#i go back for a week in 10 days to visit family before moving back in august and life has NEVER been better <3333< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[balladof-bignothing]

after four hellish years living in america, i am now only 60 days away from moving back to my lovely grans dear home in n. yorkshire :’)))))

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Nappers

Dpxdc Prompt #10

Danny was really excited to spend the summer with his second cousin(?) he didn't really remember, but apparently Jack Fenton's cousin was Gotham billionaire Bruce Wayne, a serial adopter.

Jazz had discovered the connection and gave him a call to see if he'd mind Danny staying over for summer because Danny decided he was going to tell his parents at the end of summer about his ghost problem, and Jazz wanted him to have a safety net.

He didn't really have a big family at home, with his parents being largely... absent and Jazz moving to Gotham for college. It would be great to be in a house that wasn't empty again.

Now if only his newly discovered family could stay awake long enough for Danny to talk to them.

"So how's living with our cousins?" Jazz asked him through his Fenton-phone. He flopped onto his bed and groaned.

"They're all seem nice but I haven't really seen enough of them to know yet."

"Danny, you've already been there a week, shouldn't you know them at least a little bit? You usually warm up to people quickly, as long as they aren't trying to kill you."

"Man I kinda wish they were out to get me, then I'd probably see more of them than I have already."

"..."

"..."

"Okay Danny walk me through our family, and what you know so far about them."

"Well first there's Dick, he apparently lives in Bludhaven and supposedly comes back to Gotham to visit fairly often, haven't seen any of him yet though."

"Then there's Jason, I've seen him come over after dinner a couple of times, but he's seemed in a really bad mood and I'm getting weird vibes from him so I haven't talked to him much yet either."

"Cass, Steph, Tim, Damian, and Bruce are the ones that actually live here at the manor and outside of when I first arrived I haven't actually seen them awake enough to talk to me. Anytime I've caught a glimpse of them they're taking naps and I'd feel bad waking them up, Tim especially (he looks like he needs the rest)."

"What are they, nocturnal or something?

"That's what I thought too! But the Manor is even more dead during the night than the day. If I had wanted to live with a bunch of zombies I'd have spent summer in the zone, not come all the way here."

"The only people that have stayed awake long enough for me to actually get to know them are Duke and Alfred! Duke's great, but he seems to have a day job so I only see him for breakfast and dinner and any time I can catch him before he sleeps after. Alfred's amazing, but he already has so much to do around the Manor, I feel bad bothering him."

"It is only the first week you're there, and there was a huge Arkham breakout your first day so everybody around Gotham is a bit tense while the Bats are trying to recatch everyone. Could you give it another week for me? See if it'll be an option for if our parents react badly?"

"For you, Jazz, I'll give it another week, but I can't just trade one empty house for another."

"Thanks, little brother."

"Love you, Jazz, bye."

Danny hung up the phone and sighed, he new there was something off with his cousins, but he couldn't quite place it. Constantly napping, disappearing during the nights, but always on guard when they were awake.

He had a week to figure it out, but if he didn't there'd be no real lost love. He'd come up with some excuse, stay with Jazz for the summer or something. If his parents reacted badly and he didn't have this safety net, it'd be difficult sure, but Danny and Jazz would figure it out.

Danny thought it would be nice to have some other family that had his back for once, but hey, maybe he just had shitty luck when it came to blood relations.

[katyswrites]

this love came back to me

PART 2 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use, smoking, allusions to/discussions of smut, reference to virginity, minor angst, references to cheating, Billy Hargrove jumpscare, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 3.8k

Your sister is getting married - and you're thrilled for her. Yes, it means returning to Hawkins, years after moving away. But, as Maid of Honor, who are you to refuse? That is, until you run into Steve Harrington - an old high school flame. It's been over a decade, and a lot has changed - but in many ways, you're both still the same. And, as it turns out, he's invited to the wedding, much to your chagrin. Can you two keep it cool? Or will old feelings come bubbling to the surface?

First loves, broken hearts, and everything in between. A second-chance-romance, and the ultimate reckoning of two old friends. And, lots of champagne-induced antics.

PART 2 | i pictured you with other girls in love, and threw up on the street

July 13th, 1997

You stare up at the ceiling, hearing the house slowly start to wake up around you - your father in the kitchen, making coffee; the shower running, likely for Sarah. Your mother, chattering away to the dog like he’s a person as she makes the bed. It’s always this, the sounds of your family in the morning, that makes you feel like you’ve been thrust back into childhood. From every creak of the old hardwood floors, to the sprinklers starting up outside, it’s home. It’s comforting, if not disconcertingly nostalgic. You sigh, glancing at the alarm clock on your bedside table - 10:57am. You can’t be surprised, considering you were kept up all night - you were already stressed about the bachelorette party you planned going well tonight, and your unexpected encounter with Steve isn’t helping.

Seeing him shouldn’t have rattled you this much, but it has. He seems well, a fact that actually brings you some relief, considering everything that happened to him after high school. Still, it’s strange, seeing him be so different, and simultaneously just as you remembered him.

You force yourself to get out of bed, padding downstairs to the kitchen.

“Oh look! The dead arose and appeared to many!” your mom chimes.

You grumble. “Morning. Coffee?”

She nods, and you make your way over to the pot to pour yourself some.

“So, you went out in town last night?” your mother asks, instinctively placing a plate of toast in front of you. 

You nod, spreading some of her special homemade jam on a triangle of toast.

“Yeah - checking out all the places we’re going tonight ahead of time.”

“You meet up with any old friends?”

You freeze for a second, nearly choking on your coffee.

“Um - most of my old friends don’t live in town anymore, Mom,” you say quietly.

“Well, I hope you know that… it’s so nice having you here, and you’re welcome to come back and visit, any time.”

You sigh - you’ve been through this before. “I do come home to visit, Mom.”

“Only for Christmas -”

“I have a life in New York, Mom - a job, a fian-”

You stop yourself, but she hears it. You see the absolute pity in her face, and want to scream.

“Oh, sweetheart - I know these last few months have been hard for you -”

“Please, don’t,” you beg - you knew somebody would bring it up this week, but you were really hoping your own mother would know better.

“I’m just saying - if you ever wanted to move closer -”

“Well I don’t,” you insist. “I’m not only living out there because of…him. I like my life there.”

She just shakes her head.

“Fine - but, it’s okay to still be sad, honey -”

“Well, I’m not,” you insist. 

It’s then that your sister, Sarah, saves the day, bounding into the kitchen.

“Good morning!” she says, cheerily. You shake off the conversations and grin as she gives you a big hug from behind.

“How long have you been up?” you ask, eyeing the fact that she’s already fully dressed.

“Since about 7 - went to the gym, had to pick up the namecards for the wedding - oh, and I took Sadie out for a walk -”

You glance at the family dog, fast asleep in the corner, and laugh - Sarah has always been a morning person, so… the opposite of you.

“I love how productive you are, honey,” your mom says pointedly, pouring her a cup of coffee.

You clench your fist, but say nothing, munching on your toast.

“Excited for tonight?” you try to ask cheerily.

“Oh, so excited - you know, I know it’s just a bar crawl through our little town, but it’ll mean a lot to do it with you and all the girls, like old times, you know?”

You nod, offering a smile - Sarah has always been so bright and bubbly, it’s hard to believe you two are related. It’s the thing that makes everyone love her, like she’s a little ball of sunshine. It sometimes gets to be a bit much, but when she smiles at you, you can’t help but feel the need to protect her from anything that comes her way, ever since you were a kid.

“Yeah - I’m surprised you wanted to come home to do it, though.”

“Why not? The whole wedding weekend will be up in the city, and I wanted to visit the old Hawkins stomping ground -”

“Ah, yes - fond memories of blacking out in the alley behind Hag’s Head on Thanksgiving Eve,” you say sarcastically.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun - a night with just the girls, before I’m boring and married. Besides, maybe you’ll even meet someone, yeah?”

You shake your head, laughing to yourself. “In Hawkins? I doubt it, but - it’ll be fun, you’re right.”

*******

She is right - you all have fun that night. Perhaps a bit too much fun.

The night stars fairly calmly - you go to all the best bars your little hometown had to offer - Hag’s Head, Industry, Katie McConnell’s, and of course, Christopher’s. By the time your group had gets there, the atmosphere is quite different from the night before - instead of a middle-aged cover band, a DJ is set up, with club lights and a disco ball, the tables used for serving shitty food pushed aside to make something that resembles a dancefloor.

You, and all of the other girls, are properly drunk. Sarah is in the phase where she tells everybody how much she loves them, including strangers; her friends Nancy and Robin are just giggly, immediately getting lost on the dancefloor when a song the like starts blasting. You order a round of shots, and then another. At one point, you lose sight of Sarah, as she seemingly disappears into the bathroom with her friend Chrissy. The last thing you remember is going out to the back deck for a smoke, followed by another round of shots. Despite the rest of the bachelorette party showing no signs of slowing down, you tell yourself that you should leave early and try to call a cab to get home - things get fuzzy after that. 

The next morning, you wake with a pounding headache - the moment the morning sun pierces through the blinds, you groan, trying to block it out with a pillow. After a few moments of tossing and turning, you realize it’s no use. 

You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes - what happened? How did you get home?

You survey your surroundings, your mind still foggy with sleep, and freeze - you’re not in your home. 

You realize you’re actually sitting on a pullout couch, not a bed - and still in your clothes from last night.

You stand up quickly, an action you instantly regret, grasping a coffee table for leverage as the room around you sways.

The living room you’re in is somewhat sparsely decorated, with only an old Back To The Future framed poster hanging on the wall by the TV. There’s a couch, a rather large television, a bookshelf, and a little coffee table. You glance around, and peek out the blinds - you’re on a second level, you realize, likely in an apartment building.

You try not to panic - you aren’t injured, as far as you can tell. Beyond the killer hangover setting in, you feel perfectly fine.

A sound from another room makes you stop in your tracks - footsteps, and the sound of glass clinking, perhaps. Your fight-or-flight instincts immediately kick in, your heart pounding. You look around, seeing if there’s anything you can use to protect yourself.

It takes several moments before you settle on grabbing a book off the shelf, the largest one you can find, and you follow the sound of the noise, slowly.

As you get closer, you realize it’s coming from what must be the kitchen, and you hear the sound of footsteps again, and a cabinet closing. You raise the book above your head, ready to strike whoever has seemingly kidnapped you.

You turn the corner, peeking around the doorway, trying not to make a sound. It’s then that you see someone shuffling around the kitchen, and smell coffee brewing. The moment you realize who it is, you sigh with relief, loud enough that he turns around.

“Hey, you’re up - why are you -”

Steve Harrington is staring at the book raised high above your head, brow furrowed.

“Were you trying to take me out or something?” he asks apprehensively.

You slowly lower the book, feeling your face heat with embarrassment.

“Maybe. I thought -”

“You thought what?” he asks, handing you a mug of coffee, simultaneously taking the book from you, gently.

“That, I don’t know, you kidnapped me or something.”

He stares at you for a moment, and bursts out laughing.

“What?”

“Kidnapped you? You’re nearly 30 years old -”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, well, I thought - I woke up in a stranger’s house, and don’t remember how I got here - sorry for being a little cautious -”

He just laughs, turning the intended weapon over in his hand.

“Just you and the Revised 1992 Merriam-Webster Dictionary against the world, huh?”

You want to collapse in on yourself, and just sigh in defeat.

“Steve, why the fuck am I in your apartment?”

He sighs, leaning back against the counter. He crosses his arms, taking a sip of coffee before he speaks.

“What do you remember?”

You think for a moment, biting your lip as you sit at the kitchen table.

“Um - I remember - going to Christopher’s -”

“Always the scene of the crime, apparently -”

“Shut up -”

He does, but he’s fighting a smile, his tongue pressed into his cheek.

“Anyways - I was with my sister, and her friends - I lost most of them, I got another shot at the bar, bummed a cigarette off someone - it gets blurry after that.”

Steve nods, his face contemplative.

“What?”

“Okay, so - I probably found you not too long after that.”

“Found me?”

“Yeah - um - I heard the commotion -”

“You were there?”

He sighs. “Sort of - um - we’re actually above Christopher’s, right now. I rent the place above it.”

You stare at him, the pieces falling into place.

“Oh - so… that’s why you were there the other night -”

He shrugs. “If I want a beer, it’s nice to technically not even have to go outside for it. But, um - I heard some screaming and commotion, and went down there to see what was going on - you had gotten kicked out.”

Your eyes widen.

“I what?”

“Yeah - you were throwing up on the sidewalk -”

“Jesus -”

“- and crying. Like, a lot. Something about - some guy named Billy -”

You feel your heart plummet. Then, you groan, burying your face in your hands.

“What?”

“That - that’s my ex. Um - oh my god, I’m such a cliché! Getting blackout drunk, and crying over some guy - at my I bachelorette - wait -” you think for a moment, “- where the fuck was she? Or any of her friends?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know - I tried to find her, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to leave you, crying on the sidewalk. So… I brought you upstairs. You kept apologizing, telling me to just let you walk home, it was almost cute.”

You want the ground to swallow you up, and never have to see him again, not after that display.

“I - I’m sorry -”

“It’s cool,” he assures. “I pulled out my couch, put you to bed there. I tried to get you to drink some water but you kind of… fought me -”

“Sorry -”

“- so, I just put you to bed.”

You nod, thinking. If it’s possible to die of embarrassment, you probably should be collapsing on the spot.

“And, um - did we - I mean, we didn’t have -”

His eyes widen, and he aggressively shakes his head. “No! Definitely not - you were way too drunk, I - I just put you to bed, I swear.”

You nod - he seems sincere, and horrified that you’d even ask.

“Okay - cool, just checking. When I get drunk, sometimes I tend to -”

“I wouldn’t have let you,” he says, his tone serious.

There’s an awkward silence, and just just take another deep gulp of coffee.

He eventually clears his throat.

“I’ve got, um - Ibuprofen, for the headache -”

“Oh - how did you know -”

“There’s no way you got that bad last night and don’t have a headache.”

You sigh, conceding, because it’s true. He disappears down the hallway for a moment, before returning with a bottle of pills. You watch him move about the kitchen, fetching a water glass from a cabinet, and filling it at the sink. He hands it to you, and you offer a small smile in thanks, swallowing the medicine.

“So… you live here?” you ask casually. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I stayed in town to work for my old man, but - I got my own place as soon as a could. Even if it’s a shitty place above the loudest bar in town.”

You laugh, staring down at your coffee.

“It’s not shitty - you just need to decorate more - a Back To The Future poster isn’t cutting it.”

He looks at you like you shot him.

“I’ll have you know that poster is very precious to me, as I stole it from Starcourt Mall before it burned down in ‘85 -”

“Whatever - it still looks like a college dorm in here.”

He just smirks, and dumps the rest of his coffee down the sink.

“You know - you never struck me as the kind of girl who cries over her ex when she gets drunk,” he says, avoiding your gaze.

You sigh, crossing your arms.

“I’m not, usually.”

He stares at you for a moment, and nods.

“You don’t have to talk about it -”

“I was engaged,” you explain quickly. You look up, and see his mouth hanging halfway open, dumbfounded.

“You? Engaged?”

“Don’t sound so surprised -”

“No - shit, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… I remember - you were always that girl who was all like, marriage is a construct and it’s archaic and -”

“I know,” you say, cringing a bit at your younger self. “But, I grew up, and my priorities changed - or maybe they didn’t, I don’t know -”

“Why did he break it off?” he asks, his voice a bit softer.

“What makes you think he ended it?”

“Oh - only because - you seemed really upset -”

“I ended it because - I - I caught him in bed with his coworker. In our apartment -”

“Oh - Jesus -”

“He begged me to not call off the wedding, it was only a couple of months away, but - I had to. Nearly 4 years, down the drain -”

“Hey - I’m sorry -” he murmurs, reach out to touch your arm, but you pull it away.

“It’s fine - looking back, he was an asshole anyway, even without the cheating. I just - he proposed, and I said yes, and - I really thought - I’d have a ‘normal’ life. I’m not the kind of girl that guys want to, you know, introduce to their parents, get married to, buy a house with - but here’s someone who seemed to want that, so I just -”

You stop yourself, glancing at Steve. “Sorry - that became a rant really fast -”

“It’s fine,” he reassures. “It sounds like… a lot. How long ago?”

“Uh - about 6 months ago, at this point - I - I thought I was doing better with the whole thing, but apparently not -”

“I mean - it’s okay to still be upset -”

“I know it is,” you snap, causing him to recoil slightly. You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “Sorry - I just - it’s my fucking family.”

“What about them?”

You exhale, exasperated.

“It’s just - I can tell they - they’re all pitying me. They all think Sarah’s wedding will be too hard on me, and - fuck, maybe it will, because I thought the next wedding I’d be going to was mine, but - they keep trying to bring it up, like they’re afraid I’m going to kill myself in front of everyone at the ceremony or something. And - I’m so, so happy for Sarah, she and Peter are perfect together. But, I - I think they’re worried I haven’t moved on, and never will. They keep reminding me that I have a plus one for the wedding, that I should use it, all this bullshit. I thought I was fine, but - I guess last night says otherwise.”

Steve just nods for a moment, and you can tell he’s lost in thought.

“What?”

“Nothing - it’s just - it’s stupid -”

You can tell that the gears in his brain are still turning, and you roll your eyes.

“Whatever it is, spit it out -”

“What if you did have a date to the wedding?”

A beat of silence passes. You just stare at each other.

“What?”

He shrugs. “I mean - I’m already going, so, you won’t piss your sister off with a last-minute addition -”

“Are you fucking insane?”

He laughs. “What? Is it really such a bad idea?”

“Um, yes?”

“It just might be fun, that’s all, and get your family off your back,” he says, holding up his hands in defense.

“I’m not - I’m not going to tell people think we’re together -”

“You don’t have to - just let people make their assumptions. They’ll think you’ve moved on and shit, and… we can just go together, as friends.”

You scoff.

“What?”

“You really consider us friends?” you ask incredulously.

“I mean, what would you call us?”

You don’t have an answer to that - what do you call the guy you were kind of friends with in high school, who took your virginity, and then you didn’t speak to in over a decade until he saved you from passing out in the street? Suddenly that dictionary from earlier feels like something you could really use to try and find the right word.

Then, something occurs to you - if Steve is still anything like he was in high school, that means -

“What’s in it for you?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“Who says there’s something in it for me?”

You shake your head. “No, because there has to be. You’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart, Harrington.”

He holds your gaze for a moment, then gives in, letting out a deep sigh.

“Fine, fine - I told you I RSVP’d yes to the wedding because, well, Pete’s an old friend, and it’s only in Indianapolis, not too far out of my way. But -”

“But?”

“I didn’t realize Nancy was gonna be there, okay? And honestly, I don’t really love the idea of seeing her.”

“Nancy Wheeler? I was out with her last night -”

You think for a moment, then it dawns on you.

“Oh my god - I forgot that you two used to date -”

“Yeah, well, it didn’t end well. And yeah, I can be mature, be in the same room with her, especially in a crowd. But - fuck, I heard she got engaged recently, and -”

“You don’t want her to seem like she’s doing better than you?”

He nods.

“It’s stupid - I shouldn’t be worried about making her jealous, or some shit -”

“Let’s do it, then.”

He pauses, doing an honest-to-god double take.

“What?”

“Don’t look so surprised, it was your idea -”

“I know, but - I never thought you’d say yes -”

“You’re right - everyone will stop worrying all about me if I have a date. And… Nancy can think you’re not still single.”

“No need for the still, but okay -”

“Do you want to do this, or not?”

There’s an uncomfortable moment of silence. He stares at you, as if he’s searching in your eyes for some kind of reassurance. Then, the slightest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay, here’s to - whatever this is,” you say, extending your hand to him. His eyes flick down to it for a moment, then he shakes it, his large, calloused hand enveloping yours.

You pull away for a moment, smirking.

“I think this is gonna be fun, actually,” you say, noticing that his face has become a little pink.

You hear the churchbell from the center of town chime. You glance down at your watch, and your eyes widen.

“It’s noon already? Shit, I need to get home -”

“I’ll drive you,” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter.

“It’s fine -”

“No, I’m driving you. Your parents still live on Soundview?”

“Um… yes,” you reply, shocked he still remembers.

The drive back to your parents’ house is relatively short, and also very quiet. Aside for the hum of the engine and low crackle of the radio, there’s not much to fill the space.

When Steve turns onto your street, you speak up.

“Thank you, again - for saving my ass, and letting me crash last night.”

“Anytime,” he says, eyes straight ahead on the road.

“Well, hopefully that’s only a one-time thing.”

He chuckles, slowing down as your childhood home becomes visible on the left.

“Yeah, well - for what it’s worth, that guy was an idiot for cheating on you like that.”

“I know he was, I’m great,” you reply bluntly, making Steve laugh.

“I forgot that you’re… like this.”

“Like what?”

“Brutally honest. And… very sure of yourself.”

You shake your head, staring down at your hands in your lap.

“I’m not as sure of myself as you think,” you say quietly. Before he can respond, you’re unbuckling yourself, popping open the car door.

“Thanks for the ride.”

He nods.

“See you Thursday?” you ask.

“Isn’t the wedding Saturday?”

“Yeah, but - if you’re really going to be my date, you should probably come to the rehearsal dinner with me. And, the welcome drinks. Plus, I have to get there a day early to help Sarah set up.”

He groans, dramatically slamming his head on the wheel.

“Hey, this was your idea -”

“I know -”

“There’s an open bar.”

He stops, and straightens up, grinning.

“See you Thursday - I’ll come pick you up -”

“You don’t have to,” you interject.

“C’mon - if we’re really doing this little… performance… we should go all-in.”

You sigh, exasperated by him.

“See you Thursday, sweetheart.”

Before you can protest the petname, he’s rolling up the window, and pulling away. You get the message across well enough, flipping him off as he backs away. You see him laugh through the windshield, and return the gesture before tearing away.

Despite your headache and exhaustion, you feel yourself smiling as you close the front door behind you, Sadie barking and running up to you. You crouch to pet her, and hear your name being called.

When you look up, you see Sarah, face etched with concern.

“Do you know how many people we were calling to figure out if you were alive or not?”

You can’t help but laugh in disbelief. Sarah puts her hands on her hips, clearly pissed off.

“What? It’s not funny -”

“You abandoned me at the bar last night -”

“Abandoned? You left before us!”

“Bullshit -”

“You said you were tired and wanted to go home, but we weren’t ready, so you left the bar and said you were calling a cab -”

You think for a moment, wracking your brain to sort through the fuzzy memories.

“Sarah - I was so drunk, I didn’t know what I was saying, there’s no chance I was capable of calling a cab. I - I guess that’s what I meant to do, but -”

“So, where did you go?”

You pause - how do you explain this one? She looks at you, expectantly.

“I - I ended up at Steve Harrington’s apartment.”

It takes a moment for the information to register with her, then she gasps excitedly.

“Wait - did you and him -”

“Well, no -”

But she’s positively beaming, barely listening as she grabs you by the shoulders.

“He’s so hot, are you kidding? He’s like, the only eligible bachelor in this town -”

“Okay, relax -”

“I just - you and him kind of make sense, you know? I always thought you two would’ve been cute together back in the day -”

“Well - I mean, we - it’s not important, because last night -”

But, you stop yourself - Sarah’s reaction does spark something in you - it makes you realize that you and Steve’s silly scheme might actually work, for both of you.

“Actually,” you say, holding her still. “You’re right - I’m going to need you to make some changes to the seating arrangements at the wedding, Sarah. Because… I have a plus one, now.”

author's note: hey everyone! I know this was a very quick succession between chapters... likely, the next thing I post will be the next part of put on your records (and regret me). I have a fairly clear vision of where I'd like this fic to go, but I'd love to hear your thoughts! As always, likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!

[moody-alcoholic]

Break in

John Price x reader. WC: 1.9k. CW: break in, canon typical violence.

_____

You hate the winter, it gets dark too quickly. The temperature drops and you hate the cold. The worst thing about winter though is how much it makes you miss your husband. Everyone at work talks about getting ready to spend time with their families, or family and friends coming to visit them. You don’t even know if you’ll see John over the Christmas period. 

Last year he left on boxing day, the year before that he was gone for over a week until the 2nd of January. He missed Christmas and new years. You thought you would be used to it by now, him being away but it doesn’t seem to be getting any easier. At least this time he’s in London, he’s on a base most of the time. He keeps telling you if he’s lucky he’ll be there until way after the new year. 

That means he comes home at the end of each day, you get to spend time with him and do things you’ve not been able to do in previous years like go shopping for christmas gifts. It doesn’t matter though, it shouldn’t matter, it’s just one day of the year. You could just do a delayed christmas again, it never feels the same though. 

You hitch your bag over your shoulder as you walk through the gate to your townhouse. It’s way later than you would normally get home but the house is still dark so clearly John isn’t back yet either. You’re carrying shopping bags in each hand putting one down so you can fish in your pocket for the house key. You close the gate behind you and make it up to the front door. 

Your body freezes as you reach out for the lock. Your breathing stops, eyes going wide. Goosebumps rise over your skin. 

The door has been kicked in, you can see the damage on the wood where they’ve used a tool to pry it open. 

The shopping bag you’ve got round your wrist is pulling your hand down. You don’t know what to do, you should call the police. No, you should call John, maybe he broke in, forgot his keys? But then why didn’t he call you. There’s a pretty sophisticated security system John installed when you first bought the place. You would have got a security notification if it was activated. 

You drop the bags on the floor backing up down the steps and reaching into your pocket for your phone. Your hands shake as you walk back down the path until you hit the gate. It takes you two attempts to click John's name before you finally bring the phone up to your ear. He won’t pick up the first time, you let it ring out for a few seconds then call him right back. Then he’ll know it’s important. 

“Hey, love. Give me a second.” He says before there’s silence on the like, it feels like the silence is lasting minutes not seconds. You feel a lump rising in your throat, a breath hitches in your throat. You feel silent tears run down your face as you look into the house windows for movement.

“Sorry love. I know I’m late-”

“John, there's someone in the house.” You say before he can finish his sentence. You don’t have time, your heart picks up in your chest. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, the tone of his voice is darker.

“I came home and the door was kicked in.” This time your words come out with a sob. You feel sick.

“Okay, I'm on my way.” You hear shuffling, the sound of keys. You don’t know what to do, panic rises in you.

“Should I call the police?” You ask. 

“No. I’m coming okay, 10 minutes, I'll be there I promise.” You hear him snap his fingers. “Don’t go in the house okay. Stay outside.” You hear a car door close, then another.

“Okay,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I’ll be there soon.” He says then hangs up. You’re still looking in the house for movement, you don’t see anything, the rooms dark. You shiver as a cold breeze moves in, it could snow soon, you don’t want to be outside when it snows. 

…

John turns the normally 15 minute drive into less than ten, even down the congested London roads he breaks several traffic laws to get home. He’ll deal with the fines later, but the last thing he needs is to get pulled over now. 

“What if-” “Don’t even fucking say it.” He snaps at Ghost sitting next to him. His hands grip the steering wheel as he turns down the street towards his house. The place is quiet, it’s almost 9pm. He parks up pulling in so fast he almost hits another car. He can see you, stood on the pavement outside the house, your face red with tears, your arms wrapped around your chest.

They both Jump out of the car and John makes a bee line towards you. His hands come up to cup your face. 

“You’re okay, go wait in the car.” he says brushing your tears away with his thumbs. You nod letting out another sob, he watches as you head over to the car getting in the back.

“Take the top floor, I’ll sweep the ground.” He says to Ghost as he walks through the gate towards the house. John takes the lead removing the sidearm from its holster bringing it into his hands. He toes open the door, the house is dark, there’s no sound, they could be gone already. 

Ghost is silent on his feet moving up the stairs as John continues down the corridor to the kitchen. He brings the weapon up to his eyeline as he adjusts to the darkness. They have an advantage here, they know the layout of the house better than the intruders, hopefully.  

Ghost finds the first guy on the top floor. He’ll be working his way down now. As soon as John is done he will work his way up. The back door was still locked but it could have been locked from the inside without a key. There’s no mess, the place hasn’t been ransacked. They weren't looking for valuables.

The ground floor is clear as John works his way up to the first floor. He heads straight for his home office, maybe they were looking for a different type of valuable. 

John finds the second guy in the spare bedroom. Tying him up and throwing him in a closet with tape over his mouth. No need to shed blood in his home, besides gives him something to do tonight other than paperwork.

