#me: i can go so many directions with that line - happy - angsty - somewhere in between..

[archoniic]

❝ Tears don’t fix anything. ❞ @ozeanum

𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊, hardly worth such a statement. His jaw clenched as he looked at his friend; although in that moment he half debated causing him the same gut wrenching agony that he, himself was feeling. Had he taken the required form; of course. For now Osial was safe – but Morax’s memory was long. 

One day. I shall.

Leaning against the side of the cliff, somewhat slumped as it became obvious then why those mortals wore such ridiculous things that covered their feet. To stop unnecessary injuries such as these.   ❝ I do hope you are finding your amusement. ❞  He half grumbled, the Lord of Geo felled by something as simple as a stubbed toe. How shameful.  ❝ Consider this a promise that once you take mortal form, Osial. I shall ensure you feel this very same torture. ❞  He could see the way the waves rippled around him; raising then to his full height – which in this form was not nearly as impressive as his. ❝ I do hope, for your sake, you are not laughing at me. ❞

[akaashioppa]

11:00pm

pairings: Mikey x reader 

summary: Sneaking out of you house with Mikey has always been a tradition of yours. You would always call it late date night...well not until you finally got caught.

warnings: curse words, arguing with your fictional dad. fluffy then angsty

w/c: 2.7k

Masterlist

“You got to hurry before I get caught, Mikey!”

“So what? I wouldn’t mind it.”

You were hanging from your bedroom’s balcony, Mikey was underneath you trying to brace your fall. He had his long tan arms in the air motioning for you to jump in them. After all the thousands of times, you did this it was still rocky. You and Mikey haven’t perfected the routine yet. You would think the more you snuck out of your own house you would have perfected it by now.

“Just jump baby…”

“We’re six feet in the air!” You shrieked out, You had your back facing him. Your attention was constantly going back and forth from Mickey and your bedroom door. The house was big enough that no one could hear what was going on but your older brother had a habit of coming into your room unannounced.

“I got you. Have I ever let you fall before?”

You thought back on the times that you were together. Not once has he ever put you in danger...well not intentionally but he would always protect you. You are always left unscathed from dangerous situations. “Okay, I’m letting go..” The cold feeling of the rail left your embrace, your feet were no longer planted on the other side of the balcony. You were free-falling six feet in the air. Your eyes remained closed until you felt his muscular arms around your body.

“I told you that I got you.” You opened your eyes to see his soulless black eyes that you admired so much. That iconic smirk that you loved was as well. ‘Why is he so perfect?’

“Come on, we’ll be late.”

After gracefully putting you on your feet, you both ran in the direction of his bike. It was too loud for him to pull in your driveway so he tends to park down the street so your parents wouldn’t awake from his engine roaring.

Mikey helped you onto his CB205T. It was his favorite bike out of all of them. This was the only bike of his that he would never let you drive. You would beg him to let  you drive it but he would say ‘I don’t want you getting hurt.’ You rolled your eyes at the thought.

He placed his old helmet on your head, tying it tightly, he gave you a small pat on the head. You smiled sweetly back at him, he was so cute and kind. It was the small gestures that he did that made you fall even more in love with him.

Mikey sped off towards the destination. He never told you where you were going, he only said get ready by 11 pm and don’t ask any further questions. Lately, this has been a recurring event, Mikey has made it your thing. He’d pick you up, drive around on his bike for a few minutes so you both could see the city lights then he would take you somewhere random. It always ends up being the best night of your life. 

“Hey, we’re here.” You lifted your head from his shoulders blades, It was your way of keeping things from flying into your eyeballs. You were in an abandoned parking lot which was odd, there was no human activity, barely any street lights, however, there was a great view from where you stood. This abandoned parking lot was above a cliff, it leads out to the city of Tokyo.

“Wow, this is amazing.” 

“I found it and thought you would like it. You can see everything from this view. If you look towards the right you can see the cherry blossom trees. They’re in season.”

“Really!?” You took a look towards the right, there were rows of cherry blossom trees lined up with small humans taking pictures. A river not too far away from the trees, it was filled with the petals of the cherry blossoms. “That’s so freaking beautiful. How could such an anti romantic be romantic?”

You caught him rolling his eyes, he threw a quick yet soft jab in your ribs. 

“You’re annoying,” he muttered out. Although it came out dry you knew he would never call you that intentionally. 

“You love me don’t ya.”

You grinned from ear to ear waiting for him to acknowledge what you said. The thing is he didn’t, he kept his attention on the people down below. This didn’t stop you from cheesing like an idiot though. 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes simultaneously. You wouldn’t allow that grin to disappear. You kept it on your face even when Mikey turned to look at you.  “If I say yes will you stop teasing me?”

“Nope.”He reached out grabbing you around your waist. He swung you around making your legs swing in every other direction. You begged him to stop. The amount of laughter that you were crying out helped make a cramping sensation in your stomach.

He finally put you down after spinning you around. After calming down for your “game” You both walked back to the edge watching the cherry blossom trees.

You placed your head on his shoulder, his arms snake around your waist pulling you in closer. You didn’t retreat, you only placed your hands around his neck. “Hey, don’t you think it’s crazy how many people live in our city? Out of all those people I managed to find you.” You mumbled into his neck.

“That was so cheesy.” He snorted out,  he ruined the moment which earned him a jab in the ribs. “Wait here me out. Maybe it’s the university trying to tell us something.”

“What if it’s just a phase? Who says we won’t grow apart?”

You felt him squeeze you tighter against him, “Then we’ll just grow apart. If it’s meant to be, we'll see each other again.” 

There was a silence cast around you two. Mikey released you from his grasp, You leaned over the railing to take in the view. Everything was going so well tonight. You felt Mikey’s arms wrapping around your waist again, he turned you around so you were both facing each other. That cheeky smile that he always wore was evidence that he was happy, he was living in the moment right along with you.  An outburst of laughter erupted from both of your lips, you still were in each other arms but you couldn’t seem to stop laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“I just realized that I’m in love with someone. How bizarre is that?”

“I lo-”

Your sentence was cut short, the vibration in your pants pocket made all of the blood drain from your face. You reached down to pull out your phone, the screen read ‘dad’. You didn’t answer it, you only let it ring.

“Fuck! I have to go home. We have to go now!”

Mikey stood there with a blank expression on his face, you snapped your fingers in his face to get his attention, shoving your face in his phone to see who called you. 

“What’s going on? Who was that?”

He grabbed your phone from your hand so he could get a clear look at your screen. By you shoving the phone in his face he could barely see the name on the screen. The only thing he did was say “oh” and left it like that. He shoved his hands in his pockets with a nonchalant attitude.

“Why are you just standing there!? Come on Mikey!”

You tried pushing him towards his bike, he only stood there holding his ground. His hands were still in his pockets as he did you. 

He sighed, “What’s the difference? You’re already out past your curfew, what's a little more hours.”

“Are you crazy!” You screeched, “It was my dad! We have to go!”

For the second time of the night, a cast of silence was between you two. The only thing that was heard was your heavy breathing from yelling at him and the traffic from down below. Mikey still had that blank expression on his face until he smiled.

“It was a joke. Come on, I'll get you home.”

“Manjiro Sano!!”

Mikey grabbed your hand making your entire body jerk forward, “You better hurry before you’re late.” His laughter filled the air, it made you feel a little better. Mikey helped you get safely on his bike before doing the same with himself. He let the engine pur twice making your heart beat along with the engine.

“You ready?” He looked back at you with a smirk on his face. He licked his lips a little before making his engine roar a little.

“Yeah.”

He sped off into the night dodging cars nearly crashing into them. Mikey was a great driver and very cautious. He just tends to get wild at times. Sometimes you think he forgets that you’re on the back of his bike. He’s always zoned out when he drives, it’s like he was in his own little world. 

It didn’t take long for you to get home. The word speed limit was not in Mikey’s dictionary. Mikey turned off the engine of his bike. You were down the street from your house, you could clearly see the light in the living room. You cursed silently under your breath, “I’m so screwed.”

“Just climb into your bedroom window and pretend to be asleep. If he asks why you didn't pick up your phone, say that you were asleep.”

“Okay, what if that doesn’t work?”

He glanced back at you with determination in his eyes, “Then call me.”

“Yeah, I like the first option better.”

Mikey stood back watching you as you ran in the direction of your house. You ran to your window just staring at it. It was six feet in the air so your only option was to climb the tree and somehow jump from the tree to your balcony. 

You began to climb the big oak tree in your yard. Mikey tried to help you from down below. He stood there with his hands on his hips smiling up at you. “How’s it going up there?”

“Well you know I’m just hanging around.”

You both cracked up at your corny joke.

The only thing left to do was put your foot on the balcony while balancing yourself on the tree. Mikey stood down below with the same stance, he was making sure that you did not fall. You silently counted in your head before throwing yourself onto your balcony. You tumbled a little, some bruising was definitely going to be there in the morning.

“Did you make it!?”

You used the wooden poles on your balcony to help you pull yourself up. Mickey was still down below but now hiding behind the big oak tree. You gave him a thumbs up, he smiled back in return, running leaving you behind with the situation up ahead.

“Welcome back” You didn’t even take a step into your room and your dad had already slid the door open scaring you half to death. He slid the balcony door open further allowing you to come into the room. “Why didn’t you tell your boyfriend to come in for a snack?”

You made your way to your bed wishing that you could shrink down into a little ball. The sarcasm in his voice didn’t make it any better. Your dad was pissed, the vein that was protruding from the side of his forehead looked like it was going to pop. 

“Uhh, he’s shy.” You gave your dad a dry chuckle but stopped when he shot you an ugly glare. He sat down in the chair in front of your bed with one of his legs over the other and one of his hands pressed against his forehead.

“How did you guys meet!?”

“At school dad.” You mumbled, he was already starting to yell. 

“How!? I sent you to a private school.”

You almost laughed in your dad’s face, the memory of meeting Mikey was always funny. It was a running joke in your relationship. 

“Well, Mikey came into our classroom to fight our teacher. BUT! He had a good reason. Mikey was driving his bike when Toka-san almost ran him off the road. Mikey followed him to school and beat the living shit out of him. I thought it was hot so I approached him and the rest is history.”  

“What’s the matter with you?” He shot out of his chair waving his arms in the air. “Why would you want to date someone like that!? You’re an (L/N), live up to that name. Don’t be a fucking disappointment.”

You scoffed at your dad. This time you made it audible for not only him to hear but anyone else that is listening. “Dad, that's rude!”

“I don’t want you ever classifying yourself as one of them. He’s a delinquent, a gangster, you have more class than that. You can find someone better than him. I will not have my daughter running around here with a delinquent.”

“He’s not a delinquent!”

“Then what is he!?”

You ignored his question. You didn’t want to answer it. You knew that Mikey classified himself as that but to you, he was much more than what people portrayed him to be. These fucking millennials and their biased opinions. You were not going to let him bash your boyfriend and get away with it.

“He’s Mickey Sano. You shouted, you jumped off of your bed so now you were facing your dad eye to eye. “He’s much more than a delinquent or a gangster. He’s a human being so start treating him like one. Oh and if you’re going to label him at least label him right. He’s much more than a delinquent, he’s actually smarter than what you make him out to be.” 

Your dad sat back down in his chair. This allowed you to look down on him but then it hit you. You were never this confident, You...standing up to your dad. Just wait until Mikey here’s about this. All of those conversations about boosting your confidence have paid off. 

“Yeah alright keep believing that. He’s only here for one thing and one thing only (Y/N). Once he gets that he’s out of here.”

Jokes on you he’s already got it and look, he’s still here.

You didn’t say that to your dad, you knew he would only blow up in your face more. Then lecture would then cause your entire family to get dragged in. He would go on a manhunt to find Mikey and “kill him.

“Okay, dad, whatever you say.”

You grew tired of all of this back and forth with him. You weren’t going to argue with him anymore, so you sat down on your bed awaiting the next thing he had to say.

“If I catch you out with him again I’ll treat you like a real princess and lock your ass up here for the rest of your life.

You scoffed out loud for him to hear, the vein in his forehead was now back more evident than before.

“I knew I was going to get in trouble but dad, punishments are temporary, memories are forever. So while I’m grounded I’ll be thinking about how good he has been to me while you have been treating me like trash.”

“That’s it you are grounded until next summer.”

“Okay, dad.” You mocked out.

 “One more thing if I catch that Mickey, Micheal-” You cut him off, “Mikey, his name is Mikey.” 

Your dad rolled his eyes, he walked to the door opening it. Half of his body was already outside of the room. You were wishing he would just put his whole body out there and leave you alone.

“If I see that Mikey boy around here again I’m calling the cops.” Your dad stood there for a second before closing the door. Once alone you throw your head in your pillows.“Snitch.” You mumbled.

He came back into the room with an irritated look on his face. His eyebrows were so close together it looked like they were about to merge. “What did you say?”

You tried your best to keep your laughter at bay but you couldn’t help yourself. “Nothing.” You snorted out. He stood there with the same expression, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You were about to burst out in a laugh. You waited for your dad to leave the room so you could laugh at the way he looked at you after you called him a snitch.

[the-dwelf-ao3]

I was supposed to be studying but instead I wrote unnecessarily angsty gigolas whoops-

----

"See that star over there?"

Gimli was pointing at the nightly sky, his back flat against the wet grass.

Legolas, next to him, turned to his friend before following the direction of his finger.

Was that the way Gimli would deal with it, then? Pretending everything was well, pretending their lives were not going to be shattered mercilessly?

They had been lying under the stars for hours now, uncapable of saying a word. They would part at daybreak, and every fading star was a step towards that moment that could no longer be delayed.

"Yes. I do," muttered Legolas, his voice thick, words making their way through a mouthful of withheld cries.

"My people call it Giml."

Oh. Gimli was not just trying to chat away the night, no. He was sharing with Legolas things he had not shared before, things that, perhaps, he was not supposed to share. Legacy, family, names- sacred things that Dwarves kept secret, closely guarded.

"Were you named after a star?"

"Aye."

"It fits you."

Neither of them was as talkative as they usually were. One word too much, and they feared they would break, they feared their voice would give way to the misery they were attempting to conceal.

"It burns bright against the darkness, its light standing out. It fits you," Legolas repeated.

It looks so close, yet it stands so far. It looks eternal, yet its light will fade, it will be consumed by its own flaming brightness and only live in the memory of those who remain, of those who have witnessed its light and never since have been the same. It fits you, Legolas thought.

"I shall take that as a compliment," smiled Gimli. "I think my True Name fits me more, but every Dwarf thinks that."

"Alas! Your True Name, of which I am oblivious. Will I ever be allowed to know the name your soul truly responds to?"

"Nay, Lad, you know that. Not unless you marry me!"

"Perhaps I shall."

Gimli closed his eyes. They were doing it again, were they not? That flirtatious game of theirs. It had started as light teasing, a little guilty pleasure. An innocent way to cope with the rising of new feelings, burying them under humor.

But their bond had only grown stronger, until it had become clear to both of them that their hearts yearned for each other. They never spoke openly about it, they never directly addressed the subject- they would speak of in in terms of "what ifs", as if they were speculating on unimportant matters, as if they were jesting about it.

It would have hurt them too much to speak of how real their feelings were, for every "what if" only met a "would not" or a "could not", every "perhaps" had "impossible" for an answer. Every "Us" was always ripped apart by a "Them".

"Would not" is less hurtful than "not". "Impossible" sounds less cruel an answer if the question is about imagining and not desiring.

"So far would you go, to learn my Name?"

"Anywhere. Anything. As long as it concerns you, there is no such thing as too far."

Gimli opened his eyes wide, startled by how close Legolas sounded. Indeed, the elegant Elven face was right above his own, hair cascading from the sides, revealing the pointy tips of the ears, mingling with Gimli's red locks on the ground.

"Legolas."

"I cannot bear to part from you."

"Neither can I, but little choice we have. Our peoples need us, and their welfare is and must be our priority."

"I must be selfish, Gimli, dreadfully selfish, for no matter how many times we have repeated ourselves these words; I still don't want to go. I yearn to remain by your side, I pray the Valar for a way for us not to part. The sole idea of being far from you, not knowing where you are, not being able to come and find you somewhere near-"

"Peace. Legolas, peace," whispered Gimli, his open palm against the Elf's chest that was now moving frantically, in tune with his breathing.

Legolas, in turn, brought a hand to Gimli's face, fingers kindly finding their way through his beard. He was allowed to touch it, and he was well aware of what privilege it was. Would that be the last time he would feel the tickling hair between his fingers, as his palm met Gimli's cheek hidden under the red braids, as his fingertips caressed the rosy cheekbone and the sensitive, naked skin behind the ear?

He leaned in closer, his lips nearly touching Gimli's, as he closed his eyes- the Dwarf could swear that Legolas' lashes were wet at that point, and his heart sank.

"What if I married you. Right now, before we part, before we go."

Gimli's lips trembled. All he wished was to hold Legolas into his arms. He wanted to whisper his True Name into his delicate, pointy ear, no matter if Legolas had no Name to give him in turn. He would have been content to hear his own from the elven lips, to carve it out of Legolas' mouth as he made love to him until daybreak.

"A pair of miserable being would be, you and I, to forever bond right before being parted. How would I live, knowing that my spouse is far away? How would I spend years far from you, if we now shared a few hours of happiness?"

"I love you."

It was so sudden that it took Gimli a few moments to realize.

Straightforward.

Candid.

Genuine.

Oh, what had he done? Why had he crossed that line? Did he not know that those words would be like a dagger in his heart for the years to come?

"You have nothing to say to me?"

"How could I hurt you so, now that I've tasted such pain myself?"

"Pain be it, then. I need to feel. I need it to be something."

Gimli took a deep sigh. Oh how he wished he could give him joy, how he wished he could fill his elven heart with happiness.

"I love you. More than anything in this world, I love you."

"Can we not find a way, then? Gimli, dear, my dearest, can we not find a way?"

"Not tonight. Time is not on our side, that I know; I cannot give you forever. I wish I could give you every second I breathe, but that I cannot, either. All I can promise you is someday, when our duty is fulfilled. When we have seen to the safety and welfare of our Peoples, when we have given them a truly peaceful world to live in."

"Someday will do, then. Even if it is your last breath on this Earth, if you will share it with me, I will not have lived in vain."

A quiet, chaste kiss was all they indulged in before the dawning light told them it was time to go.

As they parted ways soon after, it had never felt so real- neither the love, nor the pain.

Someday. Someday would do. Someday would fix their hearts and souls.

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Eight

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 5,600

Warnings: Language as always, mentions of drinking, alcohol and drunkenness, mentions of sex OH AND HEARTBREAK

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

The right person, the wrong time.

The right script, the wrong line.

The right poem, the wrong rhyme.

And a piece of you

That was never mine

K Towne Jr.

Chapter 8

The black topped streets of Lewisham radiate the day’s spring sunshine as if intent upon sending the heaven sent warmth back up through Marcus’ soles. The evening’s golden light creates a love song in his heart - one that morphs from the irritation and melancholy of the morning to a happier more uplifting tune.

When did that mood change? Oh yes, that embrace.

Nush.

Marcus hadn’t realised just how low his battery was for touch until you threw your arms around him. How much much he’d needed your body close to his again. Feeling your softness against him, inhaling your intoxicating scent. How he’d longed to kiss your forehead and stroke your hair in that cuddle. Remembering the pain of breaking that contact, plastering on a smile and kicking himself for it.

Constantly having to watch his need for your touch and tempering it within the normal parameters for a working relationship, Marcus has found himself reaching out for you- making excuses to touch you as you passed him, finding imaginary eyelashes on your face. Being around you felt like a breath that he was unable to release, continuously having to dampen down his natural instincts to hold and stroke you.

Kiss you.

Taste you.

Had he been back in the States, he would have said fuck it and asked you out, but that didn’t exactly go well last time. The pain of knowing exactly what he wants and it just being beyond the reach of his fingertips plagues Marcus daily with the dream of coming home to be loved, nurtured and protected and offer it in return. How do you ever allow yourself to become vulnerable to that risk of failure again? One thing he is certain of, is your current ignorance of the true level of his feelings. The kindness you show others - so much care for everyone around you, albeit through a thinly veiled layer of sarcasm and swearing- and the love your friends show for you, demonstrate that you would be nothing but clear if he was to reveal his true feelings.

Squeezing politely through the crowds, between the narrow shack-like stalls of the fairy-light illuminated market, Marcus heads towards the Highline where Andy had told each of you to meet him. Before he could start climbing the staircase up, a large hand grasps his upper arm, another patting the space between his shoulder blades. Marcus spins, slightly surprised by the touch, to be greeted by Andy’s grinning face.

“Looking good, Sir. Bit sharper than at lunch today,” Andy observes, giving Marcus’ leather jacket, Henley and indigo jeans a once over, “and before you complain, I am going to get you a beer because of the day you’ve had. You can do your management thing of buying the first round in a bit, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

With Andy’s face explicitly telling Marcus not to disagree with him, he nods, definitely needing that drink. As they head together towards the bar, they are both absorbed into the throng of a hundred voices holding loud conversations as they compete with the soundtrack from the decks. The crowd is a mixed bag of teenagers, students and families - the children chasing or trying to catch the sparkling spotlights as their parents reminisce over large gin and tonics about lie-ins and late nights not hunched over a crib.

