#like a mother hen keeping its babies warm

[spokewar]

thinking about Obi-Wan:

[redbleedingrose]

Girl Dad!Rhysand x Reader Headcanons

This male could pound me to town and I would say thank you.

A/N: Anyway, this Highkey sucks so I am so sorry. I feel like I have to ease back into writing, it has been so long since I have sat down and actually written something. It is all over the place and just not the best writing so I apologize for that. I just… my surgery rotation literally killed me. You can ask @augustinerose I was not in a good headspace. I feel like I am still recovering from that and idk… it just… I feel like it stole some part of me. I dunno, its hard to explain but it took out all the motivation I had towards writing. So easing back into things is gonna have to be the way to go. Again, I am so sorry, this is literally awful. I am gonna try to do some NSFW headcanons for girl dad!Rhys tomorrow if y’all would like. As always, a comment or reblog is much much appreciated. It always gives me the motivation and hope to continue writing.

Girl dad Rhysand is too good y’all I cannot.

Rhysand is one of the best girl dads out there.

He makes sure his baby girl and wife are taken care of to the fullest extent.

I am talking he wakes up in the middle of the night to take care of the babe, swaying her and humming Illyrian rhymes to her to calm her. He takes her out for flying, making sure to wrap her sensitive tiny wings in wool so that they can remain warm against the night court breeze whenever she is inconsolable, usually returning with her fast asleep, sucking on her tiny thumb with little grunts every so often.

The first month of the babe being home, he would sneak out of your bed just to lay down next to the crib so he could make sure that your darling babe was settled and comfortable.

He is a mother hen, glaring at Cassian for making too much noise when the babe is resting in his arms.

He likes to show her the constellations in the sky, pointing out each of the different stars and even using his powers to create mini galaxies above the crib. For her 5th birthday, he gifts her an actual star out of the sky, following the nickname, “my shining star.”

He adores her so much, there is nothing he wouldn’t do for her. She has him wrapped around her tiny fingers since the moment she grabbed onto his finger with her tiny fist. He loves reading stories to her, making sure that the nursery is filled with old children tales that are centuries old, first edition novels really, along with all of the new writings from the authors around each court. One sure fire way of calming down your babe whenever she is fussy is Rhys pulling out a book and resting back in the rocking chair with her in his arms, and reading to her the stories. He does all the different voices for different characters and even makes funny faces for your little girl to keep her entertained, and is the reason why your babe grows up to be an avid reader.

Rhysand always has the best clothes made for her. She is the best dressed babe in all of the courts, and grows up to be a fashion icon. Most of the clothes she wears are from Rhys’ mother who sewed them centuries before, just like she had for you.

He is the one to teach her how to fly, spending hours and hours, weeks and weeks away from his duties to spend some time with his favorite girl (besides you ofc) to teach her different skills. He teaches her self defense and different battle strategies, preparing her to become High Lady one day. He is patient and calm throughout the entire process, even when she throws tantrums or feels like giving up. He always knows exactly what to say, he knows exactly how to handle the situation by either giving her space or pushing her to keep going.

Your daughter loves to draw, and will often end up drawing on Rhysand’s arms and legs with a pink marker. He thinks it is the best artwork he has ever seen, and has gone as far as getting a drawing of a family of stars that she drew tattooed into left wrist.

At parties, he always makes sure to dance with her first. At first, he has her in his arms, twirling them both around while her little giggles and squeals resound against the music. Eventually, he has her standing on his shoes so he can guide the both of them, letting her grow with independence. Eventually, she learns the dance moves herself, and still to this day, they will be each others first dance.

Don’t even get me started on how girl dad Rhys takes care of you!!!!!

Literally the best husband and mate I am WEAK

This male screams self care. He wants to make sure that you are rested 24/7. No mate of his is going to be feeling exhausted. He has days where he schedules full body massages, facials, hair care treatments, manicures and pedicures. He has Morr meet you after so you can go browsing for new dresses, shoes, purses, jewelry. Whatever you wish for, it is already yours. You only need to stare for a second, and Morr is going inside to buy it, “Rhys told me to honey, you can talk to him, but honestly you deserve it” anytime you complain that she is spending too much on you.

When you come home, he has Az and Cass watching the babe for the night so he can take you out to dinner, or even just for an evening in. You cuddle up with the babe for a little while before he whisks you away into whatever extravagant things he has planned for you.

He loves having you in his lap during these free nights, one arm wrapped around your waist or hips while the other feeds you or plays with your hair, muttering to himself about how stunning you are, how lucky he is to have you, how much he adores you really.

I like to think you face each other in bed while he intertwines your legs and pulls you close into his chest, and you just get to talk about anything and everything. Any of his worries about the relations between other courts, any of his concerns regarding the night court, his desires to wanting to better the world for your daughter, he always feels like he can spill whatever he has on his mind to you in a way that he has never been able to before.

After your daughter is born, he often spends time telling her all of the things he thinks about while she lays on her belly and allows for her wings to flutter to build muscle strength.

Remember how I talked about your daughter being Rhys’ first dance? Well, you are his partner for every other dance, and always the last dance. Your poor babe is passed out in one of the chairs with Amren watching over her like a hawk, her hand patting the babes back (she has a soft spot for her, what can I say?) and you both dance and dance. Sometimes, he flys you up into the sky and dances with you among the stars, “they lie in witness to our love darling”

Again, this was terrible so thank you for sticking around if you actually read through this!

Edit: part 2

[fuctacles]

If you fall, I'll just catch you

For @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up prompt "Fall" (and I'll probably write a followup for the next one)

T | WC 1k | CW fear of heights, I guess? | Halloween preparations, Steve being the mom friend

next up

"I'm gonna fall I'm gonna fall imgonnafall-"

"No, you're not," said Steve, while standing safely on the ground below.

Eddie loved Halloween. Eddie also loved helping his friends. So, a few days ago he thought to himself, why not combine both and impose some Halloween help on Harrington? Which was mostly for his benefit, since his trailer didn't leave much space for spooky decorations, but the Harrington's house? He could craft a whole graveyard around it. Maybe he will.

But first, he'd have to get down. Because when he was offering, insisting on helping out, he forgot that Steve's house was not only bigger but also higher than his trailer.

He didn't know he had a fear of heights until he climbed the ladder with some fake cobwebs in hand. The ones now abandoned on the roof while he clutched the tiles instead, thankfully rough and not slippery smooth. 

"Eddie," Steve's mother-hen voice was seeping through, but it was not enough to soothe Eddie.

"What?!" He bristled back, like a cat too scared of falling off a tree to reach out to its owner.

"Come back to the ladder, come on. I'll hold it in place."

"Nuh-uh. Thanks but no, thanks."

Ladders were wobbly and unreliable and had too many holes Eddie could look through. In fact, they were mostly holes, partially steps. How has he ever trusted them in the past?

"Eddie."

"No!" 

Steve sighed from somewhere below. His feet shuffled on the gravel.

"I'll look for some other route, okay? Don't move."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

His breath picks up when the steps fade out, but he hears them again before he can manage to recite the One Ring prophecy in his head. Steve walked around the house and was back below him.

“So, there's a tree on the other side of the house, it should be easy to climb on from the roof,” Steve informs him. Eddie mulls his words in his head slowly, nodding to himself.

“Trees are sturdy,” he murmurs for self-reassurance and to acknowledge the plan. “They are literally rooted to the ground.”

“Great. You have to move a bit to your left, just follow my voice.”

So Eddie did, keeping his eyes on the roof tiles ahead of him and moving painstakingly slow until a convenient tree branch appeared in his sight.

“You got this, Eddie,” Steve's voice has been patiently guiding him and offering praises and reassurances for the past eternity. Eddie, while grateful, could only offer back a muttered string of curses.

He eyed the tree and grabbed onto the nearest branch, sliding from the roof to the tree with little effort. He took a couple of calming breaths before looking down to assess his route to the ground.

Uh.

“Where the fuck is the rest of the tree?”

There were no more convenient branches below him. He looked at his friend below who had the balls to look amused.

“We had to cut the branches last summer because they were getting too close to the windows,” he shrugged. He shrugged while facing Eddie’s terror. "You just gotta jump.”

“You just gotta jump,” Eddie mocked him, clutching the bark under his fingers. “And what, break my leg? After all I’ve been through, I'm going to break my leg jumping from a tree?”

"I’ll catch you.”

“Oh, so I’m supposed to break my leg and your neck? Great plan.”

Steve sighed.

“Eddie.”

There was that tone again.

“What?!” Eddie seethed.

“If you hang from the branch you’ll be close enough to me, I’ll catch you easily. Don’t be a baby.”

“You’re a baby," he retorted. Just like a baby would.

“A very strong baby who's going to catch you and make you hot chocolate after.”

“Are you bribing me right now?”

“Yes? I’m getting a neck cramp from looking up there. Just get on with it.”

Eddie groaned. And then groaned some more with every movement he made on the branch. An excellent branch with a great view. He could see himself chilling there for prolonged periods of time, but…

He looked down once more, where Steve was making encouraging hand motions. He breathed out, lowering himself more and more from the branch until his legs were fully dangling, and he couldn't look down anymore.

“I can almost touch your ankles.” His fingers brushed against Eddie's sneaker. “You can let go now.”

“Mhm, okay,” Eddie huffed. “Just don’t fucking drop me.” 

He let go.

He made the most embarrassing squeak that he hoped got muffled by the loud grunt Steve made against his chest. His shirt had ridden up, but he was too overwhelmed with anxiety to feel embarrassed or self-conscious.

“Gotcha,” Steve murmured, breath hot against his shirt, and he lowered him to the ground, sliding him down against his body.

As his shoes settled on the neatly trimmed lawn, tension seeped out of his muscles and he collapsed against his friend.

“I hate everything, never again, I hate Halloween, fuck spiders, fuck heights, fuck roofs and fuck ladders. Fuck your stupid windows and fuck. Just, fuck,” he rambled while the fight was leaving his body. Steve laughed and without hesitation pulled him into a warm embrace that Eddie was too tired to reject. He slowly relaxed the deathly grasp he had on Steve’s shoulders.

“Does that mean you don't want to turn my front lawn into a graveyard anymore?”

Eddie huffed.

“You said ‘no’ already, don't have to rub it in.”

“Well, I might have changed my mind.”

Eddie perked up, disentangling himself from the embrace. He squinted at his friend.

“If this is you taking pity on me, I will take it.”

Steve laughed, rubbing Eddie’s arm before dropping his hold.

“Call it whatever you want as long as you leave all the roof decorations to me.”

“Gladly,” Eddie grinned, holding out his hand to shake on it. Steve did, but he didn’t let go, instead tugging him towards the sliding door.

“Come on, I promised you hot chocolate.”

[drawnthejayys]

Meet my BLU Team OCs !!

Info/Bios under cut!

Dr. Warin Kölher

• Born in Mannheim, Germany

• Team Leader, some refer to him as "Mother Hen" because of his protective motherly attitude

• Lost his medical degree early because he kept experiencing near death situations around his workplace, they thought it was becoming too dangerous even though nobody else was affected 💀

• Survived hell and back more than once (literally) before becoming a mercenary

• Happy face pin on his hat expresses his emotions somehow?¿

• Not a demon or anything, trust me!!!!!

• Likes crows, wants one as a pet

• Says he has a rare skin condition (is lying)

Jenny Thomas

• Sees Dr. Kölher as a parental figure

• "IF AUTISM DIDN'T EXIST, GOD WOULD NOT HAVE CREATED ME!" /ref /j

• Actually born in Canada, does not know

• Sent to Michigan (in a box) as a baby and grew up there

• Collector of many things (rocks, sticks, nuts n bolts)

• Can be very trigger happy especially on the battlefield

• Dr. Kölher gives her star stickers when he's good, he sticks them in his helmet (is tryin to collect 50 of them 🇺🇲)

• Owns chewelry because she has a biting problem but easily breaks through all of them in less than a week

Mason

• nickname: mason jar

• If Mundy listened to midwest emo (/hj)

• Look, we don't know how they escaped New Zealand when its currently at the bottom of the ocean but we don't ask

• Laid-back but lazy at times, takes a lot of naps

• Smokes more weed than Spy smoking cigarettes /hj

• Dumpster diver

• Their Jarate skills kinda go crazy

• Games with Junior, they love first-person shooters

Spy (alias: Rune)

• Get half filipino'd loser🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭

• Backup strategist for when things go to shit but also the last resort for a lot of things unfortunately

• Anxiety ridden, visits the doc often

• Good at stabbing, not much with shooting

• Acknowledges Scout as his son but is a very awkward dad. He's trying at least

• A hopeless romantic and has been looking for a partner since the divorce(tm)

• Smokes but is trying to quit, often been seen with a toothpick instead of a cigarette

• Autistic just like me fr, stims with his butterfly knife

Dallas

• Tough cowboy, doesn't play around

• "Watch your piehole son or imma SLAP YOU SILLY."

• Probably the sanest in the team

• Grumpy-pants who needs a break

• Very "tough love" kind of father figure

• "MY TEAMMATES ARE ALL MORONS!!!!" /ref /j

• Homophobic homosexual (/j)

• Despite his name, he might not even be Texan

• Tolerates Dr. Kölher the most

Dymitry (Mitya)

• Here to do his job, nothing more

• Intimidating just like the OG Heavy

• Fond of animals and small creatures

• Actually quite calm, its hard to piss him off

• He has a soft spot for Jenny and Meeka and buys them snacks on the weekends

• Jenny calls him Mitts!

Junior

• Transmasc bastard

• He'll beat your ass (for fun!)

• Good friends with Sniper, they listen to music and play video games together!

