#kate fills prompts

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights prompt enemies to lovers/opposite sides of a conflict? Depending on how serious the conflict is, it can be fluffy or angsty :)

The lights flicker above his head. Danny swallows roughly, trying to quiet his breathing as much as possible. It would be so much easier if he could just stop breathing completely, to use his powers to disappear from sight, slip around the rest of them and take them all out. 

His palms are sweating. Taking another steadying breath, Danny tightens his grip on the gun, shifting just slightly where he’s crouched, hidden out of sight. 

He can’t hear anything beyond his own rapid heartbeat, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. The Bats thrive in silence and darkness, and this messy warehouse with its stacked shelving units is full of places for them to hide, waiting for him to cross their sights. 

There’s no one left to help him.

Danny’s on his own. 

No powers, he tells himself firmly. He has to do this as a regular human. The Bats will know otherwise, and he can’t risk it. Just remember what Mom taught you.

The lights flicker again, then go out completely. 

Now! 

Danny springs away from his hiding spot, searching the darkness for any movement. The Bats like to go up high, so he follows suit, sticking close to a wall as he scales his way up a shelving unit. Every moment sounds so loud, like a clap of thunder in the dead of night, and the back of his neck prickles with the feeling of being watched. 

He was never going to out run them. He can’t hide from them. The least he can do is take out as many of them as he can before they shoot him down.

His only saving grace is that Black Bat isn’t here. Last he saw, she was heading down a different street, chasing someone else. As long as he makes his move before she returns, there’s still a chance he can get out of the warehouse and try to escape them again. 

The clouds above Gotham drift apart, allowing the pale moonlight to shine down on the city. Moonlight streams in through the large windows and Danny moves to stay in the shadows, as out of sight as he can manage. He keeps moving, refusing to stay still; if they want to get him, then he’s going to do all he can to make it as difficult as possible. 

The top of the shelving unit is steady. Danny keeps one hand out, close to the wall, as he creeps across it, looking out over the entire warehouse. 

He’s close to the entrance now. All he has to do is drop down and run, and then he’s back out in the streets, no longer trapped in an enclosed space with some Bats. 

Danny reaches the edge of the shelving unit and prepares to jump when he sees a movement in the corner of his eye. Reacting instinctively, he throws himself out into the air, twisting to aim his gun at the flash of purple tucked against the side of a shelf. 

He shoots, one shot after the other, until he lands on the ground in a messy roll. 

Spoiler curses as she ducks away, sending a few return shots of her own, but with her hiding behind the shelf, taking cover. “Just give up!” she shouts at him, “We’ll get you sooner or later!”

“You were supposed to be on my side!” he returns, firing another shot before turning on his heel to sprint away.

“Plans change! Now I have a reason to take you down.”

Which means Black Bat got a hold of Spoiler earlier and got her to change allegiances. It must have been right before he reached the warehouse, still believing Spoiler to be on his side and frantically having to dodge her attacks before they lost each other in the labyrinth of the warehouse. 

So, that’s another person after his head. 

The streets are quiet, a rare treat in Gotham. He’s the only one out, running through the streets like his life depends on it. No doubt Spoiler is right behind him, determined to take him down. He hasn’t seen any of the others for a while, but they have to be somewhere in the area. 

Danny ducks into an alley and scrambles up a fire escape. At least out in the open air, he can pass off a few impossible jumps as being really good at free running. 

He runs, crossing a few streets, and throws himself into a roll, hiding behind an AC unit when he hears more gunshots. 

From the cursing accompanying it, Red Hood must be near.

That’s good. That’s someone who is (presumably) still on his side. 

He follows the noise to the top of a bakery, where he catches a glimpse of a disgruntled looking woman scowling from the window. He offers her a sheepish grin as he climbs by the window, her startled jump turning into rolled eyes as she closes the blinds.  

He gets to the top of the bakery just in time to watch Red Hood pick up Robin and throw him at Nightwing, who drops his gun in order to catch the kid. Taking his chance, Danny crouches on the edge of the roof and aims.

Nightwing falls to the side to avoid it, but he doesn’t manage it in time. Robin takes the hit, still held by Nightwing and unintentionally used as a shield.

“Oops,” Nightwing says as Robin scowls and brings out a shuriken, trying to stab Nightwing in retaliation.

“Nice one, kid,” Red Hood says. He offers Danny a high five, which he happily returns.

The moment lasts for only a second before another shot rings out and Red Hood stumbles forward with a curse, a splatter of yellow paint on his back. 

The Signal swings by, scooping Danny up with an arm around his waist. Red Hood moves to follow, but Nightwing is on him again, their fight beginning again as Robin hops off the roof and disappears from sight.

“Let go!” Danny demands, trying to wiggle out of the Signal’s grip.

“No can do. I’m winning this. My share of Alfred’s cake depends on this.”

Unfortunately for the Signal, Danny’s share of Alfred’s cake also depends on his victory. He’s already got a few points by getting shots in on the other team, small splatters of white paint decorating their costumes, but not as much as the others. He’s also got paint all over him, mostly black and blue, but the game doesn’t end until the Point Person (Danny for his team, Damian for the other) is taken to the other team’s base.

Danny’s team set up their base on the thrift store at the end of their designated game area. He has no idea where Duke’s team has their base, and he doesn’t intend to find out any time soon.

“Sorry,” he says, then shoves a foot between Duke’s legs to slam his heel against a pressure point just below the knee. 

The Signal bites back a pained yell and hits the roof hard. They both go rolling across it, carried by the momentum of his swing. To add insult to injury, Danny gets back to his feet and shoots Duke point blank in the chest, then makes another run for it.

“No you don’t!” he hears Signal yell from behind him, followed by the heavy thud of footsteps. 

Danny jumps, making it onto the next roof, adrenaline rushing through him. He tries to find a way back to his team’s base, but the Signal doesn’t let him past, trapping him in. They dodge paint bullets from each other, moving back and forth as if dancing.

And because Danny has abysmal luck, he trips over his own feet when the Signal lunges at him and he tries to spin away from him. 

“Woah!” 

The Signal drops his gun to catch Danny, pulling him close and steadying him. Danny clutches to the Signal’s arms, his own gun pointed off to the side awkwardly. They end up pressed together, barely any space between their faces. 

They’re frozen there for a moment, staring at each other. This close, Danny can see through the visor of the Signal’s helmet, and Duke’s eyes are just as wide as his. 

“Caught you,” Signal breathes, and Danny’s gaze drops down to his lips. 

He’s sure his own feelings are clear and on display in the moment, but he can’t help it. They may be on opposing teams, but a hero is a hero and being saved by the Signal never fails to make danny’s heart skip a beat. 

He really needs to get his head in the game. He needs to push the Signal away and try to get back to his own team. He needs to win so he can steal Duke’s share of Alfred’s cake. 

The Signal tightens his grip on Danny’s waist and leans in just a little, barely noticeable.

But Danny notices.

Fuck it, he thinks. 

Before he can overthink it, before his nerve get the better of him, before anyone swings by and interrupts, Danny closes the distance between them and kisses Duke. 

It’s just a soft, small peck. He pulls back almost immediately, cheeks flushed red, but doesn’t go far before Duke is kissing him again and again and again.

“Now is not the time, lover birds!” Spoiler shouts. They startle apart, giddy grin on their faces. Danny turns to see her land on the roof with her hands on her hips, waggling her eyebrows suggestively, and knows that neither of them are going to live this down any time soon. Nightwing and Red Hood follow soon after, trying to tackle each other, and almost bowl over Spoiler as Red Robin takes the opportunity to pop up out of nowhere, Black Bat on his tail, to shoot at Spoiler.

With all of them distracted, Danny shares a smile with Duke then darts back in for another kiss. 

Then he pulls back, shoots Signal again, and takes off with a laugh.

The game’s not over yet, but that’s not going to stop him from feeling like a winner anyways.