Winding their way through the laughing and dancing bodies, they head in the direction of the alcohol to order some locally brewed ales, bumping into an already buzzing Kiritopa at almost the front of the queue. After a round of handshakes, back slaps and hearty laughs, they edge ever closer to their goal of amber nectar. Before their drinks are poured, Marcus’ eyes scan the market for the rest of the team when they are caught by a flash of colour. Bright turquoise stockings, a mustard corduroy pinafore, red and white striped T-shirt - oh, it isn’t you. Your wildly coloured legs bring so much colour to his day and they are the first thing he checks as he enters the office. Elbow nudges and a pint glass from Andy brings his attention back to the men in front of him for a quick cheers-ing of glasses before heading out of the melée.

The table on the Highline that Andy had reserved was utterly perfect. It afforded a bird’s eye view of the market - a true dream come true for any avid people watchers, whilst also allowing everyone to talk and be heard by each other with its one storey elevation from the thronging crowds. Andy and Kiritopa are animatedly talking with each other lounging amongst the piles of cushions and blankets on the pallet seating, while Marcus leans against the walkway, clutching his beer, staring off into the urban sprawl of concrete car parks and fried chicken restaurants but only looking for one face.

“Hey, what time do you call this...Whoa - Nush, is that makeup? On your face?” Andy’s eyes are utterly saucer-like in this discovery.

“Hush your mouth - she did it to me,” you jab your finger in Dian’s direction, pouting your lips at the indignation and as Andy goes to make another quip, you add- shoving some chips in his mouth, “Dirty masala fries- thought we’d need something to line our tummies this evening. Although equally, they’ll do a wonderful job of keeping some people’s mouths shut!”

“I think I did a great job- she looks stunning!” having put three portions on the table, Dian steps back to admire her handiwork as you pull a duck face pout at her.

She always looks beautiful.

“So, what’s on these fries?” Marcus asks as he desperately tries to avoid the other thoughts running through his head of how that pencil skirt runs along the curve that falls and rises from your waist to your hips beautifully or the horizontal stripes of your t-shirt - an outfit winning in its quest to distract.

As for that goddamn red lipstick…

It would leave a mark all around my-

“Ok, so they’re skinny French fries with spices shaken over them and a dollop of channa masala on top. Oh and that white shit is garlic mayo to dip them in,” you grin broadly as you pass him a portion - the picant vibrancy of the food telling stories of the fresh, bold flavours to come. Always being a believer in food being one of the ways that you can love a person, the mouthful of potatoes, spices and chickpeas envelops Marcus in an all encompassing hug. His belly sings with happiness with each mouthful he consumes, his tongue delightfully tingling from the chilli powder.

“Y’know Nush. Not had one of your curries for a while,” Andy not-so gently hints.

Marcus can’t help but raise his eyebrows, “Nush, you make curries? How many other hidden talents?”

“She also plays the piano and did ballet until she was fifteen,” Andy adds, ducking as you lob a cushion at him - your face reddened with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

“Badly according to my mother,” you say, rolling your eyes as you shove another mouthful in, “Mine aren’t particularly elegant but they are edible. Well they are now anyway - there was one, a keema matar, that I made as a kid where I didn’t realise that chili develops over time. Put in roughly five tablespoons by the end. Could have been used for chemical warfare. Never lived it down but it got me out of cooking for a while.”

The table explodes in uproarious laughter, earning several odd looks from the patrons nearby.

“Well, I’m considering this an invitation to try one of your edible curries as you so eloquently call them,” Kiritopa rubs his belly in anticipation, chuckling at your modesty, “When can we get a date in the book?”

“I love a good curry, so count me in,” Dian chimes in as she pops the chickpeas like sweets into her mouth.

Marcus watches you shift uncomfortably in the spotlight of demands from your co-workers, “If I do this, I need a bigger space to work in as I can’t fit you all in my flat. I’ll need to borrow somewhere that can fit more bums.”

“Could use my apartment to cook and host, if you like?” Marcus proffers, secretly hopeful at trying some of your dishes and perhaps more than a little excited at the thought of spending some one on one time with you.

“Shall we do Sunday evening, if nothing turns up from work?” Kiritopa asks hopefully.

Marcus shrugs by way of confirmation, catching your gaze, drinking in the swirl of colours in your iris, to give you a nod.

With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, you exclaim, “Andy- what the fuck have you started? You’ve all grossly overestimated my skills, and now I am going in search of alcohol to dull my senses and make poor decisions,” you dramatically announce with a theatrical bow, “What can I get everyone?”

Seeing an opportunity open up, Marcus touches your arm as you go to leave, “It’s my round. Help me carry them?”

“Deal,” Marcus feels his heart grow as he sees your smile reach every corner of your face.

Before reaching the top of the stairs, Marcus moves himself around to walk in front of you. His body on an autopilot of manners. On reaching the bottom step, he reaches back - unthinkingly - to grab your hand so as not to lose you amongst the multitude drinking, eating and dancing the night away. The momentary panic that spread at the thought of you rejecting him recedes as your fingers thread between his.

Sending a warm smile at you over his shoulder, you follow in the wake of him quietly.

The people near the bar are flowing like rivers, never stopping for obstacles but twirling, swirling around them nevertheless Marcus guides you through, never letting go. The noise of the chatter and throb of the music surrounds you, not allowing for much verbal communication so he settles for small movements and gestures with the hand that is holding yours. When you finally arrive at the queue by the bar, that is when you can speak a bit more freely albeit in theatrical whispers in each other’s ears.

Marcus watches how the evening breeze kisses you, blowing the strands of your growing-out fringe into your face. How you gaze around and observe people whilst also managing to make him feel like he’s the only person there. The way your eyes crease into crescents when you laugh or smile and how much he wishes he could thank all those people jostling you into him. But like all moments with you, it ends too quickly as soon you’re both heading upriver against the current with your trays of drinks.

“Nush, I’ve always thought it was some kind of miracle that you never spill alcohol,” Andy teases you as you bring the drinks to their owners.

“Hah! I don’t waste the good stuff,” you mutter indignantly, “Although perhaps if we want to protect the office carpets, I should…”

“No,” Marcus mock-sternly interjects at the thought of you being drunk and the chaos that would bring, “No day drinking at work, Nush. I’d prefer the coffee stains.”

Your pout and subsequent upward glance through your eyelashes, makes Marcus turn towards the railings, hiding his thoughts in his beer.

Fuck, Nush.

If you only knew what you do to me.

“Hey Kiri, isn’t it? You playing in the tourney tomorrow?” a deep, cut glass accent calls out, cutting through the crowds surrounding them. Marcus turns towards where the sound is coming from and as he does, he catches a strange look cross your face.

“What the fuck are you doing here and how the fuck do you know Kiritopa?” The tone of your voice, narrowed eyes and furrowed brow makes Marcus turn back towards the group inquisitively.

“Nush! Haven’t seen you in a long time but you are looking amazing,” the voice is attached to a face, the kind that would stop anyone in their tracks, “can barely recognise you with makeup on- you should wear it more often.”

You breathlessly mutter, “Fuck off, that’s never going to happen.”

Good girl. Don’t put up with that BS. You’re better than that.

“I know Seb through rugby training,” then tilting his head quizzically, Kiritopa asks, “How do you know him?”

“Since school isn’t it, so what? Roughly twenty years? Through her brother, Adam as we played rugger together. Although, despite such a long time friendship, you wouldn’t let me in your knickers until more recently,” Seb shoots you a wink from over his beer.

The words burn through Marcus as he considers your connection with this man - his eyes narrowing, lips thinning. Loneliness echoing through his racing heart. He hadn’t considered you seeing anyone else- even for the briefest of dalliances but then not everyone is a serial long term monogamist.

Of course you’d have needs, you are an adult woman.

I just wish you’d explore them with me.

“Every now and then it’s nice to have an orgasm attached to a pulse that isn’t delivered by a battery,” you deliver, utterly deadpan.

Seb pretends to be mortally wounded by your words, playing dead into the chair next to yours, languidly flopping his limbs around. Oh, how Marcus would like to wipe that stupid smug smirk off his face!

For fuck’s sake, Pike. Why didn’t you sit next to her when you had the chance?

White knuckles wrapped around his nearly empty pint glass, Marcus silently watches as Seb desperately works to get your attention whilst you chat animatedly with Dian and Andy while Kiri downs the rest of his beer. He hasn’t noticed the pretty young woman with bouncing corkscrew curls observing him from amongst her friends on the next table along.

“Hey. You look like you could do with a drink, can I get you one?”

Abruptly removed from his poorly concealed glowering, Marcus raises his eyebrows in surprise at this question, pausing for some time before realising that it was aimed at him.

“Oh, look don’t worry. It was just a silly thought...” the beautifully tight curls go to withdraw from view and return to their friends.

“No, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought,” Marcus offers apologetically, “It’s been a day from hell. Let me get you a drink.”

“Wanted to talk to you as I was a bit concerned that you were about to break that glass with how tightly you were gripping it. Glass is an arse to get out of wounds so thought it better to save your hands before you come visit me in A&E,” she gently proposes, “There are better places to spend Friday nights!”

Welcoming the pretty distraction from his destructive thoughts, Marcus’ cheeks dimple as he nods, “I can imagine. Are you a doctor?”

“Yeah, for my sins,” she amusedly huffs, “And on a rare night out, so shall we go get that drink? I’m Kemi, by the way.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Oh, how you long to rip the makeup from your face! As a child, it had been a form of let’s pretend that turned into a mask to hide behind as a young adult as you experimented with finding your true self. Now, that you are established in your womanhood, you feel no need to add layers to your face other than when you are convinced it would be fun by a fast-becoming firm friend.

When Sebastian made a remark about how pretty you looked with the makeup, it made you want to run to the loo right then and there to claw it from your skin.

And what the ever loving fuck is he doing here? Fucking Sebastian of all fucking people, who you accidentally keep finding yourself fucking. You’d just come around to the idea that it might be ok to occasionally go out with people from work but when they meet people from your everyday life - your home life - that isn’t ok. Especially when that person is just a hate fuck. Great in bed but an odious human being as you can’t be that handsome and a decent person, it seems.

Unless you’re Marcus Fucking Pike.

Who is now grabbing a drink with an absolute goddess of a woman.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint why it had hurt so much when he’d walked off with her but there was such an ache deep in your tummy that could not be ignored. Between that and the appearance of fucking Sebastian, you just want to jump on the 178 home and throw on your jammies, curling up under the shit crocheted throw that you’d made during your leave - more holes than stitches. If it wasn’t for Dian, you would already be on your way there, demolishing something unhealthy from UberEats, glugging a wine or two.

Dian seems to pick up on your drop in mood and decides that it’s time for a trip to the tequila bar. With Andy’s husband now joining your rag-tag gang, you agree to chase some bitter hits of alcohol. As you wind your way among the dancers and drinkers, you see him standing by one of the upturned kegs, laughing at something she has said. You catch his eye, plaster on a smile and send him a wink in the hope that your wish for him to have fun seems genuine.

You sign to him whether he wants a drink but a small shake of his head tells you all you need to know before Dian tugs your hand back in the direction of the bar. Standing in front of the bartender, a moment of sadness washes over you until Kiri passes the salt, Seb licks your hand and the rest of the evening finally takes a softer tone after one, two, three.

The tequila in your tummy makes it hard to concentrate on what Dian and Kiri are chatting about while the three of you curl tipsily upon the comfy cushions as a large fluorescent pink, plastic sign declaring TREAT YO’SELF looms large over your heads. Excusing yourself to the loo, you walk past Marcus - steadfastly refusing any eye contact but ensuring he sees you. As you go to repeat the action on the return journey - not entirely sure as to why you feel the need to seek your boss’s attention - a hand goes to balance you as you walk down the final step.

“Whoa - steady, Nush,” you look up to see Marcus’ concerned face looking down at you.

“Hah! I’m ok. You having a good night?” You ask, your eyes searching his, “She’s truly stunning.”

“Yeah, um, were you guys doing shots?” he enquires, brow still furrowed.

“Yup. It's a really good tequila bar upstairs - should have joined us,” you jab him in the chest with an index finger, “So good that the world just looks like an impressionist painting. All swooshy and a little bit blurry.”

You watch Marcus scratching his neck, “Anyway, what on Earth are you doing here with me? Go get her, idiot.”

“Ah, here you are Bad Idea Puppy- thought you’d fallen asleep on the loo. Although that wouldn’t be the first time would it?” Sebastian brays, stepping between you and Marcus as he grabs your hand to lead you onto the dancefloor. Allowing yourself to be led away, you look back over your shoulder at him, mouthing go get her with a wink as if that would soften the pain that had appeared with her.

The music flows through you - the clearest way to communicate you have ever known- your body rolling and swaying with the sensuality of the music. Sebastian moves effortlessly around you thanks to his mother, who having had only sons, deciding that her youngest would get the dance lessons that she’d hoped the daughter she never had, would take. The two of you vent in movements all of what you could never be said between you or to anyone else aloud. As you twist together under the orange stained hazy night sky, you notice the goddess’ hand on Marcus’ face, stroking his cheek. The poisonous ache returns to your tummy and however your face contorts, causes Seb to pull you closer, cradling your head into his neck. You know how the night will end and the loneliness stings.

✪✪✪✪✪

His mouth bone dry, Marcus awakes fully dressed, on top of the comforter, with a cool bed surrounding him. Reaching for his phone, pulling the charging cable from it, he flicks through messages and emails trying to work out what had happened from when Kemi had left him in the bar to rejoin her friends. Her words still ring in his ears - you didn’t come alone tonight - when she had watched his eyes trace your path out of the market. How he’d initially thought about taking her up on her offer to help him forget, wanting to obliterate last night from his memory and lose himself in her eyes and lips. Her final words to him, cutting him to the core- she must be really special and if she is as special as you think she is, you fight for her.

Bloodshot eyes and deep creases stare back at him from the mirror. More grey. They say that age exchanges beauty for wisdom but they are the same mistakes he keeps repeating. A strangled gasp escapes him as he tries to regulate his breathing, lifting his chin trying to fill his lungs with more oxygen. His shoulders are racked by gut-wrenching sobs and like an overwhelmed dam, the tears spill in hot torrents down his cheeks. Marcus slides onto the floor, allowing the grief to pour forth.

His first marriage was too much, too soon, too young. An art historian and an artist in love with creating and observing beauty until the former decided to change tack after being recruited by the FBI. The long hours of training at Quantico, the subsequent hard days and irregular nights as he worked his way through the ranks of the Art Crime department, wrung the patience from his wife. Gradually growing further and further apart until all that was left were two strangers constantly at odds, her cutting comment about how she felt that he gave her only apathy - never coming to her when she needed help or affection. She hated him for the choices he made - feeling that his work was merely interacting with the meaningless. The law enforcer spent more time at work to hide from the inevitable ending until the artist found someone who appreciated her and the beauty she created.

As for Lisbon. Was she really ever his? Wasn’t he really just a footnote in the Patrick Jane story? The whirlwind romance that progressed and extinguished again at such a heart attack inducing pace, emphasised by that stupid-ass move to DC. Although, if it wasn’t for that move, he wouldn’t be here in London now. Oh yeah. That was out of the skillet and into the fire, Pike. Another excellent career move.

So much love to give and nowhere, no one to give it to. The lessons he has learnt and is still learning but oh, just to find that person with whom you can drop that mask and enjoy togetherness, warmth and serenity.

The side of the bath offers a solid cool support to Marcus as he sits there on the herringbone tiled floor, sobbing into his arms. There is only one voice he needs to hear right now. Grabbing a tissue from the side to noisily blow his nose into, he rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes before putting his glasses on. Phone in hand, he dials the number he knows better than his own name.

The familiar dial tone is like a lullaby in his ear, “Mamá?... Hey! How are you doing?... I’m sorry Mamá - I forgot about the time zone difference... I’m ok, just missing you… It’s just been a long week and... Yeah, London is awesome and I managed a trip to France this week which was incredible to be back there. So weird having so many different countries within such easy reach…Come visit me soon?... Thank you... I miss you… Te quiero mucho Mamá… I’ll ring you in a couple of days. Hasta luego.”

Hanging up, everything feels a bit more manageable and less painful- I wish I could bottle my Mamá’s voice. Hauling himself off the bathroom floor, he turns on the faucet to splash icy water on his face. Sniffing his t-shirt, realising the shower could wait - perhaps a good run to get the endorphins pumping would be his best move. Or perhaps a text to Nush to check what ingredients he’d need to have in for the curry tomorrow?

Stop it, Pike. You’re just fucking torturing yourself.

Opening a drawer, he pulls out basketball shorts, a clean t-shirt and a pair of sneaker socks to throw on, discarding last night’s clothes in a heap by the washing machine.

AirPods in and classic nineties dance anthems to pace himself to, he gives his quads and hamstrings a quick warm up by the front door before it is time to convert the emotional pain into miles.

One of the many things that Marcus loves about London is the constant greenery with every second corner a park or stretching heathland. Texas is so proud of its big sky country status and yet, there are parts of central London where you could lie down and not see anything but skies around you. It is truly hard not to fall in love with such a beautiful, historical and spacious city.

Pounding the pavements towards the park, his feet hit the concrete slabs softly, sending small shockwaves to his brain. Whilst Marcus knows that the power in his thighs could have him across the park in seconds, he savours each step. The precision in his movements is perfect as he takes lungful after lungful of the sunshine filled air. It feels like part of a meditation - a mindful prayer. Dodging around errant dogs and small, clumsy yet terrifyingly aggressive children on scooters, he winds his way through the avenues of trees until he comes across a small lake.

He pauses the thrumming music in his ears to just soak up the tranquility of the moment as he stretches out his limbs. The lake is the kindest of nature’s mirrors, never truly showing exactly what is above, but converting it to an image so beautifully smudgy. The weeping willow stroking its branches elegantly across the skin of the water, the clouds gliding silently above as a host of waterfowl paddle effortlessly through the cool, clear pool, all become a priceless Monet hanging in The National Gallery – all free for the looking. Sure, it is transient, changing by the day - unlike the fixed in a moment of time pieces by the grumpy old Frenchman - but that's what makes it all the more precious.

There’s a family by the water’s edge. Marcus can’t help but be amused by the toddler’s antics as they threaten to jump in and become irritated that they can’t, especially when they have their wellies on. Can’t fault that logic! The older child is gathering sticks to make a “campfire” with their dad - discarding most of their parent’s choices with withering looks and expressive rolls of the eyes. The dark-haired mom, whilst trying to reason with the toddler, is swaying with some sort of baby carrier tied around her - a tiny one clutched tightly to her chest. The infant is virtually invisible from the passes of material, only two tiny socks and its little woolly hat peeking free. A collie is also darting between and around them, rounding up his flock of sheep, taking his role as protector very seriously.

The scene makes Marcus smile as he stretches out his muscles. Whilst he can’t help but watch and yearn for something similar in his life, the mom looks up and over in his direction,

“Are you going to come over and say hi or just be a park weirdo that lurks in bushes pretending to stretch?” a familiar voice curtly teases.

Nush - what the fuck?

“Your face is a fucking picture! Take a breath - these are three of my five niblings - big one is Sophia, middle one that keeps threatening to swim in the pond is Alexa and this little dot is Oscar. As for that blundering idiot, this is Adam, my oldest brother- their dad,” gesturing towards your brother you giggle, creasing up in laughter at the sheer shock then relief on Marcus’ face, “Ads, this is Marcus, my new boss that I told you about.”

The male version of Nush outstretched his palm, offering a sympathetic look, “Hi Marcus, pleasure to put a face to a name. I’m so sorry that you have to put up with my cowbag-of-a-sister at work.”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at the friendly sniping between brother and sister, reminding him of his own teasing relationship with his sisters back home, “Hey! Your kids are beautiful. Oh, you must be Sebastian’s friend - who we saw at Model Market in Lewisham yesterday, Nush?” he questions.

“As much as Sebastian can have friends… Oh Nush, you didn’t, did you?” Adam’s face scrunches in disgust and judging in the way that only a sibling can do.

“No! Not this time,” Marcus loves the speed and vehemence to which you respond to your brother- and enjoys the sheer relief that is now guiltily coursing through his veins, “To give the man his dues, he won’t ever sleep with me when I’ve had too much to drink. Not that I was going to and not that it is any of your fucking business in the first place.” You add jabbing your brother in the softness of his tummy with every word you say.

“Nush, I was gonna text you this morning about tomorrow, if you’re still on to make the curries?” Marcus gently questions, willing you to agree.

“Hah! You’re trusting her to cook?” Adam laughs heartily at the suggestion, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Our mum still won’t let her near the chilli powder now.”

You growl at your brother, “I was a fucking kid at the time! And yes, I am more than happy to come and cook curries- what time suits you for me to come over? They do take a bit of time to make.”

Marcus struggles to hold back a snort of laughter, “Any time is good - and perhaps while they’re simmering, we can have some classic films on in the background?”

“Ah that sounds perfect,” your smile warming every inch of his skin.

“You sound perfect for her,” Marcus catches Adam muttering under his breath, his eyes widening at your brother’s comment.

“Shut your damn cakehole, twatface,” you slap your brother’s arm hard as you grind the words between your teeth, the two of you glaring with a mirror image of your eyebrows raised at each other.

“Um, I’d better continue my run before I cool down too much,” Marcus manages to spit out between the flushes of heat through his skin, “Great to meet you and your family, Adam. Nush, it’s lovely to see you and I’ll catch you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Marcus,” you smile at him before turning back towards your niblings, who are working together to create a den using an old fallen branch.

“I saw you running earlier,” Adam adds, “You’ve got a really good gait - as a physio, it’s great to see someone not destroying their joints. Do you do anything to support your running through cross training?”

“Uh no, but that’s a good idea as I don’t want any injuries. What would you recommend?” Marcus asks, genuinely intrigued and flattered by your brother’s compliment of his running style.