• Knows Spy is his dad and is very nonchalant about it, much to Spy's dismay ("I am your fathe-" "Whatever, don't care, didn't ask")

• Has braces paid for by Spy but has to leave base monthly to go to an actual dentist because Dr. Kölher didn't wanna keep seeing him cry whenever he had to get his braces tightened

•Still has buck teeth :3

Meeka

• Your honour, they're just a little guy

• Hangs around Mitya to keep him company, theyre the best of friends!

• Goes on crazy killing sprees with Jenny during matches

• Ongoing beef/goof-off with the RED Team's Pyro

• Pinkie Pie energy!!

• Dallas is their (adoptive) dad!

Angus

• Superstitious about a lot of things but keeps it to himself

• For some reason is always very warm which is why he's shirtless 90% of the time

• Has some amazing tits ngl

• Will wear a dress to the function and be the hottest one there

• His fav food is burber 🍔

• Loves hard rum and scotch (its important to me that all my demo ocs have a fav alcoholic beverage)

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

That's all of them! I hope you like them :3

[twidiarie]

mother dearest

I'm still your baby

Why won't you cradle me?

mother dearest

It wasn't long ago as weak knees grew strength and the infant who crawled

became the infant who walked

waddling and tumbling, under your care

I'd never fall or trip, my tiny fist enveloping your finger

I was safe, your lips spilled words of praise and prayer

To ask the Almighty to keep me steady, to never let me run off into unsafe terrain and linger

Mother dearest

When I stopped being your cute little doll

When my lips were no longer puppeted with the sounds of obedience and agreement, when I developed the gall

To say no, to say otherwise, to put on different glasses and lenses

Our worlds were now in different colors and in different focuses and perspectives

mother dearest

You spoonfed me mashed fruit and cleaned my drooling chin with tissues and gently wiped away my tears

Now I eat in silence while you tell me that fruit has too much sugar and serve me the bitter vegetables I never liked and I wipe away my own tears

Mother dearest

My face and my body and my beauty is like yours, right?

Yet you've taken your carving knife, determined to shape me into your picture perfect sight

You've poked and prodded, stabbed and mutilated, a sick carnage

Now with my trembling hands I hold your knife, our knife, guided and steadied by yours. my heart and my pride and my joy lopped off, collateral damage.

Mother dearest

When I look in the mirror

Bile rises in my throat, every part triggers a blaring alarm, “error, error”

I perceive and see the scars and bruises, invisible and visible, littering the expanse of my skin,

I realize that I am no longer the product of love of you and my father and my grandmother and my grandfather and all my ancestors and my kin

I am a blight, I am broken, I am no longer your pretty little doll, your pretty little baby

I am defected, not worthy of being declared as a grade C product, I am unsellable junk, faulty

I am misshapen and unsightly.

If only someone would unmake and rebuild and refashion and fix me

mother dearest

I'm still sensitive, I'm still your child

I still get scared when you, from sweet lamb morph into canine-gnashing wolf, feral and wild

Mother dearest,

The mother hen worrying over her chicks

has become the lion who tears away the flesh of her cubs with curled, bloodied lips

Mother dearest

I want to be cute and soft and small and tiny

So that you'll look at me lovingly and hold me

Now you cast me away and push me aside

Wanting space, wanting your own time

Mother dearest

Do I bore you? You used to listen to my nonsensical rambling and babbling

And now when I spout off my hopes and dreams and speak with passion and intention

You roll your eyes and sigh, look away, your head and your body turned away in aversion

The sun, a star, a daily sight, I will see until the day I die

Will capture your attention, it shines far brighter than I

A ball of gas, scorching and blazing

Melts away the lumpy, awkward me into a puddle, unworthy of remembering

Mother dearest

I understand why you love the sun as you do,

I am a young sapling, a withering flower, and you are the sun aren't you?

Vines crawl up spiked barriers,

desperately reaching for warmth through an imprisoned container

Towards you, I reach, but shades surrounds me at every corner,

I have been ignored, I have been shunned, my cries mimic those of the most distraught mourner

I am so cold, I am dying,

My petals are flitting off, my leaves wilting and drying

please, keep me warm, o mother of mine

I still cower in the face of the dark. I know my fears are asinine

But I am alone and you swore to protect me. You swore it. How foolish, how naive I was, this earnest heart of mine

I didn't know that promise had expired past its deadline

Mother dearest

The cruelest things I feel I will never hear from the world outside

Because words are like arrows,

drawn with intention

with aimed direction.

Stray ones bounce off my armor and graze my cheeks. But you know all my chinks, and your arrows pierce paper thin skin, into the vulnerable flesh inside

Your cute little doll is a fragile thing after all, her stuffing is spilling

Her seams have burst, she is hollow and her pain is agonizing

Mother dearest

I'm sorry I'm sorry forgive me forgive me.

I'm turning into you, into my father, into the wretched Frankenstein of the detestable parts of both of you and you hate me.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Please don't hate me.

I'm enraged like you are. I am just like you are but it's wrong because it's me.

Mother dearest

Please love me again,

Even when I'm not good.

Even when I'm bad.

please will you love me again?

Even when you're angry will you love me again?

What can I do, please love me again?

Mother dearest

I'm still your baby

Why won't you love me?

If you don't

How can I love me?

[eyelessfaces]

ahaaaa ik that llweyn acts like an absolute CHILD when he's sick. he's pouty, whiny. he can't take care of himself.

so of course you take care of him. soup, warm blankets (despite him whining from a fever). he's extremely clingy, no clue how to function. he squirms and cries like a baby for its parent, desperate to cling onto you.

"Don't avoid me-- 'm not sick, I'm good, I'm not sick... don't leave me.. don't leave me, baby, I'll be good.. I'll be extra careful, won't give you anything, just need you close..."

yeah, no, you get sick. worse than him, and he frets over you like a mother hen. he pouts when he can't fix it immediately, and all he can do is play guitar with a scratchy voice.

loyal af anon out

(also did you get a moon boys ask from me?? it was like a couple days ago and I wanna make sure u got it 😭😭)

I know he's grumpy too about being sick at first, he goes "no I'm not sick" "I'm fine don't worry" because he has soooo much stuff to do and laying low for a few days feels like a waste of time to him (BUT WHO NEEDS A FEW DAYS OF REST MORE THAN HE DOES?)

like bro barely has his voice anymore and still wants to perform lmao

you basically have to tie him to the bed (NOT KINKY.) for him to accept the fact that he's indeed sick but believe me once he's in bed he barely leaves it for a few days. poor bb. I'd keep him close even if it means I'll get sick

(I did get your mk ask, don't worry! it's just that I'm fixating on llewyn rn and I need to consume him as much as possible. I feel crazy. I'll answer other asks once the brainrots calms down and once brain allows me to think about something else lmfao)

[woundlingus]

may I offer you a prompt in this trying time? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

asmodeus finding Gabriel in the empty and not letting him have peace even in death <3

I went a little abstract with this one hope you don’t mind it just sort of jumped out of me that way <3

———

Bliss.

Like a dark winter night that seems to stretch on eternally with no dawn in sight, and yet there is a comfort in the heavy weight of blankets keeping you tethered to the bed, for why would you ever want to be anywhere else?

Here it is warm. Here it is safe.

There’s a tickle to the senses, like the fleeting touch of deja vu when passing the street you lived on when you were young. The magic of creation dancing just at the tip of the tongue and just out of reach of ever forming the word- but where it would’ve once been sad there is now only a gentle fondness. Wars washed away, scars removed, and love made whole.

There’s a tickle of a feather to tip of his nose; the echo of laughter; the thrill of a fall knowing there was someone waiting to catch him, steady and sure, they would never drop him.

There’s a familiarity to it, of a god long gone to him, one with which there had been murky and turbulent waters but love nonetheless. Darkness. Pure and unending.

Like falling asleep in the bathtub, so warm, you simply slip… down… and you’re gone.

There’s a call to duty, he’s aware enough to hear the ringing of a boy’s voice somewhere asking him to leave, like a child knocking on his bedroom door asking him to come play. He turns over to pull the sheets up over his head and bury his face in the soft pillows, and the voice respects his autonomy and leaves him to rest. He’ll try again later.

There’s a great exodus, he can feel it itching at the senses.

Ghost after ghost passing him by to follow the echo of an order to come, come bathe in the light once more, ‘I love you.’

Many angels do, a tickle here, an itch there, but mostly the warmth of them passing through him as if they expect their brother to rouse and join them.

He does not.

This one feels mighty familiar, and it lingers like a new mother watching over a round faced baby in its crib, hand pressed to lips to feel the gentle breath and reassuring herself that the baby is just fine. It lingers for so long that Gabriel thinks this spirit may just lie down beside him as well and not get back up. It tussles his hair, and skates a hand down his wings to straighten out stray feathers like a clucky hen. This one holds a sense of anxiety about leaving him behind, there’s a duty here amongst all the love, that this wounded solider should not be left unattended. Someone calls it though, and after a long goodbye it leaves him to rest once more.

There’s less warmth in here now that most of them have moved on, but the fire still roars, and so he continues to sleep.

He dreams in way, in that deep way where there’s no true plot or picture, just glimpses of a better life. He dreams of light, and splashes of color. Glory. Passion. Love. Lust. These half baked ideas tangling around him like vines to keep him weighed down, like a lover’s soft silk bindings keeping him attached to the bed post. It’s a life he lived, but without remembering any of the pain. A hand on his cheek, or a kiss to his lips; he isn’t fussy, his essence just wants to be held. But no one comes anymore, they weren’t afraid like him, so they got to move on.

Gabriel still clings to the darkness, begs for one more dream.

One dream does come, and softly it strokes his essence. It touches parts of him he’d longed for a great many epochs for someone to seek out in him, the angel parts he’d denied himself for so long. Here he is broken down to light, both material and not, so the hands that soothe his body mingle deep inside his gut.

He stirs.

He doesn’t want to stir, he wants to stay under, but this dream doesn’t seem to be his own to will, it buries itself in him, burrows, burrs. It pulls open his chest and climbs inside, it’s touch threatens to suffocate. It relaxes down inside of him but Gabriel cannot relax with it, the warm fire keeping him drowsy now billows smoke that chokes him, forcing its way down his throat to make a home in his sleeping belly.

It wants to wear him. Eat him. Be him. Have him.

The kind blindfold of the gentleness of a lovers reunion slips, and Gabriel feels the bathwater in his lungs. It chokes him, he thrashes, but something holds him down. The harder he fights the more he gasps, and the more he lets the water in- or was it smoke? Either way, something is inside of him. Something is making a home inside of his body, tearing parts of him open to make a space for itself inside. Something familiar.

The pain gets brighter, sharper, and a whole picture begins to take shape where before there had only been sounds and feelings. The pain is a call, this one not a hand being extended out to him but a hand yanking him up by force. This call tells him to come, obey. This call is not giving him a choice here, this one says ‘wake up’.

Wake up.

“Wake up, Gabriel.”

Gabriel opens his eyes, blinking hard trying to adjust to the head spin of utter darkness enveloping him- no, not darkness. Nothing. Nothingness. Empty.

No, not nothing. Him. Just him. The two of them alone, everyone else gone and moved on, it could have been him too had he not wanted to cling to what was easy. Oh the irony, to do it all over again and wind up here. Right here. In a realm so far out of anyone else’s reach, except for him. He would always reach him, find him, for there was nowhere to run.

Gabriel opens his mouth to scream, and Asmodeus climbs inside.

——

Wanna send me a prompt? :)

[stormxpadme]

Whumptober 2023 No. 26 - "You look awful."

Scogan Bingo challenge Sex In The Shower/Tub

"You look awful."

Scott tried bravely, making it sound like an amused teasing, but Logan didn’t need to be able to see behind the usual glasses covering eyes to know that they were filled with both shock and worry.

"Yeah, well, next time I get to seduce the rich bitch, and you take the detour through the toxic waste drain." Logan regarded the unconscious Weapon X cell leader on the ground with a pointed glance, not missing that the expensive tight dress wasn’t hugging the blond woman's sinewy shape half as proper anymore and that she had a couple of hickeys on her neck. Necessary fraternizing to get a mission done wasn’t anything you could get jealous about, not in their line of work … Still, this was not exactly how Logan had imagined this evening of Scott's and his anniversary to go. Still grumbling, he turned away to slam the shut of the walk-in vault shut, not least to spare Scott further staring at where Logan's healing factor was still busy, not letting his skin and flesh look like a burned pizza anymore. That, too, hurt like a motherfucker, but it could be helped just as little as Scott having to flirt his way into this room undercover at that military ball tonight, to give them a kind of access to this underground safe that wouldn’t sound any alarm. If they didn’t manage to find some highly dangerous formula for a new mutant cure in the limited time window before their enemies would notice the destroyed cameras in the corners, they were not only looking at another unpleasant confrontation but then this whole thing would have been in vain, too. "Got anything yet?"

"I was just starting to look. Been a little busy too far, trying to keep her from getting into my pants." Someone not as close to Scott as Logan had gotten in the years after their joint grief over a certain redhead of their team dying on them at Alkali Lake for the first time, might not have noticed the slightly strained tone in Scott's warm, deep voice, or might have put it onto the stress of the situation.

Logan who'd seen his team leader entirely unfazed in the face of even the most lethal threats in the field before didn’t need his enhanced senses to know that these feigned intimate scenes a moment ago had gotten to his partner. Scott hated Logan babying him just as much as it was the other way around, so he arduously kept back until they passed each other by casually while systematically checking every box, every smaller vault, every drawer in this damn room. Only then, cautiously reaching out for Scott's wrist, he slightly raised his brows at him. By now, Logan was not looking so kebabed anymore, fortunately, and could move again without groaning out from trying to use muscles that had just been chemically burned to particles. So Scott would hopefully be able to tell from the knowing, composed expression on his face that Logan wasn’t trying to go mother hen on him about something that they'd both been able to go through with more than once, ever since Logan had joined this peculiar team of probably clinically insane people back at Liberty Island. Ever since then he'd just grown far too damn fond of this stubborn asshole to want to see him run into the next best bullet on the way out because his focus was off.