He meets up with Ghost outside his office pushing the door open together. The window is wide open with the whole place being ransacked. Ghost walks into the room, looking down out the window. John sighs, they’ve missed one and he has no idea what they could have been looking for. Ghost turns to look at him, putting his pistol away. John already knows what he wants to say.

“Don’t fucking say it.” He sighs putting his own pistol away

…

You’re sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea in your hands. John said the place was clear that they didn’t find anyone. Maybe they got spooked when you came home, heard you and ran. That's what you tell yourself to calm your nerves. John walks into the room, he comes over to the sofa and sits down next to you. 

His arm goes round your back and you lean into him. 

“You did great.” He says rubbing your thigh with his other hand. You don’t know what to say. Someone broke into your house, even with all the security measures John put in place someone got past them and invaded your home. 

You’re not even thirsty but you bring the hot tea up to your lips anyway taking a sip letting it burn your throat. 

“What if you weren’t here?” You say, your voice is quiet, your head dipped down as more tears come. The panic and adrenaline gone your mind is filled with what ifs. 

“Don’t worry about that, I have things in place.” His hand comes up to your chin pulling your face up to look at him as you put the tea back in your lap. “You’re safe here, I promise.”

You don’t believe him, it’s going to be a while before you’re going to feel safe in your own home. Even though whoever was here was gone before John got home, they were still here. It could have been so much worse. 

You lean forward putting the cup of tea on the coffee table, it just tastes bitter anyway. His hand rubs your back almost like he’s trying to rub the tension out your muscles. You close your eyes his arms wrap around you as he leans back into the sofa. 

“You’re safe I promise. I would never ever let anything happen to you.” He kisses the top of your head. You let out a long breath, that you believe but it’s not always that simple.

“Will you stay? Please don’t leave, at least not for tonight.” 

“I will, I’m going to be here with you.”  You turn in his arms to look up at him, his deep blue eyes blinking down at you. He leans down pressing his lips to yours. You let yourself sink into the fermilia kiss, his tongue brushing yours as his hands run up and down your body. This is where you feel safe, in his arms, with his touch. 

The knock on the door pulls you out of the kiss, he turns to look. 

“Let me go chat with him then we’ll go to bed okay?” He says his thumb coming to brush the tears escaping your eyes. You nod sitting back up straight.

He’s not gone for long, coming back in and offering you his hand. You take it and he guides you up to bed, his hands don’t leave you, running up and down your body as you make it to the room. He helps you change, pressing kisses round your neck and shoulders, his fingers brushing hair out your eyes and tears when they fall. 

Eventually you crawl into bed together, he rolls over to turn his bedside light off, the only light left on in the room. 

“Leave it on.” You say, you’re not sure why, you just don’t want to be in the dark.

“Okay, whatever you need love.” He says pulling your back against his chest and wrapping his arms around you. You close your eyes, listening to the sound of his breathing in your ears.

“I will always be here. Even when it feels like I’m hundreds of miles away I will always be here for you.” He says as he kisses your cheek. You smile at his words, even if you’re doubtful, it’s what you need to hear. 

“I love you.” You say as he squeezes you tighter.

“I love you too. You’re safe, you always will be, I promise.” His hand moves down to your waist pulling you against him further. “Get some sleep, I'll be here with you. I’m not leaving your side.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise, I’ll protect you, forever. You’re safe, just get some rest.” He nuzzles his face into your neck. You try to stay awake, fighting the sleepiness that comes over you as he runs his hands over you. You can feel his heartbeat, his warm breath in your ear. 

At least you’re not outside in the cold, you’re warm and safe in his arms. Strangers broke into your home but you know it won’t happen again because John won’t let it happen again. 

____ It was supposed to be short but I don't know when to stop.

[captain039]

Part 10 The Meaning of Flowers

Viktor x reader

Bridgerton AU

Warnings: olden times, sexism, light swearing, plus size reader, older Viktor, age gap, fat shaming, sexual, smut, oral F and M receiving, innocent reader, corruption kink, reader in her 20s, long-haired Viktor, possessive Viktor, obsessive Viktor, angst

Previous part <-

Dearest reader the city is abuzz with the newest engagement of the season, the duke has finally found his dutchess, after his time ill it seems he has finally come to his senses to take a wife and save his house.

A wedding day, a time of happiness, love and celebration, where two souls come together under god and marry. You’ve pictured your wedding day many times, imagined what the happiness would feel like once you’ve married the love of your life. Only there was nothing, there was no joy, no overwhelming love, you’re marrying a man you hardly know, you don’t know his favourite colour, his favourite sports, his favourite food, it’s all been feelings, fleeting emotions and tensions and now you are to be tethered to him for life. The engagement period lasted about a month, you promenaded, went to the races, visited the art gallery with him, but there was no words, no laughing or smiling just silence, the only noise you recognise him with us the sound of his cane against the floor, thump…thump…thump.

You should be happy, in which a white beautiful dress, the veil, the flowers, your hair done nicely, it feels like an act, a show. You can hear the music in the church and murmurs of people inside as your father stands beside you stiffly. Viktor’s words were true, your papa was in debt from gambling and spending nights at a brothel every week. He hasn’t spoke to you since Viktor said he’d marry you, hell even your mama hasn’t commented anything rude about your existence. Your lady maid, Mercy, has more than once walked in on you crying your eyes out on the bed. Councilwoman Mel has visited, let you cry to her a few times, she explained marriage on your long talk, the marital act after the wedding the honey moon phase of love and passion. It made you excited now it makes an ill feeling in your stomach churn. The music shifts, a signal for your long dreadful walk down the aisle to be given away to your new husband. Husband… you thought that word meant something now, now you’re not so sure.

People rise as you walk, they look at you with fake smiles, but you don’t return them your eyes ahead to focus on your soon to be husband who has his back to you and is looking at the priest rather than his own soon to be wife. It makes you angry, upset, makes you want to run out of the church and run away from Piltover. You think about the stability, no more whispers, you’d have scored the unscorable duke. You stand beside him and he still doesn’t look at you as the priest begins to speak. You don’t register his words not really, you hear the I do out of Viktor’s mouth and the I do out of yours before you repeat vows and place the rings. He’s shaking, his slender hand shaking as slides on the ring before forcing his hands back to his side like he didn’t just bind you forever.

“I pronounce you husband and wife” there’s cheers and claps you look out over the crowd seeing your family, you look seeing councilwoman Mel and councilman Jayce clapping as well. Jayce is smiling but Mel is not, her green eyes meet yours and she gives you a solemn look. You follow Viktor out the church, he doesn’t take your hand and gets in the carriage without helping you either. You ignore it, ignore the hurt and pain as you climb in and sit opposite him, the door closes and the carriage begins moving away from the noise. You look out the window watching the city go by.

“My estate is a days journey from here” he says. Finally he speaks to you his voice rough and angry.

“Your estate?” You ask, your honeymoon is to be at his estate?

“Yes” he doesn’t explain further and you feel like punching the man. You sag into the seat you want this stupid dress off. You look at the ring on your finger a beautiful red stone encased in silver, pity it wasn’t a ring of love.

The ride is silent, you make it to a small inn you’ve never heard off and he orders two rooms, separated on your wedding night. The inn keeper gives you a once over noticing your wedding dress, she gives a sad look and hands you a seperate key as Viktor limps off to his room and closes the door shut.

“You alright sweetheart?” The woman asks as you stare at his door. You force a smile and nod going into your room and closing the door. A few of your bags have been brought in already and you undress cursing the ties. You can’t get them, no Mercy here to help you, no calming hair brushing no stupid talks in front of the vanity mirror. You lean against the table taking a shuddering breath before you yell. You don’t care who hears, you let out your frustration.

It’s a gut wrenching sound when he hears it. His pacing stops his stomach churns and his chest tightens. He’s an animal, a horrid monster. He thought marrying you would be the right thing but now, now he wishes the right man for you and it isn’t him. He wanted to corrupt you and claim you and now that he has he realises how wrong he was, how Mel was right to tell him off to leave you alone. All that time he’s spent with you in silence, he saw the when your hope died, about a week in, you gave up on greeting him with small smiles and nods, instead you walked silently by him just as he walked silently by you, the only sound of his cane thump…thump…thump. What man doesn’t look at his wife on their wedding day, he didn’t turn around, he stood, he shook and hoped nobody would see it, you did, the moment he put the ring on your finger he say the small crease of a frown between your brows. He didn’t kiss you either, he walked off, didn’t take your hand expected you to follow without word like a good quiet wife. That’s not you, you’re not a good quiet wife, you’re intelligent, you have real emotions you get angry, upset, annoyed, you glare and frown at him. He sits down on the edge of the bed his whole body throbbing not just pain but longing. He should be taking you somewhere nice, somewhere green and lush, somewhere happy and full of love not this cheap inn on the way to his lonely estate. He hates himself, but he can’t fix it now.

You struggle with your dress tears in your eyes, not from the dress but everything, a sob wracks through your body as your arm bends awkwardly to undo the cords at the back. You let out another frustrated yell and cry as you grip the desk and hang your head. You don’t hear the door open over your heavy breathing you feel hands though, slender and shaking. You don’t turn around afraid it might make him disappear as he slowly undoes the laces of your dress. His hands slide up pushing the sleeves off so it falls in a heap at your feet leaving you in your under dress and corset. You feel like you can’t breathe with this corset on, he senses it too undoing the laces and you finally breathe. You feel his fingers shake as he runs his finger tips up your arm before they rest there, you feel him step closer his forehead resting against your shoulder blade. You take a shaky breath more tears rolling down your face as you feel his warm breath against your skin. You turn around making him lift his head, you look at him, he’s gained a bit of colour back but his eyes are still deep and tired and lacking. His long hair isn’t as smooth and shiny. He looks you, dull honeyed eyes glazing over with tears and you realise he isn’t as unaffected as you thought. His body shakes, he looks tense, in pain physically and maybe mentally as well. He leans his forehead against yours and you breathe him in with shaky sobs. His fingers trail up your arm, over your shoulder and neck to cup your jaw gently stroking it before he tugs you close. His arms wrap around you like a vice your tears staining his white shirt but you don’t care. You grip the back of his shirt tightly and cry.

You stay like that for a while, his shuddering breathing and your sobs slowing and calming. Your fists aren’t white knuckled any more and his arms aren’t around you as tightly. He still shakes you realise he’s in pain from standing without his cane.

“Stupid man” you whisper and he lets out a humourless laugh. You sit him down on the bed and he lets you, you sit down on the floor and roll his pant leg up without thinking. He flinches and you stare at the metal brace around his leg, the bruising in his skin. You stare at the brace, look at how it’s digging in to his leg your hand shaky as you go to touch it but he flinches away again. You look up to him, he looks scared. You’ve never seen him scared before, vulnerable, ashamed. You go to your knees and straighten up so you’re between his legs. One hand resting on his good thigh the other cupping his cheek. No words are passed but it isn’t the same as before, understanding passes instead as he takes a shaky breath. He unbuttons his shirt and you watch seeing the brace around his lower torso too. He slides it off and you watch; the brace isn’t as tight as his leg one, but it’s constricting, you watch his chest rise and fall but it’s limited. He undoes his pants next with shaky hands and you take over as he lifts his hips and you slide them down. The leg brace stops just above his knee, the bruising in rings around his ankle, calf and knee. You sit down again looking at the brace, it comes off, but he doesn’t take it off by the look of it. You go to touch again and he doesn’t flinch this time, you slowly undo the brace, it takes you a while before you slide it off. You notice his leg is thinner than the other as you gently run your hands over the bruises gently. You hear him suck in a breath when you lean forward and kiss the bruise just below his knee. Then the one lower before kissing the one on his thigh. His hand is in your hair, gently tangling through the locks. You sit up again on your knees his hand sliding to the nape of your neck, his forehead rests against yours. Your hands rest on his thighs you can feel the difference, one weaker than the other in muscle density. Your hands inch higher and hear him intake a sharp breath.

“No” he says almost pained and you stop.

“I don’t deserve it” he whispers. He’s right, he doesn’t not after everything but somehow, you still want to. You inch your hands higher again and you feel his brows pinch together before his hands grip your wrist.

“Please” he begs softly. You stop and he sighs shakily. You frown when something wet hits your hand and you pull your head back slightly to see him crying. You cup his cheeks and he lets out a strangled sob that makes your heart break and your own eyes water. You stand up and hug him, his arms going around your middle his face buried in your stomach as he cry’s. Gods you’ve never seen a man cry let alone break down, it’s gut wrenching, makes your stomach churn as you gently massage his scalp trying to offer support.

He cry’s till he can’t, till his body aches and his lungs press against the brace. He feels weak, more than normal, he failed as a man, as a husband and he’s only been married for 10 hours. He doesn’t deserve you, your pureness, your innocence, all that he ruined. He wants to go back, do it all again properly, court you properly without the corruption, he wants to give you flowers, sit with you and eat biscuits, walk by the river and talk about your favourite things, he wants to know what makes you laugh, what makes you passionate, what makes you sad, angry, he wants it all and now, he’ll never get it.

Next part ->

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Bad Day, Bad Week, Bad Month

David Howard Thornton x Y/N - drabble - 943 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, mention of self harm, depression, sweet bf, 1000% based on true events of how my week has gone, enjoy munchkins <3

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

You laid on the floor doing nothing but staring at the ceiling. The only light in the room coming from one of your salt lamps in the corner, casting an orange glow throughout the living room. The pitter patter of the rain on the windows echoed throughout the house. You heard the door open and shut but made no move to get up. 

“Hun?” you heard David call out as his steps got closer to the living room. “Having fun down there?” he asked, leaning on the back of the couch.

“Bad day. Bad week. Bad month.” you sighed.

David could see it, the exhaustion on your face. How the bags under your eyes had gotten darker, how your skin looked paler than normal, how your usually bubbly self was completely defeated. He felt bad, he had been visiting different conventions to finish promoting Terrifier 3. He tried to call most days but with the time differences and schedule conflicts you were both lucky if your texts got to each other.

“Don’t do that.” you said, eyes finally shifting to him. “Don’t feel bad or blame yourself.” you didn’t want to see the pity on his face.

David kicked his shoes off towards the front door before sitting criss-cross next to you. He gently held one of your hands, tracing over your fingers deftly. “Wanna tell me about it?” he asked, genuinely wanting to comfort you. 

You sighed, sitting up a bit to sit across from him. “I got laid off last month and haven’t found a new job yet. I have spent all the money I have on bills and have no idea how I’m going to pay for anything next month. Yesterday my fucking tire popped and of course its one of the tires that I didn’t get insured like the back two so I had to call family in tears to ask them for help and that was like $210. Just sobbing in a tire store. Oh! And I got denied from being able to sell plasma to make a bit of money because of a treatment I had 10 years ago that even my doctor said is long out of my system and wouldn’t affect anything. Everything just… sucks.” you rambled on, you don’t remember when you started crying but you were. 

David pulled you into his chest, letting you cry as he held you close. “Baby why didn’t you tell me about anything?” 

“I don’t want to depend on you. I don’t want people to think I’m some gold digger if we ever went public. I’m an adult and I’m supposed to have my shit together.” you said, sounding incredibly harsh towards yourself.

“I understand all that but life is life and it happens. There is nothing wrong with asking for help.” he said, kissing the top of your head.

“There is a difference between asking for a cup of sugar kind of help and asking for financial help.” you said.

David knew you had issues with trust and money. When you two started dating it took a solid 6 months before you let him pay for dinner. He has always tried to work within the confines of your anxiety, but right now? There was no room to work within, you were just going to have to trust him. 

“I know you don’t want it, but I’d like to help you. I don’t like seeing you in pain and this stress I guarantee is making your depression and anxiety worse.” he said before his eyes widened slightly, “Have you…” he trailed off quietly but you knew what he was asking.

You averted your eyes, “It was days ago, I’m fine. I don’t want to die, I just needed something else to focus on.” you mumbled, curling into him as you tried to hide away. 

David’s arms tightened around you. He knew you struggled with self harm and had been doing better with it but it wasn’t an overnight battle and he knew that. He made sure not to rub against your upper thighs as he knew that's where you typically did it. Your sobs had turned to sniffles by now and David could feel how tired you were. Your tense muscles finally unwinding in his grasp. “Hey,” he said, turning your cheek to face him and caressing it as he spoke. “Why don’t we have a shower then we can order some take out, whatever you want. And I have a little surprise for you,”

You quirked your eyebrow at him, not having a clue what it could be.

“I have a copy of Terrifer 3, Damien and I are the only ones with copies. Very hush hush.” he said, making you giggle. Finally, a sweet sound escaping you that he had missed so dearly. “Does all of that sound like an acceptable plan?” he asked with a smirk. 

“Quite satisfactory.” you said, smiling at him before finally indulging in a kiss that you both had longed for. You shifted in his lap, moving your legs to straddle him so the both of you were more comfortable. However, as you felt David’s strong hands caress over your hips and up to your sides you felt a heat take over you that you had craved while he was away. Only he could make you feel like this. “Here, bed, or shower?” you breathed against his lips.

“Shower.” he said gruffly before you bolted for the bathroom, shrieking with excitement as he chased you. Everything was always better when he was with you, he just had that effect. And you want to relish in it as long as you can. 

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

Naboo's Note:

BACK FROM THE DEAD!!!!! I hope you all enjoy this one, have a good day my precious babies. Life is still fucking me with no lube so posting might be a little irregular as I am starting my new job on Monday. Thank you all for the support and patience. XOXOXOX!!!!!!

[rkay07]

The One Who Speaks

C!Technobladex Fem!Reader

(You and Techno used to be best friends until he developed a crush on you now suddenly 10 years have passed and all you want is a glimpse of him)

Warnings - A/N: Physical Touch, Make-out session but nothing too heated.

FLUFF!

Word Count: 2.5k

Traveling to Philza’s place for your monthly visit was a nice time to reflect, maybe to do something different, maybe don’t travel through the ocean with nothing but your backpack until you come across a shipwreck to make a boat. Yeah, reflecting. Visiting Philza gave you a sense of peace, hearing his stories, seeing he’s doing alright after everything, seeing it’s possible to move on from things you thought would be forever. He gives you hope that one day you might move on from your own problems, like being alone 24/7, traveling to pass the time, and having this stupid “crush” on Technoblade. When you were pre-teens he all of a sudden stopped paying attention to you and all you could do was accept it, you left him in the dust on your horse, sent away to live with your aunt that was hundreds of miles away. You only started visiting Phil when you heard about the town being blown up, you wanted to make sure he was ok. He was like family to you, so one year ago you decided to make the trip to see him and now you go once a month to catch up. When you first went the first thing you asked him was, “Is Techno ok?” He smiled and shook his head softly, “Y/n, you know him…” he walked to the table you were sitting at with two mugs of tea in his hands, “Technoblade never dies.” You smiled with him, “I don’t know him now but yes. He never dies.” He pressed his lips together at your comment, putting one of the mugs in front of you. You thanked him, and picked it up to warm your hands, “Where is he, if you don’t mind me asking?” Phil looked at you with pity written all over his face, “I don’t mind and remember that, but darling I’m going to be honest with you.” He sighed looking down at his mug, “I haven’t seen him in weeks, he rarely speaks to me anymore…” Your eyes widened, you felt a rush of coldness washed over you. You became cold to the touch even with the hot cup in your hands, “I take that back actually,” You looked up from the mug, ready to take anything he had of Techno, “He checks on me from time to time, sometimes even spends the night but he walks around like I’m not there.” Your eyes soften at his words, sorry for what’s happened between them. You looked at his free hand, taking it into yours and squeezing it, “I’m sure he has his reasons.” He nods, flashing a quick smile. You were worried but you “knew” Techno and he would never neglect someone or something unless he had a reason to but you still questioned it when it came between you and him.

You were still miles away from Philza’s house, and wondering if you might have taken a wrong turn somewhere. You slow your horse down and take a look at your map, glancing in all directions trying to see anything familiar, then you see a landmark that’s on the map. You exhale, the anxiety dissipating as you put the map back into your bag. You snap the reins to walk again when you see a shadow on the ground, a shadow that could only be made if it was in the air. You have your horse come to a complete stop, sliding off and looking at the shadow then up into the sky. A bird was flying high in the sky, making circles around you. You whistle, bringing it down to you. The bird lands and you notice it was a crow! All you could think were negative thoughts, hoping to God that Phil was okay. You pull some seeds out of your side bag, pouring some on the ground for the crow. The crow hops over and sets a scroll down before pecking at the pile of seeds. You pick the scroll up, standing to look at it better.

My dearest Y/n, you’re probably worried that something’s happened to me but I couldn’t be better, I just wanted to give you a heads up that I’ll be having company over while you're on your way. I don’t know how far you are but I hope you aren’t too far. I would like you to see them before they have to go, Love Phil.

You smile down at the lovely note, thinking that Tommy might have been there but you have talked to him before at Phil’s house so who could it be. You ponder on it for quite a moment before your eyes widen and your jaw drops.

It could be Techno, you thought.

You roll the scroll back up and put it in your bag, seeing the wonderful crow ate all the seeds up, you chuckle and decide to give him more just out of likeness of the note. You get up on your horse, snapping the reins one last time before setting off to Phil’s house, which wasn’t more than a few miles away.

You see Phil’s house appear in the distance, grinning and kicking at your horse to go faster for this last stretch. All you could think about was possibly seeing Techno, finally locking eyes with him after all these years. You slow your horse down as you approach his house, hopping off before he even comes to a complete stop. You shake dust out of your hair and pat yourself down before knocking on the door. You knock on the door and wait for someone to open it for you. You turn around to your horse that’s neighing at you from behind, you try your best to shush him but he decides to be stubborn after a long and hard ride. You wave him off as the door clicks, you whip your head around to meet Tommy, “Tommy!” You yell, “Ay!” Tommy yells back pointing finger guns at you. You smile at him, raising your arms up to hug him. Laughing as he picks you up and spins you around in the house. Closing the door as he sets you down, “Come on, I want you to see someone.” He says, too fast for you to understand but grabs your hand just as quickly as he spoke pulling you towards the kitchen. Light-headed from the laughing and spinning you stumble behind him, trying to not fall to the ground. He slows down, walking into the kitchen. You keep your hand in his, waiting to see the one and only Techno but when you round the corner you’re met with a transparent figure, almost shiny with the sun beaming through it. You narrow your eyes as it turns around, “Guess you weren’t expecting me?” It says, you’re left speechless, mostly trying not to cry. It was Wilbur. Phil told you about the war, when Wil told him to kill him. Holding back tears, you cover your mouth, “Wil?” You knew it was him but you had to make sure. He nods, making you whimper. You walk up to him knowing you would go right through but you wanted to be close. You breathe out as you look at his face, so dark and light. You raise your hands, roaming the air where his face would be but all you could feel was freezing air. He brings his hands to your wrists, marking them with cold rings. You chuckle softly as tears fall from your face, trying to smile but wince at the every-longing want of his hands in yours. He was such a big inspiration of yours but when you heard he had turned evil it was hard to think of him highly. But then, you heard of his death and it shattered you. When you were little, he was always there for you, especially when Techno started to grow distinct, he was there. You missed him so much but now seeing him, his presence, you finally had closure.

You take a deep breath in and let it out, keeping your eyes on him as you step away. Walking backwards to Tommy, you look at Wilbur one last time as he waves at you. You give him a small wave back before he dissipates into thin air. You turn around to bury your face into Tommy's chest, he hugs you back with watery eyes. You could hear him sniffling, you chuckle, “It’s ok Tommy, he’s in a better place now.” He rubs his eyes and scoffs, “What do you mean, I know that, why wouldn’t I know that. I mean look at me.” You remove your face from his chest, as you look up at him, “I know you needed that as much as I did.” He scoffs again, “No I didn’t, I was perfectly fine without him.” You laugh, making him laugh too, as he shakily breathes in and out, “Oh, how I missed him.” You wipe tears off your face, “Me too Tommy, me too.”

You and Tommy were sitting at the kitchen table laughing when the both of you hear the side door open and loud boots fill the house as they stomp off whatever was on them. You look at Tommy with confusion but all he does is smile, making you even more confused. A loud nauseated voice booms through the hallway, “Hey Phil there’s a random horse eating snow in the front, it has a bunch of stuff on it too-” The giant stops in his tract, this time very real. When he sees you, he pulls his mask down from his face, “Y/n?” You stand up, your eyes not believing it, your mind not believing it, but your heart does. Your heart believes it’s really him, it’s really Technoblade. You clear your throat, not sure what to say, “Uh- hey-” You were always speechless around him, never knowing what to say, how to say it. He takes a step closer as he pulls his gloves off, “Uh…” He couldn’t speak either, his eyes were roaming your body, he wanted them to do all the talking. You and Techno stand there in place just looking at each other for a good moment.

Tommy stands up, making sure to make as much noise as possible, “Hey big guy, how was work-” Techno leans down to Tommy ear’s, “Get out.” Tommy mouths ok and walks off to the front door, saluting at you. You watched him as he walked and saluted back at him. You put your gaze back on Techno noticing he was a little closer than before. You don’t think you can hold it in anymore but with it being 10 years, you didn’t know if he felt the same way. You watch him as he stops just a couple feet away from you, your breathing becomes heavy, heat rushes to your cheeks. You open your mouth to speak but nothing except a chuckle comes out, he watches you look at the ground and to the side looking out the window. Every inch of you is on his mind, he takes his hand and brings it to your chin to draw your attention back to him. You look at him with doe eyes, thinking about all the times he looked at you with those same charming eyes. You pull away though not wanting to get too close, not wanting to feel the same urge you felt when you were just a kid. You look away towards the window for a second but he pulls you back, now arm around your waist and hand on your chin, keeping your eyes on him.

You find it hard to not look at him with your faces only inches apart, his long pink hair falling over his shoulder and into his face. You cave in finally, your eyes traveling his face for it has been too long since you’ve seen him, “Techno…” You breathe out, his breathing becoming just as heavy as yours. You find the back of his neck with one hand and the back of his shoulder with the other. Gripping at his shirt, he looks down at your lips, “Why did I wait so long?” Your heart flutters at his words as they roll off his lips and onto your own. You mouth I don’t know, giving him a weak smile. His lips part as he moves his hand from your chin to your cheek, running it along once before diving into a deep kiss. You took a breath before his lips crashed down on yours, interlocking your fingers in his hair. He pushes you against the table a little rough, “Sorry.” he says in between a kiss. You couldn’t care less about being rammed into a table but you loved that he cared for you, “It’s ok.” You whisper, keeping the kiss going and placing your hands on the table to brace yourself. He slowly snakes his tongue into your mouth as he finds your hands and intertwines them with his. You whimper at the feeling of his tongue roaming your mouth, you grip his hands tight, making him moan. He continues to kiss you like it was the last time you were ever going to see each other, touch each other. But he wasn’t going to let that happen, he wasn’t going to pull himself away from you ever again. He wanted you more than ever before, finally having you in his arms.

You slowly start to pull away but Techno wants one more long kiss before accepting your movement, resting his head on your shoulder. He needed that break as much as you did, his breath raspy and deep on your neck. You wrap your arms around him, as he does the same. You look up to the ceiling with tears in your eyes, happy tears. Happy that you finally get to express your loving feelings to this hunk of stoicness. He glides his touch from your waist to the back of your legs, picking you up and putting you on the table with no effort. You gasp when he picks you up, looking deep into his eyes to find love and affection. He pulls you as close as possible, making you wrap your arms and legs around him. You rest your forehead on his, smiling and giggling. He couldn’t help but do the same. Your smiles always gave him warmth, from his ear tips to his toes. He always liked that about you and it has never changed, even after all these years his memory of you has never faded. He leans back so he can see you better, scanning for any new details.

He cups your cheeks and rubs his thumbs on your skin. He’s hot to the touch, making you want to melt in his arms. A single tear falls from your eye, he’s quick to gently wipe it away, kissing where the droplet was then kissing your forehead. He looks down at you, taking an impossible step towards you, “I’ve loved you for too long, to give up,” He pauses and glances at your lips, “I’ll make it my life’s mission to never let you go…again.” Your breath hitches, you couldn’t believe he was saying this to you, finally. You let out a breath with a big smile and your head vigorously nodding at his remark. He smiles back with a sigh of relief escaping from his lips. He picks you up and spins you around for a moment then plants you on your feet. Your arms still wrapped around his neck, you give him a couple of nice soft pecks on his chapped lips. You were forever happy to have him by your side now, even if he had to work. The both of you hear the side door open, “Techno! I need your help with the hay bales!” Philza’s voice rang through the house before you both heard the door close and footsteps went down the outside stairs. You look up at him and pout. His eyes narrow down the hall towards the side door, “He can wait.” Before you know it you're off up the stairs to the spare bedroom Techno sleeps in, making sure to lock the door behind him.