“Speak to Nush - yoga is perfect for stretching your IT bands, which as a man they’re generally always tight and only get tighter with repetitive movements like running or cycling. She’s the yoga queen and will know of a local teacher who can help you,” Adam grins, nodding towards his sister.

“There’s so much I have yet to learn about her,” Marcus shakes his head as he sorts out his headphones.

“Yeah, good luck with that!” Adam laughs as he pats Marcus on the back, “Anyway, enjoy the rest of your run and hopefully see you again soon.”

As Marcus gradually picks up his pace away from you and your family, his heart that had felt so dark and lonely, now feels light and airy. The release valve in his chest is finally loosened and there is a little bubble of excitement in his belly that he allows to build at the thought of tomorrow. The thought of your presence in his apartment, doing something as domestic as cooking, is truly a salve for his soul.

Perhaps he can just make believe until it becomes a reality.

Tag list of glory: @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @lunaserenade @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[pedropascalssimp]

Heyyy, can I request a really angsty Anakin X Female reader with the angst prompts 19 and 20?? Can it be just before Anakin turns so the reader is ruined when he turns but he still cares for her. Thank you 🥰

Yesh you can! Oi this is my first time writing for Anakin Hehehe. Here it is! I hope you like it!

Prompt 19: “I'm leaving” “of course you are, that's all you know to do”

Prompt 20: “did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?”

Warnings: Angst! Sadness! Anakin turning to the dark side. It's short! Possibly horribly written. (I was trying to hurry and get it done and it was spewed out of my mind at 2am so, sorry🙏🥺💕)

Anakin Skywalker x fem reader

whatever Obi-Wan was saying fell to deaf ears, words flying over your head as you simply play with the metal band wrapped around your finger.

You felt the distance between you and your husband, you saw him less and less each pacing day, something you thought was because of the war. You knew he had duties to attend to, he was a general so you knew he was a busy man. But after spending many nights alone in your little apartment, not hearing from him like he had promised you would, you knew it was more than the war keeping him from you. It hurt knowing that somewhere along the way, spending so many days on end away from you, that Anakin had let you go. He hadn't even talked to you in so long, hadn't even let you know if he was alright after returning to your shared home Coruscant after a long period of time. The only thing letting you know he was still alive at all was Obi-Wan.

“Are you alright Y/N?” Obi-Wan spoke more firmly as to grasp your attention. Finally snap out of your sorrowful thoughts and meet the concerned gaze of your friend.

“I'm fine…just, a little stressed is all” you shrug his question off. You weren't fine, you were dying on the inside. Heart slowly being torn apart by the absence of your husband.

The doors to your small apartment slide open, making you and Obi-Wan turn around only to see your husband standing by the now closed door. His blue eyes holding a look you couldn't quite place as they fell on you for the first time in what felt like years. The once loving lively glint in them was replaced with a dark, almost raging look. As if the mere sight of you made his blood boil.

“Anakin, thank the stars you've arrived. I was just telling Y/N here about the —

“Obi-Wan may me and Y/N speak alone?” Anakin never once tore his gaze from you, face displaying no emotion. Lips in a straight line as his usual coy smirk was gone. It concerns you to no end, heart pounding in fear for what's to come.

Nodding ever so politely, Obi-wan bids you goodnight and spares Anakin a small smile on his way out. The doors sliding shut behind the man as you are left alone in the room with Anakin. You stood in the spot you've been standing in since Obi-Wan had come by to discuss something you've already forgotten about, frozen in your place as you suddenly felt like a stranger in his eyes. Anakin slowly walks toward you, hands by his side as his cloak hides them. He only stops when he's directly in front of you, eyes glued to yours.

“It's been a while since we've talked…” Anakin breaks the unbearable silence, voice as soft as you remembered.

You offer him a small smile, the same innocence showing in it that he found entrancing. One of many things he ever loved about you. “It's been forever since I've even seen you” you whisper as tears fill your eyes, a mix of happiness and fear swimming in your eyes.

“I know, it's been hard for me…” he trailed off as a look of conflict shows in the blue eyes you adore. Tongue darting out to wet his lips as he looks to the wall in thought.

“Hard for you!? Ani I've been trying to send you transmissions! Every time I catch a glimpse of you it's as if you run from me. It's been hard on me!” you exclaim as you blink the tears away, voice cracking as you swallow the lump in your throat. You knew that his position in this war left him rather stressed, but that was no excuse for him being so neglectful towards you, his wife.

“Well I'd like to see you contribute to this war! All you do is sit here all day long! While I'm out there trying to at least make progress in this mess!” he raised his voice as anger rolled off of him, something Anakin has never directed towards you before.

His words hurt you, but that doesn't stop you from walking closer to him, reaching a hand out to cup his cheek like you've yearned to do for so long, but he backs away with a clenched jaw. This breaks your heart into a million pieces, chest tight with pain. “Anakin…I didn't mean —

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand, sighing with a shake of his head, frustrated with you obviously. “I'm leaving” he said while looking back into your eyes, the seriousness in them enough to shoot right through your heart. The meaning behind them far more than a "I'm leaving to cool off" kind of leaving, but rather him leaving you… forever possibly.

“Of course you are, that's all you know to do” you huff out as tears fall from your eyes now, he always turns his back on you whenever something like this happens. Leaving you alone to drown in this sorrow, the pain of this failing marriage. You honestly saw a future with him, children… Anakin painted a picture in your head that allowed you to think he would run away with you, give you a family as you grow old together on some backwater planet. Of course though, that was just a dream.

“At least I'm doing something” he growls out as he turns his back on you, going to walk out the door. But your small desperate voice stops him.

“did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?” you sounded broken, voice barely above a whisper as you cry freely. Not caring if your sobs are loud, not caring if someone hears them. But they send hurt spiraling straight into Anakin, breaking his heart. He would ask you to join him, walk by his side through it all. But he couldn't, he couldn't watch you succumb to the darkness as he had…. You were far too innocent and sweet to be brought down this path.

He looks over his shoulder at you, hair falling in front of the scar on his eye. “If I said yes, would you believe me?” he muttered, looking down at his feet. You managed to let a dry laugh slip past your lips, for you knew that nothing could stop him from leaving you now. You saw the way his blue eyes were tented with darkness, the look of a Sith overtaking.

Did you believe him? The part of you that has known him for years thought yes, but the pained, broken part of you thought that perhaps you never stood a chance with the Jedi before you. “I don't know what to believe in anymore Ani” you muttered while slowly sitting on the floor, watching him slip from your fingers like sand. “I love you” it slipped out in a cry, eyes closed as you finally broke down.

It tore his heart in pieces, making this hard for him. But his mind was already made, his path chosen as he would walk it alone. He didn't have the heart to say it back, he didn't want to give you hope that he could stay. So he left, leaving you alone for the last time.

It had broken him far worse than he let on, but when he heard your screams of agony, it only fueled his rage and made him storm away faster. Leaving behind his heart as he took yours with him.

[dancer-me]

Fic Writer Questions

@hopeintheashes tagged me (that was pleasantly surprising, so YAY) as well as anyone who wants to play (so if you want do - just do it!!!) 1) How many works do you have on AO3?

I have nine!

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

106,461! I broke 100,000 on AO3 and didn't notice =O

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

For posted fanfiction, I have written for 5 fandoms at this point. Naruto (this was my early days, around 2007 to 2015, with pretty huge gaps inbetwen), Merlin (oops), High Seas (just the one small fic because Netflix had me angsting hard enough to break my hiatus), and of course 9-1-1 and 9-1-1 Lone Star!

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Express to Nowhere (911 / 911 Lone Star) 2. Giving up Ground (911 / 911 Lone Star) 3. Quarter Life Crisis (911) 4. Pull me Under (911) 5. Coming Soon to a Theatre Near You (911)

5) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I hesitate to say this about a WIP but I'm pretty sure it's going to be Giving up Ground when it's done. Not that it's going to have a sad ending, but that it's part of a continuous series and I already have the next part planned out and partially started (titled "Overdrawn" for anyone interested) so it will leave things feeling hopeful but open-ended, which can be construed as angsty. But really, all my other stories, while they have angst for the most part, have happy endings because I'm a sucker for it. Chaotic Energy is slow burning itself to the happiest of endings.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Hmm... I think it's Coming Soon to a Theatre Near You! This story was just such a fun blast of drama, hijinks, and hilarity, with our two leads getting their love story at the end of it all :) All my completed works have very happy endings, but this one resonates because there really wasn't any angst at all in the whole thing. Just good fun!

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

The only cross-over I have ever written or been compelled to write in my life has been with 9-1-1 and 9-1-1: Lone Star, and that's my Chaotic Energy series. I don't know if it's "crazy", though it's turning out to be crazy long, since my original plan for it was 5 separate one-shots and Captain, that ship has long since sailed. We're deep at sea now, SOS. I love what it's become, though, and I hope everyone who reads it is enjoying the journey :)

8) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Weeeeeeeeell. Here's the thing. I wrote m/f smut back in the day, on ff.net and carried my one shots over to AO3 when I made the move. I'm talking way back in the day - those two "E" stories are dated 2015 but I actually originally posted them in 2011 - TEN years ago!! I haven't written smut since (I'm not counting TK and Carlos getting frisky in chapter 2 of Giving up Ground). It's not that I wouldn't, but that I haven't been inspired and with time somehow I have also become ragingly self-conscious over whether I could still do a good job. My smut has always been emotion based though, as I've never been able to truly go PWP. That said, I'm actively open to and considering some m/m smut for my current fandom. Fingers crossed I don't embarrass myself.

9) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do on all my recent work on AO3 (basically my 9-1-1 and lone star fics that I've written since coming out of hiatus).

10) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not on any of my AO3 work, though I have received hate on my much older work on ff.net to varying degrees of reasonability. So far the AO3 community has been very kind to me! I’ll get some comments where I think readers had hoped I’d go in a different direction, but nothing has ever been too much.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of! Imitation is the greatest form of flattery but also no, stop, don’t do that.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, actually! I wrote my first ever published fic for Naruto called “Stand Alone” back between 2007 and 2011 (took a couple years off in the middle there to, you know, finish high school…) that someone asked me if they could translate into Russian. At the time I thought that was super cool, and it still is, but now I look back at that story and I think oof, now we can cringe at it in multiple languages. (more on that later)

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I’m not opposed to it! I’ve seen some excellent fic partnerships and it’s so great seeing writers leverage the creativity and talents of their friends and peers.

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

Y’know, before 9-1-1, it was Merlin x Arthur, but Buck x Eddie have 110% of my heart and attention now.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

On the topic of Merlin… I started writing “The Quest for the Knife” back in 2015 at the peak of my Merlin fixation after painstakingly planning it out. I have pages upon pages of outlines and notes for a 14 chapter adventure… somewhere. I found a piece of it like an archeological dig when I was moving this pandemic season, but the rest seems lost to time. I’m sad because I had gotten so excited about it and loved my first two chapters, but I don’t think I’ll ever finish it. I might take it down so I can stop wallowing in guilt.

16) What are your writing strengths?

I like to think I write good action / adventure scenes and plot lines, because I love painting vivid pictures of what I see playing out in my head whenever I think through my stories. I like to incorporate subtle (and not so subtle) humour as well in my work, which is born from my very active internal narrator voice as I go through my day-to-day and try to find the humour in everything. I also like to make outlines before all my bigger stories too, which ‘usually’ means I avoid cringey plot holes and can make some fun connections.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

*looks at the camera very seriously* writing convincing smut. Well, that, and the kind of emotional, flirty love and fluff that I love devouring in fics. I don’t think I do nearly as good a job there. Get in a character’s head and angst them up? Sure. Wax poetic in a convincing and not jarring way about how much Character A is in love with Character B without making it seem like it was a bit too much of a leap? Debatable.

Also… I tend to require my readers to suspend a lot of disbelief to enjoy my fics with elements of adventure, because I tend to do exactly 5 minutes of Google research for something before I decide I’ve had enough and go ahead.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Here we revisit the cringe of “Stand Alone,” where I tried in the first half (the 2007 portion) to incorporate Japanese since I watched the anime in Japanese and felt this was the best way to try and have the character’s voices come off the page. It… is really just a big ol’ cringe, because I didn’t know the language, and I definitely didn’t use suffixes right at ALL. So… I tend to avoid it personally because I don’t want to cringe at how wrong my use of other languages is.

But if it fits you, your story, fits your character, and you know the language confidently enough to not embarrass yourself? You do you *carefully side steps around discourse and leaves the room*

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Naruto!

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I think it has to be “Express to Nowhere” these days. It was wanting to write that fic that pulled me out of hiatus and helped me find joy in writing and sharing my work again, and I have nothing but love for it and how it turned out.

Holy Cow I was warned that this level of introspection was going to take a minute but whew this was a good chunk of time. Fun to do and think about though!

Tagging: @221bsunsettowers, @onelonelytortillachip, @blueeyedbuckley and anyone who sees this and thinks, "hey, I have an answer for these questions." Because I am madly curious and would love to see your take!

[my-sherlock221b]

Supernatural Rewatch Ramblings: Wendigo

Wendigo

The long line of the MoTW series in Supernatural starts off with the Woman in White which is fairly well- known legend/ myth in most countries.  Then we get this one next which claims origin from the Native American mythology.

Here is a review of the Wendigo episode with thoughts from me and @soulmates-for-real​

I have always wondered why they were not so inclusive or better at being inclusive as a show. Yes, they did have many women and people of colour in important and strong roles, both positive and negative (though they could have done so much better!). But they steered clear from some of the huge mythology lores like that from Native Americans, Hindu, Latin American cultures. This may have been a wise political strategy to avoid conflict and so they stuck to the Judeo- Christian core but still managed a rather radical take on it!

Spoiler alert:

*God was the final villain?! Who would have guessed? And that the angels were dicks, relentlessly, and demons were in fact ex-humans.*

So back to Wendigo.

What a monster the Wendigo is!! In later seasons when we got only angels and demons and some vampires etc the other monsters were monsters in and of themselves. Like they were born that way—needing to eat human pituitary glands or whatever.

But Woman in White and Wendigo, and even Dead in the Water, or the Shapeshifter --the monster was created by circumstances. Betrayal and infidelity leading to murder suicides, extreme starvation leading to cannibalism and eternal hunger.

Far more terrifying than someone who is born a ghoul perhaps.

So here we are in Wendigo, at the forest/camp site with these fake, charming, rather useless camp rangers who carry M&Ms (nice touch and throwback to E.T. !), don’t wear shorts ( which anyway seems like a weird thing to wear when there is grass and stuff—why would you want to expose your legs?!), can’t see bear traps ( Seriously Dean?! ).

Sam is still restless and bristling at Jess’s death, as well as angry at Dad. All those years of separation do not seem to have given him any peace in his relationship with his father. Now to add massive insult to his already injured sense of self—he has lost his girlfriend in exactly the same way as his father lost his wife—making them even more identical.

So he is cranky and unwilling to give in to any of Dean’s suggestions. He denies his own nightmares, refuses good advice and food and is generally misanthropic. While Dean on the other hand seems to be enjoying this like a happy jolly road trip. The monster is almost like a secondary priority now.

What is most important, (and this becomes even more obvious in a re-watch post finale)—what is THE most important thing is that Sammy is riding shotgun, is in front of his eyes and safe.

Miserable and bitchy but safe.

That allows Dean to dial back a bit and bring into focus what has always been, for him, the really important part of their lives—saving people. This is always more important to him that hunting things. So, when he finds out about someone’s brother being lost and the coordinates match what his dad has left, well there is no choice really.

They have to find a way to save him.

If they find Dad there, well, good, but that is suddenly not a priority for him at all. He turned up at Sam’s doorstep, and as we know from the finale, waited there for HOURS since he was unsure of his welcome, then broke in at 3 am or something like an idiot….but anyway…..all that was because Dad had been away on a hunting trip and hadn’t been home in a few days…blah blah blah.

The first contact Dean makes with Sam who left home to go to college is to recruit him to help find Dad—the same guy who told Sam that if he went away to stay away.

And then suddenly now that Sam is with him, finding Dad is like meh. If we find him somewhere by the wayside while you and I hunt monsters Sammy, then yeah sure, great.

If not…well….we have stuff to do you and I…saving people, hunting things. The family business. 

And John Winchester….well, what can I possibly say about him without taking up pages in ranting?! Why did he ditch the first monster? Why was he in SUCH a hurry to leave that he left his journal behind??

My theory of course is that he had to run away from the Woman in White since he had been unfaithful to Mary ( yes yes I know it had been YEARS at that point, but hello, this man made his life a crusade for revenge and sacrificed his kids’ lives also to that darkness, so…yes, being with Adam’s mother was an infidelity and you can’t change my mind on that !).

So naturally John was afraid he would be killed.

But still….he left coordinates for the next hunt in the journal and just ran off?!

The other question is what the hell is happening in motels across USA? Guys like these can just check- in on fake credit cards, leave a room full of satanic and serial killer-y documents, sometimes dead bodies, lots of salt at the door and windows, and just disappear without checking out….

Though the police do seem quite alert and swift in action in the Pilot compared to some of the laidback and clueless ones we see later.

What is most interesting is to see the character of season 1 Dean emerge.

He sass, he boss, he flirt, he lie, he charm, he fight, he save.

In fact, the very first time I saw Supernatural, it seemed that Dean occupied so much of the narrative space that I barely noticed Sam except as a foil to and a brother to Dean.

Now in the re-watch what is fascinating in retrospect is to watch Sam slide into ‘the life’ without a hiccup. He reads the journal, he figures out it’s a wendigo, he gets the civilians to cooperate, he also fights and saves.

And that look he gives Dean in the car?

Well, those who missed the signs in Pilot and didn’t ship Wincest from day one, surely started doing it then!

https://www.geekgirlauthority.com/supernatural-rewatch-s01e02-wendigo/

This is also the first episode that gives a clear parallel to the Sam and Dean relationship through the B plot. When Haley says she MUST go to find her brother –Dean nods in instant understanding while Sam is pissed off at having to ‘babysit.’

We see this in many more episodes in the future, and what is fascinating is to see Sam gain insights into his brother with every such parallel. To recognize what being the big brother has meant to Dean and how much he has done and given and even suffered for that. We will discuss this in more detail in the next episode review! ( Dead in the Water)

The chemistry and ease, almost a fluid sense of flow between the two actors is unmistakable in this episode. Even as Sam is really being a bitch and Dean is being a jerk, there is a definite undercurrent of something holding them together. It may be all about revenge for Jess’s death and finding Dad for Sam, but he will still stick with Dean and want to protect him as fiercely as Dean wants to protect Sam.

.

Sheila O’Malley has given a detailed explanation for the acting styles of Jared and Jensen and what she said about Jared is spot on and brilliant. He does what she calls active listening.

It is amazing how once you realize that you notice it all the time.

The reason why Dean can manage such perfect comedic timing or non- verbal communication is because Sam is always ALWAYS tuned into him. Listening, watching, reacting, observing.

Once again, for those of you interested in the meta and more erudite and informed reviews that this one 😊 do read what Sheila O’Malley has written.

Here are some excerpts which will entice you!

“David Nutter, who directed the pilot, also directed episode 2, and there’s a new DP here, the phenomenally talented Serge Ladouceur, who is still shooting the show. If the DP for the pilot, Aaron Schneider, helped establish the dark mood and horror-movie feel of the series, then Ladouceur just helped deepen and strengthen that continuum. The look of the show has changed, by Season 9. I would say that it has a more glamorous look now, more colorful, while certainly still very dramatic (even melodramatic). Supernatural is (and has been) one of the best looking shows on television.”

“The ranger comes in to talk to them, and they pose as environmental studies majors at the university in Boulder. Sam says they are “working on a paper”, clearly improvising, and you can watch the glorious schtick of Jensen Ackles as he adjusts to the new information of who he is supposed to be pretending to be. God is in the details, people, and it’s the detailed scene work of both Ackles and Padalecki that keeps this show going. David Nutter referred to Jensen Ackles once as a “meticulous actor” in terms of his preparation for every scene, no matter how small, and it pays off. He knows what the fuck he is doing. So does Padalecki. I couldn’t give two shits about the demons. It’s that DYNAMIC that is so entertaining and watch-able.”

 .

And here are some thoughts on the episode from @soulmates-for-real, my partner in crime for the rewatch 😊

Except the fact that Sam is quite secretive about his nightmares but his body language is quite open and his expressions easy to read. On the contrary, I saw Dean posturing a lot with other people, pouting, flirting, making eyes...trying to be all nonchalant. But when it comes to Sam we see a different Dean - the more antsy and angsty Sam gets, the more intensely Dean reacts to him and you can see Dean's concern shining through. Leading to Sam coming to some kind of resolution and giving Dean 'that look' at the end! 

[duxhess-kryzewan]

If you are still taking prompts... how about Obi-Wan and Satine at a Senate gala or something and there are a lot of stolen stares and secret touches and our Jedi Master tries to stop himself because he tells himself he can't do that again, he's not a padawan anymore. But then Satine goes somewhere more private and he follows and they basically give into their feelings then and after a passionate angsty make out they leave together. (Basically angsty pining with a bit happy end?)

- illicit affairs - 

If he were being honest, the entire affair was nothing more than for show, something that he had continuously told Anakin though the younger man didn't seem to care in the slightest. He insisted it they attend, rattling off some unconvincing speech about the positive light it would shed on the appearance of the Jedi in the eyes of the galactic republic now that they were no longer fighting in a war and how it had nothing to do with a certain Senator from Naboo attending.

