#so it is best to allow experiences to wash over you and not attempt to hold on to the water of time that can only pass you by

[pearynice]

Eddie doesn’t like spending time away from Steve. 

He’s fine during the day. He can do his job and chat with his coworkers and do what he needs to do without thinking too much on it, but there is nothing in the world that he looks forward to more than being able to come home every evening to the love of his life. Nothing more gratifying than being the person that makes Steve smile when he walks through their front door. No better feeling than Steve welcoming him home.

So call it unhealthy, call him whipped or codependent or whatever else, but Eddie doesn’t like spending extended time away from his boyfriend. Maybe it was the more-than-one near death experience, the nights they spent in hospital waiting rooms, not allowed to be at each other’s bedside, but being away from Steve, especially at night, makes him anxious. Makes his heart rate pick up and his palms sweat, makes him ruminate on whether or not Steve is okay.

So Eddie hasn’t exactly been sleeping. Or eating all that well. Not for the past three days, at least. Because Steve is at a teacher’s conference in Chicago for the week, only leaving under Eddie’s profuse and continued promises that he’d be fine. That Eddie can survive a week without him. 

Which he can. It just doesn’t mean it’s exactly pleasant. Especially today. Because Eddie has the day off, and there’s not much to distract him from the gaping, Steve-sized hole in it. 

He starts by doing the laundry. Washes their sheets. Washes every throw blankets and every towel, moves onto the kitchen while the washer rumbles and does all the dishes. He goes on the truly spiritual experience of cleaning their dishwasher. Which, why must things that do the cleaning need to be cleaned? He scrubs the grime from the shower and wipes the spit from the sink, vacuums the rugs and wipes down the windows, organizes their pantry and cleans out the fridge. 

By the time he’s done his fingers ache. His back smarts from where he spent too long hunched over their tub, and still he misses Steve. 

Who is coming back tomorrow. Late in the evening, sure, but realistically Eddie only needs to survive another 30 hours. 

Which is far too long. 

He considers baking something. Like those those blueberry muffins Steve likes so much, but Eddie just knows by the end he’d have shitty muffins and a dirty kitchen.

So he tries to read. Tries to play guitar and write some songs, tries watching TV and listening to music, even tries going on a walk to pick up some dinner he knows he won’t eat, finally taking Steve’s advice on fresh air to heart. But as the clock ticks on, the itch under his skin only gets worse.

Not even their nightly phone call helps. 

He can tell Steve knows something’s up, keeps reminding him he’ll be back tomorrow, that it’s just one more night, because despite Eddie’s best attempt at deflection Steve knows him far too well.

“Tomorrow.” Steve reminds him, again, at the end of their call.

“Tomorrow.” Eddie repeats. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Eddie misses his boyfriend. 

He tries to sleep. Can’t, of course. He tosses and turns in his bed and then tosses and turns on the couch with the TV humming staticky with whatever late-night garbage he has it on. 

And he just—has to do something. Keep occupied until the sun comes up and he can go to work and lose himself in whatever car some idiot brought in because he didn’t change the oil. Keep his hands busy enough to keep his mind busy, too.

He sits bolt upright. Remembers, suddenly, the bleach and hair dye he’s almost positive Robin left here. 

It doesn’t take him long to find. He’d organized them, without even realizing, nestled them between all of Steve’s bottles and jars and potions. 

Never one for instructions, Eddie remembers Steve mixing the bleach with something else before he smeared it over Robin’s hair. 

It was white. He remembers that much. Thick and gloopy. Like… conditioner?

He mixes the two together in an old Tupperware with a toothbrush, the smell sort of making his eyes water. 

He can’t see much of the back of his head, but he’s just getting the ends, anyways. 

Eventually the toothbrush becomes cumbersome, and he massages the last of it in with his fingers. 

He’s pretty glad that part goes quick because after a minute he can feel his cuticles begin to burn. 

He remembers Steve wrapping Robin’s hair in a plastic bag, and he finds one, eventually, has to fish out a crumpled receipt but sticks that over his head. And waits.

He forgot about the waiting part. That he’d have to sit here while the bleach did its thing and then again when he puts on the red. 

He sits on the toilet with the lid down, picking at his firey cuticles. The clock in the hallway reads nearly 5 a.m., which means Eddie has at least four more hours to kill. 

He goes through their drawers again, wondering if Steve maybe has a different color hiding around. He thinks green would be cool. Maybe pink.

But Eddie doesn’t find another color. He finds, instead, his sewing kit. And he thinks of all the goofy tattoos his has. The goofy tattoos he gave himself. His dice. His Tree of Gondor. His triceratops. And, really, how it’s a shame he hasn’t gotten one for Steve. 

He knows what he’s doing and where before he even has all the supplies, snapping a ballpoint into a small dish and sterilizing the needle with his lighter. He shaves his inner thigh and washes out the bleach from his hair, which is a little underwhelming, honestly, having done little to lighten his dark locks. 

He puts the red in regardless, puts his plastic bag hat back on and gets to work on his thigh. 

And that’s how Jeff finds him. Appearing, in Eddie’s bathroom doorway, two coffee cups in hand. He takes in the plastic bag, smeared with red, on his head, Eddie’s bald and inky leg.

Eddie has no idea what time it is.

He looks down at himself. “I think Steve is… 86% of my impulse control.” 

Jeff doesn’t say anything. Just rests the coffees on the sink and crouches to look at Eddie’s fresh ink. 

“Is that… hairspray?”

“Three puffs!” Eddie answers, a little deliriously, and dips the needle back into the ink to start the third said puff. “How’d you get in here?” He asks, not taking his eyes off the needle. 

“How do you always forget you gave me a key?” Jeff snorts, and then, a little softer, adds, “Steve asked me to swing by before your shift today, you know. Bring you some food.”

Eddie’s gaze flicks to the coffee as he dips his needle in again. “I only see caffeine, here, Williams.”

Jeff’s quiet for a moment before, “how about you finish that up, wash that dye from your hair, and then I’ll give you the food?” Jeff’s voice is still all gentle and obnoxious, and Eddie resists the urge of poking him with the needle.

But Eddie’s almost done with the last puff, anyways, and… breakfast does sound nice. 

“‘M almost done.” He mumbles. 

Jeff sits on the bathroom floor, sipping his coffee and watching Eddie finishes. Then he helps him untangle the plastic bag from his hair. Then makes sure whatever soap they have is unscented, makes sure whatever Eddie’s about to slather all over his thigh won’t turn it septic. 

Damn paramedics. 

In the shower, though, Eddie’s exhaustion starts to creep up on him. Four days with little sleep makes his eyelids droop in the warmth. Makes his shoulders sag as he washes the dye out of his hair. Makes his limbs heavy as he cleans his new tattoo, which, looks pretty damn good, if he does say so himself.

A can of hairspray. Three puffs. 

Eddie towels off, only a little disappointed that the dye didn’t do much. He can see it, a little, but only if the light hits it just right.

Jeff’s waiting for him with a greasy breakfast sandwich and coffee, and Eddie bites into it before he’s even seated, moaning at the taste. 

“Jesus.” Jeff mutters, “let’s wait until Steve gets back for that, okay?”

Eddie doesn’t have the energy to bite back, just takes another bite before he swallows the first. “Fank ‘oo,” Eddie grunts, word garbled around egg and sausage and cheese. He swallows. Looks down at his hands. “For.” The skin of his inner thigh is pink. “Everything.” He takes another bite. 

Jeff smiles. “And miss whatever disaster just happened in your bathroom? Not a chance, Munson.” He puts down his coffee cup. “I did call you in sick from work today, though. Just so you know.”

Eddie drops his sandwich. “Jeff!” Egg flies across the table. “What the fuck!”

Jeff raises his eyebrows and dusts Eddie’s food from his shirt. “You can barely keep your eyes open. I’m protecting you from dropping a car on yourself during a tire rotation.”

Eddie swallows, hands already twitching, “dude. I’m gonna go insane here by myself.”

Jeff raises his other eyebrow.

“More insane.” Eddie corrects. His leg starts to bounce.

“Good thing I’m gonna be keeping you company, then.” Jeff leans back in his chair, picking up his coffee and tilting the styrofoam at Eddie. “Movie marathon?”

Between he and Steve they only have about three decent movies, but Eddie finishes his sandwich on the couch as Jeff fiddles with the VCR. 

The movie begins, and that wave of exhaustion returns. Floods him. It’s hard to keep his eyes open. He leans into Jeff’s side. Who isn’t Steve, but who smells nice. Like linen.

Jeff rests his cheek on Eddie’s head. “Sleep, man.” He mumbles.

So Eddie does.

He doesn’t know how long he was asleep. But he wakes to a hand in his hair. To fingers massaging his scalp, and he knows before he even asks. “‘Teve?”

“Hi, baby.” Steve whispers, his hand stills, and he pulls Eddie closer. 

Steve feels so good. Warm and strong and here and here. 

Eddie opens his eyes only to bury himself in Steve’s chest, his boyfriend falling back onto the couch to accommodate, his arms winding around Eddie’s middle. 

“I missed you.” Eddie murmurs, and breathes Steve in, presses his nose into his sweatshirt and curls closer, fists his hands into Steve’s clothes and holds on tight.

“I missed you, too.” Steve sighs. He sounds tired. “Let’s… not do that again.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Never again.” He agrees. 

Steve shifts, opens his legs so Eddie falls between them. “I played hooky on the all-hands luncheon today.” Steve admits, quiet. “Didn’t feel like sitting around with them all day when I could be here with you.” Steve’s hand returns to his hair, twirling the strands between his fingers. “Did you… dye your hair?”

“N’ got a tattoo.” Eddie hums.

Steve giggles, and kisses the top of Eddie’s head. “I like it.” Steve’s fingers dance across his scalp, and Eddie never wants to go another night without this. 

“I like you.” Eddie volleys back, and he feels Steve laugh, feels it rumble through his chest because Steve is here and he’s laughing and then there’s another kiss placed on Eddie’s head before Steve murmurs, “I like you too, baby.”

My permanent tag list 💗: @hotluncheddie @hitlikehammers @hbyrde36 @littlewildflowerkitten @chaotic-waffle

@westifer-dead @perseus-notjackson @finntheehumaneater @theheadlessphilosopher @spectrum-spectre

@itsall-taken @marvel-ous-m @bookworm0690 @acasualcrossfade

(Sorry taglist that you’re getting tagged late I’m still getting used to tumblrs new STUPID TAGGING SYSTEM)

[improbable-outset]

𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐓𝐖: overstimulation, fingering. Minors DNI🔞

𝐔𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You were his first everything. Kenji knew the moment he returned to Japan and bumped into you again, that you’d be the one.

The one to have his heart wrapped around your fingers.

The one to take his virginity.

He still remembered the bliss he felt when you sucked him off and he experienced his first orgasm. He could still recall the moment his focus narrowed and his whole body was in a trance, completely in control by the intense pleasure your mouth was giving him.

It was the best thing he had experienced, even better because it was with you.

But the first time he witnessed you reaching your own peak, he was completely enamoured. And he would do anything in his power to pull orgasm after orgasm from you, just to see you fall apart under his touch.

“Kenji…it’s too much. I can’t—” you whimpered. Your voice was hoarse and your legs were shaking.

You were laid out on the bed underneath him, a film of sweat on your forehead. You were spent and still drowning in the afterglow from your previous climax.

Kenji fingers dipped his into your core, feeling your dripping wetness over them. He kept moving them in and out relentlessly, trying to get you to reach your peak again.

“Come on, baby.” he coaxed, still moving his fingers. “You can give me one more,”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to answer back, let alone form a coherent sentence. The wetness from your core made lewd noises which seemed to fill his senses.

Your back arched and your legs jerked instinctively as he curled his fingers inside of you, but he quickly put one of your thighs in place so you wouldn’t move.