[gardenwalrus]

The Beatles speaking about themselves in DISC (12 October 1963) [Paul & John section here]

[GEORGE] Our dress style has changed…  It was when I was relaxing in a Boeing jet on the way back from America last week that I realised that in many ways I was still the same George Harrison I was before The Beatles were so well known. But I also realise that in some ways my life HAS changed - mostly for the better I’m glad to say.  The most obvious change is financial. That’s very nice, but I don’t think it's the most important thing. It’s nice to be able to buy a new car and new clothes when you want them, but I was happy when I couldn’t afford these things.  One big way The Beatles generally have changed is in their style of dress. Eighteen months ago, for instance, we dressed far more casually than we do now. 

I think my social life has changed considerably as well. Now we meet far more people than we ever met before.  I mean, like, when we appear at a one-night stand we’re often invited back after the show to a nearby club. People seem to go out of their way to try and make sure we have a little fun after our work.  A question I’ve been asked quite a few times over the past 12 months is: “What do you think is the right age to get married?”  I honestly think there’s no such thing as ‘the right age.’ I think that you should get married when you decide that this is the time when you should get married. This is a decision which you can only make yourself. There’s no correct age.  In my personal tastes, I’m a bit undecided about clothes, too. I haven’t got any definite preferences. But if something I see pleases me I’ll buy it and wear it whether it’s in the French style, or Italian, or English.  One thing I really do get enthusiastic about is music. As I’ve said before in DISC, I like the coloured American groups like The Shirelles and The Miracles. But I’m fond of a lot of other music - Segovia on classical guitar, for example. 

+

[RINGO] I’m the silent type…  I’m the one the boys call the silent type. Well, I haven’t got all that much to say for myself, and I prefer to listen to other people speaking. My real name is Richard Starkey, but the Ringo bit has been with me for so long, I don’t think of myself as a ‘Richard’ anymore. Of all the Beatles, I live nearest to the city centre - about 10 minutes walk and six bus stops away. It’s not a rich part of town, but my mum has all her friends there and doesn’t want to move out.  Some of my family are just outside London. They sometimes come and visit us, and once a year my dad makes a trek down south.  I want to do things for my family, but they keep telling me to save my money. Eventually I think I’ll open a chain of hairdressing shops in and around Liverpool. I’d like my main shop to be in the centre of the city, and be THE place.  I have enough hairdressing friends to keep the shops well staffed, but feel with a haircut like mine it would be best for me to stay away from them!  I have my hair cut about once every three months! I’m joking of course. I have it trimmed when the mood takes me and have no special barber.  You don’t hear very much about me in the group, because I don’t sing. I had my big and only singing moment on ‘Boys’ for our LP, and really made the most of it.  And, surprisingly enough, although I’m a drummer I don’t have a favourite musician. Well, not a real one. I like to see good showmanship in any artist, and I hope to get a chance of seeing Brook Benton while he’s in England. It’s a stroke of luck he’ll be doing the Palladium show at the same time as us, but I’ll probably be so nervous, I won’t have time to appreciate his act.  I don’t eat very much. If I did, I’d probably have much more energy. As a kid, I was very fond of chips and jam-butty (that’s a jam sandwich), and to this day, I still like it. Even if I enjoyed it, I don’t think I’d ever get used to eating caviar or drinking champagne.  One of my ambitions in life is to learn how to play the piano. I’d willingly take lessons if only I had the time. But my main ambition is to be happy all the time.  Yet I don’t relax very much. I like to be active. Even if I have a chance to go on holiday, instead of sitting in the sun all day I’m off exploring the local neighbourhood. I think I do this because if I didn’t I’d be nothing more than just plain lazy! I very rarely go near a Chinese or Italian restaurant. Don’t like either food, and if anything has onions in it then I’m completely done for.  I’m mad for rings. I wear four, and would wear them on all my fingers if I didn’t think they’d get in the way. Often I get wrist ache from drumming too much, but the only other ailment I suffer from is occasional colds. I’m not as bad as John though. He keeps on losing his voice. Never doing a performance, but usually just after a recording session. 

[boldlyanxious]

A Simple Deception

masterlist

“I’m really sorry for you Jon. I know you have gotten close over the last few months,” Damian spoke into his phone.

“No, I really mean it,” he continued after a pause. “I know I’m not the most expressive person to talk to but it is clear that she means a lot to you. I wish her visa had worked out.”

Damian made a few more non-committal noises as his friend went on and on about his newer friend who would be moving away soon.

“I wish I had gotten a chance to meet her. Maybe sometime later in the future. I’ll take you to Paris for your birthday or something.”

“See you for New Year’s then. Merry Christmas to you and the rest of the Kents. I believe my gift should have arrived.”

He put his phone back on the desk and went looking for his family. Unlike Jon’s family, Christmas morning did not start promptly at 8am. With their evening activities, they all preferred to start a little later. Coffee and brunch would start at 10 am and the scavenger hunt for gifts would begin promptly at 11. The first one back after completing all the challenges would win Christmas.

It wasn’t the most traditional of Christmases, but it worked for them. And Damian was determined to win this year.

---

“Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker phone. I still have to be out of this apartment,” Marinette said. She moved her phone from her ear and put it on the mantle before shoving a pile of boxes.

She zipped back and forth as she continued talking at her phone.

“I just got the call that it was approved. Apparently, it went through last week but because of a mix up with the paperwork I didn’t get the call until they were closing today.”

“I can’t believe you still have to move,” the voice said from the phone.

“The cut off to stay here was a couple weeks ago.” Marinette stopped and looked at her phone with an uncertain look that even though the person on the other end couldn’t see her, would be able to hear the uncertainty in her voice. “But I had a friend tell me that if everything else failed, he would have a place for me in his apartment. He said it would just be a relief to have me in the same country.”

“I heard the same thing,” the voice laughed. “I have the space, and I already messaged a friend to borrow a truck to help.”

“You are a lifesaver; you know that?”

“I do, but I like to hear you say it.”

“Not to just call for huge favors, but I have to let you go now. I still have a ton of things to do. I haven’t even called my parents yet.”

“You told me before your parents? That’s cold.”

“Well, I sent a message saying I had an update so if they have been on, they can guess. But proper calls are hard while the bakery is open. They will call while they are closing, once they get the loud ovens off.”

“Best of luck. I know they were excited to have you back even though they wanted things to work out for you.”

“They were. But I did visit during the process, and they should be able to make another trip one day soon.”

—

The triumph of Christmas had not even lasted the week until New Year’s. His father had them gathered together to talk about their behavior for the New Year’s gala. It appeared to be a fabulous fancy dinner with all the Waynes and associated persons present, but his father was droning on about the behaviors that had been noticed at the last party. It had been a season full of parties where they were all expected to be dressed impeccably and a minimum not be caught causing disturbances and definitely not be written about in the press. Something that had been sorely lacking from the last Wayne hosted event.

Dick had been considered to be too drunk although it was more likely he just had had enough of the perfumed, elderly ladies pinching the wrong cheeks to tell him how handsome he looked all grown up. Stephanie, while not technically family, was not inconspicuous enough when doing impressions of Lex Luthor. Damian believes that she actually wanted Luther to see her. Tim and Jason both had a game of being confused any time someone spoke to them rather than greeting them as if they knew them. They had offended several long-time business associates and acquaintances of the Wayne Family.

Damian still believed that he had done nothing wrong. He was the picture of politeness and had greeted every person of note and some others. He remembered all the names, the grandkids and pets to ask about. He had not talked business once and he retrieved drinks when people were low. Apparently, his grave error was in not asking a single young lady to dance during the evening. He had the required skills, and he was not in any way unable to perform the motions at the time so he should have. It didn’t matter that he simply did not wish to dance with them.

“It is expected of you Damian,” his father said.

“There were plenty of other people dancing, including Dick and Tim. I think even Jason danced,” Damian complained.

“That makes it even more noticeable that you were not dancing. All of your brothers danced, and I danced. You should dance too.”

“I was busy making the rounds to all of the people who needed greeted.”

“I expect better time management next time then. I also made greetings for everyone and found the time. You will find the time for at least three to five dances–”

“That’s too many,” Damian cut in.

“Three to five dances and you will choose one of the suitable young ladies to kiss at midnight.”

“Absolutely not. I don’t want to kiss any of them.”

“You will and that is final.”

“But” Damian’s mind raced before he blurted out “I have a girlfriend.”

The stunned eyes of the entire table and the waiter turned to him.

“You have a girlfriend Dami?” Dick squealed.

“Of course he doesn’t,” Jason laughed. “He is just trying to get out of kissing some social climber at the gala.”

“Well,” Bruce said, “you certainly can’t kiss someone else if you have a girlfriend. You will bring her and kiss her at midnight. What is her name for the invitation?”

“Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Damian said, “But she will be out of the country by then.”

—

“You got settled, I see,” Jon said laughing at Marinette in the kitchen.

“You have been to my place many times. You knew what you were getting yourself into.”

“That I did. And I’m delighted to have you, but I’m going to help you clean up. Damian is coming over and I didn’t mention you were living here yet. I don’t want to overwhelm him. He wanted to talk about something, and it sounded serious,” Jon said.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll clean really fast and get out of your hair,” Marinette said.

“Nonsense. I meant it when I said it was your place too. You haven’t met Damian yet, and you should. You will love him,” Jon paused, choosing his words carefully. “I just don’t want it to feel too chaotic when it sounds like he is already having a tough time.”

“Right. You get the dishwasher going while I get the counters cleared. Then, I’ll wash the remainder and leave the floors to you.”

“Perfect. That should get you a chance to get out of your mismatched jammies.”

“Do not impugn my mismatched jammies. They are very comfy, but possibly too chaotic for meeting new friends.”

“Right you are.”

—

“You really don’t have to come up with me. I’m just getting the keys to the truck I let Jon borrow,” Damian said, climbing the stairs to Jon’s apartment.

“You have a girlfriend who is about to leave the country. I want to meet her while I have the chance. I’m sure you will want to stay and see her for a bit anyway. I remember what it was like to be young and in love,” Bruce responded.

“If it is anything like you are now with Ms Kyle, do not ever think I will behave like that.”

“To be in love is to be part fool and let yourself be open to another person. Perhaps you and Marinette just need more time.”

“You are already aware that the time is limited, yet you insist on encroaching upon it.”

Damian let out a long-suffering sigh before he knocked firmly on the door.

“Damian, you made it,” Jon said, quickly turning his attempted hug into a handshake. “Uh, Mr Wayne, how nice to see you again. I didn’t realize you were coming.”

“I’ve told you so many times to call me Bruce,” Bruce said with a warm smile.

“Right, I’ll get the keys. Thank you so much for letting me borrow your truck. My grandparents were supposed to help but they got held up in Kansas,” Jon said, shifting on his feet.

Bruce pushed past the keys Jon held out and looked around the apartment. “Tell your grandparents I said ‘hello’. I do hope to see them when they make it to town.”

Damian took the keys and grabbed his father’s arm, “We should go. Jon is clearly busy.”

Bruce looked around and raised an eyebrow at Damian. Jon said nothing until Bruce stepped into the kitchen and looked down at a tray of goodies.

“Can I offer you something to eat? Marinette was baking earlier. I’m sure she is willing to share,” Jon was relieved to have something to do with his hands. “Oh, Marinette is a friend of mine. She is from France and staying here.”

“Damian mentioned that. I was hoping to meet her,” Bruce’s eyes lit up at the mention of his reason for coming. “It’s a shame about her visa expiring though.”

“Actually, it was approved,” a dark-haired woman said as she walked into the room. “I found out too late to keep my apartment. That is why Jon let me move in.”

“That’s wonderful!” Bruce exclaimed, reaching for her hand. “I’m Bruce Wayne, Damian’s father. You must be–”

Damian cut it, hoping to stop his father from saying something he didn’t want anyone to hear. “Father, might I present Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“You may. Damian was so disappointed his girlfriend had to go back to France. Congratulations on your visa approval. You must come to my New Year’s Eve gala. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“So nice to meet you, Mr Wayne.”

Marinette was shaking his hand but then he suddenly pulled her into a hug. Her eyes were huge and confused looking over his shoulder at Jon and Damian. Damian was trying not to make eye contact, but Jon was looking at him and laughing.

“You must call me Bruce,” he said, patting her back.

“Bruce,” she repeated.

—

“I’ll take the truck back. Don’t be back too late,” Bruce paused with a smirk, “or do. I guess you will be celebrating.”

“I will see you at the usual time,” Damian said stiffly.

He turned back slowly to face Jon, who was clearly trying not to laugh and Marinette. He had just met her, but he had the distinct impression that was not her happy face.

“What just happened?” Marinette asked, hand on her hip.

“My father invited you to the annual Wayne New Year’s Eve Gala,” Damian said.

“As your girlfriend? That is the part someone would typically ask first.”

“Why did no one tell me the visa was approved? You were supposed to be going back to France.”

Damian looked accusingly at Jon who shrugged.

“I didn't think you would go get engaged because I was waiting to tell you until I saw you. I honestly thought you were bored of me talking about it.”

“I was bored, but it was too convenient to tell my father I couldn’t hook up with whichever socialite is most convenient for his business.”

“We are not engaged or hooking up.” Marinette said emphatically. “We aren’t even dating, and you will make this right. I did not sign up for a randomly assigned billionaire boyfriend.”

“Trust me, I have no interest in dating you,” Damian said firmly. He paused before adding, “But since you already told my father you would attend the gala, would you be willing to go as a favor to me.”

“I do not owe you any favors,” Marinette said.

“Please,” Damian said. “I would owe you one. Jon will be there too.”

“I go every year. It is the best one of the year. Also, least likely to be attacked by rogues and I know you have a dress you designed that you would love to show off.”

“I don’t want to go around lying to people. It isn’t fun for me, and I’m not interested in profiting off deception.”

Damian held up his hand to get them all to stop.

“Jon, would you leave us for a moment.”

Jon looked like he wanted to argue but Damian waited until he relaxed and then walked out of the room. Damian gestured at the chairs in the living room.

“Please allow me to talk for a moment. Once I have explained myself, I will ask you to go with me and then accept whatever response you give.”

Marinette studied him for a moment and then nodded.

“First of all, allow me to congratulate you on your visa. I know from Jon that it was very nerve wracking to not know where you would be by the end of the week. Even though I blamed you for not leaving, I am happy for you.” Damian took a breath and continued. “I am not typically a rash or unfeeling person. I may show a lack of concern for things that don’t affect me, but I don’t like to be cruel or use others carelessly. That being said, when my father told me that he wanted me to essentially woo the young ladies at the gala, I provided the easiest excuse that would be accepted at the time without planning to produce an actual girlfriend. Jon has spoken of you many times so your name came easily to me as someone who my family would not know, and you were so conveniently not going to be in town at the time of the gala that I would be off the hook from my father’s expectations.”

Damian stood up and circled the room a couple times before turning back to her.

“My father’s expectations make me uncomfortable, but his reasoning is sound. I made choices in my behavior at the last event we hosted that did not meet what was expected of me. Now, I am expected to show attention to the ladies in attendance by dancing and being a proper gentleman in polite society. If you refuse to go with me, I will tell my father when I see him about my deception. I will then behave as I must at the event. If you agree to attend with me, you will benefit from being seen and talking about your design work. That is not disingenuous of you. It is how high society works. Everyone there is trying to advance themselves while also showing off for each other. That would be a good thing for you, and I would also owe you a favor. I could do as much as buying you a fabric store easily, if that is what you wished. After the evening is over, I will come clean to my father, and we will not be romantically linked. You will have just been my date for the evening.”

“Wow. I didn’t expect all that.”

It was Marinette’s turn to stand up and pace around the space. Her hands were tightly clasped in each other, the skin turning white where she squeezed.

“I–” She took a deep breath. “I accept. You really don’t need to owe me anything. I understand why you did what you did. It was a series of unexpected events that collided. Besides, I want to be friends. I’m sure we will see each other from time to time.”

—

It wasn’t nearly as bad as she expected.

It nearly felt like she was in a period piece. Everyone was all dressed up and speaking formally. It was definitely the best collective posture she had seen anywhere during her time in the states and possibly ever. Damian escorted her around on his arm and smiled at all the people he greeted by name and introduced her as his date.

His family was different. They all seemed like they were laughing at some joke, but it didn’t seem like it was at her. They did all seem interested in why she started dating Damian. She supposed that was just how siblings were. She ended up dancing with all of his siblings, Jon and then his father. As well as several dances with Damian and a couple of the other men in attendance.

It was nothing like the fake dates seen in pop culture. Everyone just accepted her as Damian’s date, and she didn’t have to justify it. She made the appropriate responses to her current dance partner. Archibald was handsome and a great dancer; she made sure not to tell him that she didn’t realize real people still had that name. He had been very polite.

Damian was approaching her, but he did not look happy. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching her. She didn’t think she had made any faux pas that would reflect poorly on him, and no one had even suggested that she was only here as a ruse. She had no clue why he suddenly looked so serious.

The crowd was getting louder. Everyone was leaving the dance floor and waiters were efficiently passing out champagne. The glasses were clinking together and people chattering noisily and pairing off.

Damian took her by the arm and pulled her along with him. She stumbled slightly but his arm was there to hold her upright. He took two flutes of champagne and held them in one hand as he took hers in the other and pulled her along to a balcony. All the other guests were moving down outside and once they got out there, she could see a couple other balconies with guests on them. But they were the only ones on this balcony.

“There is a slight possibility that we will be expected to kiss at midnight,” Damian said.

Marinette was so stunned she didn’t register the voices of the crowd start counting down from ten.

“By slight possibility I mean my father just told me that he still expects to see me celebrating at midnight and it should be easy since you are my girlfriend.”

Damian pushed her hair back from her face and cupped her cheek.

“I really hoped he just wouldn’t notice.”

He tilted her face up and looked into her eyes. He didn’t move forward, but his eyes held the question in them.

Marinette pushed forward until she was kissing him.

It was just supposed to be a quick kiss, but she gasped at the spark she felt kissing him. She didn’t pull back, instead her arm went around his neck as she felt his fingers dig into her hair. He pressed closer and held on to her. The fireworks were going off all around, but they didn’t notice anything but each other. They pulled away slowly, breathing a bit more quickly.

Neither seemed to know what to say for a moment.

Marinette picked up a glass of champagne and clinked it against Damian’s glass before taking a sip.

“Happy New Year,” she whispered, before leaning in to kiss him again.

[magicwithered]

it's all worth it (for you my dear)

Pairing: Oikawa/Reader 

Summary: the worst thing about knowing who your mate is from the time you're a child is knowing who your mate is since you were a child. | ao3

Word Count: 15.7k

10

The first time he sees you—

No, the first time he smells you, his dad is sitting on the couch, head in hands, breath rugged. Like it's dawned on him he's lost something valuable and can't handle it. 

"Tooru," he had said when his son had stood awkwardly by the living room entrance, volleyball clutched tightly in his hand. He had smelled you then, something heavy, sitting in the back of his throat, making a home there. You had smelled like a forest, woodsy and perfect. His father had mumbled something under his breath as Oikawa swiveled his head around looking for you. 

"Tooru," his father had said again, fingers burying in his hair as he messed it up, "I wanted to introduce you to someone but they, she—" his father cut himself off, looking up. "It doesn’t matter," he had said instead. 

Oikawa's been running after you ever since.

—

Oikawa has never doubted his father loving his mother. He sees it in the way he speaks to her, and moves around her. His father has always been in love with his mother, he knows. But after that day on the couch, he doesn't know.

He doesn't like not knowing. 

And then one day he catches your scent again. Woodsy, a slight hint of cocoa. Something natural and musky in the best of ways, stronger than he's ever smelled anything. You're carrying something, grocery bags he thinks, as you help his mother out the car. He watches as his mother hobbles, leaning against your chest. You’re taller than her, clearing almost 6 feet. (He thinks that you might only be an inch shorter than his father.) Her smile is easy-going, lax even as he hears the soft tut you make when she attempts to walk to the house.

Your voice is tantalizing. It’s smooth, like the feeling of crisp water across hot flesh in the summer sun. Grocery bags in one hand, and your hand placed on his mothers hip as you help her into the house. He’s frozen, across the street as the two of you disappear in the house. 

Oikawa isn’t sure what the hell is going on with him, just that he has the exact feeling he got when he first watched a volleyball tournament. It’s the beginning of something, and he knows in his heart it will take a while to bloom, but when it does it will be worth it. 

Later, when you have made your escape and he’s finally unstuck his feet from the pavement to walk through the door, he stops for a second. Something under the wood of the door, swallowing thickly before he smiles at his mother. She’s giving him a look, and he leans against the door frame as if to bask in the scent again. It’s heaviest right here, like you hesitated leaving, loitering for however long until the scent of you was pumped into the air of the entrance. 

“What?”

His mother hums, ruffling his hair with a chuckle. “Nothing,” she says, just as his sister shuffles downstairs in search of something to eat. “Nothing at all, Tōru.” 

16

It takes 6 years for it to piss Toru the fuck off. His presentation comes and goes. His first rut is brutal, a violent affair that has him out of the class for a week and a half. He hears his father’s whispers on the phone, pleadings to come visit.

You. 

Oikawa has known who his mate is since before he could even really understand what was happening. He doesn’t even really know what you look like, but he knows your voice, your scent. He knows the weird peculiarity of yours that involves you and his family knowing each other for two hundred years. Oikawa has seen pictures. Yellow and fading, old and fraying, new and digital. You with your arms thrown over the shoulder of someone in his family over generations. 

So he knows you, but he does not really know  you. 

He dates. Kind of. Not really. 

Girls confess to him, pretty omega’s with cloying sweetness that burns the back of his throat. They like him, and Oikawa has 200 years worth of life experience he has to catch up with you about. So dating. But only kind of. If his mind isn’t focused on volleyball, it’s you. You, who avoids him at all costs. You, who visits his house only when he’s gone. You, who seems to scent his door every time you’re over. 

He’s thinking in circles when he picks up your scent after a long day of practicing. His head snaps up, nostrils flaring as the woodsy, sweet soft scent you have coats his throat. He gets dizzy for a second, the serve he was going for losing some of its impact. It hits the other side, out of bounds and he turns, ignoring his teammates completely. 

“What the hell was that, Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi’s voice barely permeates through the heated want of the haze. Usually, he’ll respond in kind, whining petulantly but you’re here. Somewhere. Not near, but enough that somehow the breeze brings your unique scent to him. The only reason why, he knows, is because the gym doors are open. 

“I-I’ll be right back,” he mutters, racing out the door. The further he runs the stronger your scent is. Somewhere pretty far from the school. To be completely honest, Oikawa isn’t even sure how he ran so far and so long, but he blacks out until he’s banging on a door. 

He knows you’re in there. 

He can smell you, and it takes everything in him not to claw at the wood and rip it to bits and drag you out. His face is practically pressed into the door and continues to bang against it. His palm hits again and again until he practically falls to the floor when the door swings open.

You catch him before he can hit the floor, straightening him up before taking a step back. “What the he–”

“You’re avoiding me,” he spits out, “my whole life. You’ve been avoiding me my whole life.” Not what he wanted to say originally. Originally, Oikawa was going to say hi. He thinks. He can be very impulsive.

“Oikawa–”

“Toru,” he corrects, cutting you off again, “It’s Toru. You know that though. Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I don’t think this is a good idea?” Your voice goes up, like you’re questioning even yourself. Your nostrils flare and Oikawa takes the time to really take you in. Even better than a picture. You’re everything he could’ve hoped for and more. His nose pressed against the scent gland in your neck, pressing even closer until the two of you are practically molded against each other. 

“Why? Why do you think this is a bad idea? You’re mine,” he says simply, a soft whine to his words, “I’m yours. We’re each others. So why?”

“Oika-Toru,” you cough, lightly pushing him back. Your scent flares, a sour note with your distress but not unappealing. Toru doesn’t think there’s anything you can do or smell like without being viscerally attracted to it. “You don’t.” Another aborted sentence. “You’re 16. I am.” Your voice goes low. “I am 247 and you are 16.”

Oikawa is not like other Alphas (or he’s exactly like other alphas he doesn’t know). He’s rotting on the inside because his soulmate won’t claim him. And fuck all, fuck the rules, fuck what is right and wrong. Oikawa has wanted you viscerally and deeply since his first rut took him out and made him a feral, mean thing. (He’s always been mean, but he does such a wonderful job covering it up.)

“So?” He grabs your wrists, and he knows it’s because you let him. He knows you’re letting him take his anger out on you as soon as it bubbles under his skin. He knows exactly what you’re doing, and still he feels vindicated for being able to trap you closer to him. “So the fuck what? We’re mates. We belong together.” 

Oikawa can’t stop himself, he drags his mouth against yours, frantic and clawing desperation in his veins. Your mouth opens under his, his tongue slips in (all that practice makes perfect he supposes). His shoulders relax, he’s no longer tense. The coiled jaguar that makes up his limbs soothed, the rot being scooped out before he’s shoved away again. 

This time you don’t hold back, shoving him so hard he lands on his ass. You’re a wild thing like this, a mess and he wants to drag his mouth up the center of your thighs and make a home there. 

“You should leave,” you say, clutching your shirt before shaking your head when he goes to say something. “You need to leave, Oikawa.”

The use of his surname is like frigid water coating his body in the dead of a winter's night. 

18

Sometimes, Oikawa thinks he’s unlucky. Privileged enough to have found his true mate before the age of 10, but cursed to have a mate that was not just 3 times his senior. The years pass him by, and he’s mostly angry, but keeps track of each time the earth revolves around the sun, another year to tally. He wishes time could stop long enough to catch up to you, but he can’t.

Two years ago to the date he went back to your house and you’d been gone. Not even a letter goodbye. 

Two years ago to the date he felt his heart crack in two and split open, bleeding rot all over the place.

Two years ago today, and he’d felt like his whole life collapsed on itself and he would never see you again. But then you sent him a postcard. It was nothing special, some cheesy thing from the states (Maine it had said) with its name written in all caps, blues and greens. But it was very special to him.

Your scent was plastered against the cardstock, and he pressed it against his nose and inhaled every day until the cardstock started smelling like cardstock again, and he couldn’t get dizzy in it. Then one day, his mother left her phone on the kitchen counter and who was he if not an opportunist?

Your name had popped up and he scribbled down the number as quickly as possible before giving it to her. Oikawa had contemplated calling you immediately, but one thing ran into the other and next thing he knew his rut had snuck up on him, and he was writhing in the bed, angry and distorted. It was always rough when his rut came. Oikawa is no gentleman to begin with. He’s not particularly nice, and sometimes he can’t even be kind. But his ruts are another monster in and of itself. 

He’s dialing your number before he even realizes it. Shoving his pants off, groaning softly into the fabric of his linens. The feeling of his pajama pants against his hardening length was starting to literally piss him off. And you’re not answering, though he knows it’s probably because it’s an unknown number. But still. If you don’t fucking pick u–

“What?”

“Is that the way you always greet people?” he pants out, kicking the blankets off him again. It won’t make a difference, he’ll get cold and then he’ll get hot and then he’ll get irritated and it’ll circle around until he’s in near tears. Oikawa can tug his cock all day long, but without you, without being able to slide his way home, it won’t matter.

It’s quiet for a second on the other line before you sigh softly. “Oikawa,” you mutter, and he can almost see the way you shake your head. “How did you get my number?”

“Does it matter?” It feels good to hear your voice, like a balm against the heat of what is going to be one of the roughest weeks of his life. This is the first time he’s spoken to you since you left, but only the second time the two of you have ever exchanged words. 

“Does it matter? Of course it matters, you’re 16–”

“18,” he corrects with a grunt, wrapping a hand around himself. “But you knew that, you sent me a postcard a few weeks ago telling me happy birthday.” He hears you grumble to yourself, and sighs softly, thumbing the tip of his dick. It’s wrong, completely against your knowledge, but he can’t stop himself.

“Okay, yes, I knew you turned 18.” Silence as he licks his lips, dragging precum down his length, humming into the phone. “Why did you call me, Oikawa?”