Regardless, he relented, more to keep an eye on Anakin than because he actually thought them showing up would do much for the public opinion of the Jedi. It was nice to not have to worry about imminent death for an evening now that the there had been peace proclaimed throughout the galaxy, even if the entire function was strictly ornamental. Besides, someone had to make sure that Anakin and Padme weren’t being too obvious with what they still thought was a secret affair, 

All in all, it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be.

That was, until he caught sight of her.

How he hadn't realized that she of all people would be there he would never know. It was a peace summit, for force sake. In any other scenario should would be the one heading it, with her glittering blue dress and jewel woven hair. 

"Master Kenobi."

A chill rushes down his spine at the sound of his name coming from her.

"Duchess."

Satine smiles warmly, "How nice it is to be here and see you not as adversaries in a grueling war, but as allies once again."​

She sips her champagne and he swallows thickly.

"You and I have always been allies."

"Oh of course," She says with a sly grin, "I'd even go as far to say we were a far bit more than allies, wouldn't you?"

He spares a glance to the crowd around them, and while it seemed that no one was listening in on their conversation, he knew there were ears everywhere amongst the republics citizens and higher officials and was rather thrown off by how openly she was hinting at their past relationship. Surely if the war hadn’t been his undoing her words might be. 

"Would I?" He asks.

She bats her eyes innocently, "We're friends, are we not?"

Oh yes, she would certainly be the death of him.

"Of course we are."

Where this newfound bravery came from, he doesn't know, but it's so unexpected that when she reaches forward and smooths down the front of his robes all he can do is freeze.

"A pleasure to see you as always, Master Kenobi."

And with that she turns, fading into the crowd and despite how wildly inappropriate it was (downright scandalous, really) he couldn't tear his eyes off of her, even as she made her way through groups of senators and socialites alike. And it seemed she couldn't look away either, because every time he caught sight of her she was already looking back at him.

So it became a silent game, with the two of them shuffling around the room in a forbidden dance of distance, socializing with whoever crossed their path. But she was always there, watching him watch her as she politely turned down advances of drunk senators and chatted giddily with Padme. Why he ever lets Anakin talk him into anything, he'll never know. The younger Jedi may have flagrant disregard for the rules of no attachment, but he wasn't one to follow the same trend even with Satine here.

Not anymore, at least.

A hand brushes gently against his arm; how had she managed to sneak up on him like that? His thoughts were getting the best of him, never would he be so distracted under any normal circumstance but there she was, pulling his mind in a million different directions. He had been so distracted by his own thoughts that he didn't realize she was passing by him until he felt her skin against his.

"Someone's feeling rather bold." He mutters to himself. ​Never would he have guessed that she would be the one to so dangerously flirt with him in the presence of anyone else. Satine was nothing if not a figure of propriety and decorum. Never has she been one to tip toe along the lines of something so illicit as running the risk of exposing...whatever it was that they were.

He sees Anakin chatting happily with Bail Organa and Padme, Ahsoka standing at his side with a pleasant smile on her face. It seemed that the young Padawan was also roped into attending like he was. How lucky she is not to be weighed down by the threat of exposing a less than acceptable relationship with a diplomatic figure. Not that Anakin seemed to be carrying that too heavily; the young man seemed more than happy to hold what should be a hefty burden.

In another life perhaps Obi-Wan would have been able to do the same; love Satine in tandem with his devotion to the order. But that was not the choice that they made.   

Out of the corner of his eye the flash of Satine's blue gown catches his attention as she slips silently through one of the rooms exits. A brief glance at the time lets him know that it's much too soon for the party to be over, and he knows that she wouldn't be headed back to Mandalore prematurely. She had complained to him more than once about never having enough time to secure enough diplomatic allies for her planet.

And he knows its a bad idea, a horrible idea really, to make his way towards the same exit. And he knows its an even worse idea to actively feel out through the force to find her exact location, because that's truly a choice that he can not return from, but he does anyway.

The building the summit had been arranged in was one of the older ones found in the city; built when the civilization there had first been established. He never saw much use for it within a warring galaxy, there were too many lives being lost outside for anyone to ever consider holding something frivolous as an over glorified party, but here they were, and it seemed that Satine was more than enticed by the primitive designs of the corridors and all that they hold. Not that he can blame her for taking a break to wander, he more than anyone gets tired of the false niceties and stuffy atmosphere that politicians seem to carry with them.

"The festivities not lively enough for you?" He says. If she was unaware of his presence she showed no sign of surprise when he spoke.

"Drunken Senators and war torn socialites do tend to drain a person after a while, and I'm no use to anyone if I'm stuck fending off advances from entitled men instead of securing our independence from our adversaries. Even now I have to resort to talking my way into making political allies instead of just being allowed to rule my planet unbothered."

He chuckles. It was true, though he suspects that she was well versed in the art of talking her way in and out of any conversation.

"Valid point," He concludes, "Such is a prime example of why I don’t like to get involved with politics. Though I am glad you were able to attend. I'd rather it not be years in between us seeing each other again like last time."

There's something both soft and wicked swimming around in her eyes and it both excites and terrifies him.

“I miss you terribly some days,” She admits, “Seeing you brings me a great deal joy, I admit.”

“Me too.”

Looking back, he's not entirely certain who made the first move. He would like to say it was her, and that he had the self restraint not to initiate something so scandalous and code breaking, but he would be lying if he said he was certain it wasn't him. But the end result was still the same, with his hands clinging desperately to her waist and her fingers tangling in his hair. It had been so long since someone had touched him so lovingly and while somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear a voice screaming at him for going against the code he holds so dear, every other sense within him didn't care in the slightest.

"I'm here until tomorrow evening," she whispers breathlessly against his lips, kissing him again before continuing, "Don't leave me tonight, please."

How could he deny her anything? All he’s ever done was leave her in the past; how could he ever take such a simple request away from her?

He grips her hip bones between his hands and pulls her closer to him, his lips dipping down to her exposed neck and the contact produces a contended sigh from her and he wonders how a single sound can fill him with so much warmth. It unlocks a newfound happiness he didn’t know was possible just by knowing he’s the one making her feel this way.  

He kisses her neck one, two, three times before trailing back up to her cheek, pausing to whisper lovingly in her ear, "I wouldn't dare."

[fangirlandiknowit101]

Maybe or maybe not a Naruto/Charsuke hook up mini drabble?🤷‍♀️😅Just thinking how that wouldve happened, i cant stop thinking ab it since then

I finally had time to write it! Tbh i couldn’t stop thinking about it either heh. As for mini drabble, it ended up over 2,000 words 😂 Hopefully you like it 🙏

Rated: M (no full smut, but also they’re kinda in a public place...)

It’s not precisely written to fit in with tswm canon, but it probably works if you squint a little. Set somewhere between Menma breaking up with Charasuke and Naruto and Sasuke getting together. I didn’t have a lot of notes on what i’d planned in that original outline, but enough to figure it was probably supposed to be angsty. So, it’s probably more sad than sexy 😅

                                                          -------

He’s not sure if he should be surprised or not, finding Naruto sitting at the edge of the small dock by the lake. It’s his thinking spot, and he’d come here to curse Menma’s name. Finding his copy wasn’t precisely in his plans.

Sasuke is nowhere to be seen. He hesitantly joins him, pausing behind his shoulder to stare out over the water. He can’t see much with evening fast approaching, no moonlight brightening things, the light from nearby buildings too faint to help. There’s a faint breeze, barely disturbing the surface. Naruto’s got his arms wrapped around his knees, folded against his chest. He looks morose, sort of, not really acknowledging his presence.

“I’m not your Sasuke,” Charasuke greets him with, just in case.

“Obviously,” Naruto mutters, though he doesn’t explain why it’s obvious, considering he hasn’t once looked back at him.

“This is my spot.”

“You can survive without it for a bit longer.”

Heaving a sigh, Charasuke sits down beside him. The water is too cold to dip his feet in, and he wrinkles his nose at it.

“I heard your conversation earlier,” he says, rather than disagree that he really shouldn’t have to give up his spot to Naruto of all people. “Guess you’re not actually together, huh?”

“I don’t want to hear that from you.” Naruto hunches his shoulders even more, tucking his chin into his chest. “At least we didn’t break up.”

It stings, more than it should. A vindictive part of him is pleased to find out that Naruto and Sasuke aren’t the happy couple he assumed, but Naruto looks as awful as he feels, and it drains any urge to snap back out of him.

“Sucks to be us,” he sighs instead, picking at a loose thread on his pants. “I bet he’ll come around, though. You two seem really close.”

Naruto snorts, a self-deprecating sound. Something even sadder, if that’s even possible, passes over his face.

“It wouldn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t ended up here,” he mumbles.

“What, it’s our fault you’re now gay and pining?”

Eyes narrowing, Naruto says nothing.

“I don’t think travelling through dimensions turns you gay all of a sudden.”

“I’m not gay.”

Charasuke gives him a deadpan stare. Oh sure you’re not.

“Gay enough to have feelings for him.”

A groan escapes Naruto’s throat, and he lies back to stare up at the darkened sky, running his fingers through his hair viciously. Charasuke turns to look down at him, palm flat against the rough wooden planks separating them from the water below.

“How do you even know that?” Naruto finally asks, exasperated.

“It’s obvious.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

There’s a few moments of silence, and then Charasuke huffs, lying down as well. Despite how exposed this spot it, there’s something so calming about the quiet. Few people pass by the road behind them, and the sunsets are sometimes spectacular enough that he forgets to breathe.

At the moment, breathing is all he can do.

“I wish I hadn’t realized,” Naruto breaks the silence with. “I don’t know why I’m even telling you this.”

“Well, I’m not going to judge you.”

Naruto tilts his head, looking at him. He searches his face, as if Charasuke has ever had the answer to anything.

“At least Menma liked you back.”

“At least Sasuke still cares about you.”

They glare at each other, because any other look would have been too soft, too understanding. He’s so similar to Menma, like this. It would be easy to reach out, to roll over on top of him, to pretend for a moment in the dark.

What is there to stop him, really?

“Do you want to forget?” he asks, pushing up on an elbow. “You pretend I’m Sasuke, and I pretend you’re Menma.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Naruto says, rolling his eyes. There’s something not quite so dismissive in his eyes, though. “You’re nothing like Sasuke.”

“I’m close enough,” he argues, shuffling closer. “I bet I’m better at this, anyway.”

Frowning, Naruto doesn’t move, even when he pushes up to hover above him.

“Better at what?”

He smiles, just this side of devious. Naruto may not be Menma, but he’s got his own appeal. Charasuke won’t feel bad for being attracted to him, not if Menma is so hell-bent on getting rid of him.

“Kissing, for example.”

Naruto blushes bright red, unexpectedly. He quickly turns his head away, crossing his arms.

“Aww, you’re so easy to tease. Is this the first time a guy has offered to kiss you?”

“Shut up and die,” Naruto hisses, still stubbornly turned away from him. “As if I’d kiss you.”

He leans closer, lips brushing over his ear. Naruto shivers at the touch.

“I’m still Sasuke,” he breathes against his skin, lifting fingers to trace the line of his jaw. He’s wearing that ugly jumpsuit, neck mostly covered by the collar. “And I could make you feel so good, Naruto.”

He doesn’t entirely expect the way Naruto bites his lip against a moan, or the way he shifts awkwardly. He’d only meant to tease, really, but the thought of going through with his offer is tempting. He wouldn’t mind peeling the orange fabric off, slowly, licking and tasting the revealed skin.

“You’re a pervert,” Naruto accuses, but there’s no heat behind his words. “I’m not going to do anything with you!”

Unable to help a small grin, Charasuke bites gently at Naruto’s earlobe, hand sneaking underneath the hem of his sweater. He splays his fingers over Naruto’s stomach, feeling his warmth, the shortness of his breaths.

“Well, I’m sure you could easily throw me off if you wanted to,” he says, kissing the spot underneath his ear before leaning back up to meet his eyes. “Or, you could try out all those things you’d like to do to him, and no one will ever know.”

Ah, there it is. Conflict. A rush of something runs through his body – anticipation, maybe? He’s got no particular feelings for Naruto, aside from how unfair it is that he’s so hopelessly devoted to his own Sasuke that something breaks inside him to see it.

“I won’t tell,” he continues, leaning down, mouths just barely touching. Naruto’s eyes are wide, his body tense. Charasuke slides a leg over his hips, caging him in. “I wouldn’t want you to tell anyone, either.”

Naruto swallows. Charasuke feels it underneath his hand, caressing the sensitive skin on his throat. There’s a mess of emotion playing over Naruto’s face, lips parted to breathe heavily.

“I think you want me.”

Naruto doesn’t deny it.

“Well?”

Slowly, Naruto reaches up, fingers combing through his hair. He touches his face, hesitantly. His cheekbones, his nose, traces the shape of his eyebrows. Like he can hardly believe he’s allowed.

“Sometimes, you look so much like him,” he says, voice thick with unnamed emotion. “When you’re just looking at me, like this.

“It bothers you.”

It’s not a question.

“Yeah.” Naruto pauses, wetting his lips. “You both always say what you think, but the things you think about are so different…”

He smiles, a quick quirk of lips. He doubts Sasuke has ever been plagued with self-doubt and heedless anxiety. Or, more importantly, ever considered seducing his ex-boyfriend’s alternate dimension copy just to try and cope with reality.

“Care to guess what I’m thinking right now?”

His smile widens as Naruto huffs, cheeks still red. Before he can think better of it, he dips his head down, pressing a quick kiss to Naruto’s lips. There’s a sharp intake of breath, but Naruto doesn’t move, hand suspended mid-air.

“Again?” he asks, only half-mocking. It’s directed more at himself, anyway. “I’ll kiss you as many times as you like.”

Naruto makes a noise, something small and desperate. His hands grab for him, twisting in his hair and pulling him down, Charasuke easily following. He lets his weight drop onto Naruto, forearms holding him up enough to angle his mouth over Naruto’s.

They meet in a rush of exhilaration, mouths colliding with too much force. It’s easier to kiss him than he’d thought. It’s familiar and strange at the same time; the taste is the same, the shape, the sounds he makes. But there’s a strange feeling to it that makes all the difference in the world.

They kiss hungrily, sloppily, with no finesse or care for technique. It’s not about enjoying things – it’s about forgetting, about pretending.

It’s about something they might never have.

And he wants, that’s the problem. He’s got Naruto underneath him, his body just the same as he rolls his hips down, his moans at the friction identical. His eyes, too expressive. Charasuke closes his, keeps them shut as he kisses Naruto’s jaw and throat, tugging impatiently at the zipper on his jacket. He needs more, but knows it won’t be enough.

Naruto’s hands drag up and down his back, pushes underneath his shirt. There are goosebumps all over his arms, maybe from the cold, maybe from pleasure. His hands are so warm, but they hesitate. They don’t know his body.

“Come on,” he mutters, to himself or Naruto, he’s not sure. “Just– come on.”

Finally, Naruto lets his legs spread wider, wraps his arms around him until they’re pressed together too tight. It’s better like this, breathless with pleasure, giving up on the zipper halfway down and instead cupping Naruto’s cheeks too kiss him deeper. His thumbs dig into his cheekbones, holding him in place. It works on Menma, and it works on Naruto, too. He squirms and bucks his hips, letting Charasuke suck on his tongue until he’s satisfied. They’re probably too loud, out here in the open, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Naruto gasps for air when he releases him for a moment, groaning as Charasuke bites at his lower lip. He dares take a look at him, face flushed, eyebrows knitted together as if afraid to let go. He’s much more pliant than Menma, scrunching up Charasuke’s shirt as he clutches at his back and waits.

“You like it,” he says, voice low and rough with pleasure. “Tell me you like it.”

He shouldn’t, but he can’t help it. Naruto’s eyes flutter open, colored dark in the lack of daylight. He draws in a shaky breath, licking his already wet lips.

“No,” he says.

It’s more of a challenge than denial, and a heady rush of arousal courses through Charasuke’s body. He grins, slowly, watching Naruto torn between being uncomfortable with the unfamiliar sight and turned on at what the smile implies.

He pushes back, sliding down Naruto’s body until he’s level with his crotch. There’s an incredulous look on Naruto’s face, his nerves showing in the way his eyes flicker between Charasuke’s mouth and the obvious bulge in his pants as he props himself up on his elbows.

“I-“ he starts, then clamps his mouth shut.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Charasuke asks him, raising an eyebrow.

He’s probably not doing a good job of acting like Sasuke, but Naruto still shivers.

“Yes,” he whispers, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back, choking down a moan as Charasuke all but rips his pants open.

It shouldn’t be strange but it is, that their dicks look the same. And isn’t it sad, that he knows exactly what Menma’s dick looks like? He chases the thought out of his head. Instead he licks a stripe up the length of it, holding back a snort as Naruto’s hips twitch in surprise.

“Relax,” he murmurs, and then wastes no time as he wraps his fingers gently around it and swallows it in one go.

“Fuck!” Naruto whisper-yells, gripping at Charasuke’s hair as he hollows his cheeks and suck.

Flattering, but he winces as the grip tightens. Easing back up, he levels Naruto with a glare, pointedly taking hold of his wrist and tugging at it until his fingers relax around his hair. Naruto is hardly apologetic, too busy breathing with his mouth open, back arching as Charasuke swirls his tongue around the head of his cock. It’s exhilarating how responsive he is, as if he’s never been touched like this. Maybe he hasn’t.

It doesn’t take long at all. He barely has time to get into the rhythm of it, bobbing his head up and down, one hand stroking Naruto’s hipbone, the other teasing the exposed skin around the base of his cock and softly massaging his balls. He knows precisely what Menma likes, and Naruto is no different in that aspect it seems. There’s a harsh tug at his hair and a broken version of his name, and then Naruto spills into his mouth, legs trembling as he finishes.

He avoids looking at him, sitting up and wiping at his mouth. Instead he looks out over the water again, ignoring the throbbing of his own dick, hard and straining against his pants. It would have been nicer if the sky was open, with stars winking comfortingly at them.

Naruto puts his clothes back in order, fumbling and cursing under his breath. He doesn’t offer to return the favor.

It’s probably for the better.

[jehaatiade]

:,) a humble ask for hc’s for Din, Ezra, and Javier admitting they love you in an angsty situation :,)

This took me hours but it came together so well! Thank you for the wonderful prompt!

Din:

he has mixed feelings about taking you along on bounties. you’re the rare combination of a talented bounty hunter and a person who’s never tried to cheat him.

but on the other hand… the possibility of coming back from a hunt without you makes something deep in his chest ache.

you make him laugh. you like him, but you’ve never pushed him to take off his helmet. you make the Razor Crest and the flight time between planets seem more alive.

he’s kissed you. more than once. but only as a Mandalorian, the cold beskar of his helmet against your forehead. he doesn’t know if you understand what that means.

the two of you are on a nameless dump of a moon where the grey salt flats are studded with wreckage from a space battle, tracking a pirate with a hefty bounty on his head, when it happens.

you get a single glimpse of the pirate before there’s a hail of blaster bolts headed in your direction. you both take cover, and the Mando uses terse field signs to lay out his plan: you go right and flush him out. i’ll go left and take him down.

the plan does not come together nicely. in fact, the plan does not come together at all.

the mark is harder to scare than you expected, and by the time you’re in range to force him out from behind his cover, you’re close enough that he can grab you.

it’s a little embarrassing, honestly. you haven’t been in a choke-hold with a blaster to your head since you were sixteen and stupid.

“Let her go,” the Mando says. despite the anger in his tone, his voice is even and his aim doesn’t waver. you’ve admired that rifle since the first time you saw it: the faint iridescence of its prongs, the elegant curve of its stock, the meticulous modifications to its forestock. you’ve never had it pointed at you before.

“Of course, my friend,” the pirate says. “Because I have survived this long by being incredibly foolish. No, she is coming with me. If you ask nicely, I may even leave her in one piece once I reach my ship. If you try to interfere…”

he makes a nonchalant who knows? gesture, and for a second the barrel of his blaster isn’t pressed against your head.

you haven’t been sixteen and stupid for a long time. the heel of your boot comes down on his instep with as much force as you can muster, and when his hold weakens, you drive your elbow back into his nose.

the pirate crumples into a groaning heap at your feet. the Mando lowers his rifle. you make a show of dusting off your hands, because no one has ever accused you of lacking a sense of drama.

it looks like the Mando wants to say something - you can see it in his posture - but he doesn’t, so you fill the silence. “Don’t tell me you were worried, Mando,” you tease. “Like you’d miss me bouncing around the Crest’s cargo hold making a mess every time we go somewhere. You just love having me around.” 

you’re not expecting him to reply, so you take the binders off your belt and bend to cuff the pirate. when you straighten, the Mando is right next to you.

“Yes,” he says. “I was worried. Yes, I would miss you. Yes. I love you.”

for once, you’re speechless, so you just watch your smile grow in the reflection of his visor. then you lean just a little bit forward, closing the gap and pressing your forehead to his.

(and then the pirate at your feet snickers, and you kick him in the ribs.)

Ezra:

taking this job has been one of your worst decisions to date. and of course, you did it because Ezra talked you into it.

“An absolutely unprecedented adventure, little bird!” he’d said. “A moon still molten from the fires of creation, spitting up gems like a baby with a colic? The harvest will be unparalleled; with the right gear, we will stroll through the lava fields collecting Niobe’s roses as easily as if we were berry-picking.”

it is, of course, not that easy.

calling the Red Moon molten is not an affectation; its broken crust oozes lava like a slow-clotting cut. you’re here for rhodoniobium, beautiful silver blooms that appear on the surface of the lava flows. it isn’t difficult to use the nets and poles to retrieve Niobe’s roses. what’s hard is staying alive while you do it. miners die in ugly ways every single day, and they’re rarely mourned.

liquid water is a thing of fantasy down here, for the most part, and everyone is forced to return to the base camp at Kīpuka when they run out. that’s where the two or you are headed when you get separated.

you’ve been examining plutonic rock formations since you arrived, looking for evidence of pegmatite mineral inclusions: rubies, sapphires, emeralds and other beryl gems. sure, they don’t sell for as much as Niobe’s roses, but you’ve never been able to resist sparklies. 

