is uncertain, confused, and so Kyoya pours everything into his answering gaze.

Eyes wide, Tamaki takes his hand. When Kyoya lets him, tension rushes out of him, like a sigh he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He brings Kyoya’s hand up to his face, closing his eyes, and breathes out quietly down Kyoya’s wrist.

Kyouya matches his fingers to the curve of Tamaki’s cheek and says, “You can have more than this.”

Pairings: tamakyo

Warnings: None. 

completely nonsexual, but also incredibly intimate. hurt/comfort. the most touch starved fic EVER (also on ao3!)

Kyoya’s watched Tamaki, the little things he does, the way he touches people. His touches never linger too long and he doesn’t touch anyone too sensitively, but there are certain spots his hands return to every time. When he hugs the twins, his hands go up into their hair, cradling a little spot on the back of their necks. On the rare occasion Mori seems in the mood to be touched, Tamaki’s hands linger on his arms, and a certain place between his shoulder and neck. Haruhi and Honey get enveloped in hugs too, a swallowing of limbs. He likes to card his fingers through Honey’s hair. He likes to rub circles in Haruhi’s back. He likes to hold hands.

And Kyoya… well. When Tamaki touches Kyoya, he does all of those things. After the first few weeks of Haruhi-excitement, he finally backs off from her clear discomfort. Then Kyoya is back to being the person he touches most. 

Tamaki gives shoulder massages, hand massages, hugs, cuddles, random pats and rubs and brushes of his fingers and Kyoya for all this time has not understood. He has been too busy wondering if all families are like this, wondering why it feels so pleasant but so strange to be touched, wondering if he might just be broken.

In the aftermath of the Ouran Fair, however, he thinks he understands the tiniest bit better. 

Tamaki is a master of language. French flowers from his tongue. Pianos sing beneath his hands. And people always, always yield to his eyes. 

These are not languages Kyoya had ever thought to learn––but then he had. Over time, he’d begun to recognize French endearments and exasperations, classical themes and countermelodies, and each exact shade of violet and movement of lash and lid that Tamaki used to express what he did not say.

Touch, too, is a language. And Kyoya is far from fluent––but. He’s learned, as always, from Tamaki.

Tamaki emerges from the river carrying Haruhi. He’s swarmed with hugs, despite being wet, despite Hikaru’s broken arm, and he’s the last one to let go. As the hosts watch the fireworks together, Tamaki is holding hands with Haruhi. His face is open with light, and he leans back against them all. 

When the fireworks end and it comes time to go home, Kyoya makes the first move. “Stay with me tonight.” 

Tamaki looks back and nods mutely.

As the car pulls away from the school, Tamaki stares out the window. He seems far away. Melancholy. 

The thought comes to him: We can start now.

Kyoya is nervous. But. Tamaki. 

He holds out his hand between them.

Tamaki’s head turns. He looks at the hand, then up at Kyoya. His face is uncertain, confused, and so Kyoya pours everything into his answering gaze.

Eyes wide, Tamaki takes his hand. When Kyoya just lets him, tension rushes out of him, like a sigh he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He brings Kyoya’s hand up to his face, closing his eyes, and breathes out quietly down Kyoya’s wrist. 

Kyouya matches his fingers to the curve of Tamaki’s cheek and says, “You can have more than this.”

Tamaki opens his eyes and they’re guarded. He doesn’t understand, or he doesn’t believe. That’s okay. That’s okay. They have time. He’s bought that time for them. He’s not fluent yet, but Kyoya will learn to make promises in this new language, and Tamaki will believe, and it will be okay.

They talk of things both light and heavy. They speak, in glancing blows of truth, of what’s happened over the past few days, hours.

The club was furious for you. The girls were worried, but they were okay. Those parents you charmed even asked after you.

Eclair wanted… She was actually in love with me. Or the idea of me. But she was so angry with me, whenever I spoke of Japan or talked of you. I wanted to answer your calls, but she threw my phone into the fishtank.

That truth hits Tamaki a little too hard. He tries to laugh it off, and Kyoya shakes his head at him. He scoots across the seat and puts his arm around his best friend, who sits up stiffly like he doesn’t know what to do. Kyoya guides his head down to rest on his shoulder, and starts carding his fingers through Tamaki’s hair.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” says Tamaki, trembling. It could be the rumbling of the car on the road. It isn’t. “I don’t want this if you’re doing it out of… I don’t know. Guilt, or pity, or something.”

Kyoya shakes his head again. He can’t explain it. He can’t. But his hands squeeze at his shoulder, his arm, and Tamaki sighs and snuggles closer.