“Wanted to hear your voice. Is that a crime now? I can’t hear my mate's voice?”

“That is besides the point, Toru.” You shouldn’t have said that, because he whimpers, nuzzling his pillow and slowly sliding his hand against himself. It feels good, better than it's ever had and he can pinpoint the exact moment you know what is going on. “Toru.” 

He swallows thickly, slowly increasing his pace. Heat races up his spine, pleasure curling his tongue as he says your name. “Yeah,” his hips jerk up to meet his hand, and there’s an audible slap of his skin when he grunts. In the haze of the rut and the pleasure he can hear you say:

“Unbelievable, my mate is a crazy person.”

“Fuck, say it again.”

“I’m gonna hang up,” you say flatly, but under that is a tone he can hear. He doesn’t know what it is, but he can hear it. “I can’t believe you called me during your rut, Tor–Oikawa.”

“Say it again,” he growls, feeling that familiar pressure bubbling up. He’s barely touched himself, but he’s already about to cum. 

“Say what?”

“Mate,” he grumbles, “my name. Say it again.”

“I can’t believe–” 

“It’s the least you can do,” Oikawa pants, twisting his hand to get that feeling that makes his toes curl. “You a-avoided me for years and then left me. At least you can acknowledge that I’m your mate.”

It’s a wonder he can even get the words out, but half of what’s fueling him (other than wanting to finally make a home for his dick in the slickness of your cunt) is spite. A petty satisfaction fills him up as you breathe in sharply, his moan soft over the phone. As good of a job you’ve been doing, covering up your reactions to his rut, you can only cover it up for so long. Your breath growing a little more ragged as time passes by and he continues to fuck into his hand. At the end of the day, the two of you are mates, he knows this will affect you innately.

“Fine,” you finally breathe out, “fine, Toru.” He’s going to cum, he says as much, getting closer and closer. Another pause. “Mate.” He cums all over his fingers, working his way through it until the touch becomes too much. He feels a little like live wire, but a fulfillment that settles deep into his bones. The first rut where you have even been slightly around. Sweat clings to his skin, and he knows it’s far from over, his ruts are vicious things. But for right now he can bask in the haze of hearing you call him your mate for the first time and cumming to the sound of your voice. 

Oikawa hears you swallow thickly, his panting crackling over the phone as he reaches over to clean himself off with the rag he had prepped for this very thing. “It would be better if you were here, you know?” He says after the silence sits for too long. There’s too much to say, and Oikawa is not as content with silence as someone like Iwazumi. In fact, he hates it. Silence makes no sense for the two of you in particular, the weight of wants and needs and denial suffocating the space between you two. And then there’s the literal space between you two. Timezone and thousands of miles and all. 

“Toru,” you say softly, and he can hear the way the beads in your braids clack together as you shake your head. “We can’t.”

“We can,” he grumbles back, “I’m eighteen now, no one would bat an eyelash. You’re not even graying.”

“It’s wrong.” He makes a noise of complaint and you keep going. “I knew you when you were a child.”

“We’re mates! It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Why does it matter?” Oh fuck, is he gonna cry? He’s gonna cry. He can feel his voice wobble, tears already forming and it’s against some unwritten mate code to be the one who hurts the one they’re mated to because you coo in that tone. The alpha tone that people say he sometimes uses. ”It's not fair.” 

Silence again. 

“I know,” you gently say, soft in a way that soothes him. He can picture the look on your face, the down turn of your full lips and the understanding in your eyes. Oikawa knows he could be more understanding but he can’t, because it’s not fucking fair. 

“We’re mates.”

“I know.” A pause. “I’m sorry.”

And then you hang up. He’s never hated a dial tone more. 

19

Keiko gives birth at one in the morning, gripping Toru’s hand because her husband was racing, and he does mean racing, to get to the hospital. The baby is three days early, he only knows that because you’d called him, driving his older sister to the hospital. 

You’d been in Japan, and had he’d known he’d shown up to your door. But you're stealthy, sneaking back into his life without letting him know. Which, fucking hell should not be as attractive as it is. Sympathetic as you were to his plight (he is falling apart at the seams and you don’t fucking care) you still won’t let him in. 

And ever since his rut, you don’t pick up the phone. He knows you’re reading his texts because your read messages are on, and that’s pissing him off. But he can’t even be mad at you right now because his sister is giving birth and squeezing the fuck out of his hand. 

But as soon as he can, he’s trapping you somewhere. He knows you know it. 

It takes a while, but his brother-in-law comes in and relieves him of duties, Keiko not even halfway done through the labor and Oikawa is so fucking tired. He’d woken up in the middle of the night to your call and he’s got a test in the morning. His sister will understand, you will not. On his way out, he grabs your wrist. He’s taller than you now, just over 6 feet, but the height difference isn’t much. Now that he’s seen in person after literal fucking years, he knows you’re not 5’11. 5’9 maybe, but definitely not 5’11. 

“Take me back to my dorms,” he says, dragging you to your car. You don’t have to ask why he knows which one is your car, and he doesn’t offer the information. (Other than the copious amounts of stalking he’s done on you, he also can follow your scent. You’re that fucking potent to him.) 

“Toru, what the hell,” you hiss. “I can’t just—“

“Take me back,” he growls, stopping short and stepping into your space, “to my dorm.” Your mouth audibly shuts, and you sigh, unlocking the doors. The thing about it is, Toru knows for a fact the only reason he’s got any type of superiority over you is because of your guilt. He knows this, and he’ll use it. He’s not above that. It doesn’t matter to him about what’s proper, what he should do and how he should go about it. You’re delicate and skittish, and he’s a fucking sledgehammer that comes wrecking everything you’ve meticulously built. 

Toru isn’t delicate, he can’t be. Volleyball isn’t delicate, it’s brutal. A lesson in brute force and patience, and he’s every bit of the game. He slides into the passenger's seat and watches the streetlights pass by as you drive. The two of you are quiet, Toru’s just a little too tired to try and push your buttons and you’re always relatively quiet. You park and he huffs out a laugh. 

“Never gave you the directions,” he says, turning towards you with a raised eyebrow. 

You don’t say anything for a moment before looking at him. “No, you didn’t.”

Silence again. 

“Why? Why the fuck do you keep doing this to me?” Vitriol and fire come out before he can stop it. “Is it fun? Do you enjoy it? Leaving me in silence, wanting?”

“Oikawa—“

“Toru.”

“Toru, it’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple!” His hand hits the dashboard and he knows he’s tired. Not at his wits end, but tired. Something is gonna break, and he thinks it’s gonna be him. But that’s for the distant future. “You’re my mate. We are mates. You didn’t want to be around me when I was 16, fine. But 18? 19? I’m not a child.”

“Toru,” you hiss, gripping the steering wheel tightly, whiting out your skin a bit, “it is not that simple.”

“So you can be around my family, but you can’t be around me? You can talk me through a rut, listen to me cum on the phone, but you can’t talk to me? Just fucking talk to me!”

You take a shaking breath in and he watches all the fight leave you for a second. Fight, he thinks, fight for me. Fight with me. Give me it all. 

You don’t. 

“Toru, we can’t do this,” you mumble, looking at him. “We can’t. I’m sorry. I know, okay? I fucking know it sucks. I know it’s not fair. But we can’t.”

He scoffs, pushing open the door before pausing and slamming it shut, trapping them up two both inside. “This is inevitable, you know.” Slender fingers grip your chin, jerking your head up so your eyes can meet. “I’m going to taste you one day. I’m going to mark you. I’m going to love you. And you can’t do anything about it.” 

He leaves then, seething and making his way back to his dorm room. He's bitter, truly bitter. The two of you could’ve fucked in your car, and you’re denying him the inevitable truth. Toru’s not really patient, but he can focus. Eye on the prize, just like volleyball. 

—

College takes a lot of time away from him. Being a sports major can be exhausting and while Oikawa is always confident in himself, sometimes he second guesses volleyball. He thinks this would be different if you were around but you’re not. He calls and calls and calls and you don’t pick up. 

At least not during the day. 

Sometimes, when he is feeling particularly vindictive he’ll text you back to back. 

ME 20:46

Pick up

✔️ read @ 20:56

I know you’re staring at the phone

Pick up

✔️ read @ 20:59

I’m just gonna keep calling you, Bambi

YOU 21:05

My name is not Bambi

Don’t know what else to call you Future Mrs. Oikawa then?

The ellipses rise and fall and rise and fall and he calls you again. This time, you pick up. 

“You’re avoiding me again,” he says in lieu of a greeting, “you can’t keep avoiding me.” 

You grumble, shifting the phone over. He can hear it through the speakers, just like he can hear the bustle of the town you’re in. New York City, though he only knows because you sent him a postcard. (Okay, so technically you sent it to his sister, but he knows you know he’s gonna sniff it out so really you sent it to him. At least that’s what he’s convinced himself of.)

“One day,” he says, staring at the ceiling, “You’re gonna look back at this and realize how fucking stupid you were being. But that’s okay, because you know you’re being stupid.”

“You’re a child,” you hiss in the phone but under the vitriol is something else. He can pinpoint the fear. He can hear the shame in your voice.

“I’m 19!”

“And that is a child compared to me.” Silence as the sound of cars honking echo the space between you two. It is night for him, but day for you. Under the same sky, but in different conditions, it’s warring with each other. Toru should be asleep, but he can’t sleep without you. You should’ve ignored his texts, his phone calls but you didn’t. He likes to think you can’t, at least. He wouldn’t know because you don’t fucking talk to him. He literally has to harass you into giving him an inch. 

“I’m not a child,” he says instead of what he really wants to say. How does he even work around that? Everyone is a child compared to you. You call his father Big Little Oikawa for god's sake! You’re in every picture of every family reunion dating back to the 1700s. But it doesn’t negate the fact that he’s not a child. “You keep running. Where are you running to? You’re ruts started because of me. You can’t escape me, Bambi. ” This he is proud of, most of all. 

The dial tone greets him like an old friend. Toru is getting really fucking sick of it and it’s only been the second time you’ve done it to him. 

20

It’s only a couple of months later that sees him stranded for his birthday. It’s summer break for this session of classes and his parents are away for vacation. It hadn’t been their intention, it just so happened that it worked out that way. He doesn’t begrudge them, even if he is more used to being vehemently celebrated each year he gets older. 

Toru can’t say that he’s not disappointed, but he’s also a little happy that he gets the house to himself. His twentieth birthday seems monumental, even though it was only a few months ago you had hung up on him so abruptly. Maybe this is the time that you lose all your silly posturing and have a come to Jesus moment. An aha! Which brings you to his home and you two can fuck it out. It also doesn’t help that his rut is starting soon, and now he won’t have to worry about being quiet about it.

This, he knows, is a silly thing to wish for. If he is relentless in his pursuit of you, you are steadfast in holding yourself back. “An unstoppable force and an immovable object,” he grumbles to himself. 

He can smell you damn there down the block before he sees you, the key sliding into the keyhole and you turn the lock. You must be distracted because that’s the only reason why you would have the courage (yeah he can be a dick when it comes to you sometimes, he knows) to continue on the trek through the house. He leans against the door frame, loitering right before the kitchen. You’re mumbling something to yourself, a watering can for the plants he knows his mom probably asked you to take care of. Toru’s got a black thumb, and he wouldn’t even try to save the plants from himself. 

Just seeing you is enough to make the heat of his rut race up his spine. It’s like a gut punch, seeing you like this. Carefree and humming to yourself, even when you never give him more than just the crumbs of yourself. His stomach clenches, eyes tracing the smooth skin of your legs in a pair of shorts that leave your legs bare to the world. You’re so pretty it’s almost not fair, but then he remembers that you’re his. His to ogle and his to love. No matter how much you run from it, he knows it in his gut. 

Toru can feel his dick getting hard as you startle, the watering-can drops to the floor. He watches as your nostrils flare, taking in the scent of his rut starting. It’s quiet for a second before he’s across the room in a few steps, long legs taking him to you before you even have time to escape. Your hand grabs the handle of the door but he palms the door shut, pressing the weight of his body into yours, trapping you against the seal of the front door and himself. 

“Hi.” The words are breathy, absentminded heat coming from the ache in his chest. The hollow feeling he has to contend with nearly every day suddenly being filled just by your smell alone. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“You always say that,” you say, staring up at him. The height difference between the two of you is minuscule, but it’s enough that you do still have to look up at him when he’s so close.

“You’re always avoiding me,” he says, the palm of his hand meeting the skin of your thigh. You’re an inferno, but a balm to his needs. “Stop avoiding me and maybe I won’t keep saying it.”

“You’re 19.”

“Twenty as of today,” he says, leaning down to press his nose against your scent gland. He hears the sharp inhale you take when he does so. “You knew that already, you sent me an early birthday card.” Toru wonders if you enjoy lying to yourself, or if it’s something you’ve perfected over the two centuries you’ve been alive. He can’t help himself, tongue pressing against the skin of your neck. You taste like heaven, and it’s not even the part he’s been dreaming of the most. 

(Sometimes Toru dreams of what it would be like to wake up with you wrapped around him. Sometimes, though, he dreams of hearing your soft moans as he eats you out, letting your scent and your taste sit on his tongue and cling to him for the rest of the day. This will have to suffice until he gets his wish, though.)

He groans, pressing against you firmly, wrapping his hand around your thigh and dragging it up around his waist. You let him because of course you do. You give him an inch in your guilt for putting him through this shit, and he takes advantage of it. Toru has always been aware that above anything else, he will exploit any weakness in his opponents to get the win. For him, you are just another version of volleyball that needs to be studied and played. His tongue drags its way up your neck to your scent gland and you choke out a groan before pushing him away.

“Can’t,” you say and he wants to throw a tantrum. He can feel it bubbling under his skin but you take a cautious step towards him, hands held up, palms out as if to soothe him. It does. “I’m sorry.” When you touch the side of his neck where his scent gland begs to be bitten and claimed under the sharpness of your teeth, he relaxes just slightly, the fingers of your other hand twitching against his fingers. He could deny himself this in order to punish you, but Toru’s not built like that, so he entwines your fingers together and follows you as you walk him to his room. 

He follows as you push him down on his bed and gently curl his hair behind his ear. He follows as you scent him just enough to relax his tense bones. He follows as you press a kiss to his forehead, barely even that. Your lips brush against his forehead and then as the haze of your scent distracts him and soothes his rut, his door closes and he’s alone. Toru can’t stop the way he launches himself at his bedroom door, frantically trying to pull it open as you keep it shut. You’re stronger than him (attractive, he thinks, my mate who is so strong even other alpha’s can’t overpower her) and nails scrape the wood. He needs you. He needs you more than he needs air. 

Toru doesn’t even know that he’s pleading with you, banging on his door before sliding to his knees. He knows the moment you let go of the handle and slide down. He knows he could surprise you and rip the door off the hinges. He knows he can pick you up and carry you to the bed and fuck you until the rut ends. But he won’t because he can recognize, even in his anger, that you’re not leaving. You’re just not going to be in the room with him. 

“Bambi, Bambi,” he presses his forehead into the door, trying to get closer to you, “please. Please.”

You say nothing, but he can hear the soft thud of your head hitting the wood repeatedly, and he lets out a soft whine. It’s a feral and worried thing, a distressed alpha whine that causes you to stop. He can hear the traces of a soothing purr in your throat before you cut it off and you take a deep breath. “I can’t, I’m sorry,” you say instead after a few minutes of silence. “But I’ll be right here, I promise.” 

His hand presses against the door seeking out the heat of your skin, but he can’t feel it through the wood. Toru likes to think that you’re pressing your hand to the door right where he is too, it’s the only thing that brings him comfort having you so close and yet so far away. 

The rest of his rut is a brutal thing. He’s used to how hard it can be, and it’s not even the worst one he’s ever experienced. But it’s the first one you’ve ever experienced in person. Technically, only the second one of his that you have witnessed, but he can smell how it distresses you. When Toru’s not palming his cock, or crying for you to just “come in Bambi. Please. Please. Alpha, alpha, please” he’s listening to you read to him. 

It’s soothing, but not enough. He can smell you on the floorboards. He can smell you from the draft through the door, and he spends the entirety of his rut pressed against the door to be as close to you as possible. On the last day, Toru rolls over and slaps his hand across the door. “Mate.” It’s really the only word he can get out, even though he’s already through the thick of it. Somehow you’ve managed to come in and out of his room to clean him up and deposit water and fruits when he’s asleep. He doesn’t know when he falls asleep half the time, just that when he opens his eyes he’s refreshed, wiped down and the pillow that he was clutching smells like you. It’s as if you press your scent into the fabric and then place it under his chin before you retreat back in the hallway.

“Yes.”

He sighs, closing his eyes and drifts off to sleep. 

When he comes to, hours later, you are gone. Under his door is a note from you, a gift. Toru could destroy his room. He could break everything and replace it all (he can’t, it’s not like he’s rich quite yet) or he could rip up the note. Instead he reads it reverently, pressing the paper to his nose and inhaling the scent of you. It’s not much, but it’s something.

Sleep well, Toru. –Bambi

21

ME 5:57

Bambi.

Bambi.

Bambi.

✔️ read @ 6:04

Pick up.

Pick.

Up.

PICK UP

What are you doing up this early?

And my name is not Bambi

Mrs. Oikawa then.

No.

Okay, ouch. Harsh.

I think it has a ring to it.

✔️ read @ 6:33

Bambi?

Toru not now

It’s early and I cannot deal with this right now

Why?

✔️ read @ 7:00

His phone rings suddenly, and he rushes to pick it up. Sometimes he feels like an omega with the way excitement slides across his chest and sends his heart racing. It’s a silly thing to say and his mom would yell at him if he ever said it to her, but he does. Sometimes he feels like an omega waiting for his alpha to give him an iota of attention. Then someone does something to piss him the fuck off and he wants to throw them into the fucking wall. You make him feel a little bit like both. The way you avoid him makes him yearn in a way that he’s only heard omegas talk about. But the way you piss him off makes him rage the way he knows first hand how alpha’s react to being denied something that clearly belongs to them.

It’s confusing. 

Still, when you call he answers. You never call. You never text first. He initiates everything because he has to initiate everything, and this is the first time you’ve ever done so. So sue him, he’s excited. He spins in his chair, pencil and homework forgotten the moment he hears the sound of your breathing. 

“Hi.” Your voice is soft but strained. It’s like you’re battling something. All day he’s had this itch he can’t scratch, this burning in the back of his throat that has been irritating him something fierce. Did someone piss you off? Toru’s well aware that he can feel a lot of what you feel, even without officially being bonded. The fact that you two are mates seems to be so strong and potent that the two of you don’t even have to bond or claim each other for the connection to exist. 

“Hi.” He takes a deep breath, scratching his neck. “You’ve been–”

“Avoiding you, yeah. Yeah,” you mumble over the phone. It's been his go to ever since he was 16 and he’d kissed you. Every time the two of you speak he reminds you that he knows you are avoiding him. It won’t stop you but it makes you feel guilty, and he’s happy to exploit that. “Sorry.” 

Toru hates needless silence and between the two of you it’s heavy. It’s thick with the weight of the last 5 years, both in and out of each others’ lives. He’s not going to say it’s okay because it’s not. But he hums something soothing and feels that same annoying itch in his bones soothed. He soothed you. If he wasn’t on the phone he’d have jumped up for joy. “Whatever.” His hand waves in the air, and he looks at the clock. “You’re pent up. Someone piss you off?”

He can hear the sound of something falling and you curse. His back straightens and more than just the itch comes the familiar burn of want. Usually it’s him, but he’s just disconnected from it enough to know it’s not from him, it’s from you. “You’re on your rut,” he says instead of asking, “and you called me. You’re on your rut and you called me.”

He can’t help but feel excited and he knows you can feel it just from your groan alone. He’s never experienced your rut. He knows it exists, he knows you have them, at the very least since he was 16 and kissed you. But he’s never witnessed them in any capacity. 

“Don’t,” you stutter, “don’t get excited. This was a bad idea, fuck. I shouldn’t have–”

“Wait!” He gets the feeling your finger was hovering over the end button. “Wait, I can help you.”

“Toru, I don’t need your help. I’m a grown ass woman and you are a child.”

“Will you fucking!” Toru takes a deep breath, he’s not patient but you are just like a game of volleyball. Just one touch can keep the game going, the perfect set can win his team the round. He is his own team, granted and you are both the match and the round. It goes in circles like he’s playing and you’re on the other side of the court and you keep hitting the ball in the perfect strike to win the point. But he saves it before it touches the ground and gets it over the net. The game is who will win in this battle of wants, and he’s stubborn. He’ll never give you the satisfaction of a win. Not ever. “Will you just fucking stop and let me help you? Let me in? For once.”

The breath you take shakes, crackling over the phone and he walks to his bed. It’s quiet again. One, two, three minutes pass before you acquiesce. Toru has to do this delicately, but for the life of him, he has no fucking clue what delicacy even means. So he does it how he does everything. You give him an inch and he’ll take a mile.

“What are you wearing?”

“I’m hanging up,” you say flatly and he makes a sound that gets you to stop. 

“Just answer the question!” His hand runs down his face, chest expanding in annoyance. It’s hard, no one said this would be easy. Let’s take the age difference out of it, and the fact that you have been around for 231 years longer than him, alpha’s mating to other alpha’s are rare. Omega and Omega, Omega and Beta, Omega and Alpha, Alpha and Beta or Beta and Beta are common. But alpha’s true mate being another alpha? Not common, very rare. “You’re so skittish.” 

You make an annoyed sound before he can hear you settling. “‘S hot,” you grumble. It’s a none answer but an answer nonetheless. 

“So nothing.” He nods. When his ruts hit, other than being the meanest bastard on the planet, he can’t handle being bundled up. But then the sweat cools and he gets cold. It’s really fucking annoying. “I bet you smell really good. Like oakwood and smores. I used to think it was coco, but you got something sweet under there you like to hide.” He hears you sigh and feels the slow retreating of the irritation of a rut. He’s helping. “What do I smell like to you?”

“You burn my nose,” you say flatly. Or you try to say it flatly but it sounds like a moan instead. He’d like to think you’re touching yourself to the sound of his voice, but he wouldn’t presume. “Ginger, cherries. Woodsy.” Another sigh. “I like it.”

The admission is said softly, but Toru catches it despite that. His tongue pokes out, swiping his bottom lip in thought. “You should touch yourself. It’ll help.”

“I’m not—”

“It helped me. I’m sure you’ve had to deal with countless ruts before I even existed.” A lie. He knows for a fact you haven’t experienced a rut since you hit 24 initially. It’s been many years since then. Two centuries and a couple of decades, at least. 

“Been a long time since,” you mutter, but the rustling grows louder and he grins. Are you going to do it? He doesn’t know, but he has a feeling you will. When you allow yourself to be around him you forget yourself. Toru likes that you can’t control it, the want and desire to be with him. Even when you hold yourself back, it’s nice to know you are fighting a losing battle. One you think you’re winning. 

“Still.” 

The next time you make a sound it’s a soft groan. It’s magic to his ears and he has to stop himself from reaching into his pants himself and following after you. You’d be more likely to retreat if he does it, he can only push you so much. He’ll take a mile but he would rather help you through this, even if it’s once. 

“There you go.” A low coo, an alpha’s affectionate purr in his words. “That’s my, Bambi. Touch yourself more.”

“Toru.”

“Sh, sh, sh, sh. It’s okay. Don’t worry about anything else. Just listen to my words. Make yourself feel good, Bambi. For me. For your mate, please?” He can hear the sticky wetness your fingers are sliding through. Toru wishes he could see you now, a cunt stuffed full of your fingers as your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. He can’t and he knows it will take some time before you allow him to do so. But this is a start. You couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t resist calling him during your rut. A vindictive part of him is smiling. The part that did the same thing when he was 18 and you had talked him through it. Not so different, he thinks, you and I. 

“Doesn’t that feel good, Bambi? Hm, I bet you taste as good as you smell.” Toru feels, more than hears, the way that affects you. A trill leaving you as you fuck yourself closer and closer to the edge. “All you had to do was let me in and listen to my voice. I'm always gonna take care of you.”

You moan and groan on the phone and he takes a calming deep breath to remind himself not to touch himself when you tell him you're close. He can’t help the satisfied grumble that leaves him, that leaves you about to cum. “C’mon, Bambi. Cum for your mate.” You do, a sharp cry echoing over the speakers as the annoying heat of your rut retreats for a moment. He can feel your relief, not so itchy and annoyed as you were before. Toru runs his hands down his pants and looks up at the ceiling. Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile.

“Better?”

The soft pant of relief over the phone becomes panicked and he can hear the way you sit up, suddenly. Well fuck. “This, this was wrong, I shouldn’t have—”

“Wait!”

A dial tone. Again. He’s going to kill someone. 

Toru looks down, staring at the tent in his pants. After he takes care of his hardon. 

24

The ball floats in the air, time stopping long enough that Toru can almost see where it’s going to land. Brown eyes narrow, body throwing itself into action before his brain even catches up to his movements. He dives, the synthetic leather patched together in different rectangles hitting the skin of his fingers. 

“One touch!”

His teammates go into overdrive. If they can win this round they can win the game. There’s something so intoxicating about volleyball. It’s more than just the thrill of the game, it’s the sensation of being so at peace with oneself, the knowledge that you are most yourself on the court. That is what Toru’s chasing. Win or lose, he’s obsessed with the exhilaration it gives him. He hates losing, anyone does, but it just incentivizes him to work harder, play better. The win is never really the goal, it’s the chance to play the game again and again. 

The win, he knows, is just an added perk, and he does love winning. 

When he’s playing he doesn’t have to think about you. When he’s on the court all his focus is keeping the ball from touching the ground, setting up the perfect shot for his wind spiker or his decoy. He doesn’t have to think about the fact that you disappeared off the face of the earth after he helped you through your rut. Usually you disappear for a while, just a few months before inevitably you’re answering his phone calls or his text messages. But this time it was different, you had changed your phone number completely. Not even his father could get a hold of you. The only thing that brings him some comfort is that you haven’t sold your house, it’s the only thing that is keeping him together.

When he’s playing volleyball he doesn't feel like he’s rotted, carving bits and pieces of his skin and soul out to hold on until you come back to him.  

Hinata, a blast from the past and his teammate, takes off, launching himself into the air before anyone could really react. If Toru lives and breathes volleyball Hinata’s entire livelihood is volleyball. It runs through his veins, and he hungers for it. It’s one of the first things they bonded over when they realized they were going to be in the same professional team.

(The second was having infuriating mates. It felt good to speak with someone who also understood what it was like to chase someone who only gave crumbs of themselves. Sure, Toru couldn’t tell Hinata that his mate was also 231 years older than him, he could commiserate with him.)

Toru watches as Hinata’s palm hits the ball and slams to the ground on the other side of the net before the other team can react. Sweat drips down his face, the shirt of his jersey clinging to his sweat soaked back as everything pauses for a moment before the stadium erupts, his teammates slamming into him and Hinata as they win the game. It takes a second for him to catch his breath in the middle of the celebration. 

In the second that he takes to catch his breath he catches your scent instead. His head snaps up, trying to locate you in the throng of fans. He could jump into the rafters and follow your scent; he could take off his scent patch and let it run rampant, though he knows that would be irresponsible. His scent has only gotten stronger in the years since you left. Some type of response to not being able to talk to his mate anymore, a distress signal until you came back, his doctor said. It’s normal, most people go through it when their mate leaves for an undisclosed amount of time abruptly. It’s exacerbated by the fact that he doesn’t know where you are and can’t be soothed by your voice. 

Brown eyes dance across face after face, all indistinguishable from the next before landing somewhere. Toru’s got a feeling it’s you somewhere in there and that’s why he keeps looking over there. 

Eventually, both teams line up to shake hands before they’re released to clean up. If Hinata notices something, and he does, he says nothing, tracking as Toru rushes through washing up to try and catch you before you have a chance to leave. The scent blocker is tossed in the garbage and he hears: “Jesus Christ, Oikawa, you always smell like that?” It’s a joke, mostly, his scent stinking up the locker room and intermingling with the rest of his teams. 

“Ah, leave him alone,” Hinata laughs, lightly pushing Toru to the shower, “You know he can’t help it. What did that pretty Omega call you? The Alpha’s Alpha.”

Toru is nothing like you, he thinks. He’s seen other alpha’s, naturally aggressive and territorial, pretty much roll over and show you their belly just from a look alone. He’s watched every pretty little omega, beta or alpha preen under your gaze, even if it’s a cursory glance. If his scent is strong it is only because yours is and his has to match up to yours. 