Ezra usually indulges you, but in this case, he’s been looking forward to a bath for two weeks. so when you stop to chip a sample from a smooth dome of granite, he keeps walking. you don’t think anything of it, figuring you’ll catch up to him, until a sharp “Shit!” comes through over the comm.

“Are you all right?” you ask, quickly starting to pack up your tools.

“Hardly the finest way to introduce oneself, taking pot-shots at innocent passersby,” Ezra says, his voice fuzzy with distance. “If you have had your entertainment, I would be much gratified to be permitted to pass.”

you abandon your tools and set out after him at a run as a much younger man says “This is our gorge, and if you want to pass through to Kīpuka, then you’re going to have to pay our toll.”

“I am always enthusiastic to participate in the civil preservation of infrastructure, have no doubt,” Ezra assures the men who you suspect are holding him under rails. “My partner is a ways behind, and she is carrying our meager pickings. You’ll allow me to contact her and request her presence?”

a grunt of agreement, and a short pause, before Ezra’s voice comes through more clearly on your private channel. “May I assume you’ve been listening, little bird?”

“Yeah,” you pant. your lungs are starting to burn, and you’d be tempted to throw off your heavy insulating gear if you didn’t know that the average air temperature around here is high enough to bake bread. “How many?”

“Four. Alas, more than I feel confident dispatching alone.”

“Almost there. I’ll come in over the ridge. Be ready to draw.”

“I always am.” there’s a pause, and at first you think he’s finished. then your comm crackles again. “If this goes wrong, little bird-”

“Don’t,” you say, because it feels like bad luck.

“I love you. Most ardently. If I die here, then I die happy to have known you.”

the only thing you can say is “Damn it, Ezra.” because you can’t wipe the tears from your eyes, and that’s going to make shooting these bastards just that little bit more difficult. he laughs softly, and clicks back to the public channel.

Ezra chats away with the bandits, distracting them with that awful anecdote about the channelrats while you close the last small distance to the ridge above the gorge. you crawl to the edge, thrower rifle cradled in your arms, and take a sniper’s position.

“I’m almost there,” you say over the public channel. “Is everything all right?”

“Of course, little bird.” You can’t see Ezra’s smile, but you can hear it in his voice. He’s ready.

it goes very quickly, as most gunfights do: you push a stone over the edge to start a small rockslide, the bandits turn toward the noise, and you shoot the two men lounging in the shade while Ezra shoots the two standing in front of him.

“Ezra? You know what?” you ask once the bodies have hit the ground.

“What?”

“In spite of the fact that you have damned awful timing, I love you, too.”

Javi:

as Javier yells at you, you wonder idly if Murphy can hear you upstairs. “You could’ve been killed!”

“Just because you couldn’t have made it out of there, doesn’t mean I couldn’t!”

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he hisses, stepping closer.

you shove him back. “It mean you strut around Colombia flashing your badge and shooting sicarios like that’s what you get paid for! You’ve got Kiki Camarena keeping you safe. You know what I’ve got? A fucking press pass! If my cover’s blown, I get auctioned to the highest bidder and tortured to death!”

“Which is exactly why you should know better than to go sniffing around Escobar’s planes!”

“I don’t tell you how to do your goddamned job, Javi! Don’t you try and tell me how to do mine!”

Javi snarls and digs the packet of cigarettes out of his breast pocket, tossing it carelessly on the couch once he extracts one.

“You’re upset because I could’ve died?” you ask derisively as he lights his cigarette. “Let me tell you something. You, breaking in guns drawn because you think you’re rescuing me, are a lot more likely to get me killed than any mistake I could make.”

“Shut up,” he growls. he won’t look at you as you move closer.

“What is your problem? If this is still about those papers on the guerrillas-”

he shakes his head and turns away. you fucking hate it when he does this, pulling away from an argument rather than just fighting it through to the end.

“Then what?” you demand. if he’s going to disengage, then maybe you need to hit the right buttons to make him change his mind. “Don’t tell me you’re pissed off because you’ve finally realized I really am a better operator than you-”

“Because I love you!”

Javi’s outburst startles you, and you take a step back without thinking about it. he sighs, the tense lines of his shoulders going lax, and turns to face you again.

“Because I love you,” he says more softly. “Because I don’t know what to do without you any more, and that scares me more than any narco son of a bitch. Because I can’t even imagine what I would do if you were killed. Just the thought makes me feel sick.”

“Javi…” you whisper.

he shakes his head to stop you. “You want to know why, every time you come here, I ask you how your articles are doing? It’s because I have this-” he huffs out a helpless laugh. “- idiotic, ridiculous fantasy that one day, you’ll do so well that you’ll leave the agency and actually be a journalist for a living. And you’ll come and live with me, and I won’t have to wonder if you’re dead every time you go longer than a week between calling me.”

“Javi,” you say again. when you take the cigarette from his loose grasp to put it down in the ashtray, he raises his hand to rub his knuckles against his eyes. “You’re right. Part of your fantasy is ridiculous.”

“Only part, huh?” he doesn’t quite manage to make his sarcastic smile look sincere.

“Yeah. The part where you don’t seem to realize that all you have to do is ask.” you cup the strong angle of his jaw and lean in, almost nose to nose. “All you have to do is ask.”

“Why would you want to stay with me?” he asks. “I’m an asshole. I work too much. I’d just make you sick of me.”

“Because I love you,” you say, and kiss him.

[imaginesmai]

Peter Parker-Peter’s Tingle

Requested by anon! Angst alphabet letter B with fluffly ending! Although is not really angsty! I hope you like it!!

Plot: Peter’s tingle must always be trusted; through the good and bad.

Warnings: pregnant!reader, pregnancy problems (sightly), giving birth. Let’s pretend Peter’s 18 for this fanfic! ALWAYS WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT

Cravings were weird, and yours were definitely the weirdest of them all. You were sure of it when, at eleven thirty of the night, you were walking down the aisle of a store that was fifteen minutes away from your house just because of those snacks that you used to have as a child. Walking into the store and greeting the old man in the front, you looked around until you spotted what you came in there for. They were ordered by colours, the weirdest flavours displayed in front of you. You smiled at the thought of shoving a bunch of them in your mouth, and you almost clapped. While you were picking as much of them as you could in your arms and balancing them in your pregnant belly, you thought about him.

Probably, it would have been a good idea to tell Peter.

Peter, your boyfriend and the father of your child. Peter, the super hero of Queens that fainted when you went to the bathroom on the cinema two weeks ago. Peter, who didn’t know where you were and probably was coming back from patrol in a few minutes. Yeah, it seemed a pretty stupid idea, coming down all the way to the store when your boyfriend is fucking spiderman and could just swing there.

But he had left the toilet seat up once more and you didn’t want to deal with him. Not when you knew you would melt with his cute brown eyes and his innocent self.

Arms full of snacks and weird things, you walked back to the counter; only to stop by the third aisle, where the baby section peaked. You were over the 7th month of the pregnancy, yet you had decided to keep the gender of the baby a secret. It was Peter idea, who wanted to surprise everyone with the little bundle. He liked to have arguments with Tony, saying that it would be a boy, smarter than Tony that would make the most incredible suit the world had ever seen. To what Tony proposed to create a bubble paper room in the tower just for the baby.

It had been an accident. The unsafe sex, the pregnancy, the baby. Yet you knew that Peter and you would love that kid, either if it was a girl or a boy. Shuffling through the clothes, you tried to pick gender neutral ones when your phone rang. The annoying tone of Spiderman, does whatever a spider can started sounding, and thank God it was so late and there wasn’t anyone around.

“Hey babe” you answered, putting on a happy smile even if he couldn’t see you.

“Y/N! Thank God you’re alive. I-I came from patrol, and I didn’t see you. Thought you would be over Tony’s? But he hadn’t seen you either. S-so I got a bit, uh, worried?”

“I’m fine, just needed a quick run to-where are you?”

In the background, you could hear strange sounds. At first, they seemed a machine working, yet the more you focused, the farther the sounds were from being that. You sighed when you realised that it was Peter’s swinging by the buildings, the metallic suit colliding with the air.

“Peter, you better not be talking while swinging.”

There was a pregnant pause, where Peter could only keep silence shamefully; but he didn’t stop. You left the yellow onesie on its place and turned back to pay for all your items; apart from the snacks, two Spiderman’s plushie and a sippy cup themed like captain America.

“I swear, this stress is bad for the baby”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking though” a new voice interrupted the conversation, your eyes widening. “Hey Y/N. How’s it going?”

You let your mouth fall open when Tony’s voice came through your phone, and had to tighten your arms around the products to keep them from falling. Your adoptive father had been against the relationship since you had known Peter, and actually made the show of chasing Peter around New York with his ironman suit. Your mother, Pepper, and you had to stop him before it actually got bad.

When he found out you were pregnant, Peter ended up unconscious in the med bay and, once more, your mother and you had shouted to hell and back. Now, seven months later, Tony Stark and Peter Parker made the best team in keeping Y/N Potts away from danger; danger being opening a can by yourself or doing some shopping.

“I can’t believe your brought him into this, Pete” you said, half angry half i-knew-it-would-happen. “I thought we said no more Tony in your paranoias! His old heart can’t handle it!”

“Hey, I heard that!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry Y/N, but my senses kept bugging me and I’m really worried. And-then I called Tony, to ask him if you were with him, you know I can’t lie to him!” Peter rushed out, actually afraid of what you might do against him. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay, good. Good” you rubbed your eyes slowly, suddenly dying for a warm bed. Was it you, or it was too cold in that shop? Damn the hormones and the cravings. “I just want to go home, I’m really tired. I don’t care anymore, just be here quickly”

“Minutes away, Y/N. Promise”

You decided to sit in ones of the chairs that was exposed on the shop. It was a weird shop, that sold too many things. But it felt amazing to have somewhere to sit. Peter insisted in keeping on the line while he got there, and something in his voice made you reconsider your quick nap and hum in approval. Then, he began talking about his patrol and about how he almost broke his leg rescuing a lost kitten.

Tony made the occasional appearance, adding some snarky remark or just making sure you were okay. It didn’t worry you that he was so overprotective; they always were. Teen pregnancy was always a risk. From school, to people and social media, to health problems. A lot of things could go wrong in a teen pregnancy.

Minutes passed and, before you knew it, you heard the owner of the shop gasp in surprise. A male voice called your name, and you answered half-heartedly, almost ready to fall asleep there. From where you were sitting, you saw Iron Man impressive suit peeking over the shelves, and calling with one hand to a small figure, who ran to your side in seconds.

“Hey” Peter’s soft voice made you smile, and soon his fluffy locks welcomed you.

Peter kneeled on your right, his suit covered hand resting on your thigh and squeezing it carefully. He had bags under his eyes and a tired smile adorning his face. His locks were all over the place, still not used to the new mask Tony had gave him. You couldn’t resist the urge of running a hand through them.

As if it was a routine, his other hand travelled to your belly, covered by a horrendous pre-mom jacket he had made you wear. Still, both of you felt the baby kicking softly where Peter was touching it, and you smiled happy.

“Young woman, consider yourself the main cause of my grey hair” Iron man’s voice said.

Tony stepped out of the suit, leaving it on guarding mood on the beginning of the aisle; Spiderman’s identity was yet to be revealed. Although he looked slightly annoying from being out of his lab, he had a fond shine on his eyes, that was only directed to a few people in the world.

“I’m sorry I got you out of bed, old man” you heard Peter’s stiffen a laugh. “I just wanted something to eat.”

“Next time you can just call me” Peter said. “You know I can drop anything for you”

He would, and you knew it more than well. When he had discovered you were pregnant, you expected a lot of things. Walking out on you, insulting you, questioning the father of the child, excusing himself of its life. But Peter Parker had only hugged you tight and promised you that he would never move from your side, whatever you wanted or decided. And even proposed to leave highschool and search for some job.

Thankfully, aunt May and Pepper took that idea out of his mind quickly.

“I could use some spiderman swinging right now” you said, using your best puppy eyes. You faked a small pout and watched as Peter’s eyes widened. “I’m really, really tired… I walked here and all. And I want to go to sleep. Like, now.”

“What? Why?” Peter panicked. “Do you feel sick? I can bright you a paper bin. Mr Stark, can you bring a paper bin? Or do you need anything else? Karen, can you call-“

“Kid, she’s fine” Tony rolled his eyes. “I’ve been living with her long enough to know those eyes. She’s just trying to get away with being lazy.

You chuckled and Peter relaxed his shoulders, muttering something to Karen about not bringing the ambulance. With his help, you got up from the chair and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He hugged your back and rubbed his nose against your neck, curls tickling your cheeks. Tony said something about keeping it PG and going to pay for the snacks, but you didn’t move from the embrace.

Peter’s arms had something that made you want to stay between them all day, even if it was weird with a huge stomach in between. The hard plates of his suit felt uncomfortable against your skin, and it was too chilly for you liking; yet you enjoyed yourself for a little bit, not aware of what was waiting for you.

It had probably passed only a few minutes before you heard the man in the counter walking angrily towards you. Your lips were awfully close to his, previously having kissed his neck, cheeks and chin, when Peter pushed aside and the mask covered him quickly, just in time to see the man walking in the aisle with Tony hot on his heels. He was speaking so fast you couldn’t understand him, although it was true that your mind felt a little foggy. The lights bothered you, the noises were too loud and it was cold in that dammed shop. You only wanted to go back to bed.

Peter gripped your hand and managed to push you a little behind him, not liking the way that man was pointing an angry arm at you.

“…pay! You have to pay for everything! Now it’s useless!”

“Hey man, I already paid for everything. And gave you a tip!” Tony raised his arms, and with a sharp look stopped the suit from frying that man. “This is ridiculous, you can’t even properly speak my language.”

“No, you pay more! She sat, and now useless! No one is buying the chair no more, and shop close if doesn’t have money! Pay!”

“Mr Stark?” Peter asked, voice unsure but ready to jump into the argument. By then, you were leaning on his back, cheek pressed against his shoulder blade while his thumb caressed your palm.

The man shouted something in his language. Judging by the small black moustache, dark skin and long clothes, he was probably muslim. He kept pointing to the chair, as if he wanted desperately for you to notice something.

And, in an ironic way, you were the first one to do so. You should had probably noticed earlier; the discomfort, the constant need to pee. Those were alarming signals, but you had just confused them with cravings and maternity hormones. While Tony shouted back and forwards with the man, you got stuck looking at the red stain on the chair you had been sitting on mere seconds ago. Some of it had leaked to the ground, and just then you were aware of the sticky feeling on your legs. Looking down, you saw the grey leggings darkened, and you gasped.

“You al-“

Peter stopped at midsentence when he noticed the blood on your thighs. Once you were up and not sitting, he could see the beginning of a larger stain of red. He didn’t mind when his mask fell off and the muslim man stopped talking in surprise, neither when, in an attempt to catch you, he crashed with the shelves on his back and knocked over some diaper’s boxes.

“Y/N”

Tony had never heard such a desperation in the boy’s voice. He had you gripping on his forearms, face suddenly face and sweat rolling down your neck. His face wasn’t much better; wide eyes, tears already forming in them, and mouth open.

However, Peter didn’t get to say anything before you finally crumbled down on his arms while your world turned black.

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

As Peter swung through the buildings of New York, bag on his shoulders, all he could think was about the crib. The half-done crib you were trying to build in what would be the kid’s room, in the tower. You had decided to stay there, with Peter, and although he would miss May, he had been happy with the idea.

Until the moment came, and he had been too busy fussing over the avengers to build the crib; then, he felt miserable. It couldn’t have been his fault, as the little bundle had decided to come three fucking months earlier.

His heartbeat was wild on his ears, so loud that he couldn’t see or feel the wind that passed through him. If you were there, you would shout at him for going to fast. If you were there, you would make him focus on the task and forget about the damn crib. But you weren’t, you were in an hospital bed giving birth while he went for the bag, that thankfully he had already prepared.

In a daze, he found himself in the hospital. The whole ‘protect the secret identity’ was long forgotten, and he ripped the mask off his head in front of the nurse in charge.

“C-Can I help you?” the lady said, voice trembling. She blinked a few times, surprised to see such a young boy in the spiderman’s suit.

“Yes, yeah. I’m… Y/N Y/L/N. She’s-She’s my girlfriend. Pregnant” Peter stumbled over his words. “She-well, not any more. I guess? She’s giving birth. Early, thought. We had a problem in a shop and-“

“Room 311. That’s the third floor” the woman cut him, kind smile on her face. “Take the elevator, then it’s down the hall and to the right”

He didn’t even think. His mind was only a mix of white noise and blurry images passing through him. Peter ran to the elevator, resting his forehead against the metallic wall of it as it rose, exacerbating the swooping feeling he had been fighting since you fainted on his arms; like someone ripped the floor out from beneath his feet. He had been trying to prepare himself for that moment for months, reading all the available books he found and asking for advice to every person he knew.

But, the moment had arrived and he didn’t even had the crib.

There was a woman waiting outside room 311, sipping from a water bottle and wearing awful expensive clothes. She had her hair tied up in a bun, and Peter barely recognised her as the lawyer Tony had gotten for you. Without sparing her another glance, he sprinted past her and almost kicked the door open.

It was sort of a nightmare, what lied behind that door. Peter thought his mind filtered out the worse of it, yet when he opened it and found you sitting on a bed, the end of it covered by blood, he was ready to faint himself.

Tony was by your side, shouting something over the phone with a frown on his face. And you were crying. Fat, big tears were making their way down your chest, and Peter’s knees became jelly. He managed to step up to your bed.

“Y/N”

You looked up at him briefly, eyes squeezed in pain. You didn’t make any sound of recognition, but grabbed his hand in an iron grip and squeezed it. Peter immediately got the hint, and used his other hand to avoid the sweat getting into your eyes.

Tony got out of the room after nodding to Peter, taking the bag out of his white knuckles and placing it on the chair. Bile rose up to Peter’s throat when a particularly pained scream left your lips. You leaned over for a second, before relaxing slightly.

He took that as his cue to start whispering soothing words to you. They didn’t do much, and you only wanted to push him apart. But his voice was trembling, his hands were shaking and Peter had also tears on his eyes. So you let him keep talking while the next contraction hit you.

“You seem awfully close to passing out” you tried to joke, enjoying the few seconds of rest. Peter let out a nervous chuckle.

“That’s probably because I am” he whispered. “But I’m not! I promise, I’m not moving. Squeeze my hand, do whatever you want. I’ve read that maybe insulting me might-“

“Pete” you interrupted him, breathless. “I’ll be okay. The baby will be okay, doctors get preemies in here all the time, they know how to take care of them”

Peter’s thought went back to the unfinished crib, how he might had been the one not prepared. He would willingly give his life away from you. But taking care of another life? He wasn’t so sure about that. Even with the financial support of your mother and Tony, they were still a lot of things to solve. Like, highschool, life changes, his schedules.

He didn’t get to continue the list of things he could do wrong because it happened.

One second he was whispering just one more push to you, the next the room was filled with the sound of crying. It was like the first time he heard the heartbeat; it came from everywhere. It came from inside him, he could heart it in his bones. Already, Peter knew he could never forget it.

It wasn’t loud, just tiny mewling noises. The nurses rushed forward with clean towels to wipe away the blood. They were swaddling something in their arms, talking in hushed whispered. He can’t hear your voice calling him over the kid’s low cries. A blonde old nurse came forward, looking at you with soft eyes and asked you something.

Peter’s ears seemed to snap open to her words.

“Would you like to hold her?”

Vaguely, he registered the doctor talking to you about delivering the placenta next, but you nodded excitedly. Peter turned everything he had heard, seen or felt in his life down, and only focused on the blonde nurse standing by your side, offering up a bundle of blankets with a baby, his baby. The room became blurry because of his tears, and he had to sit down.

Next to you. So, Peter saw the little head between the blankets. And he cried.

“Remember to support her head-yeah, like that! I feel like you’re gonna be a natural.”

Peter didn’t actually heard what came after, neither did you. His ears aren’t ringing anymore, either. It was just him, the love of his life laying on a bed, and the bundle of happiness the world had decided to gift him with. A wriggling and squirming little baby girl, with her rounded cheeks flushed with red. Her tiny daughter.

The words made him choke on his sobs, and he covered his mouth with his hand. The love that crashed him was like anything else; it eclipsed everything, warmed him like a rising sun and washed away the thought about the crib.

There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do, there was nothing that meant more to him that that moment.

“Hi, baby” you whispered.

Blindly, she reached towards the source of the voice.

Ten years ago, you had met Peter Parker. A boy with asthma, thin and a little nerdy; that had given you a silly necklace with a self-made atom. The same way it had captured your attention, and since that moment you had stuck to his side, your daughter gripped it with chubby fingers, and her cries died down.

Peter felt as if he was staring at the sun. He put one hand on her head, and the baby, his baby, made a soft little whining sound. Her eyes fluttered open and, if Peter could, he would sit down again.

He couldn’t control the urge of turning your head to the side and crashing his lips to yours. You squealed in surprise, and some nurses gasped. You were both sweaty and with tears on your eyes. The kiss tasted salty, it was awkward because the position and couldn’t last long because they had to take the little girl to the NICU. But it felt like the most perfect kiss of all times.