They eat dinner in Kyoya’s room, and leave the plates outside his door. It’s November, so he turns up the heating. Tamaki watches the whole while from the couch, perched on his knees.

“Let’s get changed,” says Kyoya. So they do.

For once Kyoya does not put on his pretentious matching pajamas. He gets them both the softest tshirts he can find and a set of bottoms each. Kyoya’s smaller than him, just a bit, so the shirt stretches tight across Tamaki’s shoulders. The pants don’t go down to his ankles, either. Maybe Kyoya should keep a set of larger pajamas on hand, from now on. He says this aloud, absentminded.

Tamaki is looking at him strangely, kind of wonderingly.

“Come with me.”

They go upstairs to the bed. Tamaki’s slept here before. Their second sleepover ever, he’d had an awful nightmare and bugged Kyoya into letting him. But this is different.

“I don’t understand what you want,” says Tamaki. His voice is small.

Kyoya’s not good at saying these kinds of things. He knows it’s important to tell him, at least this one thing, out loud. His breath catches anyway. 

But. Tamaki.

“I want to touch you. Nothing more. Nothing less. Is that okay?”

A sharp soft little intake of breath. Then, “Okay.”

“Lie down.”

Tamaki smiles, then, and lies down. With his best friend spread eagled on his bed, watching, he starts to feel a little hesitant. But then Tamaki rolls onto his front, face turned away from Kyoya and he remembers. He is Tamaki: he is forgiving when it comes to learning languages. He is understanding. He can start small.

He settles in behind Tamaki, and lays his hand on the center of his back. He drags his hand across, pressing, then lets his fingers trail gently between his shoulder blades. Tamaki shivers. Kyoya repeats the motion times two, times three, four. He can see Tamaki sinking into the bed, feel his spine trembling and heart thrumming. On five, Tamaki’s body stills with a content sigh.

This is something Tamaki has missed. This is something Tamaki wants. 

It’s something Kyoya wants, too. He tells him in delicate kanji traced across Tamaki’s back. Tamaki hums like he understands. He hopes so. But they have time yet.

He rakes (gently, very gently, more like combing, more like stroking) a hand from the crown of his head to the small of his back. Tamaki almost ripples in his shudder, and Kyoya finds himself smiling. He finds, actually, that he wants to pull up the soft too-small t-shirt and lay a kiss at the base of Tamaki’s spine, and doesn’t know why. The answer is something along the line of just because. He doesn’t. Not yet. But he transfers the impulse into something mischievous, and takes both hands dancing up Tamaki’s sides in a quick swipe.

Tamaki spasms a laugh. “Hey!” But it’s all in good humor.

Kyoya rubs circles into the lower part of his back, massaging a little. Then he eases up, and his fingers drift aimlessly toward Tamaki’s side, maybe heading upward again. Then Tamaki shifts. He turns over onto his side, back still to Kyoya.

The tiniest sliver of his hip is exposed, and Kyoya wonders. But he lays his hand on fabric first, feels his ribcage through that shirt. Tamaki is not quite trembling, but… Kyoya slides his hand down his side, palm pressing warm into him. He urges security and calm into Tamaki with flat-handed heavy caresses, then he lets his fingers work more lightly, wandering along his side. He steers clear of skin, watching Tamaki’s stomach jump at spots that tickle.

Then Tamaki’s elbow starts moving back, and his own hand covers Kyoya’s. For a breath, it’s Tamaki’s hand over Kyoya’s hand over Kyoya’s shirt over Tamaki’s skin. Tamaki tugs his hand down slowly, til it’s cradling that little sliver of hip, and Kyoya understands. He slides his hand under the hem, and strokes Tamaki’s bare skin carefully, tenderly.

They sit in silence, for a while, Kyoya’s hands reading Tamaki’s shifts and sighs and hums for where they go next. It’s innocent, artless bliss.

After a while, his hand stills. Tamaki is holding his breath, he can feel, though his hand still pulls on Kyoya’s to keep moving. But Kyoya wants more than Tamaki holding his breath, turned away. Reckless, gentle, he tugs Tamaki by the shoulder, turns him so that Tamaki’s tearstained face is visible. He opens his arms.

A choked off cry. Tamaki dives into the crease of his neck. Kyoya holds and holds and holds, and Tamaki shakes and there are tears dripping onto his skin. His nose is cold at that juncture of shoulder and neck, his breath on Kyoya’s collarbone. He rubs Tamaki’s back in those careful circles. He slides his fingers up into Tamaki’s hair. He gets it, suddenly, how natural it is. On their own, his fingers seek out that place across the back of his neck, and stay there, stroking gently. It’s simply where they belong.