He is going to get that cake, though. Losing is not an option with Alfred’s baking on the line. Crush or not, Duke is going down.

[thefifthsister-notactive]

1. Starry night

Castlemas '23 #5: Next Best Thing

Season Four

"You know what I miss at Christmas time," he hears Ryan say. "My Grandma's cookies. My sister tries to make them but they're not the same."

He smiles. Has heard tales of the Ryan family and can imagine them sitting around the table together.

"What about you Castle?" Ryan asks. "Surely you've got some wild tales?"

He smirks. Remembers the unorthodox Christmas celebrations that he'd had with Martha as a child and all the things he'd done with Alexis.

"Stargazing in the snow," he smiles at the memory. "One Christmas, I booked a cabin, Alexis was only little, but I bundled her up and we sat on a bench on the back porch and we looked at the stars and made up stories about them."

Kate smiles at him. She knows we've lost him for a moment, his mind of with his daughter of whatever small age she'd been at the time.

"Now she's grown up and too cool to curl up with her ol' Dad."

Kate chuckles. "It comes back around. Dad and I do that sometimes, when we're up at his cabin.

A phone rings and Ryan turns to answer it, ending the conversation and Castle returns his full attention to her.

"I miss it sometimes, too." She admits, quietly. "Being able to just do something like that with Dad."

He sees her swallow. Knows she just admitted something she usually keeps behind her shield, behind the wall.

"It's hard to do it in the city but sometimes Alexis and I go to the planetarium. It's not quite the same, but it's still nice."

Kate smiles at him. "That sounds nice."

Castle nods, letting the conversation drop when her phone rings and then they're in motion.

It isn't until a week later she opens a gift card from him and finds tickets for the planetarium. "Alexis and I are going. You and your Dad are welcome to tag along... or go whenever works for the two of you."

She doesn't know what to say. She knows what she wants to say, to do, but she's not ready. "Thanks Castle."

"Merry Christmas, Kate."

[this-sapphic-paradise]

To the anon who sent me this prompt:

I'm working on it. I'll probably post it on AO3 because it's getting long and I might need a second chapter to get to the handcuffs 😌

[rainboq]

88. “I’m better, now that you’re here.”, Chasemarsh

To call Victoria’s art her passion was, quite frankly, understating it. Not her photography, that was her profession, the path she’d been pushed onto by her controlling and overbearing parents. Not that she disliked being behind a camera, the routine of staging, lighting, posing, and finally taking the shot had become a form of therapy for her. Each shoot was a triumph against him, proving that she was free of his bullshit. But it was never what she yearned for in her heart.

No, that was her poetry. She lived and breathed for it, the urge to put stanzas to paper burned in her veins.

She’d started penning verse in middle school, words flowing from her pencils, pens, and keyboards like water through a stream. Her heart sang as the stanzas danced, thoughts and emotions spilling from her onto the page and making her feel whole. Then her parents had found out about it.

“Trite”, “clichéd”, and “overwrought” had been the words out of her parents lips, back in the days when she still saw them as people to aspire to and emulate. As they had crushed her spirits, she had crushed the poet in her, compacting that Victoria into a little box and shoving her down into the darkest recesses of her mind.

It had hurt, of course it had, killing the poet in her had been on the hardest things Victoria had done. As 13 rolled over into 14 she had lain crying on her bed, clutching her notebook to her chest as her parent’s derision echoed in her mind. ‘You’re not a kid anymore, quit being so childish’ they had demanded of her as her womanhood bloomed with all the subtle grace of a derailed freight train.

But try as she might, no matter how much she tried to bury that side of her, Victoria the poet never truly died. She came close, along with the rest of Victoria, but like her, she was stubbornly persistent.

And like the rest of her, Victoria the poet was concerned with one thing, and one thing only: the pursuit of excellence. She couldn’t just be okay, or good. No, she had to be the best. She had to pursue greatness with every fiber of her being. Poems were written and rewritten, edited and revised until they barely resembled the unguarded words that had tumbled out of Victoria’s mind.

Even now, more than a decade after their deaths, the barnacles of her parent’s voices clung to her mind, burring deep between the folds and savaging her neurons. Too emotional, too proziac, too plain.

Nothing was ever good enough.

It couldn’t be, it had to be perfect.

But it never was that either.

Her throat burned as she sat on the couch of their condo, tears rolling down her cheeks as her fingers rubbed through the thick, fluffy fur of their calico cat Charlotte-Marie. Normally the feline was enough to sooth her, but not after tonight.

It had taken years after everything that had unfolded for Victoria to dare let the poet in her peek her head out of hiding. And more gentle coaxing still to let herself put pen to page once more. She had finally let herself take the next step, and shared her verse publicly at a slam at a nearby cafe.

A cafe that she could never show her face at again. Not after that reception.

It was stupid, she knew that, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Her heart burned, her chest was tight as if she were in vice, her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, tattered and torn like the rest of her.

She was worthless. An untalented hack fraud who couldn’t even hold a candle to local teenagers and students at a Thursday night poetry slam. Totally unworthy of anyone’s attention, never mind friendship, or the love of—

The door to the condo clicked open, snapping Victoria out of her thoughts. Charlotte-Marie sprang to her feet, stretching out luxuriously with a loud mrrp before scampering off to the door.

Victoria stayed put. She was a wreck, what a waste of time it had all been, and now she was going to waist even more of—

“Victoria?” Asked Kate, the voice of her wife high and concerned, “Is everything alright?”

It had once been embarrassing how easily Kate’s voice could put her at ease, after everything she had done, but now it was more than welcome. The pressure in her chest eased, the burning in her heart settling as she heard Kate’s stocking covered feet padding over the tile. Her voice came as somewhere between a sigh and a sob. “No.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” Kate’s footfalls sped up as she made her way past the kitchen and into the living room with Victoria, “What happened?”

“It’s stupid,” Victoria shrugged as Kate’s arms reached over the sofa and and wrapped around her shoulders and chest, her soft lips finding Victoria’s neck, “Don’t worry about it.”

Kate’s neck and chest pressed into Victoria’s back, the pressure and the gentle vanilla of Kate’s body wash helping bring her back down to earth.“Well I’m already worrying, so you’ll just have to tell me.”

“I suck at poetry,” Victoria spat out, her body cringing, “Everyone had all these corrections and suggestions, but they were already things I’d changed or edited out. It made me feel so fucking stupid! I can’t even edit my poems properly for fuck’s sake.”

“Shhh,” Kate gently cooed in her ear, the warmth of her breath tickling over Victoria’s neck, “It’s okay, I’d probably feel the same way if someone suggested that about my drawings. It’s normal to feel that way when someone suggests you change something back. How are you feeling?”

Victoria shrugged, her hands moving up to rest on Kate’s arms, her thumbs rubbing over the soft skin of her forearms, “… Better, now that you’re here.”

“That so?” Kate giggled softly, her head moving forward.

Victoria’s head turned, her lips finding Kate’s for a brief, loving kiss. “Yeah.”

Kate returned her kiss with another of her own before releasing Victoria and walking around the couch to sit next to her. “So, was it all bad?”

“No,” Victoria was forced to confess as she raised her arm and allowed Kate to nestle into her side, ���Max was there and she was really supportive, she told me she really liked the poem.”

“I had a feeling, she’s always so sweet,” Kate sighed as Victoria’s arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“And hey, at least I know that I’ll never be as bad a poet as Chloe.”

[sesamestreep]

Congratulations on the follower milestone!!!! 🎉🎉🎉

For a thematically appropriate prompt to kick things off: your pick of the Bake Off AU squad and the word "balloon"

thank you, friend!!!! 💫💫💫 and you know if you give me carte blanche like this, I’m going to choose the squad known as “all of them”…

“Helloooo,” Foggy says dramatically, after picking up his phone on the third ring. It had been set on the table, waiting for this moment, but he didn’t want to be too obvious about that when he picked up.