He couldn’t help but grin at the sight of you, your lips parted as more moans slipped out of your mouth and your body squirming under his touch.

He leaned in and kissed below your earlobe while his fingers continued at their sporadic pace. “You’re close aren’t you?”

He used his thumb to press onto your swollen clit that had been overstimulated in the last few minutes. Your thighs started to quiver and he could tell from previous experiences that you were going to reach your peak again.

He could feel the familiar contraction around his fingers from your silky walls, just as they always did. Just for him.

He kept his gaze on you, not wanting to miss a second of what was about to unfold. The same sight that he had quickly grown addicted to the first time he witnessed the vulnerable side of you.

Your eyes squeezed shut and your face flushed, allowing yourself to get washed into the height of pleasure for the umpteenth time of the night.

He watched as a look of ecstasy casted on your face before your release hit— your mouth fell open as you moaned out his name, the only fragment your mind could grasp.

He slowed the pace of his fingers through your release. Eventually, he pulled his fingers out; they glistened under the light with your spend.

He wasted no time to bring them into his mouth and taste his handy work on his tongue. He looked back at you as you slowly recovered from your high.

He gave your forehead a quick peck before he moved down to reach your core with his mouth. You looked down at him, your eyes widened as you realised that he wasn’t done with you.

You shouldn’t be surprised by now though.

Another terrible attempt at pnp bc that’s what people like to eat up more or whatever.

[luv4freddie]

Polaroid Love - F.W

Fred goes to work with his father and comes home with a muggle Polaroid camera, deciding the best use of it would be to take horrendous pictures of his girlfriend.

Fred x fem!Muggleborn reader, established relationship, reader gets red, house and age not specific, tooth rotting fluff bc I love lovesick Fred, 1.2 k words

Being a muggleborn at the Weasley household was an experience, to say the least.

In the last week since you’ve been at the Burrow, you’ve explained what rubber ducks are for, how to operate a microwave, and Pythagorean theorem.

Today Aurthur took the boys to work with him, so you were currently helping Molly cook dinner.

You had yet to understand the witchy way of cooking, so you were stuck mixing a bowl by hand while Molly sent knives, pots, and pasta flying all across the room.

You ducked a flying cutting board right as the group of rowdy boys entered the front door, your boyfriends voice in particular carrying over the noise of clattering dish ware.

“Honey, we’re home.” Aurthur calls, and Molly meets them all at the door, asking you to ‘keep an eye on’ the multitude of activity in the kitchen.

You look around with wide eyes, imagining all the magical pots dropping to the floor and spoons stopping their stirring, Molly walking in and wondering how you were so incompetent that you would never be able to cook and therefore would be a horrible wife to her son.

You’re only snapped out of your reverie by a flash of light in your eyes, and you tumble back to your current environment— all the dishes are still floating, the spoons were still moving, and Fred was staring at you with a giant grin on his face.

“Hi Freddie!” You light up at the sight of your boyfriend, but don’t allow his attempt at hugging you, too focused on not disappointing your (hopefully) future mother-in-law.

“They’re not gonna stop working unless mom makes them, these things are always going.”

But you refuse to budge, and Molly walks in to see you holding your boyfriend away with one hand on his chest while you continue trying to stir with the other.

She lets out a laugh, telling Fred to leave you alone and go wash up before dinner.

“One kiss? Pleaseeee?” He gives you puppy eyes, and your face goes bright red.

“Not in front of your parents!” You hiss, but he steals a one anyway before running up the stairs and out of the way of the punch you tried to throw at him.

Molly pretends not to have seen, and you let your face cool down before asking what she wants you to do next.

Fifteen minutes later you’re sat at the large table, sandwiched between the twins while Ron talks to you from across the table.

“It was pretty fun, and we all got muggle souvenirs afterward, can you explain to me what this is?” He asks, holding up a PEZ dispenser with a cartoon character head on top.

You laugh, explaining how to get the candy out and watching as a few of the Weasley’s around the table stop to watch, Aurthur positively beaming at the discovery.

“Take a bite before dad can ask you something,” Fred whispers urgently in your ear, and you go to say something back but see Aurthur open his mouth on the other side of the table and you quickly scoop as much pasta into your mouth as you can fit.

You hear Fred laugh at you, and you turn to give him a glare; although it’s less scary due to the copious amounts of noodle hanging out of your mouth.

A flash once again momentarily blinds you, and you finally realize what it is when you see the small Polaroid camera in your boyfriend’s hand.

You go to yell at him, but still have pasta in your mouth so you settle for an angry groan and another smack to his arm.

You watch in horror as a piece of film comes out of the camera, which your boyfriend takes gingerly and looks at expectantly as it develops.

You finally manage to swallow your large bite, and you snatch the photo from his grasp, immediately being greeted by your own face, round with food in your cheeks and wide eyes while strands of pasta hang down your chin and sauce sits on the corners of your mouth.

“Freddie,” you groan in annoyance, but he just takes the photo back from your hands and looks at it proudly.

“It’s a lovely representation of you, darling.”

“It is not!!”

George is laughing too, and you turn back to your plate, trying not to think about the fact that your boyfriend now has two horrible pictures of you for keepsakes.

You try to help clean up after dinner, but Molly insists that someone else does it since you helped cook, so you head upstairs to your boyfriend’s room while Ron and Ginny grumble.

“Evening, love,” Fred greets as you enter the twins’ room.

“Y/n,” George greets as well, tipping his nonexistent hat to you before turning his back to you so he can start a letter to Angelina.

Your boyfriend uses the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, trapping you in his embrace and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I missed you today.” He mumbles into your hair.

“It wasn’t even a full day,” you laugh, the sound muffled by his chest.

He scoffs, sitting down on his bed and pulling you onto his lap.

“So what, I’m not allowed to miss my girl?”

You feel your cheeks warming at the claim of being his, and you give him a teasing smile, “well when you say it like that..”

Before you can even move there’s another flash and you immediately groan, burying your head into the crook of your boyfriend’s neck.

“I’m really starting to resent your dad for getting you that.”

You feel his shoulders shake with laughter, but all he says is “I think it’s my second favorite possession.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, pulling back so he can see it.

“Second favorite?”

“Yep. After these pictures.” He grins, now holding up all three photos he’s taken of you since being home.

“Why can’t you just take pictures like a normal person?” You ask, looking at the two new photos, the one from earlier of you with a wooden spoon in your hand and eyes looking around while bowls float around your head, and the newest one of you sat on Fred’s legs with pink cheeks and a grin on your face.

“Normal people don’t get to keep your happy face in their pockets though, now do they?”

You watch as he puts the photos back, and you melt at the thought of your boyfriend wanting to document your joy to keep as his own.

“I’m always wearing my happy face when I’m around you, Freddie.”

He grins (ignoring George’s gagging) and pulls you down onto his bed, smothering you in kisses until he can no longer keep himself up and your face is brighter than his hair.

“Guess I’ll have to get more film then.”

And he does.

In fact, by the time you get back to Hogwarts from the holidays he’s got a whole wall of polaroids .

You in his Christmas sweater with a proud smile on your face and an F across your chest, you being squeezed by his mother in the worlds tightest hug, you on a broom in his backyard and a quaffle in your arms, you asleep on his bed, even one of you puckering up as if to give the camera a kiss.

And no matter how many times he looks at them, Fred still stares at the photos with a lovesick smile on his face, absolutely in awe at the ability to capture pictures that are so you, so full of light and love that he feels like the luckiest man on Earth to get to be yours.

[axelsagewrites]

Could you do a Roy or Jamie fic where the reader gets hurt? Even something silly like getting hit in the head with a ball at practice or something! They’re super concerned and want to take care of them! I also love angst…sorry if it’s a stupid idea. No worries if you don’t want to write it 💜✨

Jamie Tartt*Practise Mishap

Pairing: Jamie x f!reader

Word count: 1291

Warnings: reader getting hit by a football (which hurts a lot btw from experience), Jamie feeling guilty, fluff

A/n: i love this idea btw ive been wanting to write something like this for a while but i made this more fluff than angst

Masterlist here

You’d never actually seen Jamie at practise. There was the occasional time where you dropped him off or picked him up after, but you never lingered since he needed to concentrate. However today Jamie in all his genius managed to forget his phone this morning.

“Wouldn’t have forgotten it if you hadn’t have distracted me love,” he teased, a smirk toying on his lips that made you smack his chest.

“Can you not?” you said, nodding to where the coaches stood only a couple feet away.

Of course, Roy heard. A loud groan came from him before he barked at Jamie, “Back on the field Tartt,”

“You staying to watch Jamie in action?” Ted asked, far more politely than Roy who was sulking at the suggestion.

You looked between him and Jamie who seemed to perk up at the idea, “Is that allowed?”

“I don’t see why not,”

“Maybe he’ll actually put some effort in,” Roy mumbled.

Jamie just rolled his eyes at Roy before giving you a quick kiss, “Get ready to see the king in action,” he said before running back on the field as you laughed.

“How do you stand him?” Roy grunted.

Truthfully you found Jamie’s cockiness annoyingly attractive, but you didn’t think Roy needed to hear that. “What can I say? I’m a saint,” you joked.

Even though the practise was interesting at first it was just boys kicking balls around a field and the illusion quickly worn off. That plus you were supposed to get a bunch of things done at home since it was a rare day off. You turned to Ted to tell him, “I’ll probably shoot off in a minute or two,” you said at the same time as someone yelled “Watch out!”

Roy tried to grab your arm, pulling you out the way, but not fast enough and a ball planted right in the middle of your chest, knocking you off your feet. You hit the ground with a thud and all the air was knocked out your lungs.

You heard Jamie shout your name, but you were too busy coughing up a storm and trying not to be sick. Roy and Ted had crouched down beside you, Beard shouting for Nate to run for the first aider. “Are you alright love?” Jamie asked, dropping to his knees beside you.

“I think- “your attempts to speak was interrupted by more coughing and the urge to be sick, “Ow,” you winced.

“What the fuck were you doing Colin?” you heard the footballers begin to argue as they all rushed to your side.

“I was trying to pass to Isaac! I didn’t know he didn’t see me,”

“When I said improve your kick, I didn’t mean kill Jamie’s bird,” Roy yelled at him, standing up.

Ted tried to calm him, but it was Jamie who spoke first, “Oi! The lot of you move it. you’re crowding her now piss off,” his anger washed off his face when he turned back to you, “C’mon love let’s get you some help,”

“I’m fine,” you winced as Jamie pulled you to your feet.

“No, you’re not now be quiet and let me help you,” he said as he helped you over to sit on a bench at the side. The first aider came and gave you a once over and said it was all good but to be careful. So, Jamie naturally made them triple check. Colin also came over, apologising a million and one times to which you assured him it was okay, and Jamie tried not to death glare him.

Some water and painkillers did help but you still weren’t feeling amazing. Ted walked over with a guilty smile on his face, “How we are doing over here folks?”

“Better now,” you smiled, hiding your wincing as best you could.

“I’m gonna kill Colin,” Jamie muttered.

You rolled your eyes, placing a hand over his, “It was an accident babe. Let’s just let it go, okay?” Jamie didn’t say anything, but you knew he wouldn’t. “But I should defiantly go now,”

“Well Rebecca gave me a call saying to tell Jamie to take the afternoon off and take care of you,” Ted said and before you could protest, he cut you off, “Its doctors orders, okay? Now scamp you too. And try take it easy, okay?”

You felt bad making Jamie miss the end of practise but right now football was the last thing on his mind. after dropping you off at his place and surrounding you with pillows and blankets Jamie went on a Tesco run for snacks.

When he got back you laughed when you saw the almost overflowing bag. “We’ve got enough to survive the winter,” you joked as he sat it down. “You’re spoiling me,”

“Never,” Jamie said with a bashful smile as he pulled out the flowers from behind his back, “Got ye these as well,”

“Aw Jamie,” you gushed, standing up to take them from him but you winced slightly as you did.