Instead of a response, he rolls his eyes, barely even letting himself relax under the water to clean himself. Tedious as it may be, he doesn’t want to run after you smelling like stale sweat and distressed and desperate pheromones. He can at least get one of those off his skin. When he finishes, he hears a teammate say something about a pretty alpha standing outside. 

“I was gonna assume she’s a groupie, but no one that hot can be a groupie,” Kenji says with a chuckle. “I asked if she was one of yours, Oikawa, but she gave me this look.” The man shudders, scratching the back of his neck. Toru doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but fuck if that doesn’t sound like you. Hinata shoots him a look, eyebrows raising as Kenji keeps talking. Toru rushes out faster than the man can speak, hoping that his gut reaction is right, that his hopes and dreams are right.

They are.

You stand there, sucking down nicotine as you lean against the brick building. Toru stops short, watching the smoke curl around you in the night sky. Suddenly all five rounds are hitting him. All five rounds of volleyball, the ties and the two years compound and he can’t even speak as your eyes slide over to him. 

“Panasonic Panthers, huh?” You flick the ash off the cigarette before dropping it to the pavement, crushing it under your shoe. “Congratulations on the win. Again.”

Toru sees many different realities. One where he yells at you, calls you out your name and blames you for the way he’s broken and twisted now (although, he has always been a twisted broken thing in some aspects, a bloodhound who finds what he loves and holds on forever.) Another one where he tells you that he missed you and that it’s not fair that you left after giving in for just a second. 

Instead, he’s in your space, arms wrapped around your shoulders as he hunches over pressing his nose into your neck. Your scent is easy, pumping out and soothing the ache in his body for the first time in two years. It’s quiet, your arms raising in surprise before gently wrapping around his waist and you sink into him for a moment. This is all he wanted. This is what it feels like to win a game. 

“You smell distressed,” you say softly.

“‘Ve been distressed,” he retorts easily, curling around you tighter, “You’ve been avoiding me. Of course I smell distressed.”

Your laugh is full of guilt but breathy and he pulls away. 

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he says after a moment, eyebrows raising. 

“You don’t know a lot about me, to be fair.”

“Yeah? And whose fault is that?” The sharpness in his words cannot be taken out, Toru will never truly forgive you for it. Everything he knows about you he’s had to work for, has had to guess and harass to get any answers out of you. It’s infuriating but it’s hard won, and he’s happy for the bits and pieces he’s earned. “You missed my birthday.”

You make a sound, something remorseful and sad as you nod. “Happy belated 23rd birthday.”

He blinks for a second, two, then three. This is the first time you’ve gotten his age wrong so sincerely before. Did the years pass you by without you even noticing? You look tired, some of the color that used to sit on your skin is gone. Have you been hiding away? You hadn’t sent him a birthday card in three years damn there, but he can tell this time you really don’t know how old he is anymore. 

“Turned 24 last July,” he corrects, and he tries really hard to make his voice soft and gentle, like Hinata or his mom or something. He fails spectacularly if your flinching is anything to go by. “I’m closer to 25 now, actually.”

Silence again and you nod, this time slower, as if you’re just realizing how much time has passed you by. “24th then. Happy belated 24th.” He can feel the way you’re beating yourself up, a soft coo rumbling in his throat as he brings his hands up and cups your cheeks gently. The skin of his palm is rough, calloused after years of hitting a volleyball over and over again, and your skin is soft. 

“I'm going to Argentina soon-ish,” he mumbles, pressing his forehead against yours, “but you knew that.” He doesn’t know if you knew, but if he had to guess, he’d assume that is what probably got you out of hiding. It was pretty big news. “Get breakfast with me tomorrow.”

You open your mouth and he leans down to press his lips to yours, abrupt and with purpose. It cuts you off and he wants to sink into it. “Don’t say ‘I can’t’. You can, you just won’t.” A pause. “Get breakfast with me tomorrow.” He can see it in your eyes. “You left me for two years. Get. Breakfast. With. Me.” Each word is cut off with another kiss and you sink into each one. Perhaps it’s a good thing you denied this of yourself for two years because it makes you that much more amiable to the things he’s doing. “Please, Bambi.”

“Fine.” You blink, clutching his wrists as he grins suddenly at you. “I’ll get breakfast with you.”

—

He wakes up early the next day. Toru, by definition, is more of a night owl than anything else. He’s only up this early for very specific reasons, but he could hardly sleep last night. No, he was too excited and couldn’t wait to see you again. To be in your very presence is the same feeling he gets when he steps on the court and his palm hits the ball at the start of a game. 

He sees you, chin pressed to the palm of your hand as you look out the window of the cafe. The cashier has that starstruck face almost everyone who’s been in your presence gets. The one that screams he’s going to try and get your number. From here he can’t tell if the cashier is an omega, beta or alpha, not that it matters. It never matters. You are wanted by anyone who sees you, and if he were a lesser man, an insecure one, he would feel threatened. He’s not any of those, though. So sure and secure, not just in himself but, in the bond you’re steadfast in ignoring he preens a bit. It feels a bit like a brag when he watches the way the cashier shrinks under your gaze when you catch sight of him. He watches as you straighten up a bit and he smiles, rushing over to you to slide in across from you. 

“You ever wake up in the morning and know everything is going to slide its way into the right spot?” he asks as a greeting. “You look tired, did you sleep?”

You do look tired, better than yesterday, but still exhausted. 

“I’m fine.”

“Mhm, so,” he leans in, “you know I can feel you right?”

The way your eyes open in surprise is the same feeling he gets when he serves and hits the ball with just enough power it slams into the floor before his opponents can react. No, you didn’t. Maybe you did, but he gets the impression you didn’t.

“Yeah. Took me years to figure it out, actually.” Toru nods to himself, curling a braid around his finger. “I know for a fact you can feel me. So, at the very least, you know ‘m not going away.”

He watches the way something plays across your face before you sigh and shake your head. “You can’t say that for sure, Toru.”

He nods. “Sure I can. I say everything for sure.” That gets a laugh out of you and he grins, watching as your fingers twitch against the table. His hands are barely an inch away from yours, and he’s so used to pushing and watching you pull away that it takes him by surprise that your fingers inch across the tabletop, curling around his. It’s not much, but it’s new. It’s different. 

The third time you’ve taken initiative. You called him, you came to see him, you found him, you’re touching him without Toru having to reach out to do so first. The two of you sit in silence for a second before he groans, hunching over and resting his forehead against the table. “I hate silence,” he grumbles and you laugh again.

“Yeah, I know.” Your other hand cards gently through his hair as you watch him. He wishes he could be as gentle as you sometimes. Maybe if he were a gentle person you wouldn’t have run away. But just as quickly as he thinks it he banishes the thought. No, he doesn’t actually regret it. Toru likes himself, blunt and unabashedly himself. “I like the silence, though. It’s nice. Everything can get so…loud.”

He hums under the feeling of your fingers gently curling through his hair. He can fall asleep like this. “Yeah, I figured. You don’t like leaving your house. Dad thinks you’re agoraphobic or something.”

You chuckle, looking back out the window. “Yeah, big, little Oikawa’s been saying that forever. He’s not really wrong. I’m…” A pause as you grimace. “Paranoid. I lived through two big world wars, you know that?”

Of course he did, but only in the vaguest of the senses. He knew you were old. He did the math when he was 16, after he’d kissed you and you had run the first time. You were born in 1763. You stopped aging in 1787 and watched over generation after generation of his family be born and die. Well fuck. Now that he thinks about it, you probably have a lot of shit you constantly contend with. 

“I’m sure I have some nieces or nephews or something–”

“Wait,” he looks up at you in surprise. This time he’s the one who’s taken off guard. “Wait, I thought you were an only child?”

You hum in thought, resting your chin on your bicep. Your breath puffs in his face and he closes his eyes for a second. This is the closest you’ve been of your own volition since his rut when he was 20. Another thing you initiate without him having to push. “I’m sure you’re aware, it’s very easy to lose contact with someone in the 18th century. No phones. I had a brother.” You nod, sadness swirling in his stomach when he feels the ache of something lost and forgotten. “I don’t remember his name. But I had a brother. He got married, I stopped aging and I stopped responding to his letters. I didn’t want to watch him die, I think.” Silence again. “I have this feeling in my gut that I have family out there, I just don’t know where they are.”

25

Toru hates packing, even if it’s just his clothes and a couple of important items. You’re around a lot more often these days, and while he’s sure he won’t necessarily need scent blockers nearly as much anymore, he wants to make sure he’s prepared. 

His parents are somewhere or another and you’re face down in his bed. There’s a part of him that marvels even this. So many years of him thinking there will never be a chance to get to this point releases a piece of himself that has been waiting for the other shoe to drop since you’ve returned. 

“You’re not gonna help me pack?” Toru squats, watching as you nuzzle the pillow and look at him slowly. He’s struck with the image of his future, this feeling like you’re not running away for once. This is what he’s been chasing for so many years. 

“I never pack,” you say easily. Toru curls a finger around your ear, tugging at it brutally and you hiss, slapping his hand away. 

“All that running and you’ve never packed?”

“Never had to, I’m rich.” You shrug, turning back to press your nose against his pillow. Toru sighs again, happy and content for a moment seeing you like this, all loose limbs and relaxed. 

“Of course you’re rich,” he chuckles, “you got a 231 year head start. You’d be a fool if you were poor.” Another sigh, humor imbuing his tone. “My mate is rich. Does this mean you’re my Sugar Momma?”

“I’ll kill you.”

He laughs then, trapping you between his arms as he nuzzles his way into your neck, teeth nipping your scent gland sharply. This is the happiest he’s been in a while, and he hates that he’s being pulled away from you soon. Argentina is a long flight away and the timezone is no easy thing. If he could have both of his favorite things together he would, but a part of him is scared you’re going to run away if he asks for you to join him.

“You won’t disappear, right? You’ll answer all my calls?”

You’re quiet for a moment and he watches your canines glint in the light of his room and he gets the urge to lick into your mouth. So he does. He doesn’t care about what you’re going to say, he leans down and slips his tongue into your mouth. Toru doesn’t wait for it to build up, he creates the heat almost instantly. His hands slip down your waist, wrapping around the plush of your thighs to pull you closer, lifting your legs to wrap them around his waist. 

Your moan causes heat to slide down his spine and he presses himself firmly against you. Two layers of clothes separate where Toru wants to be the most, as he drags his lips down your neck sucking the salty skin into his mouth. He bites down, not hard enough to bond but hard enough that your hips jerk up to his. 

His hands find their way back to your waist, fingers sliding under your shirt. Toru’s thumb presses into your tummy and it’s fucking frantic. “Take this off,” he grumbles, bunching the fabric up before you push him off suddenly. One moment Toru is looking at you, the next he’s staring at the ceiling, chest heaving. He hears the thump of your body hitting his bed, the way that your breaths are synchronized. You want him just as much as he wants you, that he can tell right away, but maybe, if he can admit this to himself, he could move a little slower. 

“Too much?”

“Too much.”

He nods, covering his face to try and get all the blood that just rushed to his dick back to the rest of his body. 

“Too much, then.” 

—

He’s feeling kind of…strange. It’s him and Hinata at the airport surrounded by people who don’t know them. It’s a stretch of something new, something he’s always wanted but different. It’s one thing to be a snooty high school student, but now everything he’s ever wanted is in the palm of his hands. Argentina. He never really thought he’d leave Japan, but here he is. Fucking terrifying.

You’re there, too, though. His parents said their goodbyes this morning and you had driven him to the airport. Toru is not in the habit of denying himself his wants, so he wraps himself around you, resting his head on your shoulder as you bury your fingers in his hair.

“‘S not fair,” he grumbles, “I want you to come with me.”

You chuckle, scratching his scalp. “You’ll be fine without me.”

“No I won’t. Come with me,” he whines. If he kissed you right now he thinks you’d say yes. But then he thinks about volleyball, and how he’d be leaving you alone in Argentina to practice most of the time and he decides he can be selfless this one time. The announcer over the system calls for his flight number and you gently unwind your arms from him. Toru isn’t worried about getting through all the checkpoints, a long time ago his family had spent money to get through the fast track. “Ugh, okay fine. You’ll call me?”

“Yes, Toru, I’ll call you,” you say with a laugh.

“And you’ll pick up when I call you.”

“Yes.”

He takes a hesitant step back before you’re pulling him down and kissing him. You did that. You kissed him first. A first of many things. He sinks into it, mouth opening for you before you’re pulling away. He makes a sound, trying to follow your lips before catching himself, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Call me when you land, Toru.”

“Of course, Bambi, of course.”

The path to being a professional volleyball player is an arduous one. But so, he knows, is the path of being your mate. He wouldn’t change it for the world.

—

A lot of your conversations are ones that take place after he’s practiced. It’s 10 pm for him but 10 am for you. Sometimes it’s noon for him and midnight for you, but you wait anyways, just for him. The two of you talk often, and he feels the distance and yet not at all.

“You should visit Patagonia since you’re already in Buenos Aires,” you say one day, “you spent all that time learning Spanish. Might as well really immerse yourself.”

“You’re telling me–”

“Yes, Toru, I’ve been to Argentina. I had a house there for a bit. “

“So you could have come with me then!” He grumbles good naturedly and you laugh and he hears the rustling of a bag in your hand. “What are you doing? Out and about without me?”

You’re quiet for a second before you sigh softly. “I spend a lot of time in the house. I figure I should probably get out more.”  

He grins and nods. “Yeah, maybe. Oh fuck, I gotta go. Go to sleep, Bambi. I know for a fact you’re sleepy.”

—

Some conversations are not so fun. Toru bullies his way through topics that should be handled gently. He asks you what it was like those two years you had dropped off the face of the earth. He asks you what happened. 

“I felt you, you know,” he murmurs into the night sky, staring at the twinkling stars. The moon is bright, silver light illuminating his porch. “It hurt like hell, Bambi.”

The phone crackles just a bit and you sigh. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I…I tried.” He can feel guilt deep in his abdomen and squints.

“Tried to do what?”

“I just,” a pause, “I needed to know—”

It feels like ice cold water washes over him and he sits up straight. He knows exactly what you’re trying to say without you having to say it. 

“How many?” One, he might be able to excuse. No, he’s lying. If you had told this to him and you were referring to when he was 16, okay, he’d understand. But when he was 22? Fuck no. “How many, Bambi?”

You’re quiet before: “Six, maybe seven. But Toru—”

He hangs up on you. A piece of him feels vindicated, but another piece is heartbroken.

—

You call him. You call him a lot actually. He’s not ashamed to admit he stonewalls you, icing you out as he figures out what he’s feeling. He wishes you never even told him you slept with anyone else. He wishes he didn’t have that knowledge because it means, even for a bit, he shared you with people who weren’t your mate. Logically he knows you probably slept with other people before, but that was before him. Before you even knew he existed. Before you two were mated. At the very least, if you would have told him it was when he was 16 he would’ve had the wherewithal to let it slide. Like, okay, he was 16 and he can look back and say for certain you were not going to sleep with a 16 year old. But 22?

He’s just so fucking angry. He hurts himself in practice in his anger and he’s benched for a while. The team doctor threatens to bench him for the entirety of the season if he overworks himself and he forces himself to relax. Except he can’t. 

Toru hates this feeling. Somehow this is worse than you disappearing because at least with your disappearance he could pretend. He can’t pretend that you didn’t see other people. That you didn’t fuck other people. Were they alphas? Were they just like him? Were they tall? Did they play volleyball? 

He throws his cup into a wall and sinks to his knees. He can’t just sit here and think about it. He can’t, he’ll torture himself over it. What if you found someone else? What if you fell in love with someone and rejected him. His imagination leaves the realm of reality because you are with him, here and now, but he keeps harping on this idea, this hypothetical that you could have left him forever. 

There’s a timid knock on his door and he forces himself up, unlocking the door and opening it before he can think about it. There you are, in all your glory and he’s angrier. (His shoulders lose their tension and he can breathe again. How did you do this? How did you ever deny yourself his presence, his voice? He was withering away without you, and you managed to do it for two years.)

For the first time, Toru goes to deny himself something, trying to close the door on you, but your hand stops it. It’s annoying because he shouldn’t be so attracted to it, but he is. You’re so fucking strong, stronger than him, stronger than any other alpha out there. But he’s also mad at you. 

“What are you doing here?”

Your fingers lock together as you twist your hand around in anxiety, looking at him. Have you been feeling him? Have you been feeling his anger? His frustration? His hurt? Is that the only reason you came? 

“I’m sorry,” you say instead, and he crumples in front of you. You sink to your knees, wrapping him up in your arms and he shakes in your embrace. 

“Why? Was I not enough for you? Did you really hate me that much that you had to-to fuck other people?” Is he not enough?

“No. No, Toru that wasn’t…” you trail off and he grabs your shoulders, teeth bared, eyes slitting in frustration.

“Then why? I would have excused it when I was 16, but I was 22, Bambi. Bambi?”

“I had to.”

“No, you wanted to!”

“No.” 

Toru is suddenly transported to the time in the car, oh so many years ago. Back when he was 19 and begging for you to fight. Fight for him, for us. Your tone is firm but not raised, and you lean back to look at him. 

“No,” you say again, “I had to. I had to know. I…I needed to know. You think I liked it? You know I hated every second of it. I’d sleep with them and hate it. I’d smell someone else and get angry because it wasn’t you. But I had to know.” You grab his hand and press it to your chest. “Toru, I didn’t think I would have this. I didn’t think it was possible. And for two centuries it was enough. Being with your family was enough because I got what nobody else had. I got to watch them grow old and have children, and it was enough. And then you…You.”

“You hated it,” he mutters and you shake your head again.

“I was scared, Toru.” This time when you say it, he can feel you in his bones. “I didn’t think I would get this. Do you understand? I had been around for 241 years before I met you and it was fine. I didn’t have a mate and it was fine. I watched everyone I have ever loved grow old and die, and then you. You. I needed to know, okay? I’m sorry, but I had to know. It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with you. I’m going to watch you get old and die and I’m going to be here again, by myself.” Another pause. “You’re in me. You’re in my fucking bones. Two years away and I think I was going crazy. Just being with you isn’t enough, but I was scared. I am scared.”

Toru takes a deep breath, feeling your fear and worry bloom in his chest and coat his tongue. You’re so scared all the time and he knows this first hand, but this is the first time you’re telling him. It’s one thing to feel it, but to hear it, to see it reflect in your eyes? He’s still mad at you, but it’s hard to remain that way. 

“I’m not going to leave you, Bambi,” he mutters, shaking his head. 

You sigh, eyes dipping to the ground and frowning. 

“You can’t say that for sure,” you mumble.

“I haven’t been wrong yet,” he says back. Then it’s quiet again. The two of you sit together in the darkness of his apartment and settle into it. He feels it in his bones. It’s coming to a head, and he’s not sure where the two of you will land, but he feels like everything will be okay. 

28

Volleyball is a jealous lover. And so are you. But not in the way he thought you would be. The two of you make it work. You come and visit him, or he comes to see you when the season is over. He likes Argentina, doesn’t think he could love somewhere as much as he has loved his home country, but he watches you come alive in the street markets and in the twilight when he’s not training. Toru doesn’t think he’s ever actually seen you smile as much as you do now. He’s never really seen you happy. 

There’s still a piece of you that you lock away from him, scared of outliving him and knowing how much that would hurt you. But he gets the parts of you no one else does. He gets you singing in the shower, how you wake up early in the mornings to go for a morning stroll. He gets your cooking and your cooing. He gets to watch as people want you and your obliviousness. He gets your giggles and the soft sound you make when he sinks into your body after a long day of training.

He gets to see you during matches, catching your waist and kissing you before running off to the stadium. He gets the beads around your waist and the natural way your tongue curls around the sounds of the country. He gets it all, and so he cannot begrudge you the little bit of yourself you cannot give him in fear. You spend your life in fear, he realizes, terrified of the inevitable, and there’s only so much he can do to combat the monster that lives inside of you. 

When Toru isn’t with you, he’s working on a project of sorts. You had mentioned a brother, one that you had lost contact with when you realized you had stopped aging. He scoured his family archives, tracing each and every iteration of your name back to his 200-something year old grandmother who grew up with you. The Oikawa’s liked to keep diaries of that time, stories being passed down weren’t enough sometimes. He hunted and searched and agonized until he found a name. Then he followed that name to another name, and another and then another until–

“Aran Ojirou? Yeah, I know who that is,” Hinata says scratching his head, “Karasuno played them in the Inter-High. I still talk to him. Why?”

—

Toru likes helping you with your hair. It’s intimate and something you take seriously, sitting between his legs as he meticulously combs through each coil and knot and applies product to it. At first, he thinks it’s a trick of the light, but then he looks closer and he realizes he’s not going crazy. Your hair is long, and he finds not one, not two, but three gray hairs.

“Bambi,” he pushes you up to your feet, “I think you should see this.”

You grumble, trudging along as he pushes you to the bathroom and turns on the light. “Toru, I’m sleepy.”

“Yeah, but you should see this anyways.”

It takes you a second before you look closer. Closer and closer. He can feel the fear in your chest, it cracks his heart in two as he watches  you hold the three gray hairs in your hand, staring at them in the bathroom mirror. 

“Is that��?”

“I think I stressed you out,” he chuckles, trying to help you through the complicated emotions you’re feeling. But he knows this is big news. In the 259 years you have been alive, you have never grayed, and now here’s proof. Proof.

“Toru,” you mutter, looking at the hair and then looking at him and then the hair again. “Toru.”

He watches as your eyes well up, you do your best to keep from crying but you can’t help it, falling into him as you sob. He gently sinks his fingers into your hair, scratching your scalp soothingly, a soothing hum purring in his chest. Toru shifts slightly, lifting you up and walking you two over to the bed, rocking back and forth until the crying pitters off and it’s just you, in his arms, breathing in his scent. 

“I hate the silence,” he grumbles and you laugh, looking up at him. Your eyes are something he can get lost in, bright and open. Whatever piece you had been holding back suddenly fracturing and breaking into a million pieces. He feels all of you slide into place, into the home that is his heart and yours. 

It’s not a rut he feels blooming under his skin, but it's the same feeling he gets sometimes. He watches the way your eyes suddenly dilate and–Oh. He laughs.

“You’re starting your rut? Right now?”

“Shut up,” you grumble, and he kisses you suddenly, flipping you on your back, trapping him beneath himself. 

“No, I don’t think I will,” he mumbles, lifting your shirt over your head and tossing somewhere in the room. “You find out you’re aging and you start your rut? Or did you start your rut and you found out you’re aging?” His words are a tease, cutting you off before you can retort. Toru kisses you like he wants to possess you, and does so with ease. He’s been saying it for years, you are his and he is yours. It really is that simple to him. 

Toru raises himself slightly, wiping the tear tracks off your cheeks. “Or you don’t know? You’re not really great at keeping track of your ruts.”

“They only started up because of you again anyways,” you grumble, helping him out of his pajama shorts and he chortles. His lips descend on your skin again, kissing a path to your breast as he cups them between the palm of his hands. You arch into his touch, a groan escaping you as he bites down on your nipple. Toru is not a nice person, he’s hardly even kind, and that transfers into the bedroom. 

His laugh is mean as you moan, the woodsy sweet scent of you pumping into the air. If he continues he knows you will trigger his rut, and he has no plans on stopping. “Awe, poor Bambi. Her ruts started because of her mate,” he bites down harshly, red blooming under your skin, as he switches to the other breast. “Whatever shall she do?”

“Toru.”

“Use your words, Bambi.” His tongue trails a path down your stomach, pulling your pants and underwear off together, tossing them somewhere in the ether of the room where your shirt disappeared to. Your arousal clings to you and he takes a deep, shuddering breath, kissing your thighs. 

“Toru, please.”

“That’s cute.” He bites down, watching as your cunt convulses around nothing. “Words, Bambi.”

“Fuck. Fucking fine. Put your mouth on me, please.”

“My mouth is already on you,” he says, holding your thighs opened. He knows you could push his head where you want him the most, but you won’t. You like giving him the illusion of being able to overpower you. You’re stronger than him, and it’s incredibly attractive that you could overpower him without breaking a sweat but you don’t. 

“Ugh, please eat me out.”

“There we go.”

He dives in like he’s a starving man and you are his source of food. Which, technically, he is a man starved. At least 10 years of being denied his god given right to make you feel good and taste you like this, he can’t even control himself. His lips wrap around your clit, and he keeps your thighs from closing around his head. You taste better than he’s ever dreamed of. He loses himself in it, fingers clenching around your thighs tighter. You buck into his mouth and he wraps his forearm around your waist, forcing you down to take it. All you can find yourself doing is grabbing his forearm. Toru slides his fingers through your wetness and you make a discontent sound at the feeling of his finger sliding into your cunt. His head tilts and he pulls back slightly, running the flat of his tongue across your clit.

Toru adds another finger, slowly and surely and feels you clench around him. There we go, he thinks, you need to be stuffed full. His fingers move, slowly pressing against you as he continues to suck your clit. They open, scissoring you before curling and your thigh jumps. He pushes closer, the broadness of his shoulders keeping you from closing your legs any further than they have, and he presses a third finger in.

Your head tilts back and you whimper in the air, mouth falling open, eyes squeezing shut. Toru has thought of this exact moment before, in vivid detail. He’s thought of the way his fingers might sink into you and the fever hot of your skin. But nothing compares to reality. You are a fucking goddess and he is your loyal disciple, blessed just by the sheer act of your eyes on him. The fact that you’re even letting him do this is enough to make him bust. 

He tastes your arousal every time his fingers move in and out of you. Your cunt clenches his fingers tightly, making it difficult to move the closer and closer you get to cumming. 

“Oh fuck, Toru, I’m gonna cum.”

That’s the only warning you give him before you do, cum slipping across his fingers and pooling into the palm of his hand. Toru works you through it as your fingers tighten in his hair and you pull him up to kiss him. He tastes like you, your sweetness clinging to him when he slips his tongue in your mouth. Your hips jerk back and you whine when it becomes too much, pulling away from the kiss to catch your breath. 

“Too much, too much.”

He decides to be nice because lord only knows how fucking mean he’s going to be in a few seconds. His fingers slip out of you and into his mouth. Toru sighs, the taste of you exploding across his taste buds again before he’s wrapping his hand around the thickness of his dick. He feels the sudden burst of excitement from you when he catches the way you eye him. Toru knows even by his secondary gender standards he’s kind of a big deal. Big, long and thick. 

“Jesus fuck,” you mutter to yourself and he preens under your gaze, shivering as you press your pointer against the tip of his dick, smearing precum across his dick. “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know how you’re going to fit.”

“We’re mates,” he reminds you, grinning as you shiver, “it’s gonna fit. We’re made for each other.” He rubs himself across your slick, making sure to coat himself as the feverish feeling of a rut takes a hold of him as well. “Say it.”

“We’re mates.”

He sighs in content, leaning down to kiss you, bullying his cock into you. Sliding inside of the heat of your cunt feels like sliding his way home. The two of you take a deep breath, sighing when he bottoms out, his nose pressing against yours as your pupils narrow. “Told you.”

“Shut up.”

He moves his hips then, slowly, lifting your legs around his waist so he can sink even deeper. “Fuck, there it is. All fucking mine, Bambi,” he groans, hips snapping into a sharp thrust. Toru’s movement is deep and sharp, rough in the best of ways. He watches intently as you press a hand against the wall, each sharp snap of his hips catching you in another roll of pleasure. “Fuck, wanted this since I was 16.” 

The snap, snap, snap echoes in the room and he manhandles you, lifting your other leg up and over his shoulder to fuck you harder. You can’t even respond to him, so caught up in the pleasure, and he bares his teeth as he does so. You bite your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and Toru leans down, licking it up. Copper hits his tongue and he growls into your mouth. “Say it, say you’re all mine, Bambi.”

You nod frantically, nails digging into his biceps. He relishes in the pain of it, making the pleasure of finally fucking you after twelve fucking years of pining and wanting and wishing comes true. “‘M all yours.”

Each time he fucks into its like you’re trying to run away from him, and his hands clamp down on your waist, pulling you back down on his dick. “If you were mine you wouldn’t be trying to run away, Bambi. C’mon, take it.” 