"It's fine. Just a couple of kisses and a bit of groping. I've regretted some drunk New Year's Eve hookups more than this," Scott assured him with a grin that for all its crooked character seemed sincere. "That's not it. Notice something?" Scrunching his nose a little, he nodded down at the figure on the ground that he'd taken out with a fast-working narcotic, hidden in a needle on some swanky ring on his thumb.

At first, Logan didn’t, mostly because he was smelling like a damn cesspool. But the airtight room was ventilated so badly and so sterile that when he focused on his senses consciously, he could finally pick up on the sweetish-flowery fragrance that was coming both from the enemy and inevitably from Scott's body now, too. Last Logan had been allowed to scent that certain note of freshly bloomed roses, that had been when Jean and he had almost gotten up to something incredibly stupid in the night before Alkali Lake. There were certain subjects for which even after almost two years, there were still no words offering the necessary comfort. And right now, cuddling for a few hours, and a bit of erotic adrenaline to get the flood of memories of the woman they'd both loved out of their system, was obviously off the table, too. So Logan had to do with long, gentle squeeze of Scott's hand and a fleeting kiss to the side of his neck to show him, he knew exactly what was going on before continuing the search for their target object even faster now. The sooner they got out of here and back to Mutant High for some badly needed downtime, the better.

But it was Scott, having a lot more accuracy with these kinds of things by nature, who dug up what was probably the document cartridge in question from the bottom of some vault in the very back of the room a minute later. "Looks good." With a relieved sigh, he replaced his glasses with the VISOR that Logan had brought for him for a lack of other options, grimacing at the stench of waste even clinging to the device. Then he shot the ridiculously small and simple lock on the box to pieces.

Only a split second too premature, just when Logan's senses had suddenly noticed an almost inaudibly faint ticking and hum coming from that damn thing so that he didn’t even get a chance to open his mouth for a warning. All he could do, if he didn’t want to watch his partner bite it right before his eyes, was jumping him with a headless little shout, throwing Scott to the ground, covering him with his smaller but larger body as well as possible before a fortunately small explosion sounded through the room. One that might easily have taken off Scott's head or some limbs anyway. As it was, they were getting away from their dumb carelessness with just their clothes ripped to pieces, being half-deaf for an hour or so, and with a couple of minor burns from where Logan hadn’t been able to push Scott far away enough in time from that box. But that was enough, in combination with the valuable information they'd been supposed to retrieve here gone, to ruin their mood for good. Not to mention that they'd have to hurry the fuck up now if they wanted to leave this cellar just as inconspicuously as they'd entered unless they were to run into a whole hostile squad.

Scott let Logan help him up with a pained little grimace, no doubt already feeling what would be a whole myriad of bruises from the impact, taking just a second to look down at his now entirely ruined Armani suit, checking for any serious damage. For some mysterious reason, a weak grin curled on his lips. "At least now we both smell like shit."

Logan rolled his eyes at him dramatically and pulled him towards the door.

******

It was a major annoyance, having to start this whole operation all over, but on the way home, they somehow managed to push that frustration away for now. Wasn’t the first setback, wouldn’t be the last. Getting this fucking formula on the first try already would have been sheer luck, honestly. When these particular bastards were involved, the X-Men always had to be glad to get out of any kind of crisis with all their bones somewhat intact. Since they still were both carrying far too many traces of this little adventure though, they let the others know via a brief phone call that they'd not drive through the night for a mission debriefing that could easily wait until tomorrow but chose the next best dubious motel on the road, once they could be sufficiently sure, they were not being followed. The receptionist eyed their lousy appearance and Scott's glasses with narrow eyes but when Scott slipped her an extra dollar note and opted for one of the more expensive rooms, they got their keys. Having takeout and a new set of clothes hastily enquired on the road on them, a couple of hours of silence sounded like the best damn idea right now.

To their surprise, the run-down place had actually bothered to equip their better rooms with a bathtub instead of a shower, large enough even for Scott's ridiculous height to be somewhat comfortable. So after Logan had hastily devoured the most necessary carbs to get his energy back up after the extensive healing earlier and Scott had dully picked at his chicken salad for minutes, they quickly found themselves naked in the hot water. Snuggled closely together, with Scott nestled against Logan's body back to stomach, their legs intertwined, their breathing quickly started to go in a synchronized rhythm as the last of agitation and adrenaline started to ebb away. "Could have lost you earlier," Logan finally murmured into his lover's ear, tightening his hold on those long, strong thighs instinctively as he recalled that moment of panic earlier. "You need to watch your stupid thin ass better. Someday, I might not be there to push you out of the way, you know."

"I'm usually not making the same mistake twice. So, not gonna happen again." Scott squeezed his hand and turned his head for a quick kiss to Logan's temple but he didn’t give him a promise. They rarely did. For that, they both knew far too well how quickly this job could end badly thanks to something entirely out of their control. "I'm more pissed about fucking up. If Weapon X goes through with this … I don't exactly have great memories of the last time someone came up with a so-called Cure, you know."

A night when they were both already weary was not a time to reminisce on the whole clusterfuck that had been Jean's short-term rebirth and Scott's own death and resurrection, not to mention how barely their race had scraped by extinction and full-blown war back then. So Logan only rested two fingertips on Scott's chin to turn his lover's head back to him for a proper kiss. He could still taste ash, a bit of copper from a small cut on Scott's lip from that fall, and the tartness of the cheap wine Scott still had half a glass of in his hand, the latter being another worrisome sign that the day had taken a bigger toll on his lover than Scott was trying to show. "We're not gonna let it get to that again, Slim. And we still got time. The one good thing about me being these people's lab rat before? I know them. If they had anything that actually worked yet, we'd already know. Whatever shit they'll try to stir at some point, I got no problems wading through that, too, if I have to."

"We will," Scott corrected him, the almost painful tension in his back having slipped away at least a little, the smile on his lips looking grateful now instead of bitter, and a good deal tired. "As soon as I'm no longer that beat, we'll make a list of possible headquarters of these assholes nearby. If we're lucky, they got another lab within reach to search. Not tonight though," he emphasized when Logan frowned skeptically. "A very wise guy once told me, overworking myself to the point of passing out only fucks up the results in the long run."

"Dunno about the being smart part but you should definitely listen to the dude more often," Logan agreed with a small grin on his own, still annoyed about how close this whole thing had been earlier. That was something he didn’t care for dwelling on any longer either right now though, or later in a new version of his nightmares about losing either himself or people close to him in an ocean of blood. Laying down was out of the question as long as his mind was still a mess of restlessness and dark emotions. And Scott wouldn’t be faring any better. "Like when he tells you, we can both use a sleeping pill that leaves less of a headache than this brew you're choking down there."

Scott's smirk definitely sported a wolfish touch now as Logan's fingertips started to wander on his thighs, moving to the inside and higher. "Is that so? You think you can dissuade me from numbing my thoughts with booze with a couple of excess hormones?" He demonstratively raised his glass to his lips again, his other hand unmoving on the tub edge but let out a suspicious gasp when Logan's knuckles brushed his already hardening cock, feather-light.

Well, that was a game two could play. "Who said anything about hormones? Just making sure you get sufficiently clean." Logan reached for the bottle with soap on the tub edge with his free hand and squirted a generous amount of the thick fluid, faintly smelling of coconut, on his palm. When Scott shuddered a little and squirmed back against him, he rested his legs over his lover's longer ones, easily keeping him in place thanks to his superior strength, and lowered his head to nibble on the shell of Scott's ear, knowing all his lover's most sensitive spots perfectly after all this time. Gladly watching Scott tense and curse under Logan's exquisitely slow caresses underwater, everywhere he could reach, without ever coming close to certain most sensitive areas though, he took his sweet time, railing his lover up, only letting out a suppressed groan every now and then when Scott writhing back against him stimulated his own erection more or less accidentally. The quickly building want in his lower body far too intense to ignore for long thanks to the peculiarities of his feral mutation, Logan gave up on restraint the second, he'd cleaned his lover's skin off those last traces of the explosion and a certain rose perfume. He was yearning far too much to hear Scott enjoy himself loudly and shamelessly right now for endless foreplay. So he brought his hands from where they had been so patiently stroking every of his lover's firm, attractive pecs and abs, of his hips, his attractive legs, to Scott's dark, pebbled nibbles, a harsh first tweak promptly making his lover groan out and try to squirm against the hold of his legs once more, his hips thrusting into nowhere. "That glass of yours still looks awfully full … What happened to that numbing-your-mind deal?"

Scott let out a defeated growl and put that thing quickly away before starting yet another attempt to break free of Logan's hold and turn around to him properly, to no avail not least thanks to a couple of strained muscles from their stunt earlier. "I could get of something far more delicious to taste right now."

"I'm sure you do." Logan ignored the not-exactly-subtle innuendo as there would be more than enough time for that later, giving Scott's reddening nipples another few harsh twists and tugs. On nights like this, when they were both prone to melancholy and self-doubt, more than it was healthy in their line of work, the additional adrenaline of a little bit of pain and loving humiliation was necessary for Scott in particular to lose himself entirely to the needs of his body. Reveling in every of his lover's moans, every startle of pure lust twitching through that tall, lean body, Logan only reluctantly let go to reach for that soap bottle again, acquiring a far bigger dollop of the grey-white mass this time. "Don't think so, Slim," he muttered warningly against Scott's ear when Scott thrust his hips up wantonly, kissing away the goose-bump on his lover's neck that this certain deep, slow tone in his voice in such moments always caused. "For that big mouth you got on you, you don’t get a reward so easily. Don't make me say it again if you don’t want to spend the night in restraints," he added sharply when a defiant flash of red sparked behind Scott's glasses and his lover tried to reach for his throbbing cock underwater himself. "Legs up."

A pout on his lips, Scott seemed to consider rebelling against that uncompromising order for a moment but with Logan's lips back on his ear, the tip of Logan's tongue thrusting inside a couple of times, his resistance melted away at once. A deep sigh on his lips, he leaned back even more heavily against Logan's body which in turn had Logan's untouched cock jerk in need, and rested his lower legs on the tub edge, presenting his most vulnerable spots willingly for Logan for the taking, something that Logan didn’t think would ever leave him cold with someone acting so distanced, so cautious about not physically getting too close to people otherwise.

Not wanting to ruin the intimate moment with more words, Logan left another soft kiss on the side of Scott's neck and then finally got his hand underwater, spreading the fluid quickly and thoroughly enough where it needed to go so it wouldn’t get washed away, then softly eased a first slick finger into his lover's tight opening. For a moment, he feared, Scott would be too wound up after today for the necessary relaxation when an almost painful clench of muscles followed.

But then Scott turned his head to the side with something almost close to a needy sob, burying his face against Logan's shoulder. His hands only clenched down harder where they'd reached back for Logan's hips, a silent invitation.

One Logan was glad to follow, slowly exploring that tight heat with shallow thrust, only going deeper when this instinctive first resistance had melted away.

By the time, he was playfully nudging a certain rough spot deep inside, Scott was moaning out and trembling in his arms, his untouched cock starting to dribble small drops of white into the water. A second and then a third finger added with exciting ease, Logan had his lover thrust down against him within minutes, back to writhing mindlessly and moaning his name, knuckles protruding white from where he was holding on, his strong, flat stomach concaving again and again as his stretched hole clenched up firmly, lustfully around the quickly working digits. "Need you, Logan …" By that time, Scott's voice was only a hoarse whisper, his hand reaching up to clench so tightly in Logan's hair it almost hurt, his whole body tensing up as Logan fucked into him deeply another time, aiming right for his prostate once more, his balls drawing up closely to his body.

Logan decided that waiting for his eager lover to beg would still be early enough in round 2 or 3 and carefully pulled back, with a soothing kiss to Scott's shoulder when he whined. "Up." He only loosed the grip of his leg muscles long enough for his lover to follow the new command before firmly grabbing those slim, attractive hips, pulling Scott against him at a different angle this time, groaning out loudly himself as his raging hard on slipped into that oiled, hot channel with ridiculous ease. "Jesus, Slim, I swear one day you'll gonna kill me personally."

"Less. Talking." Scott firmly planted his feet on the bottom of the tub, his hands back on the edge as he moved his hips in a first tentative roll, slowed down by the water, and shuddered out another moan, feeling every single inch of pulsating hardness so deeply buried inside of him albeit not in the very best angle. "Fuck …"

"No cheating," Logan reminded him sternly before Scott had made as much as one move to reach down again. Tensing his own hip muscles for a firm thrust, he grinned in satisfaction at the helpless keen from his lover's lips. "You're gonna come on my cock only tonight, Slim, so might want to put your back into it."

"You're gonna get that back, just so we're clear," Scott grumbled, a threat hardly even being one, not with how much they both enjoyed being on the receiving end of such alluring little games from time to time. And then his lover was very quick to go nonverbal again because Logan thrusted up into him again, even harder this time, the water almost splashing over the edge, and the moan of pure, bone-deep want on Scott's lips almost made Logan come on the spot himself.

With how much more salty, delicious fluid was starting to stain the water, with no orgasm anywhere in sight yet though, somehow, Logan was beginning to suspect they'd have to continue right with a long, good shower after their bath if they wanted to get even close to being clean at any point this night …

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

@scoganbingo

[solinarimoon]

Seeds We Sow - The Boy in the Woods (chapter 6)

AN: Cwen’s taking in strays and clown Finan is a mother hen. Special shout out to @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for allowing me to use the edit of Sihtric she made for my moodboard. I’m in love with it babe!