Instantly concern washed over his face as he grabbed your arm to steady you despite you not actually falling, “You alright love? I knew that women missed something. What hurts- “

“Jamie,” you interrupted him, cupping his face with your hands making him pause in his tracks, “I’m fine baby I swear. Are you?”

“Yeah, course I am,” he said, wrapping his arms around you, “I just don’t want you getting hurt and that. I just feel bad’s all,” he said, mumbling as he hugged you tighter.

You moved your head to rest on his shoulder, hugging him back, “But why?”

“You were there to see me and then you got hurt. I know how hard those balls can hit,” he said before sighing, “Its all my fault,” he mumbled making your heart break.

You pulled back only to pull him to sit on the couch next to you, placing the flowers on the coffee table, “It was an accident. It was no one’s fault,”

“It was colin’s fault,”

“It was no one’s fault,” you repeated, rolling your eyes with a small smile, “Now are you gonna sit and mope all day or are you gonna take care of me?”

Finally, a smile cracked onto his lips, “Thought it didn’t hurt anymore?”

“I lied,” you said, sinking back into the couch in a dramatic display, “I am wounded beyond belief. You’ll need to do everything I need,” you joked with a hand splayed across your head.

Jamie leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, “Don’t I always?” he smiled. “Want me to put those in some water?”

“Yes please,” you grinned as Jamie got up to sort out the flowers, but you called out before he could leave the room, “Can we have a movie night?”

“If that’s what the lady wants, that’s what the lady gets,” he grinned, “Just try not pick a total chick flick,” he added with a smirk that made you roll your eyes.

By the time he’d returned with drinks and a takeaway menu you already had 27 dresses queued up, “Oh c’mon,” Jamie protested as he dropped onto the couch beside you.

“Please, I’m injured,” you teased making him roll his eyes but finally agree. Despite his protests Jamie was more into the movie than you were and made you pinkie promise to pause it when he went to get the food when it arrived.

Four chick flicks and an unholy amount of food later you and Jamie were curled up on the couch under a pile of blankets. “Feeling better?” he murmured in your ear though you could hear from his voice he was already half asleep.

“Feeling perfect baby, thank you,”

“Anything for you,”

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[sleep-i-ness]

3. Uncovered Secrets (Anthony Lockwood x Reader)

SERIES MASTERLIST | LOCKWOOD & CO MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST

“I know you,” he murmurs. And you freeze.

“Do you?” You shove his rapier back into his hands, pushing the door shut and slumping against it. You’ve tired far quicker than usual, but it wasn’t as if you’d been doing much ghost hunting recently. You’d allowed yourself to get sloppy, but that had been okay. Until now.

He walks off towards what you think is the kitchen, if you remember correctly, limp more pronounced and you roll your eyes. Stupid boys and their stupid pride.

As his footsteps fade, the silence is filled by faint murmurings, echoes of the past, and you can’t stand to be alone with it. You think he expects you to follow, so you do, not wanting to just hang around in the hallway. It felt odd being in his house so late, without George to keep the mood light.

The kitchen is bathed in a warm glow when you walk in, the yellow-toned light leeching out any real colour. It’s not empty. Lockwood is already in conversation with a girl you hadn’t met yet but recognise from some article or another; Lucy, you think, the Listener, who, if the media had anything to go by, is as talented as Fittes.

She falls silent as you stop by the door, waving shyly. You’re not sure what to say, the silence feels too heavy to break, and really you don’t have the energy to make small talk. Judging by the look she’s giving you, she wants you there as little as you want to be there, and at least you have that in common.

“Lucy,” Lockwood introduces the two of you to each other, making some comment about Arif’s and you remember the doughnuts stuffed into your backpack. They’re not going to be the best, probably squashed by the amount of movement, and the last batch from yesterday, but you had thought it was the best way to show up, doughnuts in hand, still masquerading as a perfectly normal girl. Not like this, with too many questions about your “experience”.

You fish them out, wincing at the new shapes they’d taken on; at least they were on the house, so Arif would have nothing to say about delivery standards.

“Tea?” Lockwood is already by the kettle, pulling out mugs, and you nod mutely, still not really wanting to talk, or to entertain any kind of conversation that was sure to turn into an interrogation. Lucy is just watching you as you place the doughnuts on the table, and you hope that they work as a peace offering for your intrusion. Her frown lessens slightly, brow smoothing out as she reaches for one with nothing more than a nod to you.

Lockwood places a mug down in front of you, tea washing over the rim at the jolt, and you smile weakly, murmuring a thanks. The steam from your cup swirls and you breathe lightly on it, watching as it dances away in the breeze of your breath. There’s a plate of biscuits on the table, but you can’t stomach eating anything right now. When you look up, both Lucy and Lockwood look away and you can’t help but wonder what they had been whispering about when you walked into the kitchen.

“So,” Lockwood starts. And then stops.

You raise your eyebrows at him. Of course he can’t wait to probe you with questions. “So?”

“You’re Talented.” It’s not a question, but it doesn’t need to be a question anymore, you’ve given it away after all. Despite every attempt to leave that life behind, you’ve somehow gotten dragged back in again.

“Yes.” You sip at your tea.

“Are you an agent?”

You scoff. “I work at Arif’s.”

“But you were an agent.”

“I was. I quit.” You blow gently on your tea, shifting under Lockwood’s scrutinising gaze. Lucy just seems to be enjoying the interrogation, lips twitching slightly, a sharp change from the almost glare she had been giving you.

“Why?”

“I wasn’t cut out for it.” You’re not going any deeper with this; the past is still too fresh, and he doesn’t deserve an answer. It isn’t as if you owe him anything.

“What’s your Talent?”

You frown and wrinkle your nose slightly. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Lucy frowns again. You hope that she doesn’t think you’re here to usurp her; you just want to go to bed, leave in the morning and never see Lockwood again. Besides, it would be rather unreasonable for her to assume that, considering how deliberately taciturn you’re being.

He narrows his eyes at you, and you just sigh in response. He’s not getting an answer from you, no matter what he tries. And you think he realises that, deciding to change tack. “But you did react to the fiver. George was insistent you were just in a rush to head back.”

“I thought you didn’t mean to give it to me.”

Lockwood hums, giving you a small, slightly guilty smile. And you feel a deep disgust crawling up inside you at the sight.

You scowl. “You bastard! Do you know how horrible that thing is?”

“I thought I recognised you.” He shrugged.

“So, you tried to trick me with that note?” You rolled your eyes. “What did you expect? Did you want to see if I dropped it, screamed in terror, clutched at the stab wounds?”

“Clutched at the stab wounds?”

You realise you’ve said far too much and press your lips tightly together. You look to the door, wondering if the streets would be better than this. Lockwood coughs, still waiting for an answer. And so you fix him with the nastiest, most deserved glare you can muster through your exhaustion.

But he’s not so quick to give up this time. “What do you mean by that?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” you roll your eyes, “but I can feel the echoes of the memory, physical touch associated with it.”

“And that’s why you quit?”

You slam your mug down. “You try living out someone else’s murder every time you try and deal with a Source! I was a liability to my team and hated every second of the job.”

“I didn’t know that people could have such sensitive Touch,” Lucy murmurs, her first words to you or at all since you’ve been there.

You laugh bitterly. “It’s not common. And we usually die pretty quickly.”

An awkward silence falls after your words, Lockwood looking into his mug as if there’s something intriguing to be found in there. Prick. He was all good and well interrogating you until the answer was a little too frank for him to deal with.

You huff, picking your mug back up again and sipping at it.

After a few more minutes of awkward silence, Lucy pushes her chair back with a screech. “It’s late, I’m going to bed.”

You press your lips together into a smile, wishing her a goodnight and mentally wishing that she weren’t leaving you here alone with Lockwood. It’s unbearable. And it isn’t as if you can run away and escape as well, when you don’t even know where you’re sleeping yet. It might even be preferable to go back out on the streets at this point.

“Are you okay to sleep on a sofa?” Lockwood interrupts your steady blowing on your tea, and you glance up.

“Yeah, any where’s good.”

“I’ll show you to where you’ll be sleeping then.”

You abandon your half-drunk tea on the table, following him out of the kitchen and into a library/office/something – you’re not sure what it is, but it’s certainly a mess. The sofa is scattered with loose sheets of paper, and Lockwood sweeps them up to then dump them on a side table. No wonder it’s a tip.

He pulls a blanket out of a cupboard, placing it on the sofa, before giving you an awkward nod. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thanks,” you try to smile, but can still feel your blood boiling under your skin. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

He gently shuts the door behind him, and you drop onto the sofa, settling in with a deep scowl on your face. As much as you want to sleep, you can feel memories pressing at the corners of your mind, the chest you’d locked up so tightly and so deep down wrenched open by Lockwood’s prying. And you know what you’ll be dreaming of tonight.

You sigh. And then roll over to rifle through your bag and pull out the packet of sleeping pills you kept on you just in case. For nights like this. You grimace and pop one into your mouth.

When you wake, early morning light is streaming in through the chink in the curtains and you blink, squeezing your eyelids shut against the blinding white. You groan, stretching out to try and reach your phone on your bedside table, and roll off the sofa with a thud that jars right through you.

What the fuck. You blink again, memories of last night coming back with a jolt. Ah. You’re not at home. The pills always make you feel a little out of it but at least they staved off the nightmares.

You groan and pull yourself to your feet, dusting yourself off before grabbing your bag and heading to the kitchen. George is already in there pottering around with the kettle and you cough lightly to catch his attention, so as not to startle him.

He whirls round, eyes widening at the sight of you. “What are you doing here?”

“I crashed here for the night, Lockwood offered.”

“And you and Lockwood were with each other… why?” George raises one eyebrow, and you pull a face, able to guess exactly what he’s insinuating.

“He came by Arif’s last night and I patched him up. But by the time that was done it was too late to get a cab.” You leave out the rest of the night; Lockwood can fill him in on that, but it’s too early to deal with the questions.

“Hm. Tea?”

You nod gratefully, settling down into one of the chairs and absentmindedly picking up a pen. The Thinking Cloth has grown since you’d last seen it (bar last night, but you’d been a little too angry to really take a good look at it), and you uncap the pen to start doodling.

By the time George brings you over a cup of tea and a plate of toast, you’ve almost finished a little caricature of Lockwood, and he snorts at the sight of it. “Don’t let him see that.”

You laugh. “I’ll cover it with the plate. Thank you by the way.”

George waves you off, too embarrassed to accept your thanks, and joins you at the table.

It’s about half an hour later when Lockwood finally emerges, hair a mess and still in matching (presumably silk) pyjamas. You stifle a laugh, taking a sip of tea instead.

He pauses at the door, ducking his head at the sight of you. “Good morning.”

“Nice pyjamas.” You respond, turning back to George to finish whatever conversation you’d been having. You really didn’t want to have to speak to Lockwood this morning.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, before shaking his head and moving to the kettle to make his own cup of tea.

You giggle at a doodle George points out on the Thinking Cloth, explaining where it came from and why it was drawn. Although you’d argue that yours was better, it was still a decent representation of Lockwood looking like a prick.

“I’ll draw you,” you offer, picking up your pen.

George laughs. “If it’s anything like your last one, I don’t know if I want that.”

“Nonsense,” you wave your hand at him, already starting to exaggerate the curly hair and eyebrows. George is creasing before you even manage to get any further than that, and even Lockwood looks up from where he’s staring at his steeping tea.

“You much of a drawer then?” He asks, picking up his mug and coming to sit down next to you. You lean away from him, shuffling your chair over slightly, and ignore Lockwood’s answering pout.

You shrug. “I try. If you start off by saying it’s a caricature, any mistakes just look like they’re meant to be part of it.”

“Where’s your other one?”

You pause and glare at George, who looks slightly sheepish. Sighing, you lift your plate up and move it to one side to expose your caricature of Lockwood.