Your moan breaks into a pleasure filled sob, tears running down your cheeks as you take everything he gives you. Toru feels so good, like the gates of the heavens have opened up and blessed him, and he can feel how good you’re feeling. It’s a feedback loop that intensifies how he feels, your cunt fluttering around him with every drag of his dick.

“There we go, Bambi. Gods, you are so fucking perfect. My perfect mate. My perfect alpha,” he moans, leaning down to press his nose into your scent gland. It would be so evil of him to bite you right now, wouldn’t it? Without you saying yes. But he does it anyway, his fangs sharpening enough to pierce it and bond the two of you together for the rest of your days. Toru will never let you run from him again. You break in his arms, shaking as you cum, a sobbing moan as your fingers scrabble against his back roughly, shredding skin. 

He continues to fuck you through it, feeling the tell of his end closer and closer, knot swelling as he forces it past the first ring of muscle and feels you bite him just as hard. Bonded forever. His hips stutter before he cums, filling you up and then some. It would spill out had it not been for his knot, the sloppy sound of him fucking into you until he can’t move anymore.

Toru can hardly keep himself up, gently laying on you as you breathe out. The two of you catch your breath, sweat beginning to cool on your skin. It’s quiet for a while as he waits for his knot to die down. When it finally does, you let out a soft whine as he gently slips out of you. He nuzzles your neck again, pressing an open mouth kiss on his mark. He can’t wait until it scars and you’re walking around with his claim on you all the time. Likewise, his finger drags to where you bit him, he can’t wait until his mark scars over. Bonded forever, he thinks. 

“You’re mean as fuck,” you grumble, shifting closer to him. 

“You have no idea how mean I can get,” he says grinning against your neck, “But don’t worry, we got a whole week of this. You’ll see.”

—

You’re swinging your arms as Toru brings you to your surprise. He doesn’t want to tell you because, obviously, it will ruin the surprise, but he can’t wait until you see it. You grumble and groan, but Toru knows the truth, you’re excited. He pushes you through the front door and he’s hit with a familiar, but different, scent. It’s similar enough to yours that Toru is almost taken aback. 

Beside him you stiffen for a second just as Aran Ojirou turns around, the bright smile on his dark features freeze themselves. Hinata laughs into his sweater, his mate smacking him in the back of the head lightly and he whines. 

“Bambi, I’d like you to meet your really great grand nephew,” he says softly, watching as your hands press against your mouth. He can feel your surprise. But underneath the surprise is the feeling of gratitude as Aran hesitantly steps over to you before sweeping you up in a hug. 

“Holy shit! I thought Dad was joking when he said I had some immortal aunt somewhere around here.” 

Your arms wrap around your nephew and you chuckle wetly. “Not so immortal,” you say, “just had to wait for my mate.”

Epilogue

“Mommy! Daddy, look what grandpa gave me!” Touko runs over as Toru’s father hobbles over to where the two of you sit in the backyard. Touko produces a metal bird that was kept in pristine condition. “Grandpa said his best friend gave it to him.”

“Oh yeah? It must have been really special to him.” Your smile is brittle and Toru grips your thigh firmly. It’s difficult for the two of you to watch his father get older and older. But it’s a double edged sword for you, he knows, given everything you’ve been through. When the two of you got married Toru promised this was going to be the last group of Oikawa’s you had to watch pass before you. 

The time was coming sooner rather than later, he’s aware. But his father still has some good years left. His mother passed away a few years ago, just a few years after Touko had been born. Still, it hurt, even when they had all seen it coming. 

He kisses the side of your head, counting the gray hairs that have begun to pop up over the years. You’re nearly at 10. He’s pretty sure 5 of those are from him, and he can’t say he’s not proud of it. 

Getting to this point was a hell of a process, but Toru’s not sure he’d go back to change anything. He likes this. Here, with you and your daughter.

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being a speedster and dating Peter Maximoff

Peter Maximoff x reader

warnings: blood/injury

a/n:

prompt:

the world moved in slow motion…

oh, literally

you and peter were usually moving around the same speed. it took a while, but you guys learned to line up with each other when you moved

some said it was annoying, others said it was romantic

you couldn’t find a better way to live life

you initially met in the 70s during a pretty intense plan to break into the pentagon and free magneto from incarceration

you were a ward of professor xavier and peter was the mischievous boy you’d fallen for at first sight

“hey! no” -logan, swatting you on the arm as you zoned out when you’d first met peter

logan, who knew one possible future and might have known whose fates intertwine for better or worse

but the warnings of the man leading you and essentially your family into what could be a massacre didn’t exactly find you well

you quickly sped up and peter followed suit

“whats a place like you doing in a mutant like this?” -peter, jokingly

“yeah, yeah, you heard them” -you, smirking at not only him but the opportunity to do something like this “have you ever…been able to do this?”

“do what? talk to another person while im going fast? no, never had the chance. this is really cool. we should do it again sometime” -peter, rambling

“maybe we can if you listen to the old guys. from what the guy with the weird haircut has told me about you, we’ve got an offer you cant refuse” -you

“oh yeah? how does he know anything about me?” -peter

“from the future or something, still trying to make sense of it—hey, man, can you spare a twinkie?” -you, pointing to the wall of boxes

“take a box…” -peter, falling for you already

you sped to a box and ate while peter ran circles around your crew, the fact you were still pining after him drove charles and hank insane

and all peter wanted to do was impress you

“y/n, everyone in the world and you’re interested in the kleptomaniac. can you maybe reevaluate?” -hank

“no, i don’t think i will” -you

for the boy that agreed to help for free, they sure did want to steer you away

you gave him your number before you went your separate ways, but duty called

“well, i know where to find you” -peter, holding up the business card for the xavier school he lifted off charles when you’d all met

it’s only about 500 miles between you two, takes maybe 10 minutes

it took maybe a week for you to catch his calls, but he knew you were busy

the day you finally called back, he was bouncing off the walls (literally)

“hello?” -ms. maximoff

“hey, ms. maximoff! it’s y/n, we met last week” -you

“PETER, ITS FOR YOU” -ms. maximoff (less than half a second later the phone had vanished from her hand

“y/n! i was expecting your call ever since i saw magneto on the news, how’s it going?” -peter, pacing around the house tangling the phone cord around every single thing he could find

“pretty good, i’m still alive! lunch sometime?” -you

charles was “listening” btw but both of you were talking in superspeed so all he could hear was “MEEMEEMARNEEHLININAM” or like some other really squeaky nonsense

“how about now?” -peter “i’m down to visit new york”

“works for me!” -you, hanging up and immediately rushing to get ready

you guys got each other like no other

never wore each other out

some people told you to “slow down” but they didn’t see the world from your point of view

speed was a good thing when two people experienced it together

“hey, wait. too fast, i cant understand you” -you when peter got excited and started talking fasted than you were going

sometimes you would slow down, when the moment called for it

and peter got a little restless

ok you both did

“this is so boring, lets shoplift” -peter

“peter!” -you

“pleaaaase?” -peter

“…where are you thinking?” -you

oh yeah charles did not like his influence lol

“y/n, i know you have something in common that very few could have, but him?” -charles

“uh, yes him, do you hate happiness?” -you

“no, i just mean that—really, y/n? it is not because i left moira!” -charles

“don’t read my mind!!” -you

“it was loud, like you wanted me to hear it” -charles

“don’t make excuses” -you

peter looooveessss gossip

especially when the school reopened and you decided to take on a class to teach and become somewhat of an RA

“ohhh, my god. one of the kids called hank ‘blue balls’ and the whole class started screaming laughing and i was trying sooo hard to be professional—how do you say ‘shut the fuck up’ to a fourteen year old in a professional way? i am stumped” -you

“‘shut the fuck up’” -peter

“you’re so right” -you

peter would visit the x mansion pretty often while you were working

brings you food and gifts and such

“did you steal this?” -you

“want to see my receipt?” -peter

“yes.” -you

*patting pockets* “i think it fell out” -peter

he gives lotta kisses

LOVES to dance but only fun fast dances where he can spin you

like if there was a dancing contest you would win

you like the slow dancing tho so you can be close to him

peter cleans your room for you while youre working

“one of the kids set fire to a desk today” -you, exhausted

“but at least you have a clean room!!” -peter

he will get very competitive about arcade games

he will NOT take pity on you

sore loser

big baby

oh, what about you? if you can’t take it then dont dish it out!!!!!!

“hahah, i beat your high score” -you

“NOOOO” -peter, who wont stop playing until he gets the high score again

you guys race

he WILL trip you to get a head start

peter luvs to share his music with you

he sings but just in front of u

when you fight, its over fast (bc you talk fast)

*more fast forward voices sounds*

jubilee once tried to record it and slow it down but it didn’t work

peters mom loved u but she was SOOOO exhausted by speedsters

“at least you clean up after yourself when you’re here” -ms. maximoff after you do the dishes for her

making peter’s sister dizzy by running around her

(she wants to be fast too)

peter fake proposes CONSTANTLYYY

you might kick him over while he’s on one knee if he ever does it for real

when the x mansion blew up, you and him were quick to evac the mansion

“are you okay?” -peter, checking you for injuries

“as okay as you are, what the hell??” -you

you were kidnapped together <3 nothing says romance like being trapped in a cage together

peter’s confession that erik was his father was a surprise to you

“WHAT?! you never told me that!!” -you

“it didn’t seem important” -peter

“oh, it didn’t seem important that your DAD is charles’s best friend who we literally BROKE OUT OF PRISON” -you

“not really” -peter

“you getting any of this?” -raven (you were speed fighting)

“not a thing” -hank

“this happen often?” -raven

“comes with the mutation. they’re lucky they found each other. nice to have someone that gets you like that” -hank, side eyeing raven

regardless of that BIG FUCKING SECRET being casually dropped, you guys took apocalypse head on

and man were you guys a unit on the battlefield

one speedster is a wildcard. two? it’s like they couldn’t keep their heads on straight

“wanna make this a game?” -peter

“what’d you have in mind?” -you

“who can punch the blue guy the most” -peter

“nice try, i’m not punching hank” -you

the jokes were fun and distracting, but you guys took quite a few hits

you were bleeding from your head and peter got really serious really fast

“does it hurt? do i need to get you back to the jet?” -peter

“yes, it hurts. no, i’m not giving up” -you

peter broke his fucking leg <3

“alright, you’re done” -you, lifting him up and taking him to safety

he felt like a pretty princess being lifted bridal style by you

“i love you” -peter

“well, duh. nice if you said it more” -you

“i will. thanks for saving me” -peter

“save it for when we get home” -you

taglist: @locke-writes // @randomawesomeperson102 // @captainshazamerica // @dindjarinsspouse // @summersimmerus // @simp-legend // @nekoannie-chan // @groovy-lady // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 //

[spreadlove-always]

Angel Baby Chapter 1

Idamae is a shy 23 year old girl who just finished college for the summer. She's planned to work for her mother all summer, until her Aunt Louise calls needing help running her motel down in Georgia. That's where she meets Joel. Tension builds and gentle touches and deep desires escalate, and someone must make the first move. She knows it's wrong, god he's double her age, but she just can't keep her eyes and mind off him, and he cant either. Who will give in first..... Word Count: 3.3k

You’re just to good to be true Can’t take my eyes off you You’d be like Heavan to touch I wanna hold you so much

Chapter 1

May 28th, the day I leave to spend the summer in Georgia with my aunt Louise. Louise just lost her husband Charles in a motorcycle accident, devastating really. Well except for the fact that he was a true and utter asshole. My aunts’ bruises and scars could prove that.

After the accident, Aunt Louise inherited all his money, and his motel that he ran just outside town. He used to tell the story how this motel was a piece of his family history, which is why he never updated anything. Which is probably why he never had as many customers as he could have. However, as soon as Louise got the keys she saw an opportunity, an opportunity to finally have something in her name. So, the used to be run down motel, has now got an upgrade dragging in more business, and because of this she needs help running it.

My mother asked me shy of two weeks ago if instead of working for her all summer, if I would be willing to go help Aunt Louise. This would have been fine, if It had been something I got to decide, but it was not. My mother’s way of “asking” is much more of a statement, and I mean realistically as long as I’m making money I can’t be to mad, my last year of college isn’t going to pay for itself.

So here I am, bags packed, my room empty, and the only sign I was ever here is the stickers still stuck to my wall that I must have put up when I was 12.

“Idamae, time to go Hun” mother shouts from downstairs, she’s my ride to the airport. Halifax to Georgia, not a short trip, at least not for me as someone who has only been on a plane one other time.

The way to the airport is full of my mother in near tears over me going away, as if I won’t be back for ten years, meanwhile its only three months. But I am her one and only, and with dad having left when I was seven, shell be alone in the house. But again, this was all her idea.

“Mom, I promise I will call you when I get there, and call you before bed, okay I promise” I give her a quick hug then rush to get to the security line, and from there my journey begins.

Once the plane lands, all I can think about is stretching my legs, and using the washroom, still being to scared to use the one on the plane. Once I get my luggage, I go down the escalatory searching for my aunt who should be waiting for me. sure enough there is Aunt Louise in a beautiful flowy yellow dress. She has always been the one to look put together no matter what, hair is always done, nails always perfect, she has that southern charm.

“oh Idamae! Look at what a beautiful young lady you have become” she squeezes me tight to her. Her scent being familiar, feels like home.

“its great to see you auntie” I mumble to her as she holds me in her arms, maybe a little to long.

She leans back, looking at my face, “what a doll!” she says smiling and grabs my other bag and begins walking “follow me this way, we’ve got quite the drive.” And that we do, I fall asleep an hour in.

I wake up to the slam of the driver door, I let my eyes adjust to the sun set beaming into the windshield of the truck.

Peering out my window I find a small yellow house, with a wrap around porch, and an American flag swaying in the subtle breeze, almost exactly as I remember it from the last time I visited, which was about 10 years ago. But aunt Louise has made it her own, daisies fill the front garden and rose pushes line the gravel drive.

Stepping out of the truck I hear my aunt open the trunk taking my bags and suitcases out.

“Love what you did with the place” I say turning to help her.

“Thank you, wanted to make it my own, you know after everything” she doesn’t have to specify what she means, I know she means because her shit husband died, finally allowing her freedom.

We step on the porch and it creeks under our feet, swing the front door open and the smell of fresh bread, and fresh flowers fills the air.

“I made fresh bread before picking you up, thought it would be nice to have with breakfast tomorrow” I thank her, and she tells me to get comfortable well she makes me tea and a snack. So, I wonder, through the living room, upstairs, find my room which is painted a light periwinkle blue, white sheer curtain, and bedding with small blue flowers.

Within the next few hours I have settled in, showered, put all my clothes in the dresser and closet. And after a delicious dinner curtesy of Aunt Louise, I find myself sitting on the porch, looking out.

This is my new life, well for the time being. So, I finish my tea and rush up to bed.

The next day we head to the motel, aunt says she tries to be there no later then 8 am every day, that way if anyone needs anything right as they wake shell be there. I can tell she prides herself in helping and being a good host. A quality I hope I pick up.

The day starts out slow, a few truckers checked out, some checked in. but for the most part, its slow. I sit in the office behind the desk, the radio on, windows open to allow a slight breeze in. But nothing, no one comes, no one goes. Well, that is until noon. Around noon about ten rooms become occupied, and after some slight chit chat with the customers I find its because on Saturdays a live band plays at the bar in the town about fifteen minutes away. And for people around here, that’s about as exciting as it gets. So, they all try to get as close as they can to town, which luckily for my aunt is her motel.

Rain or Shine Motel

It was once called Angel motel, that was before Charles died, my mom told me Louise always said it attracted the wrong thing, and she was probably right.

Around one, aunt peaks her head out from the back office where she is doing paperwork and paying bills for this place.

“you hungry” I’m glad she asked, because honestly, I have been thinking bout food the past hour and a half.

“I could eat” I shrug, not wanting to seem like my stomach wasn’t hurting from hunger.

“Well, I still have a lot to get done, there’s a lot Charles never did, which now is on me” she sighs, a crease forms between her brows.

“Hey, why don’t you take the truck into town, grab some food, maybe take a look around. Just be back before 5. Oh, and bring me back something to snack on” I nod and stand up grabbing her keys, she tells me the towns just down the road and she’s right.

It takes almost exactly fifteen minutes to get to town, the town everyone is so excited about specifically today.

Sweetwater Bend

Population probably no more then maybe 3 thousand, the town almost ends before it even begins. There are very few buildings, a grocery store, gas station, dinner, and a dive bar called Johnny's. A small town, but yet cars line the road, people walk by, and it warm, cozy.

I pull to the side, just out front the diner, people walk out with ice cream cones and laugh as they walk down the street.

The door chimes as I walk in, and I swear everyone is looking at me. Maybe they can just sense I’m not from around here, maybe they hate that I’m in their diner.

“Hey sugar, have a seat anywhere someone will come by in a sec” a sweet older woman says as she walks by carrying dirty plates, and heads back into the kitchen.

I give a simple nod and find a seat in the back corner.

The place is cute, red leather booths, black and white checkered floors, a jukebox in the corner playing a quiet hum of a song I’ve never heard.

“sorry about the wait, its our busiest day, what can I get for you. We got apple pie on special today” the older lady says pulling out a note pad from her apron, and a pen from behind her ear.

I curse to myself, why did I not at least think to look at the menu that’s right in the center of the table.

“Oh umm, maybe ill just get the pie for now” I stumble over my words, feeling nervous, feeling like a stranger.

“alright, anything to drink?” she eyes me, and I eye her, my cheeks getting warm, and she notices my hesitation.

“You aint from around here, are ya?” she asks and damn does that make my nerves even worse. 

“Hm that obvious?” I look down smiling.

“don’t worry about it sweet pea, how bout this, ill get you what’s a staple here, and save you the trouble of guessing, sound good?” You feel beyond grateful for the gesture.

So, there you are eating a burger, fries, and washing it down with coke in a glass bottle.

“You like?” the waiter leans on the booth smiling down at you. And you cannot lie, that’s probably one of the best burgers you’ve ever had.

“delicious seriously, like wow” she chuckles, grabbing your empty plate.

“so, where you from?” curiosity clearly piquing her interest.

“Oh I’m from Nova scotia, Halifax to be exact” I take a sip of my coke.

“what brings you down here then?” she asks tilting her head.

“My aunt, she owns the motel just outside this town, needed help running it. Here for the summer until it calms down” I take another swig of my coke before finishing it and taking out my wallet.

“How much?” I ask taking out some bills waiting for her response.

“On the house, first time guest special” she winks. She’s definitely a mother you think, and she reminds you of yours, the warm mannerisms.

“Ya know what, I’ve got a daughter bout your age, what are ya 23? Anyways, she’s just got back from college and is dying to have a friend to do stuff with. Why don’t you come to Johnny's tonight and ill interduce ya?” Oh, thank god, you think. She is seriously saving you the time of finding someone and having to make friends on your own. And plus, everyone’s bragging about this band performing, so might as well go see them.

“Okay ya sure, umm when should I be there?” she tells me nine thirty and walks off with a smile.

Maybe this little town won’t be as bad as I thought.

By the time I get back to the motel its four thirty, and the parking lot is packed.

“wow its really filled up” I state walking to find aunt on the phone at the front. She smiles and motions for me to come over to her.

She hangs up the phone and looks at you and asks how town was.

“small, not much to see. Did talk to a waiter at the diner though invited me to Johnny's wants me to meet her daughter” I snicker because its funny, I mean how bold of a mother to do, if that was my mom id be beyond embarrassed but as me, I am grateful.

“Oh wonderful! I would join you, but after this I think it will be my time to go have a bath and lay around” she’s right about that, she looks tired, and I don’t blame her, she doesn’t have cleaners, yet so she truly does everything. Of course, now hopefully I can help her, and make it a little easier.

As the sun sets, and its almost my time to head to Johnny's,  I rustle through my clothes, trying to figure out what to wear. I backed all my clothes and yet I feel like I have nothing, and I don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb.

I call Aunt Louise up to ask her, and she giggles. “Hun whatever you wear will be fine. But what about this?” she points at an off white loose dress I have laid out on the bed. I look at it, its cute and she would know more then mean when it comes to this place.

So that is what I wear, I pair it with some dark red cowboy boots, that my mother gave me, they were hers when she was around my age. My hairs down, and I’m wearing a gold cross necklace. I’m not religious but, my dad gave it to me before he ya know, decided being a father wasn’t for him.

Aunt  Louise lets me borrow her truck, and although its old, she reassures me that its safe and won’t break down while I’m driving especially not at night.

When I get to Johnny's its packed, people are dancing, the smell of whiskey and smoke is in the air. People are playing pool, some just people watching, while others are laughing with the person next to them.

God, do I feel out of place. The walls are lined with old signs, some license plates, and some LED signs. I take a deep breath and walk through the people, mumbling sorry and excuse me as I make my way to a table at the back. I want to keep an eye to see if I can spot that waiter.

Sure, enough in no time I spot her, and she spots me with that sweet smile, and drags her daughter of to me. Her daughter is beautiful I think to myself, she’s got southern charm that’s for sure, just like my aunt.

She extends her hand, “nice to meet you I’m Matilda” I shake her hand. “Idamae, its nice to meet you” she gives me a stiff smile and then her mom chimes in to say shell leave us to chit chat.

As soon as she’s out of sight, Matilda exhales a breath, “Thank god, sorry, but when I’m here I have to be so proper especially around my mom” she slouches in the seat next to me and I laugh.

“so, Idamae, what brings you to this nothing of a town? You lost? Or are you running from something?” she squints her eyes at me.

 I laugh.

“Actually, none of the above. My aunt owns Rain or Shine Motel just down the road, and she needed help this summer so I’m here helping her” she nods her head and looks out into the crowed eyeing everyone.

“wanna drink?” I’m happy she asked, because I must say my nerves are killer and the thought of a drink would be fantastic.

“Yes definitely” she smiles wide, but its almost mischievous.

“I know I’m twenty three, but my mom hates when I drink” she roles her eyes at that.

“So why don’t you grab us drinks and ill stay right here, surprise me, just get me what you want” I nod at that, and stand. Looking for the bar and find it on the other end, I wedge myself between two chairs, waiting for the bartender to serve me.

The chair to my right is occupied while the one to my left is empty, and while I contemplate sitting there, I change my mind as it looks to high and the last thing, I need is to struggle to get up. Its truly a curse being short.

Quickly enough the bartender comes over “what can I get ya” You say the first thing that comes to mind, the only thing you can remember you like back home.

“a martini” the bartender laughs at that, and so does the person next to me.

“Wrong place for that, gotta pick something else, and make it quick”

 I stumble in my head trying to think, but its as if I’ve never drank alcohol in my life and every name of everything is gone.

That’s when a deep voice speaks up beside me.

“Just give her a corona dale”

 I quickly say make it two and look over to the man next to me.

“Thanks for that, my brain completely blanked” he smiles, a sweet, charming smile. And I know, I mean I can tell he’s much older than me, by at least 15 year, but he’s handsome like beyond handsome.

“My pleasure” he tips his glass to me and then faces forward again.

My eyes are fixed on the side of his face, his stubble, the mustache that sit perfectly on his upper lip, and his brown eyes.

“Anyone tell you staring is rude? Or they don’t teach you that in the big city?” he says and doesn’t turn to me at all.

I’m caught and embarrassed, but thankfully the bartender comes back with two coronas, I place cash on the table and turn to walk away but before I go, I mumble a quiet “sorry about that” to mystery man next to me.

When I get back to the table, Matilda is on her phone, or trying to at least, but it seems that the signal sucks.

“Ugh can you believe this, you’d think they’d have found out how to get better service over here” she’s funny, you can tell definitely not interested in being here in this town, probably not even this dive bar.

I hand her a corona and her eyes light up, “oh thank god” she says and grabs it taking a big gulp.

The next thirty minutes are her talking about her boyfriend back at college named Cole and how she misses him, and this and that.

My eye wonder as she goes on, and I know it’s rude, but I mean she’s been away from him for two days, that’s it, how badly can she miss him.

My eyes spot him. The man from before. Now leaned against the wall watching the band play, beer in one hand while his other one is in his pocket. I watch as he brings the beer to his lips, and then his eyes spot mine. And I swear I see him smirk.

I snap my eyes back to Matilda, acting as if I’ve been listening this whole time.

“And the sex I mean the sex is incredible, I’m telling you he knows exactly what to do ya know, don’t you just love when they know and you don’t have to tell them or guide them” I nod along with her because she’s right, however that has never happened to me, I’ve always had to tell guys how to help me finish. She must see it, the hesitant nod in my face because she squeaks out a “Oh my god!” she leans close.

“has a guy never made you finish?” my cheeks redden, and I dart my eyes away.

“Ugh that is so fucked up I am so-“ she’s cut off by a deep voice from behind me, so close I can feel the heat from their body.

“What’s fucked up M?” I snap my head to see who it is and its him.

“Uncle Joel! I didn’t know you were back” Matilda jumps up from her seat and rushes over to give him a hug.

“Only back for the summer, until my house is done” his eyes flick to me.

“oh, sorry this is Idamae” He gives you a smirk and nod.

“Well, I don’t want to interrupt this girls night, ill see you soon M, and I’m sure ill be seeing you around Idamae” he winks and walks away and out of the bar.

And there they are, the butterflies in my stomach.

The next day is Sunday, and Louise wakes me up early to go to Sunday church. Something I have never done, but she insists it will be a way for me to make friends. So, I get up and put on my boots, and a white flowy dress.

Aunt Louise of course looks spectacular, hair done, make up done and a beautiful dress.

The church is small, and there is no AC, and truly it sits in the middle of what feels like nowhere. But yet everyone’s here backed into the benches and listening to who I have just found out is Father Connor.

I could lie and say I was listening and taking in every word, but I’m not. I’m thinking about how its hot, and how I can feel sweat begin to bead on my forehead.

I turn to my aunt and excuse myself; I need to get out before I pass out.

On my way out I spot Matilda’s uncle Joel, right by the door, leaning against the wall, looking just as uninterested as I did. We make eye contact but I divert my eyes right away and push the door open leaving the church.

The fresh air hits my face, and the light breeze pushes my hair past my shoulder. And suddenly I hear footsteps from behind me.

“Sneaking away already?”

There's that voice, the one from the bar.

Joel.

I turn to face him, “Maybe, I don’t know how you all do it, it’s a sauna in there” my face is hot, and I cant tell if its from him, or the heat.

“a yes, that it is” he walks past me down the front steps and pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his flannel pocket. Places it between his lips and lights it, then turns back to me.

“You coming?” I look at him confused but follow anyways.

He leads me just around the corner, to a old red ford truck.

He turns and leans against the driver’s door smoking his cigarette, and I swear this feels like a more holy experience then sitting in the church just feet away.

“So, you gonna tell me where you’re from?” he asks, licking his lips and takes another puff.

“Oh, umm I’m from Nova Scotia, just helping my aunt for the summer” I rock back on my heels, my arms crossed, looking everywhere but him.

“I see, so you enjoying yourself?” my face turns to him, “What?”

He laughs, oh Christ that laugh.

“I mean are you enjoying being down here” I blush looking down.

“Its okay, have only been here for 2 days” he hums at that.

I keep looking around, trying to pretend the silence, and his eyes on me aren’t burning my skin, more then the sun.

I hear his feet move against the gravel and look at him again.

“You aint a church girl, are ya?” I shake my head.

“What about you?”

“No, but my brother invited me, so here I am” I nod my head.

“Ya know you’re a shy little thing, more shy then when you were checking me out last night.”

My head snaps to look at him, arms uncrossing as he smiling at me his arms still crossed.

“I was not checking you out, I was just I mean I was just thinking” I stumble over my words. God could I be anymore stupid.

“Oh ya?” he pushes off from his truck, throws his cigarette on the ground and walks closer to me.

“And what is a girl like you thinking about when she looks at me?” I look up at him, through my eyelashes, and my mouth open a tad. Him this close I can smell his cologne, its nice, warm.

You. How badly I want to feel your big hands on me.

But I can’t say that.

I swallow hard, “Oh ya know, just I don’t know probably about the weather?”

God if I could run myself over right now I would.

“The weather right” he smirks down at you. I hadn’t realized how tall he was until now.

I mean I’m only five foot two, so it doesn’t take much to be taller then me.

Joel turns to his truck opens the door then turns his head to me “see you around little dove” he winks hoping in his truck, and ignites the engine, and drives away.

Almost on que people start exiting the church. Loud chatting starts.

“There you are I thought you disappeared” Aunt Louise says from behind me.