Warnings: Pregnancy irritations and fatigue

Word Count: 3779

Fields of Wildflowers Masterlist - original story

Seeds We Sow Masterlist - previous chapters

My Full Masterlist

AO3 if you prefer

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The birds chirped and insects trilled, flitting from bloom to bloom in the field.  Cwen trudged along, her arms feeling a bit heavy and her back starting to feel tired from the extra weight of her belly and the basket lunch she carried. 

Maybe Finan had been right, she sighed, half amused remembering the comments he had made not more than an hour before.  

~~~~ one hour prior ~~~~

She had made her way down to visit the docks before setting off to find Aethelstan and had been greeted warmly by her friends.

“Cwen, you’re an angel,” Osferth smiled up at her from his perch on the edge of the docks. 

She strode towards them, toting a large basket which was laden down with bread and ale and pies from The Fireside.

“Oy, Cwen, what are you doing?” Finan’s concerned voice rose over the general happy exclamations at her arrival. 

“What?” she chuckled light heartedly, having grown used to the near constant mother-henning Finan was doing with her.

“You can’t be carrying around heavy things! You should be resting. Off your feet!”  He swooped in, taking the basket from her arms, “Your husband really lets you carry on like this?”

“Excuse me!”

 “Hey!”

Sihtric and Cwen both turned to him in protest, before Sihtric continued forward to greet his wife with a warm hug and gentle kiss on her brow.  He then turned to face the Irishman, hand resting on the head of his axe along his belt and an arm around his wife.

“She insists that she is fine and well, Finan. And she knows her body.  You suggest I don’t take care of my wife and child?” Sihtric smirked at his friend and squeezed Cwen’s shoulder before continuing, “Or that she would let me order her about?”   

“What is that supposed to mean, huh?,” Cwen scoffed, arching an eyebrow up at his remarks, her voice full of mock indignation, “And Finan, I have weeks, more than a month yet before I am due to have this baby.”

“Alright, alright.  Fine,” Finan relented, smiling at them and raising his hands, the basket sliding up his arm along the handle.  He fumbled when one of the bread rolls slid out with the jostling of his movements.

Cwen laughed and snatched the basket from him, “Give me that before you spill all of Neal’s cooking and waste it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now on her way out of town, Cwen stopped her walking and puffed some of her hair out of her eyes.  Loose strands had made their way out of her braid and were beginning to stick to her forehead, beaded with sweat from the summer heat.  She placed the basket on the ground at her feet, its contents considerably lighter with all the bread and ale the men had relieved her of already.  

She had needed to swat their hands away reminding them that she needed to feed Aethelstan as well with those rations.  In truth, she had wanted to keep a bit more than Aethelstan needed, as well.  She had a feeling it would be needed.

She placed her hands along the small of her back and leaned back on her heels slightly, stretching her tired muscles.  Breathing out with a sigh, she listened closely and after a moment, her ears honed in on the sounds she was listening for.

Off to her left, past the field came repeated clonking sounds occasionally accompanied with a shout or grunt.  It was muted, still a ways off.  But it told her she was on the right path.

A quarter of an hour later, she found Aethelstan. She made her way through the trees and underbrush, coming upon a clearing and saw him sparring with another young man.  She stood still, hand along the small of her back again as she watched them move and crash together, sword and axe ringing out as they struck against shields.

It was the boy from the market the month before.  Since catching that glimpse of him before they had run off, Cwen had only a few more fleeting sightings of him.  He and Aethelstan were always dashing off with one another.  When Cwen brought the boy up with Aethelstan, his answers were always decidedly tight lipped.

“He’s a friend.”

“He’s shy.”

“He lives nearby.”

“We practice together.”

There was never elaboration and Cwen thought she detected quite a bit of evasion.  Aethelstan had been careful not to give her specifics.  The men had commented numerous times about the constant improvements Aethelstan was showing in his skill.  “I practice with friends,” was the only comment he really gave as an explanation.

And now, in the heat of the summer she saw the boys together practicing.  Sweat glistened on their young faces, grimacing with determination as they moved through their paces.  The shade of the trees did leave the air slightly cooler, but it was still uncomfortably sticky.

“Boys,” Cwen called, interrupting their practice, “I think it’s time for a break for some refreshment.”

She smiled at the startled reaction they gave as they turned to face her.  Aethelstan looking as though he were back in the nunnery and had been caught swiping an extra bread roll.  And his friend stared at her, his face full of shock and poised on the balls of his feet, as if ready to run.

Choosing to act as if nothing were amiss, Cwen glanced around and saw a large board balanced on two large stumps, a crude table off to the side of the clearing.  She walked forward, passing the boys and placed the basket down before pulling out a jug of water and two pies.  While busying herself with setting up the food, she looked askance at the two, trying not to draw attention and take in the situation.

They stood casting eachother quick glances and shuffling their feet, both clearly uncomfortable.  Beside the makeshift table,  she saw a small collection of equipment, shields and wooden swords.  And the table itself already had a jug of water and several bowls plus a loaf of bread Cwen had thought Sihtric had finished off earlier that week.

She poured them each a cup of water then turned and walked over to them, “Here, you don’t want to overheat.”

Aethelstan was quick to take the offered cup, thanking her and giving her a shy, guilty smile before he took a long draught.  The other young man cautiously reached out and took the cup,  not meeting Cwen’s eye.

“Thank you, lady,” his voice was quiet and small, odd for a young man she needed to crane her neck to look up to.

She smiled at him, “My name is Cwen.  There is no need to call me lady.”

Timidly, he met her eye and nodded in understanding before taking a sip of the water.  

She nodded back to him warmly, “Are you the mysterious friend who Aethelstan has been practicing his warrior skills with?  Uhtred and the men are much impressed with his improvement and I believe practice with you has made all the difference.”

The boy shifted on his feet, his eyes evasively locked on the cup in his hands.  Aethelstan cleared his throat uncomfortably, “This is Cynlaef, Cwen.”

The young man, Cynlaef cast a sharp glance in Aethelstan’s direction before he quickly dropped his eyes to the grass.  

“I am glad to meet you, Cynlaef,” Cwen replied, trying to meet the young man’s eye, but failing.  Sensing his unease, she stepped back and turned toward the table.  “You both must be hungry.  I brought some pies from Neal. Come eat a bit.”

“Are those the pies from the alehouse in town?” she heard Cynlaef ask Aethelstan, his voice hushed.

“They are,” Aethelstan replied, following Cwen over with Cynlaef trailing after, cautious and keeping his guard up.

Cwen poured herself a cup of water and shuffled off to the side to allow the boys room to grab their food.  Taking the opportunity, she lifted her cup and watched over the rim at the newcomer.

He was dirty from head to foot.  Ruffled braids kept his shaggy hair from completely falling in his face.  And his trousers desperately needed to be let out.  She could see several inches of ankle. 

Cynlaef approached the table with the air of a wild animal wary of humans but desperately hungry for the scraps from their dinner.  As soon as the pie was in hand, he took several steps backwards into the safety of the surrounding trees.  Blending in and camouflaging like it was a blanket of comfort surrounding him.  

Before he could catch her studying him, Cwen turned her eyes back to Aethelstan.  Her young pupil was watching her, eyes searching for her reaction.  

“You do not need to steal food, Aethelstan,” she inclined her eyes towards the pilfered bread,  “You both are always welcome at our table.  As I am sure is true at Uhtred’s table too,” she smiled finishing her admonishment before she continued on, “You should join Aethelstan in the training grounds sometime, Cynlaef.  There is always a need for more trained fighters.  My husband fights with an axe, as you do,” she nodded her head at the axe now secured to his belt, “he is a good teacher.”

“Cwen,” Aethelstan started before Cynlaef interrupted him.

“I will think on it,” he paused and looked up from his pie, “but I usually stick to myself.”

“Understood,” she smiled back at him, warmly.  “But I won’t have anyone going hungry, so you will let me bring you food and drink.”

“Cwen, you can’t be walking out here all the time in your condition,” Aethelstan interjected, but Cwen continued on, as if she had not heard his objection.

“Or you both will join us for meals, if that is preferred.”  She moved to begin clearing up and gather her basket, but continued speaking, “and I don’t need you being a mother hen now too, Aethelstan.  I am pregnant.  Not bed-ridden.  Finan hovering over me as if I will break is enough.  I will not have you doing so too.”

She reached out and patted Aethelstan’s arm comfortingly, “although I do appreciate your concern, my darling boy.  Now, continue on with your practice..”

Cwen nodded her head in farewell to Cynlaef and turned to make her leave.

“Please return the water jug and cups.  And expect to see more of me from now on, boys.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So is the boy Saxon or Dane?  Who are his people?”

“I don’t believe he has anyone.  His name is Saxon, but he wears his hair in braids, albeit filthy and unkempt.  And he wears a hammer of Thor around his neck.”

Sihtric hummed in simple reply to her words as he unbelted his training armor and sat himself heavily into his chair at their table.  Toeing off his boots, he leaned back, resting his head in his hand, elbow on the table as he stared at his wife.

Cwen stood from the hearth and dusted her hands on her apron before turning around and meeting his eye.  “He reminds me of you, actually.  Maybe as you would have been around that age, before I knew you.” 

She moved to rummage in their cabinet for a mug and filled it with water before placing it down in front of him.  He reached out and grazed his hand along hers as she moved away, resuming a restless pacing.  For the last several minutes, she had radiated an anxious energy while prattling on about her suspicions and concerns for the boy in the woods.  

Smoothing her hands along her belly, an unconscious habit, Cwen continued rambling faster,  “Maybe even as you were before you found Uhtred.  And his fighting style reminds me of yours.  He spars most often, at least the few times this past week that I have seen, he spars with an axe.”

She paused, tension and an ache clawing along her back.  She focused on slowing her breathing a moment and shut her eyes.  

“Come on, love.  It’s to bed for you and the babe, now.  You’re tired and need to rest.”  Sihtric’s warm hands slid around her waist, ushering her towards their bed.  She opened her eyes and looked up at him, a sad understanding with no words needed.  She couldn’t remember the last night she had a decent sleep.  If her sleep wasn’t plagued with dreams belaying feelings of isolation and abandonment, of gripping fear, then she was unable to easily fall asleep for fear that the nightmares would come.  They were not there every night.  But her fear was.

Sihtric tilted his forehead down to meet hers briefly before shifting to stand in front of her, a smile breaking onto his face, “Finan is right,” he tried to stifle the smirk but failed miserably,  “you should start to take it easier for the next few weeks until the baby arrives.”  

Holding onto Sihtric’s hands, Cwen settled herself down gently to sit on the edge of the bed and sighed, “You’re probably right. But don’t let Finan know it.  His gloating would be insufferable,” she chuckled.

Sihtric’s booming laugh joined her own and he sat down beside her, throwing one leg up onto the bed and pulling her in to lay on her side and nestle against his chest, his other leg still dangling off the side.  He kneaded the small of her back, his hands firm and warm.  Cwen sighed again as she felt her tired muscles begin to relax and she sank more into him.  In the recent weeks, as her time to deliver came closer, even breathing often felt hard and she would find herself huffing and puffing without having even done more than walk across the yard.  

She let her eyes close, but could not stop speaking her thoughts on the lost boy in the woods. 

“He is not one for crowds or meeting new people.  He’s told me as much and you need only see how he behaves around a new person to come to the same conclusion.”

“Mmmm,” Sihtric hummed while continuing to massage her back, “the boy, Cynlaef?”

“Yes,” she replied, sleepily, “he’s living somewhere in those woods.  All alone.  He can’t stay there come the Winter.” 

She yawned, deeply.

“Thinking of taking in strays now, Cwen?”  She smiled at the gentle prodding in his voice and hugged herself closer to him.  She laced her fingers in his free hand and kissed the knuckle of his thumb, giving his hand a light squeeze.

“Don’t poke fun, Sihtric.  It’s obvious he has a story.  He’s just a boy and he’s all on his own out there.”

“There are plenty of orphans and bastards tossed into the wilds of these lands, Cwen.”

“Yes, but now we are in a time of peace.  And this boy is in our backyard.  I will not let him disappear.”

“Have I told you how I love your gentle heart and the force of your spirit, my love?” Cwen hummed happily, feeling the press of Sihtric’s lips against the top of her head.  He continued, his words slipping into her thoughts as wakefulness left her.

“We’ll not let the boy starve or freeze.  But there’s naught to do tonight.  So let’s sleep, while sleep we can.  I expect after the babe arrives, sleep will be lacking.”

“Mmmmm, you’re right,” Cwen murmured as they shifted to lay down properly.

She curled her back into him, exhaustion winning over any further comments she had.

“Tomorrow Finan and I are riding up river to check on some of the outposts for Uhtred.  Ask Osferth to accompany you to bring the boys food.  He can carry the basket for you and meet the boy, as well.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next afternoon, Cwen found herself strolling happily arm in arm with Osferth along the fields towards the woods.  Sihtric and Finan had ridden out of town a short while before with a promise to return in time for dinner and ale at The Fireside.  The outpost they were to be inspecting was only a mile or so outside of town.  There had been reports of scavenging bandits in the area and Uhtred wished to show a bit more presence in their previously less secure corners of the lands.

“So Cwen,” Osferth drawled as they made their way, “will the boys be expecting someone to be with you?”

“No, no one has joined me before.  I’ve only gently mentioned the idea of Cynlaef joining Aethelstanin at the training yard with you all.  Or for coming into town to have a meal with us.”

Cwen signed, leaning into Osferth and holding a hand underneath her belly trying to ease a bit of the weight as they walked.  

“Here, let us slow our pace, Cwen.  We do not need to move along so quickly.”