I was going to see my mother. They said they had forgiven her, Tamaki weeps.

I know. I know. Kyoya holds and holds and holds.

Slowly, quietly, the tears trickle to a stop. Tamaki isn’t asleep yet, but he breathes different, now. He breathes like he’s trying to inhale Kyoya, like he’s trying to capture this moment in his lungs, like he wants to keep it in his ribcage, nestled up against his heart. Kyoya knows the feeling. This is what it has been like, all these years, having this loving, generous, irrepressibly cuddly octopus around. He hasn’t known what to do, hasn’t understood or trusted it, but he has wanted wanted wanted.

“You can have more,” says Kyoya again, cradling that spot at his neck. It’s an apology of sorts. He hadn’t realized. All the signs were in front of him, but he hadn’t known just how touch starved Tamaki was. For all Tamaki liked to touch others, he’d wanted to be touched too.

Tamaki murmurs something into his skin. It’s hushed, not out of timidity but intimacy. As he speaks, his lips brush Kyoya’s throat like a melody of kisses.

“Yes,” Kyoya promises, lifting his head some so he can press his own kiss into Tamaki’s shoulder. Tonight, this is the closest he can get to a confession. “You can have that too.”

[awedbynature]

A Christmas Debt

Characters: Loki x Reader

Category: Chaptered Story

Genre: Friendship/ Love/ Romance

Synopsis: The reader renders a great service to Loki unknowingly. Not used to being in anyone's debt, our favourite God of Mischief offers a strange favour in return. Will the reader trust him enough to take up the offer?

Chapter summary: Loki finally meets the reader's family—reader does something unexpected—Loki exhibits a different side of his personality

P.C. Pinterest

Chapter One

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Chapter Three

‘So how did you two meet?’

You almost choke on your chicken. You knew you were bound to face these questions sometime in the evening, but you hadn’t expected it this soon. Taking a copious gulp of the wine, you look over to your youngest sister who has her eyes fixed on Loki.

He comes to your rescue immediately. ‘I met her during an operation.’

'So you guys work together!’ your brother interjects. ‘How come you never mentioned it, Y/N?’

‘W-we work in different departments,' you say, irritated by the sudden case of nerves that overwhelms you.

‘Which is why it seemed almost unbelievable that I met her,' Loki grins.

‘Unbelievable indeed,’ snorts your brother. He is the worst, never losing a chance to tease you. ‘How are you two even...I mean,' he gesticulates in your general direction. ‘She is...’

Your sister-in-law frowns and jabs him in the chest.

‘Way out of my league?’ counters Loki. You could not have been more grateful to him at that moment. He gives you a small smile which you return.

You brother seems taken aback. That was definitely not what he was getting at. He blinks stupidly, his mouth slightly gaping.

‘I don’t believe it either,’ Loki continues. ‘She’s kind, intelligent, charming, loyal, not to mention beautiful. I was captivated the first time I saw her.’

Now that was just laying it a bit too thick. As everyone turns to you with varied amount of surprise and disbelief on their faces, you roll your eyes and snort. ‘C’mon, the first time? The first time I saw you I thought you hated me! You barely uttered two words in my presence.’

‘I was nervous. I did not know what to say!’

You see the twinkle of mischief in his eyes. He’s enjoying this. You take refuge in the food to hide the rising heat in your cheeks.

‘How long have you been together?’ asks your father.

‘About six months—.’

'Two months—’

You whip around at Loki just as he turns to you. This is not good. This is so not good. This is exactly what you have been dreading.

Panicking, you blurt out the first thing that comes to you. ‘It’s complicated.’

All fall silent. You gulp, realising you have just dug your grave a little deeper. A tiny part of your brain is already going you're doomed, you’re doomed, you’re doomed to the tune of the William Tell overture.

Loki raises a brow at you before expertly taking over. ‘It is not complicated, actually. I asked her out about six months back. We went on a couple of dates and she finally made it official only two months ago.’

‘Only two months!’ exclaims your father. ‘Y/N, you better not let this fellow go! I like him.’

'I'm afraid it’s the other way round, sir,' grins Loki.

Your father looks at you with sudden pride. And even though you feel a tiny prick of guilt at the deception, for once the absence of that veiled disappointment in his eyes lets you breathe freely.