“Did you fill my entire apartment with balloons,” Kate’s tinny voice calls out from the speaker, “you maniac?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “You were with me all day! When would I have had the time to go to your apartment and fill it with balloons? I was too busy representing New York City’s downtrodden in court! That sort of task would require someone who has a much more flexible schedule, because their life’s work is goofy and downright pointless.”

“Oh my god, you got Peter to do it?” Kate exclaims.

“Hey!” Peter yells from across the table, while MJ hides her face in his shoulder.

“Oh my god,” Kate says, again. “Am I on speaker phone?!”

“Listen, if I were you, I wouldn’t go into your apartment,” Foggy says, ignoring all of them. “Probably safer to wait for some of the balloons to deflate a little. You can come meet us, if you want.”

“Ugh, where are you?”

“We’re at McGee’s, right down the street.”

“You planned this,” Kate whines into the phone.

“What on earth gives you that impression?”

“Because you’re a block away from me, dipshit.”

“Huh, that is kind of incriminating, isn’t it?”

“And I’m standing in the hallway, still in my work clothes,” Kate continues to complain. “And I can’t change because of all the fucking balloons, Foggy.”

“You wore a HAIM t-shirt and jeans with a pair of docs to the office today, Kate,” Foggy says, rolling his eyes. “I think you’ll fit in here just fine.”

“My apartment is a Nena song because of you, old man!”

“Technically, it’s because of Peter. And Colleen.”

“Hi, Kate!” Colleen singsongs from Foggy’s side.

Kate groans. “I don’t want to go out tonight! I don’t even want to turn 26, okay? I’m officially in my late twenties now! Do I seem like the sort of person who can be in their late anythings? I’m basically a child! Child safety caps on medicine bottles still work on me, Foggy! I’m not equipped for adulthood!”

Foggy switches her off speaker and puts the phone to his ear instead. “You are not a child, despite the tantrum you’re clearly having, and the only thing you’re late for is your own birthday party,” he says, patiently. “So, get your ass down here. We have cake and everything!”

“Ugh, you made me a cake?”

“Ouch, don’t sound so excited,” Foggy replies. “But no, I asked your favorite baker on earth to make it instead.”

“Sam made me a cake?” Kate asks, sounding impressed. “And shipped it to you? That’s so nice.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Oh, so who—?”

“He brought it with him in person.”

“Wait?! Sam is there?” Kate shrieks, and Foggy thinks he hears her drop her keys in her excitement. “Is Bucky there too?”

“No, Sam left him at home,” Foggy says, while making direct eye contact with him. Bucky’s brows knit together in confusion. “Between you and me, I think Sam’s still hoping to seduce me away from Matt.”

“Yeah, right,” Kate says, at the same time as Matt’s elbow digs into Foggy’s ribs from his other side. Across the table, Bucky’s expression turns into a scowl while Sam and Daisy try to muffle their laughter. “Fine, you convinced me. I’ll be there in five!”

“Oh, so your true friends, who haven’t left New York for greener pastures, can’t tempt you here, but your fake friends who moved away to Louisiana can. I see how it is.”

“You want me at the bar, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Besides, I know it was you that masterminded all of this anyway. So, really, it’s a compliment to you that the plan worked!”

“Wasn’t me, kiddo,” Foggy says, switching the phone to his other ear. “I just helped coordinate logistics.”

There’s a pause in which he hears Kate’s footsteps stop and then a grunt and an apology when she clearly gets bumped by someone after stopping dead in her tracks on the sidewalk. Foggy waits while she processes whatever’s going through her head.

“Tell Matt I love him,” she says, softly, after a moment.

“Tell him yourself when you get here,” Foggy replies, sparing a glance in Matt’s direction and clocking how pleased he looks with himself. “He’s buying first round anyway.”

“Ooh, you should have started with that,” Kate says, and now it sounds like she’s running.

[inkisadream]

Full Moon Scarecrow

I remember how the cornstalks felt in high summer, a summer of sticky sweet heat. My fingers peeled husks away when I put kernels in cast iron and watched the butter bubble in the oven. There is only my own hand to scoop out a helping. Heat rises and in the stalks the flies buzzing in high summer are a chorus. I walk under sunlight while the Moon lingers, a sentinel, water to soothe the burns of the day.

[thefifthsister-notactive]

Good To See You

Season Four

The knock on the door startles her. She’s not expecting anyone and for a minute her mind goes to a dark place.

“Kate?” She hears through the door.

She settles, makes her way to the door and opens it.

"Hey Lanie," she utters.

"Hey? That's how you let me know you're back in town," Lanie shakes her head. "I bought dinner. I hoped maybe you were free."

"Lanie..."

"We don't have to talk about it," Lanie assures her. "But I know you won't have eaten and I picked up tacos from the place down the street with the good margaritas. I got us some of that nice Mexican soda though. Next time we'll do margaritas."

Kate smiled, gestured for Lanie to come in, followed her into the kitchen and watched her start to take out plates, glasses, pulling out soda cans and setting out food.

"I can take care of myself!" Kate teases.

"Oh, I've seen what that looks like," Lanie side eyes her. Takes in the pale skin, the frailty to her best friend. Has never seen her so unlike herself.

"Well, it's been a... been a lot," Kate volunteers.

"I... I get that you needed to deal with this, sweetie, I really do," Lanie turns to her. "And I'm not even mad about it. I just... It's just really good to see you."

Kate can't help it. She wraps Lanie in a hug, as tight as her body will let her and just for a second she lets it out before pulling back putting that lid on it again.

"Missed you too," Kate mutters.

Lanie gives her that look, the one Beckett kind of hates but also kind of loves. The one that says her friend understands her but won't push. They settle around her sofa, Lanie taking over control of the TV and finding a romantic comedy for them to watch and she just gets to spend an evening, an evening like so many they've spent before. Before bullets and conspiracies and declarations and pain and hiding.

"Lanie," Kate mutters. "Thanks."

Thanks for being here. Thanks for saving me. Thanks for caring.

Happy National Best Friends Day

Prompt #981

"I can take care of myself!"

"Oh I've seen what that looks like."

[ceilidho]

prompt: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 1.

-

“—are priced wrong. You need to fix that.”

“Hmm? Sorry?” you ask, mind snapping out of whatever fog it’d descended into upon seeing John Price’s truck pull up out front of the grocer. You blink a couple times before focusing on the older lady lined up at your till, her face pinched with displeasure. It deepens when she realizes that you haven’t been paying a lick of attention to whatever she’d just spent the better half of a minute complaining about. 

“The beefsteak tomatoes are priced wrong. They’re supposed to be two dollars a pound—it’s in the catalogue.”

Before you can so much assure her that you’ll certainly honour the advertised price and save yourself the headache, she’s already opening up her purse to pull out the crinkled grocery catalogue, unfolding it across your conveyor belt; it goes out in the local paper once a week with all the sales and rippable coupons, and this isn’t the first time you’ve had someone try to lecture you about discrepant prices (Kate, your manager, is a sweet, gungho lady, that often sends off discount confirmations to the editorial staff of the local paper without informing anyone that actually works in the shop day-to-day). 

From the corner of your eye, you see John slam the door shut on his truck and make his way towards the shop, hands shoved into his pockets. Even from a ways away, the sight of him makes your cheeks redden; his beard’s gotten fuller in the week since you last saw him, clad in even more layers of flannel and tweed now with the fast approach of winter. He looks properly ready for the winter months, with just an air of heaviness present in the lines on his forehead and the tilt of his head. 

You feel your lips slip down into a frown. Helpless, you can only watch in defeat as John lumbers into the grocery store, brushing his hand over his hat to shake off the snowflakes onto the mat by the automatic doors. He picks up one of the baskets by the front door before heading down one of the aisles. His eyes don’t flicker to meet yours so much as once. 