“I’m fine, Osferth.  Thank you.  If we slow, I will want to sit. And if I sit, I will not get back up,” Cwen joked, trying to alleviate her friend's concern over her.  She had gotten a better night’s sleep after speaking with Sihtric the previous evenings of her worries for Cynlaef, but she had still woken in the morning feeling as if she had run across the entire Merican countryside.  A feat she could boast to have done once before when a dire need required it, but not one she would like to repeat.  At the present, her feet were swollen and aching and a weight of exhaustion was clinging to her bones. 

The stifling heat of the summer was not helping her current state.

“He almost accepted an offer for dinner the other day, but something made him hold back.  He is opening up, slowly.  I still don’t know where he sleeps or how he came to be alone here.  I am sure it is not a pleasant story.”

“A young boy alone and in the state you say he is in is rarely going to be a happy story.  Sihtric says you are worried for the boy and what he will do when the seasons shift to colder weather?”

“True, I am.  He can not winter alone in the forest.”

“We’ll get him sorted.  You know how we collect bastards and broken things,” he quipped, his mouth pulled up into the kind half smirk Cwen found so endearing in her friend.  

She patted his arm she was holding onto and leaned her head against his shoulder, “This is true.  Lord Uhtred and those bound to him; no finer collection of bastards and broken things.”

They chuckled mildly and continued their walk, albeit with a noticeably slower pace.

“Your lunch is here, boys,” Cwen called as they breached the treesline into the clearing.

Aethelstan and Cynlaef paused their practice to turn and meet Cwen.  She took the basket from Osferth and set about her now everyday routine of setting up their midday meal.  

“Pay no mind to Osferth.  My husband just grows concerned about me walking so much lately so has given me a babysitter,” she quipped over her shoulder, giving a smirk at Osferth’s indignant scoff.  She was sure to catch Cynlaef’s eye as well and offer him a simple smile, trying to belay any unease at a surprise new visitor for him.

He met her eye with a small, toothless smile before he quickly averted his gaze and cast a sharp glance under his lashes at Osferth.  Quickly, he returned his attention to the sword in his hand, spinning the hilt in his palm before parrying an attack on Aethelstan’s waiting shield.

“Oye, that’s not bad there, boy.”

Cwen turned her attention back to the table, as she kept her ears tuned into the gentle and unassuming comments coming from Osferth.

“Here, Bastard,” he addressed Aethelstan, not unkindly, “pick up your own sword and let me test your skill a moment before we eat.”

A moment later, she heard the clash of sword against shield and felt the presence of a body off to the side at her shoulder.  She looked over to see Cynlaef lean his practice sword against a tree before reaching an arm over to take the cup she placed near him on the table.

The boy’s shoulders had taken on the stooped, ghosted into himself posture she recognized for his discomfort.  He watched the nephew and uncle pair spar for a few moments ignoring Cwen’s stare.  

Over the past several weeks, Cwen had begun to see the boy open up more when she was around.  He did less skulking away from her and talked more freely.  She had learned that he really enjoyed the meat pies Neal made and so she would make the effort to bring those out for their lunch at least once a week.  He really did gravitate to using the axe during his practice.  Cwen had come close to asking him where he had gotten his axe on several occasions.  She invariably kept the question to herself, along with any of the other questions she had that could be too personal.  

She, like her husband and the other bastards and broken people that found their fates entwined with Uhtred of Bebbanburg, knew the value of being allowed to tell your story in your own time.  

Cwen cleared her throat and slid a pie across the table. 

“Go on and eat, Cynlaef,” she instructed as she turned around to watch Aethelstan have his feet swept out from under him by his uncle.

A sudden wave of dizziness swept over Cwen and she staggered a step back into the table behind her.  

“Cwen? Are you alright?”  She heard concern lace Cynlaef’s voice as he quickly moved into her side and grasped her arm. 

 She tried to steady herself and nodded her head, but the movement only caused another wave of dizziness to crash over her.

She heard a shout at her side, but the voice sounded far away.  There was a rushing sound in her ears.  Like her head was underwater.  

In another moment, she felt two arms grasp her own and she looked up to meet Osferth’s face, full of alarm.

“Cwen?  What is it?”

His voice was muffled.  Her head was still under water.

She tried to bring her hand up to pat his cheek and tell him she was alright.  

But the effort left her weak and she closed her eyes, trying to force the world to stop spinning and her head to come up for air.

Somewhere in the distance, she could just make out a panicked Aethelstan crying out to help her and a flurry of fear.  She felt as if she began to float and slipped away on the current into unconsciousness. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[petrichormeraki]

It's 1 am and I need to talk about this theory or I'll die

Okay so in one of Tommy's streams from a while ago he made the comment that he was made in a lab as the result of trying to clone the perfect man and I took that to mean that whoever/whatever made cTommy was trying to clone cPhilza Minecraft, notoriously the only man ever

Phil is immortal/undying, so my theory is that whoever made Tommy was trying to recreate Phil to discover the secret to eternal life and it went wrong, then voila there's Tommy. Tommy, who's also blond with blue eyes, who has patchy feathers in his hair and never seems to stay dead even though he's been killed many times. Neither Phil or Tommy know the truth, but they're inexplicably drawn towards each other again and again, much like a mother hen instinctually coddles her chicks when they come running, much like a baby bird wails to the sky because the only thing it knows is its mother will come back to keep it warm and safe

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Hayloft (p.2)

Pairing: Arvin Russell x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad brings home his new coworker, Arvin Russell, telling you that he’ll be living with the two of you for a while. While attempting to keep Arvin from seeing the disfunction of your relationship with your father, the two of you grow closer than you thought. (Inspired by “Hayloft” by Mother Mother, though that’ll really only be one chapter later on so I don’t know if it really counts…)

Warnings: Abuse, drunkenness, misogyny, reader’s mother is dead, decapitating a chicken, reader is kind of emotional in this chapter

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: My first slow(er) burn fic! Let me know what you think!

Part 1 

_____________________

Work had passed fairly quickly as it always did when you had the opening shift. It sure sucked having to arrive at five o’clock in the morning but at least you got off earlier and you knew that that way you could grab groceries before your father got home and could yell at you about an empty kitchen again. By two o’clock in the afternoon, you were home again, hopping out of your truck and grabbing as many bags as you could in one go. 

The loud sound of metal slamming against metal shook you and you flinched, looking between your door and the frame to see Arvin walking out towards you. It hadn’t occurred to you that his car was even in your driveway. After so many years of having busted broken down old cars sitting there that your dad had been swearing he’d fix for almost ten years, cars in the driveway seemed normal. “Let me give you a hand,” he offered as he got closer, lifting the canvas bags from your hands before you could object. 

“Oh!” You exclaimed as you felt the weight suddenly taken off your own arms, “Thank you.” You dove back into the truck to grab the last two bags before slamming it shut with your hips. The two of you began your stroll towards the front door, the dirt driveway kicking up around your feet. “You’re back early.” You noted, looking over at Arvin. 

He shrugged, “Yeah, uh, Wallace had me on the early shift today.” 

You fumbled with the bags as you tried to unlock the door, kicking it open with your toes when it finally gave in. You walked into your home and Arvin followed, closing the door behind him. “Been here long? I didn’t see you in the driveway.” 

“Not too long. I just didn’t want to let myself into your home without nobody there.” Arvin set the bags on the counter next to where you set yours. 

You began to unpack the bags and put the groceries in the respective places. Arvin watched off to the side, unsure of how your kitchen was organized so he was worried he’d do more than good if he stepped in. “My daddy got the late shift?” 

Arvin shook his head, noticing that his beat up old hat was still on his head despite being indoors and took it off immediately, his tousled brown curls parting messily down the middle. “No, we went in at the same time. He ‘n some buddies said they was goin’ to some bar in town.” 

He watched your shoulders fall a little and you sighed, “Figures…. You didn’t go?” 

Again, Arvin shook his head, “No. No offense to your daddy but I don’t like to drink the way I get the feelin’ he does.” 

You snorted, turning to him with a knowing chuckle, “Let’s just say that I’m sorry in advance for whatever he says or does when he gets home, if he gets home. Sheriff Pike might end up callin’ in the mornin’ tellin’ us to pick him up.” Though it was stated as a joke, Arvin could hear the tragic reality behind your words. 

Arvin then noticed the pack of beer bottles that you were pulling out of the bag. As if you could feel his eyes looking at you with worried curiosity, you glanced over at him, noticing the way his eyes flicked between you and the beer in your hands. You offered a sad shrug, “I know what you’re thinkin’ but trust me. Sometimes it’s better to have him drunk and possibly content than sober and angry there’s nothing to drink. Besides, the beer is better than the hard stuff with ‘im.” 

“‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to be makin’ faces. Your business is your business,” Arvin backpedalled, giving you an apologetic nod. 

You shook your head, “Don’t worry. I know how it looks. I’m sorry you gotta see all of it. I been tryin’ to keep to keep him calm but if you end up stayin’ a while, I’m sure you’ll get to see him at his worse times.” 

Arvin chewed his lip as he contemplated whether or not to bring up what had been going through his mind but he had to make sure you were alright. “I-I heard you ‘n your dad talkin’ last night… right after you left my room.” 

Your face fell as you realized what he was talking about, “You weren’t s’posed to hear that. I’m sorry.” Shit, this was what you were hoping to avoid. 

“Are you alright?” 

Gentle. Caring. His tone was something that had been long lost to you in this house and it took the words out of your mouth for a moment. It was embarrassing, the way your heart welled up with… well love wasn’t quite the right word but the warmth of being cared about. Not since after your mother had passed had you heard somebody actually care about how you felt. 

You just nodded and gave a forced smile that you could tell was easy to see through but it was the best you could muster. For someone who was able to take so much shit from their father and was able to look the man who would throw things at you and grab you by the hair dead in the eye with nothing but contempt, it was compassion that made you crumble. It had been so unexpected, especially from Arvin, the stranger living in your house. 

“Shit, ‘m sorry! I didn’t mean to - I didn’t mean to overstep. I only…” He stammered over his words and at first you were confused until you felt the single hot tear tracing its way down your cheek. 

You were quick to wipe it away, shocked at your own uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. You hadn’t realized until now that you had zoned out on the ground while Arvin’s words repeated in your head but now a flash of embarrassment ran through you. “No, no, no. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You sniffled once before giving a small laugh of disbelief. “It’s just… It’s been a long time since anybody asked that.” 

You straightened up and ran your hands through your hair, eyes closed as you thought of what else you needed to do. Thankfully, if your dad was at the bar, you had at least another four hours to just you and Arvin, all night if you were lucky, though you seldom were. That was when the feeling of dread set in. Your dad had requested chicken roast for dinner tonight and whether he came home early and only a few beers in or you had to drive him home hungover in the morning, the man would be furious if there weren’t at least reheated leftovers for him. You had to kill Patty and prep her for dinner. 

“You okay?” Arvin asked again, though this time it was in reference to the way a heavy look fell over your features. It wasn’t a profound deep question like it was earlier. 

Your head wavered from side to side and your lips twisted, “My daddy asked for chicken roast tonight. I gotta go out and fix Patty up.” You tried to put it lightly though it felt anything but. “I’ll be out in the coop. You’re more than welcome to clean up in the shower or do whatever you’d like ‘round the house. The radio is in the livin’ room if you wanna tune into somethin’.” 

You pushed yourself off the counter and walked to the door in your kitchen that led out to the backyard but Arvin made a few steps to follow, “Is it alright if I keep you company? It don’t feel right bein’ in your house without you or your daddy here.��� 

You smiled at the thought of him staying with you and you nodded, continuing out the door, “Sure, c’mon.” 

The hen house wasn’t very far from the back door. From there, you could see the several acres of land that your father was wasting. Your grandparents had bought this land in the late 1910’s and had started up a little farm of their own to sell locally, though your father had abandoned the farming portion after they died. It was where your daddy had grown up and then where you had as well. God, how you missed your grandparents. Your grandmother’s soft words of love and kindness but sternness and willingness to swat your butt with a wooden spoon if you got an attitude (though she would yell at your father if he ever tried to discipline you - “Now you leave that poor baby alone!”). Your grandfather had looked like a rough and angry old man from years of hard work but he had the softest heart of anyone you’d ever met. How the two of them had raised your father was beyond you. 

When you approached the wired fence and jiggled the lock open, the chickens inside stood surprisingly still. They trusted you. You could see it in their little brown eyes. You were safe and warm and didn’t want to harm them. You came in for the unfertilized eggs they laid and left, oftentimes with some seed and a soft pat or two on the head. Patty, a fat white hen with black specks, walked comfortably around your feet, nuzzling her head against your leg. She was the nicest hen you’d ever had. She trusted you. 

God, you were about to cry again. You bent down to pick her up and you held her against your chest, trying to look her in the eye, though it was difficult when she kept jerking it in different directions. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” you murmured low. Usually it was your father that would slaughter the hens if he really wanted the meat that badly. You had never done it yourself but he’d made you watch every time so that you knew how if the time ever came. Each time it made you sick to your stomach. 

Already, you felt green. The unassuming hen that you had been friendly enough to for her not flip out when you held her was none the wiser that her life was about to end by your hand. You glanced over to the large wood round just ahead and the axe that was leaned up against it. 