‘Come now, dear. Leave the poor kids alone,' your mother says, passing the mashed potatoes around. ‘Don’t mind him, he’s always too nosy,' she waves her hand at Loki, then smiles. ‘I’m so glad Y/N brought you to dinner, Lucas. We were starting to fear she’d never be able to bring anyone at all!’

That stings. You have always known yourself to be an uninteresting, quiet girl, not attractive enough to get the attention of guys. But hearing the same sentiment affirmed by a parent does strike a major blow to one’s self esteem. You try to wash down the hurt with another gulp of wine. It is beginning to take effect.

You’re hardly registering what everybody around you are talking about. Your sister is in deep conversation with Loki, while you mother nods from time to time. Your brother and father are arguing over the rising oil prices and your sister-in-law is adding her bits every now and then.

Your family means well. But sometimes they are too oblivious to your feelings. Or in your brother’s case, too callous to care.

A sudden touch on the back of your hand makes you look. Loki's hand is casually placed beside yours. You wonder at the accidental brush of his fingers. Was it accidental? Or was it his way of letting you know that he’s there for you? Or perhaps it’s just your fancy?

Somehow his presence calms you. The dinner threatens to be long but it doesn’t feel suffocating anymore.

You let the general buzz wash over you once again.

***

The journey back is quieter than is comfortable. You shift uneasily in your seat, taking quick peeks at Loki's profile. He looks out into the dark, leaning against the seat in a lazy grace. Yet his jaws clench from time to time. He’s upset.

It must have been the kiss.

Everything was going fine. You had dinner. Loki had managed to charm his way into your parents’ good graces. Even your brother seemed impressed. Your mother was trying to wheedle you into staying the night, as usual. There was eggnog and homemade cookies and loads more fun than you’d have expected. Then just as you were leaving, your sister had laughingly pointed at the mistletoe.

You had felt Loki go still beside you just as your eyes landed on the bit of green hanging from the doorframe. You eyes flew to his face. His eyes have grown wide, a panicky look taking over with every passing second. Somehow you knew he didn’t want anyone to see him like this, to see his mask drop.

And your family was waiting expectantly. So you did the only thing that you could come up with in your wine-soaked mind.

You pulled him down for a kiss. You heard his sharp intake of shock at the sudden assault but there was no other way you could think of to distract him.

Now huddled in a corner and thinking of all the ways it could have been avoided, you’re trying to broach the subject without embarrassing the both of you. Perhaps it’s better to pretend it never happened? But wouldn’t that be cowardly? Should you apologise now when it’s all fresh and just get it over with? You continue to steal glances. He has not stirred for the past couple of minutes. You take a fortifying breath and open your mouth.

'Don't.’

You blink, taken by surprise. ‘I—what?’

‘Don’t say anything embarrassing.’

‘I was just—’

He finally turns to you, his eyes devoid of any emotions. ‘Consider your apology accepted. I’m not someone to hold it against you.' He pauses, his gaze sharpening suddenly, ‘That is assuming you do not throw yourself at every stranger like that each time you’re inebriated.’

You frown. ‘Excuse me, sir, but I highly disagree on three points. First of all, I am not drunk. Secondly, I do not throw myself at anyone. Thirdly, I was trying to rescue your apparently ungrateful ass.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

The wine definitely must have loosened your tongue.

Loki glares at you. You glare back. You might have kissed him without his permission—which given another choice you’d have heartily avoided—but this is unacceptable. Throwing yourself at strangers? The nerve!

Loki is the first to give up the staring match. ‘I do not need rescuing, irrespective of any situation.’’

'Oh you mean situations like the one where you freeze every time you see a mistletoe wreath?’ you turn away with a huff. ‘Noted. Next time, I’ll simply leave you to your own devices.’ So much for apologising.

The scene outside is an unending stretch of white. The snow looks like confetti falling in slow motion.

After almost fifteen minutes, you feel him straighten in his seat.

‘Please accept my apology. I’m grateful for what you did back there.’

You wait for him to say something more. He does after a moment.

‘That plant reminds me of someone. Someone very close to me.’

‘Who?’

'My brother. Bauldr.’

‘I never knew you were three.’

'We were.’

The slight catch in his voice grabs your attention. You have never seen him this unguarded before. It feels like he is almost human. You lightly touch his wrist.

'I'm sorry for your loss.’

He looks up in surprise. ‘I never said—’

You smile sadly. ‘You didn’t have to. I’m not foreign to the heartbreak of losing a sibling.’

‘Your sibling?’