Your shoulders slump when he ducks out of sight before you focus your attention back on the woman in front of you. She’s pointing out the tomato print with the little two dollar sign in the advertisement with a stiff finger, eyebrow cocked like she’s pulled one over on you. You really can’t imagine there being anything less important to you than the price of beefsteak tomatoes, never mind having to refund someone a whole dollar because you inadvertently overcharged them and you happened to get stuck with the one customer that would spend a full thirty seconds reviewing their bill before leaving the shop. 

“See?” she says, the word coming out sibilant and stressed. You blink.

Turning back to the till, you click a couple buttons before the register pops back out again and you pluck up a dollar to hand back to your customer. On the receipt that’s printed out, you hastily scrawl the reason for the refund and shove the seller's copy back into the till. The woman stares at the dollar now sitting on the belt in front of her.

“Of course, ma’am,” you say, a robotic smile stretching across your face. “Apologies for the inconvenience. I’ll get someone to reprice the tomatoes so this doesn’t happen again.”

She doesn’t say anything when she snatches up the dollar along with her groceries and hobbles out the front door, the automatic doors swooshing behind her. With her finally gone, you close your eyes for a second, a private moment just to yourself.

Someone clears their throat from just off to the side. Your heart bursts into a frantic pitter-patter when you open your eyes to find John waiting patiently at the end of your till, his basket filled up with bottles of mustard, gherkins, and other preserves. 

“A paper bag, please,” he says in a gruff voice, like he tousled with sleep just a few minutes ago. It makes your head spin. 

You nod, hardly able to even respond.

Up close, he smells like firewood and smoke, the ever-present cigar usually hanging off his lip nowhere to be seen but still clinging to his jacket and flannel beneath it. The mutton chops of his beard have grown out more than the rest, but his jaw is covered in a layer of fur in comparison to the week previous. John doesn’t really make eye contact as you scan his groceries, almost too tired to raise them from the conveyor belt. Not for lack of respect—it comes off as pure exhaustion. 

You know John as the gruff, taciturn park ranger that comes in once a week to load up on steaks, cold cuts and fresh produce, but in the months you’ve lived in this town, he’s always fresh off work, a little rough around the edges and not quite fit for human interaction just yet. He just grunts and nods when you tell him his total, towers over you and never really makes much eye contact. 

It’s always non-perishables with him these days. At least for the past several weeks, as far as you know. Cans and jars and freezer-ready meals. He doesn’t strike you as much of a prepper, but his order speaks for itself. It’s one of the things you like most about your job—getting to peek into the small crack of life laid bare before you. 

“Getting ready for the winter?” you ask. 

John grunts, eyes meeting yours just briefly before dropping down again. Dark brown. Sometimes you swear you catch the faintest glimmer of gold in them, like a honey glaze, but it’s likely just a trick of the lights. 

“Gonna be a rough one.” 

You try not to shiver at the sound of his voice. It’s not often that you get to hear it; even though you moved into the house next to his almost six months ago, he spends most of his days in the mountains, working up there as a ranger. He comes home after dark nearly every day—not so hard now that the sun sets early on in the day, but even back in the summer you’d spy him coming back from his shift well after dark. 

He’s gotten more heavyset in the last couple of weeks, a comfortable weight to his midsection and arms. Beefier, more solid. When John is in front of you, it’s like no one else in the world exists at that moment; he removes them all from sight and mind. It soothes some of the worry that his constant late coming has stirred up in you, knowing that he’s fed. Not all of it though.

“You know the, uh—” you start, clearing your throat midway through, almost losing your nerve under his sudden attention at the sound of your voice, “—the butter’s twenty percent off this week. I, um…I wasn’t sure if you’d noticed.” You catch his little frown and clarify. “You usually get butter.”

“Thank you, but not this time,” he says gruffly. “Got enough of it in the freezer.”

“Oh…well…” you trail off like you’re going to say something else but you let the conversation fall flat instead. 

He’s quiet the rest of the time as you bag his groceries. John always is. There’s a hurt side of you, silently begging for more, but you’ve watched him enough around town to know that this is just what he’s like. Gruff with the other rangers on the mountain, taciturn after a long day’s work, and sweet as apple pie with the older townsfolk. You’ve seen him help people at crosswalks and more than once he’s footed someone’s grocery bill when they’ve come short. 

Maybe you’re not interesting enough to merit conversation or that same goodwill he extends to others. Not that John has ever been anything less than polite with you, but—your thoughts scatter like birds when you recite his total without thinking and watch him wordlessly as he pays. 

“Thanks, honey,” John says, eyes meeting yours again. “See you next week.” He finally manages a smile, his eyes crinkling under the weight of it. 

You could get lost in his smile if you let yourself. It comes freely but seldomly these days, kept at bay by rough days out in the woods helping lost hikers, ticketing hunters for going over their allotment, and managing the wildlife. But when he smiles, you feel the blood go hot under your cheeks and fight every vision you have of him suddenly leaning across the counter and tipping your chin up for a kiss.

Tongue-tied, you nod. You can’t even force a smile on your face, wide eyes still set on him in wonderment. He doesn’t wait around for you to find your words.

But—you think again wistfully as he turns to leave—it might be nice once in a while. For him to look at you like you’re more than a stranger. 

You mourn your chance to talk to him once he’s out the door, wishing you could call him back. It’s not his fault that just the mere sight of him leaves you tongue-tied. It folds up like a cherry stem in your mouth when he speaks to you and you haven’t yet managed to untangle it in his presence. Maybe someday. 

That’s just life though. 

He’s always made you feel nervous, like a schoolgirl with her first crush, but it’s a safe kind of crush. The kind that feels fun to indulge in because there’s no possibility of reciprocation, like you can just ogle him and pine over him without having to worry about what you’d do if he felt the same way. You mourn the loss of him when he leaves, but like a tender bruise on your knee that you sometimes press just to shy away from. 

The rest of your shift pales in comparison to the eight minutes spent in his presence. Rinse and repeat. Someone else complains about the tomatoes and you write a note for your manager to read the next day. It’ll be her fault if someone finally emails in to complain or takes it to the news; there’s always an op-ed in the papers that’s little more than a thinly veiled bad Yelp review. 

John’s car is outside his house when you make it home at the end of the day, the lights still on inside. You sit in your car and stare at the light hidden behind the curtains. 

It would be nice, you think, resting your head back against the seat, to go up and knock at his door. If only you were braver. You’d march right up, knock on his door, and offer him something to eat. You could do it too. In the six months you’ve lived here, it’s not as though you’ve ever treated him particularly neighbourly. 

You squeak when you see John pull the curtain back and peer out the window, sliding down in the front seat so he doesn’t notice you there.

Maybe some other day then.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Prompt: The Last Lines

Choose one of the last lines of these literary works, and either create a new story/poem or continue writing the story...

“He was soon borne away by the waves, and lost in darkness and distance.” —Mary Shelley, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818)

“After all, tomorrow is another day.” —Margaret Mitchell, Gone With the Wind (1936)

“She looked up and across the barn, and her lips came together and smiled mysteriously.” —John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath (1939)

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” —F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (1925)

“Are there any questions?” —Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale (1985)

“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t it pretty to think so?” —Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises (1926)

“She called in her soul to come and see.” —Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937)

“There was the hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks filled the air.” —Kate Chopin, The Awakening (1899)

“It’s funny. Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” —J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye (1951)

“The eyes and faces all turned themselves towards me, and guiding myself by them, as by a magical thread, I stepped into the room.” —Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (1963)

If this writing prompt inspires you in any way, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read your work!

more last lines ⚜ the first lines More: Writing Prompts

[thefifthsister-notactive]

Castlemas '23 #12: Overboard Season Seven

It had been a long day, a cold journey home and she longed for a soak in hot water, candlelight and a nice glass of wine with her husband.

She's slides her key into the lock, already feeling relief at the feeling of just opening the door to her home, to her family, to escape from the outside world.

She comes to a stop when she enters and finds her husband surrounded by Amazon packages, a look of mild panic on his face when he sees she's home.

He looks around at his crime scene before turning to her.

“I’ll explain but you can’t yell at me okay?”