“I love you” he cried, not bothering to hide his sobs anymore. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

You giggle wetly at him, and pulled him closer for another kiss.

Things were going to be hard. Teen pregnancy, highschool, a premature baby and a whole new world waiting for you. But something in Peter’s gut, his Peter’s tingle, told him everything was going to be just fine.

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[frustratedpotatowriter]

Shota Aizawa - Eraser head x Co-teacher reader

Genre: Fluffy. A bit angsty. Fanfic.

Warnings: None(?)

I wrote this Eraserhead fic when I was in a mood for fluffy, cliché stuff, and also a bit of angst..🤣

It's been a while since I posted and this story has been sitting in my drafts for a long time too. Hope you all enjoy it.

P.S. This is a two part story.

P.P.S. Please, stay safe and always wash your hands. Check on your loved ones as well. ❤️

Sorry for all the wrong grammar/misspellings..PLEASE DO NOT PLAGIARIZE

I hope y'all enjoy it! Likes and reblogs are highly appreciated.

You just arrived at the faculty of UA high and is already in high spirit. Your head turned to the same direction it always does in the morning.

"I love you, Aizawa!" He did not pay you a glance, and you just shrugged it off.

Sitting down on your desk, midnight approached and handed over some memo.

She leaned over your desk.

"How long have you been doing that?" She asked, very much amused.

"Let's see.. Two years and a few months?"

"Aren't you getting tired? He doesn't even bother looking at you or reciprocating your feelings?" You chuckled, how many people have asked you that already.

"Well, I think, I'm already close to getting him fall for me." You confidently exclaimed, standing up to approach him..

"I got the copy of the memo for you." You smiled sweetly at him, he just nodded and took it from your hand.

"Won't you try and go on a date with me, Aizawa?" You asked him. It's always like this everyday, and he always say no.

"Okay." He stood up from his seat and went outside, since its time for his class.

"I'll try again next time!" You shouted. Everyone was quiet when dawned you.

"H-hey. Did he just?" You looked around, throwing everyone a puzzled look, all of the people in the faculty room are shocked too.

A few more seconds after it sinked in, you jumped and squealed excitedly.

You were so excited that whole day that it's a miracle you got to finish all your classes.

That afternoon, you saw aizawa in the faculty room and bugged him about the date.

He said that it would be better if you decide since he doesn't know that stuff, technically he just said to do what you want but you read between his lines.

The date is this upcoming Sunday, and it excites you that you can barely sleep.

It's just Wednesday and you still have to sleep three more times to get to the date with Aizawa.

Weekend came, so slow. It's just Saturday and tomorrow is the day.

You saw present mic and called out to hi, you asked where Aizawa was. He looked very hesitant to tell you.

"Come on, hisashi! I need to tell him the details for tomorrow!"

"ALRIGHT!" he gave up, he was at the consultation room

You decided to stop by after you finish photocopying the next week's lesson plan.

You were about to head towards where Aizawa is, when you heard a familiar voice from the stairs, you can't be mistaken. It's Aizawa's and a woman?

"How did you get in here?" You heard him speak, obviously irritated.

"Well, you know. That doesn't matter, come on. You have to come with me tomorrow."

"I refuse." You heard footsteps but it halted.

"You've been blowing me off for the past year, Shouta."

"tsk. Fine.”

"Tomorrow, okay? I really do miss you."

You decided to just leave there. He already agreed to have a date with you.

He will not stand you off for another woman, right? You rushed back home, trying to stay positive. He already agreed.

You slapped yourself a bit to wake up and drowned yourself about things you can do tomorrow.

You woke up early to prepare everything. You just finished taking a shower when you received a message from Aizawa.

"Can't go today. Sorry."

All the happiness you felt washed away in an instant. You sat down on your bed and typed a reply.

"Okay. Take care." He did not respond back. You laid back down on your bed, with tears forming in your eyes.

The next day came rather quickly. You woke up, prepared for school, and dressed up nicely.

You arrived at the faculty, you took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Good morning everyone!" You greeted, everyone greeted back, and you walked to desk and sat down.

It seemed awfully quiet when midnight approached you.

"Hey." She placed down two copies of this week's new memo.

"Hey. Good morning." You greeted her. She held your hand tightly and stared at you meaningfully. You smiled back at her.

"I'm fine." You said. You stood up and twirled for her. "Don't you think I look nice?" You asked.

"What? your date got moved?" She asked, nodding in agreement.

"Nope. I'm going for a mixer after all my classes." You whispered in her ear.

"What?!" You placed a finger in your mouth, it's too late already though. Everyone's head was already facing your direction. You gave them a faint smile of embarrassment before grabbing one of the memos and your other stuff to head to class.

You kept yourself busy the entire day to avoid any unnecessary thoughts. After your last class, you went to a restroom to touch up.

"Everything's gonna be fine." You tried to convince yourself. It's about time you try and move on, telling yourself you've given your all.

You went back at the faculty and almost everyone is staring at you when you got back.

"What?" You asked, returning to your desk.

"Hey. Y/n." You looked back to see Aizawa, standing behind you.

"Hey." You answered, continuing to clean up your stuff.

"Y/n, yesterday-" You immediately cut him off, facing him, gripping your bag tightly. You tried your hardest to not meet his eye.

"You don't have to explain or anything. I-I kind of heard you last Saturday so--- it's okay. I'll stop bothering you now so---yeah.” You let out a slight chuckle, because the words felt heavy.

You excused yourself, pushing him aside.

You finally arrived at your car, breathing heavily trying to calm yourself down.

The ring coming from your phone disturbed the silence. You picked it up to answer it.

'Hello? I’m on my way now."

"(That's great. I have a guy here that really likes to meet you!")

Another guy.

"Really? Well. I can't wait to meet him See you."

You hanged up and sighed.

You opened the door of the car when someone from behind slammed it close.

You looked behind to see Aizawa standing behind you.

"What do you want?" You asked, lowering your head down. Aizawa suddenly dragged you by the wrist, after grabbing your keys

"W-wait!" He dragged you towards the passenger seat and made you sit there.

Aizawa on the other hand went back to get behind the wheels. Your eyes are glued towards him..

What is he thinking?

Fifteen minutes later, you both arrived at an apartment complex. Aizawa did not speak for the whole ride, neither did you.

The next thing you know is you're now inside Aizawa's place, his smell is all around. You looked around, it's cleaner than you imagined.

He took off his bands, and settled it down. You stayed at the door.

You can't protest, or run away from him. You can't bring yourself to do it, because at the bottom of your heart you want to know what will happen.

"Y/n" You jolted when he called you out suddenly, you looked at him and he is sitting already, patting the empty seat beside him.

Shaking your head, he stared you down..

"If you wanna tell me something, just do it. I-I still have somewhere to be." His eyes never left you and you lowered your head again.

Footsteps were the next noises you heard, in a fraction of a second, aizawa is already cornering you on the door.

The bag you're holding slipped form your grasp, as your knees began to tremble.

Aizawa's eyes gave you chills, he's staring at you as if he owns every fiber of you, as if he's ready to eat you there.

"What's my name?" He asked, not taking his eyes off you.

"H-huh?' he just repeated the question. Heat is already rising in your body, as you gulped and answered him.

"Aizawa--Shota" biting your lip, he gave you a hum.

"Who do you belong to?" Your eyes met his again, questioning whether to answer or not.

"I, I,--" You were cut of by his lips pressing unto yours, when he pulled away it left you wanting more.

"Now, kitten. Who do you belong to?"

"I think…I-- I'm yours." You answered in daze. He gave you an amused smirk.

“You don't think you're mine..You.are.mine.” You nodded, still lost in his eyes.

"Good. You understand." He held your hand and ushered you to follow him.

You didn't protest, the truth that you are actually inside Aizawa's place and he kissed you just suddenly sank in on your mind, making you halt.

Blushing red, Aizawa found you amusing. He went back to cornering you by the door.

"Listen, y/n..I love you.” Your eyes widen in shock, and your face felt hot.

You hugged him, tears of joy running down from your eyes.

“I love you too. I really, really do."

PART TWO COMING UP 🥰

[xialing-gf]

fake

summary: (requested by anonymous) can you do a Carol x fem Reader where they are best friends. They both get put on a mission together and have to act as a couple. Reader distances herself while acting as a couple (fake kissing) and acting like she doesn’t like acting as the girlfriend, when in fact she does. Carol doesn’t know what’s wrong, and confronts her about it. Make it angsty and make it happy ending please

wc: 1661

When you first volunteered for the mission, the plan you had in mind was for a friend of yours to be chosen to go with you and you both could have fun pretending to be a couple. Instead, Carol, the girl who you had feelings forever since you met her, was chosen to do the mission with you, meaning that you had to fake a relationship with a girl who you wanted to have an actual relationship with. 

The goal of the mission was to infiltrate the government of Trilona because the government was planning to host a conference with the other governments on the same planet and planned to assassinate the invited governments in order to gain control over their land. The mission sounded extremely dangerous but it wasn’t actually too bad because Trilona was a city made specifically for couples and only couples were allowed to enter, hence why you had to fake a relationship with another person for the mission. 

Carol seemed pretty stoked about you being her fake girlfriend because as you were packing for the mission, Carol knocked on your open door to let you know she was there and she grinned when you paused packing to meet her eyes. “This should be fun! We’re getting there a few days earlier so we can go do some fun couple-y stuff. Oh, also, don’t forget to bring a business suit so we can enter government buildings.” 

“Yep,” You stiffly replied, continuing to pack and pointedly avoiding her gaze. Before even starting the mission, you promised yourself that you would try to distance yourself from Carol when you were fake-dating her. You knew that if you got too emotionally attached and too caught up in the act, once the mission ended, you would be in so much emotional pain. It was better this way for Carol too since she probably wanted nothing to do with you and just tolerated you for this mission. But leading up to the mission, Carol was really nice to you, more than she usually was, and you felt bad for how indifferent you were towards her. 

Your friends who knew you had feelings for Carol all encouraged you to have a little fun with the mission and tried to give you hope that maybe somewhere along the mission, Carol would fall in love with you but you still knew there was a very big possibility of breaking your own heart by holding onto that small sliver of hope. 

You and Carol took a ship to get to Trilona and as Carol was navigating the controls, you looked out the window into the abyss of calming darkness. As she steered the ship, Carol tried to make small talk and you responded with one-word answers, trying to stay as unattached as possible. She didn’t seem too bothered but there were signs of worry in her wavering tone.

Once you two arrived in Trilona and Carol landed the ship, the first objective was to convince the government officials that you and Carol were really a couple. Even though you two had booked a hotel and parking space for the ship as a couple, in order to get into the city, you had to bypass government officials who checked your id and convince them that you two were really a couple, which would hopefully be a lot easier than it sounded.

As you and Carol stood in line waiting to have your identification checked, she casually intertwined her fingers with yours and you felt a searing blush climb up your cheeks. Carol probably had no idea how many times you daydreamed about her holding your hand but you never imagined that your first time holding her hand would be like this.

“Identification and reason for the visit?” The government official asked when you and Carol finally got to the front of the line. As you handed the official your identification along with Carol’s, Carol made a show of pressing closer to you. 

“We’re here for vacation. We wanted to celebrate our three year anniversary and we heard this place is lovely for couples,” Carol fibbed flawlessly and the official handed you back the identification documents. The government official honestly didn’t look too impressed and simply waved his arm, signaling that you were free to leave and that the next person in line should come forward.

Carol didn’t let go of your hand until you purposefully moved far away enough from her to the point where she had to struggle to hold onto your hand, forcing her to let go. You and Carol took a bus to the hotel and checked in, an awkwardness settling between you two after you unlinked hands with her. After Carol checked you both in, you two headed to your hotel room, which by the way, you had to share with Carol, meaning you had no way of releasing your stress and frustration alone.

The hotel room was decorated in romantic swirls of color that should’ve made you happy but instead, it made you feel sick. Everything about this mission just tore you apart and you hated that even the hotel room had to remind you that this romance was all fake. Carol happily flopped onto the only bed in the room and you decided to sit on the loveseat instead of sitting on the bed with Carol. The loveseat was surprisingly comfortable and you turned towards Carol to state, “I’ll sleep here.”

“Are you sure? The bed is super wide and the blankets and pillows are so soft and comfortable. There’s room on this bed for the both of us. Are you sure you don’t want to sleep on the bed?” Carol asked as she sat upright, a confused expression in her eyes. 

“Nope, I’m good. It’s comfortable here,” As you replied, you saw Carol’s crestfallen expression and your heart was about the shatter into a million pieces. You hated how cruel you were being but in order to protect your heart, you would rather be hated than loved.

You and Carol discussed the plan to infiltrate the meeting the next day in a rather stiff manner, the mood now clearly awkward after your rejection but fortunately, dinner bridged over that gap and you two were able to settle on a dinner location without the same air of awkwardness. 

While you and Carol were standing in the elevator that was descending to the lobby, Carol glances at your hand and commented, “We probably should get on our relationship act. We need to be super convincing or else we’ll be kicked out of here before we get a chance to invade.”

“You’re right, I guess,” You sighed as the elevator door dinged opened and Carol gently held your hand again. This time, you willed yourself not to shut yourself off again and you two walked downtown to the sushi restaurant to get sushi. At the restaurant, every couple looked so happy and you faked your joy, hoping that your act was convincing enough. Carol also acted with more passion, getting a little more touchy but still respecting your boundaries.

Admittedly, you were caught off guard when she kissed your cheek as the waiter walked over and you had to remind yourself that she was simply doing it so that the waiter would be convinced. Still, you wished that she kissed you and she meant it. Later that night, you thought about how it felt to have her lips pressed against your cheek and your fingers intertwined with hers and you suddenly wished you weren’t lying with an empty space next to you when you could be lying with Carol by your side.

~

Per usual, the mission was completed successfully and you and Carol quickly left Trilona. You were disappointed that the mission had been so short but you were also thankful that your suffering was about to come to an end soon. You were extremely incorrect about that because while Carol was flying you and her back, she asked, “So, why do you hate me so much?”

“I… don’t hate you,” You answered simply, staring out the window even though Carol wasn’t even glancing towards your direction.

“Then why were you so reluctant to do this mission with me? I could feel your hesitation even when we were at the sushi restaurant.” The pain in Carol’s voice was so obvious that it hit a sensitive spot in your heart that made you open up out of fear that she would forever believe you hated her when, in fact, it was the exact opposite.

“The problem is that I actually like you a lot. I just didn’t want myself to get so attached with this fake relationship and end up getting hurt in the end when this whole mission ended so I’ve been trying to distance myself. I’m sorry if I came off as angry or annoyed.”

There was a beat of tense silence before you turned to see Carol smiling. You frowned, confused as to why she wasn’t mad at you for acting the way you did. She took a deep breath before replying, “Funny you say that because I’ve actually had feelings for you too. Guess we’re both really that oblivious, huh? I planned to ask you out on a real date after our fake date and I know now isn’t the best time to bring it up but that offer still stands. You don’t have to feel bad about it; next time, just communicate. I won’t bite, I promise. Or at least, I won’t bite if you don’t either.”

“That sounds… really nice actually. Yeah, I would like that,” You lifted your eyes and met Carol’s for the first time in days, feeling a swelling feeling of hope rise in your chest. In the end, your feelings weren’t fake and even if the relationship for the mission was, you still had a chance to have a real relationship with Carol.

~

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[redfoxwritesstuff]

Of Dust and Ashes

Happy Friday! How are you all? Good I hope. 

Much thanks to @winterisakiller who has had to deal with my crushing self doubt while also keeping my angsty murder urges in check. I couldn’t do it without you. And to @tnystrk-exe who encourages the murder urges.

As some of you are probably aware of by now, I’m raising money for my birthday trip next month to NYC. I’ll be spending two nights in the city and seeing Betrayal on my Birthday. The trip’s a stretch for me and so I’m offering my Chainmaille jewelry and custom works at discounted prices, some as much as 25% off- check out @redfoxcrafts or donate to the cause by buying me a Ko-fi

Masterlist

Chapter warnings: Just some PTSD

Chapter 14- Movie Date?

Deanna insisted on helping load their spoils into the RV, much to Clint’s dismay. He insisted she should rest. For the two trips Dee hobbled into the RV, Clint had made four and managed to take everything else inside.

“So what now?” Dee asked as Clint locked the side door behind them.  

“Well, now we find somewhere to shelter us against the wind and buckle down. How’s the foot?”

“Hurts a bit but okay.”  

“Probably find a narrow street to park on. Stay in the town for a change. The buildings should give us some protection from the wind.”

“Or it could turn the street into a wind tunnel.” Dee offered with a smile as she made her way to the passenger seat, being ever mindful of her ankle.  

“Can’t win them all.” Clint joked but for a short moment, a shadow passed over his face. Dee didn’t say anything. He was right after all, you can’t win everything. He, more than anyone she knew would know that.  

The RV roared to life as the rain picked up again, falling in sheets. It took something around half an hour for Clint to settle on a place to park. It was a narrow street between two buildings. There was hardly enough room between the side of the RV slide outs and the walls of the buildings for the side door to open.

Though Deanna didn’t like the cramped feeling or the inability to see in the distance she had to admit with the current weather, she wouldn't have been able to see much in the open either.  There was an odd comfort to be had in knowing that there were only two ways someone could sneak up on them. There were only two very limited directions that their RV could even be seen by someone walking by.  

Clint made starting the generator look easy. With the rain, they’d had no choice but to use it. The constant ran had left a chill that meant they would also be burning propane to heat the RV. The idea of using such limited resources made Deanna nervous just the same.  

“You okay?” Clint asked, stepping inside of the RV while holding his umbrella outside, fighting to close it.  

“Fine. I just- It makes me nervous.” Clit nodded at my words. “It’s such a limited resource, such a limited supply.”

“You’ve done a great job making it last, that’s for sure.” While he spoke, he helped her to the couch before pulling out a bag of microwave popcorn. The whorl of the heater was soft in the background. “But I can get us more.” After a moment of hesitation, he rushed to add, “Or get you more if you want to ditch me at the farmhouse.”

“Well, unless we travel more, we won’t need much once we’re at the farmhouse.” Dee added, watching his face for reaction. “If you didn’t mind us staying together, that is.”  

“I think I’d really like that.” It felt like the words were so much more important than they sounded. It was as if there were some unknown meaning, unknown promise to them both but there still just the same.  

~~~~~<3

The smell of buttery popcorn filled the air within the RV. The air inside was warm as rain pelted the roof. Many of the lights except for what passed as a ‘hall’ light. It gave a warm glow to the space while providing enough light to see by.  

The microwave beeped as Clint carried the fluffy blanket from the bedroom. Dee made a mental note to find a throw blanket of some kind for the living space. That way they wouldn’t have to carry the heavy blanket back and forth. Unless, Clint had one he wanted to use.

It occurred to her that she shouldn’t be thinking of things in such a way. While it was clear at least for now, she wanted to stay with Clint and he with her, she was aware they were going to his home, a farmhouse. He mentioned it having access to power and water. Would they even still be living in the RV much longer?

“Need anything for the ankle?” Clint draped the blanket over her, breaking her spell of thought.  

“No, it’s not too bad now. The worst of it is over. At least, I think.”

“Still, take it easy on it.” His voice was firm but by no means demanding. “Let me do things for you.”

“You sound like an overbearing boyfriend.” Dee laughed. Clint put one of the romantic comedies she had wanted to watch yet hadn’t planned on requesting. “How did you know I wanted to watch that one?”  

“Guess I’m just boyfriend material.” Clint answered with a small smile rather than the wide grin she had expected.

As he settled on the couch next to her, she could feel the warmth from his side. The bowl of popcorn was perched in his lap. While the previews played, she thought back to that small smile and compared it to the wide grins she had often seen in the past. What did those small smiles mean? Were the large grins and carefree attitude a diversion, a mental or social suit of armor? Could those small smiles be Clint, the real man, shining through?

“Want a soda?” He held out a bottle of Pepsi for her and she took it with a mumbled thanks.  

When the movie started, she put her troubled thoughts away. Instead she focused on the love story playing out on the screen. She nibbled popcorn and sipped her soda. The taste was far better than she remembered and she had moaned when it first hit her tongue. All the while, she was aware of the warmth from Clint at her side.  

As they relaxed into the comfort and normalcy of watching a movie with popcorn, they seemed to melt into the couch. Before the movie was over, they were leaning against each other in a heap, soft snores passing from parted lips as the movie went on unwatched.  

~~~~~<3

Clint woke a few hours later to the title screen of the movie. His neck hurt, as did his back. The popcorn spilled on the ground at some point but most had disappeared, likely due to one large dog currently dozing by the door.  

Cuddled into his side was Dee. Slung over his thighs were her legs, bent at the knee and feet hanging down. Her fingers curled into his shirt. Her could feel every deep breath she took as he held her a little closer.  

Trust snorted and Clint’s eyes were drawn up to the dog, still asleep at the door. His eyes trailed around the room. Rain was pattering against the roof but it was much softer now. The buildings offered protection from the wind and he could hear it howling outside, though the RV did not rock with the force of it.  

On the arm of the couch sat the small stuffed fox atop the small folded blanket that she kept with her most of the time. Part of him wished he could do that, stomach the idea of keeping a trinket of Laura and the kids with him. Part of him was jealous of how Dee could clutch to the memory of her kids.  

Clint knew he could never forget them. He could never imagine a life where he couldn’t close his eyes and see their faces. It was clear as day to him that she thought herself weak for clinging to those reminders. In truth, he felt weak for not taking a part of his own family with him.