‘My sister. She was older to me by five years.’ You laugh at a sudden memory. ‘She was the prankster of our family. There was this one time when—’

Loki listens quietly to all the funny incidents you recount, nodding from time to time. You tell him about the one time she filled the entire surface of your bedroom with sticky notes, about the day she dressed up as your grandmother and made you believe she was actually visiting at five in the morning. About the holidays that never felt dull because she was always coming up with new games. About the zeal with which she charged into Life.

'—and our cat never ever went near that Christmas tree again. She would take one look at the tree, then one look at my sister, and promptly plant herself behind the sofa for the rest of the evening.’ You chuckle in fond remembrance.

‘She sounds delightful.’ Loki smiles for the first time in a while.

‘She was. There was never a day without laughter when she was around. When she died,' trying hard not to let your voice crack, you pause. ‘it was as if the laughter was stolen from us.’

‘After she was gone, our family changed completely. Dad packed away all her things and for almost four years Mom even stopped acknowledging us other siblings. I was thirteen, my other siblings mere kids. We could barely process the change. When Mom finally came around, it was as if my sister never existed.’ You can feel your eyes prickling and quickly blink away a tear.

‘Perhaps it was her way of coping,’ Loki murmurs. ‘People cope with grief in different ways.’

His face has softened somewhat. He exhales. 'They say Time heals every wound. You think you’re over the pain. And then you see something that reminds you of them and everything comes crushing back.’

‘Does the mistletoe bring back memories?’

‘Not pleasant ones.’ He notices your expectant look but chooses to ignore it. You sit in silence, each lost in memories of a time when you were young and yet to experience the cruelties of Life.

The rest of the journey is quiet, though not as unpleasant as before.

Back in your room, tired and drowsy you realise you have forgotten to thank him for the evening. He had been a huge help. He had been thoughtful, witty, charming. Hell, he had even managed to bring back a little bit of cheer in your family.

Loki was not what you had expected. There was more to him than meets the eye. You have had just a glimpse of a different Loki, a softer, more emotional Loki who told funny stories to put someone at ease, who understood pain and knew exactly what to say to comfort someone, and perhaps for the first time you wanted to discover more. You had parted on good terms, the chilliness thawed a little. Perhaps some day down the line, you’d end up as trusted allies, if not really friends.

As you curl into a comfy bundle under the blanket with a sigh and close your eyes, your last thoughts are it was not a bad Christmas after all.

To be continued...

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Tags: @lucywrites02 @lilyofthesword @country-cowgirl-101 @benji-booxx @loki-hiddlestoner3024 @outlawangel2020 @thefallenbibliophilequote @idontknowstudios @just-the-hiddles @myraiswack @noturningbacknow @natandersonnla @twhiddlestonsstuff @gluchie @inumorph

[lucyjadesilverson]

Bruce Banner/Hulk - Marvel

It was another day at the Avengers compound, I made my way into the main kitchen and greeted the team members that were there.

"Morning." Sam said.

"Good morning." I said pouring myself some coffee.

"Goodbye." He said going to join Steve, Bucky and Thor who were chomping down their breakfasts. I rolled my eyes with a laugh.

"So.." I turned towards Natasha who had a grin on her face.

"So, what?"

"Did you do it yet?" I rolled my eyes once more. She asked the same question everyday.

Bruce and I haven't had sex ever. We've have been married for two years but he is worried he will hurt me. We've never actually done anything. I only know he is afraid because I over heard him talking to Steve and Bucky about it. I'm too nervous to bring it up in conversation. He's never going to know I'm ready.

That I want him.

"No." I replied bluntly.

"You've gotta talked to him about it at some point." Natasha said.

"Talk to who about what?" Tony asked walking into the kitchen.

"Nothing." It was silent for five seconds before...

"She and Bruce haven't had sex yet." I choked on my coffee at Natasha's outbursts.

The room went silent. I cringe at everyone's stare on me.

"It's not that big of a deal." I grumbled.

"A married couple who haven't been intimate suggests marital problems." Vision said.

"We don't have problems." I said defensively folding my arms.

"Then why haven't you done the old rough and tumble yet?" Sam asked with a grin.

I didn't want to answer. As much as they were family to me. It was a matter between me and my husband.

"Look as you're friend it is my obligation to tell you that if a man can't satisfy your clear needs then what I ordered for you can." Natasha said.

"What? Ordered for me? What did you order?"

"A vibrator. Should be already at your door step by now."

I stared at her wide eyed. Heat rose to my cheeks as I still felt the stares. Then a worse thought hit me. Bruce wasn't working in the lab today, he was at home. If he found it before me...