"You went overboard on Christmas, didn't you?"

He nods.

"I'm going to have a bath," she tells him, shutting the door. "I saw nothing."

He grins, rushes to give her a kiss and continues looking for places to stash his purchases. She shakes her head in amusement.

Prompt #113

“I’ll explain but you can’t yell at me okay?”

[sylveon-and-velveon]

Playing "4 Big Guys" around the slashers

Shitpost idea has been made, so here XD

This will include: Michael Myers {OG & RZ}, Brahms Heelshire, Jason Voorhees, Billy Lenz, Freddy Krueger, Stu Macher, Billy Loomis, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Harry Warden, Tiffany Valentine

Feel free to request any shitpost writing prompt ideas you can think of in my asks, I love silly non-serious ideas XD

Given the music is VERY adult related, this is 18+ ONLY

OG Michael Myers

Ain't gonna lie, the second you play that song he's probably staring at you instantly. Anger? Disappointment? Cursing your entire family and possible future children? Who knows! It's Michael-Fucking-Myers baby!!!

He's not used to anything sexual overall so hearing a song openly sing about gay sex, and in such a detailed way, would worry him. Not for the singer, no- more on your taste in music.

And don't even get me started on when he hears about shit being involved. The second he hears that being mentioned he's turning off the music entirely, patting your head, and dragging you away so you'll listen to something he likes instead to cleanse that weird mind of yours. Like... Kate Bush or something.

He'd like Kate Bush right? He looks like a Kate Bush enjoyer.

RZ Michael Myers

Judging you, hard. Though he ain't saying it. His aura is practically smellable he's judging you so hard.

Does he like it? No. It's loud, obnoxious, and profound filled. Ignoring the obvious "gay sex and other weirdness" part, the volume of the music reminds him of his childhood.

He's smashing the device the music is coming from. He doesn't care if it's your MP3 all the way to a damn TV or Alexa, he's smashing that shit to pieces if it means he doesn't need to hear it anymore.

What would he put on instead? Calming ambient noises that play for hours on end on YouTube. It's the exact opposite of whatever hellscape you just played. It's better.

Brahms Heelshire

Well first of all it ain't classical, so that's a point on the "I Hate This" list.

Second it's not a piano.

Third it's literally "4 Big Guys"-

Not only is this poor man confused about everything the singer is saying, I highly doubt his parents explained LGBTQ+ to him, he's also hating how loud it is.

"Who puts things up their ass?" - Brahms Heelshire 2024

You turn off the music yourself when he practically begs you to.

You're probably tryna hold in your laughter while he's sitting on the floor trying to figure out what the fuck he just heard.

Jason Voorhees

Is there a bigger word for "traumatized"? Because that man earns it.

You're lucky af, if his mom was live she'd hit you with a crowbar so fast- Not kill you tho, she wouldn't dare hurt her boy.

But yeah, he's not saying anything, nor moving. Bro's too traumatized. LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE-

You better give him his teddy he fucking deserves it TmT

Laughing his ass off until the shit is mentioned, even this horny gremlin has his limits.

Can you tell I hate shit kinks? XD

He'd want an apology for you blasting that song so far to that section. But no music! He hates Christmas songs, they're so repetitive and they all sound the same anyway.

Bake him a cake, the more unique the better. His favourite so far is red velvet with cream cheese frosting!

Then when he's finished eating you're getting railed by him not longer after, man's not changed. Not now, not ever.

Freddy Krueger

You can play this entire song with this man on REPEAT and he'd be fine with it.

I'd be surprised if he didn't given his track record and.... slicing open his skin to reveal green "blood" and maggots crawling out.

Would he laugh the first time? ABSOLUTELY!

Would he jokingly sing along, probably.

But he would TOTALLY play this song when going after his victims sometimes. Imagine dying and the last thing you hear is:

"4 BIG GUYS AND THEY GRAB ON MY THIGHS-"

Stu Macher & Billy Loomis

Billy is concerned for your wellbeing. Especially when you start singing it at full force with Stu joining in not long after.

Yeah Stu is enjoying this to the max!

Finds it hilarious, who the fuck wouldn't when you've got humour more broken than Brahms' doll-

But seeing you enjoying yourself to this.... absurdity, at least makes Billy calm down from worry. Now he's just concerned your taste in music may infiltrate your taste in movies.

I doubt the man's used to hearing music.... imagine this being his first time hearing it-

OMG he'd probably think this is normal for music.

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??? XD

If it's not his first time hearing music though? No concern, laughter, nothing. He's neutral, given that this is something that makes you a little chaotic gremlin.

He's happy seeing you comfortable enough around to be a "gremlin" as you call it.

Bubba Sawyer

Don't traumatize him more than he's been already!!

Sure he doesn't realise it, or the fact he's used to it, but the poor guy's already traumatized-

Though he's probably more confused in the whole scheme of things. I mean, he knows what sex is. But just the surface of it.

So he's probably just learnt way too much in such a short period of time.

Oh lord what have you done-

Harry Warden

Okay first of all, why is there no GIF of this man? WTF????

Second; man's from the mines, man's old fashioned, you've probably just thrown way too much modern shit in his face way too quickly that he's just staring at you, the music video, and then the floor.

Poor miner is so confused, especially when the "cum starts spraying".

Oh god he'll probably think it's like dust from the mines spraying everywhere.

Fucking hell that's a vision-

Tiffany Valentine

Finds it amusing? Yes.

Judging? Not as much as you'd expect.

Girl's been through a wild ride, hearing you blast out "4 Big Guys" from your phone wouldn't be the most shocking thing in the world.

Hell. she'd probably encourage you to start singing along to it XD

Oh she's gonna use that song to torture someone with it. She doesn't know how yet, but she's got the idea in her head now

[thefifthsister-notactive]

Can you do #30 on the prompts list? Thank you so much for your stories!

CHB'23 #18: No Competition Post 2x06 Vampire Weekend

The party is dying down but he's enjoying himself with his friends, sitting with a few beers and trading stories.

"No, you had to be there," Ryan's giggling. "I'm chasing the head one way, Espo has the ass going the opposite way down the street."

"Except neither can see where they are running," Espo continues the story. "Fool misses the fire hydrant right in front of him. Goes down. Hard."

Castle is laughing, hearing the teams tales of woe of arrests of Halloween past, doesn't envy Lanie the task of determining fake or real blood.

"How about you, Castle?" Lanie says. "You must have had some wild Halloween parties."

Castle agrees. "None that I will mention with mother present," he teases the medical examiner.

"You haven't done Halloween until you've done Halloween with your theatre troupe," Martha insists. "Now, there is some commitment to the bit."

Castle groans but he watches his new friends, his partner turn rapt attention to the actress, knowing from experience that none of them had ever experienced anything the way Martha Rodger does.

"Go on then, Mrs R," Ryan encourages. "What's the weirdest Halloween experience you've had?"

"I was once doing a modern retelling of Much Ado About Nothing, you know, the Shakespeare play?" She checks everyone nods before she continues. "It was dreadful but we couldn't make the director see that his modern tweaks to the story just weren't working. Harriet, one of the actors, she insisted on trying to perform a séance and contact Shakespeare to rectify the situation and..."

She waited, watched them all get drawn in.

"Bam!" She clapped her hands, watched them jump. "Stage light blew out above us, Harriet was dreadfully frightened she'd summoned something that she quit the next day and we went back to the original."

Castle sat back, laughing at the looks on his friends faces. Martha Rodgers was definitely no competition when it came to tall tales.

Prompt: séance

[thevoidstaredback]

Phase Two of the plan was set to take place during the next Wayne Gala. Meaning they had exactly four weeks to plan out every meticulous detail. It was going to be great.

Week One

Planning for a gala is never easy. Planning for a Wayne Gala is even harder. Invitations, as per social standard, must go out at least four weeks prior to the event, so the guest list was first priority. Tim was put in charge of this. He elected the help of Luke Fox.