The real Lockwood blinks at it for a second, before laughing and taking a sip of tea. “I think it’s pretty accurate. Not much of a caricature.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you reply with a roll of your eyes, “next time I’ll give you a longer neck and more rat-like features. Does that sound better?”

He just laughs at you, and you can’t help but smile slightly. You might hate him with every fibre of your being; he’s an arrogant twat who has no right to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong but it’s nice, this environment; nothing like the agency you’d worked for. Here everyone seems to actually be friends, rather than just vying with each other for the next promotion.

“So,” Lockwood starts, and you narrow your eyes. “About last night.”

You shake your head firmly. “No, not talking about it.”

“What about last night?” George asks, eyes flicking between the two of you.

Lockwood just ignores George and your refusal. “You’re really skilled with a rapier.”

“And?” You raise one eyebrow, grimacing slightly.

“I was just complimenting you.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Oh, I’m sorry, I was just waiting for you to get the part where you actually apologise for giving me that bloody fiver, instead of pretending like it’s one big joke.”

“Jesus, do you have to bite my head off like that?”

You roll your eyes. Of course, he can’t see his actions as something to feel guilty for. “I’m off, thanks for the breakfast, George, it’s been lovely to see you. Lockwood, I wish I could say the same.”

As you storm out of the kitchen, leaving behind your half-eaten toast and dregs of tea, you hear George chastising Lockwood quietly behind you. And even then, he doesn’t back down. Prick.

[planetkiimchi]

close proximity | l.t

featuring: best friend!ten x gn!reader

word count: 925 words

author's note: happy holidays everyone!! this drabble was written for my beloved zanna <3 it's also a part of the @k-films advent calendar event for the day 7 prompt, kissing under the mistletoe.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” You craned your neck to look over at Ten, the mistletoe plant hanging lopsidedly from the ceiling while you kept your hand pressed against the ceiling to maintain your balance. Your other hand rested on the ladder to keep yourself steady.

Ten emerged from the bedroom with a blush stick and contour in his hand. “Could you help me put on some makeup before the party later?”

“Of course.” You set the mistletoe down on the top of the ladder before slowly climbing down. 

You led Ten to sit on the couch, allowing him to place the makeup he was holding on the coffee table. “Have you washed your face?”

He nodded. Your eyes widened in pleasant surprise.

“Wait here.” You disappeared into the room for a few moments before you emerged again with a packet of blotting paper and a couple of new makeup brushes you had bought recently. Sitting on the couch next to Ten, you drew a piece of blotting paper out and demonstrated how to use it.

Ten watched you attentively, lips caught between his teeth as he nodded thoughtfully. Then, under your careful eye, he mimicked your actions, discreetly letting out a sigh of relief when you nodded in approval.

When his face was clean, you raised the contour stick to his face, bracing your palm against his cheek as you drew a line on his nose. You gently blended it out with a makeup brush before highlighting the tip of his nose and letting out a giggle.

“What?” Ten raised his eyebrows, searching for his phone. “Do I look funny?”

You shook your head, swallowing your laughter. “You look really cute.”

Ten shrugged. “Okay then.”

You added some blush before blending it out, then attempted to contour his jaw—but not without some amount of struggling. When that was done, you tilted his chin this way and that, smiling proudly when you saw how the end result looked. You brought him to the bathroom mirror, arms crossed as you leaned against the doorway and waited for him to take a look at himself.

“You look good,” you stated matter-of-factly while Ten admired himself in the mirror.

“Can I do yours?”

You raised a sceptical eyebrow at the suggestion, then shrugged. “Sure. The same things that I did for you?”

Ten nodded.

You went back out into the living room, sitting on the couch while Ten sat next to you, blush in hand as he inspected your cheeks.

“Where do I put the blush?”

You traced your cheekbones with your finger as you explained, “You can feel my cheekbones here. That’s where you should put the blush.”

“O-kay.” Ten leaned in closer, eyes slightly wide, biting his lip in concentration as he drew a line across your cheekbone with the blush stick. You drew in a ragged breath, trying not to make eye contact with him, feeling your heart beat quicker.

Once he had drawn on a line on both cheeks, he pulled away, and you breathed out shakily. Reaching for your phone, you turned the camera on and looked at yourself, turning your head to the side and staring at your cheeks.

“That’s too much,” you laughed, half in disbelief at how red your cheeks were, half in relief that his face was no longer so close to yours.

“No, wait, lemme fix it–” Ten held your face firmly in one hand as he used his other thumb to smudge the blush, rubbing your skin until he was satisfied. “There. Much better.”

You reached for your phone again, but he grabbed your wrist and shook his head. “Nuh uh. You can see it when I'm done. Now, contour.”

He showed the contour stick to you, flipping it both ways before saying, “Yep, this side’s contour.”

“Let me check?” Upon confirming that the side he was using was, in fact, contour and not highlighter, you allowed him to experiment with it on your face, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he tried to find your jawline, soft hands cautious each time he touched your skin.

The contour stick glided smoothly against your nose as he drew on your face, each line accompanied by some amount of blending using his thumb. 

You averted your eyes, tilting your chin to the side so he could see your jawline more clearly. Your gaze caught on the mistletoe lying on the couch next to his thigh, and you reached for it, holding it above your head to show Ten.

As you turned around, coming face-to-face with Ten, your breath hitched in your throat at the close proximity to him.

His fingers lingered on your chin, and you found your question dying on your lips as he gently pulled you in for a kiss.

As you pulled away, his eyes flitted up to the mistletoe above your heads, shrugging, “I had to do it. It’s tradition.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “What?”

“Kissing under the mistletoe,” he said simply, reaching for your jaw to smudge the contour a little.

You jerked back as if scalded. “Just tradition?”

Ten stopped, leaning backwards slightly to get a batter look at your expression. “Do you want it to be anything more?”

You huffed a sigh. “Do you?”

“I mean, I’d like that, yes, that’s why I kissed you in the first pla–” You cut him off swiftly with a kiss, then, blushing furiously, turned your face away.

Ten leaned in teasingly, shoving his face all up in yours. “Glad to know you want it too.”

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[thatstupidone]

Alfred had caught everyone in the batfam trying to cook at some point.

Bruce

He was trying to cook Dick his favorite food after a particularly bad patrol night, but he didn't actually know Dick's favorite food or how to cook. Bruce had his phone in one hand covered in raw chicken and opened up on a recipe, and in the other hand he had..sugar? The kitchen was an absolute mess.

Alfred came in and immediately kicked Bruce out to take over. After he was done he sent Bruce back in the wash the dishes and clean up. Bruce never tried to cook again.

Dick

Wally had given him a recipe to try, since the speedster was always eating he knew all kinds of good foods. Everything was going surprisingly well as Dick followed the recipe step by step to not mess up- until it was time to cook the food in the oven.

Alfred walked into a smoke filled kitchen and a panicked Dick holding a burning pan of food. Luckily nothing had been damaged, but Dick smelled like smoke for the next week and was never allowed *unsupervised* in the kitchen. Alfred surprisingly was okay with helping him learn to cook though.

Jason

He was trying to cook a nice meal for Roy after they both got into a pretty bad fight during a joint patrol. He also maybe wanted to impress Roy too. He ended up spilling multiple items, used the wrong seasonings, and undercooked the meat.

Alfred showed up before Roy could eat it, probably saved them all a hospital visit honestly. He did promise to help Jason remake what ever he was trying to make, but sent them both to rest while he cleaned up. They ended up getting sandwiches from Alfred.

Tim

Since his parents were never around, and he had no one to cook for him Tim actually learned how to. Once getting adopted by Bruce he never really cooked anymore(other then at the tower for his teammates), but he would often bake!

Alfred liked Tims chocolate chip cookies and allowed him in the kitchen whenever with a promise to clean up. No one else knows, they just never question the baked goods that show up every once in a while.

Damian

He sucks at cooking. Like, under cooked or over cooked food, either no seasoning or too much, he doesn't know what taste good with what. However, Damian is amazing at baking. He can easily bake the most complicated things and it always turns out so good. He doesn't bake a lot though, but sometimes during special occasions he will for others. He probably learned how to bake only out of spite or something.

Alfred has seen him baking once or twice now, always leaving him be since he looks so peaceful when in the kitchen. He absolutely loves it when he will come in after Damian had left and finds some baked good with a little note written for him. Highlight of his week/month.

Duke

Don't let him in a kitchen. Let him in there and you will be replacing everything. No one has ever figured out exactly what he does in there but Tim and Dick are sure it's radioactive experiments at this point.

Alfred takes a week off everytime he sees Duke walking into the kitchen alone. He had given up on trying to stop the boy. He just leaves before whatever mess can happens, and returns once the kitchen is out back together. (Sometimes the batfam sends him in just got the purpose of getting Alfred to take a vacation.)

Barbara

She isn't the *best* at cooking, never having thought to learn past the basic skills, but she likes to help Alfred cook sometimes! It helps her relax on stressful days, the easy routine that sets into place when she joins Alfred.

Alfred likes having Barbara's help. He will have her doing good prep as he does other things before starting to cook. Sometimes he will teach her some things, maybe even give her a recipe that only he knows. Whenever she attempts to cook alone with him only watched and gets the meal perfect Alfred has a sense of pride!

[dandylion240]

Coming home he found Ethan setting Eli on top of Peaches back like the golden retriever was a horse. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Looking up smiling “I don’t see why not.” Setting Eli on the floor grinning as Peaches began to wash the little boy with her tongue.

“You’re late” he said walking over to give Jonah a tender kiss on the cheek. “Bad day?”

“The worst” he choked letting Ethan pull him into a hug. “The conductor hates me.”

“He’s just a substitute” Ethan soothed “when the other conductor comes back from his sabbatical everything will go back to normal.”

“I hope so” he whimpered closing his eyes as his chest tightened up.

“Hey” Ethan’s fingers kneaded his shoulders “it’s going to be alright.”

“What if I’m not good enough” jonah cried leaning into him. “What if I get cut?”

“You’re good” Ethan cradled him running his fingers through Jonah's hair the way he knew soothed him. “You practice all the time. I’ve never heard anything more beautiful.”

“I’ll never be as good as my dad” his voice was muffled as he talked into Ethan’s shoulder.

“Your dad has over twenty years of experience on you” Ethan pointed out. “It’s only reasonable that he’d be better than you. Give yourself some time.”

“What if I don’t have time? What if I only got the position because of who my dad is?” All his past insecurities came rolling over him like a tidal wave. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me” he sniffed “I’m always so emotional.”

“Why don’t you lie down for a while. Watch a little T.V. Take a long hot bath,” Ethan suggested giving him a little kiss. “Rest while I get supper ready.”

“I need to practice and….”

“Shh” he pressed a finger to his lips “rest first.” Turning to Eli “son make sure daddy rests.”

“Ok” Eli grinned taking Jonah’s hand.

“Ethan” Jonah protested as Ethan walked away.

“Daddy sit” Eli tugged on his hand.

“Alright” he allowed Eli to lead him to the couch. Sitting down Eli crawled up beside him.

“Not sit” Eli pushed on him “Lie down.”

Smiling Jonah kicked his shoes off before swinging his legs up. “Is this better” he asked.

“Yes” Eli nodded crawling on top of him. “Eyes shut” he commanded.

“You’re very bossy” he complained doing as he was told.

“Sleep” Eli said humming one of his favorite tunes that Jonah would sing to him. Finishing he leaned over “you sleeping?”

Keeping his eyes closed he pretended to be asleep. A few seconds later Eli lifted one of his eyelids up “You sleeping” he asked again.

It was too much to resist. Jonah brought his hands up to tickle his son. His high pitched giggles filling the room was the best stress reliever Jonah could ask for.

Ethan smiled to himself as he worked in the kitchen. He knew something was bothering Jonah but the sound of their son’s laughter was reassuring. If only he could figure out a way to get him to open up and tell him what was bothering him. For now he’ll take the laughter.