I turn around to face her,

 “Oh no sorry, just got to hot in there, and felt a little claustrophobic, sorry bout that”

She wraps an arm around me, “no worries sweet pea.”

Next, she introduces me to many of her friends, and father Connor, who says he is “pleased to have me join the church.”

Luckily twenty minutes in I hear Matilda.

“Oh Idamae! I didn’t know you’d be here!” She pulls me in for a hug as if we’ve known each other for ever.

“Wanna come back to mine for a bit? I could totally use some girl time” she roles her eyes and looks over to her mom, who’s with a bunch of young boys, who are play fighting. I assume they are her brothers.

“Okay ya, just let me let my aunt know”

Aunt Louise has no problem with me going, in fact she once again lets me take her truck. Hers is like Joels, just not as nice.

Matilda spends the 30 minute car ride back to her house telling me how she finally got a hold of Cole, and how they had phone sex.

I have to admire her boldness, I really do.

“oh, just turn here” I turn onto a dirt road, and I can barely see the end. But as I continue down it, her house comes into frame. Its a decent sized blue farmhouse, two floors, wrap around porch, and a beautiful garden growing what looks  like every vegetable you could think of.

I park the car and hop out with her.

“You mind if we go sit in the back? Don’t really wanna be around my little brothers right now” I just nod my head and follow her.

That is until I see a red truck parked on the side of her house, same one as earlier.

“Your uncle lives here?” she turns her head to peak at me but keeps walking.

“oh Joel? No he doesn’t he’s just been building us a shed the last few days, he’s only here for the summer, usually lives in Virginia but his house is getting a ton of new electrical and plumping so he’s staying at his old house down here” I just listen as I continue to follow her to the back, the sound of the radio playing.

As we turn the corner there, he is.

 Shirt off, carrying plywood to the end of the yard. Denim jeans hugging his hips, and tool belt sitting low on his hips. I watch as he places the wood against the fence and lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

“like what you see?” Matilda bumps my arm laughing and walks up the patio steps. She turns the radio down.

“Hey Joel” she says plopping down on the white lawn chair.

His eyes turn to us, “uh its you too” one side of his mouth turns up.

“Hope you don’t mind if we hangout back here for a bit, the boys are being extra crazy today, don’t think I wanna subject little ole’ Idamae to that” Matilda pulls out her phone texting Cole what looks like a bunch of hearts and kissy faces.

I walk around the table to take a seat next to her, facing Joel.

His eyes stay on mine, and he smirks at me, I could be seeing things, I mean I really could be, but I swear his eyes rack over my body. Just the thought makes me shift in my seat.

Who am I kidding, an older man, who looks like that, would want nothing to do with me, he could have someone more mature and his age, maybe even someone like my aunt. But then again I would have to see him all the time then, and well I wouldn’t find that to be fair.

He clears his throat, “Matilda why don’t you go grab some lemonade for my and your friend will ya?”

She peaks her eyes away from her phone,

“really?”

He gives her a knowing look and she sighs before standing up and swinging the back door open and entering.

I’m left alone with him and my own shaking hands, and beating heart. God just being near him, even if its 20 feet makes me nervous.

I’m so lost in my own head I don’t notice that he has taken a seat next to me, that is until his knee brushes mine, and my skin comes alive.

His legs are spread, and he’s leaned back, his arm over the back of my chair.

And now all that is heard is the soft sound of the radio, which is playing some 50s music. Fitting I think, I mean this whole area and town screams 50s.

“You okay little dove, look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dove

There's that name again.

If anyone else had called me that I would have cringed, probably politely asked them too not. But from him, with his deep smooth voice, there is nothing id ever want to be called except that.

I clear my throat.

“Oh, ya I’m fine, just tired ya know had an early morning.” He nods and leans forward until his elbows are on the table, and he turns the radio up a bit.

And as if the radio could read my mind, it plays Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli.

I smile looking down, and he must notice.

“What you know this song?”

“ya I do actually, most people do, I would think.”

He chuckles at that and leans back again, and I can feel his stare on the side of my cheek.

And then Matilda comes back out, lemonade in hand, and glass cups.

“Here ya both go” she says as she places the cups down and pours some into each.

He grabs his before mine, and takes a big gulp, and god I know I shouldn’t, but I watch. I watch how his adams apple moves as he swallows.

I shake my head quickly trying to snap myself out of it. And take a sip of the ice cold lemonade.

Matilda is back to sitting on her phone, giggling every once in a while, or smiling ear to ear, probably because of Cole.

Joel on the other hand, stays in his seat, arm on the back of my chair and looks out into the yard, while holding his glass.

“Well ladies, it was nice, but the shed isn’t gonna build itself” and as he goes to get up his fingers slide across the back of my neck.

He had to of done that on purpose right? I mean I didn’t just imagine that right? Or maybe I’m officially getting heat stroke and about to die.

But he acts so normal, he doesn’t look back to me, nothing. So, I decide to call it, I need to go back and see Aunt Leslie anyways, promised id help her pull weeds from her yard.

I shoot up out of my seat,” ya it was nice Matilda, but I forgot I’m supposed to help my aunt with something. But umm feel free to stop by anytime. I’m sure ill see you around” before she can say anything I’ve already rounded the corner and made it back to the truck.

The problem is that when I try to start it, it won’t. I try to start it about 15 more times, that is until there is a knock at my window.

Thanks for reading. More to come soon!

In the mean time enjoy this gif :)

[kokinu09]

Let Go of the Reins || CHAPTER 13

~*~

pairing seungmin x fem!reader

genre strangers to lovers, romance, fluff, slight angst later, happy ending, social media, not meant to be, someday

summary Australia is considered home for two of the eight members. When two tour dates are scheduled for the land down under, the boys can’t help but want to spend a bit more time there to visit family and do a little sightseeing. So how do they convince the company that they need to stay a couple weeks? Filming some SKZ Code episodes.

A local riding school just outside the city with amazing reviews for their skilled instructors and beautiful horses is hosting a very popular kpop group to film their experiences. Y/N knows the group well and she just so happens to be their star working student.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

previous | masterlist | next

~*~

The day was perfectly clear. The perfect day for taking a picnic blanket out to the scenic trails. You lay out on the blanket, soaking in the warm sun peeking through the lush tree branches. While Hyunjin quietly painted the distant mountain and Felix cooed at Rosie just on the other side of you. It was so peaceful.

You could almost fall asleep like this.

That is until Hyunjin shrieks from beside you, jumping to his feet and nearly chasing the horses off as he runs to hide behind Daisy. You also shoot upright as your eyes scan for the immediate danger that scared him so much. 

“What’s wrong?!” Felix urges before you have a chance to. Hyunjin has his finger frantically pointing at his previous spot on the blanket from over the top of Daisy’s saddle. 

“It was over there! It touched my foot!” He rambles.

“What did?” You ask, getting to your feet as well in case it is something dangerous. It’s not that uncommon in Australia after all.

“A snake!” The words coming out in distaste, as if they brought him physical pain.

“Oh!” Both Felix and yourself respond. That could be serious! Your eyes scan again in the grasses around your blanket until you finally spot some movement. A laugh bubbles out of you when you see what had frightened him so much.

“What?! What’s so funny?!” Hyunjin pouts.

“It’s just a green tree snake that must have fallen from its branches!” You explain, reaching down and picking up the yellow-bellied green snake by the tail.

“AHHHHH!!! Keep that thing away from me!!” He screams, startling the horses with a jerk.

“Whoa! Easy,” Felix tries to soothe Rosie. “Calm down Hyunjinnie! It’s harmless!”

“I don’t care! It’s terrifying! Take it away!” He whines in complaint. You can’t help but giggle as you carry the little reptile over to the treeline and lift him to slither away up into the foliage. 

“There, he’s gone. He can’t eat you anymore,” you tease him sarcastically. Felix laughs while the older boy just pouts at you both. 

“That’s not funny!” He complains.

“It was kinda funny,” Felix counters, earning a glare. 

“I imagine that’s enough excitement for you today then?” You offer, already collecting his paints and picnic blanket. 

“I think I’ve lost 10 years of my life,” he says, dramatically drawing in a deep breath.

“Well lucky for you it wasn’t an actually dangerous snake or else you would have lost all your years,” Felix mentions unhelpfully. 

“Felix! You’re going to scare him from ever wanting to come back!” You laugh. 

“I hate you and I am never painting another portrait for you ever again,” Hyunjin responds to his friend, using a nearby stump to give himself a boost, throwing his leg over to mount his horse.

“Aw~! Jinnie~! You’re really disowning me so easily?” Felix equally as dramatic whines. You roll your eyes, finish packing up his supplies, and stuff them in his pack before you move to help Felix up onto his horse as well. 

By the time you pull yourself up onto Storm’s back, the two boys had hashed it out and were back to friendly joking around. You’re happy that the little snake incident doesn’t seem to have completely ruined their time enjoying the beautiful sights. You tug on the reins and start leading them on the trek back to the stables. 

“So did you at least get some of the visuals you were hoping for on this trip?” You ask. 

“Of course! I have enough mental images to fuel my creative artistry for weeks!” Hyunjin gushes. You smile to yourself, happy that he was able to take away so much enjoyment from this trip. That you might have had a hand in his happiness.

“Not to mention how much fun it’s been to ride and take care of the horses! I am, like, obsessed with brushing her,” Felix adds. 

And you can tell he’s become attached to the mare. Not that you can blame him. You are obsessed with the horses, too! It warms your heart really. To know that your love for these (usually) majestic animals, can be shared with these boys that create your favorite music. 

The fact that you are able to call them your friends now is still mind-boggling.

“Just out of curiosity,” Felix starts and immediately your suspicions rise. “What’s going on between you and our little brother?” His voice comes off as playful in nature, though you know he’s out to get the gossip to take back to some of the others. One of whom is riding on the horse beside him. 

You turn back to look at him, his brows doing a little wiggle at you for added effect. You burst out laughing as your eyes roll for the hundredth time today. You can’t even find it in yourself to be mad at the attempted intrusion. He’s just too funny when he’s trying so hard!

“I’m not sure what you mean when I’m pretty sure you know we’re together at this point,” you play off his question nonchalantly. 

“Ohhh~ so you two are telling people now~ last time I checked, he was being all shy about it!” Hyunjin drawls. 

“Well, for obvious reasons we can’t just be completely forward about it all the time,” you counter, unable to hide the slight dip of your tone. 

“Of course,” Felix agreed. “He just seems a lot lighter in spirit since he met you.”

“Really? He’s seemed like the same cheerful puppy I’d always seen online to me,” you muse. 

“He’s definitely just as sassy. Maybe even more so since he thinks we’re always teasing him,” Hyunjin laughs. 

“Well, do you?” You ask with a chuckle.

“Oh absolutely!” Felix hollers happily. All of you break into a fit of laughter. 

“So? How’re things going with him?” Felix asks again when you’ve settled back down.

“Yeah, is he treating you right?” Hyunjin adds. “If he isn’t, his hyungs will teach him a lesson or two.” He says as if it’s a threat but you know there’s no actual chance it will shape up to anything. 

“Honestly?” You pose the question. Both of them hum in agreement, listening intently for your honest answer. And you momentarily question if they might actually fight him if you were to tell them he treats you poorly. 

But lucky for him, you don’t have a bad thing to say.

“He makes me feel like I’m the only girl in his world,” you tell them, a dreamy sigh threatening to break free when you take in a deep breath.

You do catch one of their relieved sighs at your response though. Probably Felix? But it was too faint to tell exactly. 

“Good! I taught him everything he knows about romance!” Hyunjin quips. 

Felix laughs beside him. “No you didn’t! That was Channie-hyung!” 

Hyunjin squawks at the implied insult, the two of them bickering playfully about who is the most romantic of their friend group as you just enjoyed their company. It’s not your fault if you use the distraction to think about the subject of the conversation himself. 

You allow yourself to sink into the rhythm of Storm’s steps, your body relaxing slightly to sway to his natural beat. Your mind drifts to your plans this evening with him. You wonder what movie he’ll want to watch, what snacks he might pick to bring. Because you’re sure he will bring some. Based on your dinner date with him, he tends to think of everything to make your time together just perfect. Then the anticipation of a cuddle session sends a thrill down your spine. Your chest feels bubbly with giddiness just from the prospect of it.

“Did you hear me, Y/N?” Felix calls. You’re physically startled that you hadn’t heard him at all.

“I-I’m sorry, what was that?” Both boys chuckle under their breath that you were clearly in a daydreamy state just now. 

“I said~ It would have been nice if you had introduced us all to one of your friends and then all of us could go on group dates while we’re here!” He repeats. 

“Oh, but can you imagine having six other Livs in the world? Talk about Stray Kids world domination…” You joke in a morbid tone for added effect. Both boys burst into laughter. 

The conversation flows into how extroverted Liv is and how easy it is to get along with her. Your chest swells with affection for your best friend. If it hadn’t been for her encouragement, you wouldn’t have been brave enough to even speak to these boys in the first place. 

“I am so grateful that fate brought all of us together. It’s almost like you and Liv were made to be our friends and now I can’t imagine our lives without you,” Felix says, so serious you think he might be getting emotional. But when you look over your shoulder at him, there’s not a single tear to be seen, just a warm smile softening his features. 

“I’m grateful, too,” you agree quietly. The three of you growing quiet. The sound of hooves on dirt is the only thing filling the air. 

“We’re really happy for you, ya know,” Hyunjin tells you. You look over to his side, unlike Felix, it’s like he’s purposefully avoiding looking back at you. “You make our little brother so incredibly happy and we can’t thank you enough for that.”

He finally meets your eyes and the force of his gaze nearly knocks you out of your saddle. He really means it, though it seems like it might be a little embarrassing for him to admit out loud. 

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted. For all of you to find true happiness in life,” you reply with equal sincerity. “But I never imagined I’d find such a deep connection with one of you. I—I truly can’t believe how hard I fell and so fast.”

It feels good to be able to talk about your feelings outside of your conversations with Liv or Seungmin. There’s a little voice in the back of your mind that is resentful that you’re not allowed to shout it from the rooftops. Scream about it in the streets. Tell anyone who will listen about the love you have found and adore with all your heart.

But the bigger, more logical part of your brain reminds you of what you signed up for. You knew from the beginning that this wouldn't be like a normal relationship. You would have to hide to keep yourself (and him) safe. Not to mention keep him in the good graces of his company. 

But you still can’t bring yourself to give up on it. The love in your heart too strong to ignore. You’re willing to fight for this, fight for him.

“Geez, it’s almost like you’re already an old married couple reminiscing about the past,” Felix teases, sniffling at the end quietly. 

“Do you know what he’ll say to you if he finds out you called him old?” You warn. 

Hyunjin bursts with laughter again. “Lix, you better hope he doesn’t take lessons from Minho-hyung!” 

The conversation stays light the rest of the way back. You’re thankful that they kept the sappy subject short, opting for their usual joking nature instead. Which is easier to distract yourself from the emotions swirling in your chest. 

“By the way,” Hyunjin pipes up excitedly. “when are you going to create a group chat with all of us? It’s really rude of him to hog you for this long.”

“You’re just jealous that I have her number now,” Felix puffs proudly. 

“Yes I am, and I’m not the only one,” Hyunjin huffs back.

~*~

~*~

taglist 

@kangaracha @rainfallingfromthesky @puppysmileseungmin @defnotfertilizedtoesw @teenyfinds 

@bbokari711 @lakoya @chlodavids @rylea08 @chanshugsaretherapy

@palindrome969 @here-to-read-and-read-fics @imagine-all-the-imagines @keepswingin

[aimeedaisies]

On the road with the inexhaustible Princess Anne

8am 800 miles travelled, 12pm 650 hands shaken, 9pm 0 cups of tea drunk

By Hannah Furness, 9 May 2024

The Princess Royal is standing up a 42ft tower, looking out to sea in a north-westerly force six wind. Her hair, that neat up-do that has barely changed in 40 years, does not move, even as a sudden gust blows a seagull past her eyeline.

‘It’s quite exposed,’ she says, with understatement, then gets on with peppering her hosts with questions about tides, volunteer timetables and what precisely the diggers on the beach below are doing.

Outside the watchtower, her arrival in the Lancashire seaside town of Fleetwood has caused the smallest of stirs. A handful of curious dog-walkers gaze at her, camera-phones aloft, and she offers them a brief wave.

Inside, the volunteers of the National Coastwatch Institution (NCI) could not be more excited for a visit from their royal patron. The chairman, Stephen Hand, launches into a stream of compliments about the Princess’s work. ‘If I haven’t made the point clearly enough,’ he finishes, ‘we love her.’

This is her first engagement in a day that will see her travel 421 miles from Gloucestershire to Lancashire, then Merseyside, and back again via helicopter and Range Rover. It is one of 10 engagements in this typical week; she will complete about 450 this year.

‘She’s a dynamo,’ says the CEO of The Pony Club. ‘The best president imaginable,’ agrees the chairman of Carers Trust. ‘She should be queen,’ offers a member of the public. This is said at least once a day.

Not for nothing does she have the reputation as Britain’s hardest-working royal. In numbers of engagements, she and the King vie for the top spot each year. While he and the Princess of Wales have taken time off from public engagements to undergo cancer treatment, the 73-year-old Princess Royal has ploughed on with her head down, her work the definition of ‘unsung’.

Most of the time, that is how she likes it. She has eschewed the ‘rota’ system of journalists, photographers and broadcasters who cover her family’s outings. ‘I don’t go for their benefit,’ she once said of the press. ‘I go for the people who ask me.’

This week, in the middle of April, she has made an exception to grant vanishingly rare permission for The Telegraph to follow her on the road, for a snapshot of her work.

At no small effort from her close-knit team, which has accommodated me in its nomadic office, I have been allowed to document her encounters with the approximately 650 people she has met, the many charities and organisations she has put in the spotlight – and report from inside a Windsor Castle investiture for the first time.

I’ve spent seven years writing about the Royal family, travelling across the UK and the world to watch them at work, but Princess Anne’s no-fuss, no-frills team is unlike anything I’ve seen up close before. Professional and precise, she barely stops – every hand is shaken and every minute counts.

The Plan

The Princess’s diary is set months in advance. Twice a year, her office sends an invitation to 300-plus organisations she is affiliated with, asking for their requests for her time. Typically she’ll receive 1,000 to 1,200 requests a year – some suggest a visit, others ask her to write forewords to books, or ask for meetings. All are compiled into a database, arranged by date and region, and printed neatly in a book for the Princess to study. ‘[She] goes through everything required and decides what she’s going to do and when,’ says a member of the team. A planning meetings follows – and ‘once [the programme is] set, she sticks to it’.

Across the year, the Princess Royal travels the width and breadth of the United Kingdom

Her staff then go through it again to add last-minute audiences into the gaps. ‘The week is there to be filled,’ one long-serving team member tells me. ‘If she’s got a free hour and a half in London, we’ll look again to see what else to add.’

The Princess’s team is small but mighty. There’s her private secretary, Colonel John Boyd, who is fresh from 32 years in the British Army; her deputy private secretary, Commander Anne Sullivan (the double Annes occasionally cause confusion for outsiders); as well as five programme managers tasked with ironing out the exact schedule, right down to how long the Princess can spend talking to each person.

They are aided by 13 ladies-in-waiting, spread geographically, who accompany her out and about. Some of her first, who began working with her in the early 1970s, have only just retired.

‘You never quite know what she’s going to say yes to, but it’s never an outright no,’ says the long-serving team member of her schedule. ‘She’s probably been to more industrial estates than any other royal.

Monday - Estimated miles travelled - 0 (worked from home)

Hands shaken - 8

‘It’s a balance of what do the organisations want, what could she hear or learn or teach here? Every day is a school day where the Princess is concerned.’

At Gatcombe Park, her Gloucestershire home, the Princess’s assistant, Donna, welcomes a small group of eight smartly dressed representatives from the Royal Dairy Innovation Award with a cup of tea and a biscuit.

The Princess joins them once they are settled, in a homely barn conversion with framed seascapes on the walls. She reassures them that it’s ‘not going to be one of those formal events’, then starts grilling them about the Nova Scotian dairy industry and on-shore salmon farming.

Ash Amirahmadi OBE, winner of the prestigious Princess Royal Award, is there to officially collect the certificate honouring his leadership in the dairy industry. Afterwards, when the private engagement has sunk in, he tells me: ‘We had practised our formalities but she immediately put us at ease.

‘I was thinking, “How does she know this stuff, and how does she remember?” I come across eminent scientists and business leaders and not many have a better understanding of the food system than the Princess Royal.’

Ash Amirahmadi, the winner of this year’s Princess Royal Award, pictured with the Princess Royal

Before he leaves, the Princess tells him that she’ll be in touch to sign him up to deliver a speech at a conference next year.

She fits in a horse ride, dodging the worst of the day’s rain and hail she feared could be ‘painful’.

‘There’s no such thing as bad weather,’ she says later, with satisfaction. ‘Only inappropriate clothing.’

Tuesday - Estimated miles travelled - 421

Hands shaken - 200+

In Fleetwood, the wind whips across the sandy beach and the Princess Royal doesn’t flinch. She is there with a handful of volunteers from the NCI, celebrating its 30th anniversary. With an average age of 69, these are the local ‘eyes and ears’ that saved 22 people from trouble in the water last year by raising the alarm.

After a turn with the telescope, the Princess – wearing a navy-blue coat, colourful silk scarf and (the now famous) wraparound sunglasses – reaches the top of the Rossall Point Observation Tower, which looks out over Morecambe Bay, where conditions can be treacherous.

The Princess Royal inspects the Rossall Point Observation Tower

‘It really is extraordinary,’ she says. ‘Classically people say the sea is never the same, but in a place like this it really never is the same. The seasons, the bird life, the activity…’ Everyone nods.

This visit, it emerges, has little in common with most royal engagements, where guests of honour hear how things work. This has more of an air of a diligent business manager checking in on a regional branch. Nothing needs explaining to the Princess, a keen sailor and lighthouse aficionado, and she wins the approval of what could be a tough crowd with on-the-money observations about tide timings.

She speaks sparingly. Questions and remarks are formed from one or two words: ‘Since?’ ‘Previous experience?’ ‘Quite handy.’ She has a reply to everything, having travelled every inch of Britain in the line of duty.

John Bradford, who at 77 is the longest-serving volunteer, waits on the tower to shake her hand, but he is accidentally missed. The Princess is swept on to the next part of the engagement, presenting long-service awards and meeting 25 more volunteers in the nearby Marine Hall, accompanied by her new lady-in-waiting Dolly Maude, a midwife and friend of Zara Tindall who wastes no time in charming the room.

When her team discover someone has been missed out, they tell the Princess directly and Mr Bradford is whisked into the very last line-up.

‘I’m very glad you made it in,’ the Princess tells him, spending an extra few moments in conversation.

Then, plaque and certificate duties completed, she disappears to a back room where sandwiches are on offer. Ten minutes later, she’s back on the road.

It is a cliché that the Royal family thinks the world smells of fresh paint. The ground floor of the watchtower was drained of flood water shortly before the Princess’s arrival and the corridors at her next engagement in Merseyside have the distinct smell of bleach – but at the Wrea Green Equitation Centre in Preston, it is quite the opposite: a muck heap has been left intact. The hosts deem futile any attempts to fool the Princess into thinking it didn’t exist. She is, after all, a life-long equestrian.

She arrives on time; I do not. Without a helicopter, it’s impossible to keep up with her formidable itinerary.

Skipping the champagne reception and tea party, put on to celebrate 25 years of the Pony Club Centre Membership Scheme, the Princess instead strides around the yard watching the young riders and their parade of ponies.

She tours the stables and classrooms, chatting to children about horse massage and how side-saddle is still relevant for people with prosthetic legs, then she holds a presentation of commemorative plaques to 20 proprietors, each of whom has a different chat with her.

When a ‘naughty pony’ in a stable behind her unties itself to join the royal party, she is entirely unfazed.

‘She didn’t mind a bit,’ says Marcus Capel, CEO of The Pony Club – she simply carries on talking while stroking the pony’s ears.

The third engagement of the day: Sefton Carers Centre at Waterloo in Merseyside, which supports unpaid carers. Some of those assembled remember the Princess from 30 years ago, when she opened the centre. She is back to celebrate the anniversary.

Wearing a red jacket that looks strikingly similar to the one she was wearing back then (only the length and buttons are different), she hails a stream of people with a cheerful, ‘I haven’t seen you for a while,’ and, ‘This has changed a bit.’

The Princess Royal visits the Sefton Carers Centre to celebrate its 30th anniversary

Everyone is assembled in horseshoe shapes – her preferred arrangement for talking – and she ploughs on with gloved handshakes, getting through five large rooms of people. Among them are two men in their 90s who care for their wives with dementia, an eight-year-old girl in a wheelchair dressed as a princess, and teenagers who look after siblings and parents before and after school.

Some are nervous; a few curtseys are a little shaky. The Princess has a neat trick: her questions get more specific – no opinions are required, just short, easy-to-recall facts, to help ease them in. ‘Where do you live?’ ‘How long have you been coming here?’

Her own opinions are brief, delivered as common sense. On hearing that GPs don’t see the same families from cradle to grave any more, so find it difficult to support carers, the Princess says: ‘That’s part of the way people live their lives.’

She spends a few extra moments talking to the building’s cleaner, loudly declaring her ‘very important’. When one woman jokes about her long service, adding, ‘I think my face shows it,’ the Princess does an exaggerated double-take and says, ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

She has another habit, shared with King Charles, of ending engagements by turning back for one last comment, leaving the impression she wishes she could stay.

The Princess Royal cuts the cake, on the promise it will be eaten

Downstairs, she unveils her third plaque of the day. There is a celebratory cake on the table in front of her and an expectant crowd waiting. She takes control of the moment. ‘You want the cake cut? On the basis that you’re going to eat it? Otherwise it’s just vandalism.’

Before she leaves, she is presented with a large rose planter. ‘Oh my word, a monster!’ she marvels. ‘What a lovely thing… I hope the helicopter can cope.’

By the end of the day, in small heels and with the briefest of breaks, she has spoken to at least 250 people. If she’s flagging, it doesn’t show.

Wednesday - Minutes of continuous conversation - 180

Hands shaken - 140

At 11 o’clock in Windsor Castle, Yeomen of the Guard stand on duty in the Grand Reception Room, as the Countess of Wessex’s String Orchestra plays quietly. The Princess Royal moves into position, wearing naval uniform, and the orchestra strikes up with God Save the King. Standing on a dais, a red velvet stool placed in front of her, she is ready for a full day of investitures.

The Princess is one of only three members of the family who perform them and while the King and the Prince of Wales have been needed at home, she has been carrying the load.

Some 140 people will receive an honour today, among them Paul Hollywood, who is being made an MBE. The pair discussed the smells of baking, he says later. ‘She loves Chelsea buns. I did promise her some so I’m not quite sure how I’m going to sort it out.’

The Great British Bake Off judge Paul Hollywood was among those honoured by the Princess Royal

Diana Parkes, a domestic violence campaigner who has worked with Queen Camilla in memory of her daughter, is made a CBE. She finds immediate common ground with the Princess via a family member who sold her horses.

One of the large team that makes the investitures happen tells me quietly that ‘you can always tell when it’s HRH’ on duty, because the day takes longer.

In theory, the Princess has her deputy private secretary on hand to jog her memory with details about people as the Lord Chamberlain announces each name. In practice, says a long-serving aide, she sends investiture notes back with her own comments about where she has met people before and which of her patronages they have links to. This is the case ‘95 per cent of the time’.

‘She’s got such a great brain. We often hear, “You must have briefed her really well,” but no, it’s all her. She makes it very easy in that respect.’ As each encounter winds up with a brisk handshake, recipients walk backwards to bow – desperate to get it right before rejoining their watching families. The Princess smiles at each one like they could not have performed it better.

After the 90-minute session has overrun slightly, she takes lunch in the private apartments before repeating it all in the afternoon.

Thursday - Core working hours - 9

Hands shaken - 250+

London’s Guildhall. The Princess Royal arrives via train for The Lord Mayor’s Big Curry Lunch, a City fundraiser for military veterans which has raised more than £3.3 million since it began in 2008.

To walk in as an outsider is to enter a new world where London’s livery companies (guilds dating back to medieval times) line the corridors with stalls – the Worshipful Companies of Bakers, Fruiterers, Gardeners, Pewterers and Framework Knitters are all there.