"Dude, you are never going to believe what Bruce did."

Luke sighed. "I leave for one month- What'd B do?"

Tim grinned up at him. "We're pranking the Justice League."

A beat. "What?"

"We're pranking the Justice League."

"Okay... Why?" He asked. "Better question: How? Don't they already know who you all are?"

Tim shook his head, pulling up the security feed from Phase One to send to his pseudo uncle. "They have no idea who we are behind our masks. Better yet, they have no idea how many of us actually operate within the city."

"There's no way."

"Right? I was so sure that they'd know by now, y'know? Because Superman has memorized our heartbeats, and we've met him both in and out of costume; Wonder Woman's Wonder Woman, and she has the Lasso of Truth- though, I'm pretty sure there's a way around that if she ever did try and get our names that way."

"And you called me here because..?" Luke prompted.

"Right!" Tim opened a different tab on his tablet. "I need you to help me make a guest list for the next Wayne Gala."

"Isn't that like, months out?"

"Not anymore! We're throwing on in exactly four weeks, so this guest list needs to be made now so that invitations can go out yesterday."

Luke raised an eyebrow.

Tim met his gaze. "I said what I said. Will you help me or not?"

With another sigh, Luke relented. "Alright. You can fill me in on everything later- And I do mean everything. I want every detail. Also, why didn't you pull me into this before?"

"We weren't sure if you'd be in town for this, and you were gone during Phase One. Also, we didn't actually intend on Selina and Kate being in on this, either. Well, maybe Kate."

"You got Selina and Kate in on this before me?" He looked absolutely heartbroken. "Wow. I thought I was your favorite."

Tim shook his head. "I'm pulling you in now, aren't I? Now, c'mon, we've got work to do.

The hardest part about setting up a Guest List is knowing the relationships between everyone. Everyone will be amicable with each other no matter who was invited, especially at an event hosted by the Wayne Family, but distaste for present company will be made known.

For this particular gala, there will be a mix of upper and middle class attendees to cover the odd additions that are the members of the Justice League.

"What's our priority, Tim?"

"Guest list, seating arrangements, and interference."

"'Interference'?"

"Who's going to stand between people if families of hostile relations run into each other."

Luke shook his head. "Rich people."

"Luke," Tim said, "I hate to break it to you, but you're 'rich people'."

A gasp. "I am? Tim! How could you do this to me?"

"I'm sorry, man," he shook his head sadly, laying his hand gently on Luke's arm, "But it's not my fault. It was your parents."

"My parents?"

"A betrayal of the worst kind."

"How could they!" he sobbed.

Tim rubbed his back, "I know. There, there."

"Tim? Luke?" Kate asked, walking into the office Tim had commandeered. "What they hell are you two doing in here?"

The two look up, sharing a laugh. "Nothing, Kate."

She raised here eyebrow skeptically, "Uh-huh, sure. Do you have a guest list set yet? We need to get invites made up and sent out."

"Almost," Tim answered.

Luke shrugged. "I still don't understand why we can't just host an open event. It'll make it so much easier."

"And risk our identities being released to the public?" Kate said, "Not to mention the amount of rouges that'll get in."

"They'll try to get in anyway."

"Extra security," Tim mumbled, switching to the document that was shared between the family for planning, "Got it."

"No-" Luke turned back to him, "That is not what I said."

Kate laughed. "Get back to work, you two. I'll be back in a bit to print off the invitations."

"We can get away with sending the invited late because we're The Waynes," Tim muttered to himself, "but any later than a day and we're on cracked ice."

"Isn't the saying 'thin ice'?"

"Only if you don't wear a mask o cowl to fight crime at night."

"Touché."

Part 8 Part 10

[hcsiqs]

16, kate martin, 🩹 ? love love love your writing

| expert at sorry

• pairing: kate martin x fem!reader

• prompt: “i want to hate you. but i can’t. and that—that sucks.”

• warnings: angst with no happy ending

awww thank u sm that means the world to me!!

You had moved to Vegas after college to have a fresh start. You had gotten a well paying job in your field and had made all new friends. It was nothing like college, which was exactly what you needed and wanted.

To not have to see Kate’s face everywhere you turned, to hear about how good she had played in a game, or being forced to go to her games even after the two of you broke up so your friends could go see Caitlin Clark shoot from the logo.

You could just live your life by focusing on your work and going out with friends at night. And now the people around you cared so much for you, even if you’ve only known each other for a little amount of time, you’d consider them your closest friends.

They met you at your worst and have helped you everyday to feel better about yourself and get you out of your shell.

“You look so sexy!” Andriana gasped as she turned you around to get a full look at your outfit. You had on a black see-through lacy top, a red bra underneath, and then a black mini skirt paired with black shoes.

“All the girls are gonna be begging to take you home,” Olivia giggled as she ran her hands down your arms.

“Thank you,” you shyly smiled, accepting their compliments, “And the both of you! Hottest couple of the century,” you smiled looking at them as Andriana’s hand found itself firmly planted on Olivia’s hip them both leaning into each other.

“Ok come on let’s go!” Devon yelled as she twisted the keys around her finger, trying to shoo everyone out of the apartment.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Y’all had been out for a couple hours and the loud music and lights were staring to get to you. Girls had came up to you and flirted but none of them were Kate.

Even after she had done you so wrong you still wanted to be under her arm, the place you found most comfort. But of course that would never happen.

You hadn’t heard anything about the blonde since March Madness as you had ignored every piece of basketball media because it hurt you too much. So, when the dj announced the Las Vegas Aces were there you weren’t expecting the next line to come out of his mouth, “And everyone’s favorite rookie, Kate Martin!” as cheers filled your ears you felt your heart practically stop.

“Y/N, are you ok?” Devon asked pulling your eyes away from the place that you had heard her name announced. “Y/N.”

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m good,” you gave a tight lipped smiled, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you her as you pointed to in its vicinity.

“Do you want me to go with you?” she asked, her voice still laced with concern.

“No, it’s ok,” you nodded your head, “Be right back,” you told her before exiting the sweaty crowd of people and beelining to the bathroom.

Your eyes began to sting with the tears trying to make their way down your cheeks. It was crazy how one name could send you down this spiral.

As you made your way to the bathroom you, you failed to realize a blonde following behind you. But, when you entered the bathroom you caught a glimpse of her in the mirror standing a few feet behind you. “Kate,” you said after turning around to meet her blue eyes, the ones you had originally fell in love with. “I didn’t know you got drafted, congrats,” you crossed your arms over your body, suddenly aware of how exposing it was.

“I—uh—I didn’t know you moved here,” her hand reached to the back of her neck, “I wasn’t even sure it was you who I was following.”

“So, why’d you follow me?” you asked, pushing your hip against the sink.

“I don’t know. I just,” she paused trying to find the right words, “I fucked up, Y/N.”

“I know,” you nodded your head biting your lip trying to keep your voice stable. Finally after all these months you were hearing what thought you wanted to hear, but now that you had it, you weren’t sure if this is really what you wanted. Closure, that is, because it means it would all be over.

“I said really shitty things to you—,” she was cut off by someone entering into the bathroom and silently apologizing for interrupting, “Do you wanna go somewhere else?”

“We can go outside,” you told her as you pulled your phone out sending a quick text to your friends. You then followed her through the crowds until you were outside in the warm atmosphere of Las Vegas.

“I shouldn’t have said those things,” you noticed the way she still played with her fingers out of nervousness, “They weren’t true. You didn’t add stress to my life, like you were the only thing that didn’t give me stress. I just took all of my anxiety out on you and I’m so sorry,” she finished.

You stood quiet trying to figure out what words to say. You had been avoiding eye contact practically the whole time she was talking, just trying to soak in the sound of her voice.

“You probably hate me,” she ran her hand through her long blonde hair.