A half hour later they were sitting around the table eating the almost edible mac and cheese Ethan had made.

“Daddy” Eli’s whiny voice had them both looking up from their plates. “You cook” he made a face at the handful of mashed noodles in his hands.

“Eli” Jonah reproved “don’t play with your food. Your dad worked hard to make that for you.”

Mouth screwing up in protest Eli said “yucky.”

The sound of Ethan’s deep chuckle made Jonah turn to glare at him. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry” he inhaled deeply “but you have to admit he’s not wrong.”

“That’s not the point” he protested getting up to clean Eli’s hands.

“Eli knows what he likes and it’s not my cooking” Ethan chuckled.

“He has to learn to accept what he’s given” he said wiping his son’s hands.

Getting up Ethan calmly removed the rejected bowl of congealing noodles. Taking it into the kitchen he returned with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “We aren’t destitute that he has to eat my poor attempt at cooking. We can afford to throw this slop out.” He picked up Jonah’s bowl before he could continue to choke it down.

“You shouldn’t just throw it out” Jonah protested watching him.

“Why not” he demanded “did you want to eat it?” Jonah’s silence was his answer. “I didn’t think so.” Calmly he walked over to Jonah putting his hands on his arms. “I can only imagine the circumstances you’d lived under when you had to eat inedible food.” When Jonah looked away he tilted his chin towards him “you don’t have to live like that now. You don’t have to count your pennies and hope you have enough to eat.”

“I know it’s just…”

Pulling him close Ethan felt him bury his face in his chest. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’ll take care of you.” He could feel Jonah relaxing in his arms. Kissing the top of his head “how about I order pizza?”

Looking up Ethan could see the glimmer of tears “I’d like that. That mac and cheese was awful.”

“I’m hurt” Ethan gasped pretending to be wounded.

“You didn’t let me finish” Jonah protested “I appreciate the effort.” Stroking Ethan’s face he noted how glad he was he’d gotten rid of the beard. “I really do love you” he murmured.

“You love me enough to give me a kiss” Ethan grinned pulling him close. No sooner had their lips touched then Eli was fussing to be let out of his highchair. Growling he released Jonah as he turned to attend to their son.

Picking Eli up, Jonah noticed the impatience that flashed in Ethan’s eyes. It made his heart hurt as he placed a hand on his stomach.

Previous/Next

[melzula]

The Search

part two

pairing: Zuko x princess!reader

notes: part two is finally here! hope you enjoy, and reminder that not everything from the comics is covered in these pieces so i suggest reading the search to better your experience :) also if you’d like to be removed from the taglist pls let me know!

summary: the group arrives in Hira’a where the Princess’s patience is tested by Azula

~ part of the fire lilies series~

It had been an eventful morning to say the least.

Azula’s frenzied outburst had led to your group having to put out the fires left in her wake, and though it was obvious she was clearly unfit to travel, Zuko insisted that everything was fine. You would continue your journey to Hira’a as planned, and without further discussion you found yourself back on Appa’s saddle flying towards the small town.

This trip was turning out to be much more eventful than you had originally anticipated, but still you tried your best to mask your apprehensions in support of Zuko’s search for his mother. However, you could sense that there was now something different about Zuko, as if a change had occurred overnight while you were sleeping, but if there was such a change he said nothing of it.

“You missed breakfast this morning,” you remind him as you place a mango in his lap and sit beside him on the saddle. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m not sure,” he laments quietly, staring down contemplatively at the fruit. “So far this trip isn’t going the way I pictured it.”

“It hasn’t been perfect,” you agree with a shrug, “but it could be worse. There’s still time to turn it around.”

“I wish I had your optimism.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you counter with a teasing smile, “to balance out your negativity.”

“Two halves of a whole,” he replies with a quiet laugh. Despite the events of this morning and the contents of Azula’s scroll, Zuko’s mood is already beginning to improve. Maybe you’re right, and things will get better before the trip is over, but there’s still work to do, so your group will just have to wait and see.

After finally arriving to Hira’a, Zuko suggests you all work to conceal your identities in order to avoid drawing attention to your group, and so you put on a Fire Nation style dress and remove any trace of your water tribe identity. The act is reminiscent to your time hiding in the Fire Nation after your breakup, but you try not to think too much about that as you attempt to tie a top knot in your hair.

“Allow me,” Zuko offers with a fond smile, taking the ribbon from your hands and carefully pulling back your hair before beginning to style the knot. His movements are gentle in order to avoid pulling your hair, and you’re immediately able to relax at the feeling of his touch.

“Thank you,” you say, ignoring the look of disgust Azula sends your way. It’s obvious she still isn’t very fond of your relationship with her brother, but you try your best to pay her no mind and focus on the task at hand.

“I thought Hira’a was supposed to be a small town,” Aang notes curiously as your group begins to walk into the bustling community, “why is it so crowded?”

“Looks like they’re performing some kind of play!”

“I recognize that scene!” Zuko exclaims with a smile. “It’s the final battle in Love Amongst the Dragons.”

You smile as a wave of nostalgia washes over you at the mention of the play. Though you’d never seen the performance yourself, Zuko often took it upon himself to reenact it for you during his visits to the South when you were children. If she was in a good mood and had nothing better to do, Azula too would sometimes join in on the reenactment as the part of the Dragon Emperor. It was their mother’s favorite play, and it was something Zuko felt he could share with you so that you could know her the way he did. You never got the chance to meet her, but you felt like you knew her from all the times he had talked about her.

When the play is over and the crowd begins to disperse, your group begins asking the remaining locals about any information they may have concerning Ursa. Though you’re mostly given pure rumors and speculation, a man by the name of Noren seems to be your best bet at discovering her whereabouts.

“I’m the director of the Hira’a acting troupe,” he says as he shakes Zuko’s hand. “Ursa was once a member.”

“Really?” Zuko asks with a surprised smile.

“That’s right!” A nearby local exclaims, clearly eavesdropping on the conversation. “She always wanted to play the Dragon Empress, but she never got the chance!”

“We should find a quiet place to talk, away from the crowds,” Noren suggests in response to the eavesdropper. “You’re all welcome to my home. We’ll share some tea and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“It would be an honor. Thank you,” Zuko says gratefully before your group begins to follow the man to his home.

It seems you were right about still being able to turn this trip around for good. Because of Noren, Zuko is one step closer to finding his mother.