I ran out of the room towards the elevator. I pressed the button, impatiently waiting for the doors to open. I rushed inside when they did. All different ideas were running through my mind.

I made my way to the door. No package. I walked inside the apartment to find no Bruce. I bit my lip and ventured further. I walked past the bathroom door only to find it was open. The light was on. I open it slightly to find Bruce standing there.

"Honey?"

He didn't answer just stared at a box. BOX! The delivery. I cringed moving further into the bathroom.

"Bruce?"

He pulled out the device and put it on the side for me to see. I gulped noticing the different settings on it. My attention was ripped from it as he pushed me against the wall and pinned me there. My breathing picked up. It was silent, he just stared down not looking at me.

"I-I won't used it."

"What?"

"A few months back. You were drunk and you told me. I know you wouldn't like it if I use one, so I won't"

"We." He said, his voice deeper and his head still facing my chest.

"What?" He looked up causing me to gasp quietly. One of his eyes were green showing that hulk was now present.

"We, don't like it. I want you to feel us, not some toy" he snarled. I almost moaned at his tone. No words could come to me so I nodded.

"We need you to say it." He growled.

"I promise not to use a toy...unless you use it on me" I said smirking at the idea that was placed in my mind. He peaked up at this.

"Oh really?" I nodded, desperate for him to pleasure me in some way. He hummed before picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder. I yelped but knew where this was going when he headed to our bedroom.

He placed me on my feet.

"Strip." I undressed quickly excited at the idea of finally getting release.

"On all fours Mrs.Banner" I did as I was told and climbed onto the bed. I heard a sharpe intake of breath.

"So beautiful" he growled sliding his finger through my soaking folds. I moaned loudly. The feeling of something slightly cold against me made me gasp.

"Scream for me pretty girl." The vibrations flowed through me. I cried out in pleasure at the feeling. He pressed the device harder against my clit.

"F-Fuck!" I yelped loudly as he upped the settings. My back arched feeling my first ever orgasm grow closer and closer. The whole feeling was new to me. The pleasure was overwhelming. Tears built up in my eyes as I felt myself cum. I called out Bruce's name

"Look at that." I barely heard him as he took in a sharpe breath and mumbled something.

"So beautiful." He said stroking my back. I felt my legs shaking but I stayed on all fours. I wanted more, there was no way I was giving out yet. Shaky breaths left me and I fisted the bed sheets.

"How do you feel sweetheart?" The voice of my husband usually soothes me, but his voice mixed with Hulk's made my hairs stand on end, made my legs feels like jelly and my core drip.

"Euphoric." I whispered closing my eyes with a pleasurable sigh. He chuckled deeply. It send shivers down my spine.

"I want more." He hummed at my request. His fingers stroked my core gently making my hips move to try and gain more friction. My breathing picked up as he pressed one of them against my clit.

"Please.." I begged.

He removed his hand just for second only for them to return diving inside me. A loud moan escaping as he began to pump his finger in and out. I thought he had added another finger when I felt fuller. Soon I heard a roar, my eyes widened.

"Bruce?" I moaned out as I heard grunts behind me. I felt more and more full, his finger was growing? Stretching me out. The feeling was amazing. I forgot the confusion for a little while.

"Cum." A growl came from behind me.

My back arched at his tone and his finger moving faster. The feeling from before came quicker and more intense. I tightened around his finger cumming with a scream. I fell forward with shaky legs as he pulled out. Tears that had built up during the pleasure fell from my eyes. I sighed and moaned softly at the feeling of sensitivity down there.

I felt a big hand touch my leg. Looking down to see not Bruce, but Hulk. I stared wide eyed at the green beast. His finger did grow. He picked me up carefully placing me on his chest. I sighed relaxing against him. I felt so small lying of his big chest. He was so warm, lulling me to sleep.

"Hulk loves pretty girl" he said making me smile to myself, my eyes closing.

[crimson-phantom-designs]

NEW BEGENNINGS

Part 1 of a small one shot I did a few months ago.

"Jesus kid, I almost blew your head off! I thought you were a ghoul...."

Hancock paused a good thirty seconds staring at him as he had just stepped outside the brush, knapsack in tow. "You're serious?...." The corners of Hancock's mouth twitched into a smirk. "What good of a detective are you if I gotta point that out?"

"A... feral one, John. Christ, son get over here and behave for once- and what is that in your hand?"

"A guitar, Sherlock. Shit I gotta point everything to you or what?" Hancock held the dirty, blood stained instrument up proudly. "To the living deserve the spoils. I hadn't played one on years."