Your face contorted as you realized how much you disliked the placement. The way your father would slaughter chickens right in front of their friends made your heart break. It was barbaric. 

You walked over to Arvin and held Patty out towards him, “Would you mind holdin’ onto her for a second?” 

Though visibly confused, he took the chicken from your hands, drawing back when her wings fluttered out at the contact with the new strange man. Arvin watched as you walked towards the large round and tried to push it with all your might. “What’re you doin’?” 

“I’m-” you grunted, feeling it slide slowly, inch by inch, “trying to move it where the other chickens can’t see.” You took another moment to use all your force against it before standing up straight and breathing heavily, “I know it sounds dumb cause they’re only chickens but it feels cruel to make ‘em watch, y’know?” You went back to pushing the round and Arvin approached behind you. 

From here he could see the blood stains in the wood. It looked as if the blood had been washed off but the wood had been stained crimson regardless. There was also a divot where an axe had clearly been driven down many times over the years, chipping away at the wood. 

Arvin’s heart actually warmed a little at your attempt to show mercy and your willingness to go out of your way to spare some chickens’ feelings. It wasn’t something he was sure he’d do himself but when he heard you say it, he realized you had a point. It was cruel to imprison a bunch of animals and then lead them out one by one to be slaughtered in front of everyone, each animal waiting their turn. “Here, take ‘er back. Let me.” Arvin stepped in, handing Patty back over to you and bending down to lift the round onto its side with much effort. The wood had to weigh at least a hundred pounds and had long since settled into the ground where it had been placed when you were a child.

Your eyes widened as you watched his biceps bulge, straining the material of his blue t-shirt. You’d never seen a man with muscles like that before and you found your eyes trailing along his arms, following every popping vein from the tops of his hands, up his forearms, and onto his biceps until they disappeared beneath his shirt. It was something you hadn’t expected to see in him. Arvin looked like a quiet, polite, hardworking young man but you never would have imagined the immaculate muscles he possessed. You found your mind wandering to what other surprises laid in store beneath all those layers he wo- 

You needed to calm yourself down. If only he could hear your thoughts, he surely would be furious and disgusted with you. You hadn’t had such impure thoughts since that one time you had been messing around with Jimmy Bates in the backseat of his old car back in your senior year of high school. The two of you didn’t even go all the way but you went far enough and the guilt ate you alive since the two of you were never officially together anyways. He was just the cute boy from high school that you had pined over years that had finally given you the chance right before he shipped off to join the war. 

“This alright?” Arvin asked, shaking you from your fantasy, and you snapped back into reality to realize he had rolled the wood round around the side of the coop behind the wooden wall, outside of the other chickens’ views. 

You nodded and walked over to him, “That’s perfect. Thank you so much for doin’ that. I know it’s sorta stupid.” 

Arvin shook his head, putting his hands on his hips, “If it means somethin’ to you, it ain’t stupid at all. Besides, now that you pointed it out, it was a little barbaric.” 

You smiled up at him, one which he returned. How was this boy so damn nice? Was this some cosmic way of the universe finally giving you something good in your life? You’d become so calloused to your father’s harsh words and barked commands that you had forgotten how nice it was to feel cared about and validated. And you barely knew him. 

“‘M glad you think so.” You looked down at Patty in your arms and any good feelings you’d had melted to sadness and fear. “You been a good girl, Patty. I know you struggled with layin’ eggs for a while but you were always a good girl. Never bit me once unlike some of them other hens.” You weren’t often very soft and vulnerable but you were about to take something’s life for the first time and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of that on your heart. If this were a life or death situation, you would feel better about it, but it wasn’t. The only reason Patty had to die was because your father would throw a fit if she didn’t. 

You carried her to the log and gave her a little kiss on the top of the head, “Please don’t hate me but I understand if you do. Say hi to my momma for me, will you? Tell her I love and miss her.” You set her down and got her in the position you always saw your dad put the other chickens in before he chopped their heads off. Arvin handed you the axe with uncertainty but watched on as you struggled to bring yourself to finish the deed. 

You held her down and you could tell by the way she was flailing that she was panicking now. Patty was well aware of what was happening. “I’m sorry!” You choked, tears welling up in your eyes as her panic began to turn into your own panic. How did people do this? Why was this so freaking difficult? 

Tossing the axe slightly in your hand, you readjusted the handle and just as you went to swing, Arvin piped up, “I can do it.” 

You looked over at him, the afternoon sun reflecting the tears in your eyes and making the color of your irises stand out in tragic beauty. “I-I- Would you really not mind?” You breathed out in relief. 

Arvin stepped forward and you handed the axe out to him, “I don’t mind.” You held onto Patty until Arvin could position her just right as well. He had no idea what he was doing - he’d never had to slaughter a chicken before. He had heard that all you had to do was cut their head off though and then he’d heard the rumors of them running around like crazy even after their head hit the ground. How hard could it be? 

Once he had the hen pinned down where he wanted her, he looked up to see you chewing on your thumb, brows knitted in discomfort. It wasn’t the first chicken you’d watched get slaughtered but it was far from something you enjoyed observing. Arvin signaled to you with a nod before raising the axe above his head and you shut your eyes tight, flinching at the sound of the old metal head thudding into the old wood. 

**

You had the carcass sitting in the sink while you pulled off the blood soaked feathers, depositing them into the trash bin by the handful. This part was easier for you, something you’d done many times in the past. “Thank you for doin’ that. I’m sorry I’m such a baby.” 

Arvin sat at the kitchen table behind you, “You ain’t a baby just cause you don’t like to kill things. I’d say it’s probably rather normal.” 

The time was inching closer to four o’clock now and the sun was beginning to hang ever so slightly lower in the sky, the precursor to sunset. It was warm outside and a cool spring breeze blew in through the open window above the sink. You snickered as you pulled another handful of feathers out, “Yeah? That mean you ain’t normal?” You looked over at him with a playful glint in your eye but your smile fell when you saw an uncomfortable look cross his face, almost like he’d seen a ghost. 

“I ain’t never said I liked killin’ either.” Arvin attempted to match your joking tone but it was pretty evident there was a weight behind his words. 

“Hey, I‘m sorry. I was only jokin’.” A pang of guilt washed over you but it was only that. A joke. You hadn’t imagined teasing him over something like killing a chicken would set him off, especially since he volunteered to do it for you, but apparently you were wrong. 

Arvin sniffed and scratched his nose, “I know.” After a moment of awkward silence, he stood, “Let me give you a hand. What do you need done?” 

You scanned his face once more to make sure he was really okay but you decided to drop it when you saw his insistent look. You shook your head, “I got it. It ain’t much after I get this all gutted and cleaned.” You picked up the mostly featherless carcass by the wings and plopped it back down into the sink. 

“Well ‘m sure there’s vegetables or somethin’ else that goes with it, right? Let me start cuttin’ those up.” His persistence was adorable, making your heart flutter in the most wonderful way. The idea of a man actually being helpful was unknown to you before Arvin. Your life had been filled with your dad’s drunken bossings since you were twelve years old. You couldn’t remember the last time a genuinely kind voice offered you anything more than a smile on the street, not that you took that for granted. Arvin was just different though. Noble and helpful and kind. 

“You really don’t have to-” 

“Yeah, you keep sayin’ that but I really do want to help. So what can I do to make things easier on you?” He took a few steps closer to you until you felt the beginning of what could have been sparks if he stepped any nearer, like when you hold two magnets a few inches apart and you can feel the energy between them, that hint of attraction, but it’s not quite close enough to pull them together. 

The blush in your cheeks at his simple gesture made you break the eye contact with a nervous laugh of retreat, “Okay, fine. If you’re gonna be so insistent,” you drew out with a teasing drawl, “you can cut up veggies. There’s potatoes over there and carrots and zucchini in the fridge.” 

Arvin’s lips turned up in a small smile when you finally resigned your stubborn ways and he went off to find the vegetables where you had directed him. 

Needless to say, when your father came home from the bar to find you and Arvin talking over a song by the Platters playing on the radio with Arvin cleaning up the dishes while you tossed together the vegetables and the seasoning, he was less than pleased. 

“What the hell is going on here?” His slurred speech made your eyes widen in fear. He was supposed to get home later like he always did. But then you found yourself chiding your irresponsibility. Why the hell would you take that chance? You knew better than to let Arvin help out and now you were gonna pay. 

Arvin sensed the way you tensed up beside him and watched as you spun around to face your father with haste, “Just finishin’ up dinner now. Should be ready by six so you got more than enough time to take a sho-” 

“Why the fuck is he doin’ the dishes?” You father was leaning against the wall, clearly relying on the structure for support. This wasn’t the time to test him, not with Arvin here. It was times like this when he’d start throwing stuff at you. 

Before you could say anything, Arvin piped up firmly but respectfully, “I offered, sir. It’s no problem at all.” 

Your dad pointed at Arvin, “A man ain’t got no place with his hands in a sink of dishes. You leave that shit to her and she’ll just grab you a beer.” He stumbled over his own feet before catching himself ungracefully. 

Arvin’s jaw set tightly and you gripped the countertop with white knuckles behind you. Times like this, you weren’t even sure what to say anymore. No amount of standing up for yourself got you anywhere with him. You never made any headway with your dad’s sexist views on gender roles. It was pointless. The only thing to do was try and work your way to supporting yourself so you could get the hell out of dodge and never look back. 

Arvin’s voice surprised you, “A man’s place is helpin’ out the women in his life when they need, not leavin’ ‘em to do all the housework themselves.” You nearly choked on your own tongue at his words. It was a bold statement for a man to make, especially to the head of the house that was being so gracious as to host him free of charge, but he didn’t back down. It appeared like the jab was lost on your drunken father but Arvin continued with a slightly less accusatory comment to diffuse the situation regardless, “I grew up helpin’ my grandma with all the house chores so I really don’t mind at all.” 

You watched the way your dad eyed Arvin and then you before scoffing and grumbling incoherently as he shuffled his way into the living room. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “I don’t want you gettin’ kicked out ‘cause of me. You didn’t have to say nothin’.” 

Arvin glared at where your father had disappeared and nodded, “Yeah, I did. You don’t deserve all the shit he gives you.” 

You suddenly found yourself avoiding his eyes and twisting your lips. He was right and you were well aware of that fact. The abuse your dad put you through was uncalled for at best. The fact that Arvin had actually taken the time to not only notice the same fact but acknowledge it and stand up for you was something you never thought you’d hear someone do. It made you uncomfortable. You’d been fighting this battle by yourself for so long that letting somebody even know it was being waged was enough to make you want to sink away. Even so, a part of you wanted to let Arvin keep standing up for you. It made you feel weak after having to stand up for yourself for so long but also validated. 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his for only a moment before turning back towards dinner that sat in a roasting pan on the stove, “Thank you.” 

______

Taglist: 

@thisisparadisemylove

@justapurrcat

[0ghostwriter0]

EXPANSION

Sequel to EXPANDING

MASTERLIST

Pairings: Henry Cavill x reader

Word count: 1,473

Warnings: emotional fluff, sensitive topics

Summary: Henry brought up a big conversation which causes emotional pain

Fighting the urge to fall asleep, you drag yourself down the hallway away from the broken bedroom. The once heart home drooped in the tense atmosphere. The sun mocked your cold body. Shallow and sheer, rays of light etched out the small path to the main bathroom. Once you passed the threshold of the stony bathroom, your legs buckled underneath you. You resembled a bundle against the tiled floor- no purpose to get up. The high ceilings intimidated your fragile form. You wished for the ground to open and swallow you whole. Finally escape the fear and guilt.

Eventually, the deceptive sunlight left shivers down your exposed back. The light silk robe, which had slipped on to your body after your accent from the cold sheets, was now falling off of your broken body. Small clinks on the floorboards caught your sensitive ears. Henry. A wet sniffing nose connected with your neck as soft paws gently nudged your back. The furry bear continued his relentless nudges as your heart sank back into the depths of your stomach.

Grrrrr. A small growl realised from the loveable four-legged animal. Reluctantly dragging yourself to sit up, Kal found a spot to lay with you once again. Carefully, the American akita’s head found a comfortable patch on your stomach to cosy up as you gently stroked the hair behind his ears. Time escaped you as Kal relieved your anxieties.

After what could have been hours, you made your decent with the bear following closely behind. The journey to the kitchen felt harder as you passed each and every big moment in your relationship. Hanging directly in front of the base of the stairs, the happiest day of your life stared back at you.

Inside a small glass frame, you sat comfortably in Henry’s arms as he carried you through the threshold of your first home.

“Ahhh oh seriouSLY, Henry don’t drop mmmmmemeee!” You exclaimed as Henry attempted to open the door while still clutching on to your body. A deep chuckle rose from his chest as the door was pulled open. Your small frame fit perfectly in the arms of your handsome lover. This day was a promise not to leave when it gets hard. No matter what happens, you’d both come home.

“I’ll never let you fall” he whispered before placing a delicate kiss against your flushed forehead. Flash. A white light blinded you both as Henry’s mother captured the innocent exchange between the lovers. Embarrassed, you snuggled deeper into Henry’s arms.