Thank the spirits for your optimism.

~~~

Noren’s home is the perfect place to relax after the eventful morning you’ve had, and you’re grateful for his wife Noriko’s tea and hospitality. Your friends sit spread out around the home conversing and enjoying their drinks, and you find yourself being kept company by the couple’s adorable daughter Kiyi and her doll little Kiyi.

“I like little Kiyi’s dress,” you tell her with a sincere smile, “you both match beautifully.”

“Thanks! She likes your dress too! She thinks you’re pretty.”

“Why thank you, little Kiyi,” you giggle. “You’re a wonderful hostess.”

“Hey, do you think your boyfriend would wanna meet my doll?”

“I’m sure he’d love to,” you smile, and when Kiyi holds out her little hand for you to take you graciously accept her invitation to get up and follow her to where Zuko and Azula are seated on the floor.

“Wanna meet my doll?” She asks as you sit yourself beside him.

“Of course,” he replies as Azula answers with a “No” at the same moment.

“This is Kiyi!”

“I thought your name was Kiyi,” Zuko notes with a chuckle as the little girl proudly displays her doll for him to see.

“It’s such a good name I used it twice!”

“It certainly is a lovely name,” you agree fondly much to Kiyi’s joy.

“Yes, but I must admit that little Kiyi has a very interesting… haircut,” the Fire Lord notes with an amused smile, carefully running his finger along doll’s the frayed strands of hair.

“I wanted to make her prettier, but it didn’t turn out very good,” the girl says with a frown.

“I still think she’s pretty,” you console with a genuine smile, “you just need to style her hair is all.”

“Really? Could you do that?” Kiyi asks in astonishment.

“My sister used to do stuff like that,” Zuko says in passing, prompting a sly smirk to form on Azula’s face at the mention.

“That’s right. Only I didn’t give them haircuts, I gave them headcuts!” She remarks snidely. “Would you like me to show you?”

“No!” Kiyi cries, immediately clutching her doll close to her chest and hiding behind you for protection.

“Azula, stop it!” Zuko scolds.

“Haven’t you terrorized enough dolls?” You accuse, recalling how she had beheaded your favorite doll when you were children. It had crushed you, and you weren’t about to let her do the same to poor Kiyi.

“That was ages ago, y/n. Don’t be so dramatic,” Azula dismisses you with a wave of her hand.

“You really haven’t changed,” you huff much to Zuko’s dismay. He feels guilty for having to put you through all of this, and though he had hoped this trip would be a chance for Azula to redeem herself it seemed now that that was unlikely.

“Kiyi,” Noren says as he enters the room with Sokka following close behind him, “are you being hospitable to our guests?”

"I’m trying!” She insists exasperatedly prompting you to frown.

“She’s the perfect hostess, Noren,” you assure him with a smile, your compliment alleviating some of Kiyi’s stress.

“Will you play dolls with me? I have an extra one you can borrow,” she asks.

“Of course, I’d be honored,” you smile, laughing quietly at the way she immediately bolts out of the room in search of her spare doll.

“You’re so… good with her,” Zuko notes quietly. “It almost seems to come naturally for you.”

“Well, teaching a new generation of children to water bend is certainly good practice,” you explain fondly.

The mention of your students has you feeling homesick, and you can’t help but wonder how your tribe was doing without you. You left them in the care of Hakoda and Pakku, so you knew they were in good hands, but a part of you still worried. The last time you’d been away from home things hadn’t gone so well, but you hoped this time would be different.

“I guess that’s true,” he notes with a chuckle, but his heart is full of admiration for you. Your gentle nature and kind heart are what he loves most about you, and seeing you interact with Kiyi only strengthens the adoration he has for you. He briefly begins to imagine what you’d be like as a mother, but he’s quick to remind himself to stay focused on the task at hand.

Your group learns from Noren and Noriko that Ursa was once a famous member of the Hira’a acting troupe, but her career was cut short when she was taken away to the Capital City and married into the royal family. No one truly knows what happened to her or her boyfriend Ikem, but some believe the two ran off to the Forgetful Valley. The story is pure speculation, but it’s enough to give Zuko a sense of what his next step in finding his mother should be.

You all are sure to thank the couple for their help and hospitality, and as you turn to leave a tug at your dress has you halting in your tracks.

“Will you and Zuko come again?” Kiyi pleads. “Please, please, please!”

“I really hope so, Kiyi,” he says with a smile.

“I promise I will do my absolute best to come and visit you again,” you assure her, and with that you and your friends depart from the family’s home and head for Appa.

“Ugh, more than once tonight I was tempted to burn that whole place down!” Azula scoffs in disgust. “But I resisted for you, Zuzu. I hope you appreciate it.”

“Azula!” You exclaim in shock at her words. “What an awful thing to say!”

“How could you even think that about such a lovely family?!” Katara cries angrily.

“Oh please, their charade disgusted me. Nobody’s that happy!”

“Aang and I are that happy!” Katara rebuffs only for Azula to scoff.

“Because you two are idiots,” she states plainly as if it’s the most obvious observation.

“Does that make Zuko and I idiots as well?” You counter, arms crossing over your chest indignantly.

“No, you and Zuko are a mistake,” she corrects you with a snide smirk. “Unnatural and unfit for each other.“

Though you’d learned early on to have a thick skin when it came to Azula, there was something about her words that got to you in a way she hadn’t been able to do since you were children. Your eyes zero in on her cruel smile and your hands begin to clench at your sides as you stare the girl down.

“What did you say?” You utter through gritted teeth, your sudden change in demeanor surprising even Katra.

“You must not be as smart as I thought if you honestly think you’re meant to be together,” she taunts with a sneer. “A Water Tribe Chief and the Fire Lord? What a joke.”

“Azula, that’s enough,” Katara attempts to intervene to no avail as you feed right into Azula’s mind games.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Zuko loves me.”

Your body feels as if it’s on fire as a result of her words, your chest tightening and fingertips beginning to curl instinctually for a fight. You know she’s just trying to get a reaction out of you, and yet you can’t help the anger and despair they bring you. Could it be the reason you were reacting so strongly to her words was because you knew there was some ounce of truth to them?

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Azula shrugs with a passive smile that only infuriates you further.

Sensing the rising tension amongst his friends and Azula, Sokka is quick to approach Aang and Zuko who are having a conversation a ways ahead of the group. “How much longer do you plan to keep this crew together, Zuko? I give it another two minutes tops before something’s either on fire or encased in ice!”

“One more place to visit and then we’re done,” he assures his friend. “We’re going to Forgetful Valley.”

Katara is sure to separate you from Azula as you climb onto Appa’s saddle and attempt to cool off from your spat. Across the way the fire bender sits with a smug smile on her face, clearly aware that she’d gotten under your skin like she’d been trying to do since seeing you again.

“You know she’s just trying to get a reaction out of you, don’t listen to her,” Katara consoles. “Zuko adores you, and nothing’s going to change that.”

“Do you really think the Fire Lord and the Chief can be together?” You ask, a sense of defeat in your tone. “Is it really possible?”

Your lack of usual optimism and confidence catches Katara off guard. She hadn’t heard you sound this despondent since you joined their team after your breakup with Zuko in Ba Sing Se. It worried her, and she wasn’t exactly sure what to say to make it better. Azula really had gotten under your skin.

“You and Zuko are meant to be together,”she says with a reassuring smile, “you wouldn’t have made it this far through everything that’s been thrown your way if you weren’t.”

Sensing her sincerity and acknowledging the truth to her words, your nerves begin to dissipate and you finally find yourself able to relax. Katara was right, you and Zuko had managed to overcome every hurdle in your relationship, and nothing was going to change that.

“Princess,” Zuko calls gently, and Katara takes this as her cue to leave. Taking her place beside you, he removes his cloak and drapes it carefully over your shoulders to ensure you stay warm during the flight to Forgetful Valley. “I’m sorry about my sister, I should have stopped her from speaking to you that way.”

“It’s alright,” you reply with a meek smile. It really isn’t, but Zuko has a lot on his plate and the last thing you want is to pile onto it. You can swallow your hurt and your anger for his sake.

“We should be arriving to Forgetful Valley by morning,” he informs you, “I think you should try and get some rest.”

“I don’t think I can sleep,” you admit dejectedly, contemplatively staring down at your scars. “Too much excitement at once, I suppose.”

“Then I’ll keep you company,” he insists with a gentle smile. “And when you do fall asleep I’ll be here to chase the nightmares away should they come.”

“Thank you, my love,” you utter gratefully, immediately melting into his touch when he cups your face in his hands and pulls you in for a tender kiss.

And unbeknownst to either of you, Azula looks on from across Appa’s saddle with a scowl on her face and a vengeful glint in her eyes.

| atla taglist: @rainteslerrrr @simpinforsukka @sirkekselord @protect-remus @chronic-daydreamer

| zuko taglist: @oddment-niwit-blubber-tweak @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @coldlilheart @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @zukh03s @taeeemin @user12345321

| fire lilies taglist: @titaniafire @dekahg @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @lozzybowe @izzieserra @melacholy @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @djskfkdkkf @xapham @yeetletzgetitjae @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @neighborhoodpansexualdisaster @noodlesfluffy @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch @zukoslosthishonor @ibelievein2dmensupremacy

*if your user is crossed out it means i couldn’t tag you*

[gunnerfc]

❄️ WOSO FICMAS: Dec. 22 - Georgia Stanway❄️

Georgia Stanway x Reader (Bayern & Lioness) | WC: 836

Dec. 22 prompt - baking cookies

-> woso ficmas masterlist can be found here!

Whoever on your team decided that you and Georgia should be in charge of baking cookies clearly wanted you to suffer. You had about three days before the team would be bringing some sort of dessert or baked goods to training to have a little holiday party before everyone departed for the break. You had sent Georgia to the store to get the ingredients that you needed but when she called you three times to ask questions, you knew this was going to be a rough experience.

You waited until the day before to start baking, not wanting to have the cookies done too soon before you needed them. You didn’t allow Georgia to help, knowing your girlfriend would take the opportunity to mess with you.

Georgia sat on the kitchen counter, watching you prep the kitchen to start making the cookies. The midfielder eyed the bag of flour you had sitting next to her, tempted to throw a bit at you when you were least expecting it. You had your back to her as you washed your hands so you didn’t notice when she poured a bit of flour into her hand.

You turned around to grab the towel to dry your hands as you felt powder hitting your face. You stood for a moment, face covered in flour as you heard Georgia trying (and failing) to hold her laughter in.

“See babe! I told you it would snow!” your girlfriend joked, giving up on holding her laughter in.

You sighed at her statement and turned back to the sink to wash your face off. This time when you turned to reach for the hand towel, Georgia kept her hands to herself and let you be. You dried your hands and face, refusing to look at your girlfriend who had a bright smile on her face.

You tried to focus on the directions in front of you but your girlfriend who was loudly singing behind you made it difficult. You rolled your eyes at her antics, doing your best to tune her out.

“Hey babe, would you still love me if I was a worm?” the midfielder randomly asked as she stopped singing.

“What the hell are you talking about,” you groaned, throwing a look in her direction.

“It’s a simple question! Would you still love me if I was a worm, yes or no?” Georgia spoke, repeating her question like it made complete sense.

“No, I don’t think I would still love you if you were a worm, babe,” you huffed, turning your focus back to what you were making.

Georgia gasped dramatically from behind you as if you offended her with your answer. When you didn’t give her a reaction, she hopped off the counter and moved so she was standing right behind you. You could feel her breath on the back of your neck and you felt your face heat up at her closeness.

“Babe. babe. Babeeeee” Gerogia whined in your ear, bored out of her mind.

“Love, please just let me finish and then we can do whatever you want,” you tried your best to ignore the begging.

Georgia huffed this time, moving away slightly and you thought you would finally have some peace to finish mixing all the ingredients. You were sorely mistaken when you felt an egg crack on your head. Neither of you moved, both in shock. You heard Georgia snicker behind you and you turned to face her.

Your girlfriend was half expecting you to tell her off but her surprise when you threw a handful of flour at her was better than yelling. You both stood in the middle of the kitchen, now wearing the ingredients you needed to bake cookies.

“You're gonna regret that, love,” Georgia smirked at you, reaching past you to grab the entire bag of flour.

“Wait, G. Let's talk about this, I was just getting payback,” you tried to persuade your girlfriend into putting the bag down but it was no use.

Before you could even attempt to move out of the way, Georgia dumped the entire bag over your head, covering you with flour. You stood in shock as the midfielder howled with laughter at your current state. You shook your head to try and shake off some of the flour before looking up at your girlfriend.

Georgia could see the devious glint in your eyes as you rushed into her, wrapping your arms around her body essentially getting flour all over her. The two of you went back and forth coating each other in various foods, wasting the ingredients you had bought to make cookies for the team.

You ended up having to wake up earlier than normal to rush to the store to buy store-made cookies and get rid of the packaging to try and pass them off as homemade. No one but Georgia knew the truth and you had to force her to not tell everyone that you didn’t make the cookies like you were supposed to.

[mentohol-blog]

Hair

I cut my hair for the first time when I was 21. Before that, I’d only ever trimmed the split ends at home. I was known for my over two feet long hair in my tiny hometown (not even one stoplight) and when I shaved it all off (4 pitiful braids that I wrapped in paper towels and mailed to Wigs for Kids), I felt like I was going incognito. It was liberating.

That was how I Iooked when I met him, before he became He. New growth sticking out of my head like so many hedgehog quills. His hair was in locs, thick and full. We each ordered one beer a piece, and we talked for over an hour. He left to go to a show with friends, and when I drove home I nearly accidentally turned onto the railroad tracks because driving in the Big City was new and terrifying but I was glad I braved it to meet him.

I bought a ticket to an upcoming show (San Holo) because he invited me and I thought if it didn’t work out between now and then, I could lurk in the corners to avoid any awkward contact and still enjoy the show. EDM wasn’t my scene, but I’m willing to give anything a shot. And it did work out.