With a sigh, Clint worked his arm under her knees. While she seemed to comfortable enough, his neck ached and his back was screaming at him for having the gull to age. Wiggling his fingers, he gathered up the fluffy blanket that covered them.

He stood and shifted her, bringing her closer to his chest and adjusted his grip. It wouldn’t do to drop her on the way to the bed. That seamed like a sure fire way to end up sleeping on the couch or the dinette bed and really- his back liked the actual bed so much better.

The hall was so narrow that he had to shuffle through sideways to avoid hitting her on the walls. Still, he managed to smack his head rather hard on the door. Biting his lip and whimpering, he tired to ignore the urge to swear. It hurt like a mother fucker but she looked so peaceful.

There it was, as he set her on the bed. That weight of guilt that often seemed to settle in his gut made itself known as he looked down at her. Dee was so peaceful in her sleep. The lines of worry and stress were free from her face and he could just see the woman she had been before her life was ruined.

He blamed himself. It was just one more way he failed. He hadn’t known her at the time but he failed her. Just like he failed Laura and the kids. Just like he failed countless other people. But he had no say in it- it was their call to not bring him into the battle. He trusted them and that was where he failed.

Never again would he trust another to take care of those he cared about. Though it pained him to admit it, he cared about the woman on the bed. He cared about her far more than he should already. He cared about her far more than he had any right to, being a married man who’s wife was only dusted a handful of weeks ago.

But he did. And he failed her once, before knowing her. Clint decided he would not fail her again. No matter where she wanted to go, no matter what she wanted to do, he would follow and he would see to it she was safe. He owed her that much.

Clint wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching her sleep. It was late and he was tired but he couldn’t look away. Would she ever look this at peace when awake again? He would help her find a new peace, he decided. He didn’t know how he would do it, but somehow he would.

In the living space, Trust sneezed. The sound seemed to snap him out the trance he had fallen into. A sigh slipped out of him as he shook his head. It wasn’t going to do anyone any good for him to get wrapped up in his head. Casting his eyes to the ceiling, Clint very much wished he could see Laura again, talk to her. She was his best friend and he missed her. Was it strange that he wished to speak to her about Dee? To get her advice?

He needed to sleep, that much he was sure of. His mind was turning into a puddle of goo and sleep would be the only thing that would help it. Waking after only a few hours of rest hadn’t done him any good at all.

Without another thought, he pulled his shirt off before looking at her jean covered calf poking out from the blanket. While he thought about what he should do about that, he unbuckled his belt and let gravity take his pants down.

It was a slow process, untangling her from the blanket but eventually, he had it off her. He hoped she wouldn’t wake up while he worked. She needed her sleep just as much as he needed his. Plus, as he unbuttoned her jeans and inched them down her hips, it would look rather questionable if she woke right then.

He was lucky. Though at one point she rolled over onto her stomach, she hardly stirred otherwise. It took time to work her jeans down her legs but he was happy to take that time. Part of him felt guilty for it, but he allowed his eyes to travel her legs as he exposed them.

Once he had her out of the jeans, he rolled them up and tossed them in the hamper hidden behind one of the storage doors facing the foot of the bed. Reaching down, he grabbed his own discarded clothes and tossed them in as well.

With that cleaned up, he made his way into the living room again where he picked up the bowl and turned off the TV. After taking the time to check that the doors were locked and there was no sign of life outside, he returned to the bedroom where Dee had hardly so much as moved.

He spread the blanket out over the bed and crawled in next to her. For the first time since his wife and children had turned to dust, it felt like he was coming home. A sigh slipped out of him as his back and shoulders relaxed. In just a few short moments, Clint had joined Deanna in a state of sleep provided bliss.

~~~~~<3

Deanna was aware of warmth and the comfortable feeling of the mattress under her. There was that stale taste in her mouth that told her she hadn’t brushed her teeth before falling asleep.

It was dark outside and the rain was falling in sheets. She couldn’t see it but she could hear it, the way the drops pounded against the metal exterior of the RV. The sound was relaxing, even if she knew how tainted that rain was.

Reaching out, she blindly grabbed for the stuffed fox and soft blanket she normally slept with clutched to her heart however her fingers came up empty. Reaching farther still, her fingers found Clint’s bare arm and danced over his chest. They weren’t there.

Rolling over, she began to search the other side of the bed and found nothing. Panic ate at her and she tried to calm her breathing. She didn’t lose them. Nothing was taken. They just fell off the side of the bed. It was fine. Everything was fine.

Reaching down, she groped blindly some more and only found more of the floor. Without a single thought to the sleeping Avenger next to her, she turned on the light as her search got more frantic.

Clint woke with a start but she paid him no mind at all. She looked under pillows and pulled the blanket aside.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was like gravel and any other time she would have taken a moment to appreciate the sound but right now, it hardly registered.

“I can’t find them.” Her voice came tight and high, as if a wire was wound taught and so very close to snapping.

“Find what?” His hand rested on hers for a moment but she yanked it free to look under his pillow.

“My kids. Where are they. I can’t have lost them.”

“You’re kids?” Clint watched as she stood and ripped the blanket off the bed only to throw it back on in a heap.

“Sit down, you’re going to hurt your foot.” Clint stood, holding his hands out to her. “Don’t you remember, your kids- they...”

“I know.” Deanna reached up and pulled her fingers through her messy slept on hair. “I know. I know. But I’ve got to find them.”

“What are you looking for? Tell me exactly and I’ll find them, okay?”

The thing that had stood out to Clint from the moment he had first met Dee was how strong she was. Even with a sprained ankle and no choice but to rely on a stranger’s aid, she always had an air of strength to her. She was solid. Unshakable.

Now, woken in the middle of the night was proof that even she was haunted by the memories of what had happened. He couldn’t fault her for it, he himself had woken many times from a panicked search.

“Their- Aurora's- Oh god. I can’t have lost them.”

It hit Clint in that instant. There was only two things that she was never without. He had been proud of himself, getting her into the bed and out of her jeans without waking her. He had been sure he had thought of everything. But he had forgotten what had turned out to be the most important of things.

It wasn’t locking the doors. It wasn’t checking for people sneaking up on them. It wasn’t turning out lights or making sure Trust had food or water. It wasn’t picking up the popcorn bowl. It wasn’t even turning off the TV.

“Sit here, I think I know what you’re looking for.”

It took a firm hand to guide her to sit on the bed. It was clear as day she didn’t want to just sit but the panic was clouding her mind. Clint worried about her hurting her foot when it was already beginning to heal so well.

She just wanted to find them. She just wanted to hold them. She needed them.

Once he had her sitting, Clint rushed into the living room. In the process, he nearly tripped over Trust. The dog had slept through all the commotion and later, Clint would take it as a sign that the dog trusted him to care for the woman who had become his master.

Sitting neatly on the arm of the sofa was a stuffed fox, well loved and well cared for atop a soft folded baby blanket. She wasn’t looking for her kids, she was looking for all she had left of them.

With upmost care, he picked up the forgotten items and carried them into the bedroom. As soon as her eyes took them in, he watched as every bit of the tension left her. Wordlessly, she reached out and took them from him, holding them tight to her chest.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, looking up at him with watery eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Sitting next to her on the bed, Clint rested one large hand on her back and began to slowly rub. “I should have remembered to grab them. You have them every night.”

“You couldn’t have-”

“You have them every night.” He again repeated as she leaned into his touch. Tears dripped from her cheeks as he held her to his side. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He whispered.

“I try so hard.” It felt like a sacred admission, a holy secret.

“You can be weak sometimes. You can cry. You can fall apart. You’re not alone anymore, Dee. I’m right here with you now. I’ll help you put the pieces back together.”

~~~~~<3

Want in on the tag list? I will gladly add you, just let me know. And as always, I ADORE hearing about what you think, what challenges you think these two will face and what their path in the next few years will look like. What do YOU think the world immediately post snap would look like?

Tag List: @usedtobegoodfriend96, @0-0-0-0-0-0-0-7, @theoneanna. @alexakeyloveloki, @toozmanykids, @j-u-s-t-4, @missaphrodite23, @winterisakiller, @bambamwolf87, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @carissime72, @xoxabs88xox, @queenoftheunderdark, @myoxisbroken, @wegingerangelica

[metatiki]

Chapters: 6/8 Rating: Mature Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford Summary:

Angsty Cullrian story about what happens if everything goes wrong after it’s fixed?

Note: This work is experimental storytelling for me. I initially wrote if for the Cullrian Discord I participate in (The Herald’s Rest, check it out!) but decided to go ahead and publish it. Expect to see a new chapter every few days.

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

Phase 6: Desire

Cullen moved unnoticed through the Winter Palace, aided by the use of some darkened hair and Bull's eyepatch along with a 'borrowed' Fereldan guard's uniform. Certainly he carried himself like a soldier, and no one thought to question his presence amongst so many others. Though he took care to avoid Inquisition members, both past and present, he also noticed that they all seemed to remain together in one corner of the Palace, not really interacting with the other forces present. His goal was information: who was here, what their goal was, and how he could use it to his advantage.

He saw people he knew, of course: Divine Victoria, cool gaze surveying the assemblage in clear calculation; Lady Seeker Cassandra, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword as she stared towards the Inquisition party with a frown; Viscount Varric, hiding his anxiety at the gathering by needling Bran with his sharp wit. He knew that all three would notice and wonder at the absence of Bull and, of course, himself, and so he took pains to avoid their gaze as much as possible, even taking to abrupt changes of direction and, a few times, moving behind convenient bushes and pillars to avoid scrutiny.

It was following one of those spontaneous examinations of the darkness between some bushes that he heard a voice which made him freeze in place, transfixed.

Yes, Mother, I am well aware of the fact, but I insist he remain with me.

The intonation, the timbre, even the edge of irritation: it formed a specific image in Cullen's mind, causing an involuntary flush to touch his cheeks. The flush quickly turned to a pallor, however, as he wondered why Dorian was at the Exalted Council. Surely the Inquisitor wouldn't have sent for him, would she?

No. No, of course not. Unless she did it strictly to mock Dorian with Cullen's absence from the Council, but that would be a petty maneuver even for her.

Probably, anyway.

Surely you won't be taking him around the Winter Palace? a woman's voice replied to Dorian, pulling Cullen back into the present. Do you not have business to which you must attend?

With a frown, Cullen edged towards the voices, striving for a glimpse, wondering what he would see. His heart rose to his throat as he saw Dorian lean down and pick up a sturdy looking young lad, holding him close as he looked towards someone hidden from sight by a bush. Something about the boy struck Cullen straight to his heart, and he knew without needing to be told that the lad was Dorian's son.

Even as he tried to process the full implications of that, Cullen stared as Dorian replied to the woman. I am not my father. I do not believe my son to be an inconvenience. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be about my business.

And with that, Dorian turned and walked away from her--towards the bushes where Cullen had sought shelter.

Instinctively Cullen shrank back until Dorian had passed, but the same instincts spurred him into motion to follow. Why he did so instead of simply letting the man disappear into the grounds, he wasn't sure, but he could no more ignore Dorian's presence than he could stop breathing.

He did his best to avoid notice as he followed Dorian into the gardens of the Winter palace, and thought himself quite unnoticed--up until the moment when he turned a corner and took two steps into an oddly empty dead-end in. Even as he realized that he'd lost sight of Dorian and before his long-neglected Templar skills could warn him, he found himself surrounded by the glow of a magical glyph which held his limbs still, and felt something poke him in the back as an achingly familiar voice breathed into his ear, Well, well. What have we here? Did Mother send you?

Cullen struggled to answer, but found himself prevented from answering by the spell. He wasn't sure he could have spoken, frankly, considering the strange sensation that worked down his spine in memory of the last time that man had whispered so intimately into his ear. His mouth grew dry as he struggled to speak, but the prodding in his back dug deeper.

You can go tell her it's too late. He's safe, Dorian murmured. Safe in the hands of those who will never give him back to her. Run along, now, but don't try anything precipitous. You don't want to learn how far I will go to protect my son.

As Cullen felt the magic slip away, he sagged in place. Reaching up slowly, he tugged the eyepatch from his head and let it dangle in his hand as he took a shuddering breath, then breathed the word he'd been craving to say for what seemed like an eternity.

Amatus.

He heard a swift intake of breath behind him, just before the staff returned to press into his back. It wasn't painful, but he felt the disbelief pouring from Dorian even as he said, No. The Inquisitor made a point to tell me *he wasn't here. You seek to deceive me, distract me.*

Cullen closed his eyes, hearing the anger in the voice, but even deeper than that hearing an old, muted agony which mirrored his own. She doesn't know I'm here. Did you really think the Commander of the Inquisition would wander around in a Fereldan uniform with an eyepatch on?

There was a long pause as Dorian's breath rang harshly in the closeness of the arboreal corridor. Cullen felt Dorian lean close, felt a feather light touch on his hair, heard a soft sound as Dorian inhaled deeply. Abruptly there was a muffled thud as something long and hard dropped to the ground in the same instant that arms wrapped around him and squeezed the breath from him.

Amatus, Dorian whispered in his ear. It is you.

How Cullen managed to turn around while in such a tight grip he could not later remember. All he cared about was the moment his lips found Dorian's, the moment when the world toppled and lurched its way back into an upright and proper position once more. For a moment, nothing else mattered save for the musky scent lingering in the man's hair, or the trembling of Dorian's hands as they cupped Cullen's face. The kiss grew from tentative to tender, then toppled into tempestuous in a matter of moments. Air quickly grew scarce, but that didn't matter. This was Dorian, after all.

Even perfection could not last forever, however, and Cullen reluctantly released Dorian when their lungs simply could not be denied further attention. Their gazes remained locked, however, and Cullen let himself take in all the subtle ways in which Dorian had changed: longer hair which he itched to explore, deeper lines around his eyes and on his forehead which spoke of care, and a hollowness under his eyes which spoke of a lingering pain still unabated. His hands rose to cradle that precious face, his thumbs running over Dorian's cheeks as he felt himself subject to the same scrutiny.

Finally Dorian spoke. I thought you were...taken.

I was taken, Cullen said softly. Just not in the manner which you assumed. After a harsh swallow, Cullen explained in short, soft words exactly how he'd been taken, against his will, by the Inquisitor. Somehow, during that entire time, not one soul interrupted them. This was definitely a good thing, since somewhere along the way, the explanation changed from a numb recitation to comfort, and from comfort to carnality. By that point, Cullen suspected it was a comfort for both of them, a memory of the last time they had both been truly happy.

Vaguely he was aware of the branches and brambles digging into his back through the leather armor as Dorian's mouth explored his hardening length at...well, at length, and his fingers fisted in the man's much more grippable hair as a soft moan escaped his lips. From that point, there was no turning back, and soon their lips were again locked in passion as Cullen's hands held Dorian's legs tight around his waist, his own hips rolling in a barely remembered rhythm which made the mage moan into his mouth. He soon discovered that there was no way to draw out the encounter, not after how long they'd been apart, and soon enough they both embraced bliss in the same moment, their cries muted only by each other's lips.

It took a long, solid minute for Cullen to relinquish his hold on Dorian after that, and then another frenzied minute or two of kissing after that before they remembered that they should clean up as best as they could and find their pants again.

Only when they had recovered did Cullen take Dorian's hand and squeeze it tightly between his. I missed you.

And I you, Dorian replied immediately. If only--

Whatever he might have said, however, would remain unknown as the sound of someone clearing his throat interrupted them. Cullen turned in surprise as Bull eased his way from the foliage around them, wondering how a man that large could remain unnoticed for so long. Suddenly his eyes widened. How long were you--

Long enough to get even longer, Bull said with a wide grin.

Eyes dropping to a much lower level to verify Bull's claim, Cullen felt the flush in his cheeks burn, quick and heated, even as Dorian asked in an anxious tone, Is he safe?

Bull nodded, his expression turning serious. Safe and snug as a nug in a rug. Don't worry, Varric won't let your mother within ten leagues of him. Before Cullen could do more than raise his eyebrows at the connection, Bull gestured to the bush from which he'd emerged. We've got other problems, though. Big problems, and I don't mean my state right now. He looked directly at Cullen. Besides, you really need to see what's going on.

Cullen blinked in surprise, but by this point he knew he could trust Bull implicitly--even if he really wanted to ask the man why he hadn't told Cullen about Dorian being at the Winter Palace. Lead on.

Without another word, Bull turned around and led them on a circuitous route through bushes, empty byways in the garden, and even a hidden passage through the walls until they stood on top of a wall around a small courtyard tucked to one side of the Winter Palace. Bull pressed his finger to his lips and pointed to their left, where two guards stood in apparent boredom in their duty to prevent anyone from entering the enclosed space. Even as Cullen took in their positions, Bull's arm snapped forward, and something landed between the guards, followed shortly by a harsh buzzing noise and startled cries of terror.

Bees! Run!

With a grin, Bull jumped down, then turned and motioned them to follow. Not much time, he said in an urgent voice.

As Cullen's feet hit the ground, however, his eyes were drawn to what lay within the courtyard: a large mirror that-was-not, its surface swirling with an energy he didn't recognize. There was no time for questions, however, as Bull grabbed both men's hands and hauled them through the mirror...

...and into an impossible realm.

[sp4c3-0ddity]

for the trope mashup: 9 or 12 + 66 for Plance, please? ;) btw, what other ships do you like writing for? I'd love to send prompts for other characters too, but I'd hate to ask for a ship you dislike. thanks! :D

oh hi i like...several other ships. i like writing kallura too, and maybe wouldn’t mind trying my hand at kidge or heith, but my muse is so stubborn it tends to scream PLANCE at me all hours of the day ;_;

but now for something a little spoopy...except this is more angsty than scary or creepy. no, if you want “creepy” wait till you get a load of post-apocalyptic android Pidge AU

~5200 words, urban fantasy AU. enjoy!!

(12) Roommate AU

(66) It’s Not You It’s My Enemies

The envelope sits heavily in Pidge’s hand, and trying to starethrough the paper to see its contents isn’t working. She’s not Superman.

(Unless she is and the paper’s lined with lead?)

A divining charm wieldednothing, so she knows it’s not enchanted. But she can’tnot besuspicious of an envelope that someone dropped through a greenhouse windowright in her office, her alias - Pidge Gunderson - printed on it in purple ink.

Keith hopping onto hercluttered desk jerks her from her thoughts. She offers the envelope to him, andwhen he sniffs it he says, It’s clean. No magic at all…

“Not even a werewolf?” she half-teases, quirking an eyebrow.

He bares his white fangs indispleasure, indicating he doesn’t appreciate her joke, butPidge laughs as she slices the envelope open with a knife.

Her mirth fades when a smallmetallic cylinder falls out and rolls across her desk. With the air trapped inher lungs, Pidge picks it up with a pair of forceps and raises it to her eye.

A bullet.

A silver bullet.

She drops it into an emptyglass with a clatter and, with her heart beating an uneven rhythm against herribs, pulls a note from the envelope.

You have until the end of themonth.

-S.

A scowl twists her lips, furygripping her as she crumples the note in her fist and throws it against theopposite wall with a wordless yell. She glares at where it lands in one of hermany pots of soil before anger dissipates and something like gut-wrenching fear replaces it instead.

Pidge buries her face in herhands. “W-what am I going to do?”

Keith, bristling and startledwith his ears folding back, prompts, Pidge?

“I-I screwed up,” she confesses in a low voice, pressing herfingers into her eyes, “again.

“What now? Every time I think I’m close to bringing them down,they—” Her chest tightens, but her rage is quickly returning, her fingernailsdigging into her palms.

The silver bullet sitting inits glass catches her eye, mocking her, but before she can grab that and chuck it across the room, apatterned knock sounds from the door.

“Are you okay, Pidge? I heard you yell, and I can smell your f—”

She sucks in a breath, herheart racing while her gaze roves around the room, searching for an excuse. “I-It’s nothing, Lance,” she replies as levelly as she can. “Keithjust…started digging in one of my planters and I thought he might’ve gotten tothe roots.”

Keith hisses at her, ignoringher apologetic shrug, his bushy black tail swishing behind him as he hops offher desk and darts behind her bed.

To her relief, Lance seems tobuy her excuse. “Are you sure Keith is your familiar and notjust a cat you brought to torment me?”

Another hiss from behind herbed, and Lance grumbles, “Fine, fine, you understandevery word I’m saying…”

A reluctant smile pushes at herlips, and she props her elbow on her desk. “Yes, he is myactual familiar, Lance.”

“Just making sure since if the landlord finds out—”

“What is this, your fiftieth time asking?” Pidge wonders, raisingan eyebrow at the door. “And you don’t care about the landlord finding out; youjust don’t like cats!”

“Pidge, I’m a werewolf!” Lance retorts, and she can imagine himrolling his eyes. “It would be weird if I did like cats, so you’re lucky I like you enough to let him stay!”

Pidge’s pathetic heart skips a beat, but she manages to respond alittle breathlessly, “I-I’m flattered.”

“A-anyway,” Lance continues, his voice cracking, “since I’m hereyou want to…do something tonight? I’m leaving in the morning since tomorrownight’s the full moon so…”

In her mind’s eye he smiles sheepishly, hopefully, and rubs the back of hisneck while shifting from foot to foot. Nervous tics…but why is he nervous?

The note echoes through herhead, the silver bullet a subtle but obvious threat that fills her withforeboding. She’s running out of time…

But there’s no reason she can’t enjoy what she has left with Lance.

“All right,” she says, smiling. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m moving out,” Pidge announces while they’re watching a movie.