“Welcome home, my love” Henry’s words faded into the happy image which lied encapsulated in the glass frame. Tears fell softly down the side of your face. Grrrr. Looking down slowly, your eyes were met with a hungry dog awaiting his breakfast. Trailing towards the heart of the home, Kal rushed off knowing exactly where his food was kept. As you slipped into the rustic kitchen, your saddened eyes were captured by a lone phone. He left without it. You heart raced at the idea that he’d have to come back for his phone. You’d see him again. Right? The silver bodied phone sat to torment your mind.

After feeding the hungry bear, you sat silently at the kitchen table contemplating how you’d tell Henry that you had already lost his baby. Before you got too lost in though, you rose to make a coffee. Coffee. Another thing you didn’t think about. When you were on set did you drink too much coffee? You’re always told that high caffeine intake can harm a baby. Did that do it? The coffee jar shook rapidly and your hand trembled. Crash.

The glass container slipped from your grasp with a nightly crash against the solid floor boards. Broken glass coated the ground beneath your feet. Without a thought, you dropped down to clear up the mixture of coffee granules and glass shards. You didn’t notice the stabbing pain of glass imbedding into your shins. Red. The glass started to turn red as cuts began to bleed. Your mind was pulled back to the tear staining journey in the back of the ambulance. The young paramedic next to you was star struck but hid it well as you clutched her hand while the pain flooded through your legs. The sirens echoed through your mind like a broken record.

Nudging under your arm, Kal reminded you that the quicker you cleared away the mess, the quicker you could clean away the red substance. Sweeping away the remains, your hand bled more but you were just relieved that the floor was clean and clear. Were you a walking hazard? Carefully, you washed away the blood that coated the palms of your hands as well as the cuts on your legs. After a while, all the glass had been removed and cuts had been lightly covered with antiseptic cream.

Hours had past since your problematic experience with a jar of coffee, you now laid with the furry bear on a cosy sofa. The soft snoring of the four-legged animal made you feel safe as he radiated the same heat as Henry. The thin silk robe hidden lasted after cleaning up the kitchen which meant that you were sat in Henry’s hoodie and a pair of worn leggings. The strong husky radiated off of the hoodie and blessed your senses. Suddenly, the American Akita jumped from his slumber to race to the front door. growling at the door, your heart started racing as you knew, all too well, who had just come home.

Curling into a ball, you didn’t hear the click of the door or the heavy footsteps that echoed through the house to find you. All you could heart was the faint sirens hiding in the creases of your heart. Comfortingly warm, a large hand rested on your shoulder. The predator had found its prey. You jumped at the sudden pressure and tried to scurry away before two warm arms snaked around you. Easing slowly, your heart started to fall out of rhythm.

“I’m sorry” the words wobbled from your mouth as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. Henry tightens his grip on your trembling body, providing the stability you need.

“Love, you have nothing to be sorry for, I lov-“ Henry coos before you cut him off. Henry’s eyes widen but he doesn’t let you go.

“Don’t because after what I have to say, you won’t mean it anymore.” You sniffled. Henry’s grasp around you stiffens as he feels like he’s lost you again. Turning out of his arms, you try your hardest to look at his face but the pain in his posture causes you to look back down to your lap.

“I want - wanted a baby. Your baby. I couldn’t think of anything better but it was too late…” Henry’s face falls into concern as your words are laced with guilt.

“W-we had sperated and I was urmmm bback on set, set for umm” you tried but the conversation was harder than your mind had even fathomed. Noticing that you were struggling, Henry captured your shaking hands in his and begun to draw circles with his thumbs.

“I was busy and that’s no excuse but if I wasn’t busy maybe I would have picked up the signs bbbbbut urm it was too late” Henry caught on to the meaning behind your words and looked up to your tear filled eyes.

“Love, we were going to be parents?” Henry’s eyes watered as realisation hit. He was going to be a dad already. the words escaped your brain which left you with a nod as tears continued to stream.

“Y/N, I still love you. You didn’t have to keep this to yourself. You are enough for me I don’t need anything more. I just need you. I need you to be healthy and happy.” Henrys words touched your heart in a way that only he could.

“Hen-nnry I didn’t want you to think that you had to come back to me after. I wanted you t—to be free. I couldn’t stand it if you came back to me because it was my fault… my fault we ended and my fault that —-we lost our… baby” you stuttered as waves of emotion hit from the inside out.

Tears blurred your vision but you felt the warm arms of your lover wrap around you like a blanket.

“Me and you from now on, we don’t keep anything from each other, we share everything no matter how bad.” Henry whispered into your hair while you trembled.

“I want to give you a baby” you stuttered as you held Henry close.

“Then we try. I will make sure we have a baby. Our baby” Henry spoke softly as you both laid in each others arms for the rest of the evening.

TAGLIST: @325575 @jessiecavill @pamela-stark98 @singhallady @i-should-probably-be-asleep-rn @evrthefanatic @esmmyy @madbaddic7ed @melisssaa @sofiebstar @mali1mugan2 @abb-lan-5sos @bidfv @liajiah

Thank you for requesting for a part two or commenting : @collegesleezy @melisssaa @willkatfanfromasia @mayafatimakhan @seriouslygoodlookinggents @moonfaery @being-worthy @madbaddic7ed @thecavillstache

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Prompt- Rhys gets sick and feyre becomes mother hen👀

Sick Day

Fluff//1865 words

Cassian grinned. “I told Mor she shouldn’t do it. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Sure you did, Cass.”

“Don’t sound so skeptical! I am your general, one of the highest ranking officers in your court, My Lady. I would never lie to you.”

Feyre smacked Cassian on the arm. “Don’t you have something better to do? Like, I don’t know, harass somebody else?”

He gave a wide smile. “Why would I do that when you’re right here?”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Gods, you-”

A loud cough cut Feyre off.

Feyre glanced at the ceiling as if she could see her mate through it. She could, in fact, sense where he was. “Do you think he’s okay?”

A tired sigh left Cassian. “I am so sick of listening to you to worry about each other every time the other one blinks funny. It was a cough, Feyre.”

Feyre bit her lip. “Okay.”

Nyx cooing distracted Feyre’s anxious thoughts and she turned to her baby. He was sitting in Cassian’s lap. For some unfathomable reason, Nyx found Cassian hilarious, and he would sit on his uncle’s lap and giggle at the sound of his voice. Or at least, Feyre hoped it was the sound of his voice. Should Feyre find her newborn actually knew what Cassian was saying, the male would be flayed alive.

“Hi, honey,” Feyre cooed back, waggling her fingers at her son.

Cassian snorted. “You’ve gotten so gooey.”

Feyre scowled. “Me? Never. That’s just Rhys.”

“I’ll admit, Rhys is more of a softie than you are, but you’re not the bitch you used to be.”

Feyre gasped. She picked up Nyx and held him close. “Don’t say such things! He’s only a baby.” Then she covered Nyx’s ears and added, “And for the record, I am still a bitch. Don’t forget it.”

Cassian cracked a smile. “If you say so.”

Before he could say anything more, another cough sounded upstairs.

Feyre handed Nyx hurriedly to Cassian, who just rolled his eyes. “Go on, check on Rhysie pie. Gods forbid he has allergies.”

“I would punch you if you weren’t holding my son.” With that, Feyre winnowed into her and her mate’s bedroom.

Rhys was lying in bed. The room was dark enough that Feyre couldn’t tell what his facial expression was right now, but she could sense his discomfort through the bond.

“What’s wrong, Rhys?” breathed Feyre, rushing to his side.

“Lord, you’re fussy today.” Rhys had been going for a sarcastic tone, but it came out raspy and weak.

Feyre crossed her arms. “Let’s skip all the bullshit about how you’re feeling well and refuse to say anything. What’s wrong?”

Scowling, though possibly more at the situation than at Feyre, Rhys silently opened his mental shields. And Feyre was met with affliction.

She was overcome by the sensation of gut-wrenching pains and full-body soreness. Her throat was sore and her hands were clammy. Feyre felt dizzy, nauseated, likely about to fall over-

Feyre pulled out of Rhys’ mind quickly. “You’re sick.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Rhys groaned. “You should go. Don’t want you to get it.”

Feyre snorted. “For one thing, I can just summon a shield around my body in protection. Rather simple.” Feyre did indeed erect a body wrap of sorts, made of magic. Then she added, “And anyway, I love you almost enough that I’d deal with that just to be with you.”

Rhys’ lips twitched slightly. “Almost?”

Feyre smiled back. “We have to think about the Court. Wouldn’t want both the High Lord and Lady out of action. It would be chaotic.”

Rhys laughed, a brittle sound.

“I’ll be right back,” Feyre said.

“Where are you going?”

She pulled the blanket up farther on her mate as his sweating turned to shivers. “I’m going to ask Cass to watch Nyx today. I don’t want him to catch it.”

“Good idea,” Rhys mumbled, his eyelids fluttering.

Feyre winnowed back. Cassian glanced up amusedly. “Did our precious High Lord get something in his throat?”

Feyre scowled. “He’s ill.”

“How ill?” Cassian asked, not buying it.

In response, Feyre entered his mind and sent over the feelings she’d experienced when she crossed Rhys’ shields.

“Fuck,” Cassian exclaimed. “Give a male a little warning next time.”

“Careful,” Feyre scolded. “You’re holding my son.”

Cassian righted himself. “He’s actually sick. Gods, I don’t think that’s happened since last century.”

A stray snort escaped the dignified high lady. “You old bastards. I was wondering how you would feel about watching Nyx today? He’s so young; I don’t know how he would handle catching what Rhys has.”

“Oh, of course.” Cass smirked and turned to Nyx. “I have some busy things to do today, little male. How would you feel about helping?”

Feyre knew this was absolute bullshit; Cassian wasn’t totally useless but he sure as hell didn’t have “busy things.”

But Nyx burbled excitedly. One of his little hands reached for a lock of Cassian’s hair and tugged, his tiny wings flapping slightly.

“It’s settled then. Your son will be learning how to run the Night Court today.”

“Right. Because that’s what you’re in charge of,” Feyre responded drying, but she couldn’t help smiling at Nyx.

Cassian grinned. “See you. Try not to get sick or I might have to keep Nyx forever.”

Feyre smiled. “Right.”

They exchanged farewells and Cassian turned toward the door of their manor. “Oh, and don’t break anything,” Feyre called after him. “And don’t break my son.”

Cassian didn’t even turn back; he just flipped Feyre off over his shoulder, holding the baby in one hand. Feyre smiled, but she wasn’t actually concerned. For all his goofing about, Cassian could be surprisingly responsible, and she knew he would take care of Nyx well. Satisfied her child was in good hands and safe from infection, she walked over to the other room.

After dismissing the staff for the day (pay still included, of course), Feyre made for the kitchen. She used her magic to light a fire under the stove and she placed a pot on top. Even with her abilities, she normally wasn’t lazy enough to use them for everything, but she wanted this going as quickly as possible.

Worried about Rhys, Feyre used her magic once more to speed along the chopping. After dumping the vegetables in the broth she’d put in, she winnowed back upstairs.

Rhys was semi-conscious, exhausted but too pained to reach sleep. “Rhys, wake up.”

Rhys moaned. “Piss off.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you stay like this. You’re too uncomfortable to sleep well, Rhys.” Feyre helped him sit up, countering all of his protests with promises of soup.

“You don’t need to make soup all by yourself just for me.”

A huff of breath left Feyre’s lips. “I kept my family alive for years. I know how to make soup.”

Rhys sighed in resignation. “It’s not really that bad.”

“You say that like you wouldn’t be calling five healers over and praying to the gods I don’t die if our positions were switched.”

“Fair enough. We can both be rather protective of each other. But-”

“No buts,” Feyre said firmly. “I’ll be right back with soup. Drink this in the meantime. You need lots of fluids.” She waved her hand, summoning a glass of water on their nightstand.

Rhys sighed but reached for it, which was enough for Feyre. She left the room.

Soup was ready five minutes later. Her magic had really sped up the process; she was impatient and wanting to be with her mate, who she heard coughing again. As soon as she could, Feyre made her way back upstairs.

“Hey, babe.”

Feyre snorted and made a tray appear on him lap. She set the bowl down. “Hey.”

The glass of water was still mostly full, but Rhys had taken a couple sips. Appeased, Feyre moved to the other side of the bed and sat down next to her mate.

Rhys sighed, but reached for the spoon.

As he slowly took little spoonfuls, Feyre placed her hand on his forehead, and found him without a fever. A good sign.

She began gently rubbing his back. He was cold, and Feyre let warmth deep through her fingers, courtesy of the Autumn Court’s fire in very small quantities.

Rhys sighed in content. “Maybe I should get sick every day.”

“If it’s the only way to get you to rest, I suppose that wouldn’t be too bad,” Feyre replied, smiling. Her hands kept moving on his back. “I heard last century was the last time you got sick?”

Rhys swallowed another spoonful. “I vomited on Keir.”

Feyre took a minute to process this. “You did what?”

Rhys grimaced. “I wasn’t feeling well, but I thought I’d be okay to make the trip. I clearly wasn’t.”

Feyre burst into laughter. “Oh my gods.”

“Stop that,” Rhys demanded. “You’re not supposed to make fun of me while I’m not feeling well.” His features transformed into a pout.

Feyre couldn’t stop a grin from making its way to her face. “No wonder Keir doesn’t like you.”

Rhys tried to scowl, but he smiled faintly. “I’ll admit, he was a bit more civil to me before that. Only a bit, though.”

Feyre positively cackled. “This is why I love you.”

“Because I accidentally projectile vomit on people I don’t like?”

“Precisely,” Feyre said.

More broth, as well as a small carrot, was swallowed. Rhys sighed pathetically and Feyre just watched him, still massaging his back, trying not to worry too much.

Sickness in Fae was rare, and it usually didn’t last for long, due to their strong immune systems. He must have caught it from somewhere, and Feyre decided to warn her friends later to be careful. Everyone would be fine, but having all her friends sick would be a hassle, to say the least. At least Nyx was safe; Cassian would definitely be staying away from others today. He wouldn’t admit it, but he could be overly fussy too.

Rhys slurped the rest of the broth out of the bowl, holding it up to his face, while Feyre chuckled at him. Then she sent the empty bowl away with a wave of her hand. “Time to rest, Rhys.”

Rhys just pouted at her. “I’m not tired.”

“Liar. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Rhys reluctantly let Feyre help him lie back against the pillow. Several moments later, they were both situated: Rhys was absolutely covered in blankets to fight off the chills and Feyre’s arms were around him, her magic still warming his body.

Feyre entered his mind and sent comforting thoughts over, as well as urges to rest. It didn’t take long before he was snoring.

Holding her mate, comforting him through even a mild ailment, couldn’t have felt more right. Feyre desperately wanted him to heal, and soon he would, but for now she was content to listen to him breathe and inhale his familiar scent.