Three months later, my apartment was nearly empty. All my things were at his house, and I retwisted his locs while I introduced him to anime. He introduced me to hockey, and I experimented with bobs and bangs and teasing my hair as high as it could go.

We got a kitten (his first-ever cat), and he fell in love, and she fell right back in love with him. They were inseparable. But she was also sick. Eye infection, ear infection, and riddled with ringworm due to the situation we saved her from. We took her to an emergency vet, and the next several weeks were full of eye drops, ear drops, topical creams, and oral medication. He cut his hair for the first time since his teens because I grew up on a farm, and I knew how much of a bitch ringworm on the scalp could be, and her safe place was curled on the crook of his neck, nestled beneath the curtain of his hair. For the first time since we started dating, my hair was longer than his.

When we got married, I went to a professional stylist for the first time in my life. I got a pixie cut.

On our honeymoon, I finally drew up the courage to lay myself and my needs and desires bare before him, and he became He.

Insecurities are funny because my Husband has been starting to get more and more gray hairs, and He hates them (which is actually what started me thinking about all this). I adore them, and when I braid His hair, I tuck them inside the strands, hiding them where He won’t see them to pluck them out, but where I can still see them shining in the sunlight like a best friend’s smile.

Do other s types out there braid as a form of service? If not, you might consider it. For me, its intimacy lies in my providing Him a service He can’t do for Himself. The whole ritual of it, from things He can do but allows me to (picking it, washing it) to what He can’t (the actual braiding), makes me feel calm, centered, and needed. Added to that, I’ve seen my skills develop. The patterns I can do now are day and night to the puffy, loose abominations I created when I first started.

But He’s always loved them. He wore my very first attempt to work, even though I did a truly terrible job. He was proud of me. I began to let my hair grow out again. I didn’t feel the need to be incognito anymore.

Sometimes He wonders if He’ll ever go bald. I tell Him no; He would have already started by this age. I tell Him I might go bald. It runs in my family. He says He’d like to start locs again now that the kitten has grown into a healthy, ringworm-free cat. My hair is now to the middle of my back.

[prettysweetprettysweet]

it's so befuddling when ppl get pressed about other people finding a lot of joy in a piece of media. first of all, when it comes to enjoyment you're always gonna lose in some way if you go into it intent on comparing and contrasting it to other pieces of media as your primary objective. if you found Cherry Magic seriously lacking in ways that matter to you, that's valid, but also don't try and dismiss people who list aspects you don't like as reasons they love it because that perspective is valid as well.

i know, for example, that CM would not work for my roommate because there isn't a lot of critical conflict and her attention thrives on juicy drama. for me, the absence of that is why i love it so much - with OCD and anxiety playing a role, I struggle to make it through a lot of media and usually don't succeed if it's not mind-blowingly captivating and impossible to separate from (which usually only ever happens if it's significantly relevant to me and my experiences [and significantly gay]). that's why a lot of stuff I watch, like Cherry Magic, serves more to wash over me like a calming wave. i love the neverending stream of love and all the attempts at productive and empathetic communication. i love how the actors portray that love. i love the exciting localization to a place i'm deeply interested in. i LOVE the pacing, which is slower/calmer. that makes it perfect for me to enjoy the media in whole episodes bc it doesn't demand steadfast attention or hyper awareness. that sort of pacing might even allow me to be completely invested from start to finish because it takes the pressure off.

more often than not, i don't want to agonize over tragic missed opportunities, unrealistically bad communication, and frustrating character flaws. i know a lot of people would respond with 'but then what's the point?' the point for me is that i want to see situations resolve how I would probably resolve them in my own life. effective communication is very important to me and one of the things I'm best at. i love seeing it in others. it makes me feel so good! and when it comes to CM, i love that it's all slightly tinged with a hint of madness, simply by the nature of Karan's intense love and devotion, in equal measure with Achi's near-instantaneous instinct to receive it all like a river carrying him on a direct route straight to all of life's most memorable and significant experiences. and of course the general idea of 'put that boy in situations.' i love the characters and i love seeing them respond to their environments and to each other. that's vapid to some but for me its my primary framework for joy/deep enjoyment of media given how my brain works.

[visceral-reject]

Hi! I recently dive deep into the rabbit hole of your amazing works! I'm impressed by your dedication and work!

Lately, A strong wave of nostalgia washed over my mind and I was wondering if you could write another prompt about HABIT, a darker one. I want to leave further details as a free choice, as that the final result..would be something you never tried before while writing about him.

I don't know how much this is making sense, but...I'm happy you're bearing with me! Thank you so much for your time and understanding! Take care of yourself, your health, eat well, drink well, sleep well! With the best regards and admiration,

-Yours.

a/n: oh my I love getting asks like this ^^! If darker is what you want, then who am I to deny? Something I haven’t written is certainly a broad spectrum but I’ll do my best to deliver! Best wishes to this anon! If this is shorter than wanted I do apologize I’ve been in a mental rut for a while now. a/n #2: this was a harder write for me, seeing as I put my own experiences. If you or anybody you love is experiencing any domestic abuse/suicidal thoughts or actions, please seek immediate help.

TW: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heavy violence, blood, gore, abuse, If you are not within the right mental frame do consume media like this please do not click read more. I wish you all the best.

His cackle could be the only thing heard despite the distance between the two of you. You’d been running for what seemed like hours, with thick globs of blood burning your eyes, whether it belonged to you wasn’t your main focus. It was some sick game, a game in which you played into like a willful pawn. You thought, that in some way he could love you again if you stayed, if you kept your mouth shut about this. About all of this. The murder, the torture, the sickening shit that lingered within his mind. These type of things were something only a mind as sick as his could concoct, you swear it. It started off slow, it really did. The sudden roughness, the manhandling when it wasn’t called for, then that morphed into the cutting. You can still recall the first time feeling the cold steel of his knife glide across your skin, and it cut so easily, like butter. He, Evan, HABIT- whatever its name was, would tend to them, kissing your tears that spilled from your misty eyes away. He made an effort to praise you then, to congratulate you on making him “so fucking proud”. ‘What a load of bullshit’ you’d think to yourself. Trees and fallen limbs only served to hinder your progress, but the fleeting chance of escaping this monster proved more tempting. This wasn’t your fault, you knew that, no one deserves to go through something like this, but the pit in your stomach told you that you should’ve left when it started, should’ve seen the warning signs. You’re nearing the edges of the forest now, better hurry.

Gasps for air could be heard throughout the house, it echoed down the empty halls that were devoid of anything attached to its previous owner. The only light was pouring from the bathroom, where you and your capture were. His grip upon your hair was tight, leaving your scalp burning. Snot and tears poured down your face as he dunk your head into the water-filled tub, your hands pushing the edge in an attempt to find some kind of leverage against the man above you. Just as your lungs began to burn, you were pulled from the water once more, a sickening cackle permeated from the brunette above. His eyes were dark, lined with malice and hate. Habit muttered something, but in your current state you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You pleaded, begged him to let you go for what seemed like hours now, and all you got in return was a swift plunge into the water once more. Globs of snot rolled from your nose as your lungs begged for oxygen. With your vision hazy, brain reduced to mush as Habit shook your head. You wish you could hear the shouts escaping your once lover’s mouth, but your mind wouldn’t allow it. Dissociation had become your haven during times like this. It was the only way you knew how to survive. Habit threw your head down, scalp burning with the sudden release of his grip. You wanted to thank whatever higher being there was, but you learned long ago that no loving god would allow anyone to experience this. No merciful deity would hear someone so clearly in desperation and despair crying and turn a blind eye to this!

You’d lay awake that night, your bedding cold and a stark reminder of what was once the perfect image of domesticity between the two of you. Habit didn’t sleep much anymore, leaving the bedroom the one place you were truly ever alone. One, two, three, four you’d count the indents within the popcorn ceiling, doing something, anything to keep your mind away from the burn that still lingered within your lungs. Why? Why why why did it have to be you. You did everything right that you could think to do, so why? This existential limbo you’d find yourself trapped in, this cycle of abuse. Why? You knew the answer. You knew it like the back of your hand. You, ever so hopeful you, held onto hope that somewhere between those layers and pools of hate, hope that Evan was still there. Hope that your once doting and happy lover would suddenly form at your feet and kiss the bruises and burns away. Turning to gaze out of the dusty window, pale light spilling into room.

Still.

Everything was so still.

Your hand toyed with the damp hem of your shirt, frayed thread getting caught between your broken nails. You should be crying, running towards said window and finding your own escape; yet you couldn’t. Couldn’t bring your shaky legs to that window. Not when…you didn’t know why actually. The sinking feeling that Evan was never coming back was beginning to cement itself within you. The knowing that this, this cycle was your new reality began to emerge as you turned your head back to the ceiling.

This was it.

There was no light at the end your tunnel, not without the grace of dying to achieve it.

You sighed, and with shaking legs threw your body over the side of the cold bed. There’d been a bottle of pills on your bedside unknown of their usage. He put them there to taunt you, you were sure. He called you weak, stupid for believing he’d ever give a fuck about a useless meat sack like you. You cringed, remembering how demeaning it was to feel his spit land on your face, how degrading. With a trembling hand, you reached for the orange bottle. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. All fear, anxiety, and anger melted away as you opened the bottle.

This was you taking back control.

This was your last chance to save yourself before everything you loved and held dear about your person. This was escape.

You made solace as you held down vomit, every instinct telling you to run to that bathroom and throw your stomach up. You fought, like you always did. This was your running to that window.

This was escape.

[lady-protector]

20. duel

(I'm not particularly happy with how this came out/I've been trying to think of an ending for a while, but it's just not working today, so have a rough draft of something I'll clean up in a full fic later.)

The borrowed chainmail weighed heavily on Kaede’s shoulders, making her slower and less maneuverable than she was used to. It was a good thing that the Grand Melee was not much more than a spar with live steel – she had spent most of the battle running interference against Marz, attempting to keep her from chewing through Ishgard’s carefully-managed defensive lines. The dragoon had put aside her lance for this, taking up her axe instead in the Alliance’s name, and Kaede could tell she’d have bruises in the morning from the hits she’d not quite been able to dodge.

From what she could tell, the Ishgardian and Eorzean forces were evenly matched. Greater experience and discipline was met with ingenuity and unpredictability, allowing the Eorzeans to exploit weaknesses wherever they found them. Aymeric and Raubahn’s voices rang out across the battlefield as they traded blows in its center, shouting orders that could be clearly heard even over the ringing steel and gunfire. It seemed as if it would be the Fury’s Gaze that would decide things, the only meaningful shifts in points happening when one side or the other managed to bring down whomever was chosen in that moment.

The Fury seemed to favor foot soldiers, save for the moment when she laid eyes on both Pipin and Lucia, until a wandering cyclops decided to interrupt the melee. Kaede pulled back and exchanged a glance with Marz as the attention of the battlefield shifted, both of them preparing to disengage and deal with the new threat, when she felt a strange tug on her aether. A violet tether of energy linked her to Ishgard’s battle standard – much as Raubahn now was to the Alliance’s.

As Thancred darted off into the wilderness, the cyclops in pursuit, Aymeric called for the Ishgardian forces to close ranks around her, but Kaede grinned and darted forward across the battlefield before they could encase her in a defensive formation. From the corner of her eye, she saw Marz hurtling towards Aymeric as he attempted to follow, the mighty swing of her axe barely deflected by Naegling, throwing the Lord Commander back into the snow. There was no time for anything more than a brief mental apology in his direction, because then Kaede was in the no man’s land between the battle lines, staring down the Bull of Ala Mhigo.

She had been barely past her thirteenth summer the first time her stepfather had taken her to the bloodsands of Ul’dah to see the man whose sheer presence and skill with a blade would inspire her to take up the longsword herself, to seek out the Gladiator’s Guild for further training, to take up the banner of the Immortal Flames after that – the man he’d proclaimed to be the finest warrior in all of Eorzea. In the years since, Kaede had seen no reason to dispute that claim, despite the loss of one of his arms. That Aymeric had been able to keep him occupied through most of the battle was a credit to his own skill, though she had a feeling that the Flame General had been holding back.

Not so, now.

Tizona sank into the half-frozen mud, churned up by dozens of boots, and a blast of flame-aspected aether washed over Kaede, rocking her back on her heels but tossing any nearby troops backwards, a ring of fire drying the ground and establishing a clear arena to keep any others from interfering in what he clearly intended to be a duel.

Raubahn’s voice boomed across the space between them, and Kaede felt her face pull into a grin that matched the wide one she could see beneath his bull’s head helm. “Captain. I will not lie – I was hoping it would come to this. So then… shall we dance?”

Kaede brought her fists up in the best flame salute she could manage without disarming herself. “I warn you, General – I won’t go easy on you, just because you’re an old man with one arm.”

Laughter was the only response to her impertinence, which abruptly muffled as Raubahn closed his helm and wrapped his hand around Tizona’s hilt, pulling it from the ground and charging with all the speed and power of his namesake.