"You didn't kill somebody for that thing did you?" Nick interrogated flatly.

"Nah nah... bruiser was already dead. Like awhile. So lucky me, eh?" He chuckled.

"Just sit down." Nick dismissed him like talking to a child.

Hancock waved him off as he dropped his satchel at Nick's feet to walk off and stand outside the fire's edge as Nick searched the spoils the ghoul was sucessful scavenging, something useful he hoped, through the nearby houses. If they could be called that anymore.

Being in Commonwelth made Nick often wonder what things looked like before the war...

Hancock's loot was some rusty knives, cables, a coffee pot, a few bottles of beer and an ash tray. Most notably was the one, scrawny small molerat.

Nick grimaced at the foul thing as he held it up for inspection. It was moments like this he was grateful he didn't have a stomach but he promised to feed the one who did if he managed something...

Nick skinned the rat with one of his razors and chopped up what he could before dropping it in the pot with a few carrots he picked and set it over the fire.

He saw Hancock rustling in his coat as he leaned against an old light post looking over the fields they just cleared of feral ghouls. It wasn't often Nick left his town or his office for that matter but these little missions helped him stay sharp and this pack had been growing from what he heard to a point it even had Hancock nervous for his own town and request his help dealing with them. Not to mention drifters or traders using the roads that were getting picked off.

Nick wondered how Hancock took it killing ghouls. If he thought about them at all like himself, he didn't seem to care though he had his reasons. Sure they were wild creatures that seen even Hancock as a meal but they looked so much like him and were treated just about the same as he was and his band of misfits from Goodneighbor. John always related to the ghouls though, he made himself one willingly to escape the tyranny of his social family.

He had been through so much, the drugs had morphed him into another being entirely... When the burned ravaged man in a red coat approached him a year after he left he didn't even realize it was the same blonde haired, browned eyed scrawny boy of the McDonoughs and almost turned him away. It was his voice and how he carried himself that triggered the realization. It made Nick wonder as he watched the man from his perferial view.

Speaking of, Hancock's family was the reason Nick was here. He had tried talking to John before but setting out together to clear out the threat perhaps the information was fresh on his mind. He seemed lost in thought at the moment.

Richard was sick for awhile and the doctors were running out of options. It seemed the entire McDonough family wasn't exactly stable perhaps genetics. Martha their mother died a year ago from heart failure who John was very attached to, and before that Patrick the father and well... That was another story entirely. What drove a devide between the brothers - violently- and perhaps John still held onto that guilt. Patrick might still be alive if he hadn't run into those ghouls searching for John that night afterall.... Guy never let John forget it though Nick doubt he ever would and soon after was when chased out all ghouls as soon as he was elected mayor and John left for good.

The brothers were the last of their family and soon just John not that John seem to mind anymore.....

It was then when he heard the familiar puff intake he busted more people than he cared to admit from the ghoul as he descretly huffed the canister with his back to him. Nick's head shot up with a burning yellow glare made worse from the fire's reflection.

"You sure that's a good idea? Didn't that stuff nearly kill yah?" Nick spoke just over a scolding.

"What?..... No....." Hancock chuckled, shuffling innocently. As he was caught already he gave that up and went ahead and puffed the chem again with a shiver as things electrified about him in vibrant psychedelics and he staggered to his little nest of blankets and coats under the makeshift tarp he made. Shaking the empty canister with a frown he tossed it on the ground. Oh well, he had more and was probably going to need it.

Nick raised a sceptical brow. "Tells me you're lying."

Hancock laughed his eyes wide as it looked like two of Nick for a moment. Aside it being a trip how horrifying could that be he was a synth so it was actually possible. Oh god. He hoped he remembered that later. "The experimental shit... yeah maybe." He chuckled again as he slouched back numbly. "My skin fell off and grew back all fucked up, my hair fell out. The hair didn't grow back but eh whatever, oh the high though... it was so worth it. I felt like I was soaring with the strength of ten men.

"Uh huh..." Nick only appraised with a scowl. "Before or after you woke up vomiting blood and your heart stopped beating having to be jerked back to life by an addictol shot to the chest?"

"Ehhhhh heh before.... but my point is Jet nah Jet it's cool, is like..... the best girlfriend I've ever had." He said fondly with a loop sided smile. "She's always made me feel better and she was always available. So why say goodbye?"

"Even the best girlfriend will fuck you up eventually, you know?"