As Feyre herself drifted off, she just hoped she could convince Rhys to let her in his mind and show her Keir’s expression after being vomited on. Because that was something she wanted to see.

———

Tag List:

@feysand-loml

@aelin-bitch-queen

@story-scribbler

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@infernoqueen19

[slashingdisneypasta]

Observations of: Momma Jervis and his Two Traumatised Sons

Part 2

Extra Bonus Part

I acknowledge good idea of Jonathan or Oz being the exhausted mother hen of the J Squad, but I raise you instead: Jervis as the mother hen.

He's the oldest among the J Squad, obviously. Literally he's nearing 30 years old in the series (if he isn't already) while Jerome and Jonathan are literally just 18-21 year olds. Like, he's sitting there in Arkham watching these two make all these ridiculous puns (Thinking he's somehow any better, with his rhymes) and wondering where the heck these boys parents, are?? Then he learns where these parents are, and he takes it upon himself to father them.

And you can't tell me that Jervis doesn't knit. And sow (AND BAKE). Can you imagine him busily happily knitting away so the teenage boys can have warm scarves for the winter? XD And you can bet he's taking colour requests from Jerome and sowing Jon's costume back up when it inevitably rips or gets singed. Speaking of Jon's costume and singing- Imagine Jervis keeping a keen eye on Jon when he's anywhere around Firefly. Like, "No, no, you two cannot play together without supervision. Either I or the ice man have to be in the room."

Also TEA- "Jerome no you can't have any coffee its 6 o'clock in the evening. I prepared tea already."

"But mom-" "You will drink your tea and you will like it." He hisses through his teeth.

*Cut to Jerome managing to pour a red bull into his tea before Jervis can snatch it from him*

*Meanwhile Jonathan is just happily sipping his own tea* Jervis, to Jerome: WHY CANT YOU BEHAVE LIKE MR CRANE.

Jerome: *Cackling like the demon spawn he is*

Also this. What mamma doesn't at least try to keep the peace between their squabbling children. Do you see his face? Like, he's perking up. His squabble senses are tingling. Jerome watch your mouth. You are not too old to get hypnotised, young man.

AND AND AND- Don't think its just Jerome being the bane of Jervis' existence. Nay. Jonathan is totally as 'rebellious' as Jerome at times. Like, that bit in Season 3 where Jim hangs up the phone, on Jervis? Imagine that with Scarecrow instead. And Jervis is just standing there irritated as hell, redialling the number and muttering to himself about how in over his head he is with parenthood and about these rowdy TEENS.

Plus, he's a respectful father- announces himself before opening the door + stays at the doorway of his kids room rather then barging on in, even as they're in a rush:

Also all I can say, is its a damn good thing that his children are already adolescent because clearly he isn't good with babies seeing as he tried to kill that little boy, Shane, in season 3.

Oh, headline:

CAUGHT ON VIDEO: An angry Daddy Hatter and his Emo Son On Their Way to Save his Clown Son from the Evil Long Lost Brother (Another son?? Possibly???) that put him in a Cage and a Small concrete room.

Oh, you know that bit where Jerome calls Jervis 'Hat-man' or 'Hat-guy' or something and orders him and Scarecrow like henchmen, to go get rid of Harvey and Jim? Do you remember Jervis' face!? That is a 'Young man, we've talked about this before. Now i wont yell at you in front of company but we will be having strong words when we get home tonight-' face if i have ever seen one XD Here, this face:

Annnnnnd I only get 10 images a post. So consider this part 1 because I'm not done with this.

BONUS:

Look at the picture XD Tell me Jervis doesn't look like a horrified momma who just heard his child swear at him.

[ithebookhoarder]

Can I get 83 off the angst list with Javier??? It's: Stay there I'm coming to get you

100 ways to say ily Prompt 83: “Stay there. I’m coming to get you” (Javier Peña x F!Reader)

A/N: Ooo, right in the angst. Let’s get to it! I also assume you meant this prompt list rather than the angst one as that’s only up to 20 ;) Don’t worry. I got you tho! I hope you like it x  Apologies for my terrible attempts at Spanish, so let me know if I got any of it wrong.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, blood, references to death (let me know if I missed anything)

Masterlist:

-------

“Javi?”

“Y/N?” 

The sound of his voice was soft as you held the phone to your ear. You could hear the soft echo of music playing in the background telling you he was definitely at home. 

Why wouldn’t he be, given the hour? It was the morning. 3 am to be precise. He should have been asleep. You should have been asleep, but no, you’d had to chase this lead alone. Like an idiot. A strong willed idiot who should have known better. 

But no. The idea of being able to catch one of Escobar’s top employees had been too tempting an opportunity to miss despite the fact the ambassador had said otherwise. In fact, he’d said fuck no, telling all of you to wait it out and get another source to confirm it. 

Apparently a friend of one of Javi’s ex informants wasn’t what they called reliable... even though she had direct access to the people supposed to be gathering tonight at the club you’d been staking out. 

Two hours you’d watched from your car, having snuck out to do so. If Javier and Steve had wanted to behave for once, then that was their call. They could stay and fill out paperwork to their hearts content. 

You didn’t need them for what was supposed to be a routine stake out and observation mission. 

Or so you’d thought. 

The fact you’d been made by one of the gang about thirty minutes after you’d entered the club had put a pretty big dampener on your plan. You hadn’t noticed as they’d arrived, recognising you after you’d almost caught them at a raid only days ago. 

The sicario had slipped away, managing to leap across one of the roofs as you’d chased them across. Had Steve not grabbed your arm and told you it was too dangerous a jump to risk, you’d have followed. 

But here he was, back and ready for payback... and he’d been quick to point you out to the others surrounding him. 

You knew it had been risky to be here and unfortunately, you were proved horrifically right. The fact you’d got away was a minor miracle, even if you were now bleeding. Badly. 

Damn bullet had missed but the graze was agonising, causing you to wince as you clutched at your side, trying to stem the bleeding as best you could. 

“Javi... I messed up.”

“Y/N, hermosa. What is it? What’s wrong? Where are you?”

His questions were relentless, firing one after the other as he detected the fear in your voice. The pain and regret too. 

“I’m ... I’m in an alley... by Fiebre... I’m sorry...”

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. It’s ok,” Javi soothed, panic underlying each word. You could hear him clattering about, most likely grabbing his keys and rushing out of the apartment next to yours. He didn’t need to ask to know what you were doing or why you were there. He knew you too well. He also knew you wouldn’t be calling like this if you weren’t in trouble. Trouble serious enough he had to get to you. Fast. “I’m on my way. Just stay there. I’m coming to get you.” 

A tear rolled down your cheek as the air suddenly felt a lot colder. Like Javi had just turned on the stupid faulty AC unit in your apartment, like he always did when it got late and he was staying over to look over material or keeping you company. 

God. What you’d have given to have him there to hold you right then. To wrap his familiar leather jacket around you like he always did when you forgot a jacket of your own, still forgetting that the hot days often fell into cooler nights. 

You longed for its touch, its scent, its comfort as you stared at the sky and prayed you lived long enough to regret this. 

“Fuck.” Your car was just down the street. You were so close but you didn’t know if you had the strength to make it there. “Javi... I’m bleeding... the bullet... it hit my side... it won’t stop.”

“Y/N, baby. Listen to me. We’re coming. Steve and I. It’s gonna be ok. Just keep talking to me, ok? Put pressure on it and don’t fall asleep. You hear me?”

“Javi-“

“I’m fucking serious, hermosa. You hear me? You better keep your damn eyes open long enough so I can look at them when we get there, and you make some stupid wise crack about all this.”

A car door slammed. Voices rang out over the line. You could hear an engine start. 

“Javi... I love you... I really do...”

“Y/N? Y/N?”

His voice sounded desperate, terrified even, as you faded away, failing to reply. You simply felt the edges of your vision beginning to dim and the inevitable pull of sleep tugging you toward an abyss you knew there would be no coming back from. 

You couldn’t fight it any longer.

A single tear trickled down your cheek and you felt the phone drop from your hand onto the cold concrete beneath you. 

“I’m sorry.”

——— 

“-y tienes suerte de que te quiera mucho. Odio los hospitales. este lugar es jodidamente horrible. No puedo dejarte aquí solo. no cuando te vas a despertar en cualquier momento. ¿Me escuchas? Tú vas a-“

The voices were coming in waves, washing over you and disappearing just as quickly. 

It was hard to try and hold on to, even if you wanted to. This voice in particular was soft and tempting, familiar even... Coaxing you in over and over every time you slipped back into the darkness that was so warm and soft. 

You’d always been a deep sleeper, slamming your alarm harder than necessary whenever it tried to wake you. 

Now was the same... even if you knew it shouldn’t be. Even if you felt odd, like you were supposed to be somewhere and you’d forgotten... 

But where?

“She should have woken by now-“

“Javi, calm down. She’s gonna be fine. The doctor said so. She just needs to rest. Have a little faith in her. She’s tough. She’ll pull through this.”

“But if she doesn’t ... Steve, I can’t...”

“Hey. Look at me, Peña. It’s gonna be alright. Now come on. Connie said she’d bring some clothes for you...”

There they were. The voices again. 

Somehow, you knew that they were trying to pull you back to wherever you were supposed to be. 

To the aching you felt. To the mechanical beeping you could hear. To the painfully bright lights hovering overhead. 

To the weight and warmth of someone’s hand holding yours. 

To the familiar face pressed against the bed as he slept, holding you hand tightly as if scared to let you go. 

“Javi?” you croaked. 

Like that, he was awake. 

You worried he’d have whiplash, he sat up so fast, eyes wide in disbelief as he realised you were awake. “Y/N? Oh, thank God!” 

“Y/N?”

“Steve?” you rasped, noticing your other partner as he leapt out of his chair in the corner of the room. The relief was clear as he smiled and hurried to the door. 

“Thank god. I’m gonna grab a nurse.” 

“Ok.” You smiled and turned to Javier who was still holding your hand tight, watching you with bloodshot eyes. “What... how long was I-?”

“Three days,” he whispered. “You really scared me there for a second, hermosa. You... you lost so much blood and they weren’t sure you were gonna make it.” 

“I’m sorry.”

The sight of tears in his eyes was more painful than the bullet hole that was currently sending white hot agony shooting through your side. You’d never seen Javi so torn up before. Never. The worst was when he’d sit silently and smoke for hours without even moving. 

As much as you hated that, you’d take that any day over this. Knowing you were the cause. 

“No. Don’t be,” he dismissed swiftly. “I mean yeah, I wanna shoot you myself for running off and pulling a dumb fucking stunt like that but I get it... I really do. I’d have done the same thing. Hell, I have done the same thing. I just wish you’d asked me to come. Or even Murphy. We would have.”

“The ambassador had his eye on you after the raid this week,” you protested weakly, wincing at the pain in your side as you tried to sit up. “I couldn’t risk you or Murphy or your jobs like that.” 

“Fuck our jobs.”

“Javi -“

“No, hermosa. Listen. I mean this. You come first, understood? Always,” Javi snarled, kissing the back of your hand. “I love you and I mean that. Life isn’t worth it without you. This job means shit all without you. You come first? Ok. Always. Seeing you lying there with all the blood on you... it made me realise a few things and this is one of them. I don’t want a life or a future without you in it.” 

You couldn’t help it as the tears began to flow again, your heart swelling with love for the man in front of you. You couldn’t help but reach out and brush your fingers through his hair as you’d done so many nights before. 

“I love you too, Javier Peña.”

“Good. Remember that when Steve gets back and starts ripping into your ass,” Javier teased, lightening up now that your were awake and talking again. “I won’t be able to save you then, carino. Sorry. Sicarios are one thing, but Murphy? He’s almost as terrifying as Connie.”

Oh fuck. You’d forgotten about Connie. Oh she was gonna kill you. Big time. 

That woman was the biggest mother hen you’d met in your entire life. She’d also probably have your ass on house arrest for the rest of your life after this stunt. 

“Shit,” you whined, dropping back against the pillows. “It was good while it lasted.”

“And good thing we get to do it all again another time,” he hummed. “Just ... not for a while, ok? Not until you’re on your feet.” 

“You mean, not until Connie says so?”

Javi didn’t even flinch as he nodded, deadly serious. “Yep. 100 percent.”

------

Translation: “and you are lucky i love you so much. i hate hospitals. this place is fucking horrid. i cant leave you here alone. not when you are going to wake up any minute now. you hear me? you are going to-”

[lostinthe-jojos]

Some happy sano fluff because I'm feeling soft.

Yn being the baby of the household.

Shin- 22

Izana-16

Mikey- 14

Emma-13

Yn-6

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Shin really didnt mind when another sibling showed up, what surprised him was how young they were. Emma and Mikey were already in middle school and Izana was in Highschool.

Yn just stared up at Shin with big eyes, before hiding behind their guardian.

Shin tried his best to make yn feel welcomed.

Turns out yn thinks Izana was a prince and immediately clung into the boy.

Shin pouting because another sibling won't cling to him.

It took a few days but yn warms up to everyone

Fem yn?- Emma is in charge of doing her hair.

Male yn- doesn't really need help with his hair, but shin insists

Mikey won't admit it but he loves it when yn demands piggy back rides.

Tries to get yn to help pick on Shin.

Yn being too loyal (they get snacks from shin, when he goes to ask out girls)

You will meet Toman and Tenjiki members.

Mikey trusts Draken and Mitsuya to babysit you the most.

Izana?? Kakucho and Ran(who else took care of Rindo)

If anyone is strict its probably Izana, he acts like a mother hen. Won't let any harm come to you.

Mikey believes in exposure?? You need to learn what's dangerous (if it's something that could seriously harm you he will step in)

Emma adores you, will constantly cuddle you.

Shin ?? Please he just adores the baby fat cheeks and doe eyes. Will show off to his friends!! His customers and his dates.

Basically acts like the fun dad.

They route on who will pick you up and "babysit you"

Emma: will hang out with you, invites Hinata to join in. 100% would recommend.

Mikey: lunch and naps, will hand you to Mitsuya during meeting or when there's a fight.

Izana: Cancels all gang related stuff, will let you lead. Wanna go to a cafe to eat? Sure he doesn't mind. Just wanna go home and watch movies??

Shin: He packs a bag to keep you busy, while he finishes work. Will go to the park with you. Watching you tire yourself out.(probably met someone there and scored their number)

____________________________________________

I—