Coerthas’s cold winds swirled even within the wall of flame, keeping her grounded and reminding her that they were on the Holy See’s doorstep rather than the packed sands of Ul’dah. The battle around them made a poor substitute for a cheering crowd, but Kaede could feel their attention anyway, hear their calls of encouragement, and let it spur her muscles to move faster, swing harder, hold fast against every strike against her shield. She met flame with light, the gladiator’s arts with the knight’s – at his prime, in his element, she never could have hoped to surpass him, but she was more than a stripling girl following in his footsteps. She had stepped off his path and forged her own, melding Ul’dahn bladework, Ishgardian shieldbearing, and the magic of Hydaelyn’s blessing in a way that was truly her own. She was the Warrior of Light, and she would not fall here.

Still, by the time she had driven the General to a knee, the flames around them dying as he yielded, she was shaking with the effort to remain standing, barely able to feel the hilt of her blade as she resheathed it at her side. Cheering erupted from the Ishgardians behind her as they proclaimed victory, pulling a giddy laugh from her breathless lungs, but she walked forward and held out a hand to Raubahn as he knelt.

His enormous hand fully engulfed her own as he accepted her offer, and levered himself back to his feet. He squeezed her hand before releasing it and slapping her on the shoulder, sending her staggering. “That was well-fought, lass. Hopefully next time we meet on the field, it will be standing side-by-side, not against one another.”

“Any time you need me, General, you need only ask.” Of all the leaders of the Eorzean Alliance, only Raubahn and Nanamo had not abandoned the Scions when they’d needed it, and so too was Kaede determined to stand beside them against any foes, large or small.

He nodded, warmth in his expression, before breaking back into a wide grin and chuckling. “Aye, unless Ishgard calls first, hm? Best make sure they’re on our side, as well, for that reason if nothing else.”

[custardcove]

First Memories

Chapter Six - Fierce Competition

It seemed like no time at all before the first intermission. In order for either of them to make a decent pie, the crust had to rest in the fridge for at least forty minutes, and in Alice’s case so did her apples. Pansy wasn’t really allowed to enquire about how Alice was doing, and so gave her two thumbs up before chatting with the other judges. Taylor couldn’t talk either, he was busy entertaining the crowd, and had invited a one-man-band elf onstage to play music during the wait. Queenie, however, was well within her right to interrogate Alice about her progress.

“I’m impressed you managed to form a substantial dough. Cooking doesn’t seem like your forte.”

Alice sighed quietly at the backhanded compliment. “I didn’t think it was your forte either.”

“On the contrary, I have quite a bit of practice in the kitchen.”

A memory hit Alice like a brick. Queenie didn’t trust anyone with food. Of course she had experience, she didn’t let anyone else cook for her!

“Well—making a pie isn’t rocket science, anyway. I can read and follow a recipe well enough.”

“Can you? What comes next is the hard part. You can’t read experience or presentation.”

It wasn’t worth gratifying her intimidation with further argument. The truth made it hurt, and Alice didn’t need to be cut deeper. “Good luck, Queenie. Thanks for the extra salt, by the way.”

The noble just tittered.

Thirty minutes later, it was time to form the dough into a crust and brush it with egg. Queenie hadn’t made that jab for no reason—it was important to try and make it look nice. In an attempt to do this, Alice went over the edges of her pie with a fork, and she cut out strips of dough to form a crosshatch pattern later. Would the apples be ready yet? It hadn’t been as long as the recipe suggested, but Alice had done her best to chop them into small (somewhat rounded) cubes, having hoped this would help them marinate faster. Taking her chances, she removed them from the fridge and tumbled them into her pie casing, flattening them the best she could before adding the strips of pastry. Getting the whole thing into the oven was a relief, but that meant another forty-minute wait…

Before she could react, Taylor approached her with his microphone.

“And how do you feel about your progress, dear contestant?”

“Um.” Points off for Tay, Alice would have never felt prepared for this. “Fine—it’s fine. I’ll wait to see what the judges think.”

“Humble words!” He spun around. “And how does our other contestant feel about her chances?”

Polar opposite, Queenie leant over for the mic. “It’s no contest. But I believe Alice is right—we certainly will see what the judges think.”

“What a bold claim! Our second contestant thinks she’s got this in the bag. But only time will tell. In the meantime, I’ve got another act for all you lovely folks out there—”

Time to watch another half-baked performance while they waited for the pies to cook. Still, Alice thought it was better to listen than suffer any further hot steam from her opponent…

***

Ding! Alice’s personal timer was done. She hurried over to the oven. Was it cooked all the way through? The pastry was a golden colour; maybe it could use a few more minutes—but Queenie was already taking hers out! The human debated what to do. Did a few minutes make that much difference? Maybe. But what if—

“Five minutes left!”

In a panic, she opted to remove the pie. It needed those five minutes to cool down.

“Fiiiiiive minutes…!”

“We’re both done, you ignorant fop.” It seemed Queenie was as eager for this to end as Alice was.

“Oh. Well, in that case…” Taylor adjusted his tie with his free hand, washing away the insult with a deep breath. “Both contestants have completed their challenge, and judging will commence shortly. You don’t want to miss that, folks!”

He was right—the crowd, which had thus far been filled with people more interested in milling between stalls, had finally come to attention. This was the part worth watching.

Taylor had introduced the judges earlier, having them speak at occasional intervals, but only now did Alice pay attention to Queenie’s pick.

Half-animan, she had neat, short black hair, cat ears, and a perpetually unimpressed gaze. Taylor had introduced her as Naomi; for once someone Alice couldn't identify. She wondered if Naomi had a discerning palette, or if Queenie was using her as an ace up her sleeve.

The pies were labelled ‘A’ and ‘B’, which each judge receiving a slice of each. Alice’s was Pie B – she stood by with Queenie as they awaited the verdict. Pie A was judged first.

“It’s got a nice leaf design on it,” Pansy observed. Queenie had indeed taken the time to decorate with little pastry leaves. “Hopefully tastes as good as it looks.”

“It’s super nice, visually,” Tech agreed. There was a beat as Naomi waited for him to say something more descriptive. He didn’t.

“An elegant design,” she started. “Care was taken to give each leaf a vein, presumably with a fork. The arrangement of the leaves overall is in a consistent pattern, while still appearing natural. But looks aren’t everything.”

Queenie glowered at her for this last remark, to which the cat lady added, “Anyway, let’s try it.”

Taylor held the mic away as they ate, taking a moment to give Alice a reassuring (and perhaps apologetic) smile.

After a few mouthfuls, Pansy seemed surprised. “This—it’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, really cinnamony,” Tech hummed. “Not too sweet.”

“A delicate balance between sweet and tart; flavourful but not forceful. The cinnamon and hint of ginger brings it together.” Naomi nodded, agreeing. “This recipe refines the meaning of ‘apple pie’.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Pansy said carefully. “But it’s tasty.”

They all took a swig of water before taking on Pie B. As she watched, Alice realised she’d been clenching her teeth.

“The crosshatch pattern is cute,” Tech observed, which Pansy readily agreed with.

“Shows it’s cooked well inside.”

Naomi poked it with her fork. “Yes, very traditional. The kind of homeliness you’d expect from an apple pie. Care was taken here, though some lines are slightly askew.”

They began to taste it.

“Tough choice,” Pansy claimed, though the recognition of Alice’s cooking was all too readable on her face. “They’re both real good, but this one—it’s more classic.”

“I feel like … this one’s a bit sweeter.” Tech took another spoonful. “For sure. It’s good—the other one had something extra in it, though. Was that the ginger?”

“I like sweet,” Naomi mused. “Good apples, well cooked… As Miss Pansy noted, it leans into the traditional idea of an apple pie.”

Did that mean it was good or bad? It was hard to tell. Alice hadn’t even considered using anything other than the spices listed in the recipe…

With the tasting done, Taylor prompted them further. “Are the judges ready to make their decision?”

“Yes,” all three said in unison.

“Alright! There should be two cards in front of you—A and B. Please show us whichever one you think should win!”

Pansy raised her card first. B, of course. Naomi was quicker on the draw than Tech. A, also expected. Tech, the only real impartial judge, would be the tiebreaker. He raised his card. Pie A. The winner. Alice had lost.

“And the winner—” Taylor’s words momentarily caught in his throat. He pushed on. “Is Queenie.”

The crowd clapped politely as Queenie took a short bow, stragglers starting to disperse now that the event was over. Alice couldn’t move. There was a tightness in her chest and neck, creeping up to her eyes. Queenie turned to her, ready to gloat.

“Terribly sorry, Webbe… It looks like I’ll be keeping this locket.” From the folds of her clothing, she produced her prize. It twinkled in the sunlight, tantalizing, taunting. “Such a beautiful colour, too…”

Before she could further salt the wound, the necklace erupted in light. Queenie yelped, losing grip in her momentary blindness. As the light emerged, it formed the shape of a small bird and snatched the jewellery from her loosened fingers. It landed on one of the countertops, brightness fading to reveal a little yellow duck, which dropped the necklace at its feet. The duck spoke in a voice that was no louder than anyone else’s, but everyone could hear his words clearly.  “This is not yours to keep.”

The crowd gasped, filtering back in to nosey at this development.

Alice’s face shone with recognition. “Ivan!” Her friend—the one that had given her the locket in the first place. How could she have forgotten him?

“But—” Queenie looked quite affronted by this sudden nonsense. “I won it. It’s rightfully mine, and Alice agreed to it.”

“I heard your terms, but it was never yours to wager,” the duck sapped back. “This necklace belongs to Alice. And what good will it do you, keeping it locked in a drawer? Had I any access to sunlight, I would’ve escaped from it sooner, and rightly reprimanded you!”

“Buh—well—I didn’t know you were inside there.” Queenie raised her head high, briefly glancing at the onlookers. She folded her arms tight. “Am I to understand you’re robbing me of my hard-won victory?”

“Oh no. You still won. Congratulations.” Ivan’s praise couldn’t be emptier. “Your prize is the satisfaction of winning. Next time, get your deals in writing. I think we’re done here.”

Queenie opened her mouth as if to argue, debating whether it was worth further public humiliation.

Pansy spoke up instead. “He’s right, Queenie—I think we can all agree you tried to pull one over, here.”

It was hard to say whether the other judges agreed. Tech looked a little bewildered as he scooped up what was left of the pies, and Naomi was sinking as far into her seat as she could go. But Taylor nodded. Despite this, he tried to save the performance.

“That concludes our cooking competition, folks! If you liked what you saw, be sure to pitch in for another at Erryton’s monthly community meeting!”

---

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[fastermosherzkillkill]

You Made Yourself A Bed At The Bottom Of The Blackest Hole, And You’ll Sleep ‘Till May And You’ll Say That You Don’t Wanna See The Sun Anymore

Summary: After Rhea’s match with Charlotte Flair at Wrestlemania 36, she makes a mistake that sets her back after years of sobriety. She turns to you for help and you realize that she’d been going through so much more than she let on.

Warnings: Graphic depictions of self harm, blood, a lot of crying

A/N: This is the continuation of my previous story “So Sweet With A Mean Streak, Nearly Brought Me To My Knees” So I recommend you read that one before reading this because the story won’t really make sense without the previous part. It’s also a lot shorter than the first one, the inability to finish works was really getting to me and I just wanted to finish this.

—————————————————————————

“I’m Sorry”

Her words stabbed through your heart like the sharpest knife and you couldn’t stop yourself from immediately leaning forward and hugging her. Tears filled your eyes at the thought of Demi hurting herself again.

The first time you found out she had done it was when she confronted you about seeing your own cuts. You still remember that entire conversation, how she had cried over you hurting yourself, she held you like you were going to fall apart if she let go and she sobbed like you had never seen her before. Given, you hadn’t seen her cry much before that but it still broke your heart to hear her voice shake and crack when she told you

“I love you so much… You know that”

You got your brain to stop thinking about the past and start to remember that Demi still had open wounds on her arms and hands. You pulled away from the hug, looking Demi in the eyes. She stepped back, allowing you to come inside her house and she closed the door, the air immediately becoming warmer instead of the freezing cold air as the storm raged outside.

“Can I..?” You ask, gesturing to her arms and she turns on the light in the kitchen so you can see. She holds out her arms and you see the blood that had been dripping down them for who knows how long now. You tried your best not to cry as your head raged about how you could’ve prevented this if you had just stayed with her instead of being selfish and going home.

Rhea’s hands shook and you could feel the shame radiating off of her. You put on a tough face and tried your best to stay calm to keep Demi calm as well. She was staring wide-eyed at her arms, terrified of what she’d done.

“I… I didn’t really realize what I was doing until it got to this point…” She told you, her voice becoming high pitched in her attempt to not cry. You didn’t know what to say. You understood how she felt and your empathy and experience stopped you from feeling disappointed in her. If anything, you were more mad at Charlotte for causing all this. If she’d maybe used more actual wrestling moves instead of just targeting her knee the whole time, maybe Demi wouldn’t feel as ashamed.

“Dems… I don’t know… I don’t know what to think… O-Or say, or feel. I just… I don’t know” You say to her. She limps to her bathroom and retrieves a roll of gauze and medical tape. She washes her arms in the sink, just to clean up most of the blood, and then sits down with you on the couch.

You cover her wounds as best as you can and make sure the gauze are taped securely. After that, you and Demi just sit. Eyes fixed on your hands, of which hold hers.

“I’m not mad at you, Dems… If that’s what you’re thinking… I can’t be mad at you for something like this… It’s not right” You say. You look into her eyes but she doesn’t look back, seeming lost in her own mind, still staring at your hands intertwined with her own that haven’t stoped trembling.

You look at her again and see that she’s started crying again. You take her in your arms and place a hand on the back of her head. She wraps her arms around you and begins to sob, her head tucked into your chest. You want to tell her it’s okay, even though you both know it isn’t. You run your fingers through her hair, your heart not able to take the sound of her weeping.

Instead, you just sit there. You hold her until she falls quiet and you realize that she’s asleep. You lean back to lay down on the couch and fall asleep with Demi in your arms, deciding that the rest of this is something to deal with tomorrow. Until then, you just listen to the sounds of the rain outside and hope to be okay one day.