Hancock chuckled looking down at the empty jet cartiage feeling the chem start to wear off sadly. "The straight ones maybe...." Hancock barely remarked before shrugging it away as Nick glared at him. His expression slacked as he glared back before sitting down as he muttered quietly. "It helps me cope... besides there's medicine that will prevent me turning... anymore. Ferinhiet gets it for me and she's around if things go south."

"You're always full of jokes.... You stop doing the damn chems and you got nothing to worry about unless that's not weighing on your conscious."

Hancock groaned, rubbing his head. Yep the drugs had worn off. "You know, I always miss you until you're here."

"Because I care about you not overdosing and throw responsiblity in your face? That's cute. I came with you because I felt like we could talk..."

"No."

"John, hear me out."

"Not if it's about my brother." Hancock snipped sitting down and pulling the guitar in his lap. "And it's Hancock... stop calling me John. I'm not who I used to be for a reason..."

Nick sighed roughly not realizing he was holding it in. "John, come on. Talk to me. Get out of your pity bubble and be serious for a second."

"Hey, remember when you were chewing my ass out about shooting up? Gee, that was fun." Hancock snipped with a sarcastic smirk.

"I'm serious.... Your brother is really sick and you're not gonna go see him? That's not normal..."

"You're right, I'm not normal." Hancock gasped dramatically lifting a hand to his mouth. "Wait... did you not know we weren't normal!? My bad, shit I should have told you. I'm a ghoul and a drug addict, you're a condescending robot while my brothers a racist fuckhole who hates all those things. Shit, you must be very confused right now."

Nick scowled. "Look, stop grandstanding you egotistical shit... I get why you're holding on to this but enoughs enough. Look at you, you're living your life the way you want it. You don't have to keep fighting the world. I mean, isn't forgiving him easier than not?"

"Oh, Christ. Are you fucking serious right now with this shit right now?" Hancock huffed getting up to pace before sitting back down and figiting. He snatched the guitar picking at it as his scowl softened.

Still feeling the burn of those electric eyes on him he sighed. Softening slightly as his walls of defense broke down showing who he really was yet still he fought to maintain a stern face as he barely looked up to him.

"Sometimes what it looks like is all anybody can see..."

[canaryatlaw]

okay, well today was good. court has still been unpredictable, and I wasn't sure if I actually had a morning court case or not, and ended up waiting for almost an hour on zoom with no communication from anyone and then unceremoniously dropped off the call, so that was frustrating. then we had our continued hearing at 11, which I was kind of nervous about. there wasn't that much left to do, so it went by relatively fast. the judge took FOREVER making her findings and kept going back and forth, and at one point I definitely thought she was going to rule against us, but we ended up pulling it out in the end and winning, which was a major confidence boost for me, and I know I would've felt like absolute shit if we lost. the judge also said both parties had "outstanding lawyers" who had done very well, which also made me happy because I'd just felt like a screw up a lot through the hearing. so that helped. I know I need to not be so hard on myself about this stuff, I just want to do the best I can and feel shitty when I mess up. But I know I'm still a new attorney, and law is very much a learn by doing thing, so some mistakes are inevitable, and they'll ultimately make me a better lawyer. OC on this case was also remarkably kind and considerate, which was very nice because I've had some lately who have been real assholes, and it just makes an unpleasant situation that much worse. I know not all defense attorneys are bad (I mean my dad was one for 40 years ffs) but I've had a number of negative experiences, and it was nice to see a change with that. I worked on some stuff for a while, mostly ongoing intakes for our afternoon case acceptance meeting. at 3:30 we had our big group meeting to discuss any cases we have multiple departments working on. It's set to be half an hour, but we don't usually have that much to talk about, so it ends up being somewhat casual talk, so we were of course updating everybody on the chaos at the courthouse. Apparently there have been wasps at our other office (!!!!!!) which made me very glad I don't work there because I would lose my shit. after that ended we went right into our case acceptance meeting, which ended up lasting about an hour, which brought us to 5 pm. Roommate got home a bit early, so I started on dinner. I set the smoke alarm off from a pan that had the food removed from it but was burning little bits of food I guess? Ugh. I strayed from the recipe (it was a like chicken pasta spinach bake) and added cheese to the cream sauce, which was an A+ decision and made it so good. shortly after we finished eating, we discovered the toilet had clogged and we didn't have a plunger, so we made a quick trip to Target to grab one and a few other things. Once we were home we just hung out for a bit until roommate went to bed and I showered and started getting ready for bed not long after. It's 12:30 am now and I am sleepy, and of course have to go to the office tomorrow, so I'm gonna go to bed now. Goodnight loves. Sleep well.