“I don’t hate you,” you shook your head finally meeting her gaze, “Trust me, I want to hate you. But I can’t,” you bit the bottom of your lip trying to keep it from going into a frown and allowing the tears to spill out, “and th—that really fucking sucks. Because you ruined my self image. I believed all those things you said,” you felt a tear fall down your cheek and immediately wiped it away. “I’ve spent months trying to rebuild myself from the way you left me.”

“I’m so sorry Y/N, and I will be for the rest of my life,” she stepped closer to you, but you still kept your arms around you almost as if they acted as a barrier.

“Did you really believe all those things you said to me?” your voice broke as the tears clouded your eyes and stared to stream down your cheeks. She immediately brought you into her grasp, her hand racking through your hair.

“No, no,” she shook her head before lying her chin on top of your head. You stood there crying into the shirt of the girl who had made you hate yourself and think that you were the problem in everything. “None of what I said was true. I was just scared shitless and I took it out on you. I should’ve never done that baby,” the familiar nick name slips out of her lips, and it sounds so right on her tongue that it takes all your strength to push away from her and not melt into her.

“You can’t call me that,” you stood back, wiping the tears from under your eyes, the mascara on the sides of your fingers.

Kate nodded her head, “Do you,” she started, “Do you think we will ever get back together?” she asked and you could hear the vulnerability in her voice.

“Not right now,” you shook your head, “I’m not saying never, but right now. No, I think I still need time.”

“I’ll wait,” she whispered. As you went to respond your friends came out of the club and stared at the two of you.

“Ok,” you nodded before walking over to them and waving a small bye to her before walking off.

Honestly it felt like a weight had been taken off your chest. You weren’t being weighed down by the blonde anymore.

And you were honest about maybe trying again in the future. You would just have to see a difference in her for it to happen.

[the-offside-rule]

Mason Mount (Manchester United) - Drunken Dancing

Day 8 of Christmas

Prompt: Meeting at a Christmas Party

25 Days Of Christmas

The familiar hum of Christmas music and laughter greeted Y/n as she stepped into Kate’s house, snowflakes still melting on her coat. She clutched a chilled bottle of champagne in one hand, her other trying to close the door behind her, when a blur of red sweater and excited eyes appeared before her. "Y/n!" Kate grinned, barely giving her friend a chance to breathe. "Come with me! There’s someone you have to meet."

"Kate, I haven’t even taken my coat off-"

But Kate was already pulling her along, her grip firm and determined. They weaved through friends mingling around the Christmas tree and chatter spilling from the kitchen. Finally, Kate stopped beside a tall, broad-shouldered guy with a friendly smile and a slightly nervous energy. He looked like he belonged on magazine covers, though there was a softness to his expression that made him approachable.

"Y/n, this is Mason-" Kate beamed. "Mason, Y/n. Champagne’s in the kitchen!" With a wink and a quick squeeze of Y/n’s shoulder, Kate disappeared as quickly as she’d arrived, leaving Y/n and Mason exchanging amused looks. "Well, that was direct." Y/n laughed, loosening her grip on the bottle but keeping it close. "Yeah." Mason replied awkwardly. "Hello, I guess." She manages with a small laugh, feeling a touch self-conscious. "Hey." He responds, swirling his drink, his expression a mix of awkward and amused. "So, you’re friends with Kate?" Y/n nods, trying to loosen up. "Yeah, we’ve been close for years. And you know Rasmus, obviously."

Mason chuckles. "Oh, yeah. I was actually starting to suspect he and Kate had some ulterior motives... they’ve been trying to set me up with someone for ages." He explains, taking his drink in a mouthful. "Sounds familiar." Y/n replied, sighing. Masom arched a brow. Whatever could she mean? "Kate’s been on a mission to find me a boyfriend for months. Well, since she moved in with Rasmus. She must think I'm lonely." She smiled. "Oh, you lived with her?" Y/n nodded. "Since the first year of uni, but that doesn't mean I dont have other friends, you know?" Mason nodded, intrigues by the girl.

A moment of silence passed between them, punctuated by their shared laughter as they both realized their friends’ clever matchmaking setup. "Want to drop your coat off, at least?" Mason offered, gesturing to the door. "I’ll grab us some drinks." She nodded, grateful for the excuse to shake off the initial awkwardness. Coat and champagne safely tucked away, she joined Mason in the cozy kitchen, where he handed her a glass of mulled wine. They settled into easy conversation, talking about everything from the worst holiday parties they’d been to, to travel mishaps, and the quirks of their mutual friends.

As the room around them filled with chatter and laughter, their voices grew softer, their exchanges more playful. At some point, she felt herself relax, leaning closer, laughing more, leaning towards him, noticing the way Mason’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. Before long, the laughter and noise around them became too loud, and both of them enjoyed speaking so much. "Want to sneak out of here?" He asked, nodding at her abandoned bottle of champagne. "We could, you know, keep celebrating the single life?" Y/n gives him a mischievous look, grabbing the bottle of champagne she brought. "Thought you’d never ask."

Grinning, the pair headed out the door. Y/n grabbed her coat, handed him his scarf, and tucked the champagne under her arm. "I can never get it right." Mason mumbled as he fiddled with his scarf. "Here." She said, handing him the champagme and fixing it. He almost froze. He didn't expect her this close, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining. "There. Ready?" Mason grinned, opening the door and together, they slipped out the front door into the crisp night air, their breath visible in the freezing air. The snow had started falling softly again, blanketing the world around them in gentle white.

Y/n pulled her coat closer, feeling the chill, but Mason looks over and smiles. "This was a good idea. Half the people in that party are insufferable." He says, looking down the softly lit street, his breath visible in the cold air as Y/n chuckled. "And it’s snowing. Finally a white Christmas and they're all inside. How stupid do you have to be?" She turns and smiles up at him, but before she can reply, he scoops up a handful of snow and hurls it in her direction. It hits her shoulder, and she gasps, mock-offended.

"Oh, you’re going to regret that!" She warns, setting the champagne down carefully on the ground and retaliating with a snowball of her own. He dodges with a laugh, but it’s on. Soon, they’re both laughing, hurling snowballs as they chase each other down the street, occasionally stopping to dodge or tackle each other.

Breathless, cheeks flushed, they finally stopped when a chorus of voices drifted down the street. A group of slightly tipsy strangers was singing Fairytale of New York loudly and with complete holiday cheer. The soft sounds of the familiar song, paired with the snowy backdrop, made the night feel almost magical. Mason turned to her, hand outstretched, a playful glint in his eye. "May I have this dance?" Y/n’s heart skipped a beat, but she smiled and took his hand. He pulled her close, and together they swayed to the off-key melody of the singers down the street. She laughed as they stumbled a bit on the uneven, snowy pavement, and Mason just pulled her closer, his arm wrapping around her.

"I think this might be the best attempt at setting me up anyone’s ever made." Mason murmured, his gaze warm. "I'll take that as a compliment. I-" As she looked up at him, the faint sparkle of something green above him caught her eye. She laughed, pointing up to the lamppost where a sprig of mistletoe hung, half-buried under the snow. "Oh, look." She smirked, trying to play it cool. "You know the tradition."

Mason glanced up, a slow grin spreading across his face. He looked down, his hand cupping her cheek. "Guess I do." He murmurs, his voice softening as he leans in. The soft touch of his lips sending a warm rush through her that chased away the chill of the winter night.

The snow continued to fall as he brushes his lips softly against hers, the world fading away for a moment. It’s just them, sharing a kiss under the mistletoe on a quiet, snowy street, the sounds of holiday carolers and laughter filling the night. And as they pull away, their foreheads still touching, Mason smiles at her. "So… best matchmaking attempt you’ve had in a while, huh?" She asks, her voice barely more than a whisper. "You just want me to say it again." Y/n giggles. "Guilty as charged."

The distant singing continued, but to Y/n, it was all background noise. The only thing that mattered was Mason, the quiet snow, and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Christmas had brought her something more than she’d expected.

[redheadspark]

may i have Benedict x reader from bridgerton with prompt #25

A/N - So cute for Benedict! Thanks for the request, anon!