Lance isn’t sure what it’s about, or even what the title is. Pidge chose it- it looks like some kind of thriller, with a plot more complicated than theaction movies he prefers - and he shrugged when she connected her laptop,entertained enough by the occasional explosions and how soft her hair feelsbetween his fingers when he teases out the tangles.

But his hand freezes as heprocesses her words, his heart plummeting. “O-oh? You...found a betterplace?”

And what’s wrong with their apartment? Sure, thekitchen is tiny and some mysterious substance stains the sofa cushions andthere are tiles missing in the bathroom and the power outages are just alittle too frequent and thesmoke alarms are overly sensitive and at least three streetlights needreplacing at any given time and water drips in through the windows whenever itrains, but it’s still home.

“Yeah, I-I found a new job.” Pidge sits up, her body drifting awayfrom Lance as she avoids his eyes.

“I didn’t even know you were looking for a new job,” he says,unable to keep the hurt from his voice.

“I didn’t want to tell you until I knew it would work out,” shesays with an apologetic smile. She rests her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.If it’s any consolation, I’m not leaving till the end of the month.”

“Time enough to find a new roommate, huh?” Lance raises aneyebrow, trying not to show how much that thought hurt. “What’s wrong with your job here, Pidge?”

“Nothing,” she admits, shrugging. “I just felt a little...stagnant.I needed a change, somewhere I could grow, and some place closer to my family.I miss them.”

A sigh escapes him, and hemusters a smile for her when she looks up at him. “I can understand that,” he says. “I guess I’ll have to missyou now.”

Pidge half-jumps into his lapwhen she throws her arms around his neck. “I’ll miss you too,” shemurmurs, her warm breath brushing his ear, her sweet, earthy scent filling hisnostrils, “you goofball.”

Lying to Lance leaves a bittertaste in her mouth, and the guilt weighing down her heart only grows heavierthe longer he’s away.

By now she’s accustomed to him spending a day or two out of every month in arented warehouse on the waterfront - despite her brewing a potion to mitigatethe worst of his transformation, he errs on the side of caution and spends thefull moon away from her - but this time the apartment’s emptiness and quietstabs something through her chest and twists.

A big part of her wants toutilize the time she doesn’t have her job at thegreenhouses to distract her hunting down the one who sent her that note, butshe doesn’t have anything personal - the bullet is completely clean offingerprints and oils and the note wasn’t written by hand - with which to casta tracking spell.

Besides, whoever it is surelyhas powerful friends…friends that can still make her life or the livesof her loved ones miserable or worse.

If Pidge can’t take the Galra down from the top in one fell swoop, picking themoff one by one won’t help if they can so easily pinpoint the one person shecares for in the whole damn city.

You can always tell him, Keith suggests, interruptingher moping by prodding her hand with his head.

“What good will that do?” she asks. She rests her hand on his backwhen he curls into a ball beside her, careful not to pet him lest he decide he’drather bite her. A heavy sigh escapes her, and she burrows deeper into ablanket that smells like Lance’s natural musk. “He’ll just try to convince me tostay anyway, and I’m worried it’ll work.”

God, but she wants to stay with him. She enjoys thestability in the routine they established in the year she’s lived here, enjoys his company and their banter, enjoys playingvideo games on the nights he has off from work and convincing him to sample thepotions she sells via Internet order and hearing that curious, low growl fromthe back of his throat when they’re out and an inebriated man so much as leersin her direction…

But she needs to keep him safe, even at the expense of her happiness.

What can the Galra really do? Keith scoffs. The second they make a move—

Pidge smacks her hands to herface and hisses, “I don’t have the proof I need yet! I can exposethem to mortal police, but what damage will that do?” She bolts to her feet, displacing Keith as she stalks into thekitchen and fills a kettle while her heart pounds a frantic tempo. “As long asI’m digging - as long as they’re intact - then they’ll keep threatening m-mymother and”—she flicks the stove on under the kettle—”now Lance too.”

How stupid was she to thinkthat simply moving would put them off? Feigning an identity and living under anassumed name only shifted their focus from her mother to…her roommate.

The same roommate she fell inlove with.

She opens and slams shutcupboards searching for her tea, and when she finds them in the back of adrawer, the mix she wants isn’t there.

“For the love of the—”

Something tugging on her pantleg attracts her attention, and she peers down to see Keith with a plastic bagin his mouth.

“Thanks,” she says with a sheepish smile, holding her hand out toaccept the bag of dried flowers when Keith jumps onto the counter. She raisesan eyebrow at him after dumping the tea into the boiling kettle, watching himnibbling the pads on his paw. “You know Lance doesn’t like it when—”

I won’t tell him if you don’t, Keith tells her.

The knife in Pidge’s chest twists, and she bites her lip and says, “It’s far fromthe worst I’m keeping from him.”

After calling his mother likehe does the morning after any full moon, Lance stands outside his apartmentdoorway. The ache of a transformation behind him still fills his muscles, andhe wants nothing more than to crawl under his bedsheets and sleep the day awayuntil his night shift.

But he can’t enter yet, not when Pidge might already be at work and he mightwalk into an empty apartment just like he will every morning after she leaves.

While he deliberates with dreadtying his stomach into knots, the door swings open.

Pidge pulls up short, her eyeswidening behind her glasses as they focus on his face. “Lance,” she breathes. “Y-you’re back early.”

“I am?” He frowns, something about her demeanor making the hairson the back of his neck stand on end, and…oh, yes, that’s the bitter scent offear wafting off her. “Pidge, are you—”

“Running late for work?” she interrupts with a too-broad smile. “Yes,yes I am.” She hefts her bag higher onto her shoulder and adds, “I’ll bestaying late to make up for it too. Don’t expect me to be back before youleave. Bye, Lance!”

Pidge pushes past him withoutwaiting for him to say anything, but as she speeds down the hall and disappearsinto the stairwell, he raises a hand and waves.

It’s much the same for the next week, with him only seeing Pidge ashe returns home from work and she leaves for hers with nothing more than a curtgoodbye. Not so much as a hug exchanged or a stray touch or a kind word.

He sits alone in theirapartment on the same couch they’ve fallen asleep on togethercountless times, enveloped by the unique sweet scent of her brand of magic anddeclining his friends’ invitations to go out on his night off - the first nighthe has a prayer of his time home overlapping with Pidge’s.

Lance’s chest tightens, and he can’t help wondering if he’s lost Pidgebefore she’s even left him.

Pidge’s first thought when she steps through the doorway is that sheshould’ve bought more food from the Thai takeout place on the next block.

Her second thought is why is Lance home?

He’s slumped on the couch, a furrow in his brow and the tip of histongue sticking out of his mouth while he clutches a Gameflux controller, stillwearing his pajamas with a massive cowlick at the back of his head like he justrolled out of bed.

Which, considering hisschedule, he probably did just rollout of bed.

But the sight of him sittingthere makes her breath catch. For the last week she’s timed it perfectly so that she comes home after he leaves forwork, so seeing him there is…unnerving.

“What’re you still doing here?” she blurts once she finds hertongue.

Lance sags as his character onscreen dies, the music descending a scale, and looks over the back of the couchtowards her. “I…have tonight off from work?”

Pidge’s jaw flaps uselessly. She sets her dinner on the kitchen counterwhile she recovers before finally saying, “I forgot.”

“Oh, so if you knew I didn’t have work tonight, you would’ve…what?”Lance shoots to his feet and wanders around the sofa into the kitchen, hiseyebrow raised and arms crossed. “Spent the night at the greenhouses to avoidme?”

His accusation squeezes herheart, and she can’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She busies herhands with pulling takeout boxes from the paper bag and says, “I just…have alot of packing to do before I move, and with you distracting me—”

“Avoiding me before you leave isn’t going to make it any easier onme…or on either of us,” Lance points out in a low but cutting voice. “A fewweeks aren’t enough time to find a new roommate, for one; do you know how hardit was to find someone after Hunk moved out?”

Pidge bites her lip, fingerstightening around the box of chicken satay while an unreasonable spike ofirritation hits her. “I guess I’m just convenient because I didn’t mindthe whole werewolf thing, huh?”

Lance’s eyes widen, his jaw dropping. “Wait, what—”

She glares at her food andbites out, “I’m used to your mannerisms - like your hypersensitive nose andears and your meaty diet and your overprotectiveness while we’re out - so youjust don’t want the inconvenience of finding someone else like me to split rentwith.”

Pidge swallows around a stupid,sudden lump in her throat at the thought that Lance would one day replace her, even as just a roommate, even if it’s better for him.

“That’s not at all what I meant, Pidge!” he retorts, flailing his arms. “I mean, sure, having to find anew roommate is inconvenient, but maybe I justdon’t want you to leave?”

She finally forces her eyes upto his, taking in his deep frown and just…how unhappy he looks.

She can wash that all away,take his hands - how tactile Lance iscan be a blessing as much as a curse - and reassure him she won’t be going anywhere. But instead she grits out, “That’s not up toyou.”

“I know it’s not,” Lance says, “but why avoid me?”

She pinches her eyes shut,pretends she can’t hear the hurt in his voice or feel the dread weighing her down.

He has a point, Keith offers from his perch onthe back of the sofa. Why not just spendwhat time you have left with him?

“Won’t you get jealous?” she mumbles, low enough that he’ll hearher but Lance won’t.

“Get jealous of who?” Lance says, quirking an eyebrow inconfusion.

Ah, right…werewolf ears.

“Nothing, I just…” Pidge sags, the tension bleeding out of her.She sets her food down and flexes her stiff fingers, staring at them as sheadmits more easily than she should, “Y-you’re right. Avoiding you isn’t goingto make me miss you any less when I leave.”

“So…?”

An unwitting grin pushes up herlips, stunned that only a single syllable can hold so much hope. She pulls achair away from the kitchen table and says, “I know you prefer meat, but…whatabout with peanut butter?”

Half-empty boxes sit in pilesall over the apartment’s interior, papers and books and binders and theleaves of potted plants poking out of them. Lance should be accustomed to themby now, should know to expect something sitting at the corner betweenhis bedroom and the bathroom, but his toe always collides with a box heavy withold electronics and an encyclopedia on green magic.

The pain shooting through hisfoot almost distracts him from the pang in his chest when he lays eyes on a boxthat’s fuller every time he looks at it, but he’s no closer tofiguring out some way to convince Pidge to stay.

It had been a mistake to whineabout the difficulty he’ll have finding a newroommate, and reminding her that he relies on her to brew the potion that easeshis monthly transformation is even more self-serving - and he can always askAllura to connect him with someone else.

But Lance can’t picture himself living in an apartment devoid of Pidge’s pottedherbs and bubbling cauldron and green magic “experiments”; he even can’timagine scenting the air without catching a whiff of cat. Theimage refuses to materialize, and he realizes with a startling clarity and withwarmth spreading through his chest that he loves her.

Lance groans and drapes himselfin the doorway to her bedroom. In a week all her belongings will be gone, fromKeith’s cat tree in the corner to the grimoire of spells lying open onthe vanity, nothing but her scent lingering behind…and even that will fadewithin a month.

A low, feline growl disruptshis bleak thoughts. When Lance zeroes in on the source, Keith meets his gazefrom his hiding spot behind Pidge’s bed, his yellow eyes gleamingin the shadow.

“I guess you’re looking forward to being gone, huh?” Lance says,crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. “Bet you won’t miss me, and I won’tmiss you either!”

Pidge’s familiar doesn’t react beyond an agitated flick of his tail, whichLance can’t interpret. Reading feline body language isn’t exactly his strongsuit.

The lack of response rankleshis nerves. He sits heavily on the edge of Pidge’s bed and buries his face inhis hands.

“Maybe I should tell her,” he mumbles. “Maybe if she knows I loveher, she’ll change her mind…”

But what would be the point? Ifhe tells her and she stays, won’t she regret not taking thatnew, better job to be closer to her family? Eventually she’ll just resent him…

“And if she feels the same, would she even want to leave?”

A clink of metal against glassmakes him jump, and he spins around to see Keith vaulting from the desk ontothe bed. He crosses to Lance on silent paws, something in his teeth glittering.

“What’s that in your mouth?” he wonders, raising an eyebrow. WhenKeith bows his head, Lance’s eyes widen in alarm, and he taps his chin. “Wait,no, don’t eat that! If you die on my watch, Pidge will—”

Keith spits his “meal” into his open palm.

It burns his skin on contact,shooting hot pain up his arm. A yelp escapes him as he bolts to his feet, andhe turns his hand, dropping something small and metallic onto thestar-patterned comforter.

Lance rubs his hand, wincing atthe lingering heat, more focused and intense than a sunburn. A red rectangularmark is burned into his palm.

He reaches a hand towards thetiny metal cylinder lying on the bed before thinking better of it.

He grabs the bath towel drapedover the edge of Pidge’s desk chair and picks up the object with it,raising it to eye level. “What the cheese? Is this a bullet?”

Lance glances at Keith seatedon the bed, observes the thrashing of his tail and the black fur bristlingalong his spine.

And he may not know cats, buthe does know Keith.

Just like he knows that asilver bullet can kill a werewolf dead if it so much as penetrates his skin.

Pidge hasn’t delayed coming home since she reached a truce with Lance, whichis why finding him dressed in his security guard uniform and waiting to greether before he leaves isn’t shocking.

But the way he looks at herwhen she passes through the door - like he’s never seen herbefore - makes her heart skip a beat in alarm.

Lance holds out his hand, andPidge shakily wonders, “W-why are you wearing glovesin…”

The silver bullet glints almostprettily in his hand.

She sucks in a breath andraises her eyes to his, her whole body flushing with the wrong emotion - with anger. “What the hell were you doingin my room?” she demands.

Lance’s fist closes on the bullet as he retorts, “Why do you have a silver bullet in there?”

“I have a—it’s not mine!”

“Then why do you have something that can literally kill me?” He drops the bullet on the coffee table, ignoringit when it rolls off and disappears under the couch, and peels off his glove.He waves his hand in Pidge’s face and exclaims, “Look at this!”

Her breath catches in herthroat at the sight of the livid red mark on his skin, proof that just thetouch of silver can hurt him. “I…you weren’t meant to find that,”she mutters lamely, her anger fading.

“Clearly Keith never got the message!” Lance gestures around the room, and it’s only then that Pidgerecognizes her familiar is nowhere in sight. “And this is nasty enough it mightscar!”

She pinches her eyes shut andsays, “I-I’m sorry.”

“What’s it for anyway?” He crosses his arms, not quite loomingover her but getting close. “You keep this in case I stick around for the fullmoon?”

“Of course not!” Pidge fires back, her fists clenching at hersides. “And even if you did, I know you’re not any danger to me!”

“Is it for someone else then?” Lance wonders. His demeanor shifts,tension filling his limbs and a scowl twisting his lips. “D-do you know manyother werewolves that are threatening you and you needto defend yourself against?”

Pidge’s jaws flap uselessly, startled by his line of questioning, buther shame writhes in her stomach, at how close yet how far heis from the mark. “I…don’t know any other werewolves here, no…”

“Then why do you have it? I’ve never even seen you carry a weapon…orare you hiding a gun under your pillow too?”

“I carry mace,” she grumbles, but a sigh bursts from her and shemutters, “Someone sent it to me.”

Lance’s eyes widen. “Who? Did you tell—”

“Of course not!” Pidge retorts, glaring at him. “My mother’s awitch too, and I haven’t even told her that I live with a werewolf.W-why would I deliberately endanger you like that?”

“I don’t—wait, deliberately?”

Her chest tightens, a grimacecrossing her face. Of course hepicked out the one word she shouldn’t have let slip. “Lance, Ishould—”

Come clean? Keith suggests from wherever he’s hiding. I agree.

“Shut up,” she mutters under her breath, although she suspects he’ssomewhere he can’t hear her. She turns to Lance, who stares at her, his blueeyes no longer as accusatory but something in them still making the knife inher gut twist. “Keith gave you that, didn’t he?”

He nods. “I didn’t think a witch’s familiar could snitch on them.”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “When Keith and I renew our contract, I’ll have something to addto it, apparently…but he’s right. I should tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Lance asks warily.

“Something…important. Wait here.” She retreats to her bedroom -barely sparing a glance for Keith curled up on her pillow - and grabs thewrinkled note off her desk. When she returns to the living room, Lance sitsslumped against the couch’s arm, and Pidge perches beside him.

She passes him the note.

“You want me to read during my time off the clock?” he grumbles,but his gaze already scans the words, eyes widening.

He waves it, glowering. “Who sent this to you?”

“A warlock named Sendak,” Pidge explains, a shiver of feartraveling up her spine at the image of his darkly enchanted smoky eye fixed onthe camera - on her - every time she watched thechilling recording. “He’s a high-ranking member of the so-called GalraEmpire.”

Lance’s eyes bug out. “Pidge, why are you—”

“My real name is Katie,” she confesses, wringing the hem of hersweater. “Pidge is a dumb childhood nickname my brother gave me.”

“Katie…” Lance breathes, almost like he’s tasting it, and Pidgehas to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the sound of her real name fallingfrom his tongue.

“Why are you—”

“My dad was - is - a witch too. His and mybrother’s specialty is magical devices and technology powered with magic.They”—she inhales shakily, her heart squeezing—”were on the brink of inventinga sort of…magical battery with unlimited capacity that anyone, not just thecreator, could add to or draw from.” She pulls her feet onto the couch andwraps her arms around her legs, swallowing. “Th-that’s when they, theprototype, and all the designs disappeared.”

Lance wraps an arm around hershoulders. She leans into him, closing her eyes and shuddering as his warmthenvelopes her.

“And you think the Galra took them?”

“I know they did,” Pidge hisses, glaring through her eyelashes at the floor. “Icombed the security footage from my dad’s lab more times than I can count untilI found him. Andwhen I started to dig into them”—her fingernails dug intopalms—”and I knew I had to disappear too.”

He prods her arm and presses, “But why is a warlock threatening you? What did you—”

Her throat itches as she blinkstears from her eyes. “I-it’s not me he’s threatening, Lance.”

“W-what?”

She pulls away from him,raising her gaze to his. “Th-the first time theythreatened my mother,” she says carefully, “I didn’t believe them.” Her stomachroils with shame all over again, but she pushes it away. “Sh-she’s lucky allshe lost is her voice.”

“O-oh.” Lance takes her hands, his surprisingly soft fingerswrapping around hers, and offers her a tremulous smile. “So they’re threateningher again?”

If not for him holding herhands, she would’ve smacked her forehead out of mounting frustration. “Lance,” shegrits out, “Sendak sent me a silver bullet.”

Guilt bites her whenrealization hits him, when his eyes shoot open and his fingers tighten aroundhers. “W-what?”

“You still want me to stay here?” Pidge asks, her brow furrowing. “Giveme one good reason, Lance.”

His jaw sets, and he blurts, “Me!”

Lance refuses to second guess.

He kisses her, cupping her facebetween his hands and tilting her head back. Her scent - so much like theflowers blooming on the fire escape, so much like the pure magic that risesfrom the earth in the country - fills his nose. Her fingers curl around hiswrists, her mouth a soft pressure against his.

A shiver runs up his spine athow effortlessly she takes over his senses.

A sigh escapes Pidge, warmagainst his lips, when he pulls back. Her eyes, slightly glazed and stillglistening with tears and crossing to keep his in view, flicker open. “Lance,” she murmurs, her thumb skirting over the soft skin on hiswrist and shooting heat up his arm.

Lance feels the dampness on hercheeks under his palms - against the burn - and wipes a tear that trails fromthe corner of her eye. “Pidge—”

She leans up and captures hislips again.

Pidge flings her arms aroundhis neck, pulling him against her. He wraps his around her back, wanting todraw closer, to feel the heat of her body flush against his.

Always wanting her there, regardlessof the threat. He can forgive her for keeping secrets if only she stays.

Her fingers run through hishair, tugging him a little closer. His nose bumps hers, and they break apart,breathless.

“I-I love you, Pidge,” he murmurs into her lips, his eyesflickering open to meet hers, warm and brown. “Or…Katie.” He smiles, reachingup to brush her hair away from her flushed cheek. “I-is that a good enoughreason?”

Lance reads the conflict in herface, his chest tightening when she pulls back with her eyes pinched shut.

“Th-that’s why I have to leave,” she tells him, even as her hand cups his jaw, her fingers softand warm against his skin. “I love you too, so I don’t want to be the reasonyou get hurt.”

“You won’t be,” he insists with growing desperation. “I-I can takecare of myself. And I even tolerate Keith!”

Pidge rests her foreheadagainst his collar bone, a shudder rippling through her and the scent of herfloral shampoo tickling his nose. “Lance,” she whispers, “you’rea security guard at a jewelry store.”

“So what?”

“So a supposed burglar can shoot you and make it look like an accident,”she suggests. “Someone can spike your food or drink with silver dust—”

“Then I’ll only eat or drink stuff that someone I trust prepares,”Lance counters. But a new idea takes root, and he licks his lips, his heartskipping a beat at what he’s about to suggest.

“Or—”

“Pidge,” he cuts her off, taking her chin and tilting her headback until their eyes meet, “how about I make the Galra my enemy too?”

She gasps, her eyes widening. “How is that a solution?” she demands. “Do you know howdangerous they are? And you’re not even a witch!”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I do know something about howdangerous they are, and I know people who know even better.” He can’t help glowering at her, still a little put out she kepther dilemma from him for a whole year. “And I can introduce you to them.”

“But—”

She falls silent again when hepresses his lips to her wrinkled brow. “And you never know, Pidge,” hesays, shrugging, “you might meet someone who wants to bring them down as muchas you do.”