The Princess has no entourage, only her protection officers and one lady-in-waiting. She does not bat an eyelid at being escorted in by members of The Company of Pikemen & Musketeers, who wield weapons from the Charles I era and take their roles seriously.

Guests are an eclectic mix – a pearly queen mingles with barristers and bankers, alongside the military. An injured veteran in his mid-30s tells me: ‘In the Army, I’ve often been in front of high-ranking people who don’t care what you have to say at all… She’s different.’

Michael Hockney, co-chairman of the event, says the Princess is ‘very well-known and popular in the City because she’s involved in the livery movements’.

The Princess Royal greets the traders at London's Guildhall

Lunch is served on long tables. The Princess sits with servicemen and women, eating from an identical plate piled with chicken tikka masala, prawn malai, dal, rice and mango chutney.

Ballanupalli Sainath Rao, executive chef, asks if she remembers her last visit, in 2015, when she said she knew the factory of the company supplying the food and thought they could offer more variety than chicken every year. ‘Two meats and three vegetables,’ she suggested. Chef Rao added the prawn dish on that advice. ‘We had a lot of compliments.’

The Princess is plied with goodie bags, including matching socks for her and Vice Admiral Sir Tim Laurence, her husband. On her way out, she views a small garden with artwork by children from forces families and inspects a stall from the Worshipful Company of Fishmongers (est 1272); the stallholders have been hastily restocking ice and swatting away flies as they wait in the sunshine.

‘She was saying it’s great to see the array of fish,’ fishmonger Andrew Kenny explains afterwards. ‘She asks really precise questions… It’s very disarming.’

Climbing into a waiting car, the Princess tells the organisers: ‘[I’m] not causing too much chaos, I hope.’ And then she’s off – next stop Buckingham Palace.

At 7pm, the Princess Royal walks through the ‘secret door’, disguised as a mirror and cabinet, which links the Palace’s private rooms to the White Drawing Room, a State Room with a gold piano, familiar from some of the late Queen Elizabeth II’s Christmas broadcasts. Tonight, she is hosting a black-tie dinner to celebrate The Duke of Edinburgh’s Commonwealth Study Conferences, which bring together future leaders to address pressing problems facing the world. In particular, she is saluting the Canadian team, which has led the way in hosting the conferences and keeping her father’s vision alive.

The Princess Royal enters Buckingham Palace's White Drawing Room via the secret door.

Wearing a long skirt and sequinned jacket in red to match the Canadian flag, she carries a handbag under her arm and wears her late mother’s three-strand pearls. Unlike other royals, the Princess’s team won’t confirm to the press what exactly she is wearing. One suspects anyone who asked would get short shrift.

She spends roughly an hour in the Picture Gallery, working her way through a crowd. One guest tells her of her memories of a drinks reception with the late Queen and Prince Philip on Britannia, during their visit to Ontario in 1984. Asking another about their trip to London, she agrees that walking is the best way to get around, although ‘not at this time of night and dressed like this’.

Ahead of a dinner of poached citrus salmon salad, roasted lamb, and crème brûlée with poached rhubarb, the Princess delivers an eight-minute speech. At one time, she is said to have written every speech herself. Nowadays, she often works from prepared notes, which she edits ruthlessly with liberal red pen strokes and capital letters.

The conferences, she says, were ‘envisioned by my late father, but I suspect he never thought it would last this long.

The Princess Royal greets guests at the Duke of Edinburgh's Commonwealth Study Conferences dinner.

‘At the moment, in these rather difficult times – post-Covid and just generally complicated – it’s just as important to have the ability to bring people together across the widest possible range.’

The Princess will stay on for dinner, sitting at a round table and entertaining guests until long after sundown.

Friday - Minutes on feet presenting honours - 90

Hands shaken - 79

Friday morning and the Princess is back at it with an investiture. There are 79 people this time, with their families, in the Throne Room at Buckingham Palace.

Neil Constable, former CEO of Shakespeare’s Globe, is here to receive his OBE for services to theatre. He says afterwards that the ‘professional’ Princess knew the brief so well that she could make conversation about both his previous job and his next, at The Musicians’ Company. She told him she had just been to the Guildhall that week for the Big Curry Lunch, adding, ‘You’ll have a great time with them.’

‘You leave thinking, wow, actually we had a really good conversation,’ he says. ‘We talked about her late father Prince Philip being a long-standing patron of the Globe and how some of the timber from the Globe came from Windsor Great Park’, donated by Prince Philip.

‘[She] made it a very special day.’

At this point, I close the notebook that clocks in at 84 pages of shorthand. Everyone – kindly, warmly, generously – is saying the same thing, and we have run out of superlatives. The job, too, must get repetitive but you would never know it. In continually asking questions, the Princess has found a way to keep interested even after all these decades.

Princess Anne salutes at the conclusion of a commissioning ceremony aboard HMCS Max Bernays as part of Fleet Week, in North Vancouver, B.C

She treats her work as a ‘nine-to-five job’, one Palace source tells me. ‘Except it doesn’t often finish at five.’ I have barely seen her sit and haven’t seen her accept a single cup of tea while working.

The week after we meet, the Princess will be in Windsor, Shropshire, Cambridgeshire, London and Cornwall. After that, she will go from the Royal Windsor Horse Show to Canada for a three-day trip with Sir Tim.

She will be 75 next year but shows no sign of slowing down. I am half her age – and after barely a week of trying to keep up with her, I’m off for a lie down.

Weekly total

Estimated miles travelled - 818

Hands shaken - 677+

[ravencoloredroses]

Experiment

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Az is gone on a mission and two people from the past decide to pay the reader a visit to do some experiments…..

Warnings: fire, blood, swearing

Word Count: 4,258

A/N: Here’s my first Az fic! This one’s really angsty with a hint of fluff. Thanks for reading!!! I hope you like it! <3

—————————————————————————

The morning sunshine wakes me up before my alarm. I roll over to my mate's side of bed to snuggle into his warmth, but I only find a cold and empty spot. He’s gone. Well, not gone, he’s out on a mission. Has been for a while.

Something about making sure the Autumn Court is sticking to our agreement, at least that’s what I remember him telling me. That was 2 weeks ago, Az has been gone for 2 whole weeks.

I know not to worry, he’s literally the spymaster of the Night Court. But he’s also my best friend, my mate, and every second he’s not with me I don’t feel like myself.

Our family has been trying to cheer me up, it’s not really working but I still appreciate it. Feyre took me to a painting class, which I was actually really excited for! That was before the instructor told us to paint what we envision our future to look like, then I wasn’t so excited.

He’s never been away this long before, and if he was sent on a longer mission, he took me with him. This one I wasn’t allowed to come along, Azriel said so himself. I tried not to feel upset that he didn’t want me there, because I know he’s doing it to protect me. The Autumn Court is not exactly the safest place right now, especially for the mate of the Night Court’s spymaster.

With a grunt I roll out of bed, not interested in facing this day at all. I stumble over to the bathroom and try not to look at myself in the mirror. I know I look awful. It’s hard enough to get out of bed most days, let alone take care of myself.

Turning on the water in the bathtub, I let it burn my skin before turning it colder. Washing myself with his soaps has always been a comfort for me. Surrounding myself with things that smell of him is the only reason I survive when he’s gone. The bond between us has been gray since he left. I know that he has to close it when he leaves, but it still hurts every time I look at it.

Once the water has gone cold and my fingers start to prune is when I decide to get out. I reach over and grab his robe, it drags on the floor as I wrap it around myself. Getting dressed in our closet, I pick out an actual outfit instead of just something of Azriel’s to sleep in. The plan today is to try to leave the house and go grocery shopping. I’ve been struggling to make things to eat with whatever scraps we have lying around.

Azriel and I live on the outskirts of Velaris, away from most people. We picked this house for privacy, but that also means that most stores are like 20 miles away. That’s fine when you have an Illyrian mate with huge wings, but when he’s not here I have to walk into town.

Finally picking out a decent outfit, black leggings and a huge oversized cream sweater. It was a gift Azriel got from Mor a couple Starfall’s ago, but she bought it without looking for wing holes, now it’s mine. It doesn’t smell like him though, so I walk over to our dresser, grab his cologne and spritz a little of it on me.

Next I move onto my hair, or should I say rats nest. Ripping out a few chunks as I struggle to brush it, I quickly braid it back out of my face. Once I’m satisfied with my appearance, I head out of the house to finally find something to eat.

About 20 minutes into my walk I hear a pair of footsteps behind me. Trying to nonchalantly look and see who it is, I see a hooded figure about 10 feet behind me. I break out into a jog, attempting to put some distance between us and I hear their footsteps pick up the pace with me.

As I’m rounding a corner, another hooded figure comes out in front of me. I stop dead in my tracks, nowhere to go. “Don’t try anything stupid.” The one in front of me says. “This will all be over soon.”

I’m about to respond when a white powder is thrown over me. Faebane. Screaming out to Rhys in my mind, hoping, praying, that he can hear me. The last thing I remember was being picked up in someone’s arms and them saying, “Not so strong without your spymaster, aren’t you?”

Then everything went black.

— —

I’m jolted awake by a bucket of water splashing on me. I try to move my arms, but soon realize that they are tied together so tight I can’t move a muscle. “Thank you for joining us, my dear.” My captor says. I pry my eyes open and look at my surroundings.

I’m in some kind of basement, a cell, the only door I see is behind a wall of metal bars. My hair is yanked to force my head up, and I see the person's face for the first time.

“Well aren’t you pretty, looks like our step brother has done something right for once.” Step brother? Are these… Azriel’s step brothers?

“What do you want?” I spit out trying not to show how scared I am. These are the people who put Azriel in the most excruciating pain he’s ever been in, the people who caused the scars on his hands.

Out of the corner of my eye I see another person walk into the light. When I can finally see both faces, the one gripping my hair throws me back down on the ground. ”What do we want?” The one in the back laughs. “We want to do a little experiment.” With every word they speak I can feel my heartbeat growing faster. I’m realizing that there’s no getting out of this situation without being hurt.

“You see, when we found out our little brother had a mate, we wanted to put that bond between you to the test. So we came up with a plan: wait for Azriel to leave for a mission, capture you, and then do our experiment here. Only problem was that your special Highlord placed wards on your house so we had to wait until you left the house. And for whatever reason, you decided to stay inside for two weeks, only leaving while accompanied by your Highlady.”

“Today is finally the day brother,” He says, looking over to the other one. “Let’s say that step one is completed, and move on to step two.” He looks at me again while the other brother leaves the room.

“Now, here’s where you come in. I’m sure Azriel has told you of our first experiment with him about 500 years or so ago.” He brings over a chair and sits down in front of me. “Well we’re going to recreate that today, but with a twist.” The other brother comes back with a bucket and a book of matches.

I swallow the lump in my throat and try once again to call out to Rhys for help, but the faebane must not be out of my system yet. With Az gone they rarely check on me, so they won’t notice I’m missing. Fabulous.

“Oh sweetie, don’t be scared! Your precious mate went through this exact same thing. Now, we could make this quick, but we really don’t want to. I understand you’re not fully High Fae, so I am interested to see how your healing properties work. Let’s begin shall we?” He gestures over to the brother holding the bucket to come over.

My heart is now beating so loud, I bet they can hear it. Running out of options, I try the only thing I can think of. Begging. “Please. You don’t want to do this. If- if I die, Azriel will hunt you down and torture you for years before he kills you.”

They both laugh. The one with the bucket sets it down in front of me and I can smell what’s in it. Gasoline. He grabs my chin so I look up at him. “That’s a lot of confidence you have in him. Who’s to say he’ll ever find your body? We plan on keeping you here for our… uses… for a while, my dear.” He lets go of my chin roughly and reaches behind him to grab his knife.

“First thing to go is gonna be these awful clothes.” He says as he uses his knife to cut away at my sweater, leaving me in just a bra from the waist up. I can feel cuts on my chest drip with blood, he wasn’t careful with cutting it off. “Alright, now that that’s taken care of, let’s get started.”

Now I’m terrified. I never got to say goodbye to my family, never got to say goodbye to Az. “Wh-what kind of experiment are you gonna do?” I try stalling.

“We wanna see if your mating bond will transfer your pain over to Azriel. And then if he has the power to figure out your location from the bond as well. Since Azriel has been through our first experiment, he should recognize the pain you feel.” He stays standing up and pushing his chair away.

“W-well with the faebane in my system, the b-bond won’t feel anything. N-not until it w-wears off.” I struggle to get out, shaking because of the freezing temperatures. The brothers look at each other.

“I thought you didn’t use that much?”

“I didn’t!”

“I can still smell it on her! Now we have to wait even longer!” They argue back and forth. “Okay, we’ll be back in about an hour. Let’s hope it wears off by then.” He says as they both leave, locking the door behind them.

I feel tears start to pool in my eyes, and as they fall down my face they freeze on my cold skin. Trying to think of what Az would do in this situation, I realize he was in this situation. Granted he was a boy, but still, he’s been tortured by these same people and couldn’t escape. So why should I even bother trying. I’m still thinking of a plan as I feel my eyes grow heavy and my heart beat unnaturally slow. Then everything goes black, again.

— —

Azriel’s POV

Finally finished with my mission, I make a mental note to beat the shit out of Rhys. ‘It’s a simple mission, shouldn’t take too long’ he said to me, what a lie that was. What should have only been 3 to 4 days turned into 2 weeks. Flying back home from Autumn I only want one thing, my mate. She’s all I could think about while I was gone.

I reach the front steps of our house and open up my end of our bond. Normally, she would feel me and come running down to meet me outside. Maybe she’s asleep.

I unlock the door and my shadows go searching the house. They come flying back informing me that she’s not here.

Deciding that she must be out with Feyre, I head over to the House of Wind to debrief with Rhys and Cassian. Walking in I see Feyre, Nesta and Mor playing with Nyx on the floor in the living room. “Hey Az! You’re back!” Feyre jumps up to greet me. “Where’s y/n?” She asks.

“I thought she was with you?” I replied. “I was just at our house and she wasn’t there. I figured she’d be here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Az, but I haven’t seen her since last week.” Mor says standing up.

“Last week? Have any of you seen her since then?” I ask the room. Just then Rhys and Cassian come walking in.

“Hey brother, welcome back. Wanna head to the office to debrief with us?”

“Have you guys seen y/n recently?” Feyre asks her mate.

“No. I haven’t seen her in a while actually. Why? Is everything okay?”

“She wasn’t at our house just now and I came here because this is where I thought she would be. I opened up my end of the bond again but hers is still closed.” I say, now pacing the room.

“Az, I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she’s just out shopping or something. Why don’t we come to the office, I’m sure she’ll turn up before we’re done.” Rhys stops my pacing with a hand on my shoulder. “Come on brother, let’s go discuss your mission.”

Deciding that he’s probably right and that she’s probably just shopping, I follow my brothers into Rhys’ office to debrief them on my mission.

— —

Reader’s POV

Once again I’m woken up by water thrown on my face. It stings when it gets into the cuts littering my body which have somehow multiplied since I was last awake. “Welcome back, darling.” One of the brothers says. “Hopefully your system is all clear of faebane, so we can begin our experiment.” The second brother comes up behind him holding the bucket and match book again. He stands in front of me with an evil grin on his face. “This may hurt a little.” He laughs and then pours the bucket of gasoline all over my hands. My heart rate picks up as he now holds up a match.

“Please. Please don’t do this. I’ll do anything.” I plead. They don’t even respond, they just light the match.

I’ve felt pain before in my life, but nothing has ever compared to this. I watch the match fall onto my hands in slow motion and the only thing I can do is scream. I try to put out the fire, but I’m fully strapped to a chair now and I can’t move anywhere. The pain is getting so unbearable, I feel my skin melting away. I hear the metal bars slam shut as the brothers move to the other side of the cage to watch. I’m crying out for mercy, for Azriel, for Rhys, for anybody.

“No one’s gonna help you honey!”

“Looks like your mating bond doesn’t do shit!”

They laugh as I scream louder and louder. Praying to anyone who will listen, wishing that this ends soon.

— —

Azriel’s POV

Sitting in Rhys’ office, I get a weird feeling in my chest. I try my best to ignore it, but a few moments later I feel an excruciating pain in my hands. Screaming out for it to stop, Rhys and Cassian both come rushing over.

“Az! Az! What is it? What’s wrong?” Rhys asks, standing over me.

“My- my hands!” I cry out. I lift up my hands to show them and see that there’s nothing on them, nothing causing the pain.

“What? What’s wrong with your hands??” Cassian tries to keep me from collapsing. I can’t respond because another wave of pain courses through me, this time in my chest. I feel y/n’s side of the mating bond open and I immediately fall down on the ground. The familiar pain in my hands tells me everything I need to know. Somehow, someway, someone is hurting my mate in the same way I was. And I know exactly who that someone is.

“Az, she’s reaching out to me! I don’t think she can hear me, but she’s talking to me.” Rhys says, leaning over beside me. “Can you tell where she is? All I can see is a cell, I- I can’t see anything else.”

The only thing I can do is nod my head in response as I shoot up and fly out the open window. Not caring if my brothers are following me, although I’m sure they are. My only thought is to get to my y/n, now.

— —

Reader’s POV

Just as the fire is about to die out, one of the brothers comes back in the room and dumps more gasoline on my hands, igniting the fire once again. He retreats back behind the bars as I scream my head off. Any hope of being saved has gone out the window. No one probably even knows I’m missing, let alone looking to find me. I’ve opened my end of our bond in hopes Az can feel me, but I can’t even tell if his side is open or not.

Just when I’m about to give into the urge to let go, I hear a blast against the wall of the cell. I struggle to see through my tears, but I can see 3 winged figures coming in from the hole in the wall. I feel a cooling presence creep up to my hands and extinguish the flame. When I can finally look up again, I see two of the new winged males taking away my captors and the third winged male comes over to me slowly.

“Please, help me.” I whisper to the mystery male. “I don’t wanna die.” He comes closer and unties the straps holding me down then lifts me into his arms. As he holds me I immediately know who it is. “Az? I-Is that you?”

“It’s me little dove, just hold on, okay? I’m gonna get you out of here, just don’t close your eyes. Keep looking at me, don’t stop looking at me.” He says while soothing my hair back. I didn’t even realize we started flying until I felt the wind against my burns. “Az, I-It hurts so bad.”

“I know, I know it does. You’re gonna be alright, love. You just gotta hold on a little while longer, okay? We’re almost there.” His voice sounds hoarse like he’s been screaming as well. He picks up speed and the gust of wind makes my hands burn even worse. It gets harder and harder to keep my eyes open.

“I love you, Azriel.” I say, as the world goes black.

— —

“She should be awake by now, something’s wrong.”

“Az, she’s fine, just give her some time. She’ll wake up soon”

I hear muffled voices say around me. Without even opening my eyes, I know where I am. Home. I can feel my hands are in bandages, so tight I can’t move them. I hear a door close and then somebody sits down next to me.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, I-I’ll never be able to forgive myself. I promised to keep you safe and then this happens. I just want you to be okay, please just be okay.” Azriel whispers. I can tell he’s crying now and all I want to do is hold him. I realize that his end of the bond is now wide open, so I send a rush of the love I feel for him down. I hear him gasp. “Y/N? Y/N can you hear me?” He asks.

I struggle to open my eyes, but I finally do. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the lighting, and then I see him. My mate, looking like he hasn’t left my side since I’ve been here. “Hey.” I managed to say. He places my face between his hands and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“I love you so fucking much.” He whispers. “I’m so, so, so sorry that this happened to you, my love. I will do everything I can to make it right.” He leans back and looks into my eyes.

“I love you so fucking much too. I’m sorry that I gave up-“

“No. Do not say you’re sorry. Never say you’re sorry. Never.” He cuts me off.

“How long was I out?” I change the subject, arguing right now doesn’t feel like the best idea.

“Five days. I’ve been here the whole time.” He says. I move over a little bit to make room for him to be on the bed next to me. “Sweetheart, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please. I just need you to hold me.” I plead.

He slowly leans over to lay down beside me. “You know I can’t say no when you look at me like that.” He laughs as he pulls me into his arms. I bring my bandaged hands between us so I can snuggle into his chest more. He gently grabs one and places a kiss on my bandaged knuckles.

I bury my head into his neck and he places his chin on the crown of my head. “Madja says that she may be able to remove some of the scars with a tonic.” I take a second to think.

“Do you want me to try it? I know how you feel about your hands, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…”

“Look at me.” He pulls back and lifts my chin up so our eyes meet. “You could never make me uncomfortable. I will always be here for you, for as long as you want me around.” He gently presses his lips to mine in a loving and tender kiss. After we pull away, I sink back down into his chest and fall asleep. I’m finally right where I belong.

— —

I walk into Madja’s clinic with Az right behind me. It’s been about 3 days since I woke up and I’m tired of these bandages.

“Hello!” Madja greets us. “Okay, let’s take a look at those hands.”

Az helps me hop up onto the counter and then stands next to me. He places a hand on my knee and comfortingly smooths my skin with his thumb. As she cuts away the wrapping, Azriel freezes. I look over at him to avoid seeing my hands. When all the bandages are off, his eyes start welling with tears.

“Well my dear, it looks a little worse than I would have hoped. It should be mostly healed by now.” Madja examines my hands.

My eyes widen at her words and I slowly look down. I can barely even recognize my own hands. The skin has been completely melted off and has been taken down to the muscle. Pus and blood are oozing out and even my fingerprints are gone. Gasping, I look back up to Azriel and find him already looking at me.

“Is there anything you can do?” He asks Madja. She gives a sigh and rummages around in the cabinets behind her. I didn’t even realize I was crying until Az wiped my tears away. He places a kiss into my hair and wraps an arm around my waist.

Madja returns with a glass bottle in her hand. “The only thing I can think of is this.” She says holding up the bottle. “It’s a little strong so it will be painful to apply, but it will help it heal faster.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and look up to Az. “Whatever you wanna do, little dove. Whatever you wanna do.” He says rubbing circles on my back.

I sigh heavily and nod to Madja. She gives me a sympathetic smile back and gently grabs my wrist to pull it closer to her. I squeeze my eyes shut as I anticipate the pain. The first drop onto my hands causes me to flinch away and scream.

“Y/N, I need you to stay still for me to be able to do this. Azriel you might have to hold her down.” Madja looks up at him. He places a kiss on my forehead and reaches over to grasp my wrists.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He cries. I bite down on my scream when she pours the liquid again. I put my head down on Az’s arm that stretched in front of me.

“Make it stop! Please stop! I-I can’t take it anymore!” I cry out.

“I know, I’m so sorry. She’s almost done. You can do this.”

After what feels like a lifetime, Madja finishes and wraps my hands back up. When she leaves, Az pulls me into a hug.

“Thank you, Az. I-I don’t know what I would do without you.” I move to kiss his cheek, but he backs up.

“This happened to you because of me. You’re in pain because of me!”

“Hey, don’t say that. That’s not true-“

“It is y/n. It is true. This only happened because of us, because of who you are to me.” He yells.

“Azriel. Come over here.” He slowly walks to stand between my knees. I put my arms around his waist and he does the same. “I love you. This is not your fault. It’s not my fault, it’s not Rhys’ fault. Your step brothers are at fault. This happened because of them, because of their sick and twisted minds. Don’t you ever blame yourself for this. Ever.”

He sighs and kisses my head. After a while of silently embracing each other, I ask the question that’s been on my mind since I woke up. “What happened to them?” I feel him stiffen around me.

“They’re still alive, for now. Rhys and Cas put them in my chamber in Hewn City. I wanted to wait to see what you wanted me to do.” He starts to smooth a comforting hand up and down my back. I place a kiss onto his collarbone in thanks and pull back to see his face.

“Well, I told them that you would ‘torture them for years before you kill them’ so… make them suffer… for as long as possible.”

He smirks down at me and places his lips on mine.

“That’s my mate.”

[sparks-olivarpente]

the Stranger Fics

(byler fics with unexpected powers or twists)

Turns out a lot of my favorite fics enter this category. Feel free to reblog and add fics you love :)

In the Eye of a Hurricane (It's You and Me) by Julia_Skysong "Jonathan, why…why am I with dad on the security tape????" Lonnie Byers is a royal piece of shit. Will finds out he has powers and understandably has a meltdown about it, and Mike helps him through it.

over a bridge of time by @sevensided Hawkins isn't the same without Will. So Mike goes to visit him in Chicago. Then strange things happen… Second part of the awesome serie THE DARK MIRROR and of course you should read the whole thing :)

I know the end by @cosmobrain00 The worst-case scenario has happened. … and that's all the summary you'll get from me! an ongoing serie that keeps getting better and better (or worse and worse, depending on the point of view). Tags: #Mind Manipulation #Will has powers

them’s the breaks by emelinelou Three years after moving to California, one Will Byers shows up - read: dimension-teleports or something - back in Hawkins. In the corner of Mike's bedroom. In the middle of the night. Turns out this is a bad thing, namely for Mike and Mike's sanity.

captured ghosts by etchedstars ghosts from will's past come back to haunt this. literally or metaphorically is up to audience interpretation. Some favorite tags: #plot relevant cuddles #will gets to be sarcastic #he also commits crime

Come Hell, High Water by naiesu “It’s been months, Mike,” Lucas says, staring at Mike, hard. Mike can’t remember a time he didn’t look at him that way. “Will is a cold case. You need to accept that.” The dream-like parts are amazingly written &lt;3

yesterFriday by nbfutureboy (@futureboy-ao3) Will Byers wakes up as usual one Friday morning - he worries about his family, his History test, and telling the people he loves that he doesn’t Like Girls in that way. Then he does it again. [Groundhog Day AU where Will gets stuck in a time loop.]

a strange education (reach out and touch me) by Total_Serene (@total-serene560) 16 year old Mike Wheeler wakes up in the middle of a highway in Indiana. He can't remember what happened, but he knows three things: He was going somewhere, it was supposed to be night, and he had taken Nancy's car. The mystery in this one…!!!

The Basement by olliecoddle (@souverian-are-we) Will and Mike spend their days in a little run-down house in the Upper Peninsula with dated furniture and peeling wallpaper, two sinking recliners next to each other. But there is a beast in the basement.

A Stranger Things Ghost Story by Junigatsu84 It is the Summer of 1983, before all the horrors that befall Hawkins. The boys are looking for their own mystery to solve and find a haunted house. It’s a shame Will is the only one to see it.

Back to the Future (with Mike Wheeler) by Nymphadoragreenleaf On a list of the top five most unexpected things to happen to Mike Wheeler, traveling 10 years into the future has got to take the top spot. The half-naked man claiming to be his best friend might be number two. Alternatively known as, Mike Wheeler tries to survive a week in the 90's and figures a couple of things out along the way.

You are the Heart by TouchTheSky A fever-dream, mucho-feels, super long, semi-fix-it, version of Season 5. i feel like i know you (but we never met) by @andiwriteordie “Who?” Mike’s voice breaks again, and Joyce chokes back a sob. “Joyce, who… who was he?” Or: The one in which Will Byers doesn't exist… At least not anymore.

with all my heart by mogiah (@morganee) what happens when Birthdaygate and Lettergate meet. or another one in which Will doesn't exist anymore

i've come home, i'm so cold by astrobi (@astrobei) Will's trying his hardest to make it through fall semester in one piece. Unfortunately for his degree, he's being haunted by maybe-feelings for his best friend (metaphorically), and also a maybe-ghost with rather abysmal fashion sense (literally). The fic that made me decide to spend the rest of my life that year reading fics

Blackout by Tea_For_One_Please as if their senior year of high school wasn't complicated enough, the Party find themselves investigating an accidental death, believing it to be connected to a similar event nearly two decades earlier. Just normal teenager stuff, right? This one hasn't been updated for a while but I remember enjoying the plot and mystery a lot

baby, we’re perfect by bookinit (@bookinit02) Senior year in Hawkins. Will and Mike figure some things out. I'm not allowed to say anything else about this fic. To quote the author: "brace yourselves. sorry in advance."

you were bigger than the whole sky by delusionaltogether (@parkitaco) Mike breathes out sharply, sinking to his knees in front of Will without conscious thought. Every bone in his body is turning to jelly, because Will is here, but he's also- not. on march 29th, 1986, will byers vanishes for a second time. 366 days later, he reappears.

This is where it starts by cottonscent While the rest of the party moved on and forgot once the gate closed Will kept exploring, and the connection he formed to the other dimension it actually a lot more complex than what they originally thought.