Overflowed

Summary - Benedict knows how to make you smile

Warnings - Angst and fluff rolled into one :)

If there was one thing you loved about your life being a Bridgerton, it was how it was never boring or mundane.

It all started when you met your future husband, Benedict.  You both were attending art class at one of the most prestigious schools in the area, sitting side by side during one of the night classes and going through one of the lectures.  Benedict came from a wealthy family, prestigious family, which that had a major reputation for being well-loved and compassionate in charities and amongst other families.  You heard about his family for some time, though your family was not part of that circle since you were not well off.  In fact, you were attending the art school on a full-ride scholarship, not wanting to take it for granted and keeping your nose in your books and canvas.  But that night as Benedict plopped down next to you with his laptop out and ready to try, he looked over at you as you were handwriting your notes instead of typing it out.

He smiled, leaning over and saying in a low tone, “I like your handwriting.  It’s lovely,”

It was safe to say you are smitten with him from then on out.

You both sat together for the rest of the semester, learning about each other and becoming friends.  All of those rumors and stories that you hear about his family both seemed true and untrue.  He was kind, and humble in his upbringing and just wishing to be a better artist but not afraid to talk about his family and all of their endeavors.  He showed interest in you and what you liked about art, which pieces you liked and hated.  Although you were hesitant and wanted to keep your guard up when it came to letting in someone new in your life, Benedict snuck in always. 

Your first date was actually at the local county fair, Benedict asked you out after several months of building a friendship. It was surprising that he took you to a county fair, some of your other friends were already spewing theories about him taking you to a luxury restaurant or even on a yacht since his older brother Anthony did that with his now wife Kate. But not with Benedict, he would prefer to laugh with you and eat fried fair food and look at the street vendors.  

He made you laugh while attempting to win you a stuffed animal at the games, though you tried to warn him that they were rigged.  Benedict threw one baseball a bit too hard and almost broke the tent wall behind the plate that he was attempting to smash.  You laughed, the vendor scowling at him as Benedict took your hand and you both bolted before you were caught.  Benedict loved the sound of your laugh, he mentally would remember that moment for the rest of his life.  Throughout the night, you felt your walls coming down slowly with him and how he made you smile and giggle without you realizing what he was doing. Benedict was more down to earth than anything that night, then taking you to the local art show that was placed in the back of the fair.  

“I thought you would rather see something like this than at a fancy gallery,” He explained, you grinning from ear to ear as you both were gazing at the paintings and sketches from local painters and artist that were selling their art.  To think that he had all the money he would ever need, the reputation to be put in the pockets of people with power, but he simply wanted to be with you.

You shared your first kiss that night, his lips tasting of popcorn and soda pop.

Dating Benedict was both thrilling and intimidating at the same time. You were taken into his world, filled with wealthy relatives and charities that would sell dinner seats for thousands of dollars.  You barely had 1000 dollars to your name, let alone in your savings, but Benedict never minded it.  His own family was insanely sweet and kind to you, seeing how you made the artist in the family so happy and filled with joy.  Of course, they would tease you about his aloofness and his quirky nature, but you saw the same compassion and authenticity that was in Benedict in each of his siblings and his kind mother.  

However, you were a fish out of water with those dinners and events that you attended on Benedict’s arm.  The small talk with the fellow guests seemed forced and almost dry, Most of them were grilling you with questions about your own life, if you came from a rich family, or if you had any investments.  The pressure was a bit much at times, Benedict sensing it when you sat side by side during the dinners.  But the great thing about Benedict was that he would attempt to make you laugh during those tense moments, by any means necessary.  Comments under his breath, jokes that he knew were not great dinner conversation, his sense of humor was once again winning and making you come out of your shell a bit more.

Anthony could have sworn he saw you giggling and hiding your smile behind your napkin as Benedict whispered in your ear.  Anthony knew it then, you two were meant to be together.

Not everything was happy and positive with you two when it came to your love for one another. Because of your more humbled upbringing, your family bought of Benedict as dragging you along to use you.  It was hard to hear that from them, they all thought it was some kind of ruse and not real.  No matter how many times you defended your love for Benedict and told them constantly that you both were insanely happy together.  Even your ex was spewing hate on your relationship, which hurt a bit more since you and your ex were a bit sour together.  

But in the end, Benedict always came through by comforting you and making you feel safe.  He would constantly hug you and remind you that you were strong and adored, that you’d come so far in earning your degree and working at a gallery, fighting tooth and nail with your advantages and no leg up.  He admired you for that, and to see you feel defeated by others and their words broke his heart.  Plenty of nights were shared holding each other and talking through those bitter moments, it felt better to talk to him about it and get it off your chest than to hold it in.

And every time, Benedict would end up making you laugh and bringing you joy.  

“I think I found mummy!”  You looked up from your spot on the loveseat, holding an important letter in your fingers as your husband waltzed into the room with your 3-year-old daughter on his back and squealing in joy.  You beamed, watching your husband act like a horse and neighing as he was galloping around the small living room and your daughter laughing her head off with her ringlets dancing behind her.  

“Look, mummy!  Daddy’s a horsey!” She shrieked as Benedict was going in circles around your loveseat, you placing the letter on the coffee table and standing up with your hands on your hips.

“Quite the handsome horse too!” You teased, Benedict, slowing down and laughing as he stood in front of you.  Your daughter, Emma Violet Bridgerton, poked her head over his shoulder and you saw the same shade of green that her father had in her eyes.  She reached out to you with grabby hands, to which you scooped her in your arms to hug her tight, breathing in her sweet scent and feeling her arms around you.

5 years of marriage was no easy feat, but it was rewarding.  You both got married in the spring, then found a decent apartment in the downtown area that was close to the gallery you were now running and Benedict sold some of his work to get some money in your pockets. He would rather make money not by his name but by his art, using an alias with his art and not giving out his true identity.  It worked in his favor, his work being sold globally and making his alias a household name.  Your net worth grew, though tedious at times, but it grew nonetheless.  

So the news that you were pregnant two years into your marriage was a surprise, but the best kind since Benedict was over the moon at the thought of being a father.  Sure, he never thought about being a father so soon, but he didn't despise the thought of it.   Yet you were the one who was afraid of parenthood, mostly because of your own experience with your parents and how they were with you.  They were harsh, far too realistic, and at times brutal.  Did you want to inflict that on your own child?

“You are not your mum and dad,” Benedict reminded you one night as you two were lying in bed, you telling him what was festering in your mind and what you were fearing.  He had one arm around your shoulders, and his other hand was resting on your lower stomach while he was staring at you lovingly, “We are gonna love this baby and make sure that there is nothing but happiness in this home.  Plus, I bet you we’ll make mistakes here and there.  Especially me, I bet you I’m gonna put the diaper on the wrong way,”

You smiled softly, “More than once?” You asked to ask sheepishly, Benedict’s smile got wide.

“Are you kidding, over a dozen times at least!” He explained, you laughing as he went on, “And I’ll be singing to our baby with my horrible singing voice, you’re gonna hate it!”

As soon as Emma Violet Bridgerton was born, Benedict was over the moon in love with her.

“We were looking for you in hopes you were wanting to come get ice cream with us!” Benedict explained to you as Emma perked up and looked at you with her father’s eyes she inherited.

“Can we, mum?” She asked with hope in her voice, you eyeing her and then her father.

“Before dinner?” You asked in a joking tone, Emma giggling glee as you tickled her sides, “The scandal of it all!  What will the neighbors say!  We must get ice cream then since I have been craving chocolate!”

“Hooray!” Emma said in victory, the there of you walking out of the living room together as a happy family.  You left the letter behind, another disappointing letter from your parents who were reprimanding you for shielding your daughter from her grandparents.  But you were having none of it, you may have before when things were still tender with them. Yet not now, not with this life that was overflowing with happiness.  

The overflowing will never end, not if Benedict had anything to do with it.

The End.

May Prompt Session